Mahan Doğrusöz: You mention that Sufim has been built on a neoplatonic tradition developed by early Arabic philosophers who studied neoplatonic texts translated from Greek into Arabic. I am curious to know how neoplatonism has ‘changed’ Islamic thought and how Sufism differs from orthodox Islam in terms of its grasp of existence and the human beings relation to this existence?
Filip Holm: There are a few things here that need to be nuanced. Certainly, certain aspects of Sufi thought have been influenced by neoplatonism. A good example of this would be the system of Ibn ‘Arabi and the Akbari school that is based on it. The “philosophical” forms of Sufism, often associated with the Islamic west (Maghrib, Andalusia) appear to have adapted these ideas to a major degree, as we see in mystics like Ibn Masarra & Ibn Barrajan. But it would be too generalizing to say that all of Sufism is influenced by Neoplatonism, since there are many forms of the tradition that only focus on the psychological aspects and ascetic techniques of purifying the soul. And in these cases, we can’t really point to Neoplatonism as a clear influence without defining it so broadly that it doesn’t mean anything anymore.
With that said, Neoplatonism has clearly been very influential on Islamic thought and philosophy in general. Many of the most popular texts that were translated into Arabic and used as the basis for philosophies of Ibn Sina, al-Farabi and others were from the Neoplatonic school, including the Theology of Aristotle (which is actually the Enneads of Plotinus) and the Kitab al-idah fi’l khair al-mahd (which is actually Proclus’ Elements of Theology). While it is in the realm of falsafa that these ideas are most clearly influential, there is no doubt that the writings of these philosophers also inspired theologians of the various schools of Kalam, as well as “sufi philosophers”. We see, for example, characteristic features of Neoplatonism showing up in Islamic (& sufi) theology, including an apophatic/negative understanding of God, as well as different forms of emanatory schemes of reality (most clearly present in mystics like Suhrawardi, Ibn ‘Arabi, Mulla Sadra etc., but there are even hints of it in more minimalist thinkers like al-Ghazali).
As for your last point, I think it is important to push against the common narrative that there is a distinction between “Orthodox Islam” and Sufism. While this might certainly be a more legitimate division today, historically this becomes very problematic. The “orthodox” muslims were Sufis for most of history, and such a dichotomy makes it harder to get a full grasp of the topic. So the “orthodox” and the “sufi” understanding of existence and the human being aren’t necessarily different.
With that said, it is of course true that the great sufi thinkers like Ibn ‘Arabi and others presented perspectives, cosmologies and metaphysics that were especially associated with sufism and not as much with non-sufi muslims. The sufis generally argue that some kind of experience of the divine is possible in this life. That by purifying the soul and even annihilating the self, one can come to some kind of experience of God, although this experience and the nature of the divine can be interpreted differently by different writers. This stands in contrast to a non-sufi understanding where God will only be experienced at the resurrection after death.
I would also argue, although it is a generalization, that the sufi thinkers tended to emphasize metaphysical unity to a more major degree. Underlying the multiplicity of the world of everyday experience, there is a unity at the core of reality. This is of course a natural extension of the basic Islamic theological principle of tawhid or monotheism, but in sufism there seems to (often) be a more fundamental unity at the core of all things. Once again returning to the Akbari school of Ibn ‘Arabi, we find perhaps one of the most extreme examples of this with their doctrine of Wahdat al-Wujud, where God is identified with all Being (Wujud) that underlies every existent thing, and that all creation and multiplicity is a reflection (tajalli – self-disclosure/epiphany) of God’s infinite Names and Attributes.
Mahan Doğrusöz: Turkish philosophy professor Ahmet Aslan claims that at the core of Christianity is the soul whereas the core of Islam is the law. He postulates that the Christian tradition has ‘created’ the soul and its journey into salvation through contemplation, confession etc. in contrast to Islam that ‘created’ the notion of law that is not interested in the ‘soul’ in particular but the regulation of worldly matters. What are your thoughts on this?
Filip Holm: This is a somewhat strange statement to me; one which generalizes in unusual ways. The soul is an important concept in both Christianity and Islam. And all those aspects of the soul that you mention have their origin in the platonic tradition, anyway, and cannot therefore be traced to Christianity in such a way (with the exception of confession, of course). It is true that Islam is a religion where the Law (Shariah) is more central than it is in Christianity, a feature that it shares with other Law-based religions like Judaism. We sometimes talk about Christianity as a religion primarily based on orthodoxy (right belief), whereas Islam (and Judaism) are more so based on orthopraxy (right practice), but this is also something of a simplification. An important reason for following the religious law in Islam is for the soul to have a more pleasant afterlife in Paradise (the Christian idea of ‘salvation’ is related to this).
