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WHERE EAST MEETS WEST: SUFISM, CULTURAL RAPPROCHEMENT, AND POLITICS

Published online by Cambridge University Press:  02 August 2007

Meir Hatina
Meir Hatina
Affiliation:
Meir Hatina is Lecturer in the Department of Islamic and Middle Eastern Studies, Hebrew University of Jerusalem, Mt. Scopus, Jerusalem 91905, Israel; e-mail: mhatina@mscc.huji.ac.il
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Abstract

The growing gap in power and wealth between the West and the Muslim world from the end of the 18th century onward has engendered periodic demands for the rejuvenation of Islamic thought as a prerequisite for rehabilitating the status of the Muslim community. In Egypt and the Fertile Crescent, this quest for reform was led by Muslim modernists and Salafis (advocates of a return to ancestral piety and practice) in the late 19th century. Inter alia, these reformists opposed the gatekeepers of Islamic tradition—the establishment ʿulamaء as well as the popular Sufi orders or fraternities (ṭuruq). The Sufi orders were portrayed by their reformist adversaries as at best irrelevant to social change and at worst as responsible for the backwardness of Muslim society. Criticism of customs and ceremonies in popular Islam, especially the cult of saints—denounced as a deviation from Islam—also had nationalist overtones: these rituals were attacked for fostering national passivity and a detachment from reality, in addition to eliciting ridicule by foreigners. Religious reform was thus interwoven with the quest for national pride and power.

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ARTICLES
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International Journal of Middle East Studies , Volume 39 , Issue 3 , August 2007, pp. 389 - 409
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© 2007 Cambridge University Press

The growing gap in power and wealth between the West and the Muslim world from the end of the 18th century onward has engendered periodic demands for the rejuvenation of Islamic thought as a prerequisite for rehabilitating the status of the Muslim community. In Egypt and the Fertile Crescent, this quest for reform was led by Muslim modernists and Salafis (advocates of a return to ancestral piety and practice) in the late 19th century. Inter alia, these reformists opposed the gatekeepers of Islamic tradition—the establishment ʿulamaء as well as the popular Sufi orders or fraternities (ṭuruq). The Sufi orders were portrayed by their reformist adversaries as at best irrelevant to social change and at worst as responsible for the backwardness of Muslim society. Criticism of customs and ceremonies in popular Islam, especially the cult of saints—denounced as a deviation from Islam—also had nationalist overtones: these rituals were attacked for fostering national passivity and a detachment from reality, in addition to eliciting ridicule by foreigners. Religious reform was thus interwoven with the quest for national pride and power.1

Elizabeth Sirriyeh, Sufis and Anti-Sufis (Richmond, Va.: Curzon, 1999), chap. 3–5; Julian Johansen, Sufism and Islamic Reform in Egypt (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1996), 11–31; David Commins, Islamic Reform: Politics and Social Change in Late Ottoman Syria (New York: Oxford University Press, 1990), 24–26, 34–88.

Opposition to Sufism was not new, but it became systematic and widespread toward the end of the Ottoman era, reflecting growing frustration with Muslims' lag in progress behind Western Europe. The negative portrayal of Sufism in the writing of Muslim reformists filtered into the work of Western scholars as well. Bernard Lewis, in his book Islam in History, asserted that the dervishes “were out of touch with the modern world, against which the new elites were struggling, and which at the same time they were striving to join.” In this new world, Lewis observed, dervish mysticism was seen as “a shameful and dangerous superstition.”2

Bernard Lewis, Islam in History, 2nd ed. (New York: Library Press, 1993), 12; also A. J. Arberry, Sufism: An Account of the Mystics of Islam (New York: Harper & Row, 1970), 119–33; Ira M. Lapidus, A History of Islamic Societies, 2nd ed. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), 51–15, 581, 821–22; H. A. R. Gibb, Modern Trends in Islam (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1947), 37–38.

The national cause, marked by the state's expropriating the Muslim public sphere, further limited the relevance of Sufism in the eyes of Western observers. This was true also of Islamism, which emerged in the late 1920s as an opposing force to the local regimes and which also denounced Sufism as anachronistic. In the Western narrative, the dual challenge of nationalism and Islamism left Sufi adherents spent and bruised.

A meticulous historical examination, however, reveals a more nuanced picture. Sufi culture maintained a viable tradition well into the 20th century. It continued to respond to the psychological and communal needs of large segments of the urban population who sought solace from the daily struggle for existence resulting from socioeconomic displacements wrought by modernization. A Sufi influence was also apparent in the impetus for anticolonialist movements in tribal societies in Africa and Asia.3

Sirriyeh, Sufis, 29–43.

The oldest orders, such as the Shadhiliyya and the Qadiriyya, continued to propagate secondary orders. Other orders, such as the Naqshbandiyya in Turkey and Syria, the Budshishiyya in Morocco, and the Ahbashiyya in Lebanon in the last quarter of the 20th century, served as hotbeds for ideological renewal in the spirit of the modern age, using new modes of organization and mass media to publicize their cause.4

Leif Stenberg, “Naqshbandiyya in Damascus: Strategies to Establish and Strengthen the Order in a Changing Society,” in Naqshbandis in Western and Central Asia: Change and Continuity, ed. E. Özdalga (Istanbul: Swedish Research Institute in Istanbul, 1999), 101–16; Hakan Yavuz, “The Matrix of Modern Turkish Islamic Movements: The Naqshbandi Sufi Order,” in Naqshbandis, 129–46; Mark Sedgwick, “In Search of a Counter-Reformation: Anti-Sufi Stereotypes and the Budshishiyya's Response,” in An Islamic Reformation, ed. Michaelle Browers and Charles Kurzman (Lanham, Md.: Lexington Books, 2004), 133–41; Mustafa Kabha and Haggai Erlich, “Al-Ahbash and the Wahhabiyya: Interpretations of Islam,” International Journal of Middle East Studies 38 (2006): 519–38; Carl W. Ernst, “Ideological and Technological Transformations of Contemporary Sufism,” in Muslim Networks from Hajj to Hip Hop, ed. Miriam Cook and Bruce B. Lawrence (Chapel Hill, N.C.: University of North Carolina, 2005), 191–207.

The influence of Sufism even extended to its Islamist rivals, who adopted Sufi practices such as devotion to a spiritual teacher (ṣuḥba) and communal altruism (iḥsān) as attributes that instill discipline and a sense of mission in the believer.5

Examples are Hasan al-Banna (d. 1949) in Egypt, Bediüzzaman Saʿid Nursi (d. 1960) in Turkey, Saʿid Hawwa (d. 1989) in Syria, and ʿAbd al-Salam Yasin (b. 1928) in Morocco.

Moreover, Sufism played a role as a point of cosmopolitan intellectual encounter, a role which attested to the reciprocal exchange of ideas and cultural perspectives both from Europe to the Arab–Muslim world and vice versa.6

See also Sami Zubaida, “Cosmopolitanism and the Middle East,” in Cosmopolitanism, Identity and Authenticity in the Middle East, ed. Roel Meijer (Richmond, Va.: Curzon, 1999), 15–22.

This cosmopolitan element is explored in the present article, as reflected in the emergence of an intercultural dialogue between Muslims and European Christians during two historic episodes in the early 20th century. The point of intellectual encounter was Sufism, with an emphasis on the legacy of the mystic philosopher Muhyi al-Din ibn ʿArabi (d. 1240). His advocacy of religious tolerance, interpreted by some disciples as acknowledging the commonality of all religions in the belief in one God despite disparate rituals, served as a lodestone for both sides in the dialogue.7

The complexity of Ibn ʿArabi's teachings, however, also allowed for other, more orthodox interpretations, which actually accentuated those aspects of Islam that differentiated it from other religions, especially in light of the growing European challenge and the domestic weakness of the Ottoman Empire in the 17th and 18th centuries. These interpretations led to an elevation of Ibn ʿArabi's perception of the Prophet Muhammad as the perfect man in constituting the connecting link with Allah, which dictated the adoption of his way of life by cleaving to the shariʿa and shunning those from other religions who rejected it. Michel Chodkiewicz, An Ocean without Shore: Ibn ʿArabi, The Book, and the Law (Albany, N.Y.: State University of New York Press, 1993); also Itzchak Weismann, Taste of Modernity: Sufism, Salafiyya, and Arabism in Late Ottoman Damascus (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 2000), 146–48.

The players in this dialogue did not represent mainstream trends in their respective societies (whether Islamic or European), due mainly to growing friction as a result of the European colonial thrust into Muslim lands. However, their ecumenical activity provided a bridging dimension to the West–East encounter during the period under discussion.

