Transcription
This video in Arabic picks up where the story of the new Alawites left off in the previous part, and the light emerges from its hiding place for the first time in centuries. I return to the beginnings that tried to remain hidden, to the root that carved its way beneath the layers of history before rising in the form of rituals and constitutions known only to those who pass through the gate of secrecy, where light is secretly deposited. Now we begin.
Enter with Al-Ani into the heart of the doctrine as it lives within its texts, and read it as a system that governs the relationship of the soul to the world and connects life, death, and resurrection in a continuous movement from one sphere to another and from one body to another. Here, Al-Ani arrives at the principle upon which this religion is based, the idea that carries the entire structure of manifestation, and how the Alawites know God.
In many religions, including Islam, God is seen as a distant, transcendent being, outside of time and space, known more by what He is not: no body, no image, no direction. This is the fundamental difference between Alawism and Islam. The Alawites do not worship an absent God, and they see in the Commander of the Faithful, Ali, the manifestation of the One and Only God without incarnation or merging, an appearance that is not confined by a body, closed by an image, or held by a name in the Alawite reading.
During the Ascension, when Muhammad ascended to the Throne, he saw the Commander of the Faithful (Ali) seated upon it. At that moment, the knowledge dawned upon him that this was God in His manifestation. He returned to Earth and found Ali among the people. He asked them about him, and they said, "He has never left us." This is how the Alawite understands manifestation: that the Divine Essence is not confined by body or place, yet it appears in a form in a continuous manifestation that is never absent from creation.
From this arises the perpetual debate with those who deny manifestation and those who believe in a separate God. They place intellectual impossibilities upon the One, the Eternal, the Absolute in Power and Will, and thus the concept of transcendence becomes a restriction upon Ali. Therefore, Alawism rejects the idea of a separate God because absence is negation, and negation carries with it the meaning of deficiency. In the Alawite conception, absolute power transcends time and space whenever it wills.
After establishing the meaning of manifestation, the Alawite moves to the more difficult question: How does God appear? Here, he enters the concept of the manifestation image, relying on a narration transmitted from Ja'far al-Sadiq in his answer to al-Mufaddal ibn Umar. The question revolves around the appearance of the Divine Essence in a visible form: Does the Essence change? Does it divide? Does it transform? We grasp the direction of the answer: the self remains in its transcendence, then light appears, then radiance appears, then darkness appears, then an image arises by which people know the way and by which existence is proven to creation. It is the abstract image [music].
To clarify the idea, Al-Ani uses examples: the example of a mirror is a person standing before it, with length, width, and depth, a complete body with its attributes. In the mirror, we see an image that resembles him exactly; we know his identity from it. But this image does not get hungry, does not get satiated, does not get sick, and we cannot measure his dimensions accurately from it. Then the example of a photograph: whoever sees it says, "This is so-and-so," but it is not him in his entirety. It is a shadow, a trace. The image resembles the original and indicates it, but it does not contain it. Then the example of live broadcasting: a single image of one person appears in many places at one moment without the person himself moving or being divided. This is how Al-Ani addresses the meaning of the abstract image: an appearance perceived by insight. People see the sign but do not encompass the self; they know the way but do not possess the whole. Thus, we arrive at the phrase that summarizes the whole image: it is not the entirety of the Creator, nor is the Creator other than it, and it is He by way of proof, affirmation, perception, and certainty.
From the doctrine of manifestation we enter the Trinity of Light and move from the idea to the structure that carries it, protects it and transforms it into a practical religion. We arrive at the secret that recurs in the Alawite texts, such as the constant pulse of the Ain Mim Sin. The Alawite, spiritual, transcendent eye is the divine essence, the absolute unseen truth. The Muhammadan Mim is the veiled name, the function through which people perceive the meaning, which is the universal intellect and the creative, established word. The Sin, the chain letter, refers to Salman, the gate, the universal soul, the intermediary through which the meaning is known and through which people enter the secret of secrets.
This trinity moves through history in cycles and phases. Each period has a manifestation of the meaning, a manifestation of the name, and a manifestation of the gate in the form of a human being. The Shari'a enumerates the manifestations as the Alawite heritage presents them: the Ain from Abel to Ali, and the Mim from Adam to Muhammad. With this vision, the image of Ali is no longer the image of a single man in history, but a window for the manifestation of the divine meaning in this cycle. The Alawite goes further than that, for every person sees in the image of Ali, as it appears to humanity, according to their faith. The people of falsehood see him only as the historical Ali, as the tradition narrates. But those whose faith is higher see in the image something broader than the body and its people. The complete truth is that they do not see Ali at all, but rather they see the divine essence manifested in the form of the Ansa'i [music].
