Today we had our first scriptural reading session here in Qom at the Imam Khomeini Education and Research Institute. This was a sort of trial session. We all benefited from it and agreed that we should try to have this take place on a regular basis starting next Fall. Our topic was prayer. The participants were: Mr. Abaie of the Jewish faith, Wally and Evie Shellenberger, our Mennonite friends who will be returning to the US in ten days, and Seyyed Hassani and Dr. Shomali represented Shi'a Islam, and I acted as a sort of moderator, although I didn't do any moderating other than to introduce everyone and indicate starting. So, we had a very small group with unequal religious representation, but it went very well and everyone asked some good questions. Mr. Abaie started by reading Psalm 145 in Hebrew and translating it into Farsi as he went along, also throwing in some explanation between the lines. When he finished, the others asked him questions. One of the interesting points he mentioned was the way the lines in Hebrew start with each of the letters of the Hebrew alphabet, a sequence also used in Arabic and called "abjad". He also explained a bit about the Jewish prayer schedule. Then the Shellenbergers read Matt. 6: 7-15; Mark 1:35; Philippians 4: 6-7; and I Thessalonians 5:17. They read the text in English and commented after every verse or two on what they thought was interesting or important. This was followed by some questions about the original language of the text and their very brief remarks about the problems of manuscripts and the formation of the canon of the New Testament. Evie also spoke about what it means to pray constantly and about using prayer beads as a reminder. Next Dr. Shomali read from the Qur'an, 2:186; 8:24; 40:60; and 25:77, in Arabic with English and Farsi translation as he went (all participants understand both English and Farsi). Mr. Abaie pointed out the similarity between the reference to divine nearness in connection with prayer in both the readings from the Qur'an and the Psalms. Dr. Shomali pointed out that in the Qur'an we are told that God is near to all, while in the Psalm it was stated that God is near to those who call Him, and he reconciled them with the comment that there is a sense in which we are calling on God with our very being. There was a good spirit of inquiry and camaraderie throughout the session. When it ended we all thanked one another and God for the blessing. We are grateful for the encouragement of both Prof. Ochs, without whose efforts it would never have occurred to us to try something like this, and to Susan Harrison for all her advice, and Abbot Timothy Wright who also encouraged us. We agreed that in the future we would like to involve Iranian Christians and have sessions with three or four people from each of the three faith traditions. God willing, we will try to arrange regular sessions after Ramadan, and perhaps we can have a rotating venue, too.
What follows is a paper delivered at Conrad Grebel in May, 2007, at a Mennonite-Shi`ite Symposium on Spirituality. Hopefully, it will soon be published in the conference proceedings. Until then, I am posting it here so that friends and colleagues have a place to view it. While in Waterloo, I also had the pleasure of attending an MCC relief fair, and the picture below is of a quilt auction.
Spirituality in Shi‘i Islam: An Overview
Hajj Muhammad Legenhausen
29 May 2007
Abstract
In this paper, key elements of Shi‘ite spirituality are outlined and contrasted with Christian spirituality. The spiritual (ma‘navi), in Islam, is that which pertains to inner meaning, as opposed to the outward literal form; and spirituality (ma‘naviyyat) is the quality of being inwardly meaningful, or the quality of possessing a purport to which concern is directed. The Christian becomes spiritual as the soul is sanctified through the gifts of grace brought by the Holy Spirit. The Muslim becomes spiritual as the mirror of the soul is polished to reflect the image of God that was hidden beneath the dust that covered it. In Christianity, the soul becomes sanctified as the Spirit enters into it; while in Islam the soul becomes sanctified as it is led to enter the spiritual realm. In Shi‘ite spirituality, the Imams as divine guides are especially prominent. Shi‘ite spirituality is expressed in religious activities, in the arts, in the humanities, and in Sufism.
None of the major important ideas of Christianity and modern Western culture map very neatly onto those of Islam, and the notion of spirituality is no exception. This makes an introduction to Islamic spirituality a bit misleading if not prefaced by a discussion of what the term could mean given the fact that the concept has its home in a cultural milieu alien to the Muslim world.
Even among Christians, the concept of spirituality is difficult to pin down, for it has evolved rather rapidly from the second half of the twentieth century until present. From its earliest usages, however, we find that the “spiritual” was contrasted with the “worldly”. In the Middle Ages, the term “spirituality” was sometimes used for the Church hierarchy, in contrast to secular authorities. By the twelfth century, things of this world were considered to be corporeal, and a contrasting attention to religious values would make one spiritual. So, in Aquinas we find that spirituality (Latin, spiritualitas) has both a metaphysical and a moral sense that are never clearly distinguished. In the metaphysical sense, the spiritual is what is incorporeal, spiritual as opposed to material. In the moral sense, one may adopt worldly or spiritual values. Furthermore there is a theological sense of being spiritual that derives from the Pauline Epistles, e.g. Rom 8:9: “But ye are not in the flesh, but in the Spirit, if so be that the Spirit of God dwell in you.” (Also see 1 Cor. 2:10f. and 12:13).
In the later Middle Ages the use of the term spirituality declined, but was revived in seventeenth century France where it was sometimes used pejoratively for those considered to have fanatically heretical beliefs. Voltaire is reported to have used the term mockingly, and it continued to be associated with Quietism in Spain, France, and Italy, and Enthusiasm in England. However, in the nineteenth century the term “spiritual theology” became established as the study of Christian life and prayer.
Over the past fifty-years or so, discussions of “spiritual theology” have given way to more inclusive discussions of “spirituality”, which is understood in a more ecumenical manner than “spiritual theology” and has even come to be used in interfaith discussions (such as ours). It is associated with religious experience (but in a much broader sense than that of “mysticism”), with depth of character, personal piety, and morality. A recent tendency among Christian theologians concerned with spirituality is to expand the notion to include all areas of human experience to the extent that they are connected with religious values, rather than focusing on prayer and the inner life. Nevertheless, there is a tendency to view spirituality as contrasting with the institutional and doctrinal aspects of religion, and to give prominence to personal religious feelings and experiences. Philip Sheldrake sums up his own review of Christian spirituality and its history with the comment:
Christian spirituality derives its specific characteristics from a fundamental belief that human beings are capable of entering into relationship with a God who is transcendent yet dwelling in all created reality. Further, this relationship is lived out within a community of believers that is brought into being by commitment to Christ and is sustained by the active presence of the Spirit of God. Put in specific terms, Christian spirituality exists in a framework that is Trinitarian, pneumatological, and ecclesial.[1]
Needless to say, if we can identify anything as Islamic spirituality, it will be neither, Trinitarian, pneumatological, nor ecclesial. Nevertheless, these features of Christian spirituality may assist us in our efforts to recognize Islamic spirituality.
The term in Arabic and Persian that is best translated into English as “spiritual” is ma‘navi (معنوى), and “spirituality” is best translated into Persian as ma‘naviyyat (معنويـت). These are derived from the word for meaning, ma‘na,(معنى) which in turn is derived from the root ‘ana (عنى), which means a concern. So, a meaning (ma‘na) is literally a locus of concern, that to which concern is directed, a purport; the spiritual (ma‘navi) is that which pertains to inner meaning, as opposed to the outward literal form; and spirituality (ma‘naviyyat) is the quality of being inwardly meaningful, or the quality of possessing a purport to which concern is directed.
The spiritual (ma‘navi) is opposed to the literal (lafzi), and like “spiritual” in English, it can be used to mean that something is immaterial or incorporeal. (Also, the term ma‘nawiyyat (معنويـات) is used in Arabic in one sense for immaterial entities and in another sense to indicate what in English would be called “team spirit”.) The most well known use of ma‘navi in the sense of indicating spirituality is in the title that has come to be given to the great compendium of poetry by Mawlavi Jalal al-Din Rumi (d. 1273), the Mathnavi Ma‘navi, or Spiritual Couplets.[2]
If you are thirsting for the spiritual (ma‘navi) ocean (or ocean of meaning)
Make a breach in the island of the Mathnavi.
Make such a breach that with every breath
You will see the Mathnavi as spiritual (ma‘navi) only.
The etymological differences between the English “spirituality” and the Persian ma‘naviyyat may be understood as symbolic of a fundamental difference between Christian and Islamic spirituality. Christians understand spirituality as the work of the Holy Spirit, while Muslims understand spirituality as direction to ever deeper layers of meaning. For the Christian, spirituality is to be found through the inward life because of the indwelling of the Holy Spirit; while for Muslims spirituality will be found within because the soul is a sign that indicates God. Christian spirituality is the result of inspiration—the spirit comes into one; Muslim spirituality is the result of another kind of movement, not an external spirit coming in, but the self’s delving within as it is guided to meaning. To change the direction of the metaphor, we could say that Islamic spirituality is a kind of explication or exegesis—the bringing out of inner or hidden meaning, not exclusively in the sense of interpretation of scripture, but in the broader and more literal sense of being guided to a meaning. However, it is not so much that a meaning is brought out, as that one becomes conversant with a more interior world of meaning. Christian spirituality is the characteristic of a life that expresses the work of the spirit within, so that it is not the believer’s own will, but God’s that is done. Muslim spirituality is the characteristic of the spiritual journey of Islam from the outward to the inward—a hermeneutic trail of openings to insights and unveilings. In both cases a divine guide is required, but the nature of this divine guidance is understood somewhat differently. Christian spirituality is found in the manifestation of signs and in the affective, indications of right guidance due to the effects of the spirit within; while Muslim spirituality is found in the understanding of signs, which is cognitive, although having both conceptual and presentational or experiential aspects. Right guidance for the Muslim is evidenced in certainty and understanding, and by adherence to the path indicated by the guide. The Christian becomes spiritual as the soul is sanctified through the gifts of grace brought by the Holy Spirit. The Muslim becomes spiritual as the mirror of the soul is polished to reflect the image of God that was hidden beneath the dust that covered it. In Christianity, the soul becomes sanctified as the Spirit enters into it; while in Islam the soul becomes sanctified as it is led to enter the spiritual realm.
I have exaggerated these differences between Christian and Islamic spirituality in order to make their distinctive characters clearer. In doing so, one may get the false impression that Christian and Islamic spiritualities are mutually exclusive. However, it is not too difficult to find the images typical of Islamic spirituality expressed by Christian writers or expressions of spiritual life by Muslims that seem typically Christian, or mixtures of both. In fact, the differences are more a matter of emphasis than distinction. There are cognitive and affective aspects to both Christian and Islamic spirituality; and interpretation as well as inspiration have a place in the spiritualities of both religious traditions, and yet the differences in accentuation are significant.
Let’s return to Sheldrake’s characterization of Christian spirituality in order to find Islamic counterparts to it. Muslims also have a fundamental belief that human beings are capable of entering into a relationship with a God who is transcendent and yet immanent. For Sheldrake, the immanence of God is found in the doctrine of the Trinity: God approaches man by becoming incarnate in Christ. For Muslims, however, the doctrine of the strict unity of God, tawhid, is no obstacle to an appreciation of the immanence of God expressed in such verses of the Qur’an as: (wherever you turn, there is the face of Allah) (2:115) and (We are closer to them than their jugular vein) (50:16). However, to find God in all things requires guidance, and so Muslims live out their relation to God in a community of seekers under the guidance of those sent by God for this purpose, preeminently the Prophet Muhammad (s). For the Shi‘a, the community is sustained in its relation to God through the continuing guidance of the divinely appointed Imams.
2 Spirit and Guide
Both Christianity and Islam are covenantal religions. In all three of the Abrahamic religions, human beings set out on the spiritual journey by entering into a covenant with God and at the invitation of God. Entering into the covenant is a kind of initiation by which God brings the person or people initiated onto the path toward Him. It is a path of return to the origin. Although the covenant takes different forms during the ages of the different prophets, acceptance of the covenant by man was prior to the earthly sojourn of humanity: (When your Lord took from the Children of Adam from their loins, their descendents and made them bear witness over themselves, [He asked them,] ‘Am I not your Lord?’ They said, ‘Yes indeed! We bear witness!’) (7:172). The divine guide is one who can lead us back to the unseen realm from which we came, on a path whose goal is the divine encounter (liqa Allah).
The initiatic aspect of the religious life becomes especially prominent in Shi‘i Islam. Initiation takes place on various levels, and may be considered as a kind of vocation or divine appointment. Initiation normally marks the beginning of a spiritual training or wayfaring, but in the case of the prophets and Imams, the training takes place prior to the formal beginning of their mission.
