Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America: The Confluence and Contribution of G.I. Gurdjieff and Sufism 9781472548474, 9781441165237

Citation preview

Acknowledgments

I am genuinely appreciative of the fact that no work is the product of a single author and I am grateful for the many individuals and groups who have supported me in this process. I would first like to offer thanks to the Albany College of Pharmacy and Health Sciences which provided me with time and resources to complete this work, including a “Scholarship of Discovery” grant, which enabled me to travel in the United States and to Canada in order to complete interviews and attend a Mevlevi Order of America retreat outside of Mount Vernon, Washington in 2010. Special thanks goes to Jelaluddin Loras for permission to attend and observe two Mevlevi Order of America retreats. I would also like to express my gratitude for the time and participation of those who agreed to be interviewed and those who completed questionnaires about their experience related to Gurdjieff and Sufism. I was touched by the hospitality that many showed me in my journeys, including the Kebzeh community and Murat Yagan in Vernon, British Columbia. I would like to acknowledge and thank Hero Selwood, and the estate of J. G. Bennett, for permission to quote extensively from Bennett’s work as well as Tatiana Nagro, and the estate of P. D. Ouspensky, for permission to quote from the work of Ouspensky. I would also like to thank Paul Taylor and Ben Bennett for feedback on early drafts of select chapters. A deeply felt sense of gratitude and fondness is reserved for all of my teachers, guides, and fellow travelers. I am especially appreciative of Li Fjerestad and Lillian Firestone for their guidance and inspiration along the way. I would also like to acknowledge Louise Vasvari for her invariable support and mentorship of my work and career. I am indebted to my colleague and friend, Amer Latif for encouragement, advice, and support. I am also grateful to my mother, Patricia, who has been a constant and loving supporter of my work and my many varied pursuits. Finally, this book would not have been possible without the loving support and editorial assistance of my wife, Nelli Sargsyan. I also dedicate this book to both the current and future happiness of our daughter, Nane Sophia, who enabled me to have the most delightful breaks from writing and research over the past two years.

Introduction

G. I. Gurdjieff (d. 1949) remains an important, if controversial, figure in early twentieth century Western esoteric thought. Gurdjieff, the son of a Greek father and an Armenian mother,1 was the product of the religiously and culturally diverse Caucasus region of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries.2 As a young man, Gurdjieff traveled around Asia, Africa, and elsewhere, seeking spiritual experience and knowledge. In 1921, he arrived in Europe and continued to work for the rest of his life with a number of groups and individuals in an attempt to introduce a range of teachings and practices, some with identifiable elements from Eastern and Middle Eastern traditions. Although it is by no means the only way to interpret or understand Gurdjieff’s teaching and writings, the role of Sufism in his life and work has been given significant attention and attribution. Several key writings and commentaries about Gurdjieff and his ideas address the particular role and degree of influence that Sufism has had in his work. According to a later biography by James Moore, Gurdjieff visited Sufi orders in Turkey when he was a young man. The references from many of his direct students, including the Russian mathematician P. D. Ouspensky and especially the British scientist and linguist, John G. Bennett, also cite the importance of Sufism in his ideas and practices. Through references and ­characters in Gurdjieff’s literary output, including Beelzebub’s Tales to His Grandson (1950), and his semiautobiographical work, Meetings with Remarkable Men (1963), and the numerous notes and comments offered by later interpreters and biographies, the influence of Sufism on his thought and teachings may be considered indispensable. In a 2002 study, Anna Challenger argued that Gurdjieff’s All and Everything or Beelzebub’s Tales to His Grandson, can best be understood as a “Sufi teaching tale.” (2002). Some have suggested that Gurdjieff’s transgressive approach to religion and spirituality can be best understood through the tradition of the Malamati or the Way of Blame. Although the more well-known authors of biographies of Gurdjieff, James Webb (1980), James Moore (1991), and Paul Taylor (2008), tend to minimize the importance of Sufism in his work and life, they necessarily address the topic at certain points in relation to Gurdjieff’s history and influence. Another more recent adjunct to the presentation of the teachings of Gurdjieff, especially in the United States, is a range of responses from representatives of

2

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

different Sufi traditions, some of whom embrace, at least at certain points, the connections with Gurdjieff (Jelaluddin Loras, Kabir Helminski), and others who deny or seek to mitigate Gurdjieff’s importance or the connections between his teachings and Sufism (Gamard, Toussulis). In a variety of private, popular, and academic spheres, the proliferation of Gurdjieff’s discourse continues, as do the connections and references to his role as a transmitter of Sufism to the West. Although I cannot hope to address in this work all of the related material, or the possible connections and nuances that have been made by and about Gurdjieff and Sufism, what I hope to do in this work is identify and address some of the critical parameters and elements, through the development of a discussion about Gurdjieff and Sufism as a discourse. Employing a hybrid approach and drawing on tools and methods of analysis from different disciplines, including Comparative Literature, Religious and Comparative Cultural Studies, I address the discourse that was originally initiated by Gurdjieff in his talks, writings, and activities, but which also includes the iterations of his ideas and teaching presented by students, biographers, scholars, as well as seekers in the paths of either “the Gurdjieff tradition” or “the Sufi tradition”— variously described as it is in contemporary discourse. In framing the discussion of the discourse initiated by Gurdjieff, I begin with the notion of discourse introduced by the French philosopher, sociologist, and historian Michel Foucault (1926–84) in his essay “What is an author?” (1989). Here, Foucault delineates a new category of the “founders of discursivity” as opposed to the more common category which he describes as “transdiscursive authors.” In this gesture, Foucault argues, citing Sigmund Freud and Karl Marx as examples, that the founders of discursivity “are unique in that they are not just the authors of their own works. They have produced something else: the possibilities and the rules for the formation of other texts.” (1989, p. 985). Borrowing Foucault’s schema, I suggest that Gurdjieff could be most fruitfully seen as a “founder of discursivity.” To that end, I offer that Gurdjieff was an initiator of a particular discourse about spirituality—one founded upon spiritual discipline and transformation. Gurdjieff’s discourse, following Foucault’s remarks, “contains characteristic signs, figures, relationships and structures which could be reused by others.” (ibid: p. 985). When examining Gurdjieff’s discourse about spiritual transformation from this point of view, and especially how it has taken shape in the United States, the importance of the presentation of Sufism and the concomitant ­connections with Sufi teachers and teachings in the discourse become increasingly significant. If applied to Gurdjieff, the notion of transdiscursivity, and further, the founding of discursivity, is not limited to Gurdjieff’s work, writings, and teachings alone, but includes also the series of responses, articulations, negotiations and even rejections of his discourse. Foucault, again elaborates upon this notion by saying that the founders of discursivity, “made possible not only a

Introduction

3

c­ ertain number of analogies, but also (and equally important) a certain number of differences. They have created a possibility for something other than their discourse, yet belong to what they founded” (ibid). Thus, the area of interest becomes ­Gurdjieff’s deployment of a discourse on spiritual transformation and further, for the purposes of the present work, how he presents, alludes, or refers to Sufism—or, more specifically, “dervishes,” “dervishism,” and “dervish monasteries” in his oral utterances and writings. Connected to this study then, particularly in light of Foucault’s presentation of discourse, is the interpretation and reception of Gurdjieff’s work. Rather than attempt to determine whether or not Gurdjieff was an “authentic” representative of the Sufi tradition—arguably an irresolvable question—the focus then shifts to how people received Gurdjieff, his work and ideas and the constellation of references to Sufism and Sufi teachings. Further, in the expansion of the discourse, how and to what end his followers, biographers, or critics presented and interpreted this discourse about Gurdjieff and Sufism. If it was simply a one-way exchange, that Gurdjieff took from, borrowed, or, as some assert, stole the practices and ideas of Sufism, then the matter might be left for those only interested in Gurdjieff and his work and legacy. However, the exchange with Sufism and Sufi teachers, as well as the influence of ­Gurdjieff and his students, has become inextricably and historically linked to the ongoing transmission and presentation of Sufism in America, particularly since the late 1960s and 1970s. This discourse continues up to the present and continues to impact, as I hope to show, the ongoing introduction of Sufism, as well as the general discourse on contemporary spirituality in the United States.

The Discourse on Sufism In the reception of the work of Gurdjieff and the discourse on Sufism, (Arabic: tasawwuf) the longer history of Sufism in the West should be mentioned even if only briefly. The discourse on Sufism that has developed in the West will be alluded to in this volume as a part of a broader discourse about the East and the perception of Asia in general, something which Gurdjieff himself addresses in Meetings with Remarkable Men, when he remarks that the majority of people in “. . . Europe and America have the notion that Asia is a kind of indefinite, great continent adjoining Europe, and inhabited by savage or, at best, semi-savage groups of peoples who just happened to be there and go wild” (Gurdjieff 1963, p. 198). Edward Said’s foundational work, Orientalism (Said 1979), analyzed the complex ways in which a certain discourse about the East had been developed and proffered in the West. Said’s work forced a reconsideration of much of what had occupied Orientalist scholars in the past. Carl Ernst, in his work and particularly in the introduction to The Shambhala Guide to Sufism (1997) and Following Muhammad (2003), takes into account the impact of the power-driven discourse in the West about Islam in general, and Sufism in

4

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

­ articular. The Western discourse on the East began as early as the sixteenth p and seventeenth centuries when European visitors traveled to the East and began to write about their “exotic” experiences there. The military expeditions and the consequent colonization of much of the Muslim world followed and solidified much of the discourse about Islam and Muslims, as “the Other.” Many of these works present stories, often highly romanticized, or contrarily belittling, of the people and the lives they encountered. These encounters frequently inspired works of literature, art, and also gave shape to the reception of works about Islam and Sufism. Many travelers for instance, wrote about or painted images of the now famous “whirling dervishes”—the Sufis performing the Sema of the Mevlevi or other orders. These images and influences have been particularly powerful in shaping the popular, collective image of the East, Islam and Sufism since at least the nineteenth century. With this backdrop for instance, three of Gurdjieff’s earliest students, P. D. Ouspensky, Thomas de Hartmann, and J. G. Bennett also made visits to Mevlevi tekkes in Istanbul in the early 1920s to witness the Sema ceremony. In terms of more academic studies, texts from Sufis, as well as historical works, began to be made more widely available in Europe during this time. Nonetheless, due to a lack of early reliable sources during this period, many derogatorily concluded that the sources of Sufism must be from outside of the Islamic context. More recent works, such as Ahmet Karamustafa’s Sufism: The Formative Period (2007), have done much to remedy and clarify the origins and important developments in early Sufism. In situating the role and response of Sufism in the United States and its relation to Gurdjieff, J. G. Bennett, and others in the twentieth century, I employ the framework from Gisela Webb’s study of the Bawa Muhaiyaddeen Fellowship (2006)in which she outlines three primary periods, or waves, of Sufism in the United States. Webb outlines the earliest period of first wave Sufism with Americans and Europeans who became interested in the “Oriental wisdom” of the East. In the United States and Europe, at the beginning of the 1900s, a small number of teachers of Sufism came to the West. Foremost among them was Hazrat Inayat Khan (1882–1927), who founded the Sufi Order in the West in 1910. Inayat Khan, a member of the Chishti order from India, oriented his teachings to the core of Sufism and Islam, with a focus on the more universal aspects of Sufism. His teachings focused on the notion of unity, or tawhid, and many of his followers who embraced Sufism were not Muslims. Khan left a small group of murids, or disciples, such as Samuel Lewis (known as Sufi Sam), who continued to develop and interpret the teachings of Sufism in an attempt to make them accessible to a Western audience. During this period there was also a growing interest in scholarly translations of works from translators such as Reynold A. Nicholson (1868–1945), A. J. Arberry (1905–69), and others. Nicholson’s translation of Rumi’s Mathnawi (1990) is still considered authoritative, if somewhat dated. These translations continue to be employed in more academic studies of Rumi and they have been the basis or reference

Introduction

5

point for later popular translations or versions of Rumi’s poetry such as those of Coleman Barks. It was during this period, in 1921, that Gurdjieff appeared in Europe offering to teach a system drawn from Eastern teachings and adapted for a Western context. By the time of the counter-cultural transformations of the late 1960s and 1970s, the period coinciding with Webb’s presentation of the second wave of Sufism, Sufism was becoming increasingly well-known as an alternative, most often non-Islamic, form of spirituality, through the works of authors such as Idries Shah (1924–96) and Inayat Khan’s son, Vilayat Khan (1916–2004).3 In this second wave of Sufism, and later—the periods which I will address in more detail in the present work—Sufi teachers coming from the Middle East, notably from Turkey, but also from India and elsewhere, offered an everincreasing variety of exposure to the teachings and practices of Sufism. It was also Bawa Muhaiyaddeen, a Sufi teacher from Sri Lanka who arrived in Philadelphia in  1971, who is perhaps most responsible for the spiritual influence upon Coleman Barks’ popular versions of Rumi’s poetry. The third wave of Sufism includes the continuation of the Sufism that was introduced in the 1960s and 1970s, with the addition of an increasing number of immigrant groups entering the United States with Sufi affiliations. Also in this more recent period, the academic study of Sufism became both more sophisticated and more nuanced, evidenced by the publication of works and series of works on Sufism, as well as the number of institutional appointments for scholars of Sufism. Recent works, such as Martin and Ernst’s Rethinking Islamic Studies: From Orientalism to Cosmopolitanism (2010), address the history of the reception of Islam and Sufism, and offer reflection on the possibilities of a postOrientalist approach to the study of Islam. This brief summary certainly does not do justice to either the complexity of the topic, or to the nuances of the increasingly sophisticated discourse in recent academic studies of Islam and Sufism, but it may help situate some of the references and analysis in the following chapters.

The Present Study The first chapter proposes to reassess and situate a cross-section of the comments and writings about the influence of Sufism in Gurdjieff’s work and life, through the lens of the discourse on Gurdjieff and Sufism. I first consider the early iterations of Gurdjieff’s discourse through some of the more prominent European authors that had an influence on the later reception of his work, including P. D. Ouspensky, Thomas de Hartmann, and J. G. Bennett. I then turn to a close reading of a selection of extracts from Gurdjieff’s semiautobiographical work, Meetings with Remarkable Men and the instances in the work that refer, more generally, to his attitude toward religion, as well as some of the

6

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

more well-known references to dervishes and dervish orders. Next, in addressing later engagements with the discourse of Gurdjieff and Sufism in the period following the publication of Meetings with Remarkable Men in 1963, I consider the approach of the nondenominational, universalist Sufi teacher, Idries Shah. Responding in part to increasing notoriety of Gurdjieff, his work and that of Gurdjieff’s students—particularly J. G. Bennett—Shah attempted to proselytize to the followers of Gurdjieff’s teachings that still sought the missing pieces of his purportedly Central Asian Sufi teaching. Taking a largely disparaging approach to Gurdjieff and his work and students, Shah contributed several counter-points to the discourse about Gurdjieff and Sufism in his work and his entanglements with, especially J. G. Bennett. I then turn to consider briefly, some of the more recent academic appraisals of Gurdjieff’s work and legacy, including perspectives from the burgeoning fields of Western Esotericism and New Age Studies. Finally, in light of the foregoing considerations, I discuss Anna Challenger’s 2002 study, Philosophy and Art in Gurdjieff’s Beelzebub: A Modern Sufi Odyssey and its framing of, and contribution to, the discourse about Gurdjieff and Sufism. The second chapter takes up some of the foundational elements of Gurdjieff’s initiatory discourse in a close reading of select passages in Beelzebub’s Tales to His Grandson that address religion and, in specific, Islam, dervishes or dervish orders. In this work, Gurdjieff seeks to set out his teachings and ideas in a form and manner appropriate for future audiences. Following his stated aim in the introduction to the work, Gurdjieff attempts to destroy in the reader all associations, connections, and habits of thinking about the world and human beings thereby creating a space for the actualization of a new world and a new discourse on the soul. Many dimensions of Gurdjieff’s unique quasiscience fiction tale are arguably Sufi in origin or in reference, yet it is argued here that they are also employed to serve Gurdjieff’s own specific purposes and audience. Building on a close reading of selected passages, I suggest that Gurdjieff, through the borrowings and references to Sufism, attempts to create, more radically, a new form of spiritual discourse, that pursues different means and aims appropriate for a quite different audience and context. Recognizing dervish or Sufi-like characters and stories as sources of wisdom and guidance, Gurdjieff wields or reinvents them in both the critique of a corrupt, destructive model of religion and religiosity and in the introduction of a new or revised model of being. The third chapter presents a history of the life and work of J. G. Bennett, with a particular focus on his approach to the work of Gurdjieff and Sufism, both of which he first encountered while working as an officer in the British Military in Istanbul, Turkey, in the early 1920s. Out of all of the immediate followers of Gurdjieff, Bennett was perhaps the most influenced by the ideas and practices of Sufism and he continued to develop the connections with Sufism for the remainder of his life. Bennett, in his talks, writings, and his work with others,

Introduction

7

alongside his foundational interest in Gurdjieff, addressed the topic of Sufism with some fervor. Bennett set up, as early as 1946, a community in England, at a place called Coombe Springs, to introduce the ideas of Gurdjieff. Eventually, Bennett was moved to address his teachings to a new generation. Coinciding with the dramatic cultural and social transformations of the late 1960s and early 1970s, Bennett initiated a new, experimental “Fourth Way” school4 at Sherborne House in Gloucestershire, England. Here, in a series of five, ten-month long courses, Bennett sought to introduce the ideas and practices of Gurdjieff and other teachings cultivated over his more than five decade-long search. During these courses, Bennett also introduced a range of elements from Sufi teachers and teachings that he had studied and encountered in his own search. Through his own affiliations, he also invited a number of Sufi teachers to introduce practices and teachings on the basic courses. What remains clear from the events at Sherborne House—the visits from Sufi teachers, exchanges, and even the use of language of instruction—is a receptivity to the ideas and practices of Sufism and the continuing development of a discourse about the work of Gurdjieff and Sufism. In the fourth chapter, I first address the reception by American students of the courses that J. G. Bennett introduced at Sherborne House in England. Then I turn to focus on the project that Bennett initiated in the United States at Claymont Court in West Virginia, shortly before his death in 1974. The initial plan for Claymont Court was that it would host the nine-to-ten month basic courses, similar to those held at Sherborne House in England. However, Bennett’s ultimate vision for Claymont was that it would serve as a permanent, self-sufficient agricultural community based on spiritual principles and practice. Although Bennett did not live to see it come to fruition, Claymont played an important role in the transmission of Sufism during second and, subsequently, third-wave Sufism in the United States. Claymont was led by Pierre Elliot, a student of Gurdjieff and Bennett. Elliot himself had connections to Sufism, particularly to the Mevlevi order, and he hosted a number of Sufi teachers in the late 1970s and early 1980s, including Süleyman Loras of the Mevlevi order of Konya, Turkey and Muzaffer Ozak of the Helveti-Jerrahi order of Istanbul. In the course of a nine month long course of intensive teachings from 1979–80, Jelaluddin Loras, the son of Süleyman Loras, introduced the Sema ceremony to the attending students. In this chapter, I investigate some of the specific cases of the exchange and dialogue that took place between these teachers, and then, through interviews and responses to questionnaires, the influences—sometimes more personal than public—on those who were impacted by, and participated in, the iteration of the discourse on Gurdjieff and Sufism at Claymont. The fifth and final chapter addresses the continuing influence and exchange that has taken place between representatives of Sufi traditions in the United States and the teachings and teachers of the Gurdjieff tradition. Here I first consider the British teacher, Reshad Feild, and his formative connections in

8

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

employing Gisela Webb’s delineation, the second wave of Sufism in the 1960s and 1970s. I then turn to the third wave of Sufism in the United States and consider the reception and views of a number of teachers of Sufism, or those who refer to Sufism in their work, including Ibrahim Gamard, Yannis Toussulis, Murat Yagan and Kabir Helminski. Next, as a brief case study, I focus on the further exchanges that have taken place in the context of Claymont Court since the end of the basic courses in the late 1980s. These have included noteworthy visits and interactions with a number of Sufi teachers and orders, including the Naqshbandi-Haqqani order and the Mevlevi Order of America, led by Jelaluddin Loras. In this chapter, I also consider, through interviews and responses to questionnaires, the particular manifestations of the discourse on Gurdjieff and Sufism that developed as a result of second-wave Sufism in the United States and which continues in the third wave. Finally, I provide additional discussion on the role and views of the Mevlevi Order of America from observations of a retreat that I attended in the summer of 2010. The aim of this last chapter in particular, is to offer and assess some elements of the varied and hybrid discourse on and about Sufism as it continues into the twenty-first century in the United States.

A Note about Terms and Transliteration With some exceptions, Arabic and Persian terms that have been translated into Turkish and employed in the context of Islam and Sufism in Turkey, are used following the modern Turkish spelling (For example: namaz for salat, zikr for dhikr, etc.). I have taken this course because the authors who serve as the main focus of this study have primarily used the Turkish transliterations in their own writings or speech. Though there has been some variation in their usage of terms, Gurdjieff knew Ottoman Turkish, as did J. G. Bennett and Süleyman Loras. Additionally, following this model, subsequent authors and students have frequently used the Turkish spellings and pronunciation. Where they are used differently in direct quotations, they remain unchanged.

Chapter 1

Gurdjieff and Sufism: The Creation of a Discourse

Question: Did you never ask Gurdjieff about the origin of the system? Ouspensky: We all asked about 10 times a day and every time the answer was different. Question: Did you ask Gurdjieff why he always gave different answers? Ouspensky: Yes. Question: What did he say? Ouspensky: He said he never gave different answers. (P. D. Ouspensky, from notes of a meeting held on November 4, 1937)

How does one, nearly 100  years after G. I. Gurdjieff appeared in Moscow and St. Petersburg, teaching and presenting his system of spiritual trans­ formation, answer conclusively the questions concerning the origins of his teachings or evaluate Gurdjieff’s relationship with Sufism and Sufi teachers? Given the paucity of directly-confirmable references about Gurdjieff’s early life, except those which he provides in Meetings with Remarkable Men, biographers have been forced to do some detective work to fill in the gaps. Many have attempted to discern the origins by going back to his writings, to his music, to the records of his oral talks, to the notes and books about him by his early students and then the large corpus of secondary works that have been written since his death in  1949. While it has been pointed out that elements of Gurdjieff’s ideas, practices, and approach can be traced to several identifiable traditions, including Christianity, Buddhism, and others, Sufism has long been seen as one of the major influences on his work. Beginning with figures who met Gurdjieff, such as P. D. Ouspensky, Thomas de Hartmann, and J. G. Bennett, to those who came after them and sought to construct a biography of Gurdjieff’s life, particularly his early life, the sources of Gurdjieff’s teaching and his early influences were a mystery to be solved. According to a biography by James Moore, Gurdjieff visited orders in Turkey when he was a young man and later he resided in Istanbul from 1920 to 1921, during which time he reportedly trained with the Mevlevi (Mevleviye) of Galata. Anna Challenger’s more recent study of Beelzebub’s

10

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

Tales argues that Gurdjieff’s magnum opus is best understood as a “Sufi Teaching Tale.” Some responses have taken what might now be described as a more orthodox approach to his work, asserting that Gurdjieff and the Fourth Way teaching that he taught was unique, and that either the sources cannot be found, or that it is not important to discover them. Some have suggested that it is now impossible to find the sources of his teachings. Other authors have sought the sources of his teachings by traveling back to the places that Gurdjieff mentions in his writings, to Greece, Central Asia, Egypt, Afghanistan, Turkey or to other locales in the Middle East. Still others have constructed a theory of origins, drawing on support from different traditions including Sufism, and from their own personal experience. Questions and propositions concerning the origins of his work continue to be offered and, oftentimes, answered with varying degrees of certitude, support, and criticism. Although the majority of those who have taken up the task of providing biographies of Gurdjieff, including James Webb (1980), James Moore (1991), and Paul Taylor (2008), minimize the importance of the influence of Sufism in his work, the connections, as well as disconnections, between Gurdjieff and Sufism are still pursued by a variety of interlocutors. In this chapter, I offer a presentation and reconsideration of a cross-section of the narratives and references related to the discourse about Gurdjieff and Sufism as it developed over the course of the twentieth century. I first review the early encounters with Gurdjieff recorded by P. D. Ouspensky, Thomas de Hartmann, and J. G. Bennett that early on helped give shape to the larger discourse on and about Gurdjieff and Sufism. In particular, I give focus to the references to the first meetings with Gurdjieff and to the references to Sufism or Sufi-related activities and teachings in their early work. These narratives provide some of the earliest and most widely read records of meetings with Gurdjieff by Europeans and provide some insight into both how Gurdjieff was perceived and how his work was received in the context of the early twentieth century. These early encounters also inevitably shaped the way later audiences read and interpreted Gurdjieff’s work and the work of his students, especially with regard to Sufism and Eastern spirituality. I next turn to Gurdjieff’s own work, Meetings with Remarkable Men, which has been the source of much speculation around Gurdjieff’s connections with Sufism since its publication in 1963. Despite the fact that Meetings is presented as an allegorical text, only to be read after reading the first collection in the All and Everything series, Beelzebub’s Tales to His Grandson, readers, as well as biographers, have inevitably looked to the text as a source for information about Gurdjieff’s early search, and the influences upon his teachings and writings. Here I attempt to understand Gurdjieff’s text in light of his presentation of a “culture of the search” and his larger discourse on the soul, which is frequently informed by more allusive than definite references to dervishes and the dervish orders of Turkey and Central Asia. I also briefly discuss director Peter Brook’s 1978 film version of Meetings

Gurdjieff and Sufism: The Creation of a Discourse

11

with Remarkable Men, which has also driven further speculation about Gurdjieff’s early life among members of a wider audience. Following the discussion of Gurdjieff’s work, I turn to another layer of the expanded discourse on Gurdjieff and Sufism that developed in the 1960s, through the work of Idries Shah. Shah published a large number of works on Sufism, as well as popular volumes of stories about the folk character, “Mulla Nasrudin.” In particular, Shah’s, The Sufis (1964), influenced a generation of seekers in England and America in the 1960s and 1970s who were interested in the spiritualities of the East and Sufism in particular. Several of Shah’s works make reference to Gurdjieff and P. D. Ouspensky, though mostly in an attempt to attract would-be seekers to his own version of a universal Sufism. Additionally, Shah’s promotion of his work to the students of Gurdjieff and Ouspensky, led to a series of dramatic encounters with J. G. Bennett in England in the late 1960s. Acknowledging the fact that critiques and reactions to Gurdjieff’s teachings also form part of the discourse, I consider Shah’s approach as well as its impact on the presentation of Gurdjieff and Sufism. I then turn to consider briefly the reception of Gurdjieff’s work in more recent scholarly studies, such as in the developing fields of Western Esotericism and New Age Studies. Lastly, in light of the foregoing discussions, I turn to a consideration of Anna Challenger’s 2002 study of Gurdjieff, Philosophy and Art in Gurdjieff’s Beelzebub: A Modern Sufi Odyssey. Much of the material that I address in this chapter is not new. However, I hope that the presentation of various representations, iterations, and redeployments of Gurdjieff, may evince a more comprehensive understanding of both Gurdjieff’s discourse on spiritual transformation, as well as its ties to Sufism and Sufi teachings. In particular, this reexamination of Gurdjieff’s work and legacy in relation to Sufism may reveal (though not exhaust) important elements of this discourse that can inform the examination and assessment of Gurdjieff’s influence on later authors and activities, particularly in the latter decades of the twentieth century.

The Early Reception of Gurdjieff: P. D. Ouspensky, Thomas de Hartmann, and J. G. Bennett P. D. Ouspensky and the search for the miraculous Gurdjieff’s most well-known student, the Russian author P. D. Ouspensky (1878– 1947), wrote works on esoteric topics, as well as on a broad range of topics in philosophy, science, and math. Jacob Needleman writes that P. D. Ouspensky’s In Search of the Miraculous (1949) is “.  .  .by far the best account of Gurdjieff’s teaching written by a pupil or anyone other than Gurdjieff” (Faivre 1992, p. 360). Moreover, Ouspensky’s work and the references to Sufism have been used to lend support to the idea that Gurdjieff was inspired or connected to Sufi

12

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

teachings and teachers. Though not dominant in the text, Gurdjieff’s comments on his travels, references to the enneagram—largely allusive, and the references to dervish dances and teachings, have contributed to the perception of the importance of Sufism in his work. Of particular note is Ouspensky’s report about the visit he made with Gurdjieff to the Mevlevi tekke at Galata in Istanbul. These instances continue to play a role in the ongoing discourse about Gurdjieff and Sufism. Even before meeting Gurdjieff, Ouspensky was driven early in his own search to find or develop a comprehensive system of knowledge which would supersede both classical and contemporary forms of knowledge. His own search took him to the East, to India, Sri Lanka and other locales in Asia. In Russia, before he met Gurdjieff, he also authored several works including, New Model of the Universe: Principles of the Psychological Method in Its Application to Problems of Science, Religion and Art (1911) and Tertium Organum: The Third Canon of Thought, a Key to the Enigmas of the World (Ouspensky 1912). Ouspensky was very much in the company of others of his time and place. In early twentieth century Russia, the popularity of Theosophy, influenced chiefly by the work of Madame Blavatsky (1831–91), was growing, and Ouspensky’s works display a familiarity with their doctrines. At this period, interest in both science and higher states of consciousness was also in vogue, as can be seen in the work of Russian cosmists, such as Nikolai Fyodorovich Fyodorov (1827–1903), who sought to reconcile scientific, and spiritual or philosophical approaches to knowledge. In Tertium Organum (Ouspensky 1912), Ouspensky presented his own innovative systematic approach to knowledge before he met Gurdjieff and it became quite well-known in its own right. This early work indicates Ouspensky’s interest in finding resources and answers in religion, the esoteric ideas of the West, as well as in Eastern philosophy and practices. He also sought a reconciliation of Western and Eastern thought, and a systematic approach that would transcend the flaws that he saw in each. To aid him in his grand project, Ouspensky references the work of German philologist and Orientalist, Max Muller (1823–1900), who is considered one of the pioneers of comparative religion. Ouspensky refers to Muller’s presentation of a number of topics, including Theosophy, Indian philosophy, and a brief comparison of the Christian understanding of God in the works of St. Paul. In a later chapter, Ouspensky quotes at some length from Muller’s work, Theosophy or Psychological Religion, which compares the mystical approach in different traditions. In one passage, Muller remarks that Eastern and Western philosophies agree on the starting point, “. . .namely from the conviction that our ordinary knowledge is uncertain, if not altogether wrong. This revolt of the human mind against itself is the first step in all philosophy” (Ouspensky 1981a, p. 231). Building on the work of earlier synthesizers around the turn of the twentieth century, Ouspensky sought an applied philosophy that would go beyond ordinary knowledge. To that end, his work addresses a range of topics from theories of different dimensions, of mysticism and the mystics from different traditions, of the use of

Gurdjieff and Sufism: The Creation of a Discourse

13

narcotics in achieving higher states of consciousness, to a theory of “higher logic” which seeks to go beyond positivistic philosophy in order to comprehend all of these types of experiences and states. While not dominant, references to Sufism and Islam in the work demonstrate Ouspensky’s interest in them as sources of knowledge beyond the ordinary. Reflective of the time and place in which it was born, Tertium Organum, introduces Ouspensky’s audience to the Sufis and Persian poetry in a typically Orientalist fashion, one which emphasizes the independence and beauty of the esoteric expression of Sufi ideals. In a general discussion of mysticism found in different religious traditions, Ouspensky remarks: In Mohammedanism there is also a great deal of mysticism. The most characteristic expression of Mohammedan mysticism is Persian Sufism. “Sufism” is both a religious sect and a philosophical school of a very high idealistic character, which struggled against materialism as well as against narrow fanaticism and the literal understanding of the Koran. The Sufis interpreted the Koran mystically. Sufism is the philosophical free-thinking of Mohammedanism, coupled with their own peculiar symbolic and vividly sensual poetry which always has a hidden mystical meaning. (1981a, p. 250) Following his interest in the hidden, esoteric side of knowledge, Ouspensky cites the “free-thinking” Sufis and Persian Sufism in particular. He continues in the same section to reference several examples of Persian poetry, including Jami and Rumi, and highlights the differences in mystical orientation from the Christian tradition, which he critiques on the grounds of the rejection of the sensual. Ouspensky continues: Sufism remained for a long time incomprehensible to European thought. From the point of view of Christian theology and Christian morality a combination of sensuality and religious ecstasy is inadmissible. But in the East the two managed to exist together in perfect harmony. In the Christian world the “carnal” was always considered inimical to the “spiritual”. In the Moslem world the carnal and sensual was accepted as a symbol of the spiritual. The expression of religious and philosophical truths “in the language of love” was a very widely spread custom in the East. These are the “Oriental ­flowers of eloquence”. All allegories, all metaphors were borrowed from “love”. “Mohammed fell in love with God”, say the Arabs, wishing to convey the ardent quality of Mohammed’s religious feeling. (ibid: p. 250) Willing to embrace an alternative view of the body, as a site for spiritual experience and the encounter of the divine, Ouspensky goes against the restrictive, Western notions of the body as a site of sin and guilt. Likewise, Ouspensky’s knowledge drew more from Western translations and

14

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

interpretations of these works rather than direct experience. For example, in the same section, Ouspensky quotes Max Muller on the Sufis, and from works such as F. Hadland Davis’s collection of Persian poems from translations by other authors, The Persian Mystics: Jami (Davis 1908). Following a quote extracted from the work of Muller, Ouspensky adds: Generally speaking, in Sufism poetry and mysticism are merged more than anywhere else in the world. Sufi poets often led strange lives as hermits, anchorites, pilgrims, at the same time singing of love, the beauty of women, the perfume of roses and wine (Ouspensky 1981a, p. 252). Here, Ouspensky, much like Gurdjieff’s later audience in Europe and America, operates from popular notions about Islam, Sufism, and Sufi poetry. In America, in the mid-nineteenth century, Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803–82), had presented versions of Sufi poetry, particularly from Jami and Attar, from early European translations. From this period on, Europeans and Americans drew on the scholarly presentations of academics like Muller. For the Western-minded and academically trained Ouspensky, the Sufis represented a tradition that, through its mystical modes of interpretation and emphasis on love, went beyond ordinary knowledge. Ouspensky asserts that he sought a way beyond the forms of wisdom that he found in these traditions, a new learning for a new age. As the title of Ouspensky’s Tertium Organum suggests, he saw his own work as a contribution to a grand synthesis. Although he envisioned a new type of literature that would synthesize all current domains of thought, Ouspensky did not believe that books alone could provide the answers. After failed journeys to the East to find suitable sources of applied wisdom, he met Gurdjieff, and what seemed to him a solution to the problem of the synthesis of ideas, as well as the practical means to manifest them. One of the earliest presentations of Gurdjieff’s ideas was Ouspensky’s In Search of the Miraculous: Fragments of an Unknown Teaching. Written after Tertium Organum, it provides an account of Ouspensky’s years with Gurdjieff, primarily in Russia, from 1914 to 1918, though some entries report meetings as late as the early 1920s. Treated as an authoritative source in the reception of Gurdjieff’s ideas, it remains perhaps the most well-known and widely-read book about Gurdjieff’s teachings. Although references to Sufism or dervishes are relatively minimal, they become significant in the later presentations and interpretations of, especially, the origins of Gurdjieff’s teachings. The events recorded in In Search of the Miraculous begin following Ouspensky’s return from a trip to “seek the miraculous” in Egypt, India, and Ceylon in late 1914 (1949, p. 3). Upon his return, somewhat disillusioned, Ouspensky reflects: I had to admit that, on my return, my problem seemed even more difficult and complicated than on my departure. India and the East had not only not lost their glamour of the miraculous; on the contrary, this glamour had acquired

Gurdjieff and Sufism: The Creation of a Discourse

15

new shades that were absent from it before. I saw clearly that ­something could be found there which had long since ceased to exist in Europe and I considered that the direction I had taken was the right one. But, at the same time, I was convinced that the secret was better and more deeply hidden than I could previously have supposed. When I went away I already knew I was going to look for a school or schools. I had arrived at this long ago. I realized that personal, individual efforts were insufficient and that it was necessary to come into touch with the real and living thought which must be in existence somewhere but with which we had lost contact. (ibid: p. 4) In his own journeys to the East, Ouspensky met with different teachers, groups, and certain spiritual schools, but he left feeling that he had not found the school that he sought that would lead him fully beyond the realm of ordinary knowledge, providing the key for his synthesis. He heard of other schools that demanded all “up front” and without question, but he was not free enough to renounce everything in order to submit to such demands. He also encountered religious or devotionally-oriented schools, but he felt that this way was not for him. Moreover, Ouspensky could easily find religious schools in Russia. Ultimately this was a concern that led him to question, at least in part, Gurdjieff’s approach within a few years. Ouspensky made plans to return to what he called “the Mohammedan East,”—Russian Central Asia and Persia—but the intention never came to fruition (ibid: p. 6). Eventually returning to St. Petersburg, he by chance saw an advertisement for Gurdjieff’s ballet, the “Struggle of the Magicians,” to be presented in Moscow. The ad did not initially attract him, but he took note of it. Then, through a series of seeming coincidences, he eventually met the mysterious figure, described as a “Hindu” in the advertisement. He shortly discovered that this figure was G. I. Gurdjieff and he forged a relationship with him that, though lasting only a few years, shaped the rest of his life as well as his legacy. In his early conversations, Gurdjieff discussed the “Struggle of the Magicians” with him and Ouspensky describes some of the elements: The action was to take place against the background of the life of an Eastern city, intermixed with sacred dances. Dervish dances and various national Eastern dances, all this interwoven with a love story which itself would have an allegorical meaning. (ibid) Perhaps, fulfilling the notions he might have had of an authentic teacher from the East, he records his first meeting with Gurdjieff: I saw a man of an oriental type, no longer young, with a black mustache and piercing yes, who astonished me first of all because he seemed to be disguised

16

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America and completely out of keeping with the place and its atmosphere. I was still full of impressions of the East. And this man with the face of an Indian raja or an Arab sheik whom I at once seemed to see in a white burnoose or a gilded turban, seated here in this little cafe, where small dealers and commission agents met together, in a black overcoat with a velvet collar and a black bowler hat, produced the strange, unexpected, and almost alarming impression of a man poorly disguised, the sight of whom embarrasses you because you see he is not what he pretends to be and yet you have to speak and behave as though you did not see it. He spoke Russian incorrectly with a strong Caucasian accent; and this accent, with which we are accustomed to associate anything apart from philosophical ideas, strengthened still further the strangeness and the unexpectedness of this impression. (ibid: pp. 7–8)

Seeing Gurdjieff as a kind of Indian raja or Arab sheik, emphasizing that he spoke Russian with an accent and the fact that Gurdjieff was from the Southern Caucasus, does not seem to have made much difference. After the first regular group meetings started in 1916 in St. Petersburg, Ouspensky presents a summary of some of the comments that Gurdjieff had made about his background and the origins of his teachings: He had passed his young years in an atmosphere of fairy tales, legends, and traditions. The “miraculous” around him was an actual fact. Predictions of the future which he heard, and which those around him fully believed, were fulfilled and made him believe in many other things. All these things taken together had created in him at a very early age a leaning towards the mysterious, the incomprehensible, and the magical. He told me that when quite young he made several long journeys in the East. What was true in these stories I could never decide exactly. But, as he said, in the course of these journeys he again came across many phenomena telling him of the existence of a certain knowledge, of certain powers and possibilities exceeding the ordinary possibilities of man, and of people possessing clairvoyance and other miraculous powers. In all these stories about himself a great deal was contradictory and hardly credible. But I had already realized that no ordinary demands could be made of him, nor could any ordinary standards be applied to him. One could be sure of nothing in regard to him. He might say one thing today and something altogether different tomorrow, and yet, somehow, he could never be accused of contradictions; one had to understand and connect everything together. About schools and where he had found the knowledge he undoubtedly possessed he spoke very little and always superficially. He mentioned Tibetan monasteries, the Chitral, Mount Athos; Sufi schools in Persia, in Bokhara, and eastern Turkestan; he mentioned dervishes of various orders; but all of them in a very indefinite way. (ibid: p. 36)

Gurdjieff and Sufism: The Creation of a Discourse

17

Ouspensky’s description of the stories that Gurdjieff related about his childhood makes it sound as if Gurdjieff was from an exotic land, far from the neighboring region of the Caucasus from which he actually came. Ouspensky comes away from these early meetings with a belief that Gurdjieff was not an ordinary person, and that he could not expect ordinary answers from him. Particularly telling and characteristic of Gurdjieff’s approach, is the mention of “dervishes of various orders” of which he spoke about in an “indefinite way.” In a climate where interest in Theosophy and the work of Madame Blavatsky, and discussions of secret masters were relatively easily met with, Gurdjieff’s references certainly could have been used as a point to attract interested students, including Ouspensky. But Ouspensky was no neophyte, and his interest in these matters was not, apparently, superficial or passing. This “indefinite way” becomes a hallmark of the manner in which Gurdjieff introduces into his discourse on spiritual transformation, the references to dervish teachings, dervish dances, “dervish monasteries” and to all elements related to “dervishism” in general. The enneagram is also often cited as evidence for the Sufi influence on Gurdjieff’s teachings, and several early references to it appear in In Search of the Miraculous. More recently, the enneagram is reported to come from a Sufi source, perhaps in Central Asia and from the Naqshbandi tradition—as J. G. Bennett later enthusiastically took up in his work and interpretation of Gurdjieff. However, and without making much of the significance of Sufism in relation to it, Gurdjieff spoke of it as a universal symbol: “All knowledge can be included in the enneagram and with the help of the enneagram it can be interpreted” (ibid: 294). Given the importance assigned to it by later authors, the references to the enneagram in Ouspensky’s reports seem nominal. Likewise, in Gurdjieff’s written works, Beelzebub’s Tales and Meetings with Remarkable Men, there are very few references to the enneagram. Nonetheless, the enneagram has become the object of much discussion and even controversy in the West, particularly in the Americas, as it has been popularized as a diagram used for the interpretation of personality types, used as a spiritual or teaching tool in some Christian circles and continues to be publicly claimed by contemporary Naqshbandi Sufis as a Sufi symbol. Another prominent dimension of Gurdjieff’s wider discourse that has drawn much attention, is the influence and incorporation of ritual movements and exercises from the Sufi tradition. One in particular was connected with the enneagram, the nine-pointed symbol which purports to holistically represent the “law of three” and the “law of seven.” Ouspensky comments in this report that Gurdjieff showed the students exercises connected with the “movement of the enneagram:” On the floor of the hall where the exercises took place a large enneagram was drawn and the pupils who took part in the exercises stood on the spots marked by the numbers 1 to 9. Then they began to move in the direction of the numbers of the period in a very interesting movement, turning round

18

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America one another at the points of meeting, that is, at the points where the lines intersect in the enneagram. (ibid)

However, Ouspensky does not elaborate, at least in these instances, on the enneagram as a symbol or as an indication of a connection to Sufism. He also reports on another exercise that has been attributed to the Sufi tradition, known as the “stop” exercise. In a particularly challenging period, Gurdjieff worked with a group for an extended, six week period in Essentuki. Here, in an extended account of some of the inner exercises with relaxation of the muscles, sensations, breathing and the attention, Ouspensky states that “. . .G. showed us an exercise that was quite new for us, without which, according to him, it was impossible to master moving nature. This was, as he called it, the ‘stop’ exercise” (ibid: 351). An account of the stop exercise appears in the accounts of Gurdjieff in Views From the Real World (1973), and the writings of other observers, including J. G. Bennett, taking a place of prominence in reports illustrating Gurdjieff’s methods, and for many, the indication of the classical Sufi influence in his teachings. After difficult travels through the Caucasus, Ouspensky eventually went on to Istanbul, settling on one of the outlying islands of Prinkipo (site of a well-known Greek Orthodox Monastery) where he began to give public lectures. He met with audiences there and he “continued to develop the ideas begun in Rostov and Ekaterinodar, connecting general ideas of psychology and philosophy with ideas of esotericism” (ibid: 382). When Gurdjieff arrived with his own entourage in June of 1920, Ouspensky eventually handed over his group of thirty people that he had regularly been working with. During this time, Ouspensky notes that Gurdjieff focused again on the “Struggle of the Magicians” ballet, and prepared students with, “dances, exercises, and the ceremonies of various dervishes as well as many little known Eastern dances” (ibid). Ouspensky comments on the fact that they met the Mevlevi dervishes, and their work on together on the ballet, “The Struggle of the Magicians”: We went to the Mehlevi dervishes and he explained something to me that I had not been able to understand before. And this was that the whirling of the Mehlevi dervishes was an exercise for the brain based upon counting, like those exercises that he had shown to us in Essentuki. Sometimes I worked with him for entire days and nights. One such night in particular remains in my memory, when we “translated” a dervish song for “The Struggle of the Magicians.” I saw G. the artist and G. the poet, whom he had so carefully hidden inside him, particularly the latter. (ibid: pp. 382–3) Like many Europeans since the seventeenth century, visitors to Istanbul could easily gain entrance to some of the more accessible presentations of Sufi Sema (whirling ceremony) and zikr (ceremony of remembrance), such as the ones at the Mevlevi tekke in Pera—known now as Beyog˘ lu. The Mevlevi tekke in Pera

Gurdjieff and Sufism: The Creation of a Discourse

19

was already well-known, even in travel guides of the nineteenth century, as was the Rifai tekke in Üsküdar (an older section of Istanbul on the Asian shore). Although presented as authentic, weekly rituals of the respective Sufi orders, they would not likely have been a place for esoteric instruction for visitors. However, Gurdjieff and Ouspensky visited the Mevlevi tekke with other aims in mind. Of note is the fact that Ouspensky relied on Gurdjieff’s authoritative interpretation of the ritual and its meanings, which he found useful in revealing one of the hidden elements related to counting. Ouspensky’s comment above also provides some insight into another side of the Gurdjieff behind the creation of the story of the ballet, a dimension that comes out later in Beelzebub’s Tales to His Grandson. Ouspensky’s comment indicates that Gurdjieff knew the Persian verses from his own study and that he translated them into Russian for the purposes of putting them into the ballet. Gurdjieff, in one sense, was a translator—a translator of dance, verse, and the ideas of another culture and context, into a new one that was increasingly westward looking. Here, in Istanbul, at the shores of the classical—and political—divide of East and West, Gurdjieff was perhaps aware that he was preparing for a new life and a new mission in the West. Within a year, Gurdjieff made his way to Europe, first to Germany, finally settling in Fontainebleau, outside of Paris, at a former priory in 1922. In one of the final notes about the time Ouspensky spent with Gurdjieff in this period, he states that he often went to Gurdjieff’s Institute for the Harmonious Development of Man at the Prieure. In a comment about Gurdjieff’s work on his ballet, “The Struggle of the Magicians,” Ouspensky notes, He never stopped working the whole time on his ballet, bringing into it the dances of various dervishes and Sufis and recalling by memory the music he had listened to in Asia many years before. In this work was a very great deal that was new and interesting. Dervish dances and music were reproduced in Europe undoubtedly for the first time. And they produced a very great impression on all who were able to hear and see them. (ibid: 386) Ouspensky, as do Hartmann and Bennett, comments on the use of dervish dances, music, and even décor that was used at the Prieure. Here he reports that Gurdjieff presents these dances and music for the first time on European soil. This account is also perhaps the source of Paul Heelas’ statement that Gurdjieff was a “Sufi mystic,” who brought Sufism to France.1 The perception and inter-pretation of the influence of Asian culture in Gurdjieff’s work and teachings was dominant and, for many, created a striking impression, one that continues to be developed and reinterpreted by later authors. Several other reports, including those from J. G. Bennett and C. S. Nott, remarked that Gurdjieff had decorated the location for the dances after the fashion of a Sufi tekke, or meeting place. In a report from C. S. Nott, who met

20

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

Gurdjieff through A. R. Orage in New York and later went to work with Gurdjieff in Fontainebleau, he describes in more detail the meeting hall: Inside, over the entrance, was a small gallery with a seat, and hung round the gallery was a collection of stringed instruments and drums from the Near and Far East; while on the walls were several diplomas or certificates in Eastern characters, which had at various times been given to Gurdjieff. The floor of the Study House was covered with carpets from Persia, Afghanistan, and other Eastern countries, and carpets hung on the walls. Inside on the right of the entrance was a box with hangings, Gurdjieff’s own seat. Round the walls of the House were raised seats for spectators, separated from the open space by a painted wooden fence. At the far end was a raised platform of earth, covered with linoleum, for Movements; and in front a small fountain. The windows were stained and painted in a pleasing harmony of colors; while scattered about on the walls, in a script somewhat like Persian or Turkish, were aphorisms or sayings. The atmosphere was that of a holy place. (Needleman, 1998, p. 337) The diplomas or certificates that Nott observed hanging on the wall also demonstrate the ways in which Gurdjieff sought to establish his own authority. Clearly, Gurdjieff, a knowledgeable carpet dealer in at least one of his professional incarnations, cultivated the mystique of the East in which he was steeped. And, for observers such as Ouspensky, Bennett, and Nott, the accoutrements of the Study House seemed exotic, but they must also have seemed to the European and American visitors to serve as another, though indefinite, confirmation of his authority as a spiritual teacher from the East. Ouspensky contributed inestimably to the legacy of Gurdjieff, but his time with him represents a relatively brief period of his teachings—and is wholly uninformed by the later iterations of Gurdjieff’s work, especially his writings, which demonstrate a significant shift in focus and approach. The reasons for Ouspensky’s departure from Gurdjieff have been taken up by several biographers, and thus, I will not go into it in detail here. However, Ouspensky does make one telling comment at the end of In Search of the Miraculous concerning his rejection of a religious way. He suggests that he felt Gurdjieff might be pointing his students toward the path of religion: I had nothing to say against G.’s methods except that they did not suit me. A very clear example came to my mind then. I had never had a negative attitude towards the “way of the monk,” to religious, mystical ways. At the same time I could never have thought for one moment that such a way was possible for me or suitable. And so, if after three years of work I perceived that G. was leading us in fact towards the way of religion, of the monastery, and required the observance of all religious forms and ceremonies, there would be of course a motive for disagreeing with this and for going away, even though at the risk of

Gurdjieff and Sufism: The Creation of a Discourse

21

losing direct leadership. And certainly this would not, at the same time, mean that I considered the religious way a wrong way in general. It may even be a more correct way than my way but it is not my way. (1949, pp. 374–5) After an intensive three year period of work with Gurdjieff, Ouspensky, upon making what seemed to be a difficult decision, left him to pursue work independently, though, “in the same direction.” Ouspensky continued to work independently, and in the same trajectory, but at times sought, as recorded later by J. G. Bennett, to kindle connections with Sufi groups in the Middle East. Ouspensky authored In Search of the Miraculous with the subtitle, “Fragments of an Unknown Teaching”—the underlying assumption being that Gurdjieff’s teaching was incomplete. It is reported that Gurdjieff read an early draft of Ouspensky’s work and acknowledged its authenticity. With reference to Gurdjieff’s blessing of Ouspensky’s work, and despite the fact that the book represents a relatively brief period in Gurdjieff’s teaching career, many argue that Ouspensky’s presentation is an essential dispensation of Gurdjieff’s ideas. Though versions were shared with students and peers, Ouspensky’s work was not published until 1949. In terms of the discourse on and about Gurdjieff in general, Ouspensky’s work is without equal—particularly for the coming generation, the grandchildren of Gurdjieff, so to speak, who seem to find the directness of his presentation of Gurdjieff’s teachings more palatable than those especially found in, Beelzebub’s Tales to His Grandson. Writing in the preface to the 2001 edition, American New Age author, Marianne Williamson, refers to its importance for providing in the context of 1960s America, the “mystical basics.” Given the references to Gurdjieff’s ideas concerning dervish dances—or movements, some of his key exercises, such as the “stop exercise,” and the ideas associated with the enneagram, including the law of three and the law of seven, Ouspensky’s work has contributed significantly to the discourse about Gurdjieff and Sufism. As such, Ouspensky, and his work, serve as important elements or entries in the matrix of the Gurdjieffian discourse on and about Sufism.

Thomas de Hartmann: The discovery of Gurdjieff and Eastern music If Ouspensky’s work focused on the ideas and formulations of Gurdjieff’s system of transformation, Thomas de Hartmann (1895–1956) supported and spread Gurdjieff’s influence through his contributions to Gurdjieff’s musical oeuvre. Hartmann, and his wife Olga, were with Gurdjieff from 1917 until 1929 and they documented some of their experiences with him in Our Life with Mr. Gurdjieff (1972). Hartmann’s presentation, written in a more personal tone, conveys more enthusiasm for his encounters with Gurdjieff. This is especially noticeable when comparing with Ouspensky’s narrative, which strives for— reflecting Ouspensky’s own predilections—objectivity, precision, and forthrightness. Part of Hartmann’s account overlaps with Ouspensky’s report in

22

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

In Search of the Miraculous, with Hartmann adding a few details not found in Ouspensky’s work. Most importantly for Gurdjieff, and the future of the reception of Gurdjieff’s work, particularly the music and sacred dances, Hartmann was a classically trained composer and musician. Born in the Ukraine, he trained and studied in St. Petersburg from a young age. He also spent much of the period from 1908 to 1912 in Munich, Germany, where he continued to produce his own compositions. His training in Russia and then in Germany, and his exposure to Eastern music through Gurdjieff, enabled him to contribute to the lasting legacy of Gurdjieff’s output in the form of numerous musical collaborations and contributions. In his account, Hartmann provides some insight into his own proclivities and orientation as a member of the Russian upper class. Upon his first meeting with Gurdjieff in  1917, though having already heard much about him and being more than ready to work with him, his comments about his “Caucasianness” reveal the biases of his location and class: After a while I saw coming toward us Dr. S., whom I had met before socially, and two men in black coats, both very typical Caucasians, with black eyes and black mustaches. They were very well dressed, but so Caucasian . . . I wondered which one was he? And I must say that my first reaction was anything but one of rapture or veneration. (Hartmann 1972, p. 5) Hartmann was a Russian aristocrat, who, like many from the center of the Empire, seemed to lump together the diverse ethnic groups from the Caucasus, reducing them to black eyes, black hair, and dark skin. From the perspective of the Russian aristocracy, and even up to the present day, the Caucasus is seen as a kind of backwater of the region. Gurdjieff shared the darkness of skin color and features of other Caucasians, something Hartmann admits his bias towards. Despite this, Hartmann immediately showed his interest in joining his work and offered him money to support it. Hartmann is most well-known as the co-composer with Gurdjieff and together they created more than three hundred pieces of music, many of which were played with the “sacred gymnastics,” or, as they later became known, the “movements.” Gurdjieff encouraged Hartmann early on to further his training and the development of his musical talents, even sending him to Yerevan (Erivan), Armenia to perform and make a presentation on the Armenian priest, composer and pioneering ethnomusicologist of Armenian folk music, Komitas Vardapet (1869–1939). Of special note is the emphasis upon Eastern music and its significance for him in the continuing production of his musical work. From the record of his trip, Hartmann characterizes Armenian music as “nonEuropean” and “Eastern.” Soon Mr. Gurdjieff gave another task for both my wife and me. We were to go to Erivan, the capital of Armenia, and give several concerts. Thanks to my reputation

Gurdjieff and Sufism: The Creation of a Discourse

23

among the Armenians and to my article about their composer Komitas, we were able to do this. During the winter my wife had learned his songs in Armenian, so we had on hand an Armenian as well as a European repertory. (ibid: 84) Hartmann also remarks that on this trip they gave three concerts: “the first of European and Russian music; the second consisting of a lecture by me about Komitas and a recital of his songs in Armenian by my wife; the third a mixed program” (ibid: 84). In a kind of reverie over the view of Mt. Ararat as seen from Yerevan, Hartmann reflects upon the music that he heard as “Eastern” music and his joy in being able to study it, and the instruments, directly: To accompany this vision there was real Eastern music, because Sarpazan had also invited a relative of his who was one of the best players of the Tar—a kind of stringed instrument in Armenia. . . .Through this trip to Erivan Mr. Gurdjieff gave us the opportunity of listening to real Eastern music and musicians, so that I could better understand how he wished his own music to be written and interpreted. (ibid: 85) Perhaps most significant in this experience was Hartmann’s direct exposure to the music and the instruments of the culture. Hartmann and Ouspensky were the only figures that met Gurdjieff who were able to experience some of Armenian culture and the location of his birth directly. Hartmann, however, put it to more practical use in the preparation of the music they created together which included the songs, albeit generically titled, “Armenian Melody” and “Armenian Song.” Little attention has been paid to the influence of the Armenian language and, especially culture in Gurdjieff’s work and his music. Perhaps a partial remedy to this is represented by the production of a selection of music from Gurdjieff and Hartmann, employing Armenian folk instruments, such as those Hartmann witnessed on his trip to Armenia.2 Later, in  1920, Hartmann traveled with Gurdjieff to Istanbul with the same group mentioned by Ouspensky in In Search of the Miraculous. Here Gurdjieff continued to work with the group that traveled with him, and he also began opening his work to the public with the second incarnation of the Institute for the Harmonious Development of Man. In particular, Gurdjieff and Ouspensky continued to work together to create music for sacred gymnastics. In the description of one particular episode, we gain some insight into the process and into Hartmann’s own view of the music. Hartmann recounts a particular experience he had in working with Gurdjieff on a piece of music that was meant to reproduce the music of the dervishes. Gurdjieff gave Hartmann a small piece of paper that had the “upper voice” to be used in the piece. Hartmann reports: It became impossible to play all the parts with two hands. So he told Mme de Salzmann to play the lower part and me the upper part, and this became

24

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America the dance of the dervishes. The more the pupils entered into the movement, the more exciting and beautiful it became, full of a magical force characteristic of all orders of dervishes. (ibid: 93–4)

This music, “full of a magical force,” also suggests that his own knowledge and understanding of dervish music was, like Ouspensky’s, of a general and vague character with at least a tinge of the romanticism of many Orientalists of the time. Also during this time in Istanbul, he, like Ouspensky, visited the Mevlevi tekke near Galata with Gurdjieff where they could experience another tradition of Eastern, spiritual music directly. Here they saw the Sema, or the ceremony of the whirling dervishes several times. On one occasion, they were invited back to meet the shaykh of the order, while: . . .the musicians who had just played for the dervishes gave a concert of the best Turkish music with flute and drum. . . . I paid close attention and as soon as I returned home wrote down everything I could remember. The finest dervish musicians and the experts of Turkish music all belonged to a monastic dervish order, Mehlevi, which permitted marriage. (ibid: 94) For Hartmann, these were powerful encounters and he took notes on the music and incorporated them into the music he created with Gurdjieff. In his description, however, Hartmann displays his lack of familiarity with some of the basics of Sufi organizations; much like the other visitors to the tekke must have done. For example, he incorrectly describes some of the information about the locale when he mentions the shaykh of a mosque where the Sema was performed. The other details, such as the high balcony and grille, confirm that what he describes is the Galata Mevlevihanesi, or meeting place, of the Mevlevi, not far from the flat that Gurdjieff rented several blocks away on Abdul Yemeneci Street. Though Gurdjieff himself would have likely been familiar with the organization of the Mevlevi order, it was clearly not at the center of his concerns to explain the details to Hartmann. What was central, was the experience and depth of feeling expressed in the ceremony. Although only observers, the experience was significant for both Ouspensky and Hartmann, and it would continue to have resonances for them in the years to come. For Ouspensky, he continued to believe that the East and the dervish orders in particular, might hold the keys to complete the “fragments” of Gurdjieff’s teachings. For Hartmann, the experiences that carried the “magical force characteristic of all orders of dervishes” would influence, in more tangible ways, his music, as well as Gurdjieff’s legacy. Hartmann’s responses and reactions, in many ways, might be in certain respects typical of many of Gurdjieff’s early students in Europe. Raised in the Ukraine, and highly educated, Hartmann must have carried with him some of the fascination with the East, likely informed by the productions of Orientalist authors, artists, and musicians. But he also reflects on the exercise of his own

Gurdjieff and Sufism: The Creation of a Discourse

25

interests, in the paper he wrote on the Armenian composer, Komitas. Nonetheless, Hartmann, educated in Western musical forms and compositions, viewed Armenian music, with its Eastern-derived instruments, such as the tar, as Eastern, and to some extent exotic. In this case, however, as with Ouspensky, the divide and distance here is not so much geographical, as cultural. Nonetheless, Hartmann’s familiarity with the East and his associated feelings must have been drawn out in his activities with Gurdjieff, and further elicited by the Armenian music he witnessed in Armenia, as well as the Turkish dervishes he encountered in Istanbul. The impact and impression of these encounters had its most significant influence on his musical production with Gurdjieff. Undoubtedly, the most important contribution Hartmann made to the reception of Gurdjieff’s work is his musical contributions. Hartmann went on to aid or score much of Gurdjieff’s musical oeuvre. In addition to a range of works that reflect influence or allusion with a range of Eastern, Greek, and Christian traditions, significant weight is given historically to the music that was inspired by, or copied from Sufi sources. Indications of this influence can be found in titles of some of his works, including, the dances and chants for Sayyids, “Dervish Dance,” and the music for Gurdjieff’s movements including “Dervish #7,” “Ho-Ya Dervish,” “Camel Dervish,” others which are based on the enneagram and some movements which include gestures from the Mevlevi Sema, or turning ceremony. Particularly striking are the movements, such as those seen in director Peter Brook’s film adaptation of Gurdjieff’s Meetings with Remarkable Men, which often have the most impact upon even unaffiliated observers. Multiple versions of the music of Gurdjieff and Hartmann continue to be recorded, produced, and publicly performed. The popular success of Tsabropolous and Lechner’s album Gurdjieff, Tsabropoulos: Chants, Hymns and Dances (Tsabropolous et  al. 2004) reflects the continuing interest in their body of music. Public performances, such as a 2010 performance in California of the music of Gurdjieff by Laurence Rosenthal, the composer of the music for Peter Brook’s film of Meetings with Remarkable Men, and a reading of Rumi’s poems, indicates the continuing convergence of Gurdjieff and Sufism in, at least, popular culture in America.3 Collectively the references to the exchange with dervishes and the connections with Eastern forms of music and folk culture, continue to inform and influence the ongoing discourse, exchange and presentation of Gurdjieff and Sufism.

J. G. Bennett: Diaries of a young man in Istanbul Out of all the immediate followers of Gurdjieff, J. G. Bennett (1897–1974) was perhaps the most influenced by the ideas and practices of Sufism—this is evident in both his voluminous literary output as well as in his work and activities with others. During Bennett’s post as a military deputy in Istanbul, Turkey from 1918 to 1921, he first met Gurdjieff and P. D. Ouspensky, and he also directly encountered Islam and Sufism for the first time. Bennett continued to develop the connections with both the teachings of Gurdjieff and Sufism, the Sufism of Turkey in particular,

26

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

for the remainder of his life. Drawing on Bennett’s autobiography, Witness (1978a), I address only the early period in Istanbul—during which time Bennett encountered several Sufis and Sufi orders, as well as P. D. Ouspensky and Gurdjieff—in order to give a sense of Bennett’s place in the line of transmission of Gurdjieff’s teachings, as well as some of the indications about how his particular relationship with Sufism began. In the larger discourse about Gurdjieff and Sufism, and in the transmission and support of Sufism, especially Turkish Sufism, to the West, Bennett plays a significant role. While his later work, following the years in Istanbul, is important, and figures largely in the discourse about Gurdjieff and Sufism, I will address Bennett’s post-Istanbul years in a later chapter in order to both present in more detail his specific role in the ongoing discourse, and assess his later contribution and influence on the continuing introduction of Sufism in England, at Sherborne House, and in the United States through, especially the school set up at Claymont Court in West Virginia in 1975. Bennett himself first encountered Sufism when he was charged with the investigation of the dervish orders in Istanbul as part of his military intelligence duties. He remarks that, “The pan-Islamic movement had greatly alarmed the Allies, especially Britain, with a hundred and fifty million Muslim subjects of the Crown in India, Malay and Africa” (1978a, p. 27). Official concern for the political activities of the dervish orders, rather than their spiritual pursuits, was foremost in the minds of those in charge of British interests in the region. But these suspicions led to a series of meaningful spiritual encounters for Bennett. Bennett’s account reflects the concerns of the British government at the time: I was to find out what the dervishes were doing. I learned that, for centuries, dervishes have traveled, on foot or with merchant caravans, from end to end of the Muslim world. Any dervish might be a secret agent in disguise, or he might be a fanatical missionary on behalf of some politico-religious fraternity. Another important factor was the dervish fraternities, of which the most influential was believed to be the Mevlevi Brotherhood. The late Sultan Mehmed Reshad V had been a devoted member of this order. During his long years of virtual imprisonment in the reign of Abdul Hamid, he had consoled himself with the practice of Sufi mysticism under the guidance of the chief of the Mevlevi order, Ahmed Chelebi of Konya. (ibid) As a result of the political mistrust of the dervish orders, Bennett had his first introduction to the meetings and rituals of several orders in Istanbul including the Mevlevi, the Rifai and the Bektashi. He recounts in some detail his first visits to the Mevlevi Tekke outside the Adrianople gate: I was to investigate the Mevlevi order – and find out if it had ramifications outside Asia Minor. One of my Turkish friends found it very natural that

Gurdjieff and Sufism: The Creation of a Discourse

27

I should wish to visit a Mevlevi Tekke, or monastery. Most visitors to Constantinople went to see the “whirling dervishes” at Galata Serai. I asked if I would see the real thing there. He replied: “Well, no. That is for sight-seers. The most important Tekke is outside the Adrianople Gate. . . . . .” It was a Thursday evening, the night when the ritual of the Fraternity is open to visitors. I was the only foreigner, but there were many Turks. The ritual is called the Mukabele or Meeting. My first impression was of sheer amazement. I had no idea that anything of the kind existed in the world. Having since witnessed it many times and received explanations of the mystical significance of each movement and gesture I find it hard to recapture my first impression. Thought and curiosity were not there: only a sense of deep peace and joy which everyone present seemed to share. The movements of the dervishes, first slow and then turning faster and faster, seemed to set them free from the cares of this world. The music was not less moving than the whirling of the dervishes. (ibid: 28) Avoiding the more public demonstrations of the ritual of the Mevlevi, such as the one that Ouspensky and Hartmann visited in Pera, Bennett sought entrance to a more exclusive meeting, one which would more likely be the location for political dissent or intrigue. Although Bennett went as a matter of duty, he was amazed at what he witnessed. The first impressions of the meeting, which he goes on to describe in more detail, made a distinct, powerful imprint, one that gave him a taste of what was possible and provided an inspiration that would inform his spiritual search for much of the rest of his life. As a result of these initial encounters with the dervishes of Istanbul, Bennett became more and more interested in the religion of Islam. He recounts that he decided to engage in the fasting during the month of Ramadan. That year it took place during the long days of July, a decidedly challenging time to endure the sunrise to sundown period of fasting. He admits, however, that he was only able to keep it up for a week because he felt that it was too taxing on his body and that it began to interfere with his work. Also during this period, Bennett gives an account of a meeting he had in the course of his duties with a Minister of Justice, whom he felt he had seen before. After entering the meeting and feeling sure that he had seen him before, the Minister laughed and said to him, “I saw you last Thursday at the Edirne Kapou Tekke” (ibid:33). Bennett then realized that he had seen him many times taking part there in the Mevlevi Sema. He recounts, “We became friends, and I learned from him many things about the Muslim faith and Sufi mysticism” (ibid: 33). Perhaps the strength of the impression that this bureaucratic official made was the fact that he participated in the ceremony, practiced as a Muslim, while also having more worldly responsibilities. In contrast to the hypocrisy he saw in the religious professionals he met in his youth, the minister appeared to be a sincere, congenial seeker who also held a position of importance in the government.

28

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

Later in the month of Ramadan, Bennett had the chance to witness the prayer performed on the Night of Power (Laylat al-Qadr) at Hagia Sophia—the most famous Byzantine architectural achievement, then functioning as a mosque. After a particularly powerful experience, Bennett walked out into the Istanbul night, passed through the crowds of the covered bazaar, by the Beyazit mosque, and on to the courtyard of the Süleymaniye Mosque. As he reflected upon what he wished to attain in his lifetime, Bennett describes the questions that were born out of him as a result of this flood of feelings: What help could I look for? What could religion give me? Everywhere I could see mutual exclusion, the denial of another’s truth, the rejection of another’s faith. I could not believe that any one religion could have the only truth and the whole truth. I could not turn for help to those who lived by the very exclusion that I wished to abolish in myself. Here again probability must be respected. Was it not infinitely improbable that a few hundred million people could possess the truth and four times as many be utterly bereft of it? This argument held equally for Christianity as for Islam, for the religions of the West as for those of the East. I vowed that I would never rest until I could find one Truth and one Faith in which all beliefs could be reconciled. (ibid: pp. 34–5) This experience and the set of questions that poured forth out of him seemed to serve as an inspiration and template for Bennett’s search that would follow. Like many of this period, Bennett saw the contradictions between those who followed different paths. Bennett’s descriptions bear witness to his sense of an inner yearning and to his desire to achieve something more than the obvious opportunities that presented themselves to him in the course of his duties. They also indicate his own frame of mind, either of that time or later, looking back. He sought a truth above or beyond the forms of religion which claimed to have a hold of the one and only truth. Shortly following these experiences, Bennett met Prince Sabaheddin, P. D. Ouspensky, and Gurdjieff—encounters that ineradicably transformed his worldview and the trajectory of his life. One of the most decisive events of Bennett’s life in Istanbul was the meeting with Prince Sabaheddin, the nephew of the Sultan Abdul Hamid (1842–1918). Sabaheddin’s father, Damad Mahmoud Pasha, was also an important figure in late Ottoman politics. In terms of more personal importance for Bennett, Sabaheddin introduced him to Winifred Beaumont, who eventually became his second wife until her death in  1958. Bennett was drawn to something about Sabaheddin himself, and his own, more personal expression of his attitudes toward religion. Most profoundly, Sabaheddin also introduced him to Gurdjieff, a meeting he describes in a separate chapter. Sabaheddin lived in the family palace, which Bennett describes as a large villa, in Kuruçeşme. Here, Bennett and Sabaheddin met on Wednesdays for meals, and discussions on a range of topics. He tells that Sabaheddin “took upon himself to fill gaps in my education”

Gurdjieff and Sufism: The Creation of a Discourse

29

(ibid: 41). Sabaheddin encouraged Bennett to read widely and especially in anthroposophy, theosophy, and subjects related to the occult—subjects popular in the period, although Bennett seemed to be more receptive to traditional paths, as he soon evinced. One of the notable comments that Bennett offers was about Sabaheddin’s sense of religiousness—an attitude that emphasized in a more personal and direct way, Bennett’s own growing sensitivity to religion and religious experience. Bennett recounts in some detail a discussion with Sabaheddin in which Sabaheddin revealed to him his personal views on spirituality. In particular, Bennett was moved by his description of his personal connection with Jesus: . . .this time Sabaheddin’s usual reserve in speaking of his own private convictions lifted, and he spoke about Jesus Christ in a way no one had ever spoken to me before. He had, of course, been brought up as a Muslim. He had studied Eastern religions—especially Buddhism, but he had found no satisfaction except in the contemplation of Jesus Christ. His face lit up as he spoke of the love of Jesus for mankind. I could see that Divine Love was a reality for him, whereas it had been no reality for the Christian priest who had tried to teach me the meaning of Christian faith. . . . He said that Islam was a great and noble religion and that he had never renounced its central dogma—that is, the Oneness and the complete Otherness of God. The Holy Virgin was for him as much a living reality as Jesus the Son of God. Only it was necessary to remember that no man ever could or ever would understand the true meaning of the relationship ‘Son of God.’ For me this talk was a marvelous experience. I had never until that evening taken religion seriously. (ibid: pp. 42–3) Sabaheddin’s eclectic approach to spirituality appealed to Bennett, as did his sincerity. Sabaheddin’s comments revealed a more intimate expression of religious feeling—one that was more inclusive than that of religious figures Bennett had encountered as a youth. Bennett was exposed to a new world, both outer and inner, and he began to be more open to religious and spiritual experiences in a way that he had never been before. Following the first meetings with Sabaheddin, Bennett met, almost by chance, P. D. Ouspensky. A former Colonel of the Russian Imperial Horse Guards, Mikhail Alexandrovitch Lvow, was staying at Bennett’s residence near the Galata tower. Lvow asked if a friend could hold meetings in their apartment, though Bennett had to agree to the strict instruction that they not listen in on the meetings. The man leading the meetings turned out to be Ouspensky. Bennett describes his early impressions and reveals that Ouspensky’s ideas, while interesting, did not immediately attract him: We liked Ouspensky himself and although his English was hard to understand, we tried to make friends. . . .Once I asked him what was spoken of at his meetings. He replied: ‘The Transformation of Man.’ He added: ‘you suppose all

30

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America men are on the same level, but in reality, one man can be more different from another than a sheep is from a cabbage. There are seven different categories of men.’ (ibid: pp. 52–3)

Not long after the meeting with Ouspensky, Bennett was introduced to G. I. Gurdjieff by Prince Sabaheddin at his home. Sabaheddin had met Gurdjieff following the Young Turk Revolution, when returning to Turkey from Europe. Bennett reports that Sabaheddin “regarded him as one of the very few men who had been able to penetrate into the hidden brotherhoods of Central Asia. . .” (ibid: 55). Bennett describes his first impression as Gurdjieff entered, unapologetically late, on the occasion of their first meeting: He came in without a trace of embarrassment, greeting the Prince in Turkish with an accent that was a strange mixture of cultured Osmanli and some uncouth Eastern dialect. When we were introduced, I met the strangest eyes I have ever seen. [. . .] He had long, black moustaches fiercely curled upwards. He wore a kalpak; that is, an astrakhan cap common in the Eastern vilayets, but rarely seen in the capital. It was only when he removed the kalpak after the meal that I saw that his head was shaved. He was short, but very powerfully built. I guessed that he was about fifty, but Mrs. Beaumont was sure that he was older. He told me later that he was born in 1866, but his own sister disputed this and affirmed that he was born in 1877. His age was as much of an enigma as everything else about him. (ibid) Right from the outset, Gurdjieff was introduced as a man who knew the secrets of Central Asian brotherhoods. Even with his mixture of Ottoman Turkish, an “uncouth Eastern dialect,” and the appearance of someone who came from the Eastern regions of Turkey, he makes a significant impression. Bennett, much like Ouspensky and Hartmann, saw Gurdjieff as a cultural “other,” but despite this “otherness” he made a strong impact on Bennett. The meeting with Gurdjieff was to be foundational for Bennett, but in ways that he did not fully realize at the time. Sometime after this fateful meeting, Gurdjieff invited Bennett, Mrs. Beaumont, and Sabaheddin to see a demonstration at his location on 13 Yemenici Street. Sabaheddin declined, but Bennett and Mrs. Beaumont attended. When they arrived they saw first one man and then others, both men and women, enter the room wearing white costumes. Bennett was surprised to see Ouspensky in attendance, and then later to see Thomas de Hartmann—for whom he had helped to organize a performance in Pera—enter the room to play piano. Bennett describes his first encounter with Gurdjieff’s “gymnastics.” They presented several dances, including the Initiation of the Priestess, and one which involved what became known as “the stop exercise”—similar to

Gurdjieff and Sufism: The Creation of a Discourse

31

Ouspensky’s report we saw earlier. Bennett describes the exercise in more detail: Then everyone lined up at the back of the room while Hartmann played a series of chords. Gurdjieff shouted an order in Russian and all the dancers jumped in the air and rushed at full speed towards the spectators. Suddenly Gurdjieff in a loud voice shouted ‘Stop!’ and everyone froze in his tracks. Most of the dancers being carried by the momentum of their rush, fell and rolled over and over on the floor. As they came to rest they became rigid like people in a cataleptic trance. There was a long silence. Gurdjieff gave another order and all quietly got up and resumed their places in the original ranks. (ibid: 59) Bennett’s initial impression was that this stop exercise reminded him of the stop in the Mukabele of the Mevlevi Sema he had recently witnessed. Bennett records later that Gurdjieff told him that this was based on a Mevlevi practice.4 While it may have some connection to the Mevlevi, it is possible that the practices that Gurdjieff introduced come, more simply, from other traditions from Central Asia or the Caucasus. For example, there is an Afghani folk dance called the “logari dance” which incorporates a similar element in which all of the dancers must freeze when the music stops, maintaining the same posture, even if one falls down. Even if in this instance Gurdjieff mythologizes the origins of the stop exercise, he does also acknowledge the value in traditional forms, including folk dances. While the details of J. G. Bennett’s work, writings, and his presentation of Gurdjieff and treatment of Sufism will be fleshed out in more detail in the third chapter, it is worth providing a sketch of his life and engagement with Gurdjieff and Sufism in order to set up the rest of the present chapter. Following the meetings in Istanbul with Ouspensky, Gurdjieff, and the Sufi orders encountered in his work with the British Military, Bennett returned to England. For the following three decades, Bennett pursued the work of Gurdjieff and “the system,” as presented by Ouspensky but had little connection with Sufism and mentions it only rarely in his work. This period included visits to Gurdjieff at Fontainebleau in the 1920s, work with Ouspensky for much of the following two decades and, finally, a return to work with Gurdjieff after the death of Ouspensky in 1947. Following Gurdjieff’s death in 1949, Bennett continued to work with the ideas and practices of Gurdjieff, but also began to reconnect with living Sufi teachers of the Middle East. In this transitional period, he made two significant trips to the Middle East in the early 1950s. Upon his return, he continued to investigate, teach, and write about the work of Gurdjieff in ways that were informed by his investigation and engagement with Sufism and Sufi teachers. He also sought out connections with other teachers and traditions during this period, including the Subud movement, Shivapuri Baba— a Nepalese Hindu teacher—and Catholicism, all while continuing to lead

32

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

groups at Coombe Springs in England. Following the relinquishment of Coombe Springs in 1966 to the Sufi claimant Idries Shah, Bennett began what became one of the most important periods of his search, and the culmination of his teaching at Sherborne House in England from 1971 until his death in 1974. Here, Bennett had the most direct and significant impact on those that he worked with who would then proceed to carry on his legacy, and the connections with Sufi discourse in America and at Claymont Court in Charles Town, West Virginia. Without discrediting their work, it is noteworthy that in some ways, Ouspensky and Hartmann’s reports of their encounters with the Mevlevi order in Istanbul seem more like the accounts of tourists, although Hartmann expresses more enthusiasm for Istanbul and the experiences he had there. For Ouspensky and Hartmann, Istanbul ultimately served as a way station in their journey from Russia to Western Europe, and then later, the United States. Also, what they did encounter was often seen through the eyes of Gurdjieff or directed by his vision. The strength of Ouspensky and Hartmann’s accounts in general, however, was informed by the maturity that each of them had already gained through the life experiences, training and successes they had already attained when they met Gurdjieff. Thus, they were able to incorporate Gurdjieff’s teachings in their own lives and work in more immediately apparent ways. Bennett, however, was still something of a neophyte, a student, when he first met Gurdjieff. Less experienced, though gifted, Bennett self-admittedly had much to learn. Though instigated by his military obligations to seek out the Sufis, Bennett seems more sensitive, searching, and engaged—although some of his enthusiasm might be attributed to his age at the time, being nearly twenty years younger than Ouspensky, and twelve years younger than Hartmann. In several respects, Bennett had the advantage over both Ouspensky and Hartmann, particularly with regard to language. Bennett, spent not only more time in Istanbul, but he had a facility with languages and he learned to speak, read, and write Turkish quickly. Additionally, he had, chiefly through his military connections, access to a different side of life in Turkey, including closer relationships with Turks from the higher classes of society, such as Prince Sabaheddin, as well as those from the lower classes, and more diverse ethnic groups that he met in his work. More importantly, as a result of his receptiveness, he attempted the rituals of orthodox Islamic practice, including fasting and prayers, and had what for him were deeply meaningful experiences, at the ritual events connected with the dervishes that he attended. His vision of religion and spirituality, much more than Ouspensky or Hartmann, was transformed by the experiences he had in Turkey and this influenced his later work significantly. The lives of each of these men, P. D. Ouspensky, Thomas de Hartmann, and J. G. Bennett, were transformed by their encounter with the “context-setter”,

Gurdjieff and Sufism: The Creation of a Discourse

33

G. I. Gurdjieff, and each would go on to contribute in significant, but different, ways to the reception and legacy of Gurdjieff, especially in the second half of the twentieth century. Each would produce works that would translate, interpret, and make accessible for the following generations, the work of Gurdjieff. A key feature of the biographical notes and reports of their early meetings with Gurdjieff, are the allusions or references to dervishes and dervish orders. Collectively, these constitute one of the key elements in the matrical discourse about Gurdjieff and Sufism, giving it a force and power of its own in the larger continuing discourse about Gurdjieff. Of the three, J. G. Bennett was the most influenced by Sufism in his interpretation and presentation of the teachings of Gurdjieff. Though influenced by other teachings also, Bennett sought more prodigiously, the connections with Sufism in the years following Gurdjieff’s death. As will be addressed in more detail in the third chapter, Bennett—drawing on the initiatory force of his encounter with Islam, and more specifically Sufism, and then Gurdjieff in Istanbul—returned to the Middle East to find Sufi teachers and reconnect with the teachings of Sufism. These connections and reconnections continued to influence his teaching and work with others, impacting the continuing transmission of not just Gurdjieff’s teachings, but also Sufism, in Europe and, especially the United States. As each of these key figures—Ouspensky, Hartmann, and Bennett—wrote either reports, presentations or music, drawn from or inspired by Gurdjieff’s teachings, they contributed to the written, musical, and performative dimensions of Gurdjieff’s discourse and the associated connections with Sufism, dervishes, and the dervish orders of Asia. While many later students and biographers, as well as the curious, sought out the sources of Gurdjieff’s ideas as a result of the works of Ouspensky, Hartmann, and Bennett, Gurdjieff would soon put his own teachings in written form in, All and Everything, the second series of which, Meetings with Remarkable Men, became a further cause of speculation about the dervishes of Gurdjieff’s discourse, though of course, all “in a very indefinite way.”

