"In fear of death, in fear of rot"

It is said that the Prophet told his followers to die before they die. Are we in need of an existential euthanasia? In demanding this the act of Islam, the spiritual submission as understood in the worldly horizon evades the totality of it's temporal revelation. Sharia, the transmitted conditions of transcendental return is mortal after all, it's rulings are constrained by the metaphysical composition of Dunya (what need would we have for return if the oppositions between departure and arrival no longer convey any ontological resonance), but as we consciously die as the Prophet suggested, we project onto a certain possibility which is of course paradoxically avoided in the condition of intentional undeath. Life in death, "حي فل موت". To die intentionally then, is it not a suicide or do the inter-sensory components of the imaginal hierarchy, the shadowy presencing of which we merely mirror as fickled ambivalence assume the determinant of our own martyrdom? And thus, do we avoid the ultimate hubris in appropriating the original function in commanding for ourselves the collapsing of the infinite horizon, through nothing but our own will? 

Is there nothing then, more terrifying in death? The rejuvenation towards the unveiling of the sub-conceit of an established revelation? Surely as Bram Stoker's Dracula would have it, there are far worse things in this world than death? Indeed how can fear what is not only the only certain possibility, but a desired archetypal condition. We have already inverted the projected fatal occurrence into the very condition of our fixation towards it. To fear this condition would only indicate a certain ethereal homelessness, having being hurled into the world and picked up oneself in horrified awareness of recycled time echoing behind him, and urging him onwards off a quickly approaching precipice. Treatment would require a determined yet effortless reorientation towards the finite, or the sacred life that lies on it's threshold. Is it this unknowable condition in the post-Dunya that resolutely defies the subjugation of human reasoning that deserves fearing?         

How can fear, however the ultimate reconciliatory process between initiation and releasement, aesthetic degeneration and horrific rejuvenation, word as idolic injunction and unhindered desire in a violently sanctioned commitment to the nobility of the un-self. The last principle, perhaps. The horizontal blade of the impetuous feminine royalty, refinement in the wilful erasing of boundaries, into sanctified butchery, imposing momentary inter-sensory clarity in gleeful blinding's. The blade raised vertical and inherited among the purified self-obliterated. The vigilant slave, their kohled eyes mirroring their mastery over the inter-perceptuary, the splendid symmetry of their physical form complementing the blade inherited. Unquestionably masculine in virtue though bound and worshiped through the royal birth-giver. This is the nature of the double tipped sword. It is perhaps truly impossible to rationalise the outwardly destination but not entirely in vain to glimpse in the duality of the sacred form. 

We are of course referring here to beauty. Beauty as the symbolic register of the articulation of truth, it's presence in the sensory realm. It is, not however an imitation by whose very nature is incapable of authentic admiration but a bridge unto which we gaze onto the other side and acknowledge the projected possibilities that lay beyond. Beauty is rarely a given though, but a mutilatory ideal. It's conditions must be carved through our moral and sensible boundaries. The void of the sacred light which saturates from within our exclusionary edifices are not, however fear inducing in the sense that we wish to consider here but more momentarily displacing.       

The only condition worthy of fear then should be rot. A Thrownness but not in this world but the after. In the jaded torment, the infinite tearing onto all of ones possibilities there is simply no connection to the past, nor is there a present in which to feel frustrated. One is frantically holding against the shattered threshold. Grounding Is and the conditions unto which one orients his existence in an unfathomable vacuum of anti-Is. Terrifyingly perform useless tricks to pass into an opening, only to be left dejected, confronted by ghosts of performers to which art he may recognise but that he may never see as anything other than an unrepentant elimination.                          
     