The dominant Muslim figure in this cultural rapprochement was Shaykh ʿAbd al-Rahman ʿIllaysh (1840–1921), head of the ʿArabiyya Shadhiliyya order in Egypt. ʿIllaysh was the son of Shaykh Muhammad ʿIllaysh, the 19th-century Egyptian Maliki mufti who left his mark on the legal, Sufi, and political realms. He led the opposition to Western reforms instituted by the khedive Ismaʿil (1863–79) and was a key figure in the ʿUrabi revolt (1881–82) against growing foreign influence in Egypt. He died in prison following the British suppression of the revolt, and his son, ʿAbd al-Rahman, was exiled for five years. Arriving in Istanbul, ʿAbd al-Rahman was suspected by the authorities of political incitement, and he was imprisoned under harsh conditions for approximately two years. Upon his release he was exiled to Rhodes and eventually was allowed to settle in Damascus.8

ʿAbd al-Halim Mahmud, al-Madrasa al-Shahdhiliyya al-haditha (Cairo: Dar al-Kutub al-Haditha, 1968), 250–52.

Returning to Egypt in 1887, ʿAbd al-Rahman resumed his activity in the ʿArabiyya Shadhiliyya order. His position in the saintly chain (silsila) going back to the Prophet awarded him great prestige among dignitaries and common folk alike. Foreigners, especially Christians, sought him out.9

Mahmud, al-Madrasa, 252; Frederick De-Jong, Turuq and Turuq-Linked Institutions in Nineteenth-Century Egypt (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1978), 113–14, 116.

Two particularly prominent figures who valued his company and guidance were the Italian writer and journalist Enrico Insabato, an enthusiastic advocate of a pro-Islamic Italian policy, and the French philosopher René Guénon, a strong critic of Western secular modernity. These cosmopolitan encounters resulted in an intellectual dialogue that sought to position Sufi values as a normative ideal for all of humanity and as a cultural bridge between East and West. Ultimately, however, political considerations were also involved.

THE ROME–CAIRO AXIS: CULTURE AND IMPERIALISM

Enrico Insabato (1878–1963), son of a railway worker in Bologna, was a language student and a member of an anarchist group that advocated social justice and solidarity. Arriving in Paris in 1900, he trained as a surgeon in the École Supérieure de Medécine Coloniale and in 1902 visited Egypt as part of an Italian delegation to an international medical conference in Cairo. His visit turned into a stay of some ten years, during which he became involved in varied cultural activities aimed at accentuating Italy's affinity with Muslims in contrast to the repressive colonialism of other European powers. As indicated by Italian historians Angelo Scarbel and Anna Baldinetti, Insabato in effect served as an agent of the Italian government, albeit discreetly so as not to antagonize Britain, which controlled Egypt and was the most dominant of the foreign powers in the region.10

A. Scarbel, “Una Rivista Italo–Araba d'Inizio Secolo: an-Nadi (Il Convito),” Oriente Moderno 58 (Gennaio–Dicembre 1978): 52–53; A. Baldinetti, Orientalismo e Colonialismo (Roma: Istituto per Oriente C. A. Nallino, 1997), 33–35.

Italy's strategic aims to strengthen its position in the Mediterranean basin underlay these efforts, focusing on Libya (Tripolitania, Cyrenaica, and Fezzan). Both remoteness from Istanbul and minimal military and economic importance led to loose Ottoman control of this area.

Italy's interest in Libya was not new, although this interest had been less intense than in Tunis, which was both closer geographically and richer in resources. Eventually, the French conquest of Tunis in 1881, followed by the British conquest of Egypt in 1882, put domestic pressure on Italy's liberal government to act quickly regarding Libya so as not to lag behind.11

C. J. Lowe and F. Marzari, Italian Foreign Policy, 1870–1940, 2nd ed. (London: Routledge, 2002), 3–12, 112–116.

The Italians were anxious to control Libya, but their status as a minor player in the European colonial arena obliged them to act cautiously. Furthermore, the memory of their humiliating defeat by the Ethiopians in the Battle of Adua (1896) discouraged hasty military adventurism. Their preferred strategy was diplomacy.

Their first move was to gain support of leading European powers—Britain, Russia, Germany, and Austro-Hungary—for Italy's aspirations in Libya. Next, Italy initiated a “quiet” penetration of Libya by economic means. This included acquiring lands, underwriting railways, establishing factories, and building up trade and banking services. The existence of a community of Italian immigrants in Tripolitania dovetailed with Italy's “demographic colonialization” policy, applied in other regions as well. Considerable efforts were also made to gain the trust of local notables in such Sufi orders as the Saʿdiyya, Madaniyya, Salamiyya, and especially the Sanusiyya.12

Claudio G. Segré, Fourth Shore: The Italian Colonization of Libya (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1974), 3–16; R. J. B. Bosworth, Italy, the Least of the Great Powers: Italian Foreign Policy before First World War (London: Cambridge University Press, 1979), 127–41.

The Sanusi order, founded by Sayyid Muhammad al-Sanusi al-Idrisi (d. 1854), emerged as an important political force in Libya from the mid-19th century onward. The assets of this order included the founding family's aura of holiness, a religious ideology that called for reform in the lives of Muslims, and a wide organizational network based on zāwiyas (lodges) that offered both religious and commercial services, paving the way for alliances with tribes in the region. The political importance of the Sanusiyya attracted the Italians' attention, particularly when tension grew between the order and the Ottoman authorities over issues of control and accusations concerning the moral decay of the Empire.13

On the Sanusiyya, see E. E. Evans-Pritchard, The Sanusi of Cyrenaica (Oxford: Clarendon, 1949); Knut S. Vikør, Sufi and Scholar on the Desert Edge (Evanston, Ill.: Northwestern University Press, 1995).

The Ottomans were concerned about growing Italian involvement in Libya and attempted to thwart it, especially after the Young Turk Revolution in Istanbul in 1908. This revolution was followed by centralized control over all districts throughout the empire and a harder line toward foreign agents. Relations between Rome and Istanbul deteriorated, yet Italian activity in Libya continued and even increased.14

Bosworth, Italy, 140–41.

Egypt, by virtue of its geographic proximity, its cosmopolitan character, and the Libyan community there, provided a firm, supportive base for the Italians' “quiet” penetration of Libya. In this context, Italy's policy coincided with Enrico Insabato's pro-Islamic activity in Cairo, with the result that the Italian cultural presence there, formerly minimal, was given an impetus.15

See, for example, J. Heyworth-Dunne, An Introduction to the History of Education in Modern Egypt (London: Frank Cass, 1968), 104–7, 122–27, 301, 336, 406, 423–24; Anthony Gorman, “Anarchists in Education: The Free Popular University in Egypt (1901),” Middle Eastern Studies 41 (May 2005): 303–20.

Insabato formed personal ties with the heads of the Sanusiyya order in Cyrenaica and diligently pursued a series of initiatives to strengthen Italy's ties with the Muslim East. Some of these initiatives were of a general nature, such as promoting employment of Italians in the Ottoman administration; encouraging receptivity to shariʿa (Muslim law) in Italian colonies; and constructing a large mosque in Rome near the Vatican, along with an institute for Eastern and Islamic studies similar to the important madrasas in Cairo, Damascus, and Istanbul. Other initiatives related specifically to the Cairene milieu, specifically the establishment of a school for Italian-language instruction and the publication of a dictionary, a newspaper, and other cultural materials in Italian and Arabic.16

Baldinetti, Orientalismo, 35–37; Carlo G. Porcinari, Rapporti Italo–Arabi 1902–1930: Dai Document di Enrico Insabato (Roma: E.S.P., 1965), 25, 32, 75–76.

Insabato's main thrust was aimed at Libyan theological students at al-Azhar, who constituted one of the largest groups of foreign students there—51 of a total of 639 in 1903, with the number rising annually thereafter.17

A. Chris Eccel, Egypt, Islam and Social Change (Berlin: Kalus Schwarz Verlag, 1984), 302–5.

He also made efforts to obtain an official permit to build dormitories for students from Tripolitania, Somalia, and Eritrea, seeking to gain the goodwill of students who would return to their native lands as ʿulamaء and qadis with the authority and prestige to promote the status of Italy in their regions.18

Baldinetti, Orientalismo, 47–50.

These efforts were further evidence of al-Azhar's centrality not only as a bastion of religious law, but also as an important pool of supporters from all parts of the Muslim world for a plethora of political causes. Another target of intellectual and political infiltration was Cairo University (founded in 1908), where several prominent Italian scholars pursued research on the ancient Orient and on Arabic language and literature.19

Ibid., 71–124.

Beyond gaining material support for the Libyan student community in Cairo, the Italians also sought ties with students' Egyptian patrons, mainly heads of Sufi orders of North African origin. This was the basis for Insabato's close relationship with Shaykh ʿAbd al-Rahman ʿIllaysh and his order, the ʿArabiyya Shadhiliyya, an offshoot of the Shadhiliyya order. The liaison between the Italians and the Sufi shaykh was made by ʿAbd al-Hadi (d. 1917), a Swedish artist previously known as Ivan Aguéli, who converted to Islam in 1907 and became a disciple of ʿIllaysh.20

Aguéli's attraction to mysticism began when he arrived in Paris at age 21 and joined esoteric groups, including the Theosophical Society. Like Insabato, he showed an interest in anarchist thought and was imprisoned in Paris for sheltering a wanted anarchist. His knowledge of Arabic and of Islamic culture, as his writing shows, was excellent. He displayed a conservative approach to his newfound Islamic religion although the level of his observance on a daily basis is unclear. He was known, for example, to continue to draw human forms, despite the prohibition of this in Islam. Scarbel, “Una Rivista,” 53–54; G. Rocca, ed., ʿAbdul-Hadi: Écrtis pour La Gnose (Milan, Italy: Archè, 1988); Mark Sedgwick, Against the Modern World (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004), 66.