Meetings with Remarkable Dervishes: Narrating “A Culture of the Search” I now shift the focus from the meetings with Gurdjieff and the reception of his work by early observers to Gurdjieff’s own narration of his early encounters with dervishes and “dervishism”, found in Meetings with Remarkable Men. First published in 1963, though early versions were circulated among his students before it was made available to a wider audience, this text has proven to be foundational in Gurdjieff’s own discourse about the origins and aims of his teachings, as well as in the later reception of his work. Students, biographers, as well as both interested and critical observers of his work have used it as a key

34

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

resource, not just with regard to the indications of his esoteric teachings, presumed to be buried in the text, but to his biography. Here, I introduce Gurdjieff’s writings and their presentation of Sufism following the trajectory of encounter that is most frequently followed by readers of his work. Meetings with Remarkable Men, often favored over Beelzebub’s Tales to His Grandson as a first introduction to Gurdjieff’s writings because of its apparent “readability,” nonetheless presents its own challenges, particularly when read primarily as an autobiography. Several commentators have suggested that Gurdjieff’s Second Series is neither biography nor history, and may be most effectively approached as a presentation of principles and approaches. J. G. Bennett, in Gurdjieff: Making a New World (1973), commented on the narrative style and purpose of Meetings: Even the Remarkable Men of the Second Series are highly stylized. Pogossian represents the man who works on himself through his body, Yelov through the mind and Bogachevsky through the feelings. The characters of the later chapters of the Second Series stand for the different types of seeker and show the transformations that they can achieve. For Gurdjieff the people in his books were themselves, images, symbols, or expressions of the essence values that he wished the reader to understand. They were not ‘real’ people, not even ‘types’. The incidents, even when historical, were not inserted for historical reasons but to evoke pictures of situations.’ (1973a p. 276) Though Bennett was the figure perhaps most responsible for proffering the Sufi influences in Gurdjieff’s work we see here Bennett’s emphasis on the evocative elements of the figures and images of the texts, rather than the historical. Jacob Needleman, Professor of Philosophy at San Francisco State University provides his perspective on the historicity of Meetings: Although there is no reason to doubt the accuracy of his account, the fact remains that the principal aim of Gurdjieff’s writings was not to provide historical information but to serve as a call to awakening and as a continuing source of guidance for the inner search that is the raison d’être of his teaching. (Needleman 1999) Gurdjieff’s text then, puts more emphasis on the narration of what might be called the “culture of the search” than on facts, linearity or historical specificity. Figuring into his larger discourse on the soul, the narrative reflects the overall emphasis on principles and ideals related to the search and to seeking. Presented in the mode of a spiritual autobiography, these ideals are embodied and reflected by the people, groups, and teachings that he encountered in his experiences as a youth, and in his search as young man. Though the text is undoubtedly meant to be read on different levels, including the allegorical, the reader who

Gurdjieff and Sufism: The Creation of a Discourse

35

seeks the sources of Gurdjieff’s work, or who wishes to come to an understanding of the early influences and culture of his early life, is compelled to treat literally at least some of the events and people in his work. While prior presentations—including those of his biographers—have addressed Meetings with Remarkable Men in general, as well as his references to dervishes, Sufi practices or Islam more generally, I examine in this section some key instances in order to highlight some of the ways that they are constructed and employed in Gurdjieff’s own narrative of his discourse on the soul. Included in Gurdjieff’s narrative are several critical references and allusions to religion, religious institutions, as well as spiritual seekers and teachings in general. While none of the chapters is dedicated to a dervish teacher, several encounters with dervishes and some descriptions of their teachings, practices, and ideas are among the tales that Gurdjieff recounts. Gurdjieff also makes reference to the religion of Islam, and to some of the orthodox practices, or pillars, such as the hajj to Mecca, which he claims to have made himself. Though references are made to dervishes, discourses by dervishes, rituals and locations associated with so-called dervishes, they remain largely allusive and symbolic. Though he likely made connections with dervishes in his search of Asia, these references, at least in the context of his narrative, primarily serve the purpose of Gurdjieff’s evocative, dialogic mode of discourse about spiritual transformation. By the time Gurdjieff had come to Western Europe in 1922, he had already met and worked with a number of important Europeans, such as Ouspensky, Hartmann, and Bennett. Often asked about his early travels and the sources of his teachings, Meetings, in part presents stories related to his early search. Despite the fact that he writes that his intention was to present a teaching that was meant for future generations, his work is indelibly shaped by the conditions of its arising. In terms of the context for Meetings, as with Beelzebub’s Tales, it is clear that he is addressing a primarily Western, non-Muslim audience. Also important in this discussion of context and audience, is that Gurdjieff was very familiar with the fact that for most Europeans and Americans, Asia represented a foreign, strange and oftentimes, exotic land of mysterious traditions—as well as mystical teachers and gurus. In a chapter in Meetings on his close Turkish friend, Ekim Bey, he writes about the “curious” views concerning Asia that most Europeans hold. After residing in the West for fifteen years, he had come to believe that no one in Europe or America understood the first thing about Asia. Westerners believe that Asia is a “kind of indefinite, great continent adjoining Europe, and inhabited by savage or, at best, semi-savage groups of peoples who just happened to be there and go wild” (Gurdjieff 1963, p. 198). They also have no conception about its size and compare it with European countries, having no idea that “Asia is such a vast continent that several Europes could be put into it, and that it contains whole races of people about whom not only Europeans but even Asiatics themselves have never heard” (ibid). Gurdjieff goes on to add

36

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

that the level of the sciences of Asia, as in “medicine, astrology, natural science, and so on,” (ibid) are so highly developed that it would take European civilization several hundred years to reach the equivalent level of attainment. Gurdjieff, writing in the first half of the twentieth century, was keenly aware of the ignorance of people about the world in general—and this certainly included his immediate and anticipated audiences. In the above comments Gurdjieff hits upon the notion of savagery—and the creation of an image of the East as “the other”—one that Edward Said identifies and elaborates upon some fifty years later in his seminal work, Orientalism (1978). This understanding may also give us some clues as to how Gurdjieff presented his own discourse about spiritual development. It is particularly in this respect that Gurdjieff employs the image of the dervishes as well as other figures in his narrative, as illustrative types and models, rather than as specific, authoritative examples to follow. Gurdjieff did not likely expect his audience to have anything more than a superficial understanding of Islam, much less dervishes or the specific teachings and rituals of the dervish orders. In their understanding of the “exotic East,” and the images of the mysterious dervishes of Turkey, among others, the European public was largely under the influence of European Orientalists. Although Ouspensky, Bennett, and to some extent, Hartmann, had exposure to some of this culture in their own searches, they were also subject to similar influences. Thus, we find, with Meetings in particular, that Gurdjieff employed references to Islam in a very general way, and the references to specific Sufi traditions and practices remain largely indefinite and allusive. Despite the apparent indefiniteness with which he treats them, he does take strides to present these figures, traditions, and teachings as sources of authentic and, moreover, advanced knowledge. Nonetheless, it is important to keep in mind that Gurdjieff attempts to mediate his discourse on the soul with his depictions of Sufi and other esoteric topics, to the particular audience at the time and place of its writing. Throughout Meetings with Remarkable Men, Gurdjieff attempts to extend, and in some ways make more concrete, the discourse begun with Beelzebub’s Tales to His Grandson. With Meetings, he generates a more specific narrative of the quest for truth. The trajectory of the story, though related in episodes, takes him from his youth in Alexandropol, to his time studying the sciences and religions in Kars as a young man, and then on to his journeys with the “Seekers of Truth” which reportedly occupied the better part of his early life. We witness in the early chapters of the book the young Gurdjieff’s early struggles to make sense of life and its mysteries. The presentation of the soul, religion, and the search for truth that is introduced and developed in the early chapters, provides a frame and focus to his later encounters with the various teachers and groups that he encounters, including the dervishes he meets and the “dervish monasteries” he visits. In the first chapter, Gurdjieff relates a significant exchange that he had with his father on the nature of the soul. Gurdjieff asked

Gurdjieff and Sufism: The Creation of a Discourse

37

his father about the opinion he had formed about “whether man has a soul and whether it is immortal.” Searching for the right words to articulate his view, he replied: In that soul which a man supposedly has, as people believe, in which they say that exists independently after death and transmigrates, I do not believe; and yet, in the course of a man’s life “something” does form itself in him: this is for me beyond all doubt. [. . .] When a man dies, this “something” does not disintegrate at the same time as the physical body, but only much later, after its separation from the physical body. (Gurdjieff 1963, p. 43) His father believed that this “something” was a substance that was made of a finer material than that of the physical body and that it had the possibility of surviving the death of the body. Through the voice of his father, Gurdjieff articulates one of the basic propositions that is met with in Beelzebub’s Tales concerning the soul: One must, by their own efforts, create a substance which has the possibility of surviving beyond the death of the body. This notion of conditional immortality and the conscious labor and intentional suffering required to attain it becomes central to Gurdjieff’s discourse on the soul and has correlations with Sufi theories of the self and the ascension of the soul. For the young Gurdjieff, this was a formative notion, and one that would have an influence on his views on contemporary religion, philosophy, and science. Gurdjieff also records in the early chapters that he studied science and that he was part of the church choir in Kars. His first tutor, Bogachevsky, who is also called Father Evlissi, was a Russian Orthodox Priest and guided him in his early education. After his early search began in more earnest, Gurdjieff began to seek the answers to several unexplained phenomena and events that he witnessed around him. He later describes a story about his Armenian friend Pogossian, which further indicates the direction that his search took. Gurdjieff indicates that he met Pogossian while he was studying at the Theological Seminary in Echmiadzin, Armenia, the holy city of the Armenian Orthodox Church. In Chapter 10, Gurdjieff also describes his own studies and approach to the mysteries he encountered when he became interested in reading all types of scientific explanations on “supernatural phenomena.” Yet, none of the explanations they offered satisfied him. He then began to seek answers in religion: . . . I visited various monasteries and went to see men about whose piety I had heard, read the holy Scriptures and the lives of the saints, and was even for three months an acolyte of the famous father Yevlampios in the monastery of Sanaïne [Sanahin]; and I also made pilgrimages to the most of the holy places of the many different faiths and Transcaucasia. (ibid p. 79)

38

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

Bewildered and dissatisfied with the ordinary explanations of the strange phenomena he witnessed, Gurdjieff and Pogossian came to the conclusion that contemporary science and religion did not offer the solutions to their problems. They began to conduct their own research and began to study the resources of history: Pogossian and I had come to the definite conclusion that there really was “a ­certain something” which people formerly knew, but that now this knowledge was quite forgotten. We had lost all hope of finding any guiding clue to this knowledge in contemporary exact science, in contemporary books or from people in general, so we directed all our attention to ancient literature. (ibid: p. 87) Although ancient literature gave the young Gurdjieff and his friend Pogossian some clues, not all of their questions were answered. They began then, to uncompromisingly seek the answers to their questions wherever they may be found—the modus operandi of the spiritual search. Gurdjieff’s narrative, articulated as it is through a wide variety of characters, positions, and points of view, demonstrates a dialogic approach to religion and spiritual discourse, rooted in the principles of tolerance and openness. In several instances in Meetings, as in Beelzebub’s Tales, stories are told about individuals or groups, often mysterious or unknown, which profess a doctrine of unity and an ecumenical attitude. In one episode, Gurdjieff tells of talks that he had with another close friend, Father Giovanni. In his own searches, Giovanni discovered a special group of people who were called the “World Brotherhood.” Gurdjieff refers to the talks he had with Giovanni at the monastery in which he describes the brotherhood, which anyone could join regardless of the religion which they had previously belonged: As we later ascertained, among the adepts of this monastery there were former Christians, Jews, Mohammedans, Buddhists, Lamaists and even one Shamanist. All were united by God the Truth. All the brethren of this monastery lived together in such amity that, in spite of the specific traits and properties of the representatives of the different religions, Professor Skridlov and I could never tell to which religion this or that brother had formerly belonged. (ibid: p. 239) Throughout the narrative, Gurdjieff, and the host of exceptional figures that he meets, attempt to articulate, exemplify, or discover “a certain something” that is beyond the limitations of normative, orthodox, or externally focused religion and spiritual experience. It is in this light that Gurdjieff presents the dervishes of Meetings with Remarkable Men. The vision put forth is predicated upon the search for the unifying force or current, behind all religion and religious tradi-tions. While critical of the way that religion, particularly in its contemporary manifestations,

Gurdjieff and Sufism: The Creation of a Discourse

39

is a corrosive and divisive influence in human life—one that distracts rather than leads to truth—Gurdjieff articulates a positive view of certain approaches and attitudes. These positive approaches and views are most often found in those who have repeatedly struggled with the dilemmas of life and sought answers in unusual places, often overcoming great difficulties in their search. Throughout Meetings with Remarkable Men, Gurdjieff mentions a number of influential characters encountered in his search, many in offhand references or comments, where the nuances of Gurdjieff’s discourse are often found. In the introduction and the appended chapter, “The Material Question,” Gurdjieff mentions a few of the sayings of the folk character Mullah Nassr Eddin, who has often been interpreted as a reflection of the Sufi influence in his work. Similar to the instances found in Beelzebub’s Tales, the sayings attributed to him have largely been invented by Gurdjieff, though they emulate the style and function of the genre of sayings attributed to the Mullah in Middle Eastern cultures. The remarks are often oriented to the practical, as well as to the humorous. In the introduction, in a comment about the revisions of the material for his new work, he notes that he should follow the principle of the Mullah Nassr Eddin, which he expresses, “always and in everything strive to attain at the same time what is useful for others and what is pleasant for oneself” (ibid: pp. 28–9). Reflecting Gurdjieff’s own value for balance between effort and pleasure, the Mullah’s words indicate that the best possible action encompasses both the useful and the pleasurable. Because of the prominence of the statements attributed to the Mullah Nassr Eddin in Beelzebub’s Tales to His Grandson, the attribution of this as a marker of Sufi influence in Gurdjieff’s work, rests largely upon his first work which I take up in the following chapter, and which considers Beelzebub’s Tales and the Mullah Nassr Eddin, in terms of Gurdjieff’s formative discourse. More significantly in Meetings with Remarkable Men, Gurdjieff meets and describes in his journeys, several characters that are described as “dervishes.” Dervishes are portrayed as exemplars of seeking and searching—those who have, or who are on a quest for, real knowledge, as opposed to the external, formal knowledge of exoteric religion alone—which, as he found early in his life, was missing “a certain something.” Some mentions of dervishes are brief and remain without distinction or elaboration, but others, and the associated monasteries, are given a position of more prominence in the stories. Though brief, the first mention of a dervish encountered in his travels is found in fourth chapter, which is dedicated to Gurdjieff’s friend Bogachevsky—also referred to as Father Evlissi. Like other figures in Gurdjieff’s narrative, he is presented as someone who is sincere and earnest in his search and as one who is willing to go to great lengths to find the answers to his personal burning questions concerning the meaning of life. In his introduction, Gurdjieff notes that Father Evlissi is now “an assistant to the abbot of the chief monastery of the Essene Brotherhood, situated not far from the shores of the Dead Sea” (ibid: p. 58). The reference to the Essenes is undeveloped here but resonates with similarly

40

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

indefinite references to the importance of the Essenes in Beelzebub’s Tales. Later in the chapter, Gurdjieff reports that he had not seen Bogachevsky for some time, but had had learned some details about his life from a certain “Turkish dervish.” While the reference to the Turkish dervish, like the mention of the Essenes, is not taken further, this communication exemplifies an important dimension of Gurdjieff’s approach to the culture of the search. The representative characters encountered by the “Seekers of Truth” in their journeys, indicate both the cosmopolitan character of the region, as well as the shared interest in truth in whatever location, and in whatever tradition it may be discovered. Through the report of the Turkish dervish, Gurdjieff found a shared interest, and the story of his friend, Father Evlissi, one of his closest friends with whom he shared his journey for truth. The seventh chapter, dedicated to Prince Yuri Lubovedsky, is often treated as one of the most important indicators of the influence of a Sufi source for Gurdjieff’s teachings. In the course of the chapter, we meet the Russian Prince Lubovedsky, and are eventually told about Gurdjieff’s experiences with the “Sarmoung Brotherhood,” located somewhere in Central Asia. Whether taken literally or allegorically, the references to the Sarmoung have been the source of much debate about Gurdjieff’s Sufi connections, particularly with regard to the idea that Gurdjieff received his most important ideas and practices from a Sufi brotherhood in Central Asia.5 To begin the chapter, Gurdjieff makes note of the fact that though Lubovedsky was much older than he was at the time, by almost forty years, he was his closest friend in life. Gurdjieff goes on to describe the events in Lubovedsky’s early years that drove him to his own search for a more meaningful existence, and the sources behind the veils and contradictions of the world. As a young man, the Prince lost his wife, who died upon giving birth to her first child. The Prince then became disillusioned and, seeking an outlet, became interested in spiritualism, “hoping to enter into communication with the soul of the dead beloved wife. . .” (ibid: p. 118). As a result, he became more interested, as did the young Gurdjieff, in mysterious spiritual phenomenon such as séances and other events that are often associated with the revival of spiritualism in Russia in the late nineteenth century. He also went on a quest to search for the meaning of life. After a period of complete absorption in his search, he received a visit from an unknown old man and the Prince left Russia and traveled throughout Asia and Africa. He organized special searches and lived in monasteries and met many people who had “interests similar to his own” (ibid: p. 149). Like Gurdjieff, the Prince mirrored his own drive and desire to find the meaning of life. Early in the chapter, Gurdjieff writes about the second last time he saw him in Istanbul. Gurdjieff, again in an offhand remark, adds that he was returning from Mecca: . . . in the company of some Bukharian dervishes whose acquaintance I had made there, and of several Sart pilgrims who were going home. I wished to

Gurdjieff and Sufism: The Creation of a Discourse

41

go to Tiflis via Constantinople, then to Alexandropol to see my family, and afterwards to go on with the dervishes to Bukhara. (ibid: p. 121) Gurdjieff is explicit in certain instances in the text in emphasizing his relationship with dervish seekers, and assigns particular importance to the “dervishes of Bukhara.” Although much has been made of this reference, particularly by J. G. Bennett, Gurdjieff remains indefinite in his references to the dervishes of Bukhara. Much like the reference to the Bokharian Dervish Hadji-Asvatz Troov in Beelzebub’s Tales to his Grandson, the reference to the dervishes of Bukhara become a symbol, and a trope, in his story of the pursuit of authentic esoteric knowledge and wisdom. Next in the narrative, Gurdjieff says that he would use his free time to see a dervish friend in Broussa (Bursa, Turkey) and to see the famous Green Mosque. His drive, his interest, even his obsession with finding the meaning of life as he represents it repeatedly in his work, was not restricted to specific religious forms. Here he shows an interest in the wisdom of the past found in, among other things, the monuments of architectural wisdom in whatever form they may take and in whatever tradition or location they may exist. In the same chapter on Lubovedsky, Gurdjieff later describes his first meeting with his friend Soloviev in Bukhara—and this begins the tale of the Sarmoung Brotherhood. Gurdjieff describes how he had gone to New Bukhara with the intention to understand Islam more deeply: “I had gone there chiefly to visit places where I could gain a more thorough knowledge of the fundamental principles of the religion of Mohammed, and to be able to meet Bukharian dervish acquaintances of various sects. . .” (ibid: p. 135). Here he met his great friend Bogga-Eddin, who advised him to find dervishes “of a certain sect” in Bukhara, in the town of “P”—an undisclosed reference—in order to help him discover the answers to his driving questions. In the general flow and logic of his narrative, Gurdjieff indicates his intention to understand the religion of Islam. Though his interest is serious, he consistently represents his position as an outsider to Islam. Additionally, in each case, he emphasizes that he is led to explore the roots of the teachings of Islam with the dervishes. As the drama unfolds, Bogga-Eddin, returning from a long trip, reports that he met by chance an interesting man with whom he spoke about the questions which “profoundly disturbed” him. He remarks that Bogga-Eddin comments that the old man “is a member of a brotherhood, known among the dervishes by the name of Sarmoung, of which the chief monastery is somewhere in the heart of Asia” (ibid: p. 148). Again, adopting the mythical mode, the center of understanding is again associated with the heart of Central Asia. Gurdjieff immediately asks for permission to meet the old man. Here we enter one of the central moments of Gurdjieff’s life—and the text as a whole. The mythical Sarmoung, associated with a certain group of dervishes, stands for many as the indication of a Sufi origin for his most important teachings. Upon

42

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

hearing the story of these dervishes, Gurdjieff asks if it will be possible to meet this man that Bogga-Eddin encountered. The esteemed dervish provides an interesting reply, which further indicates Gurdjieff’s position in relation to this setting: “. . .he would be glad to see you, a man who – though by origin a kaphir – has succeeded, thanks to his impartial attitude towards all people, in acquiring a soul similar to ours. Kaphir is the name given to all foreigners of other faiths – and this includes all Europeans in general – who, according to the notions there, live like animals, without principles and without anything holy in them.” (ibid) In this passage, Gurdjieff positions himself as non-Muslim, and tacitly affirms the view that would be held by most Europeans about Islam and their view of non-Muslims. Gurdjieff himself, however, is also portrayed as confounding the expectations concerning Europeans. Most importantly, despite this fact, and as the dervish notes, he has acquired a soul similar to theirs. The acquisition of the soul also adds, and in the same register, to the discourse on the soul begun in Beelzebub’s Tales to his Grandson. The soul can be acquired impartially through different means—by kaphir and non-kaphir alike. Gurdjieff allows himself here to be described in positive terms: he is impartial, and as a result, has acquired a soul. The quality of impartiality is also identified in Beelzebub’s Tales as one of the results of conscious labor and intentional suffering, or from a Sufi perspective, the work on the nafs, or lower soul. Gurdjieff meets the old dervish and is eventually given permission to visit the Sarmoung Monastery. However, Gurdjieff must agree to certain conditions: it will require a long journey, and he must not disclose the location of the monastery. Gurdjieff, either by direction or intention, gives few clues as to the location of the monastery anywhere in the text. The point that is emphasized here, as throughout these works, is the search and even more importantly, the qualities and the requirements of the search. The monastery is said to be in the mountains of Central Asia, some distance from Bukhara. Gurdjieff describes his journey to this secret monastery of Central Asia—the one so dramatically portrayed at the end of Peter Brooks’ film version of Meetings with Remarkable Men. Gurdjieff describes the perilous final stages when, after traveling blindfolded for many days, they come to a narrow pass where, symbolically, he comes to the final stage of his search and enters the monastery of the mysterious Sarmoung Brotherhood. Gurdjieff and his companion, Soloviev, were allowed to rest for several days until, one morning a young boy brought a note to them from Gurdjieff’s dear old friend, Prince Lubovedsky. With great surprise they find that Lubovedsky has been living at the monastery. In his note, he congratulates Gurdjieff on his arriving at the monastery, and adds that he is

Gurdjieff and Sufism: The Creation of a Discourse

43

impressed because he arrived there without his help and, “. . . it proves to me that during this time you have not been asleep. . .” (ibid: p. 154). Gurdjieff’s discourse is reinforced and reiterates this notion of struggle and wakefulness. It suggests that though one may not know where to go, that by staying awake, one may be led to the answers to one’s most important questions. By his efforts, Gurdjieff is led to resolve his own questions. Gurdjieff, believing that Lubovedsky had long since been dead, now greets him warmly and they proceed to have a celebratory reunion. Gurdjieff inquires with some earnestness, how Lubovedsky has ended up at this rare and remote place. Lubovedsky recounts how he had become direly apathetic in his life and began to lose hope that he would ever find the answers to his driving questions. He describes how he traveled broadly, made his way to Ceylon, and there made the acquaintance of a Buddhist monk. From here they went on a trip together up the Ganges, but still he found no satisfying answers to the chief questions that had come to occupy his life. After the expedition, he went to Kabul (Afghanistan) and, as he explained, gave himself up to “oriental idleness, living without any aims or interests whatsoever. . .” (ibid: p. 156). Here, Lubovedsky (or Gurdjieff through Lubovedsky), indicates the typical view of Asia at the time. The Prince continues to tell him a story about his meeting with a Hindu Tamil, who eventually led him to the monastery. Gurdjieff relates that they talked with Prince Lubovedsky every day for two or three hours for the next two weeks until they were eventually allowed to meet “the shaykh” of the monastery. Perhaps further mythologizing the events at the monastery, Gurdjieff adds that the shaykh appointed them a guide, “an aged man who looked like an icon and was said by the other brethren to be two hundred and seventy-five years old” (ibid: p. 161). From then on they are given full access to the monastery and take advantage of the opportunity to learn about everything there. There are sacred dances by priestesses and sacred music presented in a large temple-like structure. And, when Lubovedksy recovers from his illness he is able to guide them and to explain to them about all that went on there, including the symbolic meaning of the rituals and exercises they witness. Gurdjieff concludes the episode with a description of a special device, an apparatus that demonstrates the positions of all the different sacred movements that the priestess-dancers perform. Almost as an aside, Gurdjieff then remarks that one day in a special book he will record all that was done there and how. After three months of study at the monastery, Lubovedsky comes to Gurdjieff and Soloviev one day to tell them that the shaykh has told him that he only has three years to live, and that he has been advised to spend this time in a monastery on the slopes of the Himalayas. Within a few days, he is forced then to bid a final farewell to Lubovedsky. No further details are mentioned about the monastery, the events that took place there or how long Gurdjieff stayed there. Gurdjieff, without mentioning anything further about the monastery, concludes with a section describing the death of

44

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

Soloviev—who was killed in an accident as they were traveling across the desert with the Seekers of Truth, some years later. Through the course of the chapter, the reader is introduced to a sequence of key figures and information, indicating a sequence from external to internal teachings, from the exoteric to the esoteric. First, Gurdjieff goes to Mecca and other locations, to understand Islam—but is eventually led to Bukhara, the place where the secrets of Islam can be learned. Yet, upon his arrival there he finds that the true answers lie elsewhere—in a secret location in the mountains, twelve days journey from Bukhara. In Bukhara, he meets Bogga-Eddin, in the second stage of his journey. Readers of Beelzebub’s Tales will have encountered the character, Bogga-Eddin in Beelzebub’s Tales, in the chapter about another “famous dervish,” Hadji-Asvatz-Troov. Here, in Meetings, Bogga-Eddin plays a similar role, as a guide who leads him to the “center of knowledge,” concerning man’s spiritual essence and potential. In part, on the basis of this particular character, and the location in specific, J. G. Bennett has argued that Gurdjieff intended to indicate the importance of the Naqshbandi Sufi tradition. Bennett argues that the reference to the Dervish Bogga-Eddin in, Beelzebub’s Tales and Meetings is a reference to Baha al-Din Naqshbandi, the most well-known Sufi teacher of this area. However, if it is meant to be a reference to Baha al-Din Naqshbandi, it is interesting to note that in both texts he plays the role of an intermediary. In Beelzebub’s Tales, Bogga-Eddin introduces Beelzebub to HadjiAsvatz-Troov. In Meetings, Bogga-Eddin introduces him to another teacher who then arranges for Gurdjieff to travel to the Sarmoung Brotherhood. In terms of esoteric knowledge, this is likely an intentional structuring of the narrative. Islam is the outer teaching, the exoteric; Bogga-Eddin represents the mesoteric teaching; and Hadji-Asvatz Troov and the Sarmoung represent the esoteric dimension. Throughout these stories, Gurdjieff attempts to point the reader beyond orthodox and institutional religious forms. An indicative part of Gurdjieff’s overall narrative strategy is that at the Sarmoung monastery, he is lead not just to the heart of Islam but to the heart of all religions. The teachings and practices that are taught there, with what little indications are given, are not exclusively Islamic or recognizably only Sufi. Even, in the case of Yuri Lubovedsky, he is led there by a Tamil Hindu, not a Sufi. The chapter provides few details on the specific activities of the monastery, with the exception of brief mentions of the sacred priestess-dancers and the special apparatus for sacred dance instruction. Gurdjieff’s narrative form provides a structure, rather than content. The holes or gaps left are to be filled by a potential reader—and informed for example, by the prior reading of Beelzebub’s Tales, or by their own direct experience—or ideally, a combination of these. And certainly, many who have interpreted Gurdjieff’s works have inevitably filled the gaps of the narrative in ways that were channeled by their own predilections. Perhaps, therein lies the power of Gurdjieff’s narrative—it cannot be pinned down, it does not provide, or attempt

Gurdjieff and Sufism: The Creation of a Discourse

45

to provide, an objective accounting of his life. Gurdjieff’s narrative provides certain indications, images, character qualities and traits—and primarily, an envelope for the narrative of the seeker and of the search. In attempting to reconstruct a biography and a source for Gurdjieff’s teachings, many have taken this story and its implications literally. Yet, perhaps it is most potent if taken allegorically—suggesting at one level, that the heart to be sought is within. The symbol of the Sarmoung, while borrowing deeply from the Sufi tradition and Sufi modes of discourse, furthers Gurdjieff’s aim in presenting a more overarching discourse about the soul and the possibilities for human develop­ ment as it may be found in the essential teaching, potentially informed by, but not exclusively tied to, religion and religious teachings. The next notable references to Sufism or dervishes are found in the chapter on Dr. Ekim Bey, eighth chapter, following the chapter on Lubovedsky. Near the beginning of the chapter, Gurdjieff makes a brief reference to the Sufis in Istanbul. He tells the story of how he met Ekim Bey when they were quite young. He found himself back in Istanbul, “still being chased about everywhere like a harassed dog, seeking answers to the questions arising in my brain.” In particular he was, “drawn by rumours of numerous marvels supposed to be performed by the dervishes there” (ibid: p. 178). Gurdjieff describes his first days back in Istanbul when he stayed in the Pera district and visited the “monasteries of the various dervish orders.” Throughout these stories, Gurdjieff portrays the events of his life as being driven by his own seeking and burning questions. In these passages, Gurdjieff makes reference to the area of Istanbul on the European side of the Bosphorus strait, north of the Golden Horn and the old city of Istanbul. These are the locales where Ouspensky and Hartmann also met and encountered the Mevlevi Sufis of Istanbul. Later in the chapter, he relates a much longer story about an important meeting with a dervish that he and Ekim Bey meet in their travels together with twenty-one others, the “Seekers of Truth.” The seekers pass through Nakhichevan—presently a landlocked region of Azerbaijan—and make their way to Tabriz, Persia, where they first hear about “a certain Persian dervish, supposedly a performer of extraordinary miracles. . . .” (ibid p. 183). Not long after, they hear again about this well-known dervish from an Armenian priest— another subtly provocative reference to a figure from a different tradition, indicating both the cosmopolitanism of the region, as well as the shared interest in universal truth. Taking this as another sign, they resolve to do whatever it takes to meet the dervish. After traveling thirteen more days, they finally reach the village of the famed dervish. For each meaningful encounter, Gurdjieff and his traveling companions must pay with their efforts and the sacrifices that each step of the journey requires. Gurdjieff remarks that he will tell the story about the dervish at length not only because the meeting had a great effect on his friend, Ekim Bey, but because it “turned my own outlook on life completely upside down” (ibid: p. 183).

46

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

Upon their arrival in the village, they are directed to the man’s house, some distance beyond the village: “We saw a man of fairly advanced age, dressed in rags, barefoot and seated cross-legged on the ground . . . We put questions and he answered us, and in his turn he asked us questions” (ibid: p. 184). Gurdjieff remarks that the man spoke in an unusual dialect of Persian, one that only he knew. The man is described as having received them a little coldly at first, but that he listened quite carefully to their questions. Gurdjieff describes in some detail, a conversation which began over a meal that they were having together one day. Gurdjieff begins by noting that he had been at the time, an ardent follower of the discipline of Hatha Yoga, which included the practice of chewing one’s food as many times as possible to aid in digestion. Upon observing this, the Persian dervish questioned Gurdjieff about his practice. Gurdjieff did not feel as though a response was necessary and that, of course, a man of real knowledge would know the reasons. For example, he thought that this wise man would surely know that this process of mastication also provides more calories for the body. The old dervish responded in a way that astonished Gurdjieff. Shaking his head, he remarks, “Let God kill him who himself does not know and yet presumes to show others the way to the doors of His Kingdom” (ibid: p. 185). The young Gurdjieff apparently had repeated what he had learned from books and was criticized harshly by this wise dervish. The dervish followed up on the conversation a little later and inquired to the young Gurdjieff about his practice of gymnastics. Gurdjieff responds that he used the method of the Swede, Mueller—an interesting indication of the influence of European sources in Gurdjieff’s own research. The dervish rejected this approach because of its emphasis upon only the external muscles, to the neglect of the inner muscles. He also censured him in his practice of chewing food slowly. The dervish counseled that he should chew everything quickly, even whole, in order to allow the stomach to work as it should. He remarked, “I can see that those who have advised you to practise this mastication, and also those who write books about it, have, as is said, ‘heard a bell without knowing where the sound came from’” (ibid: p. 186). The detailed response from the dervish demonstrated to Gurdjieff that what he had learned so far had only been rote knowledge, repeated without true understanding. Gurdjieff expresses his shock, and continues: Suddenly I understood with the whole of my being that ideas I had hitherto accepted as indisputable truths were incorrect. I realized that up till then I had seen things only from one side. Now many things appeared in quite a new light. Hundreds of new questions arose in my mind concerning this subject. (ibid: pp. 186–7) As the drama unfolded, Gurdjieff became astonished. He emphasized the practical nature of the dervish’s counsel, noting that his words were “simple,

Gurdjieff and Sufism: The Creation of a Discourse

47

obvious, and consistent”(ibid: p. 186). Frequently in his writings and oral teachings, Gurdjieff makes reference to the differences between knowledge and understanding. Knowledge can be learned by rote, as is the case with our contemporary education, which Beelzebub describes in Beelzebub’s Tales as our “maleficent education.” Understanding, on the other hand, is gained through experience and effort—and it is one of the key distinctions that Gurdjieff makes repeatedly in his work about spiritual knowledge. Gurdjieff continues to relate how the dervish asked him about the use of breathing exercises that he had been practicing. This time, with more sympathy, the dervish explains how through the process of breathing, the human organism consumes—like food for the physical body—the elements of certain substances in the air. The dervish warns him of the dangers of improper breathing exercises, recommending that he cease doing any breathing exercises in his practice. The information transmitted specifically helps Gurdjieff to clarify what he had read and what he had already experienced—the sign, for him, of true knowledge. The meeting with the Persian dervish becomes a turning point in Gurdjieff’s search for truth as it forces him to reevaluate all that he knew about breathing exercises. Particularly important in this exchange, and symbolic of his general discourse and approach, is the distinction made between knowledge and understanding. The conversation between Gurdjieff and the dervish continues and is recorded in several more pages of the book. This dialogue takes the form of the kind of specific instruction that one receives in a student–teacher relationship. Interestingly, as with critiques in Beelzebub’s Tales, the esoteric traditions are not infallible, particularly the contemporary ones. The dervish remarks that contemporary esoteric schools do nothing but harm, in the treatment of breath work—and that it is better to do nothing at all than to follow the exercises prescribed by such claimants to knowledge. In these comments, Gurdjieff refines his presentation of knowledge versus understanding: knowledge being constituted usually by what one learns in books, and understanding being what is arrived at through a combination of correct knowledge, experience, and proper guidance. The dervish and his methods exemplify a teaching of understanding. The dervish knew in a practical way, practices for the body, for food and for breath, which lead in a balanced manner to an authentic self-development and transformation. Up to this point, Gurdjieff had been led on his search only by what he had read and heard, and through the testing of his own experiences, but as a result of meeting the Persian dervish, he became even more aware that he had further to go. Gurdjieff, so enthralled with this dervish who was able to answer some of the questions that he had so desperately sought, asked to return to continue the conversations about the topics which so interested him. At the conclusion of the meetings, Gurdjieff’s dear friend, Ekim Bey, quite in earnest asked the dervish if he could give some indications and guiding principles about how to live. Gurdjieff states that he will at some later time—in the third series of his

48

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

writings, in a chapter entitled “The physical body of man, its needs according to law, and possibilities of manifestation” 6, (ibid: p. 191) give the detailed answers that the Persian Dervish provided to them. Yet, as with other mentioned chapters, Gurdjieff never makes this offering, at least in writing. In these comments, as elsewhere, we find Gurdjieff’s teaching in the voices of his characters. Through these episodes and vignettes with various teachers, Gurdjieff sketches, but does not complete, a picture of the modes of a Fourth Way—one in which all dimensions of human experience are engaged. To conclude, with the references to Sufism in the chapter on Skridlov, it is perhaps worth noting that Gurdjieff makes a minor, but telling comment about cultural-religious practices concerning the ritual slaughter of animals. He describes how, on a journey with the Seekers of Truth, they found it necessary to kill some goats for food—something they were reluctant to do. And the implication is that they did so in a ritual manner. Gurdjieff writes, “After this admirable Christian–Mohammedan manifestation, one of us began to cut their meat only into small pieces in order to roast it and fill some of the skins . . .” (ibid: p. 214). The description of the slaughter of food, as a Christian– Mohammedan manifestation, suggests that the ritual practices around food are not dissimilar for Christians and Muslims in this part of the world at this time. And this mirrors the comment in Beelzebub’s Tales that in some respects the differences between Islam, Judaism, and Christianity are minor. Certainly, growing up in the Caucasus, Gurdjieff was in close contact with both Christians and Muslims, among others, including the Yezidis and other religious and ethnic groups, largely unknown in the West. Both the cosmopolitanism of the Caucasus and its interconnectedness with the larger geographical region of Asia is reflected in the brief, almost off-handed references concerning the exchange of information between seekers of different traditions. For example, in the above story about the encounter with the Persian dervish, Gurdjieff notes that an Armenian priest had also spoken of the Persian teacher’s reputation, which further motivated them to find him and to learn from him. Gurdjieff’s own cosmopolitanism, expressed through his references to the living cultural and religious diversity around him, aided him in his own search to find, wherever they might be found, the answers to his deepest, driving questions. In the second to last chapter of Meetings with Remarkable Men, Gurdjieff returns to the life of his childhood and introduces his friend, Piotr Karpenko, whom he grew up with in Kars. Later in the chapter, Gurdjieff describes an encounter with a remarkable healer from Khorasan, in Persia. Gurdjieff tells of the healer’s own journey, which included study with Persian dervishes, a period as a Baptist, and later, time spent in a monastery outside of Kabul in Afghanistan. Finally, the healer, feeling that he no longer needed others to support his inner work, went to an isolated place in the company of a few like-minded people. Throughout Meetings, Gurdjieff cites many examples of figures, such as this healer, who are driven to find the answers to the spiritual meaning of existence

Gurdjieff and Sufism: The Creation of a Discourse

49

outside of the usual, orthodox channels. As this healer had done, these figures search by any means or path necessary for the source that may provide some answers, or part thereof, to the deepest, most heart-felt questions. Contributing further to the creation of this discourse about spiritual transformation, most of the characters are those who often seek to find the answers in different traditions. Often, not completely satisfied by the traditions and groups they encounter, like the healer, as well as Gurdjieff himself, they continue their search. They are characters who are representative of one single tradition, such as the Persian dervish who gave advice about eating and breathing techniques. Yet, most exemplary figures have found dialogue or exchange, at some point or another, with other traditions. The measure, then, is the degree of understanding that these figures offer or exhibit, not the specific form of their religion or practice. Thus, the understanding that they provide, and the model that they exemplify, is not concerned with the external or exoteric aspects of religion or religious practices—but, rather, the inner, practical teachings around spiritual discipline and struggle. Gurdjieff’s formulation of “conscious labor and intentional suffering” in Beelzebub’s Tales to His Grandson also reflects this emphasis on inner development and discipline. The following and final chapter provides details about Gurdjieff’s relationship with his “essence-friend”, Professor Skridlov in Egypt, before Gurdjieff’s later travels to Bukhara. Here we find another set of significant comments about Gurdjieff’s experience, further engaging Islam and Sufism, as well as a reprise of references to the importance of Bukhara. These passages also suggest the lengths that Gurdjieff went in his search for “hidden knowledge” before coming to Europe. Gurdjieff recounts that he first met Professor Skirdlov at the foot of the pyramids at Giza, when they were both searching for evidence of “pre-sand Egypt.” It had been some time since they had seen each other and they related to one another the adventures they had had since their first fateful meeting. Skridlov told him of his adventures, and in turn, Gurdjieff spoke of his: In my turn I told him how I had spent these last two years: how, soon after we had parted, I had become very interested in Islam, and after great difficulties and by much cunning had managed to get into Mecca and Medina, inaccessible to Christians, in the hope of penetrating into the secret heart of this religion and of perhaps finding answers there to certain questions I considered essential. (ibid: p. 227) Gurdjieff reports that he sought after answers in Islam, even going so far as to travel on the hajj to Mecca and Medina—something that would have been very difficult, especially during the late nineteenth century. He even disguised himself in order to be allowed entry, since no non-Muslim would have been allowed entry there; but what he found in Mecca and Medina did not satisfy him. He continues:

50

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America But my labours had been in vain; I found nothing. I only made clear to myself that if there were anything in this religion it must be sought not there, as everyone says and believes, but in Bukhara, where from the beginning the secret knowledge of Islam has been concentrated, this place having become its very centre and source. (ibid)

In these passages Gurdjieff emphasizes the importance of the region around Bukhara. Here, he continues to make a distinction between Islam and Sufism— the outer form and the inner roots—emphasizing the fact that the truth or understanding that he sought must lie with the Sufis. Ignoring historical or narrative linearity, Gurdjieff brings focus to symbols, figures, ideas and practices. In this case, he mentions again the dervishes of Bukhara that were described in the earlier chapter on the Sarmoung. Gurdjieff once more gives importance to Central Asia and the dervishes of this region, but again without explanation or elaboration. Gurdjieff’s discourse repeatedly focuses on the representatives and figures interested in the esoteric dimensions of religion. For Gurdjieff, the repeated references to dervishes, and central Asia as a locale, function as symbols of the inner dimension of experience and truth, independent of outer forms and restrictions. The call to the esoteric, the inner, is at the forefront of this discourse in a centrifugal mode. He brings attention and focus to the esoteric elements or entries, within the larger religious and spiritual matrix he encounters in his search. Meetings with Remarkable Men provides several key references to Sufism and Islam and though they do not dominate the book as a whole, they do offer an indication of Gurdjieff’s overarching approach to religion, and the teachings and practices of spiritual transformation. In the stories about dervishes, or dervishism, Gurdjieff makes a distinction between the traditions of esoteric knowledge, and those who hold practical spiritual knowledge, and what is taken for the outer forms of Islam. Likewise, he situates the center of Islam, not in its geographical center in Mecca, but in Bukhara. Gurdjieff’s narrative seeks to displace and disorient the reader’s attention. The movement in his treatment of Islam, as with other traditions, is a movement from the outside/external to the inside/center—from institutionalized practices and forms of worship, without understanding, to the practices and forms of belief and worship, with understanding. Likewise, there is a reorientation from the geographical center of Islam in Mecca, to the spiritual center in Bukhara—again, at least partially symbolic—in the center of Asia. As already indicated in Beelzebub Tales, the outer form of religion—including, rituals and morality—may support life very well on an ordinary level. It may even preserve, though not automatically manifest, the capacity for spiritual transformation and the access to, in terms drawn from Sufi discourse, higher stations (maqam) and states (hal ). The ultimate goal, following the model set forth in Beelzebub Tales, is the fulfillment of the obligation to live as one created in the image of God, and all the responsibility that that entails.

Gurdjieff and Sufism: The Creation of a Discourse

51

In Islam, this is spoken of in terms of vicegerency, Muhammad being the most potent human model of a representative of God on Earth. But this model, as does Gurdjieff’s, indicates a potential for all humans. Using a common model employed to make the distinction between the outer and inner dimensions, the outer form—the religion—functions as a shell, protecting and intimately tied to and informed by the esoteric, inward dimension. But, for Gurdjieff, the limitations and restrictions of the old world have ruptured the links between the two levels, the exoteric and the esoteric. The inward dimension is no longer tied to the other. The inner must be sought elsewhere. Gurdjieff attempts to demonstrate, though in narrative and allegorical form, what is required of the individual in the context of the modern world. However, he also attempts to paint a picture of the possibilities that remain open if the seeker is willing to search and sacrifice all that is required of them, in the language of Beelzebub, to carry out “conscious labor and intentional suffering.” In Gurdjieff’s spiritual and symbolic narrative, contained in Meetings with Remarkable Men, the dervishes and the references to dervish teachings, become a symbol of the heart of the teachings of spiritual transformation. The central location that Gurdjieff identifies, in the first case, is Bukhara. But that is presented as a station on the way—the goal, as it becomes a symbol of the height of his search, is in the mountains, somewhere in Central Asia, the home of the Sarmoung brotherhood. Gurdjieff’s discourse repeatedly and consistently provides more questions than answers, leaving the reader to discover for themselves the answers. Though Gurdjieff states that the aim of the second series is to provide the material for a “new creation,” the evidence for the soundness of this new world is nonetheless connected to, and embodied by the figures, communitie, and methods that are met with in his journeys through the “old world.” The 1979 film version of Meetings with Remarkable Men, directed by Peter Brook and with music by Laurence Rosenthal and David Hykes,7,8 has also played a role in the presentation and reception of Gurdjieff’s work to a larger audience. Director Peter Brook (1925– ), well-known in avant-garde circles for his 1964 play, Marat/Sade, discovered “the Gurdjieff Work,” and later produced works inspired by traditional tales, such as his stage production of Attar’s The Conference of the Birds and later, the film version of The Mahabarata. By the mid-1970s, the leaders of the Gurdjieff Foundation felt that it was time to make the story of Gurdjieff’s life accessible to a wider audience.9 Under the direction of Jeanne de Salzmann, one of Gurdjieff’s oldest pupils, Brook produced a film version of Meetings, starring Dragan Maksimovic and Terence Stamp. In The Shifting Point: Theatre, Film, Opera 1946–1987, Brook writes about Meetings, and his view of its possible reception at the end of the twentieth century: As a book, it can only reach a restricted audience, but I felt that a film could reach a wider audience, where each person could find something very applicable to himself. Here is what I’ll call a hero of our time, a man, a young

52

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America man, with whom we can identify, because his primary situation is a hunger for understanding and a recognition that the answers that the world has given him in no way satisfy his demand. (Brook 1994, p. 212)

Peter Brook also comments on the approach to “Gurdjieff’s Search for Hidden Knowledge” in the film: This film is a story—a not totally truthful story, somewhat Oriental, sometimes accurate, sometimes not, sometimes in and sometimes out of life, like a legend. It is told like a legend in the remote past, for a purpose: which is to follow in a certain order the search of the searcher who is the central character. (ibid: p. 211) The Sarmoung Brotherhood also figures prominently in the film, though some liberties have been taken in the presentation of the detail of some episodes and, especially the order of the narrative that appears in the written work. Foregoing certain details, Brook’s aim was to convey “the sense of the growing search and the changing taste of it. . .” (ibid: p. 212). Thus, Brook suggests that “you have to let the film wash over you to follow the central process” (ibid). Brook’s film version presents the stories of Gurdjieff’s search and attempts to communicate the inner, spiritual yearnings and experiences that he had as a young man, though, according to some critics, it does so with mixed results. Critics have remarked that pacing and the stilted dialogue of the film make it a less than compelling presentation of the otherwise dynamic and engaging search of the young Gurdjieff. Paul Taylor has also written about the drama around the production of the film that took place between members of the Gurdjieff Foundation. Taylor also notes, “The film seemed to many a cultural travelogue through exotic regions. . . Lacking the interconnectedness and inventiveness of Gurdjieff’s art, it failed to transmit a clear-cut message” (ibid: p. 224). One of the more noticeable absences is found in the scene where Gurdjieff is portrayed in the film crossing the bridge to the Sarmoung monastery alone. In the book, however, his friend Soloviev accompanies him. The film perhaps diminishes the sense of the culture of the shared search that Gurdjieff maintains throughout the written work. What remains perhaps most compelling about the film are the carefully choreographed movements presented in the culminating scenes at the fabled Sarmoung monastery—the narrative source for many mythical interpretations of his work. These powerful demonstrations, performed by the senior-movement pupils from the French and American branches of the Gurdjieff Foundation, provide a rare glimpse, at least at the time the film was produced, of the “sacred movements” which the more orthodox Gurdjieff foundations typically reserve for more advanced pupils. Gurdjieff’s Meetings with Remarkable Men was written with “the hope that these ideas may serve as preparatory constructive material for setting up in the consciousness of creatures similar to myself a new world” (Gurdjieff 1963,

Gurdjieff and Sufism: The Creation of a Discourse

53

pp. 1–2). The construction of this new world is informed by Gurdjieff’s journey to both known and unknown locations, chiefly in Asia and Africa, and is represented by the dervishes and other figures that he encounters, as well as by obscure, and often indefinite, organizations and groups he discovers, such as the World Brotherhood and the Sarmoung monastery. Gurdjieff’s text persistently and insistently presents a picture of the shared search. All of the characters, especially those representing the “Seekers of Truth,” have their own strengths and weaknesses, and are often indefatigable and uncompromising in  the search. Yet, perhaps more importantly, they also work together as an interdependent group, achieving success only when relying upon one another and with, of course, the aid of those they meet in their search, including the dervishes and dervish brotherhoods. The culture of the search that Gurdjieff narrates and presents, constitutes the reconstructive component of All and Everything—meant to create in the consciousness, a picture of a new world based upon the principles of striving and spiritual discipline or, as formulated in the First Series, Beelzebub’s Tales, “conscious labor and intentional suffering.” By approaching Beelzebub’s Tales as the initiation of a specific discourse on the soul, one can then read Meetings as a further generative iteration of his larger discourse on the soul. With Meetings, Gurdjieff employs a simultaneously critical and constructive method of presentation, similar in certain respects to the approach of Beelzebub’s Tales. As in Beelzebub’s Tales, with regard to religion in particular, Gurdjieff is critical of orthodoxy and resistant to the dominant cultural traditions and narratives of society, both East and West. Likewise, he presents and privileges the esoteric currents of religious and spiritual traditions and narratives, as well as groups and individuals, which exemplify “conscious labor and intentional suffering.” Whether Islamic, Christian, Buddhist or other, the essence is preserved in the esoteric—that is, the vital, living, and practical, but oftentimes hidden, teachings that are sought after and exemplified by the figures and groups that he meets in his search.

Enter Idries Shah: Complicating “The Great Work” In the decades following Gurdjieff’s death in  1949, Gurdjieff became increasingly well-known through the publication of his written work, as well as that of his students. P. D. Ouspensky’s In Search of the Miraculous, was published in 1949, and Beelzebub’s Tales to His Grandson was first published in the following year. With the 1960s, a new phase of the discourse about Gurdjieff and Sufism was being introduced, fueled in large part by the publication of Meetings with Remarkable Men (1963), the writings and more public activities of J. G. Bennett and, promoting a brand of unorthodox and unaffiliated Sufism, Idries Shah (1924–96), who sought to attract the wayward students of Gurdjieff’s ideas. Shah remains one of the more controversial figures in the presentation of Sufism in the West, and his work also figures

54

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

into the debate about Gurdjieff and the Sufi origins of his teaching. Shah was born in Simla, India to an Afghan father, from a royal Afghani family, and a Scottish mother. Shah, along with his family, relocated to England when he was a teenager. Franklin Lewis, author of the encyclopedic Rumi: Past and Present, East and West (2000), writing on the diffusion of Rumi in the West, includes an entry on Shah: Initiated into the Naqshbandi order in Afghanistan, Shah came to London in the 1960s and sought out the remnants of Gurdjieff’s following, notably J. G. Bennett, attempting to convince them that Gurdjieff had borrowed most of his ideas from Sufism. Shah has ever since energetically promoted Sufism to a Western audience in a number of books which he and his disciples authored. (Lewis 2000, p. 515) Lewis’ entry replicates Shah’s self-assertion that he was an authentic initiate into the Naqshbandi order, though of a secret order whose origins were never revealed. When Shah did appear in London in the 1960s, he came presenting a document entitled “The Declaration of the People of the Tradition,” which was purportedly from the “Invisible Hierarchy.” According to the document, the hidden masters “are not in communication or contact with ordinary human beings; certainly not in two-way communication with them.” According to Shah, the invisible hierarchy is responsible for the forms of religion, rites, practices and even personages in history that now are clung to only out of habit and sentimentality, but which once held an authentic power and beauty. In apparent affirmation of Shah himself and his teachings, the “Declaration” goes on to state: Conditions now exist in the community being addressed in which work of this kind can take place. There is no advantage at this point, and upon this level in discussing any “reason” for the existence of these conditions. Such discussions degenerate into mental exercises which are useless unless they are accompanied by parallel experience. (Sher Point Publications 2007) Also included in the “Declaration” are twenty-two principles of the teaching, several of which would sound familiar to anyone familiar with Gurdjieff’s basic ideas. Shah’s work attracted a wide following, including many well-known figures such as Nobel Laureate, Doris Lessing. Shah also had enormous influence through the popularization of the stories about the “Mulla Nasrudin,” in a series of collections published in the 1960s and 70s, particularly with the Gurdjieff crowd. These collections also led many to make connections between Shah’s versions and Gurdjieff’s versions of his “Mullah Nassr Eddin” found in Beelzebub’s Tales and Meetings with Remarkable Men. In the Gurdjieff lineage, J. G. Bennett had a fateful meeting with Shah that led to his relinquishment of his

Gurdjieff and Sufism: The Creation of a Discourse

55

center of work at Coombe Springs in total to Shah. In terms of critiques of Shah and his work—which also forms an essential part of this discourse concerning the transmission of Sufism to the West—L. P. Elwell-Sutton, lecturer on Persian at Edinburgh University, wrote a severe and very public critique of Shah’s work in The New York Review of Books in 1970. His review drew equally public responses from Shah and Doris Lessing. Later, and from a Gurdjieffian point of view, James Moore, made a serious assessment of Shah’s work and influence in “NeoSufism: The Case of Idries Shah”(1986/1999). Shah, and the responses to his work, especially concerning Gurdjieff and Bennett in particular, have been addressed in prior presentations—but here I frame Shah’s work, and the responses to it, in terms of the larger discussion about the discourse on Gurdjieff and Sufism. The official website for Shah describes him as, “A foremost authority on Sufism, Shah presented key Sufi concepts, stripped of cultural and religious accretions, to a Western audience. He maintained that much of the work of Western psychology was pioneered, centuries ago, by Sufis” (Website: “Biography”). Shah taught that Sufism is a universal teaching, a spiritual path which informs all spiritual paths. It is a Sufism without Sharia, the law, or tariqa, the path, one that proposes that only marifa, or direct experience, is necessary. Franklin Lewis sums up his approach: “Shah, as a non-denominational and non-traditional Sufi, promotes neither any specific order nor a belief in Islam to his followers” (Lewis 2000, p. 516). In a 1975 interview with Elizabeth Hall in Psychology Today, Shah, when asked about Sufism, begins with the proposal that Sufism is beyond, and before Islam, but also inclusive of it. He takes up the issue by proposing that there could be many starting points to a discussion of Sufism: There are many ways to talk about the religious aspects of Sufism. I’ll just choose one and see where it leads. The Sufis themselves say that their religion has no history, because it is not culture bound. Although Sufism has been productive in Islam, according to Sufi tradition and scripture, Sufis existed in pre-Islamic times. The Sufis say that all religion is evolution, otherwise it wouldn’t survive. They also say that all religion is capable of development up to the same point. In historical times, Sufis have worked with all recognized religions: Christianity, Judaism, Islam, Vedanta, Buddhism and so on. Sufis are in religion but not of it. (Hall 1975) Shah’s presentation of Sufism as a universal tradition, pre-dating Islam is at odds with most representatives of the Sufi tradition who assert that Sufism cannot be separated from Islam. The sophisticated discourse of academic studies of Sufism also confirms this view, adding that assertions that Sufism is a separate tradition from Islam are frequently a product of the Western Orientalist tradition.10 Interestingly, though perhaps unwittingly, Shah’s views and treatment of Sufism, parallel in certain respects the Orientalist views of Sufism, as

56

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

well as that of fundamentalists who attempt to isolate a pure-Islam from so-called Sufi influences. Shah’s view that Sufism is a universal teaching, with only an incidental connection to Islam has usually been condemned by orthodox Sufis as well as most academic interpreters. Amongst his orthodox and academic critics, Shah is viewed as someone who presents a largely ahistorical, and therefore unreliable, version of Sufism. Despite cogent and apt critiques of his work—which also form an inextricable part of the discourse on Sufism in the West—Shah, chiefly through his writings, has had an important impact on the reception of Sufism in the West. The Sufis, Shah’s most well-known and influential work, was first published in 1964 and has since seen numerous reprintings. It is often the first book that many have read about Sufism, particularly in the context of the cultural transformations of the late 1960s and 1970s. To give the work some literary heft, Robert Graves, a novelist, poet and translator, provides the introduction. Graves is also known for his controversial translation of the poetry of Omar Khayyam—another arm of the discourse—and controversial reception of Sufism in the West. Here, Graves offers his version of Sufism and its unknown origins: The Sufis are an ancient spiritual freemasonry whose origins have never been traced or dated; nor do they themselves take must interest in such researches, being content to point out the occurrence of their own way of thought in different regions and periods. Though commonly mistaken for a Moslem sect, the Sufis are at home in all religions. . . (Shah 1971, p. vii) Borrowing the language of Western esoteric traditions, Graves invokes freemasonry as a translation of the tradition of the Sufis. Taking a cue from Shah’s version of Sufism, he adds, “If they call Islam the ‘shell’ of Sufism, this is because they believe Sufism to be the secret teaching within all religions” (ibid). He continues to offer that Sufis are not bound by any religious dogma, nor do they have regular places to gather for worship, no monasticism, or any of the other trappings of religious order or affiliation—rejecting even any name to legitimately describe themselves. However, Graves continues, “The characteristic Sufi signature is found in widely dispersed literature from at least the second millennium B.C. and although their most obvious impact on civilization was made between eighth and eighteenth centuries A.D., Sufis are still active as ever” (ibid: p. viii). Graves participates in Shah’s own myth-making by asserting that Sufism is a mysterious tradition, a tradition behind all traditions—without beginning and end. Evidence of its influence appears in the cultural artifacts of bygone civilizations from at least 4,000 years ago—it is, even, beyond history. Another principle introduced by Graves and Shah in the introduction, is that the intended audience of the work is not likely academics or those that hold

Gurdjieff and Sufism: The Creation of a Discourse

57

more orthodox views. Graves writes, “In effect, this book is not addressed to intellectuals or other orthodox thinkers, or to anyone who will fail to recognize it at once as addressed to himself” (ibid: xxii). Shah, potentially more respecting of academics, begins his own introduction with the following admonition: The last thing that is intended in the writing of this book is that it should be considered inimical to scholasticism or to the academic method. Scholars of the East and the West have heroically consecrated their whole working lives to making available, by means of their own disciplines, Sufi literary and philosophical material to the world at large. (ibid: p. xxiii) Academic studies, he continues, inevitably present Sufism without its “essential factor.” That is, they cannot be studied or appreciated beyond a certain point without a teacher. Placing emphasis on direct experience, Shah attempts to dethrone and disrupt the approach of academics, as well as more orthodox believers, that limits and constricts the effectiveness of the esoteric teachings of Sufism. Although Shah makes no mention of Gurdjieff in The Sufis, some of the language would certainly have been recognized by those who had read Gurdjieff or encountered his teachings. He remarks, “The ‘Great Work’ is a translated Sufi phrase and the doctrine of the microcosm and macrocosm (with above is equal to what is below) is also found in Sufi tradition, and expounded by Ghazali” (ibid: p. 176). Gurdjieff’s practical spiritual work came to be called “the work,” and Bennett described the movement of the system at a suprapersonal level as “the Great Work.” Another central practice of Gurdjieff, especially emphasized in Ouspensky’s presentation of Gurdjieff’s ideas, is “selfremembering.” Shah discusses the practice of zikr, the remembrance of God, usually through the repetition of one or a sequence of the ninety-nine names of God, in language that would again be familiar to those familiar with Gurdjieff: Basically, the word means “remembrance,” in the sense of remembering, commemorating, invocation. “Remembering” is now also defined as the basic term for the religious activity of dervishes. The first stage is remembering oneself, after which the function shifts to one of harmony with the greater consciousness. .  .  . Some imitators of Sufism, seeing Sufi assemblies, have copied this technique. (ibid: p. 440) The comment on remembering oneself is at one and the same time, a call to those familiar with Gurdjieff’s ideas, but also a critique. Here, Shah puts selfremembering on a lower level, as an inferior exercise compared to the true remembrance of the Sufis.

58

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

Shah also presents in his work a discussion of the stages of development required in Sufism. Bennett was clearly familiar with this language, and it also has resonances with Gurdjieff’s typology of men, with regard their spiritual development: Sufi development requires the seeker to pass through seven stages of preparation, before the individuality is ready for its full function. The stages, sometimes called “men,” or degrees in the transmutation of the consciousness, the technical term for which is nafs, breath. (ibid: p. 445) In some sense, Shah treats Sufism as both everything and nothing—it is associated with many cultural movements, for millennia, and he identifies its influence in a myriad of current cultural forms from Morris Dancing, to Chaucer, to Dante. While arguing for a tradition that he presumes to go beyond Islam and beyond the Sufism which is presented in scholarly traditions, he still draws chiefly from periods of Classical Sufism in the deployment of his examples of Sufi teachings. However, Shah argues that his presentation of Sufism as connected to Islam is only incidental: “. . .emphasis has been placed upon the diffusion of Sufi thought during a certain phase (from the seventh century of the current era) for illustrative purposes.” (ibid: p. xxv). From one perspective then, he argues that Sufism itself is not Sufism, insisting that its essence goes beyond all forms. If Shah’s, The Sufis, indirectly refers to Gurdjieff and his use of Sufism, his next work, The Way of the Sufi (1968), makes specific references to Gurdjieff and what Jacob Needleman refers to as, “his school.” (Needleman 1992). The Way of the Sufi continues in the same direction as The Sufis with a varied collection of Sufi stories, essays, lectures, commentaries and an introductory essay entitled “The Study of Sufism in the West.” In this introductory essay, Shah attempts to explain the reception and introduction of Sufism in the West for a reader who may be newly curious in Sufism. This neophyte, then, . . .has three possible choices of source-material. The first would be reference books and works written by people who have made this subject their special province. Second might be organizations purporting to teach or practice Sufism, or using its terminology. The third could be individuals and perhaps groups of people, not always in Middle Eastern countries, who are reputedly Sufis. (1968, p. 13) Shah develops three categories of possibilities for familiarizing oneself with Sufism—but the categories also set forth an indictment of academics, and alleged teachers of Sufism, particularly those in the West. Strategically, this becomes one of the ways that Shah also criticizes Gurdjieff and his followers—a move which has been criticized by James Moore and others as a means to entice

Gurdjieff and Sufism: The Creation of a Discourse

59

would-be students of Gurdjieff to Shah’s own teaching. Shah later includes comments about the ideas of Gurdjieff, Ouspensky, and two of their students, Maurice Nicoll and Kenneth Walker. Reflecting some of the points made about Sufism in The Sufis, he offers that Sufism is difficult to define, in part, because it straddles many categories. Here he explains that many ideas have been taken from Sufism that appear in a range of other traditions and literature, including the Troubadours, William Tell, Gurdjieff and Ouspensky, Maurice Nicoll (a student of Gurdjieff, Ouspensky and Carl Jung), as well as a range of other traditions, including the Rosicrucians, Christian Medieval Scholastics, Yoga, Zen, and again, Chaucer and Dante. Shah suggests that there are problems for those interested in finding “real” Sufism where they have encountered the “watered-down” practices introduced either in the East or the West. Many, he suggests, have problematically engaged in the whirling ceremony of the Sufis, which was prescribed for a specific context in Konya, in Asia Minor—(also because it is done for general use in other contexts). Shah argues that the Sufi dancing of today has been uprooted from its original purpose and context. He continues in his argument to suggest that there is yet a different type of problem in the presentation of those who follow the system of Gurdjieff or Ouspensky: . . .when those influenced by the Western “work” or “system” which attempts to follow Gurdjieff and Ouspensky – and there are many thousands of them – are forthrightly told that their exercises and methods are well known and applied in certain Sufi schools, but that they are to be used in a different way and a more intelligible manner corresponding to the community involved, they are – more often than not – incapable of assimilating the statement. (ibid: p. 22) Generally, Shah is concerned that once-authentic Sufi teachings are mis­ understood and misapplied. In a footnote to this critique of Gurdjieff and Ouspensky, he remarks at more length about Gurdjieff and the clues that he left “to the Sufic origins of virtually every point in his ‘system;’ though it obviously belongs more specifically to the Khagjagan (Naqshbandi) form of the dervish teaching” (ibid: p. 43). Shah goes on to say that Beelzebub’s Tales to His Grandson and Meetings with Remarkable Men contain references to “the Sufi system.” However, he argues these works, “depart from Sufi usage in dealing with subjects in a random fashion, and in being aimed at an ‘accidental’ rather than a chosen community of students” (ibid). Concerning Ouspensky, he remarks that in The Psychology of Man’s Possible Evolution (Ouspensky 1981b) it was, “largely through his contact with Gurdjieff this Russian philosopher names the Sufis as a source of ancient psychology” (ibid). In particular he critiques Ouspensky for his lack of direct contact with Sufi sources, a point which is certainly born out in the literature by and about Ouspensky. In terms of Western

60

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

teachers who purportedly teach Sufism, he critiques the Gurdjieff-Ouspensky school for its role. However, in terms of the discourse on Sufis, one should keep in mind that the Sufi emphasis varies according to who is teaching it and where. Bennett in particular, had emphasized the influence of Sufism, but as we have seen, others inevitably refer to it at certain critical points—particularly in discussions of the origins of Gurdjieff’s teachings. Shah also briefly critiques the “latihan,” a spiritual practice that J. G. Bennett enthusiastically took up after the death of Gurdjieff, which was introduced by the Indonesian teacher Bapak Subuh. While Bapak Subuh denied that the practice had any Sufi connection, Shah connects the exercise of the “latihan” of Bapak Subuh and the Subud organization with Sufi schools, arguing that “its procedure is mainly based upon Naqshbandi-Qadiri methods, but in its current presentation these have been turned upside down” (ibid: p. 22). In a footnote to the entry, Shah warns, “Indiscriminate indulgence in the Latihan exercise has been known to give rise to a condition now referred to in medical literature as ‘Subud psychosis’” (ibid: p. 46). Critical to Shah’s strategy in the promotion of his view and approach to Sufism was the criticism of other would-be Sufi teachers and practitioners, including Gurdjieff and Ouspensky. One of the most direct attacks of Gurdjieff and his approach, is found in a work entitled The Teachers of Gurdjieff, first published in 1966 and attributed to Rafael LeFort. The work is widely believed to be written by Idries Shah himself or, at the least, a product of, as James Moore calls it, “the Shah-school.” A further affirmation of this assertion is suggested by Dushka Howarth—a daughter of Gurdjieff—in her memoir, “It’s Up to Ourselves” (2009), in which she relates a conversation that she had with Alice and Herman Shaeffer who, after working in a Gurdjieff group for years in Paris, went on to work with Shah in England. The Shaeffers told Howarth that Shah had announced to their group that he was going to write a work on Gurdjieff’s ideas in order to identify the source of his teachings. When Howarth asked why Shah was proselytizing Gurdjieff followers, the Shaeffer’s did not seem to have an answer (Howarth 2009, p. 332). Why Shah made such significant efforts to “convert” those interested in Gurdjieff, to his approach and methods, remains an open question. LeFort’s work begins with an introduction to Gurdjieff and a brief history of his work. In particular, it criticizes Ouspensky for his desire to “reason out” the teaching rather than “decode” the essential enigmas of Sufism. The author goes on to describe how he wanted to find the roots of the Gurdjieff teaching, which, as Moore also points out, would have been impossible at that time. Throughout the work, Gurdjieff is set up alternately as a false teacher or one who brought an incomplete teaching with him to the West, one that moreover, died with his death. LeFort narrates, in simple prose, his journeys to meet teachers in many locations in the Middle East, including Turkey, Iraq, Syria, Iran, Israel and Afghanistan—a journey which mirrors the journeys that Gurdjieff reports in his

Gurdjieff and Sufism: The Creation of a Discourse

61

Meetings with Remarkable Men. Throughout these episodes, the author reports his “findings” from discussions with the various spiritual teachers he encountered on his journey. Characteristic of the specific sayings about Gurdjieff, the narrator quotes a particular dervish who said, “. . .the Sheikh ul Mashaikh has declared that what residual Baraka there was in Gurdjieff’s teaching left with the beginning of the last year of the first half of your twentieth century” (LeFort 1998, p. 25). Later, the author records another purported conversation with one of the authentic teachers he met who proclaimed that “Gurdjieff is dead.” A picture of the earnest seeker, LeFort responds, “But his message surely lives on through those to whom Gurdjieff passed his authority?” The teacher responds that Gurdjieff failed to pass on his authority and that “His message died with him” (ibid: p. 32). Responding to a further inquiry about the value of his teaching, the man replies: There was value when it was projected. It was only one step towards a fuller realization of the complete message. . . . He charged none to carry the dead embers between cold embers and burning fire. Embers owe their existence to flame, and once this is gone they are inert carbon and only of use to those who use carbon and not to those who seek the warmth and energy of the flame. (ibid) Mirroring Shah’s comments above about Gurdjieff, as well as the nature of specific teachings for specific times, from The Way of the Sufi, the narrator hears still further confirmation from Hassan Effendi in Jerusalem that Gurdjieff’s teaching has lost its effectiveness: Gurdjieff was to teach certain things for a certain circumstance. That his teaching was to be adulterated and carried out long after its effectiveness had gone, under circumstances which were in any case changed, was inevitable and predictable. His role was a preparative one, but most of the progress that was made was diluted beyond measure by the activities after his death. (ibid: p. 67) The seeker seems determined to find the sources of Gurdjieff’s teachings or, at the very least, some confirmation of its efficacy. Yet, he finds no positive support. Another teacher that he reports encountering in Istanbul, Pir Daud, remarks about Gurdjieff’s teaching: There is nothing going on save mechanical repetition. A teacher’s message does not descend to his heirs, and such was the case of Gurdjieff. If you seek knowledge you must be in tune with the developmental work that takes into consideration the circumstances and the needs of the time. (ibid: pp. 93–4)

62

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

The author of the story also demonstrates familiarity with Gurdjieff’s Meetings with Remarkable Men, and the chapter on the Sarmoung in which Gurdjieff claims that he saw a mechanism for preparing students to learn sacred dances. In a comment on this episode, the seeker of The Teachers of Gurdjieff reports being taken to a secret room below the tomb of Rumi in Konya, Turkey, where he sees a figure, described briefly as a “tree,” which can be manipulated to aid in the demonstration of the sacred dances of the Sufis. The dervishes there are described as wearing white robes and conical caps, like the traditional Mevlevi Sema attire. Also connected here is the “stop” exercise that is referred to by Ouspensky, Bennett and others. The seeker, who must be very weary now in his thwarted enterprise asks, “Did Gurdjieff see the ‘tree’?” The teacher responds, glibly, “No, it is never used in the way he described it” (ibid: p. 123). Here, the author undermines the reference in Meetings with Remarkable Men to the mannequin-like figure that can be manipulated to show the positions of sacred dances. The polemical aim of the work, borrowing language, terms, and ideas from Gurdjieff, seeks to not only suggest that Gurdjieff brought a partial teaching, but to also discredit the teachings of Gurdjieff. The conclusion of the volume finds the seeker back home in England, where he finally finds what he is looking for: “I returned to Europe and sought out the centre to which I had been sent. It was ten miles from my home! I am studying and learning and experiencing at a pace that I could not conceive of before” (ibid: p. 149). The clue provided for the attentive reader who happens to have read Shah’s The Sufis, is that the traveler refers in the end to the insights he has gained about the teachings of “The Great Work.” The obvious reference is to Shah, as the source that he had sought for so long. A quick comparison with Bennett’s narrative of his search in the Middle East in the 1950s, which will be dealt with in a later chapter, highlights the prosaic and artificial tone of Teachers of Gurdjieff. The artificiality is also highlighted by the fact that each of the men that the sojourner meets hold a preternatural knowledge about what is going on in the West concerning Gurdjieff and his students. Presented as a somewhat naïve and random adventure, the author relies on the authoritative voices of the authentic Sufis that he encounters in his journey to denounce Gurdjieff. Clearly the purpose of the explicit invectives against Gurdjieff is to strip him of any pretense to authenticity and authority—to remove him, and his teachings and students, from the center of the discourse about Sufism in the West. Shah has not been without his critics. Seyyed Hossein Nasr, arguing from a traditionalist perspective, accused Shah of “divorcing Sufism from Islam and turning into a kind of esotericism and pseudo-spiritualism” (Lewis 2000, p. 517). Arguing from the perspective of a scholar, L. P. Elwell-Sutton, Professor of Persian Studies at Edinburgh University, in a 1970 review in the New York Review of Books (Elwell-Sutton 1970a), delivered a severe critique of Shah and two of his works, The Way of the Sufi (1968), and Tales of the Dervishes (1970). An academically

Gurdjieff and Sufism: The Creation of a Discourse

63

trained scholar, Elwell-Sutton reserves his more positive comments in the same review for the French scholar, and Sufi practitioner and perennialist, Henri Corbin and his work Creative Imagination in the Sufism of Ibn ‘Arabi (1969). Arguing as an Orientalist himself, Elwell-Sutton begins his review by remarking that the new interest in Sufism in the West “marks the final phase of this twelvehundred-year-old Islamic mystical teaching” (Elwell-Sutton 1970a). Elwell-Sutton then provides a brief overview of Sufism, rehearsing a fairly typical Orientalist presentation of the rise of Sufism, which, having its height begin in the twelfth century, with figures such as Ibn ‘Arabi, has had a noticeable and continuing decline from the fifteenth century to the present. In coming to Shah’s works, he articulates the “final phase in this sad story of decay” (ibid), which is found in the attempt to import Sufism to the West: Rejected in the East, and becoming aware of the mental and spiritual ferment in the West, with its uncritical search for some new teaching no matter where it is to be found, certain self-styled Sufis have tried to emulate the fleeting success of the Yogis and the Zen Buddhists by setting up propaganda centers in Europe and America. That such missionary activity is alien to the whole spirit of Sufism does not seem to matter. (Elwell-Sutton 1970a) Elwell-Sutton concludes that this type of missionary activity is antithetical to the spirit of Sufism. Shah, and the Western fascination with Sufism that he represents is taken as the final stage of an outdated and rejected teaching—in the West it is only to be found in “propaganda centers.” Elwell-Sutton then recounts a brief history of Shah himself and, given that Shah was largely raised in England, questions his Sufi affiliations, including the statement that according to his publisher, he is “head of the Sufi tradition!” He adds that he is head of the Institute for Cultural Research, “a ‘Sufi’ setup in London’s Soho district, where the teachings of Gurdjieff, Ouspensky, and other fanciers of Oriental lore are dispensed” (ibid). Elwell-Sutton remains critical not just of Shah, but of Sufism, offering that the tradition has run its course, the full decline now witnessed in the figures of Shah and his supporters such as Doris Lessing. Perhaps the most barbed attack of Shah has come from the Gurdjieffian James Moore in, “Neo-Sufism: The Case of Idries Shah,” first published in England in Religion Today in 1986. He scathingly writes that Idries Shah, “has been lit, as by St. Elmo’s fire, with a nimbus of exorbitant adulation: an adulation he himself has fanned, an adulation which has not failed to arouse—in quieter Islamic, literary, academic, and Gurdjieffian circles—a largely unheeded contradiction” (Moore 1986). Suggesting that sufficient critique has not been made of Shah, he provides a self-admittedly ad hominem attack of Shah, including the suggestion that he has primarily been a tourist in the Islamic world, excited by, for example, his camera and the photos of the Kaaba in

64

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

Mecca and the dance of the Bektashi Sufis, that as Moore points out, were actually Mevlevi. Mirroring much of Elwell-Sutton’s 1970a critique, Moore calls Shah to task on his lack of scholarship and authenticity. He then criticizes Shah’s call for Gurdjieffians to join his ranks: No single element in Shah’s whole life has proved more materially advantageous—or psychologically revealing—than his stratagem concerning the philosopher-savant George Ivanovitch Gurdjieff (c. 1866–1949). Hardly had Shah-School productions appeared, than they began to belittle Gurdjieff—adding in coded language the preposterous rider that Shah (who never even met him) had assumed his mantle. (Moore 1986) Moore focuses here on the apparent abuse Shah perpetrated against Gurdjieff and his reputation. He takes particular issue with the claim that Shah had taken his place in the delivery to the West of the authentic esoteric teaching from Central Asia that Gurdjieff had failed to transmit properly and fully. Moore also has few kind words for J. G. Bennett for his part in the ongoing associations between Gurdjieff and Sufism. Moore also offers an extended critique of Shah’s versions of the “Mullah Nasrudin Tales”—which have so frequently been used as a quotable source for Sufi stories in Gurdjieff circles. Gurdjieff’s own use of the character of “Mullah Nassr Eddin” in Beelzebub’s Tales to His Grandson will be taken up further in the following chapter. Idries Shah, both in his own presentation of Sufism and his entanglement with Gurdjieff’s followers and teachings, as well as J. G. Bennett, represent another important element in the matrix or discourse about Sufism in the West. Shah was quite productive, and his books have been translated into more than fifteen languages and have sold millions of copies to “a wide cross section of libraries, students of Sufism, curiosity seekers and the general public” (Lewis 2000, p. 517). Lewis suggests that Shah’s promotion of Sufism and Rumi also played a role in the English-speaking world in “the later canonization of Rumi as one of the patron saints of New Age spirituality during the 1980s and 1990s” (ibid). Many at this time were likely compelled by Shah’s digs at orthodoxy, and the excesses and exaggerations of spiritual authorities. Whether in encounters with the disciplined meditation practices of Buddhists, the devotional chanting of yogis, or through experimentation with drugs, the youth culture of the 1960s and 1970s sought to expand their consciousness through a variety of experiences. Many, including some who I interviewed concerning their experiences at Bennett’s school at Sherborne House in the 1970s, and the sister school at Claymont Court in the U.S., referred to the importance of Shah’s work in their discovery of Sufism. Particularly in the 1970s, when books on Gurdjieff became more widely published and known, the discovery of Gurdjieff and the discovery of Sufism often occurred concurrently.