At the highest level, there is the calling and appointment of the Prophet Muhammad (s). Even the Prophet is guided by God along a spiritual path. In the collections of sermons, letters and saying attributed to Imam ‘Ali, Nahj al-Balagha, it is reported that in one of his sermons ‘Ali said:
From the time of his (s) weaning, Allah had appointed a greater angel from His angels to guide him (yasluku) along the path (tariq) of nobility (al-makarim) and excellence of moral character (akhlaq), throughout his nights and days. And I would follow him like a young camel following in the footprints of its mother.[3]
In this report the training of the Prophet Muhammad is linked with that of Imam ‘Ali. Following this passage is reference to knowledge of hidden significance:
And I heard the moan of Satan when the revelation came down upon him (s), and I said, “O Apostle of Allah! What is this moan?” Then he answered, “That is Satan who despairs of being worshipped. Verily, you hear what I hear and you see what I see, except that you are not a prophet but you are a deputy and you are on [the path of] goodness.[4]
Here we find that the Prophet is privileged in having concourse with what is not perceived by ordinary people. He is guided by an angel and he hears the moan of Satan. Imam ‘Ali shares the privilege with the Prophet, but as one who follows the Prophet. He hears the moan of Satan, but the Prophet tells him its inner meaning.
Sometimes the guiding angel is identified with the Holy Spirit (ruh al-qudus). In his Shi‘ite Creed, Shaykh Saduq (d. 991) writes:
And our belief concerning the prophets (anbiya), the messengers (rusul) and the Imams is that there were five spirits within them: the Holy Spirit, the spirit of faith, the spirit of strength, the spirit of appetite, and of motion.[5]
Shaykh Saduq continues that the true believers have the latter four, but the Holy Spirit is only found in the prophets and Imams. He continues:
For verily it is a creation greater than Gabriel and Michael. It always accompanies the Messenger of Allah and the angels and the Imams, and it belongs to the angelic domain (malakut).[6]
The Shi‘ite Imams are each appointed by God, and this appointment is announced by the Prophet and then by each Imam in succession. The prophets and Imams are all able to guide others because of the guidance they have been given through which they acquire moral excellence and knowledge of the unseen (ghayb). Ordinary people only see the exterior of things or their surfaces (zahir), while the divine guides lead people to knowledge of the interior or inward aspects of things (batin). The spiritual path is one that takes the adept from the world of exterior things to an interior world, a world of hidden meanings, and traveling this path builds character.
The term Shi‘i literally means partisan or adherent, and is understood as indicating the adherents of Imam ‘Ali, the Commander of the Faithful; and by implication the Shi‘a are followers of the Imams, each of whom is designated by his predecessor according to divine direction. Sectarian differences among the Shi‘a occur over disputes about the identities of those appointed. The vast majority of Shi‘a are known as Twelvers (ithna‘ashari). There are also two main branches of Isma‘ili Shi‘ism, found mostly in India and Pakistan; and there is the Zaydi Shi‘ism of Yemen. Our discussion of expressions of Shi‘ite spirituality will be confined to that of Twelver Shi‘ism.
To describe the Shi‘a in this way, however, is only to give a verbal account based on outward allegiances. There are many narrations about what it means to be a true Shi‘ite. Imam Baqir (‘a) is reported to have said:
The Shi‘a of ‘Ali are those who are giving because of their friendship for us, who are loving because of their affection for us, those who, when angry, do not oppress, and who, when satisfied, do not waste. They are a blessing to their neighbors, and peace (or safety) to those with whom they associate.[7]
In another narration, Imam Baqir (‘a) is reported to have said:
Would it suffice for someone to be a Shi‘a that he loves us, the Household of the Prophet? By Allah! No one is of our Shi‘a unless he fears God and obeys Him, and they will not be known (as Shi‘a) except by their modesty and humility, keeping their trusts, profuse remembrance of God, fasting and prayer, kindness to parents, helping their neighbors, especially the poor, destitute, the indebted, and orphans, by the truth of their reports, recitation of the Qur’an, holding their tongues about people except for what is good, and they are the most trusted tribesmen of their tribes.[8]
It is also narrated that the Prophet Muhammad (s) said:
Whoever loves ‘Ali, God will fix wisdom in his heart, He will make what is right flow from his tongue, and He will open for him the gates of mercy. And Whoever loves ‘Ali, in heaven and on earth will be called the captive of God.[9]
The difference between Sunni and Shi‘i Islam is often portrayed as a disagreement over the political leadership of the Muslim community after the Prophet; and it is alleged that the Shi‘a believe in something like royal succession through an inherited right to rulership. However, the issue of communal leadership is only the manner in which a more fundamental difference came to the surface. The more fundamental difference is the religious authority the Shi‘a attribute to the Imams on the basis of their selection, esoteric knowledge, and precedence in virtue. So, we could say that the most fundamental characteristic of Shi‘ite spirituality is the particular way in which the Shi‘a view what in contemporary English is called spirituality, for what distinguishes the Shi‘a is precisely the belief that the spiritual life of Islam—individually and collectively—can only be sustained through the guidance of the Imams. S. H. M. Jafri concludes his study of The Origins and Development of Shi‘a Islam with this comment:
The actual disagreements between the Shi‘is and the Sunnis in certain details of theology and legal practices were not as important as the “Spirit” working behind these rather minor divergences. This “Spirit”, arising from the differences in the fundamental approach and interpretation of Islam… issued forth in the Shi‘i concept of leadership of the community after the Prophet. It is this concept of divinely-ordained leadership which distinguishes Shi‘i from Sunni within Islam….[10]
The fundamental difference of which Jafri speaks, and that is the basis for the Shi‘i ideas about religious leadership (Imamat), is the belief that divine guidance is given to the community through the person of the Prophet as well as the revelation of the Qur’an, and continues after the Prophet by virtue of the divine selection and esoteric knowledge transmitted to the Imams. In a famous hadith it is reported that the Prophet (s) said: “I am leaving you with two weighty things (thaqalayn). If you take hold of them, you will not stray after me: the Book of Allah and my kindred, my household (ahl al-bayt).”[11] This is sometimes explained, in part, in terms of the esoteric knowledge of the proper interpretation of the Qur’an transmitted through the Imams. In the Qur’an it is written:
(It is He who has sent down to you the Book. Parts of it are definitive verses [literally signs (ayat)], which are the mother of the Book, while others are metaphorical. As for those in whose hearts is deviance, they pursue what is metaphorical in it, courting temptation and courting its interpretation (ta’wil). But no one knows its interpretation except Allah and those firmly grounded in knowledge (al-rasikhuna fi al-‘ilm); they say, ‘We believe in it; all of it is from our Lord.’) (3:7)
The Shi‘a interpret the phrase “those firmly grounded in knowledge” as referring to the prophets and Imams.[12] After naming the twelve Imams, Shaykh Saduq writes:
Our belief regarding them is that they are in authority (ulu al-amr). It is to them that Allah has ordained obedience, they are the witnesses for the people and they are the gates of Allah and the road to Him and the guides thereto, and the repositories of His knowledge and the interpreters of His revelations and the pillars of His unity.[13]
The idea of the Imam as one who can lead others to a correct understanding of the Qur’an is only but one instance of the general function of the Imam as divine guide, but it is a pivotal one.[14] The knowledge possessed by the Imams and by which they guide is an esoteric knowledge, not only in the sense that it involves going beyond the surface literal meaning to a deeper meaning, but in the sense that this knowledge cannot be completely communicated to anyone but the next Imam, and the guidance of the Imams must be calibrated so as to impart only as much knowledge as the follower has the capacity to receive.
In many ways the spirituality of Shi‘i Islam is like the spirituality of Sufi Islam among Sunni Muslims, and for good reason. All of the Sufi Orders trace their initiatic chains to Imam ‘Ali. The Sufis accept the most fundamental claim of the Shi‘a, namely that divine guidance continued after the revelation of the Qur’an through the work of specially appointed divine guides. Furthermore, in Iranian culture, the influence of Sufi ideas has been pervasive for centuries, and there is a great complex history of the interactions between Sufis and Shi‘ites to such an extent that on many issues it is impossible to sort out the lines along which ideas have been passed along.[15] The problem of sorting is made more difficult because many prominent Shi‘i ulama—from Khwaja Nasir al-Din Tusi (d. 1273), through Mulla Sadra (d. 1640), to Imam Khomeini (d. 1989)—have drawn heavily on Sufi teachings about the understanding and practice of Islam. The difference between Shi‘i and Sufi spiritualities is largely confined to questions about the identities of these guides after Imam ‘Ali, and the function of the guide. For the Shi‘a, although the Imams do not bring any new book or religious law, their authority extends to all the areas of religion: interpretation of the Qur’an, interpretation of the law, theology, politics, and morals. The authority of the Imams is exegetical, doctrinal, legal, moral, and social, and all of these aspects of authority are based on divine appointment. God chooses those who will become guides, and sees to it that they receive training in which they acquire wisdom and perfect their morals.
For the Sufis in the Sunni world, the guidance of the divine guides after the Prophet (s) is limited: the four Sunni schools of jurisprudence are followed on issues of Islamic law rather than the Ja‘fari legal code (named after the sixth Imam), and usually no claims are made to political authority (although there have been important exceptions of politically active Sufi Orders among both Sunnis and Shi‘ites, such as that of the Safavid dynasty; and generally appeal is often made to the Sufi shaykhs to arbitrate disputes among their followers).
The Sufi and Shi‘ite Sayyid Haydar Amuli (d. ca. 786/1384) describes the spiritual path of Islam as consisting of three levels: shari‘at, tariqat, and haqiqat in his Inner Secrets of the Path,[16] where he reports a narration attributed to the Prophet (s): “The shari‘ah is my words, tariqah my actions, haqiqah my states.”[17]Shari‘at is literally the way, but it is used to refer to the exterior or legal dimension of Islam. Tariqat also means way, but it is used to indicate a spiritual discipline, the interior way, and is commonly used for the Sufi orders. Haqiqat is truth or reality, and Sayyid Haydar uses this term to indicate the goal of the exterior and interior ways. His book applies this threefold distinction to both doctrine and practice. Among the religious practices, for example, he first considers the hajj from the point of view of its outward rules as discussed by the jurists (fuqaha). Next he considers the hajj for the people of tariqat as an inner journey toward the purified heart of the wayfarer. Finally, he turns to the hajj at a cosmic level in which one seeks to attain access to the heart of the “Great Man,” also known as the “Universal Soul” and the Bayt al-Ma‘mur (the House in heaven above the Ka'bah) or the “Guarded Tablet”. In each of these three discussions the course of the performance of the rituals is reviewed but each time at a more profound level.
About a century before Haydar Amuli, Mawlavi referred to the same tripartite division in the preface to the fifth book of the Mathnavi;
This volume is the fifth of the books of the Mathnavi and the spiritual (ma‘navi) exposition which declares that the shari‘at is like a candle that shows the way. Without taking the candle in your hand, you cannot travel the way. When you come to the way, your traveling on it is the tariqat. When you reach the goal, that is the haqiqat.[18]
More recent Shi‘ite writers have also made use of this tripartite division in order to elaborate views about Islamic spirituality, particularly to assert the harmony between Islamic spirituality and Islamic law.[19] Seyyed Hossein Nasr[20] compares this division to that of islam (submission, or as our Mennonite friends say, Gelassenheit), iman (faith), and ihsan (Wm. Chittick translates this as doing the beautiful, and it could also be understood as beneficence or active kindness), and the comparison can also be found in the works of Haydar Amuli.[21] Sachiko Murata and William Chittick use the themes of islam, iman, and ihsan to organize an introduction to Islam that is at once profound, elementary, concise and wide-ranging.[22]
It also seems that Shi‘i views are the source for much that later found its way into Sufism, although there is scholarly debate about exactly how this has taken place and also about the mechanisms of mutual influence as the traditions developed. To give just one example, we might consider early Sufi exegesis of the Qur’an, since we have already seen that the Shi‘a view the Imams as interpreters of divine revelation. The sixth Shi‘i Imam, Ja‘far al-Sadiq (‘a) (d. 148/765), is reported to have referred to four levels of exegesis: an apparent level (zahir) for the common people, and three esoteric levels (batin) corresponding to the levels of the mystic, the imam, and the prophet. In practice, what is usually reported, however, are only references to the apparent and esoteric meanings generally. One of the early Sufi interpreters of the Qur’an, Sahl al-Tustari (d. 283/896) makes essentially the same distinctions, both in theory and in practice. In his study of Tustari’s exegesis, Gerhard Böwering concludes:
Although Tustari does not cite Ja‘far al-Sadiq in his Tafsir, neither by name nor anonymously, he seems to follow the principles of Qur’anic interpretation employed by Ja‘far al-Sadiq…. the Qur’anic commentaries of both Ja‘far and Tustari are characterized as mystical, Sufi interpretation of the Qur’an, independent of each other in their content, but related in their method.[23]
The ability to understand hidden meanings is not merely an aptitude for textual hermeneutics, for the Qur’an itself repeatedly enjoins its readers to think, to reason, and in other ways to ponder on the signs of God as they appear in nature, history, and all creation. Reason (‘aql) is seen as a gift of God. One can acquire knowledge, but not reason. In an important narration, Imam Musa Kazim (‘a) presents reason as a faculty for perception of divinity, insight, and a light in the heart that enables one to recognize and understand the signs of Allah.[24] The degree of reason possessed by the believer is sufficient for him to recognize that the prophets and Imams are in possession of knowledge (‘ilm), and hence to seek guidance from them.[25]
3 Spirit Overflowing
Spirituality displays itself in numerous ways in Islamic cultures. Here, we might take a glance at how a more specifically Shi‘ite spirituality is manifest in contemporary Iranian culture. What we are looking for is not just any expression of religious feeling, but how the major Shi‘ite themes of the spiritual journey and the guide through levels of meaning are expressed. Before doing so, however, another characteristic element of Shi‘i spirituality needs to be discussed: martyrdom and oppression.
