Enacting Mysticism in the World: Practical Sufism in the Tariqa Karkariyya and Alawiyya

Abstract

In this article, I will touch on the ethical and moral possibilities of mysticism. On the one hand, I discuss the kinds of ethical work required to open and cultivate experiences of the divine. On the other hand, I look at how those experiences of the divine create new opportunities for kinds of ethical relationships to oneself, to others, and to the divine. In doing so, I connect the practices of asceticism—zuhd—with the types of experience characteristic of Sufi mysticism through the concept of tarbiya. Understanding taṣawwuf as an ongoing process in which experiences of the divine are a part, not an end, helps us grasp the intransitive nature of the term taṣawwuf itself. The goal in doing so is to think through what an ‘inner-worldly’ mysticism might look like—a category noticeably absent from Weber’s analysis. Part of its absence, I would suggest, is due to the fact that it does not map onto the passive–active distinction between mysticism and asceticism he tends to draw. But rather than merely critique Weber’s model, which, of course, is grounded in ideal types, and therefore nothing ever fits solely into one of his categories, my goal is to consider what an active inner-worldly mysticism might look like. In other words, what are the modes of ethical engagement and action made possible by those experiences which are considered to be direct experiences of the divine and how are those direct experiences in turn made possible by different kinds of ethical work? In this article, I will consider each of these in relation to two Sufi orders based on my fieldwork in Morocco—the Karkariyya and the Alawiyya. These are two closely related orders that are part of the Shadhiliyya, and they share several members within their spiritual lineages, with the split dating only to the 20th century. Through an analysis and comparison of the two groups, I investigate what an active mysticism could look like in the world today and hope to create new spaces for comparative mysticism that would see mystics as deeply concerned with changing their social worlds.

1. Introduction

Sufism (al-taṣawwuf) tends to be characterized as the mystical dimension of Islam, owing to its focus on the direct experience of and union with the divine.1 As the titles of many texts and translations on Sufism show, there a tendency to equate Sufism with Islamic mysticism, especially within the field of Religious Studies. This is problematic for two reasons. Firstly, Islamic mysticism extends beyond Sufism to include, for instance, certain strands of Shi’i thought and practice. Secondly, the equation of Sufism with Islamic mysticism has created a theoretical lens that often obscures many of the worldly and practical aspects of Sufism.

While the influence of the focus on Sufism as mysticism may have different intellectual roots, the emphasis on direct experience and the attempts by individuals to articulate these ineffable experiences, often in poetry, led many scholars to see parallels with mystics in other traditions. There have been many attempts to analyze, describe, and define mysticism as a comparative category, or as a singular phenomenon that exists within or alongside a given religious tradition.2 For the present purposes of this article and this journal, I begin from Max Weber’s account of mysticism, in part due to its influence in the academic study of religion but also because his analysis opens up a space for thinking about a ‘practical Sufism’.

Much recent scholarship has expanded this view of Sufism by tying it to asceticism historically, as well as to intersections with modern Islamic movements, politics, and ethics.3 These insights into Sufism lend weight to an approach to a practical Sufism.4 Such insights, however, do not necessarily preclude Sufism as mysticism, but instead historicize it and help to understand its practical implications. For instance, what are the material and embodied conditions of possibility for mystical experiences and the communication of those experiences? In addition, how do those experiences lay the foundation for alternative modalities of worldly engagement, i.e., new modes of charity, of love, and of care for humanity, nature, or the world?

The goal in engaging Sufism from this perspective is to think through what an ‘inner-worldly’ mysticism might look like—a category noticeably absent from Weber’s analysis. Part of its absence, I would suggest, is because it does not map onto the passive–active distinction between mysticism and asceticism he tends to draw. But rather than merely critique Weber’s model, which of course is grounded in ideal types, and therefore nothing ever fits solely into one of his categories, my goal is to consider what an active inner-worldly mysticism might look like. In other words, what are the modes of ethical engagement and action made possible by those experiences which are considered to be direct experiences of the divine, and how are those direct experiences in turn made possible by different kinds of ethical work?

In this article I will touch on the ethical and moral possibilities of mysticism.5 On the one hand, I discuss the kinds of ethical work required to open up and cultivate experiences of the divine. On the other hand, I look at how those experiences of the divine create new opportunities for different kinds of ethical relationships with oneself, with others, and with the divine. Understanding al-taṣawwuf as an ongoing process of spiritual and ethical education (tarbiya) in which experiences of the divine are a part, not an end, helps us grasp the intransitive nature of the term al-taṣawwuf itself.

In this article, based on my fieldwork in Morocco, I will consider each of these in relation to two Sufi orders—the Karkariyya and the Alawiyya. These are two closely related orders that are part of the Shadhiliyya and they share several members of the same silsila, with the split dating only to the 20th century. Through an analysis and comparison of the two groups, I investigate what an active mysticism could look like in the world today and hope to create new spaces for comparative mysticism that would see mystics as deeply concerned with changing their social worlds. I will then conclude with a few points of consideration, as they relate to the topics of comparison: gift and experience, neoliberalism, and worldliness.

2. Weber’s Mysticism

One of the lasting impacts of Weber’s analysis of religion has been the perpetual presence of a series of oppositions which has been used to define mysticism. Weber’s analysis in The Protestant Ethic famously differentiated asceticism and mysticism, primarily through the opposition of activity—asceticism—and passivity—mysticism. This opposition was formulated in the ideas of the mystic as vessel and the ascetic as tool. Where activity does enter into Weber’s considerations of mysticism, he also tends to draw the distinction between activity as a goal in itself for ascetics and activity as a means to an end for the mystic. Finally, in its classic formulation, Weber’s analysis presents a four-fold typology of inner-worldly and other-worldly asceticism and mysticism.

Inner-worldly asceticism, exemplified by Protestant Christianity for Weber, emphasized the idea that there was religious value to be found in the actions and duties of everyday life. One did not need to withdraw from the world, hence the inner-worldly, yet one did not attach value directly to the worldly activities (and products) themselves, hence the asceticism. As such, the activity involved has a necessary effect on the social, economic, and/or political world. Other-worldly asceticism, on the other hand, reflected withdrawal from the world along with a devaluation of the world, but with an emphasis on ascetic practice and activity that transformed the individual. This was exemplified in the monastic life. In both cases, however, the ascetic rejects the value of the world.

Other-worldly mysticism not only withdraws from the world; it also seeks to flee from the world, i.e., to transcend the world. However, because this transcendence comes through a mystical union with the divine, it is not something achieved or accomplished by the mystic. There is therefore a passivity to other-worldly mysticism. But what would an inner-worldly mysticism entail? As mysticism, it would continue to seek this transcendence and to acquire the knowledge that accompanies the mystical union. But as inner-worldly, it would see religious value in the actions and duties of everyday life, and it would have an impact on the social, economic, and/or political world. The world would become a means to and place of transcendence, as well as where that knowledge derived from mystical union with the divine might inform and intersect the duties of that daily life.

