The Story of Sufism

The Foundations of Traditional and Universalist Sufism [1]

Netanel Miles-Yépez

Image from the Peck Shahnamah. 16th century, Shiraz. Princeton University Library.

Once, long ago, tea was unknown outside of China. But slowly, word of its reputation as a ‘celestial’ or ‘heavenly drink’ made its way down the Silk Road and into the various kingdoms which it connected.

In one of these kingdoms, a kingdom called Inja—‘here’—the king had heard rumors of the celestial drink, and being curious to know if such a thing actually existed, decided to send ambassadors to the Emperor of China, seeking permission to taste this thing called ‘tea’ for themselves.

Thus, the ambassadors of Inja made the long journey up the Silk Road into China where, finally reaching the gates of the Emperor’s palace, they were admitted and granted an audience with the Emperor himself.

“Your Radiant Highness, Son of Heaven,” they said ceremonially, standing before the emperor, “we have been sent by the King of Inja to request the honor of tasting the celestial drink known as ‘tea.’”

The Emperor of China was silent. He would not deign to speak to the ambassadors of the insignificant kingdom of Inja, but merely gestured to his ministers, who showed the ambassadors into another splendid chamber set with tables, where they were served the celestial drink, tea.

Sitting at the low tables, tasting the tea for themselves, the ambassadors said to one another—“It’s wonderful! Both stimulating and relaxing at the same time! It truly is the celestial drink!”

Pleased with themselves and their success, the ambassadors of Inja began the long journey back home. Only now, they decided to take their time and see a little of China, stopping various places to see the sights and staying in different roadhouses to sample the local cuisine. But in so doing, they soon discovered something profoundly disturbing to them . . . Everyone was drinking tea, both peasants and royalty alike!

On returning to Inja and the court of the king, the latter asked them, “Were you successful in your mission?”

“Yes,” said the ambassadors, tentatively, “but . . .”

“But what?” said the king.

“Well, we did make it to the palace of the Emperor of China, and we were served something wonderful that was called, ‘tea’ . . . but we suspect that they may have played a joke on us, or decided not to serve us the real tea. For we later discovered that this same drink was offered all over China, and served to both peasants and royalty alike!”

In another country along the Silk Road known as Anja—‘there’—was a great philosopher, indeed, the greatest philosopher of the region, whose primary interest was tea. He thought constantly of tea, speculating about it and collecting information from travelers in his notebooks. Some said it was a leaf, some said a liquid. Some said it was a drink, greenish in color, some said golden. Some said it was sweet, while others said bitter. In time, this philosopher complied the world’s greatest collection of information about tea, and had written the authoritative treatise on the subject, becoming the most renowned authority in the whole region . . . but he had never tasted it!

Elsewhere, in a land called Mazhab—‘sectarianism’—they had actually managed to procure a single bag of tea! And one day a year, they would attach this little sachet containing dried tea leaves by four strings to two great staves, which four large and grim-faced men rested on their shoulders, carrying it with ritual solemnity through the streets of the capital. On that day, all the city’s inhabitants would leave work and come out of their homes to witness the holy procession. And when the sacred bag of tea passed before them, all would bow down and prostrate in fear and trembling.

And this is the way it was for a long time, until one year, on the day of the holy procession, a visitor to the capital remained standing while all the city’s inhabitants prostrated themselves before the sacred bag of tea. Laughing out loud, he said, “No-o-o-o, you idiots! You have to pour boiling water on it!”

An audible gasp went through the crowd. The grim-faced priests carrying the tea bag turned to look at the man in both horror and anger. Then, with a look and an angry gesture, they ordered the religious police to arrest the heretic, this enemy of religion who had suggested the destruction of the holy tea! The police immediately seized the man and executed him in the most horrible ways, hanging and dismembering him.

Fortunately for us, before this sad incident, the man had confided the secret of tea to a few friends in the city, and had bequeathed to them the tea he had brought with him on his journey. But having seen what happened to their friend, they now knew not to make the same mistake of talking about infusing the tea with boiling water, or of drinking it openly. Instead, they gathered in secret to do so, and if anyone happened to ask them what it was they were drinking, they would answer simply, “Just a little medicine.”

In this way, they grew in wisdom, until one day, the wisest among them said this . . . “The one who tastes, knows; the one who tastes not, knows not. Stop talking about the ‘celestial drink,’ but serve it at your banquets. Those who like it will ask for more; those who do not are not fitted to be tea-drinkers. Close the shop of argument and open the tea-house of experience.”

Thus, this circle of secret tea-drinkers became the first merchants of tea. Being already merchants of fabrics and jewels, traveling tradesmen of all sorts, they took their tea with them wherever they traveled along the Silk Road. And wherever they might stop, they would take out a little tea and brew it, offering to share it with whoever might be near. This was the beginning of the chaikhanas, the tea-houses that then popped-up all over Central Asia, spreading the true use and reputation of tea far and wide.[2]

Traditional Definitions of Sufism

For over a thousand years, Sufis have routinely learned and recited various definitions of Sufism as a kind of spiritual practice, as a way of continually ‘course-correcting’ and guiding themselves back to the ideals of Sufism. Thus, they have often asked themselves the question, ‘What is Sufism?’ This ancient story or parable of tea is one answer.

Thus, we might look more closely at it and consider what it is trying to say.

First, we have the curious king of ‘here’—Inja—who wants to know if there really is such a thing as ‘tea,’ which might stand for Sufism or mystical experience. But, being a rather ordinary or unremarkable sort of king, he doesn’t go out in search of it himself, but sends ambassadors or emissaries in his stead. The emissaries actually taste the tea for themselves, but are convinced that it can’t be the ‘real thing,’ because people of all classes and stations drink it. In other words, they are elitists who cannot accept that mystical experience is something available to everyone.

Then we have the great philosopher of ‘there’—Anja—who is the world’s greatest authority on ‘tea,’ though he has never tasted it. Thus, his is only head-knowledge, as opposed to the more substantive experiential knowledge. He is like the academic scholars of Sufism who can describe all of its characteristics based on the reports and writings of others, but who have never tasted the heart-broken love and obliterating passion it offers.

Elsewhere, in the land of ‘sectarianism’—Mazhab—they actually worship the ‘tea,’ but in a dry form. This is religion without spiritualty, without the infusion of spirit, the one thing necessary to bring it to life, allowing people to benefit from it. The priests of religion celebrate and defend the ‘dry form’ of religion, often forgetting that the purpose of religion is not merely to preserve the religion itself, but to aid one in transformation. In so doing, they become worshippers of religion instead of God. Thus, Sufis have been known to say . . .

“A Sufi’s religion is God.”[3]

Obviously, this is a Sufi critique of religion, a way of suggesting to the orthodox—‘You have become worshippers of Islam,’ or ‘Christianity’ or ‘Judaism,’ as the case may be, ‘and have forgotten God in your observance of religion. Whereas, God is our religion!’ That is to say, the direct experience of God is a Sufi’s religion. Indeed, it was in the context of such a critique—in rebellion against conventional religion—that historical Sufism was born.

Sufis often say that ‘Sufism has always existed,’ being the deep impulse of the heart that seeks wholeness in divinity or the sacred found in every religious tradition. Thus, Muzaffer Ozak, the famous 20th-century Jerrahi sheikh, says—“A river passes through many countries and each claims it for its own. But there is only one river.”[4] In every land, that river is called by a different name in a different language, but there is only one river, flowing back into one source.

Nevertheless, there is also a clear historical phenomenon with specific characteristics which we call ‘Sufism’ that has a definite context and origin in the Middle East. Personally, I like to explain this context through a parallel exploration of the possible etymological origins of the word, ‘Sufi.’

Image from the Peck Shahnamah. 16th century, Shiraz. Princeton University Library.

Among the most commonly suggested origins is the Arabic word, ṣuffah, ‘bench,’ which is itself a reference to the ahl aṣ-ṣuffah, ‘people of the bench,’ or ashab as-suffah, ‘companions of the bench.’ Now these people were, in the time of the prophet Muhammad, alayhi as-salām, a supposedly impoverished group of companions of the Prophet who never seemed to leave the bench outside the masjid, or mosque, in Medina. They were probably looked upon by many in Medina as lazy and indolent; but it is said that they were actually so God-intoxicated that all they wanted to do was remain in prayer close to the mosque. They could never do enough practice, never talk enough about God, so they never left the precincts of the mosque! Thus, these “people of the bench,” according to some, are considered the first Sufis.

However, another legend says that Sufis, at first, were actually a nameless, wandering band of mystics, who roamed the world in search of the qutub, the ‘axis’ or ‘pole’ of spirituality in any given age. Thus, in the time of the prophet Muhammad, they were magnetically drawn to Medina, the city of the Prophet, where they recognized him as the qutub and embraced Islam. Thus, the originally nameless form of Sufism took on an Arabic character and name, and became associated with Islam, though it never lost its essentially universalist spiritual outlook. Some even say that this group of wandering seekers, arriving in Medina without any other material aim or intention, became the ‘people of the bench.’

Later, this recognition of the nameless origins of Sufism led one great Sufi master to admonish his fellow Sufis with this famous statement . . .

“Once, Sufism was a reality without a name;

now it is but a name without a reality.”[5]

Another explanation of the origin of the word ‘Sufi’ is the Arabic safā, ‘pure,’ from which we get, tasawwuff. In English, we speak of the tradition of Sufism, but that’s merely an Anglicized form of the Arabic word, tasawwuf, meaning ‘purification,’ a process or path of continual purification, purifying oneself from the more spiritually deadening effects of the ego.

Nevertheless, historically and linguistically, scholars tend to agree that the most likely origin of the word, ‘Sufi,’ is the Arabic word sūf, ‘wool,’ a reference to the simple woolen cloaks worn by early Muslim ascetics in the 8th and 9th-century in the Middle East.

These pious Muslims were generally called nussāk (sing. nāsik) or ‘ascetics, and wore rough woolen garments, rejecting the decadent luxuries of the increasing wealthy Islamic empire which, as they saw it, had lost its way. Their lifestyle was a protest and rebellion against the lax morality of the time. In just two hundred years, the originally poor and pious Muslim community of high ideals had become rich, bloated with wealth acquired through conquest, and extremely decadent. Thus, these early ascetic Muslims were trying to reestablish the ideals of Islam based on the best models available to them. In this case, on the example of the Christian Desert Fathers and Mothers (Abbas and Ammas) who lived in desert caves across the Middle East, and who were often known for wearing coarse woolen garments, an ascetic practice in that hot, dry climate.

Indeed, stories of this cross-fertilization are preserved in the Sufi tradition, especially in an episode from the life of the great Sufi master, Ibrahim ibn Adham, a king who gave up his kingdom to pursue God, who tells of a deep transmission of inner wisdom (ma'rifa) he received from a Christian ascetic.

According to the story, Ibrahim Adham once visited a Christian ascetic called Father Simeon in his desert cave in the mountains. He asked him, “How long have you been here, father?”

“Seventy years,” Father Simeon answered.

“What food do you eat?” asked Ibrahim Adham.

“Why do you ask, my son?”

“I just want to know.”

Father Simeon answered, “One chick pea a day.”

