Sufism

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Patrick Sharpe

6 May 2018

Sufi Interpretations

The simplest way to describe Sufism is to call it “Islamic mysticism.” Today, Sufism’s

connection to Islam is often downplayed by both Muslims and non-Muslims. Many modern

Muslims see Sufism as a deviation from true Islam, while many non-Muslims ignore Sufism’s

origins in Islam because of anti-Islamic sentiment in the West. At its heart, however, Sufism is

not only deeply rooted in Islamic tradition but, some would argue, one of Islam’s truest

expressions.

To understand why these mystics see Sufism as the heart of Islam, it is necessary to

understand the Hadith of Gabriel, one of Islam’s most important texts. In the hadith, the angel

Gabriel comes to the Prophet and asks him about “submission,” “faith,” and “doing the

beautiful.” The Prophet’s answers to these questions outline the founding principles of Islam.

“Submission” is outlined in the “Five Pillars,” and includes daily prayers, fasting, and the

pilgrimage to Mecca. “Faith” means to believe in God, his prophets, and the scriptures. “Doing

the beautiful,” however, is far more nebulous than the first two, and is not discussed by most

Islamic theologians. It is the Sufis who have devoted themselves to this last and most spiritual

dimension of Islam.

Even though Sufis speak from the heart of Islamic tradition, their unconventional

interpretations of Islam’s messages have brought their teachings to global prominence in both the

world of religion and the world of literature. One of the things that makes Sufism so interesting

not only from a spiritual perspective but also from a literary one is the surprising and even
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paradoxical nature of the teachings of the great Sufis.

Perhaps the most famous example of a paradoxical interpretation of Islam is the story of

Hallaj. Hallaj is famous for saying “I am the Real.” In Islamic tradition, “the Real” is one of the

many names for God, so saying “I am the Real,” is the same as saying “I am God.” In such a

strictly monotheistic culture, a proclamation of one’s own divinity is the height of blasphemy.

When Hallaj refused to retract this statement, he was brutally put to death by the government at a

public execution.

Despite his apparently sacrilegious words, Hallaj is now considered to be a Sufi saint. At

first glance, this seems impossible. How can such blasphemy be interpreted in a way that would

make it worthy of a saint? To understand how Sufis interpret Hallaj’s words it is first necessary

to explore the basics of Sufi theory. One of the most important foundations of Sufism (as well as

Islam in general) is the Shahada—the profession of faith that declares “There is no God but God,

and Muhammad is His messenger.” The first part of the Shahada, “There is no God but God,” is

taken to mean that nothing is real but God. This means that everything we see around us is

merely hiding God from us. This idea is beautifully expressed by the great Sufi poet Rumi when

he writes, “The world is foam, God’s attributes the ocean – foam veils you from the Ocean’s

purity!” (Chittick p. 93). Taking this logic further, Sufis realize that it is not only the world

around us hiding God from us, but also our own egos. Therefore, to achieve the ultimate goal of

Sufism—union with God—we must strive to destroy our own egos. Again, if there is “no god

but God,” then our very selves must be negated to make possible the singleness of God.

With this background of Sufi theory in mind, it is possible to reinterpret Hallaj’s famous

declaration, “I am the Real.” In fact, Hallaj’s statement was not an act of arrogance, but the

ultimate act of humility. He was not proclaiming his own divinity, but negating his very
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existence. By saying “I am God,” Hallaj was removing himself from the equation entirely. As

Rumi explains, to say “You are God and I am the servant” would be an expression of pride,

because it would imply the existence of a self, an “I” (Chittick p. 21). Even saying “He is the

real,” does not go far enough, because there can be no “He” without an “I,” thus selfhood is once

more reaffirmed. Instead, saying “I am the Real” is the only way to truly negate one’s own self

and is the ultimate act of humility.

The story of Hallaj is the perfect example of the paradoxes so common in Sufi teachings,

which at first glance seem to be sacrilegious. Another story that epitomizes this is a story about

Abu Sa’id. Abu Sa’id, one of the great Sufi masters of the tenth and eleventh centuries, was

famous for practicing sama’, a religious ritual that involves ecstatic singing and dancing.