While Weber’s analysis seems to suggest that, due to its passivity, inner-worldly mysticism would result in mere acquiescence to the social and political—a view that has tended to inform perspectives of Sufis as quietist and apolitical—Sufism provides a venue exploring what this inner-worldly mysticism might look like as something more than acceptance of social conditions. One reason for this, it is important to highlight, has to do with Sufism’s grounding in Islamic traditions that tend to critique withdrawal from society and to endorse the pursuit of justice against oppression and tyranny.6 Therefore, in viewing Sufism as practical, we can also begin to shed light on alternative manifestations of mysticism more broadly.7

3. Practical Sufism

Rather than attempting a definition that risks essentializing and reducing Sufism, I will consider it in three senses. Firstly, I discuss it as an emic term used within the tradition, secondly as an etic term developed by scholars, and finally through the lens of practical Sufism as presented by Murata and Chittick in their book Vision of Islam.

Sufism as an emic term—al-taṣawwuf—has considerable history within the Islamic sciences and for much of Islamic history was taught as a key component of the curriculum of Islamic education and was considered a necessary internal complement to legal studies (fiqh) dealing with the external dimensions of behavior. The integral role of Sufism in Islamic education is succinctly captured in an aphorism I encountered throughout my fieldwork that is attributed to Imam Malik: “Whosoever practices legal discernment and not Sufism will stray from the right path; whosoever practices Sufism and not legal discernment will commit heresy; and, whosoever unites the two will achieve certainty”.

Seen in this light, the historian Nile Green approaches “Sufism as a powerful tradition of Muslim knowledge and practice bringing proximity to or mediation with God and believed to have been handed down from the Prophet Muhammad through the saintly successors who followed him”.8 From a historical perspective, this definition links Sufism with the normative historical traditions of Islam, suggesting for Green that it is better to speak of ‘Sufi Islam’ instead of ‘Sufism’. As this history goes in its bare form, during the ninth century in Iraq and in Khorosan, in the context of multiple religious and political disputes, several early Sufi figures emerged who drew on the Quran and traditions of the Prophet to produce intellectual and textual resources that would later be systematized. In the process, Sufism (taṣawwuf) came to mean ‘a distinct method of acquiring knowledge’. Over time, these methods became increasingly formalized and individuals who developed and taught these methods began to acquire disciples. This, in turn, led to the emergence of the Sufi order (ṭarīqa), its name literally meaning ‘path’. Thus, the ṭarīqa referred both to the ‘path’, or the specific method followed, and to the ‘brotherhood’, or the form of social organization. These brotherhoods, as social institutions, were integral to the spread of Islam in its global context, gradually acquiring significant influence and material wealth in certain locations. As they acquired more influence, they became increasingly integrated with social and political structures, playing important roles in trading routes, functioning as social and political critics, and directly advising leadership figures. With this accumulated influence, the brotherhood became a source of authority, forming part of a process of ‘sanctification’.

These brotherhoods were named after figures who became known as ‘friends of God’ (awliyāʾ Allah, sing. walī Allah) for their proximity to and relationship with the divine. This proximity was manifest, in part, through the performance of miraculous deeds (karamāt), the possession of spiritual power (baraka), ecstatic states (ahwāl, sing. hāl), and spiritual genealogy (silsila). Accounts of these ‘friends of God’ were recorded in biographical dictionaries and formed an important component of the disciple’s education. Though the precise relationship between Sufi and saint (walī Allah) is not coextensive, the ideal Sufi and the saint shared a number of these characteristics. Consequently, the veneration of saints was incorporated into many localized forms of Sufism in the form of the visitation of shrines (ziyāra), giving rise to the construction of shrines that operated as nodes in a global network of pilgrimage.

While each Sufi tariqa constitutes a distinct methodology with its own stages and practices, one which is not necessarily fixed but undergoes reform and renewal, they tend to share common practices. The program of exercises includes, in addition to the basic strictures of the Islamic tradition such as prayer (salāt), supererogatory prayers (such as a night prayer), repeated invocations of divine names or phrases (dhikr), spiritual audition and the performance of poetry (samaʿ), pledge of allegiance to a master (bayʿa), and collective rituals of rhythmic movement and chanting (ḥaḍra). Other practices, such as meditation retreats (khalwa) or forms of self-mortification, were incorporated into some methodologies but not others. Underlying these practices was an ethical program that involved the cultivation of virtues (iḥsān) through the practice of formal rules of etiquette and comportment (adab). Al-taṣawwuf as a system of knowledge and practice therefore has a clear lineage within Islamic traditions and though it has been considered to test the boundaries of legitimate knowledge and practice, it has nevertheless been an integral component of Islamic history.

Sufism as an etic term applied by scholars developed largely in the colonial context of South Asia to describe the apparently syncretic traditions, beliefs, and practices of local populations. Encompassing practices like the veneration of saints, the visitation of shrines, musical performances and concerts, and other mystical, devotional, or ‘magical’ practices, ‘Sufism’ came to be seen as the result of external influences and therefore as distinct from a text-based Islamic ‘orthodoxy’.9 Describing the emergence of the term, scholar of religion Carl Ernst writes the following:

Thus the term ‘Sufi-ism’ was invented at the end of the eighteenth century, as an appropriation of ‘Oriental’ culture that Europeans found attractive. British colonial officials … thus maintained a double attitude toward Sufism: in its literary classics … [it was] admired, but its contemporary manifestations were considered corrupt and degenerate in relation to what was perceived as orthodox Islam. Thus the essential feature of the definitions of Sufism that appeared at this time was the insistence that Sufism had no intrinsic relation with the faith of Islam.10

The application of the term of Sufism therefore generated an ambivalence regarding the term that has enabled it to be redeployed in within academic and political discourses in manifold ways.

On the one hand, it situated Sufism outside of Islam as a catch-all category for non-normative practices that was readily equated with a ‘folk religion’, which carried normative and evaluative judgments regarding Sufi practice. On the other hand, the term ‘Sufism’ created an ‘elite’ textual form of Sufism derived from Persian origins (again outside of Islam, but this time with positive valuations). This developed into a secondary two-tier model of ‘classical Sufism’ and ‘popular Sufism’, the former associated with institutions of Sufi orders and the literatures of famous poets like Rumi and Attar, and the latter associated with the unorganized practices and beliefs of the illiterate masses. Using textual, historical, and phenomenological methods, Sufism was approached as mysticism with a focus on the personalities and writings of the ‘classical’ period.11 According to this narrative, this mystical tradition subsequently devolved into ‘popular Sufism’ as it spread in the 14th century.