Amazed, Ibrahim Adham said, “What moves your heart so much that you can live off so little?”

“Well, I’ll tell you. Once a year,” Father Simeon answered, “the people of the village below come up to celebrate my work here, adorning my cave and honoring me. And when I’m weary of this life, I think of that, and I can go on.

“Now, I ask you, what work of an hour would you endure for the whole glory of eternity?”

“Hearing this,” Ibrahim Adham tells us, “ma'rifa,” the inner wisdom or experiential knowledge, “descended on me.”

For me, this is an amazing story, connecting the three great esoteric Abrahamic lineages. Just as the Desert Fathers and Mothers of Christianity were already the heirs of the Essenes, a Jewish mystical ascetic sect along the Dead Sea[6] and the probable authors of the Dead Sea Scrolls, so too were the Sufis the heirs of the Desert Fathers and Mothers.

These early Muslim ascetics, nussāk, were even known to say that they followed the way of the Prophet Isa, or Jesus, who wore wool instead of the more comfortable cotton. In saying this, they were not proclaiming themselves converts to Christianity—they were still good Muslims—but recognizing that Jesus was a prophet in Islam whose model was closely aligned with their values. After all, they were rebelling against a corrupt Islamic government, and with the fact that Islam had become mixed-up with politics. The Prophet Muhammad, of course, was considered the best possible ruler, a true philosopher or prophet-king, but things had quickly degenerated after his passing. Aware of the problems of this model, these early proto-Sufis saw Jesus as a prophet who wasn’t involved in politics or governance, leading an exemplary spiritual life. Thus, it likewise became a longstanding value among many Sufis not to become too deeply involved with powerbrokers or politics, nor to court or seek the influence of the powerful elite, whether those with great wealth or great political power.

Within the larger ascetic protest movement of the 8th-century—roughly 200 years after the birth of Islam—was a fringe group called the Sūfiyya, ‘the wool wearers,’ which was likely a pejorative term originally used by their detractors to make fun of them.[7] Nevertheless, the name stuck, and was eventually claimed by this group of spiritual idealists. Indeed, one early master, accepting the more realistic derivation from sūf, ‘wool,’ and combing it with the ideal of safā, ‘purity,’ famously said . . .

“The Sufi is the one who wears wool on top of purity.”[8]

Likewise following the model of Jesus, these early Sufis emphasized Jesus’ teachings on love, though, they did not need Christianity to show them the path to love of God. It was also there before them in the Qur’an (5:54) . . .

“God loves them, and they love God.”

Thus, some Sufis even came to say . . .

“Sufism is the religion of Love.”[9]

It was not long before the early ascetic tradition of Sufism was transformed into a tradition oriented to the ideal and experience of divine love. This is perhaps owing to the influence of one individual more than any other, a woman and a former slave named Rābi‘a al-Adawiyya or Rābi‘a al-Basri (ca. 717-801).

Orphaned at an early age, Rābi‘a was sold into slavery, but her owner, seeing that she spoke with God, became afraid and freed her. After that, she began to wander, never leaving her devotions. She is said to have been a beautiful woman, but never married, devoting herself entirely to God. She is known to have said . . .

“I love You with two loves,

one that that is unworthy of You,

and one that is lost in You.”

And on another occasion . . .

“If I worship You for fear of hell, then send me there.

If I worship you out of a desire for heaven, then bar the gates.

But if I worship You for Your own sake,

then do not deny me the vision of Your eternal beauty.”

The most enduring image of Rābi‘a al-Adawiyya for me is the description of her walking through the streets of Basra carrying a fiery torch in one hand and a bucket of water in the other. Some Sufis who saw her asked, “Lady Rābi‘a, what are you going to do with these?”

She answered, “I’m going to set fire to paradise (Janna) and douse the flames of hell (Jahannam), so that both will cease to inspire desire and fear, that these veils may fall from their eyes, and the lover’s purpose may become clear.”

Through her influence on many others, Sufism came to be oriented toward pure love and ecstatic experiences of union with the divine. Soon, practices developed around the remembrance of the divine Beloved, such as dhikr Allāh, the mantric remembrance or recitation of the name of God. Sufism also developed practices of courting ecstasy with music and dance and the recitation of love poetry. Such sessions which put one in a state of ecstasy (wajd) were called samā‘ or ‘hearing.’ In these ecstatic states, it was said that the self (nafs) was annihilated (fanā) in the experience of union with God.

Among the most famous of the early ecstatic Sufi masters was Mansūr al-Hallāj (ca. 858-March 26th, 922), who is known for crying-out publically in a moment of ecstasy, An al-Haqq, “I am the Truth”[10] . . . and then being executed as a heretic for it.[11] Of course, to the literal-minded, he seemed to be saying that he was God, that his individual ego had subsumed God, when actually he was saying quite the opposite, that his individual ego had been obliterated by God!

Does his story sound familiar?

Clearly, al-Hallaj is the man from our story, the one visiting the land of sectarianism who laughs and cries out, “No, you idiots! You have to pour boiling water on it!”

Thus, the tea of the parable represents Sufism as a path emphasizing experience, specifically, the experience of ‘tasting God,’ or the sacred.

Image from the Peck Shahnamah. 16th century, Shiraz. Princeton University Library.

But the Parable of Tea is also a cautionary tale, describing a shift in the history of Sufism. Having seen what happened to al-Hallāj, and the general backlash against Sufism, many Sufis decided to go underground, practicing dhikr (‘remembrance’) or ‘drinking their tea’ in secret.[12] Thus, the admonition . . .

The one who tastes, knows; the one who tastes not, knows not. Stop talking about the ‘celestial drink,’ but serve it at your banquets. Those who like it will ask for more; those who do not are not fitted to be tea-drinkers. Close the shop of argument and open the tea-house of experience.

This reminds me of Murshid Samuel Lewis’ wonderful paraphrase of Muhammad Ghazzali’s (d.1111) suggestion . . .

“Sufism is a school of experience, not of dogmas.”[13]

Sufism is not interested in trying to convince others to believe through argument, and does not have a specific set of beliefs to prescribe. It has specific teachings, of course, and a definite perspective oriented to divine love, but no dogmas about what you must believe. The idea of Sufism is to seek experience, your own experience. Beliefs should not be merely ‘imported,’ but formed from personal experience. In Sufism, you discover your own God or “God-ideal,” as Hazrat Inayat Khan puts it.[14] The tradition is merely suggesting, ‘Take these things in and try them out for yourself; discover your own relationship to the sacred.’ The Sufi way is to share, not to impose, as the story illustrates . . .

Thus, this circle of secret tea-drinkers became the first merchants of tea. Being already merchants of fabrics and jewels, traveling tradesmen of all sorts, they took their tea with them wherever they traveled along the Silk Road. And wherever they might stop, they would take out a little tea and brew it, offering to share it with whoever might be near. This was the beginning of the chaikhanas, the tea-houses that then popped-up all over Central Asia, spreading the true use and reputation of tea far and wide.

The chaikhanas or tea-houses, of course, refer to the many Sufi turuq or ‘orders’ (and their khaneghas) that soon arose, including the four great orders, the Chishti, Naqshbandi, Suhrawardi, and Qadiri.

The Evolution of Universalist Sufism

The Chishti lineage, which originally formed in Central Asia, eventually made its way into India with the great Sufi master, Khwaja Mu‘in ad-Din Chishti (1141-1236), where it developed into a unique lineage incorporating Yogic practices and a specific musical lineage called, Qawwali.

In 1910, a master in this lineage, Hazrat Inayat Khan (1882-1927), a great classical Indian musician, in whom was also united the four great Sufi lineages, was charged by his master to bring Sufism into the West. In his master’s words . . .

Fare forth into the world, my child, and harmonize the East and the West with the harmony of your music. Spread the wisdom of Sufism abroad, for to this end art thou gifted by Allah, the most merciful and compassionate.[15]

Coming to the West, ostensibly as a musician, Inayat Khan gave concerts which were sometimes followed by lectures on Sufism. In San Francisco, in 1911, he met his first Western student, a Jewish woman named Ada Martin (1871-1947), who became the first American Sufi murid (‘seeker’), and also the first American murshida, or acknowledged spiritual teacher of Sufism.

But in taking a Western murid, it soon became clear to Inayat Khan that it was not necessarily his mission to spread Islam along with Sufism in the West. The people he was teaching were already Jews and Christians, whose religion was to be protected. Thus, he began to introduce them to Sufism without Islam, as an esoteric path and set of teachings that might catalyze or ‘turn on’ what was dormant in their existing religious practice. In other words, he would teach them to “pour boiling water on it,” to infuse it with Sufi spirituality.

Thus was born Universalist Sufism, and also the Inayati lineage (as a new emphasis in the lineage is often marked by the addition of a name to it, often the name of the innovator). And in time, Inayat Khan would propose yet another definition of Sufism, saying . . .

“If anybody asks you, ‘What is Sufism?’ . . . you may answer:

‘Sufism is the religion of the heart,

the religion in which the most important thing

is to seek God in the heart of humanity.’”[16]

Now, some have asked, ‘Is this still Sufism?’ To this, I believe we can answer a clear, ‘Yes.’ Inayati or Universalist Sufism maintains the traditional Sufi orientation to love and the heart, the commitment to personal spiritual experience through practice—through dhikr (remembrance) and muraqaba (meditation)—and continues the great, 1,400 year-old unbroken lineage, passed from Sufi master to Sufi master. Moreover, Inayati Sufism is still completely in-line with and following the almost 800 year-old mandate of Khwaja Mu‘in ad-Din Chishti to all Chishti Sufis . . .

Love all, and hate none.

Mere talk of peace will get you nothing.

Mere talk of God and religion will not take you far.

Bring out all of the latent powers of your being,

And reveal the full magnificence

Of your immortal self.[17]

Be charged with peace and joy,

And scatter them wherever you are,

And wherever you go.

Be a blazing fire of truth,

A beautiful blossom of love,

And a soothing balm of peace.

With your spiritual light,

Dispel the darkness of ignorance;

Dissolve the clouds of discord and war,

And spread goodwill, peace, and harmony among the people.

Never seek any help, charity, or favors

From anybody except God.

Never go to the courts of kings,

Nor refuse to bless and help the needy and the poor,

The widow or the orphan, if they come to your door.

This is your mission, to serve the people. . . .

Carry it out dutifully and courageously,

So that I, as your Pir-o-Murshid,

May not be ashamed of

Any shortcomings on your part

Before the Almighty God

And our holy predecessors

In the Sufi silsila

On the Day of Judgment.[18]

Notes

[1] An edited version of a talk originally given in Portland, Oregon on July 7th, 2016 at Lewis & Clark College for the Season of the Rose, the annual summer school of the Inayati Order.

[2] A parable attributed to Khwaja Yusuf Hamadani by Idries Shah. A less elaborate version of the story is given in Shah’s Tales of the Dervishes (London: Jonathan Cape, 1967: 88-90). After originally reading this story in Shah, I went on to tell it for many years, often as way of introducing Sufism. After some years, I needed to consult the original to confirm a detail, only to discover that I had greatly embroidered the story. However, I was pleased to note that I had preserved all of the essentials, as well as the most important details and phrases.

