Voices of Islam (156 page)

The Qur’an uses two words to describe alternative attitudes that will ulti- mately lessen pain and lead to happiness. The first attitude is ‘‘submission’’ (
islam
), which strikes at the very heart of human restlessness and agitation. The Persian poet Rabi‘a bint Ka‘b (fl. tenth century
CE
) writes, ‘‘I acted like a wild horse not knowing: to struggle only draws the noose tighter.’’
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To be ‘‘one who submits’’ (
muslim
) thus means to stop running and hand oneself over to God. To struggle in the midst of physical pain or emotional suffering only increases one’s pain. The only way out is to do what is counter- intuitive: to relax and submit to the pain. To be ‘‘one who submits’’ is thus to recognize one’s smallness and the fact that self-aggrandizement adds to the pain. According to the Persian Sufi Hakim Sana’i (d. 1131
CE
),

Humility
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suits you but violence does not.

A naked man frantic in a beehive is out of place.
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The second attitude is faith (
iman
), which entails thinking well of God (
husn al-zann
).
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As with the term ‘‘infidelity’’ (
kufr
), the meaning of
iman
is less cognitive than relational. In the following verses, Sana’i compares our careless cruelty (
jafa’
) to God’s loyalty and fidelity (
wafa’
):

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You have been unkind

Yet He keeps his faith in you. He is more loyal to you

Than you are to yourself.
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To think badly of God is to lose faith in one’s potential as a human being, to lose faith in discovering what was meant when God said to the angels, ‘‘I know what you do not know’’ (Qur’an 2:30). Human beings are a mysterious mixture of the high and the low: ‘‘We created humanity in the best kind of symmetry and then We turned him into the lowest of the low’’ (Qur’an 95:4–5). ‘‘By the soul and that which shaped it and inspired it in its shamelessness and its consciousness of God (
taqwa
)’’ (Qur’an 91:7–8).

Sufi writers have not been above pointing out the apparent contradictions in God’s plan, even as they admit that it is impolite to do so. In another one of his
Munajat,
Ansari writes:

Oh God, You poured the jewels of purity into Adam’s lap And sifted the powder of rebellion upon Satan’s head.

You mingled these two opposites.

In courtesy to You I should say that we did wrong, But in reality, You provoked the mischief!
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To return to the matter of justice, the problem is clear. The deck is stacked against human beings in a grand way, and yet the beauty of being human lies precisely in the tension between man’s extraordinary capacity to behave badly and the equally extraordinary possibility of acting well. To accept this situa- tion wholeheartedly requires giving up the ‘‘logic’’ of human notions of justice and embracing the ‘‘illogic’’ of pure giving.

CHOOSING A NEW ECONOMY

Be contented with your lot; But if you have any complaints,

Go and take them to the judge, And obtain satisfaction from him.

That’s how the fool’s mind works!
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(Sana’i)

I have mentioned how hospital and insurance systems run on the principle that there is a fi te amount of resources; their job is to distribute these resources as equitably as possible to patients and members. However, given the fact that the resources are limited and organizations are not always efficient in what they do, the smart caregiver quickly realizes that one of her

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many jobs is to fi with persistence and resolve to make sure that the patient and the patient’s family get the help they need. The principle of equitable distribution and the fi t for justice is similar to the mercantile bargain with one’s soul, albeit with the addition of a stronger guarantee of justice: if you are good and do what you should, you will be rewarded—if not here, then in the afterlife. The Qur’an states repeatedly that there will be no injustice in the end: ‘‘You will not be treated unjustly by even so much as the thin membrane in the groove of a date-stone’’ (Qur’an 4:77; see also 4:49 and 17:71). Although seeking and attaining justice is a praiseworthy goal that is both necessary and liberating, it is ultimately unsatisfying if it is not itself liberated by the qualities of forgiveness and generosity. Likewise, the pragmatic goal of securing essential needs for oneself and one’s family becomes oppressive if it is not balanced with the acceptance of uncertainty. Otherwise, fear may manifest itself as a form of niggardliness:

The mean live in fear for their daily bread.