All of the Shi‘ite Imams (except the last, who is in occultation) were martyred, and subject to unjust treatment by those who abused religion. They are described as shahid (martyr) and mazlum (oppressed). Two of them, Imam ‘Ali and Imam Husayn, were killed by swords, and the rest were poisoned. The sword that struck Imam ‘Ali while he prayed was also poisoned. All of them were killed by those who outwardly professed Islam.
So, the spiritual path of the Shi‘a is a dangerous one, and the danger comes from those who outwardly profess Islam while inwardly are oriented toward worldly instead of divine aims. As a result, the Imams cautioned their followers to be secretive about their true beliefs when threatened (taqiyyah). They also encouraged their followers to weep for those who had been martyred, especially Imam Husayn. As a result, Shi‘ite spirituality is characterized by esotericism, secretiveness, and mourning.
What may be called the Shi‘ite liturgical year is organized around the major Islamic holidays at the end of Ramadan and at the culmination of the hajj, the celebrations of the birthdays of the fourteen Ma‘sumin (literally, those protected from sin, the Prophet, his daughter, Fatima, and the twelve Imams (‘a), and mourning ceremonies to commemorate their martyrdoms, especially that of Husayn during the first ten days of the lunar month of Muharram, and that of ‘Ali on the 19th and 21st of Ramadan (when he was struck and died, respectively). Mourning is expressed by the wearing of black, by breast-beating (and self-flagellation during Muharram), and by the recitation of poetry and stories about the sufferings of the martyrs and their families. At some point in such gatherings the lights are turned down and people weep.
The spiritual journey is symbolized through pilgrimages (ziyarat, literally visitations) to the shrines of the Ma‘sumin and members of their families or other notable descendents.[26] There people seek the intercession of the divine guides, read devotions, and picnic and watch children run around. The shrines also serve as places where mourning ceremonies are held and holidays are publicly celebrated. The shrines are sacred spaces, but the spirit one finds at them is less one of solemnity and more one of an unburdening of need expressed through formal and informal supplications. Supplications play an important role in public and personal devotions, and may be purely inward or expressed verbally. True supplication requires attention of the heart, whether or not accompanied by spoken words. When supplication takes place with the attention of the heart, its effect on the heart is to produce a spiritual state (hal). The recitation of special supplications attributed to the Ma‘sumin is especially valued;[27] and such supplications serve as models by which to learn the proper etiquette of prayer and intimate conversation with God. Supplication encourages the supplicant to turn his attention inward, to recognize his own sinfulness, to seek refuge in God, and to ask for his own forgiveness and for the forgiveness of others. One also prays that the prayers of others will be answered.
In the visual arts, geometrical figures indicate intellectual abstraction, and the mirroring of patterns in carpets, architecture and calligraphy reflects the soul’s mirroring of divinity. Floral themes with birds symbolize the flight of the mystic toward divine beauty. A central underlying theme expressed in many variations can symbolize divine unity and its manifestations. Often a phrase of the Qur’an, a Name of God, or an appellation of one of the Ma‘sumin is hidden in brickwork, or in calligraphy, in such a way that it can only be deciphered after some study; and this, too, reflects the spiritual quest and the esoteric truth.
Allusions to the spiritual journey are also very common in Iranian film, poetry, and stories. On television one often sees a movie or serial in which something is lost or misplaced. Help is needed to find it. A guide is sought, and what is found is surprisingly much more than was imagined to have been lost. As story is told in which someone tells another story, and sometimes this goes on for several levels to give an indication of the levels of meaning that are traversed on the spiritual path. These are just a couple examples of the many ways in which spiritual themes appear in Iranian media, literature and art.
In this regard the long and rich tradition of Sufi poetry in Farsi provides an invaluable treasury of imagery, motifs, and ideas that are elaborated in constantly changing variations. Classical Persian poetry is often set to music and becomes popular entertainment. Many Iranians also memorize impressive quantities of poetry, and are easily prompted to recite at social gatherings. Although there are important Sufi poets who wrote in Arabic, the bulk of the corpus of Sufi poetry is in Persian. Although many of these poets followed a Sunni school of jurisprudence, due to the concordance of Sufi and Shi‘i spirituality, they are understood as giving voice to central spiritual themes and values for the Shi‘a, too.
The spirituality of Shi‘ite society is so pervasive that one even finds it in sports. In a traditional Iranian sports center, called a zur khaneh (literally, house of strength), exercises are performed to the recitation of poetry, and the coach also plays the role of spiritual guide. The entrance to the zur khaneh is intentionally made low so that those entering must humble themselves. Virtue is encouraged as much as strength, and the model of the champions is Imam ‘Ali, whose spiritual chivalry (futuwwat) is taken as an ideal. Even in sports that are not traditional in Iran, such as karate, one often finds that the trainer acts as a guide to moral character as well as technique, and sessions are begun or ended with salutations of the Prophet and his family: O Allah, peace be with Muhammad and with the folk of Muhammad.
Spiritual virtues are especially prized among Iranian Muslims. Humility and asceticism are especially praiseworthy, as are generosity, clemency, and prayerfulness. Conversely, arrogance, conceitedness, wastefulness, extravagance, hard heartedness and vengefulness are particularly loathed vices. One of the works dubiously attributed to Imam Ja‘far al-Sadiq (‘a) that interweaves spirituality and ethics and continues to be popular is Misbah al-Shari‘ah (The Lantern of the Path).[28] It features discussions of the spiritual merits of some of the Islamic rules of behavior interwoven with brief articles on such virtues and vices as truthfulness, humility, generosity, repentance, greed, hypocrisy, avarice, patience and wisdom.
On the relation between the spiritual path and ethics, Shahid Mutahhari wrote a very important yet concise introduction to ‘irfan in which he compares Sufism and ethics.[29] Before reviewing his comparison, however, a terminological point is in order. The term “Sufism” (tasawwuf) is often associated with the institutionalized spirituality of the various Sufi Orders; and so, many Shi‘ite authors prefer the use of the term ‘irfan (gnosis). Sometimes Sufism is used for the practical instructions for spiritual wayfaring, while ‘irfan is used for the theory; other authors use the terms interchangeably. I will use the term Sufism in the broadest way as synonymous for ‘irfan, and having both practical and theoretical branches. Using “Sufism” in a similar way, Seyyed Hossein Nasr points out, “Islamic spirituality… has revealed itself in Islamic history most of all in Sufism”;[30] nevertheless, it is important to recognize that spirituality pervades Islamic society and is by no means confined to those who self-consciously concern themselves with what is generally understood as ‘irfan or tasawwuf.
Sufism, even in its most general sense, is a particular way in which spirituality refined in Shi‘i society. As Shahid Mutahhari points out, there have always been Sufis among the Shi‘a, many of whom do not designate themselves as such or distinguish themselves in any outwardly recognizable way, e.g., by association with a particular Sufi hospice or khanaqah, or by some particular manner of dress, and yet they are deeply involved in spiritual wayfaring (sayr o suluk) and the study of Sufi texts.[31]
Practical Sufism is similar to a system of religious ethics in that both are oriented toward the agent’s relationship with God, and the obligations and virtues that ensue from this relationship. However, as Mutahhari points out, Sufism is dynamic, while ethics is static. Sufism considers the origin and destination of man, and numerous stages along the way that must be traversed in succession. The Sufi sees the human spirit as a living organism to be nurtured in accordance with a particular order of development. In ethics, on the other hand, we find descriptions of the virtues and obligations, their interrelations and consideration of how they are to be applied, but scant detailed discussion of what practical steps can be taken to acquire them. According to Mutahhari, while Sufism sees the soul as an organism to be cultivated, ethics sees it as a house to be furnished. Another difference between Sufism and ethics mentioned by Mutahhari is that Sufism pays particular attention to the heart, what is understood by the heart, and the heart’s states. A full understanding of this requires experience on the path, while the discussions of moral psychology found in ethics tend to focus on questions of conscience and moral conflict that are comparatively commonplace. Consequently, the recognition of the need for a guide is much more pronounced in Sufism than it is in ethics. Both ethics and practical Sufism, however, are concerned with human excellence.
The methods of practical Sufism are not only employed by members of Sufi orders; there are also teachers of practical Sufism both among the Shi‘ite clergy and laity, and their students are drawn from various segments of society. Most are fairly orthodox, as far as the doctrines and practices of Shi‘ite Islam are concerned, although it is not difficult to find individuals and groups that hold beliefs or condone practices that fall outside of what most Shi‘a would consider acceptable, such as the ghullat (extremists), who claim that Imam ‘Ali was divine, or those who claim that when one reaches a certain stage on the path, that obligatory prayer and fasting may be abandoned. Here we confine our discussion to what is common among the forms of practical Sufism that do not conflict in theory or practice with Shi‘ism as taught in the seminaries.
Practical Sufism requires one to pay attention to the heart. The heart is understood as the locus of spiritual understanding, in accord with the verse of the Qur’an: (Know that Allah intervenes between a man and his heart) (8:24). There is also a narration, according to which Imam Sajjad (‘a) said: “There are four eyes for a servant: two eyes with which to see his other worldly affairs, and two eyes with which to see his worldly affairs. So, when Allah, the Mighty and Magnificent, wills good for a servant, He opens the two eyes in his heart, and then he sees faults by them.”[32] According to this and many other verses and narrations, the heart is the receptacle for divine grace. God grants his grace to the human heart through guidance by which the heart finds its way, understands its wrong turns, and “sees” the right direction. In order for the heart to function properly, however, one must cleanse it, or polish it, or chop away the debris that covers it, and this is accomplished by wielding the double-edged sword of dhikr (remembrance) and fikr (contemplation). In Shi‘i spirituality, it is not uncommon for military imagery to be taken to symbolize various facets of the inner journey: so, the sword of Imam ‘Ali, Dhu al-Faqar, is taken to indicate remembrance of God and contemplation of Him in the heart, and the struggle against the base elements of the soul is called the greatest jihad.[33]
Another feature of practical Shi‘ite spirituality is intizar, which means waiting or expectation, and is associated with the belief that the Mahdi, the twelfth Shi‘ite Imam, is alive but in occultation. The Shi‘a are encouraged to await the appearance of the hidden Imam, and in the practical Sufism of the Shi‘a, this means not only to expect the outward appearance of the hidden Imam, but also to prepare oneself by seeking the grace to be a worthy companion of the Imam, with consciousness that he may be hidden in the appearance of the least among us.
As the seeker awaits the companionship of the Imam, he should also develop companionship with others who are involved in the spiritual journey, and should attune his interests to the personalities of those more advanced on the path, especially the Prophet and his folk (s), who are known as the fourteen impeccable ones (ma‘sumin).
Observing the customs of one’s society, proper etiquette and morals is seen at one level as a prerequisite for following the spiritual path under the guidance of the divinely appointed guide. One conforms one’s behavior to the principles of morality and Islamic law because without doing so, there can be no progress on the spiritual path. However, as one travels the path, further motivation is found for worship and love of God and respect and kindness to His creatures. As the heart becomes illuminated through the guidance of those appointed by God for this purpose, virtues appear as outward signs of steady travel on the path. In order for this to happen, the wayfarer (salik) must be continually engaged in the examination of conscience and in taking care that base motives do not get the upper hand.