ʿIllaysh agreed to assist Insabato in teaching and disseminating the Italian language and in granting scholarships for Libyan students at al-Azhar. ʿIllaysh's disciple, ʿAbd al-Hadi, joined forces with Insabato in publishing a newspaper, Commercio Italiano, devoted to Italy's commercial activity in the Middle East and its relationship with Islam.21

Scarbel, “Una Rivista,” 54.

ʿIllaysh's enlistment in promoting Insabato's plans peaked with the 1906 establishment of a mosque in Cairo dedicated to the memory of Italy's King Umberto I. Commenting on this event, which was widely publicized in the Italian press, ʿIllaysh described Italy as the only European power that embraced Muslims. “The Italians are sociable and honest, and approach us without the sense of superiority or megalomania of the others.” This statement elicited praise for ʿIllaysh by the Italian consul in Cairo but harsh criticism in Islamic circles, mainly by Salafi followers associated with the newspaper al-Manar, headed by Shaykh Muhammad Rashid Rida. ʿIllaysh was portrayed in al-Manar as an agent in an old Italian plot to take control of Libyan and Somali territories, as well as Yemen and Asir because of their proximity to the Hijaz and its holy cities. Worse, he was branded a religious deviant by founding a mosque in which prayers were devoted not only to Allah but also to the memory of a mortal.22

Al-Manar, 11 July 1907, 398, 400; ibid., 8 October 1907, 637–38; Porcinari, Rapporti, 25–32. Rida, a sharp denigrator of Sufi culture, singled out ʿIllaysh for criticism as far back as 1898, accusing him of extending his patronage to dhikr sessions that included dancing, shrieking, and self-flagellation, thereby turning Islam into a target of ridicule in the eyes of Europeans. The construction of the mosque in 1906 to commemorate the Italian king only sharpened Rida's hostility toward ʿIllaysh. Johansen, Sufism, 16–30; al-Manar, 1 (1898–99), 924–26.

The controversy over ʿAbd al-Rahman ʿIllaysh, which reached the courts, soon turned into a guilty verdict against the Italian representatives in Egypt for presenting an ostensibly sympathetic stance toward Islam and Muslims to conceal their true agenda—to sow destruction and enslavement. ʿIllaysh's friend, Insabato, as editor of the bilingual Italian/Arabic periodical Il Convito/al-Nadi (The Caller), founded in 1904 and devoted to Islamic and Sufi topics,23

Copies of al-Nadi, quoted in this article, are located in the Istituto Italiano per l'Africa e l'Oriente, Roma.

was singled out for criticism. Rida attacked Insabato's activity as evidence of Muslim ineptitude which allowed imperialist agents ignorant of Islam to serve as its spokesmen.24

Al-Manar, 8 October 1907, 627–28; Porcinari, Rapporti, 21–22.

Responding, al-Nadi labeled Rida a “fanatic,” while highlighting Insabato's commitment to serving the East and defending Islam against the distortions and prejudices of Europeans.25

Insabato, quoted in idem, al-Majmuʿa al-Ula li-Jaridat al-Nadi (Cairo: n.p., 1905), 14–15, 26–28, 115–16. Al-Majmuʿa contains selected articles published in al-Nadi during 1904–5; see also “Akhlaq al-Islam” (Ethics of Islam), al-Nadi, July–August 1907, 102–3; “Adʿiyaء al-Islah al-Dini” (Advocates of Religious Reform), ibid., 106–14.

Al-Nadi: A Guide to Cultural Harmony

Al-Nadi, defending ʿIllaysh and his connections with Italian circles, served as a platform for Insabato, ʿIllaysh, and the shaykh's faithful follower, ʿAbd al-Hadi. The paper presented a cosmopolitan viewpoint, reflected in its bilingual format, with a third edition in Ottoman Turkish added later. It also dealt with the cardinal issue of relations between East and West. Its target audience was both the European and the Muslim public, and the paper was also distributed to Sufi notables in Tripolitania and Cyrenaica, reflecting Italy's “quiet” infiltration of Libya. The circulation of al-Nadi, which was published first weekly and later twice monthly, reached approximately 5,000.26

Scarbel, “Una Rivista,” 57.

The paper defined its mission as building bridges between East and West and promoting universal brotherhood, regardless of religious–ethnic differences and political disputes.27

“Jaridat al-Nadi” (The Nadi Journal), al-Nadi, 22 May 1904, 2; “Urubba wa-l-Sharq,” (Europe and the East), ibid., 15 June 1907, 33–36; Insabato, “Muqaddima wa-Bayan” (Preface and Statement), ibid., April 1910, 123–28.

Ultimately, al-Nadi argued, all peoples stem from a single source—the humanity represented by the first man—and their sole goal is to advance enlightenment and morality. Brotherhood means refraining from cruelty and wars and benefits society as a whole. The strong have a duty to display sympathy for the weak instead of stealing their land and usurping their freedom. Many European powers failed in this lofty mission, al-Nadi stated, but not Italy. The paper claimed that the Italian nation is innocent of any prejudice and respects others—evidence of its morality. In this context, the cordial relations between Italy and the Ottoman Empire were emphasized, as was the Italians' esteem for Islamic civilization. The paper also praised the tolerant attitude toward Muslim communities in the Italian spheres of influence in Somalia and Eritrea as the antithesis of the common repressive policies of European colonialism in the East.28

“Ila al-ʿUlamaء wa-l-Fudala' ” (To the ʿUlamaء and the Notables) al-Nadi, 19 June 1904, 1; Muhammad al-Sharbatli, “Urubba wa-l-Islam” (Europe and Islam), ibid., 28 August 1904, 2; Insabato, “al-Siyasa al-Qawmiyya” (National Policy), ibid., 1 July 1906, 1–2; al-Majmuʿa, 10–14, 20–26, 41–46, 90–93, 98–108; Porcinari, Rapporti, 18–21.

The paper conveyed its emotional empathy for Islam and its believers in concrete ways, for example, in denouncing European missionary activity as a modern version of the 12th-century Crusade, and Armenian subversion against the Ottoman Empire as evil and avaricious.29

Al-Majmuʿa, 39–41, 46–50, 61–62, 75–77, 106–7; “Turkiyya wa-l-Arman” (Turkey and the Armenians), al-Nadi, 3 July 1904, 1; Insabato, “Italia wa-Turkiyya wa-l-Arman” (Italy, Turkey, and the Armenians), ibid., 31 July 1904, 2.

Loyalty to the Ottoman sultan was a central theme in al-Nadi. The paper emphasized the duty to obey the caliph both by religious commandment and in view of the waning strength of the empire. This message was aimed not only at Muslims on the periphery but also at Arabs closer to the imperial center, who were encouraged by the French and British to rebel against the Ottomans. In effect, the caliphate had become sanctified and was defined as al-qibla al-siyāsiyya—the Muslims' political allegiance, having equal weight to al-qibla al-taʿabbudiyya—the prayer direction facing Mecca.

Nevertheless, the Pan-Islamism advocated by the newspaper differed from that promoted by the Ottomans under Sultan ʿAbd al-Hamid II (1876–1908). Al-Nadi preached a more federative unity presided over by the Ottoman dynasty, in contrast to ʿAbd al-Hamid's centralized concept of unity. Ultimately, al-Nadi and Insabato had a political agenda as well: a diffused Islamic system, rather than a centralized system, would better aid in establishing an Italian presence in the Mediterranean basin.30

Al-Majmuʿa, 73–74, 93–98.

Two other themes in al-Nadi that addressed Muslim sensibilities reflected two aspects of Islamic culture: the scholastic, as embodied by the shariʿa, and the mystical, as embodied by Sufism. Al-Nadi called on the Ottomans to restore the shariʿa both in public and private spheres after abandoning it for Western codes of human behavior “which only obstruct justice.” The shariʿa was described as one of the loftiest judicial systems in the world, typified by legal flexibility and founded on the principles of justice and liberty. It alone could uproot the manifestations of crime and corruption in society and strengthen internal unity.31

“Muqaddima wa-Bayan” (Preface and Statement), al-Nadi, 22 May 1904, 1; “Insaf al-Islam” (Treating Islam Justly), ibid., 12 June 1904, 1–2; and ibid., 3 July 1904, 1–2.

The other aspect of Islamic culture, Sufism, was defined by al-Nadi as providing individuals with inner strength and acting as an important lever to reinforce social solidarity. Followers of Sufism were described as accruing prestige by their advocacy of self-restraint and intellectual openness. The paper defined these Sufi attributes as the true bridge between East and West.32

Al-Majmuʿa, 16–19, 29–30, 34; also E. Insabato, L'Islam et la Politique des Alliés (Nancy, France: Berger–Levrault, 1920), 3–77.