The generous never eat yesterday’s reheated leftovers.
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(Sana’i)

Sana’i’s playful metaphor in these verses unexpectedly locates pleasure in giving without fear, a voluntary embrace of insecurity. The word ‘‘generosity’’ refers to something beyond responding to the needs of others. It refers not only to the act of giving but also to an attitude behind the act that renounces any claims to recompense or guarantees that one’s needs will be met equally in the future.

The act of giving to another may start from a principle of equity—if one has more than someone else, it is only right to give up some of what one has—but giving past the boundaries of this logic is something else altogether. Abu al-Qasim al-Qushayri (d. 1074
CE
) describes three different degrees of generosity, using a different word in Arabic for each: ‘‘According to the Sufis,
sakha’
is the first degree of generosity.
Jud
comes after it, and then
ithar,
pre- ferring others to oneself. Whoever gives a part and keeps a part [of his wealth] possesses
sakha’.
Whoever freely distributes most of it but keeps something for himself possesses
jud.
The man who suffers need but prefers that someone else have enough possesses
ithar.
’’
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The first degree of generosity described by Qushayri is necessary for social cohesion. It is hard to imagine a society that could exist without some degree of redistribution of wealth and resources from those who have a great deal to those who have very little. It is also hard to see this as much more than enlight- ened self-interest; societies with gross inequalities are not secure societies. Individuals who are not giving in their relationships tend to have unstable

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relationships. To not respond at this level is to demonstrate ignorance of this fact, as well as a complete contempt for others, whether crudely justifi or not. ‘‘And when it is said to them, ‘Spend out of that which God has given you,’ those who are ungrateful say to those who have faith, ‘Should we feed someone who, if God had willed, He could have fed?’’’ (Qur’an 36:47).

However, giving out of enlightened self-interest is still the same as barter- ing. The Qur’an accepts this as such and offers reassurance: ‘‘Whatever you spend in the way of God will be paid back to you in full and you will not be wronged’’ (Qur’an 8:60). Although the Qur’an accepts the concept of bartering, the phrase ‘‘Spend out of that which God has given you’’ in Qur’anic verse 36:47 suggests that the premise of personal ownership, whether of resources, honor, or security, is a faulty one. It is very easy to take health and privileged social and economic circumstances for granted. However, if what you possess is as much the result of good fortune as it is of individual exertion, then the concepts of personal property and personal rights have to be understood in a larger context. Enlightened self-interest would recognize that self-sufficiency is not permanent; familial or communal aid is needed by everyone at some point in one’s life. The essential logic is still one of bartering, but within a wider context of time and justice that recognizes that ‘‘what goes around comes around.’’

Beyond the level of generosity understood as enlightened self-interest, there is a kind of generosity beyond the principle of the ‘‘fair deal’’ and the basic logic of functional families and societies. Rather than a one-to-one exchange, the premise here is that there is more than enough to go around and that the very act of giving leads to the multiplication of resources and energy. Qushayri uses the word
jawad
to describe someone who keeps a little for himself but gives away most of what he has; such a person practices the type of generosity known as
jud.
This word comes from the same Arabic root as
jawd,
which is used to describe a plentiful rain. The Qur’an uses an agricul- tural metaphor to describe this kind of generosity that moves beyond the level of bartering: ‘‘The likeness of those who spend their wealth in the way of God is like a grain out of which grows seven ears and in every ear there are a hundred grains. God multiplies for whom He wills. God is vast [in pro- viding], knowing’’ (Qur’an 2:261). ‘‘The likeness of those who spend their wealth seeking God’s pleasure and for the strengthening of their souls is like a garden on high ground. Heavy rain falls and its produce is doubled and, when the heavy rain does not fall, there is still dew’’ (Qur’an 2:265).

