The Nature of Sufism

An Ontological Reading of the Mystical in Islam

Milad Milani

• Editore: Routledge
• Anno: 2021
• ISBN:
  9780429828584
• Edizione: 1
• Argomento: Scienze sociali
• Categoria: Studi sull'etnia

This book explores how Sufis approach their faith as Muslims, upholding an Islamic worldview, but going about making sense of their religion through the world in which they exist, often in unexpected ways. Using a phenomenological approach, the book examines Sufism as lived experience within the Muslim lifeworld, focusing on the Muslim experience of Islamic history. It draws on selected case studies ranging from classic Sufism to Sufism in the contemporary era mainly taken from biographical and hagiographical data, manuscript texts, and treatises. In this way, it provides a revisionist approach to theories and methods on Sufism, and, more broadly, the category of mysticism.

1 ‘Introduction’ to Sufism

DOI: 10.4324/9780429448737-2

Introduction

This chapter is about Sufism as problematic. That is, it seeks to problematise ‘Sufism’ as a subject of investigation. As such it is not a new history, but rather a fresh approach to Sufism. While the former seeks to revisit the sources of information about Sufism in a new and meaningful way that might shed light on a perceived ‘reality’ of its past, the latter is about the quest for meaning per se that can be retrieved from the past – as it might be found, and examined – without pre-existing prejudice. This might seem an incredulous endeavour, but it is one that is Heidegger-inspired. And in that line of thought that sought to undermine the Western intellectual tradition is the present study of Sufism situated. The value of such an approach is in working through the problematics that underpin the connection between the sources of knowledge and what we might presume to know about the subject. Therefore, rather than undertaking a chronological investigation into the historical origins of Sufism, the chapter begins by treating these origins as an issue of analytical ambiguity, before proceeding to dismantle the primal trigger for the academic inquest into Sufism: ‘why is there Sufism at all rather than just Islam?’ It will use this line of questioning to get at the heart of the problem, which is precisely the way that Sufism has been understood since al-Judayd, the point of departure for traditional and historical Sufism, and then Ibn Taymiyya, the climax of the constructed form of ‘orthodox Sufism’. Junayd’s success in quashing the accusations against the ‘Sufi’ as heterodox – and bridging the gap between Sufism and orthodoxy that was increasing through the legacy of al-Hallaj – had a major setback in that it produced a bipolarity of experience in Sufism. While on the one hand, the Sufi presented themselves as adherents of orthodoxy (the view that became prominent with Ibn Taymiyya), on the other hand, they held Sufism as the essence of Sunnism (the view championed by al-Ghazali). This chapter asserts the problematisation of Sufism starts with the polarisation of its experience following the al-Hallaj event. In returning to this point in time and revisiting the way events took shape – as well as what it might mean to reconsider the past, rather than just looking for a way to reshuffle known data – this chapter is presented as an ‘introduction’ to Sufism; because we start again, from the beginning.

Sufism as problematic

Sufism is understood always in relation to Islam. For example, however profound the mathnawi-e ma’nawi of Rumi ([1375] 1997), it is precisely so in relation to the principal texts of Islam, the Qur’an, and Hadith; because, even though the mathnawi offers parables that interpret their content, it is still dealing with these texts in a way that is consistently relating to their core meaning. This is not to say that Sufis do not go beyond the boundary of conventional religion in charting new ideas, experiences, and comprehensions unique to their works, but it is always so in relation to Islam.

I am inclined to agree with Lloyd Ridgeon that Sufism is indeed one of the more difficult terms to define in Islamic history, having produced so many manifestations, and which – he rightly says – makes it harder still to find a core that runs through them all (Ridgeon, 2016).¹ Furthermore, although I appreciate his caution about the impossibility to render any attempt at a coherent definition meaningful, I am reluctant to do away with the definitional term ‘mysticism’ for Sufism, as Ridgeon seems to suggest, on the grounds that not all who call themselves Sufi have had a ‘mystical’ experience. Ridgeon’s advancement of Sufism as a type of extreme piety of obedience to God for some, or for others a kind of traditional longing for God – represented by the hadith of Gabriel wherein the Prophet is taught the tripartite layering of Islam as submission (islam), faith (iman), and excellence (ihsan) – is misleading. As a first point, the very experience that is preserved in the report attributed to the archangel is itself of a mystical nature since – as the content spells out – no one but Muhammad is aware of the angelic presence who appears as but a man to the others who are there with the Prophet (including the transmitter of the report). Secondly, the entire basis of the report is predicated upon the core mystery of Revelation, that is, it presents an example of the human relationship with God as part of the biblical narrative; and here shown in the contact between Muhammad and Gabriel – which Muhammad as the prophet to the Arabs spends the first 12 years of his mission explaining to his fellow tribesmen – is paramount to the heart of meaning in Islam. What is most odd is that Ridgeon insists that Sufism is better regarded as ‘an orientation towards God that builds upon and excels in practice and faith’ (Ridgeon, 2016, p. 1). If anything, this is a most instructive definition of Islamic praxis as one finds it. If we would take such a definition at face value for Sufism, it would be making Sufism tantamount to Muslim pietism, which is not entirely wrong, though wanting. All Muslims are encouraged to be pious in a genuine invitation to Islamic faith and practice that entails they follow Qur’an and Hadith, not the least, the content of the hadith of Gabriel, since this is a source that offers the very definition of ‘Islam’ – literally – as Gabriel instructs Muhammad. So, it is incumbent upon all Muslims to excel in their religion; what then of Sufis?

