Idries Shah

There is no word in English which can be used as a true equivalent of the technical term ‘subtlety’. The original word is latifa (plural lataif). It has been rendered ‘purity spot’, ‘place of illumination’, ‘centre of reality’. In order to activate this element it is assigned a theoretical physical situation in the body — generally considered to be the centre where its force or baraka is most strongly evidenced. The latifa is theoretically considered to be ‘an incipient organ of spiritual perception’.

The five centres are named Heart, Spirit, Secret, Mysterious and Deeply Hidden. Another one, strictly speaking not a latifa at all, is Self, composed of a complex of ‘selves’. This is the totality of what the ordinary (raw) man or woman considers his personality. It is characterised by a shifting series of moods and personalities whose rapidity of movement gives the individual the impression that his consciousness is constant or a unity. It is not in fact so.

The illumination or activation of one or more of the centres may take place partially or accidentally. When this happens, the individual may gain for a time a deepening in intuitive knowledge corresponding with the latifa involved. But if this is not a part of comprehensive development, the mind will try, vainly, to equilibrate itself around this hypertrophy, an impossible task. The consequences can be very dangerous, and include, like all one-sided mental phenomena, exaggerated ideas of self-importance, the surfacing of undesirable qualities, or a deterioration of consciousness following an access of ability.

Self, under the navel; Heart, at the place of the physical heart; Spirit, on the side of the body opposite the heart position. The Secret latifa is exactly between the Heart and Spirit positions. Mysterious is in the forehead; Deeply Hidden is in the brain.

‘Before the exercises can take place, either the Greater Balance or the Lesser Balance must have been achieved by the candidate. This balance is connected with the fact that ordinary humanity is not able, except for very short periods, to concentrate at all. Rumi, in Fihi Ma Fihi, stresses this, a matter of first importance in any teaching situation:
Innumerable changes of mood are yours, and they are uncontrolled by you. If you knew their origin, you would be able to dominate them. If you cannot localise your own changes, how can you localise that which formed you?

The dervish refines his consciousness so that he can become aware of states of mind and conditions of reality which are only crudely grasped by the ordinary mind. It might be said that people are normally aware of intellect only in terms of quantity; of emotion as a quantity. The quality, a subtler side which is nonetheless essential to completeness, is difficult to train or elicit, hence abandoned by most people, who make do with very rough approximations of their total capacities.

Before the stage of conscious development, various indisputable experiences mark certain stages of advance. These give the individual both proof of his progress and strength to continue to the next stage. Unless he receives these illuminations in correct succession, he will stay at a stage of partial awareness or occasional concentration power. One of the least desirable results of such out-of-sequence development is when the candidate is not weaned from dependence upon his instructor.

‘A moment ago you were applying for admission to our circle,’ said the Sheikh, ‘and now I have succeeded in confusing you to such an extent that you admit you cannot judge. Well, that is the essence of it. You cannot judge. You cannot use the instruments of carpentry for watchmaking. You have set yourself a task: to find spiritual truth. You have sought this truth in the wrong directions, and interpreted its manifestations in the wrong way. Is it surprising that you will remain in this state? There is one other alternative for you, as you are at present. The excessive concentration upon the theme, the anxiety and emotion which is engendered in you, will ultimately pile up to such an extent that you will seek a relief from it. Then what will happen? Emotion will swamp intellect; and you will either hate religion or — more likely — become converted to some cult which takes the responsibility. You will settle down with the notion that you have found what you sought.’

The Sufi pattern of words, action and cooperation requires three things: the teacher, the learner and the community or school. Rumi refers to this complex of activity when he says:
Ilm-amozi tariqish qawli ast
Harfa-amozi tariqish fa’li ast
Faqr-amozi az sohbat qaim ast.
‘Science is learned by words; art by practice; detachment by companionship.’

A Sufi was once asked why the Sufis use words in a special sense, possibly removed from their accustomed significance. His answer was: ‘Rather ponder upon why the ordinary man suffers from the tyranny of words, immobilised by custom until they only serve as tools.’