92. DO YOU WONDER WHY PEOPLE CAN'T THINK CLEARLY? -- Excerpts from "The Functions of a Teacher", by Bertrand Russell

Excerpts

from

"Unpopular Essays",

by

Bertrand Russell,

Simon and Schuster,

New York,
1950,
pages  112 - 123.

Chapter Eight

The Functions of a Teacher

Teaching,
more even
than most other professions,
has been transformed
during the last hundred years
from a small,
highly skilled profession
concerned
with a minority
of the population,
to
a large and important branch
of
the public service.
 
The profession
has
a great and honorable tradition,
extending
from the dawn of history
until recent times,
but
any teacher in the modern world
who allows himself
to be inspired
by the ideals of his predecessors
is likely to be made
sharply aware
that
it is not his function
to teach what he thinks,
but to instill
such beliefs
and prejudices
as are thought useful
by his employers.

In former days

a teacher was expected
to be
a man
of exceptional knowledge
or wisdom,
to whose words
men
would do well to attend.
 
In antiquity, teachers
were not
an organized profession,
and
no control was exercised
over what they taught.

It is true that they were

often punished afterwards
for their subversive doctrines.
 
Socrates
was put to death
and
Plato
is said to have been
thrown into prison,
but
such incidents
did not interfere
with
the spread of their doctrines.
 
Any man
who
has the genuine impulse
of the teacher
will be more anxious
to survive
in his books
than
in the flesh.
 
A feeling
of
intellectual independence
is essential
to the proper fulfillment
of the teacher's functions,
since it is his business
to instill what he can
of knowledge
and
reasonableness
into
the process
of
forming public opinion.
 
In antiquity
he performed the function
unhampered
except
by
occasional spasmodic
and
ineffective interventions
of tyrants
or mobs.
 
In the middle ages
teaching became
the exclusive prerogative
of the church,
with the result
that
there was little progress
either
intellectual
or social.
 
With the Renaissance,
the general respect
for learning
brought back
a very considerable
measure of freedom
to the teacher.

It is true

that the Inquisition
compelled Galileo
to recant,
and
burned Giordano Bruno
at the stake,
but
each of these men
had done his work
before being
punished.
 
Institutions
such as
universities
largely remained
in the grip of the dogmatists,
with the result
that
most of the best intellectual work
was done
by independent men of learning.
 
In England, especially,
until near the end
of the nineteenth century,
hardly any
men of first-rate eminence
except Newton
were connected with universities.
 
But the social system was such
that this interfered little
with their activities
or their usefulness.
 
In our
more highly organized world
we face a new problem.
 
Something
called
education
is given to everybody,
usually by the state,
but
sometimes by the churches.

The teacher

has thus become,
in the vast majority of cases,
a civil servant
obliged to carry out the behests
of men
who have not
his learning,
who have
no experience
of dealing with the young,
and
whose only attitude
towards education
is that of
the propagandist.

It is not very easy

to see
how,
in these circumstances,
teachers
can perform the functions
for which
they are specially fitted.
 
State education
is obviously necessary,
but
as obviously
involves certain dangers
against which
there ought to be safeguards.
 
The evils to be feared
were seen
in their full magnitude
in Nazi Germany
and
are still seen
in Russia [1950].
 
Where these evils prevail
no man can teach
unless he subscribes
to a dogmatic creed
which
few people of free intelligence
are
likely to accept
sincerely.
 
Not only must he
subscribe to a creed,
but
he
must condone abominations
and
carefully abstain
from speaking his mind
on current events.

So long as he is teaching

only
the alphabet
and
the multiplication table,
as to which
no controversies arise,
official dogmas
do not necessarily
warp his instruction;
but even while he
is teaching these elements
he is expected,
in totalitarian countries,
not to employ the methods
which he thinks
most likely
to achieve the scholastic result,
but
to instill fear,
subservience,
and
blind obedience
by demanding
unquestioned submission
to his authority.
 
And as soon as he
passes beyond
the bare elements,
he is obliged to take
the official view
on
all controversial questions.

The result is

that
the young
in Nazi Germany became,
and
in Russia become,
fanatical bigots,
ignorant of the world outside
their own country,
totally
unaccustomed to free discussion,
and
not aware
that their opinions
can be questioned
without wickedness.

