religious culture contested 33

RELIGIOUS CULTURE CONTESTED:

THE SUFI RITUAL OF DAWSA IN
NINETEENTH-CENTURY CAIRO
by

MEIR HATINA
Jerusalem

Abstract
With the entry of Muslim society into the modern era in the nineteenth century,
Sufi beliefs and rituals became the focus of systematic debate and denunciation by local
and foreign observers alike. An illuminating example is the dawsa ritual—a ceremony
involving the shaykh of the Sa#diyya order riding his horse over the backs of his prostrate
disciples, which was particularly widespread in the Cairene milieu. This practice, intended
to prove that true believers are protected from all harm, was officially abolished in 1881
in the name of enlightenment and human dignity. The present article traces the history
of the dawsa and, more broadly, sheds light on the Sufi encounter with the challenges of
modernity. It reveals a diverse picture of the anti-Sufi campaign carried out by various
elements in Egypt—foreign consuls, government officials, modernists and nationalists—
which resulted in a loss of influence by Sufi orders, yet fostered a capacity for survival
and ideological rejuvenation.

Sufism, which by the twelfth century had developed from a small

movement of ascetics at the beginning of Islam into a broad social
stratum (often called orders or fraternities), faced periodic criticism
throughout Islamic history. Viewing itself as the living spirit of the Muslim
tradition, it emphasized the spiritual over the legal, and closeness to,
rather than remoteness from, Allah.1 This mindset greatly influenced
the masses but evoked bitter criticism by some medieval theologians,
who denounced Sufi rites such as extreme asceticism, the veneration

1
For general literature on the cultural and historic aspects of Sufism, see, e.g., J.
Spenser Trimingham, The Sufi Orders in Islam (Oxford, 1971); Marshall G. S. Hodgson,
The Venture of Islam (3 vols., Chicago, 1974), 1: 392-409; Annemarie Schimmel, Mystical
Dimensions of Islam (Chapel Hill, 1986); Julian Baldick, Mystical Islam: An Introduction to
Sufism (London, 1989), 13-85; J. Voll, “Sufism” in: John L. Esposito (ed.), The Oxford
Encyclopedia of the Modern Islamic World (Oxford, 1995), 2: 102-117; Mark J. Sedgwick,
Sufism: The Essentials (Cairo, 2001).

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2007 Die Welt des Islams 47, 1
Also available online – www.brill.nl

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 34 meir hatina

of saints, and the dhikr ceremonies (“remembrance of God”). Still,

the anti-Sufi polemic, which emanated mainly from the puritanic \
anbalÊ school, did not develop into a blanket condemnation of Sufism
as such, attesting to the entrenched position of Sufi culture in Muslim
society. Only in the late eighteenth century did it face unambiguous
opposition, mounted by the neo-\anbalÊ Wahh§biyya movement in the
Arabian Peninsula. The Wahh§bÊs’ obsessive concern with guarding the
transcendent status of Allah (tawÈÊd) precluded any compromise with
Sufism and resulted in a campaign of destruction of the tombs and
shrines of venerated Muslim saints.2
With Muslim society’s entrance into the modern era in the nineteenth
century, the list of opponents to Sufism expanded. Modernization in the
Middle East affected governmental and economic institutions as well as
life styles and culture. It had a negative impact on the status of the Sufi
orders (as on the orthodox establishment), especially in the large cities.
The rise of the modern state, with its corporatist orientation, put all
religious institutions under official supervision, while the emergence of
the new intelligentsia expropriated their monopoly in shaping society’s
values. Furthermore, religious beliefs and rituals inherent to Islamic
cosmic perceptions, that enriched the spiritual experience in Muslim life,
were denounced by both local and foreign observers.3 An interesting

2
Muhammad Umar Memon, Ibn Taymiyya’s Struggle Against Popular Religion (The Hague,
1976), 24-87; George Makdisi, “The Hanbali School and Sufism” in: Humaniora Islamica,
2 (1974), 61-72; Christopher S. Taylor, In the Vicinity of the Righteous: Ziyara and the Veneration
of Muslim Saints in Late Medieval Egypt (Leiden, 1999), 168-218; Josef Van Ess, “Sufism and
Its Opponents” in: F. De Jong and Bernd Radtke (eds.), Islamic Mysticism Contested (Leiden,
1999), 22-44; Esther Peskes, “The Wahh§biyya and Sufism in the Eighteenth Century” in:
ibid., 145-161. On contemporary Wahh§bÊ resentment of Sufism, see, e.g., Q§sim al-Rif§#Ê
(ed.), Fat§w§ Isl§miyya (4 vols., Beirut, 1988), 1: 161-167, 4: 271ff.
3
This analysis is less relevant to Sufism in the peripheral, mainly tribal, areas of the Muslim
world, which were only loosely linked to a central authority and to modernist developments.
There, Sufi orders were highly influential, inter alia due to the saintly status of their shaykhs
and the religio-judicial services they provided for the tribes. Some of these orders also led
revivalist movements in response to the moral decline of the Ottoman Empire and the
encroachment of Europe during the late eighteenth and the nineteenth century. See, e.g.,
Voll, 112-113; Ernest Gellner, “Doctor and Saint” in: Nikki R. Keddie (ed.), Scholars, Saints
and Sufis (Berkeley, 1972), 310f., 325f.; Nehemia Levtzion and John O. Voll (eds.), Eighteenth-
Century Renewal and Reform in Islam (New York, 1987); E. Evans-Pritchard, The Sanusi of
Cyrenaica (2nd ed., Oxford, 1968), 1-28; 62-89; P. M. Holt, The Mahdist State in the Sudan
1881-1898 (2nd ed., Oxford, 1970); Elizabeth Sirriyeh, Sufis and Anti-Sufis (Richmond, 1999),
29-42.

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 religious culture contested 35

example is the Sa#diyya order and its dawsa (literally, “stepping”) rites
in nineteenth-century Cairo. These ceremonies featured the shaykh of
the order riding his horse over the backs of his prostrate disciples.
The dawsa rite evoked sharp dispute and was eventually prohibited by
the government in Cairo. The present article traces the history of the
dawsa in the nineteenth century, thereby shedding additional light on
the Sufi encounter with modernity and its challenges. It reveals the
Sufi confrontation with a changing reality that resulted in a loss of
influence and status for the orders, yet also fostered a talent for survival
and ideological rejuvenation.

The Historical Setting

The Sufi orders played a prominent role on all the anniversaries of

saints (mawlid, pl. maw§lid). However, it was during the nine-day festivals
celebrating the Prophet’s birthday, held in RabÊ# al-Awwal (the third
month of the Muslim calendar), that their public presence was most
pronounced, with celebrations taking the form of mass events.
The veneration of the Prophet apparently became entrenched during
the thirteenth century, marking a deviation from the Islamic theological
tradition which sanctified Allah alone and emphasized the human nature
of His messenger MuÈammad. However, influenced both by Christianity
and by Sufi practices, this ritual took root and spread throughout the
Muslim world. It was accepted as a “blessed innovation” (bid #a Èasana)
by the scholarly community and was fostered by state authorities
as an official holiday. Theological purists such as Ibn Taymiyya (d.
728/1328) and Ibn al-\§jj al-#AbdarÊ (d. 737/1336) were anxious to
prevent idolatrous worship of the Prophet by further defining what is
allowed and what is forbidden in this ritual. Ibn Taymiyya, seeking to
geographically narrow the scope of the phenomenon, ruled that praying
at the Prophet’s tomb in Medina is far worthier than praying elsewhere,
except for the holy shrines in Mecca. Moreover, the supplicant, he
ruled, may not kiss or touch the tomb. Al-#AbdarÊ prohibited singing
and dancing during the reading of the Qur’§n and vigorously criticized
women’s participation in the ritual.4

4
G. E. Von Grunebaum, Muhammadan Festivals (New York, 1951), 67f., 72-78; Annema-

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 36 meir hatina

In Egypt, Shaykh al-BakrÊ, whose family descended from Abå Bakr,

the Prophet’s closest aide and the first caliph, was responsible for
conducting the festivals of the Prophet’s birthday. The family enjoyed
religious prestige in Egypt as far back as the fifteenth century, prestige
which was translated into economic and political power that peaked
with the appointment of MuÈammad al-BakrÊ as official head of the
Sufi orders by MuÈammad #AlÊ in 1812. The appointment aimed both
at reinforcing state supervision of the activities of the Sufi orders and
at demarcating the separate responsibilities assumed by al-BakrÊ and
those of the rector of al-Azhar, the central institution of Sunni Islam
established in 972.5 State patronage of the festivals of the Prophet’s
birthday reflected official recognition of the status of Sufism and lent
the event an aura that was religious as well as socio-political. The
holiday became an annual occasion for the mingling of the elite and
the masses, scholarship and sainthood. For the elite, the religious
ceremonies, which they presided over in the streets of Cairo in front
of huge crowds, provided an opportunity to display authority while
diffusing social tensions. The ceremonies functioned as a reminder
of the rightful continuity of political power and the traditional social
hierarchy. For the masses, they served as an escape from a mundane
reality, an opportunity to rub shoulders with the political elite, and,
above all, an experience of emerging from ordinary temporal duration
and reintegration in mythical time, as noted by the historians Mircea
Eliade and Peter Berger.6 For a brief moment, social barriers between
the elite and the masses blurred as they jointly participated in a
spectacular event.

rie Schimmel, And Muhammad is His Messenger (Chapel Hill, 1985), 144-158; N. Kaptein,
Muhammad’s Birthday Festival (Leiden, 1993); Michael Winter, Society and Religion in Early Otto-
man Egypt (New Brunswick, 1982), 177f. See also Ibn al-\§jj al-#AbdarÊ, Kit§b al-madkhal (4
vols., Beirut, 1972), 2: 4-9, 12-18.
5
On the al-BakrÊ family, see MuÈammad TawfÊq al-BakrÊ, Bayt al-ßiddÊq (Cairo, 1907);
Frederick De Jong, Turuq and Turuq-Linked Institutions in Nineteenth-Century Egypt (Leiden, 1978),
9-12.
6
Boaz Shoshan, Popular Culture in Medieval Cairo (Cambridge, 1993), 70-78; Paula Snad-
ers, Ritual, Politics and the City in Fatimid Cairo (New York, 1994), 5f., 14f., 28f.; Mircea Eliade,
The Sacred and the Profane (New York, 1959), 85-89; Peter L. Berger, The Social Reality of Religion
(London, 1969), 26ff. On power and its visual presentations, see Louis Marin, Portrait of the
King (Basingstoke, 1988), 26-36, 169-192.

