Rarely is the English language graced with a major contemporary scholar engaging a range of current concerns. Hence this work will be eagerly received in many quarters of the English-speaking world. Their anticipation is justifiable, as the work will tackle a variety of topics, including theology, law, customs and spirituality. In the end, it should be viewed simply as an introductory volume, and we can hope for a future volume on more pressing life challenges facing Muslims in the English-speaking world.

Regrettably, Responding from the Tradition gives no background as to how and where the hundred questions answered in the volume were asked. One does not know if they have simply been selected from a wider pool, and if so, upon what criteria they were chosen; or whether Shaykh Gomaa himself decided upon these specific answers for publication in one volume. Such a detail could have been very helpful, especially if we were told that Shaykh Gomaa himself selected these questions, because it would have informed us about what he considered priorities for the English-speaking audience.

From the perspective of theology, the work is Sunni-orthodox, despite being published by a publishing house known for propagating perennial philosophy. The answer to question 1 affirms the orthodox message of Islam being “the final religion sent from God to humanity…and intended for people of every race and geographic location.” Furthermore, the answer to question 2 adds: “God willed Islam to be the seal of all religions in the realm of law, and for it to be the only religion in the realm of belief.”

The general Sunnism of the above is made more specific in answer 33 where Gomaa states that “the orthodox school of Sunni Islam” includes “both the Ash’ari and Maturidi schools.” Defensively, he adds,

“those who criticize these schools are ignorant of their tenets of belief in God. Misunderstandings mostly have to do with the ‘possessive attributes of God’ or what are technically referred to as ‘reported attributes.’”

Moreover, Gomaa distinguishes between early and later Ash’ari theologians. He identifies early Ash’aris as accepting the “possessive phrases and reported attributes used by the Quran in reference to God as they are, without believing in the literal meanings of their linguistic expression.” In contrast, he notes, “the later Ash’ari theologians took the approach of interpretation because they thought that affirming attributes in an ambiguous manner led some to anthropomorphic beliefs and all that they necessitate.” In a final comment, Gomaa effectively concludes the controversy surrounding the attributes of God by approvingly quoting a non-Ash’ari-Maturidi, Ibn Qudama al-Maqdisi in his Lum’a al-I’tiqad, as “perhaps the best commentary”; the latter states

“one is obliged to believe in and accept without reservation all that has come in the Quran or has been soundly narrated by the Messenger of God (s) [may the peace and blessings of God be upon him] concerning the attributes of the most Merciful One. One should refrain from rejecting them, indulging in their interpretation, or drawing comparisons and the likenesses between God and His creation.”

One is left to wonder how far Gomaa would take a revisionist stance to late Ash’ari theology in favour of an earlier minimalist version. For instance, would he also prefer not to engage in specifically defining the contrast between the actual speech of God (kalam nafsi) and the revealed Books of God (kalam lafzi)? Would he just stop at saying that the Qur’an is the Word of God or simply the uncreated Word of God? A comprehensive minimalism of the scholastic schools could be more effective for a modern age, eschewing many past and contemporary polemics, of which the answer to this latter question is a consequence.

The legal method of the work is helpfully explained at the beginning by Gomaa himself, under the title of “The Craft of Issuing a Fatwa.” Centrally, he sees the mufti’s job in this age to be one of making “things easy for people by bringing them into God’s religion, protecting them, and providing a means whereby they can act in accordance with a position that is acknowledged by the Shari’ah.” Gomaa notes the mufti should, when responding to a question, first consult the Qur’an, then the Sunnah if not in the Qur’an, then analogy if not in the Sunnah, and should “not breach consensus.” Furthermore, “the protocol established by the schools of jurisprudence allows the mufti to issue fatwas following any of the mujtahid schools, so long as his own ijtihad does not lead him to believe the truth lies elsewhere.” He explains that the Dar al-Ifta’ al-Misriyyah (the Egyptian House of Legal Judgements) transmits the four Sunni schools (Hanafi, Maliki, Shafi’i and Hanbali), as well as the schools followed by many non-Sunnis (such as the Ja’fari, Zaydi, Ibadi and Zahiri), and even

“widens the scope of the evidence upon which it relies to include the schools of major mujtahids like al-Awza’i, al-Tabari, al-Layth ibn Sa’d, and others from among over eighty mujtahids throughout Muslim history. These schools’ opinions are taken into account and may even be given priority of consideration according to the strength of their evidence, the need for their perspective, the purpose of the greater good, or in order to fulfil the goals of the Shari’ah. This methodology reflects the values adopted by all scholarly societies today, in both the East and the West and throughout the Muslim world.”

In light of such comments, it is not surprising that Gomaa doesn’t show a madhhab bias from a strict ideological stance.

One of the highest points in the legal answers is his response to whether the inheritance laws of Islamic law are oppressive of women (question 9). This answer is so important because there is really very little knowledge, never mind defence, of the inheritance rules in English. His answer is very detailed and its summary is that there are

“…thirty scenarios in which a woman inherits either the same amount as a man or more than him. In some cases she inherits while her male equivalent does not inherit at all. There are only four scenarios, however, in which a woman inherits half the share of a man.”