The Gothic-Ghulat Manifesto

Written for the Moorish Orthodox Church, late 2012

The Gothic-Ghulat Manifesto

 

By

Isaac Nejem

 

“Ah, Moon of my Delight who know'st no wane,
The Moon of Heav'n is rising once again:
How oft hereafter rising shall she look
Through this same Garden after me — in vain”

 

 

Since the works of Horace Walpole, specifically The Castle of Otranto first introduced, or arguably reintroduced a veneer of dreadful romanticism in western literature, the sort that had been abandoned  by the totalising cultural phenomena we now know as the renaissance, a literary juncture was established where the horrific undertones, proto-anti humanist rhetoric and a more cynical interpretation of human behaviour could be explored and elaborated, much to the disgust of the intellectual establishment. Frustrated with the banality of renaissance romanticism as well as the rigidity and narrowing scope of early realism, a artistic tradition was born that was at once heretical and religiously obsessed, morbid yet aesthetically fascinating, fictional and yet embracing of a politically and socially sarcastic tradition.

 

            It is without doubt that the tradition of gothic fiction, and much later, the gothic sub-culture remained fixated within religious, particularly catholic symbolisms, iconography and even artistic expression. Early examples of this on-going relationship include Lewis’s “The Monk” which became one of the first literary examples whereby a member of the religious clergy portrayed the primary antagonist. The apparent “anti-religious” provocation, however, over shadowed a very genuine artistic attempt to return to a literary tradition whereby the symbolic order held significant importance. The horror in “The Monk” lay not in some fantastical, primal fetishisation, instead emphasising the unknowable forces that reside both internally as well as the forces that lay outside human control, forever meddling among us.

 

            Since its beginnings as a neo-romantic literary movement, the “Gothic” has come to signify a particular interpretative tradition within popular culture, particularly with the turn of the 20^th century and the exploration of the more horrific themes of interest to the brooding cultural pioneers, tragically stranded in the modern while remaining firmly fixated with the past.

 

            Keeping in mind the “Gothic” in this particular instance refers to that very interpretative tradition rather than the thinly veiled anti-Catholic social commentaries of the likes of “The Monk”, one can draw parallels between what is often seen as the Islamic equivalent of the religious aesthetic focus of Gothic literature, that is Shi’ism. At first, one may question the legitimacy of such a comparison, given the disparate historical circumstances surrounding the two, as well as the inherent difficulty in contrasting a religious sect with a 18^th century European literary movement, one which never felt the need to offer such a commentary in the first place. Yet to limit the “Gothic” to such a euro-centric sphere of influence would surely to injustice to the tradition itself. Surely there is more to “The Monk” and “Dracula” than Castles, monasteries and monsters.

 

            Indeed, as I’ve suggested above dark romanticism is at it’s a core a meditation on the dynamic interplay of tradition and religion, all within an encompassing aesthetic focus. There can never truly be a rationalist, atheist Gothic creation, the only possible exception being Lovecraft who may have delved into the Islamic tradition more than is realised, by forsaking the centrality of Earth and our species as dictated by Chriso-centric worldview, and juxtapositioning the human perspective among a myriad of unknowable horrors. While Sufi (particularly within the Sunni tradition) esotericism may be compatible with this arguably post-gothic thematic, the same cannot be said for the heterodox Shi’i cultural tradition whose immediate and mystic principles are far closer to Shelley than to Lovecraft.

 

            In this admittedly brief analysis, I’ll outline instances of similarity in the Ghulat Shi’i tradition (that is the heterodox sects who often deified Imam Ali or the following Imams) and key themes within the Gothic principle with the intention in opening an alternative mode to think of the Ghulat faiths as well as the Gothic subculture. Firstly I will consider the prevalence of a “deathly aesthetic” as an essential condition of Shi’i cultural expression, particularly the beautification of death as a principle among the living in the philosophy of Imam Ali, as well as some theological meditations on esoteric significance of tombs are all that is related to graves. Secondly, the idea of a romantic theology will be discussed, keeping in mind the spiritual significance of a glorious ancestral past (often associated with Iran) with an individual’s elevation to the spiritual light. Finally, in a subversion of the Gothic has the profane, the tradition of religious profanity as adherence, that is the utilisation of blasphemous and macabre symbolisms in Shi’i-Sufi literature as a Gnostic strategy to overcome the falsities of orthodoxy.