Gurdjieff and Sufism: The Creation of a Discourse

65

Recent Studies of Gurdjieff Beginning primarily in the last decades of the twentieth century in particular, there have been an increasing number of academic and scholarly works that address the influence of Gurdjieff and attempt to situate his work among other works on contemporary philosophy and spirituality. In terms of the scholarly reception and presentation of Gurdjieff, Jacob Needleman, Professor of Philosophy at San Francisco State University, has created a body of work that is frequently informed by the ideas of Gurdjieff, sometimes more explicitly than others. Needleman, a longtime member of the Gurdjieff Foundation in San Francisco, made the first presentation on a topic related to Gurdjieff at the 1980 American Academy of Religion Conference, in an essay focused on the work of P. D. Ouspensky. The article was later published in Consciousness and Tradition in 1982. Also, since the 1990s, Antoine Faivre, Wouter Hanegraaff and other scholars have provided a more systematic, but fluid, way to present the figures and movements representative of Western Esoteric thought and philosophies. In the development of the category of Western Esoteric Philosophy, Gurdjieff and his work are often included among seemingly disparate figures such as Rudolf Steiner, René Guénon, Carl Jung and others—some of whom sought to establish connections with Eastern spiritual traditions. The term esoteric philosophy provides a way to understand a type of transformative hermeneutics. Often more finely articulated than New Age philosophies, this hermeneutics is an investigation that necessitates a “personal struggle for progressive elucidation on many successive levels of symbols, myths, or reality” (Faivre 1992, p. xii). That is, the hermeneuticist, or questioner, is engaged and perhaps guided in the process—it is a deeply personal and spiritual process. More generally, the expression and elucidation of this struggle has been developed through time in an identifiable body of literature and practices. In part, this is what distinguishes philosophy in general, as a course of inquiry into questions concerning the nature of things, and esoteric philosophy which is guided toward not just the nature of things, but a concomitant investigation of the self—the inward dimension of inquiry. The value of the category, Western Esotericism or Western Esoteric Philosophy, is that it allows for the identification and recognition of both individuals and groups that have been either dismissed or relegated to the margins of the canon in the history of Western philosophy and religion. The 1992 volume, Modern Esoteric Spirituality, edited by Antoine Faivre and Jacob Needleman, includes an article by Needleman addressing the importance of Gurdjieff in light of Western Esotericism, entitled “G. I. Gurdjieff and His School”(Faivre 1992). Though not mentioning Sufism specifically as a possible source, Needleman writes that Gurdjieff traveled “to monasteries and schools of awakening in remote parts of Central Asia and the Middle East, searching for knowledge about man that neither traditional religion nor

66

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

modern science by itself could offer him” (Faivre 1992, p. 59). Needleman includes an initial assessment of the situation of Gurdjieff studies: “Although there is an increasing recognition of the importance of G. I. Gurdjieff in the spiritual landscape of the twentieth century, his name continues to evoke a variety of reactions throughout the world, ranging from awe and reverence to suspicion and hostility. It will no doubt be some time before a general cultural consensus appears. . .” (ibid: p. 359). Gurdjieff: Essays and Reflections on the Man and His Teaching (1998), edited by Jacob Needleman and George Baker, takes a longer view of the influence of Gurdjieff’s teachings and legacy since his death in 1949. The collection includes more than forty essays on a variety of topics and areas that have been influenced by his work, either directly or indirectly, including disparate areas such as physics, music, dance, philosophy, religion, and environmental studies. Although not dominant in the collection, several of the articles mention connections to the religions of Asia, and several discuss elements of Sufism or refer to Sufi ideas and influence in relation to Gurdjieff. Of note, out of the several entries that address the topic of Sufism, only the entry by Henry Leroy Finch is conspicuously influenced by the work of Idries Shah. The publication of the volume suggests the influence and longevity of the discourse on and about Gurdjieff in contemporary spirituality. A more recent work that addresses the relationship between Gurdjieff and Sufism in more detail is Anna Challenger’s Philosophy and Art in Gurdjieff’s Beelzebub: A Modern Sufi Odyssey (2002). Based on a dissertation in Comparative Literature completed in  1990, Challenger’s work offers a well-argued and comprehensively documented exploration and investigation of Gurdjieff. Especially valuable are the presentations of Gurdjieff’s theory of art and the analysis of Gurdjieff’s Tales as a work of literature. In particular it provides a focused discussion and reading of Gurdjieff’s Beelzebub’s Tales as a “Sufi Teaching Tale.” Using Beelzebub’s Tales as a starting point and employing a range of scholarly work, Challenger builds much of the case for Gurdjieff, and Beelzebub’s Tales, as Sufi in orientation with support, on the Gurdjieff side, from the work of J. G. Bennett, and on the Sufi side, from Idries Shah’s writings on Sufism. Building on the work of Bennett, Challenger begins with a recapitulation of Gurdjieff’s life, drawing on sources such as his written works, the reports of his early students, and the biographical work from James Moore’s Gurdjieff and Mansfield and concludes, with Bennett’s words from Gurdjieff Making a New World (1973a), that Gurdjieff was, “more than anything else, a Sufi” (ibid: p. 12). She notes that “Gurdjieff undoubtedly drew upon a number of schools of thought and synthesized apparently diverse ideas in the process of creating his own vision” (ibid: p. 12). In support of this statement is a listing of some of the influences in evidence in his work, including Gurdjieff’s father’s ideas recorded in Meetings with Remarkable Men, the influence of Assyrian and Babylonian legend, the study of neurophysiology and psychology, Indian

Gurdjieff and Sufism: The Creation of a Discourse

67

Philosophy, Armenian literature, Pythagoras, Saint Basil, Zoroastrianism, Buddhism, Hinduism, Christianity and Islam (ibid: 12). Nonetheless, the substance of the argument follows more closely, the connections between Gurdjieff and the Sufi tradition—but with an emphasis on the notion of a universalist Sufism. One of the more terse and telling statements about the relationship between Gurdjieff and Sufism, appears in an early discussion of Gurdjieff’s remarkable openness to different traditions. Employing a comment from J. G. Bennett, Challenger remarks: . . . it is the Way of the Sufi—as understood in its broadest sense—that appears to have been the most prevalent influence on his methods and thought. Bennett correctly surmises, “The Sufi origin of his teaching was unmistakable for anyone who had studied both.” Consequently, we may move back and forth with ease between Sufism and Gurdjieff’s teaching without a need for re-orientation. (Challenger 2002, p. 12) Challenger here articulates a critical axis point in the reception and conti­ nuation of the Gurdjieff-Sufism discourse. Indicative of the thrust of this larger discourse is Challenger’s assertion that one may move back and forth between Gurdjieff’s teachings and Sufism, “without a need for re-orientation.” This position reflects the parameters of the larger, more general discourse that developed and persists about the explicit and implied connections and confluence between Gurdjieff and Sufism. Challenger draws upon a range of scholarly works in the presentation of Sufism, but gives primacy to the notion that Sufism is in essence a universalist spirituality. Drawing in the first case from J. G. Bennett, Challenger additionally employs the work of Idries Shah with some, though more limited, evidence from the work of a perennialist study of Sufism. Although the critiques that Shah leveled against Gurdjieff and his school are not referenced, Challenger employs Shah’s views of a universal Sufism to support the notion that Gurdjieff and his work can be best understood through the lens of Sufism. In Shah’s argument, as seen earlier, Sufism represents a universal form of religion or, more precisely, a mystical–psychological path that represents the search for the inner truth of not just Islam, but all religion. Challenger argues that Sufism is “the inner teaching of Islam,” “Islamic mysticism,” and from Martin Lings, “the central and most powerful current of that title wave which constitutes the revelation of Islam” (ibid: p. 17). Upon this basis the emphasis is then shifted to a view of the “nonexclusive nature of Islam” (ibid). Challenger puts forward the idea that the Qur’an emphasizes the unity of religions, which also “seems to point to a nearly equivalent esoteric meaning of each, making the inner teaching of Islam more or less parallel to, for example, esoteric Christianity” (ibid). She then briefly explains the significance of the exoteric, mesoteric, and esoteric dimensions of Islam and Christianity. Borrowing the words of

68

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

perennialist Frithjof Schuon, she concludes that “esotericism is without a country and it establishes itself wherever it can” (ibid). In summarizing several key points of her analysis, Challenger emphasizes the aims that the literature of Sufism and Gurdjieff share, which include, “emphasis on illogic; non-linear structure and oral nature; pointed use of humor; and multidimensionality” (ibid: p. 27). She continues to add to the list of shared techniques, a shared set of aims: We can recognize that both literatures are grounded on similar underlying principles. . . . Neither Gurdjieff nor the Sufi is concerned with impressing, entertaining, or providing pleasure to the reader. The sole motive is awakening . . . Sufi writings are a means to an end—the end jolting the reader from sleep and providing the possibility for radical transformation. (ibid) The crucial aim of Gurdjieff’s literary expression is to wake up the reader, and to then direct them toward awakening. This is the crucial point of Gurdjieff’s discourse, and she links these, again, with Sufism: All Sufi practices, exercises, disciplines, and art forms, are directed toward the end of a permanent existence, which was likewise the ultimate goal of Gurdjieff’s teachings and writings. He conceived of immortality as a potential state that is realized only rarely, when an individual is able to accomplish a complete transformation of being through conscious effort and suffering. (ibid: p. 28) Challenger adds to this point, a note about the value of struggle as a reading strategy: “The greatest value of a tale lies in the struggle for understanding that it demands, and in the inner friction that struggle creates, rather than in the storyline itself, or in the themes or messages conveyed” (ibid: p. 29). Challenger offers at the end of the discussion in this chapter that even accepting the intentional exaggerations and contradictions found in the text, as well as the efforts he took to conceal his sources, that his indebtedness to Sufism is evident. She concludes, “Recognizing the Sufi influence on his major literary work can help to shed light on its meaning and purpose, while acknowledging such influence in no way confines our interpretation of Beelzebub Tales or excludes other influences” (ibid: p. 30). Challenger’s work expands and adds insight into the ongoing discourse about Gurdjieff and Sufism, through the introduction of, connections with Sufism and critical reading strategies to his texts. Sufism, its critique of ordinary perceptions, its modes of spiritual pedagogy and its focus on struggle and effort, are presented as a corollary critical framework through which the work of Gurdjieff may be productively engaged in the contemporary West.

Chapter 2

Gurdjieff’s Discourse on the Soul: Beelzebub’s Tales and Sufism

Until now, therefore, there has at least been a faint hope that if sometime these strange beings should suddenly settle down, this teaching would infallibly regenerate and ­actualize those aims for which it was created by the full-of-hope Saint Mohammed. So, my boy! . . . These same certain beings there were called “dervishes” and it was concerning the closing of just their monasteries that the order was indeed given in that contemporary community Turkey. Of course, by the destruction in Turkey of this “dervishism” those last dying sparks will also be entirely extinguished there which, preserved as it were in the ashes, might sometime rekindle the hearth of those possibilities upon which Saint Mohammed counted and for which he hoped. Beelzebub to his grandson, Hassein (Gurdjieff 1950, pp. 710–11)

G. I. Gurdjieff sought to leave his teachings in a written form that would be available beyond his own lifetime—part of that legacy is Beelzebub’s Tales to His Grandson (1950), his 1,200-page magnum opus, and the most sustained and developed self-authored statement of his views on culture, religion, and spiritual development. Thus, in making a case for the inclusion of this chapter in a study of Gurdjieff and Sufism, I would argue that if an evaluation of Gurdjieff’s influence (or continuing influence) is to be made, or is worth making, that some attention should be given to Beelzebub’s Tales to His Grandson and the specific discourse about the soul and spirituality that is introduced therein. Moreover, we may gain some insight into his views on Islam and Sufism within this central text that may not have been addressed, or developed, by his earlier biographers and interpreters. Building on an earlier work, I view Gurdjieff’s discourse on the soul as a provocative, open-ended, and perhaps ultimately irresolvable discourse, which employs and engages with a variety of traditions, including Sufism (2005). I argue that the discourse on the soul initiated in Beelzebub’s Tales operates as a generative model and framework for Gurdjieff’s conception of spiritual transformation. Moreover, in this narrative Gurdjieff provides a presentation and critique of a range of other traditions and religions

70

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

that address the issue of transformation and spiritual development, some identifiable and others not. In the series of episodic stories related by Beelzebub to his grandson Hassein, Beelzebub’s Tales takes a millennial view of history and the universe, and includes references to a range of religions, including Islam. Focusing on the esoteric, or inner dimensions of well-known religions, Gurdjieff makes several references to the tradition of the “dervishes” in the text, rather than to Sufis—a term which is not used. Intentionally broad, Gurdjieff, attempts to provide an “objective critique” of history and life on the planet earth and the alternate unfolding of its development and devolution. The strategy in this chapter is to first situate the text—in the mode of a literary exposition—at the center of Gurdjieff’s larger “discourse on the soul,” in order to assess and analyze Gurdjieff’s work, the work of his students, and taken as a whole, its larger influence—particularly with regard to Sufism and the continuing introduction of Sufism in the United States in later chapters.

Beelzebub’s Tales to His Grandson and the Discourse on Sufism With All and Everything (1950), Gurdjieff sought to set out his teachings and ideas in a form and manner appropriate for future audiences—and it has been suggested that this was deemed necessary, not only because he realized, after a near-fatal car accident, the imminence of his own death, but because his students at the time were apparently not able to internalize and manifest his ideas sufficiently. The aim of the first series of his writings in All and Everything, or Beelzebub’s Tales to His Grandson, is nothing less than, “to destroy mercilessly, without any compromises whatsoever, in the mentation and feelings of the reader, the beliefs and views, by centuries rooted in him, about everything existing in the world” (Gurdjieff 1950, p. v). Michel de Salzmann offers that this work is his masterpiece and provides “vast and panoramic view of man’s entire life on Earth as seen by beings from a distant world. Through a cosmic allegory and under the cloak of discursive anecdotes and provocative linguistic elaborations, it conveys the essentials of Gurdjieff’s teaching”(Salzmann, 1987, p. 11). If it does contain, but does not necessarily forthrightly disclose, elements essential to his ideas, then there may be some indications about his view of religion, as well as Islam and Sufism. However, following this first, destructive line of approach, Gurdjieff’s text formidably and consistently stands outside of ennobled and official discourse, including religious discourse. It does so, first and foremost, as it seeks to destroy in the reader all associations, connections, and habits of thinking about the world and human beings. However, one of the primary and more creative aims, as I have argued elsewhere, in this “cosmic allegory”, is the creation of a new discourse on the soul (Pittman

Gurdjieff’s Discourse on the Soul: Beelzebub’s Tales and Sufism

71

2005). Here, the discussion is expanded to address the ways in which Gurdjieff develops, includes, and transforms Sufism and Sufi characters in his discourse. As I have argued previously, the text provides not simply a more precise definition and understanding of the soul, but a direct and personal challenge to the reader’s preconceived and/or unconscious thoughts, feelings, and postures concerning the most important questions about the existence of human beings. The result of which is the potential for a wider, more flexible, and ultimately, more personally relevant view of the Universe and the role of the human being in it. In this analysis of Gurdjieff’s Beelzebub’s Tales, I offer that M. M. Bakhtin’s notion of a dialogical mode of discourse may help a reader to understand Gurdjieff’s often unwieldy text. Dialogism, and several connected, critically productive terms, including the chronotope and heteroglossia, were developed by M. M. Bakhtin, a Russian critic whose major works were published in the 1920s and 1930s, but whose works only began to be translated and to have widespread influence in the 1980s (1990). As M. H. Abrams succinctly summarizes, Bakhtin develops the notion of a literary work as a: . . . site for the dialogic interaction of multiple voices, or modes of discourse, each of which is not merely a verbal but a social phenomenon, and as such is the product of manifold determinants of class, social group, and speech community. Each utterance, furthermore, whether in actual life or as represented in literature, owes its precise inflection and meaning to attendant ­factors—the relation of its speaker to an actual or anticipated listener, and the relation of the utterance to the prior utterances to which it is (explicitly or implicitly) a response, as well as to the specific social situation in which it is both spoken and interpreted. (Abrams 1993, p. 231) Reflecting Bakhtin’s view, Gurdjieff’s discourse, through its own complex engagement with life and literature, speaker and audience—as well as specific sets of utterances and social situations—can most productively be engaged with and analyzed as a site of dialogic exchange. For example, one component of Bakhtin’s notion of dialogism is based in part on the notion of dialogue between two or more voices. Gurdjieff employs, though through the narrator Beelzebub, a range of voices, both official and unofficial, that are engaged to present the history of the earth and its place in the universe at large. A feature of its mutivocality, or polyglossia, Gurdjieff’s work strategically goes against strict and restricting generic conventions of orthodox literary and religious discourse, including history, myth, poetry, theology, sermon, etc. Gurdjieff employs, again using Bakthin’s concepts, a “centripetal” approach to language and narrative— that is, one that goes against the “centrifugal” and self-asserting force that is part and parcel of hierarchical and official narratives, genres, or speech acts.

72

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

In important ways, as will be seen in the presentation of religion and religious discourse, Gurdjieff speaks against, and attempts to remain outside of, official and hierarchized presentations of all religions and history. Yet, at the same time, Gurdjieff’s work draws significantly from, and makes references to, a number of already existing oral, historical, and literary genres and traditions—again, important among these are the references to religion and religious discourse. Although Gurdjieff eschews what he calls in the first chapter, the “bon-ton literary language” of the day—the accepted, overused, and trite forms of accepted language and discourse, both Eastern and Western—he nonetheless employs and, in some cases, reconstructs recognizable literary and oral forms of language. Gurdjieff’s work functions as a kind of bricoleur,1 simultaneously, embodying Bakhtin’s notion of dialogic mode of interaction with different levels and types of discourse. One of the critical components of Gurdjieff’s dialogical discourse is the mythical mode of presentation central to Beelzebub’s Tales and which distinguishes the work from other elaborations of Gurdjieff’s ideas—his own and others—including the presentation of his ideas in P. D. Ouspensky’s In Search of the Miraculous.2 Although it is not a myth in the typical sense, Gurdjieff’s work takes on mythic proportions and addresses themes and ideas in an allegorical sense. And, it is the mythical mode initiated in Beelzebub’s Tales which perhaps contributes the most to Gurdjieff’s discourse on the soul. While avoiding a linear presentation of history, Beelzebub’s Tales attempts to account for, rather more episodically, the history of earth, and humans on it, from before the creation of earth up to the year of initial writing in 1921. The history of Earth, according to Beelzebub contradicts the view of history as a course of systematic evolution. There is no portrayal here of an unyielding progression of development of the human, either alone, or in relation to God. From Beelzebub’s point of view, there have been numerous identifiable periods in Earth’s history—none of which follow an overarching progression of continuing evolution. In particular, there is no special privilege given to any of the recognized narratives of history in Beelzebub’s own narrative. The narratives of progress that arise from Marxism, Enlightenment, and Darwinian evolution are all debunked as imaginary and highly suspect explanations of the disparate periods of history portrayed within Beelzebub’s Tales. Gurdjieff’s sensitivity to the broad range of oral and textual forms becomes evident upon reading Beelzebub’s Tales and in these we find references to a broad range and scope of traditions and methods. Yet, Gurdjieff did not simply borrow terms and phrases, or facilely copy elements from other traditions; rather, he created his own language, inspired by his familiarity with traditional and oral forms. His task in part was to make his ideas understandable and also compelling to a variety of audiences in a contemporary, or later, context that would otherwise be unfamiliar with these traditions. Though the notion of this audience is presented as a general one, other evidence, such as the fact that he had been living in the West for a number

Gurdjieff’s Discourse on the Soul: Beelzebub’s Tales and Sufism

73

of years when he began writing, indicates that he had a Western audience in mind. Beelzebub’s Tales reflects the ordering of early textualized sources through the inclusion of a range of genres and registers of language. Against the normativized and hierarchizing forms of high literary, poetic genres, and religious doctrines, Gurdjieff prioritizes a number of lower speech and literary genres and redistributes them in a re-visioned discourse about human history in the context of the history of the solar system Ors, and the universe as a whole. One of the ways Beelzebub achieves a dehierarchizing view is by using, in Bakhtin’s terms, the centrifugal force of language, through the inclusion of a range of subjects, both high and low, into his tales. His discourse runs the gamut from literature, art, religion, and war to hairstyles, toilets, chewing gum, bathing, vegetarianism and the detrimental effects of using electricity. He also deals with questions of philosophical and religious importance concerning the nature of will and the soul, the faultiness of desire and ego, and the role of humans in creation. Gurdjieff employs a polyglossia of language from different registers that highlights the context of a high degree of translation and intercultural mixing in which they were produced. The effect is to destabilize the reading on both the level of register and genre. Gurdjieff, as reflected in his intro-ductory comments, wishes to go against the bon-ton literary language and the language of the intelligentsia, by writing in an everyday language to present his view of the world. As Bakhtin argues, this exertion of a centrifugal force in relation to high poetic genres is the modus operandi of the novelistic form. Similar to the centrifugal force found in the novelistic form, Gurdjieff’s lengthy digressions on language, texts, and culture, attempt to establish a distanced and de-hierarchizing view of current, common, and cultural hegemonies. To that end, Gurdjieff employs a number of methods with regard to form and content to achieve this, including heroic characters, aphorisms, the parody of accepted practices or ideas through mock comparative histories, the use of neologisms, and the colloquial sayings of the folk character, Mullah Nassr Eddin. Gurdjieff claimed an intimate knowledge from a variety of different traditions from which he drew his work, both in their written and oral forms. Beelzebub’s Tales presents and represents multiple voices, it engages with, critiques, and supports at various times, different registers of meaning, both high and low; and it incorporates different languages, through, for example, the neologisms that he introduces. Additionally, particularly of interest for the present study, it engages with different traditions of religious and philosophical discourse over broad stretches of time. In this mode, Gurdjieff’s sophisticated discourse offers a rich mine of meaning and mode of elaboration on the sense and significance of the soul, while reflecting classical modes of discourse to a contemporary audience.

74

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

The frame of Beelzebub’s Tales is provided by the dialogue between Beelzebub and Hassein which is first initiated by the sincere question of Hassein, about the strange beings living on Earth. Following the first chapter, which serves as a preface written directly to the reader, the second chapter, “Introduction: Why Beelzebub Was in Our Solar System,” begins Beelzebub’s Tales to His Grandson proper with an explanation of the reasons for Beelzebub’s current trip on the ship Karnak to the solar system Ors, wherein Earth resides. Accompanying Beelzebub on this journey is his grandson Hassein—the son of his own favorite son, Tooloof. As the result of an unexpected delay, Beelzebub and Hassein have the chance to speak at some length. Hassein takes great pleasure at this notion because he knows that he will be able to learn more about the strange beings living on the planet Earth. Hassein sets the course for the theme of all of the tales to come, in his initiatory question: “But I am curious to know whether there dwell three-brained beings on the planets of that solar system and whether higher ‘being-bodies’ are coated in them.” “‘Please tell me now about just this, dear Grandfather,’ concluded Hassein, looking affectionately up at Beelzebub.” (Gurdjieff 1950, p. 60) For the remainder of Beelzebub’s Tales, Beelzebub attempts to answer this question by providing a complete history of the Earth from its formation to the current year, 1921. At the center of Beelzebub’s discourse is the concern for the creation of a kind of intermediate soul—what he calls the kesdjan body—and the highest form of soul. In Gurdjieff’s specialized language, he describes this process as the coating of the higher “being-bodies.”3 For Gurdjieff, the development of the soul is contingent upon individual effort and discipline, the importance of which he articulates in the neologism, being-Partkdolg-duty, or “conscious labor and intentional suffering.”

Conscious Labor and Intentional Suffering Within Gurdjieff’s initiatory discourse on soul creation presented in Beelzebub’s Tales, the most oft-repeated formula concerning spiritual development is the neologism, being-Partkdolg-duty, or “personal conscious labors and intentional suffering.” Throughout Beelzebub’s Tales, conscious labor and intentional suffering is the key axiom employed to signify not only the creation of the individual soul, but also the central role of human beings, their relationship to “the Absolute,” and the measure for all teachings and messengers that have been sent to restore the relationship between humans and God. The picture we get of the human, with regard to being-Partkdolg-duty, is a being created in the image of its Creator, for whom it is necessary to strive and to exert one’s

Gurdjieff’s Discourse on the Soul: Beelzebub’s Tales and Sufism

75

energies along a course of spiritual development and conscious evolution. Gurdjieff’s discourse is built on the centrality of the notion of transformation and it forms the basis for his psychology, cosmology, and soteriology. Central to the discussions in Sufism of polishing the heart, disciplining the lower soul, or traversing the path in general, is the notion of spiritual discipline and training. The emphasis upon spiritual discipline and training is related to the use of the term riyada, or the discipline of the soul or nafs. As W. C. Chittick explains, “One of the most common applications of the word riyada in classical Arabic was to the types of discipline connected with keeping the soul under control and bringing it into harmony with works, faith, and god-wariness” (1992, p. 171). The two terms, “discipline” and “training”, are immediately resonant with the work of Gurdjieff—perhaps more than any others. Gurdjieff, as can best be seen in the concept of “conscious labor and intentional suffering” emphasizes the importance of this throughout Beelzebub’s Tales to his Grandson. The remarkable men of Meetings also exemplify these traits. The control and discipline of the soul is also related to aql, or “intelligence”, which “holds back and controls the willful and headstrong impulses of the soul” (ibid). The relationship between discipline and intelligence may also illuminate Gurdjieff’s presentation of “Reason” presented in Beelzebub’s Tales to His Grandson.4 Gurdjieff also links the notion of discipline to duty and obligation. The term “Partkdolg-duty” is a hybrid formulation that exemplifies the way Gurdjieff combined a number of languages in the deployment of his discourse. In this case, partk is Armenian for “duty”, and in Russian, dolg, also means “duty”. This makes the term even more emphatic by emphasizing the dimension of duty as, literally, “being-duty-duty-duty” (Society 2003, pp. 519–20). Although in each language these words mean “duty,” each one has its own nuance. The realization of being-Partkdolg-duty is the only way for “a being to become aware of genuine reality” (Gurdjieff 1950, p. 104). In an early discussion of Buddhism, Beelzebub describes to Hassein how the beings of earth “have imagined and still imagine, that without any being-Partkdolg-duty they are already parts of that Most Great Greatness” (ibid: p. 245). As indicated in this statement, Gurdjieff attempts to undermine the assumption that humans, as they are, already have the means for their survival after death, that is, a soul. Gurdjieff here attempts to formulate, or reformulate, the idea that one has to make individual efforts in order to fully realize one’s potential. The components of this necessary individual effort are contained in the term “being-Partkdolg-duty”. Not only is the condition of religion and religious teachings in a devolved state, but humans are also unable to even partially understand the meaning of the religious teachings, without the requisite efforts represented by being-Partkdolg-duty. Without the conception of and practice of personal being-effort, the teachings of the messengers are easily misunderstood. And, as a result, the teachings have been maladapted to discount the necessity for individual struggle and effort, without which they have no chance to fulfill their destiny or to become part of the “Most Great Greatness.”

76

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

In a talk on Beelzebub’s Tales, J. G. Bennett remarks that conscious labor and intentional suffering is, using the language of Gurdjieff, “the way foreordained by our Endless Creator for the perfection of three brained beings” (Bennett 1977, p. 123). Gurdjieff insists, in contrast to general wisdom, that the fulfillment of the true nature of the human being, the realization of a soul, is not, ab initio, a given. Rather it is the potential that is given to us and it is through one’s own efforts that one is conjoined with the source that does exist, variously described in Beelzebub’s Tales as the Most Great Greatness, Our Common Father, Endlessness, etc. Firstly, for Gurdjieff one of the causes for the failure of humans to realize all of the qualities of a fully developed soul, is rooted in the assumption that one already has a soul, must make no effort in life except of a very low order, and is, nonetheless, given a reward at the end of life. By redefining certain terms, key terms, such as “soul”, “spirit”, and “body”; and by employing new terms, such as “being-Partkdolg-duty”, Gurdjieff provides a new language to present concepts that function as a part of a new discourse which reconceptualizes the human being, the relationship to God, as well as the role in creation at large.

Beelzebub on Religion Gurdjieff goes to great lengths in Beelzebub’s Tales to his Grandson to show how the corrupted institutions of religion, among other institutions, are a destructive force in human life. One of the strategies by which Gurdjieff’s text stands and remains outside of “official” and sanctioned discourse on religion and even mystical movements such as Sufism, is in the critique of religions and religious institutions. The perspective offered in the text is that one of the more destructive outcomes of religious institutions and religious teachers, is that they ultimately result in class division and the invention of political or state structures, which divide humans and human communities, from their true purpose and development. Moreover, in this analysis, these divisions and structures ultimately lead to war and the “reciprocal destruction” of human communities. All of these features of human society and life are presented as destructive and distracting elements in general, but particularly with regard to spiritual development. While much of Beelzebub’s Tales presents a critique of religion, there are also many important instances wherein Gurdjieff revises and renews the concept of religion and religious teachings or teachers. Following again, the indications from Bakhtin in his study of the novel: It is necessary to devise new matrices between objects and ideas that will answer to their real nature, to once again line up and join together those things that had been falsely disunified and distanced from one another – as well as to disunite those things that had been falsely brought into proximity.

Gurdjieff’s Discourse on the Soul: Beelzebub’s Tales and Sufism

77

The essence of this method consists, first of all, in the destruction of all ordinary ties, of all the habitual matrices of things and ideas, and the creation of unexpected connections, including the most surprising logical links (“allogisms”) and linguistic connections. (169) Gurdjieff seeks first to undo, to destroy all ordinary connections and ties—the false and habitual connections between things and ideas—in order to create a new way of conceiving of religious teachings and, in particular, the methods and tools of transformation. While there is a prosecutorial, destructive task that Gurdjieff performs in Beelzebub’s Tales, it is a necessary one. The way must be made clear for the possibility of understanding the purpose of human existence on a loftier and more immediate plane of understanding. Through Beelzebub’s Tales, Hassein comes to understand that without the sacred teachings sent “from Above” there would be no transmission of the “sacred impulses,” such as faith, hope, and love, to succeeding generations, or the specific teachings on the creation of “higher being-bodies.” While Gurdjieff critiques religious practices and institutionalized religions, I suggest that he does so in such a way that allows him to mark out a space in which he can foreground what he considers to be legitimate aspects of religion, though these are not always obvious, or on the surface of his narrative in Beelzebub’s Tales. Gurdjieff endeavors to create a new world, but before a new world can be created, the old world must be destroyed. Gurdjieff aims to purge and then restore, employing the words of Bakhtin, “a world permeated with an internal and authentic necessity” (ibid). In order to come to an understanding of Sufism and Islam and how they are presented and dealt with in Beelzebub’s Tales, I briefly address the manner in which Gurdjieff presents religion generally, particularly since the discussion of the soul and the spiritual dimension of human beings are usually the purview of religious narratives and institutions. When considered carefully these comments and observations contribute decisively to Gurdjieff’s specific formulation and discourse about spiritual transformation, and provide critical definitions, particularly concerning conscious labor and intentional suffering, and the role that religion may or may not play in supporting spiritual development. Throughout Beelzebub’s Tales, Gurdjieff employs a variety of methods to transgress the hierarchical, normalizing and, moreover, destructive, forms in operation both in religious discourse and religious institutions. While he presents a critique of the discourses and institutions of his day, including those pertaining to Buddhism, Christianity, and Islam—some of which are more easily accepted than others—his comments and observations are meant as productive critiques which might have a revivifying effect upon the essential teachings of religion. Within Beelzebub’s Tales as a whole, Beelzebub, as narrator, tells Hassein that there remain at least five traditions that were “founded upon the detailed

78

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

instructions which have been preached by genuine Messengers from Above” (Gurdjieff 1950, p. 233). Gurdjieff, in addition to some unknown religions, discusses in some detail five identifiable traditions: the “Buddhistic, Hebrew, Christian, Mohammedan, and Lamaist,” yet his regard for and evaluation of them is nontraditional in several respects. He regards all of them as having been sent from Above by the Common Creator God, but he is highly critical of the current state into which they have been changed. However, this criticism takes into consideration, more compassionately, the fact that this is due to unfortunate and unavoidable conditions on earth. Beelzebub begins the chapter, “Religion,” with a full indictment against all, what he calls, Havatvernoni, or religions existing on Earth. Emphasizing the importance of faith in religion, Gurdjieff’s neologism consists of the words from Armenian (havat) and Russian (vera), both meaning “faith.” Beelzebub addresses his grandson, Hassein, with the following critique of religion: Now I shall explain to you also a little about that “obstruction” which served as one of the chief causes for the gradual dilution of the psyche of these unfortunate favorites of yours, and, namely, concerning their peculiar “Havatvernoni” which they always have, the totality of the functioning and the effect of which, in the common presences of the beings, they themselves call “religiousness.” Such an, in the objective sense, indeed, “archmaleficent” factor for the gradual automatic “dwindling” of their psyche arose there, on this ill-starred planet, also since various consequences of the properties of always the same for them accursed organ Kundabuffer began to be crystallized in them, and changing its outer form, began to be transmitted from generation to generation.” (ibid: p. 694) In the first instance, Beelzebub describes religion as an “obstruction” and as one of the causes of the dilution of the psyche of Hassein’s favorites, or the beings of earth—that is, humans. He critiques, more subtly, the collective effect of religion on the psyche of humans in naming this feeling called “religiousness,” in quotes. This quality of religiousness contributes to the dilution of the power and energy of the individual psyche and the force of their own will, or “ableness to be.” What is more, due to the properties of the organ Kundabuffer, it has become a seemingly permanent part of their psyche and is carried over from generation to generation.5 From one point of view, this is Gurdjieff’s own version of the fall of the human being from grace. Beelzebub continues to describe the effects of this negative factor in human life: And so, when, on the one hand, thanks to these crystallizations, there began to be acquired in the common presences of certain terrestrial ­three-brained

Gurdjieff’s Discourse on the Soul: Beelzebub’s Tales and Sufism

79

beings, the first germs of what are called Hasnamussian properties in consequence of which such beings began, as is proper to them for their egoistic aims, to invent for the “confusion” of surrounding beings similar to themselves, various fictions, among which were also every kind of fantastic, what are called “religious teachings”; and when, on the other hand, other of your favorites began to have faith in these fantastic religious teachings, and gradually lost their “sane mentation” thanks to these same crystallizations, then from that time on there began to arise in the process of the ordinary ­existence of these strange three-brained beings a large number of  “Havatvernoni” or “religions” having nothing in common with each other.” (ibid) Beelzebub remarks that many of the teachings that are indeed called religions are only fictions created by egoistic Hasnamussian candidates for the purpose of confusing ordinary beings.6 Furthermore, these fictional religions have become the object of faith for many of them, and as a result, they become unduly subject to delusion and have, thereby, lost the capacity for sound mentation (or reasoning). In this passage, Beelzebub generalizes about religion as a whole and implies that all religions are created by Hasnamusses, or those who might be Hasnamusses.7 The figure of the Hasnamuss is used in several of the stories in Beelzebub’s Tales to describe a range of corrupt beings. The Hasnamuss is presented in brief as one who may have achieved some level of spiritual development, but in whom conscience has not been developed. Some of these beings have invented false religions and, depending upon the degree of their power, have the ability to cause damage on a universal scale. Gurdjieff, at least in this initial description, provides a wholly uncomplimentary appraisal of religion. However, the basic idea of religion and religiousness is unqualified in this presentation. Following the destructive thrust of his writings, Gurdjieff first makes a generalized assault on religion in order to disrupt and undo the naïve and misguided assumptions held about religion as a whole. The challenge to the basic premise that religion is, in the first instance, a positive thing and that it is often created by people in power who wish to control others, is not a new proposition. However, by first uprooting any assumptions whatsoever about religion in general, Gurdjieff methodically sets the stage for making a more subtle and more novel critique of religion in some of the following passages. Beelzebub next presents an extended critique of the detrimental influences of the doctrine of “Good and Evil,” which, he claims, was artificially introduced into most of the remaining religions on Earth. While Beelzebub has not heretofore mentioned anything encouraging, in a subsequent passage, the emphasis of the discussion of religion shifts slightly. In the next passages, Beelzebub somewhat mediates his negative view of religion in a description of the origin of some of the religions existing on Earth. Here, Beelzebub provides

80

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

a positive recapitulation of at least the initial stages of the development of religions, and a general understanding of the role of prophets or messengers is provided. First and foremost, Beelzebub describes how the Common Father8 found it necessary to try to assist as much as possible the inheritors of these maleficent properties by sending sacred individuals, or the germs of sacred individuals, to Earth. The capacity—and it is important to note that this is described as a germ, a potential—was given for these beings to develop their own individual Reason in the given circumstances of their arising. By their own growth and efforts, their own conscious labor and intentional suffering, they are able to determine the appropriate methods for a specific context. According to this context, the messenger creates the proper form and means for instructing the beings around them on how to destroy the properties of kundabuffer. According to this definition, the function of the sacred teachings is that the beings on Earth should then be able to learn to develop their own Reason, which will enable them to guide the process of development of their three “separate spiritualized parts” -- the mind, body, and feelings. In this process, the properties of the organ kundabuffer are decrystallized and the general propensity for the formation of these negative crystallizations and attributes is destroyed. As Gurdjieff makes clear, the decrystallization of the negative properties of the organ Kundabuffer is the precursor to the development of conscience, the higher emotions, including love and the creation of the soul.9 Gurdjieff attempts to rejoin, or restore, the discourse around human development and the soul, to an authentic source and lineage—one that has not been distorted and manipulated by so-called official authorities and institutions. Gurdjieff also characteristically buries the small details and clues to his conception of human psychology, within his dense prose. In the above passage, Gurdjieff gives the justification and reasoning for the role that sacred individuals play in informing and enlightening the beings of Earth about the potential for the development of the individual soul. Following upon the discussion of Ashiata Shiemash, the presentation of sacred individuals, or prophets, further strips us of our common and, in Bakthinian language, homogenized and homogenizing notions about the role of prophets, especially in a Judeo– Christian–Islamic context. Without further elaboration of the point made about prophets, Gurdjieff continues to explore the distortion of sacred teachings in general. Beelzebub, at this point, relates to Hassein how Havatvernoni are often formed after the deaths of the sacred individuals: And so, my boy, after the sacred Rascooarno proceeds to these terrestrial three-brained beings—or, as they themselves express it, when they die—in the presences of whom are actualized the germs of Sacred Individuals, their contemporaries usually in order to remember and also in order to transmit to the beings of subsequent generations all that these Sacred Individuals had

Gurdjieff’s Discourse on the Soul: Beelzebub’s Tales and Sufism

81

indicated and explained according to their attainments of responsible age, collect it all into one whole, and all this “collected-into-one-whole” usually just serves as the beginning of all kinds of religious teachings there. The strangeness of the psyche of your favorites in respect of the religious teachings which arise in this way among them, manifests itself in this, that they already from the very beginning understand “literally,” all that has been said and explained by these genuine Sacred Individuals actualized from Above and they never take into account in which environment and for which case this or that was said and explained. (ibid: pp. 696–7) In this passage Gurdjieff makes two critical points about the dilution of originally well-intentioned teachings that subsequently formed the basis for religions. As the teachings of these Sacred Individuals are collected into one whole for the purpose of remembrance and implementation, religions are initiated and, consequently, become institutionalized. While the problem is the same, the methods for solving the problem of the “properties of the organ kundabuffer” vary according to the time, place, and circumstance. For Gurdjieff, in terms of human development, the challenge is not the differences between various religious teachings, or in the different methods they employ to overcome human egoism. The fundamental problem is the misinterpretation and misapplication of teachings. Moreover, the way that these teachings are fundamentally corrupted is due to the constellated properties of the ego, or “kundabuffer.” In the first instance, the inheritors take the teachings literally and avoid or ignore the allegorical dimension of the teachings. Simultaneously, the chief interpreters of the teachings fail to contextualize. For example, the audience is never considered, nor why or when the teachings were initiated, or what their specific aims were. Thus, the religions are misinterpreted by the misguided heirs of the teachings out of their own interest, and they manipulate the meanings according to their own egoistic desires and limited, subjective understanding. On the whole, it is upon these misinterpretations that the resultant and continuing religions are based. As a consequence of these distortions, the teachings are no longer appropriate for the people they were meant to serve, or for the purposes they were meant to fulfill. And for Gurdjieff, this is nowhere more in evidence than in our own day and, thus, Beelzebub’s Tales serves as critique and a call to re-evaluate religion and, especially, religious institutions which attempt to foreclose the meanings of the once-valuable teachings. Beelzebub also provides for a further elaboration of the devolution of religion in general. The various initiators of what eventually became instituted as religions, were sent to relieve beings of Earth from the effects of the organ Kundabuffer. However, over time, these religions have now become an influence that, rather than helping the people of Earth, merely serves to strengthen their egoistic and unbecoming qualities. In accordance with the critique of religion

82

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

in general, this analysis reveals that they have a negative influence, most significantly, because they represent the characteristic exploitation of what was initially intended as a specially-designed means of conscious self-development and liberation for a particular people, at a particular time. In total, religions represent the distorted results of the conscious labors and intentional sufferings of beings sent “from Above,” and as such, Beelzebub refers, as he did at the beginning of the chapter, to religion as an obstruction which serves as “one of the chief causes of the gradual dilution of the psyche” of humans (ibid 694). Beelzebub then returns to the topic of the numerous destructive results of the distortion of the sacred teachings in terms of how it affects their communal and social organization. He describes how, following the death of the genuine sacred individuals, the remaining followers begin to vie for control of the teachings left to them. Moreover, in each case, this has had many disastrous results throughout history. The general development and institutionalization of any religion is that the power-possessing beings and the newly formed religious authorities, manipulate the religious teachings by introducing politics into the equation or, as Beelzebub describes it, ‘‘Religion-for-the-State-or-theState-for-Religion’’ (ibid 697). The question of politics, as Beelzebub observed in the chapter on Babylon, has the homogenizing effect of distracting all attention from the question of the soul. This is the opposite of the potential results created by the labors of authentic messengers. The effect of ignoring the question of the soul serves to direct their minds only to questions concerning external, material realities, rather than more internal, or spiritual, realties. The other destructive factor that soon begins to distort these once auspicious teachings, is found in the ordinary beings who present themselves as authorities in the interpretation of the received teachings: .  .  .  certain ordinary beings there, owing to the fault of their producers, acquired in their common presences, during their arising as well as during their formation into responsible beings, the inherency of what is called “psychopathy” and “parasitism”—in consequence of which they do not have and cannot have in themselves any data at all for the manifestation of any being-duty whatever it might be—and become, as it were, authorities for all the trifling details of the new religious teachings which have already arisen in the mentioned way, and begin, as it is said, “to-peck-like-crows-at-a-jackal’scarcass,” that totality, already “pecked” from the very beginning without this, of what had been spoken and indicated by the genuine Sacred Individuals, intentionally actualized from Above. (ibid: p. 697) This passage presents an indictment of religious professionals and those who, without foundation, consider themselves authorities in their respective tradition. These beings, who have no sense of responsibility or obligation, and out of their own habitual delusion and weakness, distort the teachings through

Gurdjieff’s Discourse on the Soul: Beelzebub’s Tales and Sufism

83

their own trifling and toying with the details. Thus, the teachings are left to the following generations as impotent forms of discourse that do not serve the end toward which it was intended—a practical and effective discourse on the soul, one that should instruct and support the efforts of conscious labor and intentional suffering. Rather, it is devolved through their trifling and serves only to strengthen and support the egoism already dominant in the human psyche. Building on the foregoing discussions, Beelzebub briefly surveys the state of four of the five main religions that continue to exist on Earth. In these passages, he discusses Judaism, Christianity, Islam, Buddhism, and Lamaism, or Tibetan Buddhism. Beelzebub adds that it is from these five religious traditions that all other sub-groups of religions are derived. In the case of Judaism, Christianity, and the religion begun by the “full-of-hope Saint Mohammed,” Islam, Beelzebub remarks that even though they were born of Sacred Individuals, the religious teachings that exist in their names were distorted or unnecessary additions were made to them, or both. The main thrust of the condemnation of these religions is that, again, in each separate case, some part of the theory of the Babylonian dualists (the teaching of Good and Evil) was combined with the original teaching, which contributed to its ultimate distortion and division. Beelzebub says that this abnormal addition remains most articulated in the religions of Judaism, Christianity, and Islam. However, he does mention to Hassein that there remains something positive in the case of Christianity and Islam that makes the ordinary existence of the Earth creatures, “very remotely yet all the same a tiny bit” like that of other three-brained beings in the Universe. Even in light of the devolution and even destruction of the five religious teachings on Earth, nevertheless, there remains something positive in them. However, Beelzebub explains, these, too, will very likely end soon: And so, my boy, it has now become clear to you how there on your planet all the five religions I named, still remaining there at the present time and which were founded on the teachings of five different genuine saints sent to the three-brained beings from Above for helping them to free themselves from the consequences of the organ Kundabuffer, how, although all these five religions have gradually become changed, thanks as always to the same conditions of ordinary being-existence abnormally established just by them, until they were eventually turned for any sane mentation into children’s fairy tales, yet nevertheless these five religions still served for some of them as a support for these inner moral motives, owing to which during certain previous periods, their mutual existence became more or less becoming to three-centered beings. But now, after the final destruction of even the last remnants of these religions, it is difficult even to foresee how it will all end.’ (ibid: p. 73233) Again, Beelzebub declares that the religions of Earth are in a hopeless state of affairs. Beelzebub tells Hassein that these religions have been turned into fairy

84

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

tales that evoke only delusions and imagination. All of the “genuine saints” were meant to assist in the elimination of the negative qualities engendered in them by the results of the organ Kundabuffer. In spite of this, as has become typical on Earth, the properties of the organ Kundabuffer destroyed nearly all of the good that had been given. Nevertheless, some positive results continue. These consist of the potential for the remaining teachings to uphold a moral balance in ordinary life. Gurdjieff, while making a strident critique of religion, all the same mediates his position here, in the suggestion that religion, even in its distorted state, has the capacity to support life in a way that is somewhat similar to other three-brained beings of the Universe. This suggestion may also be taken as a warning that if the religions as they currently exist are not altered any further, they may still, to a certain degree, worthily support the life of threebrained beings made in the image of God. After a long story about the cause of the corruption and demise of Lamaism, or Tibetan Buddhism, Beelzebub introduces an extended discussion of Christianity, which concludes the chapter. In these passages, Gurdjieff goes more directly to the revamping of the view of religion by giving alternate explanations about the life of Jesus that go against the doctrinal and institutionalized beliefs as held in orthodox Christianity. He gives alternate views, both as a means of criticizing the doctrinal views of Christianity and as a means to explicate the significance of the soul in light of the preceding discussions in Beelzebub’s Tales. In these pages, Beelzebub discusses the teaching of Jesus, his relation with his disciples, as well as the meaning of his crucifixion and resurrection. In this treatment, he attempts to infiltrate and overturn the matrix of habitual thought rooted around the doctrinal tradition of, in particular, the Last Supper, and the significance of the role of Judas Iscariot in the crucifixion of Christ. In the discussion of Christianity, Gurdjieff criticizes, in particular, the fact that humans can no longer think allegorically—and, thus, are incapable of understanding stories about the great teachers, such as Jesus, or, more importantly, the inner significance of the teachings. Throughout Beelzebub’s Tales, but chiefly in the chapter on religion, Beelzebub develops, from his distanced vantage point, a picture of the pattern of the introduction, development and later, the distortion of religious teachings. Firstly, genuine teachers “from Above” provide the means for the three-brained beings to overcome the properties of the organ Kundabuffer. This Kundabuffer represents human egoism, but also, more mythically and symbolically, it represents the distance from our true nature. It is the teachers and their teachings, or legominisms, which have been sent to us in order to help us free ourselves and to reveal this essential nature. After the death of these teachers, however, the teachings are collected and made into religious doctrines. Over time, self-interested members of, particularly the upper classes, distort these doctrines in an attempt to maintain their positions of power and to keep control over the lower classes. These doctrines are further diluted by the “pecking” and

Gurdjieff’s Discourse on the Soul: Beelzebub’s Tales and Sufism

85

misinterpretation of the teachings by religious professionals. These teachings have been deformed to such a degree that they no longer correspond to the basic needs of the human psyche. The communities have faith, albeit in a weakened form, in these impotent teachings. Yet the result is that the teachings no longer provide support and suitable conditions for them to live appropriately or to develop their basic sane, logical reasoning. As a result, these artificial or distorted teachings only strengthen the properties of the organ Kundabuffer that have become inherent in them and, ultimately, obstruct the fulfillment of being-Partkdolg-duty, or the duty to achieve being. This generally decrepit state of affairs leads to the loss of an ableness to be, and the weakening of the psyche of humans, which in turn contributes to their suggestibility. This suggestibility makes humans unable to ponder sincerely about such ultimate questions concerning the soul and the reason for their existence. In the story told of Jesus and the Lord’s, or Last Supper, the shift of attention from Jesus’ own position as a sacred being to the interpretation of Judas as a traitor is again a shift from an allegorical understanding to literalizing and external realities and, thus, politics. With only a literal, singular, and monologic understanding of religious teachings, it is impossible to understand the real significance of religious teachings or any other legitimate teachings that propose to pass on knowledge to future generations. Gurdjieff locates, in this shift of attention to external realities and politics, the reason for the absurd and seemingly limitless division of religions into various sects. Moreover, as a result of these alterations in the original teachings, the appropriate conditions for the support of love and compassion among all members of these communities are no longer are no longer manifested. The end result of all of these failures, Beelzebub concludes, is war—that is, our mutual self-destruction. And with war comes the destruction of the sacred teachings as well as initiates or leaders who might otherwise enable humans in general to overcome their plight and to live as is proper to them, and to all three-brained beings of the universe.

Beelzebub’s Tales of Islam and the “Dervishes” I next turn to the instances in Beelzebub’s Tales that make reference to Islam, “dervishism,” or to dervish characters, including the figure of Mullah Nassr Eddin, in order to assess the portrayal and influence of Sufism in Gurdjieff’s work. Despite the importance assigned to Sufism by some commentators, references to dervishes or dervish characters occupy a relatively small portion of the narrative space within Beelzebub’s Tales to His Grandson. Given that Gurdjieff’s chief audience would not have been Muslim, but, though perhaps only nominally, Christian, this clearly makes sense. As evidenced in part in the passages above, the most direct critiques and comments about religion deal with the distortion of Christianity and the teachings of Christ. Even when

86

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

discussing elements of Buddhism that have been distorted, such as with the teaching on Almznoshinoo, the import of the narrative largely serves to set up a critique of Christianity. Still, the indications that Gurdjieff provides in the discussions of Islam and dervishes serve to instruct, in general terms, his notion of spiritual transformation, and the discourse on the soul in important ways. In terms of explicit references to the religion of Islam, references are be found in the chapter on religion, with a few other scattered references, chiefly in the later chapter on America. Other references to Muslim or dervish characters provide, in the mode typical of Gurdjieff’s discourse, more allusive, rather than definitive, references to the core of the tradition. This includes the most prominent figure in the work that is often presented as an indication of the Sufi influence in Gurdjieff’s work, the character Mullah Nassr Eddin. Additionally, there is an extended chapter entitled “The Bokharian Dervish” which tells the story of a dervish who became one of Beelzebub’s closest companions while in exile in this solar system. It is perhaps the prominence of Mullah Nassr Eddin and the importance of the Bokharian Dervish, which have convinced many of the importance that Gurdjieff ascribes to Sufism and Sufi influence.

Beelzebub and the famous Mullah Nassr Eddin One of the more comical, and simultaneously subversive elements of Beelzebub’s Tales, is the folk character Mullah Nassr Eddin, derived from the popular culture of the Middle East, and frequently cited as one of the indications of a connection to Sufism. In beginning to explain the form and content of his writings in the first chapter, Gurdjieff introduces the character Mullah—or Hodja—Nassr Eddin, as his guide and model. Taking an important role in Beelzebub’s Tales, references to the Mullah appear more than one hundred times. Early in the text, the Mullah is described as a character who is featured in numerous tales well known in “all the countries of Asia in which he has many wise sayings, some of long standing and others newly arisen” (Gurdjieff 1950, p. 10). In the introduction to the tales told by Beelzebub, he describes Mullah Nassr Eddin, and the type of sayings that are typical of him: And among the beings of a continent of that planet called “Asia,” there arose and existed a very wise three-brained being whom they called there “Mullah Nassr Eddin.” For each and every peculiar situation great and small in the existence of the beings there,’ Beelzebub continued, ‘this same terrestrial sage Mullah Nassr Eddin had an apt and pithy saying. As all his sayings were full of the sense of truth for existence there, I also always used them there as a guide, in order to have a comfortable existence among the beings of that planet.’ (ibid: p. 57)

Gurdjieff’s Discourse on the Soul: Beelzebub’s Tales and Sufism

87

Throughout Beelzebub’s Tales, the Mullah serves as Beelzebub’s most prominent guide and teacher in understanding the truth of existence on Earth. Beelzebub refers to him throughout with glowing epithets, such as the “honorable,” “our highly esteemed,” or “the wisest of the wise,” Mullah Nassr Eddin. He is not only referred to with great respect but is accorded the position of Beelzebub’s own direct and most oft-mentioned teacher. Mullah Nassr Eddin’s apt and pithy sayings provide an alternative, commonsensical, or comical critique or anecdote related to the subject at hand. The Mullah Nassr Eddin stories are quite common in the Middle East, Central Asia, Turkey and even Armenia, where Gurdjieff grew up. The stories are mainly from the oral register of language. And the most familiar Mullah stories frequently aim to reveal and make light of the frailty of human nature and understanding. The historical existence of the Mullah is debated, but there exists a tradition which says that he was born in Anatolia in the thirteenth century; and a grave purported to be his even exists in Aks¸ehir, Turkey. In addition to his stories being told frequently as a part of oral culture, the Mullah now may be found in ads and commercials, in songs, on a wide variety of souvenir item, and in children’s books. UNESCO even proclaimed 1996 to be “Nasrettin Hodja Year.” As was noted in the previous chapter, the attribution of Mullah Nassr Eddin as an indication of Sufi influence has been taken up and supported by a very wide variety of authors and interpreters. The most prominent of those interested in Gurdjieff was J. G. Bennett. Idries Shah argued that Gurdjieff’s teaching was from Sufi origins but that they were incomplete, and that he held the keys to the teachings. J. G. Bennett, as will be addressed in more detail in the next chapter, referred the inclusion of the Mullah as a signal of Central Asian Sufi influence on Gurdjieff’s work. Additionally important in the reception of Gurdjieff’s work, is the interest created in the Nasrudin cycle of stories that was created in the contemporary West by the collection of stories associated with Idries Shah (1924–96). Shah, in particular emphasizes in works such as The Sufis and The Way of the Sufis, the Sufi origin and significance of the stories associated with Nasrudin. Shah presents these stories as originating in the context of Sufi instruction where they might be given to a student to ponder over, much as koans are given as didactic tools in the Buddhist tradition. Since the Shah collections have been published in Europe and the United States, the connection between Gurdjieff and Sufism via Mullah Nassr Eddin, has been indubitably reinforced and reified. Following these references, among others, scholars such as Anna Challenger have continued to connect Gurdjieff to Sufism. Yet, following the foregoing argument, I suggest that inclusion of Mullah Nassr Eddin is another example of the means by which Gurdjieff employs the tropes and modes of discourse within his own discourse on the soul. Although the stories are often told as instructive tales, and sometimes in Sufi contexts, they are not strictly a form of spiritual didacticism. Gurdjieff,

88

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

acting as bricoleur, incorporates different elements of literary and popular culture to his own ends. The stories of the Mullah are well-known, by religious or spiritual and nonreligious alike. It is also the case that many of the stories of Nasrudin are well-known in other, non-Islamic contexts, such as Armenia, where Gurdjieff grew up and it is likely that he encountered them there, or at the least, in his travels in the Central Asia and the Middle East. There are many stories that are commonly told about Mullah Nassr Eddin and the circulation of these stories represents a malleable and adaptable storytelling tradition in which stories are commonly invented or adapted for different situations. One of the most forceful arguments against an explicit Sufi connection and the Mullah, with a connected set of esoteric meanings and interpretations, is that most, if not all, of the stories of the Mullah that appear in Beelzebub’s Tales have likely been devised by Gurdjieff himself. This is not to say that the stories of Nasrudin are not used in a serious teaching context where they are under­ stood to have different levels of meaning. In fact, they are. In these contexts, they can be used as simple jokes, to more serious instruction between a murid and murshid, teacher and student, to highlight, for example, a particular obstacle in the path of spiritual development. But in terms of the ways that they are presented in the narrative, I would argue rather that Gurdjieff borrows the model, or form, but not necessarily its content, and he does so to serve, as with other Sufi elements in Beelzebub’s Tales, his own specific aims. In the mode of Bakhtin’s discourse, I suggest that it is another of the tropes and sets of utterances that Gurdjieff draws on in an allusive, rather than definitive way. This does not discount the possibility for understanding Gurdjieff’s work in terms of Sufi discourse, with stories containing multiple layers of meaning. However, a viable interpretation needs to account for similarities and differences; for it is in both that we find the uniqueness of Gurdjieff’s discourse. What may be in common with the traditional versions of the Mullah Nassr Eddin stories, is the way that the Mullah is constantly represented as a subversive figure that overturns the reader’s naïve notions about the noble aims of human thought and culture. Both the traditional Mullah and Gurdjieff’s Mullah, consistently undermine assumptions about religion, institutions of learning, and all official or authoritative cultural formations and fixed ways of looking at the world. His quips and actions both highlight the fallaciousness of commonplace thought and human egoism. He never takes on an official character; rather, he is a figure who derives his power from standing outside accepted doctrines and forms. He refuses the sublimation of human stupidity and arrogance. In standing outside these forms, via his humor and wit, he can never be fully reconciled to the high or dogmatic registers of literate, particularly religious, genres. As a constant figure throughout Beelzebub’s Tales, the Mullah represents one of the most potent tropes of Gurdjieff’s method, in both its destructive and creative capacities. Moving against ennobled discourse, either Islamic or specifically Sufi, Gurdjieff’s self-alignment with the Mullah places him in the same agonistic relation to the

Gurdjieff’s Discourse on the Soul: Beelzebub’s Tales and Sufism

89

hierarchies of thought maintained by the “power-possessing beings”, and the overdetermined structures of power of the present social world.

Islam and Conscious Labor and Intentional Suffering Beelzebub describes Islam as one of the “great religions” that still exists on earth. As with the analysis of other religions, the traditions of Islam are first evaluated in terms of the authenticity of the Messenger or Saint who originated the teachings, in this case Muhammad. Always at issue for Beelzebub, is the degree to which any teaching, including Islam or the teachings of the dervishes, has the capacity to enable human beings to overcome the properties of the organ Kundabuffer, or egoism, through suitable methods of and support for “conscious labor and intentional suffering.” One of the first explicit references Gurdjieff makes to Islam and dervishes is in the chapter on religion, already partially addressed above. In this chapter, the presentation of the religion of Islam, the religion formed on the basis of the teachings of Muhammad, follows the same pattern as the presentation of religions in general that has been explicated above. In short, special teachings, geared for a specific context, are first introduced by a genuine “messenger from Above,” but the teachings are quickly distorted and misinterpreted. In a discussion of the fourth of five “great religions” existing on the planet earth, Beelzebub begins his explanation to Hassein: Now as regards the fourth great religion existing there now, which arose several centuries after the Christian religion, and was founded on the teaching of the full-of-hope Saint Mohammed, this religion at first spread their widely: it might perhaps have become eventually a “heart of hope and reconciliation” for them all if the strange beings had not stirred this also into a hotchpotch. On the one hand its followers also mixed into it something from the fantastic theory of the Babylonian dualists, but, on the other hand, the “elders of the church”10 of this religion, called in this case “Sheiks-Islamists,” themselves invented and added to it many things about the blessings of the various “paradise,” which as it were, existed “in the other world,” such blessings as perhaps could never even have entered the head of the chief Governor of Purgatory, His All-Quarters-Maintainer the Archcherub Helkgematios, even if he were deliberately to try to imagine them. (ibid: p. 704) Beelzebub refers to the dissolution—as with all other religions, and for similar reasons—of the religion of Islam. The presentation of Islam follows the same mode of destructive/constructive discourse that predominates throughout Beelzebub’s Tales as a whole. Here he first, very positively, comments that the teaching from the “full-of-hope” Muhammad, had the potential to be the “heart of hope and reconciliation” for the people of this community. Yet, at the same

90

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

moment, he critiques, not the teachings of Muhammad in specific, but those who have inherited and, from his point of view, distorted the teachings to serve their own interests. Here he also introduces what becomes one of the overarching critiques of religion throughout the text, the introduction of the doctrine of paradise and hell. It is cited that, for Islam, it was the leaders of the burgeoning community, the “sheiks-Islamists,” who were responsible for the distortions of the original well-intentioned teaching—though no specifics are addressed further in the text. Arguably, one of the most strident critiques of Islam, as with Christianity, is the notion of heaven and hell, or the notion of Good and Evil—a dimension of Gurdjieff’s argument that sets it apart from orthodox interpretations of the religion. The reference to the teachings on paradise and hell is again tied to the destructive notion introduced by “the Babylonian dualists.” Seen in light of Gurdjieff’s dialogical critique, this mythical presentation seeks to undermine, at their root, the destructive notions found in religious teachings. Throughout Beelzebub’s Tales, this is a major theme in terms of the destruction of not just religion but of social and cultural life in general. In the destruction of Christianity, despite, for example, the reference to paradise made by Jesus in Luke 23:43, Beelzebub indicts the religious professionals of the Middle Ages for artificially introducing and institutionalizing the doctrine of heaven and hell into the mainstream of the religion. In the case of Islam, it is again depicted as an artificial notion introduced into the ideational strata of the otherwise positive teachings of Islam. The notion of paradise and hell, intimately tied to the notion of good and evil is central to orthodox, and even heterodox, forms of Islamic eschatology and theology. Thus, this would likely be taken as an affront to the mainstream of Islamic and Sufi thought. Employing Bakhtin’s language again, this maintains Gurdjieff’s stance as an outsider to official discourse. However, what must be kept in mind is that Gurdjieff attempts to point the reader toward the more critical and essential notion of “conscious labor and intentional suffering” and the degree to which a given tradition maintains and supports it. For Gurdjieff, the introduction of the notion of good and evil into religious teachings is one of the chief factors that eliminates or dissolves the “wish to be” and particularly, the striving for conscious labor and intentional suffering. In terms of a human psychology, the concept of paradise and hell turns into its own opposite—it becomes, rather, a disincentive to work on oneself and develop the soul. However, this is not an individual issue alone; it is also a communal one as well. If reward is conceptually and imaginatively deferred to the future, then by consequence, the effort to help one’s neighbor, for example, in the present may also be deferred. Islam, as with Judaism and Christianity, is indicted to the degree with which this teaching dominates and distracts humans from their ultimate destiny—even that destiny which Islam proffers, in particular to become a vicegerent (khalifa)—a true servant and representative of God.