However, as historian of religion Vincent Cornell observes, “One of the most enduring, but least helpful, concepts in Islamic Studies is ‘popular Sufism’.”12 Historical studies certainly demonstrate a popularization of Sufism in the late medieval and early modern period (14th–15th centuries) that was accompanied by the rise of spiritual masters who came from outside the ranks of the learned elites. Historian Adam Sabra notes, in this regard, that

In particular, Sufism’s emphasis on a tradition of oral teaching of spiritual mysteries made it natural that great teachers might inspire students far more learned in the Islamic canon than they. But in the fifteenth century, this inversion of spiritual leadership became increasingly common and the number of local saints lacking formal education grew considerably.13

In bringing knowledge to the people by translating and vernacularizing discourses and concepts, the inflection of these illiterate Sufi masters certainly effected an important historical transformation, but they still taught using the methods of oral transmission and education that had always been a part of Islamic education. This popularization provided greater access for the masses, but more significantly, it provided a route for lower classes to attain status and authority outside the educational system. Perhaps it was this rise in the status of lower classes via the platform of Sufism that spawned a host of critiques in the modern period leading to the displacement of Sufi authorities and the devaluation of Sufi forms of practice and knowledge.

The ‘Orientalist’ approach was exacerbated by certain strands of modern Islamic thought that were critical of and hostile to Sufism. While critiques of Sufism were not new to the modern period, many Muslims scholars (including some practicing Sufis themselves) increasingly labeled certain types of practices as illegitimate innovations (bidʿa).14 Specifically, practices associated with the visitation and worshiping of saints are linked to idolatry (shirk), while other esoteric practices related to astrology or healing are labeled sorcery (sihr); all of these continue to come under heavy scrutiny. Framed around the need for reform, many internal critiques used the criticism of practices to challenge the embedded authority of many Sufi orders, especially in the Ottoman Empire. This critique was supplemented by emergent reformist movements, and eventually modernist thinkers who sought to reclaim Islam as a rational religion by criticizing the excessive ritualism, emotionality, and submissiveness (all read as irrational and non-modern) of Sufism.15 Through these parallel and related processes of internal and external critique, Sufism was gradually excised from its prominent place in Muslim education and society, turning it into a remnant of the past or survival of traditional society.16 In this framework, Sufism as an object of study in anthropology was framed as folk or popular religion to distinguish it from the proper Islamic sciences.

It is within this context that I highlight the continued presence of a practical Sufism that runs through all these different manifestations and perceptions of Sufism. In the formative stages, individuals sought to develop and exercise the practices that would come to define later Sufi groups. In the ‘classical’ period, the high literature was not simply the product of individual brilliance; rather, the experiences and discourses themselves were related to the practices and communities within which those individuals operated. In other words, their articulation and reception were dependent upon sensibilities and relationships developed in and through the practical components of Sufi tarbiya. In the so-called ‘popular’ period, Sufi orders and leaders took on increasingly significant social and political roles, and as a result they operated as moral exemplars, educators, and critics at all levels of society.

Murata and Chittick write in Vision of Islam, “As an indigenous term, it avoids connotations of the English words that have been proposed as its equivalent; chief among these, as mentioned earlier, is mysticism, which we consider particularly inappropriate”.17 The authors note that the term ‘mysticism’ approximates the use of the term ‘unveiling’ (kashf) that is deployed within Muslim discourses, but nevertheless remain hesitant to deploy the term ‘mysticism’.18 While these concerns are warranted based on the history of scholarship, one might also wonder if the inability of the term ‘mysticism’ to capture the nuances of Sufism (al-taṣawwuf) could provide an impetus to reflect on the term itself. Rather than simply abandoning it, we can use an exploration of Sufism to develop a more robust conception of mysticism. One way to do this would be through a discussion of practical Sufism, which may point us toward a better sense of ‘inner-worldly mysticism’.

Practical Sufism is closely linked to the understanding of Sufism as the cultivation and embodiment of iḥsān, that is, beautiful character and conduct.19 The goal of Sufism in this practical sense is therefore not only a union with the divine but also the embodiment of the qualities of God and the virtues of the Prophet Muhammad as exemplified in the sunna. This embodiment of beautiful character and conduct involves the refinement and alignment of inner and outer dimensions of the self such that the internal dispositions, sensibilities, and forms of knowledge harmonize with external conduct throughout one’s life.20 Barbara Metcalf succinctly captures this idea when she writes, “Knowing, doing, and being are inescapably one”.21 Practical Sufism highlights the formulations of virtue, character, and piety as understood, as well as the ensembles of practices used in their cultivation by drawing attention to the programs of ethical development (minhāj al-tarbiya) that work on the individual in their intersecting social and spiritual trajectories. Finally, it brings into relief the constitutive social relationships that are beneficial to the development of beautiful conduct and character (iḥsān) and the attainment of direct experiences of the divine. These formative social relationships include the master–disciple relationship and companionship among disciples (ṣuḥba).

The lens of practical Sufism does not reject the elements of Sufism that have been captured by discussion of Sufism as mysticism; rather, it invites us to consider elements outside the narrow range of possibility offered by a focus on mysticism as ‘other-worldly’. However, rather than rejecting mysticism as inadequate, we may utilize these observations to develop a more robust conception of mysticism that may provide new avenues for comparison across traditions. In short, practical Sufism could be seen as a form of inner-worldly mysticism in which, although value is not placed on this world in-itself, the world nevertheless becomes the site for the cultivation and performance of those character traits, ethical sensibilities, and social relationships that facilitate the higher goals of union with the divine, potentially both in this life and in the next.

4. The Karkariyya

The Karkariyya is a modern branch of the Shadhiliyya, a global Sufi order with origins in North Africa but with a following throughout the world The Karkariyya order was founded under the spiritual leadership of Shaykh Muhammad Fawzi al-Karkari (b. 1976), around 2006, in the northern Moroccan town of al-Aroui, where its main lodge (zāwiya) is located. They are known for their multi-colored patchwork robes (muraqqaʿa) and their active social media presence, which includes the publication of disciples’ narrations of visionary experiences (mushahadāt). The group has a large international following, with lodges in Europe and the U.S., as well as growing followings in West Africa and the Middle East.

Visionary experiences of the divine light (nūr) are at the center of this group’s approach to Sufism. Shaykh Fawzi is often quoted as saying, “Ours is an order of visions—those who do not see are not my disciples and I am not their shaykh”. Disciples are opened up to these experiences by taking the initiation with Shaykh Fawzi (bayʿa), who transmits the divine light directly to the disciples. The disciples are then encouraged and instructed to cultivate this seed of divine light through an array of exercises like dhikr and ḫaḍra, and eventually in the khalwa. This regime of disciplinary exercises (minhāj al-tarbiya), while aimed at expanding the horizons of visionary experiences, also has a deep ethical component. In short, although the aim is ultimately enlightenment (tanwīr), that enlightenment is dependent upon an underlying and ongoing process of tarbiya. Enlightenment (tanwīr) is then connected directly to the underlying concept of iḥsān, understood as worshiping God ‘as if’ one sees God. And, as noted previously, the cultivation of iḥsān involves not just the visionary experience, but the refinement of beautiful character and conduct, making the process of ‘learning to see’ into a comprehensive program.