It is the general failure to know such thirty-four possible scenarios, whilst also being unable to recall that Islamic law has been laid-down by God for all people for all times in all societies (and not one’s personal family and whims), that leads to many modern misgivings. What drove home the importance of this detailed fatwa by Gomaa was the recollection of a BBC series on inheritance, entitled “Can’t Take it With You.” Now one of the series had a Muslim couple from England who wanted to write a will that complied with Islamic and English legal requirements; but they were taken aback when told that the Qur’an stipulated that their daughters were entitled to half of the share that their son was due. Sadly, the programme did not introduce an answer like Gomaa’s, which shows a great understanding of the Sacred Law, as well as fiqh al-waqi’ (comprehension of the social realities). Firstly, the Sacred Law understanding is stronger with Gomaa here because his answer agrees with the Qur’an and the scholars of Islam. Secondly, he highlights the reality of why a brother in such a scenario would be entitled to more than his sister:

“When a group of inheritors, such as the children of the deceased, are equal in the first two aforementioned factors [of degree of kinship to the deceased and generation to which the heir belongs], then their shares are affected by the third [of financial responsibility]. In this specific scenario the misunderstood Quranic verses alluded to in the original question come into play. The Quran has not made the disparity between men and women a general condition, but rather has confined it to this specific situation. When the individuals in a group of heirs are equal in both their relation to the deceased and their age, the male son of the deceased receives twice as much as the female daughter of the deceased. The wisdom behind this arrangement is as follows: the male is responsible for the financial upkeep of his wife and children, whereas his sister’s financial upkeep is the responsibility of an individual other than herself, such as her husband or father. Thus, for all practical purposes, the disparity favours the woman because the wealth she inherits is not applicable to the household expenses and hers is to dispense with as she pleases. This financial advantage also protects her from any circumstances that would place her in financial difficulty. Unfortunately, few today understand this finer point of the Muslim inheritance system.”

Gomaa adds that a man also has financial responsibility to “provide a dowry for his spouse,” which “is an obligation that falls on men, not women”; and “men are also required to financially support the members of their extended family if the situation demands.” This answer truly shows the now clichéd context with the text, without having to alter the ruling. Indeed, Gomaa points out our general superficiality by highlighting that

“…wealth is a broader concept than income. Income becomes part of wealth but is not wealth itself, since wealth is that which remains after all expenditure. In the scenarios where a woman receives half of the man’s inheritance, the woman’s new income is protected by the Shari’ah and is hers to dispense with as she wishes. The man’s new income, on the other hand, is to aid him in supporting family members that have now come under his care. This is why we are able to say that Islamic inheritance laws protect the wealth of women and grant preference to them over men.”

We are helpfully reminded by this answer that Gomaa’s first degree, as mentioned in the translators’ introduction, was in commerce from ‘Ayn Shams University, so he has, hopefully, a full understanding of economic consequences necessary for the question, together with his extensive legal training at al-Azhar University.

Nonetheless, economic and legal training is not political training, and two answers of a political nature in the collection might cause concern for some. The first is the answer to question 23 where he uses the legal understanding of Abu Hanifah and Shaybani to permit Muslims living in bilad ghayr al-Muslimin (non-Muslim lands) – for he prefers to call the latter such, as opposed to dar al-kufr (the abode of disbelief) or dar al-harb (the abode of war), because “the situation, however, has changed” and Muslims are not now prevented from residing in such lands and, he says, “there is no open declaration of war against Islam and the Muslims” – to give and take usury (riba) and other transactions that would be invalid in Muslim lands, such as selling meat that has not been slaughtered in accordance with Islamic law, and to sell pork or alcohol, or to engage in gambling. [This fatwa was discussed on virtualmosque.com previously; see here.] Gomaa’s understanding of Abu Hanifah and Shaybani’s stances is understood as correct, as reported by Taqi ‘Uthmani (in Contemporary Fatawa), ‘Abdullah Bin Bayyah (in the CD series entitled “Sacred Law in Secular Lands: A Survival Guide for Muslims in the West, volume 1” trans. Hamza Yusuf), and Muhammad Hamid (as cited in Reliance of the Traveller, trans. Nuh Keller).

Now ‘Uthmani, Bin Bayyah and Hamid concentrate on why they prefer the stance of those that opposed Abu Hanifah’s allowing Muslims to act differently in dar al-harb to how they are obliged to act in Muslim lands. ‘Uthmani appeals to the “overwhelming majority” who opposed such a stance, while Hamid appeals tentatively to the opposing view of Shafi’i and Abu Yusuf which “is not a feeble viewpoint unsupported by evidence.” Bin Bayyah argues that terms like dar al-harb and dar al-Islam, etc. are not “textual”, i.e. from the Qur’an and hadith (narration), and that the world should be re-evaluated because the modern world has changed so much (for another source for Bin Bayyah’s views, see here); and this accords with Gomaa’s understanding in the answer, as well. As H.A. Hellyer mentions in his Muslims of Europe: the ‘Other’ Europeans, Bin Bayyah prefers to call the west dar al-aman (the abode of trust). Indeed, as explained above initially, Gomaa himself disavows the use of the term dar al-harb in the modern context, but is satisfied to apply a ruling formulated in relation to that currently non-existent state of affairs.

