Quite obviously, divine humor is not by me, as the title and byline may imply. I also sense a few wrinkled brows among our readers. Can humor be divine? The question is not unreasonable: the prophets of our Lord certainly had little to laugh about. Moreover, religion has hardly been the stuff to engender a smile or a giggle.

Enter the Dalai Lama, who is seen to giggle a great deal. One wonders why. A plausible answer could be that His Royal Highness is exceedingly nervous in the face of an impossible world. Hence the giggle. I also have a delightful book on my shelves by one Christmas Humphries. It is all about Zen Buddhism. Mr. Humphries offers a dedication to his wife who, I quote, “laughed in all the right places.” Mr. Humphries informs us of the concept of the sound of one hand clapping and we are reminded of our own Queen Elizabeth who exercises the notion at all times as she waves regally to her subjects when out driving in her state carriage. She may be giving half measure, but her subjects respond with two hands in full.

But divine humor…? Why not? We are informed that God is the sponsor of all life and all endeavor; thus, why not, indeed, divine humor?

It has occurred to this writer that we may wish to consider divine charisma. Naturally, one cannot actually purchase divine charisma, and nor can one use magic to conjure it up! However, and please bear with me, I would suggest, nay insist, that one can be instrument in manifesting it.

My explanation may hopefully point to something we adults are happy to make – or at least bring on a smile.

I speak, here, of babies, and would contend that they could easily lead us to a point of enlightenment.

Being a parent is in reality about as high as you can consciously go. I say in reality because we are talking about involvement with another human being. This not about me; this is about we. This means you, the aspirant, and your baby, your spiritual teacher.

I’ve been thinking about Zen. Don’t worry, that was the cosmic giggle you just heard, too. Zen is about doing what you do. Am I right? George Bernard Shaw’s, “He who can does, he who cannot, teaches,” just about sums it up (not that you are supposed to sum things up, but even so…). Forget teachers and teaching. Shaw obviously didn’t mean them, or that. GBS was into Zen, but he didn’t know it. The Japanese Zen master, Dr. Suzuki, may have been enlightened but could not have put it better. On the other hand, Dr. Suzuki would probably not have bothered.

Please consider the advantage of transcending this world. Your baby could help.

Obedience is the keyword, but it will go against the grain. Nobody wants to be obedient. We figure that to have a life, we need an opinion; we need to call the shots. But if having babies is what you do, you need to rethink, maybe unthink, the rules.

Did you ever consider obeying your baby?

“What can he mean?” you will be forgiven for asking. But that’s the point. Your baby is already working on you and is getting you nicely softened and shaped. Already your brain is dissolving in a mental meltdown. Suddenly you are feeling about things. Thinking is sort of a long way away, like your thoughts are down a deep well. You are no longer really thinking at all. It’s suddenly all a ghost-like echo of things learned, and all pretty irrelevant at that. Congratulations! You have a head that is full, however, of awful awareness. The trick is to turn the awfulness into positive action.

You are suddenly Mr. and Mrs. Awareness. You watch your baby because, let’s be honest, you can’t drag your eyes away, anyway. And that goes for visitors, too. Everybody is suddenly on their best behavior when a baby is nigh. Ladies utter goo-goo stuff, waggling fingers. Men stand around in the background, awkwardly, looking worried, thinking about doing a second job. The baby is socking out waves of something or other that is indefinable but real. This is charisma of the highest order. The baby has caught your attention, has got you focused and it isn’t even trying. One lopsided toothless grin, and you are going to fall apart. Your baby has got God on his or her side.

Somebody once said, “The real children of God know not what they do.”

Here is the message. Imagine your baby carrying that kind of charisma right on into adulthood. Well, we have all probably countenanced the notion of never growing up. But could you accept the idea that babies are already grown up, and that we adults have sometimes (sorry about this) simply hung around, done maturity in reverse, and accumulated a lot of juvenile junk?