This tarbiya is overseen closely by the shaykh as well as other disciples, so both the master–disciple relationship and relationships to other disciples play key roles as well. In other words, it is not entirely an individual process, but one that is deeply entrenched in a web of social relationships broadly described under the heading of companionship (ṣuhba). There are different modalities of this companionship and distinct modes of conduct (adab) authorized within each context, but cultivating these relationships and learning how to comport oneself in these contexts is an integral component of the tarbiya.

The visions themselves are most often experienced during the individual spiritual retreat (khalwa), or during the performance of dhikr and/or ḫaḍra. The khalwa generally involves isolation in a small room for a period of three to five days, during which time the disciple performs a set of vocal and other exercises instructed by the shaykh. Afterward, the disciple will report to and discuss with the shaykh aspects of the experience, and he will work with them to interpret their meaning, significance, or relevance to the individual disciple. As disciples progress, they often become specialists in certain forms of esoteric knowledge derived from the experiences and are therefore able to bring back and share knowledge in these domains. Thus, the progress and expansion of knowledge accompanying these experiences is a collective process as disciples work with their shaykh and each other to comprehend and interpret those experiences. Once some of this interpretation and making-sense of the experiences has taken place, disciples are given the opportunity to narrate their experiences for video testimonials posted on the order’s website and other social media outlets. The depth and specificity of these testimonials vary widely, but they serve two important functions. On the one hand, they provide an opportunity for the disciple to learn to speak properly about their experiences, i.e., a way to consolidate and articulate the layers of meaning and interpretation accumulated through discussion with the shaykh. On the other hand, they operate as a form of social outreach (daʿwa), and/or publicity, in which these testimonials operate as evidence of Shaykh Fawzi’s spiritual status and as an invitation to others to join.

The capacity to see, however, is not necessarily a given. While Shaykh Fawzi does ‘gift’ the seed of the divine light at the time of initiation, it is incumbent upon the disciple to learn to see in a fuller sense. This learning to see involves the interpretive process as well as the required preparatory work corresponding to the right set of characteristics (bodily, perceptually, conceptually) that would make those experiences possible. At a discursive level, this involves being taught the vocal exercises, how to speak about things encountered in the visions, and the varieties of interpretive frameworks grounded in Islamic tradition broadly and the Karkariyya specifically. At the embodied level, it involves being able to endure all the difficulties imposed by the spiritual retreat (e.g., lack of food or water for extended periods of time), as well as the endurance required in many of the ritual performances. These discursive and bodily capacities are developed over time under the guidance of the shaykh through an ensemble of technologies of the self that form the disciple into a subject capable of experiencing, interpreting, and speaking about visions of the divine light. Such a process amounts to the ethical formation of the subject, as it entails the recalibration of relationships to oneself, to others, and to the divine. This process is continued over time, as the perceptual and affective sensibilities of the disciple are sedimented in and through the conceptual guidance of the shaykh. Through these processes, one’s character is also transformed into that of a pious subject, one which is now capable of new modes of relationships, care, and love (e.g., love of others, love of the divine, or love of the Prophet Muhammad). As new avenues for ethical relationships open, so too do the possibilities of ethical action.22

Note that, within this analytic framework, the new modes of ethical work may not be new types of action; however, the way in which and the reasons for which they are performed may make them new forms of ethical action. For example, Islamic tradition encourages charitable giving (ṣadaqa). Yet, there are many different ways to perform this injunction. One can give visibly or anonymously; one could give help, or one could give money. Thus, the moral action of ṣadaqa may be enacted in many different ways, each of which is related to distinctive ethical relationships between oneself and others.

The point in this discussion is twofold. Firstly, in relation to the experiences, we see that there is indeed an active program of technologies of the self, one aimed at cultivating and enhancing the disciples’ capacities in relation to these experiences. Discourse, one’s body, companions, spaces, and relationships will play critical roles in this process of learning to see, making experience of the ‘other-worldly’ intertwined with ‘inner-worldly’ engagements. Secondly, this process of learning to see does not simply facilitate other worldly experiences; rather, it makes possible new forms of action in the world, both social and political.

During my fieldwork with the Karkariyya, I witnessed varieties of everyday ethical action among the disciples and between the disciples and local community. Opening the zāwiya to people for food each week, distributing food during Ramadan and other holidays, and little acts of kindness with children in the neighborhood all exemplified the ethos of hospitality and generosity embodied within Muslim ethical life and practiced by Sufi orders for centuries.23 Although some of these ethical actions were organized during the period of my fieldwork in 2017–2018, the following years saw more explicit and organized forms of social action conducted by the Karkariyya. These actions culminated in Shaykh Fawzi being awarded the ‘Africanity Award’ by the UN for the order’s efforts.24 These organized social welfare activities show that even in a highly mystical order that may ordinarily be analyzed through its theoretical dimensions, these sorts of practical components still run through as a constitutive thread.25

For example, in 2022, the Karkariyya organized a convoy of health services with different specialists at their headquarters. The event provided services to around 2600 residents of the local community.26 In addition, they funded and helped complete the building of two wells, for villages in Togo and Cameroon.27 In 2020 and 2021, disciples collectively organized an initiative to donate blood at the local hospital.28 In 2019, they collectively organized the distribution of foodstuffs and other supplies to the local community.29 They have been especially active in Africa, providing an array of services and outreach activities in multiple African nations.30

While these are all targeted examples of social action aimed at local communities, they bring into relief the ethical and moral concerns of the Karkariyya. Such areas of worldly concern are not epiphenomenal or irrelevant to the underlying goals of enlightenment (tanwīr); rather, they are the product of and means to cultivating the pious subject who is capable of those visions. Moreover, for some of the disciples, the visionary experiences have been inspirations for pursuing their own individual charitable activities. For instance, one disciple described how, after an experience and subsequent consultations with the shaykh, he opened up a food kitchen upon his return to Europe. There remains much more work like this that could be taken up on ‘visions as inspiration’, but what is clear is that for the Karkariyya, these modes of social engagement are intertwined with striving for experience and knowledge of the divine.