 

A deathly aesthetic

 

            Death as a literary theme is perhaps most often associated with the Gothic genre, perhaps unfortunately so since it tends to obscure the richness and diversity of its use as well as elements of the Gothic unrelated to mere obscenity and mortal dread. Yet for its over-association, there is no doubt that death features prominently in the Gothic, both as a source of great anxiety and fascination. Whether in Edgar Allan Poe’s Ligea or Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, both of which have greatly diverging views on the use of death but both of which force the reader to consider death in an alternative light, albeit a dark one at that. Whereas Poe’s death challenges the assumption of the absolute finality in the departure of a character, Shelley almost ironically warns the reader on a scientific obsession with the prolonging of life. Just as Gothic culture’s preoccupation with death can arguably be traced to the religious origins of the Christ on the cross and it’s fetishisation throughout European history, so to can we find a similar process in Shi’i cultural history which includes a far more tragic narrative considering the lack of a redeeming resurrection in the case of the martyrs in Karbala, placing the blame on the believers as well as the perpetrators. Every year, this event is commemorated and re-enacted in a similar manner to the Christian passion plays yet the mourning of Muharram is no mere dramatisation but a realisation of the eternal tragic circumstances that the faithful remained bound too. The individual mourner finds himself within a tragedy in a vaguely Shakespearean sense where he/she plays the part of an anti-villain, symbolised as the collectively imagined people of Kufa who refused to follow Hussain to confront the Umayyad Empire, and in doing so sealed his horrid fate. The believer remains displaced by the contradictory circumstances of his position in relation to the Imam, declaring his allegiance to the fallen Hussain with the words “Labaik ya Hussain” all while acknowledging the impossibility of such a statement given the temporal barrier he/she faces. Hamid Dabashi locates the mourners of Muharram within a Shakespearean lens declaring that for the Shi’i, the “time is out of joint, O cursed spite that ever they were born to set it right”.

 

            This visual and performative meditation on death is applicable to all Shi’i, and is by no means limited to the Ghulat sects who arguably contain fewer of these immediately visceral displays of tragedy and death. In analysing the philosophical and literary manifestations of these ideas, it would be best to start with a Gnostic reading of the words of Imam Ali and how those influenced a culture fixated on a beautification of deathly expressions of faith.

 

“Death is more intimate to me than the breast of a mother is to a suckling babe” Imam Ali

 

To die in this sense, is of course to be interpreted entirely esoterically and in conjunction to what would become the Sufi idea of self-obliteration or Al Fana fi Ilah (extinction in god). In Shia theology, there is a prevalent motif which states the believer must die before his death, to walk with one foot firmly in the grave thus partially awakening the sleeping divinity within ones Nafs (soul). As the Imam himself is documented as saying, “he who knows one’s Nafs knows one’s lord”. It is interesting then that the Imam should bring our attention to the image of the mother and the suckling babe since the process of death as self elevation works symbolically through a Freudian lens whereby the desire of the child to remain in the weaning stage represents the death drive inherent in all individuals, that is the desire to return to the mother’s womb and revert back in an inanimate state. So to, the believers desire to embrace death is to return to some transcendental state, from the perspective of those on this plain of understanding, inanimate but as the Qur’an reminds us; “nay for they are alive but ye perceive not”. In keeping with the idea of death in Gothic literature as a challenge to the finality of passing, we can think of death in a Shi’i scope in a deconstructed sense, since our approach is from that of he who is already dead.

