The saints of Islam, sons of the Prophet: Muhammadan holiness

By Frédéric Tessier · June 2, 2021 · 15 min read

When Muhammad announced the end of prophecy to his companions, he told them in substance: ‘But the bearers of glad tidings will remain with you. These are the Muslims’ night visions (ar-ru’ya). They constitute one of the parts of prophecy’ (Tirmidhi). Dreams, visions and spiritual unveilings are so many resonances of a message which, though sealed in its content, strikes by its extraordinary capacity to regenerate itself. The word breathed into Muhammad’s heart becomes Qur’an, that is, ‘proclamation’; the injunction ‘Qul!’ (‘say!’) opens certain surahs. And sound, by definition, is not fixed. It is here, perpetually renewed by the believers’ cantillations and invocations. What we are dealing with is a living reality: at the sources of Islam, men and women, inspired at the deepest core of themselves by the Prophet’s example, are going to live an ineffable inner experience. And Sufism will crystallise these experiences into so many ways of spiritual realisation. ‘To be a Sufi, Eric Geoffroy tells us, is to follow the Muhammadan way.’

The model of holiness

Holiness, in Islam, is not the posthumous crowning of an edifying life of piety. It designates rather a grace offered to a few to draw nearer, in their very lifetimes, to their divine nature. That grace takes on multiple colourings, but its reality can be, in certain cases, perfectly and spontaneously recognised, as was the holiness of Muhammad. Mevlana Rumi, the saint who founded the whirling dervishes, wrote that ‘when a spiritual savour coming from God exists in the heart of a community, the face and voice of the Prophet are like a miracle that constitutes a proof’.

Thus Muhammad is the model of holiness: he is the one who, stripped of his own conditionings, of the veils of his individuality, welcomed in the Night of Destiny (laylat al-qadr, the twenty-seventh of the month of Ramadan) the descent of the divine Word. The exceptionally perfect character of his conduct, before the Revelation, testifies that he was providentially destined to receive such a descent. ‘You have,’ says the Qur’an, ‘an excellent example in Allah’s messenger’ (XXXIII, 21). And he himself would declare: ‘Allah raised me up to perfect the noble characters and crown the excellent acts.’ This divine Word, a message of love to all humanity, is the last series of counsels given by God to the line of Abraham, so that man might become again what he is, might recover a reality that is recalled to him through the succession of revelations. To conform as far as possible to that Word made book is to conform to the equilibrium of the laws of the cosmos, to the essential reality of every created thing. And it is also to remember that every creature shares in one universal brotherhood.

The ‘people of the bench’

The very person of Muhammad embodies this conformity, this absolute coherence between the man and his profound nature. ’A’isha, his wife, said of him that ‘his character was like the Qur’an’ (Muslim). In his lifetime, this reputation drew to Medina the most destitute, that is to say those most inclined to receive unhindered the message of mercy the angel Gabriel delivered to him. They settled on the stone bench destined for them, near the Prophet’s apartments, which earned them the name of ‘people of the bench’ (ahl as-suffa). The Arabic expression is said to be one possible etymology of the term ‘Sufism’: the image is striking when one knows they were able to nourish their faith from the very proximity of Muhammad, and that the master’s presence, the companionship of the disciples and excellence of conduct will characterise the Sufi way.

The essential message of Islam is that of an Absolute, of a creative unity which, out of pure love, makes itself known to man through a multiplicity of forms and appearances. To take up Eric Geoffroy’s expression, ‘multiplicity unfolds gradually from the divine unity, through a succession of theophanies taking innumerable forms’¹. Far from any kind of rigid formalism, the idea is that of a world which subsists thanks to this ‘ceaselessly renewed creation’, of a unique God whose names, attributes and limitless aspects of His creation, which the Qur’an sets forth as so many signs, allow a constant renewal. Everything is governed by this principle of vivification: in cycles, the religion of the origins makes itself evident to every man, unveils an aspect of the divine made perceptible beyond, sometimes, every kind of cultural context. The prophets themselves are those through whom these unveilings are effected, down to Muhammad, who synthesises their content. That is why the totality of the divine outpourings on earth is called ‘Muhammadan light’ (an-nur al-muhammadi), as this tradition indicates: ‘God took a handful of His light and said to it: be Muhammad!’

