Sabieh Anwar
Ali Hujweri (d1077) in his excellent
treatise on sufism Kashf-ul-Mahjoob
(‘The divulgence of the
secret’) remarks on the danger of
being misled by labels. Sufism or
mysticism is one such label: it may mean
a movement, an institution, or perhaps
another aspect of religious psychology. In
the same spirit, Hujweri remarks, “In the
time of the companions of the Prophet
(pbuh) and their immediate successors
this name did not exist, but its reality was
in everyone. Now the name exists,
without the reality.” Is Sufism just another
“unfortunate name” for a greatly varied
discourse? Has its meaning changed
over time?
Is it a denomination, a
science, or a set of morals? Finally, how
best to recognise it – as a fact-denying,
life-shuddering asceticism, or nothing
simpler and more beautiful than the inner
dimension of Islam?
Writing about Sufism is difficult for the same reasons. It is like writing
about a diffuse, shapeless and essentially subjective area of a uniquely
human sensation. It touches upon religion, civilisation and virtually the
whole of life itself. Understanding the full force of mysticism, let alone
explaining it, is nothing short of impossible.
As such mysticism is an
experience, and, to make speaking of this even more problematic, the
nature of this experience teaches silence.
This “silence” is commonplace among mystics. “To explain something
you would need words that are more subtle than what is to be
expressed – and what is more subtle than love? How would one then
explain love?” Thus the mystic Sumnun Baghdadi (ca 900) put it, as quoted by Hujweri in his book. The experienced mystic therefore
speaks less and the speechless “common folk” are expected to only
gaze at the miracles of this silence. Betraying this principle can
sometimes lead to the dungeon (Mujaddid Alif Thani, d 1624), the
executioner (Shahab Suhurwardi, d 1191), or to the gibbet (Mansur
Hallaj, d 922).
It seems as though we are lost in a dense forest teeming with exotic
plants, covered in a canopy of overgrowth with divine sunlight
shimmering in between the branches, yet all we can hear is the rustling
of leaves. Where do we go from here? Is silence all we can treat our
ears to?
Is that all an engineer like myself, whose heart has never been
touched by the tips of an angel’s wing, can say about this complicated
science of the senses? If this were the case, this would be the end of
this story, the shortest I ever wrote. But I have slightly more to say. That
is because I feel and observe, and the more I feel and observe, the
more I am bewildered.
My bewilderment comes from the diversity ingrained in the modern Sufi
way. Let me give you an example of this diversity: Sometimes I find
some of my best friends wavering into the dark alleys of pretentious but
hollow mysticism, distancing themselves from the humdrum of a
challenging life. Sometimes, on the media, between the headlines, I can
also find the biggest perpetrators of injustice preaching tolerance and
submission and guiding us to the way of the recluse, all under the guise
of Sufism.
Alongside these negative experiences, I also have the
positive ones. For example, I must also admit that my brief encounters
with a true sheikh are more valuable to me than treasures. His bright
perpetually smiling face and sparkling eyes surely speak of his inner
purity. Being engrossed in daily businesses, he still clings heartfast to
his inner goals. Such practitioners of the mystic fraternity run huge
philanthropic projects, help the poor and the needy, and do not look
down upon mortal sinners.
Love is their preaching but not their only
expertise. Besides being masters of the inner sciences (tariqah) they
are also versed in the knowledge of worship and human action
(shariah). Such men of astounding character are a unique synthesis of
the three realms of the intellectual, spiritual and the ritual.
This diverse purport of mysticism, as practiced today, leads me to two
observations. First, Sufism can also be taken out of religious context
and reduced to a fashion or a mere fantasy for the disenchanted.
Second, Sufism can also become an incentive against action.
The
inaction of individuals can lead to their communities becoming
submissive. Is there a need to reactivate and reinvigorate the true
activist spirit of a humanist Islamist Sufism? – If debate is allowed for reviving a sacred Islam, then why not Sufism itself?
First, modern Sufism is Sufism decontextualised. This is the shadowy
glitter that attracts educated yet lost young people. These youth are
generally disillusioned and visionless, and modern Sufism takes them to
a distant oasis of mirages. Their thoughts are scattered like bits of
broken glass; modern Sufism picks up these shards and assembles
them into nothing more than a mirror.