This state of affairs,

bad as it is,
would be less disastrous
than it is
if the dogmas instilled
were,
as in medieval Catholicism,
universal
and
international;
but
the whole conception
of
an international culture
is denied
by the modern dogmatists,
who preached
one creed in Germany,
another in Italy,
another in Russia,
and yet another
in Japan.
 
In each of these countries
fanatical nationalism
was what was
most emphasized
in
the teaching of the young,
with the result
that
the men of one country
have no common ground
with
the men of another,
and that
no conception
of a common civilization
stands in the way
of warlike ferocity.
 
The decay of cultural internationalism
has proceeded
at a continually increasing pace
ever since
the First World War.
 
When I was in Leningrad
in 1920,
I met
the Professor
of Pure Mathematics,
who was familiar
with
London,
Paris,
and
other capitals,
having been
a member
of various international congresses.
 
Nowadays [1950]
the learned men
of Russia
are very seldom permitted
such excursions,
for fear
of their drawing comparisons
unfavorable to their own country.
 
In other countries
nationalism in learning
is less extreme,
but everywhere
it is far more powerful
than it was.
 
There is a tendency
in England
(and I believe,
in the United States)
to dispense with
Frenchmen and Germans
in
the teaching
of French and German.
 
The practice
of
considering a man's nationality
rather than his competence
in appointing him to a post
is damaging to education
and
an offense against the ideal
of international culture,
which was a heritage
from the Roman Empire
and
the Catholic Church,
but
is now being submerged [1950]
under a new barbarian invasion,
proceeding
from below
rather than
from without.
 
In democratic countries
these evils have not yet reached
anything like
the same proportions,
but
it must be admitted
that there is grave danger
of similar developments
in education,
and
that this danger
can only be averted
if those who believe
in liberty of thought
are
on the alert
to protect teachers
from intellectual bondage.

Perhaps the first requisite

is a clear conception of the services
which teachers can be expected to perform
for the community.
 
I agree
with the governments of the world
that the imparting
of definite
uncontroversial information
is
one of the least
of the teacher's functions.
 
It is, of course,
the basis
upon which the others
are built,
and
in a technical civilization
such as ours
it has
undoubtedly
a considerable utility.

There must exist

in a modern community
a sufficient number of men
who possess the technical skill
required
to preserve
the mechanical apparatus
upon which
our physical comforts depend.
 
It is, moreover,
inconvenient
if any large percentage
of the population
is
unable to read and write.
 
For these reasons
we are
all in favor
of
universal compulsory education.
 
But governments
have perceived
that it is easy,
in the course of giving instruction,
to instill beliefs on controversial matters
and
to produce habits of mind
which may be convenient
or
inconvenient
to those in authority.
 
The defense
of the state
in all civilized countries
is quite as much
in the hands of teachers
as
in those of
the armed forces.
 
Except
in totalitarian countries,
the defense of the state
is desirable,
and
the mere fact
that education
is used for this purpose
is not
in itself
a ground of criticism.
 
Criticism
will only arise
if
the state
is defended by
obscurantism
and
appeals
to
irrational passion.
 
Such methods
are quite unnecessary
in the case
of
any state worth defending.
 
Nevertheless,
there is
a natural tendency
towards
their adoption
by those
who have
no first-hand knowledge
of education.
 
There is
a widespread belief
that
the nations are made strong
by
uniformity of opinion
and
by the suppression of liberty.
 
One hears it said
over and over again
that
democracy weakens a country in war,
in spite of the fact [in 1950]
that in every important war
since the year 1700
the victory
has gone to
the more democratic side.
 
Nations have been
brought to ruin
much more often
by insistence upon
a narrow-minded
doctrinal uniformity
than
by
free discussion
and
the
toleration
of
divergent opinions.
 
Dogmatists the world over
believe that
although the truth
is known to
them,
others
will be led
into false beliefs
provided they are allowed
to hear the arguments
on
both sides.
 
This is a view
which leads
to one or another
of two misfortunes:
either
one set of dogmatists
conquers the world
and
prohibits all new ideas,
or,
what is worse,
rival dogmatists
conquer different regions
and
preach the gospel of hate
against each other,
the
former
of
these evils
existing
in the middle ages,
the
latter
during the wars of religion,
and
again
in the present day [1950].
 