[3] A traditional Sufi saying.

[4] Muzaffer Ozak. Love is the Wine: Talks of a Sufi Master in America. Ed. Ragip Frager. Putney, VT: Threshold Books, 1987: 1.

[5] Abu’l-Hasan Bushanji, 8th/9th-century.

[6] Greek, Essaioi, a corruption of the Aramaic, Hasya, or Hebrew, Hasidim.

[7] Eventually, by the 9th-century, the name “Sufi” came to apply to all the nussāk. In Khurasan and Transoxania (Central Asia), they were also called hakim (pl. hukamā’) also ‘ārif (pl. ‘ārifūn), fakir, and darwiish.

[8] Al-Rudhabari, 9th-century.

[9] A traditional Sufi saying.

[10] Such ecstatic outbursts are called, shathiyat (sing. shath).

[11] This is the classic story of Mansūr al-Hallāj’s martyrdom. The historical truth is more complex. It seems that he inspired a movement of moral and political reform in Baghdad, which made him powerful enemies. He was then forced to flee Baghdad. He was later arrested and imprisoned for nine years and finally condemned as being part of an insurgent group who wished to destroy the Ka’ba. He had said, “Circle the ka’ba of the heart seven times,” and some also reported that he said cities should build local ka’bas for people to circumambulate. For these things, he was denounced. But as-Shafi’i, the greatest Muslim jurist of the time, refused to condemn him, saying that mystic inspiration was beyond his jurisdiction. Nevertheless, he was condemned by the government. The queen-mother interceded and the order was revoked, but the vizier continued conniving until al-Hallāj was finally condemned, tortured, hanged, decapitated in Baghdad. His last words were said to be, “The only thing that matters is to be absorbed in Unity.”

[12] This story or parable is attributed to the Khwajagan, who are said to have been critical of al-Hallāj, considering his public shath an example of spiritual imprudence. They were advocates of quiet work out of the public eye.

[13] Actually, this is my own paraphrase of Murshid Samuel Lewis’ paraphrase of al-Ghazzali, “Sufism consists of experiences not premises.” (Sufi Vision and Initiation, 19, from The Lotus and the Universe). It seems to be based on a whole passage in al-Munqidh min ad-Dalal of Muhammad al-Ghazzali. One sentence (in Watt's translation) reads: “It became clear to me, however, that what is most distinctive of mysticism is something which cannot be apprehended by study, but only by immediate experience (dhawq—literally, 'tasting'), by ecstasy and by a moral change." (The Faith and Practice of Al-Ghazali, 54-55).

[14] The Unity of Religious Ideals, Part II, “The God-Ideal.”

[15] The Sufi Message of Hazrat Inayat Khan: Volume 12: The Vision of God and Man. Geneva: International Headquarters of the Sufi Movement, 1982: 150.

[16] Religious Gathekas, #1.

[17] This reminds me of the Bektashi saying reported by Murat Yagan in I Come from Behind Calf Mountain (Putney, VT: Threshhold Books, 1984: 155): Sufism is the “process of awakening and developing latent human powers under Divine Grace and guidance.”

[18] Adapted from the version given in Hakim Moinuddin Chishti’s The Book of Sufi Healing. Rochester, VT: Inner Traditions, 1991: 9.

The Iron Rules

Netanel Miles-Yépez

Adab is etiquette on the path.

There are lots of things we do naturally to serve one another, to take care of one another’s needs that are an expression of elegance in a moment. Discovering the aesthetic of the moment and how to serve it, how to make it beautiful through a loving act—whether anyone else is present or not—is adab. But within the Inayati lineage of Sufism, there are also more formal rules of adab, guidelines for action in the world, through which we express our spiritual chivalry to one another, and to the earth.

We call these four sets of ten rules: the Iron Rules, the Copper Rules, the Silver Rules, and the Golden Rules. Proceeding from Iron to Gold, we pass through the most basic levels of adab up to more refined or subtle levels. Thus, the Iron Rules are considered foundational.

As Inayati Sufis, we recite the various rules and try to put them into action daily. That is to say, we put our thoughts, words, and deeds through the filter of the various rules. Not that we ever succeed in following them perfectly, but the more we engage with them, the more they influence our actions. With each rule, you can ask yourself—“What does that mean for me today, in this moment, in this situation?”

1. Make no false claims.

The list begins by addressing, “My conscientious self,” and then gives the first Iron rule: “Make no false claims.”

What does that mean to you?

ERICA: After the retreat last summer, I began the practice of the Rules, starting with the Iron Rules. I actually didn’t lie for forty days! But then I got stuck on the second rule and stopped. They’re really hard!

NETANEL: It’s not about perfection. If you get obsessed with perfection, you’re going to stop. Even forty days is an enormous accomplishment.

But notice that it doesn’t actually say, ‘Don’t lie.’

ERICA: What is a ‘false claim’ then?

NETANEL: My point is that the phrasing is more sophisticated. It’s not as blunt as, ‘Don’t lie.’ It says, “Make no false claims.” That’s a sharper tool. Do not claim as your own, or as true, something which is not your own, or not true.

Do you hear the difference?

If I were to say, ‘I’m Enlightened.’ Well, that would be a false claim, claiming ownership of something which I do not possess—‘Enlightenment.’ [Laughs.] In the case of statements like that, I don’t want to lead anybody into the impression that I’m some sort of spiritual luminary, or that I’m better than I actually am.

When we’re telling stories about things that happened to us, we tend to improve them. We all do it, but those little ‘improvements’ are also false claims. So this rule is a filter for that tendency, to help us refine our words and our actions.

Now, the reason it doesn’t say, ‘Don’t lie’—which you might expect to see in rules that are described as ‘iron’—is that there are times when we need to be, shall we say, ‘judicious with the truth’ or ‘facts’, times when we need to be selective about what we say, careful in how we say it, or careful with someone’s feelings.

Imagine someone is expecting feedback on a performance you witnessed, and maybe it was awful. Now, following the rule, “Make no false claims,” you obviously don’t want to lie, saying, ‘Oh, you were wonderful!’ But it may be possible to say, consulting your own conscience, ‘I really appreciated what you did tonight.’ And by that, you might be referring to the guts it took to get up there and perform in the first place. You have to decide what is going to be most helpful or constructive, balancing it with good consideration.

That’s being skillful with your words, even when the pull from within is to lie to spare their feelings. It’s remaining in the tension between truth and being considerate, or truth and being responsible. Sometimes we are confided in and made responsible for secrets, which are not ours to divulge, or given information that’s not wise to share. Then what do you do? It requires some skillfulness.

This is why I’m making this point about actually looking at the words that are used here—“Make no false claims.” You have to think about the context in which you are speaking. You have to ask yourself, ‘What does it mean to claim?’ You have to think about the nature of what is false. It’s a contemplation as much as anything.

2. Speak not against others in their absence.

Now this one is difficult: “Speak not against others in their absence.” I’m not surprised you didn’t get through forty days of it.

ERICA: I took it to mean, ‘Don’t even speak about someone when they’re not there.’

NETANEL: Well, it does use the word “against.” That’s the first qualifier.

We have to consider whether or not what we are saying is really “against” the person. How are we speaking? In an attacking manner or an informative manner? With certainty or humble unknowing? Is it against the individual or their actions? Are we distinguishing between the two things?

Supposing we have overcome the temptation to speak against the actual person, we may legitimately be able to speak against their actions, though it would still be preferable to do so in their presence. That is harder of course.

The second qualifier, “in their absence,” suggests—if we are to be very literal, staying close to the actual wording—that you can indeed speak “against” another person, but it must be in their presence, where at least they can defend themselves.

Often there really is something that needs to be talked about. We live in a world of responsibilities, at home and at work, and maybe there is a negative or inappropriate behavior that needs to be discussed in confidence prior to being addressed with the person. What are you going to do then? You can’t just keep quiet in such situations. And in some cases, it may even be premature, or God forbid, unsafe to discuss the situation with the person directly.

You can actually speak skillfully about your perceptions in regard to the actions of another person, and do so with an attitude of humble unknowing, without speaking “against” them. For instance, you might say: “I need to speak to you about so-and-so. I observed this thing, and maybe I don’t know what the circumstances are, but it looked like this to me (or I experienced it this way), and I’m concerned. Maybe they have reasons, but I feel like it needs to be addressed.”

You see, this is less against the person, and more about our perceptions of their actions. It’s not, “So-and-so is an awful person; you need to fire them!”

The Rules are really about refining how we do the things we need to do; it puts those things in a crucible of refinement. We’ve got opinions; we’ve got feelings about the people with whom we’re in contact; but we don’t want to make them ‘bad.’ Try not to identify them with their actions. We don’t want to be against the person. As a person, they deserve love and to be happy. Really, they deserve all that you would want for yourself. However, the action, or at least our perception of it, can be opposed.

We have to judge actions. We live by those judgments. We have to make decisions based on those judgments. And yet in doing so, we need not be, and ideally aren’t, “against others.”

As much as possible, speak to people directly; do them that courtesy. It’s much harder, but it’s also better and more mature in most cases.

As you look closely at these rules, and consider them in context, more and more you’ll see how they support and qualify one another in a helpful way.

3. Do not take advantage of a person’s ignorance.

This is a good one: “Do not take advantage of a person’s ignorance.” Consider how that applies to various situations in life, to business deals, etc.

ERICA: Or relationships.

NETANEL: Yes. Do not take advantage of somebody else, simply because they happen to be ignorant about something you know. This may imply some responsibility with regard to informing them in, or of, a situation, and giving them an opportunity to also take advantage of that knowledge to make an informed decision. But the basic thrust is clear—don’t use their ignorance for your own benefit.

4. Do not boast of your good deeds.

This is pretty simple. “Do not boast of your good deeds.” If they’re good, the reward is the effect. You’ve heard the saying, “Virtue is its own reward.” Leave it at that. No need to boast about it; you’ll only diminish the good of the deed.

JENNA: What about a resume? [Smiling.]

NETANEL: Boast of your good deeds! [Laughter.]

A resume is a means to an end, merely showing your qualifications to get a job; it’s not a celebration of one’s ego.

PHIL: It also seems like ‘boasting’ is about intention; not all sharing about good deeds with other people is boasting.

NETANEL: No.

PHIL: So recording achievements on a resume isn’t inherently boastful.

NETANEL: If it’s an actual accomplishment, it’s a fact. Unless there is an underlying intention to boast, it’s just a fact.

I was once listening to an interview with Noam Chomsky, the great linguistics theorist and political analyst, and he said something like—“I don’t believe in false modesty. I have some intellectual gifts. I have some gifts for analysis, and here are the results of that analysis.” I didn’t feel like he was boasting. Indeed, it would have been a “false claim” if one of the most intellectually gifted individuals in our society said that he didn’t have some intellectual gifts. I think we can tell the difference between boasting and not boasting; and not boasting doesn’t mean false humility.

Humility is the good sense to know your limitations and to be more aware of them than somebody else. My teacher, Reb Zalman, used to say, “Nobody knows better than you what kind of a faker you really are.” Nobody will ever know more than you about how much you lie, and what your real problems are. Even though some people appear oblivious, deep down they still know; they are just hiding it from themselves.