The heirs of the Prophet

If certain figures are going to capture and reflect this ‘Muhammadan light’, it is because, here again, still according to the principle of a constant vivification, this grace given to a man actualises itself in a particular fashion. Muhammad will be the prototype of a possible spiritual realisation. In his case, it attains a form of total fulfilment, on account of the ‘intimate conversations’ he had with the angel Gabriel, and of his very experience: in particular his ‘Night Journey’, in which, during a night of ecstasy, he was carried off to the heavens and led from Mecca to Jerusalem, then, through the celestial spheres, to the threshold of the divine Presence.

We find here some characteristics of the mystical way: initiatic progression through stations and spiritual dwelling-places, and a particular perception of time and space. The great saints of Islam will be those over whom continuity will no longer have any hold: resolving into a single point the directions of space, definitively anchored in simultaneity, they will manifest in all places and at all hours their presence beside their disciples. Holiness, after the example of what Muhammad lived, will erase time and distance.

Among the spiritual ones, a few will hide their holiness or, at the very least, their degree of advancement, behind the veil of a singular behaviour which will earn them the name of ‘people of blame’ (malamati). Others will be ‘carried away’ in God (majdhub), drowned in a kind of often definitive ecstasy which will cut them off from the usual social norms. Others still, having reached a particularly high degree of realisation, will inherit an inflow, an ‘intimate secret’ (sirr) and, sometimes, the divine authorisation (idhn) to diffuse it around them. Thus will be formed, around these guides, the great Sufi ways which will, providentially, ascend from their founders, through lineage, to the Prophet himself.

This composite universe, in which the baraka flows, will mould Muslim societies according to forms of spiritual courtesy that sometimes surprise us. But the idea is that all human life is sacred, since it is capable of sheltering a share of divine grace. The reality of holiness is itself difficult to grasp. ‘Many saints,’ writes Faouzi Skali, ‘have received the secret of knowledge without being authorised to transmit it. Most of them are unknown to us and remain utterly obscure, even if we meet them and sit beside them. Unless we are in the same state of consciousness as these saints, we cannot detect them’².

Faces of holiness

The faces of holiness will accordingly be multiple. But all will find their origin in the glorification of the Prophet, proceeding from this Qur’anic injunction: ‘God and His angels bless the Prophet; O you who believe, bless him and wish him peace’ (XXXIII, 56). Titus Burckhardt noted that ‘according to the Sufis, the blessing or effusion of graces with which God showers the Prophet is none other than the irradiation of the divine essence, eternally pouring itself forth into the cosmos, of which Muhammad is the synthesis. To ask God’s blessing upon the Prophet is therefore to conform to the divine act and participate in it intentionally; whence the tradition’s assurance that whoever blesses the Prophet draws upon himself the blessing of the entire universe’³.

Thus is explained the privileged relationship that the Muslim saints will maintain with Muhammad. Beyond visions and dreams, the forms of this relationship will vary. Some, for example, will perceive the ‘Muhammadan light’ present in every being; more directly still, most of the founders or living masters of the Sufi ways will receive from him, despite the distance of the centuries, all manner of prayers, invocations and counsels. In that case, the bond will express itself fully within the framework of a perfect conformity to the sacred law.

Thus, in the tariqa tijaniyya, the founding saint received, at the end of a long wayfaring, a visit from Muhammad in the course of a retreat in the desert. He presented himself to him as henceforth his sole guide. This prophetic imprint will mark the great litanies of the brotherhood, such as the ‘Pearl of Perfection’ (jawharat al-kamal), dictated to the shaykh by the Prophet in the waking state.

