M6:1403 — گرچه اندر پرورش تن مادرست / لیک از صد دشمنت دشمن‌ترست

Translation: Though the body, in its nurture, is like a mother to you, / Yet it is a greater enemy to you than a hundred foes. Meaning: This verse warns that despite the body's nurturing appearance and comfort, an excessive attachment to it can prove to be a more formidable obstacle to the soul's true growth than any external adversary.

This profound verse by Mowlana gains its deepest meaning when viewed through the lens of a broader narrative: the tale of Sultan Mahmud and his Hindu slave. The slave's mother perpetually instills fear of Mahmud in her son, unaware that Mahmud, in the end, bestows compassion and high rank upon him. Mowlana then applies this parable to our own soul and body. He asserts that faqr (spiritual poverty, detachment from worldly things) is your Mahmud; though your tabʿ (nature, or the inner mother) constantly frightens you away from it, it is ultimately a path to grace.

It is from this vantage point that Mowlana turns to the tan (the physical body or carnal self). Our body, without doubt, nurtures us like a mother. It provides comfort, familiarity, a sense of security, and seemingly fosters our being. However, Mowlana unequivocally warns that if one clings to this bodily 'mother' and refuses to transcend it, this very 'mother' will prove to be a greater enemy than a hundred external foes. This excessive attachment to the physical self obstructs the soul's maturation and ascent. Just as a child must separate from its mother's lap to grow, the soul must free itself from the body's allure to reach its full potential.

Why does the body act as such an adversary? Mowlana explains that the body leads humanity away from the hadd-e vasat (the middle path of virtue). When it is bīmār (sick and weak), it keeps you enslaved in the constant pursuit of dārūjūyī (seeking medicine) and helplessness, preoccupied with itself. Yet, when it is nīrūmand (strong and healthy), it transforms you into a ṭāghūt (tyrant), prone to arrogance and excess. In both states, you deviate from the straight and balanced path, falling into either efrāṭ (excess) or tafrīṭ (neglect).

However, this is not an absolute rejection of the body. Mowlana, in other contexts (referencing 'armor' and a 'necessary enemy'), teaches us that the body is an instrument for the jihād-e akbar (the greater struggle against one's own ego). The body is like an 'armor' we don in difficult spiritual battles. Or, it is like a 'necessary enemy' that we require to practice ṣabr (patience) and ḥilm (forbearance). Ghazali, in his Iḥyāʾ ʿUlūm al-Dīn, similarly suggests befriending someone ill-tempered to cultivate patience through enduring their unkindness. The body plays a similar role: we are not to eradicate it, but to wrestle with our attachment to it, thereby strengthening ourselves and growing through this struggle. Thus, this 'enmity' is, in fact, an opportunity to forge the soul and ascend to higher planes of existence.

Key takeaways

• Excessive attachment to the body is the greatest obstacle to the soul's ascent.
• The 'mother' (body) symbolizes apparent comfort that limits inner growth.
• Whether weak or strong, the body pushes humans away from the middle path of virtue, leading to extremes.
• The body should be an instrument for the 'greater jihad' and a field for spiritual practice, not an ultimate object of attachment.
• The apparent 'enmity' of the body provides an opportunity to cultivate patience and strengthen spiritual resolve.
• Spiritual maturity requires detachment from the clinging embrace of the 'motherly' body.