Minds are bent upon questioning,
but modern Sufism throws them into further confusion. The new Sufism
is cannabis for escapist minds, and offers refuge in a synthetic
tranquillity.
Among some, this phantasmagoria becomes a fashion. Pop music
fused with the tunes of Sufi voices can intoxicate the masses. Even as
the melodies of Christian Gnostics are unsung and unheard, Rumi’s (d
1273) words enjoy a reincarnation in the West. As poetry becomes an
expensive luxury for spiritually poor societies, collections of Rumi’s
verse shatter the half-million sales mark. The Muslim mystic from Iran
and Afghanistan, fleeing to seek refuge from an imperialist Genghis and
the warmongering of the Crusades, becomes representative of an Islam
that Americans can love.
Is it acceptable to be thus burnt by a mysticism based in religion without
ever entering the fire? Followers of this fashionable mysticism attempt
to drown while wearing their lifejackets. This attitude, this buffet
mysticism teleports a Muslim saint like Rumi out of his cultural and
deeply religious context. But do we forget that Rumi’s Mathnavi was so
impregnated with religious fervour, that the later Sufi poet Jami (d 1492)
called it the “Quran of the Persian language”?
The second observation, which I find more important and is not
unconnected to the first, is about a resurgence of interest in the mystic
way by imperial powers. There was a time when mystic fraternities in
Algeria, Central Asia, Sudan, Libya and the subcontinent were the
breeding grounds for anti-colonialist movements. Hence the Algerian
Abd-al-Qadir (d 1883) and the Daghestani Imam Shamil (d 1871) fought
the French and the Russians respectively. While the desert or
mountain-dwelling Sufis were considered uncivilised by the colonisers,
there was a blossoming of understanding between the allied powers
and the Wahhabi-inspired Arab royalties after World War I. But more
recently, the scenario has reversed.
Now the imperialist West has few
problems with accommodating Sufism, yet it is suspicious of the
reactionary streaks of Wahhabi Islam. An unchallenging doctrine is
what suits injustice best. In this respect, inaction is an imperialist’s best
friend and sponsored Sufism can always be a means to preach a tolerance that suits one party only.
So every modern spiritual experiment comes with a word of caution: to
appreciate the fine difference between the abstract and the mythical,
the prophetic and the mystical. Sufism can become a potent force if it
doesn’t celebrate inaction and mindless compromise, but instead
makes the possible happen and protects the wronged from the
wrongdoers, upholding dignity, freedom and humane justice, at the level
of the individual or of whole nations.
What all this boils down to is that in modern times the internal can no
longer function without the external. The esoteric and the exoteric must
be wedded together in companionship. The heart and the intellect must
infuse into one whole. The mystic experiment must pass beyond its
intrinsic inertness by making itself felt by way of action and activism,
rather than mere experience.
The difference between the “mystic” and the “prophetic” experiences is
best exemplified in the Prophet’s (pbuh) Ascension, or mairaj. On that
very night his mystic experience was of the highest calibre: seeing the
Divine Presence unveiled. But this beatific effulgence was important for
the Prophet (pbuh) in another respect as well.
The union did not teach
him dissolution; rather it consolidated his mission. In his subsequent
life, in addition to spiritually and morally cleansing the hearts of his
peoples, the Prophet (pbuh) was to prepare the most disciplined nation
of its times. Iqbal (d 1938) teaches us the same moral from the
Ascension, that although the unitive experience is transient, it “leaves a
deep sense of authority as it has passed away”. Mysticism can thus be
used as a locked treasure to conquer matter as well as the spirit.
Compared to this, what use is mysticism that enraptures and intoxicates
the soul but doesn’t affirm and consolidate it? The prophetic experience
teaches us to not be satisfied with inner transformation. It is in the same
vein, that we can understand Iqbal when he writes the following verse to
the Sufi of his times.
Your vision sees only a world of miracles,
My vision however sees a spectacle of obstacles.
Agreed, the world of imagination is full of fancy,
But fancier is my stage of life and many deaths.
It is longing for your transforming gaze,