Of Mystics and Elephants

Of Mystics and Elephants



While reading a book about mystics, I flipped through the pages and put my finger on a random spot to see what fate would have me read as I’ve heard others do with the Bible.  Within this book of mystics, there were writings by those of many faiths; Buddhism, Hindu, Judaism, Islam, Christianity, and more of which I’d never heard. 



Time and time again, I read a poem or passage, and had to flip back to the beginning of the chapter just to figure out what religion the writer called home.  So similar were these concepts, that I had to laugh.  How much like glue these mystics were, to seal wildly different faiths together in such a way as to shine a light in a world complaining of darkness.  But our predecessors did not want to listen for they knew that they knew what they knew.  Don't most of us do the same?



There was one passage that struck a chord, written by an Islamic mystic named Jalal al-Din Rumi who died in 1273 A.D. in a poem called “The One True Light.”  I’d heard of the analogy of the elephant but had no idea of its origin.  It was about a Hindu who brought an elephant in a dark shed and invited others to guess what animal was in the shed. Many came but were unwilling to hold a lamp to light their way.  Each felt various parts of this elephant and said “this animal is a … depending on the characteristic of each particular part.  Rumi uses this as an analogy describing the different religions in this world trying to describe God.  I took the lamp Rumi offered me with his words, as it mattered not the span of 850 years or the fact that I’m Episcoplian, a Christian, and he was a Muslim in the Middle East. 



After all, why shouldn’t his words enlighten me? Why should I not listen to what he has to say?  For I too have drawn odd glances, carrying around a book with Buddha on its cover, or another with a Hindu statue, grotesque in its many eyes and limbs yet representing an aspect of their supreme being, and mine.  I am not a martyr nor do I claim to be a mystic but one must be careful with these books in the light of day in a small Protestant town in Alabama for a good Southerner must be aware of what others might say.  At least, that’s what my grandmother would say.  But I digress, so now I’ll return to Rumi and his impact on my philosophy of life and religion. 



How blind we humans were to think the great being in the tent was anything other than one large elephant standing in the dark.  But isn’t that just the point?  Without our lamps lit, we blindly fought wars to prove this is not so, that each interpretation was the one and only one representation of this being.  And isn’t this still the case?



Could all of humanity have even fit upon one toenail of this elephant without knocking each other out of the way?  If so, if even two of us stood on the same toenail and felt the texture on our fingertips, could we have described it using the same words or pictures?  Any two of us gossiping about the same event will rarely tell the same story, and that is so even with the aid of eyes and ears and without the hindrance of a different language or culture. 



Do you think it even dawned on those who first touched its trunk, its sturdy legs, the long hickory stick of a tail, that although they have touched something with their own hands, felt the words of scripture in Braille on the hairs of the elephant's back, God still cannot be defined as a mere spout of knowledge, pillar of strength, whip of submission or even the text of scripture?



Of course, a man or woman can live without an arm, a leg, an ear, as these are mere appendages, very useful but not vital.  But how difficult is it to really live without the soul, the space within each cell, the beating heart, the brain, the organs to rid ourselves from that which no longer sustains us?  And aren’t these internal treasures the most neglected, the sections no one could seem to grasp while feeling around on that elephant in the dark?  No matter what bone or cartilage or heartbeat they thought could be recognized by mere touch, their fingers never got past the depth of the elephant’s hide, the surface of the skin.  I’m afraid little has changed in our perceptions of others in modern times. 



But something keeps tugging at me about the story of the elephant and other teachings of Rumi as well as the many other mystics in history, including those yet labeled as mystic who have walked the Earth in the past century or two, and even those like you and me who are alive today.  Each of us have the ability to summon the courage and audacity to speak of those things most wish to keep hidden.  But do we have the will? 



What amazing things might still be in store for us all if only someone could shine some light on the tendency of humanity to build a church upon the altar of a mere appendage of God.  The mystics have been trying for centuries but how often have they been held up

as heretics or frauds, spurned or killed or at least dismissed for their lack of adherence to the laws of those who raided them? 



And what of those who studied these enlightened teachings? Often the same fate befell them.  Still do in many parts of the world, though in America, they are more likely to find themselves uninvited to supper club, their children not selected first in the gym, or to have their family the subject of gossip at church picnics.  We often feel fortunate here in America not to be forced to declare our faith, at least, it’s not often a matter of life or death.  But it could be. And who said God’s fortune rests with us?  Do we really think God favors us any more than his other children?  Dangerous ground we’re all walking on, in all parts of the world, to see things that way, don’t you think? 



What tugs at me most is the potential of us all, right now, to explore each part of this amazing creature, the creator, in whatever way we are able and to build bridges with those less willing through our arts and poetry, in way less threatening than speech and debate.  Perhaps we can also be lanterns illuminating even a small part of another person’s journey so they may also see different paths cross in peace while also submitting to their assistance when they offer to light our path, lest we go about thinking our way is the only one. . . yet again.  We all know where that leads.



And besides, what exactly are we humans so afraid of that we cannot make use of the oil offered to us from someone of another faith.  After all, oil is oil and fire has no religion to call its own.  Can we not see that we are all searching the tent for something to believe in while the elephant in the room yearns, like each one of us, to be loved as more than the sum of each part?  What is more comforting than to be acknowledged and accepted for who we are inside as much as the clothing and symbolism of the faith within which we were born, or within which we chose after much searching.  That which we can see are parts of us, important parts, but not the whole of us. To despise, or even to love us only for that which lies outside the skin is not to see us at all, and what comfort is that?



But, if we could each ignite our own inner light, we could illuminate the darkness around us so that we and others may see beyond language and custom, and recognize our common beliefs, we could also learn to recognize that our differences really are mere variations of color within the one true light. 











This essay was inspired by The Teachings of the Mystics by Walter T. Stace and further by his referenced poem “The One True Light” by Jalal al-Din Rumi  on pg 215-216 of this book as quoted by Stace from Rumi: Poet and Mystic Translated by R. A. Nicholson.  See Pg 213 for full source information.