Now, what none of the aforementioned scholars do is address whether Abu Hanifah’s actual ruling would remain in the modern context, according to his own criteria. This is the single argument that would prove the death knell to those who want to uphold the position on the basis that the west is still dar al-harb in Abu Hanifah’s understanding. [I will focus on Abu Hanifah’s position because Shaybani’s view, as discussed below, has potentially more far-reaching consequences, with the whole world perhaps being viewed as dar al-harb.] The editor of ‘Uthmani’s Contemporary Fatawa, Muhammad Shoaib Omar – whom ‘Uthmani praises in the foreword as his “learned brother” who added “explanatory footnotes which elucidate certain answers,” and to which he is “grateful” – tentatively raises the problem in the footnote to ‘Uthmani opposing the permissibility of usury in the west based on Abu Hanifah’s understanding:

“Muslims living as minorities in non-Muslim countries enjoy constitutional rights and protections, within a secular state in common with other citizens. Their status appears to be different from Darul-Harb, literally a state of ongoing military conflict between Darul-Islam and Darul-Harb. There is a need to properly define Darul-Harb in the context of the modern state to determine whether Imam Abu Hanifah’s view [italics in the original, not mine – AB] has any application at all.”

The study called for by Omar was addressed, in large part, by another Azhari, Ahmed Mohsen al-Dawoody, in his Ph.D dissertation (2009) at the University of Birmingham, England, entitled “War in Islamic Law: Justification and Regulations” (subsequently published by Palgrave as The Islamic Law of War: Justifications and Regulations). Al-Dawoody notes that Shaybani considered dar al-Islam to be a place where “Islamic law is applied”; but that Abu Hanifah thought that “dar al-Islam is a territory in which Islamic law is applied and Muslims and ahl al-dhimma (non-Muslim citizens of the dar al-Islam) are safe.” Jasser Auda, in a paper entitled “How much of a ‘Land of Islam’ is Today’s Europe? A Study in the Classic Jurisprudence,” quotes Abu Hanifah from Kasani’s Bada’i al-Sana’i:  “The purpose (maqsud)[sic] of calling a certain land a ‘Land of Islam’ or a ‘land of disbelief (kufr)’ is not Islam versus kufr. It is security versus insecurity.”

Bin Bayyah, in “Sacred Law in Secular Lands”, said that the Hanafis, including Sarakhsi and Kasani, said that dar al-Islam is wherever the Muslims have “amn”, or “safety, well-being or security.” Shahrul Hussain, another graduate of al-Azhar, in his Dār al-Islām and Dār al-Ĥarb: An Analytical Study of its Historical Inception, its Definition by the Classical Scholars and its Application to the Contemporary World, quotes the relevant section from Sarakhsi on dar al-Islam in the latter’s al-Mabsut: “A place which is under the authority or ownership of Muslims and the proof (of this) is that Muslims are safe therein.” Al-Dawoody adds, while seizing upon this notion of “safety”:

“In other words, it [namely, dar al-harb] is a territory in which freedom of religion does not exist and the lives of Muslims and dhimmis are not safe. Thus, the classifications of dār al-harb and dār al-Islām refer to the existence or non-existence of safety and peace, specifically the freedom of Muslims to apply and practice Islamic law. It is worth adding here that calling a territory dār al-harb “did not mean actual fighting”, but it clearly indicated a potential state of hostility, enmity or war in cases when territories did not belong to the dār al-Islām and did not have a peace treaty or alliance with it, and specifically if Islamic law could not be applied, Muslims were not safe to profess their belief in Islam and perform prayer, and the lives of the Muslims and dhimmis were imperilled…

“According to [Wahbah] al-Zuhaylī [in his Āthār al-Harb fī al-Islām], the majority of jurists, including Abū Hanifah, did not accept the third conceptual division of the dār al-sulh [the abode of agreement], arguing that, if a territory concludes a peace treaty and pays tax to the dār al-Islām, it becomes a part of the dār al-Islām and thus the dār al-Islām is obliged to protect it…

“Present-day non-Muslim countries would thus be classified as dār al-Islām according to Abū Hanīfah’s definition, since Muslims living there are safe, while in the opinion of other Hanafī jurists, al-Shaybānī and Abū Yūsuf, non-Muslim, as well as most Muslim, countries nowadays would be dār al-harb because some parts of Islamic law are not applied there.”

These scholarly attempts to try and actually understand what Abu Hanifah understood about dar al-harb presents enough material to call into question the idea that he would have upheld his peculiar ruling in question here. Even if one could say that the element of a non-Muslim signatory to a peace treaty with Muslim countries agreeing to pay taxes to the Muslim state is missing, hence calling into question whether he would have called the west dar al-Islam, the other conditions certainly raise doubts about whether he would have held today’s geo-political reality to identically reflect his understanding of his own time. Moreover, one must also question whether Shaybani would have held the same views on the matter. The subject has by no means been categorically finalised, but there are sufficient reasons to question a minority position that has potentially dire consequences if followed in the west.