It goes like this. You are gazing at your baby and you hate the idea of your baby growing up and having all of those “experiences” that the experts tell you are necessary for someone to become old and adjusted. An old Hindi proverb puts it thus: “Living life through experience is the most bitter of ways.” It means you are constantly reaching back into the past to find answers for today. Come on, can you imagine your baby smoking a cigarette? Do you want your baby to experience hardship, divorce, anger, being overweight? Do you want your baby to use bad language, or become a neighborhood flirt, or a kid who steals cars?

As an aside, this is not just social criticism I’m putting out because I must quickly state that this writer is as guilty as the rest in respect of just about all of the areas of human misdemeanor mentioned above. I feel better already.

OK, you don’t want your baby to have or experience all of the crud that makes life difficult. You don’t want your baby to smoke a cigarette because the idea is appalling. This is your baby’s way of telling you to stop smoking. Moreover, the baby hasn’t uttered a word. Hey, if that isn’t Zen, what then? It is all because your baby is not communicating in the usual way. Your baby has touched your feelings, nay, even your conscience. Babies are holy, that’s all. But they don’t know that they are holy and that makes them even holier.

Babies make us aware of what is bad for us. One exchange with a mystic I read went like this: “Do you love humankind?” asked the mystic. “Indeed I do,” replied the aspirant. “Then why,” said the mystic, “do you treat yourself so badly?”

What is happening, if you go along with the idea, is that the baby is helping you to clean up your act. This, by any reckoning has to be good. But there is an ongoing issue at stake and it is extremely appealing. If you can clean up your act you won’t have to give your baby any crud, or unmanageable appetites, later.

Right! Obey your baby and get transcended. Your in-laws may hate you, but you will not be adding a jot of personal chaos to our world. Your baby will grow up loving you, even if you don’t deserve it.

One thing I would counsel: never, ever, try to let your baby know what you know. Your baby won’t get it because a baby’s outflow of charisma is not of his or her own volition. Pressed to converse (assuming your baby has acquired a language before leaving the cot), the retort would be, “Oh, this is simply what I do.”

It all means that charisma from the right source, and exercised in a natural—may I suggest baby-like—way, could be the stuff of salvation.

We are all aware of the danger of walking the thin line between satire and sarcasm. Much of what we call humor is of the mind. It is calculated and often alludes to, and takes advantage of, the failings of others. One senses the sly wink and nudge when allusion is used. The certainty that the recipient of humor is part of the act, is in collusion. In such a case we become allies in negativity.

To be honest, a baby may not definitely make us laugh, although they often do, but they can easily bring about the rosy warmth that we love, which is, of course, the result of love. We are no longer talking about a jokey existence, but we must agree that a baby can lighten our day. A baby can, even, make humor possible. Babies have that special something that soon, unfortunately, gets lost to adults. Moreover, and as already mentioned, they don’t know that they are doing it. It means that their charisma must be the benefit of grace.

Though we cannot see humor, like faith, we perceive it all around us.

Once upon a time there was a planet in an unknown corner of the vast universe. For a long time, this planet was distinguished by having inhabitants with no sense of humor at all! This sounds like a joke, doesn’t it? But I am here to tell history, not jokes. This planet’s history was studied in three eras, each having a different state of humor: the Ancient Period, the Middle Period, and the Modern Period.

I. Modern period

The inhabitants of this planet were extremely serious, conscientious, sincere, hard-working, and moral. Besides all these good qualities, they considered humor as a pathological phenomenon. They never laughed or jested, kidded or joked. There was no room for any kind of humor.

A small minority, who had some feeling for humor, occasionally laughed and joked. However, their behavior was extremely alarming to everyone else. These few people were called “laughers,” and they were promptly hospitalized. What was so obnoxious about their behavior, aside from the strange noises they made and the peculiar facial expressions they bore while “laughing,” were the utterly pathological things they said! They seemed to lose all sense of reality. They said things which were totally irrational, indeed sometimes logically self-contradictory. In short, they behaved exactly like anyone else who was deluded or hallucinating, hence why they were put into hospitals.

More importantly, it was definitely verified that this “laughter” was somewhat contagious and that certain individuals became laughers for the first time in their life only after repeated contact with other laughers. Indeed, this was another thing which made the laughers so dangerous. They were not only hallucinating themselves, but tended to pass these hallucinations to others! Hence they had to be hospitalized, not only for their own sakes, but also for the sake of the society.

