FROM a Sufi perspective, Islam was never meant to harden into an ideology of fear, nor shrink into a system of control. At its origin, Islam was a living reality — a transformation of the human heart through truth (?aqq), mercy (ra?ma), justice (‘adl) and intimate awareness of God (ma‘rifa). What later generations often call the ‘corruption of Islam’ is not a failure of the revelation itself, but a gradual displacement of its spiritual center.
Prophetic moment: Islam as lived presence
DURING the lifetime of the Prophet Muhammad (pbuh), Islam existed primarily as character before institution. Authority flowed from moral integrity, not coercion. Leadership was relational, not dynastic. The Prophet did not rule as a king; he served as a guide, judge, healer and witness to divine compassion.
The Qur’an during this period was not abstracted into doctrine alone, it was embodied. Justice was inseparable from mercy and obedience to God was rooted in love, not terror. Faith was measured by humility, generosity and truthfulness, not by slogans or outward conformity.
Sufis often describe this era as Islam in its state of wholeness, where the outer and inner dimensions of faith were still united.
First shift: authority without presence
AFTER the prophet’s death, the Muslim community faced a challenge for which revelation had offered principles, but not a blueprint: succession. This moment did not immediately corrupt Islam, but it introduced a subtle shift — from prophetic presence to political management.
As the community expanded, governance increasingly required administration, law and military power. Gradually, leadership moved away from spiritual exemplarity toward political consolidation. What began as stewardship slowly evolved into sovereignty.
This transition planted the seeds of a long tension within Islam: between faith as lived conscience and faith as enforced order.
Karbala: moral rupture
FROM the Sufi viewpoint, the tragedy of Karbala marks a decisive spiritual rupture in Islamic history.
Imam Husayn ibn Ali, the grandson of the prophet, did not rise in rebellion for authority or ambition. He refused to legitimise a system in which power had become hereditary, ethics had been subordinated to control, and religion was being used to sanctify injustice.
Yazid’s rule represented a new paradigm: political stability over moral truth, obedience over conscience and unity enforced through fear. Husayn’s refusal was a declaration that Islam cannot survive when stripped of justice, even if such stripping is done in its name.
When Husayn was killed, Sufis say Islam did not die — but its moral axis was wounded. From that moment onward, Islam increasingly carried a visible split: between those who wielded religion to rule, and those who preserved it as a path of truth.
Emergence of court Islam and Islam of heart
IN THE centuries that followed, empires required religious legitimacy. Legalism expanded. Jurisprudence hardened. Theology became defensive. God was increasingly portrayed as distant, wrathful and punitive — useful for discipline, less so for transformation.
This was the rise of what Sufis often call the Islam of the court: orderly, powerful, outwardly impressive, but spiritually constrained.
In response, Sufism emerged not as a sect, but as a counter-memory — a preservation of Islam’s inner life. Sufis emphasised remembrance (dhikr), love (ishq), sincerity (ikhlas) and direct awareness of God. They taught that law without spirit becomes tyranny, and worship without love becomes hollow.
Why sufis were threatening
SUFIS were often marginalised because they could not be easily controlled. Their authority came not from institutions, but from lived wisdom. They taught that no ruler, scholar, or system stands between the human heart and God.
For this reason, Sufi saints were frequently persecuted, imprisoned, or silenced. Their shrines — places of poetry, music, healing and remembrance — became symbols of an Islam that refused to be reduced to fear.
Attacks on Sufi shrines, including those that continue in places like Bangladesh today, are not merely acts of violence; they are attempts to erase Islam’s spiritual memory.
Globalisation of reduced Islam
IN THE modern era, a narrow, rigid, fear-centred interpretation of Islam spread widely — often through state sponsorship, colonial entanglements and petro-funded ideologies. This version of Islam tends to:
discourage questioning
suppress mysticism
prioritise conformity over conscience
equate obedience with faith
It is loud, confident and highly visible; but, from a Sufi perspective, spiritually shallow.
Meanwhile, the Islam of the heart survived quietly: in poetry, in song, in mothers’ prayers, in saints’ tombs and in those who continue to seek God through love rather than fear.
Sufi conclusion
SUFISM does not claim that Islam itself was corrupted. The revelation remains intact. The Qur’an remains luminous. The prophet’s character remains the standard.
What was corrupted was custodianship — who speaks for Islam and for what purpose.
Karbala, in this understanding, is not a closed chapter. It is a recurring moral question posed to every generation:
Will Islam serve power, or will it serve truth?
To reclaim Islam, Sufis say, is not to invent something new, but to return — to conscience over coercion, to love over fear, to the heart over the throne.
That path has never disappeared.
It has only been waiting to be remembered.
Anusheh Anadil is a singer and social activist.