Finally, we can consider some of the political components. This is not the space for a thorough analysis of the political dimensions, and it is important to note that there is not an explicit political stance or ideology espoused by the Karkariyya. However, the relation between religion and politics in Morocco, especially the role of Sufism in the state’s strategies of religious reform, spiritual security, and spiritual diplomacy make it difficult to operate in a completely apolitical fashion. Thus, statements in support of the King and pledges of loyalty to him, while clearly expressing a political ascent to his legitimacy as commander of the faithful (amīr al-muʾminīn) that can be quite complex from an international perspective, nonetheless constitute a baseline of performative politics in Morocco. One area of political debate that the Karkariyya have weighed in on, however, has been Morocco’s claim to sovereignty of the Western Sahara. For example, disciples participated in demonstrations, holding signs in support of Morocco’s claim, and more recently, Shaykh Fawzi performed his pilgrimage (siyāḫa) to a Western Saharan town. Through these actions, the Karkariyya have demonstrated a willingness to support a specific political position that is highly contested on the international stage.

Attempting to derive a political or social vision from these actions is certainly difficult, and it is not clear that such a fully-formed vision operates within the Karkariyya. Rather, there seems to be a ground-up approach to social reform, in which the focus is on the spiritual and ethical development of the individual as a precursor to social reform. Nevertheless, in this approach, the disciples are certainly not passive vessels detached from worldly activities; on the contrary, they are engaged in a host of activities that inform their everyday lives while also expanding horizons for experiences of the divine. By comparison, the next group—the Alawiyya—has a more explicit and comprehensive vision of social reform and social action, though they also retain the primary concern for love of the divine.

5. Alawiyya

In the northern Moroccan city of Nador, I sat with the head of the Shaykh al-Alawi Association for the Revival of Sufi Heritage, discussing a recent set of charitable activities, such as providing meals for a few dozen local families. He began to speak about the concept of charity—ṣadaqa—and recounted a reported hadith in which residents in Medina asked the Prophet about how they, as poor members of society, might give ṣadaqa. The Prophet replied, “ṣadaqa is a smile or kind words to your friend” (paraphrasing a hadith to which I will return later). As we sat together, I asked about the choices involved in some of the group’s activities, which included not only food distribution, but also vocational training and social outreach to young women, and he replied, “Today is May 16, International Day of Living Together in Peace that our Sheikh—Khalid bin Tunis—established in the UN. As for ṣadaqa, it is about teaching kindness and proper conduct and comportment (adab) not just helping and giving things … it is a lesson for the day of peace that is a part of [Sheikh Khalid’s] vision of social reform and renewal (tajdīd) for Sufism … And for us, giving these lessons is our ṣadaqa and part of our learning (tarbiya diyali) because service of humanity is the door to love of Allah”.

The previous anecdote is from my eighteen months of fieldwork in Morocco with a variety of Sufi-sponsored charity organizations. In this case, the initiative was one of several activities organized as part of Shaykh Khalid bin Tunis’s vision of social reform. Shaykh Khalid is the leader of the ṭarīqa Alawiyya, a branch of the Shadhiliyya, which emerged in the early twentieth century under the leadership of Shaykh Ahmad al-Alawi in northern Algeria. In this section, I will begin by outlining the theoretical aspects of Shaykh Khalid’s vision in order to show how he performs the role of social critic (nāṣiḥ) that is characteristic of Maghribi Sufism.31 I will then discuss some of the means for implementing that vision with a focus on the activities that aim to bring the zāwiya out into the world, and even, in the words of one of my interlocutors, ‘to bring the zāwiya into the UN’.32 At the center of this socially engaged spirituality is a focus on ethical education (tarbiya), in which virtues traditionally cultivated as part of Sufi instruction are transposed onto a civic education aimed at a general population.33

Shaykh Khalid, in his writings and speeches, provides a sharp critique of modern society as well as a vision of social reform. Shaykh Khalid criticizes contemporary society for what he calls its pyramidal structure, which privileges competition, duality, and egoism. As a substitute for this pyramid, he proposes a model of social life that he calls the ‘circle of virtues and goodness’ (dāʾirat al-faḍāʾil wa al-jūd). In his recent work entitled Islam and the West, he writes the following:

Our present world is built on a pyramidal order based on the confrontation between the peak, formed by the elite who distribute power and goods, and the base fated to be without wealth, which inevitably leads to disparity and conflict. As a replacement for the pyramidal order, the circle of virtues and quality is based on the unity of humanity [and] exchanges corrosive competition for cohesive cooperation.34

In continuing his criticism, he turns the modernist critique of traditional authority on its head, arguing that the ‘modern’ pyramidal structure produces blind obedience, while the circular model has the capacity to awaken individuals to their responsibility as members of a collective. In December 2018, I attended a conference entitled ‘Living Together in Peace’, which was held in southern Spain. In one of his lectures, Shaykh Khalid argued that “To find [our] place in the hierarchical society that does not accept any questioning… leads us to truncate our freedom of judgment and conscience”.35 Shaykh Khalid is providing a social critique in which contemporary society constrains individual freedom, encourages unthinking obedience, and causes people to sacrifice moral values. To overcome this moral bankruptcy, he posits the need for a transformation from the pyramid to the circle, which entails a thorough reformation of values, and for Shaykh Khalid these values can be excavated from Sufism and reworked for a general audience.

For example, central to this transformation is an elimination of egoism, though this is not presented in the mystical sense of annihilation of the self (fanāʾ). Instead, the idea is to overcome one’s self interest by placing oneself in the service of others, which will, in turn, ‘feedback’ to diminish the ego and cultivate virtuous piety (iḥsān).36 In other words, rather than retreating into oneself to eliminate the ego (nafs), one should actively engage the world in order to progress on the spiritual path. Shaykh Khalid makes this point when he comments that “To the individuals, increasing in number, who are interested in spirituality, I would say: Care not about spirituality but about humanity!”.37 Thus, Shaykh Khalid’s critique is a call for a socially engaged Sufism in which Sufi communities are vehicles for both individual and social development. To accomplish this, Sufis must reassert their role as ethical exemplars and educators by establishing formal associations and an applied curriculum adapted to contemporary contexts.38

Shaykh Khalid calls this method of education tarbiyat al-yaqẓa (training of consciousness). Derived from the circle of virtues and quality, the goal of the tarbiyyat al-yaqẓa as an applied method of ethical education is to cultivate an intention that orients individuals in their daily lives to justice and virtuous piety. Shaykh Khalid writes in Islam and the West that

Insofar as God is present in ourselves, He commands us to justice and virtuous piety, helping us to realize the attribute of consciousness in every act, as opposed to being driven by instinct or habit. This relates to the act of reflection in every action, making the person generous, proximate, and compassionate toward all of creation … the seeker of iḥsān is a servant of the other.39

As he explains, this seeker of iḥsān is none other than one traveling the Sufi path because Sufism is framed as the maqām of iḥsān. In short, in the process of generalizing a path for social reform through education, Shaykh Khalid transposes the Sufi tarbiya, understood as the embodiment of iḥsān, onto a universal method of ethical education called tarbiyyat al- yaqẓa.