To take a purely western view on the matter of permitting the taking and giving of usury, buying and selling alcohol and gambling, a mufti from the east should be very careful before giving such a fatwa to us in the west. This is especially the case when our inner city areas, filled with Muslims, are succumbing to the evils and crimes of those who consume alcohol (even as a consequence of Muslims selling the alcohol to them from their shops, as is the case with so many Arab-owned liquor stores in the inner cities of the USA), as well as succumbing themselves directly to the problems of accepting interest-based loans that they cannot maintain repayment of, or even gambling themselves into financial and mental oblivion as they become addicted to gambling and the dire consequences that result thereof to themselves and those closely around them. Moreover, in selling alcohol in the inner cities, how are Muslims going to appear like upright callers to a noble and pristine Islam when they are helping the human degradation complained about by Gil Scott-Heron in his song entitled “The Bottle”? In rejecting such a fatwa, we in the west might not only be able to reject it on the basis that the majority of Islamic jurists, past and present, have rejected it, or that one might be able to argue that even Abu Hanifah and Shaybani might have changed their positions if they lived in our time – as Gomaa says in “The Craft of Issuing a Fatwa”: “fatwas differ according to their specific time, place, people, and conditions” with regards to non-definitive matters that never change – but, rather, we in the west can reject the fatwa on the basis that it realistically holds great danger for us, especially those of us struggling with the already difficult realities of living in the inner cities of the west; and we really do not need Muslims contributing to this problem by making use (or misuse?) of such fatwas.

The second political fatwa that would raise eyebrows is in response to question 16 and the modern applicability of the corporal punishments of Islam (hudud). Gomaa says that these,

“have not been implemented in countries such as Egypt for over one thousand years. This is because the legal conditions for their implementation, which describe specific means for establishing guilt and stipulate the possibility of retracting a confession, are not met…The penal codes of the remainder of the Islamic countries, which number fifty-six out of the one hundred ninety-six countries of the world, remain silent on the issue of corporal punishment (hudud). This is because our age is one of general uncertainty (shubha), and the Prophet [s] [may the peace and blessings of God be upon him] said, ‘Stay the enforcement of corporal punishments when there is doubt.’ Furthermore, the legally accepted witnesses needed to convict offenders in capital cases necessitating corporal punishment have not existed for a long time. Al-Tanuki relates in his book Mishwar al-Muhadara, ‘A judge used to enter a district or a village and find forty witnesses of the sort of whom we are satisfied as to their being just and accurate, while today a judge enters a town and only finds one or two witnesses.’ Thus our age could be generally described as one in which there are no witnesses.”

One wonders at such a fatwa, not only in its grand historical presentation, but that it seemingly equates most of the Muslim world – with its great cities, such as Gomaa’s own Cairo, with their thousands of praying and dutiful believers, and hundreds of righteous scholars – with some rural “district” or “village.” The fatwa is certainly a secularist’s dream. Surprisingly for a leading Islamic scholar, Gomaa’s answer bespeaks of a certain resignation to the current situation, without seeking to remedy the situation which he admits neglects to follow certain Quranic stipulations. It is this seeming apathy and resignation that raises the most surprise. Now, with the greatest of respect, we are reminded by the Arab Spring that scholars – including Gomaa, as compassionately discussed here by Hisham Hellyer – are not always the most politically astute.

The translation of the book is strengthened by its being reviewed by two learned individuals trained in Islamic law, Abdullah ibn Hamid Ali and Musa Furber. Moreover, there is plenty of transliterated Arabic technical terminology in parenthesis, which are very helpful. Also, there is an interesting technique in the footnotes for the names of authors. On the whole, this technique for names is helpful and useful; for example, “Muhammad ibn Isma’il AL-BUKHARI” is first written and thereafter “AL-BUKHARI”, or “Muhmmad ibn ‘Abdullah AL-HAKIM” is thereafter followed by “AL-HAKIM.” In the overwhelming number of cases, the emphasis given to identify the most popular understanding of a name is correct. However, a number of examples indicate a misleading emphasis: for example, “Muslim ibn Hajjaj AL-NAYSABURI” followed by “AL-NAYSABURI” thereafter when it should be “MUSLIM”; and the worst one is “Malik ibn ANIS” who is thereafter written as “ANIS”, which is a double blow to Imam Malik, because his father was called Anas and he was known as Malik, not Ibn Anas or Anas or Anis (sic). There are other examples of this type in relation to Abu Dawud (“AL-SIJISTANI”), Ibn Hibban (“AL-TAMIMI”) and Ibn Abi Shaybah (“AL-KUFI”), so, although infrequent, the reader should be on guard.

In conclusion, this is a worthy and welcome addition in English, with plenty of worthwhile scholarly discussion from Gomaa himself and from some of the greatest scholars of Islamic history, from across the various great schools. Nevertheless, the work is a warning to Muslim minorities in the west that they are to treat Islamic scholarship with caution, even if it comes from the best that Islamic scholarship has to offer at present. This puts a great onus on western Muslims to commit to studying the Islamic sciences, even if they don’t become fully-fledged scholars, but to become sufficiently informed so that they can coherently follow an Islamic scholarly argument, and have a certain limited level of selecting opinions that have the best scholarly strength and benefit (a sort of limited tarjih). Of course, we acknowledge that it is knowledge from the east that has enlightened our hearts, but the light from that region is multi-faceted, so we must be cautious against selecting only one beautiful beam to the exclusion of all others; and, at the same time, we must pray against being colour blind: thinking we truly see things, when we don’t see things as they are at all. Nonetheless, in the west, we are still in dire need of expert scholarship that seeks to empower the audience, and not one that seeks to bully through recourse to narrow authority. Finally, this work is a welcome addition to the English library, and we pray that more publishing houses have a similar goal of producing legal works from experts in the English language. To God is our reliance and to Him we declare our poverty.