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 religious culture contested 37

The celebrations of the Prophet’s birthday took place between 3rd and
12th RabÊ# al-Awwal. They were held close to, and even on, the same
days as other maw§lid, thereby ensuring an ongoing climate of religious
excitement.7 Lavishly conducted, the Prophet’s birthday anniversary
was centered in the Azbakiyya quarter of Cairo, where most European
diplomats and foreign visitors resided. A large area was allocated for
setting up decorated tents for the khedive’s family, local and foreign
dignitaries, and the Sufi shaykhs. By day, the main attractions for the
masses of spectators were storytellers, poetry recitations, clowns and
acrobats. Nighttime offered vibrantly colorful processions by the Sufi
orders. These processions showcased the various orders and constituted
a connection between them and the public at large. As such, special
importance was attached to the artistic ability of the performers.8 The
religious fervor and the carnival atmosphere reached a peak with the
dawsa ceremony, held on the last day of the festivals, when the shaykh
of the Sa#diyya order, mounted on his horse, passed over the backs of
his prostrate disciples.
The Sa#diyya order, affiliated with the Sh§fi#Ê legal school, was
founded by Sa#d al-DÊn al-Jib§wÊ (d. 736/1335), a charismatic figure from
\awr§n in Syria who abandoned a career as a bandit chief, turned to
religion, and adopted a life style of strict asceticism. He attributed this
turning point in his life to a dream in which the Prophet appeared and
swore him to devotion to Allah. Some scholars defined the Sa#diyya as
an offshoot of the older Q§diriyya order, named after #Abd al-Q§dir
al-JÊl§nÊ (d. 561/1166), or of the Rif§#iyya order, named after AÈmad
al-Rif§#Ê (d. 578/1182). Sa#d al-DÊn’s father was known to be a disciple
of al-Rif§#Ê and acquired knowledge of the hidden world from him.9

7
These maw§lid included those of Sayyid Bad§wÊ, SharÊf Abå Q§sim, Sayyid #Ashm§wÊ
and Sayyida NafÊsa. Michael Winter, “The Mawalid in Egypt Since the Early Eighteenth
Century” in: Gabriel Baer (ed.), The Ulama and Problems of Religion in the Muslim World (Hebrew;
Jerusalem, 1971), 85; Annemarie Schimmel, “Some Glimpses of the Religious Life in Egypt
during the Later Mamluk Period” in: Islamic Studies 4 (1965), 371.
8
Edward Lane, An Account of the Manners and Customs of the Modern Egyptians (Paisley,
1895), 448-452.
9
Trimingham, 280; #Abd al-Razz§q al-BÊã§r, \Êlyat al-bashar fÊ ta’rÊkh al-qarn al-th§lith #ashar
(3 vols., Damascus, 1961), 1: 13ff.; A. Le Chatelier, Les Confréries Musulmanes du Hedjaz (Paris,
1887), 210-213; Octave Depont and Xavier Coppolani, Les Confréries Religieuses Musulmanes
(new ed., Paris, 1987), 329-331; Barbara Von Schlegell, “Sa#diyya” in: EI 8 (1995), 728f.

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 38 meir hatina

However, Sa#dÊ sources argued that it was a new order, whose Sufi
lineage went back to the Prophet’s cousin and son-in-law, #AlÊ ibn
AbÊ •§lib (d. 40/661), and to the renowned mystic Abå al-Q§sim al-
Junayd (d. 298/910).
The status of the Sa#diyya order was enhanced in Syria at the
beginning of the sixteenth century by two key figures: \asan al-Jib§wÊ
and his son \usayn, known for their many holy attributes. They
amassed vast property as a result of their religio-social functions and
active involvement in commercial activity. They were honored by state
officials and notables, and the public flocked to their main lodge (z§wiya)
in the Kubayb§t district of Damascus to receive blessings.10
Sa#dÊs were known for their ability to cure insanity and for mounting
spectacles involving body piercing and swallowing broken glass.11 Éric
Geoffroy, quoting the Sufi theologian #Abd al-GhanÊ al-N§bulusÊ (d.
1143/1731), describes the point in the dhikr ceremonies when Sa#dÊs
fall to the ground, and white, yellow or red paint oozes from their legs.
#Ulam§’, when questioned about this phenomenon, ruled that it was a
miracle attributed to the founder of the order, Sa#d al-DÊn.12 The most
distinctive attribute of the order, however, was the dawsa rite, held not
only on the Prophet’s birthday and on other maw§lid of saints, but also
at times of natural disaster or crises of corruption and extortion that
agitated the population.13
In blending sainthood, wealth and a network in the major cities of
Damascus, Aleppo, and Hama, the Sa#diyya nurtured its prestigious
status in the Syrian community. Its shaykhs took pride in emphasizing
that many disciples as well as travelers acquired spiritual strength and
enrichment under their aegis. While the order was involved in local
protest against the central government at times of economic distress,
its close relations with Ottoman officials generated a largely pro-

10
Chatelier, 213-218; #Abd al-Q§dir al-Nu#aymÊ, al-D§ris fÊ ta’rÊkh al-mad§ris (Cairo,
1988), 2: 221/222; Colette Establet & Jean P. Pascual, Familles et Fortunes a Damas (Damascus,
1994), 131f., 135f., 185ff.
11
AÈmad al-BudayrÊ, \aw§dith Dimashq al-yawmiyya 1741-1762 (Cairo, 1959), 91f.
12
Éric Geoffroy, Le Soufisme en Égypte et en Syrie (Damascus, 1995), 419f.
13
Al-BudayrÊ, 91f.; also Isabel Burton, The Inner Life of Syria, Palestine and the Holy Land
(London, 1884), 101.

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 religious culture contested 39

imperial stance.14 Power struggles within the Sa#diyya, which peaked

in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, eventually weakened its
organizational capabilities, but the order maintained a popular public
presence. Members of the family administered the endowments of
the Umayyad mosques in Damascus and Aleppo and were honored
by the Sultan’s court in Istanbul. The Sa#diyya also took root outside
Syria, especially in the Balkans, Palestine and, most importantly,
Egypt.15
The Egyptian Sa#diyya was based in Cairo. The formative figure
of the fourteenth century was, by Sa#dÊ accounts, Yånus al-Shayb§nÊ,
one of nine sons of Sa#d al-DÊn al-Jib§wÊ. Over the years, the Egyptian
branch increased its presence, gained a foothold in Sudan, and eventually
overshadowed the parent movement in Syria.16 Based organizationally
at the tomb of Shaykh Yånus near Cairo’s B§b al-Naßr (Gate of Succor),
the Sa#diyya attained fame mainly as a result of its spectacular dawsa
rite.17

14
The Sa#diyya’s strong relationship with the Ottoman administration was particularly
evident in the status of the village of Jaba, located several miles north of Damascus, where
the tomb of Sa#d al-DÊn, the founder of the order, was situated. The village and its environs
were regarded as the property of the saint, free of taxation and controlled by the saint’s
descendants. Jaba’s privileged position was largely preserved even during the period of Otto-
man reform in the mid-nineteenth century. Frederick J. Bliss, The Religions of Modern Syria and
Palestine (new ed., New York, 1972), 233.
15
Al-Nu#aymÊ, 222; Depont and Coppolani, 331-332; Schlegell, 729-731; MuÈammad
JamÊl al-ShaããÊ, Tarajim a#y§n Dimashq fÊ al-qarn al-th§lith #ashar (3rd ed., Damascus, 1994), 14,
118f., 251f.; Frederick De Jong, “The Sufi Orders in Nineteenth and Twentieth Century
Palestine” in: idem, Sufi Orders in Ottoman and Post-Ottoman Egypt and the Middle East (Istanbul,
1999), 104-105.
16
Schlegell, 730; Chatelier, 215f. It seems that over the years, the Egyptian Sa#diyya split
into several branches. Furthermore, a Syrian Sa#dÊ sect, the Shayb§niyya al-Taghlabiyya,
reached Egypt in the early twentieth century, spreading and gaining official recognition.
MuÈammad #Abd al-Mun#im Khaf§jÊ, al-Tur§th al-råÈÊ li ’l-taßawwuf al-Isl§mÊ fÊ Mißr (Cairo,
1958), 174. See also De Jong, “The Sufi Orders”, 105.
17
#AlÊ Mub§rak, the nineteenth-century administrative and educational reformist, held
that there was no historical evidence that this was the tomb of Shaykh Yånus. Rather, it was
established by a Mamluk prince named Yånus al-NawråzÊ who was murdered by political
rivals in Syria in 791/1388 and whose burial place was unknown. Mub§rak, however, con-
firmed that the shrine had become a lodge of the Sa#diyya order, and that some of its leaders
were buried nearby. Mub§rak, al-Khiãaã, al-tawfÊqiyya al-jadÊda li-Mißr al-Q§hira (20 vols., Cairo-
Bulaq, 1887-1889), 6: 51f.