But the rule does not say anything about gifts or accomplishments; it says, “Do not boast of your good deeds.” Maimonides, the great Jewish philosopher, outlined various levels of charity. On the upper levels were such things as, not letting the recipient know your identity, not being aware that you are even giving, and making the recipient a giver. Not letting the recipient know that you are giving is yielding the credit for the good deed, and consequently not putting the recipient in the position of having to feel beholden to you. Not being aware that you are even giving is still better, as it says in the Book of Matthew, “Let not the right hand know what the left hand is doing.” Basically, it’s a level of consciousness where it is no longer obvious to the giver that they are doing anything special. Perhaps they are even grateful to be doing it. There is nothing to boast about, because they aren’t even aware of doing anything; it’s just a natural act that bypasses the ego.

5. Do not claim that which belongs to another.

The next rule is: “Do not claim that which belongs to another.” Don’t take credit when it belongs to someone else, and don’t claim the belongings of someone else, whether physical, emotional, or intellectual. You can’t claim another person’s body, and you can’t claim their rights. We make claims on one another in relationship; that’s reciprocity, but it’s not as if they belong to you. Even in love, the other has to have their freedom and autonomy.

Just as, “Make no false claims” is not quite the same as, “Don’t lie,” “Do not claim that which belongs to another” is not quite the same as saying, “Don’t steal.” The latter doesn’t have the same sophistication; there is more discernment here.

Think of the man in the Sufi initiation story who plucked the fruit that was just about to drop from the tree. He sees that it is ripe and heavy; it’s just about to drop from the branch hanging over the orchard fence; it’s certainly going to drop to the ground and rot. So he plucks it and takes it to his wife as a gift. And she asks him, “Did you buy that, or did somebody give that to you?”

“No, it was about to fall,” he says.

“But it hadn’t fallen,” she says, disappointed.

There’s a sense of higher responsibility among Sufis. Again, nobody’s going to be perfect, but the responsibility factor gets higher on the spiritual path.

DANIEL: Did Hazrat Inayat Khan compose these in English?

NETANEL: Yes, most of the works we have from him were composed in English, or produced by his students using talks he gave in English.

6. Do not reproach others, making them firm in their faults.

I like this one: “Do not reproach others, making them firm in their faults.” Many people get stuck on this rule, thinking that they can’t ever “reproach others.” But sometimes we need to do just that; we have to say something.

As we discussed earlier with, “Speak not against others in their absence,” if you do have to speak against someone, you should do it in their presence. There are times when it is necessary to confront others, or even to reproach them. Sometimes they are even our friends.

The critical feature of this rule is the comma. “Do not reproach others”—comma—“making them firm in their faults.” The rule is not, “Do not reproach others—period.” What follows the comma is the whole point of the rule; what we want to avoid is—“making them firm in their faults.”

If we were to put it another way, we might say, ‘Do not reproach others in a way that backs them into a corner, or makes them defend their ego even more.’ We see this all the time, even in ourselves: Someone starts to criticize you, or give you some feedback in a critical way, and you immediately retreat into a defensive position; you begin to defend yourself, even when it is about something you might not want to defend if you were calmer, or if it had been addressed in a different way.

There are also times when our friends need to reproach us, and they are the people who are most likely to follow the rule. They care about the friendship, and don’t want to lose it, and thus are more careful about how they confront you. That’s not always the case, but often it is. Some friends fight, and some never reproach you, even when they should. Many friends do a lot of ‘yea-saying’ to whatever you’re feeling, or whatever you’re griping about. They say, ‘Yeah, yeah, you’re right,’ whether you’re right or not. It’s not always so great for us.

The best friends support us when we’re down, but also take us to task when we’re off course. The bravest of them, and those who are capable of it, might say—‘Hey, that wasn’t so cool,’ or, ‘What’s goin’ on? It felt like you were a little rough on so-and-so. Are you okay?’ Can you see what a difference that might make? If the situation is addressed with genuine love and care, it is less likely to make someone “firm in their faults.”

Always be careful not to back someone into a corner. This is a rule that applies to most situations in life. Whenever you need to confront someone, be sure to give them an ‘out,’ a little escape route; even if it means you have to be a little less direct; the reaction is generally better. They may even take the ‘escape route,’ but it’s likely that some part of them heard you, which is often demonstrated by the very fact of them taking the out.

DANIEL: Earlier, you were talking about not conflating a person’s actions with the person. I feel like that applies here. You can tell somebody something bothered you, or candidly say, ‘I think this is wrong,’ or ‘This is a mistake,’ without saying, ‘You’re a mistaken person,’ or ‘You’re a wrong person.’ It’s about how we hold people, not holding them in their distorted forms.

NETANEL: Yes, we address the distortion as an action.

DANIEL: It is holding people in their more essential self, not merely in their mistakenness. That’s just one layer, and not necessarily who they really are. We all make mistakes.

NETANEL: As Gandhi would say, “We shouldn’t kill them for flaws we all share.”

All of this is about skillfulness. Reproach the action, not the person. When you reproach the person, you begin to make them firm in that fault; you’re identifying them with the faulty action.

DANIEL: There is also “Making them firm in their faults” in our own minds by holding them in a rigidified image.

NETANEL: Yes, we make people firm in their faults in our minds too. We identify them with their actions, and it’s just as big a crime. It doesn’t allow them to grow inside of us. We begin to address them as if they’re not actual living and changing beings.

How often do we address someone inside ourselves, or even to their face, based on who they were, or what they did ten years ago? It’s not likely that they’re that person anymore. Maybe they’re worse; maybe they’re better; or maybe that action we’ve locked in memory was an aberration; or maybe it didn’t even happen; maybe I perceived it wrong.

Leave some room in there. Reserve a measure of judgment, because we have faulty perceptions. We don’t know the Truth—capital T. We know our truth, and not even that, perfectly. Sometimes we have a sense of the facts, but we don’t know the Truth; and the more we know we don’t know the Truth, the more accurately we’ll deal with life.

PHIL: I’d like to build on this. I agree with Daniel’s perspective on not conflating the person with their actions. In a friendship relationship, it’s one thing; but to me, this is very applicable to relationships between a manager and an employee, or a parent and a child, where part of the role is to provide kindness and direction.

How do you do that when there is something negative to address?

When my older son was an infant, I read a book with a metaphor that has stayed with me ever since: an orchestra conductor looks as if they are telling the musicians what to do, but they are actually enabling the musicians to hear the music so that they can play it themselves.

For me, that comes up in relationship to this rule. I find that that perspective is super helpful as a manager and as a parent, for example, because it relates to not identifying the other person with their actions, but instead working with the other person to discern the truth together; and out of that discernment, comes the person’s own reflection around what they did or didn’t do.

NETANEL: Yes, and the metaphor also suggests not identifying yourself as the one who knows. You’re participating in learning the truth, and so this goes along with saying—’It seems to me, this could be happening. I don’t know, but it appears that way.’ It’s humble in its unknowing. Then you learn from them what may actually be happening, or at least, their contribution to the truth. You both make contributions to the truth; so I think that’s a great metaphor.

7. Do not spare yourself in the work which you must accomplish.

“Do not spare yourself in the work which you must accomplish.”

The word “must” is used. These are things that are clearly yours to do. It is there in the moment to be done, and nobody else is gonna’ do it. It’s there for you. In those cases, don’t “spare yourself,” don’t back off. Step forward and do it.

There are things to be done all the time, and often we put them off. This has a lot to do with identifying what you’re work is . Once you know what it is in a given moment, go right into it. Don’t put it off.

I always try to do the hardest work first. Likewise, I often eat the thing I like least on my plate first. [Laughter.] You’ll often see, if you’re watching my plate, that what’s left at the end, is probably the thing that I want most. I try to take this same attitude to work—do the hard thing first; go right at it; start chipping away at it. The rule is not really saying, ‘Do the hardest thing first,’ but that philosophy has helped me in my approach to this rule.

DANIEL: It’s also not ‘half-assing,’ not doing things half-way. Because you can do the work, and you can still cut corners while doing it. Maybe those fine, detail-oriented things that take forever are super tedious, but it’s gonna’ make things a little bit better. You know you should do them, but it’s just so easy to say, “Oh, it’s good enough.” So it’s also not sparing yourself in the hardest part of hard work.

NETANEL: When I was a kid, I used to get called out for ‘half-assing’ things all the time, just doing things half-way. [Laughter.] I’d be so lazy about the way I did the dishes. They were never quite finished. The process just went on and on, and my mother or my older brother would talk about how I did a ‘half-ass job of it.’ It really bugged me, but it was true, and the reflection had an impact. Later on, I became an exceptionally hard worker. Whether it was as a groundskeeper, or as an editor, or even as a painter, I became known for how hard I worked.

The painting is an interesting case. I had a lot of natural gifts as an artist, but being naturally gifted does not make you a great painter; it doesn’t even come close. Artistic ability in the graphic arts is a very common gift. Tons of people have some measure of graphic artistic ability, and even being remarkably gifted doesn’t make you great. Great painters are great because they work hard. Great composers work hard. They work hard on top of the gift.

For years, I did a lot of poor paintings because I was lazy, just resting on my natural abilities. They just weren’t good. And there came a point where I gave up painting for a while. The paintings were getting worse and worse for a number of reasons. One was that I had built my whole ego identity on my abilities as an artist. From childhood on, people had been congratulating me on it, and I’d built a fragile ego on that one fact. But the truth was, I had terrible self-esteem, and as I got older, the more I leaned into my identity as an artist, the worse the art became, until finally, I just gave it up; for several years, I didn’t paint.

Then an image began to form in my mind that I knew I had to paint. It was demanding to be painted. I could see it in my mind, and I knew it would take all the latent abilities in me to bring it forward. I had never done such a painting. It was a large Shiva Nataraja, and the face turned out to be the hardest part. The painting was largely complete and looked fantastic, but I wasn’t quite happy with the face. It was merely good. People loved it; they loved the painting that was there, but I looked at it, and I just knew it wasn’t great. So I took a cloth and I wiped the face right off!

That’s a terrible moment, because now the painting is ruined, and you may never even get it back to ‘good.’ But I stuck with it, working the problem over and over, until it was what I wanted. After that, and a few other tough lessons, I ceased to be lazy with painting. Either it is what I want it to be, more or less, or it’s getting thrown away or put aside until I can get it there. That became a fierce quality in me. It takes courage to not spare yourself in that way.

8. Render your services faithfully to all who require them.

“Render your services faithfully”—with fidelity—“to all who require them.” It doesn’t say, ‘just anybody that asks you anything.’ In the moment you are asked, it is likely you will know whether the person is depending on you or not; and if you know that, they may have a claim on you; it may be required. If you can help, and it seems necessary in the moment, then as it says in the previous rule, “Do not spare yourself in the work which you must accomplish,”

On the other hand, this rule is not asking you to become involved in what is sometimes called, ‘idiot compassion.’ You have finite time, finite resources, and you have to make smart decisions for yourself. This rule is talking about when you know what you should do, and you’re not inclined to do it. It’s asking the hard thing in a critical moment of responsibility to another.