As an aid in wayfaring, it is highly recommended to visit cemeteries and to ponder death. The intended effect of this is to instill the idea of the transience of worldly goods and strengthen the wayfarer’s remembrance of God.
There are many other sorts of instructions for spiritual wayfaring, for example, regarding humility and a disdain for ostentation, repentance, how to keep proper attention during worship, recitation of the Qur’an, maintaining ritual purity, and other acts that go beyond the requirements of religious law. Many of these instructions are contained in manuals for spiritual wayfaring, such as the frequently reprinted Zad al-Salik (Provisions of the Wayfarer) by Muhsin Fayd Kashani (d. 1680).[34] A more recent example is that of Ayatullah Ibrahim Amini’s Self-Building:An Islamic guide for Spiritual Migration towards God.[35]
There is some disagreement about instructions for spiritual wayfaring, both with regard to who gives the instructions and what instructions are to be given. Some believe that instructions for wayfaring can only be taken directly from the Prophet or an Imam, and that when none is available for consultation (as in the current age of ghaybat al-kubra (major occultation)), we must confine ourselves to what can be found in the books of narrations attributed to them. Traveling on the spiritual path requires the performance of works that are recommended but are not religiously obligatory, such as reading supplications and fasting on particular days. These sorts of instructions are most popularly found in the book Mafatih al-Jinan. However, instructions found in other manuals (such as those of Kashani and Amini, mentioned above) combine instructions for supererogatory works with attention to moral considerations and the spiritual states appropriate to these works at a particular stage of the spiritual path, somewhat along the lines of the division of shari‘at, tariqat, and haqiqat (although not necessarily making this threefold distinction explicit).Others hold that particular instructions personally suited for the individual should be given by an ustad (teacher). There is also some difference of opinion about the sorts of instructions that it would be suitable for an ustad to give. For example, some hold that the ustad should restrict instructions to those that can be found in narrations, while others hold that he could issue other instructions, e.g., to abstain from meat for some period, or to remain in a certain city for some time. According to Sayyid Husayni Tehrani, the salik should have two ustads, a general one who is not specially appointed, but has more experience and is able to help the salik through the first stages of spiritual wayfaring, and a special ustad, who is the Twelfth Imam, with whom the salik is to develop a lifelong relation by traveling “within the planes of the Imam’s luminosity.”[36]
Although there are differences of opinion about the identities of those from whom it is appropriate to seek instructions for wayfaring, and about the extent of the instructions it is appropriate for a spiritual advisor to give, the agreement about the general contours of the spiritual path is much more extensive than the area of disagreement. Instructions can be found in manuals of the sort mentioned, but also in more specific works about particular types of worship, such as fasting[37] and prayer,[38] and in commentaries on parts of the Qur’an[39] or on narrations attributed to or describing the lives of the Ma‘sumin.[40]
If practical Sufism is comparable to ethics, theoretical Sufism is comparable to metaphysics, for the subject of both is existence. Theoretical Sufism today as studied in Iran is dominated by the school of the Shaykh al-Akbar (the greatest master) Ibn ‘Arabi (d. 1240). Theoretical Sufism (‘irfan nazari) is also like metaphysics in that it is an academic field of study in which degrees are granted at universities and research is conducted at the many research centers in Iran. Texts in this field are also studied in the Islamic seminaries, from Ibn ‘Arabi’s Bezels of Wisdom[41] to Ayatullah Javadi Amuli’s commentary on a treatise by Ibn Turkah (d. 1432).[42]
Sufi theory is complex, and a common error is to label it as pantheism.[43] Suffice it to say that according to Sufi theory, God is existence, but existence is to be understood neither as the collection of all existing things nor as a universal whose instances are individual existents. Instead, the relation between individual things and God is understood as a relationship between sign and signified. All creatures signify God and have no existence of their own.
Sufi theory is criticized by Muslim philosophers and theologians. This is not the place to go into the charges and replies. However, Shi‘ite spirituality, in the broad sense that has been elaborated here, is pursued on various sides to debates about Sufi theory. There are Shi‘a philosophers, jurists and theologians with a very intense spiritual life who find Sufi theory implausible, based on their own study.[44]
No matter how much the jurists, theologians, and philosophers may disagree with the proponents of Sufi theory, all of them have in common the spirituality of religious study. The study of religious texts—preeminently the Qur’an, then hadiths, but also texts in jurisprudence, its principles, philosophy and theology, and the great commentary literature—is itself an enterprise taken up with devotion. The study of the “Islamic sciences,” especially as traditionally undertaken, is also a facet of Islamic spirituality. To dedicate oneself to the study of the Islamic sciences is not only to strive to attain mastery of a scholarly discipline, but is to live a kind of life informed and transformed by one’s studies. Study is carried out as a form of complying with the divine imperatives found in the Qur’an and the narrations of the Ma‘sumin. To teach the Islamic sciences is not just a form of employment; rather, ideally, it is a way of living in which one has daily proceedings with the sacred.
The fruits of the spiritual life of Shi‘ite Islam should be evident in all the pursuits of the believer. We fall far short, but pray that God may grant us His spiritual gifts to share with our Mennonite friends.
[1] Philip Sheldrake, “Spirituality and Theology,” in Companion Encyclopedia of Theology, ed. Peter Byrne and Leslie Houlden (London: Routledge, 1995), 514-535, 521. Much of the historical information given above about the term “spirituality” is drawn from this article.
[2] In the text of Rumi’s Mathnavi the term ma‘navi occurs twenty-five times, in several of which he refers to his couplets (mathnavi) as being ma‘navi, e.g., in the prefaces to the fifth and sixth books. and in the following two couplets, VI:67-68.
[3]Nahj al-Balagha, ed., Subhi al-Salih, (Qom: Dar al-Hijrah, 1412/1991), 300.
[5] Asaf A. A. Fyzee, A Shi’ite Creed (Tehran: WOFIS, 1982), 48. A similar narration is reported in Al-Kafi to which reference is made in Fayd Kashani’s Kalimat-e Maknuneh (Ch. 30): “Among the references to this is that which has been narrated in al-Kafi from the Commander of the Faithful (‘a): ‘The prophets and the foremost [al-sabiqin, i.e., the Imams, in accordance with the Shi‘i interpretation of (56:10)] have five spirits: the Holy Spirit, the spirit of faith, the spirit of strength, the spirit of desire and the spirit of motion.’ He said that it is by the Holy Spirit that the prophets are commissioned and by it that they know the things, and by the spirit of faith they worship Allah and do not associate anything as a partner to Him; and by the spirit of strength they struggled against their enemies and they earned their livings; and by the spirit of desire they are inclined toward delicious food and they marry those who are permitted (halal) of the young women; and by the spirit of motion they creep and walk.” Then he said, ‘The believers who are the companion of the right hand possess the first four, and the infidels and companions of the left hand have the last three of them, such as the animals,’ or words to this effect.” Muhsin Fayd Kashani, Kalimat Maknuneh, (Tehran: 1981).
[6] Asaf A. A. Fyzee, A Shi’ite Creed (Tehran: WOFIS, 1982), 48.
[7] Hassan ibn Fazl ibn Hassan Tabarsi, Mishkat al-Anwar (Qom: Ansariyan, 2002), narration 296. My translation.
[8] Shaykh Saduq, Sifat al-Shi‘ah, in Al-Mawaaizh, Sifat al-Shi‘ah & Fadhaail al-Shi‘ah (Qom: Ansariyan, 2001), narration 22. My translation.
[9] Shaykh Saduq, Fadhaail al-Shi‘ah in Al-Mawaaizh, Sifat al-Shi‘ah & Fadhaail al-Shi‘ah (Qom: Ansariyan, 2001), narration 1. My translation.
[10] S. H. M. Jafri, The Origins and Development of Shi‘a Islam (Qom: Ansariyan, 1409/1989), 312.
[11]Tafsír al-Æàfí, Vol. 1, 473, after the verse (5:67).
[12] For the dispute about the interpretation of this verse, see Mahmoud M. Ayoub, The Qur’an and Its Interpreters, Vol. II, The House of Imran (Albany: SUNY, 1992), 39-46.
[14] According to Martin J. McDermott, the difference between the Shi‘ite view of imamate (as detailed in the works of Shaykh Mufid (d. 1022) and the Mu‘tazilite view is that the Shi‘a view the Imam as educator and guide for mankind. For the Mu‘tazilie ‘Abd al-Jabbar, the Imam is merely one who holds authority in administrative, military and judicial affairs. It is the authority to guide and teach that is the key to an understanding of the rest of Shi‘ite theological claims about Imamate, such as the doctrine that the Imams are protected from sin and error, and that all people need to have a living Imam. See Martin J. McDermott, The Theology of Al-Shaikh al-Mufid (Beirut: Dar el-Machreq, 1986), 105.
[15] See Carl W. Ernst, The Shambhala Guide to Sufism (Boston & London: Shambhala, 1997), 138.
[16] Sayyid Haydar Amuli, Inner Secrets of the Path, Asadullah ad-Dhaakir Yate, tr. (Dorset: Element Books, 1989).
[17] Scholars of hadiths generally consider this one to be apocryphal.
[21] Sayyid Haydar Amuli, Jami‘ al-Asrar wa Manbi‘ al-Anwar (Tehran: Intisharat ‘Ilmi wa Farhangi, 1989), 343ff., 586ff. In this work, Haydar Amuli makes the distinction between islam, iman, and iqan (certainty); but he identifies ihsan with the highest stage of iman (faith), in accordance with the famous narration: “Ihsan is to worship Allah as if you see Him; and if you do not see Him, then verily, He sees you.” (597).
[22] Sachiko Murata and William C. Chittick, The Vision of Islam (New York: Paragon House, 1994).
[23] Gerhard Böwering, The Mystical Vision of Existence in Classical Islam: The Qur’anic Hermeneutics of Sahl At-Tustari (d. 283/896) (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1980), 141-142.
[24] See Mohammad Ali Amir-Moezzi, The Divine Guide in Early Shi‘ism (Albany: SUNY Press, 1994), 9. The narration is reported as the twelfth narration of the first part of Kulayni’s Usul al-Kafi.
[25] See Andrew J. Newman, The Formative Period of Twelver Shi‘ism (Richmond: Curzon, 2000), 94-112. Newman argues that Kulayni’s position was actually taken in opposition to the rationalism of the Baghdadi Shi‘i scholars.
[26] There are also books of religious instruction on how to make a visit to a shrine that discuss this activity with regard to what is and is not proper to do according to shari‘at, also discuss the virtues associated with such visits, and give a few hints at the deeper significance of visiting the shrines in the lives of believers today. See, for example, Decorum for Visiting the Shrine of Imam Rida (‘a), prepared by the Islamic Research Foundation of Astan Quds Radavi (Mashhad: Astan Quds, 2002).
[27] Such as those in the collection attributed to the fourth Imam (‘a), Al-Sahifah al-Sajjadiyyah, translated by William C. Chittick as The Psalms of Islam (London: Muhammadi Trust, 1987).
[28] The work is in Arabic, and has been published with a Persian commentary and translation by Hasan Mustafavi as Misbah ash-Shari‘ah wa Miftah al-Haqiqah (Tehran: Iranian Academy of Philosophy, 1981), another Persian translation is by Zayn al-‘Abedin Kazemi Khalkhali, Misbah al-Shari‘ah (Tehran: Hijr, 1982). There is also an English translation: The Lantern of the Path, Muna Bilgrami, tr.(Dorset: Element, 1989), available on the internet at: http://al-islam.org/lantern-of-the-path/.
[30] See the introduction by Seyyed Hossein Nasr to Islamic Spirituality: Manifestations (New York: Crossroad, 1997), xv.
[31] For more on the mutual influences of Shi‘ism and Sufism see Seyyed Hossein Nasr, “Shi‘ism and Sufism: their Relationship in Essence and in History,” in his Sufi Essays (Albany: SUNY, 1991), 104-120; for a Sufi pronouncement of the inner identity of Islam with Shi‘ism and of Shi‘ism with Sufism, see Majdhub ‘Alishah, “Shi‘ism, Sufism and Gnosticism,” in The Sufi Path, ed., Shahram Pazouki (Tehran: Haqiqat, 2002), 23-45.
[32] Shaykh Saduq, Al-Tawhid, Bab 60, narration 4.
[33] See Imam Ruhollah Khomeini, The Greatest Jihad: Combat with the Self,
[36] Sayyid Muhammad Husayn Husayni Tihrani, Kernel of the Kernel (Albany: SUNY, 2003), 109.