The first
makes civilization
static,
the second
tends
to destroy it completely.
 
Against both,
the teacher
should be
the main safeguard.
 
It is obvious
that organized party spirit
is
one of the greatest dangers
of our time [1950].

In the form

of
nationalism
it leads to
wars between nations,
and
in other forms
it leads to
civil war.
 
It should be
the business of teachers
to stand outside
the strife of parties
and
endeavor
to instill into the young
the
habit of impartial inquiry,
leading them
to judge issues
on their merits
and
to be on their guard
against accepting
ex parte
[partisan;
for one side only]
statements
at their face value.
 
The teacher
should not be expected
to flatter the prejudices
either
of the mob
or
of officials.
 
His professional virtue
should consist
in
a readiness
to do justice to all sides,
and
in an endeavor
to rise above controversy
into a region
of
dispassionate
scientific investigation.
 
If there are people
to whom
the results of his investigation
are inconvenient,
he should be
protected against their resentment,
unless it can be shown that
he has lent himself
to
dishonest propaganda
by the dissemination
of
demonstrable untruths.

The function of the teacher,

however,
is
not merely
to mitigate the heat
of current controversies.
 
He has
more positive tasks
to perform,
and
he cannot be
a great teacher
unless he is
inspired by
a wish to perform
these tasks.

Teachers are

more than any other
class
the guardians
of
civilization.
 
They should be
intimately aware
of what civilization is,
and
desirous
of imparting
a civilized attitude
to their pupils.
 
We are thus
brought
to the question:
what constitutes
a civilized community?
 
This question
would
very commonly
be answered
by pointing
to merely
material tests.
 
A country is
civilized
if it has
much machinery,
many motor cars,
many bathrooms,
and
a great deal
of rapid locomotion.
 
To these things,
in my opinion,
most modern men
attach
much too much
importance.
 
Civilization,
in the more important
sense,
is
a thing of the mind,
not
of material adjuncts
to
the physical side
of living.
 
It is a matter
partly of knowledge,
partly
of emotion.
 
So far as
knowledge
is concerned,
a man should be aware
of
the minuteness of himself
and
his immediate environment
in relation
to the world
in time
and space.
 
He should see
his own country
not only as
home,
but
as one
among
the countries of the world,
all
with an equal right
to live
and think
and feel.

He should

see his own age
in relation
to the past
and
the future,
and be aware
that its own controversies
will seem
as strange to future ages
as those of the past
seem to us now [1950].
 
Taking
an even wider view,
he should be
conscious
of
the vastness
of
geological epochs
and
astronomical abysses;
but
he should be aware of all this,
not as a weight
to crush the individual human spirit,
but
as a vast panorama
which enlarges the mind
that contemplates it.
 
On the side of the emotions,
a very similar
enlargement from the purely personal
is needed
if a man is
to be truly civilized.
 
Men pass from birth to death,
sometimes happy,
sometimes unhappy;
sometimes generous,
sometimes grasping and petty;
sometimes heroic,
sometimes cowardly and servile.
 
To the man who views
the procession as a whole,
certain things stand out
as
worthy of admiration.
 
Some men have been inspired
by love of mankind;
some
by supreme intellect have
helped us to understand
the world in which we live;
and some
by exceptional sensitiveness
have created beauty.

These men have produced

something of positive good
to outweigh
the long record
of
cruelty,
oppression,
and superstition.
 
These men have done
what lay in their power
to make human life
a better thing
than
the brief turbulence
of
savages.

The civilized man,

where he cannot admire,
will aim rather
to discover
and
remove
the impersonal causes of evil
than to hate
the men
who are in its grip.
 
All this
should be
in the mind and heart
of the teacher,
and
if it is in his mind and heart
he will convey it
in his teaching to the young
who are in his care.
 
No man can be
a good teacher
unless he has
feelings of warm affection
towards his pupils
and
a genuine
desire to impart to them
what he himself believes
to be of value.

This is

not the attitude
of the propagandist.

To the propagandist

his
pupils
are
potential soldiers
in
an army.
 
They
are to serve purposes
that lie outside
their own lives,
not
in the sense in which
every generous purpose transcends self,
but
in the sense
of ministering to unjust privilege
or
to despotic power.