Al-Nadi's portrayal of both the shariʿa and Sufism as essentially progressive enabled the paper to refute Western criticism of reprehensible practices associated with Islam. One issue was slavery, which, Insabato argued, is regulated in the shariʿa, and is qualified by restrictions that clearly prevent it from degenerating into slave trafficking.33

Insabato, “Masءalat al-Riqq fi al-Sumal” (The Issue of Slavery in Somalia), al-Nadi, 12 June 1904, 2.

Insabato, influenced by the anarchist philosophy of the late 19th century that championed the idea of man's freedom from all restrictions,34

See, for example, J. Joll, The Anarchists (London: Methuen, 1979); D. Morland, Demanding the Impossible (London: Cassell, 1997).

was unable to accept the notion of slavery at all. However, he was unwilling to overtly attack it and run the risk of damaging the vehicle he had nurtured for approaching Muslim society. He solved this dilemma through the prism of social psychology, arguing that slavery must indeed be uprooted, but a gradual approach is the wisest course. Abolishing a practice so deeply rooted in society, abruptly and without preparation, as some Europeans demanded, would likely disrupt communal stability.35

Insabato, “Masءalat al-Riqq fi al-Sumal,” 2.

Studying al-Nadi in a historical and political context reveals that its pro-shariʿa, pro-Sufi position and its cautious stance on slavery implicitly aimed to serve as a springboard for Italy's entrenchment in the region. This was especially true in Libya, where Sufi orders, led by the Sanusiyya, enjoyed a dominant status. Clearly, the paper's cultural mission was intertwined with the imperialist aspirations of its patrons in Rome.

Al-Nadi's extensive, almost obsessive, concern with Italy's relationship with Islam and the Ottoman Empire focused on distancing Italy from other European countries by portraying Italy as devoid of imperialistic aspirations. “We do not view the East as a backward region or a source of colonial settlement such as Africa,” the paper claimed. “On the contrary, we view it as a region rich in ethical and intellectual treasures.”36

Quoted in Porcinari, Rapporti, 20.

This claim, however, did not mask the reality that forging an Italian–Muslim alliance was bound to be difficult, considering the Muslims' sense of siege in the face of growing friction with Europe.

Al-Nadi indeed found itself burdened with fending off Muslim accusations regarding Italy's true intentions. The paper quoted statements by Muslim religious figures, some affiliated with al-Azhar, who praised Rome profusely.37

Al-Majmuʿa, 56–57, 77–78; see also Muhammad al-Sharbatli, “al-Dawla al-ʿUlya wa-Italia” (The Sublime Porte and Itlay), al-Nadi, 18 September 1904, 2; “Sawt al-Muslim al-Sharqi” (The Voice of an Eastern Muslim), ibid., 1 September 1906, 2–3; ʿIllaysh quoted in al-Nadi, July–August 1907, 104–5.

It also frequently published statements by Italian government officials advocating the establishment of harmonious relations with the Sublime Porte and preserving its territorial sovereignty. Whenever reports circulated about improprieties in Italian colonies or spheres of influence, as in the episode involving priests in Somalia who engaged in coercive missionary activity among the Muslim population, the paper promptly demanded that the Italian government oust those involved.38

Al-Majmuʿa, 36–37, 54–57, 62, 74–78.

For Muslims, missionary activity (both Catholic and Protestant) in Ottoman territory was one of the most sensitive issues. Perceived as yet another tool of European imperialism, it cast a shadow over Muslim–Christian relations. It is not surprising that al-Nadi denounced missionizing as “the mother of all sin,” which spread hostility and suspicion among people in the name of religion. Unsparing in its criticism of Italian missionary activity, the paper called it an impediment to the Italian–Islamic alliance, in which the Vatican was also involved. Al-Nadi demanded that all missionary activity in Italian spheres of influence be terminated entirely and that the services of priests be eliminated.39

Insabato, “Fi Adirna wa-l-Sumal” (In Dirna and Somalia), al-Nadi, 7 August 1904, 1; “Italia wa-l-Dawla al-ʿUlya” (Italy and the Sublime Port), ibid., 4 September 1904, 1–2; see also “Hamaqat al-Mubashshirin al-Brutustant” (Stupidity of the Protestant Missionaries), ibid., 5 February 1905, 3.

Beyond demonstrating a determined desire to pave the way for coexistence with Muslims, al-Nadi's anticlericalism reflected Insabato's anarchist point of view. Anarchist theory views the very existence of institutionalized religion as dictating modes of thought and behavior, an intrinsically illegitimate act. To quote Mikhail Bakunin (d. 1914), one of the fathers of European anarchism, “God being master, man is the slave.”40

Michael Bakunin, God and the State (New York: Dover, 1970), 24.

Insabato, for his part, wrote in the introduction to an anthology of al-Nadi articles, published in 1905, that there is nothing wrong with respecting religion and its values, but human thought must be free of every intolerant restriction that might unravel social solidarity.41

Al-Majmuʿa, 11.

However, he applied these principles primarily to the Christian milieu and much less to Islamic society. Insabato, in aiming to promote dialogue with open-minded ʿulamaء and Sufi shaykhs, refrained from challenging their more conservative colleagues, thereby subordinating his moral considerations to the political agenda of his government in Rome.42

Ibid., 28, 30, 64.

Rehabilitating Sufism and Islam

Al-Nadi's pro-Islamic and anticolonialist orientation suited Shaykh ʿAbd al-Rahman ʿIllaysh's dissident temperament. He had been involved in the ʿUrabi revolt (1881–82) and, following its suppression by the British, was suspected of political subversion while in exile in Istanbul and Rhodes. ʿIllaysh's collaboration with Insabato served the shaykh's purposes and those of his colleagues in the scholarly religious community. Al-Nadi provided them with a platform to present a more balanced and positive concept of the Islamic faith in rebuttal to local and European critics.43

ʿAbd al-Hadi, “Idah wa-Bayan” (Clarification and Statement), al-Nadi, 20 November 1904, 1–2.

Some of these critics, especially the Germans and the Russians, were labeled racists and Islamophobes by the Muslim writers.44

Ahmad al-Qazani, “al-Farq Bayna Italia wa-Rusya fi Muʿamalat al-Muslimin” (Different Attitudes of Italy and Russia towards the Muslims), al-Nadi, 25 September 1904, 1–2; “Matamiʿ Almanya wa-Rusya” (The Imperialist Greed of Germany and Russia), ibid., 30 October 1904, 1–2.

Sufism was an important topic in the articles they contributed. Most of these writers were identified with this stream of Islam, particularly with the philosophy of 13th-century Muhyi al-Din ibn ʿArabi, the Great Master (al-shaykh al-akbar). His influence, evident in Islamic lands as well as in Spain and India, symbolized the link between East and West. In addition to publishing broad discussions of his thought, al-Nadi promoted various initiatives linked to him. The most prominent was the establishment of a cultural association in Italy and in the Muslim East devoted to disseminating Ibn ʿArabi's philosophy and disbursing material support to followers.45

See, for example, ʿIllaysh quoted in al-Nadi, 15 June 1907, 58–60; Muhammad al-Sharbatli, “al-Muءallafat al-Haqiqiyya li-l-Imam Muhyi al-Din bin ʿArabi” (The Authentic Works of Imam Muhyi al-Din bin ʿArabi), ibid., 62–64; idem, “Hayat al-Imam Muhyi al-Din bin ʿArabi” (The Life of the Imam Muhy al-Din bin ʿArabi), ibid., September–December 1907, 170–204; Mahmud, al-Madrasa, 252–53.

Al-Nadi's Muslim writers idealized Sufism, with the goal of positioning it in the Islamic consensus as a second pillar, alongside the shariʿa, in guiding believers' behavior. Contributors such as Muhammad al-Sharbatli and ʿAbd al-Hadi explained Sufism as a spiritual philosophy that deals with understanding the universe. They depicted its followers as persons of religious piety and high moral fiber who, in contrast to Christian monks, are not bound by blind faith to any order and are not required to repress their human needs. Restraint and self-control in Sufi rituals was also emphasized, for example, in the dhikr (remembrance of God) ceremonies and in prostration at the graves of saints, with deviant behavior denounced as un-Islamic.46

Muhammad al-Sharbatli, “al-Tasawwuf al-Islami” (Islamic Sufism), al-Nadi, 31 July 1904, 1; ibid., 14 August 1904, 1; and ibid., 21 August 1904, 1–2; ʿAbd al-Hadi, “al-Ittihad al-Milli” (Unity of the Community of Believers), al-Nadi, 14 August 1904, 2.

Imbuing Sufism with an orthodox hue also encompassed Ibn ʿArabi himself, who was depicted as “the purest of ʿulamaء in adherence to the unity of Allah and the path of His Prophet,” thereby clearing Ibn ʿArabi's teaching from accusations of pantheism.47

ʿAbd al-Hadi, “al-Akbariyya” (The Great Master's Teaching), al-Nadi, July–August 1907, 89–101.