In the hospitals, doctors tried quite a number of different treatment regimens to cure their pathologic behavior. Besides many unsuccessful treatment attempts, one drug, called “laughazone,” was finally found to kill the symptoms of humor. Almost immediately upon administration, the patient would stop laughing as well as quit the verbal activity called “joking,” and would instead start screaming. The patient would just lie there screaming, hour after hour, day after day, week after week, and month after month. And the most amazing thing of all is that not once during this screaming period did the patient ever laugh or make a joke or even smile. They thought this drug was really phenomenal!

The problem with “laughazone,” though, was that its effects were temporary. After the months long treatment, the patient would, for some unknown reason, fall into a deep state of depression for several weeks, and sometimes longer. After this, he would gradually convalesce, and his original symptoms of laughing and joking would return. So, the doctors had to put the patient through the treatment again and again.

II. Ancient and middle period

The Modern Period contained no literature at all on laughter, except in textbooks and periodicals on abnormal psychology. The Middle Period, on the contrary, was chock-full of laugh-literature. This literature contained absolutely no material which contemporary laughers called “funny.” Indeed the writings were written in a wholly sane, serious, scholarly, and philosophic mood. The writings consisted mainly of analysis and commentary on the ancient texts. The ancient writings, unlike those of the middle period, were totally non-philosophical. They never spoke about laughter or anything like that. They were simply what the Middle Period called “funny.” These archaic manuscripts contained all sorts of incomprehensible and contradictory material called “jokes” or “funny stories.” Therefore, philosophers of the Middle Period extolled the Ancient Period, and referred to it as “the golden age of humor, when men could freely laugh and joke and really enjoy life.” Appreciating the ancient writings required a certain, almost mystical, faculty called “humor.” What was so puzzling was that humor could not flourish in the wholly serious and rational atmosphere of the Middle Period.

So, the Middle period witnessed many discussions on humor. One such discussion which had taken place between the mystic-humorists and the skeptical anti-humorists went as follows:

The Mystic-Humorists claimed that the only reliable way humor could be known was by direct perception: “We can see humor in many situations. Life is permeated with humor, if you can only see it.”

The skeptical Anti-Humorists said, “So, you claim you can see humor! Tell me, what color is it?”

The Mystic-Humorists laughed and said, “Humor doesn’t have any color!”

The skeptics continued: “Oh, so you can see it only in black and white! Well, then, what shape is it?”

“It doesn’t have any form or shape.”

“Then I am confused! Is humor visible or invisible?”

“Of course it is invisible!”

“But I thought you just said that you can see it. Didn’t you say that you could see the humor of certain situations?”

“Well, yes, I said that, but I didn’t mean ‘see’ in the literal sense of ‘see with your eyes.’ Ocular vision really has nothing to do with it. I used ‘see’ in the sense of directly perceive, not see with the eyes. Perception, although as direct as vision, is really through a different sense altogether.”

“A different sense? Which sense is it – hearing? If so, what does humor sound like? Or is it smell or taste or touch or what? With which of the five senses do you perceive humor, or is it a combination of more than one of them?”

“No, it is not any one of these five senses, nor is it a combination of them. It is a totally different sense. In a way, it is a nonphysical sense. We call this sense the ‘sense of humor.'”

“Good God, you literally mean a nonphysical sense? In other words, you mean it is something occult, like telepathy or clairvoyance? But scientific integrity requires us not to believe in anything occult; hence we cannot but believe that this humor is something totally unreal, a mere figment of the imagination.”

In vain the Humor-Mystics protested that there was nothing the least bit occult about humor and said: “If only once you could see what humor was, you would realize that it is the most natural thing in the world, and also that it is delightfully pleasant.”

Another thing, the “Mystic-Humorists” claimed was that the label “Mystic-Humorist” was most misleading. They claimed that there was nothing at all mystical about humor, even though it might seem mystical to those who lacked the immediate sense of humor. They said, “Why not rather call us laughers, which is, in fact, what we are.” And so, the term “Mystic-Humorist” was gradually replaced by “laugher.” Later, this term would be used in the Modern Period as explained above.