Thus, the Alawite testimony becomes understandable in its context. Sunnis testify that there is no god but God and that Muhammad is the Messenger of God, and Shiites add, "And I bear witness that Ali is the Wali of God." But the Alawite testimony is radically different; it is a theological and existential affirmation that there is no god but Ali al-Anza' al-Batin. This is a declaration of the presence of the divine essence without incarnation or incarnation in the Ansa'i form. This form is not the entirety of the essence, but rather the method of its presence. And there is no veil over it except Muhammad al-Sadiq al-Amin, as a name, a veil, and a function. And there is no door to it except Salman al-Qawi al-Mustawin, as an intermediary and a path. [music]
From this luminous structure, al-Ani arrives at one of the most inflammatory points: the issue of the killing. The Commander of the Faithful and the Imams, foremost among them Hussein, pose a simple question: If Ali is the manifested God and the Imams are from His light, how can he die? How can the light be killed by a sword? The answer comes from the Alawite tradition, from a doctrinal perspective.
When the discussion reaches the moment when the light was extinguished in Kufa, it is no longer a historical event, but a treacherous manifestation from a place unseen by anyone. The Alawites stop at Abd al-Rahman ibn Muljam, not placing him in the image of an ordinary killer or adversary, but in another realm of secrecy, a realm of obedience, as someone who entered into a hidden covenant with Ali himself. This is why, when the Commander of the Faithful asked his companions one day, "Who will bear the curse for my sake?" it was Ibn Muljam. Those who came forward [music] with this understanding, Ibn Muljam was not in a position of opposition, nor did he raise his hand against the light. Rather, he concealed the manifestation when it was necessary to conceal it, and he bore the curse outwardly so that the secret would remain inward. Therefore, the Alawite texts mention him among the saints.
The event, for the Alawites, does not end with the disappearance of the manifestation and his apparent death in Kufa, but with the transfer of meaning to another manifestation that faced the sword in the form of Hussein in Karbala. The Alawites do not look to Karbala. Not as a physical killing, but as a moment of absence of manifestation, in this reading, Hussein is not truly killed. What happened in Karbala was a representation of a person wearing a persona, making it appear to people that he was Hussein. Hussein was saved, just as Jesus was saved before him. In Alawite theology, there is a general divine law: crucifixion, representation, and dismemberment do not apply to the experiences of meaning, name, and essence in their reality, but rather to their counterparts among the opposites who carry images [music]. The meaning of Ashura changes for the Alawites; it is not a day of sorrow, but a day of salvation and joy. Therefore, people do not beat their chests or beat their chests on this day, but rather they open their homes to guests and illuminate the day, because absence for them is not an end, but a movement on the path of light.
Al-Ani concludes this chapter with a scene that carries the mood of this heritage in looking at history. The Alawite battle of beauty is not seen as an ordinary human conflict, but rather an extension of a deeper spiritual experience. Indeed, as a manifestation of the divine self in the Muhammadan cycle, he is Joshua himself in that Mosaic, and Aisha is herself the wife of Moses. Safoura and she represent the opposite, the shadow that confronts the light. The color here carries the meaning of redness in Aisha and yellowness in Safoura. Just as Safoura fought Yusha over a giraffe, Aisha fought Ali over beauty. Every confrontation reveals the struggle of truth against its opposite, and how light tests shadows across time.
Then Al-Ani moves on to another meaning of flowers: wine, not as a drink, but as a servant of light. It is another form in which what is unseen by the eye is manifested. For the Alawites, wine has another, unknown meaning; it is a symbol of the gate to Sayyid Sin Salman, and it is not a drink for pleasure. They call it Abd Al-Nour, a name explained by a narration that Al-Ani relates from Ja'far Al-Sadiq when the eldest orphan, Sayyid Al-Miqdad, asked him about this drink. He said that it was from their ancient drink, that it was an obedient servant, and that it was the gate, and the gate was Salman, a light from their light, and that it was the light of the sun at its rising, and that it was the place of obedience, following the meaning and not preceding it. Thus, the drink became a symbol of this obedience. [Music]
This is why Abd Al-Nour appears in the initiation ritual in the first moments of an Alawite entering his religion, drinking sips of it. Few are the sips, for entry begins at a door, and these sips are the sign that the path begins with presence and obedience.