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 40 meir hatina

The Dawsa Ritual

The origin of the dawsa, one of the strongest visual expressions of

Egyptian Sufism, is unclear. According to one tradition, described in a
letter sent by an al-Azhar scholar to Ignaz Goldziher in 1881, Shaykh
Yånus, arriving in Cairo, was asked by his followers to perform a miracle
to establish his status as a saint. He requested them to lay glass vessels
on the ground, and then rode over them on horseback without breaking
any of them. This feat could not be replicated by Yånus’s successors,
and instead of glass vessels, men were laid prostrate on the ground.18
A slightly different version of the origin of the tradition, provided by
a nineteenth-century American diplomat and traveler, Elbert Farman,
held that when Shaykh Yånus returned to Cairo after a pilgrimage to
Mecca, the guards did not permit him to enter the city gates on the
grounds that he had not proven his proclaimed sainthood. In response,
the shaykh ordered that a large number of glass vessels bound tightly
together be laid down, whereupon he rode over them on horseback
without damaging any of them. Women witnessing the sight hurriedly
laid down their children before the shaykh, who rode over them without
causing them any harm. Following Shaykh Yånus’s display of power,
the city gates were opened to him and again people threw themselves
under his horse’s hooves and were not hurt.19 The ritual became
institutionalized and the dawsa, which was the province of the Sa#diyya
order only, became an integral part of the annual ceremonies in Egypt
marking the Prophet’s birthday.
The dawsa was performed at noon on the last day of the celebrations
in an open area in front of the tent site at the Azbakiyya Square.
Preparations began the night before when the Shaykh al-Sa#diyya repeated
certain prayers and passages from the Qur’§n in solitude. On the day
of the ritual, he arrived at the al-\asanayn Mosque, where he served

18
This tradition was described in a letter sent by Ignaz Goldziher to his professor, H. L.
Fleischer, in Leipzig and cited in the German journal Zeitschrift der Deutschen Morgenländischen
Gesellschaft 36 (1882), 647f.
19
Some observers argued that the dawsa was influenced by an earlier Indian ritual in
which devotees threw themselves under the wheels of the cart that drew the heavy statue of
Vishnu, giving rise to the concept of a juggernaut. Elbert E. Farman, Egypt and its Betrayal
(New York, 1908), 62f.; John Gadsby, My Wanderings (London, 1875), 288.

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 religious culture contested 41

as preacher, for the noon prayer. Afterward, he mounted a stallion

carefully trained for this purpose and was led by his followers in a grand
procession through the main streets of Cairo, with some of his retinue
performing such rituals as eating snakes or broken glass and puncturing
their bodies with needles. The arrival of the shaykh at the tent area,
where a massive crowd had gathered, was heralded by music, the
chanting of Qur’§nic verses and dhikr, all of which heightened religious
fervor. Many dervishes, estimated by various sources at between 100
and 300, lay on the ground face down, close to one another, repeating
the name of Allah. They wore simple garments, signifying their low
social origin, their arms and legs bare. They were clearly in a state of
religious ecstasy and, according to some reports, under the influence
of hashish.20 Farman describes the performance of the dawsa ritual
as follows:
The bodies of the deluded devotees, when arranged and packed, formed a kind
of corduroy road for the triumphal march of the holy Sheik, so holy that the
Prophet miraculously protected from harm those who prostrated themselves to
be trampled upon by his horse. If perchance it became known that some one
had been harmed, it is attributed to want of faith. At a certain signal, the atten-
dants along the line and the thousands of faithful among the people commenced
crying, “Allah”.... At the other end of the line, two men side by side were seen
walking on the bodies, carrying green flags, the staffs of which were surmounted
by spear heads. Close behind followed the Sheik, mounted on a horse led by two
men. They came hurriedly down the line, amid the cries of “Allah-la-la-la”...
which gradually deepened and, mingling with the excited clamor of the great
multitude, became a continuous, deafening roar unlike any sounds to be heard
except among the dervishes...The men on the ground made no movement. Their
faith was strengthened by the continued invocation of Allah, whose Prophet was
to protect them and thus show His power to all unbelievers. As the horse moved
along the line, there was a general rush and the crowd quickly closed in behind
him the moment he had passed. Whether this was prearranged by the manag-
ers, or whether it was because the people could no longer be restrained, I do
not know. The result was to prevent obtaining of much information as to what
had taken place.21

20
Farman, 56ff.; Lane, 456-458; AÈmad AmÊn, Q§mås al-#§d§t wa ’l-taq§lÊd wa ’l-ta#§bÊr
al-mißriyya (Cairo, 1953), 384; ‘al§È Rama·§n, al-\aya al-ijtim§ #iyya fÊ #aßr Ism§#Êl (Alexandria,
1977), 226-331; A. B. Clot-Bey, Aperçu Général sur L’Égypte (2 vols., Paris, 1840), 2: 101f.
21
Farman, 57f.

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 42 meir hatina

Farman, as two other Western observers, Edward Lane and John

Gadsby, discussed the issue of injury caused to the prostrated dervishes
in detail. All three writers noted the rapidity with which the dervishes
got to their feet with the help of their companions after the horse rode
over them, whereupon they were taken to the nearest Sufi tents. The
reason for this haste, these observers claimed, was to hide possible
evidence of injury, and even death, and thereby preserve the miraculous
element of the act. All three writers stated that they had witnessed
several injured dervishes who had tried to conceal their pain by
religious chanting or by laughing. Local reports that reached them
referred to fatal injuries.22 Uncertainty over whether the horse’s hooves
were covered with leather, or over the number of casualties and their
precise injuries, did not mask the disapproval displayed by each of the
observers regarding the dawsa. To Farman, Lane and Gadsby, it was
a deviant and disgraceful tragedy performed in the name of Islam. By
contrast, the local spectators viewed it as an enrapturing drama. When
it was over they rushed to touch the garments of the shaykh or of those
who had touched him, so as to gain some of the blessing (baraka). The
display of respect and submission to the holy shaykh, in Louis Marin’s
phrase, was part of the practice of “honoring the great”.23 The final
ritual of the dawsa was the visit of the Shaykh al-Sa#diyya to the tent of
the head of all the Sufi orders, Shaykh al-BakrÊ, along with high state
officials, #ulam§’ and other notables who were also invited to mark the
conclusion of the festivities. Traditionally, at the close of the gathering,
Sa#diyya followers would eat snakes and other serpents.24
The dawsa ritual was also performed at other maw§lid of saints25 and
during the festival of al-Isr§’ wa ’l-Mi#r§j commemorating the Prophet’s
night journey to Jerusalem on 27th Rajab (the seventh month of the
Muslim calendar). As at the Prophet’s birthday festivities, the dawsa was
performed at the close of the Mi #r§j, this time at the tomb of Shaykh

22
Ibid., 59f.; Lane, 458f., 475; Gadsby, 285-288.
23
Marin, 29-32.
24
Lane, 459f. Serpents constituted a key element in the rituals of the Sa#diyya and Rif§#iyya
orders, as well as a source of livelihood, since many of these dervishes were paid to charm
snakes away from houses. Ibid., 251.
25
Examples are the maw§lid of Shaykh Yånus, Sayyid \usayn and Im§m al-Sh§fi#Ê. See
D. B. Macdonald, “Dawsa” in: EI 2, II (1965), 181.

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 religious culture contested 43

#Abd al-Q§dir al-DashãåãÊ in the northern quarter of Cairo. The fact

that the al-DashãåãÊ mawlid overlapped with the Mi#r§j festival enhanced
its religious prestige and attracted a large audience.26
Indisputably, the dawsa was the crowning glory of the religious
ceremonies marking the Prophet’s birthday and the Mi #r§j, all under
state auspices with official funding. As such, the rite became integral
to the cultural landscape of Cairo. It was the formative element of the
Sa#diyya order and its main public manifestation. The dawsa embodied
the religious charisma of the Shaykh al-Sa#diyya, whose followers,
along with the spectators, attributed extraordinary powers to him.
These powers emanated from a venerated historical chain of Sufi
saints (silsila), whose origins went back to the inner circle of the
Prophet’s companions. The use of a horse provided additional symbolic
empowerment to the status of the Shaykh al-Sa#diyya, elevating him
above all other mortals.
The Shaykh al-Sa#diyya, the chief player in the dawsa, provided a
theological experience saturated with excitement for those who crowded
around him. He served as a conduit of communication between two
cosmic planes, earth and heaven, on behalf of the people, recovering
the sanctity of human existence as a divine creation, an aspect which
mundane reality tended to blur. He helped empower the supremacy of
the metaphysical authority, granting it physical and not just symbolic
substance.27 The metaphysical source of his charisma, moreover,
gave him earthly power among the populace, elevating his communal
influence.28 As the historian Aviad Kleinberg pointed out, in referring
to saints in medieval Christianity, charisma is power, and, like all power,

26
Lane noted that a miracle performed by Shaykh al-DashãåãÊ convinced one of the
Mamluk sultans to set aside his doubts regarding the Mi #r§j event and to become an orthodox
Muslim. Lane, 474-476. See also Chatelier, 224-225; Schimmel, “Some Glimpses”, 373f.
27
On the roles of religious festivals, saints and their graves, see Taylor, 127-167; Eliade,
63, 89f.; Peter Brown, The Cult of the Saints (Chicago, 1981), 1-4, 50f.; Stephen Wilson,
“Introduction” in: idem. (ed.), Saints and their Cults (Cambridge, 1983), 16-40. See also
Clifford Geertz, The Interpretation of Cultures (New York, 1973), 89-98, 123-131,142-146. Also:
S. Reese, “Ziy§miyya” in: EI2, XI (2002), 524-539.
28
Lane, listing the most celebrated orders in Egypt of the early nineteenth century, began
by citing the Rif§#iyya and the Sa#diyya. This high status was evident during the mawlid of
the Prophet, when al-BakrÊ honored the heads of the Rif§#iyya and Sa#diyya by presenting
them with special robes made of broadcloth, as compared to the woollen robes granted to
other Sufi shaykhs. Lane, 251; De Jong, Turuq, 61f.