Furthermore, within tasawwuf/sufism (which, remember, has been an essential part of ‘orthodox’/mainstream Islam for most of history) the idea of purifying the soul is at the very core of the mystical path. Indeed, they often talk about the Jihad al-nafs – the struggle against the self/soul – as the key aspect.
On a larger metaphysical scale, the soul in potentia is seen as boundless – an ocean without a shore – that can contain all the Names and Attributes of God in a single form. The heart (qalb), which is the seat of the soul, is the place in which God is encountered, as the famous hadith says: “Neither My Earth nor My Heavens could contain Me, whilst the heart of My believing servant does contain Me…”
So I would argue that the soul is at the very center of Islamic thought, and in different ways. Especially when we take into account the sufi tradition, but the same is true even without it. It is probably only with a very modernist and/or salafi-inspired form of sufism that we find a conception of Islam as only being concerned with the Law and its outer expressions in the way that you describe.
Mahan Doğrusöz: As an outside observer, I could never fully grasp how the Sufi tradition fits into the Islamic tradition which excludes the body and arts from the human experience. Having grown up in a Muslim country, I can observe -with an increasing intensity- how the Islamic tradition is keen on excluding the human dimensions of dance and music from religious practices as well as in daily life in contrast to the Sufi tradition that places music, movement and literature at the core of its practice and philosophy. I have a tendency to see Sufism as a sophisticated form of Islam where larger dimensions of human experience is incorporated, how would you respond to this?
Filip Holm: The question itself is already based on understanding Sufism and Islam as two separate things, which creates problems in how to approach the topic. I want to stress again that Sufism has been seen as an essential part of Islam by the majority of Muslims in history. So if one is saying that Sufism incorporates the body and arts, that per definition means that Islam also incorporates the body and the arts, because the two are not separate in that way. See how the question has a built-in problem?
The question of things like music within Islam has been a complicated and controversial one since the religion’s inception. Some Muslim scholars have considered it permissible, others not. And there is no essential difference here between non-sufi vs. sufi Muslims. Some sufis consider music permissible and even employ it in their practices, while others see it as prohibited.
Today, the situation is very interesting because things are perhaps more divided than ever. With the emergence of salafi-influenced Islamic movements, who are often more strict in terms of these things, there is a greater polarity in the Islamic community. And those who have a more traditional, ‘liberal’ stance will often be connected (and self-identify) with sufism. Partly because Sufism indeed represents the more ‘traditional’ form of Islam, where there was a lot more nuance in terms of these discussions, but also because Sufism itself has come to be associated, by many, with a more “moderate” form of Islam today. All of these are phenomena unique to the contemporary modern world, and do not necessarily represent the way things looked historically.
Mahan Doğrusöz: Ottoman rulers had a love and hate relationship with Sufism. Some embraced it and whereas others wanted to annihilate it. What was the relationship of rulers in the Islamic world with Sufism in other parts of the world throughout history?
Filip Holm: Just as you describe – very ambivalent and varied depending on time and place. In some places, Sufi orders and teachers have been deeply connected with the political courts (sometimes the sultans and aristocracy have even themselves been “sufis”), while at other times the relationship has been very uneasy, with rulers denouncing and even outlawing certain forms of Sufism (although the latter has been very unusual before the modern age).
As an example of the former, we can look at the Mughal empire, where the emperors would often visit the sufi saints for blessings, and sometimes even be directly involved with sufism (such as Akbar & especially prince Dara Shikoh). The Naqshbandi Order has often been pretty forward-facing and politically active, with shaykhs from the order serving as advisors for leaders in Central Asia and India.
In the Ottoman Empire, many of the sultans also had connections and warm relationships with some of the sufi orders, especially the Mevlevi order. Sulayman the Magnificent sponsored the building of important Mevlevi buildings in Konya, and Mevlevi masters sometimes served as court composers as well. Not to mention that the Janissaries were made up in large part of members of the Bektashi order.
But at other times the stance was much more critical, especially toward more ‘heterodox’ orders like the Bektashis.
