Are Sufis and Muslims the Same?
By: Allison J. Van Tilborgh
Tags: Poetry, Dance, Spirituality, Religion, Music

Are Sufis and Muslims the Same?

An exploration of Islamic mysticism.

Sufism is a mystical religious sect of Islam that emphasizes the divine connection within the self. Although Sufism has, in some form, existed since the early days of Islam, the Sufi ‘canon’ became more or less established in the medieval time period, along with a formalization of the tradition altogether.

It was in this time period that Sufi poetry emerged, including the works of Rumi and Kabir. The Sufi emphasis on the divine within the self has created conflict with traditional Sunni and Shia sects of Islam, including entire governments, like Turkey, which ban the Sufi practice altogether. The pressing question for Sufis and traditional Muslims alike is: can Sufism operate within normative Islam, or must it operate outside of it? In this paper, I will argue that Sufism should be considered a legitimate part of Islam.

To determine whether or not Sufism is compatible with normative Islam, an assessment must be made about the central tenents of the Muslim faith. Conveniently, the first pillar of Islam provides a concise breakdown of what it means to bear witness to Allah. The shahadah states, “There is no god but God, and Muhammad is His messenger.”

Uttering this sentence is, theoretically, all that is required to become a Muslim. The first half of the shahadah, which Murata & Chittick call ‘the first shahadah’ simply declares the truth of monotheism (45). Other religions, including Judaism and Christianity, also would have no problem uttering this phrase. The second half of the shahadah (the second shahadah) is the part that is specific to Islam, bearing witness to the fact that Muhammad was a genuine messenger of Allah, the transmitter of the Muslim holy text The Qur’an, and the final prophet in the Muslim canon.

One can use this yardstick to determine whether Sufism falls into the religious category of Islam. Indeed, Sufism still does testify to the unity of Allah and the status of Muhammad as the final messenger. There are also four remaining ‘pillars’ of Islam, that for the sake of brevity this paper will not explore since Sufis also subscribe to these remaining tenents.

If Sufis abide by these basic practices and theological tenents, why even debate whether Sufism can be legitimately considered a part of Islam?

One major point of friction between Sufism and other more traditional sects of Islam is a matter of theological outlook. Paul L. Heck articulates a few of these key differences in his paper Mysticism as Morality: The Case of Sufism (2006). Here he claims that Islam, broadly, has two concerns: 1) the outer (dhahir) and 2) the inner (batin). Traditional Islam has a particular emphasis on the ‘outer’: the religio-legal, the divine command of God, the specific texts (Qur’an), the sharia, and ‘sobriety’.

Sufism, by contrast, has a great emphasis on the ‘inner’: the psycho-spiritual, the divine communion with God, the heart as a moral guide, and ‘intoxication’ with the divine. This last point on intoxication figures prominently in Rumi’s poetry, which on the surface may appear at odds with the normative Islamic prohibition on alcohol. For example, in his poem The Many Wines, Rumi references drunkenness (Barks 6):

There are thousands of wines That can take over our minds. Don’t think all ecstacies Are the same! Jesus was lost in his love for God. His donkey was drunk with barley.

Unlike ‘worldly’ drunkenness, Rumi urges his readers to identify the halal wine of Allah, and allow oneself to become fully lost in God. Sufism encourages its adherents to allow Allah to fully engulf the soul, casting off humanity’s faulty concerns over status, structure, rigidity, and even formal knowledge. Instead, Sufism prompts one to look toward the divine breath that animates our clay bodies; the air in a reed flute that makes it sing.

Kabir, like Rumi, rejects the superficial concerns that other Muslims sometimes fall into. It is the rigidity of religion that often prevents one from uniting with their beloved, Allah. Although Rumi’s poetry contains themes of religious plurality, they barely hold a candle to the outright rejection of dogma and fundamentalism, which Kabir equips in his poetry. In Poem 30 of his Sabda, he writes:

Brother, where did your two gods come from? Tell me, who made you mad? Ram, Allah, Keshav, Karim, Hari, Hazrat — So many names. So many ornaments, all one gold, It has no double nature. … This a Hindu, that a Turk But all belong to the earth. Vedas, Korans, all those books … So many names, so many names. But the poets are all one clay. Kabir says, nobody can find Ram, Both sides are lost in schisms. One slaughters goats, one slaughters cows, They squander their birth in isms.

To forget one’s dogma is to forget oneself. Heck asserts that “Sufism would wholeheartedly agree that moral action comes about not simply from knowledge of outer life… but most fully through the refinement of the inner life whereby concern for self is no longer paramount” (253). This is the culmination of drunkenness, to forget oneself and focus on the Whole. To forget oneself is to return to one’s fitrah, one’s innate witnessing of the oneness of God.

A similar forgetting of oneself can be found in the meditative practice of ‘whirling’, which Rumi supposedly spurred in Konya, Turkey. The documentary Sufi Soul: The Mystic Music of Islam (2005) spends a considerable length of time focusing on the practice of whirling and its origins.

Apparently one day Rumi was in the steel-working market when he was so caught up in the rhythm of the hammers against metal, that he broke out in spinning. In this spinning, he found himself centered in Allah’s presence. This ‘spinning’ theme figures prominently in Rumi’s poetry, as in his poem where he writes (Barks 278):

I have no name For what circles So perfectly.

But this oxymoronic emphasis on the self and forgetfulness of oneself also comes with theological controversy. For one, traditional Islam often discourages engaging with both music and dance, claiming one could lose oneself and perform haram actions. Traditional normative Islam often finds comfort in rigid ideas of right and wrong.

In his piece, Homeland Insecurity: How Immigrant Muslims Naturalize America in Islam (2011), Mucahit Bilici refers to the imaginaries developed of the Dar al Islam (‘Adobe of Peace’) and the Dar al Harb (‘Adobe of War’). In this view, there is a pure, unified imagined community where Islam flourishes and enacts Allah’s will for humanity, contrasting with a disruptive, irredeemable outside world. Since Islam’s most fundamental tenant is the oneness of God, anything that would disrupt this picture may appear threatening.

Unlike the Jewish and Christian traditions, Islam has not experienced the manifold denominational schisms that have lead to radically varying ways of practicing religion or imagining God. For most of Muslim history, there have existed two primary ways of practicing Islam, Sunni and Shia, with the fringe Sufi tradition often blending with these other two traditions.

That said, the fragmentation of these other traditions have not necessarily weakened the strongholds of these traditions, in spite of their diversity. Fragmentation is a reasonable concern, but one that should not be used to ostracize individuals who, albeit Sufi, share in the central tenants and practices of the Islamic faith.

The doctrine of tanzih emphasizes humanity’s difference from Allah, and subsequently the need to structure one’s life in a way that submits to Allah, which is greater in all capacities (Murata & Chittick 72). By contrast, the doctrine of tashbih states that we are fundamentally similar to God, animated by the life-breath of Allah (Murata & Chittick 73). When both tanzih and tashbih are recognized, Tawhid (the oneness of Allah) can be fully understood.

If the traditional practice of Islam bears more resemblance to tanzih, while Sufism aligns more closely with tashbih, but must be necessary to get the greater picture of Allah and what it is to truly submit (‘islam’) to His will. Therefore, Sufism should be considered a legitimate expression of Islam despite its inward outlook and drunken demeanor. Sufi is one part of the whole, just as humanity is both like Allah but also fundamentally different from Him. Without this mystical understanding of Allah, humanity may not have the full picture.