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 44 meir hatina

it has political implications. Although the state and the Catholic Church
could have attempted to marginalize popular charismatic figures, in
most cases they preferred to canonize them, thereby promoting their
own interests.29 Apparently, this was true for the Egyptian political
and religious authorities as well. They held the same corporatist stance
toward the dawsa and to the cult of saints generally, which may explain
why Sufism flourished under the Mamluks (1250-1517) and even more
so under the Ottomans (1517-1798). Sufism even gained a foothold
within al-Azhar, as indicated by the appointment of several Sufi figures
to the high post of rector. Most Azharist #ulam§’ sanctioned the various
maw§lid, even ruling that the holy attributes of Sufi saints (kar§m§t)
lived on after their death, and that anyone who denied this should
be condemned. This corporatist attitude eventually placed the saints
and their tombs in the public domain, preeminent in their physical
surroundings and accessible to the entire community.30 It continued
well into MuÈammad #AlÊ’s dynasty in the nineteenth century.31
It was only with Egypt’s growing interaction with the West during
the second half of the nineteenth century that the communal consensus
regarding the dawsa, backed by the religious establishment, began to be
eroded. The dawsa, and Sufism generally, became the subject of public
debate. Their two primary opponents were European observers and
Islamic reformists. Criticism was also voiced within governmental and
al-Azhar circles, denouncing the Sa#diyya as an eschatological caste
and the Sufi orders as ignorant of Islam, although such criticism was
not widespread.32

29
Aviad Kleinberg, Fra Ginepros Leg of Pork (Hebrew; Tel Aviv, 2000), 16-20.
30
MuÈammad ‘abrÊ Yåsuf, Dawr al-mutaßawwifa fÊ ta’rÊkh Mißr fÊ al-#aßr al-#Uthm§nÊ 1517-
1798 (Cairo, 1994), 46-51; #Umar #AlÊ \asan, al-‘åfiyya wa’l-sÊyasa fÊ Mißr (Cairo, 1997), 89-
94; Kam§l \§mid MughÊth, Mißr fÊ al-#aßr al-#Uthm§nÊ (Cairo, 1997), 191-198; Bayard Dodge,
al-Azhar: A Millennium of Muslim Learning (Washington, D.C., 1961), 84-86; Schimmel, “Some
Glimpses”, 370-382; J. Heyworth-Dunne, An Introduction to the History of Education in Modern
Egypt (London, 1968), 8-12; Jonathan Berkey, The Transmission of Knowledge in Medieval Cairo
(New Jersey, 1992), 56-60; Taylor, 62-79. See also Brown, 3, 9.
31
\asan, 94f.; De Jong, Turuq, 54-69. On the phenomenon of saints in Upper Egypt,
see C. B. Klunzinger, Upper Egypt: Its People and its Products (London, 1878), 392-394.
32
See, e.g., MughÊth, 197; Mub§rak, 4: 118-119; 8: 2. A more favourable approach
toward Sufism was adopted by Mub§rak’s mentor, Rif§#a al-•ahã§wÊ (d. 1290/1873). He
stated that one should respect and seek the grace of the Sufi shaykhs, whom he called #ulam§"

book47-1.indb 44 7-3-2007 12:27:36

 religious culture contested 45

Opponents of the Dawsa

The dawsa, with its visual magnetism, evoked wide interest as well as
considerable polemic in Western circles. It gained extensive coverage
in travel accounts of the manners of Egyptian society in the nineteenth
century,33 and occupied a special place in the reports of foreign consuls,
especially British ones. Most of these sources tended to denounce the
dawsa as a pagan phenomenon and its participants as fanatics. The shaykh
of the dawsa ceremony was described as being in a state of trance, his
eyes closed, mumbling to himself, his head swaying in tandem with the
motion of the horse. His prone followers were compared to sardines
packed in a box, in a state of religious fervor induced by opium or
hashish, begging to be tread upon so as to be freed from all bodily
illness.
In the eyes of the foreign observers, the dawsa reflected a backward
culture that had no place in an era of enlightenment and humanism.
It was also portrayed as a symptom of the more general phenomenon
of superstition which dominated the Orient.34 According to Gadsby,
“The Easterns are proverbially the most superstitious people in existence.
With almost every event that takes place, every movement they make,
every dream that occupies their thoughts on their beds, they connect
some supernatural agency.” In Gadsby’s perception, superstition and
religious tyranny were far worse than political suppression or military
despotism.35
The ideals of enlightenment and humanism served as a moral

al-ÈaqÊqa, i.e., #ulam§’ with esoteric knowledge. Israel Altman, The Political Thought of Rifa#a
Rafi# al-Tahtawi: A Nineteenth Century Egyptian Reformer (PhD dissertation, Los Angeles, 1976),
138ff., 180-183.
33
This was best illustrated by the appearance of a sketch of the dawsa rite on the opening
page of the second edition (1890) of Lane’s book.
34
Lane, 458f., 475f.; Farman, 58, 60-61; Gadsby, 276f., 287f.; Alfred J. Butler, Court Life in
Egypt (2nd ed., London, 1888), 219-224, 249-253, 262, 296f.; Lady Duff Gordon, Letters from
Egypt 1862-1869 (new ed., London, 1969), 268f.; Edward Malet (Cairo) to Robert Salisbury
(London) 25 February 1880, FO 78/3141/ No. 90; Malet, Egypt 1879-1883 (London, 1909),
51f.
35
Gadsby, 276. However, in contrast to other European observers cited above, Gadsby
pointed to similar symptoms of fanaticism and tyranny that prevailed in the distant and
recent history of Christian culture. Ibid., 288.

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 46 meir hatina

weapon in the hands of the Islamic reformists as well, but were used
to counter Eurocentric criticism and to reaffirm the purity of Islam.
The reformists’ resented the dawsa ritual on religious as well as on
national or proto-national grounds, claming that it sullyed the image
of Egypt, considering the popularity of Sufi ceremonies in the tours of
foreign visitors. Guarding the honor of both Islam and the homeland
were prominent themes in the reformist discourse.
The reformist polemic against Sufism in Egypt sharpened and spread
in the last quarter of the nineteenth century. Its main spokesmen were
MuÈammad #Abduh, \usayn al-MarßafÊ, #Abdall§h al-NadÊm, MuÈammad
#Umar, #Abd al-#AzÊz ShawÊsh and RashÊd Ri·§—scholars and writers
who had been affiliated with Sufism in their youth. Notably, they praised
the Sufi concept as embodying the science of ethics (#ilm al-akhl§q), aimed
at purifying the soul and nurturing the humble attributes of modesty,
honesty and patience. Moreover, they acknowledged the important
historic role played by the Sufi orders in spreading the Islamic faith.
However, they vehemently condemned the corrupt practices that had
contaminated Sufism over the centuries, such as exaggerated ecstasy,
withdrawal from mundane affairs, the compulsive veneration of saints,
and dhikr rituals involving obsessive shouting, singing and dancing.
These practices were denounced as “devil worship” and as presenting
Islam in a ridiculous light in the eyes of strangers. Furthermore, they
encouraged submissiveness and blocked any real attempt to face the
challenges of modernity in the Muslim world. All this constituted the
background to the reformist campaign against the dawsa ritual.36
The reformist discourse regarding the dawsa was shaped by Shaykh
MuÈammad #Abduh (d. 1323/1905) in the official gazette al-Waq§’i#
al-Mißriyya (“Egyptian Events”). In #Abduh’s view, the dawsa was alien
to Islamic tradition. The most shocking aspect of the dawsa, he argued,

36
The anti-Sufi polemic of the reformists was deeply influenced by the teaching of Shaykh
Jam§l al-DÊn al-Afgh§nÊ (d. 1315/1897), who lived in Egypt from 1871-1879. Sirriyeh, 68-
74, 86-102; \usayn al-MarßafÊ, Ris§lat al-kalim al-tham§n (Cairo, 1903), 16-38; #Abdall§h al-
NadÊm in al-Ust§dh, 11 April 1893, 786-791; 25 April 1893, 828-843; RashÊd Ri·§, Ta’rÊkh
al-ust§dh al-im§m al-Shaykh MuÈammad #Abduh (3 vols., Cairo, 1925-1947), 1: 109-130; al-Man§r
(1898-1899), 1: 93-101, 813-816, 823-828, 924ff. See also Julian Johansen, Sufism and Is-
lamic Reform in Egypt (Oxford, 1996), 16-21, 30; Frederick De Jong, “Opposition to Sufism
in Twentieth-Century Egypt (1900-1970): A Preliminary Survey” in: De Jong and Radtke
(eds.), Islamic Mysticism Contested, 310f., 312ff.