Because service to society is central, one point I want to highlight in an effort to rethink charity in Sufi contexts is that the performance of charity is not the expression of fully formed virtues that have been developed beforehand in isolation.40 Rather, engagement with society through the performance of a variety of forms of charity is a means for forming those character traits.41 In order to provide this ethical education for his own disciples and implement the vision of social reform, a number of formal mechanisms and techniques are required, and it is by adapting both the curriculum and organizational structure of the ṭarīqa that Shaykh Khalid posits himself as a mujaddid. I turn now to some of the ways in which the Alawiyya provide possibilities for the performance and cultivation of iḥsān as public piety.

One of the first ways in which Shaykh Khalid sought to implement this vision of a socially conscious spirituality was through the creation of the Muslim Scouts of France in 1991. The scouting movement provides opportunities for young men and women to progress individually in successive stages through Islam, Iman, and Ihsan, while learning the civic values of democracy and human rights—and wilderness skills.

Another formal institution established by Shaykh Khalid is the Association International de Shaykh Alawi (AISA), a non-governmental organization based in France which now has branches in multiple European and North African nations. The association based in Morocco mentioned at the beginning is loosely affiliated with this international organization, though certain laws in Morocco make this relationship problematic. It was officially registered in 2001 in France, and in 2014, it was recognized as an official NGO as part of the UN Department of Social and Economic Affairs with the specific foci of women’s rights, poverty, and youth education. One of its most significant achievements, an initiative to make May 16th the ‘International Day of Living Together in Peace’, was adopted unanimously by the UN in 2017. These efforts to lobby the UN on behalf of a Sufi order reflect not only an extension of Shaykh Khalid’s vision of ‘bringing the zāwiya into the world’, but also a direct engagement with international politics. As a brief aside here, this proposal was in fact initially rejected by the head of the UN Alliance of Civilizations (UN-AC), Nasser al-Nasser, a representative from Qatar, who said that “The UN-AC does not give support to Sufi movements”.

Finally, AISA has created what it calls ‘Houses of Peace’ to implement its program of ‘pedagogies of peace’. As an application of the tarbiyyat al-yaqaẓa, ‘pedagogies of peace’ refers to “The process of acquiring values and knowledge, and developing the attitudes, skills, and behaviors to live in harmony with oneself, with others, and with the natural environment”.42 It is precisely in this development of attitudes, skills, and behaviors that Sufism as an embodied ethical tradition plays a pivotal role, because it provides a model for those attitudes and behaviors in the form of akhlāq and adab. The adab and akhlāq embodied in Sufi piety underpin sets of social and spiritual relationships, as well as the modes of interaction that facilitate not only companionship (ṣuḥba) among disciples, but also sociability and civility.43

One young man responsible for developing this curriculum such that it can be taught to educators and deployed in the general population is Ali, a college student in his early twenties, who is in charge of public relations for AISA. For him, this type of education is based on the principles of sincerity, admiration, and fellowship. His point is that the search for knowledge and the desire to know the world ought to stem from a feeling of awe regarding the greatness of all Creation, and it is precisely this attitude that is lacking in contemporary education. Education in this sense is not just a question of knowledge but of learning to embody and perform attitudes and affective dispositions in daily life. He goes on to say, “The zāwiya used to play this role. It was a center of education, in the sense of taʿlīm, and in the sense of tarbiyya. However, the zāwiya has lost its function, and is now just a place of doing dhikr. This is why we must bring the zāwiya out into the world in order to revive its educational role”.44 I then asked him how he went about formulating this value-based education, and he gave an example that he uses during his workshops:

For example, we are teaching young children how to count … I have a basket of seven apples and we are with ten children. How are we going to know how to share with each other? Then the child learns to count, but arithmetic is connected to one of the virtues. The virtue of sharing, of sharing righteously. And from a young age, the moment such a skill is engraved in memory, it is also married with a sense of justice.

Providing this type of education for others is not performed only with an eye toward social justice, that is, working for the disempowered and vulnerable members of society. It is also a way for disciples to work on themselves as servants of others, that is, to hone the character traits that accompany the attainment and performance of iḥsān. Thus, a number of socially engaged practices form the backbone of Shaykh Khalid’s minhaj al-tarbiyya, and among the Alawiyya disciples I worked with, the concept of ṣadaqa captures this diversity of practice. In describing the practice of ṣadaqa, the most commonly cited answer paraphrases a hadith: “Your smile to your brother is a charitable act for you. Your commanding the right and forbidding the wrong is a charitable act for you …” One of the points of my interlocutors is that giving, in the sense of handouts, is insufficient. What is needed is a holistic educational program that does not merely produce a productive citizen, but a moral citizen whose skills, values, and attitudes form the basis of a just society. One of the aims of the formalization of associations is to provide an array of opportunities to perform social services for others while also cultivating a relationship to oneself as a servant of the other. And as Allal put it, “Service to humanity is a door to the love of Allah”.

In sum, the case of the Alawiyya demonstrates two ideas related to Sufism: education, and charity in contemporary society. The first, which emerges from a comparative study of Sufi communities in Morocco, posits that some are attempting to revive their roles as ethical exemplars and educators by transposing Sufi ethical practices and values onto an educational program that can be applied to the general population. For the Alawiyya, this education is aimed at awakening a cosmopolitan consciousness that leads individuals toward great social engagement, and in its global orientation brings the zāwiya into the UN. The second idea posits that, although the performance of social services like education is connected to a desire for social justice and reform, it is also integral to the spiritual and ethical development of individuals, which is in turn framed as the cultivation of iḥsān.

6. Comparison

In analyzing the Karkariyya and the Alawiyya, I brought into relief some of the shared components, specifically the connection between tarbiya and iḥsān. With the Karkariyya, we see this connection play out through the notion of enlightenment (tanwīr), which signals visual experiences of the divine and attainment of higher forms of knowledge. However, we also noted that this enlightenment entailed the enactment of a regime of exercises, the embodiment of certain character traits, and the performance of a range of social (and at times political) actions. While it would be tempting to situate them within the classical strain of mysticism and focus solely on their experiences of the divine and the types of knowledge enfolded in those experiences; my research with them revealed not just the presence, but, more importantly, the necessity of the range of social relationship and interactions that make possible those experiences and forms of knowledge. As for the Alawiyya, I focused explicitly on their current efforts to engage in social and political activity. This does not imply that the practices and experiences so common to Sufism are left out as a concern and aim for the disciples. Rather, the Alawiyya demonstrates the capacity for a more comprehensive social vision and more contemporary modalities of social action that are organized, not around the Sufi lodge, but in and through non-governmental organizations.