[37] See, for example, Mirza Javad Agha Maliki Tabrizi, Spiritual Journey of the Mystics (Suluk-i Arifan): Etiquette of the Holy Month of Ramadhan, on line at:
[38] For example, Imam Ruhollah Khomeini, Adab al-Salat: The Disciplines of the Prayer (Tehran: The Institute for the Compilation and Publication of Imam Khomeini’s Works, 2002).
[39] For an example of a modern Shi‘ite Sufi work of this genre, see Fadhlalla Haeri, Beams of Illumination from the Divine Revelation (Blanco: Zahra, 1985).
[40] See Muhammad Legenhausen, “A Mystic’s Insights on the Words of the Shi‘i Imams: A Selection of Narrations from the First Chapter of Al-Tawhid of Shaykh Saduq and Commentary by Qadi Sa‘id Qummi (d. 1696).”
[41] Ibn al-‘Arabi, The Bezels of Wisdom, tr., R. W. J. Austin (Lahore: Suhail, 1988).
[43] The best introduction in English is the pair of volumes by William Chittick, The Sufi Path of Knowledge (Albany: SUNY, 1989), and The Self-Disclosure of God (Albany: SUNY, 1998).
[44] As an example of the sort of criticism of Sufi theory raised from the perspective of Islamic philosophy, see Ayatullah Misbah Yazdi, Philosophical Instructions (Binghamton: Global Publications, 1999), 247f.
I am a card-carrying member of Jewish Voice for Peace because I believe Jews have a special role to play in bringing about a change in American and Israeli policy. The Israeli government claims to act in the name of the Jewish people. It is up to us to make sure the world knows that growing numbers of Jews, as well as our friends and allies, are opposed to Israeli actions we all know to be wrong.
More importantly, as long as legitimate criticism of Israel is blocked by accusations of anti-Semitism, it is the responsibility of Jews committed to universal justice to speak up.
Militarism destroys at a higher rate than the seeds of justice arise. Some think that those who speak out against Israeli militarism are putting the Jewish community in danger. I disagree. The struggle for restorative justice for the Palestinian people is what is needed for both peoples. Neither Palestinians nor Israelis can know security and peace without it.
That is why now is not the time to moderate our demands, but to strengthen our demands for justice, to challenge the slowly changing status quo in Washington DC, and to build an outspoken movement dedicated to ending reliance on militarism as the answer to all of Israel's deep-rooted challenges.
In April, a large number of people of faith and conscience will raise our voices demanding an end to the use of US money to destroy Palestinian homes, build illegal settlements, and rain phosphorous on the heads of Gazan men, women and children. JVP is part of this effort, and you will hear more in the coming weeks.
I am proud to be on the Advisory Board of Jewish Voice for Peace because they are one of the most powerful voices I know leading the call for justice.
As soon as we hear from you, we will send you an email with the image of your card that you can print out and carry in your wallet.
We must find the inner courage to soften our hearts and seek an authentic peace based on justice and love for both Palestinians and Israelis. Joining Jewish Voice for Peace is a meaningful way to do that.
Dann Pantoja (Vancouver, BC) wroteon February 12, 2009 at 5:51pm
This is a kairos-moment for the Church in the Philippines. We sense that the Spirit of God is prompting the Body of Christ to be a mediator among various conflicting groups in our land.
In July 05, 2008, we arranged a meeting between the Philippine Council of Evangelical Churches (PCEC) and the Peace Panel of the Moro Islamic Liberation Front (MILF). It was the first time that a Muslim revolutionary front had a face-to-face dialogue with a group of conservative Evangelical Christian leaders. Since then, we have observed indicators of prejudice reduction among them.
In August 07, 2008, an international Mennonite delegation helped us in our conflict transformation activities. Jack Suderman (General Secretary, MC Canada) and his wife Irene, Janet Plenert (Executive Secretary, MC Canada Witness), Naomi Unger (Mennonite World Conference General Council Committee Member), Markus Rediger (Executive Director, MC Switzerland), and Peter Stucky (Executive Director, MCC Columbia) met to dialogue with leaders of the MILF in the morning and with Major General Raymundo Ferrer of the Armed Forces of the Philippines (AFP) in the afternoon. We were warmly met by both the MILF and the AFP, who have been participating in a protracted conflict for over 30 years and are currently at arms against each other in Mindanao.
In October 20-21, 2008, the leaders of the Integrated Mennonite Churches in the Philippines (IMCP) invited PBC to meet for prayer and to envision a partnership together to advance Anabaptist theology among our people. Gordon Janzen, the Mennonite Church Canada Witness’ facilitator for Asia, was present. During that two-day consultation, we have agreed to do the following : (a) to formalize the peacebuilding partnership between the IMCP and the PBC; (b) for IMCP to send volunteers to learn and serve with PBC in Mindanao; (c) to design together a new biblical peacebuilding training program and to offer this peacebuilding training to all IMCP pastors; (d) to adopt the Mennonite Church Canada/USA logo as a common graphic image that will help build a common identity for all Mennonites in the Philippines; (e) to find a way to let the whole country know that there are Mennonites in this archipelago; (f) to have coffee shops all over the country where Anabaptist peacebuilding resources can be discussed and distributed; (g) to develop peacebuilding ministries focusing on our relationships within IMCP congregations and families; (h) to appoint a specific committee to lead in building peace and reconciliation among IMCP congregations; (i) to establish connection with other Mennonite churches around the world; (j) to become a global church so that we can impact the world, particularly having relationships with other Mennonite churches in Asia. PBC invited these Filipino Mennonite leaders to Mindanao for a Peace Learning Tour last December 01-07, 2008. They also invited me to meet with their leaders and pastors on a quarterly basis for Anabaptist theological training and leadership development. With the help of Mennonite Church Canada Witness, I, representing PBC, committed to serve them on the basis of their invitation.
In February 04-08, 2009, the PCEC invited all the armed-political fronts in the Philippines to listen to their perspectives on the peace talks with the Government of the Republic of the Philippines (GRP). PBC helped in coordinating with the Muslim rebels and the government authorities to make their mutual participation possible. The Policy Center at the Asian Institute of Management hosted and documented the event called “Conversations on Peace.” The MILF’s assessment of the event seemed very positive and even recognized the role and contribution of PCEC in gathering the various armed fronts.
Because of these challenges and opportunities facing the Body of Christ in this Southeast Asian archipelago, we are asking the other parts of the global Church to pray and walk with us in this exciting journey towards peace and reconciliation. Because we belong to the global Mennonite family, we are appealing to all who embrace Anabaptist tradition to help us to be the presence of Jesus—the Prince of Peace—in our conflicted socio-political context in the Philippines.
:: Help us send people, food and material goods to communities ravaged by war.
:: Help us encourage and support local churches and community groups in their efforts to provide food, health care, education, employment and social services.
:: Help us help people develop skills for creating peace in their families, neighborhoods, villages, towns and nations.
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Conference Papers Gülen Conference in Washington, DC A Strategy for Peace: Gülen and the Islamic Conceptualization of Tolerance
Written by Aaron Tyler Friday, 14 November 2008 13:00http://images.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://images.habervitrini.com/haber_resim/fethullah_gulen_09.jpg&imgrefurl=http://www.habervitrini.com/haber.asp%3Fid%3D241895&usg=__qfae1oCkVLkCEhNbOE1pjWI4ZEE=&h=250&w=250&sz=12&hl=en&start=15&sig2=KjGfuhmSsrOs9O7jXL-0pQ&um=1&tbnid=CDY3plhTh2XhpM:&tbnh=111&tbnw=111&ei=qz1zSfavLYWe-ga-tr2IBw&prev=/images%3Fq%3DFethullah%2BG%25C3%25BClen%26um%3D1%26hl%3Den%26safe%3Doff%26client%3Dfirefox-a%26rls%3Dorg.mozilla:en-US:official%26sa%3DN
"Muslims should say, 'In true Islam, terror does not exist.'" So declares Fethullah Gülen in response to the proliferation of terrorist attacks perpetrated by Muslim extremists in the inaugural years of the twenty-first century (Gülen 2006: 185). A prominent Sufi teacher, whose irenic spirit and humane theology has spawned a powerful movement of education and enlightenment, Gülen has written much on the benevolent nature of the Islamic faith and the consequential responsibilities Muslims have toward humanity. Contrary to the exclusiveness and intolerance preached by Muslim extremists, Gülen's writings champion tolerance and caritas toward the Other as the essence of a true believer. Tolerance, for Gülen, is a consequence of one's faith in God and a salve of reconciliation in a world of lasting difference. With every region of the world beleaguered by intercommunal conflicts, between and within tribes and religions, a strategy of tolerance, which is both taught and lived, is urgently needed. This article offers Fethullah Gülen's Islamic conceptualization of tolerance as the embodiment of Muslim faithfulness and as a contributive approach to existing and future projects of interfaith dialogue and intercommunal conflict resolution.
Before examining Gülen's faith-based idea of tolerance and its implications for contemporary conflict management, it is helpful to outline pithily current world patterns of violent group conflict, demonstrating how the idea and practice of tolerance is a doubtless boon for Muslims and non-Muslims interested in participating in the difficult work of reconciliation.
Conflict and Islamic Tolerance in the Twenty-first Century
Violent social conflict is a phrase not easily defined. Syracuse professor of sociology Louis Kriesberg offers a multivariate concept of social conflict that encapsulates a wide range of group conflicts: "A social conflict arises when two or more persons or groups manifest the belief that they have incompatible objectives." Depending on situational context, this belief in "incompatible objectives" is made manifest in violent or nonviolent ways. Too often, as the brutality of the twentieth and early twenty-first centuries has tragically illustrated, this incompatibility is exhibited through violent means. The phrase "persons or groups" allows for an expansive understanding of social conflict (Kriesberg 2007: 2-3). Conflicting groups may constitute competing tribes or sects, nation-states, or, from the perspective of some, civilizations.
Within the bipolar context of the Cold War, conflict management training and strategies focused chiefly on interstate relationships. Since the 1990s, however, in the throes of a collapsing Cold War, the primary focus of the academic field of conflict management shifted necessarily to intrastate violence between ethnic and religious communities vying for power and territory within and across state boundaries. Today the most destabilizing, intractable conflicts are still those waged between communities distinguished by ethno- or religio-political identities. Tragically, when religious, ethnic, or cultural identities permeate sociopolitical grievances, clashing narratives quickly emerge that essentially dehumanize the Other and make violent escalation more likely and reconciliation elusive.
Ted Robert Gurr, founding director of the Minorities at Risk Project (MAR), purports that "the greatest risk of communal conflict" in the first decade of the twenty-first century is "the radicalization of Muslim communal groups." Of the more than 280 communal groups surveyed through MAR, over 60 were categorized as Muslim communities: "Among them are Shiites in Sunni-majority societies, Muslims in separatist regions, and Muslim minorities in Western democracies and elsewhere." Gurr emphasizes the prejudice and persecution experienced by many of these Muslim minority sects. Some are classified as "heretical" by "mainstream Islamic groups," while others are stereotyped as the dangerous Other by non-Muslim majorities (Gurr 2007: 136) Moreover, radical Muslim movements, espousing ideologies of exclusion and intolerance, are competing for the allegiance of these embattled Muslim communities.
A non-exhaustive list of States experiencing varying levels of intercommunal tensions, which involve one or more Muslim communities threatened or influenced by Muslim extremism, might include Tajikistan and Afghanistan, Indonesia and the Philippines, Nigeria and Somalia, and India and Russia (Gurr 2007: 136). Of course, Western Europe has not been immune to the consequences of Muslim extremism—spawned from the fringes of its ethnically diverse and growing Muslim population. The 11 March 2004 train bombings in Madrid, the murder of outspoken and controversial filmmaker Theo van Gogh in the Netherlands that same year, and the terror campaign against London's underground transportation system and double-decker bus less than sixteen months later are tragedies that have left many Westerners (Muslim and non-Muslim) angry and worried that a new "home grown radicalism" is emerging in Western Europe—a radicalism that will not evanesce anytime soon (Roy 2005: 360). According to French political scientist, Olivier Roy, the challenge for Europe (and elsewhere) is how to impede the extremist "fringe from finding a broad political base among the local Muslim population" (Roy 2005: 363).
When considering the role of Muslim extremists in numerous intercommunal conflicts and terrorist activities, the question by pundits, policymakers, and some scholars becomes, "Is Islam culpable?" Is Islam a source of extremism, or a source of peace? Is it being manipulated and perverted for reasons of power and politics? Most importantly, are there Muslim voices that can effectively challenge extremist ideologies with counter-interpretations of dialogue, tolerance, and coexistence?