It is well to point out that the early history of Sufism presented certain facets of belief and practice that were deemed controversial, especially in regards to the nature of Sufi claims of ‘mystical’ experience; that the Sufi wrote prolifically and debated on the precise detail of such topics as a human–divine association and the value of mediumship; and that a wide range of ideas about what it meant to be Sufi could be found within its wider tradition, which wildly contradicted one another, such that advocates of Ibn al-Arabi defended a speculative worldview, those of al-Ghazali (d. 1111) emphasised a theological one and those who would take up jihad rejected all such approaches (Ridgeon, 2016). Neither of these instances of variance is definitive objections to Sufism as mystical; instead, they signal a tangential – yet important – problem of the connection between language and thinking that persists in the study of Sufism. Hence the value of studying the nature of Sufism in this study. Rather than to resolve the challenge of definition by doing away with the mystical because not all so-called Sufis fit the profile, it might instead be an invitation to redress the less-discussed value of Sufism in light of the limitations of language. If there is to be a proper distinction that differentiates and adequately categorises ‘Islam’ and ‘Sufism’, the latter would need to be seen as a little more than just pietism.

In the first instance, there has to be a serious rethinking of the figures classified in the Sufi tradition – not all those who are listed in the biographical traditions, or those generally thought-to-be Sufi, are/or should be labelled as such. With regards to the former, the tadhkirat al-awliya of Attar is a good example as any, since like all in the genre it features figures that were retroactively included, and who were clearly not Sufi per se. The useful category of ‘proto-Sufi’ in recent scholarship² has been the saving grace of much debate concerning who is in and who is out, but nevertheless, it has been more or less a sweeping-under-the-rug of the problem rather than facing it squarely. Regarding the latter, Abu Hamid al-Ghazali is a case in point. Though a titan of Islamic intellectual history, yet should he be considered Sufi? This is a complicated question, not least because he was a complex man. His time with the Sufis during his years of spiritual drought taught him a great deal about their methods (as is evident from his writings) (Calder et al., 2003, pp. 229–232), yet his utilisation of Sufism (for furthering religious understanding), rather than his involvement as a Sufi, is what is overlooked. One would not be hard-pressed in asserting al-Ghazali a Muslim theologian proper, albeit with mystical tendencies having rubbed off on him.³ For certain, there are Sufi(esque) elements in his works, and undoubtedly his exegesis is inspired by what he had learned from them; however, the tenor of his preoccupation is not mysticism. Rather, he appropriates Sufism – in an exercise that is at best a critical ‘cherry picking’ – to suit orthodoxy. Sufism is to him but a means to satisfy his thirst for knowledge; the way of the Sufis is used by him as ammunition for irrefutable proof of Islam.

Knowledge was easier for me than practice. So I began by acquiring their knowledge from their books.

What became clear to me through my experience of their path is the truth and the essence of prophecy.

(Calder et al., 2003, pp. 229, 232)

It would seem that al-Ghazali has been not altogether misread as ‘Sufi’, yet it remains – and credit must be given where it is due – that his encounter with the mystics was ultimately about his effort to understand, adopt, and defend the Sufi way to knowledge as one of several. His acclaim, in the words of Reynold A. Nicholson:

Through his work and example the Sufistic interpretation of Islam has in no small measure been harmonised with the rival claims of reason and tradition, but just because of this he is less valuable than mystics of a purer type to the student who wishes to know what Sufism essentially is.

(Nicholson, [1914] 1989, p. 24)

Now, I want to return to Attar’s tadhkirah to make my point in this section clear. I mentioned Attar as an example, because his listing should not be exempt from criticism, but I did not just mention him to show he too is guilty of tampering with the category. In fact, that all the biographers of the Sufis are culpable is not something to be held against them, since they were neither historians nor biographers in the modern sense. They were indeed polemicists who not only construed meaning but also composed it. Whilst the biographers of the tabaqat genre are actually attempting to produce a pseudo-history, the tadhkirah of Attar is a carefully crafted corpus of legend that speaks of the human and superhuman feats of the saints, supplemented by biographical detail (Attar, [1966] 1983, pp. 14–15). In this sense, it is at least a little more honest in its intent. The tadhkirah is not entitled ‘Sufis’ or ‘Mystics’ (aside from Arberry’s rendition which includes ‘mystic’ in the English title), but ‘Saints’ (awliya). Attar offers a list of saints, not Sufis or mystics. They are figures of value for a general readership that may not necessarily have knowledge of Sufism, but would recognise the legacy of most – and by chance become also acquainted with the Sufi (mystics) therein listed. An obvious example of this ploy is in the inclusion of Ahmad ibn al-Hanbal, who is certainly not Sufi nor a mystic in any sense of these terms. Arberry’s English title is Muslim Saints and Mystics, which at least indicates that Attar’s list distinguishes the two. For Arberry, that the original list ends with the martyr – and Sufi – al-Hallaj (d. 922), reveals to us that it was, in fact, Attar’s intention to communicate something about the fate of the Sufis and their mysticism. Al-Hallaj’s public execution is a deliberate choice for a climactic finale that suggests a crisis event having befallen the Sufis. Even if Shebli’s inclusion is accepted, it stands for the closing of an era of Sufism, since he marks the end of the formative period (Attar, [1966] 1983, pp. 16–17).

Recurrence and comparativism

Might Sufism be more than just Islamic pietism? It must. Current scholarship, as excellent as it is, has, having become too engrossed in the finer technicalities of the issue, come to overlook some very simple possibilities. The matter is not about ‘Sufism’ being inherently Islamic or a borrowing from elsewhere, both of which are defensib...