 

“I am the death of the dead” Imam Ali     

 

Jacques Derrida believed the concept of the “undead” to be a useful concept in the binary deconstruction between the dead and living. Whereas the Vampyre can be thought of as the personification of a guilt ridden anxiety between lovers on separated by death and life, or the modern Prometheus as the disgusting transgression of mankind which makes the thinking of the undead a horrid endeavour, the undead in Shi’i theology shortens the gap between the world of spirits and the worlds of bodies, existing only partially as a fluctuating image in the realm of visible perception. The Persian philosopher and mystic Mushin Fayz Kashani thought of this immeasurable gap between the bodily world and the spiritual as being located of separate ends of an intermediately plain which he calls the world of archetypal images. This universe while being the object of material and intellectual perception exists only from the Quranic “Nur”, and is best thought as a “duality of dimensions”. It is through this dimensional correspondence with symbolisations in the human imagination that spiritual interties become corporealised. It is from this sphere the Imams visit in corporeal form in the highly symbolised imaginings of men. It is interesting then that many have hypothesised the Vampyre from a Jungian perspective whereby the Vampire archetype is the fetishisation of the Shadow, the unconscious irrational projection which the ego fails to recognise. Of course, unlike Christianity which rejects the idea of God as responsible for what is understood as evil, the concept of Tawhid which even the Ghulat sects hold sacrament necessitates this manifestation of the divine as we are reminded in Surat Al Nur;

 

“Or else they are like shades obscure over a vast ocean,

Enveloped by the waves,

Above which are waves,

Above which is fog;

Darkest shades piled one upon the other.

If he stretches forth his hand, he can scarcely see it.

He on whom God sheds no light, no light has he.” 

 

For a chapter so often remembered for the “light upon light”, one may too often overlook the “Dark upon dark” as an essential component in understanding the divine. It’s interesting to note the concept of Black light is important in the understanding of Iranian Shi’i Sufism but we shall leave this component out for a later analysis.

 

In keeping with the theme of the deathly aesthetic in both the Gothic and Shi’ism, one simply can’t ignore the role of architecture in embodying the pleasure of a heightened emotional state in a permanent reflective structure. The word gothic itself largely lends to the architectural legacy of the medieval Gothic which had found a new appreciation in its revival during the 18^th century. The Gothic ruins scattered across an otherwise unspoilt countryside or the lordly manor of an eastern count serve to amplify a sense of decay and a certain futility in the face of the supernatural. The use of religious buildings, despite often espousing a certain anti-catholic sentiment, was more effective in invoking a sense of awe and insignificance. The esoteric symbolism of tombs is just as widespread in the Islamic world, and not limited to any particular sect. The largely Sunni Mevlevi orders attire is entirely bound up in graveyard symbolisms, from the tomb shaped headgear to the white robes worn by corpses, the Mevlevi dervish wears his death to the bodily world in his uniform while remaining attentively awaken to the transcendental realm in Zikir and Semma. For this study, we’ll consider the work of the Iranian theological innovator Shaykh Ahmad Al Ahsai, founded of the Shaykhi School which would later develop into the post-Islamic faith, Babism. The tomb understood esoterically by Al Ahsai is thought to be revealing of the innermost essence of an individual in life. The spirit and subtle body is fixed within the higher plane of the degrees of time. The example of sleeping it utilised as the entrance into the autonomous archetypal realm, at least temporarily. Therefore while the tomb in classic gothic literature may be a strategy to capture an ecstatic state in stagnated horror, the tomb in heterodox Shi’ism projects these states by way of manifestations of spiritual and bodily properties in the imaginary and transcendental realms.                      

 

 

 

Dracula as an Islamicate other?

 

Now that I have your attention, I must apologise for that ruse of a title and admit I have no intention in bringing forth evidence for the reconsidering of Bram Stoker's dark prince of Wallachia as Islamic in any tangible sense. That being said, I wish to have the reader consider the character, Dracula as a sort of personality paradox, navigating the boundaries of life and death through the embodying of largely protestant eschatological manifestations of good and evil. Of course there is no denying that Dracula is portrayed as an undead monster, conditionally devoid of redemptive features (which is a part of his tragic existence), and utterly averse to sanctification. While it's credible to consider the tragedy of the character, Dracula doesn't exhibit any semblance of heroism. But why then has the character not only been based on an existing historical figure, and a reputably brave warrior at that but also one of an undeniably Christian inclination? It is through the paradigm of the savage noble which I'd like to interpret the Count, both as the Eastern European Christian other (in the sense that Gothic fiction utilised Catholic aesthetics to stress the maliciousness of the Church) and the Undead anti-Christian, exhibiting many 19th century Western conceptions of Islam.          