The propagandist

does not desire
that
his pupils should survey
the world
and
freely choose a purpose
which
to them
appears of value.
 
He desires,
like a topiarian artist,
that their growth
shall be trained
and twisted
to suit the gardener's purpose.
 
And
in
thwarting their natural growth
he is apt to destroy in them
all generous vigor,
replacing it
by
envy,
destructiveness,
and cruelty.
 
There is no need
for men to be cruel;
on the contrary,
I am persuaded
that
most cruelty results
from
thwarting
in early years,
above all
from
thwarting what is good.
 
Repressive
and
persecuting passions
are very common,
as the present [1950]
state of the world
only too amply proves.
 
But
they are
not an inevitable part
of
human nature.
 
On the contrary,
they are,
I believe
always the outcome
of
some kind of unhappiness.
 
It should be
one of the functions
of
the teacher
to open vistas
before his pupils
showing them
the possibility of activities
that will be
as
delightful
as they are
useful,
thereby letting loose
their kind impulses
and
preventing
the growth of a desire
to rob others of joys
that they
will have missed.
 
Many people
decry
happiness as an end,
both
for themselves
and
for others,
but
one may suspect them
of sour grapes.
 
It is one thing
to forgo personal happiness
for a public end,
but
it is quite another
to treat
the general happiness
as a thing
of no account.
 
Yet this is often
done in the name
of some supposed heroism.
 
In those who take
this attitude
there is generally
some vein of cruelty
based probably
upon an unconscious envy,
and
the source of the envy
will usually be
found
in childhood
or youth.

It should be

the aim of the educator
to train adults
free from
these psychological misfortunes,
and
not anxious
to rob others of happiness
because they themselves
have
not been robbed
of it.
 
As it stands
today [1950],
many teachers
are unable to do
the best
of which
they are capable.
 
For this
there are a number of reasons,
some
more or less accidental,
others
very deep-seated.
 
To begin with the former,
most teachers are overworked
and
are compelled to prepare
their pupils
for examinations
rather than
to give them
a liberalizing mental training.
 
The people
who are
not accustomed to teaching --
and this
includes
practically all educational authorities --
have no idea
of the expense
of spirit
that it involves.
 
Clergymen
are
not expected to preach sermons
for several hours every day,
but the analogous effort
is demanded
of teachers.
 
The result is
that
many of them
become harassed and nervous,
out of touch
with recent work
in
the subjects that they teach,
and
unable
to inspire their students
with a sense
of
the intellectual delights
to be obtained
from
new understanding
and
new knowledge.

This, however,

is
by no means
the gravest matter.
 
In most countries
certain opinions
are
recognized as correct,
and others
as dangerous.
 
Teachers
whose opinions
are not correct
are expected to keep silent
about them.
 
If they mention their opinions
it is propaganda,
while
the mentioning of correct opinions
is considered to be
merely
sound instruction.
 
The result is
that
the inquiring young
too often
have to
go outside the classroom
to discover
what is being thought
by
the most vigorous minds
of their own time.
 
There is
in America
a subject called Civics,
in which,
perhaps more than in any other,
the teaching
is expected to be misleading.
 
The young are taught
a sort of copy-book account
of how public affairs
are supposed to be conducted,
and are
carefully shielded from all knowledge
as to how
in fact they are
conducted.
 
When they grow up
and discover the truth,
the result is
too often
a complete cynicism
in which
all public ideals are lost;
whereas
if they had been taught
the truth
carefully
and with proper comment
at an earlier age
they might have become men
able to combat evils
in which,
as it is,
they acquiesce with a shrug.
 
The idea
that falsehood
is
edifying
is one of the besetting sins
of
those who draw up educational schemes.
 
I should not
myself
consider
that
a man could be
a good teacher
unless he had made a firm resolve
never
in the course of his teaching
to conceal truth
because it is what is called
"unedifying."
 
The kind of
virtue
that can be produced
by
guarded ignorance
is frail
and
fails at the first touch
of
reality.
 
There are,
in this world,
many men
who deserve admiration,
and
it is good
that the young should be taught
to see the ways
in which
these men are admirable.
 
