Alas! How shall one enter a road
Which is a sword-edge, and a track of thorns?
At once wounding the heel and swelling the sole
How can I set foot on a diamond-paved desert.
In the darkness of my heart and perturbation of my mind the star of truth shone out, and my reason's ear was opened by the felicity of my temperament. Celestial reproof struck a blow on my distorted spirit, and admonished me with a tongueless tongue. “Son of Mubārik, to whom has been alloted a select lodging in the honourable mansion of right thinking, what has come into thy head? Why has the eye of fault-finding been unclosed, and how long wilt thou cavil and utter improprieties? How long will the pearl of goodness be covered with the dust of misunderstanding?” As a general rule whoever has not a constructive hand, abuses what he does not understand and stains his heart and tongue with abuse, and takes the road of ignorance, and does not exercise deep discernment. If the brilliancy of story, and the radiance of annals did not exist, where would so many lamps of knowledge be lighted? Or how would the holy seekers after retired wisdom of old times have come down to us. Speech—a painting upon air, and a knotted (articulated) wind—was young in years, and ancient eloquence had not received its acompaniments. In their gratitude for the mighty boon, far-seeing appreciators of work do not give so much as a glance at faults, much less do they speak of such or listen to remarks about them.
Look at perfect love and honesty, not at defects
For whoe'r lacks wit, casts his eye on faults.
Why does the combination of excogitated (m'aqūl) and acquired (manqūl) knowledge remain hidden* in thy heart's antechamber—which is a fountain of Divine bounties—and why does thy prudent* soul become dejected and the tongue of chiding be unloosed? Know that high resolves and lofty genius are rare, or rather, non-existent. If all obscure verities had been recorded in the primæval writings, mediæval wayfarers in the fields of inquiry, and laggards in the wilderness of search—of which last the world is full—would not have tasted joy, and writings of the past age would have been consigned to the closet of neglect. Clearly, the wondrous Showman of creation (God) hath introduced such singular combinations, and His magic power hath drawn such charming uncoloured sketches on the wondrous tablet in order that there may be both spots* averting the evil eye from the daughters of the houris of the spirit, and chargers for the conveyance of those veiled and mystic beauties.* Chronicles unfold the feasts and the fights (bazm-razm), the strivings and sports, the glooms, and the glories and other things relating to the knowledge of mankind and civilisation, the perspicacities of the wise, the mistakes of the learned, the various ups and downs of the world, the simplicities of the great of the earth, the vain knockings* at the door of inaccessible Fortune, the empty* satisfactions of many members of the households of Reason and Testimony, and other singularities of the wonderful world. They also record many experiments and lessons in a pleasing and impressive manner. If enlightenment be brought to the task (of chronicle-writing) and regard be had to what is proper, a second life is bestowed on the inquiring and the laborious, such as they died wishing for, and the materials of eternal existence are gathered. Moreover, if the wooers of knowledge (shāhid-i-'urfān) have, from lacking the light of wisdom, not been able to seat* themselves on the genial bride-bed, and if the veiled one of the spiritual bed-chamber has not wholly unveiled her cheek, owing to there being no ray from the night-gleaming jewel (wisdom), yet the controller of Truth (God) has given the means of light by the avenue of the senses. Especially has a profusion of light been admitted by the wicket-gate of the eye, and the lattice of the ear! and this is brightened by the seeing and hearing the vestiges of past generations, whereby an embroidery is furnished to daily-increasing beauty. Moreover, in the spicery of varied traditions there are remedies for melancholy, and medicines for sorrow. Such agreeable electuaries are indispensably necessary in the social state (nishāh-i-t'aalluq).*
Apparently, my refractoriness was due to my strange soul's being perpetually excited by the thought of liberation. It sought an empty hand and a vacant heart. How could it be satisfied with the mass of story-telling (logography) which is the best thing which worldlings (t'aalluqiyān) have to show. How can perfect Beauty be seen under concrete forms? At the present day when men have been relieved from internal struggles and are proceeding towards the pleasant abode of peace with all, and when they are invited to come out of the stony hollow of formalism to the spacious mansion of Liberty, how will it be surprising if the glad news of Cognition reach my blissful ear, or how will it be strange if my heart cease from its aversion (to the world)?