book47-1.indb 46 7-3-2007 12:27:36

 religious culture contested 47

was the practice of riding an animal over the bodies of faithful Muslims,
which violated Allah’s instruction to respect the faithful and avoid their
humiliation, except in cases of legal punishment. #Abduh also sought
to refute the Sufi counterclaim that the dawsa rite conferred dual
immunity—religiously, in that the saintly attributes passed from Shaykh
Yånus, the founder of the dawsa, to his successors; and historically,
in that the rite was entrenched in local culture with the consent of
prominent #ulam§’ and state officials. Firstly, #Abduh argued, sainthood
is individual. Even if the claim that Shaykh Yånus rode over glass
vessels without breaking them, and then over prostrate people without
injuring them, is accepted, this miracle is confined to him alone. One
of the conditions of sainthood is that it cannot be imitated, inherited
or passed on. Otherwise, it is a deception. Secondly, the legitimation of
one custom or another should be based on its conformity with religious
injunctions and not on its historical scope. Clearly, #Abduh pointed
out, the dawsa, in humiliating the human being and in exposing him
to danger, deviated from Islam.37
Yet, #Abduh avoided openly criticizing the #ulam§’, the gatekeepers of
the faith and of public morality, for failing to prohibit the dawsa. The
importance of conducting an effective campaign against the deviant
practices of Sufism compelled him to adopt a conciliatory attitude
toward the silence of the #ulam§’, who, he noted, were trapped between
the ignorance of the masses and the tyranny of the rulers.
The silence of the #ulam§’ while observing the dawsa in those days stemmed from
the influence of deviations over the masses. The #ulama’ despaired of obtaining
support from those in power to abolish the dawsa, since the [rulers] lacked any
interest in religious affairs or in preserving its purity from deviation. If the #ulam§’
had demanded the abolishment of the dawsa at that time, they would not have
found a sympathetic response, or supporters within the political elite. Additionally,
the masses would have accused them of heresy.38

37
#Abduh’s articles in al-Waq§’i # al-Mißriyya of 1880-1881 appeared in Ri·§, Ta’rÊkh, 2:
136-142. In later treatises, however, #Abduh adopted a stricter stance toward miracles attrib-
uted to Sufi saints. He argued that they detract from the unity of Allah by encouraging the
masses to worship other human beings who were believed to be intercessors of the divine.
Therefore, any Muslim who denies such miracles does not violate the principles of faith.
MuÈammad #Abduh, Ris§lat al-tawÈÊd (new ed., Cairo, 1952), 152-156, 204ff.
38
Ri·§, Ta’rÊkh, 2: 138, 141.

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 48 meir hatina

#Abduh linked the dawsa and other deviant Sufi practices to the
decline of Muslim political and cultural viability in modern times.
“Troubles did not reach us and distortion did not enter our home
until the Muslims began to conduct their religious life from the outset
without delving into the authentic in religious law.”39 While the dawsa
constituted the focus of #Abduh’s and his disciples’ criticism, it was not
the sole issue. Other practices, including some related to the Sa#diyya
order, were also denounced. In one article dating from November
1880, #Abduh quoted a report sent by the supervising shaykh of the al-
\usayn Mosque to the Ministry of Public Endowments, complaining
that during the dhikr ceremonies conducted by Sa#dÊs every thursday
at the mosque, the name of Allah was drowned out by their use of
loud drums. Repeated requests by the shaykh to the Sa#diyya officials
to end this custom were turned down. Similarly, #Abduh denounced
the mingling of men with women, the eating of snakes and broken
glass, and self-flagellation with sharp implements.40 His scriptural
imperative for uprooting these practices was “to command right and
forbid wrong” (Såra 3:104). This imperative, which applies to the public
space of Muslim society and requires moral action against religious
misconduct, was central to #Abduh’s anti-Sufi polemic. It was the
public space which provided the primary stage for the colorful Sufi
ceremonies. In emphasizing the centrality of “forbidding wrong” in
Islamic law, #Abduh urged the government to enforce its authority by
whatever means necessary.41
The reformists aired their views in local newspapers and in modern
educational institutions such as D§r al-#Ulåm (a teachers’ college es-
tablished in 1872), but their influence was limited. By contrast, European—
mainly British—criticism was more influential in the khedive’s court.
Britain’s growing political and economic control of Egyptian affairs
under Gladstone, its moralistic prime minister, resulted in intervention
as well on moral issues in the name of universal liberal values.42 One

39
Ibid., 138.
40
Ibid., 133-136.
41
Ibid., 141f.; #Abduh, Ris§lat al-tawÈÊd, 178f. See also Michael Cook, Commanding Right
and Forbidding Wrong in Islamic Thought (Cambridge, 2000).
42
On Gladstone’s religio-moral outlook, see H. C. G. Matthew, “Gladstone, Vaticanism,
and the Question of the East” in: Derek Baker (ed.), Religious Motivation: Biographical and So-

book47-1.indb 48 7-3-2007 12:27:36

 religious culture contested 49

such issue was the Sufi rituals. Another was slavery.43 Typically, the
Times noted in an editorial in November 1880: “Egypt is only emerging
from barbarism. She cannot yet afford to despise the foreigners who
serve her. In order to take rank with civilized nations she must still
submit to be taught by Europe and patiently bear with European
teachers.”44
The Sufi rituals, including the dawsa, were covered widely in the
British press, which also quoted the impressions of British travelers
who visited Egypt. A series of reports, some published in the Times,
prompted the British government to request its representatives in Cairo
to persuade the khedive MuÈammad TawfÊq (1879-1892) to abolish the
custom.45 This mission was assigned to British Consul-General Edward
Malet (1879-1883), who made no secret of his reservations about the
dawsa and its performers, describing them as “extreme fanatics”. As a
consequence, he decided to absent himself from the official ceremonies
in which the ritual was to be performed, informing the Foreign Office
in London of his intention.46 Meeting with the khedive, he justified
his absence from the ceremonies as an unwillingness to be perceived
as endorsing the “cruel and degrading spectacle”. In response, the
khedive assured Malet of his intention to suppress the dawsa and other
controversial Sufi practices, but emphasized that he was obliged to
act cautiously, given the degree to which the custom was entrenched
in society.47
This indeed reflected TawfÊq’s dilemma regarding the dawsa, stemming
from an awareness of the political value of public religious ceremonies as
a demonstration of state power, especially during a period of instability.
At the time, the khedive faced a growing challenge by the #Ur§bÊ move-

ciological Problems for the Church Historians (Oxford, 1978), 417-442; R. Robinson, J. Gallagher
and A. Denny, Africa and the Victorians: the Official Mind of Imperialism (2nd ed., London, 1981),
1-6.
43
On Britain’s efforts to suppress slavery in Egypt, see, e.g., Gabriel Baer, Studies in the
Social History of Modern Egypt (Chicago, 1969), 177-185; also Gadsby, 214ff.
44
The Times, 1 November 1880, 4; also 18 December 1880, 9.
45
Ibid., 1 November 1880, 4; Farman, 60; Gadsby, 287; Butler, 262.
46
Malet (Cairo) to Salisbury (London) 25 February 1880, FO 78/3141/ No. 90. Malet,
however, carefully avoided presenting his absence as a diplomatic protest, arguing that the
profession of diplomacy was to carry out government policy, not cause troubles. Malet,
Egypt, 52.
47
Al-Ust§dh, 11 April 1893, 788; Malet, Egypt, 52ff.

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 50 meir hatina

ment (1879-1882), which, under the leadership of a group of army

officers, called for the refashioning of the Egyptian political system. As
Frederick De Jong argues, TawfÊq himself was evidently convinced of the
depraved nature of the dawsa.48 However, as the public representative
of the state at religious events, he symbolically reaffirmed the central
position of the royal court in the Egyptian social structure, thus his
position regarding the dawsa was cautious. The abolishment edict
eventually issued in January 1881, therefore, was the end product of
careful groundwork, reinforced by a combination of circumstances that
eased this significant step.

The Abolishment of the Dawsa and its Ramifications

The suppression of the dawsa rite had been on Khedive TawfÊq’s

agenda from his ascension to the throne in 1879, following the deposition
of his father, Ism§#Êl. However, TawfÊq avoided taking concrete steps
on the issue for two reasons, which he noted in private talks with
Malet and with Alfred Butler, his children’s British tutor: the religious
rigidity of Shaykh #AlÊ al-BakrÊ, head of the Sufi orders; and his brief
tenure on the throne, too short a period to take “a drastic and severe
step”. Rebutting London’s criticism of him for his presence at the
dawsa ceremonies, TawfÊq argued that should he absent himself from
them, the people, in their ignorance, would accuse him of a lack of
faith. TawfÊq noted his extensive efforts to convince Shaykh al-BakrÊ
to abolish the dawsa as being contradictory to the Prophet’s teachings
and as degrading human dignity. In return, he had promised al-
BakrÊ to exalt him in public with a grant of horses and furs, and to
compensate the common people with public entertainment of a less
depraved nature.
TawfÊq’s efforts, however, met with little success. He claimed that
al-BakrÊ and other shaykhs were unwilling to relinquish their hold on
the people, a hold facilitated by encouraging the people’s belief in
superstitions. He promised to work to suppress the dawsa, but in a