But it is not good
to teach them to admire
rogues
by concealing their roguery.
 
It is thought
that
the knowledge of things as they are
will lead to cynicism,
and
so it may do
if the knowledge comes suddenly
with a shock of surprise
and horror.
 
But if it comes gradually,
duly intermixed
with a knowledge of what is good,
and
in the course of a scientific study
inspired
by
the wish
to get at the truth,
it will have
no such effect.
 
In any case,
to tell lies to the young,
who have
no means
of checking what they are told,
is morally indefensible.
 
The thing,
above all,
that
a teacher should endeavor to produce
in his pupils,
if democracy is to survive,
is the kind of tolerance
that springs from
an endeavor
to understand
those
who are different from ourselves.
 
It is
perhaps
a natural human impulse
to view with horror and disgust
all manners
and customs
different
from
those to which we are used.
 
Ants and savages
put strangers to death.
 
And those
who have never traveled
either
physically
or
mentally
find it difficult
to tolerate the queer ways
and
outlandish beliefs
of other nations
and other times,
other sects
and
other political parties.
 
This kind of ignorant intolerance
is
the antithesis of a civilized outlook,
and is
one of the gravest dangers
to which
our overcrowded world
is exposed.
 
The educational system
ought to be designed
to correct it,
but
much too little is done
in this direction
at present [1950].

In every country

nationalistic feeling
is encouraged,
and
school children are taught,
what they are
only too ready to believe,
that
the inhabitants of other countries
are morally
and intellectually
inferior
to those
of the country in which
the school children
happen to reside.

Collective hysteria,

the most mad
and cruel
of all human emotions,
is encouraged
instead of being discouraged,
and
the young are encouraged
to believe
what they hear frequently said
rather than
what
there is some rational ground
for believing.
 
In all this
the teachers
are not to blame.
 
They are not free
to teach
as they would wish.
 
It is they who know
most intimately
the needs
of the young.
 
It is they
who
through daily contact
have come to care for them.
 
But
it is not they
who decide
what shall be taught
or
what
the methods of instruction
are to be.
 
There ought to be
a great deal more freedom
than there is
for the scholastic profession.
 
It ought to have more
opportunities
of self-determination,
more independence
from
the interference of bureaucrats
and bigots.
 
No one would consent
in our day [1950]
to subject
the medical men
to
the control
of non-medical authorities
as to
how they should treat their patients,
except of course
where they depart
criminally
from the purpose of medicine,
which is
to cure the patient.
 
The teacher
is a kind of
medical man
whose purpose
is to cure the patient
of childishness,
but
he is not allowed
to decide for himself
on the basis of experience
what methods
are
most suitable
to this end.
 
A few great historic universities,
by the weight of their prestige,
have secured virtual self-determination,
but
the immense majority
of
educational institutions
are
hampered
and
controlled
by men who do not understand
the work
with which they are interfering.
 
The only way
to prevent totalitarianism
in our highly organized world
is
to secure a certain degree of independence
for bodies performing useful public work,
and
among such bodies
teachers deserve a foremost place.
 
The teacher,
like the artist,
the philosopher,
and
the man of letters,
can only perform his work
adequately
if he feels himself to be
an individual
directed by an inner creative impulse,
not
dominated
and
fettered
by an outside authority.

It is very difficult

in this modern world
to find a place
for
the individual.

He can subsist at the top

as a dictator
in a totalitarian state
or
a plutocratic magnate
in a country
of large industrial enterprises,
but
in the realm of the mind
it is becoming
more and more difficult
to preserve
independence of
the great organized forces
that control the livelihoods
of men and women.
 
If the world
is not to lose the benefit
to be derived from its best minds,
it will have to find some method
of allowing them
scope and liberty
in spite of organization.

This involves

a deliberate restraint
on the part
of those who have power,
and
a conscious realization
that
there are men
to whom
free scope must be afforded.
 
Renaissance Popes
could feel in this way
towards Renaissance artists,
but
the powerful men of our day
seem to have more difficulty
in feeling respect
for exceptional genius.
 
The turbulence
of our times
[1950]
is
inimical
to the fine flower of culture.
 
The man in the street
is full of fear,
and
therefore
unwilling to tolerate freedoms
for which he sees
no need.
 
