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The Ethics of Islam Snjezana Akpinar Abstract: The author describes two levels of Islamic ethics: the Shari’a, or religious law, which governs communal life, and the tariqah, the inward path toward individual attainment of harmony with the Divine.

This article appeared in Religion East & West, Issue 2, June 2002.

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slam began formulating its ideals and its norms soon after the death of the prophet Muhammad at the end of the seventh century c.e. Discussions and debates took place in the cities of the newly formed empire, with close friends of the Prophet among the main participants.

The writings of early Muslim theologians, therefore, are authoritative sources for an account of formative Islamic ethical and spiritual prescriptions. In this paper, after commenting on the communal ethics of Islam, the Shari’a, I will focus on a series of concepts elaborated during the early period of Islamic thought by the ascetic Al-Muhasibi, his teacher Hasan Al-Basri, and the most famous disciple of their school, Al-Junayd; their writings comprise the basic strands of Islamic ethics. I wish to point out, however, that these are only strands in the organic, immense, and open-ended fabric of Islam.

Shari’a: The Main Street The boundaries of the Muslim world are delineated by a method of social governance known as the Shari’a. This “religious law” can be depicted as a grand boulevard, the main street of a system (the word shari’a means “street” in Arabic). The Shari’a governs society through rules and regulations, and individuals must respect its laws in order for civilization to flourish within its circumference. This by no means is intended to denigrate other systems that may exist parallel to Islam, as long as these do not pose a threat to humanity.

The Shari’a rests on four “roots of faith”: the Qur’an; the Tradition of the Prophet (Sunnah); analogies drawn from the preceding two (qiyas); and, finally, consensus (ijma’) within the Islamic community. To these

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is added the necessary creative component of personal judgment (ra’y).

This structure was codified in the late eighth century under the famous jurist Al-Shafi’i. A ramification of this system is the science of verification of the Tradition of the Prophet and the chain of their transmission. The study of history and language developed as tools for these verifications.

There are many schools of Shari’a law, and each traces its origins to customs that derive from the early days of the Islamic community and practices instituted by the prophet Muhammad. The various schools are known as the “Ways of Inquiry” (madhab al fiqh). On the whole, there are few differences among these schools. The Shi’a faction of Islam, for example, differs from the Sunni majority only slightly, in that it increases the scope of the third root, analogies, by adding to it the concept of modeling (taqlid) one’s life after holy people in general, rather than drawing parallels exclusively from the life of the prophet Muhammad. Out of these generally agreeing traditions, a complex process of deliberation and judgment developed. This process became known as the “sustained effort” (ijtihad, which is derived from the verb jihad, to exert effort). From this effort, consensus would be reached.

It is noteworthy that the principle of consensus was based on the premise that it was to be reached instinctively. Therefore, it has no canonized procedure. It was understood, however, that consensus must be arrived at through the agreement of people who possess knowledge and wisdom. It emphatically cannot be the agreement of the masses. AlShafi’i, who formalized the procedure, insisted that the only consensus that could carry weight was that of the whole community as represented by the learned of the Islamic world. They were, he said, the representatives of the benevolent spirit of the various provinces.

During the early centuries of Islam, learned men often traveled from town to town and from one center of learning to another to teach or study under scholars dispersed throughout the Islamic caliphate. This practice allowed the search for knowledge to remain a personal quest. In this manner, too, the jurists managed to discourage institutionalization and abstraction of communal rules and regulations. The consensus was carried out among a class of scholars who trusted each other. Accordingly, anyone who was not considered a scholar could choose his own way of inquiry (fiqh), with the fiqh prevalent in his region as a starting point. He might consult a jurist (mufti) of that “way,” but if an issue were carried to court, the judge, who would have been appointed by the governor, would rule according to his own particular “way.”

For the sake of clarity, it is important to note two modern challenges to the system of Shari’a law. The first is the Wahhabi movement, which

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arose in the mid–eighteenth century on the Arabian Peninsula and continues to flourish there. It is often linked to the concept of fundamentalism. The Wahhabis reject the last two roots of the Shari’a—analogy and consensus—and limit themselves to decisions made by the Companions of the Prophet. The legal system based on “sustained effort” is thus undercut.1 Second, the Iranian revolution of 1979, by establishing the “Government of Jurists”—that is, of scholars of fiqh—delivered another blow to the basic principles of Islamic law. The Shari’a tradition explicitly excludes jurists from governing; otherwise they would be unable to act as impartial advisers to those who do govern. Jurists can tap into the four roots that nurture faith only if they remain impartial observers of the ways of the world. In both instances these innovations have borne heavy consequences.