An interesting example in this regard is the Safavid empire in Persia. The Safavids actually started as a sufi order (the safaviyya) as they established the empire, but eventually they developed a strong shi’i orientation and gradually started being very hostile towards all forms of sufism. Even great mystics like Mulla Sadra, who lived during the Safavid era, didn’t consider himself (and wasn’t considered by others) a ‘sufi’, but to be engaged in the science of ‘irfan, or ‘gnostic knowledge’, which definitely adapted many philosophical aspects of sufi thought but without the rituals and order-structure associated with the movement. The anti-sufi legacy of the Safavids can still be felt in Iran today, where sufi orders are largely suppressed.
And it goes without saying that the modern Islamic world, with the huge influence of different salafi-oriented movements, is in large part skeptical towards sufism, seeing it as old-fashioned superstition at best and as dangerous innovation (bidá) at worst.
It should be stressed that this isn’t the case everywhere, though. In places like West Africa, the majority of the population are still connected to Sufi brotherhoods, and the political leaders have a strong relationship with the marabouts (sufi leaders), the two legitimizing each other in different ways.
Mahan Doğrusöz: I think that orthodox Islam has an uneasy relationship with women. I always feel as if Islam keeps women in the background, in the shadows, under the ‘veil’, positioning women as less human, trying keep her out of sight. Women have a hard time finding a place for themselves in mosques even in modern Istanbul, praying -what I call- in the shadows, either in upper chambers or in the back hallways. What would you like to say about Sufism’s view of female and the feminine?
Filip Holm: I can’t really speak to the experience of being a Muslim woman, but I do know these are discussions that are had both within and outside the Muslim community. I see a lot of discourse online about the problem of accessibility for women in the mosque, and how such problems should be approached and resolved. Such normative questions are not really my place to discuss, however.
In terms of Sufism, women have always played an important role. Women were in fact central to the earliest development of this tradition, the most famous example of this being Rabi’a al-Basri (d. 801), who was very important for the development of the mystical language of love.
Women could also be shaykhas and mystic saints, and we have several examples of this across history. Two of Ibn ‘Arabi’s masters in Andalusia were women, for example. It does indeed seem that women are particularly prominent in sufism compared to other sciences within Islam, such as fiqh or theology. This is arguably due to the fact that women did not have access to higher education to the same degree that men did, and it was easier for them to be “heard” in the form of mysticism. We see a similar phenomenon in Christian Europe, where some of the most important mystics are women, and often for the same reasons.
In a metaphysical sense, the feminine often plays an important role, too. I keep returning to Ibn ‘Arabi because he is the thinker I know best, but in his thought the interplay between the masculine and feminine is very central. He adapts the basic ideas of Aristotle that the masculine represents the ‘active’ principle and the feminine is the ‘passive’. And as he explores in various places in his writings (perhaps most strikingly in the final chapter of the Fusus al-Hikam), the whole universe is made up of a web of male-female interactions and the offspring that results from their union. The First Intellect is the masculine to the Universal Soul which comes together to create nature; the masculine sky and feminine earth unite through rain and produce the flora of earth. He even indicates that the Essence of God is feminine in this sense, because it is passive (while retaining that God is beyond gender, of course).
Important to point out is that these relationships are relative and dependent on context as well. Something that plays the role of the feminine in one context (the Soul to Intellect for example) can play the role of the masculine in another (Soul-Nature) etc.
There is a a lot to explore regarding the metaphysical aspects of the feminine (and masculine), but there is not space to cover it more here.
Mahan Doğrusöz: I am curious to know how Sufism conceptualizes evil and pathology. I fail to grasp how the Sufi tradition conceptualizes the evil and pathological dimensions of the human experience as the Sufi tradition sees everything that exists as manifestations of the Divine as if the phenomenon is the same with the Divine from which it has emanated.
Filip Holm: Again, we need to be careful not to make sweeping generalizing statements about what sufism teaches in a theological or metaphysical sense. Not all sufis necessarily teach that everything is a “manifestation of the Divine”, although such ideas are common (especially after the influence of Ibn ‘Arabi).
Because in truth, Sufis have tackled the problem of evil in different ways. A common way to approach the question within Islam generally is to see evil and misfortune as being a test from God. God includes the possibility of evil and suffering in the world as a way of testing us and strengthening our faith. This seems to be the position of sufis like Rumi, for example. Even within an Akbarian “world as manifestation of the divine” perspective, this position holds water.