Examples abound. And, more importantly still, they span time. Faouzi Skali recounts the encounter between the Moroccan saint Sidi al-Hajj ’Abbas al-Qadiri al-Boutchichi (1890-1972) and the Prophet Muhammad. During a spiritual retreat, ’he saw an impressive ball of light appear, which drew closer to him. He remained motionless, without reacting to this utterly unforeseen phenomenon. The ball grew more and more intense and took on human form. Sidi al-Hajj ‘Abbas saw that it was the Prophet Muhammad (peace and blessings be upon him!) and even added: “He came so close to me that I thought my beard had caught fire! It was as if my beard were ablaze with light… He drew still closer and I then saw the seal of prophecy inscribed on his shoulder. From that moment we remained for several hours in communion; he told me a whole range of things and transmitted several dhikr to me!”’ (Le Face à face des cœurs). The interest of such an account is that it touches upon perfectly contemporary initiatic journeys. Here again, the prophetic imprint is a genuine mark of authenticity, confirmed by the intensity and the sincerity of the spiritual states of the disciples who are to inherit it.

Still in the case of the Sufi ways, the pact which will bind the disciple to his spiritual guide will itself, in the end, be nothing but the renewal of the one concluded between the Prophet and the believers at Hudaybiyya. The Qur’an evokes this arresting gesture: ‘Those who swear allegiance to thee swear it in reality to God: God’s hand is in truth above their hands clasping thine’ (XLVIII, 10). One thinks then of that other pact, taking this time the dimension of a cosmic event, in which God questioned Adam’s descendants: ‘Am I not your Lord?’, to which every man answered in pre-eternity: ‘Yes, we so attest’ (Qur’an VII, 172).

The mission of the saints

The possibility of a holiness, as we have seen, expresses the effusion of a divine grace which, continually and in multiple ways, traverses time and cultural spaces. And since this effusion, inasmuch as it is a gift, forms part of a divine plan, it plays a very precise role in the circumstances where it manifests itself. In the case of holiness, we are so close to the divine secret that every precaution is taken so that this descent of the sacred upon the earth is channelled, and acts with all the prudence the surrounding conditions impose. Thus are attributed to Susruri, the master of the great Junayd, the following words: ‘Allah makes the saints known only to their like or to those to whom He wishes to make them useful. If Allah showed them to the creatures, every Muslim would assuredly be obliged to draw lessons from their words and acts.’

Emile Dermenghem expressed in a very moving way this role of the faqir (literally ‘the poor one’) who, conscious of the indigence of his own individuality, conscious that his existence is only borrowed from the sole divine Reality (al-Haqq), freed from the fetters of the ego, has made servitude (’ubudiyya) towards his Lord (that is, towards the share of the divine in him) a mode of life and conduct: ‘Free of attachment to the world and to himself, not to the beauty of the world nor to his essential “self”, but to what is relative, limited, negative and perishable in the world and in the “me”, the faqir looks with renewed eyes upon a transformed world where the saint is properly speaking a leaven that raises, a salt that keeps the world from stagnating, a breath that prevents the cosmos from collapsing under its own weight’⁴.

One then understands the necessity, in whatever age, of the constant radiance of these exceptional figures. Just as the Prophet Muhammad personified the perfect cosmic equilibrium, they become the ‘channels’ through which the flux of creation continues its descent into the world in a subtle manner. ‘The fuqara’,’ proclaimed Qushayri, ‘are the elite of the divine secrets. They attract divine protection upon the creatures, and it is thanks to them that the latter obtain their subsistence.’ This idea would seem to us inaccessible and remote if at least two indications did not come to remind us of its topicality, and of its importance at the same time: first, as we have seen, the traces of the divine on earth feed on their own dynamic, which comes down to observing that if the saints have existed, they exist still. Then, if a human society hampers its natural bond with the sacred, divine mercy (one of Allah’s principal attributes) adapts its radiance to the most unfavourable circumstances. Which is particularly true for the modern West, with its exceptionally desacralised values.

A reality still living in the West

In the second half of the twentieth century, two events, proportionate to the disequilibrium, will bear witness to Sufism’s opening towards Europe. And each of these events will take account of the sociological and cultural conditions.