Gurdjieff’s Discourse on the Soul: Beelzebub’s Tales and Sufism

91

Gurdjieff also continues to critique the specific division of the community of adherents, after Muhammad’s death, into two groups: Although the followers of this religion also, from the very first, split into many different “groups” and “subgroups” – which, by the way, continue there even up till now – nevertheless they all subscribe to one or another of its two independent, as they are called, “schools,” which were formed at the very beginning of its arising. These two schools of the Mohammedan religion are called there the “Sunnite” and the “Shiite.” It is very interesting to note that the psychic hatred of each other formed in the psyche of the beings who belong to these two independent schools of one and the same religion has, on account of their frequent clashes, now been transformed completely into an organic hate. (ibid: pp. 704–5) Here Gurdjieff isolates another commonplace trait found in the historical deevolution of religions: the splitting into groups or subgroups—or the introduction of politics into religion. Without examining the subtleties of the split between the Sunni and the Shia denominations, Gurdjieff identifies another example of the destructive results of factionalism. As already discussed above in relation to other religions, the division into groups results in separation, division, and the inbuilt view that one group is superior and another inferior. This is another of the destructive factors which inhibits the proper manifestation of conscious labor and intentional suffering. In Beelzebub’s presentation, as a result of this split, the Sunni and the Shia began to develop an “instinctive hatred” of one another—a fact that can only further undermine the ability for the community to manifest the teachings of the religion as they were initially taught. As with the earlier renderings of religion and the distortion of religious teachings, different branches and political groups develop amongst the interpreters of the original teachings. Again, throughout this discourse, Gurdjieff provides a picture of the forces that rule individual and collective life. A great force is required even to love and be compassionate toward others, much less to aid in the maintenance of the universe, as is the highest aim of conscious labor and intentional suffering. This force is further diminished by a number of, using Bakhtin’s language, centrifugal features within the dominant religious narratives of Islam, as with other religions. Moreover, this diminution of strength and unity in the community can be taken advantage of, as Beelzebub points out to Hassein, in the relationship between Europeans and Muslims. In his remarks about Europeans and Muslims in this section, Beelzebub groups all Europeans together. And the only distinction he makes between different groups of Muslims is the distinction between Sunni and Shia. Beelzebub next turns to a discussion of how this divisive grouping of Sunnis and Shia is abused by the “beings of certain European communities”:

92

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America Beings of certain European communities have during recent centuries greatly contributed by their incitement to the rise of this peculiar transformation of a strange being-function. And they have employed and continue to employ this incitement in order that the animosity between the beings who follow these two independent schools of one and the same religion, should increase and that they should never unite, since if this were to happen, there might soon be an end, they are for those European communities. The point is that nearly half of the ordinary three-brained being there are followers of this Mohammedan teaching, and only as long as this mutual hatred exists among them will they mean nothing terrifying in the sense of “reciprocal destruction” to European communities. And hence it is that accidentally arisen “newly baked” communities always rub their hands and rejoice when sparks fly between these Sunnites and Shiites, because they count on a long and secure existence for themselves. (ibid: p. 705)

In a comment on the long history of politics between Islam and Europe, Gurdjieff makes a cultural critique of European-Asian relations. The clear import is that when Sunnis and Shias are embattled with one another, they remain distracted and the political advantages for the West increase. When they are not, Europe and other communities may be under a greater threat, particularly in the form of war or “reciprocal destruction.” Gurdjieff is sensitive to both the level of the external realities, and their support of, or hindrance to spiritual development. After a brief discussion of Tibetan Buddhism, or as Gurdjieff describes it, the teachings of Saint Lama, the focus shifts back to the discussion of Christianity and Islam, the two religions that he critiques for having been changed “even beyond recognition” (ibid: p. 706). Still, these two religions: . . .nevertheless have during the last centuries made the ordinary existence of the three-brained beings there, though very remotely yet all the same a tiny bit, like the ordinary existence of the three-brained beings breeding on the other corresponding planets of our Great Universe, and for certain of them their phenomenally haphazard existence somewhat tolerable objectively. (ibid) In a more positive sense, Gurdjieff again identifies these religions as maintaining some semblance of a life tolerable for people on this unfortunate planet. Islam, through its teachings, rituals and communal customs, is presented as a teaching which supports the moral and ethical life of humans. Yet, very soon, Beelzebub warns both the religions of Christianity and Islam will be “dispatched” or destroyed:

Gurdjieff’s Discourse on the Soul: Beelzebub’s Tales and Sufism

93

Namely, I shall here tell you how there is just now proceeding the process of the final “dispatch” two of the great religions of the five mentioned, now existing, which were founded, though “from-bits-here-and-there,” never­ theless on the teachings of genuine messengers of our ENDLESSNESS himself: one, the teaching of Saint Jesus, and the other, the teaching of Saint Mohammed. (ibid) Beelzebub’s remark here affirms on the one hand, the original teachings of “Saint Jesus” and “Saint Mohammed,” based authentically, on the teachings of “Endlessness.” Yet, these religions are based on a limited understanding and presentation of the original teachings. From an Islamic perspective, the view that the teachings of Christianity have been distorted would hold, though the same critique of Islam would likely not. Still, Beelzebub recognizes that even these limited teachings have some capacity for supporting the life of threebrained beings on earth: I repeat that both these great religions there were founded “from-bits-takenhere-and-there” from the teachings of two genuine messengers of HIS ENDLESSNESS, and though the three-brained beings they are of former centuries “stripped” both these teachings, much as the Russian Sidor “stripped” his goats, yet nevertheless, some even down to the present believed in something and hoped for something owing to these teachings, and thereby made their desolate existence a little more bearable. But these contemporary and now archstrange three-brained beings there have taken upon themselves to sweep this also entirely from off the face of the planet. (ibid: pp. 706–7) Gurdjieff continues to repeat and reemphasize some of the same features of religion and the devolution of religious discourse—including the presentation of a masculine God or God-head. The kernel of belief and hope is still preserved in these teachings, yet they have been stripped of their original force by their inheritors. According to Beelzebub, hope is the center of the teachings of Muhammad and the means to achieve liberation from the properties of the organ Kundabuffer. Here Gurdjieff critiques that, the religious teachings have been changed beyond recognition. However, Islam, like Christianity, has in some small ways continued to maintain something that makes human life tolerable. Beelzebub then tells Hassein that he believes that Christianity and Islam will soon be completely destroyed and no longer able to support a tolerable existence for the human beings on earth. As noted above, he remarks that Christianity will soon be destroyed because the location where Christ lived, in Jerusalem, is soon to be the location of a new Jewish University. And, moreover, the very place where Christ’s physical body was buried will soon be paved over

94

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

and made into a place for parking cars, that is, “those machines, which for contemporary beings were just the marvel needed to drive them crazy” (ibid: p. 709). Concerning the religion of Islam, Beelzebub remarks that it too, will soon be destroyed because of recent political events. In his final comments in this chapter, Beelzebub remarks that from the very beginning of its inception, Islam, albeit at the hands of the religious leaders, was “particularly applied and used for their egoistic and political aims ” (ibid). He offers that Turkey11 is the country with the largest population of those following the teachings of the “full-of-hope” Muhammad. Citing the destructive events in Turkey, he also mentions that this is the place where some beings had maintained the authentic teachings of Muhammad and passed them from generation to generation: I must first tell you that from the beginning of the rise of this Mohammedan religion, certain beings of this same community took in the teaching of this religion in its primary form very well, and began gradually to incorporate it into their daily existence. And therefore, although the teaching of this religion was gradually changed under the influence of the power-possessing beings there, nevertheless, among these same certain beings there, this teaching of Mohammed passed from generation to generation in an unchanged form. Until now, therefore, there has at least been a faint hope that if sometime these strange beings should suddenly settle down, this teaching would infallibly regenerate and actualize those aims for which it was created by the fullof-hope Saint Mohammed.’ So, my boy! . . These same certain beings there were called ‘dervishes’ and it was concerning the closing of just their monasteries that the order was indeed given in that contemporary community Turkey. Of course, by the destruction in Turkey of this ‘dervishism’ those last dying sparks will also be entirely extinguished there which, preserved as it were in the ashes, might sometime rekindle the hearth of those possibilities upon which Saint Mohammed counted and for which he had hoped. (ibid: pp. 710–11) Beelzebub first explains that some of the inheritors of the teachings of Muhammad have been able to practice the “primary form” of the original teaching, while the power-possessing beings have attempted to distort it. He only later in the passage reveals that it is the “dervishes” that are responsible for preserving the authentic and valuable teachings of Muhammad. Without reference to a specific dervish order, this manner of presentation suggests the by-now characteristic way that references to living, spiritual traditions are presented. Gurdjieff highlights the importance of dervishes, or Sufis, that have preserved the teachings of Muhammad, but he does so in, again, an

Gurdjieff’s Discourse on the Soul: Beelzebub’s Tales and Sufism

95

allusive rather than definitive way. Though no specific order is mentioned, he cites the dervishes of Turkey as the ones that have been able to maintain the authentic teachings of Muhammad. But these too may soon be destroyed. Gurdjieff references here the actions Kemal Ataturk took in closing the Sufi centers in 1925. Gurdjieff highlights and reserves a special status to those who represent the more esoterically-oriented group within the tradition. Following again the same mode of first destructive, then resuscitative discourse, Gurdjieff creates a space in which one can isolate the existence of something positive in the remaining teachings of Islam. From within the ashes of “Mohammedan teachings,” the dervishes of Turkey have preserved something authentic and essential in an unchanged form. With Sufism, as with other teachings, Gurdjieff identifies the inner, esoteric dimensions of sacred teachings of authentic teachers, though as seen in the passage above, even these are not immune to distortion or diminution. Also of note in this presentation is the view of prophets. In particular, Gurdjieff’s treatment of holy figures, saints, prophets and messengers, including  Muhammad—what we might call Gurdjieff’s prophetology—may perhaps be most fruitfully compared with the understanding of prophets in the Islamic/Qur’anic context. Gurdjieff’s Beelzebub’s Tales, gives a special place to a number of holy figures, saints, prophets and messengers—all of whom have  been sent with a particular teaching for their own specific context. Similar  to an Islamic view, the prophets of Judaism and Christianity are recognized as authentic messengers or prophets sent with revelations from the same divine source, each to their own communities. Moreover, the Qur’an recognizes the books of Judaism, the Torah and Psalms, the books of Christianity  and the Gospels, at least in their initial creation, as authentic teachings brought by genuine messengers. In the Qur’an, prophets are referred to as either nabī or rasu-l. Some scholars have argued that nabī are those that receive revelations and are distinct from rasu-l, who have been sent on a mission to a particular time. This would include Muhammad, as well as others, such as Adam, Abraham, Noah, and Jesus. Prophecy, or nubūwah, “has been the primary vehicle by which the divine communicates with mankind” (Waldman, 2005). There is a certain flexibility in the understanding of prophecy in Islam, found in the tradition that states that God has sent as many as 124,000 prophets to Earth—some with messages for specific communities, others not. This number indicates that there have been many more messengers than are referred to specifically in the Qur’an. With references to both known and unknown prophets, messengers and models, Beelzebub’s Tales parallels, while not replicating, the Qur’anic narrative. Not adhering to rigid or authoritative forms of tradition, Gurdjieff clearly goes against typical orthodox Christian or Islamic interpretations of prophecy. Even in this feature of Beelzebub’s Tales, Gurdjieff remains idio­syncratic, since he includes other prophets, such as Ashiata

96

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

Shiemash, others that are obviously invented to serve the ends of the story, and others that are not recognized by any of the major religious traditions— even ones that Beelzebub has mentioned from the five religions still in existence today. In the later chapter entitled “Beelzebub in America,” Gurdjieff returns to several more explicit comments on religion, particularly Judaism, Christianity, and Islam. Here he discusses the transmission of certain “Judaic customs” to the followers of the Christian religion who, at first practiced them diligently, but then soon thereafter these practices disappeared. He then remarks: Yes . . . my dear friend, if only the teaching of the Divine Jesus Christ were carried out in full conformity with its original then the religion unprecedently wisely founded on it, would not only be the best of all existing religions, but even of all religions which may arise and exist in the future. Except for the custom of polygamy, there is nothing in the Mohammedan religion which was not also in the Judaic as well as in the Christian teachings. (Gurdjieff 1950, p. 1009) Here Beelzebub remarks that if the followers of Jesus had maintained the original religion, it could perhaps still be the best of all religions. In terms of the overall argument and structure of Beelzebub’s Tales, this comment at least suggests that the teachings of Christ support conscious labor and intentional suffering. How is this to be read, particularly in terms of how Gurdjieff uses the discourse of Sufism in his work? It could be a matter of Gurdjieff’s own, early background, which was overwhelmingly Christian, though from the influence of Eastern Christianity. It could also be in recognition of his audience, which would have been predominately made up of those that, even if not practicing Christians, would have probably been raised as Christians. Nonetheless, it is still a critique of the current state of Christianity.12 The next comment, nonetheless, offers that Islam, having nothing different from Christianity except polygamy, also supports well, as originally did Judaism and Christianity, the moral and spiritual life of humans. Beelzebub then describes how the religion of Islam arose later and was “intentionally restricted by its great creators” who wanted to emphasize everyday customs and practices. In a comment about how Islam developed after the decline of Christianity, he indicates another dimension of religious teachings and experience, and explains: They did this because at the time there were clearly manifest both the decline of the Christian religion and the disappearance and ordinary people of the capacity for contemplation, that is, for the state in which alone the truths indicated in the detailed genuine religious teachings can be understood. (ibid: p. 1010)

Gurdjieff’s Discourse on the Soul: Beelzebub’s Tales and Sufism

97

Contemplation is described as the state in which the truths of sacred teachings can be properly understood. The development of complex religious doctrine and the divisions of the early church can easily be seen to be distractions to contemplation, just as a focus on outward, external, ritual may be. This can be seen in the early centuries of Christianity, particularly as complex doctrinal issues and rituals became central to the debates amongst religious authorities. The introduction of the Nicene Creed and its widespread acceptance, put dogma and belief at the center of the Christian religion, rather than practice, contemplation, and realization—all critical for spiritual transformation. Coming from the Caucasus, and aware of Christianity on a global scale, Gurdjieff would have been particularly sensitive to divisions and factionalism in both Eastern and Western Churches. In fact, from his accounts of his early life throughout Transcaucasia, in Alexandropol, Kars, Tiflis and Baku, we can see that the different views of religion, and the contradictions that were manifested in the people around him, were part of what drove him in his search to find a different way of viewing the world. As a result, he sought a more unitive vision of life and its purpose. So, here we see again, that religion is critiqued and valued historically by its ability to provide the conditions for spiritual transformation. The center of each narrative is first, the affirmation of the authenticity and effectiveness of the original teachings of genuine messengers such as Christ and Muhammad. They are all portrayed as examples of consciously implemented teachings to aid humans in the fulfillment of their very natural human destiny. Yet, as always, the weakness of humans and the dissolute conditions of life alter, nearly beyond recognition, these originally propitious teachings and methods. Another significant element of this presentation of Western religions is that the critique of the distortion of Judaism and Christianity, is in line with much of the critique offered from an Islamic perspective. From the Islamic perspective, Jews and Christians are recognized as ahl Al-Kitab, or “People of the Book” (Cory 2004). Jews and Christians are the most often mentioned, and are recognized as having been given, in particular the Torah, Psalms, and Gospels, which are mentioned specifically in the Qur’an as authentic sources of reve­ lation. In the Qur’an, these traditions are presented with some ambivalence—at some point they are recognized in a positive way (Q 2:62), yet at other points they are described as “unbelievers” (Q 5:18, 9:29–35). These more critical comments come later in the Qur’an and it is here that the Jews and Christians are cited as distorting the original scriptures, or not fulfilling the dictates of the religion. There are other areas where Islam differs doctrinally in its beliefs about the nature of Christ. In particular, the Qur’an recognizes Jesus as a prophet (Q 3:45–53), but does not accept him as divine, or as the son of God. Interestingly, the general critiques concerting especially the distortions of the teachings and the failure to follow them fully in the first place, are not something Gurdjieff disagrees with. And, for him, this is simply the way of things here on

98

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

Earth. From Gurdjieff’s perspective, however, and this is where the views diverge, Islam has not been immune to these same issues. In the following passages, Beelzebub further discusses what changes were made in the presentation of the religion of Islam, and what good customs they introduced: Having noticed all this, the great creators of the Mohammedan religion decided on the one hand to simplify the teaching itself and on the other hand to emphasize certain customs, so that the everyday life of the followers of this new teaching—who had lost the capacity for contemplation and consequently the possibility for understanding truths consciously—might at least mechanically flow more or less tolerably. For example, as you yourself have justly observed, thanks to circumcision and ablution, one rarely finds among the followers of this religion, either onanism or certain venereal diseases, and thanks to polygamy, we see among the followers of this religion such reciprocal so to say, psycho-organic maintenance of the foundation of family life as is almost entirely absent from the followers of the Christian religion. (Gurdjieff 1950, p. 1009) Beelzebub describes here how the creators of the religion of Islam sought to simplify the religion in order to support human life. At the most basic level, the explicit emphasis on the five pillars in Islam, the shahadah, namaz—or ritual prayer—fasting, almsgiving, and the hajj, provide clear guidelines and definitions for the practice of the religion. In contrast with the rigor and complexity of the rules of Judaism and Christianity, this was seen as a positive aspect of the teachings of Islam. The emphasis on these aspects has given rise to the description of Islam as an “orthopraxic religion”—one that is focused on practice and doing, in contradistinction to Christianity, which can be described as an “orthodoxic religion”—one that is focused on belief. Beelzebub also extends his appreciation of Islam to social and other ritual customs, including circumcision and the practice of ablutions, or wudu, the ritual washing necessary before prayer and other ritual practices, such as handling the Qur’an. The distinction between orthopraxy and orthodoxy allows a more flexible view of religions and highlights their particular emphases. Particularly in his early teachings, Gurdjieff emphasized the dimension of doing, even defining the human according to the capacity to do—and the importance assigned to conscious labor reflects this emphasis. Thus, in the first few lines of this passage, we can see the emphasis on the utility of the practices and the degree to which they support contemplation and the capacity to understand truths or reality, consciously, as an active process. Throughout the presentation, the spiritual life is not disconnected from social life and cultural customs. Not only do these practices have importance for spiritual life, in terms of conscious labor and intentional suffering, but they also

Gurdjieff’s Discourse on the Soul: Beelzebub’s Tales and Sufism

99

support healthy social customs and habits. So, while commenting on the efficacy of religious practices and the social customs that develop as a result, Gurdjieff continues to critique and re-evaluate the ways in which religion contributes or hinders human life. As with other passages, we can see that this critique is twofold and addresses more than one level. One must live in the world and not overlook the social dimension of religiosity—this is a central element explicitly recognized and addressed in Islam in its emphasis on community and the recognition of individual duties and rights in this world. Likewise, Gurdjieff asserts that communal life can be made more bearable and more tolerable, even more healthy and life-sustaining, by following certain conscious practices and customs—and this is an important dimension not to be overlooked. The social dimension is acknowledged, but it is the dimension of spiritual transformation that is root and source of all of these practices, and should continue to sustain them—otherwise they will, like other traditions of the past, become ineffectual and remain empty shells of the original authentic teachings, which inculcate and support only the egoistic and servile sides of human nature.

The Bokharian Dervish: Hadji-Asvatz-Troov A final character in Beelzebub’s Tales, often cited as representing the Sufi influence in Gurdjieff’s work, appears in one of the later chapters, Chapter Forty-One, “The Bokharian Dervish Hadji-Asvatz-Troov.” While this chapter runs to nearly fifty pages, the main thrust of it is not concerned with anything specifically Sufi, or Islamic, but rather portrays a special type of human, one of great learning and wisdom. Anna Challenger, in her work on Beelzebub’s Tales as a Sufi teaching tale, remarks that the Hadji is “an aspiring Sufi, as a rare breed of Earthbeing who is sympathetic toward and capable of understanding Beelzebub” (Challenger 2002, p. 13). She also adds, “Gurdjieff unmistakably identifies himself with this character by having the dervish tell his (Gurdjieff’s) own story about the tragic loss of his young wife to cancer.  .  .” and, “The Bokharian dervish’s passion for understanding the ‘secrets’ of musical vibrations was Gurdjieff’s own”(ibid: p. 15). Keeping in line with the pictures of other great and exemplary figures in Beelzebub’s Tales, this attainment of wisdom was made possible through the dervish’s own conscious labor and intentional suffering. Yet, Beelzebub emphasizes the uniqueness of his relationship with Hadji-AsvatzTroov, for during the entire time of his exile, he was the only one to whom he told who he really was. In the closing of the preceding chapter, Beelzebub indicates to Hassein that he wants to disclose the results of dervish experiments because “thanks to the knowledge of cosmic vibrations which he had acquired, [he] was the sole and unique being who during the many centuries that I existed upon the earth recognized and came to know my true nature” (Gurdjieff 1950, p. 870). Of note is the fact that, while Gurdjieff identifies this remarkable figure

100

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

as a Dervish, he also uses, in a now typical way, a combination of referents in his name. Hadji is simply given as a title to anyone who completes the hajj, or the pilgrimage to Mecca. However, the word “Asvatz” is the word for “God” in Armenian, rather than any of the languages traditionally associated with Islam. This is another heteroglossic element of the text that exemplifies Gurdjieff’s syncretic approach to language and myth-making. At the beginning of the chapter, Beelzebub remarks to Hassein that the learning of the Bokharian Dervish, particularly concerning the sacred law of seven, and the law of ninefoldness,13 contains fragments of knowledge from past generations: I have already told you that certain fragments of this knowledge remained intact and passing from generation to generation through a very limited number of initiated beings there. I must here say that if these fragments, which have by chance remained intact and which have passed and are still passing there from generation to generation through this very limited number of initiated beings, do not fall into the hands of contemporary “scientists” there, then this will be a great stroke of luck for the future three-brained beings of your planet. (ibid: p. 872) This chapter tells how he was introduced to the Bokharian dervish through another dervish named, Hadji-Zephir-Bogga-Eddin. Together these two highly learned beings have serious conversations about the laws of world creation and world maintenance. Bogga-Eddin, whose name means in Russian “God is one,” then takes Beelzebub into the mountains of Upper Bokhara, where they find their way into a cave, which is mysteriously lit by electric and gas lights. Beelzebub of course finds this surprising, and waits to find out the causes for this production of artificial light. Before becoming a dervish, Hadji-Asvatz-Troov14 was a very wealthy man, but he renounced everything. He was passionate about music and was assigned by his shaykh to investigate the vibrations that are created by certain musical instruments. He carried out investigations into vibrations, and the creation in the listener of particular sensations corresponding to the text of sacred music. He was asked to see if he could create stringed instruments which would produce these effects. He enlisted another dervish to help him, Kerbalai-AzisNuaran. Together, Beelzebub learned, they carried out an important study of all the theories of vibrations of “serious terrestrial scientists:” He said: “we studied the Assyrian theory of the great Malmanash, and the Arabian theory of the famous Selneh-eh-Avaz, and the Greek – of the philosopher Pythagoras – and of course all the Chinese theories. And we made apparatuses exactly similar to those with which all these ancient sages made their experiments, and we even made an addition to

Gurdjieff’s Discourse on the Soul: Beelzebub’s Tales and Sufism

101

one of their apparatuses, which is now the chief one for my experiment. . . .” (ibid: p. 888) In this story, as throughout Beelzebub’s Tales, the exemplars of learning and knowledge include figures known and unknown, and from both religious and philosophical traditions. Through their conscious labors, Hadji-Asvatz-Troov and his companion carried out research into all of the historical precedents to their work in order to be able to properly mentate upon their results, and come to new conclusions. Building and improving on the theories of others, they designed new instruments in order to test and demonstrate the theory of vibrations. Beelzebub describes the dervish Hadji-Asvatz-Troov as a “truly learned being” (ibid: p. 907). After the initial demonstrations of Hadji-Asvatz-Troov’s experi­ ments on vibrations, Beelzebub adds that he stayed in the underground cave for four days while the Hadji continued to show him the results of his study and learning, including the explanation of how he had been able to install gas and electric lights in the cave system. Asvatz-Troov also explained how he conducted experiments, with the help of another European friend, in healing the disease of cancer in the body. Hadji-Asvatz-Troov is one of the heroes of Beelzebub’s Tales and stands as a model figure. Yet, at the same time, the character elucidates and stands for certain ideas and concepts within Gurdjieff’s own psycho-cosmology. Asvatz-Troov is presented as one who had attained such a level of development that it was not forbidden for those from above, such as Beelzebub, to be completely open about their identity. Asvatz-Troov is a seeker of God, one who has had a teacher, a shaykh, in the Sufi tradition of transmission, and he is the bearer of important insights into the laws of seven and three, and the even more slight reference to the enneagram. Some observers, such as J. G. Bennett have made much of Gurdjieff’s references to Bukhara, and Central Asia as a whole, as pointers to the specifically Sufi traditions of this region— particularly the Khwajagan, or hidden masters. However, it is perhaps more productive to read the stories of these figures in an allegorical mode. While the character and characteristics of Hadji-Asvatz-Troov serve as rich and even important indications, they do not give significant weight to Sufism, qua Sufism, as a source for Gurdjieff’s teachings. What is most noteworthy is that he is a particular character type—one who indefatigably seeks gnosis, or direct knowledge and higher truths. The character of Hadji-Asvatz-Troov allows Gurdjieff to provide another figure and model, though more recent, of someone who fits into the overarching mythology of Beelzebub’s Tales, and the production of a new discourse on the soul. The identity of Asvatz-Troov as a Sufi appears to be secondary to this fact. Gurdjieff sought means and methods to represent and present the path of spiritual transformation. Beelzebub’s Tales then, while employing Sufi figures and ideas, nonetheless wields them to serve, for Gurdjieff, this larger purpose. Eschewing the formal regulations of institutionalized

102

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

religious discourse, Gurdjieff holds up the dervish Hadji-Asvatz-Troov as a key exemplar of a more universalized model of conscious labor and intentional suffering.

Conclusion It has been suggested that many elements of Gurdjieff’s unique quasiscience fiction tale are either explicitly or implicitly Sufi in origin or in reference. Yet it is argued here that they are also all employed to serve in the construction of Gurdjieff’s own discourse and the specific audience to which it was addressed, one which was largely Western and Christian -- at least culturally. With Beelzebub’s Tales in particular, Gurdjieff aims to first destroy the picture of the old world and create a space for a vision of a new world and a means for conceiving and actualizing conscious labor and intentional suffering. Gurdjieff sought to cleanse, remove, or overthrow the facets of outer traditions and forms that inhibited or obscured inner development, and inner realization, whether they were Christian, Buddhist, Islamic or any other form or institution that carried the weight of “officialdom” and, thus, obscured the means and aims to which humans should be rightly oriented. Employing again the language of Bakhtin, “. . . a new picture of the world necessarily opens up—a world permeated with an internal and authentic necessity” (Bakhtin, p. 169). Gurdjieff attempts an ablutionary cleansing of the structures of thought and the forms of education and religion that impede this new picture. The degree to which different religions or teachings have sought to support and offer means for conscious labor and intentional suffering, they are supported. The degree to which they inhibit, they are to be destroyed, or at least recast and revised with a new sense of urgency and purpose. Beelzebub’s Tales, through its mythical mode of presen­ tation, and its insistence on remaining outside of cultural boundaries and definitions, resists reconciliation with official, hierarchized discourses about Islam, Sufism, or any other tradition. Throughout Beelzebub’s Tales, religion is seen to play an insuperable role in human life and existence. Yet Gurdjieff repeatedly makes a distinction between religions in general, their associated cultural practices, and the esoteric or inward dimensions of religion. Religions, or more specifically religious hier­ archies, and religious institutions are treated as the external form that has the potential to support the inward, esoteric dimension of the original teachings brought by authentic messengers, such as Muhammad. In terms of Gurdjieff’s discourse on the soul, Islam is introduced as one of the still-living traditions of the five that continue to exist on earth. Islam is an important and valid tradition, one which, until recently, has maintained the teachings and practices necessary for human beings to fulfill their potential as representatives of “His Endlessness” on earth. Islam and Sufism are portrayed as having, at least at some point in

Gurdjieff’s Discourse on the Soul: Beelzebub’s Tales and Sufism

103

their histories, the capacity to enliven and allow an individual, in their own specific context and time, the possibility to realize this inward dimension. As has been seen, Beelzebub observes that Islam has the capacity and means to support the inner life and, in particular, the genuine feeling of hope. Yet, there are references and suggestions in the narrative that the most vital and on-going carrier of the inward dimension in the Islamic context is found in the traditions of the dervishes. Many elements of the narrative do reflect Islamic or Sufi influence or contact— yet it must be kept in mind that his audience would not have been Muslim, or Sufi, nor did Gurdjieff apparently expect them to become so.15 Thus, the elements of Gurdjieff’s narrative serve to broaden the perspective on the world, and within the millennial and universal view of the cosmos, and the earth and its inhabitants in it, the traditions of Islam and Sufism are presented. This presentation attempts to encompass a broad history of prophets and messengers sent by God to earth for the restitution of human beings to their proper place in the cosmos, and in this sense, it has more in common with orthodox versions of Islam. The references to dervish characters often play a significant role in Beelzebub’s Tales, as with the dervish Bogga-Eddin, or the Bokharian Dervish Hadji Asvatz-Troov. Yet, they are presented in a largely idiosyncratic manner, emphasizing their knowledge and struggle, rather than their association with a recognizable, or orthodox, tradition of a Sufi tariqa or order. Likewise, the humorous and oftentimes subversive sayings of Mullah Nassr Eddin are largely invented—demonstrating Gurdjieff’s own creativity perhaps more than the influence of Sufism. Recognizing Sufi or Sufi-like characters and stories as sources of wisdom and guidance, Gurdjieff nonetheless wields or reinvents them for his own purposes in both the critique of a corrupt, destructive model of religion and religiosity and in the introduction of a new or revised model of being. At root in this discourse is the presentation of a vital discourse which opens, or unveils, both the limits and the possibilities of human existence. As can be seen from Beelzebub’s millennial and universal point of view, the normal development of human beings should rightfully lead to the development of higher being-bodies, or souls. Through the mythic mode of dialogue between Beelzebub and Hassein, the world of natural development and soul creation is deliteralized just as it is reconstituted on a different plane of discourse. The narrative and institutional forms of the old world, whether they be Christian or Islamic, are no longer effective. The hegemonic tendency toward literalization, part and parcel of the old world that Gurdjieff seeks to destroy, is, in the words of American Jungian psychologist James Hillman (1926–2011), “a sickness” (1979). The deliteralization of consciousness is a process that is enabled by conscious labor and intentional suffering, and Gurdjieff’s narrative, in a more positive sense, seeks to restore its connection not just to mythical and metaphorical thought patterns, but to the real situation in the world, both in

104

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

and around the human being. Finally, I suggest that central to Gurdjieff’s method, the presentation may be read here not as a definitive and final interpretation of the story of Christ, Muhammad, Nassr Eddin or any of the other prophets, teachers, or saints, but rather, as an opening for a new way of reading, perceiving, and thinking about myth, story, and self. This new or revised method of reading story and myth is directly connected to a different sense of self-conception and all of the possibilities opened up by an authentic self-knowledge rooted in conscious labor and intentional suffering and Gurdjieff’s initiatory discourse on the soul.

Chapter 3

J. G. Bennett and the Gospel of Gurdjieff and Sufism

For no reason that I could understand, I began to weep. I noticed that most of the others looking on were sobbing too. Nothing new seemed to have happened, but everything had changed. All too soon, the Zikr ended and the dervishes instantly stopped, bowed three times towards the Sheikh, who had resumed his position, and slowly filed out. I watched each face as they went by and it seemed to me that never before had I seen such serenity. J. G. Bennett reflecting upon the first time he saw the Mevlevi Sema in ­Istanbul. (1978a, pp. 29–30) . . . everything you’ve been taught, everything that you ever heard about God, and the world, and existence, and being, and reality, and the rest of it, have got to be looked at in a new way, and will be looked at in a new way. From, “God, the World, and the Work” a talk by J. G. Bennett, Feb. 12, 1973. (1973b) Out of all of the immediate followers of Gurdjieff, J. G. Bennett (1897–1974) was arguably the most influenced by the ideas and practices of Sufism—this is evident in both his voluminous literary and oral output as well as in his work and activities with others. During Bennett’s post as a military deputy in Istanbul, Turkey from 1918 to 1921, he first met Gurdjieff and P. D. Ouspensky, and he also encoun-tered Islam and Sufism for the first time. He continued to develop the connections with both the teachings of Gurdjieff and Sufism, the Sufism of Turkey in particular, for the remainder of his life. In his writings and his work with others, particularly in his later community-based projects in England in the 1960s and early 1970s, Bennett sought to make the teachings of Gurdjieff accessible and practical for a Western audience. Following Gurdjieff, his focus was on praxis—on the techniques, exercises, and tools for spiritual discipline and transformation. Bennett attempted in the mode and manner of Gurdjieff to make accessible the methods and means for “conscious labor and intentional suffering.” In so doing, Bennett also explored, and in many ways furthered, through his own engagement and encounters with Sufism, the discourse about

106

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

Sufism that Gurdjieff alluded to in his own discourse on soul-building, as well as the intentionally vague references concerning the sources of his teachings. Anticipating large-scale, global and societal changes that he believed would soon come, Bennett was also driven by a sense of urgency in his work. He found in Gurdjieff’s teaching, in the matrix of the Fourth Way in particular, a potential corrective to the destructive and unbalanced modes of living resulting from selfishness, greed and an exaggerated sense of individual rights. Despite his view that the world would see dramatic and even catastrophic changes on a global scale, he remained optimistic that the model of the Fourth Way offered the means by which small communities, with essential help from “higher powers,” would be able to sustain themselves and contribute to the creation of a new world, one based on a new set of values rooted in practical spiritual teachings. The present chapter aims to present some of the key details in Bennett’s life relating to his approach to Gurdjieff and especially his approach to, and uses of Sufism, Sufi techniques, and Sufi discourse. Drawing chiefly from his autobiography, writings, talks, and supplemented in part with the work of other authors and commentators, I investigate the development of Bennett’s life with a focus on his approach to religion, spiritual ideas and techniques, and his engagement with the work of Gurdjieff and Sufism. While highlighting the biographical and textual development of Bennett’s life, I also seek to examine the ways in which Bennett interpreted, developed, and furthered Gurdjieff’s initiatory discourse on spiritual transformation—one that was, from the outset, simultaneously informed by his experience with Sufism. One of the most formative periods of his life was his time in Istanbul from 1918 to 1921, when he first met Prince Sabaheddin, P. D. Ouspensky, and G. I. Gurdjieff. Simultaneously in this period, Bennett also encountered several Sufis and Sufi orders in Istanbul, chiefly connected to the Mevlevi and the Rifai orders. Bennett’s early meetings with Sabaheddin, Gurdjieff and Ouspensky have been introduced in the first chapter and I introduce here several observations and comments from Bennett’s autobiography in order to highlight some of his early experiences with Islam and Sufism, and the concerns which occupied him in this period. Following Bennett’s time in Istanbul, for the next three decades, he pursued the work of Gurdjieff and “the system,” as presented by Ouspensky. During this period he had little connection with Sufism and mentions it only rarely in his work. This period included visits to Gurdjieff at Fontainebleau in the 1920s, work with Ouspensky for much of the following two decades, and finally, a return to work with Gurdjieff after the death of Ouspensky in 1947. Following Gurdjieff’s death in  1949, Bennett continued to work with the ideas and practices of Gurdjieff, but also began to reconnect with living Sufi teachers of the Middle East. In this transitional and transformational period, he made two significant trips to the Middle East and, upon his return, he continued to investigate, teach, and write about the work of Gurdjieff in ways that were informed by his investigation and engagement with Sufism and Sufi teachers.

J. G. Bennett and the Gospel of Gurdjieff and Sufism

107

He also sought out connections with other teachers and traditions during this period, including the Subud movement, Shivapuri Baba—a Nepalese Hindu teacher—and Catholicism, all while continuing to lead groups at Coombe Springs in England. Following the relinquishment of Coombe Springs in 1966 to the Sufi claimant Idries Shah, Bennett began what became one of the most important periods of his search, and the culmination of his teaching at Sherborne House in England from 1971 until his death in 1974. Here, Bennett had the most direct and significant impact on those that he worked with who would then proceed to carry on his legacy, and the connections with Sufi discourse, in America and at Claymont Court in Charles Town, West Virginia. Bennett, responding to the context of his own time, became, like Gurdjieff, a context-setter for movements and figures that followed him. While Gurdjieff had found a strong reception in Europe and America in the 1920s and later, among, though not exclusively, upper class seekers and a coterie of cultural and literary elites, Bennett found his strongest reception later in his life among the youth associated with many of the counter-cultural movements of the late 1960s and early 1970s. Rejecting the materialism and corruption of their own time, manifested most notably in the war in Vietnam, a significant number of young people sought a path unlike the elders of the preceding generations. And, many of them began looking eastward to traditions that seemed much more accessible, just as travel had become increasingly easier, as had access to publications related to the traditions of the East, including Hinduism and, especially Buddhism, through authors such as Gary Snyder and Jack Kerouac. By this time, publications by and about Gurdjieff, Ouspensky, as well as popular publications on Sufism, such as Idries Shah’s The Sufis (1964) had become more well-known. For those drawn to Gurdjieff or attracted by the potentialities of an increasingly visible Eastern spirituality, Bennett represented a more accessible model of a Western seeker of truth. He was born in the West and, like many of the youth of the 1960s, became disillusioned by the religious and spiritual organizations and people he met as a youth. Bennett had found many answers to his own driving questions in the traditions and practices of primarily Eastern traditions, and he also had a powerful appeal as a living and accessible teacher of Gurdjieff’s ideas and practices. His spiritual credentials were further enhanced by his experience and knowledge of Sufi traditions and teachings. In one of his last projects at Sherborne House in the early 1970s, as the culmination of his long and impassioned search of more than fifty years, Bennett attempted to establish an experimental Fourth Way-type school. While the techniques and teachings of Gurdjieff formed the basis of his approach, through the use of, and references to Sufism and to Sufi teachers, Bennett’s work also led to the continuing introduction of Sufism in the West. Bennett’s work played an important role in the second wave of Sufism entering into the West following the First Wave of Sufism begun in the early twentieth century with teachers such as the Indian-born, Hazrat Inayat Khan and American popularizers of

108

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

Sufism and Sufi dancing such as Samuel Lewis. After a consideration of Bennett’s life, work, and ideas, we should be able to better understand the continuing legacy and influence of the Gurdjieff tradition that he presented at Sherborne House in England; and in the final project that he initiated at Claymont Court in the United States; and in the hybrid discourse on Sufism in America that continues today into the early twenty-first century.

Bennett’s Early Life and Attitude Toward Religion Bennett grew up in England, the son of an American mother and an English father and, like an increasing number of people in the West, was raised without a particularly strong influence of religion. Like Gurdjieff, Bennett was dissatisfied with the culture and context from which he arose. But, unlike Gurdjieff, Bennett grew up in a decidedly modern, Western setting. He records in his autobiography, Witness (1978), that from an early age he was put off by religion, especially by religious figures, and the glaring differences in the separate churches in England. With regard to a negative view of religion, his parents had some influence. His mother hated hypocrisy, and his father, although he had had a religious conversion later in life, was, Bennett notes, not doctrinal or orthodox about his views. He was nonetheless driven by his own innate curiosity and the experiences he had in his personal and professional life. Given his early dissatisfaction with religion and the spiritual search that he ultimately pursued while attempting to maintain a career and family, I suggest that Bennett’s own life trajectory served as a recognizable and accessible model of a search possible for someone living in the West in the last decades of the twentieth century. His own exemplary life would prove influential as he introduced his work at Sherborne House, and as it was introduced in the model of his work that continued at Claymont Court in the United States. Bennett’s first post as a military intelligence officer in Istanbul, Turkey from 1918 to 1921, offered him experiences that would prove to be foundational. Following the Armistice of Mudros in 1918, the Ottoman Empire, and its then capital, Istanbul, were occupied by the Triple Entente of Russia, France, and Britain. Bennett, having a facility with languages, became an officer in the British military and was posted in Istanbul in 1918 to serve as Deputy to the Chief Liaison Officer there until 1921. There, with the backdrop of the occupation, Bennett became interested in subjects related to religion and he encountered both Gurdjieff and Sufism for the first time. Bennett describes his initial feeling upon moving to Istanbul in his autobiography Witness, “Thus began one of the strangest and most exciting periods of my life. I had felt out of place in England; but I was quite at home among the Turks, Circassians and Kurds, Greeks, Armenians, Jews and the whole medley of Levantine races, with whom I now had to work” (1978a, pp. 19–20). Bennett thrived in the cosmopolitan environment of Istanbul. In the fulfillment of his duties with the military, people would

J. G. Bennett and the Gospel of Gurdjieff and Sufism

109

drop by to talk and this enabled him “to get a good feeling of the day-to-day changes in the temper of the great sprawling city with its population of one and a quarter millions and its half dozen races and four religious groups” (ibid: p. 20). Bennett remains largely apolitical in the recounting of his time in Turkey, though he was clearly involved in the bureaucratic affairs of the operation. He gives little indication of the tension which must have gripped the city after the occupation by the Entente, perhaps with the exception of the minority populations who may have anticipated being freed from the limitations of the Ottoman millet system. For Bennett, the diversity and energy of Istanbul provided him with his own sense of liberation from the life he had left in England and it set the stage for his meetings with the dervish orders of Istanbul and, eventually, G. I. Gurdjieff. As discussed in Chapter 1, Bennett’s life orientation and world view were ultimately transformed as a result of his time in Istanbul. He was exposed to a different view of religion through his talks with Prince Sabaheddin, especially the sensitivity with which he spoke about his connection with Jesus Christ. He was inspired both by the religion of Islam and his encounters with the dervish orders, including the Mevlevi at the tekke outside the Adrianople Gate, and the Rifai of Üsküdar, which he encountered, initially as a part of his military duties. Bennett’s experience of ritual fasting during Ramadan caused him to reflect upon his own experience of religion as a young boy in England: As a boy, I had been revolted by the quarrels of the Christian Churches. At my school, we had two teachers of Divinity, one very High and the other very Low Church of England. The High Churchman was a mild but inept old clergyman, but the Low Churchman was a ruthless fanatic. He spoke of the Roman Catholic Church in terms that no schoolboy should be allowed to hear. We had moreover a succession of missionary lecturers who spoke to us with such an accent of self-righteousness about the heathen and their miserable state, that I and many others wanted to become heathens on the spot. When I spoke to my parents, my mother, who hated hypocrisy, said: “Most Englishmen are hypocrites, especially English priests.” My father said: “Religion would be all right if it were not for priests and missionaries: but missionaries are the worst.” As a boy he had been at Lancing College and had experienced a religious conversion. Afterward he had reacted against institutional religion and had done his best to prevent us as children from acquiring any fixed beliefs against which we might afterward revolt. It is hardly surprising that I grew up with very little sense of the reality of the Christian profession. When I was prepared for confirmation our vicar had signally failed to answer my questions about the conflict of the churches and the justification of missions. I experienced nothing in the Eucharist, and only went to church to please others. At that time, I had not met a single Christian, priest or layman, who appeared to me to have real faith in his ­profession. (ibid: pp. 32–3)

110

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

Bennett’s experiences as a young man had left him with questions about religion  and the sincerity of those who practiced it. Bennett’s report of his father’s view shows that he mistrusted the leaders of religion. His father’s view resonates with that of Gurdjieff’s father who sometimes remarked, “If you wish to lose your faith, [make friends] with the priest” (Gurdjieff 1963, p. 47). However, in the context of pre-Republican Turkey, Bennett began to see another side of religiousness that he had never seen or experienced before in England. As briefly discussed in Chapter 1, Bennett’s experience of his first Ramadan in Istanbul greatly impacted him. At the pinnacle of this sacred month, Bennett had the chance to witness the prayer performed on the Night of Power at Hagia Sophia. Bennett tells that more than ten thousand were present and he records how he was moved by the event: When ten thousand heads struck the floor in the prostration the great building was shaken. No one could be present and not feel wonder at the prodigious impact of such an act of concerted worship. [. . .] The transition produced a strange sense of an inpouring of power. One might well believe that at that moment an Archangel had overshadowed the multitude. (ibid: p. 34) After seeing the prayers at Hagia Sophia, he walked out of the mosque deep in thought, questioning religion and the source of truth that it represented. Only seeing contradictions, hypocrisy, and exclusivity, he did not believe that any one religion could hold the truth: Was it not infinitely improbable that a few hundred million people could possess the truth and four times as many be utterly bereft of it? This argument held equally for Christianity as for Islam, for the religions of the West as for those of the East. I vowed that I would never rest until I could find one Truth and one Faith in which all beliefs could be reconciled. (ibid: pp. 34–5) It was in this milieu, under the power and influence of his encounters with Islam and Sufism, that Bennett met Prince Sabaheddin and, through him, G. I. Gurdjieff. Collectively, these encounters would change the course of the rest of his life. Although Bennett was ultimately transformed by the influences that entered his life in Istanbul, he was not, at the time, overly engaged with spiritual interests during his time there. Bennett admits in Witness that: The picture I have drawn . . . is one-sided. It might seem that I devoted a great part of my time and energy to the search for truth. In reality, I was engaged day and night in my intelligence work, and my meetings with Prince Sabaheddin were more in the nature of a realization than a major interest. (ibid: p. 62)

J. G. Bennett and the Gospel of Gurdjieff and Sufism

111

Nonetheless, Sabaheddin did make a deep impression upon him. In describing his final departure from Turkey, he remarks that “My hardest parting was from Sabaheddin. He was the first man who had been able to evoke in me a sense of a spiritual reality” (ibid: p. 93). Bennett did not see Sabaheddin again, nor would he return to Turkey for thirty-three years. His experience in Turkey seemed to have set forth a template for the rest of his life, having made the connections with Gurdjieff, and then Sufism, that would serve as anchors in his spiritual development for the rest of his life. Bennett was still a relatively young man of twenty-four when he left Istanbul. Shortly after his departure from Turkey, Bennett began to work in groups with P. D. Ouspensky in England.

Bennett Returns to Europe: Ouspensky, the Prieure, and Gurdjieff in Paris Upon his departure from Istanbul in 1921, Bennett returned to England and began work in a series of ventures and posts as a consultant, advisor, and organizer in the energy industry. During this period, Bennett continued to develop and broaden his knowledge of the “Oriental wisdom” of the East. Likewise, he continued to be inspired by the experiences he had while living in Turkey and followed up on, in particular, the work of Gurdjieff through his relationship with Ouspensky who had relocated to England in the same year. In evidence in his recounting of this period, chiefly in his autobiography Witness, Bennett also made connections between Gurdjieff’s work and the Sufi orders, and even the architecture, which he had encountered in Istanbul. While maintaining his career obligations, Bennett began to attend groups with Ouspensky at 38 Warwick Gardens in London. Bennett had a knack for grasping complex ideas and was soon put in front of groups to repeat and explain the teachings that Ouspensky offered. He remarks on the ideas of Gurdjieff that he was absorbing at the time: I was fascinated by Gurdjieff’s cosmology, with its broad sweep of worlds beyond worlds that carried us right out of the limitations of the geocentric and anthropomorphic notions that weighed down on the philosophy and theology of our time. On the other hand, the penetrating psychological analysis was an antidote to the tendency towards unverifiable speculation that so greatly marred the teachings of theosophy and anthroposophy. (ibid: p. 95) Bennett here reflects on his own dissatisfaction with the times, as well as his familiarity with the popular movements of theosophy and anthroposophy. Freed of some of the immediate restrictions of his job, at least for the time being, Bennett began to be increasingly engaged with Gurdjieff’s work and “the system,” as Ouspensky called it. Ouspensky encouraged the students to look for

112

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

“precedents and parallels,” between “the system”, (ibid: p. 197) and other, especially Eastern traditions, that Ouspensky had been interested in before he met Gurdjieff. Bennett was able to employ his facility with language, and his interest in Eastern traditions in general. He took up Sanskrit and Pali from a teacher at the School of Oriental Studies in order to study the original texts of Buddhism and Hinduism. Bennett’s familiarity with these texts and the insights they provided into the traditions they represented also informed his later thought and writings. Near the beginning of 1923, and with the encouragement of Ouspensky, Bennett made his first weekend-long visit to see Gurdjieff at his institute in Fontainebleau, outside of Paris. He was duly impressed by the activity and the enormity of the projects undertaken. It was during this period that the famous author Katherine Mansfield was present at Fontainebleau—she died a mere week after Bennett’s visit. On this visit he also met the British literary critic Alfred Orage (1873–1934), who told him that he was preparing to dedicate himself to Gurdjieff’s work. Orage later became the chief editor of the English version of Beelzebub’s Tales to His Grandson. This first visit was a short one; Bennett was required back in Lausanne, and then in England. However, the business deal he had been working so diligently on did not come to fruition. He noted regretfully that he “had lost touch with the spiritual aims which I had imagined that all my efforts were to serve” (ibid: p. 104). After speaking with Ouspensky about his situation, Bennett was advised to return to Gurdjieff’s Institute to spend a longer period with Gurdjieff. Upon his return to the Institute in August of 1923, Bennett was immediately struck by the changes that had taken place since his visit eight months earlier. This time Bennett stayed for most of the month of August and absorbed a great deal from his exposure and his experiences there. He was more fully introduced to the cosmology and the psychological ideas that Gurdjieff taught at the Prieure. Here, as he saw it, Bennett was exposed to the practical application of what he had been learning with Ouspensky. Amongst the things he noticed that had changed was the completion of the work on the Study House. Gurdjieff and his crew had worked diligently to provide a place for the “gymnastics” and other work. Bennett’s memories of Istanbul were evoked in him and he remarked that “The Study House had acquired an atmosphere that reminded me of the Mevlevi Tekke outside the Adrianople Gate of Istanbul. This is only the first impression: very soon, one began to feel that it was Gurdjieff and nothing but Gurdjieff ” (ibid: p. 105). Bennett inevitably had associations with Sufism and found them in evidence at Gurdjieff’s estate. Still, Bennett’s comment demonstrates that he was aware of Gurdjieff’s methods and his adaptation of them for his own purposes. The work days at Fontainebleau were long and difficult, particularly for the largely white, upper class audience of Europeans and Americans in attendance. Meant to aid in overcoming physical, emotional, and mental

J. G. Bennett and the Gospel of Gurdjieff and Sufism

113

weaknesses—work with attention, a variety of inner themes and teachings, fasting, the movements, or, as they were called then, “gymnastics,”—were practiced, as well as long hours of physical labor, often with mental exercises to accompany them. Bennett remarked upon the conditions in Witness: “The day’s work began at six in the morning and continued until six at night, with breaks for breakfast and the midday meal. The food was meager and unpalatable, except on Saturday nights when there was a rich feast, and open house for visitors” (ibid: p. 109). Bennett, unaccustomed to laborious physical tasks was soon assigned, as other residents in turn, to be the “kitchen boy.” Bennett records a conversation with Gurdjieff on the topic of transformation. Bennett stated that he wanted to attain real change. Gurdjieff replied, “You must begin at the beginning. You start as kitchen boy; then you will work in the garden, and so on until you have learned to master your body” (ibid: p. 107). Work in the kitchen was also important in classical Mevlevi training, and Bennett recognized a connection: I guessed that Gurdjieff must have taken some of his ideas from the dervishes, for in the Mevlevi Tekke, each future member of the Dedeghian passes through twenty-one stages, in each of which he serves the community. The first task given to the neophyte is that of kitchen boy. (ibid) Bennett was challenged by even the simple tasks he was assigned, and soon began to feel inadequate and incompetent. At the same time, he found himself exhilarated by the efforts he was forced to make. Later summing up this time, in the introduction to Is There “Life” on Earth? first published in 1949, Bennett remarks, “I spent some time at the Institute in 1923 and had personal experience of his amazing psychic powers as well as of his profound knowledge of the laws of the universe and the nature of man” (1989, p. 8). After this visit to Gurdjieff’s institute, Bennett continued to work directly with Ouspensky until 1929 when Bennett’s worldly life and the work with ­Ouspensky became fraught with problems. After running into some undisclosed difficulties in Greece, which also led to a brief stint in prison there, Bennett returned from Greece to London in the autumn of 1929, but Ouspensky refused to see him, and also forbade any of his students to speak to him. ­Ouspensky was apparently more than dissatisfied that Bennett had been involved in activities which led to imprisonment. In October of that year Bennett began to work with a group of seekers on his own, but he continued to feel inadequate for the task. In particular, he did not feel that he could be a representative of Gurdjieff and Ouspensky’s ideas without their permission. He began to send detailed descriptions of the meetings to Ouspensky and finally, after some months, he received a call from Ouspensky in October of 1930, and was invited to a series of lectures in Warwick Gardens entitled, “The Search for Objective Consciousness.” He was then allowed to go to Gwendwr Road for

114

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

renewed links with Ouspensky’s ongoing meetings and he continued to work with Ouspensky until 1941. The descriptions of this period in Witness provide some insight into Ouspensky’s views of a hidden tradition, undoubtedly influenced by a theosophical belief in the secret masters. Bennett reports that Ouspensky believed that Gurdjieff had made contact with a great source, from which “the system” had come, but believed that it was not a complete contact. However, he did not believe that it was possible to find the source by looking—for he thought that it was too hidden. Ouspensky believed rather, that “the source” would seek them out. Bennett reports Ouspensky stating: “That is why I am giving these lectures in London. If those who have the real knowledge see that we can be useful to them, they may send someone. We can only show what we can do, and wait. But we must understand that we cannot really do anything for ourselves. The essential secret is still missing. We can prepare ourselves, and we can prepare others, but we can do nothing positive.’’(1978a p. 154) In the spring of 1939, despite his apparent hopelessness, Ouspensky still showed an interest in making contact with the sources of Gurdjieff’s teachings. Bennett writes: .  .  .Ouspensky once spoke to a few of us about his fading hope of making contact with the source of Gurdjieff’s ideas. On an impulse I wrote to the Bash Chelebi, the Hereditary Chief of the Mevlevi Dervish Order, who had gone into exile in Aleppo in Syria. I received a warm reply, inviting me to visit him. When I told Ouspensky he was delighted. He borrowed the letter, and showed it to the people at Lyne. My wife and I began to make preparations to take a month’s leave and go to Syria in the spring of 1940. The outbreak of war forestalled us. (ibid: p. 177) While the intention to actively seek the sources of Gurdjieff’s teachings never came to fruition, following Ouspensky’s death in 1947, and upon the advice of Madame Ouspensky, Bennett went to Gurdjieff in Paris. In Paris, during the last fourteen months of Gurdjieff’s life, Bennett tried to spend as much time as possible with Gurdjieff absorbing what he could of his teachings. He writes in his private journal entries, published as Idiots in Paris (1991) about this intense period where several groups of Europeans and Americans, in rotation, crowded together in Gurdjieff’s apartment for readings of the First Series, or Beelzebub’s Tales to His Grandson, and occasionally, In Search of the Miraculous: Fragments of an Unknown Teaching. They also participated in extended meals where Gurdjieff presided over the “Toast of the Idiots”—an elaborate ritual toasting ceremony that included the identification of “idiots”

J. G. Bennett and the Gospel of Gurdjieff and Sufism

115

on a scale from one to twenty-one. This method of teaching the “Science of Idiotism,” “had been handed down from antiquity which consisted in tracing the path of man’s evolution from a state of nature to the realization of his spiritual potential” (1991, p. 157). Gurdjieff also seemed to confirm the success of Bennett’s efforts in the inner work he had done up to this point. In a comment recorded by Elizabeth Bennett, Gurdjieff remarks that Bennett already had a “kesdjan body—the intermediate, second body necessary in the acquisition of the soul, or third body” (ibid: p. 64). Reflecting the emphasis on the “Inner God,” as the active force in spiritual transformation—a notion that Bennett takes up further in his discussions of conscience as the “Master Idea of the New Epoch,” (1974), Gurdjieff confirms Bennett’s under­ standing  as well as his ability to explain the teachings to the group gathered around him: In another conversation . . . he spoke of the Ten Commandments. They cannot help a man to work. But if he listens to his Inner God, then he has something a thousand times greater than the Ten Commandments. He said to the others, pointing to me, ‘Only he understand this conversation. You all not yet understand. He will explain you.’ It concerned the denial of one’s own natural impulses. The value of this as a reminding factor. (ibid: p. 62) Gurdjieff’s presentation indicates the emphasis upon the inner work with what he describes in Beelzebub’s Tales as the “holy denying” force in the makeup of human beings, which he associates primarily with the physical body. Bennett further adds in his addition, that the work on the “denying force” is the denial of the natural impulses—an approach that he later related to the disciplined work on the nafs or the lower soul found in Islamic and Sufi discourse. While the meetings with Gurdjieff over these fourteen months were brief, compared with the amount of time that he spent with Ouspensky, they were invaluable in further affirming his commitment to the work of Gurdjieff, his cosmology, and the psychological system he had deeply imbibed since his first meetings with Ouspensky and Gurdjieff in Istanbul. As a result of his work with Gurdjieff and Ouspensky, Bennett’s vision of religion, and the world, had been transformed. The meetings with Gurdjieff in Paris also brought a renewed clarity to his view and valuation of Gurdjieff’s work with others. Gurdjieff had also, while maintaining the same core of ideas and principles, adapted and refined his methods. Bennett saw in Gurdjieff’s Toast of the Idiots, and the more informal and often individual instruction, another valuable model for working with others in different conditions—something that would continue to prove formative in his own search and his teaching. Since he had left Gurdjieff at the Prieure, Gurdjieff had also written, in the mode of a new cosmological vision, the principles and keys to his psychological teaching. Among the first generation students of Gurdjieff, Bennett was one

116

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

of those who took most seriously the discourse on the soul as presented in Beelzebub’s Tales to his Grandson. Bennett first read Beelzebub’s Tales with Gurdjieff in Paris, and it is referred to several times in the record of his time there in Idiots in Paris. Bennett treated the work as a valid and indispensable rendering of Gurdjieff’s cosmology and psychology, providing the keys to many of his most far-reaching teachings and ideas. Gurdjieff had said about the book: “Everything is there. All that exists, all that has existed, all that can exist. The beginning, the end, all the secrets of the creation of the world; all is there” (Gurdjieff 2009, pp. 68–9). Bennett in his own reading and response to the text also took as significant the references to dervishes, such as Hadji-AsvatzTroov, and to Gurdjieff’s specific mention of the dervishes of Turkey who “might sometime rekindle the hearth of those possibilities upon which Saint Mohammed counted and for which he had hoped” (Gurdjieff 1950, p. 711). In the years following Gurdjieff’s death, Bennett would soon revive his personal connection with Sufi teachings and teachers through his travels in Turkey and the Middle East.

Bennett’s Return to the Islamic World The years after Gurdjieff’s death in  1949 proved to be a turning point in Bennett’s approach to Gurdjieff’s “system,” which he had studied for so long with Ouspensky. Not long after Gurdjieff’s death, Bennett visited New York and gave four lectures at Carnegie Hall at the behest of Madame Ouspensky and Madame de Salzmann, the future head of the various Gurdjieff Foundation centers. Bennett had felt that he would be open to working with other students of Gurdjieff, but not everyone was willing. Factions began to develop. Bennett reports: Some favoured the meticulous preservation, unchanged, of everything that Gurdjieff had said or done. Others were sure that he had given them a ­private directive that entitled them to work independently of the rest. ­Others were prepared to sacrifice everything for unity. Many, of course, were content to leave the problem to others and were happy if they could receive personal help and guidance from those more experienced than themselves. (1978a, p. 284) Bennett was open to working with others, but was not willing to work to simply preserve, unchanged, what Gurdjieff had left for them. He put it this way, “I believed that unity was all-important, and was ready to form part of whatever whole might take shape, but I was also quite sure that unity does not mean uniformity” (ibid). While he held out hopes for reconciliation, the break with Salzmann would become permanent by 1955.

J. G. Bennett and the Gospel of Gurdjieff and Sufism

117

Bennett had been working independently with groups in England for some time—often to Ouspensky’s dismay. The seven acre estate at Coombe Springs had become a permanent place for residents and students in 1946. Attempting to follow Gurdjieff’s model at Fontainebleau, Bennett writes “I remembered how Gurdjieff had said that a place was necessary where people could live and work together, gaining thereby experience which would serve later when they had to go out and work with others” (ibid: p. 285). The pattern Gurdjieff created for group and community work at Fontainebleau was to be foundational for Bennett’s work at Coombe Springs and, later, at Sherborne House. Following Gurdjieff’s death, he resolved to continue work with the groups of individuals, which had then reached three hundred, at Coombe Springs. The tensions created with the death of Ouspensky, then Gurdjieff, and then the break with Madame de Salzmann created a vacuum for Bennett, one that would in time lead him back to the Middle East in search of answers. His subsequent visits to the Middle East initiated a series of experiences and ideas that would continue to inform his work and, especially his writings for the rest of his life. Of significant importance was the refocusing of his interpretation and presentation of Gurdjieff’s ideas and their relationship with Sufism. Concerning several key points, he attempted to correlate or confirm the practices and ideas of Sufism with the practices and ideas of Gurdjieff. Following indications provided in Gurdjieff’s own discourse on the soul, reflected especially in Beelzebub’s Tales, Bennett increasingly sought out the connections and correlations with a variety of traditions and teachers. Despite the reoccurring draw of “the East,” Bennett had had only one direct encounter with Islam or Sufism since leaving Turkey in the early 1920s. And, despite the power of those first encounters, it had had little significance in his work up to that point, either with others, or in his writings and talks. On a business trip to South Africa in 1949—where he also considered the feasibility of establishing a community for spiritual work—he made a stopover in Sudan. Here, Bennett witnessed the juma prayers—the collective Friday prayers—in Omdurman: “I had almost forgotten the impression the Islamic religion had made on me, but here in Omdurman, it was greater than ever” (ibid: p. 221). The power of the ritual practice of orthodox Islam reminded him of the scene he had witnessed at Hagia Sophia nearly thirty years earlier. Then, in the summer of 1953, Bennett oversaw a powerful period of work at Coombe Springs, where many of those involved, had rich and revelatory experiences as a result of the conditions Bennett had set up and directed. Bennett reports that while many felt that more intense conditions were necessary, some left feeling that it was already too much. Bennett must have felt that he needed more help, and he reports hearing a voice speaking from within: “During the fortnight we were together a very clear indication came to me during a period of meditation. I was aware of a voice in my breast that said several times: “Go to the East” (ibid: p. 286). With the support of friends and family, Bennett

118

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

responded to this call with a voyage to a number of sites in Turkey, Damascus, Jerusalem, Baghdad, Mosul, Amman and Aleppo, where he met with a number of Sufi teachers and Sufi orders. Not originally written for a public audience, Journeys in Islamic Countries (1976/77 & 2000) is comprised of the journals that Bennett kept while on two trips to the Middle East, one in 1953 and another in  1955. Bennett also recorded or expanded upon some of the same events and experiences later in his autobiography, Witness. In the foreword to the first edition of Journeys, Elizabeth Bennett discusses the focus and purpose of his trip: “.  .  . he intended, among other things, to make a study of tekkes, or meeting places, their dimensions and general design, with the intention of incorporating some ideas from these traditional buildings in the hall that was built later at Coombe Springs” (2000, p. 5). It is also clear from his journal entries that Bennett sought the sources of Gurdjieff’s teachings—or, at the very least, to find some insights into the traditions and practices of living Sufi teachers. Gurdjieff and Ouspensky served as initiating forces for Bennett’s spiritual work and they and the system had sustained him for more than thirty years. What had remained with Bennett throughout all of the years since he met Sabaheddin, Gurdjieff, and Ouspensky in Istanbul was, as he wrote in  1945, “The idea of work on myself in order to achieve a higher level of being.  .  .” (1978a, p. 204). He had been committed to the system of Gurdjieff and to what he had learned from Ouspensky, and now had significant experiences as a result of the teachings as well as from teaching the system himself. Under the pressure of the conditions he had placed himself in as leader at Coombe Springs, Bennett now sought to further both the practical and theoretical dimensions of spiritual transformation or “conscious labor and intentional suffering”—a phrase which he had heard many times in the readings of Beelzebub’s Tales with Gurdjieff in Paris. If Gurdjieff had been taught by the dervishes of the Near East and Central Asia, as he indicated in his own discourse on spiritual transformation, Bennett must have felt, now that Gurdjieff had died, that he could also learn directly from living teachers of the Sufi orders of Islam. Building on the early experiences he had in Turkey three decades earlier, Bennett began to crystallize in his own understanding the relationship between the ideas and practices that he had studied with Ouspensky and Gurdjieff and the various traditions found amongst the Sufis that he encountered. In his journal entries, he recounts his visits to several important religious and spiritual centers, and his meetings with several representatives of different Sufi traditions, including the Mevlevi and the Naqshbandi. In addition to Bennett’s interest in the sacred architecture he encountered, we find that his journal entries focus on two important aspects of Islam and Sufism: the ritual practices, including the practice of ritual prayer, salat/namaz, zikr—the ritual repetition of the names of God, and the theories of transformation—the tools and theories of conscious labor and intentional suffering.1

J. G. Bennett and the Gospel of Gurdjieff and Sufism

119

Since Bennett had departed Turkey in 1921, Turkey had witnessed dramatic change. Upon the establishment of the modern Turkish Republic in  1923, Kemal Ataturk radically changed the social, cultural, and religious life of the country. Mustafa Kemal undertook, “radical, Westernizing reforms even as he eliminated opposition. Like a modern enlightened despot, he moved Turkey closer to the West culturally while moving it further from Western democratic practice” (Findley 2011, p. 252). The caliphate was abolished in 1924, as was the head of the Ottoman religious hierarchy, the Ministry of Religious Affairs, sharia courts, and the medreses. All religious training was now controlled by the state. The dervish orders were banned in 1925, and many dervish tekkes were disbanded and locked up (ibid). With the impact of these changes still felt, Bennett arrived in Istanbul in 1953 and spent time walking the streets, where he had not been for more than three decades. Upon a visit to the Mevlevi Semahane outside the Adrianople gate, where he last visited when he was serving with the British military, Bennett reflected upon the role of the dervishes for the Turks: They had been the leaven of practical mysticism that had saved the religious life of Turkey from degenerating into formalism. I began to ask myself if thirty years of secular government under Kemal Ataturk could have destroyed the deep religious feelings of the Turks. (1978a, p. 289) Bennett’s account suggests that the changes had not destroyed the religious feeling of the Turks and his encounters with a number of Sufis and stillfunctioning Sufi orders sufficiently indicated that the traditions that he encountered three decades earlier were still alive, though with far less of a public presence and influence. Following the visit to Istanbul, Bennett traveled to Konya, Turkey in Central Anatolia. Following the indications of the teachers he encountered, Bennett visited the tombs of Rumi and his teacher Shams i-Tabrizi—little known in the West up to this point except from academic translations, such as those by Winfeld and Nicholson. The ritual visitation of the tombs of these saints, where one might receive some of the baraka of the saint, was a near-obligatory practice in the Mevlevi tradition. While in Konya, he also revisited the more orthodox practices that had engaged him when he had served in Istanbul, taking up again the salat, the ritual prayer of Islam. For Bennett, the praxis of spiritual development was central—and this outward manifestation, with the exception of Gurdjieff’s movements, was perhaps felt lacking in the GurdjieffOuspensky approach. While residing in Konya, Bennett also recorded an entry on the theory behind the methods of purification and the four stages of the self (nafs), or spirit. From Konya, Bennett traveled to Adana, Turkey where he met a Naqshbandi dervish named Hassan Effendi. Bennett showed him a letter of introduction for the shaykh in Damascus that he hoped to visit and Hassan responded by saying

120

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

that he was a “man of the Way,” but that he could not tell him of the secrets of the path unless he followed the rules of the religion. For Hassan Effendi this meant the five pillars of Islam—the central one being the ritual prayer. Hassan proceeded to give Bennett indications and explanations of the ritual prayers, purifications and also of, as he remarked, “dervish beliefs”—all presented as essential parts of a whole approach. With regard to the practices of Islam, one can see in the presentation of Bennett’s more personal and reflective experiences, the separation he maintained regarding the religion of Islam. He was not a Muslim, though he was open to its teachings and practices. As he had done in his time as a young man in Istanbul, he took on the ritual requirements—this time perhaps with a stronger sense of their importance in terms of spiritual discipline. Concerning the key concepts and theories of Sufism, while he does not recount what Hassan taught him, Bennett provides an outline of the discussion of the seven gradations, or worlds, that the seeker ascends in the spiritual quest. The quest for a practical understanding of the spiritual path fascinated Bennett and the teachings on the seven worlds, from the material world to the realm of God, must have resonated with what Bennett had heard from Gurdjieff about the seven levels or types of men. Of the teachings he heard in spiritual conversation (sohbet) with Hassan, he remarks: To me, the most interesting explanation was about man’s nature and the stages of his development. According to the dervishes, man has a three-fold nature—body, spirit, and soul; jesm, nefs, rukh. . . .The transformation of man takes place in his spirit—his nefs. There are seven gradations possible for man. (Journeys in Islamic Countries, 2000, p. 26) The framework Hassan then provided of the seven levels of the soul surely resonated for Bennett, with Gurdjieff’s model of the seven types of men. Bennett later incorporated the model and some of the terminology into his own discourse about spiritual transformation. Presented as a complementary model to Gurdjieff’s discussion of the self, he makes use of elements of it in other works and talks, including The Dramatic Universe (1966) and his public talks recorded in A Spiritual Psychology (1964/1999) and presentations given to students at Sherborne House in the early 1970s, such as the talk on “The Master Idea of the New Epoch”(1974). Another Sufi teacher that Bennett encountered on his first journey was a teacher named Emin Chikou, who lived in Baghdad and who was, Bennett reports, a Naqshbandi shaykh. As he reveals in his talks with Bennett, Chikou was preoccupied with the end times and the second coming of Christ. Bennett remarks that Chikou spent a great deal of time indicating the prophecies of the end times, as recorded in the sayings of Muhammad and other teachers, and he believed that the end times were imminent. Bennett remained unconvinced

J. G. Bennett and the Gospel of Gurdjieff and Sufism

121

about the end of history, but told him that he believed, rather that we were entering a “New Epoch” in human history. Nonetheless, impressed with Chikhou, he records, “Though I could not accept his literal eschatology, I was deeply impressed by the man himself. I could speak with him as I had not been able to do with anyone—not even with Gurdjieff . . .” (1978a, p. 293). Bennett felt more personally connected to Chikhou and a feeling of mutual respect grew between them. Chikhou was another of the teachers Bennett met that seemed to confirm that Bennett was destined to play a role in bringing spiritual understanding to the West: “. . . he assured me that I would witness the coming of the Power of the Lord, and I had a special part to play in preparing the Western peoples to receive this Power. I could not bring myself to take these prophecies seriously, and yet I found Emin Chikou himself deeply impressive” (ibid: p. 294). Bennett also attended meetings with his students, who regarded Chikou with great veneration. What most impressed Bennett, however, was the sense of community and their devotion to service in the care of others—both of which corresponded to Bennett’s own values and ideals. While the notion of the Masters of Wisdom had not come to dominate Bennett’s approach at this time, the focus on conscious labor and intentional suffering was confirmed in the words of the teachers he met. As has been shown, this played a central role in Gurdjieff’s presentation in Beelzebub’s Tales, and Bennett found, not least of all, a corollary tradition in Sufism. In a discussion about the role of religion and prophets, Emin Chikhou couched his discussion in a language that Bennett would have immediately responded to: About prophets, Emin Bey said that the primary role of prophets is to awaken men from sleep. “Man has come to live in darkness, he needs to be awakened. Secondly, the Prophet himself sets an example; he is a man like other men and yet he is completely submitted to God. But no prophet nor teacher nor anyone else can do for a man what he must do himself. Unless he will work on himself, no one can help him. You must distinguish between ‘wish’ and ‘want.’” Everyone wants his own welfare, many people even want to become good men and win eternal life; but very, very few wish to work. Unless one wishes it is useless, and no one can truly wish to work unless he believes with all his heart in the existence of God. (Bennett, 2000, p. 54) Here the emphasis on individual effort, regardless of the acts and examples of others, including great Prophets, takes a central place. The discussion of “wish” and “want” would have also been readily understood in terms of the necessity to work on the “denial of one’s natural impulses,” which Gurdjieff framed in terms of the “denying force,” associated primarily with the physical body. Bennett then comments on his estimation of Chikhou’s level of development, again in the language of Gurdjieff: “Today we started by verifying things about work about which I shall not write, beyond saying that I have no doubt that

122

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

Emin Chikhou has reached a certain level of inner work that I have rarely met before” (ibid: p. 55). The emphasis on “inner work” was clearly understood in terms of work on oneself “to attain a higher level of being,” or, in the language of Beelzebub’s Tales, “conscious labor and intentional suffering.” In one passage, Bennett reports that he witnessed Chikhou’s murids, or students, who would do their inner work together. In a private meeting, Chikhou remarked upon Bennett’s level of attention, noting that he was able to keep his attention without faltering for seven hours in a conversation they had together: “This proved to me that you had worked on yourself, because without work that is impossible. Therefore I knew I had both the right and obligation to share my secrets with you” (ibid: p. 59). The key connections are confirmed in the teachings and words that Bennett encountered—without necessitating specificity or exactness, Bennett could readily find corollaries and confirmation in the value for and application of “inner work.” Very much resonant with the language of Gurdjieff concerning the idea that man is asleep and must awaken, Bennett must have felt strongly that Chikhou had developed and evolved through inner struggle and effort. In a conversation that took place at a café, Chikhou remarked to Bennett: There can only be one reasonable aim in life—to become a Man. But to be a Man one must live as a Man and not as a walking corpse. . . . Therefore, I say to my pupils, there is only one thing that matters in life; that is to die as a Man and not as an animal. But for this you must first know and love God. No one who does not love God can become a Man. (ibid: pp. 60–1) Again, the language used is critical—whether literally taken from Chikou or filtered through Bennett’s own understanding, Gurdjieff’s recently heard admonition to the group in Paris that one should have an aim to “only not die like dog, but die honorable” would surely have had resonance. While Bennett was very willing to participate fully in the religious life of the people he was visiting, he was not a convert to Islam, and he continued to make this an important distinction for himself and to those he met along the way. Yet, Emin Chikhou treated Bennett as a Muslim, though perhaps in a more monotheistic and universalist sense: one in which all who are sincerely submitted to God are Muslim, whether they be Christian or Jew. Chikou also expressed to Bennett the wish to go on the hajj together and Bennett was struck by the fact that this was the second person on his journey that asked him to do so: I confess that this had rather disturbed me. Here was the second man—Hassan Effendi was the first—who wanted to go with me on the Hadj. As Mecca is only accessible to ‘true believers’ I would have to accept Islam in a way that is, of course, not possible for me. This was one of the reasons which made me resolve that I must make my position much more clear.

J. G. Bennett and the Gospel of Gurdjieff and Sufism

123

Nevertheless, Emin Bey continues to accept me as a Muslim, and says that there are very few people who call themselves Muslims who have the same relationship to Allah as I have. ‘All the same,’ he said, ‘you have not reached the true Muhabet ul Iah [sic] (love of God) when God says to you,’ ‘We are Lovers, my love and your love are not distinguishable.’ It is to that you must now aspire. (ibid: p. 67) Chikhou’s comments on his inner work, and his acceptance of Bennett as a Muslim took Bennett far. He was able to spend long hours in discussion, or sohbet, on spiritual matters. Bennett was convinced that Islam had something to offer, but he clearly did not feel that the outer form held the essence of the religion. About Chikou himself, Bennett remarked, “I became convinced that he lacked the profound insight that distinguished Gurdjieff from all other teachers I had met” (1978a, p. 294). He felt that, although he could learn much from him, he would not find through him the ancient Sufi tradition that Gurdjieff referred to in South-west and Central Asia. He did nonetheless, find with Sufi teachers that he met, the teachings which, he observed on returning to Turkey, had served as “the leaven of practical mysticism that had saved the religious life of Turkey” (ibid: 289). On the one hand Bennett clearly sought out the sources of Gurdjieff’s teachings from the Muslims that he met. Yet, he maintained, at least as early as The Crisis in Human Affairs, first published in 1948, that there was to be what he called a “new dispensation,” a new way of being and spiritual realization. After a conversation with Emin Bey, Bennett reflects upon his understanding of the current state of religion: I explained that I believed without reserve that an Epoch had ended and that a New Dispensation was about to begin. How and when it would be made manifest I did not know, but I have only one desire in life, and that is to serve this New Dispensation and play my part in preparing for it. But I could not accept the Koran as infallible simply because I did not know it, nor did I believe that it is applicable to our present situation. All the world—Jewish, Christian, ­Buddhist, Islamic—all have gone so far away from pure religion that the Books no longer have any meaning. A terrible awakening is coming, and mankind will be brought to the realization of the true meaning of existence by a warning more tremendous than those of Christ and Mohammed. Man has shown himself incapable of responding to the appeals of reason or faith or love, and will come to himself only when faced with death. (Bennett, 2000, p. 95) The topic of a new epoch arising was a frequent refrain in the conversations that Bennett had with the various teachers and Sufis that he met. Bennett continued in this initial ten-week journey to meet other shaykhs and teachers. He also met Farhad Dede, a hereditary chief of the Mevlevi Order, who

124

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

had devoted himself to poverty, chastity, and to the contemplative life. Bennett remarks, “I have never met a man who more completely exemplified, in every moment of his life, faith and submission to the Will of God” (1978a, pp.  298–9). Bennett also reports that Farhad Dede also instructed him in the details of the spiritual training as practiced by the Mevlevi dervishes (ibid: p. 299). As much as possible Bennett attempted to go as a salik, a true wayfarer on the path: I decided that I would enter as completely as possible into their life. Since leaving London, I let my beard grow, and now had a straggling grey beard and a venerable appearance, which earned me the title of Baba, father, when I wandered into the tchai hanés or tea-houses. I went five times every day to the mosque for the ritual prayers, and spent the rest of my time in visiting the dervishes at their various applications, and learning by heart chapters of the Qur’an or in repeating the zhikr that Emin Bey had shown me. In the evening, we met in the hut where we slept. A little group of dervishes would come to pray and talk together. (ibid: p. 300) Unlike many who dabbled in the strictly exotic forms of Sufism during the nineteenth and early twentieth century, Bennett took up the orthodox practices of Islam, as well as the practice of zikr of the Sufis he encountered. With different shaykhs, as well as the groups he encountered, he also participated in the sohbet, or conversation, on spiritual and religious talks. Yet, at the same time, he maintained his identity as a Christian: I, a Christian, was being treated as a practicing Muslim. After a few days, I found it embarrassing to go to the mosque, for young and old press round me to put their hands on my clothes. I discover that the dervishes had put about the story that I was an English convert to Islam, a man of exceptional piety, and that various marvelous signs had been shown to me. (ibid: p. 302) Aware of his own limitations and shortcomings, Bennett felt ashamed at the obeisance that was paid to him. It was a difficult but profound journey. Near the conclusion of his stay, he remarks, “I began to count the hours till my liberation; and yet I would not for anything have missed the opportunity. If every hour became like a day and every day like a month from the intensity of the experience, I cannot complain. I come to the East to get new impressions, and I was getting them, press down and running over!” (ibid: p. 302). Bennett, although prepared by the years that he had worked with Gurdjieff and Ouspensky, seemed to have almost more than his fill. Yet these meetings, ideas, and practices that he encountered would become formative in his own search and ideas. At this stage, perhaps more from a cultural perspective than a religious one, since he had not made a formal commitment to Christianity,

J. G. Bennett and the Gospel of Gurdjieff and Sufism

125

Bennett identified himself as a Christian. Still seeking the “. . . Truth and one Faith in which all beliefs could be reconciled” that he committed to finding after he witnessed the prayers at Hagia Sophia in Istanbul as a young man (Bennett 1978a, pp. 34–5). Bennett emphasized the universalist aspects of the teachings of Islam. In particular, he responded to the notion of submission in relation to God and the necessity for prayer and remembrance—and their connection to self-remembering. With regard to the more specifically tariqaoriented approaches, Bennett also records his experiences, though not always the details about the frequent gatherings for zikr and sohbet, as well as the theories of transformation and the maps to the path of spiritual development. Likewise, as we can see in the entries, the men that he encountered seemed to respond to him with a great deal of respect, as a man who had the capacity, for Emin Chikou for instance, of leading a reawakening of spiritual values in the West. And, for Farhad Dede, Bennett was a true teacher—one that he might willingly follow. As a still living tradition, Sufism, and its embracing religion, Islam, provided a model and mode of living—a corollary to Bennett’s understanding and articulation of Gurdjieff’s own discourse on the soul, and soultransformation.