Another discussion during the Middle Period was between the “laughers” and the Faith-Humorists, who believed that reason could be somewhat helpful in understanding humor but that an act of faith was crucial. Essentially, Faith-Humorists did not take a hostile, skeptical attitude toward the laughers, but instead believed in them wholeheartedly. They knew that the laughers were in direct contact with that which the Faith-Humorists could only reason about and accept on faith. However, they were heavily criticized by the “laughers” because of their approach to the issue:

You seem to think that knowledge about laughter is somehow more important than the ability to laugh.

You take an approach which is far too objective and scientific. You read all the literature you can find on the philosophy of humor. You perform elaborate linguistic analyses of what the word “humor” could possibly mean. The only way you will ever find out what it really means is by acquiring a sense of humor.

The most insidious error of all is to try to learn humor by merely imitating the outward forms of the laughers. You must remember that the activity of laughter is only a manifestation of humor. Humor itself is something entirely within the spirit.

Another thing that you do out of mere imitation is this ridiculous practice of memorizing jokes. You commit thousands upon thousands of jokes to memory and you think you are thereby acquiring a sense of humor! But memorizing these jokes is absolutely pointless for you until, and unless, you have acquired a sense of humor.

You combine the two techniques of joke memorization and forced laughter, and then you are sure you have matured. But God Almighty, how wrong you are! You go forth into the world claiming yourselves to be authentic laughers. Nothing sabotages our cause more than this! The skeptics who meet you are almost rightfully reinforced in their belief that humor is something which is a mere sham and delusion. Yes, the pseudo-laughers like you are the major cause of the disappearance of humor from this planet.

As laughter disappeared more and more from this planet, the people of the Middle Period realized that this was a tragic loss rather than a gain, and they did everything possible to stem the tide. Only at the very end of the Middle Period did it first occur to mankind that laughter, far from being something good, could actually be something totally undesirable. People started saying: “Maybe we should stop trying to stem the tide. Maybe the tide is our greatest blessing, although we don’t know it. Maybe it is high time that this silly archaic thing called ‘humor’ should disappear. Maybe laughter was all right for savages, and we are now becoming civilized!” Then the idea fully occurred to mankind that humor was but another form of psychosis; laughter was a type of psychopathology. Thus was ushered the Modern Period.

III. Back to the modern period

As we discussed earlier, people of the Modern Period had to accept the painful fact that the laughers were not permanently curable, at least for the foreseeable future. This fact split the medical opinion into two divergent camps; hospitals, similarly, split into two widely divergent types. Hospitals of Type I were called “laugh-scream hospitals”; those of Type II were “pure-laugh hospitals.” In the laugh-scream hospitals, the doctors realized that no patient was permanently curable. Hence, once a patient was admitted, they were admitted for life. All that could be done was to administer the laughazone treatment over and over for the rest of the patient’s life. The discipline at these hospitals was ironclad: no patient was ever released, and there was to be no letup in treatment. It was better for the patient to face reality and scream than to withdraw into his fantasy world of humor and laugh.

The philosophy of the pure-laugh hospitals was, however, entirely different. They agreed with the laugh-scream hospitals that no laugher was permanently curable. But they thought: so why not let the patient enjoy his life? Was it really all that bad that he had these fantasies? Similar to the laugh-scream hospitals, patients were incarcerated for life. But they were given no treatments whatsoever! The patients in the pure-laugh hospitals were very happy. Everything possible was done for them to ensure their happiness. The pure-laugh hospitals, in the true sense of the word, were merely isolation centers. Their only function was to prevent the inmates from infecting the outside world with their laughter-psychosis.

Thus the conditions inside the pure-laugh hospitals were close to idyllic, except for one thing! Good God, the patients cried “How unfair that our brothers are screaming themselves to death in the laugh-scream hospitals while we are free to enjoy our laughter. Those doctors at the laugh-scream hospitals! They believe that they are helping their patients! They are the maddest of all! We must find a way to free our brothers so that they can enjoy laughter as we do.”