Sufism and the Tariqah: The Personal Path From the broad street of the Shari’a lead more inward paths. Known as tariqah, these paths lead individuals toward the center of their being. To follow a tariqah, then, is to undertake a personal quest. It is described as the cultivation and education of the self, the nafs, an Arabic word that denotes both soul and breath. Following one’s tariqah teaches one to “breathe,” or live, in a healthy manner, in harmony with the world and its rhythm. This aspect of religiosity, according to Islam, cannot be expressed in words or in rules and regulations. It is the gradual acquiring, through maintenance of a right lifestyle, of a supraknowledge, a gnosis, which allows us to acquire an insight into existence. In Arabic such an insight is known as ma’rifa. Cultivated within a human heart and expressed through one’s behavior, ma’rifa enables us to harmonize with our surroundings and, indeed, the whole universe.

The metaphor of cosmic harmony is an ancient one. It is reminiscent of the archaic Semitic concept of the rh, the universal spirit; those who capture its beat harmonize with the world. It is also reminiscent of the Indo-Iranian rt, or in a more expanded form, a-rt-a, which in mythological terms is the rhythm engendered by the turning wheels of the chariot of the Sun God. The Indo-European word rhythm and its various forms (such as arithmetic) derive from that root.

Not all human beings are capable of an arduous journey along a tariqah, and those not interested should not be forced; according to the well-known saying from the Qur’an: “There is no injunction in religion.” For many it is enough to follow the rules of the Shari’a in order to avoid harming themselves and others. For guidance they may seek and Issue 10, October 2010

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rely on a body of intellectual knowledge known as ’ilm. ’Ilm can be expressed in words and learned by rote. It can carry us as far as reason and intellect are capable. Beyond that point, one must seek ma’rifa and cosmic harmony.

The word commonly used to describe the path of ma’rifa is Sufism. A widely accepted description of Sufism is given in the introduction to Mir Valiuddin’s book The Quranic Sufism.2 In the Shaikh al-Islam’s words: Sufism teaches how to purify one’s self, improve one’s morals, and build up one’s inner and outer life in order to attain perpetual bliss. Its subject matter is the purification of the soul and its aim the attainment of eternal felicity and blessedness.

To paraphrase: the method used in Islam to help one learn how to be at peace and at ease with one’s self and one’s surroundings is known as Sufism. There are many Sufi orders, each with its founder and its manuals; some are regional, while others have transcended their region. All of them have developed methods for living an ethical life.

Al-Muhasibi and the Ethics of Awareness Perhaps the best example emerges from the writings of Harith b. Asad Al-Muhasibi, who was mentioned at the outset of this essay. Originally from Baghdad, Al-Muhasibi lived in the late eighth and early ninth centuries c.e. He based his ethics on the holy Qur’an itself. Al-Muhasibi considered himself a strict follower of the prophet Muhammad and the “Companions of the Bench,” the close friends of the Prophet. In his book The Education of the Self, Al-Muhasibi describes the first step on the path as a “cleansing of the heart.” This can be achieved only by checking the unrestricted influx of life energies which come to us through our senses and passions. The senses and passions are gates which “allow floods of hostility and hardness to rise, thereby plugging the springs of compassion and kindness.” Compassion and kindness are also expressed through the senses. Thus, the senses themselves are neither bad nor good; they simply need a watchman at their door.

Al-Muhasibi describes in great detail how to cleanse the influx of impurities that flow into the self. He classifies them as follows: 1. the enemy within the self: self-consciousness, or passion for its own sake (Al-nafs al-ammara or hawa); and (sensual) desires (shahawat);

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2. the enemy outside the self: worldliness seen as suggestibility and temptation (al-dunya, waswas, fitan); 3. the passions: greed, pride, and delusion (tama’, kibr, ghirra).

As one progresses in the cultivation of gnosis, one develops an awareness of the human condition. The historical starting point for the Arabs in that regard is the “State of Ignorance” (jahiliyya). It is described in all Islamic texts as the precursor to stupidity, alluding to the notion that the Bedouins of Arabia had forgotten the true meaning of faith due to sluggishness and social decay. They fell into a state of ignorance until the dawn of Islam revived the primordial Semitic path to wisdom, which is the Abrahamic tradition, yet once again.

The remedy for such ignorance—the ingrained nescience common to all human beings—is to cultivate awareness (hadhr) and practice continuous vigilance (tayaqquz) over the senses. By becoming aware of how we live, what we do, and what we think, we minimize the consequences of ignorant deeds and uncultivated thoughts that lead us further and further away from peace of mind. Methodologies vary from school to school, but all share the same goal and are not mutually exclusive; thus, the elder of a specific order may be also initiated into other orders and mix practices.