Scriptural References to the Spiritual Imperative of Islam

There are numerous ayat (verses or signs) of the Holy Quran that indicate the importance of spiritual purification. God talks of the nafs (self) and says: “Whoever purifies it has succeeded; and failure is the lot of whoever corrupts it,” (Qur’an 91:9-10). Furthermore, Prophet Ibrahim (peace be upon him) is quoted in the Qur’an: “The Day [of Judgement] whereon neither wealth nor sons will avail, except him who comes to Allah with a sound heart,” (bi-qalbin salim) (Qur’an 26:88-9). Moreover, God mentions the role of the Messenger Muhammad ﷺ (peace be upon him): “A similar (favour have you already received) in that We have sent among you a Messenger of your own, rehearsing to you Our signs, and purifying you, and instructing you in the Book and the Wisdom (al-hikma), and in new knowledge that beforehand you did not know,” (Qur’an 2:151).  The following hadith (record) in Sahih Muslim is also of critical importance in this regard: “Allah shall not look at your bodies or your faces, but rather looks into your hearts.”

Defining Islamic Spirituality

When turning to Islamic spirituality, we can use two Arabic words that denote the focus of the activity: firstly, al-qalb, or the heart; and, secondly, al-nafs or the self or ego. ‘Abdal-Qadir ‘Isa says in Haqa’iq ‘an al-tasawwuf: “Purification of the heart (tanqiya al-qalb) and rectification of the self (tahdhib al-nafs) are from the most important of personally obligatory acts and of the imperative Divine commands, as proven by the Book, the Sunna (tradition), and statements of the scholars.” Suyuti says in al-Ashbah wa’l-naza’ir: “As for learning the science of the heart (‘ilm al-qalb) and its diseases, such as envy (hasad), conceitedness (‘ujb), ostentation (riya’) and the like, Ghazzali said its learning is personally obligatory (fard ‘ayn).”

A popular term for describing the science of Islamic spirituality is tasawwuf, whose accepted English translation is Sufism. Sufism, as even acknowledged by certain Sufis, has had its own historical battles against heterodox and outright deviant attempts to subvert it from Islamic orthodoxy. In this respect, ‘Abdal-Qadir ‘Isa notes that Sufism is no different to the sciences of hadith, Qur’anic exegesis (tafsir) and history, which all had “severe opponents and fierce enemies who attempted to demolish” Islam “by defacing its signposts and interpolating falsehoods and superstitions into its sciences.” Thus, in order to dispel any misconception, ‘Abdal-Qadir ‘Isa makes reference to “Islamic Sufism” (al-tasawwuf al-islami).

Furthermore, ‘Abdal-Fattah Abu Ghudda, in his notes to Muhasibi’s Risala al-mustarshidin, after quoting a lengthy passage from Shatibi defending the Sufis in general, distinguishes and endorses “true Sufism” (al-tasawwuf al-haqq) and “true Sufis” (al-Sufiyya al-haqiqiyyin”); hence the mistake, in his opinion, of those who disparage tasawwuf or Sufis “without restriction” (bi’l-itlaq).Yet, after Hasanayn Makhluf praises a host of famous Sufis in his panegyric (taqriz) of ‘Abdal-Fattah Abu Ghudda’s commentary of Risala al-mustarshidin, Abu Ghudda adds a note of caution: that these major, pious figures were not infalliable (ahl al-isma), therefore any of their errors will be pointed out as such, with all due respect (bi-adab), like any other non-Prophet, “and without tearing them up” (wa la tahdimuhum).

Yet many others have simply referred to tasawwuf as the discipline of Islamic spirituality without qualification, on the obvious proviso that the term is meant in the most orthodox terms, in the same way that one encourages one to study theology (‘aqidah), Sacred Law (fiqh) or the other sacred sciences (‘ulum al-din) without adding any qualifying adjective, because one understands the encouragement as calling towards orthodoxy in each instance without having to say so. Conversely, some people only use the term Sufism in a derogatory fashion, as can be seen in the usage of Rabi’ al-Madkhali in his booklet entitled The Reality of Sufism, or even Jamaal al-Din Zarabozo’s use of the term in his Purification of the Soul: Concept, Process and Means. In the latter work, Zarabozo admits that “not all Sufis are the same”, but “by definition and their own admission there must be something in Sufism that is distinct and separate from what all other scholars recognise to be the clear and manifest teachings of the Quran and Sunnah.”

With all that clarification, the following summations of what is Sufism are of great assistance. Ahmad Zarruq, in Qawa’id al-tasawwuf, mentions that tasawwuf has received two thousand definitions; but his thirteenth principle in the work summarises the science as “a knowledge seeking the betterment of the hearts (islah al-qulub) and turning them solely to Allah Most High and nothing else.” Ibn Khaldun, in al-Muqaddimah, placed tasawwuf amongst the “Sacred sciences” (al-‘ulum al-shar’iyya), and was considered “truth” (al-haqq) and “guidance” (al-hidaya) from the earliest times of the Community. Zafar ‘Uthmani, in I’la al-Sunan, stated that tasawwuf is “drawing nearer to Allah through knowledge and action”; hence it “gives life to both the outward and inward”: the “outward” is adorned by “good deeds” that are visible; and the “inner” is adorned “through the remembrance of Allah, leaving reliance on other than Him, adorning oneself with praiseworthy traits (akhlaq), and purifying oneself of the taint of base traits” (trans. F Rabbani).