Occasionally, patients would escape from the laugh-scream hospitals, and they would immediately rush to the pure-laugh hospitals, where they were cheerfully admitted. As the patients in the pure-laugh hospitals increased in number day by day, at last, they managed to find the loopholes in the system. It didn’t take them long to organize raids on the laugh-scream hospitals, through which they freed all the laugh-wards, and brought all the patients back to the pure-laugh hospitals. The laugh-scream hospitals eventually went out of existence.

However, laughers were not satisfied with this success. They were bothered by the thought of those outside the laugh-communities who never knew the joy of laughter. What could be done for them? Just about nothing, they decided, since the old loopholes they had used to escape were taken care of. But here, providence intervened in a very remarkable way. What happened was this:

The standard of living inside the laugh-hospital communities was far higher than outside. One by one the outsiders pretended to be laughers in order that they might be incarcerated in the laugh-communities. The pretended-laughers knew perfectly that they had no sense of humor, and they couldn’t have cared less; they deliberately lied just for the purpose of joining the laugh-communities with their high standards of living. What happened was that the lying-laughers, being surrounded by an enormous majority of genuine laughers, very soon caught the laughing sickness themselves, and in but a few weeks turned completely into genuine laughers. And so one non-laugher after another lied his way into the laugh-communities, and shortly, became a genuine laugher. Then finally, even the psychiatrists succumbed, and no non-laughers were left behind. The entire planet was now one huge laugh-hospital, and the Modern Period that was devoid of humor became the funniest era ever.

This story was adapted from Richard Smullyan’s This Book Needs No Title: A Budget of Living Paradoxes by (Englewood Cliffs, New Jersey: Prentice-Hall, 1980). Copyright (c) 1980 by Raymond M. Smullyan (Acquired necessary permissions from the author).

Nural is a graduate research assistant in computer science at the University of Georgia, Athens, Georgia.

The best place to begin this discussion is with the Qur’an. There are numerous verses that mention love, but whenever the word love is used “the quality is always ascribed to God and human beings, and nothing else; and God’s love is always directed at human beings.” Not only does this mean that the relationship between God and human beings is unique, but love defines that unique relationship. In the verses that mention love for God, the Qur’an makes two important points. Firstly, God wants people to love him, and secondly, their love for God follows upon His love for them. The verse of the Qur’an most cited for this is “…whom He loves, and who love Him” (5:54). The inferences that Sufi mystics have drawn from this verse is that love cannot be learned, it is the result of divine grace, and the initiative comes from God. This feeling of God’s desire “to love and to be loved” inspired Rumi to suggest:

Not a single lover would seek union if the beloved were not seeking it.

The message of the Qur’an compelled Muslims to understand their relationship with God as one requiring reciprocated love. Sufi poets then searched for a vocabulary to describe their love for God, including words not found in the Qur’an or Hadiths.

In the early period of Sufism “the majority of teachings on love are contained in poems and brief statements that focus upon the human love for God, wherein there is always a duality between the human lover and the Divine Beloved.” This developed into a trend within Sufi thought in which “all aspects of creation and spiritual aspiration are presented in an imaginal language fired by love.” An important development in this trend was the use of the word for passionate love, ishq, rather than the more accepted vocabulary of the Qur’an. The Qur’anic terms for love are hubb and mahabba that describe the measured affection of God. Ishq came into the lexicon of Sufi poetry to describe “the essential desire for God and the love of God as an essential attribute, which fills the heart of the mystic.” Using the word ishq in a religious context means that:

Love is no longer merely an expression of gratitude for the blessings of God; it is no longer content with rigorous asceticism and meticulous ritual observance. It becomes an absolute necessity, entailing neither enjoyment nor alleviation, but intensifying as the reciprocity of the lover and the loved comes into effect.

By redefining their love for God as ishq, the early Sufi poets extended their vocabulary, and by doing this they could more accurately describe their inner response to the revelation of the Qur’an. The recognition of two types of love is expressed by Rabia in the following quatrain:

Two loves I give thee, love that yearns.
And love because thy due is love.
My yearning, my remembrance turns
To Thee, nor lets it from thee rove.

