takes the disciple's right hand, and causes him to repeat seyeral times the following confession: "I ask forgiveness of the great God, than whom there is no other deity, the Eternal, the Everlasting, the Living One. I turn to Him in repentance, and beg His grace and forgiveness." Then the disciple repeats after the Murshid: "I beg for the favor of God and of the Prophet; and I take for my guide to God (here the Murshid is named), not to change or to separate. God is our witness. By the great God; there is no deity but God! Amen." The two then recite the prayer which forms the first chapter of the Koran, and the disciple concludes the ceremony by kissing the Murshid's hand. Afterward there is a regular system of instruction, with daily exercises. The disciple must visit his spiritual guide frequently.

The Mohammedan saint, as already noted, is one who is possessed by the Divine Spirit. The dervish fraternities, which are training-schools of saints, aim to foster this "possession." The ecstatic trance-like condition, in which the worshipper loses himself completely and is carried away by the divine power which seizes him, is the thing especially sought, without much preference as to the means of arriving at the experience. Hence the general exaggeration, and cheapening, of the typical Sufi practices and methods; and those extravagant and grotesque performances with which the western world is more or less familiar. As the contemporary of Paul spoke with tongues,' or as the negro in his camp-meeting "gets religion" with the help of shouting and singing and rhythmic motions more or less violent, so the dervish in Constantinople or Cairo, after getting as near to the divine as he can by means of more self-contained exercises, passes on into devotional esctasy through the excitement induced by the beating of drums and thrumming of lutes, by wild chanting and wailing ("howling"), or by whirling about in one direction until the human and the

divine are completely merged in a sort of religious vertigo. There is also characteristic exaggeration in such matters as the worship of saints and the importance assigned to the working of miracles. In doctrine as in customs these fraternities have been free to go their own way, always maintaining their loyalty to Islam. It is not surprising that a few of the orders, the so-called "lawless dervishes," have gained an undesirable reputation for laxity in morals, defended by them on the ground of superiority to the regulations binding on the ordinary sinner.

The great service performed by the Dervish Orders, however, lies in this, that they have been the means of infusing the devotional, mystical element into the whole fabric of Mohammedan religious practice. The Sufi saints and doctors, with their lofty philosophy and esoteric wisdom, were better able to awe the public than to show it how to worship. Such knowledge was too wonderful for the common people, they could not attain unto it. But what these unapproachable ones could not do was done by the humbler groups. In addition to regular members the most of these fraternities have lay members; and this form of association has been so generally welcomed that at the present day the typical Muslim, in every Mohammedan land, is connected with one or another of the orders.

Simple forms of the dervish dhikr (generally pronounced zikr) constitute the ordinary devotional service supplementing the prescribed formal worship-in the Mohammedan community. The typical dervish exercise of this nature has often been described in detail, and the description need not be repeated here. Among the usual features are the reciting of sentences from the Koran, and of formulas whose meaning is that God is present; the use of instruments of music or percussion; and a regular system of postures and ejaculations. Sometimes a rosary of ninety-nine beads, corresponding to the ninety-nine Names of God, is employed. The

writer has been much impressed with the manifestly devotional spirit in such a Muslim "prayer-meeting." In observing how men and youths, average citizens of the small town, known as workmen and tradesmen of no apparent religious turn or especially emotional nature, joined with interest and fervor in the exercises of the evening; rising excitement showing in their eyes as the drum sounded, solemn formulæ were chanted, and the members of the little congregation rocked their bodies to and fro; the guest from the western world felt that all this had much in common with what he had seen in his own land. Such gatherings and exercises represent an earnest and sober attempt to realize the true meaning of zikr (dwelling on the thought of God), in fulfilment of a conscious need. God is here is the leading idea in all these voluntary religious meetings of devout Muslims, whatever the form of their exercises, and however variously the idea of the divine presence may be conceived. By one the phrase may be interpreted in the direction of pantheism, reminding of the Koran passage (2:109), "Whichever way ye turn, there is God's face." To another the words and the experience may rather call to mind "There the assurance of Allah's personal presence (58:8), is no conference of three in which He is not the fourth, nor of five in which He is not the sixth. Be the number less or more, He is with them." Doubtless each one of the participants would testify that the zikr meant more to him than any other single expression of his Islam. Certain it is that this widespread Mohammedan religious exercise has in it the seed of new life. Such collective mysticism has often brought about extensive religious reform where dogma and tradition have lost their primitive hold, and the history of other movements may be repeated here. It is a factor that can never be left out of account by those who are looking with some hope for a day when the old Islam, which the world has known too long, may grow into something better.

THE MYSTICISM OF DANTE

CHARLES ALLEN DINSMORE

In this paper I shall not attempt to set forth the many instances in Dante's various writings where he uses the imagery and language of mysticism, but shall seek to determine from his works whether his own recorded experiences entitle him to be ranked in this strange and noble company of the otherworldly, and, if so, to ascertain the type and degree of his mysticism.

No biographical data which have come down to us from any contemporary afford us the slightest help here. Neither the classic paragraphs of Villani nor Boccaccio's garrulous biography hints at any extraordinary mystical exaltation of the great Florentine, or suggests that any weird light of holiness rests upon him. Tradition also, which has saved a few meager and rather pointless anecdotes, is silent as a sphinx. Whatever mystical emotions the poet had were in no respect spectacular enough to attract the attention of others. Most reticent of men, he has, however, with the rare ability of an exalted genius, laid bare the life of his spirit from its first awakening until he gazed into the Fountain of Living Light Eternal. Our task is to search the records for indications of Dante's genuine experiences. This is not as simple a matter as at first it may appear, for in the Vita Nuova he is an artist portraying the ideal of love, and in the Divina Commedia he is a protagonist often representing universal humanity. Yet Dante's individuality is so positive and clearly defined that we need not despair of dissociating his

own personal thoughts and actions from the creations of his art and the demands of his message.

The first question is the evidential value of the Vita Nuova with its stately opening Incipit Vita Nuova. To what extent may the dream-like experiences of the poet be considered autobiographical? Dante's nature was so essentially truthful that our investigation would be easy if we were persuaded that he was attempting to set down his actual thoughts and emotions, but as we have just stated, he was a troubadour of love: an idealist describing his passion in the interests of his art: he is evidently more eager to conform his words to a poetic ideal than to dispassionately narrate facts as they occurred.

We must furthermore remember that the poems comprising the Vita Nuova were selected from the sheaf of verses which he had written from time to time during the enchanted days of his youth, while the prose comments which bind them together were composed between his twenty-fifth and thirtieth years when he was quite a different being from the one who wrote the sonnets and odes which they explain. "An erudite Dante," says Grandgent, "is this commentator, serious, careful of his reputation, steeped in mysticism, full of Biblical images and of philosophical doctrine. What he desires above all is to justify his life before others and before his own conscience, to read into his juvenile verses a depth and unity which they were far from possessing, to bring all the emotions of youth into harmony with the supernatural influence ultimately ascribed to Beatrice, to transform this gentle Florentine into an angel, to discover in all his relations with her the sign of heavenly predestination." 1 With this statement I cordially agree, but the incredible pains the poet took to bring into unity his conflicting verses indicate that they grew out of genuine experiences whose mystical meaning his more mature reason was attempting to interpret.

1 Studies of Dante's Lyrics, p. 129.