Since 2001, the global community has grown more aware of how the Islamic faith has become an instrument of violence for Muslim radicals. However, unbeknownst to many is the growing number of Muslim scholars and religious leaders who are contesting the impoverished identities and immoral ideas espoused by Muslim extremists, proffering, instead, a humane, compassionate, and charitable interpretation of the Islamic tradition. George Washington Professor Seyyed Hossein Nasr is one of many scholars cautioning against Western, non-Muslim propensities to associate the dynamic and complex Islamic tradition with "the violent nature of extremism in certain Islamic countries" (2003: 182). Echoing this wisdom, UCLA law professor Khaled Abou El Fadl argues that the egregious terroristic violence of Osama Bin Laden illustrates only one extreme in the complex ideological "struggle between interpretive communities over who gets to speak for Islam and how" (2004: 49).
International relations professor Aaron Tyler describes how "in an effort to inoculate Islam against the violent tendencies of its militant adherents," moderate Muslim voices are striving to resuscitate a nonviolent and enlightened Muslim culture that will overcome "the volcanic voices of radical adherents" with a more powerful voice of peace, spiritual renewal, and reconciliation (Tyler 2008: 3). Moreover, Muslim thinkers and movements are emerging that, not only contest the intransigent and intolerant interpretations of Islamists, but proactively demonstrate the benevolent beliefs, rituals, and institutions of Islam as a collective source for intercommunal reconciliation and coexistence across the globe. These scholars and religious leaders are illustrating how the virtues of peace and value of tolerance espoused by Islam can offer practitioners of and participants in conflict resolution a normative framework for succoring the difficult work of peacemaking.
One of the most profound Muslim thinkers contributing to this critical endeavor is Fethullah Gülen. In a shrinking world desperately searching for "self-sacrificing spirits who devote themselves to community, and of a genuine movement for dialogue and consensus" (Ergene 2008), Fethullah Gülen and the Gülen movement have become a powerful source of hope and greater understanding, offering individuals and communities—Muslim and non-Muslim—the teachings and traditions of Islam as a holistic vehicle for peace, imbibed with a spirit of compassion, hospitality, and service to others. Gülen is entreating Muslims—through dialogue and education—to contest the destructive images of Islam "fed to the world," and, in a spirit of tolerance and "gentle persuasion," reveal to the world a "new image of Islam," one imbued with love and service to God and his creation (Gülen 2006: 52).
Seyyed Nasr has stated that "the future of the world in the next few years and decades will depend obviously on how various world views and civilizations will be able to live together" (Nasr 1997: 55). A hermeneutic of tolerance that encourages mutual respect, goodwill, and active engagement across and within civilizations and religious traditions is one important strategy for "living together" as human beings, regardless of communal differences. Tolerance provides communities a foundation for dialogue and coexistence, and, in a world of immutable diversity, interreligious efforts to assess and reassess the value of tolerance and its acceptable limits are exceptionally meaningful. Perhaps nowhere is this effort to understand and project the value of tolerance more important than within the beautifully complex and humane Islamic tradition.
Fethullah Gülen offers the human community a principled approach to peaceful engagement through the Islamic strategy of tolerance. "Tolerance," writes Gülen, is humanity's "safest refuge and our fortress against the handicaps that arise from schism, factions, and the difficulties inherent in reaching mutual agreement" (Gülen 2006: 33). Exercising his responsibility as a viceregent of God, Gülen has given much of his life to teaching and advocating a tolerance toward the Other that burgeons from his profound understanding of Islam. For sustainable peace and hospitality to occur, such a concept of tolerance must take root, one that acknowledges the reality of lasting difference and the need for mutual respect, human friendship, and active dialogue. Indeed, for Gülen, Islamic tolerance can offer a steadying force in humanity's balancing act with conflict and coexistence.
The nucleus of this paper will now focus on Fethullah Gülen's conceptualization of tolerance—a concept that is cultivated from his spiritually broad and intellectually robust understanding of Islam and the human condition. It begins with a brief exposition on Fethullah Gülen's theological and metaphysical justifications of tolerance, delineating its faith-based parameters and wide-reaching consequences. It will then demonstrate how Gülen's ideation of tolerance has transformative implications for what it means for Muslims to worship fully and live responsibly. The article will then pivot away from the theological and metaphysical considerations to map the practical contributions Gülen's framework of tolerance can make to the difficult, multilevel work of intercommunal dialogue and conflict resolution. It is hoped this interdisciplinary investigation into Gülen's conceptualization of tolerance and its transcendental and temporal repercussions will make clear the profundity of this modern peacemaker and intellectual giant, whose ethical theology and practical vision offer the global community a faithbased, normative framework for conflict resolution and reconciliation.
Defining Tolerance
To discern the parameters of tolerance and its potential for facilitating dialogue and reconciliation between communities, one must first assess how this strategy can be reconciled with what theologian Paul Tillich has named the ultimate concern—that is, what a community or individual considers to be of utmost importance: "Whatever concerns a man ultimately becomes god for him," wrote Tillich, "and, conversely, it means that a man can be concerned ultimately only about that which is god for him" (Tillich 1951: 211). One's highest object of loyalty—Islam, for instance—must sanction a strategy as righteous or permissible before it can be embraced or pursued. Free trade, coexistence, or democracy may demand a strategy of tolerance. However, while such "less than ultimate" concerns may be rationally demonstrated, one's ultimate concern is the final arbiter of what is right or wrong, permissible or prohibited. (Budziszewski 2000: 224). Pakistani scholar and educationist Ishtiaq Hussain Quereshi wrote that, for Muslims, "No morality exists which does not find its ultimate sanction in Islam" (Mujahid 1974: 4). The question, then: "Does Islam sanction or, at a more profound level, mandate the value of tolerance?"
For Fethullah Gülen, tolerance is an outgrowth of his Islamic faith, not in spite of it. Not only does the Islamic tradition permit tolerance of the Other, but it provides the global community a taproot for its justification. According to Gülen, "the shielding canopy" of Islamic tolerance "extends not only to the people of the book, but, in a sense, to all people." (Gülen 2006: 76). As Gülen makes clear, tolerance is embedded in God's character of compassion, mercy, and forgiveness and is entrusted to his vice-regents in creation (Gülen 2006: 37). Tolerance is a timeless value that emanates from "the essence of creation," God's love: "God created the universe as a manifestation of his love for his creatures, in particular humanity, and Islam became the fabric woven out of his love" (Gülen 2006: 60). Tolerance, as an expression of this originating love through Islam, necessarily precedes and supersedes all interpretations of exclusion and belligerence espoused by those radical voices that would emerge later to challenge Islam's benevolent foundations. "Tolerance is something that has always existed," writes Gülen, and the intolerance and violence preached through "blind fanaticism" is antithetical to the essence of Islam and God's message to creation. From this faith-based perspective, Gülen challenges Muslims to reclaim the value of tolerance as "something that is inherent in the spirit of Islam and something that was explained to us in the Qur'an and by the Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him" (Gülen 2006: 38).
Necessary Limits of Tolerance
Islamic tolerance is grafted to the theological principle of reciprocity. In the hadith, the Prophet Muhammad warns Muslims that "one who is not compassionate, God will not be compassionate to him" (Kamali 2002: 69). One who expects to receive tolerance must also be willing to give it. "Deserving what we expect is very important," writes Gülen. He continues: "Everyone will receive disrespect to the degree that he has been disrespectful.... Those who do not embrace all of humankind with tolerance and forgiveness have lost their worthiness to receive forgiveness and pardon.... It is not possible to talk about common ideas or a collective consciousness in communities where individuals do not look upon one another with tolerance or in countries where the spirit of forbearance has not become fully entrenched" (Gülen 2006: 34).
This guiding principle of reciprocity makes clear that tolerance is not without limitations. Without limits tolerance becomes license or, worse, indifference. By its very nature, Islamic tolerance proscribes forbearance of injustice and oppression. Though it stands as an invaluable faith-based catalyst for achieving a higher order of goods, such as mercy, compassion, and hospitality, tolerance is disallowed as a catalyst for exclusion, discrimination, or unbridled violence. Political theorist John Christian Laursen is right to describe tolerance as a "middle way" between indifference and prejudice. Tolerance, Laursen argues, "is often unstable in the sense that there will pressure to move toward one or both of the extremes: toward persecution or full respect" (Laursen 1999: 6). Gülen echoes this tension inherent in the strategy of tolerance: "Care must be taken to establish balance in one's tolerance," he warns—for "being merciful to a cobra means being unjust to the people the cobra has bitten" (Gülen 2006: 76).
For Gülen, tolerance is rooted in the compassionate character of God and his divine love for his beloved creation. For a Muslim to honor God is to love the things and ways of God. Consequently, from the Islamic cornerstone of God's love for humanity, as a mirror of the divine, emerges an unqualified recognition of the immutable dignity ascribed to each person as an equal in creation. In Gülen's essay, "Islam—A Religion of Tolerance," while Muslims "should dislike such things as immorality, unbelief, and polytheism," they are called to love—even forgive—those who proliferate such behavior: "God created humanity as noble beings, and everyone, to a certain degree has a share in his nobility. His Messenger once stood up out of respect for humanity as the funeral procession of a Jew passed by. When reminded that the deceased was a Jew, the Prophet replied: 'But he is a human,' thereby showing the value Islam gives to human" (Gülen 2006: 60). Ali ibn Abi Talib, Muhammad's son-in-law and fourth "Rightly Guided" Caliph, offered like counsel to the governor of Egypt: "Infuse your heart with mercy, love, and kindness for your subjects. Be not in the face of them a voracious animal... for they are of two kinds: either they are your brothers in religion or your equals in creation." Khaled Abou Elf Fadl puts forth a similar definition: grounded on the Islamic idea of benevolent reciprocity, Islam enjoins Muslims "to support the Prophet of Islam" against its assailants, while always acknowledging "the moral worth and rights" of those who condemn the Islamic faith or persecute its adherents (Abou El Fadl 2002: 18). Unlike the predominant liberal contrivance of tolerance, the Islamic ideal is not powerless to confront and condemn inhumanity from a morally defenseless posture. On the contrary, it is able to acknowledge the moral obligation to decry injustice, oppose unbelief, and admonish immorality, without demeaning or dehumanizing those who violate the "ways of God."
Significantly, Gülen posits an idea of tolerance that finds authority outside of Islam and across cultures. Similar to the description offered by Gülen, Aaron Tyler has defined authentic tolerance as an endurance or forbearance of the beliefs or behaviors that one considers to be offensive, inferior, or simply different from his or her own, while not withholding caritas and humaneness to the purveyors of those contrary ideas or actions. Similarly, philosopher J. Budziszewski envisions tolerance as the ability to admonish or disapprove of another person's or society's "flaws," without withdrawing "charity toward their persons" (Budziszewski 2000: 98). Tolerance, then, enables a community to condemn immorality and injustices, while, at the same time, acknowledging the immutable dignity of each person.
To be clear, tolerance does not necessitate a compromise of one's belief system, language, or customs. Political theorist Michael Walzer rightly explains how tolerant human beings are those who "make room for men and women whose beliefs they don't adopt, whose practices they decline to imitate; they coexist with an otherness that, however much they approve of its presence in the world, is still something different from what they know" (Walzer 1997: 11).
"Tolerance does not mean being influenced by others or joining them," writes Gülen; "it means accepting others as they are and knowing how to get along with them" (Gülen 2006: 42). For Muslims, tolerance does not mean diluting or dismissing difference; rather, the Islamic tradition equips Muslims with the wisdom to embrace difference as a divinely ordained condition of the human family. The Qur'an declares the enduring diversity of humanity: "If thy lord had willed, He would have made humankind into a single nation, but they will not cease to be diverse... And, for this God created them [humankind]."[1] Elsewhere, the Qur'an states: "O humankind, God has created you from male and female and made you into diverse nations and tribes so that you may come to know each other."[2] The Islamic conception of tolerance, as interpreted by Gülen, does not negate difference, but openly acknowledges it. Tolerance, rightly defined, enables individuals and societies to engage one another for purposes of coexistence and in search for common ground without having to comprise their communal identity or cultural essence as a result.