While the two are distinctive manifestations of contemporary Sufism, they both share practical and worldly concerns. This is of course partly rooted in their shared spiritual genealogy as part of the Shadhiliyya. The Tariqa Shadhiliyya is a Sufi order dating back to the 13th Century CE. It takes its name from Abu al-Hasan al-Shadhili (1196–1258), who was born in the Ghumara region of Morocco and died in Humaythara, Egypt. Originating in the milieu of the western Islamic world (Andalusia and al-Maghrib), the Shadhiliyya spread through North Africa (via Tunisia) and established a firm foundation in the Middle East as one of the prominent Sufi orders of the medieval and modern Muslim world. Influences on al-Shadhili included figures in the western Islamic world such as Abu Madyan (d. 1198), Abd al-Salam bin Mashish (d. 1227), and Ibn Arabi (d. 1240). It also emerged in the political context of the Almohad revolt against the Almoravids, and therefore the emphasis of the former on the absolute unity of Allah (the principle of tawhid) became a component of al-Shadhili’s teachings, although it was filtered through Ibn Arabi’s conceptions of wahdat al-wujud (unity of existence). While influenced by his contemporaries, al-Shadhili saw himself not as merely an inheritor but as the creator of a distinctive path. In the case of al-Shadhili, this path was passed on through specific prayers and formulaic sayings whose repetition is integral to the spiritual development of the disciple. Although these core practices remain present, the attitude of continued reform embodied in al-Shadhili’s teaching and reflected in the common saying ‘A Sufi is a child of one’s time’ (al-sufi ibn waqtihi) allowed certain figures to cast themselves (or be cast by others) as ‘renewers’ or ‘reformers’, and these reform movements continue to give rise to new branches. Other prominent figures in the Shadhili lineage include Abu Abbas Al-Mursi (d. 1271), Al-Busiri (author of the famous poem al-Burda), Ibn Ata Allah al-Iskandiri (d. 1309), Ibn Abbad al-Rundi (d. 1390), Muhammad al-Jazuli (d. 1465), Ahmad Zarruq (d. 1493), Ahmad ibn Ajiba (d. 1809), Ahmad bin Idriss (d. 1837), Abd al-Qadir al-Jizairi (d. 1883), and Ahmad al-Alawi (d. 1933). The Shadhiliyya also has several branches of ‘Western Sufism’ (led by Western converts to Islam) such as the Murabitun (led by Ian Dallas, also known as Shaykh Abd al-Qadir al-Sufi), the Maryamiyya (founded by Fritjof Schuon), and Nuh Ha Mim Keller’s Shadhili group in Jordan.

Despite their shared lineage, the Karkariyya and Alawiyya display important differences, and it is precisely some of their differences that then become relevant for comparison. These differences often hinge on both how they work to engage with the world in response to the distinct conditions and affordances provided by their social and political environments. In other words, the fact that there is no fixed Sufi political ideology or singular means of social action does not mean that Sufis are politically quietist or socially disengaged. Rather they have been, and continue to be, diverse, pragmatic, and adaptable in their political and social involvement. Consequently, it is difficult to sufficiently generalize in order to compare Sufism in a broad sense with other mystical traditions, as the nuances and particularities of Sufi movements are an integral component of understanding their political and social dimensions.

In what remains, I’d like to provide a few quick thoughts on important comparative questions. Firstly, how should we treat the kinds of experience so characteristic of Sufism specifically and mysticism more generally? What might an ‘inner-worldly’ approach to mysticism add to our understanding of those experiences? Secondly, should we consider these manifestations of mysticism to be specifically modern, post-modern, or contemporary; i.e., is this inner-worldly mysticism a new phenomenon? Thirdly, how should we understand the concept of ‘the world’ as deployed within this idea of the inner-worldly, and is it possible that those within certain traditions may have different understandings of ‘the world’? How might new ways of understanding the world create alternative modes of relationship and interaction, i.e., new ethical possibilities?

7. The Gift and Experience

Mysticism has often been characterized by a mode of experience that elicits specific forms of knowledge. Consequently, experience has stood at the center of the academic study of mysticism, meaning that phenomenology has been a central methodology in the study of mystical experience (and religious experience more broadly). From Otto’s mysterium tremendum to James’ descriptive analysis of mystical experience as ineffable, transient, noetic, and passive, the mystical experience was seen to go beyond the field of possibility provided by ordinary modalities of perception and experience. Jean-Luc Marion poses a similar idea through his notion of the ‘saturated phenomenon’, a mode of givenness in which phenomena are so rich and excessive that they overflow the constraining capacities of conceptual thought and speak directly to intuition.45 More recently, in his comparative analysis of mysticism Anthony Steinbock described this through the term ‘verticality’ by writing the following:

For me, verticality evokes and signifies those dynamic vectors of experience that have a unique structure of their own, harbor their own kinds of evidence and manners of givenness, and as such are irreducible to the field of experience characterized by what I have called presentation. What is given vertically incites awe, and only as a later consequence, wonder. Modes of givenness are ‘vertical’ in the sense that they take us beyond ourselves. These modes of vertical givenness are testimony to the radical presence of ‘absolutes’ within the field of human experience.46

Thus, for Steinbock, mystical experiences have this type of verticality, one which opens up onto religious, moral, and ecological planes. More importantly for the present discussion he writes that

Rather, strictly speaking, it means that mystical experiences are not within anyone’s reach because they are not correlative to our efforts in the first place, as would be the case in the field of presentation; they are experienced as gifts. One can always strive to dispose oneself to the Holy, one can always engage in rigorous spiritual exercises and try to live a religious life in this way, but it is not a foregone conclusion that mystical experiences will come about.47

For Steinbock, as for so many others, mystical experiences are passive. The phenomena from the planes of verticality are imposed on the individual in a one-directional manner and as such are not actually perceived, for perception is always an active process, irrespective of whether it is occurring in the horizontal plane of presentation or in the vertical plane described by Steinbock. While the observation that certain phenomena and modes of givenness may exceed the common objective modes of presentation is crucial for an understanding of mystical experience, we must also recognize that this also affords new possibilities for modalities of perception itself, and that traditions have developed means for cultivating and training those modalities of perception.

To use our example here, the Karkariyya focus on learning to see God. But this seeing is not the same as, nor is it entirely different from, the seeing of everyday, objective phenomena. Learning to see the divine entails both the ability to apprehend vertical phenomena and to bring that verticality to bear on the objective phenomena of daily life. In their formulation, the vision starts as a gift, but then the individual must continue to train their capacity to see through varieties of spiritual practices, and these practices transform their perceptual capacities in an iterative process in which the ability to experience the divine comes to permeate daily life. In other words, they become ‘experienced’, and it is to this sense of experience that I’d like to turn briefly.