 

Some of the characteristics embodied by Bram Stoker's villainous noble  seem (perhaps coincidentally) to be an amalgamation of western conceptions of the noble savage, particularly of the Islamic variety. In life, he is a Prince of Wallachia and member of the Order of the Dragon, a lone bastion of Christendom in the face of what was at the time a seemingly invincible Ottoman Empire. In unlife, he has ...by his very pneumatological condition, rejected Christianity. The character can't tolerate Christian iconography and symbolism, and in later manifestations is outwardly hostile to the faith. Although Stoker left his theological affiliation unaccounted for in undeath, it is stated he acheived vampirism in his study of the black arts, which interestingly enough is a recurring theme in attaining unatural immortality in Islamic mythology. It's not a stretch to imagine that Stoker was familiar with the story of Sidi Nouman, where Amine, the surreally beautiful wife of Nouman draws suspicion from her new husband upon taking notice of her lack of appetite. She is later discovered feeding on bodies in a nearby grave surrounded by ghoulish monsters (contradicting various claims that ghouls are essentially the Arab folkloric variant of the vampire mythos) to which she is confronted and seemingly killed only to return the next night at the foot of a terrified Nouman's bed, displaying inhuman feats of strength. Upon meeting her final death it is explained that Amine had in fact been a student of sorcery in life which no doubt inhibited her transition to the hereafter. 

 

It is also indicative that Stoker's choice of undead company had to take such a sexualised and perhaps even incestuous form. Although the relationship between Dracula and his brides is never explicit (interpretations vary from his sisters, spouses or sexual partners), their transgressive position within Dracula's household is somewhat disruptive to the 19th century western imagination, harkening to already existing obsessions with the sexually perceived courtly life of the Ottoman sultans. The wives are rarely seen outside the Count's embattlements (save for those unfortunate enough to wonder into Transylvania) but exercise an invisible influence which remains impenetrable and even threatening (inciting both fear and arousal) from the reader. It is in this sense I wish to direct the readers attention to Heidegger's notion of Alethia and the potential of it's applicability both in the sexualised brides and the ontological dimensions of Dracula himself. Alethia, being Heidegger's term in explaining the limits of disclosure. An example of which is light, that in it's revelation retreats and is absent. Being as a whole is impossible to consider as a total presence or absence but is at once both in that those which do not appear, or are present must be thought of as absences. Therefore, it isn't merely the sexual vulgarity which is threatening to the male-western reader but the concealment hidden within unconcealment, to which sexual mediation is reduced to a minimum. Dracula also characteristically preys of Christian women, choosing even to relocate to London to emphasis the transgressive danger posed by the noble stranger. The dichotomy between gentleman and monster, Christian and heathen, reserved and predatory condition of Dracula's character, when examined through a Heideggerian lens is truly frightening, for the reflection is not merely that of the noble savage but the noble-savage existence at the heart of being as a whole.

 

There are other comparisons to be made. In Tod Browning's adaption, there is of course the famous scene in which Dracula recoils in disgust at the sight of Mr Harker's crucifix. What is interesting about that portrayal is the reference to the first chapter of the novel, when Harker explains his acquisition of the item from a women upon hearing of his journey to the Count's estate. Harker recalls his protestant upbringing in explaining his distaste for wearing crucifix's. Political collaboration between protestant England and the Ottoman Empire following the reformation was often reinforced with appeals to the similarities between Sunni Islam and the protestant faith in general. Harker's theological objections to the crucifix were echoes of Dracula's conditional inability to come into contact with one. Could this have been an articulation of the nervousness of the English gentleman into his rare encounters with the noble other? Perhaps we're reading into this too deeply. Let us leave Dracula and the orientalised ottoman in peace, let them retreat to their respective courts to brood over their domains while enjoying a glass of......I almost forget......"They never drink........wine".