Perhaps
we must wait for quieter times
before the claims
of civilization
can again override the claims
of party spirit.
 
Meanwhile, it is important
that some at least
should continue to realize
the limitations
of what can be done
by organization.
 
Every system
should allow loopholes and exceptions,
for
if it does not
it will
in the end
crush all that is best in man.
 
+++

82. SUFI WISDOM -- from "Caravan of Dreams", by Idries Shah

Excerpts

from

"Caravan of Dreams",

by

Idries Shah,

Penguin Books,

1968
 
"You
want to
become Wise
in one lesson:
first
become
a
real
human being!"

[p. 206]
 
+++
 
"The self-styled
intellectual
sneers
at the humble man's
respect
for some things.
 
But if you want to see
stupidity
clearly
and
have a firework show
into the bargain,
speak
against the thinker's
sacred cows.
 
You are then
more likely
to have a demonstration
of what
'raving like a maniac'
means."
 
[p. 206]
 
+++
 
Do you expect
milk
from a bee,
honey
from a chicken,
or
eggs
from a cow?
 
These ideas
are absurd.
 
Yet how many people
stop,
before they ask
for
information and guidance
from people
who do not know,
that
they are asking
the impossible?
 
The reason why
they do not
stop to think
is essentially
that they are
not seeking
information,
knowledge,
guidance.
 
They are asking
to be entertained,
to pass the time,
to be given attention.
 
This is the reason why,
as we have all experienced,
people will ask for advice
often enough,
but do not take it,
however good it may be.
 
The purpose
of the transaction
is not to seek advice.
 
And this is a reason
why Sufis
are often
not popular.
 
Since
it is not
necessarily
any part of their duty
to carry on
disguised therapies,
they may not cooperate
in the fiction:
and people
do not like that
at all."
 
[p. 207]
 
+++
 
"Do you want
to examine
a socially-conditioned
individual
who attributes
what has been done to him
as
the work
of
a higher power?
 
All you need do
is look at
nine out of ten
'dedicated'
people."
 
[p. 204]
 
+++
 

A MOTTO

OF
THE HUMAN RACE
 
"Tell me
what to do;
but it must be
what I want you
to tell me."
 
[p. 202]

+++

"Three things

cannot be retrieved:
the arrow
once sped from the bow,
the word
spoken in haste,
the missed opportunity."
 
[p. 192]
 
+++
 
"Haste
is from
the Devil."
 
[p. 188]
 
+++
 
"Be in the world,
but not
of the world."
 
[p. 176]

+++

 
"Why the Dervish
Hides Himself"
 
Rumi
was asked
by his son:
"Why is
the dervish
hidden?
 
Is this
a self-concealment:
done
by means of clothing?
 
Is there something
within him
which he disguises?
 
The Master said:
'It might be
in any way.
 
Some write
love-poems,
and people think
that they mean
ordinary love.
 
The calling
sometimes conceals
the real position
in the Way:
there are traders,
like Baby Farid;
some write literature.
 
Others pursue other
external activities.
 
This may be done
for defense
against worldly people.
 
Some
deliberately act
in a way which
society might disapprove,
to gain peace.
 
The Prophet
has therefore said:
"God has hidden
the
Men
of Greatest Knowledge."
 
Any stratagem may be adopted
by the Followers of the Way
to gain peace
when they might otherwise
be hindered.
 
The Master then recited:
                Ever-knowing,
                as they hide they seek.
 
                To the ordinary man,
                they appear other
                than they are.
 
                In inward light
                they roam:
                making miracles
                come to pass.
 
                -- Yet none knows
                who they are."
 
(Aflaki: Munaqib el-Arifin)
 
[p. 175]
 
+++
 
"Each flies
with its own kind:
pigeon
with pigeon,
hawk
with hawk."
 
[p. 169]
 
+++
 
"Patience is bitter,
but bears
a sweet fruit."
 
[p. 166]
 
+++
 
Hazrat Bahaudin
Naqshband
 
One said:
"What shall I do
to be answered?"
 
El Shah answered:
"You shall avoid those
who imagine themselves
to be
the People of Salvation.
 
They think
that they
are saved,
or
that they have
the means
to save.
 
In reality, they are
all but lost.
 