9. Do not seek profit by putting someone else in straits.

This one is similar to “Do not take advantage of a person’s ignorance.” It is “Do not seek profit by putting someone else in straits.” Do not take advantage of someone, or profit by putting them in a bad position, “in straits,” in a tight place. Try not to put somebody in a tight position; it’s just not a good way to profit.

Behind this rule is knowing that when you succeed in life, there’s a little less resource for somebody else. Think about giving back. If I have worldly success, it is then incumbent upon me to give back from my full cup. You’ve heard me talk about this as noblesse oblige, the ‘obligation of the noble.’ If you ‘have,’ you have it to give. Your position exists in order to help somebody else, so you should certainly not seek to profit or seek to gain that position by putting someone else in straits.

In this case, the rule is suggesting that one give up the opportunity if it means hurting someone else. It doesn’t mean look for every tiny way in which you might be hurting someone somewhere somehow, and thus never seek profit. It doesn’t mean, ‘Don’t try to get the job’ because someone else won’t get it. Get the job, but then remember that it does mean that someone else didn’t get that job. We have obligations in the world to those people. But this rule is really saying, ‘just don’t put people in a bad position so that you can profit; it’s better to just give up the opportunity.

10. Harm no one for your own benefit.

And finally: “Harm no one for your own benefit,” which is in many ways, the same as the previous rule, but now the consequences are more severe; here it’s harm. “Harm no one for your own benefit.” You have to think about the nature of harm. How is it harming them?

The difference between “Do not seek profit by putting someone else in straits” and “Harm no one for your own benefit” may also be specific. The sense of “profit” may not be general. It may actually be talking about how we make money, or how we earn a living. Then, moving from the specific rule to the more general rule, we don’t want to “benefit” in any way from harming someone, and certainly not by intentionally harming, as the rule suggests.

So these are the Iron Rules, the firm rules, and they get more and more refined as we move to the Copper, Silver, and Golden rules. In fact, many of the rules in the other lists are just more refined versions of the same things; as they progress, the rules call for evermore subtlety and responsibility in terms of your intentions and motivations.

Comments and Questions

DANIEL: I know this is one of your favorites, and it’s the only one I know by heart— “Meet your shortcomings with a sword of self-respect.”

NETANEL: Yes, from the Silver Rules. It owns that we have shortcomings, but it’s noting we don’t have to be indulgent about them. If you have self-respect, and you’re aware of your shortcomings, then try to head them off with that self-respect. Out of respect for yourself, just ‘don’t go there.’

YASHA: What’s the last rule, the ‘most golden’ of the Golden Rules?

NETANEL: I don’t know if it’s the ‘most golden’ [smiles], but it is, “Do not neglect those who depend on you.”

ERICA: I love it.

DANIEL: I’m curious if the different Rules [Iron, Copper, Silver, Gold] parallel one another; if they were actually conceived so that the first Iron rule is connected intimately with the first Copper rule, and so on.

NETANEL: There are certainly rules that are connected and refined from Iron to Gold, but not in any clearly structured way that I know of.

An edited transcript of an Inayati-Maimuni sohbet in Boulder, Colorado, February 1st, 2018. Edited by Netanel Miles-Yépez and Daniel Battigalli-Ansell. Transcribed by Erica Shamah Leitz.

The Merging of Two Oceans

The Making of a Sufi-Hasidic Lineage and a Universal Priesthood

Netanel Miles-Yépez

Swami Satchidananda, Khenpo Karthar Rinpoche, Rabbi Zalman Schachter-Shalomi, Brother David Steindl-Rast, and Pir Vilayat Inayat Khan in dialogue, ca. 1981. From the "Zalman Schachter-Shalomi Collection" of the University of Colorado Archives.

Toward the One

The Perfection of Love, Harmony, and Beauty

The Only Being

United with all the Illuminated Souls

Who form the Embodiment of the Master

The Spirit of Guidance

Likhrat ha-ehad

Ha-yahid ha-ehad v’ha-m’yuhad

Shleimut ha-ahavah, ha-tzedek v’ha-tif’eret

Ha-nimtza ha-yahid

Ha-kolel kol ha-n’shamot ha-ne’orot

Yotzrei hag’shammat ha-rabbi

Ha-ruah ha-kodesh

Sometime in the mid-to-late 70s, my teacher, Rabbi Zalman Schachter-Shalomi—better known as ‘Reb Zalman’—took it upon himself to translate the universalist Sufi prayer “Toward the One” into the traditional Hebrew of Hasidic Jews in Eastern Europe. The prayer itself was composed in English by the first Sufi master to bring Sufism to the West, Hazrat Inayat Khan, and is arguably one of the most popular non-sectarian prayers in the world today.[1]

Many years after he first encountered it, Reb Zalman wrote that he initially had trouble getting through a single recitation of the prayer . . .

For even as I was speaking, I would be lifted “Toward the One” to regions of “Love, Harmony, and Beauty” where my feet no longer touched the ground of materiality, but instead were grounded in “The Only Being.” I was overwhelmed by the energetic qurb—‘proximity’ to the One—in the words themselves. There was such holy precision in them and manifest spiritual energy that my heart could not fail to respond to them. And, as with other things that touched me powerfully from outside of the Jewish tradition, I immediately wanted to translate it into Hebrew, the language of my spiritual upbringing.[2]

As many people have often asked me how such an important Hasidic rabbi, trained in the traditional world of Judaism, could become a Sufi—indeed, a Sufi sheikh interested in translating the “Toward the One” into Hebrew—I want to tell the story of how this happened, and indeed, of how this same Hasidic rabbi also contributed significantly to universalist Sufism through his relationship with Sufi master, Pir Vilayat Inayat Khan.[3]

From Hasidism to Universalist Sufism

Meshullam Zalman Schachter was born in Zholkiew, Poland, in 1924, and raised in Vienna, Austria, where his parents ran a small store selling textiles. In 1938, after the Nazi annexation of Austria, the family fled with their teenage son to Belgium where, in Antwerp, he first encountered Hasidim of the famous Habad lineage of Hasidism.

Hasidism is the name given to a series of communal mystical movements in Judaism, the latest initiated by Yisra’el ben Eliezer (1698-1760), called the Ba’al Shem Tov, from whom all latter-day Hasidic lineages stem. The Ba’al Shem Tov taught that God could be served joyfully through the body in ecstatic prayer, song and dance, instead of the harsh ascetic disciplines commonly practiced among mystics of the time. He taught that “worlds, souls, and divinity” were all overlapping, interpenetrating realities, ultimately reducible to one divine reality, as it says in Isaiah 6:3, “the whole earth is filled with God’s glory.” Thus, the step between us and divinity is only a matter of perspective, overcome through a powerful intentionality (kavvanah) and cleaving to the Divine (devekut).

Among the Hasidic lineages that sprang from the inspiration of the Ba’al Shem Tov was the Habad lineage, founded by Shneur Zalman of Liadi (1745-1812), a genius known for the tremendous sophistication of his mystical thought and his emphasis on deep contemplative practice.

In Antwerp, although from a family of Belzer Hasidim himself, the 14-year old Zalman joined a radical group of young Habad Hasidism with whom he began to experiment in authentic spiritual living. But when Antwerp was bombed by the Nazis a few months later, he and his family were quickly forced to flee in a coal train heading into France. After a period of internment in a refugee camp, the family made their way to Marseille, where Zalman met the son-in-law and future rebbe (master) of the Habad-Lubavitch lineage, Menachem Mendel Schneerson (1902-1994), who provided him with an introduction to Yosef Yitzhak Schneersohn (1880-1950), the sixth Lubavitcher Rebbe, to whom he attached himself shortly after his arrival in the United States in 1941.[4]

The sixth Lubavitcher Rebbe, himself a refugee from the Holocaust, had recently established his headquarters at 770 Eastern Parkway in Crown Heights, Brooklyn, where young Zalman entered his yeshiva (seminary), training to become a Hasidic rabbi. In 1947, he was ordained and soon sent out by his rebbe to college campuses to bring Jews back to the traditional fold. A naturally talented and charismatic teacher with broad interests, he studied pastoral psychology at Boston University, and eventually (after a short period as a pulpit rabbi) became a college professor at the University of Manitoba in Winnipeg, Canada, teaching psychology of religion and Jewish mysticism.

By the late 50s and early 60s, Reb Zalman had noticed a generational shift among his Jewish students. Passionate in his desire to serve them, he sought to understand where they were coming from, exploring their questions as his own. It was clear that there was a deep spiritual impulse in them that was not being fed in the synagogues of the time. Though thoroughly grounded in the mystically-oriented tradition of Hasidism, he could see how the Jewish tradition in general was failing to meet Jewish needs in the wake of the Holocaust. Judaism in North America was a wasteland. Thus, many young Jews were finding their paths outside of Judaism in so-called ‘Eastern religions.’

Already curious about other religious traditions, in the mid 1950s—in a move that separated him from other traditional Hasidim—he had begun to read deeply in mystical traditions at Boston University under the famous African-American Christian mystic, Rev. Dr. Howard Thurman (1899- 1981), and soon began to seek out encounters with their practitioners. Before long, his knowledge of other traditions was considerable and an integral part of the courses he taught in the psychology of religion.[5]

By the late 1960s, Reb Zalman was familiar with traditional Sufism through the writings of Idries Shah and had also read the universalist Sufi writings of Hazrat Inayat Khan. But it was not until the early 1970s that he made his first real connections with Sufis.[6] These were the disciples of Murshid Samuel or S.A.M. (Sufi Ahmed Murad) Lewis (1896-1971), a direct disciple of Hazrat Inayat Khan, who had become the leader of a new generation of universalist or Inayati Sufis, mostly “flower children” who had found their way to San Francisco. Contrary to common belief, Reb Zalman never met Murshid S.A.M., but first became acquainted with his successor, Pir Moineddin Jablonski (1942-2002), after being invited to teach in the Bay Area and connecting with the Sufi Choir. Remembering those first encounters, Reb Zalman told me: “I just fell in love with Moineddin, the kind of human being he was, and […] still to this day, I thrill to the music of that Sufi Choir.”[7]

As most of Murshid S.A.M.’s students were still in their twenties when he passed, they naturally looked to Reb Zalman, then approaching fifty, as an elder mentor. Many also wanted “a Jewish connection” through him and reciprocated by introducing the Hasidic master to Murshid S.A.M.’s Sufi dances and walking practices, as well as the waza’if practices using the ninety-nine ‘beautiful names’ of Allah. Thus, Reb Zalman began to study Inayati Sufism and practice zikr (the mantric repetition of the divine names) on his own. “I liked doing zikr,” he said. “My sense in zikr was that it doesn’t quite ‘take’ until you’re passed boredom […] you really needed to do it for a while.”[8]

During one visit to the Bay Area, Reb Zalman was invited to a “holy man jam” (as these early interfaith gatherings were sometimes called) organized by Pir Vilayat Inayat Khan in Santa Rosa, and at which the Sufi Choir would be performing. This was his first meeting with the charismatic son and successor of Hazrat Inayat Khan. The two men hugged, then Pir Vilayat looked Reb Zalman in the eyes and exclaimed, “Majdhub!”—‘drunk’—recognizing Reb Zalman’s God-intoxicated state. It was a Sufi compliment, and Reb Zalman said that he felt a clear heart attraction to Pir Vilayat at that time.[9]

Rabbi Zalman Schachter-Shalomi in celebration. From the "Zalman Schachter-Shalomi Collection" of the University of Colorado Archives.