From the ritual, we return to existence and open the door to the great movement: reincarnation, transmigration, and transformations in the celestial realm. This earthly life is a space of experience and testing, and the soul does not act as a piece to be discarded once, then the story ends. The soul moves, garment after garment, body after body, cycle after cycle. [Music]
Al-Ani connects this to the scene of the oldest souls before the descent. They were lights, and God appeared in a chapter of light like them. Some recognized Him, and some denied Him. The denial came as a choice, not out of ignorance. Then came the collective descent, and the souls donned human garments. The divine promise came: God appears again, not as mere light, but in human form, so that they may know Him. Whoever recognized Him in the celestial realm is tested on Earth, and whoever denied Him there is taught the lesson again here until the cruelty ends, or humanity ends in its transformation. The world is not inherently reprehensible; it is a prison for the believer in the sense of refinement and a paradise for the disbeliever in the sense of justice. In its essence, it is the space through which souls traverse their multiple spheres to immerse themselves in experience. [Music]
And in the transmigration, the soul does not end; it is imprisoned in lower forms and garments when it denies the truth. This imprisonment relates to a station, a station in which the soul is severed from the meaning of humanity to fulfill its remaining obligations. From this, we understand the ritual of sacrifice and its supplication among the Alawites. It is not a mere formality, but rather an acknowledgment that the souls seen today in animal garments were once human beings who erred, so they were reborn in garments that correspond to their deeds until their balance is complete. Thus, the whole world becomes a space in which souls pass from one form to another, from one station to another, searching for a purity that can only be achieved through knowledge of the truth. In this great existential movement, between descent and ascent, between elevation and transmigration, between spheres and roles, the Alawite reads divine justice in its most perfect form. [Music]
But all this meaning has no form unless we enter the heart of the story itself, into the secret, and stand on the threshold upon which every Alawite before us stood—the threshold of the A-M-S, the constitution, the promises, the covenants, and the witnesses who see them. Among all the moments the Alawite lives, the moment of entering the faith remains. It is the moment when no It resembles nothing else, nor any known religious tradition. It is a moment of unveiling where the body stands before the light, not to bear it, but to prepare itself to receive it. [Music]
As Al-Ani recounts, the Alawite enters his religion at eighteen when he becomes capable of bearing the covenant. The original requirement is that he be of Alawite parents, and some sheikhs are lenient if the mother is from outside the community. In Iraq, he says, the number of sheikhs means that a young adult can only find one or two sheikhs, and those who do not find their sheikh in their country travel to Syria, as many Iraqi Alawites did, who wanted to protect their children from spiritual extinction. The choice becomes like fate, and the disciple is taught from the first moment that the sheikh-teacher is his spiritual father, and obedience to him is like the obedience of a dead man in the hands of his washer. The ritual takes place in an ordinary house chosen by the teacher. A number of Alawites are present, and the closest relatives are excluded. Al-Ani presents it as a clear idea: the moment of surrender requires a circle narrower than blood. Entering the religion is not a social matter, but a matter between the Alawite and the light of his Lord. And there, in the chosen house, begins the moment he calls In the second initiation, the student sits before the teacher and is asked: Who is the first? Who is the second? Who is the third? Then comes the question that adorns all of existence: What is your opinion of the Commander of the Faithful, Ali? [Music]
These questions appear simple, but their purpose is to test the heart and tongue. Afterward, the student kisses the teacher's hand. This is not submission, but rather a declaration that he surrenders his soul to a chain of lights that traces back to the Commander of the Faithful. A white cloth is placed on his head, a purification and a beginning, a long shadow of the secret. Here, the small cup is introduced—the cup that the ignorant mistake for wine, while in the Alawite creed it is the servant of light, a symbol of the opening of insight, not of the preoccupation of the senses. Its meaning is: from the light of the Imams, a key to the gates of mercy, as Al-Ani explains. [Music]