Here, Rabia identifies the spontaneous love for God she feels within herself – and the dutiful love she is obliged to give to God in the performance of her religious responsibilities. As Chittick wrote, “Love pertains to the experiential dimension of Sufism, not the theoretical; it must be experienced to be understood.” Sufism connects experiential knowledge to the belief that “nothing is dearer to God than that man loves him.” A mystic and poet who lived in Anatolia in the same period as Rumi, Yunus Emre, described the intensifying experience of love for God:

Your love has wrested me away from me
You’re the one I need, you’re the one I crave.
Day and night I burn, gripped by agony,
You’re the one I need, you’re the one I crave.
For Yunus Emre, “love is the most powerful of everything.”

When love for God is described in terms of passion then the language of romantic love is readily accessible to be adapted as the metaphoric language of the spiritual journey. In Sufi poetry there is a convention of the spiritual supplicant being called the lover of God, while God is referred to as the Beloved. Throughout Sufi poetry we read verses that elaborate ideas about the relationship of the lover and the Beloved. A good example of this is seen in this verse by Rumi:

Lovers share a sacred decree –
to seek the Beloved.
They roll head over heels
rushing toward the Beautiful One
like a torrent of water.

Here God has two titles, the Beloved and the Beautiful One, but this poem could easily be read as secular love poetry. In this verse Rumi includes the beliefs that the impetus to love comes from God, as it is a sacred decree, and doing so is as unstoppable as the rush of water.

Another poem of Rumi that can be read as secular love poetry uses less recognizable references to God:

In one sweet moment
She burst from my heart.
There we sat on the floor,
drinking ruby wine.
Trapped by her beauty,
I saw and I touched –
My whole face became eyes,
All my eyes became hands.

Through the use of the conventional poetic symbols of his era, for example, drinking wine as a symbol for spiritual intoxication, the poet again express both secular and spiritual meanings simultaneously. As one of the translators of the above piece comments in his introduction to the selection of Rumi’s poems:

Nothing with Rumi can be taken literally: One must always be aware of the meaning behind the meaning, and the veils behind veils.

The translator Jonathon Star, says that Rumi, like other Sufi poets, at “the deepest level” of his poetry “tells only one story: the soul’s search for the Beloved.”

For Rumi, passionate love, ishq, has two expressions. The first is love in the material world, “like the love between male and female”, and the second is the “real love,” which is the “love felt toward God.” These couplets of Rumi’s explain how the poet signified both aspects of ishq:

Love is the attribute of God, who has no need of anyone. To be in love with other than Him is metaphorical love.
And
Love, be it real or metaphorical,
Ultimately takes humans to God.

These two couplets express two fundamental beliefs of Sufism. In the first couplet we read that love is an attribute of God – as stated in the Qur’an. In the second we see that love “takes humans to God.”

While the Qur’an shows that love is an attribute of God, for many adherents of the Sufi tradition love is God’s most important attribute because for the spiritual journey of the wayfarer, love provides the path that takes them to reunion with God. In Rumi’s “spiritual masterpiece,” the Masnavi, the poet seeks to show that “God is known primarily through love.” The significance given to love in this part of the Islamic tradition has allowed some to suggest simply that “God is Love.” However, it is important to note that love is not the only attribute of God:

…He is Mercy, Knowledge, Life, Power and Will. He possesses all these qualities; His Being is the same as their Being; but we may not say that God is Mercy and nothing else, or that He is Knowledge and nothing else… He possesses all His Attributes absolutely, yet in His Essence He is beyond them all.

More than a generation before Rumi the mystic Farid al-Din Attar (d.1220) wrote a variation of the shahada (testimony of faith) as la ilaha illa ishq – No God but Love. In his Divan Rumi shows that he did not believe God could be defined as such. In fact, this excerpt from the Divan could be commenting on the above phrase of Attar:

Others call Thee Love, but I call Thee the Sultan of Love – oh Thou who are beyond the concept of this or that, do not go without me!