If we shift our attention away from experience as a singular and rare occurrence and towards experience as the cumulative weight and sedimented knowledge elements of one’s personal history, then we can also begin to think differently about the idea of mystical experience. In other words, rather than asking which aspects of experience are the same or different, or what the universal structures of mystical experience might be, we can, as Talal Asad suggests, consider the means for entering into communion with God.48 Such a comparative approach allows us to expand beyond the phenomenological account, not because that account is inaccurate, but because it gives us an incomplete understanding of mysticism as a whole. In short, we can ask more explicitly about the kinds of subjectivity necessary for and conditioned by mystical practices and experiences associated with Sufism. From a comparative perspective, such questions point toward the practices and conditions that allow for such experiences to take place.

8. Mysticism and Neoliberalism

A second comparative question is whether we should consider these manifestations of mysticism to be specifically modern, post-modern, or contemporary; i.e., is this inner-worldly mysticism a new phenomenon? In considering Sufism specifically, others have observed that some aspects of contemporary Sufism have been strongly influenced by neoliberalism, especially in the context of Morocco.49 There are multiple trajectories to this analysis, but I highlight their observation that within contemporary Morocco (and perhaps in other contexts) there is a link being made between Sufism as a mode of spiritual and ethical self-development and the social and economic development of the nation. By extension, rather than Sufism leading to a retreat from the world, it becomes a means to improving the conditions of the self and ultimately society as a whole. In placing the emphasis on the individual in this way, this framework not only ties spiritual development to economic well-being, but also places the responsibility for that development and well-being on the individual, which is a key feature of neoliberal authoritarian governance.

The relevance of this for our present discussion is then whether or not we should see the kinds of social work, charitable action, and even economic activity of groups like the Karkariyya and Alawiyya as infected and/or produced by these neoliberal pressures, or if they should be seen as extensions and adaptations of the social and economic roles that Sufi orders have played historically in Muslim societies. Put more succinctly, are these orders in some sense merely a product of the kinds of modernization described by Weber in which religion becomes ‘protestantized’? My brief response to this is that while there are certainly aspects of this modernization process at play, there is not necessarily the accompanying disenchantment and rationalization of the world. As a result, one does not end up with a disenchanted religiosity; rather, we see an ‘enchanted modern’ to use Lara Deeb’s useful phrase. However, to what degree is this ‘enchanted modern’ distinct from earlier manifestations of Sufism? This discussion therefore becomes a historical one and in thinking through this idea of inner-worldly mysticism as part of a comparative approach, it opens up an important historical dimension to the analysis.

In the case of Sufism in Morocco, as well as elsewhere, there is well-documented historical evidence for the social and economic roles of Sufi orders. In the social domain, they acted as educators, judges, mediators, and political advisors, in addition to providing hostels and sources of food. In the economic domain, Sufi lodges and shrines served as key nodes along trade and pilgrimage routes; Sufi orders often amassed large land and real estate holdings through the waqf (charitable endowment), and they helped to create markets for different goods. There has of course been a shift in how they are able to perform these functions, and in some ways the attention has shifted away from the Sufi order, looking to the individual to engage in these types of social and economic activities, but there is clear evidence that the impetus to engage in that type of work has long been present within Sufism. This leads to two important points. Firstly, Sufism fundamentally challenges the divide between inner and other-worldly mysticism, and it has done so for much of its existence as a tradition. Secondly, from a comparative perspective, it is important to consider how different mystical traditions situate themselves historically within their own traditions. Some may see a move to inner-worldly activity as a radical shift with respect to their predecessors, while others may see it as a continuation; some may see it as a progressive reform, while others may see it as a necessary fact of contemporary reality. The historical perspectives of both the researcher and the practitioners themselves should be integral elements of the comparative analysis of mystical traditions.

9. The World

Finally, how should we understand the concept of ‘the world’ as deployed within this idea of inner-worldly, and is it possible that those within certain traditions may have different understandings of ‘the world’? In addition, we can ask how new ways of understanding the world might create alternative modes of relationship and interaction, i.e., new ethical possibilities.

One underlying implication of the inner/other-worldly framework is that it presupposes a clear divide between ‘this world’ and the ‘other world’. Such a binary framework is certainly common among religious traditions, and as a basic distinction is present within Islamic traditions, including Sufism. In general, the distinction is drawn between the temporal world (dunyā) and the hereafter (al-ākhira). One thing to note with reference to this terminology is that it is primarily a temporal distinction, with the hereafter referring to a state of affairs that will come to be at a certain point in time. As a result, it is not necessarily a different place or an ‘other world’, rather it is a ‘renewed world’.50

In addition, the clear distinction becomes problematic as we consider Islamic discourses on the immanence of the divine in the world. Sufis in particular often cite the Quranic verse “Whichever way you turn, there is the Face of Allah” (Q 2:115) as a way to emphasize the presence of the divine in this world. The divine can therefore potentially be experienced in and through this world as the divine is, in some fashion, immanent in the phenomena of the world.51 Within this Sufi imaginary, action in this world cannot necessarily be neatly bracketed as being solely for this world or solely for the other world. Action in this world may simultaneously be ‘other-worldly’. As such, there may not be a clear distinction that would enable us to label something as entirely inner/other-worldly in orientation.

The point here is not to suggest that, because of these difficulties, the framework should be abandoned; rather, it is to point out the need to consider differences in how the world is conceptualized across different mystical traditions as those alternative conceptualizations of the place of the divine in the world that may lead to different possibilities and ways of imagining social and political action. Comparing mystical traditions requires that we attend to these differences so that we can better analyze not only what they are doing in terms of worldly action, but also how those actions fit within their imaginaries. This will give deeper insight into the ethical implications of the work they are conducting and as to how mystical traditions may allow for new ways of perceiving and conceiving of the world, and with those new perceptions and conceptions, provide new pathways for changing that world.

10. Conclusions

In this discussion I have argued that Sufism can be approached through the idea of inner-worldly mysticism. I have done so not to offer a clearer definition of Sufism, but rather to contribute to a reconsideration of the term ‘mysticism’ and suggest what a comparative study of mysticism may look like if we begin to move beyond the limited formulations of figures like Weber, who saw mysticism as exclusively other-worldly and passive. In comparing the Karkariyya and Alawiyya, my goal was to provide two examples of contemporary ‘inner-worldly’ Sufism and to analyze different modalities of worldly action manifest in practical Sufism. Finally, I hinted at three topics that I feel are important in pursuing the comparative enterprise for mysticism, as engagement with these topics will potentially provide more nuanced analysis across traditions. My goal in doing so was not to offer a conclusive approach, but to recognize the need to take these topics into consideration as we attempt to conduct comparisons, because each of them provides us with insight into the histories and forms of worldly actions, which is critical to our engagement with the idea of ‘inner-worldly’ mysticism.