In the Qur’an, the influx coming through the senses and passions is often compared to a burden (rana). This alludes to the Quranic phrase, “What they earned burdened their hearts” (Sura 83:15). The power exerted by such burdens is seen as an impurity in need of cleansing. This is alluded to again by the prophet Muhammad, who in a moment of sadness, accepting the fact that his community was set on fighting, said, “The purity (safw) of our world is gone. Only its power (qadr: the burden) is left.” To paraphrase: the community will have to bear the consequences of its deeds.3 Hasan Al-Basri, Al-Muhasibi’s great teacher, had already elaborated on this idea by stating: “This world will depart, but the deeds will cling about the neck of the children of Adam.”4 The uncultivated human being, he said, is like a shipwrecked man flailing about in a raging storm in the middle of the ocean. He clings to a piece of driftwood in an attempt to save himself and his burdens. Another early theologian, Bishr Al-Hafi, saw the necessity of “escaping the cankers of one’s actions [since] the self is by nature prone to action and it should be commanded to be still.”5 The burden accumulated by the influx of impurities from the senses and the passions is described by the early Muslim theologians as a coagulation of half-processed viscous actions which cling to the self. The burden can be reduced and additions to it avoided through purification (tasawwafa) of intention. This is achieved through the cultivating of an Issue 10, October 2010

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awareness of our intentions and their source. In other words, we must take note of where our thoughts are coming from. The purification of intention is a measure that must be taken before any sincere and single-minded action is embarked upon, and an action should be undertaken only if it is shown to be “right in itself” and can stand alone, not weighted down by the powerful consequences of our ignorant deeds. It is an action that has no remainder. This process allows good Muslims to gain and maintain a buoyancy while remaining engaged in this world.

Ethics and Compassion For Al-Muhasibi, the first step on such a path must be “the unplugging of the springs of compassion.” Compassion (rahma) is stressed in the Qur’an as the basic attribute of God. Its initial meaning is “womb.” Thus, compassion is the “womb of the Earth,” capable of engendering a feeling of unity between the Absolute and the Self.6 Strictly speaking, compassion can also be regarded as a grace (rida) bestowed upon humanity, and human beings must keep it “cleansed” of the influxes of passions and the senses. Through this cleansing process one becomes receptive to the influence of the Divine.

Al-Muhasibi describes four steps in the development of compassion: 1. One experiences emanations from a higher being (Muaththar).

These emanations correspond, under proper circumstances, to impressions already outlined within ourselves.7 Hasan AlBasri, in defining such acceptance of God’s grace, calls it “the molder of the molds”(Muqallibu al-qulub). In his famous sermons delivered in the early eighth century, he defined human personality as a “living and knowing heart.” (It is noteworthy that in Arabic the word for mold, or form, is synonymous with the word for heart.)8 Accordingly, our hearts, the seats of the soul, are considered molds capable of being transformed by divine influence. Jallaludin Rumi, the great Turkish thirteenthcentury poet and mystic, describes it as “the love for God growing in your heart. . . . There is no sound of clapping which comes from one hand without the other.” 9 2. Through our acceptance of these emanations of grace, magnanimity (karamah) arises. It is considered to be a special gift that descends upon human beings and envelops us like a vine (rida).

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3. From magnanimity arises kindness towards all beings (mahabba). It is a pure affection which melts away all fear and misgiving. It creates a state of yearning for harmony (zuhd) within the “self” and the quest to return “to the state in which one was before one was,” to quote the theologian Al-Junayd, who was a disciple of the school of Hasan Al-Basri and AlMuhasibi.10 4. Finally, the self is led to rise beyond senses and desires in order to reach the state of equanimity (tawakkul) where mind can be stilled.11 It is a state of abandonment where one gives up “body and life and reason and religion . . . [since] in the Eternal, beliefs and unbeliefs are not; things exist not if nature be pure.”12 One has begun to swim out of the grips of worldly power (qadr) by emptying the heart. It is at this point, according to Al-Junayd, that the central aim of Islamic spirituality begins to be realized: the “Becoming of One” (tawhid). It is the point where that which has originated in time is undone so that it may join what has not been created.  Notes 1. Although the Wahhabi movement claims allegiance to the Hanbali “way” or school of law, Hanbali jurists reject them on the grounds that they have undermined the system of inquiry and done away with deliberation (ijtihad).

2. First printed in New Delhi in 1959. The introduction was written by Zakariyah Ansari, who at that time held the honorable position of Shaikh al-Islam, a position roughly analogous to the Archbishopric of Canterbury in the Church of England.

3. Mir Valiuddin, The Quranic Sufism (Delhi, 1959), 2.

4. Margaret Smith, The Way of the Mystics (New York: Oxford University Press, 1978), 176.

5. Smith, 161.

6. See Louis Massignon, Essai sur les origines du lexique technique de la mystique musulmane (Paris, 1922), 199.

7. Athar, tathir, and muathar are various grammatical forms of the verb to emanate or to leave a trace. See Margaret Smith, An Early Mystic of Baghdad (London: Sheldon Press, 1977), 36, 37, and Massignon, 147.

8. Massignon, 171.

9. Rumi was originally from the Central Asian city of Balkh, now in Afghanistan. The quote is from his collection of Mathnawis (Couplets), III 4394, trans. R. A. Nicholson.

10. Al-Junayd, quoted from A. J. Arberry, ed., Sufism (New York: Allen & Unwin, 1950), 130.

11. Benedikt Reiner, Die Lehre vom Tawakkul in der klassischen Sufik (Berlin, 1968), 224.

12. Sana’i, The Enclosed Garden of Truth (Wellingborough, Northamptonshire, 1968), 96.

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