In 1975, Reb Zalman was invited to teach for a semester at the University of California at Santa Cruz, allowing him to deepen his connections to the Bay Area Sufis. By now, he loved the teachings of Hazrat Inayat Khan and the practices of the Sufis. Of all the traditions to which he was exposed through the years, he said, “I was most at home among Sufis.”[10] Thus, he decided to take initiation in the Inayati lineage of Sufism. As the lineage was universalist (and not confessionally bound to Islam), he felt this was not in conflict with his own commitments as a Jew and a rabbi. So he approached Pir Moineddin and asked him for initiation. Perhaps not surprisingly, Pir Moineddin demurred, feeling it was not his place to initiate an older and more accomplished master from another tradition. Instead, he suggested that Reb Zalman take initiation with Pir Vilayat.[11] Reb Zalman agreed to the suggestion, but only if Pir Moineddin would confirm the initiation afterward.

As it turned out, Pir Vilayat and Reb Zalman were both to participate in another ‘holy man jam’ soon after, and thus the initiation was arranged to take place during the break. In preparation, Reb Zalman wished to go to a mikveh in order to do a ritual immersion. But, unable to find a kosher mikveh anywhere nearby, he immersed in a local pool. He then dressed to honor the occasion in a black silk caftan, a black silk belt, and a large fur hat, the traditional clothing of a Hasid. He would go to his Sufi initiation as a Jew. It was a statement.

After the first half of the program led by Pir Vilayat was finished, and a beautiful performance by Pandit Pran Nath, the Sufi pir and Hasidic rebbe, dressed in the robes of their respective traditions, went aside to do a thing rarely seen in the history of religions, to unite two esoteric traditions born from different religions.

Pir Vilayat closed his eyes for a long time, and then proceeded with the initiation. When it came to the moment of “taking hand”—initiation is often referred to as ‘taking hand’ in Sufism, as one takes the right hand of the master—at the moment when one would expect to be called a murid or disciple, Pir Vilayat called Reb Zalman “a sheikh,” a master.

Afterward, surprised by the turn the initiation had taken, Reb Zalman asked Pir Vilayat why he had called him a sheikh and not a murid.

Pir Vilayat answered, “As I was attuning to your presence, I found that I could not utter the word, ‘murid’ . . . You are already a master.”

Of course, it is well known that one of the great gifts of Pir Vilayat was his ability to attune and respond to the consciousness of the person before him. Thus, it seems that, somehow sensing Reb Zalman’s ‘state and station’ within his own tradition—being already a Hasidic rebbe—he found that he could only acknowledge him as a sheikh in the Sufi tradition.

Reb Zalman asked, “What are my duties then?”

Pir Vilayat responded, “Treat it as a degree honoris causa until you know.”[12]

And this is just what he did for many years. Though he remained close to the Sufi communities of both Murshid S.A.M. and Pir Vilayat, often teaching in them and offering guidance to many of their senior disciples, he always claimed, “In Sufism, I’m ‘uncle’ and not a ‘papa,’” explaining that an uncle can give you advice, but doesn’t have the responsibilities of a parent. As the spiritual leader of a burgeoning movement within Judaism at the time (later known as “Jewish Renewal”), it might be supposed that he did not want to take on the added responsibilities of being a Sufi sheikh to another community of disciples. And yet, this is not the end of the story; for the friendship between Reb Zalman and Pir Vilayat had only just begun and would continue to unfold in unexpected ways.

Universalist Sufism and the Priesthood of Melchizedek

The eldest son of Hazrat Inayat Khan, Vilayat Inayat Khan was born in 1916 in London, England, and grew up in the suburbs of Paris. When he was just ten years old, in an act of great foresight, his father publically declared him his successor before departing on a trip to India, during which he died after a short illness in 1927.

When Vilayat was 18, reminded of his father’s desire that he succeed him, he began to study philosophy, psychology and Sufism (with academic scholar, Louis Massignon), commuting between Paris and Oxford. Four years later, with all of Europe threatened by the Nazis, Vilayat returned to England, the country of his birth, and joined the Royal Air Force, and later the Royal Navy. As a mine sweeping officer, Vilayat (then going by the name, Victor) served on a flotilla of motor launches that swept the channels for mines. Often under heavy fire, his boat was once capsized and he only narrowly escaped with his life.[13]

After the war, he worked for a time at the India High Commissioner’s office in London, and at the Pakistani Embassy, where he served for a time as Private Secretary to Ghulam Mohammed, the Finance Minister of Pakistan, and finally as a reporter for the Karachi-based newspaper Dawn, exposing atrocities by the French colonial regime in Algeria. But by then, having reached his early thirties, Vilayat felt that the time had come at last to dedicate himself entirely to Sufism.

The mystical movement of Sufism had first arisen in the early centuries of Islam, its principle teaching and practice being zikr-ullah, continual ‘remembrance of God.’ Although beginning as a highly ascetic tradition, it soon evolved into a tradition of divine love (utilizing the transformative power of love to yield the self for the sake of the divine Beloved) under the influence of a former slave, Rabi’a al-Adawiyya (ca. 717-801). In time, Sufism developed sacralized approaches to music, dance and the recitation of love poetry, cultivating a state of ecstasy (wajd) in which the self is annihilated in the experience of union with God.

In search of his own Sufi roots, Vilayat sought out the masters of his father’s Chishti lineage in India and Pakistan; for, in the 13th-century, the great Sufi master, Khwaja Mu‘in ad-Din Chishti (1141-1236), carried the originally Central Asian lineage of Chishti Sufism into India, where it gave birth to a unique fusion of Indian and Middle Eastern spirituality, as well as new Sufi musical traditions (qawwali) and new breath practices influenced by the Yoga tradition.

In Hyderabad, Sayyid Fakhruddin Jili-Kalimi guided Vilayat in a traditional forty-day retreat, teaching him the methods of the Chishti-Nizami-Kalimi lineage, and ordaining him a Sufi pir or master upon its completion. But, on returning to Europe, he found that the organizational body of the Sufi Movement founded by his father had gone in its own direction. Thus, he founded a new organization to spread the teachings of universalist Sufism.

Universalist Sufism can be traced back to 1910, when Pir Vilayat’s father, Hazrat Inayat Khan (1880-1927)—then a brilliant young practitioner of Indian Classical music and a Chishti Sufi master—was charged by his own master, Abu Hashim Madani with bringing Sufism into the West:  “Fare forth into the world, my child, and harmonize the East and the West with the harmony of your music. Spread the wisdom of Sufism abroad, for to this end art thou gifted by Allah, the most merciful and compassionate.”[14] Coming to America, ostensibly as a musician, he gave concerts, after which, he would lecture on Sufism. In San Francisco in 1911, he met his first Western student, a Jewish woman named Ada (Rabia) Martin (1871-1947), who became the first American Sufi murid, and also the first American murshida, or acknowledged spiritual teacher of Sufism.[15]

But in taking a Western murid, it soon became clear to Inayat Khan that it was not necessary, nor his mission, to spread Islamic Sufism in the West. The people he was teaching were already Jews and Christians, and there seemed no reason to interfere with their religion. Thus, he introduced them to Sufism without Islam, as an esoteric path and set of teachings that would catalyze or ‘turn on’ what was dormant in their existing religious practice. Later, he would say, “If anybody asks you, ‘What is Sufism?’ […] you may answer: ‘Sufism is the religion of the heart, the religion in which the most important thing is to seek God in the heart of humanity.’”[16] Thus, universalist Sufism was born, and at the same time, the Inayati lineage.[17]

One aspect of Inayati Sufism’s universalism was expressed in Hazrat Inayat Khan’s teachings on “Universal Worship,” a service honoring the major religious traditions, with its own prayers, rituals, and in some sense, a universal priesthood ordained to carry out the service and these rites.[18] Thus, Pir Vilayat began to deepen in his studies of all the major religions and their mystical traditions, learning their teachings and practices.

In 1969, he met Murshid Samuel Lewis, who introduced him to the Bay Area Sufi community, and for a time, the students of both teachers were closely affiliated, as we have seen. In 1975, Pir Vilayat’s organization purchased a set of buildings (built in the eighteenth century by the Shakers) in New Lebanon, New York, which they now called the Abode of the Message. Pir Vilayat then took up part-time residence there, along with some seventy-five students and their children.[19] At about the same time, Reb Zalman accepted a permanent position as professor of Jewish Mysticism and Psychology of Religion at Temple University in Philadelphia. From that time on, the two were more closely associated, and Reb Zalman was a frequent visitor at the Abode, as well as at Sufi circles in Philadelphia and Boston.

Pir Vilayat Inayat Khan in the late 1970s. From the "Zalman Schachter-Shalomi Collection" of the University of Colorado Archives.

Thus, it was in this period that another important and possibly unprecedented initiation took place. Pir Vilayat now sought initiation from his friend Reb Zalman into nothing less than the Priesthood of Melchizedek. To understand the context of this request, we need to make a little excursus . . .

In the Book of Genesis, chapter 14:1-12, we find that Chedorlaomer, the king of Elam, has held numerous other kingdoms under his control for over a decade. When these kingdoms eventually rebel, he and his allies go out to defeat the rebel armies, taking still more lands and kingdoms. The kings of Sodom and Gomorrah then go out to face Chedorlaomer in battle, but are quickly scattered, leaving him to plunder those cities, taking their stores and treasures as spoils of war and their people as slaves. Among the captives is Lot, the nephew of the biblical patriarch, Abraham (then called, Abram).

Now Abraham was not a king of a land or a city, but something like a great tribal chieftain, leading a caravan of people and livestock, a traveling nation for whom he was profit and provider. Thus, when he received the news about Lot’s captivity, Abraham gathered over three hundred of his strongest young men to get him back. They pursued Chedorlaomer and his armies as far as Dan and attacked them at night, putting them to flight and taking back all the treasures and captives of Sodom and Gomorrah. With just three hundred men, Abraham defeated and scattered Chedorlaomer’s four armies in a single raid![20] (13-16)

Returning from his victory, he was soon met by two kings—the king of Sodom, and the king of Salem. (17) The king of Sodom, whose army had just been defeated, and whose lands were sacked by Chedorlaomer, was grateful and  astounded by Abraham’s victory over the mighty king. Thus, he offered Abraham a reward, saying, “Return my people to me; the property you may keep.” But Abraham refused the gift and returned all. He was not going to have people saying that the king of Sodom made him rich. He was rich enough—God provides. (21-24) But when the king of Salem approached Abraham, he received quite a different response. Genesis 14:19-20 says:

Now Melchizedek, the king of Salem, brought out bread and wine, for he was a priest of God, Most High, and he blessed him, saying, “Blessed is Abram by God, Most High, Creator of Heaven and Earth.”