The version of Sufism promoted by these Muslim writers was a sober one that balanced the rational with the esoteric and confined mystical activity within fixed theological parameters. “The true believer,” ʿAbd al-Hadi wrote, “is he who is ensconced between the shariʿa and the ḥaqiqa (truth), and genuine religious happiness is that found in the harmony between the ʿulamaء and the Sufi shaykhs.”48

ʿAbd al-Hadi, “al-Ittihad al-Milli,” 2.

The popularity of Sufism in Muslim communal life and the great interest it evoked among European philosophers constituted cogent proof for al-Sharbatli and ʿAbd al-Hadi of Sufism's central role in the Islamic heritage.49

Ibid., 1–2; al-Sharbatli, “al-Tasawwuf al-Islami,”1; idem, “Taءthir al-Tasawwuf ʿala al-Akhlaq” (The Sufi Impact on Ethics), ibid., 15 June 1907, 56–58; idem, “ʿIlm al-Nafs wa-l-Ruhaniyya” (Science of the Soul and Spiritualism), ibid., July–August 1907, 166–69; “al-Iqtibasat al-Llahiyya” (Acquisition of Divine Knowledge), al-Nadi, September–December 1907, 158–60; al-Majmuʿa, 16–19, 29–30.

European scholars also contributed articles exploring Sufism and praising its ideas. These articles became important ammunition in Sufi disputational literature vis-à-vis ideological rivals in the Islamic milieu, demonstrating an intellectual vitality that acquired Western recognition.50

See, for example, al-Majmuʿa, 17, and the essay by the head of the Sufi orders in Egypt, Muhammad al-Bakri, Mustaqbal al-Islam (Cairo: al-Matbaʿa al-ʿUmumiyya, 1906), 14–21.

The campaign to ameliorate Sufism's reputation involved defending the reputation of Islam itself, because the two were depicted as organically intertwined. The Muslim writers who published in al-Nadi lucidly expressed disapproval of ongoing Westernization of Muslim society. They viewed the need to imitate Europe as self-denial that would earn only disdain from the West. Worse, it would expose local society to moral and political laxity that its enemies would exploit. Accusations were directed in particular at Istanbul authorities for being led astray by the West's falsehoods regarding the harsh nature of Islam and for replacing the commandments of the shariʿa with imported laws that turned Islam into “Protestantism in a tarbush,” as it were.51

“Dasaءis al-Inkliz Didda al-Islam wa-l-Dawla al-ʿUthmaniyya” (England's Schemes against Islam and the Ottoman State), al-Nadi, 20 May 1906, 1–3; al-Majmuʿa, 29, 32–36.

An unbiased view, ʿAbd al-Hadi, al-Sharbatli, and ʿIllaysh argued, reveals an Islam that is pluralistic and tolerant, as manifested in the four schools of legal thought (madhāhib) in Islam, all of them religiously legitimate. Furthermore, the status of the ʿulamaء, in contrast to Christian priests, is not one of holiness; they cannot enforce their authority but simply uphold truth and justice.52

Al-Sharbatli, “Urubba wa-l-Islam,” 1; ʿAbd al-Hadi, “al-Ittihad al-Milli,” 1–2; al-Majmuʿa, 18, 55–57, 67–68, 88–89.

Another example of humanism embedded in Islam is its attitude to slavery, ʿIllaysh and al-Sharbatli maintained. Fatwas they published in al-Nadi indicated that enslavement is permissible only regarding the population of a country conquered by Muslims. Moreover, enslavement is only one of several options available to Muslim leaders in such a situation. Others are freeing captured enemies without ransom, freeing them in exchange for payment by their families, or granting them the status of protected subjects (dhimmīs). Even as a slave, a person is entitled to decent treatment by his master, as if he were a member of the master's family.53

Al-Majmuʿ a, 28, 55–57, 67–68, 88–89. According to Islamic law, these conditions apply only to believers in the monotheistic religions—Jews, Christians, and Zoroastrians. Pagans are forced to choose between death or Islamization.

The issue of slavery provided ʿIllaysh and al-Sharbatli with the opportunity to discuss an even more basic issue—the status of non-Muslims in Islamic lands. ʿIllaysh ruled that in no case can non-Muslims be enslaved unless they violate dhimmī conditions, such as by not paying the poll tax (jizya) or by not upholding the prohibition against dishonoring Muslims in public. This ruling, which preaches tolerance but also defines its limits, ultimately aimed at preserving the superiority of Islam over other cultures. ʿIllaysh's and his colleagues' viewpoint, as reflected in al-Nadi, was essentially the same as the traditional Islamic perspective. It emphasized that the emergence of Islam in the 7th century heralded the end of an age of slavery and repression and the commencement of an age of justice. Regarding non-Muslims, this is reflected in three Islamic legal institutions: the jizya in the case of protected subjects, with the poll tax intended for public welfare to be collected solely by the imam or his deputy; protection of life (amān) in the case of a foreigner staying in a Muslim country, with protection extending for a period of four months for men and an undefined period for women; and the cease-fire (hudna) in the case of hostilities, which can last up to ten years. These legal institutions, ʿIllaysh and al-Sharbatli observed, were evidence of Islam as “a fortress of enlightenment.”54

Al-Majmuʿa, 80–90; Muhammad Amin al-Harazi, “al-Islam wa-Muʿamalatuhu li-Ghayr Ahlihi” (Islam and its Treatment of non-Muslims) al-Nadi, 28 August 1904, 2; ibid., 3 September 1904, 2.

The impetus to discuss sensitive issues which the West found unsettling—such as slavery and the status of religious minorities—exposed the political and cultural distress of Muslim lands as a result of the waves of imperialism and Westernization that were washing over them. Al-Nadi's Muslim writers responded to this predicament in an emotional rather than practical manner. They focused on halting the tide of modernization, first by calling on Ottoman decision makers to recognize the Islamic character of the empire as a given premise, and second by reinforcing the inner unity of the Muslim nation.55

Al-Majmuʿa, 34–35, 83–89, 96–98; also see Yusuf Kamil al-Bukhari, “al-Sharq wa-Dawaʿuhu min maʿ Lasiqa bi-hi min al-Tuham” (The East and the Accusations Attributed to It), al-Nadi, 26 March 1905, 5; “al-Muslim Akhu al-Muslim” (The Muslim Is the Brother of the Muslim), ibid., 15 June 1907, 37–40.

Notably, their criticism of Istanbul authorities did not extend to the delegitimization of the Ottoman dynasty. The sultan, as the representative of Allah and his Prophet on earth, continued to command obedience and loyalty. Domestic challengers to his rule, for example, the separatist movements in Armenia and in the Balkans, and Arab nationalists in the Fertile Crescent, were denounced as fifth columns controlled by Europe.56

See, for example, ʿAbd al-Hadi, “Ahwal al-Arman fi Turkiyya” (The Armenians' Situation in Turkey) al-Nadi, 7 August 1904, 2; Yusuf Kamil al-Bukhari, “Hubb al-Watan min al-Iman: Jawwab Maftuh li-Ahl Krit wa-Maqadunya” (Love of Country is an Article of Faith: An Open Letter to the People of Crete and Macedonia), ibid., 22 January 1905, 1–3; ibid., 7 May 1905; “al-Barahin al-Qawiyy fi Dahd Qawl Man Yaddaʿi Anna al-Khilafa ʿArabiyya (Clear-Cut Proofs Refuting Those Who Claim that the Caliphate Is the Province of the Arabs), ibid., 2–3; and ibid., 28 May 1905, 1–2; ʿIllaysh quoted in al-Nadi, July–August 1907, 104–5, 119.

Italian Imperial Ambitions

Al-Nadi represented the apex of the Italian–Islamic dialogue. The two prominent figures in the dialogue, Insabato and ʿIllaysh, viewed themselves as bearers of a cultural mission to bring East and West closer, although political factors were also involved. Insabato sought to upgrade Italy's status in the Middle East, and ʿIllaysh endeavored to guard the good name of Sufism and Islam. Moreover, ʿIllaysh's personal motives cannot be ignored, namely his desire to revitalize the status of the ʿArabiyya Shadhiliyya order through Italian patronage after internal fractiousness and meager resources had adversely affected the functioning of the order at the turn of the 20th century.57

Mahmud, al-Madrasa, 252–53; De-Jong, Turuq, 173–74.

ʿIllaysh's connections with official and semiofficial Italian public figures caused him trouble. They provided his rivals both in the Sufi community and in reformist and nationalist circles with polemical ammunition against him, especially following Italy's conquest of Libya and its war against the Ottomans (1911–12). For the Italians, the military takeover of Libya signified the failure of their quiet diplomacy. This policy was replaced by a sense of threat and urgency that was due to French activity in North Africa and Austrian activity in the Balkans. The absence of an Italian response to these developments was perceived in Rome as gravely undermining its colonial status in the Mediterranean basin. This strategic consideration was interwoven with sentiments of national pride and a perceived need to demonstrate a presence in the region.58

Lowe and Marzari, Italian, 112–18; Bosworth, Italy, 140–64.