Tolerance: A Requisite to Worship
In his analysis of medieval Muslim, Christian, and Jewish conceptualizations of human volition, philosopher David Burrell explored the Abrahamic "protagonists" al-Ghazali, Moses Maimonides, and Thomas Aquinas. Burrell demonstrates how, from the perspective of these faith-based philosophers, human beings must transcend identity as self-starters—that is, as the "source of agency"—and discover that "the glory of a human being" is not to originate but to respond in obedience to the one from whom life is breathed. To be free is to respond to God through a spirit of submission and a recognition of life as "a perfection bestowed" by a creator "rather than a 'value neutral' precondition" (Burrell 2000: 166, 170). For these medieval theorists of human freedom, God the creator is the "cause of being" who created human beings intentionally that they might respond in gratitude to the "source of their being and well-being" (Burrel 2000: 169).
Not unlike these medieval theorists, Gülen's interpretation of Islam and human responsibility emphasizes a Muslim's duty to respond to the initiation and intention of God. Life is a gift to be lived in a spirit of gratitude toward the giver. Humanity, as the viceregent of God and "the favorite of all His creation," is commissioned to respond in love and service to the things and ways of God (Gülen 2006: 122-23). Contentment as a viceregent of God comes through a volitional response to the Beloved and his intention in creation: "Genuine human beings try to exercise their freewill in a constructive manner, working with and developing the world, protecting the harmony between existence and humanity, reaping the bounties of the Earth and the Heavens for the benefit of humanity, trying to raise the hue, form and flavor of life to a more humane level within the framework of the Creator's orders and rules" (Gülen 2006: 124).
The quintessential way in which Muslims respond to God is through worship. Gülen corrects the common misconception that worship is nothing more than banal ritual. For Muslims worship embodies "complete submission and the acceptance of a broad responsibility." Worship is realized through the communicatory rituals of prayer and service to God. Worship, in essence, represents "the most immediate way to turn our face to God, with everyone and everything, the soundest and most immediate way of associating everything with Him." Moreover, the Muslim who worships faithfully and habitually experiences spiritual renewal with God and communion with his creation (Gülen 2006: 125). Worship embodies the sacred trust endowed by God to humanity and is the epitome of human freedom. From this perspective, "true believers" will serve God and, by extension, his creation through a spirit of gratitude through worship. Every action, temporal or transcendental, is performed with a "purity of heart" and a desire to love and serve the things and ways of God (Gülen 2006: 126-27).
The value of tolerance depends on its function. The ultimate purpose of tolerance is facilitating one's response to God as his viceregent on earth. It is a consequence of fidelity to God and a prerequisite to one's striving for justice, compassion, and hospitality. When filtered through the lens of Islam, tolerance of the Other is not endeavored for selfish, opportunistic reasons. What is more, the "true believer" is not reactionary but reliant on God and his purposes (Gülen 2006: 83). Gülen calls Muslims to embrace a world of difference with determination and enthusiasm, in service to the purposes of God, regardless of worldly failures or successes. Confidence and resolve to engage the world in a spirit of tolerance, regardless of the outcome, is renewed through submission—that is, a Muslim's willingness to be unbridled from the desires and accolades of the world and immerse himself wholly and hopefully in response to God through worship.
Similar to the Christian credo, faith without deeds is dead,[3] worship, for the true believer, involves prayers and petitions undergirded by action. True to that applicable, albeit trite, maxim, worship involves "practicing what you preach." Gülen writes,
Representing what he preached is one of the important characteristics of our Prophet. He practiced whatever he said and implemented in his life whatever words he spoke. Words that are not put into practice, regardless of how beautiful or perfect they may be, are doomed to be spoiled, to be wasted, and to lose their influence with time. It will be understood by their impact on hearts how stagnant, not only human words, but even Divine Words can become if they are not put into practice.... The crux of the matter is to put that beautiful expression of words into practice (Gülen 2006: 92).
Love, kindness, compassion, and hospitality must not only be taught but also demonstrated, lived out in a world of conflict and difference. While reciprocity is the modus operandi for tolerance, Muslims are exhorted to overlook the transgressions of others, and be willing to speak and implement "love and affection for humankind" (Gülen 2006: 92-93). Gülen puts forth such Qur'anic passages as "And if you behave tolerantly, overlook, and forgive then God is forgiving and merciful."[4] Rather than being reactive, waiting to receive tolerance, God's viceregents are called to be proactive and eager to demonstrate forbearance and goodwill to the Other as an ambassador of God and representative of a magnanimous Islam. Mercy, kindness, and forgiveness are countenanced whenever possible. The Qur'an reminds believers that "God does not forbid you, regarding those who did not fight you on account of religion and did not drive you out of your homes, to show kindness and deal with them justly."[5] Elsewhere, the Qur'an affirms the benevolence of the righteous: "They swallow their anger and forgive people. God loves those who do good."[6] Gülen concludes, without reservation, that Islam is a vehicle of peace and an expression of gratitude and obedience to the benevolent ways of God: "In the Qur'an, Sunna, and in the pure and learned interpretations of the Great Scholars there is no trace of a decree or an attitude that is contrary to love, tolerance or dialogue" (Gülen 2006: 51).
A benevolent disposition toward the Other is countenanced in the Islamic tradition—a disposition that is able to admonish injustices in a spirit of love and generosity. The sunna and sira give an account of the Prophet Muhammad's charge for Muslims to live magnanimously, within a spirit of tolerance (Donaldson 1953, 70):
The three doors of good conduct are generosity of soul, agreeable speech, and steadfastness in adversity.
The generous man who is ignorant is more precious in the sight of Allah than the learned man who is miserly.
Generosity is one of the trees of Paradise. Its branches extend to the earth, and whoever seizes one of these branches will be raised to Paradise.
The most worthy of you is the one who controls himself in anger, and the most tranquil (forbearing) of you is the one who forgives when he is in authority.
The best of you are those who are best in disposition, who show kindness and who have kindness shown to them (Donaldson 1953: 70).
As God's viceregents, Muslims are called, in a spirit of dutiful worship, to reform the world through a proactive witness of God's love. To carry out the divine mandates of reform, Muslims must be introspective, seeking personal and public renewal of the humane, magnanimous intentions of Islam. "Those who want to reform the world," declares Gülen, "must first reform themselves." "Hatred, rancor, and jealousy," writes Gülen," must be replaced with goodness, truthfulness, and virtuousness, which represent "the essence of the world and humanity" (Gülen 2004: 24). For such an endeavor tolerance is essential. Again, Gülen is instructive:
We should have such tolerance that we are able to close our eyes to the faults of others, to have respect for different ideas, and to forgive everything that is forgivable…Even before the coarsest thoughts and the crudest ideas, ideas that we find impossible to share, with the caution of a Prophet and without losing our temper, we should respond with mildness (Gülen 2006: 33).
Tolerance provides a via media through which Muslims can be better Muslims, serving as a vehicle for reaching "new depths" of generosity and magnanimity as viceregents of God (Gülen 2006: 34). Tolerance is a necessary consequence of authentic worship—worship that embodies fidelity to God and a benevolent disposition toward his creation.
Tolerance: A Requisite to Dialogue
Contemporary conflict today is primarily intercommunal, not interstate. Violent engagement between religious or ethnic communities has been the predominant formation of group conflict since the collapse of the Cold War. And in a world quickly contracting through interlinking processes of modernization and globalization, violent conflicts within and between communities are no longer isolated occurrences with only localized consequences. The plight of the embattled Ogoni people in Nigeria's oil-rich Niger Delta has undoubtedly affected the stability of the Nigerian state, greater West Africa, and an oil-dependent global community. Intercommunal conflict in Burundi has served to exacerbate tensions in Africa's tribally complex and politically fragile breadbasket. Iraq's constitutional and inter-communal conflicts over Kirkuk are aggravating ethnic tensions between the regions three dominant ethnic groups—Kurds, Arabs, and Turkmen—heightening cross-border tensions with its neighbor, Turkey, and irredentist aspirations of Kurdish communities in the region. Hindu-Muslim violence on the Indian subcontinent continues to threaten the fragile peace between South Asia's nuclear powers, India and Pakistan. The regional and global effects of violent tension in the Levant, whether between Jewish settlers and Palestinians in the West Bank or Shi'a, Sunni, and Christians in Lebanon, are all too obvious. Violent intercommunal conflicts continue to proliferate, and the consequences are wide-ranging, from forced migration and resource exploitation to terrorism and ethnic cleansing.
Khaled Abou El Fadl has written of the primeval binary stimulant within human communities to fashion an "us versus them" worldview. This binary impulse has motivated a categorization of the ethnic, religious, or cultural Other as inferior and, in worst cases, subhuman. Clashing narratives and competing stories of superiority or victimization between tribal groups, religious communities, or civilizations have only proliferated misunderstanding and encouraged violent engagement. However, competing with this binary impulse of exclusion is an equally compelling human inclination to cooperate for the purposes of community (Abou El Fadl 2002/2003: 38). It is from humanity's innate desire to cooperate as social beings that discourse with the Other becomes, not only relevant, but urgent for today's context of human conflict.
In a world shrinking through the ubiquitous processes of globalization, the foreign Other is quickly becoming a fellow citizen. As communal fault lines continue to pulsate through an acceleration of east-west migration and global and local engagement, learning to engage the Other peacefully, and in a spirit of humanity, is critical for lasting coexistence. For this reason dialogue is essential to encourage greater understanding and facilitate a mutual pursuit for common values and the common good. Comparative religions professor Mahmoud Ayoub rightly contends that today's fluid demographic landscape, where "millions of Muslims are now citizens of Western Christian countries," compels a "dialogue of life" between "next-door neighbors" (Ayoub 2004: 317). Malaysian intellectual and Muslim activist Anwar Ibrahim echoes this urgency for dialogue: "[D]ialogue has become an imperative at a time when the world has shrunk into a global village. For it is a pre-condition for the establishment of a convivencia, a harmonious and enriching experience of living together among people of diverse religions and culture" (Ibrahim 2007: 342).
Lamenting the destructive consequences of misunderstandings and dehumanization between cultures and faith traditions, Gülen puts forth religion as a primary and powerful stimulant for dialogue. The inclusiveness and tolerance espoused by Islam and the world's major religions provide communities a foundation for dialogue amidst difference and disagreement (Gülen 2004: 4). Importantly, from Gülen's faith-based perspective, dialogue does not necessitate conversion or a compromise of ideals. The purpose of engagement with other communities is not cajolery or coercion, bur rather greater understanding and development of mutual trust and common purpose. While "gentle persuasion," in a spirit of love is countenanced through the Islamic tradition, lasting difference is expected, and peace is preferred over persuasion. To be a witness of Islam means submission to God in service to humanity—not coercion or forceful compulsion. When disagreement is insurmountable, Muslims are enjoined to respond with an attitude of tolerance, in submission to God's design: "Your religion is for you; my religion is for me" (Gülen 2004: 14).[7]
Tolerance enables dialogue to focus on interests rather than positions. Through an attitude of tolerance, communities are not preoccupied with differences of identity and behavior but are able to focus on the immediate misunderstandings and transgressions that are prohibiting coexistence. What is more, a product of interfaith dialogue is mutual enrichment. As one seeks to learn from others, his own beliefs are fortified or tempered through greater understanding. According to Gulen, "we should have so much tolerance that we can benefit from opposing ideas in that they force us to keep our heart, spirit, and conscience active and aware, even if these ideas do not directly or indirectly teach us anything" (Gülen 2006: 33).
Not all interfaith dialogue is easy. In most circumstances it is hard. It does not mean acquiescence to the designs or beliefs of others, nor does it mean an end to conflict and unanimous consent. In most cases, interfaith dialogue is an undulating process that encourages constructive conflict, which involves learning how to disagree in a spirit of coexistence and goodwill. Anglican Canon Andrew White, president of the Foundation for Relief and Reconciliation in the Middle East and Vicar of St. George's Cathedral in Baghdad, gave an interview for Wheaton College in which he explained how interfaith dialogue is too often conceived as "nice people sitting down and talking with nice people." In circumstances where groups are maiming and killing one another in the name of religion, interfaith dialogue becomes a life and death enterprise. In cases of tentative discourse between hardened enemies, dialogue "isn't cucumber sandwiches and cups of tea on the Mayor's lawn"; rather, dialogue becomes all about "how do we stop killing each other?" (White 2003). In such intractable contexts, Gülen reminds Muslims that tolerance of difference becomes the essential "spiritual discipline" for engaging in dialogue with those who have waged violence against them. Tolerance enables dialogue (and ultimately forgiveness) "even in the face of the crudest behavior and most upsetting events." "Malice and hatred," warns Gülen, "are the seeds of Hell" and must be overcome by the Islamic injunctions to love and tolerate the Other through dialogue, including those who have violated the compassionate and just ways of God. To exercise tolerance in such circumstances is neither easy nor, from a materialist perspective, rational. Indeed, such tolerance, in the midst of injustices and hatred, is a gift from God, a "celestial instrument" that can amplify the boon of dialogue between those "who understand its language" (Gülen 2004: 21-22). Intercommunal dialogue cannot proceed without tolerance, and, for Gülen, such an endeavor is not natural, but supernatural, possible only through obedience to the purposes and character of God.
