men,
uncertain in their faith, for they had been plucked from the ranks of
unbelievers and had to forget many errors. Sheikh Karagoz made it easier for
them. You know the story, of course. He was with the sultan Murad, who first
created the Janissary corps from among the prisoners he took in his Balkan
wars. When the sheikh blessed them, with his hand outstretched in a long white
sleeve, that sleeve became the mark of the Janissary, the headgear that they
wore like an egret in their turbans."
"So
Sheikh Karagoz was a baba?"
"In
a sense, yes. He lived somewhat later than the last babas of Turkish tradition,
but the principles were the same. His teachings were Islamic, but they dwelt on
mystery and sacred union."
"Sacred
union?"
The
imam pursed his lips. "I mean union of faiths, union with God. We say, for
example, that there is only one path to truth, and that is written in the
Koran. Sheikh Karagoz believed that there were other ways."
"Like
the dervish. Ecstatic states. Liberation of the soul from the prison of the
body."
"Exactly,
but the means were different. You might say, more primitive."
"How
so?"
"True
adepts considered themselves to be above all earthly bonds and rules. So rule
breaking was a way of showing their allegiance to the brotherhood. They would
drink alcohol and eat pork, for instance. Women were admitted under the same
conditions as men. Much of the clear guidance of the Koran was simply brushed
aside, as unimportant or even irrelevant. Such transgressions helped to create
a bond between them."
"I
see. Perhaps that made it easier for the Christian-born to approach Islam?"
"In
the short term, I agree. They gave up fewer of their base pleasures. You know
what soldiers can be like."
Yashim
nodded. Wine, women, and song: the litany of the campfire in every age.
"If
they ignored the guidance of the Koran," he said slowly, "what guidance did
they receive?"
"A
very good question." The imam put his fingertips together. "In one sense, none
at all. The true Karagozi believed in no one but himself: he believed that his
was the soul that persisted in every state--creation, birth, death, and beyond. The
rules were irrelevant. But the ridiculous thing is, he had rules of his own,
too. Magic numbers. Secrets. Superstitions. A Karagozi will not set his spoon
on the table, or stand on a threshold, that sort of thing.
"Obeying
the petty regulations of the order allowed him to break the laws of God. It is
scarcely to be wondered at that all sorts of bad types were attracted to the
Karagozi order. Let's not exaggerate. The original impulse, if confused, was
pure. The Karagozi followers thought of themselves as Muslims. That is, they
attended prayers in the mosque, like everyone else. The Karagozi element was
another layer in their spiritual allegiance, a secret layer. They were
organized in lodges, what we call tekkes. Places of gathering and prayer. There
were many of them, in Istanbul and elsewhere."
"Were
all the Karagozi Janissaries?"
"No.
All the Janissaries were Karagozi, broadly speaking. Which is not the same
thing. Perhaps, my friend, we have been too quick to speak of them and their
doctrines in the past tense. The blow to the Janissaries? A setback. Maybe, in
the end, a creative one. You know, faith may sharpen itself in adversity. I
would imagine that we have not heard the last of the Karagozi. Perhaps not
under that name, but the currents of spirituality they tap are deep."
"But
proscribed, as you said. Forbidden."
"Ali,
well, here in Istanbul, yes. But they have made a long journey across many centuries
and many lands, from the eastern deserts to the borders of the Domain of
Peace."
The
imam smiled. "Don't look so surprised. The doctrine of the Karagozi won many
frontiers for Islam. Perhaps it will do so again."
"Which
borders? Where do you mean?"
"They
are strong where you'd expect them to be. In Albania. Where the Janissaries
were always strong."
Yashim
nodded.
"There's
a poem. You seem to
uncertain in their faith, for they had been plucked from the ranks of
unbelievers and had to forget many errors. Sheikh Karagoz made it easier for
them. You know the story, of course. He was with the sultan Murad, who first
created the Janissary corps from among the prisoners he took in his Balkan
wars. When the sheikh blessed them, with his hand outstretched in a long white
sleeve, that sleeve became the mark of the Janissary, the headgear that they
wore like an egret in their turbans."
"So
Sheikh Karagoz was a baba?"
"In
a sense, yes. He lived somewhat later than the last babas of Turkish tradition,
but the principles were the same. His teachings were Islamic, but they dwelt on
mystery and sacred union."
"Sacred
union?"
The
imam pursed his lips. "I mean union of faiths, union with God. We say, for
example, that there is only one path to truth, and that is written in the
Koran. Sheikh Karagoz believed that there were other ways."
"Like
the dervish. Ecstatic states. Liberation of the soul from the prison of the
body."
"Exactly,
but the means were different. You might say, more primitive."
"How
so?"
"True
adepts considered themselves to be above all earthly bonds and rules. So rule
breaking was a way of showing their allegiance to the brotherhood. They would
drink alcohol and eat pork, for instance. Women were admitted under the same
conditions as men. Much of the clear guidance of the Koran was simply brushed
aside, as unimportant or even irrelevant. Such transgressions helped to create
a bond between them."
"I
see. Perhaps that made it easier for the Christian-born to approach Islam?"
"In
the short term, I agree. They gave up fewer of their base pleasures. You know
what soldiers can be like."
Yashim
nodded. Wine, women, and song: the litany of the campfire in every age.
"If
they ignored the guidance of the Koran," he said slowly, "what guidance did
they receive?"
"A
very good question." The imam put his fingertips together. "In one sense, none
at all. The true Karagozi believed in no one but himself: he believed that his
was the soul that persisted in every state--creation, birth, death, and beyond. The
rules were irrelevant. But the ridiculous thing is, he had rules of his own,
too. Magic numbers. Secrets. Superstitions. A Karagozi will not set his spoon
on the table, or stand on a threshold, that sort of thing.
"Obeying
the petty regulations of the order allowed him to break the laws of God. It is
scarcely to be wondered at that all sorts of bad types were attracted to the
Karagozi order. Let's not exaggerate. The original impulse, if confused, was
pure. The Karagozi followers thought of themselves as Muslims. That is, they
attended prayers in the mosque, like everyone else. The Karagozi element was
another layer in their spiritual allegiance, a secret layer. They were
organized in lodges, what we call tekkes. Places of gathering and prayer. There
were many of them, in Istanbul and elsewhere."
"Were
all the Karagozi Janissaries?"
"No.
All the Janissaries were Karagozi, broadly speaking. Which is not the same
thing. Perhaps, my friend, we have been too quick to speak of them and their
doctrines in the past tense. The blow to the Janissaries? A setback. Maybe, in
the end, a creative one. You know, faith may sharpen itself in adversity. I
would imagine that we have not heard the last of the Karagozi. Perhaps not
under that name, but the currents of spirituality they tap are deep."
"But
proscribed, as you said. Forbidden."
"Ali,
well, here in Istanbul, yes. But they have made a long journey across many centuries
and many lands, from the eastern deserts to the borders of the Domain of
Peace."
The
imam smiled. "Don't look so surprised. The doctrine of the Karagozi won many
frontiers for Islam. Perhaps it will do so again."
"Which
borders? Where do you mean?"
"They
are strong where you'd expect them to be. In Albania. Where the Janissaries
were always strong."
Yashim
nodded.
"There's
a poem. You seem to
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