These are the people,
like today's
Magians,
Jews,
and
Christians,
who recite
dramatic tales,
threaten and cajole
many times
in succession
with
the same admonitions,
they cry out
that you must become
committed
to their creed.
 
The result of this
is an imitation,
a sentimentalist.
 
Anyone can be 'given'
this spurious type of belief,
and can be made
to feel that it is real faith.
 
But this is not the original
Way of Zoroaster,
of Moses,
of Jesus.
 
It is the method
discovered by desperate men
for
the inclusion in their ranks
of large numbers.
 
Far from being saved
or made complete,
such enthusiasts
are set aside
in a trained band
for eventual dissolution:
like a cloud
which for a time
seems to have substance,
but
which a puff of wind
will banish to nothingness.
 
But do not
enter into controversy
with them.
 
They have been
deceived
to take
the false
for
the true,
because
they preferred
the easier
to
the harder test.
 
They would see
even an angel
as the devil himself.
 
It is always thus
with the weak inheritors
of the Real Ones.
 
Just as lazy sons
live off an orchard
which
their father tended,
thinking themselves
clever,
righteous
and
rightful owners,
until --
un-pruned --
it starts to fail.
 
You will be answered
if you seek
the man who will refuse
the easy method
of preaching
and
practice as I have outlined it:
a method
suitable only
for
the breaking of horses
and
causing attachment
to one's person,
or
the production of ignorant
and helpless slaves."
 
[p. 162]
 
+++
 
Pleasant and Unpleasant
 
"People say
that they want
help,
when
they want
attention.
 
They say
that they want
to listen,
when they want
to be heard.
 
We know this
by what you say,
by
how you look,
by
what we can feel.
 
Everyone else
would feel it, too,
if they were not
similarly self-absorbed
and
uninterested in you.
 
You must
first of all
find out
from yourself
if you
want to learn
and
why
you want to learn.
 
If you go somewhere
to buy something,
you must
first earn the money,
and
have some idea
of what you need.
 
If you just have
idle wants
and
do not know your needs,
you have
a long way to go.
 
If you
become diverted
from us
by our behavior,
you would
never have been able
to keep pace with us
 anyway.
 
If this sounds
unpleasant,
it does not signify
that
it is meant to be
unpleasant.
 
If you think
that we are unpleasant,
you are holding up
a mirror to yourself,
and saying:
'Look at them!' "
 
(Salahudin Afranji)
 
[p. 158]
 
+++
 
The Curse
 
A pretended Sufi
took some wheat
to a mill
to be ground
into flour.
 
"Grind it now,
and
make haste about it,"
he said,
for these charlatans
are always trying
to make people do things
for them.
 
"I have no time,"
said the miller.
 
"If you do not,"
said the rogue,
"I shall curse your mill."
 
"I would like to see you
do that,"
said the miller,
himself
a real Sufi,
"because
if you could get things done
by such methods
you would not be here
trying to make me
grind your wheat!"
 
[p. 157]
 
+++
 
Self-Deception
 
As long as you ask
the question you think
that should be
answered for you,
without taking heed
of my assurance
that
you are in greater need
of
certain other instruction --
so long
will I be
unable to help you
and
so long
will you believe
that I am no use
to you.
 
But you,
in ignorance
of the instruction
which you need,
will inevitably conclude
that there is
some other reason
for
our not being
in concert
and harmony.
 
You invent
the reason --
and
your self-esteem
makes it "true"
for you.
 
(Sheikh Mir Khan)
 
[p. 155]
 
+++
 
"The power
of Allah:
no sound,
no shape,
no form.
 
But when
it manifests,
none
can resist it."
 
[p. 150]
 
+++
 
"Learn to behave
from those
who cannot."
 
[p. 111]
 
+++
 
Encounter at a Hermitage
 
                This story is said to have been told
                one day
                by Emir Hamza (died 1710)
                in answer to the question:
                "In what manner
                could you relate to us
                an equivalence of your power
                to live in a world
                other than ours?"
 
                It is related that he
                could "slip into invisibility
                just by taking
                a sideways step,
                when his feet
                were at right angles
                to one another."
 
                About this,
                as about other wonders,
                he said:
                "I forbid you
                to relate any wonder of mine
                without adding
                that the performance of wonders
                is for a purpose
                of self-improvement
                or
                passing power,
                not amazement
                or faith,
                to others."
 