Perhaps there is some merit in making a distinction between tasawwuf and general tazkiya (purification), because there is a distinctive Sufi method of thinking and training that is reflected in the development of the Sufi Orders (turuq, sing. tariqa) in later Islamic history, which contrasts with the sort of general tazkiya that retains a strict scriptural basis without any submission to the Shaykhs of the Sufi Orders. Alternatively, we can contrast tariqa-based tasawwuf and non-tariqa tasawwuf which is perhaps best given another name like tazkiya al-nafs. There is great overlap between the latter two, which is why it is understandable that non-tariqa scholars would speak of their own tasawwuf, because they have given the science such a general meaning when they are really just talking about the general spirituality of tazkiya (such as Abu Ghudda). Moreover, as one sees above in the very general definitions of Sufism offered by tariqa-Sufis like Zarruq and ‘Uthmani, one can understand why certain scholars still considered themselves Sufis despite not being part of an Order or delving into mysticism.

A reason for dividing general tasawwuf from tariqa-tasawwuf can be seen by simply studying a well-known Sufi manual like the Risala of Qushayri. While Qushayri uses both the Qur’an and hadith as a basis for his chapter headings on spiritual topics, the chapters contain highly mystical theories of late Sufism, such as fana’ (annihiliation), baqa’ (subsistence) and jam’ (union), etc. These theories are taken up as central points by late Sufis of the Orders, although a Sufi like Ahmad Sirhindi, despite endorsing the path that traverses such states, said that the Companions of the Prophet (may Allah bless him and give him peace) did not experience such states. Yet these mystical features are not a feature of general Sufi or tazkiya works like Muhasibi’s Risala and Abu Ghudda’s commentary; indeed, Abu Ghudda praises Muhasibi’s works for eschewing “philosophical Sufism” (al-tasawwuf al-falsafi) and merely being the “call to rectification of knowledge and action, vigilant observance of Allah Most High, purification of the soul from filth, and making it advance to the pleasure of Allah (praised and exalted be He).”

In practical terms, we can therefore distinguish between “Sufis” who speak in the language and the method of the Orders, and “Sufis” who advance a non-tariqa method of spiritual advancement (such as the early Sufis and then most prominently scholars like Nawawi, Ibn Taymiyya and Ibn Qayyim, and latterly Abdal-Fattah Abu Ghudda and Yusuf Qaradawi). Perhaps the latter group are best spoken of as non-Sufis, but it doesn’t really matter, as long as one understands the difference in methodology, even if the title remains the same or differs.

In terms of the various titles for Islamic spirituality – which is Islamic in so much as it always strives to remain true to the Scripture – in addition to what we have previously stated, Taqi ‘Uthmani adds tariqa (the path), suluk (travel) and ihsan (excellence) in his Spiritual Discourses.

In conclusion, one takes any practitioner of Islamic spirituality, regardless of the title that they use, and judges them wholly by the Scripture, and the good is taken, whilst the objectionable is discarded; and perfection is only the case of the Prophets (may the peace and blessings of God be upon them, and may He make us of the purified in this world and the next).

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV

It is obvious to all, including perennialists, that perennial philosophy is completely at odds with orthodox Islam. Those perennialists who claim to be Muslims do so whilst claiming to believe that the esoteric, metaphysical realisation of the faith confirms the ‘transcending’ of the ‘dogmatism’ or ‘formal theology’ of Islam through ‘spiritual conversion from within’, i.e. by retaining the outer ‘form’ of Islamic practices (in whatever vague form they practically give to such an allegiance to the ‘law’). Perennialists uphold the ‘transcendent unity’ of ‘true religions’, but oppose ‘religious pluralists’ (who seek to do away with the distinctive ‘forms’ of each religion on a ‘horizontal’, i.e. worldly, level) and ‘modern syncretistic cults’ (who seek to form new, idiosyncratic religions considered false even by perennialists). ‘True religions’ are portrayed, by perennial philosophy, as being:

“graphically represented by points on the circumference of a circle, with each point being connected with the centre, that is, with God, by a radius. The points stand for the outward aspects of the religions [namely, the exoteric], whereas each radius is the esoteric path which the religion in question offers those who seek a direct way to God in this life.”

These ‘true religions’ of the present time, according to the perennialists, certainly include Islam, Christianity, Judaism, Hinduism, Buddhism and even Native American faith. Perennialism is the explicit rejection of the ‘exclusivist idea that there is only one valid religion.’ Perennialism does not so much dismiss ‘the orthodox dogmas’ of the various religions, but it effectively dismisses its importance by seeing these ‘dogmas from the universal point of view’ as:

“a series of points of reference, conceptual orientations opening out to, or ‘intending’ realities that transcend the dogmas. What can be affirmed is thus the consummation of the orientations, practices, and aspirations set in motion by the beliefs in question: they are ‘true’ insofar as they can lead one to the ‘real’.”