48
De Jong, Turuq, 96f.

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 religious culture contested 51

cautious and discrete manner.49 While al-BakrÊ himself could not

ignore the khedive’s insistence on introducing reforms in Sufism, he
imposed only a few sanctions on those involved in disputed rituals such
as snake eating and self-flagellation, and even these steps were taken
only after criticism in the press. Al-BakrÊ believed that limiting the
public appearances of the orders and suppressing sensationalist rituals
would diminish the Sufi heritage, detract from its social influence,
and have a negative impact on his own status as head of the Sufi
establishment. #AlÊ al-BakrÊ died in October 1880, and his son #Abd
al-B§qÊ, subsequently rose to power. His lack of religious prestige or
political influence provided the khedive with a convenient opportunity
to abolish the dawsa.50
#Abd al-B§qÊ’s inauguration as the new leader of the Sufi orders
was held at the khedive’s palace in Ism§#Êliyya in full pomp. In return,
the khedive expected, and demanded, that the new shaykh assist him in
suppressing the dawsa and other Sufi practices.51 In January 1881, after
four months in his post, #Abd al-B§qÊ issued a decree abolishing the
dawsa, anchored in a circular that stipulated a wide range of regulations
and prohibitions regarding the conduct and rites of the Sufi orders.52 In
addition, Sufi shaykhs, preachers and scholars were instructed to reveal
to their followers that the true essence of the dawsa was devoid of any
religious sanction.53 The khedive, anxious to ingratiate himself to the
British, took full credit for suppressing the dawsa, emphasizing that he
alone could have accomplished this, after all the efforts of the #ulam§’,
government ministers and European consuls had failed.54
TawfÊq’s intervention in the cultural content of Sufism distinguished
him from his predecessors. His grandfather, MuÈammad #AlÊ, had focused

49
Butler, 262; Malet, Egypt, 53-54; Malet (Cairo) to George Granville (London), 9
February 1881, FO 78/3321/No. 51.
50
De Jong, Turuq, 94ff.
51
Butler, 223f.; Malet (Cairo) to Granville (London), 9 February 1881, FO 78/3321/No.
51.
52
De Jong, Turuq, 97-101, 196-200; Malet (Cairo) to Granville (London), 15 February
1881, FO 78/3321/No. 57. Remaining faithful to his decision to abolish the dawsa com-
pletely, al-BakrÊ turned down the Sa#dÊs’ request to perform the ritual at least on the mawlid
of Sidi Yånus, their most revered saint. Ri·§, Ta’rÊkh, 2: 137.
53
Ri·§, Ta’rÊkh, 2: 137.
54
Butler, 264.

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 52 meir hatina

on enhancing Egypt’s political and military power but remained loyal

to the Islamic-Ottoman heritage in which he was raised. His father,
Ism§#Êl, sought Westernization, but did not renounce local cultural
norms. The Sufi orders’ lack of political aspirations also contributed
to MuÈammad #AlÊ’s and Ism§#Êl’s relative tolerance of their activities.
Nonetheless, TawfÊq ensured backing his move by obtaining the religious
sanction of the new head of the Sufi orders, the rector of al-Azhar,
and the chief q§·Ê of Cairo. The q§·Ê, according to some sources,
also issued a fatw§ defining the dawsa as a “contemptible innovation”
(bida# qabÊÈa) because it degraded Muslims.55 Notably, the fatw§ was
not published in the Egyptian press or in the official al-Waq§’i # al-
Mißriyya. The press merely announced that the dawsa and other dis-
credited rituals had been abolished in a fatw§ at the request of Shaykh
al-BakrÊ.56
TawfÊq did not stop at attaining religious approval for his move
but made a point of drawing attention to significant occurrences that
supported him, namely, the death of the shaykh of the dawsa, and soon
thereafter the illness of his horse. Both events, the khedive observed,
would be seen by the people as a sign that Allah favoured him. He then
declared his intention to relocate the Prophet’s birthday festivals outside
Cairo, to the #Abb§siyya desert, inter alia for reasons of sanitation, and
at the same time he also announced his plans to amuse the people with
“plenty of fireworks and cannon salutes”. Other Sufi rituals, such as
shouting and wild dancing, the khedive argued, were foolish but innocent,
and would fade away naturally with the advance of education.57
The abolishment of the dawsa evoked praise from foreign observers
and local reformists, who lauded Khedive TawfÊq’s courage and
determination. British Consul-General Malet expressed his satisfaction
with the abolishment of the dawsa. Refuting charges by Egyptian
nationalists that the abolishment act, although justified in itself, was
the result of a direct order by the British consul in Cairo, Malet
asserted that the khedive was personally anxious to suppress the dawsa

55
De Jong, Turuq, 95, note 4; idem, “Opposition to Sufism”, 311; Macdonald, 181f.
56
Mub§rak, 6: 51f.; al-Ahr§m, 12 February 1881.
57
Butler, 263ff.

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 religious culture contested 53

and had always intended to do so.58 This view was shared by Butler,
who praised the impressive orderliness at the festivals of the Prophet’s
birthday conducted in the #Abb§siyya desert outside Cairo in 1882, a
year after the abolishment of the dawsa.59 A similar impression was
expressed in the semi-official newspaper al-Ahr§m, which stressed the
public’s support for the khedive’s decision and argued that such reforms
were justified in the name of progress.60
On the last day of the reformed version of the festivities in 1882, the
traditional Sufi procession passed before the tent of the khedive with the
usual display of the huge banners of the orders, the music of pipes and
cymbals, and the chanting of Qur’§nic verses. However, the finale—
the dawsa ceremony—was missing. The Shaykh al-Sa#diyya appeared
in silk garb and green turban, riding on his horse, preceded 50 yards
ahead by a group of policemen assigned to prevent his followers from
throwing themselves under his horse. However, Butler noted, there
was not even the slightest attempt to do so. Rather, Butler commented
cynically, “The shaykh on the horse was the only man who suffered,
or pretended to suffer; for it seems his business to go through a series
of fainting-fits on grand occasions.” Furthermore, there were no half-
naked dervishes carrying knives or cutting themselves, nor swallowers of
serpents or glass. According to Butler, “The impossible was accomplished;
and so was abolished a degrading and inhuman custom which for two
centuries had been the principle feature in the most solemn of all the
Mohammedan festivals of Egypt.” In the same vein, Farman observed
that “the dawsa now exists, at least in Cairo, only in history. This
marvelous city will henceforth have one less memorable entertainment
for the traveler. The lover of barbarous public spectacles must content
himself with the bull fights of Spain.” For these two foreign observers,
the abolishment of the dawsa, accomplished without serious opposition,
testified to the moral progress of Egyptian society.61
Shaykh MuÈammad #Abduh, the reformist writer, also expressed

58
Malet, however, was distressed by the lack of progress on another moral issue, namely
that of slavery. Malet, Egypt, 54f.; Malet (Cairo) to Granville (London), 28 February 1881,
FO 78/3319/No. 49; The Times, 3 February 1881.
59
Butler, 265. See also Farman, 61f.
60
Al-Ahr§m, 3, 11, 12 February 1881; also Mub§rak, 4: 118f.
61
Butler, 295ff.; Farman, 61.

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 54 meir hatina

satisfaction with the abolishment decree. In his view, the khedive’s

determination to reestablish the authentic foundations of Islam encouraged
the #ulam§’ to express their reservations about the dawsa without fear.
For #Abduh, the suppression of the dawsa was an important step, albeit
only one in a comprehensive campaign needed to purify Islam from
false innovations both in Sufism and in scholastic teachings. #Abduh
attributed these false innovations to the methods adopted both by the
Sufi orders and the official #ulam§’: the former sought Allah only in
their heart, thereby becoming too emotional, while the latter sought
Him in their books, thereby becoming too formalistic. #Abduh had great
hopes for the Chief Mufti of Egypt and Rector of al-Azhar MuÈammad
#Abb§sÊ al-MahdÊ (d. 1315/1897), and the head of the Sufi orders, #Abd
al-B§qÊ al-BakrÊ (d. 1309/1891).62 The two were the leading figures
of religious life in the Nile Valley and thus held the key to promoting
the desired theological reforms. #Abduh was to be disappointed.
Al-MahdÊ, a puritan and a moralist in matters of worship, indeed
denounced certain Sufi concepts and rituals as distorting Islam. In a
fatw§ dated 1876 he ruled that any person claiming to have knowledge
of the hidden world, whom people followed zealously and who evoked
public unrest, should be subject to criminal sanctions determined by the
ruler (ta#zÊr). In another fatw§, in 1880, al-MahdÊ prohibited drumming,
raised voices and mingling between men and women in the mosque
during the dhikr ceremonies.63 The fatw§ was praised by MuÈammad
#Abduh, who presented it as a comprehensive prohibition of anything
that distorted religion, within the mosque or beyond. The fatw§, he said,
signified the victory of the righteous army over the false and misleading
brigades, and opened the way for a blessed movement that would spread
from Cairo to the countryside.64 However, in other religious matters
on the reformist agenda, such as employing ijtih§d (human reasoning)
more extensively, improving the social status of women and religious

62
Ri·§, Ta’rÊkh, 2: 133f., 136-142.
63
Ibid., 133-134; MuÈammad #Ab§ssÊ al-MahdÊ, al-Fat§w§ al-Mahdiyya fÊ al-waq§’i # al-
mißriyya (7 vols., Cairo, 1897), 2: 27. On the position of the \anafÊ legal school (to which
al-MahdÊ belonged) regarding raised voices and singing in the mosque, see #Abd al-RaÈman
al-JazÊrÊ, Kit§b al-fiqh #al§ al-madh§hib al-arba#a (4 vols., Cairo, n.d.), 1: 286, 289.
64
Ri·§, Ta’rÊkh, 2: 134ff.