Tolerance: A Requisite to Reconciliation
The Qur'an declares, "peace is good."[8] Muslims are enjoined to be vessels of peace, especially in a contemporary context where intractable violent conflicts between religious and ethnic groups make such peace seem elusive, if not impossible. The repercussions of identity conflict—genocide, ethnic cleansing, terrorism, etc.—negatively affect entire communities, fueling demonizing images of the Other and encouraging impoverished identities of "us" versus "them." Fethullah Gülen grieves over the violent historical memory that has captured so many recent generations:
A generation which was raised in a particular past under constant hostile pressure saw continuous horror and brutality in the dark world into which they had been pushed. They saw blood and pus, not just in the dark of night, but also at the break of day.... The things that were presented to this generation were the complete opposite and totally contrary to what they needed and what they desired (Gülen 2006: 29).
The greatest lesson today's generation can impart to succeeding generations is "how to forgive" wrongdoing in a spirit of tolerance and reconciliation (Gülen 2004: 21-22). From Gülen's Muslim perspective, interreligious reconciliation requires forgiveness—through truth-telling and repentance—to be extended to all those who express repentance for the violence or persecution they perpetrated. Such forgiveness can only be expressed through a spirit of tolerance, whereby the transgressions of others are not forgotten, but overlooked or pardoned for higher purposes of God and community. The "greatest exemplars of humanity," writes Gülen, are those who have demonstrated "the greatest forgiveness and the most impeccable tolerance" (Gülen 2006: 29).
Gülen is right to declare that "today there is an interest in religion all over the world" (Gülen 2006: 73). This is no less true in the multidimensional field of conflict management. National and international negotiators and strategists are coming to realize the important contributions that religious ideas and religious affiliated organizations can make in the areas of conflict resolution and reconciliation. In intercommunal conflicts where deep-seated animosities prohibit political efforts toward lasting peace, religion offers important values for facilitating meaningful dialogue and reconciliation. In cases where violent atrocities and stories of demonization are prevalent, perspectives of victimization and vengeance cannot be overcome through coerced ceasefires and legal peace agreements. Normalization and reconciliation require that the world community help current- and post-conflict communities with the normative tasks of restorative justice and the difficult work of reimagining the Other in more inclusive and cooperative terms.
For the purposes of intercommunal reconciliation, the conflict managers at local and international levels can certainly benefit from "true believers" who are willing to help integrate spirituality into the practical work of conflict resolution, inculcating processes of reconciliation with the Islamic characteristics of tolerance, forgiveness, and humility (Gülen 2006: 71-73). In a world of lasting difference, where universality can never mean sameness, reconciliation and coexistence will require a normative model of tolerance—one that incorporates intellectual humility, a willingness to forgive, a cooperative desire for dialogue, and a disposition of caritas toward the Other. Gülen and the Gülen Movement proffer such a model, doing their best, through intercommunal engagement and education, to help the "breeze of tolerance and dialogue to continue blowing."
Reconciliation, through the mechanisms of tolerance and forgiveness, enables Muslims to rename the enemy as a brother or sister in creation, recognizing their likeness to the creator, despite transgressions. The Muslim conception of tolerance of those who have offended is not dissimilar to the Christian idea that if you have anger in your heart against another, reconcile before you come before God. Indeed, for the Muslim, reconciliation with others is a prerequisite to reconciliation to God. The farther one travels from God—the source of love and tolerance—the more treacherous the path of life becomes (Gülen 2006: 11). Islam offers an understanding of reconciliation that is motivated, not only by the immediate need for peace, but, most importantly, by a love for God. Reconciliation, then, is a fruit of worship, done for the sake of God (Gülen 2006: 15).
Gülen and the Gülen Movement offer an enlightening counter position to the virulent Muslim extremists who would co-opt the Islamic faith for temporal aspirations of territory and power. Gülen compels Muslims to vie courageously and with conviction for the marrow of Islam, reclaiming, through words and actions, its heritage of love, forgiveness, and tolerance. In an era of proliferating violence in the name of religion, Islam must be harnessed as a beacon of peace, a salve of reconciliation and spiritual renewal: "We believe that forgiveness and tolerance will heal most of our wounds, if only this celestial instrument will be in the hands of those who understand its language." Whether in Iraq or the Levant, Indonesia or Tajikistan, Nigeria or Somalia, Bosnia or France, Gülen, through his writings, speeches, and example, is imploring Muslims, in submission and response to God and his creation, to proffer the tolerant and humane spirit of Islam as a vehicle for dialogue, reconciliation, and, one hopes, enduring peace. In a globalizing world where conflict has too often trumped coexistence, humanity must choose between "getting along by means of reconciliation" or "constantly fight[ing] with one another." Gülen's Islamic understanding of tolerance emerges as a potent via media for getting along and living together in a world of lasting difference.
Conclusion
The scaffolding of this paper followed its purpose: to demonstrate how Fethullah Gülen's faith-based conceptualization of tolerance is a wholly Islamic ideal that can enrich Muslim understandings of faithfulness and help facilitate inter- and intra-communal endeavors for cooperative dialogue, mutual understanding, and benevolent coexistence.
Philosopher Donald Demarco is right to distinguish between two manners of tolerance: "One is rooted in skepticism, the other in respect for truth and the dignity of others. We might refer to the first kind as pseudo-tolerance, the second as genuine tolerance" (Demarco 2005). Contrary to post-modernity's pseudo-tolerance, which is often criticized for its moral vacuity, Gülen is not reticent to espouse a genuine, faith-based idea of tolerance that embraces humanity's search for truth and encourages coexistence through a benevolent awareness of lasting human difference and an unqualified defense of the dignity ascribed to each person. If healing and community—between religions, tribes, and cultures—is to take place, such a conceptualization of tolerance must take root, one which acknowledges the reality of human diversity and the need for mutual respect, human friendship, and hospitality. Bibliography
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worlds has been a call for unity to fight against a common enemy. Historians have suggested that the very idea of Europe as a
cultural and political entity is grounded in
the perceived need to unite against the common Muslim foe. Muslims have also sought to mollify sectarian strife by calling attention to the need to unite against the attacks of Christians. There are numerous other examples in which people come together and define their own identities through their opposition to a common enemy. In 1952, the term third world was coined by economist Alfred Sauvy in an article in the French magazine L’Observateur. The meaning changed from Sauvy’s analogy with the tiers état, as it was taken up enthusiastically during the Cold War to describe countries that were neither members of NATO or the Warsaw Pact. So, NATO came to define the West, the First World, against the communist menace and the “underdeveloped” rest over whose resources the Western and Eastern blocs competed. In all of this, we find that the inspiration to seek peace and alliance is coupled with opposition to a presumably hostile other. What motivates peace, in such circumstances, is inseparable from what motivates enmity toward the other, because it is the perceived need to confront the enemy with a common front that makes local peace among opposing factions possible. Peace is sought as a means of procuring security from an external enemy. This implies that loss of the external enemy might be felt as a threat to internal security. Without the fear of the hostile other, factional fighting among those allied against it might break out.
In his Crusading Peace: Christendom, the Muslim World, and Western Political Order (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2002) Tomaz Mastnak has documented the historical development of the European peace movement through the centuries of the crusades. Crusades were not seen as a form of war, but as a sacred blood sacrifice. Those who sought peace in Europe were exclusively opposed to the spilling of Christian blood by Christians. Although mysticism in all the world’s religions is usually associated with love of all creatures and non-violence, there have been notable exceptions. Mastnak ends his book with a discussion of St. Catherine of Siena. In the 1370s Catherine promoted the return of the Pope to Rome from Avignon, peace among Christians, and a revival of the crusades to culminate in the Church’s victorious march to Jerusalem. She viewed the crusade as a mystery of blood: “Just as Christ had shed his blood for the salvation of men, so Christians now had to shed their blood for Christ to free his patrimony from impious hands.” (Mastnak, 341) She described the crusade as a wedding feast. When Pope Gregory XI held an audience with Catherine, he explained to her that he wanted to make peace among the Christians so that he could then call them to a crusade. Catherine responded that there was no better way to make peace among Christians than by ordering a crusade. She believed that the result of the crusade would be the conversion of the Muslims, whom she described as “wicked unbelieving dogs”. The Mystic Marriage of Saint Catherine of Siena by Giovanni di Paolo, ca. 1460 ( Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York).
Mastnak continues: “The greatest minds of the Medieval Western world . . . as well as mystics and visionaries, all bent their heads and their knees before the spirit of the crusade. They all subscribed—rarely with silence, often with admirable eloquence—to the declaration that it was necessary to eliminate those who had been named infidels and declared enemies. This made the greatest minds at one with the mindless. . . .” (Mastnak, 345–346) The profound understanding of the Middle Ages with all its subtlety and mystical insight was unable to imagine that there could be anything wrong with the most rapacious campaigns against the infidels.
Enmity or Love The idea that enmity is what legitimizes the state as a political institution was rigorously defended by the Nazi political theorist Carl Schmitt (1888-1985). Schmitt argues that there is no political identity without enemies and the potential for war with them.1 At the same time, Schmitt seeks to blunt religious opposition to war by interpreting the phrase, “Love your enemies,”2 as referring only to personal enemies (Latin, inimicus) and not national enemies (Latin, hostis). He writes approvingly: “Never in the thousand-year struggle between Christians and Moslems did it occur to a Christian to surrender rather than defend Europe out of love toward the Saracens or Turks.” (Schmitt, 29). There has been a revival of interest in Schmitt’s thought among American neo-conservatives because of his critique of liberalism. In works such as his Politische Theologie, Schmitt drew upon Catholic traditionalists to argue that the individualism and pluralism inherent in liberalism debilitate the state.3 Today, simultaneous with the atrocities committed by Muslims and Christians against one another and too often blasphemously justified by appeal to religious loyalties, unprecedented steps are also being taken to promote understanding and dialogue. I am proud to have some small part in the facilitation of these steps, as a result of which there are on-going projects for cooperation and communication between Mennonites and Shi’ites in Toronto and Qom, and between Catholics and Shi’ites in England, Austria, the United States, and Iran. The most visible signs of dialogue are conferences that have been held and are being planned. However, no one should imagine that the point of dialogue is to have conferences! The conferences help us to focus attention on one another, to explain ourselves to others, to seek common elements in faith, feelings and practice, and to attempt to expand upon them. Some of the seminary students in Qom, for example, who observed the last Mennonite-Shi’ite symposium there, have expressed an interest in devoting their careers to the deepening of such mutual understanding. As Muslims, we take part in dialogue because it is a religious obligation. We are called upon to follow the example of the Apostle of God, Muhammad (s) and the Imams (‘a) in seeking “a common word” between ourselves and “People of the Book”. We hope and pray that through the friendships that we have found in dialogue, we may prepare the ground for further friendship and mutual understanding, and that with the expansion of this work we may help to move closer toward the lofty ideals of peace and justice. Through dialogue we hope to equip ourselves with the understanding necessary to effectively change attitudes among others with whom we engage when such attitudes result from misperceptions, bias, and unfamiliarity. Some may judge the attempt to be folly. A follower of Carl Schmitt might say that the promotion of such sympathy with the enemy (for he defines enemies as those with whom our nation is potentially at war) can only weaken the state and make its citizens vulnerable to those who have no inclination toward mutual understanding at all. In diametric opposition to this line of thought, we offer ideals of cosmopolitanism that can be found in both Western and Islamic traditions. According to these ways of looking at citizenship, we are to see ourselves as belonging to a polis that includes the entire world. The enemy we face is not defined by territory, religion, race, or ideology, but by strife and oppression themselves. If it is inevitable that we must define our own identities in opposition to an enemy, then let us heed the Qur’an when in it we are told that Satan is indeed our manifest enemy. Let us attempt, through dialogue and understanding, to find a place for one another in the Kingdom of God.
Notes
1 See Carl Schmitt, The Concept of the Political (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1996). 2 Matt. 5:44; Luke 6:27). 3 See A. James Reimer, Paul Tillich: Theologian of Nature, Culture and Politics (München: Lit Verlag, 2004), 25–28.