Abraham then gave him a tenth of the spoils and poof!—Melchizedek disappears, never to be seen or heard from again. But both his identity and the meaning of this episode are biblical mysteries about which many have wondered and speculated through the centuries.

Nevertheless, there is much that can be understood from the Hebrew and the cultural context.

The first clues are given in his name and titles. Melchizedek in Hebrew is malkhi-tzedek, ‘king of righteousness.’ The Bible often names qualities rather than persons; thus, Adam is ‘earthling’ and Eve is ‘life-giver.’ Likewise, in the Jewish mystical tradition, we are taught that when Adam named all the creatures of the earth, he named them according to their essence. So the Bible is telling us that Melchizedek was indeed a ‘king of righteousness,’ or a ‘righteous king.’

Then we are given his titles. We are told that he is the king of Salem, or shalem in Hebrew. This is generally understood to be a reference to Jerusalem—Yeru-shalayim—the ‘city of peace.’ But in this form, king of Salem, or shalem, can mean that he was king of ‘wholeness,’ ‘completion’ or ‘peace.’ This is supported by the fact that he is also “a priest of God, Most High”—kohen l’El Elyon—‘God, above all.’

But what does this mean that he was a “priest of God, Most High”? Aren’t we usually told that Abraham is the ‘father of monotheism.’ Here it sounds like there’s someone else before him holding the monotheistic mantle, a priest of an unknown religion, bringing forth bread and wine in ritual and blessing Abraham from his place as the priest-king of Salem.

As we have already seen, there is an interesting dichotomy in the two kings that come out to meet Abraham. The king of Sodom is treated as a profane king (the later reputation of “Sodom and Gomorrah” perhaps indicating a culture of depravity already present and represented in him) who comes to Abraham offering money. The king of Salem, on the other hand, is righteous and comes offering bread and wine, offerings of peace and friendship. The first offer Abraham rejects, saying, ‘I don’t need your money,’ indicating that he is sovereign or whole-in-himself; he is not indebted to anyone else for his power and position. He is essentially a king. Thus, the offer of the bread and wine from the king of Salem is accepted, as it is an offering between equals to establish friendship, and the tenth of the spoils is not a return gift from Abraham, but a tithe of ten percent to a priest of God, Most High.

In the ancient world, there are three primary archetypes of leadership—an ideal triad of powers that keep each other in check—the king, prophet, and priest. Abraham, of course, was a prophet from the time that he was called by God. Lekh lekha—“Go out from the land of your people […] and be a blessing.” (Gen. 12:1-2) Thus, he goes out into the world, a desert traveler with an open connection to God. In time though, he becomes the wealthy chieftain we have met, capable of defeating an army, and who, when offered money from the king of Sodom, refuses the reward and proves that he is sovereign, a king. And now, the priest-king, Melchizedek, seems to be initiating him into the priesthood of God, Most High, making him at once, king, prophet, and priest, the ideal leader of the ancient world.

Spiritually speaking, the prophet is perhaps most important, having an open connection to God. Being ‘tuned to the right frequency,’ the sacred message comes through the prophet. But the prophet is rarely ‘tame’ in the Bible, and is frequently—if not by definition—at odds with conventional society. Thus, it is the priest who translates what comes through the prophetic connection to the people in a language that they can easily understand and assimilate, like bread and wine. So while it is the function of the prophet to channel the divine message, and the responsibility of the king to take care of the people’s material needs, it is the priest that sees to their basic emotional and spiritual needs.

Now the priestly ritual is one that, even to this day in the Jewish and Christian traditions, is performed with bread and wine, the symbols of sustenance and the joy of life. In the ancient world, there was an idea that bread and wine were divine gifts. They were not natural products—not grain from the earth or fruit from the trees—but substances transformed through an almost magical process (fermentation) into something else, bread and wine. Unlike today, the bread of that time was remarkably nutritious, a staple of the ancient diet, and wine a substance which, when taken moderately, was positively associated with pleasure and could be drunk safely when water was suspect. Thus, both were highly regarded, and the secret of their making was believed to be a gift bestowed by God (whether by an act of revelation, or by granting us the insight and intelligence to see beyond the obvious). Thus, the unusual Hebrew blessing, Barukh attah Yah, Elohenu melekh ha-olam, ha-motzi lehem min ha-aretz, “Blessed are You, Yah or God, who brings forth bread from the earth.”

What is interesting is that both the grain and the grapes, in a sense, have to ‘spoil’ before they are transformed into something else. The priest, whose primary ritual is one with bread and wine, is the person who knows how to work with what seems spoiled, as if patiently observing the fermentation process, waiting for the transformation to happen to the wine, or for the moment to bring the risen dough to the heat. In the same way, the priest, as the guide of souls, is able to say to the broken and contrite hearts (Ps. 51:17) who come for guidance—‘I know you think you’ve messed up, that you’ve sinned, that you’ve gotten off track and your life is in ruin. But I’m here to tell you, this ruin can be salvaged, it can be transformed, it can become the catalyst for a new and different life!’ This is the priestly function, to show us that out of destruction, out of something apparently spoiled, something wonderful and holy is possible, and thus the symbolic presence of the bread and the wine in the priestly ritual.

Having offered Abraham the bread and wine, and having blessed him as a “priest of God, Most High,” Melchizedek promptly disappears. He is mentioned again in Psalm 110:4, where King David (also a prophet), speaks of a victorious ruler who is “a priest forever, after the order of Melchizedek.” Then in the New Testament, Paul echoes this Psalm in the book of Hebrews 5:6, saying that Christ is “a priest forever, after the order of Melchizedek.” This, according to Paul, is a priestly line which stands outside of the inherited priestly line of the Levites (the descendants of Aaron, the brother of Moses). Thus, today, all Episcopal and Catholic Christian priests are ordained “after the order of Melchizedek.”

Now why would Pir Vilayat ask this initiation of Reb Zalman? About this we can only speculate. According to Reb Zalman, Pir Vilayat believed that Melchizedek was likely the qutb in his time—the spiritual ‘axis’ around which the fate of humanity revolved—who was then passing the mantle of qutb to Abraham.[21] For him, as for many others, Melchizedek was the “father of all priests,” and a figure who did not die, but who was taken up into heaven, like Elijah, or transformed like Khidr, and who can thus come and go between the worlds.[22] This, of course, is close to the Pauline view, which says of Melchizedek, “Without father, without mother, without genealogy, having neither beginning of days, nor end of life, but resembling the son of God, he remains a priest forever.” (Heb. 7:3)

Given these possible beliefs, I suspect that Pir Vilayat, as the head of the Universal Worship activity established by his father—ordaining religious (cherags) empowered to do ritual and lead the Universal Worship service—wished to anchor himself in the most ancient and authentic transmission of the “father of all priests,” Melchizedek, for the benefit of those whom he ordained. And from whom could he best receive this transmission? Reb Zalman himself believed that his friend had sought this initiation from him with the understanding that the esoteric transmission of the universal priesthood had been passed to Abraham, and thus also through his descendants to our day.[23] And, as Abraham was the father of the Jews, who established and maintained a lineal priesthood (the kohanim, the priestly caste descended from Aaron the Priest, the brother of Moses), and as Reb Zalman was not only a descendant of Abraham, but also a kohen, belonging to the priestly caste of Jews, as well a Hasidic rebbe or master of the Jewish esoteric tradition, Pir Vilayat may have believed Reb Zalman could best offer him this transmission.[24]

It is not clear exactly when the initiation took place. According to Reb Zalman, it was in New York, and possibly connected with Pir Vilayat leading the Cosmic Mass at St. John the Divine in New York City. If that is so, then it may have been as early as the end of October 1975. It may also have followed a seminar in New York by Pir Vilayat (possibly held in conjunction with the Cosmic Mass) which Reb Zalman attended, coming up from his home in Philadelphia.[25]

After the conclusion of the seminar, Reb Zalman said that he performed the initiation for Pir Vilayat, opening the ritual with the question—“Vilayat son of Inayat Khan, do you know that this is merely an initiation from the outside in recognition of something you already possess?”

Pir Vilayat responded, “Yes.”

“Good,” said Reb Zalman, “then we’ll do it.”

We do not know the form of the initiation, but at its conclusion, Reb Zalman wrapped Pir Vilayat in a special tallit or prayer shawl on which he’d written in Hebrew, Kohen l’El Elyon, ‘Priest of God, Most High,’ and proceeded to teach him a kabbalistic text so that he would have some context from within the kabbalistic tradition of what he had just received.

After this, Reb Zalman brought out three loaves of hallah, which his wife had baked in the form of a heart with two wings, and a bottle of old Tokay, which according to him, “poured dark like blood.” He then said to Pir Vilayat, “Priest after the Order of Malki-tzedek, consecrate the bread and wine for the consumption of all present,” commenting to me that the latter did so “beautifully.”[26]

Two Pillars of InterSpirituality

In the coming years, Pir Vilayat would speak of these mutual initiations as being of great importance to him, and for the development of the future of religion. In one letter, dated August 9, 1988, he wrote:

Some years ago, Reb Zalman and myself initiated each other into our respective traditions. Our reciprocal blessings represent the thrust of our life’s work, and an example of possible networking among religious leaders in the future. Our sharing of this bonding in the Spirit represents my high regard for Reb Zalman and the authenticity of his teachings. On the many occasions in which we have participated in interfaith conferences, I have been deeply appreciative of his keen insight, in-depth knowledge of the esoteric traditions, and his capacity to open hearts with the fullness of his love and laughter.[27]

In a later letter, dated June 4, 2002, speaking of Reb Zalman’s work and significance in the context of the political crisis in the Middle East, Pir Vilayat also wrote:

I consider that his contribution in the present world situation in the Middle East is particularly pertinent because he is the one rabbi in the world today who is not only familiar with Sufism, but practices it. He is not only a sheik […] but has initiated me in the Order of Melchizedek. This is not only a political statement, but a religious one. I emphasize the importance of the role he is playing by trying to overarch the political structures with unity by making a religious statement.[28]

In his book, Awakening, Pir Vilayat talks about the qualities of Abraham and Melchizedek with regard to the temporal and spiritual, as the naturally paired archetypes of sovereignty and holiness. Abraham represents the ideal of noblesse oblige, the obligation of the noble, or true nobility. This is the chivalrous ideal of obligation based on advantage and blessing, that those who ‘have’ are obliged to assist and serve those who ‘have not.’ Thus, their status exists solely for the purpose of taking care of others. But this in itself is not whole without the quality of holiness, embodied in Melchizedek, the high priest. Of course he is not talking about the religious functionary, but the ideal priest who is connected to the Source, the prophet-priest who counsels the sovereign.[29]

For Reb Zalman, the initiation into Inayati Sufism was also connected with the idea of a ‘universal priesthood.’ It allowed him a freedom that was not possible for him as a Jew and a rabbi. It allowed him to perform non-Jewish weddings, funerals, and other rituals for which he could not find a basis under Jewish law (halakhah), i.e., to function as a priest or cherag of a universal spirituality. Thus, he also encouraged some among his Jewish students to become Inayati Sufis and to train as cherags in order to fulfill this function as well.[30]

In the years to come, Reb Zalman continued to study Sufism, eventually taking initiation into the Qadiri-Rufai tariqa under Sheikh Siddi-Hassan al-Moumani of Balata (who empowered him to lead zikr), and the Halveti-Jerrahi tariqa under his friend, Sheikh Muzaffer Ozak (1916-1985). He also formed important connections and friendships with Bektashi and Melami Sufis. Nevertheless, his closest relationships continued to be with Inayati Sufis. Pir Moineddin would remain a valued friend and colleague until his passing in 2001, and Reb Zalman maintained close ties with his successors, Pir Shabda Kahn and Murshid Wali Ali Meyer. But it was with two of Pir Vilayat’s seniormost disciples that Reb Zalman would develop very special ‘avuncular’ relationships. Puran Bair would become a colleague, sometimes leading Sufi retreats for Reb Zalman, who in turn served as his rabbi and counselor (even conducting his son’s bar mitzvah in green Sufi robes and a turban). And still closer was Thomas Atum O’Kane, former Secretary General of the Sufi Order, and Pir Vilayat’s ‘second’ for many years. Atum would form a close spiritual bond with Reb Zalman, seeking his guidance on spiritual matters and working directly with him as his academic advisor on both his master’s thesis and doctoral dissertation.