Meeting Abdullah Daghestani in Damascus On a second trip to the Middle East in May of 1955, Bennett had occasion to meet the leader of a branch of the Naqshbandi order, Shaykh Abdullah Daghestani—then living in the Kurdish quarter of Damascus. Perhaps more than any encounter on his two trips, the meeting with Daghestani would prove to have implications in another context through the continuing discourse about Gurdjieff, Bennett, and Sufism. The meeting with Daghestani was, for Bennett, a dramatic one, and Daghestani immediately confounded the expectations he had built up from his previous travels. Upon his arrival, he, with a small group that also included his future wife, Elizabeth Howard, hired a taxi in Beirut and went to Damascus, first visiting the tomb of Ibn Arabi on the way to visit Daghestani. Expecting Daghestani to have the same attitude that he encountered with Emin Chikou, who followed the rules of haremlik in his home—with the separation of women, especially from male visitors—he did not bring Elizabeth with him. Yet, Daghestani inquired why he had not brought her—fully expecting that he would have. Subsequently, Bennett was highly receptive to Daghestani and was told by Daghestani that he had a special mission, and that he should expect a special messenger to come to the West, “to your country and even to your house” (ibid: p. 309). Daghestani told him that he had a special role in preparing the way for this messenger and that, “the followers of the Armenian [presumably Gurdjieff] will persecute you if they know what you are doing” (ibid: p. 310). This message, as others before, must have stuck with Bennett and undoubtedly it shaped his response later to Idries

126

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

Shah and Hasan Şuşud. Bennett also continued to receive some suggestions similar to those he had received from the teachers he encountered on his first journey. Daghestani enjoined Bennett to recite often “la ilahe il Allah—which means surrender to God alone” (ibid). Bennett, hesitating, told him that this was the Muslim profession of faith. Daghestani responded by saying that this is as much Christian as Muslim, “for the foundation of all religion is that man should not follow his own will, but the Will of God” (ibid). He said to Bennett that he was under a protection, and “nothing will go wrong with you” (ibid). These words suggested a further confirmation that he was to serve as an important link, if not as teacher, between the East and the West. Bennett also repeatedly heard a vision of a shared heritage, one in which all who surrendered to God would share in the same foundation. The call to follow the will of God alone surely resonated with Bennett who had, for years, made the repetition of the Christian Lord’s Prayer silently, having powerful experiences with, in particular, the phrase, “Thy will be done.” Moreover, this basic worldview fit in with Gurdjieff’s own discourse and was reinforced, if it had not been sufficiently made clear beforehand, in Beelzebub’s Tales to His Grandson. The model of being and becoming could be witnessed in Muhammad, just as it had been in Jesus, and a number of other beings “sent from Above.” The goal for Bennett, as it had been for Gurdjieff, was to return to the source to find the components of a relevant model of being and becoming, currently lacking in Western religious and spiritual discourse. In his own journey, Bennett sought to remake or restore connections with the living teachings of Sufi teachers, while finding means and methods appropriate for a contemporary Western audience. In terms of the current discourse about the soul, and Bennett’s role in shaping that discourse, the meeting with Daghestani and other Sufis became critical and set the stage for much of what happened in the coming years of his life. What stands out in the records of Bennett’s travels is his engagement with both the ideas and the practices of the traditions he encounters—something that took growing prominence in his own presentation of Sufism and Sufi practices, particularly later in his life. Increasingly, the ideas and expressions he encountered in his studies and travels expanded his understanding of the path of spiritual development, and contributed to his cosmology which he employed in other works, most substantially in his four volume work The Dramatic Universe. In the introduction to the 2000 edition of Journeys, George Bennett—the son of Elizabeth Bennett, adopted by J. G. Bennett—adds, “In one sense, Bennett’s journey was not a success. He failed to find the sources of Gurdjieff’s teaching that he had looked for, but in another, deeper sense, he made a contact with his own inner guides that was a surer link with the source than any physical teacher” (Bennett 2000, p. 7). Whether in sacred architecture, or individuals or groups, Bennett, heeding a call he had felt for some time, sought to make contact with a spiritual level higher than the one he occupied at the time. As he continued to work with groups and individuals, Bennett also

J. G. Bennett and the Gospel of Gurdjieff and Sufism

127

continued to seek guidance and help from others. Apparently cut off from many of those that had been connected with Gurdjieff during his lifetime, Bennett sought the connections and corollaries in other paths and traditions, both for himself and for his work with others that had collected around him at Coombe Springs. In terms of more recent reception, references to both Gurdjieff and Bennett are included in The Naqshbandi Sufi Way: History and Guidebook of the Saints of the Golden Chain (1995) by Hisham Kibbani, the current shaykh of the NaqshbandiHaqqani order in the U.S. Gurdjieff reportedly met Daghestani and an account of the meeting is presented in the book. The text is presented as an affirmation of the link between Gurdjieff and the Naqshbandi and the “nine-points,” or the enneagram that became more well-known through Gurdjieff. Likewise, the record of the meeting with Bennett is quoted from Witness, in the same publication which situates the connections and confluence of the Naqshbandi and Gurdjieff. Both entries treat Gurdjieff and then, Bennett, respectively, as authentic searchers on the path—the only two representatives in the books who are not Muslims or treated as specific representatives of the Naqshbandi order.

Bennett’s Exploration of Other Paths For me the Work was something dynamic that was alive only when it was expanding. The history of religion of spiritual movements shows that, when the impulse to search and move forward give place to the impulse to hold on and preserve, the death knell has been sounded. (Bennett, 1978a, p. 189) Following Bennett’s journeys to the Middle East, he returned to his professional life and to his role as a teacher at Coombe Springs. Finally fulfilling the inward call to the East, Bennett returned and increasingly made use of Sufi ideas, concepts, and practices in his own teaching. Bennett had entered a decidedly new stage in his life. Moreover, not feeling burdened by the restrictions of the Gurdjieffian orthodoxy, he seemed to have become more receptive to still other traditions. Not surprisingly, Bennett has had strong detractors, from both Gurdjieffians and those interested in Sufism and Islam. William Patrick Patterson, a long-time student of John Pentland at the Gurdjieff Foundation in San Francisco, an arm of the more orthodox of the Gurdjieff groups that continues, provides an indictment of Bennett’s approach and his willfulness which he describes, using Gurdjieff’s terminology, as his “chief feature.” Patterson takes the view that Ouspensky, Alfred Orage, and Bennett distorted the pure teachings that Gurdjieff brought to the West. Patterson is particularly critical of the school Bennett set up at Sherborne. He summarily concludes that

128

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

“However one looks at Bennett, the feeling is that one has no sure footing. What can be said is that Bennett mixed the teaching ” (Patterson 1998, p. 244). James Moore, author of a biography of Gurdjieff, and a long-time associate of the Gurdjieff Society of London, takes particular issue with Bennett’s deployment of Sufi ideas and practice in combination with Gurdjieff’s own. Moore admits to no significant Sufi influence in Gurdjieff’s work and he places the blame squarely on the shoulders of both Bennett and Idries Shah for errantly contributing to the general conception that Gurdjieff was a Sufi and that the teaching he brought was primarily a Sufi teaching. Moore writes, “John Godolphin Bennett (1897–1974) was a complex, gifted, sincere, and indefatigable eclectic searcher—strangely deficient in common sense” (Moore 1999). Taken as a sign of Bennett’s lack of investment in the practices that Gurdjieff taught, the limited amount of direct experience he had with Gurdjieff, or a lack of integrity, these authors and groups often depict Bennett as a charlatan or an uncommitted dilettante—criticisms often leveled at Gurdjieff himself. The attempt to posit and protect Gurdjieff’s teaching as unique might also be seen as a strategic avoidance of discussions of influence and connections to other traditions which might bring, from the orthodox representatives of these traditions, a critical eye to the work and legacy of Gurdjieff. Many, however, continue to regard Bennett as an exemplary figure, one who, as a Westerner, served as a model for a contemporary seeker. In important ways, Bennett’s engagement with other traditions is part of his basic approach, and it contributed to his own iteration of Gurdjieff’s discourse about the soul. Bennett’s explorations of other traditions and his work with other teachers, includes the unorthodox, such as Subud, and his encounters with the Hindu teacher Shivapuri Baba, to the more orthodox, such as Catholicism. Bennett himself seems to have connected more deeply with the original impulses and events that initiated his search when he met Prince Sabaheddin in Istanbul. Sabaheddin’s openness and sensitivity to Jesus, the Virgin Mary, as well as Islam and Buddhism had allowed Bennett to see how one might take religion seriously, but remain open to other worldviews and ways of life. The meetings with Gurdjieff, Ouspensky, and others had enabled this new seriousness to be taken to a deeper level within himself. Now, after having a much broader view of the world and religion, and a range of worldly and spiritual experiences himself, Bennett opened himself further to traditions and teachers that he encountered, including Subud, the Shivapuri Baba—a Nepalese Hindu Saint, Catholicism, and, again, Sufism and Sufi teachers such as Idries Shah and Hasan Şuşud. Collectively, these experiences would also prepare him for the work he was to take on at Sherborne House in the creation of a new “Fourth Way” School which attempted to offer a balanced approach to spiritual transformation employing methods and teachings drawn from a variety of traditions. One of the more significant movements that Bennett embraced in the period after Gurdjieff’s death was Subud. The Subud movement was initiated by

J. G. Bennett and the Gospel of Gurdjieff and Sufism

129

Muhammad Subuh Sumohadiwidjojo (1901–87), known by his students as Bapak Subuh, a teacher from Java, Indonesia who introduced a simple, individual practice of submission he called the latihan kejiwaan (Indonesian for “spiritual exercise,” and known, more simply, as the latihan). Through contacts in his travels, he heard about the practice of the latihan and, in November of 1956, Bennett was initiated into the exercise and soon after became convinced of its power and efficacy. Bennett devoted himself to the teaching of Subud from 1956 until 1960. This shift of focus had an immediate impact on the group at Coombe Springs. George Bennett writes that . . . some of Bennett’s pupils were dismayed, and his enthusiasm deepened the divisions with some of the other Gurdjieff groups in London and Paris. . . . Others, however, came in large numbers, and for several years Coombe Springs was the headquarters of the Subud movement in Europe. (Bennett 1990, p. 109) Bennett became intensely involved with Subud movement until his resignation from the movement in 1960. He became for a time, its chief spokesperson in England, and authored books on Subud to promote it to a wider audience.2 Despite his devotion during this period to Subud, and still later to other teachers, Bennett later wrote that he did not lose his interest in what he learned from Gurdjieff. His own framing of his search was that he still felt that he had more to learn and, thus, he sought to explore other methods, and work with other teachers who could help him in his ongoing search. Bennett’s work, since 1946, had largely focused on the school he initiated under the aegis of the Institute for the Comparative Study of History, Philosophy, and the Sciences at Coombe Springs. He feared that the work would become stagnant, and he remained open to other influences. Yet, he writes, “If Subud could not be reconciled with all that I had come to regard as well-established conclusions of Gurdjieff’s cosmo-psychology, Subud was not for me” (1978a, p. 321). During this period, Bennett increasingly felt that the groups of Gurdjieff’s immediate students, and those that worked with him were becoming increasingly fractured, and he sought a remedy for the situation. Bennett clearly felt that Gurdjieff’s work and ideas took a place of pre-eminence in his work—but he eventually saw Subud as a complement to the work with Gurdjieff’s ideas, rather than a replacement. This reconciliatory mode was the approach he attempted in each encounter with different traditions, practices, and teachers. Bennett, ever-interested in origins and connections, believed that Subud was related to Sufism, or that, at the least, it came from the same field of experience. He noted that Bapak Subuh was raised as a Muslim and came from a family of Naqshbandis, and had studied with a Naqshbandi teacher. Bennett writes in  Transformation (1978), “it is evident that the language he uses and the descriptions he gives of the way man is made and works are all taken from the

130

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

Naqshibendi Sufis” (1978b, p. 21). Although other authors have also classified Subud as a Sufi teaching, such as Idries Shah, who implied that it is “a deteriorated form” of Sufism, Bapak Subuh never claimed that this was a Sufi practice, or that there was a Sufi connection. Subuh did, however, as long-time Subud student Dirk Campbell remarks, sometimes use Sufi language, such as the notion of the tariqa and referred to some Sufi teachers, including Abdul Qadir al-Jilani (1077–1161), whose importance is acknowledged in the history of Classical Sufism. However, Campbell reports, Bapak Subuh held that “the latihan exercise was not learned by him from anyone nor given to him by anyone. He claims that it came to him in a completely unexpected way from a level beyond that of human life” (2010). The intersection of views and perspectives on Sufism, Subud, and Gurdjieff, and the different representations of the relationships that ensued from the likes of Idries Shah and others while perhaps indicative of a lack of clarity or definition, seems also, more simply, to be a part of the same discourse about Sufism, particularly Sufism in the West, and those who sought to either align or distance themselves from it. Bennett increasingly attempted to interpret, connect, and complement some of the key ideas of Gurdjieff through the lens of Sufism, and he made a similar move in his explanation of Subud. Reflecting on this period later, again in Witness, Bennett seems to have felt that while Subud was important, that he had begun to become distanced from his work with those at Coombe Springs, having taken Bapak Subuh as “the Archangel Gabriel” for too long. In addition to his work with Subud, Bennett had taken much time to work on the final volume of The Dramatic Universe, leaving to others the responsibilities of running Coombe Springs. He writes of his reorientation to the teachings of Gurdjieff: By the autumn of 1960, the realization came to me that I had ceased to work on myself and had relied upon the latihan to do what I should be doing by my own effort. Without telling anyone, I resumed the discipline and the exercises I had learned from Gurdjieff and almost at once I found that my state had changed for the better. Some of my old friends and pupils came and told me that they felt that something was wrong and described symptoms similar to my own. I suggested that we should quietly resume our early morning exercises and especially to set ourselves “will tasks” that would require effort and sacrifice. (1978a, p. 350) Having become disillusioned with the ultimate potential of Subud, Bennett formally left the organization. Eventually, some of his group split off and stayed with Subud, while others returned, along with Bennett, to the practices learned from Gurdjieff and to the renewal of the school at Coombe Springs. Bennett apparently felt that his experience with Subud had transformed him, had made him more open-hearted, and more able to see and respond to others. Perhaps connecting more deeply with the inner voice he had heard while traveling in

J. G. Bennett and the Gospel of Gurdjieff and Sufism

131

Konya, Turkey in 1955, he writes, “It was impossible to doubt that I had changed and that I could communicate with a source of wisdom that was within myself but beyond my consciousness” (ibid: p. 350). Through his position, status, and motivated by his own experience, Bennett enabled and participated in the reception of Subud in the West for four years. Bennett, at each stage of his search, and with each investigation into other traditions, consistently returned to the roots of the teaching and the methods that Gurdjieff had introduced to him as the basic template and model for his understanding of spiritual development. Yet his sense of rootedness would change again in the next stage of his search. Shortly after this period, in 1961, Bennett visited Shivapuri Baba, also known as Swami Govindanath Bharata, a Nepalese Hindu teacher that was purportedly 135 years old at the time. Without going into much detail, it is worth noting that Bennett met him in 1961, and then again shortly before his death in 1963, and was impressed by the man, as well as his views on morality. He also presented his moral teachings in Long Pilgrimage: The Life and Teaching of the Shivapuri Baba (1983). George Bennett records that J. G. Bennett later referred to the man as his teacher (Bennett 1990, p. 110). In roughly the same period, Bennett also had a growing feeling of connection with the Catholic Church, and its preservation of sacred rituals. Bennett records that he asked Shivapuri Baba about joining the Church: In one of my private talks with him, I asked about my growing conviction that I should join the Catholic Church. He had spoken of religion as the refuge of those whose minds were not strong enough to pursue knowledge of God to the exclusion of all else: so I was unprepared for his immediate assurance that this was the right way for me. I would find, he said, God-realization through Christ. (1978a, p. 353) Bennett felt a deep call to his cultural, Christian roots—though not the Anglicanism of his childhood. Soon after his return from this first visit to Shivapuri Baba, and after a retreat at the abbey at St. Wandrille, Bennett felt guided to become Catholic and formally joined the Church. Unsurprisingly, Bennett’s attitude to the Church, and its dogma, is unorthodox. For a long time, Bennett had rejected religion, and the Anglican Church in particular. Since he was a young man, Bennett made a long spiritual journey—one that took him through a series of formative, even essential, teachers and teachings. He reports in Witness of having powerful experiences with the repetition of the Lord’s Prayer, and the realization that “Jesus is God’s Love” (ibid: p. 158). Perhaps influenced by his experience with the ritual practices of Islam and Sufism, he seemed to have found something essential preserved in the Christian sacraments and in the Eucharist in particular: In spite of my belief in the validity of the sacraments of the Roman Church and therefore the validity of the Apostolic Succession, I could not help ­seeing

132

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

how much human speculation and even human fantasy had entered the teaching of the Church. I am well aware how little resemblance the gospel story as we have it in the New Testament corresponds to the reality of the events that took place in Galilee and Jerusalem and I can see how necessary it is to establish a new understanding of the Incarnation. The Church is equally astray in its conservative and in its modernist wings, nor is the centre any better. The Catholic Church is the custodian of a mystery that it does not understand: but the sacraments and their operation are no less than real for that. (ibid: p. 353) Bennett’s conversion to Catholicism seems to have opened a new chapter in his life, one in which a Christian orientation and rootedness to his own sense of spirituality was foremost. In this renewal of his Christian roots, he perhaps found an authentic sense of faith that he felt lacking in the traditions he met with as a young boy. Yet, he still remained cosmopolitan in his outlook and was open to other paths, and to other teachers, including Sufism. The centrality of the monotheistic traditions remained in Bennett’s search and this is what perhaps allowed such an easy relation, as far as he was concerned, with Sufism. Gurdjieff, too, maintained a primarily monotheistic orientation in his work—despite his forays into other traditions and paths. Gurdjieff had after all, been born into the Greek Orthodox Church, had connections subsequently with the Armenian and Russian branches in his childhood, and was buried with the Russian Orthodox Church in France. Bennett had begun with a less rigorous Christian background, though, being in England, it was primarily Anglican in orientation—but he became Catholic, and remained so until the end of his life. The meeting with Shivapuri Baba and commitment to Catholicism seem to have renewed his search—he had found root as a Catholic, and felt more secure and more able to articulate his own voice and Gurdjieff’s teaching: One of the first fruits of my new confidence was the decision to organize a seminar at Coombe Springs for the summer of 1962 in which I would develop my own interpretation of Gurdjieff’s psychology. I could see for myself that a great change had occurred. For the first time, I was daring to be myself. Only two years earlier, I had reached what I thought was the end of my search, when I was reborn with a real capacity for compassion and understanding of others. Now, I saw that so far from being the end, I was still a child or at most an adolescent. At the age of 65, I had to “grow up.” (ibid: p. 354) The presentations that he gave in 1962, as well as the question and answer sessions from the seminar were later to be published as A Spiritual Psychology (1964/1999). Much of what was to shape the rest of Bennett’s life and teachings was now in place, and Bennett felt confirmed in his role as a teacher or, at least, someone who could share what he had learned in his own search with others.

J. G. Bennett and the Gospel of Gurdjieff and Sufism

133

One of the more controversial relationships that Bennett developed was with Idries Shah, whom he met in England in 1963. Even after his acceptance of the Catholic faith, Bennett remained driven to find the clues to some of the indications Gurdjieff had intimated, and which he had been exploring in his own search and developing in his own writings. Sufism, in this sense, still served as a living source—one that was more immediately alive in many respects than Catholicism. As we have seen, Bennett had become steeped in the language of Sufi practice and discourse which he used to frame the presentation of some of Gurdjieff’s practices and ideas. He also remained captivated by the notion that Gurdjieff’s Sarmoung Brotherhood near Bukhara was the source of his most essential teachings. Although Gurdjieff gave little suggestion that he thought his teaching was incomplete, Ouspensky lamented the incompleteness of “the system” and hoped for a savior that would complete the teachings—a hope he took to his grave. The announcement of a new teacher coming to the West was also echoed by many Bennett had since met, including Abdullah Daghestani upon his meeting with him in 1955. Shah then appeared in England making the claim that he was sent by the same sources that sent Gurdjieff to the West and eventually became one of the most oft-referenced popular expositors of Sufi teachings and ideas, especially in the 1970s. Shah’s work, his statements about Gurdjieff, and the relationship that ensued with Bennett further contributed to and complicated the discourse about Gurdjieff and Sufism as well as the reception of Sufism in the West. Late in 1962, Bennett received a letter from Reggie Hoare, an early student of Ouspensky, with information about a figure who claimed to have contact with the same schools that Gurdjieff had contact with in Central Asia. Bennett writes in Witness that Hoare and three or four others, previously connected with Ouspensky, had met Idries Shah, “who had come to England to seek out followers of Gurdjieff’s ideas with the intention of transmitting to them the knowledge and methods that were needed to complete their teaching” (ibid: pp. 355–6). Decidedly, the connection with Gurdjieff, and the mention of a Sufi tradition rooted in Central Asia, which Bennett had not had access to in his travels, intrigued him. Initially ignoring Hoare’s behest, Bennett agreed to meet Shah later in the year. At the first meeting, Shah did not make a good impression upon Bennett, though he left feeling that Shah did have some special knowledge and was someone who had “worked on himself.” Bennett writes that, “This put me in front of a new kind of situation. Shah was not, and did not claim to be, a teacher, but he did claim that he had been sent by his own teacher and that he had the support of the ‘Guardians of the Tradition’” (ibid). In a critical sense, James Moore, in his self-admittedly ad-hominem attack of Shah (which simultaneously indicts Bennett) writes, “Bennett, with his Messianic and millenarian promptings, was that rara avis, a guru in search of a guru; and from 1962, when the Shah-School began propagating its Gurdjieffian allusions, the hook had been temptingly baited for him” (1999). Moore as have others,

134

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

asserts that Shah used the ideas of Gurdjieff to attract, or even steal, the remaining followers of Gurdjieff. Yet, Bennett took Shah seriously and found resonance with his own views in the claims that Shah made, especially concerning the “Guardians of the Tradition.” Shah made the bold announcement that he came as a special envoy representing the “Guardians of the Tradition” and presented his ideas and his charge in, “Declaration of the People of the Tradition”—the full text appears in Bennett’s Witness (1978a, pp. 356–8). This tract proposes that there is a special group of spiritual teachers that were behind the religions of all ages. The document contained twenty-two principles that those who are interested should follow. Bennett would likely have found several parallels in these principles with Gurdjieff’s own tenets. Given Gurdjieff’s and, following Bennett’s emphasis on the development of the faculty of conscience, Bennett would likely have been particularly drawn to the fourth: “We are in a situation in which we have an immense debt. Recognition of this fact is preserved mainly in the functioning of what is regarded as “Conscience,” one of the few remains of a certain knowledge” (Sher Point). Bennett had enough faith in the authenticity of the document or, at least in the alluring possibilities that the document elicited, that he had the declaration read to his groups in London and Coombe Springs. From this point, Bennett began to visit Shah on a regular basis, despite the fact that Shah was more than twenty years his junior. Clearly Bennett felt that Shah had a special knowledge that related to Gurdjieff’s teachings that he had suspected were from a Central Asian source—the source of which he was not able to make contact with in his own travels in the Middle East. He writes that Reggie Hoare was convinced that Shah had far more knowledge about the enneagram than Ouspensky had presented and that it could be found in In Search of the Miraculous: Fragments of an Unknown Teaching (1949). Yet, Bennett could never be certain of Shah’s true status as a Sufi, or as the bearer of a tradition from the so-called “Hidden Directorate.” The implications being clearer to him in retrospect, Bennett reflects in Witness upon the position he put himself in with Shah. It was up to him to determine whether or not he was an authentic teacher representing the tradition that he had sought to contact, as had others, for many years. However, he was not able to prove this to himself conclusively: It seemed to me that I must determine for myself whether Idries Shah was indeed a messenger from the Guardians of the Tradition or “Hidden Directorate” as I called them in The Dramatic Universe. In January 1965, I became convinced in the unaccountable way that these things happen. One morning as I was praying, I asked to be given clear indication as to whether I should trust Shah completely. As I was driving up to London, the reply came: “for that you must pray together.” When I met him, I told him what had happened. He replied “That is quite right: the truth is revealed only in prayer.”

J. G. Bennett and the Gospel of Gurdjieff and Sufism

135

The answer satisfied me and I asked no more. Later I noticed that he had not in fact done what I asked: that is that we should pray together, and I asked myself if I had perhaps failed to go through with the indication I had received. (1978a, p. 359) Suggesting that Shah ignored Bennett’s request, this report puts Shah in a negative light. Yet, despite Shah’s failure to participate in a prayer together as a means to confirm his authenticity, Bennett continued to support Shah’s work. One of the more contentious events that occurred in the relationship with Shah concerned the facilities at Coombe Springs. Bennett had moved to Coombe Springs in 1941, and had maintained it as an active place for work at least since 1946. Under the aegis of the Institute for Comparative Study of History, Philosophy, and the Sciences, hundreds of people had participated in the realization of Coombe Springs as a center for work. After his trips to the East in the early 1950s, Bennett had put a great deal of effort into building the Djamichunatra, a meditation and movement hall modeled after Sufi tekkes and Gurdjieff’s presentation of sacred spaces at the Prieure in Fontainebleau. After working with Bennett for some time, Shah began to press Bennett to assist him in finding a place like Coombe Springs. Bennett records that he himself suggested putting Coombe Springs “entirely at his service” (ibid: p. 359). Eventually it became clear that Shah wanted to take over Coombe Springs altogether—including his students, who would be able to support his work. “Shah insisted that if we were to give him Coombe Springs, the gift must be absolute, irrevocable, and completely voluntary,” Bennett records (ibid: p. 360). Bennett took the decision in June of 1965 to give it over completely to Shah, including the furnishings, and by October the Council heading up Coombe Springs agreed. After a gathering on Gurdjieff’s birthday in January of 1966, Shah began to insist that Bennett and everyone else leave Coombe Springs and he eventually banned them all from coming there at all. In a dramatic turn of events, by the end of 1966, Shah decided to sell Coombe Springs. Many have questioned Bennett’s own naiveté: Had Bennett been taken advantage of? Did Shah see the vulnerability in Bennett and simply dupe him out of a property that was at the time worth more than £100,000($300,000) for his own personal aims? Bennett, again in Witness, reflects that the period from 1960 to 1970 was a trying one. About this time he notes that he “had learned to serve and to sacrifice. . .” (ibid: p. 362). When asked by Madame de Salzmann in New York, about the events and what he had gained from his contact with Shah, Bennett replied, “Freedom!” (ibid). However, some who have been critical of Bennett’s relationship with Shah see, in this comment, a revision of his feelings on the topic. Nonetheless, this series of events was a catalyst for a sequence of important changes in Bennett’s life. And, though it is less clear on the degree to which any of Shah’s own ideas and practices influenced Bennett, Bennett continued for some time to regard Shah as an important teacher for

136

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

the West as evidenced in the letters to the man that he considered his final teacher, Hassan Şuşud. Although Bennett regarded Idries Shah as a significant figure, he eventually found a more personal and profound connection with a Sufi teacher from Istanbul, Hasan Şuşud (1901–88). On returning from a meeting with Shivapuri Baba in 1963, Bennett stopped in Istanbul and had the occasion to meet Şuşud. Although he did not immediately pursue the relationship with Şuşud, the relationship became an important one for him, particularly in his engagement with Sufism and his understanding of the “way of blame.” Şuşud offered a disciplined approach, stripped of the focus on a shaykh, the performance of Sema, or ritual performances of zikr and the accompanying rituals and cultural practices that had accreted in many orders. Şuşud focused on severe practices of fasting, breath control, and the remembrance of God, practices that could be equated with “conscious labor and intentional suffering”—quite a contrast from the tariqaoriented approach of Emin Chikou and the Sufis he had met in his travels in the 1950s. Şuşud, a Turkish Banker who lived in Istanbul, was, by his own account, a representative of İtlak Yolu, or the Path of Absolute Liberation. Şuşud himself connected the path historically with the way of the Malami, or, the path of blame. Upon his first meeting, Şuşud gave him a copy of his work, Hacegan Hanedani (The Dynasty of Wisdom), which was later published by Coombe Springs Press as The Masters of Wisdom of Central Asia (1983). Other works, including “Sufi Spiritual Techniques,” Bennett later translated from Ottoman Turkish and published in the journal Systematics in 1969.3 Şuşud was a practicing Muslim, and reports that he had been initiated as a young man into the Naqshbandi Order, though he says that the path of Absolute Liberation came to him later. Central to Şuşud’s practice was a special form of zikr that he introduced to Bennett, and which was later introduced as a practice by Bennett on the courses at Sherborne House. Treating him as an elder, Bennett sought out advice from Şuşud in his continuing deliberations about Idries Shah, and other personal matters. When deciding whether or not to help Shah, Bennett wrote to Şuşud to ask his advice. He reports that Şuşud advised him that he should follow his own path, and to be free from all teachers and schools (1978a, p. 366). Şuşud visited Bennett and company in 1965, and Bennett eventually began to consider Şuşud as his teacher, and continued to address him as such in a series of personal, unpublished letters. By the time of the closing of Coombe Springs in  1966, Bennett had been transformed by his experiences with Subud, The Shivapuri Baba, Catholicism, Idries Shah, and had met Hasan Şuşud, a Sufi teacher who claimed to be a representative of Itlak Yolu, or “the way of absolute liberation.” Şuşud, who he would soon become closer to, set the stage for the next, and perhaps most important, stage of his life with the initiation of the institute of Sherborne House. George Bennett writes that the surrender of Coombe Springs was essential for the next stage of Bennett’s teachings: “Without that sacrifice, it is

J. G. Bennett and the Gospel of Gurdjieff and Sufism

137

doubtful whether Bennett would have been able to embark on the last and perhaps most significant project of his life: the inauguration of an experimental Fourth Way school for the passing on of techniques for spiritual transformation” (Bennett 1990, pp. 110–11). This experimental school, the International Academy for Continuous Education, Bennett began at Sherborne House in Gloucestershire, England in 1971.

Bennett’s Writings and Talks on Sufism I have no doubt that it was my duty to write. When I first met him, Ouspensky had preached the gospel of grow or die. Why then did he deny our right to grow? “Can we,” I asked myself, “eternally struggle only to stand still?” (­Bennett 1978a, p. 197) With the biographical sketch provided so far in mind, in this section I return to consider Bennett’s recorded talks and writings and, in particular the presentation of Gurdjieff, his discourse on the soul, and Sufism. It is these two approaches which served as both resources and inspiration in the creation of his vision, and the articulation of his own discourse on the creation of the soul. At several key points in his life, Bennett expressed a sense of mission in sharing the ideas of the work, and the evidence of his efforts is evident in his extensive literary output. In addition to his own formulations and syntheses of spiritual teachings and ideas encountered in his search, Bennett gave a number of talks and wrote several works on Gurdjieff, many of which addressed the origins of his teachings. Upon examination of his oral and literary output, there are quite different presentations and emphases on the nature and origins of Gurdjieff’s teachings. In his early writings and public talks, such as Values (1943), Crisis in Human Affairs (1948), and Is there Life on Earth? (1949), Bennett presents Gurdjieff as an important figure who taught a unique system of spiritual transformation based on teachings from the East and adapted for the West. The importance of different traditions is noted, including the importance of Sufism—but the overall focus on Sufism is minimal. As noted earlier, Bennett had very little contact with Islam or Sufism between the time he left Istanbul in  1921, and his journeys to the Middle East. After the publications of these early works, Bennett made two journeys to the Middle East, in 1953 and 1955, in order to find the sources or, at least,the teachings parallel to Gurdjieff’s own. Influenced by these initial experiences, and, then, following the encounters with Subud, Idries Shah, and Hasan Şuşud, Bennett’s work, though not necessarily dominated by it, increasingly showed the influence of Sufism.

138

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

As a writer, and as a man, Bennett had come a long way since the days of his youth when he only saw the contradictions and hypocrisy in the religions and religious figures that he encountered as a youth. Bennett, through his written and oral presentations, developed his own discourse about Gurdjieff and Sufism. Although it maintained a certain core and focus, it also changed in emphasis over time. After more direct experience, research, and his journeys in the Middle East, Bennett continued to formulate many of his own connections between Sufism and Gurdjieff’s ideas and practices. In 1963 Bennett gave a series of three talks on Gurdjieff which were later published as Gurdjieff: A Very Great Enigma (1984). Here he presents Gurdjieff’s background, sources, and his methods in a manner similar to previous works. Yet, here he elaborates upon the references to Sufism in more detail. While references to Sufism are substantial, he also includes references to other sources and traditions. In the first talk, Bennett remarks upon the enigmatic character of Gurdjieff: Gurdjieff is a very great enigma in more ways than one. First and most obvious is the fact that no two people who knew him would agree as to who and what he was. If you look at the various books that have been written about Gurdjieff and if you look at his own writings, you will find that no two pictures are the same. Everyone who knew him, upon reading what other people have written about him, feels that they have not got it right. Each one of us believes we saw something that other people do not see. This is no doubt true that went with the peculiar habit he had of hiding himself, appearing to be something other than he really was. This was very confusing and it began from the time he was first known in European countries. (1984, p. 1) Bennett here assigns the responsibility for this confusion to Gurdjieff himself. Simultaneously Bennett connects, though indefinitely, the enigmatic qualities of Gurdjieff with the “way of blame” of the Malamati tradition of Sufis. Gurdjieff’s attempt to hide his true nature and the source of his teachings, he attributed to Gurdjieff’s use of the methods of the Malamati, even if not as a direct representative of the Malamati. Acknowledging the influence of different traditions, including Sufism, Bennett still maintained that Gurdjieff had something unique to offer. This belief continued to drive Bennett in his search, and back to the teachings and ideas of Gurdjieff at each stage of his search, even following his forays into other traditions and in his work with other teachers. Bennett goes on to present Gurdjieff’s teaching and methods in terms of recognizable traditions, including those that were connected to Sufism. In the second talk, Bennett more explicitly explains the manner of Gurdjieff’s unusual behavior in terms of the Malamati and the Way of Blame: There is one other characteristic of Gurdjieff that I must refer to at once; and that is, his adoption of the deliberate disguise in the form of putting

J. G. Bennett and the Gospel of Gurdjieff and Sufism

139

himself in a bad light. He put on a mask that would tend to put people off, rather than draw them towards him. Now, this method – which is called by the Sufis, the Way of Malamat, or the method of Blame – was highly esteemed in old times among the Sufis, who regarded the Sheikhs or Pirs who went by the Way of Blame, as particularly eminent in spirituality. Such people represented themselves to the outside world under a bad light, partly in order to avoid attracting praise and admiration towards themselves, but also partly as a personal protection. This Way of Malamat has been lost to sight in modern times. It was certainly followed under other names in Christianity also, and in all the great ways of religion. The attraction to oneself of blame, rather than praise, has always been approved: but it is not very much understood at our present time, nor is it usually thought right to do so by deliberately performing blameworthy actions. (ibid: pp. 61–2) Even at this time Bennett was convinced, based on Gurdjieff’s own indications, that the important sources of his teaching was connected with Bukhara and, by extension, the Naqshbandi order. He also suggests that if the source of the enneagram were to have been found, that it would have helped to more clearly understand where Gurdjieff found his most important ideas and what made his teaching unique. While emphasizing the connections with Sufism, Bennett does not restrict the way of blame to Islam. In a more universalist sense, Bennett proposes that the way of the Malamati has manifested in different traditions, including Christianity. Bennett, based on his study of language, and his familiarity with Turkish in particular, made his own analysis of the evidence and references found in Gurdjieff’s Meetings with Remarkable Men. In particular, he found the enneagram to be the key to the puzzle of Gurdjieff’s sources. He believed that if the source of the enneagram could be established, then, “we would understand where he found what is most important about the content of his teaching. It would tell us where he found that which is missing in the Western tradition” (ibid: 50). He goes on to provide an example of how one might approach Gurdjieff’s text—as a puzzle, with clues that might indicate that the source of the enneagram and some of his most central ideas are associated with the Naqshbandi order: Now I have to tell you a very interesting sort of detective-story. Gurdjieff, and the story of “Soloviev,” which is inserted in the middle of the Lubovedsky chapter, speaks of his being put on the way of finding what he himself was looking for and also finding his own friend, Prince Yuri, through contact with the Bokharian dervish, who is called Bogga-Eddin. Now, Bogga-Eddin clearly was a Muslim, but there is no Muslim name Bogga-Eddin. There is no problem here, because Russians almost invariably transliterate H by G – they say “gospital” when we say “hospital,” for example – then they would almost

140

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

certainly transliterate Bahauddin as Bogga-Eddin. Therefore, when Gurdjieff speaks of a Bukharian dervish Bogga-Eddin, undoubtedly he is referring to someone called Bahauddin. Now, there is one extremely famous Bahauddin Naqshaband of Bokhara, whose tomb there is famous in all Asia, and who is so venerated from the 14th century onward that it is said by Paul Vambery that three visits to the tomb of Mohammed Bahauddin Naqshaband would be equivalent to a pilgrimage to Mecca. So I think it is pretty certain that when Gurdjieff writes about ­Bokharian Dervish Bogga-Eddin, he is putting us on to the Naqshabandi Order of ­Dervishes. (ibid: p. 50) The notion of connections with the Naqshbandi would later lead Bennett to the presentation of the Khwajagan made by Shah, and the Masters of Wisdom, in the work of Şuşud. The location, Bukhara, is also important—and this, as has been seen, is referred to in both Beelzebub’s Tales to His Grandson, and in Meetings with Remarkable Men. Bennett continues in the discussion to emphasize the importance of the Naqshbandi and the corollaries in their approach to the notion of the Fourth Way that Gurdjieff taught. In another reference in this same talk, Bennett reports that Gurdjieff said, “If you really want to know the secrets of Islam  .  .  . you will find them in Bukhara.” Bennett offers, “This is equivalent to saying, you will find them if you can find the centre of the Naqshbandi. It seemed clear enough from what he had said about this that these are the people who know about the Enneagram and who therefore have some very profound and extraordinary teachings” (ibid: p. 53). Through Bennett’s detective work, he sought to resuture the teachings of Gurdjieff and the Fourth Way to the traditional tariqas of Islam, and the Naqshbandi order in particular. Bennett was convinced that Gurdjieff had something unique to offer—and he saw this in terms of bringing the practical spiritual wisdom of the East in a form appropriate for the West: One of the chief tasks that Gurdjieff set himself to accomplish was to see how what he had found – particularly in Asia and to a minor extent in Africa – could be made available in a practical way to Western people. It took him something like thirty years of constant experimenting before he arrived at a method that he found reasonably satisfactory; and this in spite of the fact that he started with two considerable advantages. One was that he was, after all, himself of European origin, and the other, that his particular study had been of the defects in human nature that required to be overcome. His studies had not been directed solely to the perfecting of man – for example, by such methods as the direct penetration into the deeper consciousness by meditation – but he had studied deeply the obstacles in our nature that prevent us from living normal lives. This certainly gave him a considerable advantage

J. G. Bennett and the Gospel of Gurdjieff and Sufism

141

when he came in contact with Western people, because these obstacles were not so very different in East and West. The real difference between the East and the West are more in the kind of things that we believe in the kinds of things that they believe in; the kind of things we hope for and the kind of things they hope for. (ibid: 71–2) Interestingly, Bennett states that Gurdjieff was European, yet makes a distinction between Gurdjieff and the Western people he would encounter when he started his schools in Europe. Still, Bennett ascribes significance to this fact because it means that Gurdjieff was suited to understanding the Western psyche. Bennett fully believed that he understood the mentality of Europeans, their expectations, and was therefore able to adapt the teachings he encountered in a manner appropriate for Westerners. During this period, Bennett increasingly employed Sufi terminology and language in the explication of his vision of the world and spiritual development. Though not new to his presentations, he began to present these more formally and more frequently in talks from a seminar published in A Spiritual Psychology, replicated in the third volume of The Dramatic Universe dedicated to the theme of “Man and His Nature.” These are also mentioned in Transformation, and in some of his oral presentations, many of which have been recorded and transcribed. Increasingly, Bennett also became convinced of an overarching guiding force behind world historical events—at least in their positive and spiritual aspects. By the time that he wrote the third and fourth volumes of his four volume work, The Dramatic Universe (both published in  1966), he had begun to integrate the notion of the Hidden Directorate into his understanding of the dramatic unfolding of wisdom in the evolution of the universe. In writing The Dramatic Universe, Bennett sought to provide an understanding of an evolving, complex, and spiritually informed universe. He developed the notion of an intermediate intelligence, neither human nor wholly divine. He described this energetic intelligence as the Demiurge, a “mode of Being associated with intelligence higher than human” (1966, p. 294). Bennett saw the Demiurge as playing an important role in the direction and assistance to the unfolding of events on earth. He also developed a theory of groups or classes of people that enable these events to manifest in specific communities, presented as the “Ideal Human Society.” This Ideal Human Society consists of three main groups, ranked from those who have direct contact with “higher powers” through the general, spiritually static members of society: Psychoteleios, Psychokinetic, and the Psychostatic—each of these having four subgroups (ibid: p. 234). He also employs this same schema in the tract “A Call for a New Society,” (1979a) which presents the original vision for the community at Claymont Court in West Virginia, established just before his death in 1974. In Volume Three of The Dramatic Universe, Bennett also schematizes seven levels or stages of development, and four different levels of self. In his

142

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

schema of the selves he delineates, in ascending order, four levels of the Self: The Material Self, The Reactional Self, the Divided Self, and The True Self. In an explanation of the four selves, in a brief on The Dramatic Universe, he writes: “Man is not by nature a free, conscious being able to make effective decisions. These powers must be acquired by work. So before we can help the Task, we must first develop ourselves” (Bennett 1970). Central to his conception of human destiny is the notion of work on oneself—or conscious labor and intentional suffering—a requirement for the development of each of the higher part of the self. In The Dramatic Universe, as in other works, Bennett correlates Gurdjieff’s language and the presentation of his psychology with Sufi concepts. In a series of footnotes on the four levels of self in The Dramatic Universe, Bennett equates these with stages of the self, or nafs, from Sufi discourse. Bennett encountered these both in his meeting with the Naqshbandi dervish Hassan Effendi and in the documents he later translated himself in Gurdjieff: Making a New World. Here, the Material Self, or lower nafs, “is called in Sufism the Nafs-ul-Amara or ‘Will to Power.’” The word Nafs can plausibly be translated as Will, being the active centre of a man rather than his soul or self—both words commonly used to translate it (1966, p. 199). The Reactional Self, the self which is dominated by likes and dislikes and its own self-will, he notes is called “the Nafs-ul-Lawwama where the word lawm generally means blame or remorse. The point is that in the way of Transformation, the Reactional Self experiences remorse of which the Material Self is incapable. We can render Nafs-ul-Lawwama as ‘Remorseful Will’” (ibid: p. 200). Regarding the Divided Self, the self that has begun to awaken to conscience, and an awareness of the two lower selves, Bennett writes, “In Sufism, [it] is called the Nafs-ul-Mulhama or ‘Awakened Will’. This refers to the awakening of conscience which inspires the self to transcend its own limitations. The Sufi terms refer to the Will in the process of transformation, whereas our ‘four selves’ refer to the states of the Will that may be permanent in those who do not ‘Work upon themselves’” (ibid: p. 201). The “True Self” is the self which has overcome all egoism. Again, in a footnote, he states that “The Sufi expression for the Self-hood that has freed itself from Egoism is Nafs-ul-Mutmainna or the ‘Will made secure.’” When the Individuality has entered into the Soul and established its authority there is the Nafs-ul-Radiyya or Spiritualized Will. This refers to the union of existence and essence and is also translated as Fulfillment (ibid: p. 203). Bennett continued to refer to these levels of self in talks given later, particularly at Sherborne House. As a result of his interests, his language skills, and his sensitivity to different traditions, Bennett developed a language and a model which he believed would make more accessible and comprehensible the importance of conscious labor and intentional suffering and the aims for which it is exercised. Bennett’s efforts in this period, as well as the reception of his work in general, cannot be understood without reference to Gurdjieff and Sufism. Under the

J. G. Bennett and the Gospel of Gurdjieff and Sufism

143

influence of Shah and Şuşud, notions about the hidden masters, the Khwajagan of Central Asia, and the coming of a New Epoch, were developed together repeatedly and with increasing importance in Bennett’s work. As noted, Hasan Şuşud was also interested in the idea of a group of hidden masters and had authored a work entitled Hacegan Hanedani, published in Turkey in  1959.4 Bennett’s foreshortened version of this work, with the same title, was published in the journal Systematics in 1969. Şuşud’s work traces the lineage of Sufi teachers, and presents short biographical sketches, with a particular emphasis on the Khwajagan, or Masters, and the Naqshbandi tradition during the Classical Period of Sufism from 1200–1500. The aim of the work is to demonstrate the transmission of a specialized spiritual teaching to the world at large through the teachings of different intermediaries throughout history—the most recent “Masters” being the Sufis. After the clear absorption of Şuşud’s Masters of Wisdom, and, perhaps, though less so, the influence of Shah’s teachings on the Khwajagan, Bennett centered his writings and the presentation of Gurdjieff and other spiritual traditions around the idea of the Masters of Wisdom. Bennett had even hoped to publish a book on Gurdjieff and The Masters of Wisdom with Şuşud. However, Şuşud, believing that Gurdjieff was a thief of the tradition, was opposed to the inclusion of Gurdjieff in the presentation of the Masters of Wisdom. Bennett proceeded to publish his own presentation of Gurdjieff as an exponent of the Masters of Wisdom in his work, Gurdjieff: Making a New World, published in 1973. Bennett’s public and published presentation of Gurdjieff and Sufism changed, or developed, most notably with Gurdjieff: Making a New World. This work provides Bennett’s last and most complete single biographical presentation of Gurdjieff and his ideas. In many respects he saw the work of Gurdjieff as a renewal of the work of the Masters of Wisdom. And he allows a rather large space for situating Gurdjieff amongst the long history of the Khwajagan or the Masters of Wisdom. He acknowledges his indebtedness to Hasan Şuşud and his work, the Hacegan Hanedani, as well as to other Persian sources, including the Reshahat Ayn el Hayat, the Nefahat el Uns, and the Risalei Bahaiyye. He suggests that Gurdjieff must have known about them as early as 1902, but that he only referred to it once in writing, in the program of the demonstration of Sacred Dances in Paris in  1923. Concerning the significance placed on the Khwajagan and Gurdjieff, Bennett offers to the reader: The following study of the Khwajagān and their historical role may seem out of place in a book primarily devoted to Gurdjieff; but a true picture of his significance can be formed only in the environment of his own searches. I became convinced from my own contacts with the successors of the Khwajagān, the Naq’shbandi Brotherhood, that he had adopted many of their ideas and techniques. (1973a, p. 27)

144

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

Referring to his own encounters with the Naqshbandi in his travels to the Middle East, and further affirmed by the ideas presented by Hasan Şuşud, Bennett devotes two chapters to introducing the Masters of Wisdom, and to situating Gurdjieff amongst them. Bennett begins in Gurdjieff: Making a New World, by tracing out the outer manifestations of the Masters with the tradition of Christian monasticism that appeared between the third and seventh centuries. Drawing parallels with the stabilization of European culture during this period, Bennett suggests that the Khwajagan contributed to the stabilization of societies in Asia from the eleventh to sixteenth centuries. Bennett also makes a distinction between the teachings and practices of the Khwajagan, and the Sufis of Arabia, Africa, and Spain. The Khwajagan, and their successors, the Naqshbandi, Bennett suggests, are little known in the West because of the scarcity of published works and because more attention has been given to the literary figures of the Sufi tradition such as Nizami, Rumi, and Attar. He asks, “Who then were these men, so little known in the West, and yet so influential over five centuries?” (ibid: p. 29). He proposes that these influential beings did not appear from nowhere and that their work was preceded by “a powerful stream of spirituality” (ibid) in Central Asia which included Zoroaster, and was even earlier in evidence in the hymns of the Aryan people. He continues, “I believe that a continuous tradition can be traced back for more than thirty thousand years when Central Asia was a fertile region, the meeting ground of different cultures, far more ancient than those of Egypt, Mesopotamia and India which arose six or seven thousand years ago” (ibid: p. 29). Bennett argues that Gurdjieff himself knew of a millennia-old system that has informed and supported the development of human cultures around the globe: We cannot hope to understand Gurdjieff unless we attempt to share his sense of the historical significance of spiritual traditions. He knew the periodic renewals are inevitable, but he was convinced that there is an eternal unchanging core system to which mankind has always had access. He frequently referred to traditions four or five thousand years old, that were still preserved when he traveled in Asia, as well as to more ancient teachings going back to human origins. (ibid: pp. 29–30) Bennett then traces out the more recent tradition of the Masters in Central Asia beginning with Yusuf Hamadani in northwest Iran, who gave up ordinary learning and entered “the path of prayer, asceticism, and self-purification” (ibid: p. 30). He next presents some of the key teachers of the tradition who “were practical men who accomplished practical tasks” (ibid). He later intro­ duces Abdulhalik Gujduvani and translates some of the spiritual techniques that of the Khwajagan that Gujdavani recorded in Essence of the Teachings of the Masters. These included practices that would have an obvious connection with

J. G. Bennett and the Gospel of Gurdjieff and Sufism

145

many of Gurdjieff’s key ideas. Bennett sought a confirmation of the methods of “conscious labor and intentional suffering,” and could find several points that could be correlated in Gujduvani’s work. The focus, for instance, on remem­ brance (read in terms of Gurdjieff’s language of “self-remembering”), to the struggle with thoughts, and the work with presence are each necessary elements of “being-partkdolg-duty.” In making further connections to Sufism, Bennett discusses the institute Gurdjieff lead in Istanbul where he emphasized the training of the body in Gurdjieff’s movements or “gymnastics,” and the use to which they would be further put in the ballet of the “Struggle of the Magicians.” Bennett also connects this work with the body, to the training in Sufi traditions such as the Mevlevi Sema, and the zikr of the Rifai order, as well as the movements of the Helveti zikr ceremony—which he had also witnessed in Istanbul. He saw in Gurdjieff’s exercises, elements of these in which, “the body must be itself in a high state of consciousness which unites the three functions of thought, feeling and bodily sensations into a single integral act of expression” (ibid: 130). Bennett also refers to a talk that Gurdjieff gave concerning the Sufis as a universalist tradition, placing them in line with the tradition of the Masters of Wisdom going back thousands of years: The majority of religions breathe, act and live according to holy writ, commandments and precepts. At the same time a teaching existed of wise men who tried to realize for themselves every religion, and all legends and all doctrines dispassionately. They did not blindly submit. Before accepting anything, they beforehand realized it for themselves. Whatever they could realize for themselves, they accepted. What they could not, they rejected. In this way, a new religion was formed, although the material of which was formed was adopted by other religions. The doctrine I am speaking of is the teaching of the Sufis. . . (ibid: p. 155) As noted previously, authors such as Anna Challenger and others make reference to this passage as an affirmation of Gurdjieff and Bennett’s views of Sufism as a teaching that goes beyond Islam and even historical definitions of Sufism. Taken as a positive, this universalist conception of Sufism remains a feature of much of the general and popular discourse about Gurdjieff and Sufism to the present day. Likewise, it is often the point about which Gurdjieff, and Bennett, are criticized by historians and practitioners of Sufism alike who reject the notion that Sufism can be separated from Islam. This is also seen in the critiques from scholars, traditionalists, and other authors who explicitly criticize Gurdjieff, such as Ibrahim Gamard and Yannis Toussulis, two contemporary Sufi authors. One area where Bennett seems to have taken seriously the indications of Idries Shah is in the presentation of the Mullah Nassr Eddin. Nassr Eddin is

146

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

presented in Beelzebub’s Tales to His Grandson as Beelzebub’s main exemplar and teacher on Earth—a fact which gives more support to Bennett’s change in the interpretation of the Mullah over time. However, when Bennett first notes having heard a story about the Mullah at the celebration of a religious holiday when he was first living in Istanbul, he does not remark upon it further, nor apparently was it suggested that the story had anything to do with Sufism by the members of the audience. However, when presented in Making a New World, the Mullah becomes for Bennett a representative of the Khwajagan: One of the Khwajagan who lived at the time of Tamerlane gained a strange reputation and has become the subject of innumerable tales and legends. This was Khwaja Nasruddin whose reputed tomb is at Akshehir in Asia Minor about sixty miles from Konya. Gurdjieff professed unbounded admiration for Nasruddin, who also received the title Mevlana (our Lord), commonly shortened to Molla. Gurdjieff fastened many of his own aphorisms – sensible and nonsensical – upon Khwaja Nasruddin, who most readers of his writings take to be a legendary character at best, and at worst, a recent invention. Neither version can be correct, for references to the Khwaja can be found in Turkish and Persian literature as far back as the sixteenth century. He is reputed to have gained the confidence of Tamerlane and to have saved the lives and property of many of his countrymen by his eloquent pleading. The traditional Khwaja Nasruddin stories contain very profound teachings, which verifies his connection with the Masters of Wisdom. (ibid: pp. 46–7) Drawing from a number of literary sources, Shah introduced collections of the stories about the “Mulla Nasruddin” and presented him as a Sufi teacher. Beginning with The Sufis (1964), and in the series of collections of the Mulla Nasruddin tales, Shah brought a great deal of popular attention in the late 1960s and 1970s in the corpus of Mulla Nasruddin stories. Shah undoubtedly employs the Mulla stories as a Sufi device for pedagogic purposes, and though these in themselves may be grandiosely presented, he does not apparently put forward the Mulla as a representative of the Khwajagan, or as a specific historical figure. In fact, he writes that the Mulla is “the classical figure devised by the dervishes partly for the purpose of halting for a moment situations in which certain states of mind are made clear” (1971, p. 63). Adding that, “Nobody really knows who Nasrudin was, where he lived, or when” (ibid: p. 65). Despite this, Bennett’s presentation of the Mullah Nassr Eddin as a representative of the Khwajagan is perhaps evidence of the influence of Idries Shah on at least some of Bennett’s ideas. Following the narrative of human history put forward in the Dramatic Universe, Bennett presents in Gurdjieff: Making a New World, as well as the works and talks that followed, a long tradition of Masters who have been trained and taught to bring a teaching of practical spirituality to the cultures and societies of the

J. G. Bennett and the Gospel of Gurdjieff and Sufism

147

world. Sufism, the Naqshbandi and the Malamati in particular, are presented as the most recent, and recognizable outer manifestations of this tradition. Bennett argues that Gurdjieff was influenced, if not directly informed, by the Malamati. Although, it is important to note, Bennett did not argue that Gurdjieff was exclusively informed by this tradition, though he does argue that it was quite essential. Attempting to follow up on the clues and indications left by Gurdjieff, Bennett concluded that Gurdjieff was the most recent representative of the tradition of the Masters who brought a teaching of practical spirituality for the West at a time of dire social and cultural crisis. During the last years of his life, Bennett seems to have been respected by a wide variety of teachers and approaches, particularly those with an interest in Sufism. Bennett seemed to have been regarded not just for his knowledge of, and experience with Sufism, but also for his ability to provide penetrating spiritual insight into the experiences behind the technical terms of Sufism, and the mapping of the spiritual path provided in Sufi writings. While running the courses at Sherborne House in the early 1970s, Bennett gave talks to the Ibn Arabi Society at nearby Beshara, Swyre Farm.5 Beshara had been established by Reshad Feild under the direction of Turkish teacher Bülent Rauf. Also, by this time, works about both Sufism and Gurdjieff had been increasing in popularity in Europe and America. Additionally, many of the students at Beshara, including the Brooklyn-born novelist Rafi Zabor, report having worked in Gurdjieff groups before joining the community at Beshara. In the preface to Intimations (1975), Rashid Hornsby, who was present at the talks, remarks upon Bennett’s ability to communicate ideas about relevant spiritual topics and upon his view of the work at Beshara. Hornsby notes that “his comprehension of these other worlds [spiritual realities], their realms and dimensions of thought, enabled him, while being completely involved with his work at Sherborne House, still to assert that he felt Beshara was complementary to his teaching at Sherborne.” (Bennett 1975, p. viii). Hornsby reflects the comments of others who met Bennett during this period who felt that Bennett had the ability to have direct perceptions into spiritual realms or even past events of history. Hornsby goes on to add that “It was extraordinary how willing J. G. Bennett was to help in any way he could in the development of Beshara . . .” (ibid: p. ix) and that “he felt his mission was in essence exactly the same as that of Beshara” (ibid: p. x). As a further example of Bennett’s approach and the technical language from the Sufi tradition that he used, we find in one of the talks recorded at Beshara, entitled, “Meditation and Will,” an explanation of the method of zikr and also of the states of fana, or annihilation, and baqa, subsistence (ibid: pp. 36–7). In this talk he explains a higher level of fana, which also retains the inflection of Gurdjieff’s language: It is the letting go of action. Non-attachment is a way of translating this. But it means something special in Sufism. It means letting go of the illusion that

148

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

I am the doer, understanding that I am the receptive principle, that God is the doer, that He is active, I am responsive. I give up the idea that I am the active one and I cease to be attached to action. (ibid: p. 37) While elucidating the teachings from Sufism, Bennett employs a language that is, as seen in other works, clearly drawn from Gurdjieff’s language of transformation and the development of the soul. Gurdjieff’s work frequently refers to the capacity to do, and a true human as “one who does.” Gurdjieff also uses the language of active, receptive, and reconciling in his work—as Bennett reflects here in his reference to the activity of God, and the receptivity of the human. What is clear from these visits, exchanges, and use of language is both receptivity to the ideas of Sufism and a practical use of them in explaining the spiritual path and its goals. Gurdjieff himself attempted to create a new discourse on the soul, one that attempts to be flexible but without losing depth or seriousness. This is a quality that one of Bennett’s main students and editors, Anthony Blake, in an introductory essay to the 1999 edition of A Spiritual Psychology, has attributed to Bennett as his principle of “integration without rejection” (1999, p. 5)6. In Bennett’s final, unfinished work, The Masters of Wisdom, he attempts to further develop the presentation of the influence of esoteric orders on culture at large throughout human history that he began in Gurdjieff: Making A New World. For Bennett, it was clear that the masters included Sufi orders, with a focus on the Khwajagan from Central Asia, and the Naqshbandi. In his accounting of the history of Sufism, Bennett adopted a distinction between northern and southern Sufism in his teachings. The later influence of Hasan Şuşud’s work can also be seen in his comments about the notion of “absolute liberation.” Though unfinished, some consider the intimations provided in The Masters of Wisdom (1977/1995) to be a culmination of J. G. Bennett’s search and the formulation of his own view of the chain of transmission of key spiritual ideas through the ages.

A New Community and New Mission: Sherborne House Following the twenty-year period at Coombe Springs, and an illness that nearly brought his life to an end, another transformational event took place in Bennett’s life—the focus he gave to his teaching or, rather, the audience for his teaching changed yet again. George Bennett notes that after an illness that brought him near to death, “he became very interested in the condition of young people, especially those who surfaced following the social and cultural turmoil of the ‘60s with serious questions about the significance of life but with few satisfactory answers” (Bennett 1990, p. 111). Following up on his newfound interest in young people and the counter culture of the time, Bennett attended the 1970 Isle of Wight rock music festival, following which he began efforts to

J. G. Bennett and the Gospel of Gurdjieff and Sufism

149

set up a school which eventually became the International Academy for Continuous Education at Sherborne House. In general, during this period of cultural tumult, conflict, and searching there appears to have been a receptivity and interest in the ideas of other traditions, from Buddhism to Sufism—and to early adherents of these teachings, such as Gurdjieff. After the drama of Coombe Springs and the infelt freedom at the release from that period of his life, Bennett had gained a renewed sense of purpose. He felt that the time was ripe for an updated presentation of Gurdjieff’s initiatory discourse on transformation, and he began to envision a way to the methods of conscious labor and intentional suffering in a new context, for a new generation. Modeled after what he had learned from his experiences over the past five decades, he sought to introduce methods of transformation to a new generation. In light of the force of the counter-cultural movements in America, he found, perhaps not unsurprisingly, the strongest reception to his message in America. He was invited to America by Saul Kuchinsky, an American businessman, to give a seminar in the U.S. He notes that he met with other groups in New Jersey who were seriously interested in the idea of transformation: There were, however, two very significant meetings with groups of very young American men and women. One group was on the ‘hippy’ type and the other, respectable college men and women from middle-class New England. Both showed almost passionate interest in work ideas and assured me that if I were to come and stay for a year in Boston or New York, I would have thousands of followers. (ibid: p. 372) After this meeting in New Jersey, Bennett began to review his aim anew. He questioned whether he was to be a businessman, yet again, or to find another route, one that was in line with his spiritual aims. He reflected on the events that had happened to him, resolving to start a school on the model of the Fourth Way of Gurdjieff. As he reflected further, he resolved to start a school that could respond to the needs of the time and the specific problems of the generation he encountered at the Isle of Wight festival, and in his meetings with the hippies and college students in America. Reflecting upon the breadth and depth of his experiences with Gurdjieff, Ouspensky, and the other traditions and communities that he had met and lead himself, he writes: Now the moment had arrived. My next task was to be neither a businessman nor a writer, but the founder of the school. Why a school? This question, which Krishnamurti 7 put to Ouspensky in 1932, now came again before me demanding an immediate reply. “Because people must be prepared for the troubles ahead.” Then there entered my awareness the significance of the “Fourth Way.” There was a task for me to do and I had to prepare people who could help me in it. The school to be found was a school of the Fourth Way.

150

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

I had much experience of teaching situations. I have seen continuing centres: the Prieure, Gadsden, Lyne Place, Franklin Farms, Coombe Springs. I had followed for fifty years the different kinds of group work in which people met fortnightly, weekly or even more often, but did not live together or were continuously under a teacher. I have seen ways with natural capacity for expansion like Subud and Transcendental Meditation. I had seen the life and work of a Benedictine monastery at St. Wandrille. I had also seen something of dervish communities in Asia. (ibid: pp. 372–3) Bennett felt that he must now try a new approach. Though informed by all the methods and ways that he had worked with Gurdjieff, Ouspensky, and others, he felt he should find one that would work for people in his own time and place. Bennett was soon invited again to the U.S. and he met with a group that had been started by Paul and Naomi Anderson in Boston since his last visit. He gave lectures at Harvard and Clark University in Worcester, Massachusetts. In his talks he, “severely criticized educational systems of the world, saying that they offered nothing to prepare people for the devastating changes that were to occur in the world, and said that the Academy was an experiment with a totally new approach to the ‘Whole Man’” (ibid: p. 374). Bennett also gave talks in New Hampshire and California. By the time he departed the U.S., the proposed first course was completely full. Bennett returned to England and, following a series of seemingly fortuitous events, purchased Sherborne House, and soon began the first school for ninety students. Even Bennett seems to have been amazed at the response, both from the students and the events that led to the acquisition of Sherborne. He records, “The Higher Powers have played their part with a vengeance. Never in my life had anything comparable happened to me. Hitherto, the possible had been made difficult. This time, the impossible had been made easy” (ibid: pp. 374–5). The first course at Sherborne officially began in the fall of 1971. This was to be the initiation of a series of five, ten-month long courses based on the model of a Fourth Way school. Each of these courses drew from eighty to more than one hundred students willing to give up everything in ordinary life to live together for ten months. Bennett was clearly concerned with individual transformation as well as with the transformation of the world and a way of life that he saw as being unsustainable, particularly on a spiritual level. To address what Bennett felt were the needs of the young people at this particular time, Bennett introduced a range of teachings and practices along the lines of Gurdjieff’s own initiatory discourse. Most, including the daily scheduled discipline, were derived from the way Gurdjieff worked with his students as Bennett had witnessed at Fontainebleau and in Paris. But he also introduced teachings and techniques that he had encountered since his own search began. This included practices from other traditions, including Buddhism, and also practices such as the Alexander Technique8, and even language instruction—for

J. G. Bennett and the Gospel of Gurdjieff and Sufism

151

the second course it was Turkish. On these courses, Bennett also had the Gurdjieff movements taught to the students and had the students give public performances of them, in part to create interest in the ongoing courses. Bennett also introduced a range of Sufi practices, such as zikr, invited Sufi teachers to the course, and also made easy reference to the teachings of Sufism in his presentations. One of the teachers that he invited to Sherborne was Hasan Şuşud from Istanbul, Turkey, who introduced a special form of zikr to the students. As mentioned earlier, Şuşud was a teacher of a lineage he referred to as Itlak Yolu, or the way of Absolute Liberation, who himself authored a book called Masters of Wisdom of the Central Asia (like Bennett’s work, and certainly an influence on his own thought). He records that Şuşud came to stay at Sherborne for a time in 1971, and Şuşud gave discourses to the students. He states that, at first, Şuşud, “did not think much of the students nor did he see any sense in what I was doing.” However, after a week of attendance at the meetings, and talking privately with some of the students, Şuşud, “took a better view of them and said that several would be helpers. He also began to see some sense in the way he was teaching. He had previously insisted that all we need for our perfecting is fasting and zikhr, the latter including breath control. He now told me that he found my method ideal for our time and for Western people” (ibid: p. 376). This confirmation from a teacher of Itlak Yolu, a path of strenuous discipline and lofty aspirations, was particularly important for Bennett. The courses were challenging, and, by all accounts, required a great deal of effort and struggle—couched constantly in terms of Gurdjieff’s language of conscious labor and intentional suffering. The courses were often referred to as a kind of “spiritual boot camp,” and were not generally for the weak of body, mind, or heart—though accommodations could be made for those with certain physical limitations. Contrary to the images of young people attempting to escape the world in order to avoid responsibilities, most attracted to Sherborne embraced, or eventually accepted the need for discipline and structure. About the courses, George Bennett states that Bennett thought: ‘. . .that he could give people sufficient exposure to practices and ideas of the Work that would be able to take root in them in a way that would be a base for their future work and that they would be able to return to what they’d learned and have access to it, and that this would help them forward in a whole variety of ways.’ (Amaral, 2009) The results for most were life-changing, as will be seen in the comments and discussion in the following chapter. Shortly after the first course, Bennett made a final trip with his family to Turkey where he met again with Hasan Şuşud. He also had a meeting with the head of the Helveti-Jerrahi Order, Muzaffer Ozak, who led the dervishes at the Nurettin tekke in Istanbul. After 1925, Sufism became illegal in Turkey. Since

152

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

Bennett had traveled to Turkey in the 1950s, dervish orders had been allowed more freedoms—and some of these freedoms were gained as a result of the efforts of Ozak. Tekkes, such as the Nurettin tekke in the Fatih district of Istanbul, were allowed to hold gatherings or operate as folklore and culture museums. Bennett expressed his happiness that Sufism had had a chance to re-establish itself in Turkey: “It is now possible, not only to find, but to be accepted by real Sheikhs” (Bennett 1978a, p. 378). Nonetheless, he felt, at this point, that they were able to offer more at Sherborne, “where we have brought together ideas and methods from all parts of the world and so have a repertory of techniques that allows much more rapid progress for those who are willing to work” (ibid: p. 378). Bennett saw the teachings of Sufism as critical, but privileged the results of his own lengthy search and the collection of practices from which he had gained experience. Bennett’s experience in Turkey and his knowledge of the Turkish language allowed him to venture, like no other student of Gurdjieff, to meet and engage directly with Sufis and Sufi groups in Turkey, both in his early encounters while working with the British military until 1921 and in his travels in the 1950s and later. As he began to teach and write about Gurdjieff and Sufism, he was able to translate and present a specific set of Sufi-related teachings and texts for a Western audience increasingly interested in having access to Eastern teachings. As seen in the examination of Bennett’s works, Sufism and its connected elements, including specific rituals and practices, are accorded a privileged place in the history of the transmission of spiritual ideas and practices. Specific authors, teachers and the various genres of Sufi writing are also valorized. In effect, these are all seen as an antidote to the perceived emptiness of modern Western culture and as a means to prepare people for a new world, following the demise of contemporary cultural infrastructures and institutions. The discourse about spiritual transformation and the intersection of the ideas of Gurdjieff and Sufism are presented as a means for a difficult, but attainable resolution of the conflicts of modernity. Central to this discourse is the ritual and active manifestation of the tools, technology, and techniques drawn from the still living traditions of Sufism. Bennett died on December 13, 1974, during the fourth course at Sherborne. Undoubtedly a shock for many, especially those on the course, Bennett departed with the project at Sherborne unfinished, and he left before the courses and community at Claymont Court in the United States had officially begun. The courses at Sherborne had a significant impact upon those who attended, and, as noted, many of the students in attendance were from the U.S. and they eventually returned there. Many, at Bennett’s behest, started groups of their own in an attempt to see what they had made of the course for themselves, and to see if they could share with others at least part of what they had learned. Some returned to America to help with the courses at Claymont Court in West Virginia, others returned to continue the work independently, others joined

J. G. Bennett and the Gospel of Gurdjieff and Sufism

153

other Gurdjieff-related groups, and still others embraced other traditions or practices, some of which they had encountered on the courses, including Sufism. Bennett aimed to influence the general culture and people from all walks of life, and to prepare them for the inevitable hardships that he predicted were coming in the following decades. While he attempted to provide conditions for work, as Gurdjieff had with his own students, he hoped that the students would go on to work independently. Still, many saw Bennett as a unique figure that could not easily be replaced. Beginning with Bennett’s own initiatory encounters with Gurdjieff and Sufism as a young man in Istanbul, Bennett cultivated throughout his life the connections with the teachings of Gurdjieff, the Fourth Way, and Sufism. Reflecting upon his early experiences in Istanbul in Witness, Bennett recalled the powerful feelings that he had after witnessing the prayers at the Hagia Sophia mosque during Ramadan, and his powerful apprehension: “I would never rest until I could find one Truth and one Faith in which all beliefs could be reconciled” (Bennett, 1978a, p. 35). Perhaps guided by this driving wish, Bennett continued to develop his own iteration of Gurdjieff’s discourse and contributed to it through his own engagement and experimentation with other teachings and teachers. Foremost among his later influences were the teachings of Sufism that he encountered in his own study of Sufi writings, his travels in the Middle East in the 1950s, and the encounter with Sufi teachers such as Hasan Şuşud. Through his talks, writings, and, especially, his work with groups at Coombe Springs and Sherborne House, Bennett attempted to expand and make accessible the discourse about Gurdjieff and Sufism to a wider audience in a form that he thought was appropriate for the context and time. As noted earlier, Bennett believed that Gurdjieff was a genius and that “his contribution to the re-orientation of human understanding in the coming epoch” was essential. It is impossible to predict what might have happened if Bennett had continued to directly support the work at Claymont Court in the United States, but his legacy nonetheless continued with the colleagues and students that he worked with up until his death, and in the writings and talks that remained. Bennett certainly felt, as Gurdjieff did, that America had the potential to play an important role in addressing and responding to the dramatic and destructive large-scale changes that he forecast for the coming decades. Bennett produced his own iteration of Gurdjieff’s discourse on the soul and Sufism, and it continues to influence the reception of both Gurdjieff and Sufism in America in important ways.

154

Chapter 4

Gurdjieff, American Style: Sherborne House and Claymont Court

Concerning specially what is called the “degree of degeneration” of the common presences of those who compose this contemporary large group on the continent America in respect of the loss of possibilities for the acquisition of Being nearer to the normal Being of three-brained beings in general, I can tell you something somewhat consoling for them, namely, that in my opinion there remains the largest percentage of beings in whom the said possibility is not entirely lost. Beelzebub to his grandson, Hassein in ‘Beelzebub in America’. (Gurdjieff 1950, p. 1041)

The International Academy for Continuing Education at Sherborne: An American Perspective For many years, Gurdjieff’s ideas had been more widely-known through the works of his early Russian student P. D. Ouspensky. Ouspensky’s most well-known work, entitled In Search of the Miraculous, is a record of Gurdjieff’s talks, primarily in Moscow and St. Petersburg (1915 to 1918). The introduction to a more recent edition (2001) of Ouspensky’s book provides some perspective on the book’s status in the 1960s and 1970s. Here, Marianne Williamson, now a popular New Age author, writes of the importance for her of reading Ouspensky: I can see myself in my mind’s eye now, sitting on the grass in a peasant blouse and bell-bottoms, with long hair and beaded earrings . . . . If I were to choose one word to describe its influence on my life, that would have to be foundational. . . .  For the generation growing into its spiritual maturity in the 1960’s and 1970’s, reading Ouspensky was mandatory reading. If you hadn’t read In Search of the Miraculous, then you hadn’t learned your mystical basics. (Ouspensky 2001, p. v) Williamson’s introduction gives a view of the cultural environment in the United States during this period, and the ongoing and renewed interest in

156

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

the work of Gurdjieff, mysticism, or esoteric teachings in general. As she indicates, Ouspensky’s work was known during this period, at least in certain circles, and it was through this work that many had heard of Gurdjieff.1 In this climate, J. G. Bennett appears on the scene offering the possibility to explore not just the ideas of Gurdjieff and Ouspensky, but an applied and practical mysticism, one based on the techniques and practices that he had been exposed to and experimented with in his own search over the previous fifty years. What made this even more compelling, particularly when compared to the presentation of Ouspensky, was not only Bennett’s charisma, but the fact that he attempted to speak directly to the youth of the time and to their specific concerns and questions. Thus, Bennett, in his own context and time, sought to introduce people not just to the “mystical basics,” found in the writings of Ouspensky, but to the practices that would enable spiritual transformation. The aim of the present chapter is to present and assess the discourse about Gurdjieff and Sufism that was transferred from J. G. Bennett’s International Academy for Continuous Education in England to the United Sates in the late 1970s and 1980s, particularly through the school that was established at Claymont Court, in Charles Town, West Virginia. As introduced in the previous chapter, Bennett sought to present a new iteration of Gurdjieff’s discourse on spiritual transformation at Sherborne House in England, one which was highly influenced by his contact and study with Sufism and Sufi teachers. Sherborne was approached as an experimental school where the methods and forms of transformation could be tested and explored for the specific context and the needs and capacities of the students, largely from the United States, on the courses. Many of the methods and practices established at Sherborne were then transferred to Bennett’s final project at Claymont Court in the United States. Sherborne and Claymont both provided a liminal space in which participants could explore and discover the “mystical basics,” outside of institutionalized and orthodox forms of education, religion, and culture. In this chapter, I address the final period of Bennett’s work at Sherborne, but from the point of view of the largely American attendees on the courses, some of whom would be instrumental in shaping the courses at Claymont Court. Beginning with a review of some comments from several former students at Sherborne House reflecting upon the context of the period, I then introduce some of their reflections on their lived experiences with, especially, Sufism at Sherborne House. Several of these American students eventually returned to America and assisted and influenced the instruction at the Claymont Society for Continuous Education, West Virginia. The following section will address in more detail the school at Claymont Court and discuss and analyze some of the elements of the courses, as well as the experiences of students on the courses. In order to present and examine the personal experiences and perceptions of the graduates of courses at both Sherborne House and Claymont Court,

Gurdjieff, American Style: Sherborne House and Claymont Court

157

I  conducted a number of interviews and also solicited responses through questionnaires. Those who were interviewed or provided responses through questionnaires are identified only by first names which have been changed to preserve their anonymity. It should be noted that most people who agreed to respond in interviews or to questionnaires, were by and large those who had at some point felt that in addition to Gurdjieff, they had some connection to Sufism and or Sufi teachers, many as a result of their experiences on the courses at Sherborne and Claymont. As noted in the previous chapter, Bennett had made trips to the United States early in the 1970s, particularly to the Northeast and to California, to give talks on his work and to attract potential students for the courses. America had seen the rise and, in some cases, the failures of the social justice and counter-culture movements of the 1960s. The Civil Rights movement, the growing Feminist movement, as well as the antiwar movement had gained increasing prominence in American culture. While many had sought to either fight or escape the perceived injustices of society, politics, and, especially war, many Americans sought solace in spiritual pursuits with a decidedly eastward-looking gaze. James Tomarelli, an American student who attended a course at Sherborne, in an epilogue to the Italian version of Bennett’s Sex, comments about the context of the 1970s, a time of “unrest and soul-searching”: Many of us from North America were college students and professionals, more than a few, like myself, were over-educated “drop-outs” who found the economic hopes of the 1950s and the idealistic dreams of the 1960s quickly fading. We were looking for ‘something’ and some of us found our way to Bennett who offered something from the fruits of his own search: methods of transformation he learned directly from G. I. Gurdjieff, P. D. Ouspensky, and other lesser-known spiritual teachers. (2008) As Tomarelli indicates, the attendees were seeking a taste of something besides economic success or the ideals of the previous generation which were perceived as excessively materialistic and idealistic. Currently the publisher of Bennett Books in Santa Fe, New Mexico, Tomarelli went on to help lead courses at Claymont Court, and to work with the Sufi teacher Bawa Muhaiyaddeen in Philadelphia. Tomarelli’s words, looking back on the period, reflect the context of the 1970s in which many had begun their own search, carrying with them a range of accumulated experiences from travel and encounters with the different traditions that were becoming increasingly accessible, as well as, for some, their own journeys to the East. Allen Roth, an American who became a student on the first course at Sherborne, had traveled from America to India in search of his own salvation when he heard about the course. His book, Sherborne: An Experiment in Transformation (1998), provides a picture of the counter-culture, and the

158

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

mood and interests of young people of the period. About his departure he remarks: I was twenty-seven when I left the States with a half-year’s supply of money. [.  .  .] To travel overland through Europe and the Near East during those years was to plunge into a broad, slow-moving river composed chiefly of the newly-arisen Hippie Internationale. (1998 p. 3) Roth made his way to India and met Michael Sutton, one of Bennett’s associates from Coombe Springs, who told him about the new school that Bennett was beginning in England: “What I heard from Michael convinced me that there was an original and self-sustaining offshoot of an obscure spiritual tradition I had read about avidly, sought for in America, and now, without much logic, was seeking in the East” (ibid). About the diversity of experience amongst the attendees, B. J. Appelgren, another American student on the second course at Sherborne, recalls: “Some had been in Gurdjieff study groups; others from yoga, Subud, Sufi, Buddhist or Western religious traditions; and others yet from social activism or from Mr. B’s teaching of Systematics. Each one speaking their unique truth” (2009). Bennett’s prospectus for the first course at Sherborne responded to the yearnings of many who had responded, especially to the call inward—but his words simultaneously addressed the problems being witnessed as a result of the cultural upheaval in the United States. The comments from Tomarelli, Roth, and Appelgren indicate the oftentimes radical cultural shifts that were taking place in the 1960s and 1970s. As Tomarelli notes, young people rejected the perceived “alienation, waste, spiritual emptiness” that had led to civil unrest, domestic riots, and, especially egregious, the extended war with Vietnam. Many at this time shifted their view to the inner world, many looked for the answers to the associated traditions of the East that spoke to this inner world and which with increasing rapidity and impact were being imported from the East. Reflecting the time and context, Bennett represented a hopeful and practical voice that, for many made some sense of the cultural tumult and disillusionment then occurring: This prospectus is addressed to those who care about the future – their own and that of mankind: especially those who have already searched and experimented with politics, social service, those who have looked for new experience in travel, in sex or in drugs, for those who have tried religion or plunged into one of the many ‘isms’ and movements that promise a new world, and have found them all lacking in an essential ingredient: that is practicality. On every hand there are people to tell us what we ought to do, but you indeed have any idea how to do it. The basic course of the International Academy for Continuous Education is designed primarily for the purpose of teaching men and women of all ages how to live their lives in the way they themselves wish. It is particularly directed to those who are acutely aware of an unrealized self,

Gurdjieff, American Style: Sherborne House and Claymont Court

159

of energies squandered and of time wasted – who are prepared to go through hard training in order to change. It is, above all, for those who have realized that the ‘first step in helping the world is to help oneself,’ that inner change must come before outer change.’ (In Roth 1998, p. 7) After the experimental ethos of the 1960s, Bennett’s voice spoke perhaps loudest to those who had tried other ways and means, but were left unsatisfied with what they had found. Bennett articulated the necessity for the difficult, but practical efforts necessary for inner transformation as a precursor to achieving the change that was required in the world. Allen Roth writes about the makeup of those that responded, and of Bennett’s appeal: Two-thirds of those people were Americans; nearly the rest were British. Sixtysix of the student body were under twenty-five. Many had just graduated, not yet committed to jobs, careers or graduate studies. They came, for the most part, from middle or upper middle class society; several came from the trades and professions; a few were retired or pensioned – the eldest being in his eighties. Many of them knew little or nothing of Gurdjieff and company, and Bennett made it clear that this might be to their special advantage. It was Bennett himself who appeared to have grasped the situation and was offering something called practicality. The events of the sixties had cast doubt on our civil institutions, our future, perhaps even our own collective sanity. Bennett’s claim that we can actually learn to live as we would wish to live was persuasive. That it came from a seventy-four-year-old untenured philosopher, added credibility. (ibid: p. 8) A projected five courses planned at Sherborne, would require the students to submit to the “hard training in order to change,” articulated in the course prospectus. To that end, the course provided a daily structure, with focus on practical work and spiritual discipline. B. J. Appelgren reports in her memoir on the daily structure of the course and its aim: The student body of one hundred and three people was divided into three groups of about 35 people each. Every day, one group was on house duty—cooking, cleaning, and childcare—while the other two groups attended classes—cosmology, psychology, movements and lectures on other topics that weren’t necessarily ongoing. In the mornings, however, everyone worked in the garden or on property maintenance for two-and-a-half hours. Only those whose housekeeping tasks had to be performed during that time were excused. (2009) Students were not allowed to become complacent with any given group or role. Group assignments were reassigned several times during the course and, by the end of the course, everyone was to have taken part in each assigned role.