In this statement above, we have a natural acknowledgement of the problem of conflicting dogmas between the various religions. Thus David Ray Griffin, in his debate with the perennialist Huston Smith in Primordial Truth and Postmodern Theology, sets out what any fair-minded person would conclude when looking at the fundamental differences in dogma between various religions:

“It does not seem plausible to me, in any case, to think of the various great religions as equally embodying revelations of the same divine reality. Judaism, Christianity, Islam and Zoroastrianism are oriented primarily to a personal deity, while much of Buddhism and much of Hinduism, especially Advaita Vedanta, are oriented toward an impersonal, infinite, absolute reality. To say that the devotees of both types of religion are really worshipping the “same God” does not seem illuminating. Not sharing Smith’s belief that the personal God is really derivative from, and hence less ultimate than, the impersonal absolute, I cannot agree that the God who inspired the ten commandments, liberation of people from sociopolitical captivity, and the Sermon on the Mount is really the same as the divine reality to which Shankara and Nagarjuna were oriented. To say that all religions are equally adequate for salvation seems equally un-illuminating. That statement implies that the salvation sought by, say, Moslems and Mahayana Buddhists is the same. But meditation on Emptiness and submission to Allah seem to produce strikingly different types of people. While the inclusive doctrine that “we are all on the same path” seems appealing in comparison with the exclusivist claim that “there is no salvation outside of our church,” it is not illuminating of the empirical realities.”

Now the theology of Islam is taken to be based upon the complete understanding of all the texts of the Qur’an and Prophetic sayings (ahadith, sing. hadith), as passed down from the Prophet’s Companions to every subsequent age en masse in every generation, without an interruption in that mass transmission at any generational point; hence the overwhelming number of Muslims have always held the same comprehension of Islam’s finality. To essentially dismiss the creed passed on by a mass of people in each generation from the Prophet ﷺ (may the peace and blessings of God be upon him) (tawatur), whereby the chance of being mistaken is nil, is to effectively accuse the whole collective of being mistaken, or involved in deception or to have spoken in complete allegory to the point that the overwhelming number of their listeners completely failed to make sense of the message – may God forgive us for pointing out these preposterous notions!

It is akin to the challenge that Ghazzali put in chapter five of Fada’ih al-Batiniyya when disputing the idiosyncratic interpretations of the Batinites. He said that if the Prophet ﷺ had to divulge these secrets, then why did he not? Especially when God says in the Qur’an (3:187): “You must make it clear to the people and not conceal it.“ Moreover, the Prophet ﷺ would not have been ignorant of such a truth; and he would never have allowed himself to have been misunderstood, knowing that people would take his words literally. By way of example, I can here add the following saying of the Prophet ﷺ reported in Sahih Muslim: “By Him in whose hand is the soul of Muhammad, any person of this Community, any Jew, or any Christian who hears of me and dies without believing in what I have been sent with will be an inhabitant of hell,” (trans. Keller).

One perennialist argument is that the ‘particularist, exclusivist’ (‘normative Islam’) and the ‘inclusivist, metaphysical’ (perennialist) understandings of the Qur’an are interpretations which are “one of an indefinite number of meanings that are all ‘intended’ by God to be derived from the words” of the Qur’an; and that “no one interpretation can therefore be put forward as right and true to the exclusion of all others.” This recourse to an interpretation as a way of maintaining an Islamic identity is interesting, especially in light of a non-perennialist’s argument that perennialism was not anti-Islamic, but merely “a rather novel interpretation,” “rooted…in the Qur’an” and “rarified [sic] metaphysical considerations that are better pointed out as heterodoxies that fall into a category of opinion and interpretation.” Furthermore, the non-perennialist asserted that perennialism be deemed a mere ‘innovation’ due to it simply being a ‘ta’wil’, or interpretation, and scholars are careful of declaring disbelief in such circumstances, despite the author accepting that the four schools of Islamic law consider it disbelief (kufr) to oppose the orthodox understanding on this specific question (as illustrated above). This well-intentioned attempt by a non-perennialist to retain perennialism as an Islamic heterodoxy, i.e. ‘Islamic’, in so much as it is not other than Islam, seems to result from a literalist understanding of ta’wil, as can be seen from numerous scholars of repute.

An interesting case study for beginning to test the question of whether denying Islam’s finality is disbelief or a mere heterodox interpretation is the Shifa’ of Qadi ‘Iyad, which has elaborate theological discussions contained therein, and which highlights where such an understanding of perennialism as a heterodox interpretation might be developed, yet seem to miss the nuance associated with the point.

The relevant material of the Shifa’ for our purposes comes in the third chapter: on the ruling of one who insults/reviles (sabb) God Most High, and His angels, Prophets, Books, and the people (al), wives and Companions of the Prophet [Muhammad] ﷺ. The second section (fasl) of the chapter opens with a discussion that, in part, covers the fact that the teaching (qawl) of Malik and his Companions differs (wa’khtalaf) on the issue of those who ascribe to God what is not befitting by way of interpretation (qualified by Mulla ‘Ali Qari in his commentary as ‘false’ (al-fasid) interpretation). Lengthy discussions are then presented over the course of the second section into the third section. What is clear from these discussions is that the central controversy here is with relation to the established sects that have emerged amongst the Muslims, such as the Khawarij and the Mu’tazilah. The fact that this discussion of the disagreement concerning the anathematization of those with ‘false interpretation’ is not related to the idea of denying Islam’s finality not being heresy is categorically clarified by Qadi ‘Iyad at the end of the third section (with “Q” designating the commentary by ‘Ali Qari):

“…it is disbelief for one who does not declare the disbelief of a Christian, a Jew and all of those separate to the religion of the Muslims, or hesitates in declaring their disbelief or has a doubt (al-shakk).

