There is a famous definition of Sufism often narrated in classical texts: “Sufism means that you own nothing and nothing owns you.”
It reflects the mindset of Sufis; they choose a way of life in which they are dispossessed, wearing unglamorous clothes, eating unworthy food, and keeping away from society and its expectations. When a person keeps away from all these worldly things, they are freed from them, which seems like an impossible concept to modern minds craving for more and more.
Humankind has this unquenchable thirst for possession, whether gold or honor, wealth or position, power or knowledge. When a person rises and turns his back on all these temporary satisfactions, something extraordinary happens. While not everyone can do it, they respect the ones who do. In every belief system, there is at least one who stands out among the others with his piety, his giving up on fellow humans criticizing them, and in the end, wins the hearts of them all.
Farid-ud Din Attar’s "Tadhkirat-ul-Awliya" is full of stories of such great personas, one of whom is Malik Dinar, who was a disciple of Hasan Basri and who was one of the first Muslims traveling to India to teach Islam. Apart from his exemplary ascetic life, knowledge and the miracles attributed to him, there is one gripping fact about him: He was cruelly honest with his spiritual state. Attar tells us the story:
“It is related that when Malik recited, ‘We worship You and seek Your aid,’ he started sobbing. Then he said, ‘If this verse were not part of the book of the Mighty and Glorious Lord, if it were not a commandment, I would never recite it.’ By that, I mean this: I say, ‘I worship you,’ but certainly, I worship myself. I say, ‘I seek Your aid,’ but I go around appealing to others and thanking them or complaining about them."
This verse is from the most recited chapter of the Quran, as it is recited in each prayer five times a day. Even though everyone who prays utters these words easily, Malik confesses the hardship hidden in them. His is a new interpretation of the verse. He redefines worshipping as he thinks the one he performs is not acceptable. When he prays, he must be fully aware of his “self,” which is why he states that he worships himself.
He must have understood the nature of human beings: It is hard to put the self in the background, cut off from this world completely, and be an absolute vassal in front of Allah. As long as there is an “I” in “I worship you,” or if the self is not erased in the face of the Highest, worshipping is just a ritual. It is often reported that Ali, the prophet’s son-in-law, felt no pain when an arrow was pulled out of his foot during a prayer. This is a state Malik must be trying to reach: Such an annihilation from the self that there is neither pain nor any distraction.
When it comes to seeking aid, he must be thinking of mediums a person feels attached to. Sufis generally deny relying on anything but Allah. This approach is called “tawakkul” and becomes a spiritual state in Sufism. While it simply means “trusting Allah’s plan,” Sufis elaborated on it with their subtle interpretation of the concept. Allah is the Most Generous, the Provider, Ever-Preserver, the Healer, etc. So a person needs no one but Allah to sustain his life. Every grace, even through a human hand, is a bestowment from Allah. Allah creates and sustains the vassals through creation. That is why Sufis seek aid only from Allah. As a result of their tawakkul, they set on journeys with nothing on them; no food, no money, no shelter. If they bring with them such things, they will be trusting them, not Allah. This concept was sometimes so exaggerated that some quit working, waiting for things to come to themselves, which raised a question about their being irresponsible, they were criticized by Sufis themselves, but these were exceptions. The theory, in fact, is very strong and tempting. Because a real tawakkul results in real blessings, as Sufis reported to us.
When Sufis quit this world, they say the world comes after them. Attar tells us a story about Malik regarding this idea. When he frequented a mosque for a year, expecting a position there, he could not attain it. When he repented that thought and worshiped sincerely for a night, he was offered the job. Yet he ran away, fearing that the position would keep him from such sincere worship.
In modern times, “less is more” has become a popular mantra, yet having no roots in a meaningful intent, it does not bear fruit. However, the problem lies in our approach to these great exemplary figures. They lived such extraordinary lives that they were unreachable to us. Few recite al-Fatiha with such deep contemplation and few leave everything temporary behind to search for the imperishable.
We must focus on the forest, not the tree. In terms of Sufism, each Sufi is like a brick on the wall of Sufism, which is a wall on the building of Islam. Whoever we turn our faces toward, we see another shining example standing out among the others. We have many Sufi examples in front of us telling us that eating less, sleeping less and talking less have so much wisdom. But we also know Sufis who look so ordinary that no one aspires to. Attar tells us about them not to motivate us to choose and follow one among the others. He completes a story through small pieces of wisdom presented by each Sufi or the people Sufis imitate. We need to contemplate them to figure out how we can benefit from them, not imitate them to the letter.