All kinds of generosity require the letting go of fear. To accept the barter arrangement, a degree of faith in other people is necessary, as well as faith in the ultimate, if not always immediate, likelihood of fairness. Accepting the principle of abundant generosity is different in that it involves letting go of the need to stockpile one’s resources, whether those resources are emotional or material. While the logic of bartering is necessary for smooth familial and communal functioning, the logic of giving up one’s stockpiles is more difficult

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to accept. Certainly, it is not a ‘‘natural’’ impulse in human beings. As the Qur’an says, ‘‘Humankind is ever niggardly’’ (Qur’an 17:100). However, generosity is a trait that can be conditioned culturally or individually. The Arabic word
birr
(righteousness founded on generosity) comes from the same root as the word
barr,
a wide open space. This word is used in the Qur’an to describe the human quality of kindness and generosity that requires discipline: ‘‘You will never attain
birr
until you spend of what you love’’ (Qur’an 3:92). Giving up one’s stockpiles is diffi lt but ultimately more rewarding than clinging to one’s emotional resources and material possessions.

Qushayri’s text mentions a third level of generosity,
ithar,
which means preferring another to oneself. He relates the story of a Sufi who was aware of a hidden niggardliness within himself, even though he was considered generous by others.

‘Abdallah ibn Ja‘far was told, ‘‘You lavish much when you are asked, but you won’t ask the slightest thing from those to whom you have given!’’ ‘‘I give my money freely,’’ he said, ‘‘but I’m stingy with my mind.’’ ‘Abdallah ibn Ja‘far went out to his country estate. He stopped by somebody’s palm garden where a young black slave was working. When the boy got his food, a dog came into the enclosure and approached him. The boy threw him a piece of bread and he ate it. Then he threw him a second, and a third, and the dog ate those too. ‘Abdallah ibn Ja‘far watched this. ‘‘Young man, how much of your food meets this fate every day?’’ he asked. ‘‘As you see.’’ ‘‘Why do you prefer this dog to yourself?’’ ‘‘This is not dog country,’’ the boy said. ‘‘He must have come a very long distance out of hunger, and I hate to turn him away.’’ ‘‘And how do you fare the day?’’ ‘‘Today I will go hungry.’’ ‘‘And am I scolded for too much generosity?’’ ‘Abdallah ibn Ja‘far exclaimed. ‘‘This fellow is much more generous than I am!’’ So he bought the youth, the garden, and the tools that were in it, then freed the boy and gave it all to him.
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While there is a clear logic to bartering and sharing one’s resources with others, preferring others to oneself makes little sense. Qushayri related, ‘‘I heard Abu ‘Abd al-Rahman al-Sulami say
...
that al-Daqqaq said, ‘It is not generosity when the one who has gives to the one who has nothing, but it is generosity when the one who has nothing gives to the one who has.’’’
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Although people can be trained to act as if they prefer others to themselves, as in the cultural conditioning of gender and classes, the conditioning runs only so deep. The kind of generosity described here, actually preferring others to oneself, is not disciplined self-denial but effortless, weightless self- lessness. Note the wording in the following quotation from the Qur’an, which describes those who helped the refugees fleeing Mecca for Medina in the early years of the Muslim community: ‘‘Those who made their abode in the city and in faith before [the refugees] love those who emigrated to them. They fi no need in their hearts for what has been given them and prefer

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[the refugees] to themselves even if they are themselves in dire poverty’’ (Qur’an 59:9).

Those who are in dire poverty ‘‘fi no need in their hearts for what has been given them!’’ Given the niggardliness of the human soul, it is difficult to imagine how one would not feel one’s own need. However, the feeling of preferring others to oneself is a feeling that most people have experienced: it is the feeling of being in love and of preferring the beloved to oneself. In the state of love, one feels an effortless and pleasurable selfl sness that is not the same as renunciation or the negation of desire. The vortex of self- interest has been calmed, and instead of feeling grim self-denial, one instead feels playful. The supposedly ‘‘insane’’ person who has been freed from the niggardliness of his soul feels more pleasure, not less, even as he accepts the reality of suffering, his own included. ‘Attar writes: ‘‘A madman rides about on a hobby-horse with a smile on his face and cheerfully singing like a night- ingale. Someone asks him: ‘Why are you riding around so quickly?’ He answers: ‘I have a craving to ride all over the world before they chain my hands and feet, and not a hair on my body can raise itself any longer.’’’
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