Because singing and dancing are not widely accepted in Islamic culture, he was strongly disliked

by many other religious scholars and even fellow Sufis. One day another, more conservative

Sufi, Abul-Qasim, was walking past Abu Sa’id’s place of prayer and heard him reciting the

following lines: “No shame in becoming an idol worshipper for the sake of an idol. You will not

have an idol until you become an idol worshipper” (Tales from the Land of the Sufis p. 40).

Abul-Qasim was horrified, because he took these verses at face value, and assumed that this

must be a call to pantheism.

The next day however, when Abul-Qasim went back, Abu Sa’id explained the verses’

true meaning: that most people were not ashamed to worship things other than God, which made

them idol worshippers, even if they did not realize it. Instead, Abu Sa’id explained, people need

to learn to focus their devotion to God. Without this focus on unity, even worshipping God

could become a form of idolatry, because it would be devoid of meaning.

This concept that prayer without focus becomes meaningless is another reason why some
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consider Sufism to be at the heart of Islam, rather than a deviation. Every practicing Muslim

must observe his daily prayers, but many of them do so without any real intention behind their

actions. Sufis, on the other hand, emphasize the internal, spiritual aspect of the prayers, not just

the superficial action of saying the words and going through the positions.

Sufis have devoted themselves to “doing the beautiful,” as outlined in the Hadith of

Gabriel. “Doing the beautiful,” or ihsan, is often defined as “worshipping God as if you can see

him.” Mindlessly going through the daily prayers without feeling a connection to God,

therefore, goes against the core of Sufi teaching.

Once again, Abu Sa’id’s story shows us that the words of the Sufi masters can never be

taken too literally. What at first seemed like a celebration of pantheism ultimately turned out to

be an important lesson about what it really means to worship God.

The famous Sufi master Ibn Arabi, who lived during the twelfth and thirteenth centuries,

also seems to endorse pantheism if we take his words out context. Throughout his writings, Ibn

Arabi makes the claim that love for any creature can only be love for God (Chittick p. 81). If we

take this statement at face value, it can only mean that worshipping any creature is equivalent to

worshipping God. Therefore idolatry is a valid form of worship.

But of course no Sufi saint would make such a pronouncement, and if we read Ibn

Arabi’s words in the context of Sufi theology, we understand what he really means. In Sufi

writings, God’s love is perhaps the single most prevalent theme. Many Muslim theologians,

especially Kalam experts, stress God’s otherness, his transcendence, and the danger of his wrath.

Sufis, in contrast, emphasize his nearness, his mercy, and the great love that he bears for us, his

creations. God created the world through love, therefore, as Ibn Aarabi writes, “The love of

some parts of the cosmos for other parts derives from God’s love for Himself” (Chittick p. 80).
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Thus all the love in the universe, no matter who it came from or toward whom it is directed

ultimately goes back to God, because he is the one that instilled this love in the world.

Ibn Arabi acknowledges, however, that this love for God is often veiled, hidden from us

by money, fame, and other worldly things. He says that poets waste their words on what they

perceive to be the objects of their love, but that Sufis never hear a verse or a love poem without

realizing that it is ultimately about God (Chittick p. 82). Ibn Arabi even goes so far as to say that

all the things we love, including “father, mother, friends, heavens, earth, gardens, palaces,

sciences, deeds, food, drink,” are merely veils. Instead, our true desire is for God.

This train of thought eventually brings us back to the shahada: “There is no god but

God.” In other words, nothing is real but God. Therefore we cannot really love anything in the

world around us, because it is not real. Instead, the love goes back to God.

Hallaj’s proclamation “I am the Real” seemed like blasphemy. Abu Sa’id’s poem about

idol worshippers appeared to be an invitation to pantheism. Ibn Arabi sounded as though he was

encouraging idolatry when he said that love for any creature was love for God. But all of these

Sufi masters had a deeper meaning in mind that reflected their unparalleled devotion to God.

These highly confusing and often paradoxical pronouncements could be why Sufism is not

always respected within Muslim culture. When taken at face value, without finding their deeper

meaning, they seem sacrilegious. Even Hallaj, now one of the most famous Sufi saints, was told

by his own teacher that he should be quiet and patient, or he would stain the gibbet with his

blood (Tales from the Land of the Sufis p. 22). But ultimately, although the prophecy came true

and Hallaj was executed, he was able to pass on his faith for centuries to come.

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