160

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

The Fourth Way School at Sherborne attempted to provide a new iteration of a “culture of the search”—similar in purpose to the one narrated in Meetings with Remarkable Men, and cultivated by Bennett at Coombe Springs. Bennett’s presentation and organization of the course included practices and invited teachers from different traditions. And because of the confluence of Bennett’s own experiences and contacts with Sufism and Sufi teachers, Sufism, and Sufi practice, occupied a place of importance on the course. Bennett gave talks informed by Sufi ideas, and he introduced a number of practices and ritual exercises that he had learned while he was in Turkey and the Middle East, including the requisite rituals of Islam. Hasan Şuşud came from Turkey to visit the students on the first course and introduced a form of zikr—this zikr became a part of the repertoire of techniques introduced by Bennett on the courses. Bennett also introduced the ritual prayer of the Islamic tradition, fasting, and certain extra prayers. He also explained their meaning and purpose for the students. Some students also report that Bennett introduced the “Night of Power,” honoring the most important night during the month of Ramadan when Muhammad began receiving the revelation of the Qur’an. In his talks given during this period, Bennett also introduced a number of Sufi ideas and the theories concerning the different levels or dimensions of self (nafs), and the ascension through the different worlds, or levels of reality. Presumably derived from the Islamic ritual prayer, Bennett introduced the practice of the “ruku,” a half-bow, repeated three times after the completion of the inner, morning exercise.2 Collectively, Bennett’s experience with and presentation of Sufism held a significant position in the “culture of the search” created at Sherborne. Many of the students who had attended a course at Sherborne commented on its influence on the course and its continuing impact in their lives. Among the seekers gathered under Bennett’s guidance, many were interested in Sufism, or were exposed to it as a part of the curriculum of the course. Jacob, an attendee on the fifth course at Sherborne, reports about his introduction to Islam and Sufism on the course: I think my own experience with Sherborne and Sufism was pretty early on the course, right from the beginning. . . . . . . Mr. Bennett taught us namaz – how to pray Islamic style, so to say. . . . He stood in front, and we had a hundred people and we learned to pray that way. And he got into it didactically – he explained why it was useful to do. I think he was trying to take us out of our home-grown religion, Judeo-Christian, which was 99% or 95% of the people. Some people came from the Far East, India. And I think the influence early on that I felt through Mr. Bennett at Sherborne was Hasan Şuşud. He was obviously big influence on Mr. Bennett’s life. He visited during the first course. B. J. Appelgren provides another view of the experience of the zikr that was introduced:

Gurdjieff, American Style: Sherborne House and Claymont Court

161

For the last fifteen minutes of this ‘reading time’ we practice the Zikr, an Islamic meditation that Mr. B had introduced us to last week. The method requires a breathing pattern of one inhalation and three exhalations. At intervals he knocks on the floor as a signal to hold our breaths. With a second knock we return to the patterned breathing. (2009) The connections that Bennett cultivated with teachers such as Hasan Şuşud, often presented as a modern teacher of the Way of Blame (Malamati), also figured centrally into the experience of the courses for many. Additionally, Şuşud’s approach, and his accessibility on the course, was presented and received as a particularly important corollary to Gurdjieff’s “conscious labor and intentional suffering.” One former student, Barry, remarked about Şuşud’s approach: “Şuşud dismissed all the ‘tarikat’ approach to Sufism, dances, handkissing etc., and concentrated on inner exercises similar to Gurdjieff’s—fasting, continual zhikr and accepted or intentional suffering.” Out of all of the Sufi-related practices, the zikr had arguably the most longlasting impact, one that continued to be taught in the courses at Claymont. Another former student, William, offers that the zikr learned from Hasan Şuşud on the course became, for him, an essential practice in the Bennett line of the Gurdjieff Work: The zikr from Hasan Şuşud is an important part of the Bennett line of the Work – absolutely and clearly. And the idea that it’s not part of Gurdjieff’s work . . . you almost have to stop and think – it’s so inherent in my understanding of the work. You almost have to stop and think and realize you go to the [Gurdjieff] Foundation, you go to Mrs. Staveley’s farm [Two Rivers]3, you go to places around the world and the idea of doing zikr is like, absolutely not. It wasn’t part of Gurdjieff’s work. . . .’ Though not part of the corpus of exercises from Gurdjieff, the zikr learned from Şuşud became one of the essential practices introduced to students on the courses. William also recalled that, in addition to prayer and zikr, Bennett recognized and introduced certain traditional observances such as the Night of Power,the most sacred night in Ramadan, and it made a great impact: I don’t remember, if we stayed up all night. I don’t think he [Bennett] did. Some people might have. But at sundown we went into the gray ballroom upstairs where we had most of our movement classes. And we zikred and prayed. And he spoke to us about the significance of the night. . . . You know, it’s a connection. He lived it and embodied it. . . . Bennett had a powerful experience on the Night of Power during Ramadan in Istanbul and he incorporated its recognition at Sherborne House. As noted by this participant, Bennett was frequently observed by those he met as one who

162

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

not only studied the ideas and theories of spiritual transformation, but as one who embodied and lived them. As noted previously, several of Gurdjieff’s movements were drawn or derived from Sufi dances, such as “Ho-ya”, “Trembling Dervish,” and “Warrior Dervish.” Bennett, along with other teachers from Coombe Springs, including Ana Durco, taught the movements as a regular part of the curriculum at Sherborne. In reflecting further on the experience of Sufism on the course, William remarked about the importance of the movements on the course: “My sort of organic intro to Sufism was in the movements—the Dervish movements.  .  .  . And that was very strong, my connection with Sufism.” This student, so profoundly impacted by the experience, went on to teach movements at Claymont Court in the coming years. Simultaneous to the instruction going on at Sherborne House, a school of Western-oriented Sufi studies had also begun at the Beshara Institute at Swyre Farm, under the direction of Reshad Feild, four miles down the road from Sherborne. Feild had long been involved in the counter-culture in England and was increasingly drawn into the spiritual circles becoming, for a period, a student of Gurdjieff’s ideas and work. He also studied with Hazrat Inayat Khan and, at a critical moment in his journey, he met Sufi teacher Bülent Rauf, a Turk, who became his teacher and was reputedly guiding Feild in the running of the school at Beshara. Feild eventually made his way to Turkey to work with Rauf there, and he eventually met Süleyman Loras, who figures into the transmission of Sufism to the United States and the school at Claymont Court, which will be addressed in more detail later. Students from Sherborne were allowed to visit Swyre Farm, and, likewise, students from Feild’s school visited Sherborne. The exchanges between Sherborne students and those at Beshara were memorable and meaningful for many and also reflected a larger “culture of seeking” that so many gravitated to in this period. The perceived contrast between the approaches at Sherborne and Beshara was sometimes great, though there was a shared sense of mission. The students at Sherborne, under Bennett’s direction, were under a more rigorous discipline of spiritual work, while many reported that life at Beshara was less structured and free-flowing, emphasizing the development of emotions and love. Reflecting the view of Bennett as the strict disciplinarian, some of the Beshara students referred to Bennett as “Bennetron.” Rafi Zabor, a native of New York, novelist, and early attendee at Beshara (who also got his start in an offshoot-Gurdjieff group in the United States), reports in his memoirs I, Wabenzi, about his time at Beshara. I, Wabenzi, also provides a humorous view of Sherborne: Installed in our Sufi funny farm across the fields, our troupe—Beshara, to give it is proper name – sometimes used to call Sherborne House the Bennettentiary; Bennett’s riposte was to dub us the Beshara Lovies, but some of his inmates, having little inkling of how unsparing a demiparadise ours could be despite all the kind words and kisses of greeting and farewell, used

Gurdjieff, American Style: Sherborne House and Claymont Court

163

to flee Sherborne over intervening hill and dale on Sunday afternoons and, only half-joking, beg us to hide them in a hayrick before nightfall, take us in, please don’t make us go back there, nooo. . . . (Zabor 2005 p. 232) While some considered Beshara to be, as Rafi Zabor puts it, the “via positivia,” to Bennett’s “via negative,” some found the exchanges between the two camps to be complementary. Reflecting the complementarity and the exchange that occurred between Beshara and Sherborne, one British student, Hamilton, who attended an early course at Sherborne shared his experience and perception of Sufism which he first encountered while visiting Beshara: I “discovered” Sufism while attending J. G. Bennett’s school at Sherborne, in England. I had read some books on Zen and was reading Gurdjieff and Bennett. I was aware of Sufism intellectually. One day a group of us visited a nearby community called Beshara. Bennett encouraged us to do this, to widen our horizons and experience other methods of teaching. The community was led by a teacher called Reshad Feild, who had studied in Turkey with a Master called Bülent Rauf. I was at a dinner at Beshara and a man called Vakil Myers approached me and asked me who I was and so on, in a hospitable manner. He was wearing a silver broach or secret symbol. All the members of Beshara seemed to wear this emblem. I asked him what it meant. Vakil explained: “Oh, I’m a Sufi and this symbol represents the sacred word “Hu,” as in “Allah Hu” and it is associated with breath. I didn’t really get what he was saying but if Vakil was a “Sufi,” as it were, he did not impress me at that time and I had no particular intention of “becoming one”. I was content where I was, studying Gurdjieff. But then later in the program at Sherborne, J. G. Bennett started to introduce practices and methods for awakening that he explained he had learned from certain Sufi teachers in Turkey and the Middle East. So it was that I realized that while the main thrust of Bennett’s teaching was his own, based largely on Gurdjieff’s transmission, there was a large element of Sufi teachings in what Bennett was presenting and the two, as it were, were inextricably intertwined, due to the geography of their origin and the circumstances of their promulgation. Naturally, as time went on I began to read a lot about Sufism and it resonated with me very deeply. I could see it was not really some sort of mystical Islamic teaching but something much deeper and older, from Shamanism, which then arose within the Moslem world as a corrective to dogma. Later in life I made deep studies of specific Sufi paths or Tariqats and visited and studied with significant teachers in Turkey, India and Pakistan as well as in England, Canada and the United States. Hamilton, who now lives in the United States, states that the focus of his spiritual work continues to be “The Fourth Way” from the teachings of Gurdjieff and

164

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

Bennett, adding also, “My heart resonates strongly with certain Sufi tariqa teachings and with Vajrayana Buddhist teachings.” Suha Taji-Farouki, author of Beshara and Ibn ‘Arabi: A Movement of Sufi Spirituality in the Modern World (2010) presents a comprehensive view of the entire Beshara movement. Aligning Beshara with other New Age movements of the early period, she notes that, “First generation associates [of Beshara] suggest a strong affinity between the ideas and approach they encountered in Beshara, and those of two figures in contemporary spirituality whose works were more likely to have been read than others: Bennett and Krishnamurti” (Taji-Farouki 2010, p. 200). While Bennett embraced a cosmology and eschatology which allows for direct communication with “higher powers,” he did not discount, as Krishnamurti had, traditional forms of spirituality, such as Sufism. Reflecting the tenor of his attitude in this talk at Beshara, Bennett approached Sufism with respect and sensitivity. Sherborne was seen as a school with similar goals and purposes, one that was believed to be ideally suited to, and reflective of, the time and context. After Bennett’s death, and the closing of the International Academy of Continuous Education in England, the Beshara organization transferred to Sherborne House from 1976 to 1978, and later moved to Scotland, where it continues to operate as a school for “the advancement of education in the consideration of the basic unity of all religions, in particular by the provision of courses to provide an understanding of the relationship of man to the universe, the earth, the environment and the society he lives in, to Reality and to God” (The Beshara Trust 2010). The connections created with Reshad Feild at Beshara would also prove to play an important role in the next stage of the development of this discourse about Gurdjieff and Sufism in America and at the Claymont Society for Continuous Education. For several graduates of the course, the influence of Sherborne and the connections with Sufism were carried on after the courses in very immediate ways. One student of Jewish background, Jacob, who noted earlier that he found his introduction to Sufism on the course, reports that they went immediately to Istanbul to work further with Hasan Şuşud: “And it was a remarkable, remarkable visit. We got initiated into the zikr from him. We first got it from Bennett, but it was really something with Shusud, it was better with him. . . And he really was a humble man who had experience and spoke so much of experiencing one’s nothingness as being the core of the path.” Propelled by what they learned at Sherborne, and yearning for even more, this student, along with others from the course, continued their travels in the East: After our course at Sherborne, we spent a year and a half travelling in the East; a year in Iran, throughout India, Nepal, Turkey and a good deal of time in Afghanistan. We prayed in the mosque each day after the call to prayer; that was part of our work and discipline. Attempting to be conscious and present doing the prayer. I wasn’t trying to be a Muslim, I was and am a 4th Way person. But what was received at Sherborne ­reinvigorated and

Gurdjieff, American Style: Sherborne House and Claymont Court

165

made present everything one engaged in. Mr. B was attempting to teach us esoteric Islam. Bennett introduced the ritual prayers of the Islamic tradition on the courses at Sherborne and it had an impact on several of the students who, as these did, practiced the prayers in mosques on their own travels in Asia. Like Gurdjieff and Bennett before them, the practices were not taken up in order “to be a Muslim,” but—retaining a critical framework drawn from the Fourth Way model— to join the experience of prayer as a “discipline” or exercise that provides an experience of the inner dimension of Islam. Those who had been on the course often articulated the position that Sufism is the inner, esoteric dimension of Islam. Here this student adds that the Fourth Way is perhaps most closely associated with esoteric Christianity. One of Bennett’s primary roles during the last years of his life was as trans­ lator of the spiritual and religious teachings that he encountered and embraced in his own search of more than fifty years to a younger generation. Given his own specific experience, perspective, and skills, Bennett served as a translator of the knowledge and practice of Sufism and Islam for students from largely Christian and Jewish backgrounds. Bennett presented the discourse about spiritual transformation and the intersection of the ideas of Gurdjieff and Sufism as a means for the difficult, but still possible resolution of the conflicts of modernity. Central to Bennett’s articulation of the discourse on Gurdjieff and Sufism is not just the texts, theories, and ideas, but the active manifestation of the tools and techniques of spiritual practice, including those drawn from Sufism and the Islamic tradition. In particular, Bennett had made a special study of Sufism and was attracted to the theories of the self, and the codes of discipline and training of, especially the Naqshbandi and the discipline taught by Hasan Şuşud. Drawing from his own experience, he introduced course participants to some of the practices of Islam, including namaz, and fasting. Bennett taught these, explaining their significance and purpose, but he primarily treated them as spiritual exercises and techniques among a broader set of practices that he drew upon in a model drawn from the Fourth Way introduced by Gurdjieff. He did not, as Gurdjieff did not, become himself, or require others to become a Muslim, nor did he attempt to imply that he was representing a standing Sufi tariqa or order, or even that he was initiating a new order. Nonetheless, the connections, collaborations, and confluences found in the early 1970s at Sherborne House contributed to the ongoing discourse about Gurdjieff and Sufism and, moreover, they proved to be a generative force in the transmission of Gurdjieff’s teachings and Sufism in the United States, particularly in the decade to follow. At the conclusion of the courses at Sherborne, Bennett wanted the students to be able to teach what they learned to others. Bennett reflects upon this approach in Witness, concerning the students on the First course:

166

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

I said that we can only truly possess what we share with others and that giving is the necessary completion of receiving. I wanted them to go back and collect round them small groups to whom they would transmit the ideas and methods they had learned. “So long as we remember,” I said, “that we can do nothing and understand nothing in our conditioned nature we shall be protected from the stupidity of thinking that we are better than those we teach.” (1978a, p. 377) Anticipating the end of an age, Bennett found himself on a mission to share what he learned with as many people as he could so that they might play a role in the manifestation of a future world. Of the “hippies and college students” that had come to Sherborne as a result of Bennett’s talks in America, many returned to start groups or to contribute to the newly established school at Claymont Court in West Virginia, while many others continued to work independently, but ultimately transformed by their experiences at Sherborne. Speaking directly to the needs of the upcoming generation, particularly to those from the United States, Bennett perhaps must have had an appeal as an outsider to the Gurdjieff establishment, but he nonetheless spoke with authority and profundity. Additionally, for many of the students, the courses served as a first point of contact with Sufis teachings and teachers. The shared monotheistic worldview of Judaism, Christianity, and Islam undoubtedly made this translation more viable and successful. Bennett sought reconciliation between religions and religious ideologies, and the tools, practices, and philosophy of Sufism provided, in part, the means to attain his own vision of spiritual truth. Following his witnessing of the Muslim prayers at Hagia Sophia in Istanbul during Ramadan, Bennett vowed to never rest until he could find “one Truth and one Faith in which all beliefs could be reconciled.” The tools of both Islam and Sufism that he had learned and encountered functioned as a critical component of his reconciliatory work. This work had a significant impact on many of the students and colleagues that he worked with in the last years of his life at both Coombe Springs and Sherborne. For some years Bennett had considered locations in other countries for establishing a more permanent community, including South Africa. But trips to the United States in the early 1970s and the response of the young people from America, many of whom eventually attended the courses at Sherborne, perhaps convinced him that America would provide a suitable locale for the establishment of a Fourth Way community. In  1974, he traveled to visit an available estate at Claymont Court in West Virginia, not far from Washington D.C., and he became convinced that it would be an ideal place for a new model of a small community informed by spiritual ideas, one open to all faiths. Though without Bennett at the helm, the model of instruction at Sherborne House, and the confluence with Bennett’s presentation of Sufism along with the practices and teachings he had learned from Gurdjieff and other teachers and traditions were carried over to the Claymont Society for Continuous Education in the United States.

Gurdjieff, American Style: Sherborne House and Claymont Court

167

The Case of the Claymont Society for Continuous Education In the case of the influence and support of Sufism in America, the position of the Claymont Society for Continuous Education is a compelling one. Claymont Court in Charles Town, West Virginia—70 miles outside of Washington, D.C.— was, at the time, a remote, rural setting. The land was initially purchased in October of 1974, just before J. G. Bennett’s death in December of the same year. Bennett did not live to see the project get off the ground in 1975, but his influence was felt through his talks, his teachings, and the model of instruction which was based on the model of Sherborne, and directed by his students. Claymont Court was envisioned to go further than Sherborne by providing land where, after the nine or ten month residential courses, people would live together in a self-sustained, agriculturally-based community. Bennett had a particular vision for Claymont, which he wrote in November 1974, the month before his death, in a prospectus entitled “A Call for a New Society.” “A Call” builds on themes that had occupied Bennett for some years, but which he recently seemed to articulate with increasing focus and, for his audience, relevance. The call begins with a discussion of “Continuous Education,” which “is founded on the principle that human beings are capable of unlimited selfperfecting from birth to death and beyond. Self-perfecting is three-fold: bodily, mental and spiritual” (Bennett 1979a, p. 1). Bennett also addresses the role of wisdom schools in history, and a summation of the indicators that the world is in a dire state of crisis. For Bennett, Gurdjieff’s initiatory discourse with its emphasis on balanced and practical spiritual transformation provided the inspiration and model for the school to be formed at Claymont. Following the mode of introduction in the presentation of Gurdjieff’s “Fourth Way,” Bennett indicates that self-perfection is not often achieved by individuals alone and that “Schools of Wisdom” have always existed which provide methods and the conditions for this transformation. He indicates that, “Although such schools have always been present they are little in evidence except in times of crisis andchange, when they extend their activities to enable more people to prepare themselves for the task ahead” (ibid: p. 1). The community itself, initially intended to support one hundred families, was where graduates of the courses at Sherborne and Claymont could continue to work toward the shared aim of individual spiritual transformation as well as to serve the world at large—as Bennett had envisaged earlier Fourth Way communities so doing in history. Regarding the conditions of the time—and the growing sense that people at that time were awakening to a new consciousness—Bennett writes in “The Call for a New Society”: Sensible people are acutely aware that something has gone wrong with humanity. Our present society, based on great institutions that control economic resources and political power, tends to strengthen the materialistic

168

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

and egoistic sides of human nature. We need a new kind of society in which concern for needs of others and of Nature as a whole will predominate over self-interest and fear. (ibid: p. 2) Rather than designate a specifically religious orientation to the building of the self-sustaining community at Claymont, he welcomed people from all traditions: The society will be open to believers of all religions, who will be free to practice their own form of worship, but adherence to an institutional religion is not obligatory. There will be an overall spiritual direction based on the principle of human perfectibility. The highest standards of living are required for accelerated self-perfection and all members of the society will be expected to take part in the spiritual disciplines and exercises started in the Candidates’ Course and continued throughout life. (ibid: p. 8) Mirroring the ideas articulated in The Dramatic Universe and other works concerning the influence of “Higher Spiritual Powers,” Bennett assigns great importance to service and worship in the community: “Divine Service and the act of worship are the means by which man can be connected with guidance and higher sources of energy. The society will have its own liturgical forms of worship that will supplement, rather than replace, those of the great world religions” (Bennett 1979a, p. 10). Bennett goes even further to offer that he hopes that Claymont may play a role in “revitalization of religion.” In brief it attempts to set out the guidelines for a new type of community, one that can enable people to fulfill the duty for which they were created: “to serve God through Nature and our fellow-men.” (ibid) In situating the role and response of Sufism in the U.S. and its relation to Claymont, I employ the framework from Gisela Webb’s study of the Bawa Muhaiyaddeen Fellowship in which she outlines three primary periods, or waves, of Sufism in the United States (2006). Webb outlines the earliest period of first wave Sufism with Americans and Europeans who became interested in the “Oriental wisdom” of the East. In the United States and Europe, at the beginning of the 1900s, a wave of teachers of Sufism came to the West. Foremost among them was Hazrat Inayat Khan, who founded the Sufi Order in the West in 1910. Inayat Khan, a member of the Chishti order from India, oriented his teachings to the core of Sufism and Islam, with a focus on the more universal aspects of Sufism. Khan left a small group of murids, or disciples, who continued to oversee his work, and his son Pir Vilayat Khan saw the Sufi Order in the West into the second wave of Sufism in the U.S. Webb writes, “The second wave of Sufi activity in the United States coincided with the 1960s and 1970s counter-cultural movement in which large numbers of (mostly) young middle-class (mostly, but not only) white

Gurdjieff, American Style: Sherborne House and Claymont Court

169

Americans identified the cause of racism, the Vietnam War, and the evil of technocracy as a spiritual sickness that establishment religions in America had not only failed to solve, but had fostered” (ibid: p. 88). The third wave of Sufism included the continuation of the Sufism that was introduced in the 1960s and 1970s with the addition of an increasing number of immigrant groups entering the United States with Sufi affiliations. In Webb’s framework, Claymont Court becomes the context for the continuing introduction of second wave Sufism and also a bridge to the third wave Sufism since that period. Claymont Court, originally comprised of 418 acres of land, is situated just west of the Blue Ridge Mountains, near Charles Town, West Virginia (70 miles East of Washington, D.C.) and a few miles from Harpers Ferry, West Virginia—the site of the John Brown revolt of 1859 and the confluence of the Potomac and Shenandoah rivers. The large estate, complete with buildings and farmable land and proximal to a major metropolitan area, seemed an ideal location for the manifestation of Bennett’s vision. The land had been empty for some years, but provided a number of support buildings which could be adapted and renovated to support a community of around one thousand people. The estate included one of the largest private homes in West Virginia, a Georgian-style mansion, originally built by a grand-nephew of George Washington, as well as an old horse show barn, built by steel manufacturing industrialist R. J. Funkhauser in the 1940s. The loss of Bennett in December of 1974 was certainly an emotional shock and a potential blow to the plans at Claymont, but the students and supporters of his work in England persisted. It was intended that John Wilkinson—who also had a strong Sufi bent—would direct the courses. However, after some tribulations, Pierre Elliot, a teacher of movements who had been assistant director to Bennett at Sherborne, began to run the new American center. Claymont Court began with several preparatory “Work Weekends” in early 1975 to ready the facilities, and saw the opening of the “first basic course” in the fall of 1975. Claymont Court continued to host extended residential courses until the late 1980s. Pierre Elliot (1914–2005), director of studies at Claymont, was born in London, had met Gurdjieff, was a student of P. D. Ouspensky, particularly in the 1930s in England, and he also happened to be Bennett’s nephew through his second wife, Winifred Beaumont. Elliot, following Bennett, had also been involved in the Subud movement and had helped initiate many in the “latihan” exercise. In addition to serving as Assistant Director at Sherborne, Elliot had also taught the Gurdjieff movements. At Claymont, Elliot was responsible for the courses and for the furthering of Bennett’s vision and he approached it along similar lines. From an early period, and perhaps under the influence of Bennett, Elliot also had a strong interest in Sufism, particularly the Mevlevi path. Driven by his own search, Elliot even traveled to Turkey where he met

170

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

Süyleman Loras, a shaykh of the order. Elliot was given the title of shaykh in the order in  1977 by Loras, even as he maintained his role as a teacher of “the Gurdjieff Work.” Concerning his period as director of Claymont, his son Hugh Elliot writes: For more than ten years Pierre continued the work of his teachers but he also broadened the scope of influences and invited many extraordinary teachers from other traditions to come and share their wisdom at Claymont. Such luminaries included M. R. Bawa Muhaiyaddeen, Reshad Feild, Sheikh Muzaffer Ozak, and Sheikh Süyleman Loras4 of the Mevlevi dervish tradition. Sheikh Süyleman Loras conferred the title of Mevlevi Sheikh upon Pierre in 1977. (Elliot) Responding to the particular context of the United States during the 1970s, Elliot guided Claymont through a formative period that coincided with the second wave of Sufism in the United States that Gisela Webb has outlined. What also stands out in Hugh Elliot’s description are the noteworthy Sufi teachers who came to the United States in the 1970s and who in several cases continued to contribute to the introduction of Sufism in the United States in the third wave of Sufism. Bawa Muhaiyaddeen was a Sri Lankan Sufi teacher who had lived near Philadelphia since coming to the U.S. in 1971. Two of those mentioned were from Turkey, Muzaffer Ozak, of the Helveti-Jerrahi order in Istanbul, Turkey, and Süleyman Loras of the Mevlevi order in Konya, Turkey. The last was Reshad Feild who, discussed earlier, also had a significant impact on the spread of popular Sufism in America. According to many of his students, one of Elliot’s strengths—as with Gurdjieff and Bennett—was his ability to attract and bring in teachers from other traditions without losing touch with the focus and emphasis on the more ecumenical Fourth Way approach at Claymont. Though Elliot’s position of leadership did not go uncontested, particularly in the early years, many of the graduates of the courses speak highly of Elliot’s guidance, his contribution to “the Work,” and to him as an exemplar of the teachings. Over the course of Elliot’s tenure as director of studies, a number of nine month courses were held, each having from seventy to more than one hundred students. Mirroring the structure and instruction of the courses at Sherborne House, Claymont sought to introduce in a relatively brief period, the ideas and practices of Gurdjieff and Bennett. As with Sherborne, visits from teachers of other lineages and traditions were also frequent. However, in the American context at this time, there were an increasing number of teachers and representatives of, especially Asian religious traditions visiting America. Visitors to Claymont included Buddhist teachers such as Sogyal Rinpoche from the Tibetan Nyingma tradition and, more frequently, Bhante Dharmawara (1889– 1999), a Cambodian Therevadan Buddhist monk who had regularly visited the first courses at Sherborne House. On each course, for instance, as he had done at Sherborne House, Dharmawara would conduct a seven day silent meditation

Gurdjieff, American Style: Sherborne House and Claymont Court

171

period with a focus on a healing “green light” meditation. Again, like Sherborne, there was a continuing influence of Sufism and an importance assigned to Sufi practices introduced on the courses at Claymont. Pierre Elliot himself also had a more personal contact with Sufism, particularly the Mevlevi tradition. In a 1981 talk in Seattle Washington, he remarked about his interest in communities that have arisen in the Islamic World and the Sufi teachings of Rumi, and the teachings found in his writings. He adds, “I have become satisfied, as anyone must be who is in close touch with them, that not only what they are trying to reach, but the methods with which they work are concerned with the transfer from our ordinary sense perception to the perception of eternal values” (Elliot 1981). The influence and connections with Sufism could have been supported strongly enough by the model set up at Sherborne, but, due perhaps to the specifically American context and the particular timing of the courses, as well as Elliot’s own interests, the Claymont courses also converged with the arrival of several notable Turkish Sufi teachers in the U.S. As a result of this confluence of events and interests, Sufism had a more direct impact on the courses, the students, and the introduction of Sufism into the United States. Claymont Court and the influence of Sufism also contributed to the spiritual landscape of America in the remaining decades of the twentieth century—an influence that continues to be felt into the twenty-first century. Paul Heelas, writing about the New Age and the types of approaches within the counter-culture movements of the 1960s suggests that there were three typical approaches: More systematically, one can think of the counter-culture in terms of three main orientations: that directed at changing the mainstream (for example the political activists engage in civil rights were anti-Vietnam demonstrations); that directed at rejecting mainstream disciplines to live the hedonistic life (the “decadent” world of “Sex, drugs, and rock-and-roll”); and that directed at finding ways of life which serve to nurture the authentic self (for example by taking “the journey to the East”). (1996, p. 51) Like many of the 1960s and 1970s, the attendees at the courses at Claymont often displayed a combination of these orientations, but, as with the students at Sherborne, the interest in the “wisdom of the East” was usually the most powerful. Often this coincided with a personal crisis or a growing sense of the various ills of society at the time. In an interview with a former student, Lilly, who eventually enrolled in the first course at Claymont, shared with the attendees at the Sherborne courses a similar set of concerns about the crises of the 1970s: The 70s. . .the thing I always say that the best thing about the 70s is that we lived through them, because a lot of people didn’t, in one way or another. Single mothers who just faded out of sight, and you never saw them again. . .

172

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

People who didn’t come back from the war in Vietnam, the people who came back in body bags. It was a time when all the illusions and idealism of the 60s came crashing down around our ears. . . . And there was a great desire to drop out, there was a great desire to drop under all of these hard things that were happening and find a pastoral, find peace, find nature, find some sort of strata that was responsive and supportive. We all wanted to drop out to West Virginia.  .  .  . It was just the milieu of the place. We all wanted to drop out. And I did, when the opportunity came. . . . When the opportunity presented itself, I was actually very well-supported by my generation, and the times, and our desires. A shared sense of context that was articulated by the attendees of the courses at Sherborne House continued with the attendees of courses at Claymont Court. In many of the responses in interviews and in questionnaires, former students reflected upon the both the experiences and the influences which led them to Claymont. There was a mood, an environment during this time that led or inspired many to search for new ways of being. The accounts of respondents varied as to the approach, whether driven by logic, emotion, or the perception of divine inspiration or influence—but each reflected a deep and driving need for radical change in their lives. In an interview with Deborah, she reflected how, even from a young age, she had studied diverse works from different traditions, including Christianity, the I Ching, and psychology, including Freud and Jung. Eventually she enrolled at the University of California at Santa Cruz in California. While living in California, she recalls: I was at an arts school in Porter College. So it was at that time that I discovered, I was introduced to Gurdjieff, although I would run into Gurdjieff books at the esoteric book section in whatever bookstore I was in. And they were intriguing to me, especially Meetings with Remarkable Men. Meetings, as we have seen, portrayed the seeker and the demands of the search, as well as the references to Sufis and the secret brotherhoods of Central Asia. A sense of a journey, and the culmination of a search, was often expressed by those who found their way to the courses at Claymont. Concerning the events that led up to her application to the course at Claymont, Deborah explained how she had had several significant events that led to her eventual enrollment in the course. Reflecting many of the experiences and inclinations of the time, these experiences included a dream, an experience while taking LSD, and a rather dramatic illness: . . .And in January of that year there was this rampant German measles epidemic going throughout the dorms. . . .And I got it. And I couldn’t leave my room

Gurdjieff, American Style: Sherborne House and Claymont Court

173

for three days. . . . So I was sort of stuck in my room, really sick. And I had a really good friend who also shared my interest in spirituality, esoterica, and the arts basically. And he had given me a copy of Bennett’s book. You know, Bennett died in December 74 – this book was given to me right at that time, November, December 74. And it was Witness. . . .I had this book so I might as well read it. . . . And something happened to me when I read this book. I remember it exactly. I put the book back on my desk and this voice came to me and said, “This book has changed your life.” And it did, actually. That’s when I said, wow, okay, I better join a group. And then I read the other Ouspenskys and Gurdjieffs. . . .So I joined this group in Santa Cruz. It was part of, it wasn’t an official group. It was some branch of some old Gurdjieff group. It was run by this woman. It had some old Sherborne graduates in it. It was an odd group, but we did movements. The series of group meetings taking place in California eventually led the budding seeker to a meeting at the house of Robert de Ropp (1913–87), a biochemist, and former student of Ouspensky, who also authored a work influenced by Gurdjieff’s ideas which, in part, correlated the experience of psychedelics with spiritual experiences and states. She reports on the group that she had joined to study Gurdjieff’s ideas, and a meeting that took place at Robert de Ropp’s home: And then my sophomore year I moved to a house, the group house. So we had meetings there and group [meetings] there. At one point we went up to Robert de Ropp’s house on the coast. . . and his house was magnificent. . . .So the person at this meeting in de Ropp’s living room, I can’t remember his name. . . He was from Sherborne and he was an older gentleman. . . .And he talked about the new school in the U.S., which was Claymont. And I just got chills. I had to go. I had no choice. And it was so clear to me that that’s all I wanted to do. . . .’ Lilly, a native of South Dakota who had made her way to Washington, D.C. after college reported: One day, I was in my group house in Washington. And there was a friend of the house who came to visit. . . And she said, there’s a class, a course starting in Gurdjieff, and you should go. . . .So, I took it. And, I started going to . . . groups. . . .And, I didn’t look back. I mean, I knew it was where I needed be. I went to Claymont, this was in February of 1975. It was the first work weekend, and it was shortly after Bennett had bought the place. . . .I missed the double road going up to the mansion. And I looked up to my right, and the sun was just setting. . .and all of the windows in the mansion were on fire. And, out of me emerged this thought. . . I might have said it aloud. . . “I’m home.”

174

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

While some were inspired by visions, dreams, and coincidences, others respon­ ded to a call for practicality in the search that Gurdjieff and Ouspensky insisted was essential in the path. Many reported feeling a sense of “at-homeness” in their encounters, both with the teachings of Gurdjieff and Sufism. The courses at Claymont, like at Sherborne, served as a liminal space in which participants who otherwise did not find themselves connected to the broader culture of the United States, found a place where they could comfortably explore and study the teachings and practices of the esoteric teachings, of not just Gurdjieff, but the religious and spiritual traditions of the East and Middle East. The comments from Connie, a former student from the Midwestern United States who is now a nurse practitioner and health educator, demonstrates the shift in the cultural context taking place in which Gurdjieff and, frequently, Middle Eastern Culture—and Sufism—were linked. Living in New York in the early 1970s, she heard about Gurdjieff from a colleague who was involved in the “world of Middle Eastern music and dance”: I was 19  years old and seeking for deeper meaning in my life, beyond the world of Broadway theatre and dance that I was primed to do since my childhood in Toledo, Ohio. [A group of friends of the person who first introduced me to Gurdjieff] were all involved in the world of Middle Eastern dance and music; in particular belly dancing, and Armenian, Greek, Israeli, Moroccan, Persian, and Turkish music that was happening in the coffee house and club scenes in the West Village – like Café Feenjon and the Olive Tree. Many of [his] circle spoke of the teachings of Gurdjieff and his writings. Connie became determined to find out more about Gurdjieff and encountered her first group in New York with students who had recently returned from the courses at Sherborne House. Not long after, she started working with another group connected to Irmis Popoff, a student chiefly of Ouspensky, who also collaborated later with Bennett. Here she had the occasion to meet J. G. Bennett: While I was at Mrs Popoff’s, I was invited to sit at the table after serving lunch to Mr. Bennett during his last visit to her about a month before he died. I listened as he spoke of “the zikker” and remembrance of oneself. I had never heard that term “zikker” before and it intrigued me. I asked Andrea, my group leader what it meant. She told me I would find out when the time was right for me to find out. Shortly after I moved to Memphis I was drawn to a book in the library by A. J. Arberry called “The Persian Sufis.” In it I found a chapter on “The Zikr” and it spoke of “remembrance”. I read it and copied the words “la illaha ill’allah” into my journal and began to recite them inwardly and out loud every day. I understood them to mean “there is no god but GOD.” It was the

Gurdjieff, American Style: Sherborne House and Claymont Court

175

first book I had read about Sufism, or about Sufis, except for Meetings with Remarkable Men. It opened up my inner eye and stirred something deeper in my heart. I began listening to a lot of Middle Eastern music from various countries and traditions, was learning about modern and traditional classical Middle Eastern belly dance, and was auditing a class in Arabic at Memphis State University so I could learn to read, speak, pray and sing in Arabic. Something was guiding my spirit and I responded. I was fascinated, and it all felt very familiar – like a homecoming. Connie’s comments exhibit the connection made between zikr and Gurdjieff’s practice of self-remembering—a frequent observation. The mention made by Bennett on this meeting eventually led her to make a connection with A. J. Arberry’s work on Sufism. Collectively, the world of Middle Eastern culture, Sufism, and Gurdjieff, especially through the meeting with Bennett, became intertwined. Though unable to attend one of the courses at Sherborne, she did eventually attend the third course at Claymont. During the second wave of Sufism in America, the publication of many works on Sufism was increasing, as were works on other Eastern traditions, especially Buddhism, and Zen. While more scholarly works from R. A. Nicholson and A. J. Arberry were available, works that were perceived as more “accessible” and “authentic” were more commonly referenced. Academically informed, though presented for a more general audience, Jacob Needleman’s first edition of The New Religions, published in  1970, includes a brief background entry on the traditions of the East in which Hinduism, Buddhism, and Sufism are presented. Perhaps most popular among the works devoted to Sufism in print was Idries Shah’s The Sufis, and his versions of the “Mulla Nasruddin” stories. As confirmed by Marcia Hermansen in “Hybrid Identity Formations in Muslim America,” Shah’s The Sufis is one of the most often cited works that interested Americans in Sufism (2000). As Barry, another student of the fifth course, remarked, “I first came across the Work in 1972. A psychology professor I had introduced me. Through him I first became involved in a Work group.” He also made a connection early on with Gurdjieff and Sufism: While I was reading and studying Work related materials I began to realize Gurdjieff had to have gotten his material from other sources and I began to search. I came across Idries Shah’s book the The Sufis and I was off and running. I had the sense this was where my spiritual home was. Another interviewee from the Dominican Republic, and the fifth course, Otelo had discovered a Gurdjieff-type group in Toronto, Canada while attending college there. The leader of his group suggested that the group members read Idries Shah’s The Sufis. He read The Sufis, but eventually found the “Mullah

176

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

Nasruddin” stories collected by Shah to be more meaningful. As Bennett had indicated in Witness, those that were drawn to the courses at Sherborne tended to be college students or “hippy types.” A similar trend continued with those who were attracted to Claymont Court. Searching later in the 1970s in California, another person I interviewed, Dimitri, found works on Sufism and Gurdjieff that had been appearing more frequently in bookshops. After a few years of searching while in college, investigating various Gurdjieff groups such as and including those associated with E. J. Gold5, he came across a booklet announcing the course at Claymont: I had been reading some J. G. Bennett in this whole process. And this booklet about the basic course kind of hit all the right notes without hitting the sour notes. It was like “Okay, they are there. They’ve got a farm. They are going for it.” Just the tone seemed this kind of open, respectful. I didn’t feel like I was gonna get involved with any shady characters somehow. So what I did was I graduated from Davis. You know, I graduated broke. So I worked for about two years in Davis. Then I went off to the Basic Course. Books alone were not sufficient for those who desired real change. Ouspensky’s The Psychology of Man’s Possible Evolution, for example, is insistent that the majority of people need a “school” in order to make real progress. Most interviewees and respondents reported that they were driven by an inner questioning and a yearning for something greater than themselves, though they were not always able to articulate it. Several reported feeling a sense of belonging. Claymont offered practical instruction in the Fourth Way teachings with experienced leaders -- many felt called and applied for the course. In early 1975, having been unoccupied for several years, the property at Claymont Court was in rather coarse shape and “Work Weekends” were instituted to prepare the buildings on the property for the first course to begin in the fall of 1975. The mansion needed repair, and the “Great Barn,” as it was known, was to be transformed into living space, including dorm rooms, and attendant rooms for meditation. The Octagon, a large space which had functioned as a show barn on the Funkhauser estate, was to be renovated with a wooden floor and turned into a hall for Gurdjieff’s movements. Aspiring students were required to write a letter of application, be free of obligations for nine to ten months, and be willing to pay the tuition up front. Aiding Elliot were teachers who had worked with Bennett, and a number of graduates from the Sherborne courses. In addition to the “hard training in order to change,” that was required for the course, the physical condition of the estate added another degree of difficulty. Despite the challenges, the conditions were created for the American iteration of Bennett’s “spiritual boot camp.” Woody Woodraska, an attendee on the fifth course, who has published part of his memoirs online, writes about the structure of the course and the facilities at Claymont:

Gurdjieff, American Style: Sherborne House and Claymont Court

177

In the nine-month Basic Course 100 of us students lived, with quite a few other people, in a single long, low building with dorms and private rooms, communal bathrooms, meditation room, theater for sacred gymnastics, dining room for 120, and a commercial-scale kitchen. Everybody was expected to do everything: cooking for the whole group, baking 24 loaves of bread at a time, stoking the boiler, gardening, animal tending, child care. (Woodraska) Deborah, the student from California that I interviewed, reflected on the physical conditions at Claymont and the particular challenges for women: We didn’t have showers for the whole time until the last two weeks. We didn’t have bathroom stalls in the ladies room. I mean you’re taking a dump next to somebody else. Or barfing. I mean, it was, boy, you are down to raw. We didn’t even have coffee on my course. . . .Those of us who were used to fabulous coffee bars and cappuccinos in Santa Cruz and the Bay area . . . oh my God, weak black tea. Oh man, no bathroom stalls, limited hot water I think, and two bath tubs for forty women . . . and a bidet. We had no showers but we had a bidet. And thank God for that thing because it did the job for we gals. Most of the students who were accepted on the courses did take a very big leap of faith, sacrificing their ordinary lives for nine months and, for many, most, if not all, of their material possessions. There in rural West Virginia, they encountered conditions that were far from the routinized, middle class way of life that many had been accustomed to. However, with a willingness to explore the unknown, they went inspired by or, in some cases, driven by sheer determination to embrace the possibilities of “super-efforts” and “higher powers” that Ouspensky and Bennett’s works referred to. While some had heard of Sufism in conjunction with Gurdjieff, or the dervishes of Beelzebub’s Tales to His Grandson, or read about the mystical Sufi teachers and teachings of Idries Shah’s work, many had never been exposed to Sufism as they would be on the courses. Inevitably, embodied Sufism, approached through rituals and in direct contact with living teachers, brought the participants into, using the formulation of anthropologist Victor Turner, the “formative and transformative” dynamics of lived experience, in the liminal space created at Claymont. While the courses at Claymont were dominated by the introduction of inner work, which included active, inner morning exercises, akin to meditation, work with “themes” meant to engage with one’s inner state while involved in external activities; and the work with the Gurdjieff movements, a comple­ mentary set of practices, were introduced from the Sufi tradition in the form of zikr practices, and for some, the Sema ceremony, or, in some cases, parts of it. As William, an American graduate of one of the Sherborne courses who

178

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

went on to teach movements on the courses at Claymont, remarked in an interview: I would say that, aside from the Gurdjieff work, the Sufi influence was definitely the largest. Now, there might be other people who would be on the same course, you would ask them questions and they would be, without a doubt, it was the meditation – it was the work of Bhante and the color [meditation]. . . . But to me it was so clearly Sufism. I had such a strong connection with the Mevlevi experience. I had seen them before. I went. I’ve seen them several times since and during their different tours here. I got to work to them, which was completely unexpected. While the practices from Hasan Şuşud, particularly the zikr that he introduced at Sherborne continued to be introduced in the course curriculum, and visits from other teachers and traditions continued, one of the most prominent and sustained connections with Sufism came through the influence of Süyleman Loras. Süyleman Loras (1908–85), most often referred to as Süyleman Dede (meaning “grandfather,” in Turkish—given as a title this connotes a deputy position in the Mevlevi order), was a Mevlevi Shaykh from Konya, Turkey. According to a history recorded by Ibrahim Gamard, Loras had grown up near the tomb of Rumi and joined the order when he was eighteen years old. He worked in the kitchen for twenty-three years, and was eventually made a Dede. He began to make visits to the U.S. as early as 1976, initially through the invitation of Reshad Feild, a non-Muslim Sufi teacher (Gamard 2009). Although his position of authority has been disputed by some, who argue that the authentic position of leader is held by the familial lineage of the Chelebi family6, many regarded Loras as an authority, not only by position, but by his presence. Loras visited Claymont for the first time during the first course, in the spring of 1976, and made visits on other later courses. From each of the interviewees and respondents that I heard from, Loras made an indelible, even profound, impression on students. One respondent who attended the first course remembers an early visit by Dede to Claymont in the spring of 1976. She recalls that the group did a movements demonstration that was done in his presence, adding that she had the feeling that Loras had the capacity to “read” the movements—that is, to interpret their sacred symbology, despite their failure to perform them precisely. A potentially more transformative event for future courses took place when Pierre Elliot traveled to Turkey and visited Süleyman Loras. Reportedly, on this visit, Elliot was made a shaykh of the order by Loras. A former student of one of the courses at Sherborne, Jacob, also remarked upon the noticeable transformation of Pierre Elliot’s state at the time, “Pierre Elliot, Elizabeth Bennett, John Bennett’s wife, John Wilkinson—the three of them went to Konya to meet Süyleman Dede by themselves. They all came back very moved—Pierre came back transformed and moved.” In a response to a

Gurdjieff, American Style: Sherborne House and Claymont Court

179

question about the prominence of Sufism on the second course at Claymont, a former student responded, The second course at Claymont was one of the years that [Süyleman] Dede did not come. We had Bawa [Muhaiyaddeen], we had Muzaffer Ozak, which is another story; we had other Work people, one of Gurdjieff’s daughters came. Dr.  Edith Wallace came . . . It seems like there was always somebody of note ­visiting throughout that time. But Pierre went to Turkey. Vivien Elliot taught us Turkish. Only I never really learned it very well. That was part one of our things. . . . Pierre went to Istanbul and to Konya during the course. And I’m quite sure, and this comes back quite often for me, that he came back differently. Something happened to him during that time. When he was gone, Mick Sutton, who was a wonderfully crazy man, led the whole deal. And he led a zikr that was honestly probably too much at the time. I mean I had these experiences at Claymont that I’m still, you know, coming back to. . . . And I think that was the design of what’s supposed to happen. . . . Pierre came back and . . . he was opened, somehow, in a slightly different way. We all noticed it. He was softer and he wept easily. And, you know, I never formally learned the turn [Sema] and I never formally did the turn. Partly, because we didn’t do the formal turn that year. That was one year when it didn’t happen. We did an informal turn, which I loved. So, the Mevlevi tradition was definitely present. Especially for that second part of the course from January 15th to the end of the course, June 15th. There was definitely an influence. Things sort of lightened up. I mean we did all sorts of zikrs and stuff. I was never sure which tradition we were working with. It’s dangerous to think about it today. In the model of J. G. Bennett’s schools at Sherborne House, and under the direction of Pierre Elliot, the basic courses at Claymont Court introduced hundreds of new students to the teachings and practices of Gurdjieff and a diverse array of other traditions. Also a strong presence, teachers from other traditions and approaches were invited to give programs, talks, and to introduce the practices or methods of spiritual transformation. These included Buddhist teachers such as Bhante Dharmawara and Sogyal Rinpoche; teachers from the Sufi tradition, such as Muzaffer Ozak and Süleyman Dede; and those who worked in the psychology of transformation, such as Edith Wallace (1909–2004), who had studied with C. G. Jung and J. G. Bennett. While some attendees were drawn mainly to the teachings of Gurdjieff, or to other traditions such as Buddhism, many found the strongest connection with Sufism and the Sufi teachers who visited the courses. Of all the courses run at Claymont, perhaps the most strongly impacted course with regard to the introduction of the practices and rituals of Sufism, and the presence of Sufi teachers, was the fifth course which ran from 1979–80.

180

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

The Fifth Basic Course: 1979–80 Possibly the high water mark of the interaction and engagement between the teachings of Gurdjieff and Sufism took place during the fifth course at Claymont, which ran from the fall of 1979 through the spring of 1980. For this course, Süyleman Loras sent his then twenty-nine year old son, Jelaluddin Loras, to both learn about the practices of Gurdjieff and Bennett and, in particular, to introduce the Sema, or the turning ceremony of the Mevlevi order, to the members of the course and to the residential community at Claymont. It was during this course that there was also a particularly strong influence and collaboration of other Sufi teachers. Muzaffer Ozak (1916–85), shaykh of Istanbul’s Helveti-Jerrahi order, visited Claymont with a group of his own dervishes which resulted in reports of very powerful experiences for students—some even joining the order formally after leaving Claymont. Students on this course also took trips to Philadelphia to meet Bawa Muhaiyaddeen (d. 1986), a Sri Lankan Sufi teacher, who had come to the U.S. in  1971. What is remarkable about this particular time and place seems to have been both the intensity of the course and the potency of the influence and connection with Sufism and living Sufi teachers, especially those from Turkey. While most attendees on the course, like the ones already introduced, were motivated by the connections with Gurdjieff and Bennett, or had read their writings, or encountered students of previous courses at either Sherborne or Claymont, a number of students enrolled in the course specifically to be introduced to the Sema ceremony of the Mevlevi with Jelaluddin Loras. Süleyman Loras, who had, as noted earlier, already visited the United States and Canada, including Claymont, brought his son Jelaluddin Loras in 1979. In an interview I conducted with Jelaluddin Loras, he reports that he had been in Hawaii early in the year and had been introducing some of the practices related to the performance of the Mevlevi Sema. His father asked him to come to Claymont and participate in the course and to instruct the students in  all aspects of the Sema ceremony. Many of the Hawaii-based students Jelaluddin Loras had been working with wished to continue the training and agreed to come on the course at Claymont. I interviewed several students from the fifth course, from both those interested in the work of Gurdjieff or Bennett, and some who came explicitly to study the turning ceremony with Loras. While some of the Mevlevioriented students reportedly resisted the requirements of the course, rooted as it was in the Gurdjieff-Bennett line of practices, others embraced them. Of those that had come to the course strictly because of their interest in Gurdjieff, many report that they were transformed by the experiences that they had on the course and the impact continues to reverberate into the present.

Gurdjieff, American Style: Sherborne House and Claymont Court

181

The elements of the discourse that developed at Claymont between the Gurdjieff teaching and the Mevlevi order may be found in writings, as well as oral references, and also in the dialogue of ideas, and exchange of practices— all of which are undergirded by a specific discipline and focus on spiritual transformation. Course participants were engaged in the regular schedule of activities that had been followed on previous courses, and which had been instituted at Sherborne house. This included regular “morning exercise,” a guided inner attention exercise—with a return to them throughout the day. Participants also participated in the Gurdjieff movements, readings of selections from Gurdjieff or Bennett, talks, as well as practical work sessions. From the Mevlevi tradition, which Jelaluddin Loras was responsible for introducing, all of the components of the Sema ceremony were taught. As a part of this, for example, Jelaluddin asked all semazens, or participants in the Sema, to learn the Sura al-Fatiha, the opening verses of the Qur’an. The two approaches were brought together as a part of the regular, daily practices and approaches. Shekina Reinhertz’s Women Called to the Path of Rumi (2001) also addresses, from the perspective of the women of the Mevlevi Order of America, some aspects of this early period of Süyleman Loras’ visits to North America, and the introduction of the first full Sema ceremony in North America at Claymont Court. In the description of some vignettes from Claymont, some of the people she interviews describe the interactions that took place on the fifth course. In the recording of an interview with Karima, a current member of the Mevlevi Order of America who had first been a student of Gurdjieff’s ideas and practices, some of the language of Gurdjieff is used to connect and describe her experiences. Karima remarked that they were led through a process that allowed them to progress in their personal development: It was a calculated experience, directed to guide us through that process. We had been working for some months in the Gurdjieff tradition as well as learning the turn and zikr. At that point, there hadn’t been any significant opening of my heart, although I had been at the Gurdjieff work since I was seventeen. . . . I was accustomed to this serious, “workface,” disciplined way, steeped in the intellectual approach to the readings and the Gurdjieff sacred dance. (Reinhertz 2001, p. 68). Before coming on the fifth course, Karima had trained in the Gurdjieff work in Massachusetts with students from the courses at Sherborne and so had facility with the language and practices of Gurdjieff. This language also informed her concept, and even experience, of the Sema ceremony. In a description of the meaning of the Sema ceremony she invokes the language of Gurdjieff from Beelzebub’s Tales: “The word legominism means ‘a symbol that contains a teaching’; in and of itself the symbol reveals what it symbolizes. The Sema is a legominism

182

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

for those who have the eyes to see” (74). Karima’s articulation of her experience of the Mevlevi Sema employs Gurdjieff’s modern language about the transmission of spiritual teachings from one generation to the next. Karima also makes another point that is frequently found concerning “the Gurdjieff Work” and its emphasis on the intellectual dimension to the detriment of the feelings, or “the heart”—which is so emphasized in, especially the presentation of Sufism in Rumi’s poetry and in the contemporary Mevlevi tradition. Reinhertz reports on another member of the Hawaii branch of the Mevlevi Order of America, who attended the fifth course at Claymont, in a description of Süyleman Loras’ attitude toward her approach to the “path of Mevlana”: Dede never told me what to do. He would make suggestions and I knew that whatever I chose would be okay. He said things like, “It would be nice if you wanted to be a Muslim.” Or, “If you want to, it might be nice to go to Claymont” (Reinhertz, p. 77). Süleyman Loras has frequently been criticized by other representatives of the Sufi tradition for not requiring his Western pupils to become a Muslim. This participant’s comments suggest that Loras did not require conversion to Islam to participate in the Sema ceremony or the practice of zikr. In an interview that I conducted with Jelaluddin Loras, he suggested that his father’s approach, the same one that he has adopted himself, was to emphasize openness and openheartedness and thus, to allow students to become a Mevlevi first and then choose for themselves whether or not they become a Muslim. The same student above that Reinhertz interviewed, also spoke about the conditions at the course in Claymont: At Claymont we studied Gurdjieff and Bennett. There were eighty people on this course. In a converted barn, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week for almost a year, we lived and worked with people we had never seen before; people from all over the world. We studied the Gurdjieff movements, which are absolutely amazing to do, and very magical. (ibid: p. 77) She also spoke about the differences between the two groups that were brought together on the course, noting the attitude of seriousness of the Gurdjiefforiented people on the course. She then reports: Then along come forty ecstatic Mevlevis from Hawaii who are staying up late, drinking coffee and breaking every rule in sight. Jelal was teaching the turn to the people who were interested—a real crossing of lines between who was a resident and who was a student. There were some difficulties at times, which gave us a wonderful opportunity to work on ourselves. For me that was the point of it all. (ibid:).

Gurdjieff, American Style: Sherborne House and Claymont Court

183

While many on the courses experienced the exchange with Süleyman and Jelaluddin Loras as part of an introduction to a personally meaningful connection with Sufi practices and ideas, others saw the courses, and Claymont itself, as a means for introducing and for allowing the classical Mevlevi tradition to take root in the United States. Perhaps most indicative and even symbolic of the views of the connections between Gurdjieff and Sufism, is a letter dated 2 October 1979 from Süyleman Loras to Pierre Elliot, the Claymont Community, and his son Jelaluddin, written shortly after the beginning of the fifth course. This letter is itself an interesting element in the particular discourse about Gurdjieff and Sufism at Claymont Court and it continues to be circulated privately, though portions of it have been posted on the “Gurdjieff-Dominican” website. In an English translation that continues to accompany the privately circulated letter, Süyleman Loras refers to Gurdjieff and Bennett as “Saint Gurdjieff and Saint Bennett.” A more accurate translation of the letter might not employ the laudatory title of “saint” to Gurdjieff, but rather, “highly respected”—perhaps a minimal difference, although, in this latter version, Gurdjieff and Bennett are not regarded in the same way. In the circulated translation, Loras goes on to say that they, Gurdjieff and Bennett, would, “rejoice because . . . Shaykh Pierre Elliot is bringing the way of Mevlana together with the path of Mr. Gurdjieff and Bennett. Allah wishes that these paths should always be together, and I hope that it will be so.” Many have taken this last sentence as an indication of the compatibility of the Gurdjieff work and the Mevlevi tradition that both Loras and his son introduced at Claymont Court. These last lines, however, would be more accurately translated in the following way: And at the same time, I always pray for brother Pierre Elliot who leads the Mevlevi order tariqat. I always pray and invoke his name to God Almighty, for the practice and revival of the Mevlevi tariqats at the Claymont school. Praise be to God. (Loras 1979) While many have been inspired by the implications of the line, “Allah wishes that these paths should always be together . . . ,” the alternative is perhaps more indicative, particularly in light of the belief that several students that I interviewed expressed, that Loras believed that Claymont Court could serve as a place for the revival of the Mevlevi order in the United States. Also of note in the letter is the recognition of Pierre Elliot as a leader of the Mevlevi order. An American graduate that I interviewed, Jacob, who assisted in running the practical side of the courses at Claymont and was responsible for arranging visas and other travel matters, including the arrangements for Süleyman Loras, reported: And we brought Süyleman Dede over here and his son came, young ­Jelaluddin. And our charge was that Dede wanted us to put him ­[Jelaluddin]

184

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

through our course and watch over him. And Dede wanted to root the Mevlevi tradition in North America through us. And, this is interesting because we are not Islamic, we are not of any religion. We are kind of ­unaffiliated, which is what a lot of people who came here really liked about this place. All kinds of people: Jewish mystics, Christians, the Tibetan Buddhists. All kinds of people. They just liked that. We were right from the Fourth Way. We were genuine in our search and we were open. We didn’t have any religious bias either pro or con. But Dede spent a fair amount of time here and was an enormous influence. And Jelaluddin, his son, lived here and taught us the Sema. We put on the Sema with Dede standing on the post and Pierre ­assisting him. Jacob emphasized the role that Süleyman Loras took, taking the “post,” or the position of the shaykh, in the Sema ceremony. Pierre Elliot aided him, as did Jelaluddin Loras. In another interview with Lilly, a graduate of the first course at Claymont, she elaborated further on how she saw and felt about, the role of “the Work” and its relation to the Mevlevi tradition: When I was on course, Süleyman Dede came. So, the experience of the course is a merging of the two for me. I see it as one and the same . . . . I see that the Mevlevi tradition is a tradition of great value to the human race. . . . the Work, when it sees something of value, that is in danger or in jeopardy, uses that force and that power of the masculine – the Work – to protect and to further and to bring through the gems . . . the gold, the spiritual ways that cannot perish, and must not perish, they must continue to exist. And, so, the Work is like an umbrella that makes a safe place. Maybe it is in the “movements,” maybe what can be saved is a dance, an understanding of wisdom in motion. Maybe it’s a community, maybe it’s a living path that can be saved. . . . People are formed and moved toward perfection so that they can link with spiritual ideas, people and communities, so that they can embrace those, like a boat with its cargo. And, you can’t step in the same river twice. . . So, the form is the past – but this action of the work in the world is ongoing and its always different, it’s always new . . . . Beyond just bringing Süleyman or Jelaluddin Loras to America, some felt that the role of “the Work”—in a larger sense than just the specific teachings and iteration of “the Gurdjieff Work”—played a greater role in the protection and transmission of the teachings of the Mevlevi traditions to the West. While for many the confluence of the Mevlevi tradition on the fifth course at Claymont was transformative, the visit by members of the Helveti-Jerrahi order, led by Muzaffer Ozak, also had a significant impact. In Lifting the Boundaries: Muzaffer Efendi and the Transmission of Sufism to the West, Gregory Blann reports on his own experience when Muzaffer and his entourage visited Claymont. He reports:

Gurdjieff, American Style: Sherborne House and Claymont Court

185

Efendi was received with great respect as one might honor a padishah from the old world; yet he immediately put everyone at ease with his down-to-earth sense of humor. Muzaffer Efendi’s son and wife, Junayd and Baji Sultan, had also accompanied him on this trip as well as several dozen male and female disciples from Istanbul. Blann writes that they gathered for a sumptuous meal of Turkish foods and delicacies, which was followed by coffee, cigarettes and the evening prayer. Following the prayers everyone gathered to see a demonstration of the Gurdjieff movements presented by the members of the Claymont community. Following the presentation, and a break, Blann records that everyone from the Claymont community joined for a zikr ceremony with Muzaffer Ozak and his group of dervishes, . . . replete with a Mevlevi dervish turning in the center of the circle. This dervish was Jelaluddin Loras, the son of the sheikh of Konya, who attended Claymont for the course that year. . . . . During the standing zhikr, three or four rows of men moved clockwise in concentric circles around Efendi and his musicians, while the women, in accordance with Turkish custom, made standing zhikr in rows next to the men. The zhikr lasted several hours but seemed far too short. (66) Connie, the nurse who first encountered Gurdjieff and the world of MiddleEastern dance and music in New York, reported in the questionnaire, her experiences with the Sufi teachers who visited during her course at Claymont: In  1978, while I was a student at Claymont, I met Sheikh Süleyman Dede of the Mevlevi Order of dervishes and Sheikh Muzaffer Ozak, my beloved Efendi, of the Helveti-Jerrahi Order of dervishes. As part of the Course experience, we were initiated into the practices of making zikru’llah under the loving and powerful guidance of these two brilliant teachers who brought traditional Sufi practices and teachings of the Islamic East to the West and into the eager hearts of sincere young seekers. How fortunate we were to be so blessed with such a rich tradition transmitted directly from the recognized lineage holders. In some ways prepared by the readings and encounters had before the courses, many of the attendees reported that they made a far deeper and more transformative connection with the Sufi practices and teachers that they encountered while on the courses. Connie eventually went on to join the Helveti-Jerrahi order after she left Claymont, and continues to draw on the practical experiences provided on the course at Claymont through the teachings and practices of Gurdjieff.7

186

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

Following the fifth course, the basic format and structure of the courses provided by the Gurdjieff-Bennett approach continued, as did the introduction of Sufi practices. While the emphasis on the practices of Sufism did not change dramatically, the spirit and flavor that was brought by Süleyman and Jelaluddin Loras, Muzaffer Ozak, and the connections made with Bawa Muhaiyaddeen’s community in Philadelphia continued to have an impact. As the courses continued, Sufi practices, including zikr, continued to be introduced as a regular part of the curriculum, and were held in special regard and introduced sometimes only after months of preparation. I asked a student, Dimitri, from the eighth basic course, about the presentation of Sufi ideas or practices on the course: Oh, yeah. That was presented, [but] it wasn’t presented very early. The feeling that I have is that it was something that we built up to and it was after the group had been working together. . . . I’m thinking maybe halfway through the course we did our first zikr together. Before that time we probably had been doing some of the dervish movements. And some of them might have zikr vocalizations in them, I don’t really recall. But I do know there was a kind of a build up to the first zikr. Oh, we’re gonna have our first zikr on Friday. It was something that had to be taken very carefully and very seriously. “It’s gonna be a sacred event/treat to come to zikr.” We were taught about ablutions and showed up to have zikr. . . . The first time or two that we did it Pierre led the zikr . . . and it wasn’t something that happened very frequently. Even after halfway through it was something we would do maybe once a month or so. It was always this sense of “This is something particularly special.” In addition to the regard that was accorded to the zikr practice, Dimitri also noted the importance ascribed to lineage in the transmission of the zikr: . . . the people who showed these zikrs took care to mention who taught them the zikr and who gave them permission to share the zikr. So that kind of added to this mystique, that you don’t just willy-nilly go off and zikr. You zikr when you have legitimate permission, and basically that is this lineage . . . . That’s something that through the years has sort of fallen away. I don’t hear people talk that way anymore, even though it still might be present. Somehow it’s not held up as a badge of authenticity the way those folks at Claymont were doing. In retrospect one could say . . . you can take that two different ways, the advertising of the lineage. On the one hand, it’s saying “This is the real shit. It’s authentic. We’ve got it from a Turkish guy.” It’s like you’re hearing this legitimate transmission source. In the courses at Claymont there continued the exercise of introducing the practice of remembrance, or zikr—and it was presented as a special exercise,

Gurdjieff, American Style: Sherborne House and Claymont Court

187

done only after some period of preparation. More regularly, however, students were introduced, as had been done at Sherborne House, to Gurdjieff’s movements, which included “dervish movements.” Also initiated by Bennett, was the practice of the “ruku,” a ritual half-bow, done three times at the conclusion of the inner, but active, exercise done each morning. However, in contrast to the approach taken at Sherborne, the ritual prayers of Islam were not introduced or practiced—at least not collectively. However, some reported that individuals in the community may have maintained the prayers as a practice. Additionally, there was no recognition given to Islamic holy days at Claymont, such as the Laylat al Qadar, or Night of Power, that one participant on a course at Sherborne House had reported. In order to gain some further perspective on the experience of teachings and practices connected to Sufism in the context of the instruction at Claymont, I inquired through questionnaires and interviews about the connections or core ideas that former students found in common in their experience with Gurdjieff and, broadly speaking, Sufism. One respondent to the questionnaire, Anthony, an attendee of the fifth Claymont course wrote: It wasn’t until completing the course that I realized the importance of intention in applying yourself to whatever “path” I happen to be on. It was not just about getting a “buzz” from whatever practice you were doing. In fact searching for the “buzz” seemed to be a trap many got caught in. As Pierre Elliot once told us, it is when a practice is no longer “exciting” is when the real work and potential for growth come. I can say I have benefited from both type of instruction and feel that what I partook of at Claymont gave me many tools to apply to the work I am doing and have been doing since leaving Claymont. Sobriety in one’s spiritual work is what seems to ring true for me. Another respondent to the questionnaire who participated in the fifth course, Howard, writes: I find overlap between the Malamati Way of Blame and Gurdjieff’s “work on oneself”; and between the general Sufi (and specifically Mevlevi) practice of polishing one’s heart and G.’s idea of sacrificing our suffering to become free of useless negativity. Some of the dances G. taught also clearly at least draw from Sufism, and one seems to have been taken whole from a particular North African Sufi order. Wesley, another graduate of a Claymont course who went on to work with Llewellyn Vaughan-Lee—a Naqshbandi Sufi and student of British Sufi teacher, Irina Tweedie—now considers himself a Christian–Sufi. In response to the same question from the questionnaire about the connections between Gurdjieff’s

188

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

approach and Sufism, he framed his answer broadly; suggesting that Gurdjieff’s work (“the G. Work”) and Sufism share corresponding elements with other traditions as well: Obviously, all spiritual paths share many common or corresponding elements, and those exist between the G. Work and Sufism in the same way they exist between Sufism and Tibetan Buddhism, or what you will: ideas such as the spiritual teacher, developmental stages, subtle worlds, an ultimate reality, etc. But aside from the link between self-remembering and zikr, and the Sufi source of some Gurdjieff movements and music, there is less in common than I had anticipated. I expected to find in Sufism the key source for G’s teachings, but it isn’t there. J. G. Bennett thought the Sarmoung Brotherhood pointed to Bahauddin Naqshband, but I have become convinced that the key origin of G’s teachings was a Gnostic Christian source. I have never seen this stated in print (although G. said his teachings were esoteric Christianity), but have strong bases for this conclusion. Connie, the graduate of the third course who went on to join the Helveti-Jerrahi order, and who continues to find a core alignment with both Christianity and Islam, wrote: I consider myself a Moslem Christian Sufi, if I dare describe myself that way, a quiet dervish on the path of Divine Remembrance. The Islam I practice is hidden and private. It is between myself and Allah. I am so joyful to pray, work and be amongst other Moslems and other Gurdjieffians when I am in community with my brothers and sisters. In the questionnaire, I also asked “Are there key/core ideas or practices that you find lacking in one path, but present, or important for you, in the other?” Anthony, who initially began with a Gurdjieff group in the early 1970s, and who now self-identifies as a Sufi, remarked: One thing that I found in the 4th Way work was a lack of connection with the notion of the Divine in many cases. When one takes for instance the famous Gurdjieff phrase “Man cannot do” and puts it before people without a certain maturity it can become very unsettling and can cause some major psychological problems. If on the other hand a person has some sort of spiritual connection with the Divine there is perhaps a different approach one could take to “digesting” the phrase. Howard, who continues to cultivate connections with the Gurdjieff practices, but who is also a member of the Mevlevi Order of America, wrote:

Gurdjieff, American Style: Sherborne House and Claymont Court

189

Gurdjieff’s use of “sensation” as he defined it is lacking from what I know of Sufism, as is the rest of his teaching about different energies and their use in accelerated transformation. However Gurdjieff’s tradition, as transmitted to me at least, lacks Sufism’s clarity about the critical importance of freeing oneself of negative emotion. It is clear in Gurdjieff’s teaching but not in the practice as I received it. Wesley emphasized the suitability of the Gurdjieff approach for a Western audience. In describing its advantages, he articulated several points of Gurdjieff’s methods on a psychological level: The Gurdjieff Work, at its best, is simple, practical, and westernized. This makes it accessible to many westerners without regard to religious feelings, as ideas and practices such as multiple I’s, self-observing, non-habitual behavior, movements, can be practiced and experienced from near the conditions of ordinary life and seem scientific and reasonable (multiple I’s is a concept subsequently found in Psychosynthesis, Voice Dialog, etc.). Its ultimate goal is described as the development of will, which involves developing unity. In emphasizing the differences of the Sufi approach from Gurdjieff, as they have experienced it, Wesley followed up in his response on the questionnaire by remarking, “The Sufi path is focused on a personal relationship with God through Love and longing, invocation of God (zikr), self-sacrifice and surrender, annihilation (fana) and abiding in God (baqa). Its goal therefore is union, not unity.” Connie emphasized the correspondences between “the Gurdjieff Work,” and the Helveti-Jerrahi and Mevlevi orders—seeing them in the frame of the larger “Work”: For me personally, I feel blessed to be a participant in the Work in whatever form I am participating and to be spiritually connected with the lineage (silsila) transmissions of the Helveti-Jerrahi and Mevlevi traditions. I am aware of a finer substance that exists and nourishes and sustains me when I reach within my being to activate it. It comes online, like a light switch being turned on, as soon as I turn it on through self-remembrance. It fills my being and I AM alive and resilient. I pray as a Moslem, as a true believer. I recite the fatiha and other suras for those who may not have anyone else to pray for them. I pray for fallen Moslems, and fallen humans, whether they are Moslem or not. I pray for humanity and serve humanity as a healer and self care health educator as I was inspired and guided by my sheikh. [. . .] I have learned to live in this world, but not of it. While I am here, I am dedicated and devoted to serve God, humanity,

190

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

myself through the Great Work for the sake of BEING. This is what I have learned and this is what stays with me to nourish my essence and soul. As is evident in the comments of past participants on the courses at Claymont, the “formative and transformative” dynamics of lived experience, of not just the teachings but the practices of Gurdjieff and Sufism, transformed their sense of spirituality and religion. In particular, students often commented on the sense of the shared discipline found in “the Gurdjieff Work” and Sufi practice. Additionally there was often what might be described as a more sober approach to Sufism at Claymont, supported and even made possible by the focus in the Gurdjieff teachings on work with attention, discipline, and the set of practices reflected by the notion of “conscious labor and intentional suffering.” Though Sufi teachings were not the only practices and traditions introduced at Claymont, the practices were felt to have, as many students suggested, a particular resonance with the practices of Gurdjieff and Bennett. Many students went on to join other paths, traditions, or religions, while others continue to find a core connection to the practices and teachings of Gurdjieff. In sum, these experiences continued in oftentimes more personal and private ways than public, to expand and contribute to the continuing discourse about Gurdjieff and Sufism. What has been presented is a largely positive view of the exchanges that took place at Claymont Court representing, perhaps in part, the self-selection of the respondents who continue to identify and find meaningful the connections made there. However, the discourse on Gurdjieff and Sufism as it relates to Claymont Court also has its detractors and critics. Ibrahim Gamard—an American Sufi and shaykh in the Mevlevi order—and others, have criticized the approach that Süleyman Loras took while he was visiting North America in, for instance, allowing non-Muslims to be introduced to the sacred practices of the Mevlevi and, even more, for initiating non-Muslims, such as Pierre Elliot, to be Mevlevi shaykhs. Tosun Bayrak, the current shaykh of the Helveti-Jerrahi order located at Spring Valley, New York, who was also involved in the Gurdjieff Work for eighteen years, recalled in a personal communication, the visit of the Hevleti-Jerrahi order to Claymont, where he also served as translator. He states that Süleyman Loras was present when he visited and that he was “disenchanted” during his visit to Claymont and that there was not much actual communication. Similarly, he diminishes the importance of the visit to Claymont by Muzaffer Ozak and the members of the Helveti-Jerrahi order, which, he adds, was only for a couple of hours. When Muzaffer Ozak learned of the connections that Bayrak and others had with the Gurdjieff teachings, he asked them to leave the Gurdjieff Work. Nonetheless, Ozak seemed to acknowledge the value of the training he had received studying Gurdjieff’s practices and teachings, when he made Bayrak a shaykh after being a dervish for only a few years. On this topic, Bayrak reports that Ozak said, “. . . you have to go to a lower school before you

Gurdjieff, American Style: Sherborne House and Claymont Court

191

go to high school.” Bayrak also recalls that Muzaffer Ozak described Bennett’s work as something like a beautiful sailboat, with everything in perfect order, but that it has no rudder (Bayrak 2011). The reports of Ozak’s comments from Bayrak also reflect the views of several people that I interviewed, who held that the Gurdjieff Work was a good preparation for becoming a Sufi, whether in the manner of joining a group like the Mevlevi Order of America, or a more traditional tariqa such as the Helveti-Jerrahi order. While Bennett attempted to make comprehensible the teachings of Gurdjieff for a wider audience, and to reconcile his work with the orthodox forms and representatives of recognizable religious and spiritual traditions, his approach put him at odds with much of the more orthodox contingents that formed after Gurdjieff’s death. From more orthodox Gurdjieffians, there have been many critiques leveled against Bennett and consequently, the approach taken at Sherborne and Claymont Court. With Bennett in particular, the accusation that has been most often forwarded, is that he “mixed” the teachings of Gurdjieff with other paths.8 Kathryn Hulme reportedly wrote a letter to Solita Solano in which she referred to the “bastardization of ‘G’s sacred dances’ by Bennett, and his ten-month teaching and sending out graduates to teach the dances”9 (in Taylor, 2004 p. 224). The framing of “collaborations or ­confluences” with other traditions which the present study has taken up, would be considered then by some to be a negative—perhaps an example of the further dilution of Gurdjieff’s teachings. Perhaps the strongest criticisms have come from the organizations connected to the Gurdjieff Foundation and take the form of rejections of Bennett and those connected with his work or, more simply, omissions of any reference to Bennett’s work or its relevance in America.10,11 Many have likely taken their cue from Jeanne de Salzmann’s rejection of Bennett that took place as early as October 1955, which Bennett mentions in his autobiography, Witness. About this break with Salzmann, Bennett notes, “From that time forth, no member of her groups was permitted to take any part in the work at Coombe Springs, and no member of my groups was allowed to attend classes held under her direction” (316). Reportedly some groups and individuals connected with the Gurdjieff Foundation continued to maintain this separation and would not allow anyone to join who had worked in Bennett groups or attended courses at Sherborne or Claymont Court. Though, over the years there have been notable exceptions when, for instance, Pierre Elliot and select Claymont students met with representatives of the Gurdjieff Foundation in New York and were allowed to study the Gurdjieff movements. More recently, there have been a number of graduates, including one that I interviewed who went on the fifth course, who have participated in groups connected with the Gurdjieff Foundation. In important ways, these sets of comments also form part of the continuation of Gurdjieff’s discourse, which has been taken up, interpreted, and reinterpreted by a number of seekers, interlocutors, and ­critics.