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 religious culture contested 55

minorities, or promoting cultural rapprochement between Islam and

the West, al-MahdÊ’s stance was more restrictive.65
#Abd al-B§qÊ al-BakrÊ provided even less cause for optimism. Although
his ordinance of 1881 included various restrictions on Sufi public activity
during religious festivals, the ultimate significance of the ordinance was
that it enhanced his own status vis-à-vis the individual heads of the
Sufi orders. Their administrative and judicial autonomy was eroded
by al-BakrÊ’s official representatives, and as a result many Sufi shaykhs
detached themselves from the formal Sufi system.66 While al-BakrÊ was
committed in principle to introducing reforms in Sufi culture, ultimately,
he did little to substantiate this and could not be considered a reformist
in the full sense of the word. One indication was continuing reformist
criticism, at the turn of the twentieth century, of ongoing Sufi practices
such as dancing, singing, drumming, self-flagellation and starvation.
The critics in this period were #Abduh’s followers, #Abdall§h al-NadÊm
(d. 1314/1896) and RashÊd Ri·§ (d. 1354/1935), while the target of
their criticism was #Abd al-B§qÊ’s successor, MuÈammad TawfÊq al-
BakrÊ (d. 1351/1932).
NadÊm’s and Ri·§’s criticism of Sufism was sharper than #Abduh’s,
reflecting mounting frustration with the indecisive stance of the al-BakrÊ
dynasty. NadÊm, a journalist and poet, cited legal sanctions of the past
as evidence of a more restrained Sufi ritual. He argued that the writings
of earlier Sufis, some of whom were commemorated by orders named
after them (e.g., #Abd al-Q§dir al-JÊl§nÊ and #Abd al-#AzÊz al-Dabb§gh),
revealed that they attributed great importance to scholastic legal teaching
and warned against neglecting it. NadÊm, the orator of the proto-national
#Ur§bÊ movement, also emphasized the damage to the image of the
Egyptian nation caused by Sufi excesses. Their religious deviations,
he charged, provided foreign observers with ammunition to ridicule
Islam. They depicted Sufi ceremonies as shows, carnivals and foolery.

65
Rudolph Peters, “Muhammad al-#Abbasi al-Mahdi (d. 1897) Grand Mufti of Egypt
and his al-Fatawa al-Mahdiyya” in: ILS 1 (April 1994), 78-81; Meir Hatina, “Fatwas as a
Prism of Social History in the Middle East: The Status of Non-Muslims in the Nineteenth
Century” in: M. Tamcke (ed.), Koexistenz und Konfrontation: Beiträge zur jüngeren Geschichte und
Gegenwartslage der orientalischen Christen (Hamburg, 2003), 58f.
66
De Jong, Turuq, 97-101; Julian Johansen, Sufism and Islamic Reform in Egypt (Oxford,
1996), 20-23.

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 56 meir hatina

As a consequence, the Egyptian nation was perceived as a backward

society. Commenting sarcastically on the growing number of maw§lid
in Egypt, NadÊm observed that “while the Europeans have a carnival
each year, we have a carnival each day”.67
NadÊm’s colleague, Ri·§, a religious scholar who was influenced
by the puritanical \anbalite doctrine, devoted many of his fatw§s
and articles in the reformist newspaper al-Man§r to attacks on the
Sufi mindset. He compared the Sufis to the ShÊ#ites as advocates of
exaggeration (ghuluww) in that they attributed supernatural powers to
their leaders, obeying them unquestioningly. He also charged that by
focusing on the inner meaning (b§ãin) of Qur’§nic verses and by delving
too deeply into their hidden philosophic aspects, the Sufis distorted the
true meaning of the Qur’§n. According to Ri·§, the various maw§lid, in
bringing people together from all parts of the country, offered material
and cultural benefits for the Muslim community, but the negative
aspects of these festivals outweighed the positive ones. According to
him, the tomb of each saint became a kind of “second Ka#ba” and
his status was elevated to that of the Prophet. All this, he emphasized,
took place under state patronage and with state funding. Furthermore,
Ri·§ argued, some of the prominent scholars to whom maw§lid were
dedicated, such as MuÈammad Ibn IdrÊs al-Sh§fi #Ê (d. 204/820) and
Abå \§mid al-Ghaz§lÊ (d. 505/1111), were important defenders of
the sunna and critics of deviant innovations. Al-Sh§fi #Ê, for example,
divided the night into three equal parts: for study, for worship and
for sleep. The first two were devoted to the other world and the last
to the believer’s health. In Ri·§’s view, this division was far worthier
than spending the night dancing and chanting.68
Shaykh MuÈammad TawfÊq al-BakrÊ, whom both NadÊm and Ri·§
held responsible for this situation, sought to neutralize these attacks by
publicly emphasizing the importance of formal religious knowledge, the

67
NadÊm in al-Ust§dh, 11 April 1893, 786-791, 25 April 1893, 828-843.
68
Ri·§, Ta’rÊkh, 1: 109-115; al-Man§r (1898-1899), 1: 93-101, 813-816, 823-828, 924ff.;
‘al§h al-DÊn al-Munajjid and Yåsuf KhårÊ (eds.), Fat§w§ al-Im§m MuÈammad RashÊd Ri·§
(6 vols., Beirut, 1970), 1: 75-79, 93ff.; 2: 765ff.; 3: 864f., 1118f.; 4: 1468-1482, 1592-1595,
1906f. See also Albert Hourani, The Emergence of the Modern Middle East (Oxford, 1981), 90-
102.

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 religious culture contested 57

enforcement of public morality, and restrained Sufi activity. However, he

continued to laud the positive role played by the Sufi orders in spreading
Islam and retaining its viability, a role also acknowledged by many
European observers in their writings. For al-BakrÊ, the contemporary
importance of Sufism was equal to that of the first Muslim conquests
in the seventh century, especially as its influence reached Africa, China,
India and Central Asia.69
NadÊm’s and Ri·§’s disappointment with MuÈammad TawfÊq al-
BakrÊ’s insincere efforts to reform Sufi culture was accompanied by
sharp attacks against the #ulam§’ who, in their silence on deviant religious
rituals, acquiesced to the practices of the Sufi orders in misleading the
people. Nevertheless, like #Abduh, they were careful not to go too far
in denouncing either the al-BakrÊ family or the Azharite #ulam§’, being
aware of their prestigious status in Egyptian society. Rather, both
writers recommended various measures to prevent deviant practices.
NadÊm suggested making the public the watchdog of religious morality:
anyone who heard heretical statements or witnessed deviations in
the Sufi community could report them to Shaykh al-BakrÊ so as to
punish those responsible. NadÊm also offered his journal, al-Ust§dh, as
a platform for exposing deviations from Islam. Clearly, NadÊm sought
to expose al-BakrÊ to public pressure in order to impel him to fulfill his
commitment to Sufi reform embodied in official ordinances he issued
in 1895 and 1905.70
Ri·§’s suggestions, by contrast, were more practical. He recommended
enforcing the rule of law, tightening government supervision over the
maw§lid, and forming a committee headed by the grand mufti and
rector of al-Azhar to monitor the mosque network, including the
posting of guards at mosque entrances. Still, Ri·§ pointed out, in the
long run, the major reform had to be conducted in preaching and in
guiding the Sufi orders and the public regarding the authentic essence
of Sufism.71

69
MuÈammad TawfÊq al-BakrÊ, al-Mustaqbal li’l-isl§m (2nd. ed., Cairo, 1906), 14-19;
Johansen, 26-29.
70
NadÊm in al-Ust§dh, 11 April 1893, 789; 25 April 1893, 840-843.
71
Ri·§, Ta’rÊkh, 2: 128f.; al-Man§r (1898-1899), 1: 99ff. However, Ri·§’s frustration with
the poor results of the reformist agenda eventually resulted, inter alia, in his radicalization.
Inspired by the teachings of Ibn Taymiyya and the Wahh§bÊs, he demanded the establish-

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 58 meir hatina

Ultimately, promoting genuine reform in Sufism depended on the

goodwill of state authorities as well as Sufi shaykhs. From the point of view
of the state, interaction with the masses, especially taking into account
the ongoing struggle for independence from British occupation, required
a sustained display of tolerance toward Sufism and its customs. Notably,
the political parties, attempting to gain public support, formed alliances
with various Sufi orders, often helping them attain state recognition.72
Sufi shaykhs, for their part, faced with the emergence of new nationalist
and Islamist elements, which expropriated their social and intellectual
functions, were eager to defend their moral authority in society and
obstruct the path of advocates of religious reform in Egypt.73

Conclusion

The Egyptian dawsa had served for centuries as a focal point of

interaction between the elite and the masses, high and low culture,
religious scholarship and the cult of saints. The formal occasions for this
convergence were the various maw§lid, especially that of the Prophet.
However, growing interaction with the West turned the dawsa into a
disputed custom. Its official abolishment in an edict of 1881 in the
name of enlightenment and human dignity divested Sufism of one of

ment of an Islamic state which would enforce the sharÊ#a, including the Èudåd (Qur’§nic
punishments). Any ruler who denied this obligation, Ri·§ argued, should be overthrown.
Munajjid and KhårÊ, 4: 1478; 6: 2204f.
72
\asan, 97f. See also Frederick De Jong, “Aspects of the Political Involvement of Sufi
Orders in Twentieth-Century Egypt 1907-1970—An Exploratory Stock-taking” in: Gabriel
R. Warburg and Uri M. Kupferschmidt (eds.), Islam, Nationalism and Radicalism in Egypt and the
Sudan (New York, 1983), 183-190, 193-196.
73
Gibb and Gilsenan argued that the Sufi orders in early twentieth-century Egypt became
peripheral for the middle classes, given modernization and the rise of new social elements.
Both scholars, however, point to the sustained influence of the orders among the common
people in the towns and villages, as reflected, inter alia, by the ongoing popularity of the cult
of saints. In containing demands for religious reform, Sufi shaykhs found common ground
with Azharist #ulam§’, who were also struggling to retain their communal influence in the face
of the challenges of modernity. H. A. R. Gibb, Modern Trends in Islam (Chicago, 1947), 37-38;
M. D. Gilsenan, “Some Factors in the Decline of the Sufi Orders in Modern Egypt” in: The
Muslim World 57 (1967), 11-18; idem, Saint and Sufi in Modern Egypt (Oxford, 1973), 188-207;
Meir Hatina, “Historical Legacy and the Challenge of Modernity: The Case of al-Azhar in
Egypt” in: The Muslim World 93 (2003), 51-68.