Viewed retrospectively, Italy attained a military victory over the Ottoman Empire but suffered defeat in the realm of Muslim public opinion, which also cast a shadow over Insabato's mission.

The Egyptian nationalist and Pan-Islamic public, incensed at the Italian colonial presence in Libya, promptly provided support and assistance to the Libyan resistance. Libyan students at al-Azhar rejected Insabato's plans to build dormitories for them with Italian funding. Those who maintained contact with him received threats to their lives. British sensitivity to Italy's activity, and to its supporters in Cairo, was also heightened, and British security authorities put ʿIllaysh under surveillance. Tolerance for his colleague, Insabato, also waned, and he was recalled to Rome in 1912 as a result of British pressure. Two years later, al-Nadi closed down.59

Insabato continued to serve as a personal agent of the Italian government in the region, inter alia by retaining his contacts with the Sanusiyya in Libya. However, he did not manage to gain the confidence of the Sanusi emir, who suspected the motives of his superiors in Rome. Returning to Italy, Insabato entered politics in the 1920s and served as a delegate in parliament in Rome, although he devoted most of his energy to writing and to other activity related to linking the East and the West. Porcinari, Rapporti, 10–16, 87–88, 125–63, 217–19; Bosworth, Italy, 146; Baldinetti, Orientalismo, 64–70; Insabato, L'Islam, 147–59, 209–16; idem, La Collaborazione Italo-Araba e il Sudan (Roma: Danesi, 1950), 113–19.

The advocacy of intercultural dialogue between Muslims and Christians, with an emphasis on Italian-Islamic brotherhood, was outweighed by the colonialist race. Italy faced both alienation in Egypt and a prolonged guerrilla war led by the Sanusiyya in Libya.60

Insabato himself, in an essay written in 1950, attributed the Sanusi rebellion against Italy to intrigues instigated by competing powers, as well as to mistakes made by his government in Rome, influenced by the corruption of European imperialism. Insabato, L'Islam, 147–59, 209–16.

The initial Italian assessment that the Sanusi order would welcome its entry into Libya was proven wrong. Although the Sanusis did not conceal their aversion to the Ottoman regime, the distance between that discontent and collaboration with the Italians was still great.

The rise of fascism in Rome in 1922, with its repressive imperialist thrust, furthered Italy's isolation in the Middle East. The Duce's efforts to gain the trust of local political and intellectual elites and the favorable attitude shown toward Muslims in Christian Ethiopia after the Italian conquest in 1935 evoked little response. Mussolini was unsuccessful in allaying Arab–Muslim suspicions of his expansionist ambitions. At best, fascist Italy was perceived as a political tool to batter Britain and France, but not as a real partner in an ideological or cultural dialogue.61

Claudio G. Segré, “Liberal and Fascist Italy in the Middle East 1919–1939: The Elusive White Stallion,” in The Great Powers in the Middle East 1919–1939, ed. U. Dann (New York: Holmes, 1988), 199–212; Haggai Erlich, “Periphery and Youth: Fascist Italy and the Middle East,” in Fascism Outside Europe, ed. S. U. Larsen (New York: Columbia University Press, 2001), 393–420.

THE PARIS–CAIRO AXIS: SUFISM AS A UNIVERSAL IDEAL

The intercultural dialogue between ʿIllaysh and Insabato included a political agenda, but a parallel dialogue between ʿIllaysh with the French philosopher René Guénon was more intellectual in nature. Guénon (1886–1951), son of an insurance agent, grew up in a conservative Catholic family in the Loire region and studied mathematics and philosophy before arriving in Paris in 1906. There he was drawn to Hindu and Buddhist mystic circles, writing for and editing several periodicals devoted to the spiritualism of Eastern religions. He developed a special interest in Sufism, inter alia because of a close friendship with Ivan Aguéli, known as ʿAbd al-Hadi, the convert to Islam who, as noted above, was a follower of ʿIllaysh in Cairo and co-editor of al-Nadi with Insabato.62

Mahmud, al-Madrasa, 246–47; Sedgwick, Against, 55–69.

In 1911 ʿIllaysh sent ʿAbd al-Hadi to Europe to further the spiritual dialogue between East and West. His message, which portrayed Western culture as hedonistic and praised the virtues of Islamic mysticism, proved attractive to European intellectuals. Settling in Paris, ʿAbd al-Hadi met Guénon and asked him to translate Sufi texts into French. He also introduced Guénon to ʿIllaysh through correspondence. As a result, Guénon embraced Islam in 1912, adopting the name ʿAbd al-Wahid Yahya.63

Sedgwick, Against, 63–67; Mahmud, al-Madrasa, 246–47, 253–54.

Later, he dedicated one of his books, Le Symbolisme de la Croix (1931), to the memory of ʿIllaysh, who died in 1921.64

English version, René Guénon, Symbolism of the Cross (London: Luzac, 1958).

Guénon's strong attraction to esotericism and his keen interest in the works of Ibn ʿArabi led him to move to Cairo in 1930, where he remained until his death in 1951. His intellectual pursuit became a way of life: he married the daughter of a Sufi shaykh, Muhammad Ibrahim, and joined the Hamidiyya Shadhiliyya order. He became known as a Sufi follower but also as a scrupulous observer of the commandments of the shariʿa.65

Mahmud, al-Madrasa, 255–57.

However, he established few ties with the religious scholarly community in Cairo, partly because of his limited command of Arabic and partly because of his unacceptable views in the Azharist milieu—for example, his belief in the equal status of all religions (see below).66

It is not surprising that Guénon did not define his embrace of Islam as conversion but more as a matter of spiritual convenience. In his view, no single tradition had superiority over others. Sedgwick, Against, 76–78.

Guénon also had minimal contact with Europeans, according to one view because of his growing paranoia that hostile elements from France were out to murder him by means of a magic spell. He devoted most of his time to writing.67

This opinion was held by Martin Lings, who met with Guénon in Cairo and corresponded with him frequently. M. Lings, “René Guénon,” Sophia 1 (1995): 21–37.

Indeed, his output was prodigious. He focused on reviving traditional philosophies and sciences such as cosmology, numerology, and alchemy, which had been neglected or lost in modern times. This interest coincided with his rejection of modern Western philosophy, which, in his view, reduced lofty values and turned a multifaceted reality into a one-sided concept bound by the limits of man's horizons of knowledge. In the natural sciences, positivism rejected any reality beyond intellectual and empirical reach. In the social realm, value systems and esthetics were subject to the arbitrary considerations of the majority. The sad result was rule by quantity (Règne de la Quantité—the title of another of Guénon's books), that is, the minimalization of the concept of knowledge as a result of a focus on the immediate, the accessible, and the tangible. This is also reflected in the eroded status of persons engaged in knowledge and its acquisition—from academics and intellectuals to technologists and industrialists. These technocrats, whose intellectual vision is limited primarily to the creation and construction of machines, have themselves turned into machines, Guénon held.68

Guénon's writings: The Reign of Quantity and the Signs of the Times, 2nd ed. (New York: Sophia Perennis, 2004), 33–54; The Crisis of the Modern World, 2nd ed. (New York: Sophia Perennis, 2004), 81–96.

Guénon did not deny that material development yielded well-being, and he acknowledged that as a result human life was made easier, for example, by advances in communications and transportation. However, he asked, was man happier? True happiness, he replied, is only attainable by balancing the material with the spiritual, an equilibrium that has been destroyed by secular progress. Moreover, not everyone acquires material well-being, resulting in envy and hatred destroying social harmony.69

Guénon, The Crisis, 90–94.

Guénon's castigation of the Western scientific method as mechanical, “soulless,” and superficial corresponded with the critical outlook in contemporary European thought articulated by Robertson Smith, Friedrich Nietzsche, Max Weber, Franz Kafka, Franz Rosenzweig, and Walter Benjamin. These thinkers focused on deconstructing modern Western philosophy, identifying the collapse of modernity with sweeping rationalism and automated technological production. They argued that only a receptivity to psychological phenomena such as imagination, the mysterious, and the belief in myths can illuminate modern man's life. They forged intellectual directions that did not correspond with the defined categories of rationalism and linearism, typical of European philosophy at that time, including in the field of religious research.70

On the research of religions in Europe of the 19th and early 20th centuries, see J. Waardenburg, Classical Approaches to the Study of Religion (New York: Walter de Gruyter, 1999), v–xvii.

In Guénon's case, this quest led him to Eastern civilizations.

Turning to the East: Restoring the Transcendental

Guénon found greater spirituality and access to an enriched religious experience in Eastern civilizations. He was also convinced of their superior morality over Christianity, which had sunk into exaggerated formalism, creating believers' dependence on the priesthood in every aspect of religious ritual. Criticizing the church establishment, he described its representatives as having little intellectual intuition and a lack of awareness of hidden metaphysical truths which the ordinary believer seeks to understand. The neglect of the esoteric dimension turned the church into a degenerated, static body, engendering antireligious sentiments among educated people, he asserted. Guénon sought to influence these educated people who rejected Christianity, arguing that metaphysical truth is better reflected in other cultures. Such cultures serve as a source of inspiration and also as a means to extricate people from the mental confusion in which the West is immersed. According to Guénon, “the lost tradition can be restored and brought to life again only by contact with the living traditional spirit… and it is only in the East that this spirit is still fully alive.” For this reason, the barriers that separate East from West will crumble and will make way for harmonious relations.71

Guénon's writings: The Crisis, 24–29, 26–32; The Reign, 82–88.