First, Westerners alerted to the gravity of the situation will contribute to spreading the Shadhili way in Europe, starting from Mostaganem, in an Algeria then attached to France. There shone, until 1934, the shaykh Ahmad al-’Alawi (popularised by his English biographer Martin Lings). He bore the imprint of the ‘Christic’ saints (’isawi), confirmed both by the very expression of his face and by a whole series of visions and spiritual unveilings. One cannot help drawing a link between this type of holiness, particularly suited to the Western context, and the powerful attraction it exerted in France and Europe.

The second event will come from Morocco, once again thanks to a set of conditions that lent themselves to it. Some are bound up with the very particularity of the Cherifian kingdom: a land of tradition, where the bond between society and the sacred has been nourished down the centuries by the respect of the monotheistic religions and by the principles of measure, dialogue and tolerance with which the Qur’an and the Prophet’s example are imbued. A balanced spirituality has generated, since the Middle Ages, the Islam of the great masters of Sufism, whose teaching was to enlighten the whole Mediterranean world. In an article in the Moroccan press, Zakia Zouanat bears witness to this dynamism, against the received ideas about an outdated and retrograde piety: ‘The saints of Morocco,’ she writes, ‘are not those marabouts buried beneath white domes, favourite haunts of a superstitious population, described in a disfiguring literature starved of exoticism’⁵.

Today, the tariqa qadiriyya radiates from the Moroccan Oriental, where Hamza al-Boutchich, direct descendant of the founding saint ’Abd al-Qadir al-Jilani, is the heir of the spiritual secret (sirr) and, with it, of the divine authorisation (idhn) to transmit it. The Qadiriya Boutchichiya brotherhood, which for several generations had been limited, like a good many Sufi ways across the world, to diffusing a certain baraka among its disciples, became once again, around the 1940s-1950s, a ‘living’ way: that is, a way in which the permanent grace borne by the living master redounds upon those who benefit from it.

The contribution to the maintenance of a certain equilibrium of the world can only be assumed in its fullness by such a way, which for that very reason will be characterised by a great suppleness of adaptation to present human conditions. ‘If the knower Sidi Hamza, living master of the tariqa al-qadiria al-boutchichia, turned his gaze towards France and Europe as early as 1990, it is because here, many of us were awaiting that gaze. An imperious demand thus presided over this advent’⁶. It fully confirms that other wisdom according to which ‘the saints don the garments of their time’. Here, the Muhammadan way renews and actualises itself, as it has done since the origin of time. It thus becomes, at the hour when the acceleration of globalisation is accompanied by the most dramatic tensions, a spiritual bridge between East and West.

The Prophet once said:

‘Will it be granted me to see my brothers?’

‘But we are here, O Prophet!’ his companions answered.

‘No, you are my companions. My brothers are those to come, who will love me and believe in Allah and in His messenger without ever having seen me.’

By Frédéric Tessier.

Bibliographical orientation

• Martin Lings, Le Prophète Muhammad : sa vie d’après les sources les plus anciennes, Seuil, 1986.
• Muhyi-d-din Ibn ’Arabi, La Sagesse des prophètes, Albin Michel, coll. Spiritualités vivantes, 1974.
• Ibn Ishaq, Muhammad (tomes 1 and 2), Al Bouraq, 2001.
• Émile Dermenghem, Mahomet et la tradition islamique, Seuil, coll. Microcosme-Maîtres spirituels, 1955.
• El Hadj Nasr Eddin Dinet and El Hadj Sliman Ben Ibrahim, La Vie de Muhammad, Studio Editions, 1990 (1st ed. 1918).
• Al-Bukhari, Sahih (French translation available).
• Dits du Prophète, translated from the Arabic by Sessick Youssef, Sindbad-Actes Sud, 1997.
• Abou el Hassan Ali Nadwi, La Vie des prophètes, éditions Universel, 1999.
• Hamidoullah, Le Prophète de l’islam (2 vols.).
• Montgomery Watt, Muhammad à La Mecque (vol. 1), Muhammad à Médine (vol. 2).

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