Rumi’s poetry not only shows that God cannot be defined but He can only be described with symbol, metaphor or analogy, which eventually also proves to be inadequate:

All of these are symbols – I mean that the other
world keeps coming into this world.
Like cream hidden in the soul of milk, No place
keeps coming into this place.
Like intellect concealed in blood and skin, the
Traceless keeps entering into traces.
And from beyond the intellect, beautiful Love
comes dragging its skirts, a cup of wine in its hand.
And from beyond Love, that Indescribable One
who can only be called “That” keeps coming.

In this piece of sublime verse Rumi uses analogy to communicate a sense of God. We also see an explanation of the variance of love and intellect, but most importantly, embedded in the poetry, Rumi presents the difference between love as an attribute of God, and “the Indescribable One who can only be called ‘That'” which is God.

As we saw in one of the couplets quoted above, Rumi believed that love, “real or metaphorical, ultimately takes humans to God.” The journey to reunion with God was made by “constant purification and, in exchange, qualification with God’s attributes.” For the Sufi mystic, “the qualities of the Beloved enter in the place of the qualities of the lover.” This is a heightened sense of jihad, when jihad is thought of as “the personal struggle against one’s own shortcomings that is required of all Muslims so that they can perfect their submission.”

For the Sufi mystic, however, the demand of reunion with God was to “qualify yourself with the qualities of God,” which was achieved by constant mental struggle to exchange the base qualities of the mystic for the praiseworthy qualities by which God has described himself in the Qur’anic revelation. The Mevlevi Sufi, Sefik Can, suggests this is achieved when “The goal of the Sufi mystic is to understand and love The One who has created humankind.” The connection of love to reunion with God is explained when Sefik Can says “In the Sufi tradition, love is described as annihilation in the Beloved.” Again, the poetry of Rumi makes a vivid representation of this teaching:

Love came and it made me empty.
Love came and it filled me with the Beloved.
It became the blood in my body
It became my arms and my legs.
It became everything!
Now all I have is a name,
The rest belongs to the Beloved.

The verse describes the progressive, experiential knowledge of love. First came abandonment of the ego. Then, came submission whereby one no longer acts according to the ego, but in submission to the Beloved who now becomes “… his hearing with which he hears, his seeing with which he sees, his hand with which he strikes and his foot with which he walks…” as in the well-known hadith qudsi. The Sufi understanding of the annihilation of the self in the Beloved can be regarded as an expression of the ultimate understanding of tawhid – asserting God’s unity. Annemarie Schimmel suggests that “to declare that God is One is the goal of religious life for the Muslim in general and the Sufi in particular.” An elaboration of this idea leads to the assertion that only God has real existence and hence only God has the right to say “I,” for “God is the only true subject.”

It is the tawhid that underpins the expression of love in Sufi poetry because “the true lover sees everything as pertaining to his beloved.” This is a teaching that Rumi sought to convey in the Masnavi-ye Ma’navi, for he intended

… to coax out of his readers the misapprehension that the world is made up of a multitude of separate selves apart from God and into the knowledge that all reality subsists only in relation to God.

It is a state of mind whereby “the poets recognized God everywhere,” as Annemarie Schimmel said, citing the verse of the Qur’an that inspired this awareness: “Withersoever ye turn, there is the face of God” (Surah 2/109). Two couplets quoted by Schimmel use the above-mentioned symbolism of wine to begin their explanation of tawhid:

The glass is all and the wine is naught,
Or the glass is naught and the wine is all –
but the vocabulary of religion concludes the realization:
That all that is, is He indeed:
Soul and loved one and heart and creed.

Because “love is desire and need,” it is stated that God, at the level of His attributes, created the world because He desired (or “loved”) to be known. Furthermore, God’s love for the Prophet is evident in this saying, “But for thee I would not have made the celestial spheres.” Ultimately, God’s desire to be revealed through the prophets and the saints “was the motivating force in His creation of the universe,” and all the world’s forms, movements and activities result from that original love. On this Rumi wrote:

The creatures are set in motion by Love, Love by Eternity-without-beginning; the wind dances because of the spheres, the trees because of the wind.

When we use the metaphor of the spiritual journey, we know from Sufi poetry that love is the vehicle par excellence for the traveller.

