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Showing posts with label Turbidity. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Turbidity. Show all posts

Saturday, November 24, 2012

Unity and Scatter

Some meditations start in the mundane, today’s in events in Egypt. There President Morsi assumed more powers; in consequence secular, modernist, and liberal elements once more erupted in violent protests. Now it occurred to me that Morsi is linked to a religious majority, the Muslim Brotherhood; the secular elements, however, are notoriously disunited because they have many and often conflicting goals: nationalist, industrialist, capitalist, socialist, centrist, leftist, rightist, and so on. When the focus of interest is something in this realm—which turns out to be the very essence beneath the concept of secular—it is very difficult to find unity.

The natural sequence in this realm of ours, where entropy rules, is from unity to scatter, thus from order to disorder. Every culture begins in a transcending unity and then, over time, becomes secular. But in times of major challenge and disaster, we always observe at least a temporary turn back toward unity, the transcendental. Hence there was a brief upsurge in church attendance following the 9/11 attack. Major traumas in the offing concentrate the mind, wake people up, and then they seek—unity.

Now the very essence of that idea, of unity, is that it is, by its very nature, transcending. It doesn’t work as an organizing principle, goal, or motivator unless it transcends the particular. Attempts to find some decent substitute, like community, nation, or even humanity ultimately depend on something above them to work effectively. Not surprisingly, therefore, that stalwartly secular document, the Declaration of Independence, which bases itself on the Laws of Nature, completes that phrase by adding another (echoing a line of jurists, Blackstone foremost among them): “the Laws of Nature and of Nature’s God.” I also note, with some bemusement, that the word “united” in the title, preceding the words “States of America,” is still rendered in lower case…

Order is in the direction of unity. Nature, left to its own devices, causes scatter, entropy.  As people we are potential unities at birth, but it takes much effort and learning to achieve a foretaste of it in this life—in which autonomous urges pull us in all directions. And this has a cost. Nature itself must be opposed so that the transcending self that we are can actually, to some extent, manifest. The urge to scatter appears to be built right into this region of the universe and if we’re diligent and lucky, we’ll master it to some extent as we grow up. But the battle never ends.

Now, of course, as writ small so also as writ large. Hence we meet the same demands at the social level of governance. It is much easier to govern if a transcendental goal is present, understood, and sought by a majority. Any person who has labored at achieving unity in his or her own person will be inclined to join into the collective effort if it aims above itself. If it is only an “alliance,” a common word in secularism, or a “coalition,” of similar interests—read pieces of the scatter—those who look higher will tend to prevail.

The little unity of the individual self, when it has emerged above the clouds of scatter, will also recognize the same unity behind all kinds of very different religious forms so that “Muslim Brotherhood” will not seem something dreadful and threatening right out of the box. Does scatter confuse the transcendental faiths of humanity? Of course it does. But then we live in the natural turbidity of the fallen world.

Thursday, February 4, 2010

The Turbidity of the Pools

In the last post I quote a verse by ibn el-Arabi (1165-1240), the Arab but Spanish-born mystic. Ibn Arabi is one of the greatest Sufi masters, one of the outstanding poets in the Arabic language, and a prolific writer. For that reason, I will borrow his own commentary on the verse I quoted, taken from Chapter 276 of one of his monumental works, The Meccan Illuminations (Al-Futūḥāt al-Makkiyya). I have this quote from William C. Chittick’s work, The Self-Disclosure of God, State University of New York Press, 1998, p. 347.

What I mean by these lines is that when the lover who has this attribute [turbidity] falls in love, the beloved exercises a ruling property over him and transfers him to the beloved’s self. The beloved drapes him in its own clothing and brings him out of the turbidities of the obfuscation required by the world of nature—this is when the beloved is knowledge. If the beloved is deeds, turbidity derives from doubts and the unlawful; if the beloved is a spirit disengaged from matter, it derives from natural appetites; if the beloved is an angel, it derives from mortal humanity; and if the beloved is God, it derives from everything other than God. Thus the truthful lover is he who is transferred to the attribute of the beloved, not he who brings the beloved down to his own attribute.
Now despite what I assume to be Chittick’s excellent translation from the Arabic, this sampling will make clear to any reader the problems of understanding a twelfth, thirteenth century mystic writing in another language.

The verse itself speaks to something in us that we grasp at some level. The explanation suggests an entire cosmology, hierarchically arranged. Above is clarity, light, and perfection. At the bottom is the turbidity of nature, which Ibn Arabi renders as a pool. He pictures it as water, clear and translucent at its highest levels but made murky by the settling of material at its bottom—where any action can cause the turbidity of matter to hide the light.

The explanation also produces different aspects of the higher: higher knowledge, action, spirit, angel, and then God at the peak. All of these, in poetic compression, are the she of the poem. The force of attention directed upward—love for the higher—is shown as lifting us up, out of the turbidity of the pool. Thus our attention turned to the heights is answered by an action that lifts us into clarity—provided that we are sincere. We don’t do it. She does it. If our motives are low, we pull the high down into the confusions of materiality, stain and obscure it, and lose whatever grace it can bestow. Part of Ibn Arabi’s purpose in this chapter is to show that rational reflection cannot and does not reach the heights. Its own activity merely increases the turbidity in the pools. That is, come to think of it, the unambiguous message of all mystics. You don’t think your way to the heights. It is a response to the vision of beauty. But that vision itself, arguably, cannot arrive if the murk is too dark.

Wednesday, February 3, 2010

More Magical Verse

She is the ease of whoever
   burns for her,
      transferring him from the levels
         of mortal man
out of jealousy, lest her sparkle
   be stained
      by the turbidity
         in the pools.
[Ibn el-Arabi, The Interpreter of Desires, 38-39]
A woman slender, lissome, of fresh beauty,
   for whom the heart of the sad lover is longing.
The assembly is filled with fragrance at the mention of her,
   and every tongue utters her name.
[Ibid, 117]
Translations from by Arabic by William C. Chittick. I’ll say more in another post.