It was not until the year 2000 that Reb Zalman finally broke his ‘avuncular vow’ and initiated his first and only Sufi murid. This story—my own—is perhaps best told elsewhere. Nevertheless, it is worth noting that out of this relationship was formed a new Sufi-Jewish or Sufi-Hasidic branch of the Inayati lineage, the Inayati-Maimuni tariqa, recognized in 2004 by Pir Vilayat’s son and successor, Pir Zia Inayat-Khan. It is also possible that in my own ordination and initiation as his successor in 2002, that we have an example of the form Pir Vilayat’s initiation into the Priesthood of Melchizedek may have taken, as Reb Zalman also performed some version of it for me at that time.

To the best of my knowledge, the last meeting between Reb Zalman and Pir Vilayat took place in New York City in 2000. On that occasion, both were participants in a plenary session on “Future Visions” during the State of the World Forum.[31] Afterward, they shared a hotel room at the Hilton, staying up late into the night, singing and teaching one another songs from their respective traditions—“Qalbi” (‘my heart’) and “Hashiveinu” (“turn us back’). There were no more teachings to exchange, no more initiations to offer one another; they were simply free to play as children before God.[32]

May the Holy One bless you and keep you;

May the Holy One shine favor upon you;

May the Holy One countenance you,

And grant you peace.

Amen. (Num. 6:24-26)

Notes

[1] The “Serenity Prayer,” attributed to the famed Christian theologian Reinhold Niebuhr, used by Alcoholics Anonymous, is certainly more widely known and used.

[2] Schachter-Shalomi, Zalman, and Netanel Miles-Yépez. “Translating the Invocation of the Toward the One into the Hebrew of the Jewish Tradition.” Seven Pillars House of Wisdom. June 10, 2009. (http://www.sevenpillarshouse.org)

[3] Over the sixteen years of our relationship, I heard Reb Zalman speak of his connections to Sufism (both traditional and universalist), as well as his relationship to Pir Vilayat Inayat Khan, on various occasions and in numerous contexts. The account I give here is synthetic and based upon my own memory of those various occasions. However, most of it can be verified from a recording of an early conversation between us from 2002, recorded in Reb Zalman’s home library for a book we were then writing whose working title was, “A Deep Encounter: A Primer for a Jewish Deep Ecumenism.” The project was later shelved after we realized that a major reorganization of the material was necessary. This recording, titled “Deep Encounter, Part 5 of 12. Islam” and dated March 3rd, 2002, is now available in the Zalman M. Schachter-Shalomi Collection of the University of Colorado at Boulder Archives. I cite it and other sources here mostly in support of my personal account.

[4] Schachter-Shalomi, Zalman, and Edward Hoffman. My Life in Jewish Renewal. Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, 2012.

[5] Ibid.

[6] See Schachter-Shalomi, Zalman M., and Netanel Miles-Yépez. “Deep Encounter, Part 5 of 12. Islam.” March 3rd, 2002. (Recording: JRRZ0001S0101N008). Zalman M. Schachter-Shalomi Collection of the University of Colorado at Boulder Archives. He may have made the acquaintance of various Perennialist Sufis by this point, having heard Seyyed Hossein Nasr (b.1933) speak, and having been introduced to Jewish zikr by Leo Schaya (1916-1985), though the dates of these meetings are uncertain.

[7] Schachter-Shalomi. “Deep Encounter, Part 5 of 12. Islam.”

[8] Ibid.

[9] See Schachter-Shalomi. “Deep Encounter, Part 5 of 12. Islam.”

[10] Schachter-Shalomi. “Deep Encounter, Part 5 of 12. Islam.”

[11] At that time, the two organizations springing from Murshid S.A.M. and Pir Vilayat were closely associated, and it was not uncommon for Pir Moineddin to advise others to first seek initiation with his elder, Pir Vilayat.

[12] See Schachter-Shalomi. “Deep Encounter, Part 5 of 12. Islam.”

[13] Inayat-Khan, Zia (ed.). Caravan of Souls: An Introduction to the Sufi Path of Hazrat Inayat Khan. New Lebanon, NY: Suluk Press, 2013: 73-74.

[14] Khan, Inayat. The Sufi Message of Hazrat Inayat Khan: Volume 12: The Vision of God and Man. Geneva: International Headquarters of the Sufi Movement, 1982: 150.

[15] Khan, Inayat. Biography of Pir-o-Murshid Inayat Khan. London: East-West Publications, 1979: 125.

[16] Khan, Inayat. Religious Gathekas, #1.

[17] A new emphasis in a Sufi lineage is often marked by the addition of a name to it, often the name of the innovator.

[18] A term coined in San Francisco in 1923. Van Voorst van Beest, Munira (ed.). The Complete Works of Pir-o-Murshid Inayat Khan” Original Texts: Lectures on Sufism 1923 I: January–June. London: East-West Publications, 1989:: xii.

[19] Inayat-Khan. Caravan of Souls, 75.

[20] Though the passage does mention allies.

[21] Meaning that the fate of a community, a nation, or maybe the world, turn on what this one person might do. A person might be the qutb for years or a single moment. At one point, Pir Vilayat believed the qutb was in Lebanon. All of this was heard directly from Reb Zalman.

In Pir Vilayat Inayat Khan, Awakening: A Sufi Experience (ed. Pythia Peay. Jeremy P. Tarcher: New York, 1999: 80-81), Pir Vilayat writes: “Melchizedek is recognized by Judaism, Christianity, and Islam, and thus represents a religious authority whom they each have in common. No doubt he sacrificed at the altar in Jerusalem, which is probably the stone now housed in the Dome of the Rock. I believe he must have lived in the cave that is at the top of the Mount of Olives—a place where I once took retreat—whereas most of his people at the time were living in tents. When I imagine the being of Melchizedek, I think of him as very, very holy, with a personality that is totally dedicated to attuning to the sacred. […] Can you, for instance, put yourself back in time to that moment when Melchizedek, during a ceremony in which bread and wine were offered as a sacrament, anointed Abraham as king? In a moment of divine transmission, in which Melchizedek conferred upon Abraham God’s blessings as His ambassador on earth.”

[22] A student of Pir Vilayat (I believe it was Daena Ross) told me: “Pir Vilayat used to talk about him [Melchizedek] as the father of all priests. […] He also talked about him as never really passing, that he was a real being on Earth, and you know, just like the tales of the Green Man, and Elijah.”

[23] In the rabbinic tradition of Judaism, it is understood that Melchizedek bestows the priesthood on Abraham at this moment, who then becomes a “priest forever” (b. Ned. 32b; Lev. Rab. 25.6), an eternal or universal priest.

[24] At the end of the last talk he gave to the Boulder-Denver Inayati Sufi community, Reb Zalman gave the priestly blessing with the priestly gesture.

[25] Schachter-Shalomi. “Deep Encounter, Part 5 of 12. Islam.” “The one [Cosmic Mass] that he did at St. John the Divine, he looked like a kohein gadol.” Pir Vilayat led the Cosmic Mass at St. John the Divine in New York City on October 22nd and 24th, described in a Time Magazine article, “Mish-Mass” (Monday, November 3, 1975), and perhaps again a year later. Thanks to Nancy Lakshmi Barta-Norton of the Inayati Order Archives for helping me to identify the dates.

[26] Schachter-Shalomi. “Deep Encounter, Part 5 of 12. Islam.” In Reb Zalman’s recorded words:

At one point he had asked me to initiate him into the order of Melchizedek. So I had brought him a tallis, and I did a thing in which I had written, kodesh l’Yah, you know, so just like the high priest had, and we did that initiation after he did a seminar in New York.

Then we had the initiation, and I know what he wanted. He wanted a connection with Malkhitzedek, on that level. So I asked him this question—“Vilayat son of Inayat Khan”—you know, like to do that—“do you know that this is an initiation that you don’t need from the outside, that you have it already from the inside?”

He said, “Yes.”

I said, “Then in that case I might do the rest.”

And Elana had baked a hallah, three hallahs, that looked like a heart, and two hallahs that looked like wings. And I’d gotten some special old wine that flowed like blood from Lipshitz’ winery in Philadelphia. [. . .] So he had one cask of old Tokay, and it poured like, you know, it was dark like blood. And I figured that if he’s gonna’ be doing the initiation according to the wine and bread. So after I’d brought him that, I said, “Now that you’re”—after the initiation, yivarekha and some other things were over—I asked him to consecrate the bread and the wine, and to share it with us. And it was wonderful.”

[27] “Letter from Vilayat Inayat Khan to Greg Burton and Rochelle N. Grossman.” August 9, 1988. The Pir Vilayat Inayat Khan Collection. The Inayati Order Archives–North America. Richmond, Virginia. Letter written endorsing Schachter-Shalomi’s Wisdom School.

[28] “Letter from Vilayat Inayat Khan to Dana Lobell.” June 4, 2002. The Pir Vilayat Inayat Khan Collection. The Inayati Order Archives–North America. Richmond, Virginia. Letter written recommending Schachter-Shalomi for the Templeton Prize.

[29] Here is also a suggestion of Reb Zalman in the archetype of Abraham and Pir Vilayat in archetype of Melchizedek. Pir Vilayat likewise connects two waza’if (names of divine qualities) to Abraham and Melchizedek. Ya Qahr, the sovereign, he connects with Abraham. Ya Quddus, holiness, he connects to Melchizedek. Vilayat Inayat Khan. Awakening: A Sufi Experience. Ed. Pythia Peay. Jeremy P. Tarcher: New York, 1999: 80-83.

[30] See Schachter-Shalomi. “Deep Encounter, Part 5 of 12. Islam.”

[31] This information was given me on July 22, 2017 by Richard Nur Gale, a student of Pir Vilayat who helped to organize the session set up by Joe Firmage, who financed it. Deepak Chopa and various scientists also participated.

[32] See Schachter-Shalomi. “Deep Encounter, Part 5 of 12. Islam.