Notably, Guénon preached cultural ecumenism, not syncretism. In his view, all religious traditions share a single metaphysical truth, yet each expresses this truth in a different way ritually, symbolically, and socially. Only within this distinctive framework can man attain the highest level of spirituality.72

Some of Guénon's followers held a similar view, such as the Iranian scholar Seyyed Hussein Nasr, who warned of the destructive danger of cultural eclecticism to the existence of various religions. Religions embody different forms of revelations, and only through these distinctive frameworks can the Christian, Muslim, or Hindu believer experience an attachment to a higher authority, Nasr argued. Other followers, such as the German-Swiss Frithjof Schuon, adopted a more permissive approach. J. Smith, “Seyyid Hossein Nasr: Defender of the Sacred and Islamic Traditionalism,” in The Muslim of America, ed. Y. Y. Haddad (New York: Oxford University Press, 1991), 87–88; Sedgwick, Against, 142–77.

Guénon defined Eastern religions as healthy civilizations which nurture the supremacy of knowledge over deeds and the sanctified over the secular. In contrast to modern philosophy, he pointed out, these religions do not view human physical existence as the supreme element but only as one element of a complex reality. This reality is primordial and hierarchical, headed by an absolute being who is perfect and from whom everything emanates by inspiration, such as feeling, wisdom, goodness, and mercy. Man's purpose is to blend into this cosmic order and move forward within its internal circles, as if crossing a bridge or a river, as part of striving for a more intimate knowledge of God and spiritual wholeness. Guénon was enamored with the realization of this spiritual wholeness, which, in Hindu and Buddhist mysticism, and even more so in Muslim Sufism—particularly in Ibn ʿArabi's version—releases man from his corporeal state and turns him into a divine being. According to this perception, God and creation are one, and man is duty bound to reveal the divine foundation within himself by means of inner awareness and an active imagination.73

Guénon's writings: Symbolism, 122–26; The Multiple States of the Being (New York: Sophia Perennis, 2001).

Although Sufism endows the believer with a rich religious experience, it also requires him to acquire a teacher and guide on the path to spiritual perfection.74

See also Michel Chodkiewicz, The Spiritual Writings of Amir ʿAbd al-Kader (Albany, N.Y.: State University of New York Press, 1995), 49–50.

Guénon, in his writings, never disavowed the Sufi theme of guidance and intermediation in the process of acquiring lofty knowledge. He identified Sufi shaykhs, who had holy lineage, as possessing the highest level of divine grace (baraka). Studying their books and their commentaries is insufficient, he said; a direct and personal connection with them is required. A follower who abstains from such contact, he asserted, will never succeed in life. His fate is like that of a tree which grows without the devoted care of a gardener. It sprouts leaves but does not produce fruit.75

Guénon, quoted in Mahmud, al-Madrasa, 326, 331–32, 338–40; idem, Initiation and Spiritual Realization (New York: Sophia Perennis, 2004), 99–103, 104–7, 122–26.

Guénon's elitist approach was also reflected in his attitude toward Hindu tradition, in which the caste system allows the highest truth to be revealed to a select few. For Guénon, a social hierarchy whose apex consists of an intellectual elite that draws its authority from a metaphysical source was analogous to harmonic order; disavowing its existence in the name of the modern fiction of egalitarianism only invites social anarchy. This is the essential difference between quality and quantity, between distinctiveness and uniformity, between aristocracy and democracy, he explained. According to Guénon, democracy is merely an ontological distortion in the absence of a metaphysical inspiration, and it is also a dangerous illusion. The built-in principle of government by the people is unfeasible because of the Aristotelian reasoning that wherever there are rulers there are also subjects—a pure recipe for the creation of an oligarchy.76

Guénon's writings: The Crisis, 69–80; The Reign, 45–54, 62–67; East and West (New York: Sophia Perennis, 2004), 106–7.

In depicting man as only “one foundation in a total order,” and as “raw material in the hands of the creator,” Guénon placed himself firmly at odds with the rising tide of Western individualism. This emerging social philosophy cast the spotlight on the individual as detached from any group or idea and as possessing the ability to attain happiness on his own. In Guénon's argument, the metaphysical rebellion against all higher authority, to be replaced with self-deification of human rationality, turned Christianity into a mere hollow emotion, making the modern era pseudoreligious.77

Guénon's writings: The Crisis, 55–68; The Reign, 74–78; East, 62–65. The replacement of the kingdom of heaven with the kingdom of man was described by historian David Ohana as “Promethium passion.” Prometheus, the Greek god who stole the fire from Olympus and brought it to humans as an act of defiance against the supreme god, Zeus, was punished severely for this but was eventually freed by Hercules. David Ohana, The Promethium Passion (in Hebrew) (Jerusalem: Bialik Institute, 2000).

Guénon's strong attraction to phenomenology, esotericism, and “active imagination” revealed his aim to depoliticize Islam as a means of defusing interreligious tensions. Nevertheless, he avoided—at least publicly—detracting from the importance of the shariʿa. He argued that whereas the shariʿa provides the revealed legal and social dimension, Sufism provides the inner perception and the hidden knowledge (maʿrifa), whose source is Allah. The one cannot exist without the other. Just as a palace cannot be built without a foundation, Sufism cannot be detached from the shariʿa. By defining the shariʿa and Sufism as two equally important components of Islam, and by presenting Sufism as essential to the attainment of firm belief,78

Guénon, quoted in Mahmud, al-Madrasa, 324–25, 334–36.

Guénon sought to position Sufism as an integral part of the Muslim community's religious landscape, in an effort to neutralize criticism of its followers by local rivals—the orthodox, reformists, nationalists, and fundamentalists. In his view, Sufism drew its sources directly from the Qurءan, and without it, “Islam would be poorer.”79

Ibid., 327–29, 333.

Furthermore, by highlighting the spirituality and receptiveness embodied in Sufism, Guénon sought to convey an image of Islam as tolerant of other cultures and to defuse European criticism of Islamic religious fanaticism. He emphasized that Pan-Islamism is merely an expression of solidarity and the shared fate of Muslim believers, devoid of political substance or blind nationalism. Regarding jihad, or “holy war,” Guénon pointed out that war is commonplace in most of the world's civilizations, including Christianity, as Europe's blood-stained history in the Middle Ages proves.

Moreover, applying his talents as a researcher of symbols, Guénon attempted to detach the concept of war from its literal meaning and imbue it with a deeper significance. War in its religious context, he argued, is devoid of megalomania and the lust for territorial conquest and seeks only to impose order on those who undermine it, so as to restore harmony. In other words, war is legitimate. It seeks to achieve justice and balance, and once these are achieved, the pretext for continued fighting is eliminated. The same is true for the sword, which embodies the power of the holy word and acts in its service. Its use is also constrained by limitations and qualifications. In any event, Guénon explained, military jihad is merely secondary to the primary jihad—the spiritual jihad which man wages against his inner urges in striving to achieve unity and order within himself. This is the “great peace,” indicating the divine presence (al-sakī na al-kubrā).80

Guénon's writings: East, 76–78; Symbolism, 41–45; Fundamental Symbols: The Universal Language of Sacred Science (Paris: Quinta Essentia, 1995), 128–31.

Guénon viewed the pacifist nature of Islam as typifying all Eastern religions and used this premise to counter charges by Western observers that the East constitutes a danger to modern civilization. The real aggressor, he argued, is actually the West, which believes its culture is superior to all others and seeks to subject all of humanity to its mastery. The East, by contrast, seeks only to preserve its independence. Guénon was certain of the future moral victory of the East, for “the traditional spirit cannot die,” although he was well aware of the tangible possibility that until that longed-for victory, a prolonged period of darkness might prevail as a result of the material superiority of the West.81

Guénon's writings: The Crisis, 31–32, 97–106; East, 67–82, 165–67.

Guénon's Legacy

Guénon's attack on Western materialism and his emphasis on the indivisible relationship between materialism and spirituality—the sole guarantee for a healthy society—served as polemical ammunition for Islamic spokesmen in their struggle against “cultural imperialism.” This Western dictate, blind to human and cultural diversity, aimed to force a hedonistic social model on the East in the name of liberal democracy, as aptly articulated by Guénon's friend, Shaykh ʿAbd al-Halim Mahmud, a Shadhili Sufi and later rector of al-Azhar in the 1970s:

Imperialism sought to implant in the minds of Eastern people the notion that their culture was inferior and less humane than that of Western people. Shaykh ʿAbd al-Wahid [Guénon] turned this upside down. He showed Eastern people their self-value and their status as the source of light and inspiration for the whole world.82

Mahmud, al-Madrasa, 263.