192

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

The Conclusion of the Basic Course at Claymont As it became more difficult to take time off from the world for such a long period and perhaps because of the increase in the number of spiritual teachings and teachers in the U.S. in the 1980s, the later courses at Claymont ran for only three to four months. Pierre Elliot vacated his position as Director of Studies in 1987 and left to retire in southern France at Rivauguier, a small wine estate, where he continued to invite people to work with him until late in life.12 Following the departure of Pierre Elliot in  1987, Claymont Court continued to offer seminars and “Work Events” related to the teachings of Gurdjieff and Bennett, but no longer did they offer the intensive “basic course.”13 Since the early period of collaboration with Sufi teachers, among others, at Claymont Court in the 1970s and 1980s, it is possible to see the direct influence of Süleyman Loras’ initiatory work and approach, take fruit in a variety of locales in North America. At Claymont Court itself, GurdjieffBennett and Sufi events, as well as independent retreats or seminars connected to Sufism continued. Visitors over the years have included Kabir Helminski, Llewelleyn Vaughan-Lee, as well as members of the Naqshbandi-Haqqani order who visited the members of the community in 1994. Additionally, from 2007 to 2009, three retreats with the Mevlevi Order of America took place (these will be discussed in the next chapter). However, the self-sufficient, psycho-kinetic community that Bennett had envisioned in “A Call for a New Society” has never been fully realized. Ben Hitchner, an American graduate of Sherborne, in an article on “The Bennett Legacy” published in Impressions, a journal produced at Claymont, remarks: A Bennettian Version of the Gurdjieff work was transferred to the United States. Most of the students who took the Sherborne Courses were American. The Claymont Society for Continuous Education, Inc. was founded and is the organization that congealed the Bennett School. Claymont Court is the place that organized the Bennett School as its residential courses kept the Bennett legacy alive by transmitting it to a larger number of people. (p. 24) In light of the problems Claymont has faced, including the end of the basic courses, the diminished number of residents, and the overall attraction of largely urbanites who have not readily taken to the support of an agriculturebased community, Hitchner adds, “Probably, Bennett would be disappointed in what Claymont has become” (Hitchner, p. 24). Nonetheless, the activities, interactions, and collaborations that “congealed” at Sherborne House and Claymont Court, particularly in the 1970s and into the early 1980s, both contributed to and, perhaps more importantly, reflect critical elements in the discourse about contemporary spirituality in America.

Gurdjieff, American Style: Sherborne House and Claymont Court

193

The discourses on both Gurdjieff and Sufism in America expanded in a number of decisive and more public ways during the 1970s. The popularity of Sufi mystical spirituality expanded through, for example, the increasingly popular gatherings of Sufi dancing—particularly on the West Coast of the United States—that had been started by Samuel Lewis, or “Sufi Sam,” who was introduced to Sufism during the First Wave of Sufism in America under Hazrat Inayat Khan. Other centers had been initiated by Reshad Feild, in Boulder and California. During this period, in second wave Sufism, new centers were initiated, such as the Bawa Muhaiyaddeen Fellowship in Philadelphia and a residential community, the Abode of the Message, was also begun by Pir Vilayat Khan, Inayat Khan’s son, in upstate New York on the grounds of an old Shaker village in New Lebanon. Claymont Court, however, remained distinctive among many of the spiritual communities initiated around this time for the introduction of intensive courses of training meant to produce candidates for the residential community. Another distinctive feature of Claymont was a more sober, rather than ecstatic, approach to Sufism and the Sufi teachings which was made possible in large part through the intersection with Gurdjieff’s disciplined modes of “work on oneself” and made more accessible through the writings and work of Bennett, and immediately accessible with Pierre Elliot as director of the courses. Though Sufi teachings were not the only practices and traditions introduced at Claymont, the Sufi teachings, as many students that I interviewed suggested, had a particular resonance with the practices of Gurdjieff and Bennett. Building on the model of Sherborne House established by J. G. Bennett in England, The Claymont Society for Continuous Education provided a unique context for the exchange and sharing of spiritual practice and experiences, and the continuing elaboration of the discourse on and about Sufism in the United States. While collaboration with Sufi teachers and the cultivation of Sufi practices had begun at Sherborne House, the manifestation of the teachings, and its particular form and flavor was further informed and shaped by the unique confluence of events during this second wave of Sufism in the United States. In the context of the United States in the 1970s, a new set of collaborations and connections was made possible or inspired by the connections with Sufi teachers Süleyman and Jelaluddin Loras, Muzaffer Ozak, and Bawa Muhaiyaddeen. The conditions at Claymont Court, in many respects, allowed for the creation of a transitional, liminal space in which individuals were given the opportunity to work with a number of teachers, tools, and disciplines outside of the institutionalized forms of religious and spiritual practice then available. For many individuals the experiences at Claymont also served as a rite of passage. In this exchange of lived practices and experience, participants often assigned more value to engagement and embodiment than to texts and interpretation. The focus on lived experience, discipline, and transformation also enabled for many, a means for developing more meaningful and more

194

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

long-lasting connections and ties with the practices of Gurdjieff and Bennett, or with other traditions, such as the Sufi traditions encountered on the course. In this second wave, the approach at Claymont Court—with its focus on discipline and “work on oneself ”—can be distinguished from much of the Sufism introduced in the context of the New Age in America, which is often accompanied by an inchoate notion of the mystical. Returning to Paul Heelas’ notion of Gurdjieff as “context setter” for later movements, the context of Claymont Court served, in America, to allow the further embrace of Sufism on the grounds of a specific set of disciplines, and the rigor of inner, as well as outer, work. The spiritual discourse of the Sufi teachers and the traditions they represent, especially as seen in the case of the exchanges with Jelaluddin Loras and Süleyman Loras, maintained the adaptive, boundary-crossing, and hybrid features that have contributed to the continuing influence of Sufism in the United States.

Chapter 5

Gurdjieff and the Continuing Influence of Sufism in America

. . . I had no desire to offend them and to incur their wrath; furthermore, I was always profoundly aware that to outrage anybody’s religious feeling is contrary to all morality, so, when existing among them, I always tried to do as they did, in order not to be conspicuous and attract their attention. Beelzebub to his grandson, Hassein, in “Beelzebub’s Third Flight to the Earth” (Gurdjieff, 1950, p. 224) Divine Service and the act of worship are the means by which man can be connected with guidance and higher sources of energy. . . . It is hoped that the experience that has been gained over the years will contribute to the revitalizing of religion. J. G. Bennett from “A Call for a New Society” (1979a)

Perhaps no figure has had more influence on the popular reception of the thirteenth century Sufi poet, Rumi, in the United States in recent decades, than Coleman Barks. Although some have critiqued his work for infidelity to the original, Barks’ versions of Rumi’s poetry, drawing upon the work of early twentieth century translators such as R. A. Nicholson and A. J. Arberry, and with the aid of John Moyne, have gained increasing popularity since the 1980s in a variety of popular and personal circles.1 In some respects, parallel to the influence of Idries Shah upon readers interested in Sufism in the late 1960s and 1970s, the versions of Rumi’s work by Barks are often the first introduction to a Sufi author. Barks’ versions of Rumi in “American free verse” reflect a particular style and approach found among contemporary American spiritualities. Barks himself is also a product of this broader discourse of Sufism in America. Influenced by the second wave of Sufism in the United States, Barks was a student of Bawa Muhaiyaddeen, the Sri Lankan Sufi teacher who spent the last years of his life in Philadelphia, and he attributes his understanding of the inner teachings of Rumi to his experiences with Muhaiyaddeen.2 In the 2010 collection of revised versions of his work, Rumi: The Big Red Book, Barks makes a comment in an endnote about a broader, more inclusive view of

196

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

the message of Rumi. About the poem he entitled, “as long as my soul is in this body . . .”, he notes that he does not see it as a “claim that Islam has an exclusive truth. Rumi is honoring the presence of Mohammed and the truth of the Qur’an” (2010a, p. 486). Citing other poems from Rumi, he continues: “I would claim that there are many other passages that show how he and Shams honor the living, gnostic, experiential truth of every unique life, and that core of longing that is beyond doctrine and religion . . .” (ibid: p. 486). Barks then goes on to remark upon his identification with those that present a broad view of religion, spirituality, and truth: I would align myself with Dag Hammarskjold (1905–1961), U.N. SecretaryGeneral and Nobel Prize winner, who quoted Rumi . . . as representing the world-embracing tolerance we need, and with the many others over the last one hundred years, who hear in Rumi a Universalist way beyond churches and religions, including Gurdjieff, Joseph Campbell, Eric Fromm, MeherBaba, Hasan Shushud, Sam Lewis, Pir Vilayat Khan, Reshad Feild, Idries Shah, Hamid Karzai, and wonderfully, Barack Obama. (ibid: pp. 486–7) Of particular note is the inclusion of Gurdjieff’s name, first among a list of teachers who Barks identifies as promoting “a world-embracing tolerance.”3 Barks himself, a key arbiter of Sufism in popular discourse, aligns his view with a range of contemporary figures and teachers who seem to offer a more universal approach, not just to Islam or Sufism, but to religion and spirituality in general as a way of healing and peace. Although the reference to Gurdjieff is more allusive than substantive, it nonetheless suggests a certain cache, or perhaps even the commonness, that Gurdjieff’s name has acquired among contemporary spiritual discourses. Perhaps one of the more remarkable developments in the creation of the wider discourse about Gurdjieff and Sufism has been the exchange, support, and sharing of teachings, practices, and ideas between those connected with Gurdjieff, or his teachings, and a number of Sufi adherents, teachers, and orders. Gisela Webb’s model of the three waves of the introduction of Sufism again provides a useful framework for the discussion of Gurdjieff and Sufism in America. Following the first wave of teachers in the early twentieth century, lead early on by Hazrat Inayat Khan, the second wave identifies and includes the proliferation of Sufi teachers, authors, books, seminars and retreats that took place mainly in the 1960s and 1970s. Webb writes that some of the groups that flowered during this period “used ‘Sufism’ to designate a universal teaching that transcended, and need not be tied to, institutional Islamic religious doctrine and practice” (Webb 1994 p. 88). The majority of the discussion of Gurdjieff’s legacy and Sufism in America fits into this category—and the most frequent critiques of the discourse about Gurdjieff and Sufism in the United States focus on this point. Webb also notes a growth during this period in studies

Gurdjieff and the Continuing Influence of Sufism in America

197

of comparative religion promoted by the works of Mircea Eliade, Huston Smith, Seyyed Hossein Nasr and others. Webb includes in her discussion of second wave Sufism the Sufi orders that originated in the Islamic world and were then “transplanted in the American milieu,” such as the Helveti-Jerrahi order from Turkey (ibid: p. 89). Third wave Sufism includes the continuation and develop­ ment of groups and movements that were initiated during second wave and additionally includes the populations of immigrants coming to the United States who continue to introduce and adapt Sufism in a Western context. Webb also notes that many of these immigrant groups have had to address the issues of survival and globalization. In her 2000 article, “Hybrid Identity Formations in Muslim America,” Marcia Hermansen presents an overview of the variety and types of Sufi movements and orders in the United States. Although the importance of Sufism has been overlooked in studies of Islam in the United States, Hermansen argues that it remains an important area whose influence is increasing. She includes in her study, without engaging in a debate about the authenticity of specific individuals or groups, a number of figures and groups that have contributed to the influence of Sufism in the United States. With regard to the importance of Gurdjieff, or those influenced by him, Hermansen makes few references.4 Although significant strides have been made in the studies of Islam and Sufism in the United States in the decade since the publication of her work, her principle evaluation of the situation remains valid. While more recent academic studies in Western Esotericism have made the importance of Gurdjieff more apparent, the study of Sufism in America is also an important arena of intersection and engagement. This chapter addresses some select elements of the Sufi movements or teachers that intersected or overlapped with the “Gurdjieff tradition” in the context of second wave Sufism, but which have continued in a variety of ways into the third wave of Sufism in the United States. At the outset, as with the larger discourse on Gurdjieff, it is important to recognize the impossibility of addressing all connections. Here I attempt to provide a cross-section of the many points of contact and intersection in order to present a picture of the more prominent and continuing connections that have been made between those influenced by the teachings and practices of Gurdjieff and J. G. Bennett, and those who represent Sufism in the United States. In order to link some of the connections made in the prior chapter, I first discuss Reshad Feild who, chiefly during the second wave of Sufism, played a significant role in introducing North Americans to Sufism and to Rumi. Feild, who began with a Gurdjieff group in London, eventually came to North America and set up Sufi groups in a variety of cities. He was also instrumental in bringing Süleyman Loras, the Turkish Mevlevi teacher, to the United States in the 1970s. I then turn to a discussion of two authors, Ibrahim Gamard and Yannis Toussulis, who refute and attempt to complicate the importance of the connections between Gurdjieff and Sufism that have taken place in the United States. I next consider Murat

198

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

Yagan, who has made reference to Gurdjieff in his presentation of Sufism, and Kabir Helminski, who has been directly influenced by the Gurdjieff teachings, and also makes reference to them in his early work. I then continue the discussion of Claymont Court begun in the previous chapter, and consider some of the events that have occurred there in the years since the end of the formal basic courses which were held until the late 1980s. Though continuing as a community based on the Gurdjieff-Bennett teachings, there has been an ongoing cultivation of relationships with Sufism and Sufi teachers in the context of Claymont Court including the Naqshbandi-Haqqani and the Mevlevi Order of America led by Jelaluddin Loras. I also include in the discussion observations made while attending two Mevlevi Order of America retreats as a participant-observer, one at Claymont Court in 2009, and another outside of Mt. Vernon, Washington in the summer of 2010. While drawing chiefly on published writings, I also draw upon correspondences, as well as interviews and  questionnaires that I conducted with several people affiliated with Sufi teachings or orders in North America. The aim of this last chapter is not simply to show or demonstrate the influence of Gurdjieff and his ideas, but to analyze and assess the specific discourse on and about Sufism in the context of contemporary spiritual and religious teachings in the United States and to highlight some of the adaptive, boundary-crossing, and hybrid features that have led to the development and continuing influence of Sufism in America.

Reshad Feild and the Mevlevi in the West Reshad (Richard Timothy) Feild both responded to and embodied the changes taking place in the popular cultural movements and matrices of the late 1960s and 1970s in England and America and, importantly, he had contact and experience with a number of figures and movements related to both Gurdjieff and Sufism throughout his own search. A graduate of Eton school for boys, he served in the Navy and, in the early 1960s, he performed with the British folk  music trio, The Springfields. Feild studied the ideas of Gurdjieff and Ouspensky and also worked at one point in a restaurant in London owned by Gurdjieff’s niece, Luba Gurdjieff.5 He eventually became a member of the Sufi  Order International and was made a shaykh in the order by the son of Inayat Khan, Pir Vilayat Khan, another important figure in second wave Sufism.  It was during this period that he took the name Reshad. During his early search, Feild met and worked with a Turkish Sufi teacher named Bülent Rauf, traveled to Turkey and there met Süleyman Loras in Konya, Turkey at the tomb of Rumi in 1971. As noted in the previous chapter, following his trip to Turkey, Feild was instrumental in setting up the first Beshara School at Swyre Farm in Gloucestershire, England down the road from J. G. Bennett’s school at Sherborne House. Initiated by Bülent Rauf, the Beshara School was set up as a

Gurdjieff and the Continuing Influence of Sufism in America

199

non-Islamic school of Sufism, drawing largely on the writings and ideas of Ibn al-Arabi. Reshad Feild’s work and writings became part of the shared discourse on Sufism and Sufi teachers in the United States during the 1970s and 1980s. Reflecting the mode and mood of American spirituality in the 1970s, Feild’s experiences with Rauf, and the first meetings with Süleyman Loras, are semimythically recorded in The Last Barrier: A Journey into the Essence of Sufi Teachings (1976/1993), which became a popular introduction and guidebook to popular Sufi spirituality when it was published in 1976. Dimitri an attendee at a course at Claymont Court that I interviewed, for example, had come across The Last Barrier, among other works by Gurdjieff, Ouspensky, Bennett and Idries Shah, before enrolling. Of particular note in certain of the accounts of Feild’s encounters with the character, Hamid (Bülent Rauf), is a language clearly drawn from or influenced by Gurdjieff. At least some of the language used in The Last Barrier would have been immediately recognizable by anyone who had studied Gurdjieff or Ouspensky. Bülent Rauf, referred to as “Hamid” in Feild’s narrative, provides teachings about the Sufi path: “Listen carefully”, he said, “and remember this – until you have a permanent “I” you will always be in danger of being led astray. When you learn to breathe in awareness, then there is a chance to come upon this inner being that is your real self.” (Feild 1976/1993, p. 40) During this period there was a significant exchange between Sufis, aspiring Sufis, and those who sought in Gurdjieff, or his works, the keys to solving the problems of the age. The language of awakening and transformation was at the center of much of the dialogue about the spiritual needs of the time. In another passage, Feild recalls Hamid schooling the attendees at a London dinner party: “Man is the transformer of subtle energies. The ‘Work’ that is our work on earth is the art of translating the point with no dimension into dimension for the reciprocal maintenance of the planet. . .” (ibid: p. 50). The reference to the “transformation of subtle energies,” and the notion of “reciprocal maintenance”—one of Gurdjieff’s key ideas in Beelzebub’s Tales to His Grandson, and much discussed by J. G. Bennett—here, in the mouth of the mysterious teacher Hamid, might have seemed like a confirmation of the connectedness of the two paths. Mirroring the concerns of the period, and largely in sync with Bennett’s rather dire predictions for the future, Feild also records a conversation with Hamid about the future: It may be possible, if enough spiritual work is done in time, for a major disaster to be avoided. I am not the judge. But the second cycle of mankind will come about and with it the reappearance of the Christ. .  .  . The New Age does not mean the formation of any new religion. .  .  . I am speaking of a completely new way of life, and it is those with knowledge of Unity who must forge the way now. (ibid: pp. 165–6)

200

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

Much of the language and the anticipation of a new age to come resonated with J. G. Bennett’s own notions about the current crisis in world affairs, and the dawning of a new, spiritual age. Gurdjieff’s language about “permanent I,” and “work on oneself,” continued to enter into the contemporary discourse on spirituality through works such as The Last Barrier. Feild began the institute at Beshara but he left his position and eventually traveled to the U.S. to support the introduction of Sufism in the United States. According to his biography, Feild was directed by Rauf to go to Vancouver, Canada, to set up a center of Sufi studies and he shortly set up schools in Los Angeles, Boulder, Colorado and Mexico (Chalice). Within these groups, he taught the Sema ceremony—or at least elements of the ceremony—and his students taught it to others. Feild eventually invited Süleyman Loras to come to the centers in the U.S. and Canada, and his arrival in the U.S. precipitated a number of important events and meetings with students and groups interested in Sufism. According to Ibrahim Gamard’s account, in anticipation of Loras’ first visit to the U.S., in the summer of 1976, Feild believed that he was to be initiated by Süleyman Loras as a Mevlevi Shaykh, and, more importantly, as his successor—at least until the time that his son, Jelaluddin Loras, could take his place. The encounters with Süleyman Loras were to be transformative for many who met and worked with him, and they left an indelible imprint on the infusion of Sufism in the United States. Feild also made important connections with others during this period who contributed to the ongoing discourse about Sufism and Gurdjieff including Murat  Yagan and Pierre Elliot. The arrival of Loras in the U.S. also led to an invitation from Pierre Elliot to come to Claymont Court in West Virginia. In a biography of Pierre Elliot, the Director of Studies at Claymont Court in West Virginia from 1975 to 1987, Hugh Elliot includes Reshad Feild among the four Sufi teachers that had an impact on Pierre Elliot’s work with the Claymont Society for Continuous Education. Although this initial reception was looked upon favorably, some have condemned the actions and approaches of Feild and Loras, particularly with regard to their approach to the foundational traditions of Islam.

Refutations of Gurdjieff and his Influence: Ibrahim Gamard and Yannis Toussulis Gurdjieff’s reception in the United States, particularly with regard to the associations with Sufism, has not been without controversy and dissent. In the present work it has not been possible to address the very wide range of connections that have been made between and about Gurdjieff and Sufism, much less Gurdjieff in general. Additionally, there have been a range of responses to the appearance of Süleyman Loras in North America. One strong critic of the connections that have been made between Gurdjieff and Sufism, particularly with the Mevlevi Order, is Ibrahim Gamard. Gamard is an

Gurdjieff and the Continuing Influence of Sufism in America

201

independent American scholar who began his work with Reshad Feild, and later worked with Süleyman Loras. According to his own biography, following this initial period of exposure through Feild and Loras, in 1984, he embraced the more traditional path of Islam and the Mevlevi order. In 2007, he was made a shaykh in the Mevlevi order by the head of the familial lineage holder of the Mevlevi tradition. Concerning the beginnings of his own path, he comments in a 2010 interview on being raised as a Christian: I was raised a Christian and my strongest belief was expressed by a quote from the Bible, where Jesus – peace be upon him – said, “O God, not my will be done, but your will be done.” So I was already a Muslim, but I didn’t know it. (Gamard 2010) He continues to describe how he was attracted to mysticism while in college, and eventually discovered Sufism. However, he notes, “At the time, however, I  didn’t understand that Sufism is the mystical dimension of Islam” (ibid). Gamard has written on the topic of Sufism, published works on Rumi, and has an extensive website with translations of Rumi and essays on a variety of topics related to Sufism and the Mevlevi order. Publicly, Gamard remains critical of the non-Islamic Sufism that is purveyed in the United States, and the “mildly Islamic” presentation of Rumi found in many versions and translations of his work. With regard to the versions of Rumi, Gamard takes issue, as have other commentators, with translators such as Coleman Barks who exclude some aspects of Rumi’s originally and forthrightly Islamic orientation to the world, God, and the expressions of spiritual transformation. He also takes up the issue of transmission of Sufism and Islam to new areas. In an interview published on semazen.net, Gamard compares the process of conversion to Islam that took place in Central Asia, Africa, and Indonesia to what is happening today in America. He states that popular forms of Sufism that were not strongly Islamic helped spread Islam until later, more traditional forms of Islam and “Islamic Sufism,” were introduced. He states that today Sufism is popular in the U.S. because many of the U.S.-based Sufi movements are only loosely attached to Islam: .  .  . there are popular Sufi movements in the U.S. that are attractive to ­Americans because they are only mildly Islamic. And this is a major ­reason why Rumi’s poetry is so popular, because it is presented in popularized ­versions, not faithful translations, in which Rumi is depicted as a mystic who is only slightly Islamic. (ibid) Despite the infidelities of certain translations and versions of Rumi, in another interview, Gamard comments on why he believes his poetry is so popular in the contemporary period: “many experience a spiritual emptiness from living in a

202

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

modern secular and materialistic culture, and so they feel very drawn to Mevlana’s teachings about spiritual love and mystical joy” (Gamard 2009b). As noted, Gamard himself was introduced to Sufism through Reshad Feild who taught a form of non-Islamic, universal Sufism in England, the United States, Canada and Mexico. He initially met and worked with Feild (referred to as “R” in his article) in Los Angeles, with an organization called the Institute for Conscious Life (2009a). He met Süleyman Loras when Feild invited him to come to North America in 1976. In preparation, Gamard studied Nicholson’s translations of Rumi. Loras made him a “semazen,” on this trip and he eventually went to Konya and visited the tomb of Rumi. Later, he reports, he taught himself Persian in order to read the Mathnawi in the original language (2009a). Although he found his way to the Mevlevi path through Feild, Gamard eventually rejected his approach—particularly the notion of a universal Sufism without Islam. Gamard also takes umbrage, however respectfully, with the fact that Süleyman Loras initiated several non-Muslims as well as the relationships he cultivated with those connected with the teachings of Gurdjieff. In “Leader of Mevlevis,” Gamard, in consultation with Faruk Chelebi Efendi, the present hereditary leader of the Mevlevi in Konya, addresses the position of Loras in the Mevlevi order. Here, despite statements to the contrary that are reproduced in, for example, a variety of internet articles, Gamard asserts that when Loras came to the West he was not the official “Shaykh of Konya.” He reports that although he was a shaykh, and he did live in Konya, he was not considered the head of the order there. Gamard also addresses Loras’ activities in the U.S. that resulted from Feild’s invitation in 1976: In hopes of spreading the Mevlevi way in the West, he felt inspired to initiate Westerners to the position of Mevlevi shaykh, even though most of them knew little about the Mevlevi tradition. However, he did not have the authority to do this (for only Jelaluddin Chelebi Efendi had this authority). Dede initiated over a dozen Westerners: these were individuals whose spiritual development impressed him. (Gamard 2009a) Suggesting that Loras was naïve in his approach to non-Muslims, he also takes issue with his authority. Nonetheless, he states that Loras would certainly have hoped that these initiates would eventually embrace Islam and commit themselves to the Mevlevi tradition, adding that he would be disappointed that they did not do so. Gamard also remarks that some non-Muslims that Loras initiated were connected “to esoteric-occult mysticism or to eclectic spirituality” (ibid)—likely a reference to Gurdjieff’s teachings and to those who were connected with Gurdjieff, such as Pierre Elliot. In another article entitled, “Why Gurdjieff’s “Fourth Way” Teachings are not compatible with the Mevlevi Sufi Way,” (Gamard 2005) he rebuts the connections that have been made between Sufism and Gurdjieff and his followers. Part of his critique is based on the

Gurdjieff and the Continuing Influence of Sufism in America

203

accusation that Gurdjieff’s teachings represent a form of Gnosticism that is contrary to orthodox religious teachings. In line with the charge of Gnosticism, he also critiques the practice of “self-remembering,” which has been suggested by others to parallel the Sufi practice of zikr. Gamard argues that this practice focuses on the individual and individual liberation, unlike the zikru ‘llâh, which emphasizes self-effacement (Gamard 2005). However, he does acknowledge the benefit of certain practices such as sensing the body, the development of “will power and concentration,” and the work against “mechanical habits.” Nonetheless, his purpose in writing is to present a warning to those who would mix the teachings of the Mevlevi path with other approaches, and to re-emphasize the point that “Sufism is Islamic Mysticism,” (ibid) as one of the headings of the article denotes. As a practitioner and independent scholar, Gamard emphasizes the dissimilarity and difference between Gurdjieff, the teachings of his followers, and Sufism and the Mevlevi order. Contributing to the wider discourse on Gurdjieff and Sufism, Gamard actively works to restore and reorient the elements of the Mevlevi path that were brought by Reshad Feild and Süleyman Loras to the United States in the 1970s, to their origins in Islam and a classical Sufism rooted in the Qur’an and the Prophet Muhammad. On his own website (dar-al-masnavi.org), where many of his articles and translations are published, Gamard has made an appeal to all of those that are either unaffiliated or who do not recognize the authority of the familial lineage of the Mevlevi tradition, currently headed by Faruk Hemden Chelebi, to come together in unity for the sake of the tradition. In Sufism and the Way of Blame: Hidden Sources of a Sacred Psychology (2011), Yannis Toussulis, a psychologist, teacher, and current head of the Center for Human Inquiry in Emeryville, California, provides a contextually informed critique and presentation of Sufism in the twentieth century with focus on the transmission of the tradition of the Malamati or the “Way of Blame.” Trained as a psychologist, Toussulis also presents himself as an insider to the tradition of Sufism and the Way of the Malamati. One of the more frequent assertions made about Gurdjieff and his approach to Sufism is that he is a representative of the Malamati or, at the least, his approach might be best thought of in terms of the Malamati.6 In addressing the context of the reception of the Way of Blame in the twentieth century, Toussulis examines the presentations of Sufism in popular culture, and in academia—with a focus on the perennialist school of authors such as S. H. Nasr—and in the work of Shah, Gurdjieff, Ouspensky and Bennett. He also includes references to the work of the Turkish teacher, Hasan Şuşud, who was affiliated with Bennett in the last years of his life. Two chapters of the work address the influence and role of Gurdjieff and Bennett in the reception of Sufism and the Malamati in the West. The earlier chapters serve as background material for the presentation of the history of the Way of Blame. The work also includes a presentation of “Twentieth-Century Representatives,” and Toussulis’s Turkish teacher, Mehmet Selim Öziç, as a representative of the Malamati

204

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

tradition. In the foreword to the work, Robert Abdul Hayy Darr indicates some of the influences dominant in the reception of Sufism in the West. Critiquing the mythos of the “Hidden Masters” that was frequently invoked in early presentations of teachings of the East—such as Blavatsky’s Mahatmas and Gurdjieff’s Sarmoung Brotherhood—he offers, “Perhaps they found it easier to establish their own authority by invoking the influence of remote superhuman ‘Himalayan masters’ and ‘hidden teachers’” (ibid p. xi). At the center of his concerns is the idea that “Such narratives left followers of these various fabrications vulnerable to all kinds of manipulation” (ibid p. xi). In the introduction to the work, Toussulis acknowledges some of the challenges when introducing the “multiplex phenomenon” of Sufism. He also notes, for example, the shared view of fundamentalists and secularists who suggest that “Sufism cannot coexist with Islam. . .” (ibid: p. xv). Emphasizing the importance of the relationship with Islam, he later points out that “Sufism may be a way of gnosis (or direct perception), but it is neither opposed to nor incidental to its host religion” (ibid: p. xvi). In order to situate the later discussion on the Way of Blame, Toussulis addresses in the first chapters, “The Sufi Mystique,” that is found both inside and outside of academia, as well as what he calls the “occultist approach” of Shah, Gurdjieff, and Bennett. Toussulis, like Gamard, critiques the plethora of “New Age” presentations of Sufism, particularly those found in the mass media and indicated by the popular translations of Rumi. Acknowledging the importance of translations from early translators like R. A. Nicholson, and more recent, faithful, but still accessible translations from Kabir Helminski, he also cites the popularity of versions by Coleman Barks and Robert Bly, and the versions by Deepak Chopra and Andrew Harvey. He notes that the “Rumi craze” resulted in a kind of spiritual consumerism: “In the process, the actual discipline of the Sufi path was utterly neglected, replaced by a more marketable ­sentimentality that fit New Age expectations” (ibid: p.4). In the third and fourth chapters, Toussulis takes up the cases of Gurdjieff, Bennett, and Shah. Shah, he offers, engaged in “a considerable amount of myth-making,” (ibid: p. xvi) and ­overemphasized the universal aspects of Sufism. Much of his critique of ­Gurdjieff rests upon the notion that Gurdjieff was influenced by theosophy and that the ideas of secret brotherhoods like the Sarmoung of Meetings with Remarkable Men is influenced by the romanticism of the nineteenth and early twentieth ­centuries. Though critiquing Meetings for the reflection of theosophical influence, he goes on to argue that “. . .Despite Gurdjieff’s vitalist, existential approach, remnants of idealistic Theosophy can still be found in the Gurdjieff method. These elements were largely grafted onto Gurdjieff’s system by P. D. Ouspensky” (ibid p.48). Toussulis’s comment here suggests that it was Gurdjieff’s student, ­Ouspensky, who was largely responsible for the overlay of theosophy in the ­presentation of Gurdjieff’s ideas, rather than Gurdjieff himself. In a review of ­Toussulis’s book, Joseph Azize has rightly argued that this constitutes a misreading of Ouspensky.7 Also, although ­Toussulis’s suggestion, that ­nineteenth ­century

Gurdjieff and the Continuing Influence of Sufism in America

205

thought had an influence upon Gurdjieff’s work, has some grounding, his ­analysis tends at several key points to collapse together the approaches of Gurdjieff, Bennett, and Shah—especially concerning their presentation of a hidden brotherhood. Toussulis also ­concludes that Gurdjieff made few original ­contributions. He then asks: If none of these developments or concepts was novel, what did Gurdjieff contribute to our knowledge of Sufi sacred psychology – if anything? Though Gurdjieff may have spent time among dervishes, it is highly unlikely that he functioned as their emissary, and his teaching is enshrouded in barely comprehensible works like Beelzebub’s Tales to his Grandson. (Toussulis 2011, p. 49) Toussulis goes on to suggest that the eclecticism of Gurdjieff’s approach could be attributed more to the culture of the Near East where he grew up than to Sufism (ibid: pp. 49–50). In a final assessment of Gurdjieff, Toussulis remarks: . . .it is safe to assume that whatever his merits or demerits, Gurdjieff was an influential spiritual innovator who synthesized various elements of Western, Near Eastern, and Far Eastern traditions. To give him credit, he also popularized the importance of bare attention and detached self-observation. The Gurdjieff method may have benefitted a number of serous seekers, yet, at the same time, we can deduce that Gurdjieff falsified his past and fictionalized his actual sources. (ibid: p. 51) Critiquing Gurdjieff for his failure to truthfully represent his past and the connections to authentic sources, Toussulis also adds that Gurdjieff’s system may, in the end, be simply indigestible for most. Although many have suggested that Gurdjieff’s reputed last words, “I’ve left you all in a fine mess!” were an indication of his sense of humor, Toussulis interprets this statement as an indication of Gurdjieff’s own acknowledgment of the confused situation he left for his followers. Toussulis’s work offers a nuanced presentation of Sufism as a “multiplex phenomenon,” allowing for a diversity of views and approaches to classical works and the development of Sufi orders in history as well as the contemporary world. His work also introduces valuable new material on the Way of Blame and a critique of Hasan Şuşud’s presentation of the Path of Absolute Liberation (Itlak Yolu) and its connections to the Malamati. Although Toussulis argues for a diversity of views of Sufism, he asserts that “occultists” such as Gurdjieff, Shah, and Bennett obscure and even subvert this vision of classical Sufism. Although beyond the scope of his work, or perhaps his interest, a more careful reading of Gurdjieff’s works could produce a more nuanced view of Gurdjieff’s use of the Sarmoung in Meetings with Remarkable Men, especially when compared to Blavatsky, or even to the theosophically influenced views of the hidden masters

206

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

that Ouspensky pursued. In light of the critiques of Gurdjieff and Sufism, it is worth noting again that neither Meetings nor Beelzebub’s Tales to His Grandson, attempt to pursue a Sufism that fits within the boundaries of the officially sanctioned discourses of Sufism or Islam. Nonetheless, giving shape to this larger discourse, some, such as J. G. Bennett, have attempted to restore Gurdjieff or his teachings to more official forms and genres of classical Sufism. Toussulis writes at one point that Gurdjieff was born Christian and died a Christian (not unlike Bennett), and, it can be added, Gurdjieff did not organize or leave a Sufi order, or suggest that his students join a Sufi order. Participating in the larger discourse about Sufism in the West, Toussulis and Gamard, as both scholars and participants, lay emphasis on the foundations of Sufism found in Islam and the classical orders of Sufism, over and against the more universalist positions found in popular, New Age, and Gurdjieffian discourses on Sufism.

Other Approaches: Murat Yagan and Kabir Helminski Murat Yagan is another figure who has had some influence and connection with the reception and purveyance of Sufism in the West—although in more inconspicuous ways. Yagan has had contact with, and influence upon, a number of individuals, including Reshad Feild, Süleyman Dede, and Kabir Helminski. Although he aligns himself with the tradition identified as Kebzeh—an ancient tradition of the elders of the Abkhazian region of the Caucasus—he continues to write about and make reference to Sufism and, to a more minor extent, Gurdjieff. Yagan grew up in Istanbul, Turkey and, according to his biography, his father was a Circassian nobleman, and his mother a Naqshbandi Sufi. As a young man he was trained by associates of his father in the traditions of Kebzeh, but left the training before it was complete. In his twenties he trained with the Bektashi dervishes in Turkey, and underwent the formal Bektashi chilleh, the forty day training done in seclusion. In 1963 he emigrated to Canada and since that time he has met or worked with a number of people connected to the continuing introduction of Sufism in the United States and Canada. In the 1970s, Yagan met Reshad Feild when he was establishing a Mevlevi group in Vancouver, Canada. As a result of Feild’s need for a translator of letters written by Süleyman Loras in an older form of Turkish, someone contacted Yagan. Meetings with Feild eventually led to Yagan’s meeting with Süleyman Loras about whom he writes, “He himself is a true dervish, a true mystic and not merely an orthodox religious person. In the correct grasp of the esoteric teaching, he is a Person” (1997, p. 153). In Living Presence, Kabir Helminski, who worked with him for five years, acknowledges Yagan for his “unique clarity and profoundly positive effect on my thinking” (1992, p. vii). Yagan’s autobiography was published in  1994 by Helminski’s publishing company, Threshold Books. This autobiography, I Come from behind Kaf Mountain, provides

Gurdjieff and the Continuing Influence of Sufism in America

207

a picture of his early training, his views of Kebzeh, Sufism, and of Christianity. The final chapter of his autobiography is solely devoted to the topic of Sufism. Yagan continues to write and publish primarily on the Kebzeh tradition, but his work also addresses Sufism, and mentions in a number of places the work of Gurdjieff, J. G. Bennett and others. Over the years, a number of people interested in the work of Gurdjieff have also sought Yagan’s counsel regarding his teachings. A Kebzeh group was even initiated by members of the larger community at Claymont Court in the 1990s. In Yagan’s 2009 work, The Essence of Sufism in the Light of Kebzeh, a collection of talks and writings edited by Ya’qub ibn Yusuf, he begins with an introduction to Sufism and a brief discussion of Gurdjieff: Of the various spiritual teachings that appeared in the West in the last century which might be associated with the name Sufism, it seems to me that the most interesting is the work of a certain man named Gurdjieff.... If you study the work of Gurdjieff you will see that he is connected with something that is never explained very clearly, which I will call “the Source.” (Yagan 2009 p. xix) He goes on to offer some praise for Gurdjieff’s work, but criticizes those who then taught Gurdjieff’s ideas, such as P. D. Ouspensky, and J. G. Bennett, who, he remarks, were not very influenced by Gurdjieff despite their statements to the contrary. He then continues by introducing another approach: There are some Sufi teachers in North America today who don’t come from Gurdjieff or from his interpreters, but who come more or less directly from the tariqats or “orders” of Islamic Sufism. Their teachings are often more understandable, and are also more religious-looking and more from the emotional realm. The variety of Sufi teachings is such that the seeker may easily become confused. (ibid: pp. xix–xx) Yagan suggests that there are two types of Sufism now introduced in the West. The first is the Sufism connected to Gurdjieff, and the other is the Sufism connected to the traditional tariqas. Following this introduction, he aligns his own presentation of Sufism with a universalist approach, taking the view that Sufism is a tradition beyond traditions going back beyond Abraham, Jesus, and Muhammad—going back 26,000 years. Central to his notion of Sufism is that it is a system of transformation and he teaches a form of what he describes as “essential Sufism.” Although he considers the Kebzeh tradition to be the principal source of his teachings—and the source of true Sufism—Yagan considers Jesus to be his guide and model, noting that “The truest and greatest Sufi who ever walked on the surface of the earth is Jesus” (ibid: p. 138). Yagan shares, in some respects, the attitude of Idries Shah toward religion. Yagan argues that the term Sufism appeared as the specific, universal approach to Sufism which began to “associate

208

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

itself with Islam” (ibid: p. 155). As a part of this process, the recognizable orders became institutionalized such as the Mevlevi, Naqshbandi and Helveti orders. Yagan then defines Sufism as “. . .a process of awakening and developing latent human powers under Divine Grace and guidance” (ibid: p. 155). Yagan, through his interactions and exchanges with figures such as Reshad Feild, Süleyman Loras, and his contacts with those interested in Gurdjieff, has served as another element in the matrical discourse about Gurdjieff and Sufism in North America. His influence can also be seen in popular culture, in Canadian singer Loreena McKennitt’s 1997 song, “Night Ride Across the Caucasus,” a song that was inspired by his biography.8 Yagan continues to be connected through his published works and his articulation of a universal Sufism, one that also includes his view of Gurdjieff as a teacher who had understood the tradition of “The Source”, (ibid: p. xix) one that for Yagan, was originally rooted in the Kebzeh tradition of the Caucasus. In terms of his views of Gurdjieff and Sufism, and their ultimate efficacy, in an interview I conducted with Yagan in 2010, he indicated that he no longer believed that anything substantial was attainable through either the traditional orders of Sufism, or the groups functioning under the name of Gurdjieff. Kabir Helminski has become, along with his wife Camille, one of the more prominent leaders of Sufism in the United States. Also figuring into his background and training, Helminski reports that he was in a Gurdjieff Foundation group for five years with William Segal,9 and spent another five years as a student of Murat Yagan. As a result of a 1980 meeting with Süleyman Loras, Helminski and his wife Camille were drawn to the Mevlevi tradition. Loras made Helminski a Shaykh in the order, but he later took a more orthodox approach when he was initiated in  1990 as a Mevlevi Shaykh by Celaleddin Chelebi, the familial lineage holder of the Mevlevi order in Turkey. The Helminskis have published a number of works on the spiritual path, and on Rumi in particular, while “working to apply traditional Mevlevi principles to the conditions of contemporary life” (“The Mevlevi Path”). As representatives of the Mevlevi tradition, they are also active in promoting interfaith dialogue in the U.S. and abroad. In Helminski’s earlier work, particularly in Living Presence (1992), he draws on his experience with the Gurdjieff Work, his work with Murat Yagan, as well as the connections to Süleyman Loras, Rumi, and the Mevlevi path. Here, Helminski speaks of the need in North America for a new form of education based on the soul or self: Education as it is currently understood, particularly in the West, ignores the human soul, or essential Self. This essential self is not some vague entity whose existence is a matter of speculation, but our fundamental “I,” which has been covered over by social conditioning and by the superficiality of our rational mind. In North America, we are in great need of a form of training that would contribute to the weakening of the essential Self. (Helminski 1992, p. 6)

Gurdjieff and the Continuing Influence of Sufism in America

209

Employing language from the Gurdjieff teachings, including the description of this spiritual discipline, “the Work,” Helminski develops a teaching primarily informed by the Mevlevi tradition. He mentions the Gurdjieff movements and refers to a number of other ideas, such as the “I” in, for example, the discussion above. Helminski shares many points of Bennett’s evaluation of contemporary culture and its need for spiritual transformation based, initially, on selfknowledge. He also refers to the notion of the Fourth Way of Gurdjieff and connects it with Islam and Sufism: The Fourth Way is a term introduced by G. I. Gurdjieff to be the spiritual path of someone who lives and works within society, in contrast to the way of the ascetic, the monk, and the yogi, who traditionally separate themselves from ordinary life. Increasingly in the West ordinary lay-people are undertaking the spiritual practices that were formerly the province of specialists. The Fourth Way, however, has been the primary way within the Islamic world for fourteen centuries. (ibid: p. 41) Helminski’s work sometimes figures into the discourse about Gurdjieff and Sufism in ways that may not have been anticipated. According to a Claymont community member, at a celebration of Gurdjieff’s birthday in 1993, Pierre Elliot was in attendance and recommended Helminski’s book to those present and read aloud the chapter titles, with the clear suggestion that they were reminders of the areas of real work. The connections, especially through the matrix formed out of the courses at Claymont, continue to manifest in other ways. Another person I interviewed in the summer of 2010, a graduate of a course at Claymont, who now has affiliations with the Helveti-Jerrahi order, but who also continues to lead Gurdjieff groups and movements classes, acknowledged the importance and continuing relevance of Helminski’s work. To that end, he recently used Helminski’s, Living Presence, as the key text in introducing the Gurdjieff Work to a group of new students. In terms of the continuing reception of J. G. Bennett’s work and presentation of Sufism and Gurdjieff, we find another connection with Helminski. For the 1995 reprint of Bennett’s The Masters of Wisdom, Helminski wrote an introduction in which he remarks upon Bennett’s presentation of the order of the Khwajagan and their methods of transformation: The reader will find in these final chapters an introduction to the principles and methods of one of the purest forms of Sufism, a purity that will help to reveal and distinguish an essential and vital spirituality from the many adulterations that result from the distortions of human egoism, the cult of exclusivity and power. (Bennett 1995, pp. 3–4)

210

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

Helminski goes on to remark upon what might be described as the openness of the Sufi orders: “Although the masters followed an orthodox Islamic practice themselves, they were unusually respectful of other spiritual traditions” (ibid p. 4). Helminski also makes a comment in this introduction about Bennett’s emphasis on the notion of spiritual transformation: “From Bennett’s point of view a true spirituality needs to be based in the idea of transformation, which he defines as ‘that which happens when a man attains to freedom from self and realizes the Truth’” (ibid: p.4). One finds in Helminski’s words, an affirmation of the openness and the sense of respect toward other traditions found in Sufism. This tendency, particularly as it has been manifested in the American context is something that was rather potently realized during the last decades of the twentieth century with figures such as Süleyman Loras, Muzaffer Ozak, and Bawa Muhaiyaddeen and, which continues to this day with figures such as Helminski himself, and, as was seen earlier, Jelaluddin Loras, head of the Mevlevi Order of America. From an early period, the Helminskis established a relationship with Turkish teacher Refik Algan, who also translated a book of poetry by Yunus Emre, published by Threshold Publications. In 1999 the Helminskis left Putney, Vermont to establish a center in California. After their departure, some of the remaining students continued to cultivate a relationship with Refik Algan, including members who had graduated from the courses at Claymont Court. Despite the influence of Gurdjieff noted in Living Presence, this text is perhaps best viewed as a transitional one. Since its publication, Helminski has increasingly embraced the traditions and practices of classical Sufism and Islam. His next work, Knowing Heart: A Sufi Path of Transformation (1999) has only very minor references to any terms or ideas that might be connected to Gurdjieff. With regard to religious orthodoxy in his organization, Helminski offers, but does not require, a commitment or conversion to Islam to work as a Sufi or to become a member of the Threshold Society. The Threshold Society website states that in joining the society one is encouraged to become familiar with and appreciate, “the sources and framework of the Sufi tradition, including the Qur’an and the sayings of the Prophet. It is not, however, required that a Mevlevi dervish embrace the religion of Islam in its outer, sociological form” (“Statement of Purpose”). Despite his embrace of Sufism and Islam, Helminski, in contrast with other public critics, continues to demonstrate a certain adab, or practice of courtesy, toward the Gurdjieff tradition and those who find a connection with it. In a personal e-mail, Helminski wrote: I acknowledge my debt to the practical value of what I received from the Gurdjieff teachings. Some who read Living Presence will notice many correspondences. There is also much more in that book – some of which I owe to my teacher for five years, Murat Yagan, and much owed to Mevlana. In a nutshell, despite the great and sincere efforts that people have given to “the Work,” (I was deeply involved with a Gurdjieff Foundation group for five years, and thereafter as

Gurdjieff and the Continuing Influence of Sufism in America

211

a reader of J. G. Bennett) is the primary focus on self and the lack of true worship, the failure to recognize our need for the One. I have witnessed the disillusionment of people who made “great efforts” for decades with various “exercises,” but somehow missed the big picture. This was their evaluation, not mine. I share this perception not to claim anything and not without respect, and I have an idea what the counter-arguments might be. Still, I say it. What I most respect about the best of the Gurdjieff approach, when it does not decline into the misuse of power, is its sobriety, its unwillingness to make much ado about little, in contrast to lesser teachings that claim enlightenment with little cooking. (2011b) Helminski articulates reservations about the means and efficacy of the Gurdjieff teachings, particularly with regard to the view and understanding of God, though his words express more concern than condemnation. Contributing, at least in part, to this process was an engagement with the Gurdjieff tradition, the conception of the balanced approach of the Fourth Way and the connected practices for “work on oneself.” Helminski’s work now goes beyond a universal conception of Sufism to emphasize its rootedness in the Qur’an and the traditions of the Prophet Muhammad. In an August 2011 Threshold Society newsletter, entitled “Custodians of Tradition,” Helminski speaks about the Threshold Society’s attempt to find an expression of the Mevlevi tradition “that fits the ecology of today’s world” (Helminski 2011a). He also adds, “We are quite conscious of the responsibility of being custodians of tradition, on the one hand, and formulators of something new, on the other.” In attempting to develop an approach to the Mevlevi tradition suitable for the contemporary context of North America, Kabir and Camille Helminski have increasingly become two of the more well-known and active figures in American Sufism.

Continuations at Claymont Court Although the basic courses at Claymont Court in West Virginia concluded in the 1980s, Claymont continued to be the site of significant exchanges with a number of teachers and groups representing a wide variety of spiritual traditions and practices. Coinciding with the end of the nine month basic course format at Claymont Court, the number of permanent residents at Claymont also dramatically decreased over the years. The uniqueness of the original plan that J. G. Bennett set out for Claymont Court is that long-term residents would attend a basic course as a preparation for community life, one based on spiritual principles and practice.10 With the end of the formal courses, the requirements for residency were eventually relaxed in the early 1990s. The Claymont Society did continue to operate a school for children for a number of years that was also open to

212

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

the public.11 While residents and a number of local members connected to The Claymont Society continued to work with Gurdjieff’s ideas and practices, the focus largely shifted to the maintenance of Claymont as a seminar facility, hosting a variety of groups, teachers, and teachings— reflecting Heelas’ notion of New Age “seminar spirituality”(Heelas 1996, p. 58). Much of the core community at Claymont, however, maintained a connection to Gurdjieff and, for a smaller number of them, to Sufism. Claymont has continued to offer instruction in the Fourth Way model of Gurdjieff and Bennett during “Work Weeks” or weekends. Regular visits from Sufi teachers, among others, also continued over the years—either as a part of the public seminar program, or to visit with the local community. Visits have included Sufi teachers such as Kabir Helminski, Llewelleyn Vaughan-Lee, and representatives of the Naqshbandi-Haqqani order. Other connections, though more individual than collective, continued to be made with other Sufi or Sufi-related teachers and teachings, including “The Diamond Approach” of A. H. Almaas, the Hevleti-Jerrahi order in the U.S. and in Istanbul, and in the mid-1990s, another Sufi teacher associated with the Naqshbandi order in Ankara, Turkey, Ahmet Kayhan (1891–1998). A small community continues to reside at and around Claymont Court, and both private and public gatherings in the Gurdjieff-Bennett tradition continue to be offered. More recently, from 2007 to 2009, Claymont hosted a series of gatherings with the Mevlevi Order of America, bringing together people from all parts of the United States.

A visit from the Naqshbandi-Haqqani order While connections between Gurdjieff and Sufi teachers and teachings have been more overtly embraced at Claymont by, as we have seen, Süleyman and Jelaluddin Loras, a number of other Sufi teachers have also responded, at different points, to the references in Gurdjieff’s and Bennett’s work to Sufism. The Naqshbandi-Haqqani Sufi Order of America is the American branch of the international Naqshbandi-Haqqani order, a transnational organization which is led by the Shaykh Nazim Adil al Haqqani, a native Cypriot. The khalifa, or representative, of the order in the U.S. is Shaykh Muhammad Hisham Kabbani. In the context of the United States, the Naqshbandi-Haqqani order has demonstrated a willingness to form affiliations and promote connections with a number of groups, organizations, and public leaders—including Bill Clinton and George W. Bush. In general, Kabbani actively encourages loyalty to the state, affirms American morality, and openly embraces symbols of the American nation (Dickson 2012). In an effort to overcome criticism of Sufism from more fundamentalist approaches to Islam, the order has been very active in promoting moderate Islam as well as Sufism in a variety of public spheres, simultaneously promoting and cultivating a number of affiliations and connections. Out of the

Gurdjieff and the Continuing Influence of Sufism in America

213

more public affiliations they have made, the Naqshbandi-Haqqani order seem to accord both Gurdjieff and Bennett a unique position of importance in publications in print and online. In The Naqshbandi Sufi Way: History and Guidebook of the Saints of the Golden Chain, there is a fairly extended entry entitled, “A Meeting with Gurdjieff,” in which “Grandshaykh” Abdullah Daghestani relates a meeting with Gurdjieff. The meeting was reportedly recorded by his students several years after the meeting took place.12 In this narrative Gurdjieff is described as a teacher who had made an escape from communist Russia. The conversation includes a reference to the “Nine Points,” or the enneagram, and reports that Gurdjieff did the morning prayers with him, and that they recited a sura from the Qur’an together. After the prayers, Gurdjieff tells Daghestani that he had a vision in which he ascended to a rose garden where heard a voice: “Then a voice, addressing me as Abd an-Nur, said, ‘This light and knowledge have been granted to you from the Divine Presence of God to bring peace to your heart. However you must not use the power of this knowledge’” (Kabbani 1995, p. 360). The entry continues, “Shaykh Abd Allah tells him that each of the nine points is represented by one of nine saints who has attained the highest level in ‘the Divine Presence (ibid).’” Daghestani tells Gurdjieff that though this vision has been revealed to him, that he has no permission to use the knowledge. Adding, “This is a secret that, in general, will not be opened until the Last Days when the Mahdi appears and Jesus returns” (ibid p. 361). Daghestani, apparently affirming Gurdjieff’s experience, states in closing: This meeting of ours has been blessed. Keep it as a secret in your heart and do not speak of it in this life. Abd an-Nur, for that is your name with us, you are free to stay or go as your responsibilities allow. You are always welcome with us. You have attained safety in the Divine Presence. May God bless you and strengthen you in your work. (Kabbani 1995, p. 361) The inclusion of the story of Gurdjieff in this volume suggests an affirmation of Gurdjieff and his connection to the Naqshbandi order, or at least, an attempt to create a tie to the extended discourse about Sufism, whatever shape it may take. The following entry in The Naqshbandi Sufi Way, “A Meeting with John Bennett,” quotes the entries from J. G. Bennett’s works Concerning Subud (1958) and Witness (1973) that relate his own meetings with Abdullah Daghestani in the early 1950s. Later, there is also an entry on Daghestani’s predictions concerning the work of his successor, Shaykh Nazim. He states that he sees him establishing headquarters in London which will then spread to Europe, the Far East, and America, adding that, “He will spread sincerity, love, piety, harmony and happiness among people” (Kabbani 1995, p. 405). Kabbani includes an indication that all that Daghestani had predicted about Nazim’s mission has come to pass. He also adds that in the year after Daghestani passed away in 1973,

214

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

when Nazim went to London, there were many young people that came to meet him, “especially the followers of John Bennett” (ibid: p. 407). Building on these earlier affiliations, the Naqshbandi-Haqqani order continued to cultivate and encourage the connections with the GurdjieffBennett lineage when a group of representatives from the order made a trip to visit local residents at Claymont Court in 1994. The visit began with a shared meal and was followed by a talk given by Hisham Kabbani, the American representative of the order. A lengthy excerpt from the talk is published on the Naqshbandi-Haqqani order website as “A Talk to the Gurdjieff Group.” Kabbani begins with a reference to the meeting between Gurdjieff and Daghestani, as well as a mention of the meeting that J. G. Bennett also had with Daghestani. Kabbani takes a position of inclusivity regarding Gurdjieff, Bennett, and their students: In the path to God, we do not think that there are differences between brothers. All masters are one in this universe. All of them are the same. If you met this or that one, in our belief, it is the same; for all of them receive their power from One who is the center of everything, whose name in Arabic is Allah, the God, our Lord. (“A Talk to the Gurdjieff Group”) Kabbani goes on to address a range of topics including the end times, the unity of humankind, and the need for humans to heed the words of the saints and teachers that have come before. Though only implied in the statement above about Gurdjieff, according to reports of attendees, Kabbani remarked that he also believed that both Gurdjieff and Bennett were saints. After the meeting, some community members reportedly joined the members of the order for afternoon prayers. Through the three points of contact with Gurdjieff, then Bennett, and the community at Claymont Court, the Naqshbandi-Haqqani order has cultivated a public connection with the Gurdjieff-Bennett lineage. Although this may be seen as a relatively minor set of references in the scheme of their broad activities and publications, they are indicative of their approach. Though noted as an important confirmation of Gurdjieff and Bennett, the points of connection are not derived from the same sense of a shared tradition that has been noted in the connections with Süleyman and Jelaluddin Loras and the communities at Sherborne House and Claymont Court. The talk given at Claymont for instance, does not seek to form further connections, to articulate significant commonalities, or to further connections between the two groups and, as far as I know, there has been no additional contact with the NaqshbandiHaqqani order. In line with Dickson’s observations about the discourse on public religion, the Naqshbandi-Haqqani continue to create affiliations with public representatives of different traditions in promotion of the wider, ecumenical approach to religion and spirituality.

Gurdjieff and the Continuing Influence of Sufism in America

215

Continuing connections with the Mevlevi Order at Claymont Court In May of 2007, following a long absence from Claymont, the Mevlevi Order of America held a gathering at Claymont Court in West, Virginia. The Mevlevi Order of America’s website includes a statement of belief which emphasizes a respect for different traditions: The Mevlevi are mystics, believing that one’s path is to God. Mysticism is concerned with developing one’s abilities and capacity through emotional, intellectual, and physical practices. We greatly respect all genuine traditions of belief and faith which seek to accept the responsibility of humanity to care for each other and our world. We firmly reject the actions of those who pervert the words of God to justify violence for political ends. (Website: Mevlevi Order of America \ About) While balance is often spoken of in the Mevlevi tradition, one can perhaps see in the description of the development of “emotional, intellectual, and physical practices,” an influence of the language of Gurdjieff, Bennett, and, for Loras, Pierre Elliot. Indicative of the ongoing connections and discourse connecting Gurdjieff, his legacy, and Sufism, the 2007 gathering brought together a number of people from the Mevlevi Order of America and a number of members across the United States from the basic courses at Sherborne House and Claymont Court. Although Jelaluddin Loras had not been to Claymont since the 1970s, many believed and felt that there was an essential connection between the Gurdjieff path and the path of the Mevlevi. Some attendees even spoke of a Gurdjieff-Mevlevi tradition or lineage. A manifestation of the discourse about Gurdjieff and, specifically the Mevlevi order, was particularly in evidence in the October 2009 gathering which had at its center the performance of the Sema ceremony, with preparatory turning practice sessions and zikr. Unusual for typical gatherings of the Mevlevi Order of America, the event also included the practice of one of Gurdjieff’s more Sufi-oriented sacred movements, and regular work with “themes” from J. G. Bennett’s presentation of Gurdjieff’s teachings. The work with themes was also done in conjunction with readings of selected poems from Rumi’s Mathnawi. The blending of practices and approaches was often framed by reference to the mistranslated 1979 letter that Süleyman Loras wrote to Pierre Elliot concerning two traditions being “always together.” The notion of a shared discourse about spiritual transformation and spiritual discipline was often at the center of both formal and informal instructions and conversations at the event. At the October 2009 gathering at Claymont Court, I interviewed Jelaluddin Loras and inquired about his present work and his view of Gurdjieff. Supporting the view of his father expressed in the letter to Pierre Elliot from October 1979, he responded by suggesting that they “. . .have the same tradition, the same way,

216

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

the same teaching. . ..” In his slightly imperfect English, he suggested that the “two paths are soothing to each other somehow.  .  .” He went on to invoke, perhaps characteristically, an image of a rose garden: . . .You cannot separate those different flavors. You’re in a rose garden – each bush has different flavors but all in same garden. Maybe different color, but in the same rose garden. I don’t know, maybe some people think it is a different path. . .. The image of a rose garden has the characteristic of a more diverse view of the possible connections between different traditions, while allowing for the fact that others may disagree. It is a traditional image which, again may be seen as fitting for a postmodern American context. At the same 2009 gathering, I interviewed a participant who was also a graduate of the fifth Claymont course where he was exposed for nine months to not only the instruction in the Sema ceremony, but the practices, tools, and ideas of the Gurdjieff tradition. Ken is now a leader in the Mevlevi Order of America, a teacher of the Sema ceremony, and an organizational psychologist by profession. In response to a question about the continuing influence of the Gurdjieff approach that was taught on the fifth course, he reflects that: . . . the things that I’ve carried along is work with energies, especially sensation, and just the whole scheme of energies. That was something that was very important to me that I learned here. The work on self observation. Working with themes – the way we are working in our study. The whole structure of what happened here was so eye-opening . . . what happens when people work together in an intentional way like this. That’s a life-changing experience to see what’s possible that way. My wife and I have tried to simulate that in various ways working with our turn group. They’re really kind of indivisible for us. They’re really like kind of one thing, really. Efendi [Jelalluddin Loras] doesn’t really want us teaching stuff from other orders, but I don’t feel that way about the Gurdjieff work – I feel like I can integrate it right into the classes. Ken reflects that the basic practices that came from Gurdjieff and Bennett that were employed on the courses at Claymont continue to have resonance and meaning. They provide a basic understanding that can be related to the notion of spiritual transformation, something that is at the center of both the Gurdjieff work and Sufism. I also asked whether or not he thought that the Gurdjieff work provided some basic means that prepared one for the Sema ceremony or the teachings of the Mevlevi path, something that perhaps would not be needed in the context of Turkey, where the five pillars of Islam were in place, and where there is a

Gurdjieff and the Continuing Influence of Sufism in America

217

general knowledge of Rumi, his poetry, and his message. He responded by saying that: It’s like a matrix. . . to hold the work together. That’s an interesting way of looking at it. . . .there has to be a framework or there isn’t enough for the work to catch. You know, it’s not enough to just teach somebody to spin around in a circle. . . .but what appeals to me about this flavor is the matrix that got built up . . . if you think about a matrix as being a kind of framework that worldview hangs on . . . this Gurdjieff-Mevlevi marriage matrix is not built on a cultural foundation. It’s built on a foundation that is about awakening, you know its intention is awakening; it doesn’t have any concern about Turkishness, of Islam even. [. . .] For me it’s about awakening, and it’s about love and it’s about community, it’s about sharing that experience. The Gurdjieff work, as participants at these gatherings suggest, supplies a certain discipline and work with the development of attention. For this leader of the Mevlevi Order of America, the practices and methods can be seen as a highly valuable preparation for the practice of the Sema ceremony, particularly outside of a shared religious context. The shared discipline, and work with attention and exercises, were mentioned often in interviews with these and other participants. Here the discipline of the Gurdjieff work, in an American context, is viewed as providing suitable spiritual scaffolding for the work of the Sema ceremony, and for this participant, it also contributes to a sense of community and community-building. In response to the questionnaire I created about the connections between Gurdjieff and Sufism, Lisa who helped organize the 2007–9 retreats with the Mevlevi Order of America at Claymont Court, but who now dedicates herself to the Mevlevi practices and approach, provided some feedback about her own experience. About the similarities she finds between the Gurdjieff teachings and Sufism, she wrote: It has been my continued immersion in the practices of Sufism, which has actually deepened my understanding of the Gurdjieff teachings. One of the more obvious parallels is the fact that these two paths both share a sacred dance practice – I call them total body prayers. Both of these, the whirling during Sema, and the Movements, are extremely physically and mentally challenging. Both create finer energies in the atmosphere which can be (but often are not) concentrated in oneself which enables me to be present for longer periods of time. Both of these activities have had the effect of fine-tuning my awareness of others around me and are helping me to understand the atmosphere I generate and how that can influence the group. Both practices allow me to strengthen a “vertical” connection to something higher, outside of myself and this visible world. Both are truly Sacred Dances.

218

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

After a period of more focused commitment to the Mevlevi tradition, Lisa recently began to reinvestigate the work of Gurdjieff, Jeanne de Salzmann, and J. G. Bennett. She now notes a difference in her understanding of their writings: I am struck by the realization that many of the subtler ideas with which I am presently working [from the Mevlevi tradition] were included in their books, yet have not been transmitted by the people I know who consider themselves leaders in the present day Work events. A year ago I probably would have told you that the Work did not have a heart. But I now realize that it originally did, as I study what the first generation students taught. It seems to have been lost in the subsequent generation of students. So my work with Mevlana’s teachings is complementing the other, drawing me deeper into both Rumi’s work and Gurdjieff’s work. Lisa notes other differences in the Mevlevi tradition, particularly a more gentle approach to working on oneself. She also noted a difference in the view of service and community in the Mevlevi tradition. She explains: The whole way of adab13 has truly helped me be more respectful of others and myself. I have recently read The Duties of Brotherhood,14 something Pierre Elliot used as the manual for the last Gurdjieff seminar he lead in France. So maybe this aspect from Sufism was once incorporated into the Work as well, but it is not apparent in most of the communities I have worked with such as Claymont and Two Rivers’ communities and the Foundation.15 And yet it outlines what is necessary to “BE” in community. Lisa’s comments reflect more concern for the importance of community. Although she has moved to another town in order to join a Mevlevi Order of America community, she continues to draw on the practices and presentations of spiritual transformation from those connected to Gurdjieff. Her comments also indicate the particular influence of Pierre Elliot as well as his own continued usage of Sufi material from the classical works of the Sufi tradition. Lisa now draws on her knowledge and experience of the Gurdjieff teachings to enhance and perhaps reinvigorate her engagement with the Mevlevi path. As her comments exhibit, those who adopt an attitude of openness and a willingness to engage with both traditions are likely to find more similarities between the two. While acknowledging the limitations in the Gurdjieff approach, at least as she received it, she is able to return to the texts and the early teachers who offered a more complete approach. In another interview with Jelaluddin Loras, at a Mevlevi Order of America retreat outside of Mt. Vernon, Washington in the summer of 2010, I asked about his work with Pierre Elliot in the context of the basic course from 1979–80. Loras

Gurdjieff and the Continuing Influence of Sufism in America

219

referred to him as “Shaykh Pierre” and as his uncle. He remarked that out of the people he has met in his life, Pierre Elliot was one of the top ten. “His nature was amazing,” he thought, because he started when he was young, and “He got something from Mr. Gurdjieff and Mr. Bennett.” I also asked Loras about how he saw himself and the role of the Mevlevi Order of America in the United States. He responded by saying that it was the Mevlevi teaching which bought him here, almost forty years ago. He further remarked that the tradition in North America is just being born—“a brand new baby.” He added, “In Islamic countries it takes centuries, two to three centuries to develop, to bring a tradition.... And all those years need culture, and to mix together. And then they develop something unique...”. Using the metaphors of birth, growth, and, in the earlier interview, a garden, Loras explains the process of both transmission and sharing in the adaptation of the Mevlevi path to a form appropriate for the West. With regard to the practices of Islam, though encouraged, the Mevlevi Order of America makes no requirement of members to perform the practices of normative Islam. Nonetheless, there were differences in the approach taken at the retreat at Claymont Court in 2009 and the official yearly gathering in Mt. Vernon, Washington in the summer of 2010. At the Claymont gathering, there was, as noted, a combination of practices and approaches from both the Gurdjieff-Bennett tradition and the Mevlevi tradition, though the Mevlevi practices were dominant. At the Mevlevi Order of America retreat in Washington, there was a focus on traditional Mevlevi practices which included “turn” practice—the preparation for the Sema—and the singing of ilahis, or hymns, as a group and with performances by visiting musicians from Turkey and other traditions, including a scholar and musician of the Mevlevi tradition, Timuçin Çevikoğlu. Unlike the schedule at Claymont Court, the Washington retreat schedule included the Islamic morning prayers, or namaz. Although not required, a large number of participants did come each morning. Following the prayer, the group joined for wazifa, or recitation and meditation on the names of God, and, afterward, for tea and sohbet before breakfast. When I asked Jelaluddin Loras about the difference in the approach, he remarked that at the Claymont retreat there were many beginners, and “I don’t want to scare them off.” However, at the Washington retreat, the prayers were offered because many people in attendance had been studying and practicing for several years. In time, for at least some, he suggested, the practices may come. But he also noted that this does not happen for everyone and, he added, that it cannot be mandatory. Even if practices were introduced in his home country of Turkey, he noted, some people would also not do them. He suggested that some orders, when they know you want to join, immediately grab you and take you to make the shahadah—the profession of faith. But this was not his way, nor that of his father, Süleyman Loras. This also led to a further discussion of his father’s approach, which he shares. Many apparently criticized Süleyman Loras for introducing the Sema to non-Muslims. In practice both Süleyman and Jelaluddin

220

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

Loras approach this as a process: first become a Mevlevi, then you can make a choice: We don’t say first to newcomers, “You have to be Muslim. You have to do namaz, or this and that.” We say, “Come, do this. Learn the Sema. Learn chanting, zikr.” . . . This is my father’s style. Don’t demand, then introduce. Allah will decide when we are and what we are. This is our style. Now I have teacher training, I introduce them, some of them come to morning prayer, some of them don’t come . . . But slowly, slowly, maybe, they tune in to this teaching. And then they will be much happier, because there is some direction in our life. . . . Now we are flying in the sky, no direction. We don’t know which direction to go, we don’t even have a nest to land in. We are flying. . . How long are we gonna fly? We get tired and we hit either a rock or trees. That’s life here. . . Loras also added that other leaders asked his father about his approach. They asked, “‘Why do you do this?’ And my father said, ‘Because they deserve it.’ That’s a good statement, about us in Western society, ‘Because they deserve it.’” Loras approaches the introduction of Sufism in the contemporary West with an emphasis on openness, nurturance, and an awareness that it will take time for the Mevlevi tradition to take root in America, just as it will take individuals time to grow into the wholeness that the practices of Sufism and Islam offer. In a later interview with Ken at a Mevlevi Order of America retreat in 2010, he elaborated further about the “Mevlevi school and the Gurdjieff school.” He suggested, “They are very different things. .  .  . They serve different purposes. They have a different process and a different structure and all that. But there’s a real synergy there.” He also suggested that he had a hard time seeing how the Gurdjieff approach, in contrast with the Mevlevi, could “take you all the way.” He suggested that the Gurdjieff School was like a school which you graduate from, then you go on to the rest of your life. This view is also perhaps similar to the path taken by Kabir Helminski, who had his early training in a Gurdjieff group, but went on to embrace the teachings of the Mevlevi order and Islam. I also asked Ken in this interview about how he saw the Mevlevi School, and its purpose: I think its purpose is to hold people in the process of ripening as human beings. It’s like if you have a farm and certain kinds of fruit, you’ve got to create certain conditions in which these fruits can ripen. And that’s what the Mevlevi tradition is. It’s like a farm for ripening these unique fruits, you know? To become true human beings. I think that’s what it is, it’s a way of holding it all together in a way that we can all fulfill our function and receive what we need to receive from each other. I think that’s what it’s for. It’s a very complex, highly defined way of life. The adab especially, you know. I think the key to it is the adab. It’s a way of living.

Gurdjieff and the Continuing Influence of Sufism in America

221

Those connected with both the Gurdjieff teachings and the Mevlevi path often spoke of the development of the human being along a spiritual path. However, comments from those with ties to the Mevlevi approach more often expressed a desire for community and emphasized the importance of the notion of adab, or courtesy, among members. In many ways, contrasting from a typical Gurdjieff gathering, the Mevlevi retreats provided more structured as well as informal time for conversation and the forming of relationships among group members. Also providing a larger sense of community and connection, in attendance at the Mevlevi Order of America retreat in Washington, were members of other orders including the more traditional Helveti-Jerrahi order—one of whom led the morning prayers—and members of the Ruhaniat order, the American order Samuel Lewis initiated before his death in 1971. Following the notion of the shared sense of tradition that grew out of early encounters at Claymont Court, particularly during the fifth basic course, from 1979–80, the meetings of the Mevlevi Order of America continue to be a site where a sense of correspondence and mutual support is felt by both those who identify with either the Mevlevi or the Gurdjieff traditions. Often at the center of this connection and correspondence, outside the more personal connections found through Süleyman Loras and Claymont Court is the practice of the Sema.16 A connection to the authenticity of the Sema ceremony is found primarily in the dervish-style Gurdjieff movements, which include some elements of “turning,” undoubtedly influenced by Gurdjieff’s witnessing, at the very least, of the Sema ceremony in Istanbul. Indicative of key elements in the larger discourse on Gurdjieff and Sufism, participants in Mevlevi Order of America events often shared a sense of the importance of spiritual discipline and praxis and, in many cases, this took precedence over belief and worldview. As one of the members of the Mevlevi Order of America, who used to participate in the Gurdjieff Work, commented, the Sema ceremony is a genuine legominism, an embodied teaching that transmits true knowledge and understanding from one generation to the next. To that end, a number of individuals who attended courses at Sherborne or Claymont have been trained and initiated as “semazens” in the Mevlevi Order of America by Jelaluddin Loras. For the leaders of the Mevlevi Order of America, including Jelaluddin Loras, the process of the transmission of Sufism to the West is one that will take time, patience, and love—in addition to the guidance and will of God.

A Brief Conclusion In the early twentieth century, G. I. Gurdjieff responded to the contradictions and challenges of his own age and context. Through arguably agonistic behaviors and works such as Beelzebub’s Tales to His Grandson, Gurdjieff made the engagement with the preliminary level of his work intentionally challenging.

222

Classical Spirituality in Contemporary America

Ultimately, however, he aimed to introduce a teaching on spiritual transformation that was eminently practical and accessible. He writes about his efforts to introduce his ideas in an appended lecture in Meetings with Remarkable Men, entitled “The Material Question.” Here, he comments on the preparation of his students for the demonstrations they would present to more general audiences in Europe and America—such as those referenced by C. S. Nott in his observations of the first demonstrations in New York in 1923.17 In “The Material Question,” Gurdjieff discusses his aim: My aim was to introduce, in this way, into the process of the everyday life of people the significance of these ideas, and to show the practical results to which they could lead – ideas based on material I have collected in different parts of Asia inaccessible to the average man. (1963: p. 291) Gurdjieff found something lacking in his own time and context and pursued a journey for spiritual truth, drawn from a range of esoteric teachings, including some of Sufi origins and traditions. By the end of the twentieth century, the world of Asia—or at least some aspects of it—was no longer inaccessible to the average person as it had been in the early twentieth century. In several important ways, Gurdjieff’s discourse contributed to the larger spread of ideas and influences during this transitional period and the impact of his work affected a range of popular, private, and academic registers and relationships. This impact has also been manifested in the ongoing exchange and dialogue from a wide variety of figures and teachers who have worked to make accessible the traditions and practices of Asia for contemporary audiences. Returning to Foucault’s conception of a “founder of discursivity,” Gurdjieff’s own discourse might be viewed as one in which the “characteristic signs, figures, relationships, and structures. . .could be reused by others” (Foucault, 1989, p. 985). As examples of the refiguration and expansion of Gurdjieff’s discourse, J. G. Bennett, Pierre Elliot, and others, adapted in their own time and in their own way the signs, figures, relationships and structures of Gurdjieff’s initiatory work in their engagement with a wide variety of teachers and traditions. This often, and significantly, included exchanges with Sufi teachers and teachings, and the particular confluence of Gurdjieff and Sufism often arose within a shared discourse of transformation and spiritual discipline. As a an example of the further iteration of this lived exchange, Claymont Court, in the late 1970s and early 1980s, borrowing the image of the garden, provided the ground for an exchange and a sharing of spiritual practice and experiences. In the case of the wider discourse on Sufism, the contributions of teachers such as Süleyman and Jelaluddin Loras, Kabir Helminski, and others, as well as the traditions they represent, reflect the adaptive, boundary-crossing, and hybrid features that have contributed to the continuing influence of Sufism in America in the twenty-first century.