Qadi Abu Bakr [Q: Baqillani] said the unambiguous Sacred transmission [al-tawqif; Q: that is, by hearing from the God and His Messenger] and the Consensus (al-ijma’) agree about the disbelief (kufr) of them. Therefore whoever hesitates in that has disowned (kadhdhaba) the text (al-nass) [Q: of the Qur’an] and the unambiguous Sacred transmission [Q: from the Sunna that is correct], or doubts it; and disowning or doubting does not come to pass except from a disbeliever (kafir).”

Muhammad Shafi, in his commentary of the Qur’anic verses 41:40-46 in Ma’riful Qur’an, states that “scholars and jurisprudents have clarified” the meaning of not declaring a muta’awwil (a false interpreter) as a “kafir or Non-Muslim” as being “subject to the condition that the interpretation in matters relating to the self-evident elements (Daruriyyat-ud-din) should not be against their definite (qat’i) meanings.” He adds that ‘false interpretations’ of such definitively-established matters are not included under excusing such an interpreter, because such a person “is actually denying the teachings of the Holy Prophet ﷺ.” Shafi establishes a distinction in this issue between false interpretations that are disbelief and those that can be deemed unlawful innovation, through recourse to a statement from Shah ‘Abdal-‘Aziz Dehlawi: firstly, false interpretation of “definite, unambiguous texts of the Qur’an or of the mutawatir ahadith [mass-transmitted beyond any doubt in every generation] or of an absolute consensus of the ummah [Islamic nation]” are kufr; yet, secondly, “an interpretation against the texts that are, though clear and semi-certain, are not certain or definite in absolute terms,” then such is not kufr, but “fisq and misguidance.”

Furthermore, Ghazzali, in Faysal al-tafriqa, mentions that “disbelief” (kufr) is a designation of the Sacred Law (hukm shar’i), and it therefore has legal consequences. In essence, it is accusing the Prophet ﷺ of lying (takdhib) about something he brought; and faith (iman) is the belief in everything that he brought. The proof of the ruling of disbelief is established by explicit Sacred text (nass), as is the case with the establishment of the disbelief of the Jews and the Christians; or through analogical reasoning (qiyas) with what has been explicitly stipulated (‘ala mansus). Regarding false interpretation, Ghazzali states that kufr is not designated upon such an individual as long as his interpretation does not pertain to the foundational tenets of belief (usul al-‘aqa’id); yet one does charge with disbelief one who interprets against an important, foundational tenet of belief away from its externality (zahir) without a categorical proof (burhan qat’i).

In Fada’ih al-Batiniyya (section two of the eighth chapter), Ghazzali discusses the ‘unambiguous disbelief’ (kufr sarih) of challenging the descriptions of the Garden and the Fire which the Prophet ﷺ described with “clear utterances” (alfaz sarih); and such a refusal to accept is to accuse the Prophet ﷺ of lying (takdhib) and cannot be considered an interpretation (ta’wil). Therefore, again, we see that not every interpretation is free of being considered an accusation of lying against the Prophet ﷺ.

Ghazzali, in Faysal al-tafriqa, specifies that the foundations of faith (usul al-iman) are three: belief in God, in His Messenger ﷺ and the Last Day; he, furthermore, argues that anything else is from the ‘branches’ (furu’); and one can only charge disbelief in the face of a person’s rejection of a ‘branch’ when it is the rejection of one that has been established and narrated through mass-transmission that is beyond doubt, and impossible to have been connived through lying or conspiracy (bi’l-tawatur). Ghazzali then adds that the denial of one of the three foundations of faith or a mass-transmitted “branch” of faith would amount to an absolute accusation of lying (takdhib mahd) against the Messenger ﷺ.

Concerning the Prophetic narration, “If one of the Muslims accuses his companion of disbelief, [the accusation] returns to one of them,” (narrated in Sahih Muslim), Ghazzali argues, in Faysal al-tafriqa, that it relates to what the accuser knows of the accused. Hence if the accuser knows the accused to be a believer, then the accuser falls under the charge of disbelief; however, if the accusation of disbelief is based upon the supposition that one has accused the Messenger ﷺ of lying, but it is an [honest] error on the accuser’s part concerning the condition of the accused, then this would not be disbelief for the original accuser.

In the same way we have expounded on the profundity underlying the classical authorities on the issue of false interpretation of Scripture, one should likewise have a rounded – and not superficial, no matter how politically or personally expedient such superficiality might be – approach to understanding such statements as the one attributed to Abul-Hasan Ash’ari in Dhahabi’s Siyar a’lam al-nubala’: “We do not anathematise anyone from the community of believers; rather, these are semantic issues upon whose meanings we differ”; or the words of Ibn Taymiyya quoted in the same latter work: “We do not anathematise anyone who guards his wudu, as the Prophet said, ‘Only a believer guards his wudu.’” Good sense and good manners mean that we should refrain from placing a post-modern relativism and false representation upon these statements, which are both insulting to the utterers themselves as well as intellectually dishonest. It appears clear that these were uttered in relation to the sects amongst the Muslims, and were not intended to be applied against those who deny core Islamic beliefs.