reflective thought, and clings to love. But then he sees that every day those lovable decorations change and are transformed. Those objects of his love, which he worships, disappear and are lost.
While he should have said that through true divine unity, which he could not encompass with his mind, and absolute dominicality and the oneness of the divine essence, they were the artistic decorations of an Inscriber possessing universal creativity, he said instead – in order to console himself – that the spirit of the peacock was so sublime that its maker was within it, or that the peacock had become him, and that since its spirit had become one with its being, and its being had combined with its outward appearance, its spirit’s perfection and being’s exaltedness displayed those manifestations, displaying every moment a different inscription and beauty; it was not a true creation through its will, but rather a manifestation, an emanation.
As for the other man, he said that those harmonious, orderly decorations so full of art definitely required will, choice, intention, and purpose. It was impossible for there to be a manifestation without will, an emanation without choice.
Yes, the peacock had a beautiful and elevated nature, but it could not be the doer; it was passive. It could not become one with the active agent. Its spirit was fine and exalted, but it could not be the creator and disposer, only receptive and a means. For observedly in each of its feathers was an art performed with infinite wisdom and an inscription and decoration made through an infinite power. And these could not occur without will and choice. The arts indicating perfect wisdom within perfect power, and perfect dominicality and mercy within perfect wisdom were not the work of some sort of manifestation. The scribe who had written that gilded notebook could not be inside it and be united with it. The notebook rather only had contact with the nib of the scribe’s pen. In which case, the wondrous decorations of the similitude of the peacock known as the universe were a gilded missive of the peacock’s Creator.
Now, look at the peacock and read the missive. Say to its Scribe: “What wonders God has willed! Blessed be God! Glory be to God!” The person who supposes the missive to be the scribe, or the scribe to be inside the letter, or fancies the missive to be imagination, has surely mislaid his reason in the veils of love, and been unable to see the true form of reality.
Among the varieties of passionate love, the one most giving rise to the way of the Unity of Existence, is love of this world. When it turns into true love, love of this world, which is temporary, is transformed into the Unity of Existence. A person loves a personal beloved with worldly love. Then,