M6:2034 — یا چو احول این دوی را نوش کن / یا دهان بردوز و خوش خاموش کن

Translation: Either, like a cross-eyed one, drink this duality, Or sew up your mouth and be happily silent. Meaning: This verse confronts the seeker with a choice: either accept the dualistic nature of language and the world when speaking of ultimate unity, or choose complete silence.

I have always viewed this beyt as a mirror reflecting one of the deepest challenges faced by the mystic and the thinker: the challenge of language when confronting Unity. Here, Rumi presents the seeker with a stark and decisive dichotomy, a dilemma from which there is no escape.

The first option is to “like a cross-eyed one, drink this duality.” The term ahwal refers to someone who sees one thing as two, or, as we say in Persian, is double-sighted. But here, Rumi employs it not as a visual impairment, but as an existential and linguistic state. The language of discourse, the language of speech and thought, is inherently dissecting. Whenever we attempt to speak of absolute Unity, we are compelled to frame it in terms of multiplicity; we are forced to divide it into “this” and “that,” “I” and “you.” Science and philosophy operate similarly; to comprehend a phenomenon, they fragment it, separate its parts, and examine its various dimensions. Yet, the phenomenon in its actual reality is whole and integrated. Thus, if one is to enter the arena of language and speech, one must accept this duality and multiplicity, even if one’s heart soars in the realm of Unity. This is a bitter admission of language's inherent limitations.

The second option, however, offers a more radical solution: “Or sew up your mouth and be happily silent.” If you cannot speak of Unity without contaminating it with multiplicity, then it is better to remain silent. This silence, however, is not born of helplessness; it is a silence rooted in “happiness” and contentment. The mystic understands that certain truths, especially the truth of Unity, are beyond description and are, in fact, ineffable. Rumi himself, in a surreal ghazal from his Divan-e Shams, declares:

“So many ‘What do I know’s there are, yet I know not, For from a mouth-binder in this sea I swallowed a froth of opium.”

Here, too, he alludes to a “mouth-binder”; a hidden power, a muzzle in the “sea of Unity,” that has compelled him to ingest an “opium froth,” thereby silencing him regarding many truths. This restraint does not stem from ignorance, but from an abundance of knowledge and the experience of immense grandeur—something that cannot be contained within worldly words.

This silence, of course, can be a silence before the sublime truths of Unity, which language is incapable of expressing, and it can also be a silence in the face of the “waterskin full of deceit and pretense” (a vivid image for ignorant and hypocritical individuals). These are people who are not thirsty for truth; rather, they are “enemies of water.” Rumi advises that when encountering such individuals, one should “close your lips and become a jar”—meaning, be like a silent jar and do not squander the jewels of knowledge. This is a form of mystical taqiyya (dissimulation), much like how the Prophet of Islam (peace be upon him) – according to Shi’ite tradition – practiced taqiyya until the end of his life, not revealing all truths. This was not because he could not, but because the limitations of the common people's understanding impose constraints on the expression of truths. Even in the Quran, absolute monotheism is not expressed in the way that the elite might comprehend it, precisely because the popular mind could not bear it.

Thus, Rumi's choice is clear: one must either speak of multiplicity in a cross-eyed, polytheistic manner (because language has no other recourse) or one must become silent. But if one encounters a confidant, then “see a rose, shriek like nightingales,” and share some secrets through the “language of allusion,” to the extent of their capacity. For the ultimate goal is to attain that “station without words” where “words grow without letters”—a communication beyond the confines of language and concepts, a communication that, as mystics say, is about seeing and experiencing, not about speaking and hearing.

Key takeaways

• Discursive language is inherently dualistic and incapable of expressing the absolute truth of Unity; speaking of Unity inevitably taints it with multiplicity.
• When faced with the truth of Unity, the mystic has two choices: either to speak 'cross-eyed' (ahwalaneh), accepting language's limitations, or to embrace complete silence.
• This silence is not born of inability, but of 'happiness' and contentment in perceiving ineffable truths that transcend linguistic expression.
• Rumi himself admits that a hidden 'mouth-binder' has prevented him from articulating many secrets.
• Silence can also be a form of mystical taqiyya (dissimulation) to protect profound secrets from the ignorant and hypocritical, who are 'enemies of the water' of knowledge.
• Mystics, prophets, and even God sometimes refrain from revealing all truths due to the limitations of common understanding, highlighting the depth and subtlety of spiritual communication.