The truth of the matter is that everything which the heart passes on to the tongue, and the pen transfers to paper, is the offspring of the patriarch (ābū-l-ābāī) Reason, and is the magical work of this wondrous draughtsman. But, by heaven's decree, that refulgent gem of existence became, from companionship with Wrath and Desire, and the embraceries of Heedlessness—which last is the true descendant of those two ogres (ghoul) in the path of bliss—incrusted with ever-during rust, layer upon layer, and the encrustations still remain. As a result of this mischief, a deadly mixture caused under various designations the bewilderment of tranquil hearts, and still does so. The blackness (of the rust) sometimes prevents Truth from being seen, but sometimes it cannot weave a screen against the luminary of intellect, though it make the workman to stumble. Any birth of Reason which has been so far cleansed and scraped that the veiled ones of the sacred chamber can be recognised, and that, owing to the brightness of the jewel and the illumination of the heart, mysteries can be perceived, is termed “Revelation” (makshūf). If the incrustation has come to have the appearance of being the magic offspring of celestial sires,* and terrestrial mothers, it is called “in elegant language” a compendium (majmal.) The “Why and the Wherefore” which are part of its properties are regarded as right and are termed in the language of the world “Rational” (maqūl). The rosy fruits of wisdom receive the name of “Acquired” (manqūl) and are cast away with contempt. Alas! where has an atom of contingent (imkān) dust the strength to grasp such matters, or Reason which seeks to serve, the audacity to describe her sovereign's privy-chamber? Such matters are the glorious work of the incomparable Deity, and are the unveiling of the many-coloured countenance of destiny! The wise man perceives that Good and Evil are alike* (barābar), and that “Victorious Evil, i.e., Pure Evil” is impossible (lit. is in the secret chamber of impossibility). The luminary* of existence which is pure Good, and unmixed light, can only be kept burning by victorious Good.*
My troubled and devious heart left off those thoughts, and by a strong bond held back my foolish tongue. To conclude: after long discourse and little result my mind was relieved somewhat from various troubles, and relief came to my straitened capacity. I abandoned my aversion and applied myself to the amendment of mankind. I set my foot resolutely to the task of their spiritual and physical improvement. It seemed to me indispensable that incorrect delineations should be erased. My design was to lay down certain principles which might at the time of question and answer assist both the imparters (lit. sellers) of knowledge, and the seekers thereof. Now when ascetics seek for a chain for the unruly spirit, they begin by collecting the things pertaining to the forge. After that, many shackles are put together which may be fit to control the swift, quicksilver-like spirit, and which may preserve seekers after God who belong to the house of search from daily decrease (in numbers?) and may assist them to strengthen them for the adornments of the deceptive spirit. God-finders* (Khudayābān) who are satisfied anyhow, abandon their wrong notions and perceive, after failure, that the sublime threshold of Divinity is too high for the soaring birds of the zenith of contingent existence, and that they cannot flap their wings there. The dealers in the market-places of religions* base their transactions (lit. their profit and loss) upon this fact, and withdrawing from boundless and bottomless bewilderment they cease to stretch their feet beyond the carpet of their capacities, and neither act nor speak foolishly. But from cautiousness and opportunism, which are indispensable for the seekers after happiness, and the active-minded, I say to myself, “Seven thousand years have elapsed during which the turmoil of indiscrimination had gone on increasing, and mischievous ignorance has confused all, high and low. On this day, which is the beginning of a new cycle, is the marvellous Host (God) weaving as of yore various veils, or is He about to remove the screen barring admission, and to guide mankind to Truth's glorious mansion. I long to get a hint of the designs of heaven and earth, and I seek an enlightening explanation from the aspect of the Age.” Suddenly I descry a line of despair on its forehead, and it becomes apparent in perception's foreground that many more revolutions of the juggling heavens are required. After experiencing the waywardness and tardiness of Hope I sate in expectation of that time. Suddenly the light of bliss cast a ray and my heart turned back from foolish ideas. It became clear that the pen of destiny had not decreed that every one should become possessed of the truth, and that I had been made the physician of myself, not of the world. The physician* said, “Since silence is hollow, and understanding is, like a madman gnawing at the knocker on the door, intellect, which is termed the key of action, has become the lock on the treasury of truth-seeking and the happiness of every section of mankind is impledged to just thinking* and honest intentions.”
My heart was relieved from the notion of instructing mankind, and I came to think that if genius helped me and time granted me leisure, I would compose a history suitable to the temperament of mortals, and would treat of the mysteries of truth with a cryptic* tongue. May it be a pendant in the ear of a sage (ṣāḥibdil) and a collyrium for his eyes!