Notes Introduction Though the long-held view is that Gurdjieff’s mother was Armenian, Paul Taylor, on the basis of recent research, offers that Gurdjieff’s mother’s father was Greek (Taylor 2008). 2 I have addressed elements of the issue of Gurdjieff and cosmopolitanism in, “G. I. Gurdjieff: Cosmopolitanism in the late nineteenth/early twentieth century Caucasus” (2012). 3 One of the most important dimensions of both normative and scholarly presentations of Sufism is the affirmation of Sufism as part and parcel of Islam and an Islamic world view. In concordance with most scholars, and at variance with the view that Sufism is non-Islamic, Carl Ernst places the Qur’an and Muhammad at the center of Sufi emphasis and orientation, which has certainly been the case in the long history of Sufism. Ernst’s description of the Qur’an as the “Matrix of Mystical Experience,” and the Prophet Muhammad as the “Mystical Exemplar” puts this emphasis into perspective (Ernst 1997). 4 The Fourth Way is frequently used in the description of Gurdjieff’s teachings as a balanced approach to spiritual transformation, one that engages in the simultaneous development and training of the intellect, emotions, and body. Other ­traditions, or ways, are characterized as addressing primarily one dimension: “The way of the fakir” is the attempt to achieve liberation or enlightenment through the discipline of the body; “The way of the monk” is the path to liberation through the training and development of the emotions; “The way of the yogi” is the path to achieve liberation through the training of the mind or intellect. Ouspensky’s The Fourth Way (1957/71), as does In Search of the ­Miraculous (Ouspensky 1949), presents a number of discussions on the approach of the Fourth Way.

1







Chapter 1 Paul Heelas, in his 1996 study of the New Age movement, writes, “to use a term from the spirituality which Gurdjieff brought to France—Sufi mysticism— Gurdjieff served as a “context setter” (Heelas 1996, p. 47). 2 Levon Eskenian and the Gurdjieff Folk Music Instruments Ensemble (2011). 3 In a May 2010 fundraiser for the Gurdjieff Foundation of California, a two part presentation was given: First, the music of Gurdjieff and Thomas de Hartmann, and second, the readings of the poetry of Rumi accompanied by piano music

1



224

Notes

by Laurence Rosenthal—the composer of the music for Peter Brook’s film production of Meetings with Remarkable Men. 4 In Gurdjieff: Making a New World (1973a), Bennett remarks on this same occasion, but this time adds that this event reminded him of an occasion he had witnessed at the Rifai tekke on the Asian side of Istanbul (130). 5 Mark Sedgewick in “European Neo-Sufi movements in the inter-war period,” writes about Gurdjieff, “His writings were often autobiographical in form, but much of this autobiography was overtly fictional. . . . [. . .] many of Gurdjieff’s followers, however, seem to have failed to get this point, and have taken at face value stores that were surely fictional” (209). About the Sarmoung monastery in particular, he argues, “Although few commentators on Gurdjieff would put it so bluntly, it seems clear to me that the Sarmoung are entirely imaginary” (ibid: 209). Adding, “It is immediately obvious to anyone who knows anything about regular Sufism that there is nothing remotely Sufi about the Sarmoung as described by Gurdjieff” (ibid: 209). 6 This chapter, as others promised in Meetings, does not appear in Gurdjieff’s Third Series, Life is Real Only Then When ‘I Am.’ 7 David Hykes was a member of the Gurdjieff Foundation in San Francisco and worked with Lord Pentland for many years. As revealed in an interview I had with him, he also had a strong interest in Sufism, Sufi poetry and in particular, the repertoire of Sufi music. He is now a practicing Buddhist, but considers Pentland his “root guru.” His unique work with “harmonic chant” led to a number of recordings and it has received some notoriety beyond connections to Gurdjieff, Sufism or Buddhism. More recently, music from his 1983 recording, Hearing Solar Winds Alight, was recently used in the Terence Malick’s 2011 film, The Tree of Life. 8 The Turkish musician and ney player, Kudsi Erguner, also contributed music and appeared in the film. In Journeys of a Sufi Musician, he gives his account of some exchanges with members of the Gurdjieff Foundation in France, meetings with Jeanne de Salzmann, as well as his work on the film. In one entry, he describes the process of deciding upon the approach to the music: ‘For the film however, we were looking for a different sort of music, and this incurred some difficulty. Madame de Salzmann put forward the Eastern sources of Gurdjieff’s compositions. [. . .] The idea had been to bring to the West a musical idiom that had its source in sacred Eastern tradition’ (86). 9 Although the Gurdjieff Foundation in the U.S. has maintined a very limited public presence, they have had an impact in the wider culture through Parabola magazine. The magazine, founded by D. M. Dooling, has been published since 1976 by The Society for the Study of Myth and Tradition—a nonprofit organization supported in part by the Gurdjieff Foundation of New York. Parabola has regularly presented the stories, myths, as well as the esoteric traditions of both the East and the West since 1976. A collection of articles, stories, and essays on Islam and Sufism that appeared in the magazine over the years have been published as The Inner Journey: Views from the Islamic Tradition, and edited by W. C. Chittick (2007). 10 See, for example, Following Muhammad (Ernst 2003).

Notes

225

Chapter 2 From Derrida’s discussion of Levi-Strauss and the term bricolage in “Structure, Sign, and Play in the Discourse of the Human Sciences”: “If one calls bricolage the necessity of borrowing one’s concept from the text of a heritage which is more or less coherent or ruined, it must be said that every discourse is bricoleur”. (Derrida 1980, p. 285) 2 The presentation of the ideas from Gurdjieff found in Ouspensky’s In Search of the Miraculous, come from a relatively brief period in Gurdjieff’s career, primarily from 1915–19, although there are a few later entries of his time with Gurdjieff in Istanbul and in Europe. Ouspensky’s rendering of Gurdjieff’s teachings is considered an authoritative work and it is likely that it continues to be read more frequently than Gurdjieff’s Beelzebub’s Tales to His Grandson. 3 The schema of soul-creation that Gurdjieff first introduces here, but develops moreso later in the text, may also be compared, at least in some respects, to the stages of the nafs, or self, in Sufi discourse. 4 In Beelzebub’s Tales to His Grandson, “Reason” is said to be largely absent in the beings of Earth. More importantly, in terms of transformation, Reason, is a capacity that can be developed as a result of the creation of second and third being-bodies or, the intermediate soul and the complete soul. Reason is also considered to be an attribute of the Absolute—which has been understood by some translators to signify God. 5 In the mythopoesis of the story, the Archangel Looisos is presented in Beelzebub’s Tales as the being responsible for devising the organ Kundabuffer. The implantation of this organ was deemed necessary by a council, led by Looisos at the time, in order to prevent men from seeing the reality of their situation that resulted from this accident. Though this was deemed a necessity at the time, the organ was later removed; however, the effects of the organ Kundabuffer remained. The result of the implantation of the organ Kundabuffer—even after its removal—was ultimately unbecoming, egoistic behavior, driven by desire for pleasure which, as Beelzebub conveys, continues to predominate in humans. 6 Gurdjieff’s general cultural critique, which included the critique of institutions and religion of the period, also had resonance for those in the 1960s and 1970s who rebelled against the institutions that maintained and supported racism, sexism, as well as war. 7 In a talk on Hasnamuss, J. G. Bennett remarks: “A Hasnamuss is a being in whom there is gradually lost the capacity for hearing the voice of his own conscience, and who therefore thinks himself in the right, who feels that his whole activity is justified, and who may even be certain that he is doing good when in fact he is serving a destructive aim—destructive, that is, of any higher possibilities”. (Bennett 2004, p. 299) 8 It is also worth noting that Gurdjieff employs “Common Father” as the name to describe this all-important force. Gurdjieff, as has also been noted, provides scant few figures and references to female characters, or seekers in all of his works. See also Paul Taylor’s discussion of “Gurdjieff and Women” in G. I. Gurdjieff: A New Life (2008)

1















226

Notes

In Meetings with Remarkable Men, Gurdjieff describes love as “that sacred feeling which has gradually degenerated in people, owing to their weakness and willlessness, and has now in contemporary man turned completely into a vice, whereas the possibility of its natural manifestation was given to us by our Creator for the salvation of our souls and for the mutual moral support necessary for a more or less happy life together.” (Gurdjieff 1963, p. 9) 10 Earlier, in response to a question from Hassein, Beelzebub describes “elders of the church” as “those beings who become professional dignitaries of the highest rank of any religious teaching.” (Gurdjieff 1963, p. 703) 11 Turkey, not long before the time of writing, would still have consisted of dominant Ottoman lands, hence his statement that this country would contain the largest number of Muslims. 12 In a talk from 1944, Gurdjieff remarks, “In the beginning Catholicism was very good, but not latterly. They searched for midday at two o’clock; they diluted everything. In the beginning it was superior to the Orthodox religion and to all others.” (2009, p. 112) 13 This is a reference to the enneagram, the nine sided diagram representing the laws of three and seven, which many, such as J. G. Bennett, have claimed holds the key to the source of Gurdjieff’s teachings. However, this is not explored or expanded upon explicitly in Beelzebub’s Tales. 14 The specific form “Asvatz” may likely be from the Gyumri dialect of Armenian, meaning “God.” 15 Though beyond the scope of the present work, I have argued elsewhere that Gurdjieff’s use and presentation of Sufism and Sufi ideas may be best understood through the lens of esoteric Christianity (2008b). Many take cue from an oftrepeated discussion in which Gurdjieff responds to a question about the origins of his teaching in relation to Christianity: “I do not know what you know about Christianity … but for the benefit of those who know already, I will say that, if you like, this is esoteric Christianity” (Ouspensky, 1949, p. 102). 9

Chapter 3 Ernst writes: It might be said that spiritual practice is the core of Sufism. Theories and metaphysical points of view have certainly been elaborated by Sufi writers, but it is in meditation, prayer, fasting, and other day-to-day practices that we find the life of this mystical path. a great many Sufi writings, in fact, treat these kinds of practices in detail. This is particularly true of the meditative practices associated with “recollection” (dhikr) of the names of God” (1999, p. 40). 2 Concerning Subud (1958) and Subud and Christian Mysticism (1961). 3 The journal Systematics, was published from 1963 until 1974 by The Institute for the Comparative Study of History, Philosophy and the Sciences on wide-ranging topics in science, philosophy, and comparative religion. Systematics published articles by figures such as Ida Rolf, Moshe Feldenkrais—who would later make an impact in the field of alternative health—and included regular contributions from Anthony Blake, and J. G. Bennett.

1



Notes

227

Later translated as The Masters of Wisdom of Central Asia, by Coombe Springs Press, 1983. 5 The collection of Bennett’s talks at Beshara was later published as Intimations (1975). 6 Anthony Blake, who studied for a long period with J. G. Bennett and taught on the courses at Sherborne House in England, has also been the chief editor of Bennett’s oral and written work. Blake also studied with the physicist David Bohm, and continues to integrate philosophy and science into his work. He has published his own works, including A Seminar on Time (1982), and The Intelligent Enneagram (1996), and continues to actively hold seminars chiefly in the United States. Blake is one of the rare teachers of Gurdjieff’s ideas who holds that Beelzebub’s Tales is required reading. To that end, he has also made an audio recording of the entire text. Blake does not give a great deal of regard to the importance of Sufism in his presentation of Bennett’s ideas or in his own elaboration of the teachings of Gurdjieff. Nonetheless, Blake presented a paper at the All and Everything International Humanities conference in England in 2009 on Beelzebub’s Tales to his Grandson as a ring story and its connections to Rumi’s Mathnawi. 7 Jiddu Krishnamurti (1895–1986) was first believed to be the vehicle for the “World Teacher” by members of the Theosophical Society in India. Eventually rejecting the role, he went on to become an influential spiritual teacher in the 20th century who emphasized direct experience and perception unhindered by religious or spiritual structures. 8 A technique of natural body alignment and training developed by F. M. Alexander (1869–1955).

4









Chapter 4 Following the publication of Meetings with Remarkable Men in  1963, Gurdjieff was also becoming increasingly more well-known through his own work which was often associated with metaphysical and/or Eastern spiritual teachings. Director/ choreographer, Meredith Monk, reflecting upon her work in the 1960s reports that, “…I was doing a lot of reading of Gurdjieff and other metaphysical writers and thinking about where art fits into society” (Monk 2000, p. 57). The counter-culture guru and icon, Timothy Leary also became a proponent of Gurdjieff’s ideas, and referred to the “Kundabuffer organ” in an article as early as 1965 (1982, p. 74). Leary later referred to his “fervent attempt to call attention to this witty Sufi, whom I had been proclaiming the greatest psychologist of the twentieth century” (ibid: p. 192). 2 This practice of the bow was evidently derived from the Islamic prayer. “Rukü” in Turkish (Arabic: rakacāt), refers to the full prostration that is a component of each segment of the Islamic ritual prayer. Bennett had instructed students to perform a half-bow three times, perhaps intending to emulate the first part of the full rakacāt from the ritual Islamic prayer. 3 Two Rivers Farm is a community near Aurora, Oregon initiated by A. L. Staveley (1906–96), who worked with Jane Heap (1883–1964) and Gurdjieff. Neither the community at Two Rivers, nor Staveley, have promoted or engaged connections with Sufism or Sufi teachers.

1





228

Notes

The Sri-Lankan Sufi teacher never made a visit to Claymont Court, although groups of students from the courses at Claymont travelled to visit him in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. 5 E. J. Gold (1941- ) is an American artist and jazz musician who is also one of the more controversial teachers that have offered teachings in the mode of the Gurdjieff Work. Referring to himself sometimes as “G”, as Ouspensky referred to Gurdjieff in In Search of the Miraculous, Gold has penned a number of works on spiritual and esoteric topics. 6 This position was held at the time of Süyleman Loras by Jelaluddin Ҫelebi, who then resided in  Aleppo, Syria. Süyleman Loras reportedly held the highest position among the Mevlevi in Konya at the time. 7 The present work has given more focus to the Mevlevi tradition as it was presented by Süleyman and Jelaluddin Loras at Claymont Court. In contrast to the connections with the Helveti-Jerrahi order, the connections with the Mevlevi order have oftentimes been maintained since the initial encounters at Claymont Court. Those that made a connection and found a sense of “at-homeness” with the Helveti-Jerrahi seem to have been more likely to leave the Gurdjieff work in order to formally join the order and, according to some interviewees, this also led to an accompanying conversion to Islam. To some there was the sense that there was some pressure from some associated with the Süleyman Loras and Muzaffer Ozak circle (though not from Loras or Ozak individually) to convert to Islam in order to be able to fully join the Sufi order. In response to a question about the introduction of the Islamic prayer, one interviewee responded: “…it was clear to me that religious allegiance didn’t matter. It didn’t matter to [Süleyman] Dede. It mattered to a lot of people in Dede’s circle in the tekke. It didn’t seem to matter to Muzaffer ultimately—but it did matter to a lot of people in Muzaffer’s circle. There was this subtle pressure for a lot of people to join up, to sign on….” 8 As noted in the chapter on Bennett, William Patrick Patterson, for instance, has disparaged Bennett and his efforts and is particularly critical of the school Bennett set up at Sherborne. He does remark, more positively, “For all the dross, Bennett does have his gold. Many of his ideas are thought-provoking, potent, and visionary” (1998, 244) 9 Kathryn Hulme (1900–81), an American author best known for The Nun’s Story, spent a number of years studying with Gurdjieff in Paris and recorded her memoirs of this period in The Undiscovered Country: A Spiritual Adventure (1997). Solita Solano (1888–1975), born in Troy, N. Y., also studied with Gurdjieff in Paris in the 1930s and 1940s. Both Hulme and Solano were part of Gurdjieff’s group, “The Rope.” 10 See, for example, Baker and Driscoll’s article, “Gurdjieff in America: An Overview” which mentions Bennett only in reference to his participation at some gatherings with Gurdjieff in Paris, and his journal of this period, Idiots in Paris. Bennett is not included amongst the category of “Key Pupils” and the discussion of “PostGurdjieff Developments” only includes references to Jeanne de Salzmann and John Henry Sinclair (Lord Pentland) and the activities associated with the Gurdjieff Foundation, adding “In addition, there are a number of organizations that invoke Gurdjieff’s name but have no connection with either the Gurdjieff Foundations or any pupil who worked directly with Gurdjieff.” 4

Notes

229

A recently published collection of talks by Jeanne de Salzmann, The Reality of Being: The Fourth Way of Gurdjieff (2010), for instance, makes no references to Sufism or Sufi practices. 12 In his final address to the community in 1987, in a mention about concerns over cults, Pierre Elliot takes a broader view of the work of Gurdjieff, and suggests that members avoid establishing a permanent center for any other traditions: “It is a mistake to equate ‘the Work’ with the name ‘Gurdjieff’ or any other name or organization, of which there are legion. For this reason, while I was in a position to do so, I advised your board to be reluctant in accepting that a Tekke, or a Buddhist temple, or a chapel, or even a particular kind of hospital or an Indian kiva, or a latihan hall be established on areas dedicated to ‘the Work’” (Turner, 2010). 13 The model of the basic course has been taken up more recently, though for briefer periods, at Camp Caravan, a community in Massachusetts led by George Bennett and other students, several of whom attended the courses at Sherborne House. See John Amaral’s Interview with Elan Sicroff and George Bennett. 11

Chapter 5 Franklin Lewis provides a balanced discussion of Barks’ translations in Rumi: Past and Present, East and West (2000). 2 Barks refers to Bawa Muhaiyaddeen as “my teacher,” in a Huffington Post article of 12 November 2010. 3 With regard to the reference to Barack Obama, Barks goes on to explain that it was communicated to him that Rumi was his favorite poet and he subsequently gave him a copy of A Year with Rumi (2006) along with a personal note. 4 Hermansen makes few references to Gurdjieff or Bennett, although their significance is noted. The first reference to Gurdjieff is in a footnote to the discussion of Idries Shah and his brother, Omar Ali Shah. In an entry on Reshad Feild under the discussion of the Mevlevi Order in America, Feild’s experience with the Gurdjieff-Ouspensky tradition in the 1960s is mentioned. J. G. Bennett is mentioned in a footnote concerning the popularity of the “Enneagram Movement” and its connections to Sufism in the United States. 5 See also Luba Gurdjieff: A Memoir with Recipes (1993). 6 See Michel Random’s essay, “The Men of Blame and the Fourth Way,” in Gurdjieff: Essays and Reflections on the Man and His Teachings (1998). Though relatively brief and more personal than academic, “The Men of Blame and the Fourth Way,” investigates the connections between Gurdjieff and the Malamati that have been indicated by a number of commentators. Random’s essay also confirms that the discourse about Gurdjieff and Sufism continues to produce affiliations, associations and connections outside the influence of authors such as Bennett or Shah. 7 Azize (2011) notes: “The assertion that Ouspensky grafted Theosophical ideas into Gurdjieff’s system (p. 48) is baffling. Ouspensky was a purist. He meticulously noted where ideas he taught came from other sources. […] In fact, Ouspensky was an arch-critic of Theosophy, having good words for very few of their productions.”

1











230

Notes

McKennitt also references Idries Shah’s, The Sufis as a work that served as inspiration on the same album, The Book of Secrets. 9 William Segal was a student of both Gurdjieff and the Japanese Zen Buddhist teacher, D. T. Suzuki (1870–1966), and was a long-time member of the Gurdjieff Foundation of New York. 10 In light of definitions of the Fourth Way, the notion of a “Fourth Way Community” may in fact be an oxymoron. In In Search of the Miraculous, Ouspensky quotes a comment from Gurdjieff on the Fourth Way: “The fourth way differs from the other ways by the fact that it is never a permanent way. It has no definite forms and there are no institutions connected with it. It appears and disappears governed by some peculiar laws of its own. The fourth way is never without some work of a definite significance, never without some undertaking around which and in connection with which it alone can exist. Schools of the fourth way never exist by themselves as schools for the purpose of education and instruction” (1949, p. 312). 11 Some have suggested that J. G. Bennett’s goals have been realized at least in part in the United States by “the children of Claymont,”—the children of those who attended the courses—many of whom have gone on to enter fields that Bennett identified in “A Call for a New Society,” such as farming, including bio-dynamic farming, natural health and healing, and education. 12 The same entry is also included in Kabbani’s Classical Islam and the Naqshbandi Sufi Tradition (2004). 13 Literally, “Courtesy.” In Sufism, the term becomes a central descriptor of the manner in which one comports oneself with others, particularly in the context of a Sufi order. 14 Ghazzali’s The Duties of Brotherhood in Islam (2010). 15 The Foundation is a reference to the Gurdjieff Foundation, the organizations started after Gurdjieff’s death by some of his long-standing students, including Jeanne de Salzmann (1889–1990). 16 Andrew Moyer, another student of an early course at Claymont, went on to travel in Turkey, met members of the Helveti-Jerrahi in Istanbul, and spent time studying with Hasan Şuşud. Influenced in particular by the Mevlevi approach introduced on the courses, Moyer wrote an extensive anthropological analysis of the Mevlevi Sema as a Master’s degree thesis in  1980 at York University called, Soap for the Heart: The Dance of the Mevlevi. The focus on practice, discipline and experience, while often mentioned in discussions of Sufism, are found here articulated in a corresponding manner from someone who had training in the methods and practices of Gurdjieff in the United States. 17 Alfred Orage introduced Gurdjieff’s 1923 demonstration at Leslie Hall in New York, stating that the event would consist of movements from “the art of the Ancient East.” Orage continued to explain that the presentation would include, “examples of sacred gymnastics, sacred dances, and religious ceremonies preserved in certain temples in Turkestan, Tibet, Afghanistan, Kafiristan, Chitral, and other places. Mr. Gurdjieff, with other members of the ‘Seekers after Truth’, carried out over many years in the Near and Far East, a series of investigations which prove that in the Orient, certain dances have not lost the deep significance—religious and scientific in the real sense—which they had in the remote past” (Nott, 1961, p. 8). 8

Bibliography

Abrams, Meyer Howard (1993), Glossary of Literary Terms, 6th edn. Fort Worth, TX: Harcourt Brace & Company. Amaral, John (2009), ‘Courses and Practica in the J. G. Bennett Tradition of the Gurdjieff Work: An interview of George Bennett and Elan Sicroff’. Retrieved from: http://www.gurdjieff.org/amaral1.htm (accessed 5 July 2010). Anderson, Margaret (1962), The Unknowable Gurdjieff. New York: Samuel Weiser. Appiah, Kwame (2006), Cosmopolitanism: Ethics in a World of Strangers. New York: Norton. Appelgren, Barbara June (2009), ‘Freshly laundered and hanging out to dry: A memoir from the boomer generation’. Retrieved from: http://bennettbooks.org/ wordpress/?page_id = 934 (accessed 2 September 2011). Arberry, Arthur John (1979), Sufism: An Account of the Mystics of Islam. London: George Allen and Unwin Ltd. Azize, Joseph (2011), ‘Sufism and the way of blame: Azize review’. Retrieved from: gurdjieffbooks.wordpress.com (accessed 1 September 2011). Baker, George and Walter Driscoll (n.d.), ‘Gurdjieff in America: An overview’. Retrieved from: http://r.hodges.home.comcast.net/~r.hodges/G/html/Gbaker.html (accessed 7 July 2011). Bakhtiar, Laleh (2002), Al-Ghazali: His Psychology of the Greater Psychology. Chicago, IL: Kazi Publications. Bakhtin, Mikhail (1990), The Dialogic Imagination. Austin, TX: University of Texas Press. Barber, Theodore X. (1986), ‘Four interpretations of Mevlevi dervish dance, 1920–1929’. Dance Chronicle 9(3): 328–55. Barks, Coleman (2006), A Year with Rumi: Daily Readings. New York: HarperOne. —  (2010a), Rumi: The Big Red Book: The Great Masterpiece Celebrating Mystical Love and Friendship. New York: Harper Collins. — (2010b), ‘Rumi’s poetry: “All religions, all this singing, one song”’. Huffington Post (Online) 2 November 2010. Retrieved from: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/ coleman-barks/rumi-and-some-new-ways-to_b_777382.html (accessed 19 August 2011). Barnham, Henry D. (1977), Trans. Tales of Nasr-ed-din Khoja. New York: AMS Press. Bayrak, Tosun (2011), Gurdjieff and Sufism (E-mail). Message to: M. Pittman (28 August 2011). Bennett, John G. (1949), What Are We Living for? London: Hodder and Stoughton. — (1954), The Crisis in Human Affairs. London: Hodder and Stoughton. — (1958), Concerning Subud. London: Hodder and Stoughton.

232

Bibliography

— (1961), Christian Mysticism and Subud. London: The Institute for the Comparative Study of History, Philosophy, and the Sciences. — (1963), Values: An Anthology for Seekers. Surrey: Coombe Springs Press. — (1964/1999), A Spiritual Psychology. London: Hodder and Stoughton. — (1966), The Dramatic Universe, Volume Three: Man and His Nature. London: Hodder and Stoughton. — (1969), ‘Sufi spiritual techniques.’ Retrieved from: http://www.systematics.org/ journal/misc/mwca.pdf (accessed 10 July 2011). — (1970), A Short Guide to the Dramatic Universe. Surrey: Coombe Springs Press. — (1973a), Gurdjieff Making a New World. New York: Harper and Row. — (1973b), God, the World, and the Work (Cassette). Charles Town, WV: Claymont Communications. — (1974), Master Idea of the New Epoch (Cassette). Charles Town, WV: Claymont Communications. — (1975), Intimations: Talks with J. G. Bennett at Beshara. York Beach, ME: Weiser. — (1976/1977/2000), Journeys in Islamic Countries. Santa Fe, NM: Bennett Books. — (1977), Talks on Beelzebub’s Tales. Gloucestershire: Coombe Springs Press. — (1977/1995), The Masters of Wisdom: An Esoteric History of the Spiritual Unfolding of Life on This Planet. Santa Fe, NM: Bennett Books. — (1978a), Witness: The Autobiography of John G. Bennett. Charles Town, WV: Claymont Communications. — (1978b), Transformation. Charles Town, WV: Claymont Communications. — (1979a), A Call for a New Society. Charles Town, WV: Claymont Communications. — (1979b), The Sevenfold Work. Surrey: Coombe Springs Press. — (1983), Long Pilgrimage: The Life and Teaching of the Shivapuri Baba. Clearlake, CA: The Dawn Horse Press. — (1984), A Very Great Enigma. York Beach, ME: Weiser. — (1989), Is There Life on Earth. Santa Fe, NM: Bennett Books. — (1990), Needs of a New Age Community. Santa Fe, NM: Bennett Books. — (1991), Idiots in Paris: Diaries of J. G. Bennett and Elizabeth Bennett, 1949. York Beach, ME: Weiser. — (1995), Making a Soul: Human Destiny and the Debt of Our Existence. Santa Fe, NM: Bennett Books. — (2004), Sunday Talks at Coombe Springs. Santa Fe, NM: Bennett Books. ‘The Beshara Trust’ (2010), Retrieved from: http://www.beshara.org/about/ besharatrust/index.html#swyre (accessed 10 July 2011). Blake, Anthony (1982), A Seminar on Time. Charles Town, WV: Claymont Communications. — (1996), The Intelligent Enneagram. Boston, MA: Shambhala Publications. Blann, Gregory (2005), Lifting the Boundaries: Muzaffer Efendi and the Transmission of Sufism to the West. Nashville, TN: Four Worlds Publishing. Blavatsky, Helena P. (1966), The Secret Doctrine: The Synthesis of Science, Religion, and Philosophy. Wheaton, IL: Quest Books. Blom, Gert-Jan (2006), Gurdjieff/Hartmann Oriental Suite: The Complete Orchestral Music 1923–1924. Netherlands: Basta Audio Visuals.

Bibliography

233

Brook, Peter (1994), The Shifting Point: Theatre, Film, Opera 1946–1987. New York: Theatre Communications Group. Calonne, David Stephen (1998), ‘G. I. Gurdjieff’s Armenian identity’. In: Ararat. New York: Armenian General Benevolent Union of America, Spring. Campbell, Dirk (2010), ‘Subud and Sufism’. Retrieved from: http://www.dirkcampbell. co.uk/Subud_and_Sufism.html (accessed 7 July 2011). Chalice. ‘Reshad Feild’. Retrieved from: http://chalicealivingschool.net/en/28biography (accessed 9 August 2011). Challenger, Anna T. (2002), Philosophy and Art in Gurdjieff’s Beelzebub: A Modern Sufi Odyssey. New York: Rodopi. Chittick, William (1989), The Sufi Path of Knowledge: Ibn Al-Arabi’s Metaphysics of Imagination. Albany, NY: State University of New York Press. — (1992), Faith and Practice of Islam: Three Thirteenth Century Texts. Albany, NY: State University of New York Press. — (ed.) (2007), The Inner Journey: Views from the Islamic Tradition. Sandpoint, ID: Morning Light Press. Corbin, Henry (1969), Creative Imagination in the Sufism of Ibn ‘Arabi, trans. Ralph Manheim. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Cory, Stephen (2004), ‘Ahl Al-Kitab’. In: Richard C. Martin (ed.) Encyclopedia of Islam and the Muslim World, vol. 1. New York: Macmillan Reference USA, pp. 27–9. Gale Virtual Reference Library. Web (accessed 31 July 2010). Çevikoğlu, Timuçin (2008), While Whirling the Love in the Heart Renews. Konya: Governorship of Konya. Davis, Hadland F. (1908), The Persian Mystics: Jami. London: John Murray. De Ropp, Robert (1968), The Master Game: Beyond the Drug Experience. New York: Delacorte Press. Derrida, Jacques (1980), ‘Structure sign and play in the discourse of human sciences’. In: Writing and Difference, trans. Alan Bass. Chicago, IL: Routledge. Dickson, Rory (2012), ‘An American Sufism: The Naqshbandi-Haqqani Order as public religion’. Studies in Religion. The Ecstatic Faith of Rumi. ‘Listeners’ reflections’. Retrieved from: http://being. publicradio.org/programs/rumi/reflections.shtml (accessed 8 July 2011). Elliot, Hugh (n.d.), ‘Pierre Elliot’. Retrieved from: http://www.gurdjieffdominican. com/Pierre_Elliot_biography.html (accessed 4 May 2010). Elliot, Pierre (1985), ‘A talk given by Pierre Elliot’. Retrieved from: http://www. gurdjieff-bennett-canada.ca/Readings/seattletalk.htm (accessed 7 July 2011). Elwell-Sutton, Laurence Paul (1970a), ‘Mystic-making’. The New York Review of Books. Retrieved from: http://www.nybooks.com/articles/archives/1970/jul/02/ mystic-making/ (accessed 5 June 2010). —(1970b), ‘The mysterious East, reply by Elwell-Sutton’. The New York Review of Books. Retrieved from: http://www.nybooks.com/articles/archives/1970/oct/22/themysterious-east-2/ (accessed 5 June 2010). Erguner, Kudsi (2005), Journeys of a Sufi Musician. London: Saqi Books. Ernst, Carl (1997), The Shambhala Guide to Sufism. Boston, MA: Shambhala Publications. — (1999), Teachings of Sufism. Boston, MA: Shambhala Publications.

234

Bibliography

— (2003), Following Muhammad: Rethinking Islam in the Contemporary World. Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press. Ernst, Carl and Richard Martin (eds) (2010), Rethinking Islamic Studies: From Orientalism to Cosmopolitanism. Columbia, SC: University of South Carolina Press. Eskenian, Levon and the Gurdjieff Folk Music Instruments Ensemble (2011), Music of Georges I. Gurdjieff (CD). ECM. Faivre, Antoine (1994), Access to Western Esotericism. Albany, NY: State University of New York Press. Faivre, Antoine and Jacob Needleman (eds) (1992), Modern Esoteric Spirituality. New York: Crossroad Publishing. Feild, Reshad (1976/1993), The Last Barrier: The Universal Search for Self-Discovery. Rockport, MA: Element Books. — (1979/1993), The Invisible Way: A Time to Love—A Time to Die. Rockport, MA: Element Books. Findley, Carter (2011), Turkey, Islam, Nationalism, and Modernity: A History, 1789–2007. New Haven, CT and London: Yale University Press. Foucault, Michel (1978), History of Sexuality: An Introduction, vol. 1. New York: Random House. — (1989), ‘What is an author?’ In: David H. Richter (ed.) The Critical Tradition: Classical Texts and Contemporary Trends. New York: St. Martin’s Press, pp. 978–88. Friedlander, Shems (1987/1992), When You Hear Hoofbeats Think of a Zebra. Costa Mesa, CA: Mazda Publishers. — (2003), Rumi and the Whirling Dervishes. New York: Parabola Books. Gamard, Ibrahim (2005), ‘Why Gurdjieff’s “Fourth Way” teachings are not compatible with the Mevlevi Sufi Way’. Retrieved from: http://www.dar-almasnavi.org/mevlevi-vs-gurdjieffism.html (accessed 10 June 2010). — (2009a), ‘Memories of Suleyman Dede Effendi’. Retrieved from: http://www.daral-masnavi.org/dede.html (accessed 10 June 2010). — (2009b), ‘Interview with Ibrahim Gamard’. Retrieved from: http://www. semazen.net/eng/roportaj_detay.php?id = 51 (accessed 8 August 2010). — (2010), ‘A Mevlevi Shaykh’. Retrieved from: http://www.semazen.net/eng/ roportaj_detay.php?id  52 (accessed 10 July 2011). Ghazzali, Imam (2010), The Duties of Brotherhood in Islam. Villa Park, IL: The Islamic Foundation. Gurdjieff, George Ivanovich (1950), All and Everything: “An Objectively Impartial Criticism of the Life of Man” or Beelzebub’s Tales to His Grandson. Aurora, OR: Two Rivers Press. — (1963), Meetings with Remarkable Men. New York: Dutton. — (1973), Views from the Real World: Early Talks in Moscow, Essentuki, Tiflis, Berlin, London, Paris, New York and Chicago, As Recollected by His Pupils. New York: Dutton. — (1975), Life Is Real Only Then, When “I Am”. New York: Triangle Editions. — (1988), The Herald of a Coming Good: First Appeal to Contemporary Humanity. Edmonds, WA: Sure Fire Press. — (2009), Transcripts of Gurdjieff’s Meetings 1941–1946, 2nd edn. London: Book Studio.

Bibliography

235

Gurdjieff, Luba (1993), A Memoir with Recipes, 2nd edn. Berkeley, CA: SLG Books. Haddad, Y. Yvonne, and Jane I. Smith (eds) (1994), Muslim Communities in North America. Albany, NY: State University of New York Press. Hall, David (ed.) (1997), Lived Religion in America: Toward a History of Practice. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Hall, Elizabeth (1975), ‘The Sufi tradition: Interview with Idries Shah’. Psychology Today, July 1975. Retrieved from: http://www.katinkahesselink.net/sufi/sufishah.html (accessed 10 August 2010). Hartmann, Thomas and Olga de (1972), Our Life with Mr. Gurdjieff. New York: Penguin Arkana. Heelas, Paul (1996), The New Age Movement: Religion, Culture and Society in the Age of Postmodernity. New York: Wiley-Blackwell. Helminski, Kabir (1992), Living Presence: A Sufi Way to Mindfulness and the Essential Self. New York: Jeremy P. Tarcher. — (1999), Knowing Heart: A Sufi Path of Transformation. Boston, MA: Shambhala Publications. — (2011a), ‘Eye of the heart newsletter’. 11 August 2011. The Threshold Society. — (2011b), Gurdjieff and Sufism (E-mail). Mailed to: M. Pittman (9 September 2011). Hermansen, Marcia (1998), ‘In the garden of American Sufi movements: Hybrids and perennials’. In: Peter Clark (ed.) New Trends and Developments in the World of Islam. London: Luzac Oriental, pp. 155–78. — (2000), ‘Hybrid identity formations in Muslim America: The case of American Sufi movements’. Muslim World 90(1/2): 158–97. — (2004), ‘What’s American about American Sufi movements’. In: David Westerlund (ed.) Sufism in Europe and North America. London and New York: Routledge Curzon, pp. 36–62. Hillman, James (1979), ‘A note on story’. Parabola 4(4): 43–5. New York: Society for the Study of Myth and Tradition. Hitchner, Ben (n.d.), ‘The Bennett legacy’. Impressions 3(4): 23–5. Charles Town, WV: Claymont Communications. Honnerkamp, Kenneth (2003), Three Early Sufi Texts: A Treatise on the Heart, Stations of the Righteous, the Stumblings of Those Aspiring. Louisville, KY: Fons Vitae. Horvath, Agnes, Bjørn Thomassen, and Harald Wydra (2009), ‘Introduction: Liminality and cultures of change’. International Political Anthropology. Howarth, Dushka and Jessmin Howarth (2009), ‘It’s Up to Ourselves’: A Mother, A Daughter, and Gurdjieff. New York: Gurdjieff Heritage Society. Hulme, Kathryn C. (1997), Undiscovered Country: The Search for Gurdjieff. Lexington, KY: Natural Bridge Editions. Hykes, David and the Harmonic Choir (1983/2008), Hearing Solar Winds Alight (CD). Harmonic Presence. Jironet, Karin(2009), Sufi Mysticism into the West: Life and Leadership of Hazrat Inayat Khan’s Brothers 1927–1967. Belgium: Peeters. Jung, Carl G. (1969), ‘The transcendent function’. In: Collected Works, vol. 8. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.

236

Bibliography

Kabbani, Muhammad Hisham (n.d.), ‘A talk to the Gurdjieff group’. Retrieved from: http://naqshbandi.org/library/safety/gurdjieff.htm (accessed 3 March 2010). — (1995), The Naqshbandi Sufi Way: History and Guidebook of the Saints of the Golden Chain. Chicago, IL: Kazi Publications. — (2004), Classical Islam and the Naqshbandi Sufi Tradition. Washington, DC: Islamic Supreme Council of America. Karamustafa, Ahmet T. (2007), Sufism: The Formative Period. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Kherdian, David (1991a), On a Spaceship with Beelzebub: By a Grandson of Gurdjieff. New York: Globe Press Books. — (1991b), ‘The vanishing master’. In: Ararat. New York: Armenian General Benevolent Union of America, Spring. Lappin, Linda (2002), ‘The ghosts of Fontainebleau’. Southwest Review 87(1): 29–48. Leary, Timothy (1982), Changing My Mind, Among Others: Lifetime Writings, Selected and Introduced by the Author. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice Hall. LeFort, Raphael (1966/1973), Teachers of Gurdjieff. Cambridge: Malor Books. Lessing, Doris (1970), ‘The mysterious East’. The New York Review of Books. Retrieved from: http://www.nybooks.com/articles/archives/1970/oct/22/the-mysteriouseast-2/ (accessed 5 June 2010). Lewis, Franklin (2000), Rumi: Past and Present, East and West: The Life, Teachings and Poetry of Jalâl al-Din Rumi. Boston, MA and England: Oneworld Publications. Lifchez, Raymond (1992), The Dervish Lodge: Architecture, Art, and Sufism in Ottoman Turkey. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Loras, Süleyman (1979), ‘Unpublished letter: My beloved respectful Pierre Elliot and all my family at Claymont, and my dear son Celaladdin’. Mairet, Philip (1996), A. R. Orage: A Memoir. New York: University Books. McKennitt, Loreena (1997), The Book of Secrets (CD). Quinlan Road. Merkur, Dan (1993), Gnosis: An Esoteric Tradition of Mystical Visions and Unions. Albany, NY: State University of New York Press. Mevlevi Order of America. ‘About the Mevlevi order of America’. Retrieved from: http://www.hayatidede.org/about.htm (accessed 9 September 2010). Monk, Meredith and Marc Robinson (2000), ‘New frequencies’. Theater 30(2): 44–57. Moore, James (1980), Gurdjieff and Mansfield. Boston, MA: Routledge & Kegan Paul. — (1986/1999), ‘Neo-Sufism: The case of Idries Shah’. Religion Today: A Journal of Contemporary Religion 3(3): 4–8. — (1991), Gurdjieff: A Biography. Boston, MA: Element Books. Mouravieff, Boris (1989), Gnosis, Book One: The Exoteric Cycle. Newberry, SC: Praxis Institute Press. Moyer, Andrew (1980), ‘Soap for the heart: The dance of the Mevlevi’. M.A. Thesis, York University. Ottawa, ON: National Library of Canada. Murata, Sachiko and William Chittick (1994), The Vision of Islam. New York: Paragon House. Nasr, Seyyed Hossein (1972), ‘Conditions for meaningful comparative philosophy’. Philosophy East and West 22(1): 53–61. Hawaii: University of Hawai’i Press. Needleman, Jacob (1982), Consciousness and Tradition. New York: Crossroad Publishing.

Bibliography

237

— (1999), ‘G. I. Gurdjieff and his school’. Retrieved from: http://www.gurdjieff. org/needleman2.htm (accessed 4 June 2010). — (2003), Lost Christianity. New York: Tarcher. Needleman, Jacob and George Baker (1998), Gurdjieff: Essays and Reflections on the Man and His Teachings. New York: Continuum Publishing. Nicholson, Reynold A. (1971), Studies in Islamic Mysticism. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Nicoll, Maurice (1972), The New Man: An Interpretation of Some Parables and Miracles of Christ. Baltimore, MD: Penguin. — (1996), Psychological Commentaries on the Teaching of G. I. Gurdjieff and P. D. Ouspensky, (6 vols). York Beach, ME: Weiser. Nott, Charles Stanley (1961), Teachings of Gurdjieff: A Pupil’s Journal. New York: Routledge & Kegan Paul. Ong, Walter (1984), ‘Orality, literacy, and medieval textualization’. New Literary History 16: 1–11. — (1988), Orality and Literacy. New York: Routledge. Ouspensky, Peter D. (1912/1981a), Tertium Organum: The Third Canon of Thought, A Key to the Enigmas of the World. New York: Alfred A. Knopf. —(1937), ‘From notes of a meeting held on November 4, 1937’. Retrieved from: http://www.ouspensky.org.uk/ongurdjieff.htm (accessed 9 May 2010). — (1949), In Search of the Miraculous: Fragments of an Unknown Teaching. New York: Harcourt Brace. — (1957/71), The Fourth Way. New York: Vintage Books. — (1981b), The Psychology of Man’s Possible Evolution. New York: Random House. Ozak, Muzaffer (1987), Love is the Wine: Talks of a Sufi Master in America. Putney, VT: Threshold Books. Paksoy, Hassan (1988), ‘Elements of humor in Central Asia’. In: Erling von Mende (ed.) Turkestan als historischer Faktor und politische Idee. Baymirza Hayit Festschrift. Koln: Studienverlag, pp. 164–80. Patterson, William Patrick (1998), Struggle of the Magicians: Exploring the Teacher– Student Relationship. Fairfax, CA: Arete Communications. Pentland, John (1987), ‘P. D. Ouspensky’. In: The Encyclopedia of Religion. New York: Macmillan. — (1997), Exchanges Within: Questions from Everyday Life. New York: Continuum Publishing. Peters, Fritz (1964), Boyhood with Gurdjieff. New York: Dutton. Pittman, Michael (2005), ‘G. I. Gurdjieff: Textualizations of medieval storytelling and modern teachings on the soul’. Ph.D. Dissertation, Stony Brook University. — (ed.) (2008a), G. I. Gurdjieff: Armenian Roots, Global Branches. Cambridge: Cambridge Scholars Publishing. — (2008b), ‘Creating new discourses in Western esotericism: 21st century reflections on the reconstruction of Sufism in the work of G. I. Gurdjieff’. Paper presented at the American Academy of Religion Conference, Chicago, IL, November 1–3, 2008. — (2012), ‘G. I. Gurdjieff: Cosmopolitanism in the late 19th/early 20th century Caucasus’. In: Creoles, Diasporas, Cosmopolitanisms: The Creolization of Nations, Cultural Migrations, Global Languages and Literatures. Palo Alto, CA: Academica Press.

238

Bibliography

Quirolo, Lynn (2001), ‘Meeting J. G. Bennett’. David Kherdian (ed.) In: Stopinder: A Gurdjieff Journal for Our Time (2), Spring. Reinhertz, Shakina (2001), Women Called to the Path of Rumi: The Way of the Whirling Dervish. Prescott, AZ: Hohm Press. Roth, Allen (1998), Sherborne: An Experiment in Transformation. Santa Fe, NM: Bennett Books. Rumi, Jalaluddin (1961), Discourses of Rumi, trans. A. J. Arberry. Great Britain: Curzon Press. — (1990), The Mathnawi of Jalaluddin Rumi, 8 vols, trans. Reynold A. Nicholson. London: E. J. W. Gibb Memorial Trust, 1925–40. Said, Edward (1979), Orientalism: Western Conceptions of the Orient. New York: Random House. — (2003), ‘Orientalism 25 years later: Worldly humanism v. the empire builders’. Retrieved from: http://www.counterpunch.org/said08052003.html (accessed 10 March 2009). Salzmann, Jeanne (2010), The Reality of Being: The Fourth Way of Gurdjieff. Boston, MA: Shambhala Publications. Salzmann, Michel (1987), ‘Gurdjieff, G.I’. In: Mircea Eliade (editor in chief) The Encyclopedia of Religion, (16 vols). New York: Macmillan, pp. 11–12. Reprinted in 1999, Gurdjieff International Review III(1) (Fall): 11–12. Schimmel, Annemarie (1979), Mystical Dimensions of Islam. Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press. Sedgewick, Mark (2008), ‘European Sufi-movements in the inter-war period’. In: Islam in Inter-War Europe. New York: Columbia University Press. Seymour-Smith, Martin (1998), The 100 Most Influential Books Ever Written: The History of Thought from Ancient Times to Today. Secaucus, NJ: Citadel Press. Shah, Idries (n.d.), ‘Biography’. Retrieved from: http://www.idriesshah.com/ (accessed 7 July 2010). — (1968), The Way of the Sufis. New York: Arkana. — (1970), Tales of the Dervishes. New York: Dutton. — (1971), The Sufis. New York: Anchor. — (1983), The Subtleties of the Inimitable Mulla Nasrudin/The Exploits of the Incomparable Mulla Nasrudin. Great Britain: Redwood Books. Sher Point Publications, UK (2007), ‘Declaration of the people of the tradition’. Retrieved from: http://sher-point-shadowlands.dyndns.org/short-documents (accessed 7 July 2010). Smoley, Richard (2002), Inner Christianity: A Guide to the Esoteric Tradition. Boston, MA: Shambhala Publications. Society for Traditional Studies (2003), Guide and Index to G. I. Gurdjieff’s All and Everything: Beelzebub’s Tales to His Grandson, 2nd edn. Toronto, ON: Traditional Studies Press. Speeth, Kathleen (1989), The Gurdjieff Work. New York: Penguin Putnam. S¸ us¸ud, Hasan (1983), Masters of Wisdom of Central Asia. Gloucestershire: Coombe Springs Press. Taji-Farouki, Suha (2010), Beshara and Ibn ‘Arabi: A Movement of Sufi Spirituality in the Modern World. Oxford: Anqa Publishing.

Bibliography

239

Tamdgidi, Mohammad (2004), ‘Friere meets Gurdjieff and Rumi: Towards the pedagogy of oppressed and oppressive selves’. The Discourse of Sociological Practice 6(2) (Fall): 165–85. — (2009), Gurdjieff and Hypnosis: A Hermeneutic Study. New York: PalgraveMacmillan. Taylor, Mark (2009), After God. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Taylor, Paul Beekman (2004), Gurdjieff’s America: Mediating the Miraculous. England: Lighthouse Editions. — (2008), G. I. Gurdjieff: A New Life. Utrecht: Eureka Editions. Thomassen, Bjorn (2009), ‘The uses and meanings of liminality’. International Political Anthropology 2(1): 5–27. The Threshold Society. ‘The Mevlevi path’. Retrieved from: http://www.sufism. org/society/mevlev.html (accessed 9 August 2011). —‘Statement of purpose’. Retrieved from: http://www.sufism.org/society/purpose. html (accessed 1 September 2011). Thring, Meredith Wooldridge (2002), Quotations from G. I. Gurdjieff’s Teaching. Oxford, England: Luzac Oriental. Tomarelli, James (2006), ‘Epilogue to Italian Edition of J. G. Bennett’s Sex and Spiritual Development’. Retrieved from: http://www.bennettbooks.org/Gurdjieff3.0/pdfs/ Sherborne%28JT%27sEpilogue%29.pdf (accessed 10 June 2011). Toussulis, Yannis (2011), Sufism and the Way of Blame: Hidden Sources of a Sacred Psychology. Wheaton, IL: Theosophical Publishing House. Trimingham, J. Spencer (1971), The Sufi Orders in Islam. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Tsabropolous, Vassilis and Anja Lechner (2004), Tsabropolous, Gurdjieff: Chants, Hymns, and Dances (CD). U.S. ECM. Turkmen, Erkan (1992), The Essence of Rumi’s Masnevi. Konya: Misket Ltd. Turner, Jim (2010), ‘Jim Turner shares some thoughts on Pierre Elliot of the Claymont Community’. Retrieved from: gurdjieffbooks.wordpress.com (accessed 10 October 2010). Tweedie, Irina (1995), Daughter of Fire: A Diary of a Spiritual Training with a Sufi Master. Chicago, IL: The Golden Sufi Center. Vaysse, Jean (1990), Toward Awakening: An Approach to the Teaching Left by Gurdjieff. New York: Arkana. Waldman, Marilyn Robinson and Bruce Lawrence (2005), ‘Nubu- wah’. In: Lindsay Jones (ed.) Encyclopedia of Religion, 2nd edn, vol. 10. Detroit, MI: Macmillan, pp. 6733–6739. Retrieved from: http://go.galegroup.com/ps/start. do?p  GVRL&u  nysl_ca_albany (accessed 2 September 2010). Walker, Kenneth (1974), A Study of Gurdjieff’s Teaching. York Beach, ME: Weiser. Webb, Gisela (1994), ‘Tradition and innovation in contemporary American Islamic spirituality: The Bawa Muhaiyaddeen Fellowship’. In: Yvonne Y. Haddad and Jane I. Smith (eds) Muslim Communities in North America. Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, pp. 86–102. — (2006), ‘Third-wave Sufism in America and the Bawa Muhaiyaddeen Fellowship’. In: Jamal Malik and John Hinnells (eds) Sufism in the West. London and New York: Routledge, pp. 86–102. Webb, James (1980), The Harmonious Circle: The Lives and Work of G. I. Gurdjieff, P. D. Ouspensky, and Their Followers. New York: Putnam.

240

Bibliography

Weightman, Simon (2009), Rumi’s Mystical Design. Reading the Mathnawi, Book One. Albany, NY: State University of New York Press. Wellbeloved, Sophia (2003), Gurdjieff: The Key Concepts. New York: Routledge. Westurland, David (2004), Sufism in Europe and North America. New York: Routledge. Woodraska, Woody (n.d.), ‘Chapter 2—Claymont 1975, 1979–80’. Retrieved from: http://www.soulmedicinejourney.com/Claymont.html (accessed 2 May 2010). Woodson, Jon (1999), To Make a New Race: Gurdjieff, Toomer and the Harlem Renaissance. Jackson, MS: University of Mississippi Press. Yagan, Murat (1997), I Come from Behind Kaf Mountain: The Spiritual Autobiography of Murat Yagan. Vernon, BC: Kebzeh Publications. — (2005), Ahmsta Kebzeh: The Science of Universal Awe, vol. 1. Vernon, BC: Kebzeh Publications. — (2009), The Essence of Sufism in Light of Kebzeh. Vernon, BC: Kebzeh Publications. Zabor, Rafi (2005), I, Wabenzi: A Souvenir. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux.

Index

al-Jilani, Abdul Qadir (Sufi teacher)  130 All and Everything (Gurdjieff, G. I.)  1, 10 Armenian culture  23 faith in religion  78 followers of  125–6 Armenian folk music  22 Hartmann and Gurdjieff’ s work  25 instruments  23 Armenian language  23 “Partkdolg-duty”  75 “Armenian Melody” and “Song”  23 Armenian priest and Persian dervish  48 basic course at Claymont  192–4 Bawa Muhaiyaddeen Fellowship  4, 168,193 Beelzebub’s Tales to His Grandson (Gurdjieff, G. I.)  1, 177, 199, 206 see also Bennett, J. G. allegorical sense  72 analysis of  71 archmaleficent  78 Babylonian dualists  83 Bakhtin’s view  71 Bakthinian language  80 bon-ton literary language  72 bricoleur  72 centrifugal  71

centripetal approach  71 children’s fairy tales  83 communities  85 conception of  69 conscious labor  74 cosmic allegory  70–1 Darwinian evolution  72 dervishes  70 detrimental effects of  73 dialogical mode  71 discourse on soul  70 doctrines  84–5 dwindling  78 earth history  72 enlightenment evolution  72 episodic stories  70 evaluation of influence  69 external realities  85 genuine saints  84 Hasnamuss  78–9, 225n. 7 Havatvernoni  78–9 hierarchizing forms  73 human egoism  81 human psychology  80 ideas of  72 intentional suffering  74 Islam and Sufism  69–70 legominisms  84 linear presentation  72 Marxism evolution  72 Mullah Nassr Eddin  39, 54–5, 64, 73, 85–9, 103, 145–6 narratives of progress  72 neologism concept from  78

objective critique  70 observations  77 obstruction  78 official authorities  80 parasitism  82 personal challenge  71 philosophical discourse  73 presentation and critique  69–70 psyche, strangeness  81 psychopathy  82 reciprocal destruction  76 religious discourse  72 religious teachings  76 sacred impulses  76 Sacred Individuals  81, 83 sensitivity  72 separate spiritualized parts  80 social situations  71 solar system  74 sophisticated discourse  73 Sufism and Islam  77 suggestion  84 war  85 Bennett, George  126, 129, 136–7, 148, 151 Bennett, J. G.  6 about Sufism  105–6 Adrianople Gate  109, 119 Alexander Technique  150–1 approach and technical language  116, 147–8

242 autobiography  105 Beelzebub’s Tales to His Grand­son  112 “A Call for a New Society”  141, 167, 192, 195, 230 Christian profession  109 classical Mevlevi training  113 Claymont Court  108 conversation with Emin Bey  121, 123–4 conversion to Catholicism  132 Coombe Springs  7, 32, 55, 107, 117–18, 127, 129–30, 132, 134–6, 148–50, 153, 160, 162, 166, 191, 226 cosmological vision  115 culmination  107 death  152–3 dervish beliefs  120 direction  162–3 discipline and structure  151 discourse, about Gurdjieff  33 about soul  126 articulation of  165 dissatisfaction  111 The Dramatic Universe  120, 126 early experiences in Istanbul  153 early writings and public talks  137 efforts  115 Emin Chikou as teacher  121–3 English priests  109 experience  109–10 in Turkey  152 father’s view  110 first Ramadan  110 Fontainebleau  117

Index Fourth Way community  166 work  111 Gurdjieff: Making a New World  143, 146–7 gymnastics  112–13 Hereditary Chief of Mevlevi  114, 123–4 higher powers  106 human cultures  144 idea of transformation  149 ideas and practices of Sufism  6–7, 25–6, 105 Intimations  147 juma prayers  117 Khwajagan and Gurdjieff  143–4 kitchen boy  113 language used  122 Levantine races  108 level of attention  122 life in Istanbul  28–9, 110 life trajectory  108 limitations and shortcomings  124 Malamati tradition of Sufis  138 mapping of spiritual path  147 Masters of Wisdom  121, 145 meeting with Prince ­Sabaheddin  110 Mevlevi practice  31–2 as military deputy  105 nafs  115 Nafs-ul-Mulhama and Nafs-ulMutmainna  142 Nafs-ul-Radiyya  142 Naqshbandi dervish  119 Naqshbandi order  139– 40 Oriental wisdom  111 Ouspensky’s views of  114

pan-Islamic movement  26 pillars of Islam  120 British government’s mistrust of dervish orders  26–7 praxis  105 prayers at Hagia Sophia in ­Istanbul  125 presentation of Gurdjieff and ­treatment of Sufism  31, 166 primary roles  165 prospectus  158–9 prostration  110 psychological ideas and analysis  111–12 reading and response  116 religion and spirituality  32 reports on  114 as representative of ­Khwajagan  146 returned to England  150–1 ritual toasting ceremony  114–15 role in Sufism  107 Roman Catholic Church  109 and Sabaheddin, views on ­spirituality  29–30 salat/namaz  118 salik, true wayfarer on path  123–4 Science of Idiotism  115 Shams i-Tabrizi  119 at Sherborne House in England  7 sohbet  123–5 spiritual credentials  107 spiritual exercises and techniques  165 Spiritual Psychology  120 spiritual teachings  106 strongest reception  107

Index Sufi orders  111 Sufi terminology and ­language  141–2 Sufis teachings and teachers  166 tariqas of Islam  140–1 Transformation  129–30 transitional and transformational period  106 trip to Middle East  125 Warwick Gardens  113 Way-type school  107 Western psyche  141 Western views  105 “wish” and “want,”  121–2 Witness, autobiography  25–6, 108–10 working time  113 Beshara, Bennett as Bennetron  162 cosmology and eschatology  164 Feild, Reshad  162 Fourth Way model  165 I, Wabenzi (Rafi Zabor)  162–3 movement  164 transferred to Sherborne House  164 Beshara and Ibn ‘Arabi: A Movement of Sufi Spirituality in the Modern World (Suha Taji-Farouki)  164 Beyazit mosque  28 Beyoğlu  18–19 Blavatsky’s Mahatmas  204 Brook, Peter, film version  52 “Gurdjieff’s Search for Hidden Knowledge”  52

Catholicism  132–3 “Caucasianness,”  22 Central Asian Sufi teaching  6 Chikou, Emin as teacher  121–3 classical Mevlevi training  113 Claymont Society for Continuous Education, Beelzebub’s Tales to His Grandson  177 Bennett’s vision  167–9 The Call for a New Society  167–8 Claymont Court  169 community life  211–12 Connie’s comments  174–5, 185, 188–90 course, structure of  176–7 The Diamond Approach  212 The Dramatic Universe  168 Elliot, Hugh view  170 Elliot, Pierre  169–71 foundation of  167 green light meditation  170–1 Gurdjieff- Bennett tradition  212 inner state  177–8 Khan, Hazrat Inayat  168 Loras, Süyleman  169–70, 178–80, 182–4, 227–8 Mevlevi tradition  215–21 model of instruction  167 Naqshbandi-Haqqani Order  212–14 The New Religions  175 The Psychology of Man’s Possible ­Evolution  176

243 religious and spiritual ­traditions  174 revitalization of religion  168 “Schools of Wisdom”  167 self-sustaining community  168 seminar spirituality  212 spiritual boot camp  176 spiritual traditions and practices  211–12 spiritual transformation  179 The Sufis  175–6 Sufism, rituals of  179–80 wave of  175 conscious labor and intentional suffering, ahl Al-Kitab  97 Asvatz  100 Babylonian dualists  89–90 Bakhtin’s language  91 Beelzebub’s presentation  91 Christian religion  96 communal life  99 contemplation  97 dervishes and dervishism  94 discipline and training  75 egoistic and servile sides  99 electric and gas lights  100 ethical life  92 European- Asian relations  92 Europeans and Muslims, ­relationship  91 genuine messengers of  93 great religions  89

244 Gurdjieff’s prophetology  95 Hadji-Asvatz- Troov  99–101 Hadji-Zephir-BoggaEddin  100 hajj  98, 100 Islamic eschatology and theology  90 Jews and Christians  97 Judaic customs  96 Judaism  96 Judaism and Christianity  90 khalifa  90 Khwajagan  101 larger purpose  101 Messenger/Saint  89 Mohammedan religion, schools  91 Mohammedan teachings  95 nabī or rasūl  95 nafs  75 newly baked  92 nubūwah (prophethood)  95 original teachings  93 partk  75 Partkdolg duty  74–5 presentation of  89 Pythagoras  100 reciprocal destruction  92 riyada  75 secrets  99 Selneh-eh-Avaz  100 serious terrestrial scientists  100 shahadah  98 Sheiks-Islamists  89–90 spiritual development  74 spiritual transformation  101 strident critiques of  90 unbelievers  97 valuable teachings  94 wudu  98

Index continuing education see The International Academy at Sherborne Coombe Springs  7 relinquishment of  107 cosmic allegory  70–1 cosmopolitanism  48 Creative Imagination in the Sufi sm of Ibn ‘Arabi (Henri Corbin)  63 The Crisis in Human Affairs (Bennett, J. G.)  123, 137 Daghestani, Abdullah, meeting with Bennett  125 de Hartmann, Thomas, Armenian music  22–3 as co-composer with Gurdjieff  22 “Eastern” music  23 Our Life with Mr. Gurdjieff  21 Ouspensky’s work  21–2 responses and reactions  24–5 Sema ceremony  24 view of music  23 Dervish and dervishism  94 movements  162 The Dramatic Universe (Bennett, J. G.)  126, 130–1 Earth history  72 “Eastern” music  23 Eastern spirituality  10 egoism  142 Elliot, Pierre  169–71, 176, 178–9, 183–4, 187, 190–1, 200, 202, 209, 215–16, 218–19, 222, 229n. 12

Enlightenment evolution  72 eschatology and theology  90 Essence of the Teachings of the Masters (Abdulhalik Gujduvani)  144–5 Feild, Reshad (Richard Timothy), Beelzebub’s Tales to His Grandson  199 Bennett, J. G. views  199–200 cultural movements and ­matrices  198 education of  198 Gurdjieff’s language  200 The Last Barrier: A Journey into the ­Essence of Sufi Teachings  199 as Mevlevi Shaykh  200 profession of  198–200 reciprocal maintenance  199 successor of  200 transformation of subtle ­energies  199 trip to Turkey  198–9 work and writings  198–9 The Fifth Basic Course at Claymont, Bayrak report  190–1 collaborations or confluences  191 course conditions  182 Gurdjieff-Bennett approach  186 Gurdjieff-Bennett line of ­practices  180 Gurdjieff, methods  189 and Sufism  180, 183 work and Mevlevi ­tradition  183–4

Index Helveti-Jerrahi and Mevlevi ­orders  189–90 inner attention exercise  181 Karima’s articulation  181–2 Laylat al Qadar  187 Lifting the Boundaries: Muzaffer Efendi and the Transmission of Sufism to the West (Gregory Blann)  184–5 Lilly view  184 Loras, Süleyman  183–4 Mevlevi Order of America  188–9 ritual half-bow  187 Sufi practices and ideas  183, 186 Witness (Bennett)  191 zikr practice  186 Following Muhammad (Carl Ernst)  3–4, 224n. 10 Foucault, Michel  23, 222 Fourth Way community  166 “Fourth Way” School  7, 128 “Free-thinking” Sufis  13 Fulfillment (Bennett, J. G.)  142 Gamard, Ibrahim, critique of and commentary on ­Gurdjieff and his ­influence  200–6 “Great Work”  57 Greek Orthodox Church  132 “Guardians of the Tradition”  133–4 Gurdjieff Foundation  51–2, 65, 116, 127, 161, 191, 208,

210–11, 223n. 3, 224nn. 7–9, 228n. 10, 229, 230nn. 9, 15 Gurdjieff, G. I., Asian culture and  19 biographies of  10 breathing e­ xercises  47 Consciousness and Tradition  65 cosmopolitanism  48 cultural traditions and narratives of society  53 discipline of Hatha Yoga  46 and Eastern spirituality  10 in Fontainebleau  20 Foucault’s presentation of discourse  3 and friend Pogossian  38 influence of European sources  46 journey with Seekers of Truth  48 life and work, role of Sufism in  1 magnum opus  10 Mevlevi (Mevleviye) of Galata training  9–10 orthodox and institutional religious forms  44–5 Persian dervish  45 relationship with Professor Skridlov  49 Sufism  2, 9, 45, 200–1 teachings  202–3 transgressive approach to religion and spirituality  1–2 transmission and presentation of Sufism in America  3 travel on hajj to Mecca and ­Medina  49–50

245 Western esoteric thought  1 work and his music  23 writings and activities  2 Gurdjieff and Mansfield (James Moore)  66 Gurdjieff: A Very Great Enigma (Bennett, J. G.)  138 Gurdjieff: Essays and Reflections on the Man and His Teaching (Jacob Needleman and George Baker)  66 Gurdjieff: Making a New World (Bennett, J. G.)  142–3 Gurdjieff’s movements  151, 169, 177, 181–2, 185, 188, 191, 209, 221 Gurdjieff, Tsabropoulos: Chants, Hymns and Dances (Tsabropolous and Lechner’s album)  25 gymnastics (Movements)  112–113 Hacegan Hanedani (Şuşud, Hasan)  136, 143 Heelas, Paul  19, 171, 194, 212 The New Age Movement: Religion, Culture and Society in the Age of Postmodernity  223n. 1 Helminski, Kabir, about family  208 background and training  208–9 Custodians of Tradition  212

246 Knowing Heart: A Sufi Path of Transformation  210–11 Living Presence  208–9 The Masters of ­Wisdom  209 orthodox Islamic ­practice  210 spiritual discipline  208–9 vital spirituality  209 Helveti zikr ceremony  145 “Hidden Directorate”  134–5 human egoism  81 Hykes, David  51, 224n. 7 In Search of the Miraculous (Ouspensky, P. D.)  11 Institute for Conscious Life  202 The International Academy at Sherborne, antiwar movement  157 Appelgren, B. J. view  160–1 Bennett’s, appeal  159 direction  162–3 prospectus  158–9 views  156 Beshara  162–4 Beshara and Ibn ‘Arabi: A ­Movement of Sufi Spirituality in the Modern World (Suha Taji-Farouki)  164 Civil Rights movement  157 cosmology and ­eschatology  164 counter-culture  157–8 culture of seeking  162 dervish movements  162 experimental school  156

Index feminist movement  157 Gurdjieff’s discourse  156 I, Wabenzi (Rafi Zabor)  162–3 In Search of the Miraculous  155–6 materialistic and idealistic  157 Meetings with Remarkable Men  160 methods and practices  156–7 movements, course  162 Night of Power  161 obscure spiritual tradition  158 personal experiences and ­perceptions  156–7 presentation and organization  160 rituals of Islam  160 Sherborne: An Experiment in Transformation  157–8 social justice and counter-culture movements  157 spiritual tradition  158 spiritual transformation  156 Şuşud, Hasan  161 Tomarelli, James  157 view of  157–9 Way of Blame (Malamati)  161 intentional suffering  74 Intimations (Bennett, J. G.)  147 Is there Life on Earth? (Bennett, J. G.)  137 Islam and dervishes, Bokharian dervish  86 commentators  85 destructive and creative capacities  88

historical existence  87 Hodja  86 honorable  87 Idries Shah argued  87 koans  87 Mullah and Gurdjieff’s Mullah  86, 88 Mullah Nassr Eddin  85–9 murshid  88 Nasrudin cycle  87 prominence of  86 religion deal  85 spiritual didacticism  87 spiritual transformation  86 Sufi origin  87 “Islamic mysticism”  67–8 Islamic Sufism  69–70, 201 Isle of Wight rock music festival  148–9 It’s Up to Ourselves (Dushka Howarth)  60 Jews and Christians  97 Journeys (Bennett, J. G.)  126 Judaism, and Christianity  90 customs  96 Juma prayers  117 The Last Barrier (Bennett, J. G.)  199–200 “Latihan” spiritual practice  60, 129 Leader of Mevlevis  202 LeFort, Rafael work  60–1 Legominisms  84 Life and work, role of Sufism in 1 Lifting the Boundaries: Muzaffer Efendi and the Transmission of Sufism to the West (Gregory Blann)  184–5

Index Long Pilgrimage: The Life and Teaching of the Shivapuri Baba  (Bennett, J. G.)  131 Loras, Jelaluddin’s view  2, 7–8, 180–6, 193–4, 198, 200, 202, 210, 212, 214–15, 218–22, 228 Malamati tradition of Sufis  138 Marat/Sade (Peter Brook)  51 Marxism evolution  72 Masters of Wisdom  121, 145 The Masters of Wisdom of Central Asia (Şuşud, Hasan)  136 Mathnawi (Rumi)  4–5 Meetings with Remarkable Men (Gurdjieff, G. I.)  1, 5–6 1979 film version of  51 Brook views  51–2 characters  39 “curious” views  35 dervishes  38–9, 51 father’s ideas  66–7 film version of  10–11 historicity of  34 meaning of life  40–1 Mullah in Middle Eastern ­cultures  39 Persian dervish  49 religion of Islam  41–2 Russian Prince Lubovedsky and ­Gurdjieff’s experiences  40, 43–4 Sufism and Islam  50 Meetings with Remarkable Men (Sarmoung)  204–5

Mevlevi tradition  201, 215–20 community and connection  221 discipline and work  217 of Galata training  9–10 Gurdjieff-Bennett tradition  219 Gurdjieff-Mevlevi tradition  215 Helminski, Kabir  208–12 Helveti-Jerrahi order  221 Jelaluddin Loras  215–16 namaz  219–20 notion of adab  221 order  200–1 practice  31–2 Sema ceremony  216–17 shahadah  219–20 sohbet  219 spiritual scaffolding  217 spiritual transformation and discipline  215 Sufi-oriented sacred ­movements  215 wazifa/recitation and meditation  219 Modern Esoteric Spirituality (Antoine Faivre and Jacob Needleman)  65–6 Mohammedan religion, schools  91 Movement of enneagram  17–18 Mukabele or Meeting of the Mevlevi  27 Nafs-ul-Amara (Bennett, J. G.)  142 Nafs-ul-Mulhama and Nafs-ulMutmainna  142 Nafs-ul-Radiyya  142 Naqshbandi-Haqqani Order  212–14

247 affiliations and connections  12–13 Gurdjieff- Bennett lineage  214 The Naqshbandi Sufi Way: History and Guidebook of the Saints of the Golden Chain  213–14 nine points  213 Shaykh Muhammad Hisham Kabbani  212 The Naqshbandi Sufi Way: History and Guidebook of the Saints of the Golden Chain (Hisham Kibbani)  127, 213–14 Naqshbandi tradition   17, 143 Nasrettin Hodja Year  87 “Neo-Sufism: The Case of Idries Shah” in Religion Today  63–4 New Age Studies  6, 223 The New Religions (Jacob Needleman)  175 Night of Power (LaylatalQadr) at Hagia Sophia  28 Non-Islamic Sufism  201 Oriental wisdom  111 Orientalism (Edward Said)  3, 5, 36 and views of ­Orient  230 Our Life with Mr. Gurdjieff (de Hartmann, Thomas)  21 Ouspensky, P. D., “free-thinking” Sufis  13 Gurdjieff’s student  11, 20–1 In Search of the Miraculous  11, 14

248 journeys  15, 18 meetings with Gurdjieff  16–17 movement of enneagram  17–18 Naqshbandi tradition  17 Persian Sufism  13 scientific and spiritual/ philosophical approaches to knowledge  12 “stop” exercise  18, 21 Sufism and his work  12 Tertium Organum  12–13 works of  12 Pan-Islamic movement  26 Patterson, William Patrick  127–8, 228n. 8 The Work Struggle of the Magicians  5, 18–19, 145 Pera  18–19 Persian dervish  45 Philosophy and Art in Gurdjieff’s Beelzebub: A Modern Sufi Odyssey (Anna Challenger)  6 exploration and investigation of Gurdjieff  66 Gurdjieff’s literary expression  68 Gurdjieff-Sufism ­discourse  67–8 recapitulation of Gurdjieff’s life  66–7 Shah’s views of Sufism  67 Sufi teaching  66 techniques  68 “pre-sand Egypt,”  49

Index The Psychology of Man’s Possible Evolution (Ouspensky)  176 Psychology Today (Elizabeth Hall)  55 remembrance  57 Rethinking Islamic Studies: From Orientalism to Cosmopolitanism (Martin and Ernst)  4–5 Rifai tekke in Üsküdar  18–19 riyada  75 Rumi: Past and Present, East and West (Franklin Lewis)  54 Russian Orthodox Church in France  132 Sacred Individuals  81, 83 Salat/namaz  118 Salik, true wayfarer on path  123–4 Sarmoung Monastery  42, 224n. 5 Science of Idiotism  115 Self  142 self-remembering  203 Sema ceremony  7, 136, 180, 216–17 Beelzebub’s Tales  181–2 Mevlevi Sema ­employs  182 participant’s comments  182 in relation to Gurdjieff’s ­Movements  4, 177–8, 181–2, 200, 215–17, 221 semazens  181 Sura al-Fatiha  181 Shah, Idries, esotericism and pseudo­spiritualism  62

Gurdjieff’s teachings  61–2 “latihan” spiritual practice  60 Moore, James in, “NeoSufism: The Case of Idries Shah”  63–4, 66, 128, 133–4 Naqshbandi-Qadiri methods  60 review in New York Review of Books  62–3 stages of development in Sufism  58 The Sufis  56 Sufi, Graves participates in  56–7 Sufism presentation  54–5 teachings of “The Great Work,”  62 versions of “Mullah Nasrudin Tales,”  64 views  55–6 “watered-down” ­practices  59 The Way of the Sufi  58 Shahadah  98 The Shambhala Guide to Sufism (Carl Ernst)  3–4 Sherborne: An Experiment in Transformation (Allen Roth)  157–8 spiritual didacticism  87 A Spiritual Psychology (Bennett J. G.)  120, 132–3 “Stop” exercise  18, 21 “Struggle of the Magicians” ballet  15, 18–19, 145 Subud psychosis  60, 128 Sufi orders  111 The Sufis (Idries Shah)  11, 56, 146, 175–6

Index Sufism  9, 45, 212 and Islam  77 rituals of  179–80 second and third waves of  175 teachers, influence and collaboration  180 teachings and  2 teachings and ­teachers  166 terminology and ­language  141–2 transmission and presentation in America  3 Sufism and the Way of Blame: Hidden Sources of a Sacred Psychology (Yannis Toussulis)  203 Sufism in America, American free verse  195 Claymont Court  198 Coleman Barks  195 contemporary ­figures  196 Gamard’s, Ibrahim view  8, 145, 178, 190, 197, 200–1 Gisela Webb’s ­model  196 Gurdjieff-Bennett teachings  198 Gurdjieff’s legacy  196–7 Gurdjieff t­ radition  197–8 Hazrat Inayat Khan  196 Hybrid Identity ­Formations in Muslim America (Marcia ­Hermansen)  197 Qur’an  67, 95, 97–8, 124, 160, 181, 196, 203, 210–11, 213, 223n. 3

religion and ­spirituality  196 Rumi’s poetry  195 Rumi: The Big Red Book (Coleman Barks)  195–6 spiritual and religious teachings  198 spiritual discourses  196 sufi movements and orders  197 universal a­ pproach  196 Webb  196–7 Western ­Esotericism  197 Sufism:The Formative Period (Ahmet Karamustafa)  4 Süleymaniye Mosque  28 Şuşud, Hasan Sufi teacher  126, 128, 136–7, 143–4, 148, 151, 153, 160–1, 164–5, 178, 203, 230 Taylor, Paul  1, 10, 52, 191, 223n. 1 A New Life  225n. 8 Tertium Organum (Ouspensky, P. D.)  12–13 Theosophy or Psychological Religion (Max Muller)  12 Third-wave Sufism in America  7–8, 169–70, 197 Toussulis, Yannis, critique of and ­commentary on ­Gurdjieff and his ­influence  200–6 suggestion  204–5 work  205 Transformation (Bennett J. G.)  129–30, 142 “True Self,”  142

249 Values (Bennett, J. G.)  137 Views From the Real World (Gurdjieff, G. I.)  18 “watered-down” practices  59 Way of Blame and Malamat (Bennett, J. G.)  138–9, 203–4 The Way of the Sufi (Shah, Idries)  58 Way-type school  107 wazifa/recitation and meditation  219 Webb’s Gisela model of three waves  196 Western Esotericism  6, 11, 65, 197 Western psyche  141 “wish” and “want,”  121–2 Witness, autobiography (Bennett, J. G.)  25–6, 131 Women Called to the Path of Rumi (Shekina Reinhertz)  181 Yagan, Murat, about family  206 Bektashi ­dervishes  206 The Essence of Sufism in the Light of Kebzeh  207 essential Sufism  207 I Come from behind Kaf ­Mountain  206–7 influence on  206 Kebzeh tradition  207–8 Living Presence  206 and Sufism  206–8 work in Canada  200, 206 Young Turk Revolution  30

zikr  182 Zabor, Rafi  147 I, Wabenzi  162–3