Nevertheless, it is doubtful that Guénon's ecumenical approach, which considered all religions as equally valid, was fully accepted by spokesmen of the Islamic establishment (the ʿulamaء) or by the Islamic opposition (the Muslim Brotherhood). Both these sectors sanctified the a priori superiority of Islam over other monotheistic religions, and all the more so over the multitheistic creeds, such as Hinduism, which were perceived as pagan. In the minds of these spokesmen, an inclusive approach toward other cultures, or an unwillingness to view Islam as the only conduit to human redemption, bordered on heresy. In fact, Guénon was perceived as an imperialist agent whose embrace of Sufism was a ploy to destroy Islam. A report published in a French newspaper covering Guénon's funeral in January 1951 noted that only his family and a handful of friends were present and that the absence of representatives of al-Azhar was noticeable.83

Ibid., 257–63; Le Figaro, 22 Janvier 1951.

ʿAbd al-Halim Mahmud himself observed that the religious schools of thought to which the young Guénon was exposed in France were shallow and unable to guide the believer toward a knowledge of the mysteries of the universe. That is why he abandoned them and adopted Islam and Sufism. Mahmud also pointed out that the Sufism in which Guénon was first instructed was orthodox, imparted by Muslim jurists and moralists such as ʿAbd al-Rahman ʿIllaysh. Such figures had a strict attitude toward Islam and never deviated from its laws.84

Mahmud, al-Madrasa, 245–47, 249, 259–260.

Mahmud's remarks aimed at defining Guénon as a Muslim believer, and Sufism, the sect he identified with, as a legitimate Islamic heritage. However, this could not obscure the fact that Guénon was first and foremost an adherent of traditionalism rather than of the Islamic faith. This philosophic perception, rooted in the Perennial school of thought that emerged in Renaissance Italy in the 16th century, held that religious doctrine had a lesser status than universal metaphysical truth and that the differences among religions exist only in the ritualistic and social dimensions.85

Sedgwick, Against, 21–53, 76–77.

Guénon quoted Ibn ʿArabi's declaration that his heart can serve as a receptor of all religious forms of ritual—“a pasture for gazelles, a monastery for Christian monks, a temple for idols, a Kaʿba for the pilgrim, a table for the Torah, and a book for the Qurءan.”86

Guénon, The Reign, 63.

Progressing from this starting point, Guénon delved into non-Islamic traditions, especially Hinduism, which had evoked great interest in the West. However, in the Muslim East, they elicited only aversion. Therefore, it is not surprising that his influence on the Islamic discourse of his time was marginal.87

See also Guénon, East, 117–19, 139–55.

In contrast, Guénon's writing provided an intellectual impetus for Western thinkers in the traditional and metaphysical schools in the 1950s and 1960s, such as Marco Pallis, Titus Burckhardt, Frithjof Schuon, Huston Smith, Martin Lings, Michel Chodkiewicz, Henry Corbin, and William Chittick. Another intellectual in this group was the Iranian scholar Seyyed Hossein Nasr. Other writers who were indirectly influenced by Guénon were Phillip Sherrard, Mircea Eliade, and Jacob Needleman. Guénon's intellectual distress over the condition of the modern world as an organism leading an intensive but disordered lifestyle was evident in his followers and admirers as well. In Nasr's view, modern man's environment, which he has subjected to his utilitarian caprices, “has become a whore who can be used for enjoyment without any sense of commitment or responsibility.”88

Seyyed Hossein Nasr, The Encounter of Man and Nature: The Spiritual Crises of Modern Man (London: George Allen, 1968), 18.

Similarly, Lings observed that heresy and pseudoreligiosity have prompted mankind to continue to deteriorate throughout the 20th century. The only ray of light in this dismal analysis is that the euphoria over the deterministic nature of progress has passed. Lings identifies Guénon's unique contribution to the modern world as restoring the term orthodoxy, thereby articulating an acknowledgement of divine intervention in this world.89

Lings, “René Guénon,” 22.

In exploring the esoteric dimension of the Eastern civilizations, adherents of the traditionalist school contributed to the growing interest in spirituality in Western societies. Additionally, their academic output and public activity in the major cities of Europe and the United States led to a more pacifistic image of Islamic teaching. Islam was portrayed as having more attributes in common with, rather than in opposition to, Western culture.90

See also Naser's book, The Heart of Islam: Enduring Values for Humanity (New York: HarperCollins, 2002), written after the 11 September 2001 attack in the United States; Mona Abaza, Debates on Islam and Knowledge in Malaysia and Egypt (London: RoutledgeCurzon, 2002), 106–15.

As a result, these intellectuals provided further input in the Western debate over the image of Islam and over the Western ethnocentric sense of superiority over other cultures. Their point of departure was Sufism.

CONCLUSION

Far from being detached from the reality disparaged by its critics at home and abroad, Sufism proved to be a living tradition that endured into modern times. Sufi orders made effective use of organizational methods and the mass media as a means to express ideological viability and to reach new audiences. Moreover, beyond its psychological, communal, and even political functions in the Arab and Muslim domain, Sufism shielded Islam against its assailants and stimulated cross-cultural interaction.

This interaction cast doubt on the validity of the view that cultural transfer in modern times was unidirectional, from Europe to the Arab–Muslim world. A striking example of this phenomenon was to be found in the cultural dialogue that emerged at the end of the Ottoman era between Muslims and Christians in Cairo, Rome, and Paris. The players in this dialogue highlighted the spirituality of Islam, and advocated rapprochement between East and West at a time of growing friction. They sought to position their agenda at the forefront of the discourse of their respective communities.

In addition to shedding light on the vitality of Sufism, the dialogue revealed the centrality of Cairo as a cosmopolitan city with intellectual riches, a developed publishing industry, and a receptive political discourse reflecting the existence of a vibrant civil society at the start of the 20th century.91

Gershoni, Light, 44–54; Ami Ayalon, The Press in the Arab Middle East (New York: Oxford University Press, 1995), 51–62.

The location of the Nile Valley as a point of convergence between continents and civilizations attracted European pilgrims. Some of these visitors, such as the Italian writer Enrico Insabato, were intellectuals with defined political leanings who combined an attraction to Sufism with a desire to help lay the groundwork for colonization by their home country. Others, such as the Swedish artist and writer Ivan Aguéli and the French philosopher René Guénon, had a deeper scholarly interest in Sufism, and even converted to Islam. Several of their followers in the West shared this affinity for Islam and were among the founders of the traditionalist school of thought, including Marco Pallis, Titus Burckhardt, Frithjof Schuon, and Henry Corbin. Their transition from Christianity to Islam reflected more than a special interest in Sufism. It was a form of rejection of Western progress which, in their view, left behind a barren wasteland by ignoring the spiritual dimension in human experience.

For the traditionalists, Sufism and other Eastern traditions provided a mirror and a barometer by which to measure Western modernity's deviation from the normative ideal of human behavior. They posited metaphysical intervention, spiritualism, imagination, and elitism as the antitheses to sweeping rationalism, simplification, and mass culture. These writers viewed themselves not only as mediators between East and West but also as prophets at the gate, warning of a loss of direction in Western society with its affinity for a hedonistic lifestyle. They defined their goal as the rehabilitation of Western morality. This also explains their cosmopolitan outlook, which sought cross-cultural interaction rather than an a priori preference for Islam or any other Eastern heritage. As a result, some traditionalists, as was shown by historians Andrew Rawlinson and Mark Sedgwick, blurred the boundaries between Sufism and other cultures, evidence of their superficial embrace of Eastern traditions.92

A case in point is Frithjof Schuon's Maryamiyya order. The order included Christians and Buddhists among its members, and some of its rituals manifested an extreme syncretism, deviating from basic shariʿa instructions. Schuon was known to permit his followers to absent themselves from Friday prayers, and he kept a picture of the Virgin Mary in his room, claiming that she had been revealed to him in a dream. Other orders identified Sufism with universal wisdom rather than with Islam, claimed a direct link with Jesus and Muhammad, or appointed a woman as their head. See, for example, Sedgwick, Against, 142–77, 267–68; Andrew Rawlinson, “A History of Western Sufism,” Diskus 1 (1993): 45–83, http/www.uni-marburg.de/religionswissenscaft/journal/discus/rawlinson.htm (accessed 8 August 2005); Marcia Hermansen, “Hybrid Identity Formations in Muslim America: The Case of American Sufi Movements,” Muslim World 90 (Spring 2000): 158–97; Elizabeth Sirriyeh, “Sufi Thought and its Reconstruction,” in Islamic Thought in the Twentieth Century, ed. Shua Taji-Farouki and Bashir M. Nafi (London: I. B. Tauris, 2004), 122–23; Sufism in the West, ed. Jamal Malik and John Hinnells (London: Routledge, 2006).

Author's Note: The research for this article was supported by the Israel Science Foundation (Grant 978.03). The author thanks the anonymous readers for their useful suggestions. Thanks are also due to Professors Mark Sedgwick, Ian Netton, Anna Baldinetti, Sarah Sviri, and Haggai Erlich.