Persian Literature, Volume 1, Comprising The Shah Nameh | Page 4

which binds the
Rubáiyát-maker in far-off Persia to the literati of modern
Anglo-Saxondom?
By his own people Omar was persecuted for his want of orthodoxy; and
yet his grave to this day is held in much honor. By others he was
looked upon as a Mystic. Reading the five hundred or so authentic
quatrains one asks, Which is the real Omar? Is it he who sings of wine
and of pleasure, who seems to preach a life of sensual enjoyment? or is
it the stern preacher, who criticises all, high and low; priest, dervish,
and Mystic--yea, even God himself? I venture to say that the real Omar
is both; or, rather, he is something higher than is adequately expressed
in these two words. The Ecclesiastes of Persia, he was weighed down
by the great questions of life and death and morality, as was he whom
people so wrongly call "the great sceptic of the Bible." The
"_Weltschmerz_" was his, and he fought hard within himself to find
that mean way which philosophers delight in pointing out. If at times
Omar does preach carpe diem, if he paint in his exuberant fancy the
delights of carousing, Fitzgerald is right--he bragged more than he
drank. The under-current of a serious view of life runs through all he
has written; the love of the beautiful in nature--a sense of the real worth
of certain things and the worthlessness of the Ego. Resignation to what
is man's evident fate; doing well what every day brings to be done--this
is his own answer. It was Job's--it was that of Ecclesiastes.
This same "_Weltschmerz_" is ours to-day; therefore Omar Khayyám
is of us beloved. He speaks what often we do not dare to speak; one of
his quatrains can be more easily quoted than some of those thoughts
can be formulated. And then he is picturesque--picturesque because he
is at times ambiguous. Omar seems to us to have been so many
things--a believing Moslem, a pantheistic Mystic, an exact scientist (for
he reformed the Persian calendar). Such many-sidedness was possible
in Islam; but it gives him the advantage of appealing to many and
different classes of men; each class will find that he speaks their mind
and their mind only. That Omar was also tainted by Sufism there can be
no doubt; and many of his most daring flights must be regarded as the
results of the greater license which Mystic interpretation gave to its

votaries.
By the side of Firdusi the epic poet, and Omar the philosopher, Sa'di
the wise man, well deserves a place. His countrymen are accustomed to
speak of him simply as "the Sheikh," much more to his real liking than
the titles "The nightingale of the groves of Shiraz," or "The nightingale
of a Thousand Songs," in which Oriental hyperbole expresses its
appreciation. Few leaders and teachers have had the good fortune to
live out their teachings in their own lives as had Sa'di. And that life was
long indeed. Muharrif al-Din Abdallah Sa'di was born at Shiraz in 1184,
and far exceeded the natural span of life allotted to man--for he lived to
be one hundred and ten years of age--and much of the time was lived in
days of stress and trouble. The Mongols were devastating in the East;
the Crusaders were fighting in the West. In 1226 Sa'di himself felt the
effects of the one--he was forced to leave Shiraz and grasp the
wanderer's staff, and by the Crusaders he was taken captive and led
away to Tripoli. But just this look into the wide world, this thorough
experience of men and things, produced that serenity of being that gave
him the firm hold upon life which the true teacher must always have.
Of his own spiritual condition and contentment he says: "Never did I
complain of my forlorn condition but on one occasion, when my feet
were bare, and I had not wherewithal to shoe them. Soon after, meeting
a man without feet, I was thankful for the bounty of Providence to
myself, and with perfect resignation submitted to my want of shoes."
Thus attuned to the world, Sa'di escapes the depths of misanthropy as
well as the transports of unbridled license and somewhat blustering
swagger into which Omar at times fell. In his simplicity of heart he
says very tenderly of his own work;--
"We give advice in its proper place, Spending a lifetime in the task. If it
should not touch any one's ear of desire, The messenger told his tale; it
is enough."
That tale is a long one. His apprenticeship was spent in Arabic Bagdad,
sitting at the feet of noted scholars, and taking in knowledge not only of
his own Persian Sufism, but also of the science and learning which had
been gathered