                Another remark
                made by Hamza is:
                "We go to another land,
                in form and fancy,
                sometimes really remaining here;
                but sometimes literally.
 
                From this world
                we bring back
                what you need;
                food
                that has never been tasted,
                drink
                that has never been swallowed."
 
                Shah Firox died in 1660,
                and in popular repute
                is still alive,
                in a new form,
                as one of
                the Hidden Guides
                of the Sufis.
 
"I had walked to a hermitage
in the Hindu Kush to
visit its Sheikh,
and also to see
if I could find some way
of stilling my doubts
about some way of proving
the real existence
of the Hidden Path.
 
It was only after many adventures
that I at last came across
the friendly sight
of smoke
rising through the chimney-hole
of that simple building.
 
A man,
plainly dressed,
an honest expression on his face,
was sitting quietly at the door
of the hermitage.
 
He said,
"Welcome, brother."
 
Far from feeling glad,
I was disturbed
to find so little respect for me
in this man,
who was surely the watchman.
 
"Are you
the watchman?"
I asked.
 
"I am called that,"
he said.
 
"I am looking for
the Ancient,
the Guide"
I told him.
 
"I am called that,"
he answered.
 
And then I was glad
that the great teacher
had called me brother.
 
As we went into the house
a small dog ran to the Sheikh's side,
delighted that he had come back.
 
"Welcome, brother,"
said the Sheikh to the animal,
and
I was again downcast
to think that
by this greeting I have been put
on a level with the dog,
that I had not been honored
at all.
 
But out
of politeness
I said nothing,
for
I was the guest.
 
Soon we were seated
before a bowl of yoghurt;
when the Guide spoke,
it was to recite a poem.
 
"A puff of smoke
against a mountain --
the heart grows glad.
 
A kind word
to a little dog --
the heart grows sad."
 
I was amazed
that he could understand
my secret thoughts
in this way,
and uneasy,
and rather ashamed.
 
"Teach me,"
I said.
 
He answered,
"What do I sing,
and what does
my lute sing?
 
You and I
are not in harmony,
although
I understand your thoughts.
 
What have you
already taught yourself?
 
What have others
taught you?
 
You are uneasy
because you have come so far
and
at the end of your journey
have found someone
who can read your thoughts.
 
And you feel
that perhaps
you could learn this power,
and then
use it
to your heart's content.
 
I seem acceptable to you,
as people sometimes think
of doctrines
as being acceptable to them.
 
But are you
acceptable to me?
 
People never bother
to think
that
the doctrine
may not accept them."
 
And
the Guide continued,
"You must go away.
 
You are still too raw
for a teacher to develop;
a fruit must be touched
by the right things,
by those elements
which ripen it.
 
Go away,
strive,
work
in every possible way.
 
When you
are nearer maturity
you will be able
properly to understand
the experience
of our master,
Ben-Adhem,
who gave away
the throne of Balkh
to be with us.
 
For
he was walking
along the road one day
when he saw
a stone on the ground.
 
It had written on it,
TURN ME OVER
AND READ.'
 
So he picked it up
and looked
at the other side.
 
And there
was written,
'WHY DO YOU
SEEK MORE
KNOWLEDGE
WHEN
YOU PAY NO HEED
TO
WHAT YOU
KNOW ALREADY?'"
 
Turning from the Sage
I thought to myself,
"I wish that everyone
could have an encounter
like this,
so that
at least it would be
common knowledge
that teaching of this kind
exists
in the world."
 
He went on,
"Often
the penalty of knowledge
is
to be laughed at.
 
Tell people
of our discussion here
and
they will think you mad.
 
In this way,
real knowledge
protects itself."
 
I made no attempt
to shape words,
but in my heart,
as earnestly as I could,
I framed the thought,
"How can I serve?"
 
And, also without words,
Shah Firoz
spoke directly
to my heart,
"Increase
the desire
to serve
and
a chance of service
may be given you."
 
Only when
through frequent effort
I had reached this stage
did I realize
the true value
of my encounter with him
who is called
"Shah Firoz".
 
(Firman-Bardar of Badakhshan)
 
[p. 111]
 
+++