After that, the student dips his finger and takes three sips, like one taking his first step into a shrine that only the purified may enter. The teacher begins to impart the first secret, the secret of 'Ayn Mim Sin, and gives him the instruction for the first days: to repeat 'Ayn Mim Sin' 500 times daily for specific days. Because the secret is not revealed or explained all at once... His explanation is not in words, but a readiness for acceptance. The days begin, then the months—nine months—before the disciple returns to his teacher. Then begins the chapter of weighty covenants, promises, oaths, and witnesses. The disciple takes at least 80 oaths and speaks of keeping secrets, of threats, and of witnesses unseen by others. All of this serves as a shield to protect the secret from being desecrated. Then begins the second part of the path. The disciple returns after another nine months to receive and memorize the liturgies of the Constitution. Here, the disciple's relationship with the teacher becomes like that between a wife and her husband in mystical metaphor—a covenant that is not broken except by the passing of the cycle of cognitive rebirth itself, nine months. [Music]
With this gradual structure, the young man is transformed in the eyes of the community from a body into a mirror of the secret. The Constitution is the first book of instruction, containing approximately 16 liturgies. Some of its wording differs between the Kalazi and Haidari schools, but the structure and essence remain the same: a complete luminous map that explains in symbolic language how God appears in the world, how He conceals Himself, and how He manifests Himself. It is a small book, generally in size. A manuscript in the disciple's hand, in which the liturgies are recited as the mysteries are recited, like keys, like signs, like markers on the path between theology and humanity. [Music]
A book in which there is no single ruling, no jurisprudence, no limits, because the Alawite is not a law to be applied, but a truth that unfolds in the earthly realm. This is the first liturgy, the opening chapter. The disciple begins by acknowledging love for Abu Turab, the love of the first meaning, Ali al-Anza' al-Batin, the origin of all knowledge. In the liturgy of the Jarliyah, the text returns to the first covenant: "Am I not your Lord?" "Yes." Then comes the call, "O Ali, O Prince of Bees." In the liturgy of Abu Sa'id al-Tabarani, the request for concealment, forgiveness, and the wearing of light intensifies. In the liturgy of the noble lineage, religion transforms into a chain of hearing, teacher upon teacher, until we reach the founding lights. Here, identity is no longer a mere identification card; it becomes a spiritual lineage, a link in a chain that was. [Music]
Then comes the second liturgy of the opening, the arrangement of stations as this heritage places them: meaning, then name, then door, then orphans and luminous ranks. In the liturgy of prostration, it is a prostration of stations and names, and an acknowledgment that the meaning appears in forms throughout history: Abel, She, Joseph Joshua, Asaf Shimon, and Ali appear in full, but his appearance is not a solution but a manifestation. Then, in the Mass of Peace, peace be upon the ranks and worlds of the people of purity. As for the Mass of Sign, it contains a request for protection, strength, and victory, and a direct connection to the knot of the letter 'ayn'. Then, in the Alawite section, there is a passage that compresses the symbols into a few lines, as if it were a code: 'ayn' for Alawite, 'mim' for Muhammadan, 'sin' for Saliyah. Then, Al-Ani passes through the Masses of Truth, Martyrdom, Imamate, Hira, Turiyah, and Naqibiyah until the lines gather in one place, the conclusion of the prayer. With the conclusion of the prayer, he does not announce the end of the ritual, nor does he close the text. All that happens is that the voice falls silent, not because the meaning is complete, but because the expression is no longer sufficient for it.
In this part, I presented a narrative in Al-Ani's book, in which I picked out the essential and left the extraneous, and rearranged the scattered without tampering with the essence. Al-Ani's reading of Alawite, despite its importance, came from a Shiite perspective, measuring its concepts against an Islamic standard, so he illuminated some corners and extinguished others unintentionally. And here, precisely, lies the confusion, for Alawite is not a branch searching for Legitimacy without excessive interpretation. There is no Islamic text, nor a margin in the history of Shiism, nor does it need a position within anything else. It is a complete existential system with its own language, symbols, and ways of being present in the world. It intersects with Islam in history, yes, but it is not subsumed within it. It coexists with it, engages in dialogue with it, and differs from it in essence. When Alawism is measured by what is not part of it, it transforms from an independent theology into interpretive forms, its concepts drown in explanations, its symbols are pulled from their existential context, and it is reformulated as an exception within another origin. Alawism is not narrated all at once, nor is it reduced to a text, nor does it settle into a final definition. It is a narrative in which everything that has been said takes shape and slips away whenever it seems to be complete. Al-Ani's book is but a chapter of an incomplete narrative. This was the Alawite podcast, an incomplete narrative, and with you was Dr. Helen Abbas. And in another dimension, Arya Stark, from where light secretly deposits, we continue. Oh.