Bibliography

• Can, Sefik. 2005. The Fundamentals of Rumi’s Thought: A Mevlevi Sufi Perspective. Translated by Cuneyt Eroglu and Zeki Saritoprak, New Jersey: The Light Inc.
• Chittick, William C. 1983. The Sufi Path of Love: The Spiritual Teachings of Rumi, Albany: State University of New York Press.
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• Yunus Emre, trans. Turgut Durduran. http://www.stwing.upenn.edu. Accessed 17/5/08.

Day and night I burn gripped by agony, You are the One I need

I find no great joy in being alive; if I cease to exist, I would not grieve,

The only solace I have is your love; You are the One I need

Your love slays lovers; makes them dive into the sea of love

Fills them with the image of God; You are the One I need

Let me drink the wine of love; like Majnun, live in the mountain of hardship,

Day and night, You are my sole concern; You are the one I need

The Sufis seek for friendly conversation; the Akhis look for the hereafter

Majnuns (lovers) seek for their Leylas (beloved); You are the One I need

Even if, at the end, they make me die; And scatter my ashes up to the sky,

My soil would break into this outcry; You are the one I need.

Yunus Emre, the mystic, is my name; Each passing day rouses my flame,

What I desire in both worlds is the same; You are the one I need.

Yunus Emre is a famous sufi poet who lived in Asia Minor in the thirteenth century.

Lawrence first provides a summary of Prophet Muhammad’s life (peace be upon him) in chapters 1 and 2. In the following chapters, he offers succinct summaries of divergent interpretations of the Qur’an throughout history. Chapters 5 and 6 deal with examples of earlier interpretations of the Qur’an, by the Shi’ite scholar Jafar as-Sadiq and the Sunni Abu Jafar at-Tabari, respectively. The next two chapters cover rather mystic interpretations of the Qur’an. Chapter 8 surveys probably the greatest Islamic mystic Ibn al-Arabi, “a deep sea diver in the ocean of the Qur’an” (p. 109). Chapter 9 is about another mystic, Jalal ad-Din Rumi (or Mawlana), who sought to display the “everyday wonders” of the Qur’an in his Mathnawi. The last four chapters cover four different modern interpreters of the Qur’an. Chapters 11 and 12 deal with two Indian/Pakistani scholars. Ahmad Khan of chapter 11 offers an early rationalist (“militantly rationalist” in Lawrence’s words) critique of traditional interpretations in the face of Western intrusion into the Muslim world. By contrast, Muhammad Iqbal of chapter 12 makes a case for a redefined spiritual Islam in the late-colonial period and calls for revivification of moral Islamic values among Muslims. In chapter 13, the American interpreter W. D. Muhammad offers yet another interpretation that stresses racial equality more than anything else. Lastly, in chapter 14, Lawrence depicts the mind of the notorious Osama bin Laden, in whose interpretations military jihad takes precedence over all other issues. Lawrence argues that bin Laden “selects only those verses that fit his message, and then cites them exclusively for his own purpose” (p. 180).

In one unusual chapter (chapter 7), Lawrence portrays a Christian interpreter of the Qur’an, Robert of Ketton, who was the first person to translate the Qur’an into a Western language (Latin) in the twelfth century. An Englishman, Robert of Ketton moves to Toledo and becomes part of a Christian group that translates scientific texts from Arabic into Latin. He eventually finds himself heading a team project to translate the Qur’an into Latin. In a time of heated and continuous warfare between Christians and Muslims, Robert of Ketton takes a more noble way of engaging with Muslims. Islam was to be approached “not by arms, but by words; not by force, but by reason” (p. 100).

In an era when both adherents and critics of the Qur’an make claims as to what “real Islam” is, Bruce Lawrence’s survey of Qur’anic interpretations reminds us that all interpretations of the Qur’an are but partial representations that favor certain sections and meanings over others. In so doing, The Qur’an: A Biography becomes a friendly reminder that it takes more humility than most of us assume to understand and appreciate the richness of the verses of the Qur’an.

As a final note, for the more academic reader the book has a significant flaw. Although he provides a “further reading” list which includes most of the books he cites, except for the verses from the Qur’an, Professor Lawrence does not provide direct references for other quotes or opinions. I hope he will remedy this gap in a future edition.