For instance, there is a famous story in the Nafahat al-uns by Abd al-Rahman Jami (d. 1492) where he recounts the biography of a sufi called Awhad al-din Balyani (who belonged to the monistic school of Ibn Sab’in & al-Shushtari), where a student of the latter was bit by a snake after he tried to grab it. When al-Balyani asked his student why he grabbed the snake, the latter replied: ‘Oh master, you yourself said that there is nothing but God. On seeing the snake, I saw only God. Plucking up courage, I grabbed hold of it!’ To which the master replied: ‘When God manifests himself to you under the aspect of terrifying power, run away! Don’t approach Him, otherwise the same thing will happen to you again!’
So even within a monistic worldview, danger is still real.
In the thought of Ibn ‘Arabi, however, we see a different approach. On the one hand, he seems to argue that on a certain level, evil and suffering is relative and dependent on the subjective perspective. Like above, everything in the world is a reflection of the Divine Attributes, even those things we consider ‘evil’, but the true Knower affirms these things as still being the divine epiphany, and that this depends on our perspective. What is evil from the point of view of a human being might not be evil from the point of view of a worm or a beetle. Indeed, a dead human being (which from our perspective is bad) is actually good for the worms, because it gives them nourishment. I read Ibn ‘Arabi as (partly) saying that evil is ego-based in this sense, only real from the perspective of our egos and as human beings.
On the other hand, he also seems to affirm that there is such a thing as actual evil, ontologically (or rather, that there isn’t such a thing). Here, he seems to adopt the Neoplatonic perspective of evil as a privation or lack. Evil (understood more broadly as ‘badness’) doesn’t actually exist. Rather, it is the absence of good, just like darkness is nothing but the absence of light. Goodness is Being is God, and ‘evil’ is the opposite of this; it is the absence of good, it is non-existence, and the absence of God. The world that we live in is a barzakh or isthmus between pure wujud (Being/God) and pure non-existence. So inevitably there are aspects of both. Because we don’t experience wujud in its pure, absolute form, there are certain aspects of non-being in our experience of the world, and this lack is where evil ‘comes from’.
So, in short, sufis have had different approaches and answers to the problem of evil.
Mahan Doğrusöz: One last question is what Sufism has to contribute to Islam in the modern world today, that is an Islam that is becoming more and more conservative, rigid, intolerant and even violent. What has the Sufi tradition have to say to Islam that has become a source of fear rather than a source of inspiration and hope for millions of people round the globe.
Filip Holm: While we have certainly seen an increase in popularity and influence for the more “rigid” and “intolerant” interpretations of Islam during the last century, I don’t know if I would go as far as to say that the religion as a whole is going in that direction. It is equally true that Sufism has also become increasingly more popular in the last couple of decades, and I think this is something that might continue as well.
I reserve myself from talking normatively about a religion I don’t ascribe to personally – that isn’t really my place to do – but I think that Sufism in many ways represents a more traditional form of Islam that stands in contrast to the modernist movements of salafism, “wahhabism” and its cousins (who also claim to be ‘traditional’ by going back to the Qur’an and Sunnah, but who in many ways are definitely a modern(ist) phenomenon). This ‘tradition’ is one that includes various schools of Law, theology and a long history of debates, nuances, interpretations and ways of approaching and understanding the religion, and to many Muslim therefore stands in opposition to the more unforgiving, rigid and in some ways shallow form of the religion that some wish to put forth today.
And just as an observer, an approach to religion that doesn’t allow for nuance, discussions and differences rarely survives in the long run. For this reason, Sufism and the ‘traditional forms of Islam seem a lot more attractive to many Muslims today.
Filip Holm is a public educator, artist & musician from Stockholm, Sweden. He holds a master’s degree in the academic study of religions and has dedicated his life to studying and understanding the world’s different religious, philosophical and cultural traditions. Through his popular Youtube-channel & Podcast “Let’s Talk Religion”, as well as public lectures & appearances, Filip is one of the leading voices and public educators on the topic of religion.
He is also a multi-instrumentalist and composer, whose music explores those same themes, but artistically rather than intellectually. He releases music both under his own name and with various other projects – including Zini, which explores the profound elements of music through collaboration and fusion of different styles & genres.
You can visit his website at https://itsfilipholm.com/
Mahan Doğrusöz 2024