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 religious culture contested 59

its strongest visual expressions and paved the way for the suppression of
other disputed rites. The abolition of the dawsa also led to the erosion
of the social prestige of the Sufi order identified with it—the Sa#diyya.74
A similar fate befell the order in Turkey and, to a lesser extent, in
Syria and Palestine.75 In an age ruled by the ethos of progress, when
definitions of appropriate and inappropriate in public behavior had
changed, Sufism had to adjust.
A Western traveler, Joseph W. McPherson, writing about the maw§lid
in Egypt during the 1930s, argued that there was no justification for
the suppression of the dawsa. There was no record of anyone injured
at the dawsa during the years it was observed, he said. In contrast, he
commented cynically, both Egyptians and Europeans who viewed the
celebrations of the Prophet’s birthday in 1934 were shocked by the
number of people injured by the brutality of the police, who were
intent on clearing the great square when the fireworks had ended.
McPherson’s defense of the dawsa, however, was conspicuously unique,
given the overwhelming renunciation of the ritual in both foreign and
local literature.76 His viewpoint reflected a nostalgia for the maw§lid,
which constituted a central component of religious and social life of
Egypt but were restricted in modern times, defined by McPherson as
“the age of repression”. By his account, many maw§lid died out and
others were subjected to strict state supervision and required prior
permission from the Ministry of Interior on each occasion. The single
exception was the mawlid of the Prophet, which was fostered by the
state and became an official celebration attended by the king and
senior officials.
Various elements played a role in the anti-Sufi campaign—both
orthodox and reformist #ulam§’, foreign consuls, government officials

74
Joseph W. McPherson, The Moulids of Egypt (Cairo, 1941), 56. The decline in the pubic
status of the Sa#diyya was reflected symbolically in its demotion from the leading place to
the end of the Sufi orders as they marched in the series of religious processions, such as in
the maÈmal (the departure procession of the pilgrimage caravan to Mecca). De Jong, Turuq,
67f., 213f.
75
Schlegell, 730f.; De Jong, “The Sufi Orders”, 104, 120f.; Pierre-Jean Luizard, “Le
Moyen-Orient Arabe” in: Alexandre Popovic and Gilles Veinstein (eds.), Les Voies d’Allah
(Paris, 1996), 361f.
76
McPherson, 263f. See also AmÊn, 383f.; Rama·§n, 225-231; Tharwat #Uk§sha, Mißr fÊ
#uyån al-ghurab§’ (2 vols. Cairo, 1984), 2: 340f.

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 60 meir hatina

and nationalists—and this wide campaign forced the Sufi orders into a
defensive position. They were singled out as the cause of the backwardness
of modern Egyptian society, and as such, irrelevant to the processes
of social change. In the words of the Egyptian writer AÈmad AmÊn
(d. 1374/1954), all they managed to do was “to spread deviations and
illusions in the country, with every deranged or dim-witted dervish
regarded as a saint”.77 However, the anti-Sufi campaign did not
produce substantive results. In an atmosphere of political and social
upheaval, with its attendant cultural disorientation, the Sufi tradition
offered comfort and distraction from the harsh realities of the common
people. For them, belief in miracles and the power of blessings was
part of a discourse of hope and anticipation, serving as a means to
transcend the mundane and gain divine grace.78 In this respect, Sufism
provided a “foretaste of the gardens of paradise”.79
State supervision over the Sufi orders’ public activities was exerted
mainly in the urban centers—Cairo and its environs. In rural areas and
provincial towns, especially in Upper Egypt, the Sufi orders continued
to display a palpable public presence supported by effective communal
networks and the relative conservativeness of the population.80 In many
cases, the entrenched presence of the Sufi orders prompted the political
elite to rely on them to project its authority in the provinces. This was
true throughout the period of the monarchy (1923-1952), and particularly
thereafter, during the revolutionary regime (1952-1970). That regime
recruited Sufism as an instructive agent of Egyptian nationalism to
reinforce the values of morality, brotherhood and harmony in society.
It also utilized the Sufi orders’ strong ties in the Muslim world, mainly
in North Africa, to promote the revolutionary ideologies of pan-Arabism
and Arab socialism.81 Moreover, the fact that the Sufis’ bitter rivals

77
AmÊn, 189f., 199.
78
On the functions of Sufi miraculous acts in modern urban life, see Michael Gilsenan,
Recognizing Islam (London, 1990), 75-94.
79
Seyyid Hossein Nasr, Sufi Essays (London, 1972), 168ff.
80
This presence received wide representation in Egyptian literature, which dealt exten-
sively with the tension between tradition and modernity. See, e.g., •aha \usayn, al-Ayy§m
(3 vols., 5th ed., Cairo, 1939), 1: 66-102; Sayyid Quãb, •ifl mÊn al-qarya (Cairo, 1973 [1945]);
MaÈmåd Taymår, “WalÊ All§h” in: idem, Shif§ha ghalÊía (3rd ed., Cairo, 1959), 103-125.
81
\asan, 97-102; Morroe Berger, Islam in Egypt Today (Cambridge, 1970), 73-76; Valerie
J. Hoffman, Sufism, Mystics and Saints in Modern Egypt (Columbia, 1995), 1-13.

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 religious culture contested 61

within the Islamic spectrum—the Muslim Brothers and the militants—

were urban-based helped Sufism preserve its presence in the agrarian
areas. Disputed rites, denounced by the Islamists and suppressed by
the government in the metropolitan centers, continued to be practiced
in the provinces.
Even the dawsa was preserved, although modified, sans horse and on
a smaller scale. At the close of the nineteenth century, Sa#dÊ dervishes
would lie down in front of their shaykh’s residence on the morning
of the mawlid of the Prophet and other saints, so that he could walk
over their backs.82 Eventually, this custom was also suppressed, but
others were perpetuated, as documented by anthropologist Nicolaas
Biegman in his photographic album Egypt: Moulids, Saints, Sufis (1990).
Two contemporary dawsa ceremonies are depicted in this book. The
first, held on the Prophet’s birthday in the village of Mit al-Sib§# in
1987, shows a Sufi shaykh, SalÊm, walking over swords that his kneeling
followers held on the back of their necks. The second, held on the
mawlid of Abå Qusm§n in Qurna in 1988, shows another Sufi shaykh,
#Abdall§h, walking with the support of two men over knives held by
three Sa#dÊ Sufis and three Rif§#Ê Sufis pointed at their bellies and
mouths. In preparation, the dervishes danced with knives to the beat
of wooden drums. Some had pins stuck through their cheeks. Shaykh
#Abdall§h told Biegman that he sensed the presence of the saint AÈmad
al-Rif§#Ê, and possibly of the Prophet himself. One of the participants
explained the dawsa ritual as a test of the Sufi’s religious sincerity: if
his belief is deficient, his tongue and cheek bleed. The ceremonies
reflected the victory of the spirit over the body as well as the total
submission of the dervishes to their shaykh. Such dawsa rites, and the
piercing of cheeks and other parts of the body, Biegman noted, were
forbidden in many places. However, no restrictions were imposed on
the mawild of Abå Qusm§n, since this saint had appeared to the local
chief of police in a dream, telling him that all was permitted at his
mawild except for the use of drugs or shooting in the air.83
These and other descriptions demonstrated the popular need for

82
Macdonald, 182. Similar reports were made by Bliss in Syria, mainly in the regions
north and south of Damascus, where the dawsa ritual was still common in the early twentieth
century. Bliss, 270ff.; also Luizard, 362.
83
Nicolaas H. Biegman, Egypt: Moulids, Saints and Sufis (The Hague, 1990), 160-164.

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 62 meir hatina

religious stimulation and a demonstrable link to saints as an entry

ticket to another world, revelatory and eternal, thereby insuring the
survival of the Sufi culture as a living tradition in modern Egypt.
Another contributing factor was the initiative by several heads of Sufi
orders to revive mystical thought, adopting modern organizational and
communication methods to spread their messages. The political elite
itself sponsored Islamic mysticism, inter alia to contain the power of the
Islamist zealots, although they made efforts to insure a more restrained
and respectable appearance of Sufi ceremonies held in public.84 The
Egyptian newspaper al-Hil§l reported the existence in 1985 of 75 Sufi
orders, 67 of them registered legally, with a total membership of six
million. Moreover, there were 2,850 different saints’ maw§lid in which
large numbers of people participated.85 Surveys and ethnographic
studies conducted by local researchers in the 1970s and 1980s revealed
a similar picture regarding the popularity of Sufi ceremonies and the
cult of saints in Egyptian society not only among common people but
also among the educated, including younger people.86
A glance at the broader Middle Eastern picture reveals a similar
Sufi presence in the Muslim public arena, and even offshoots in the
West.87 It would appear that regarding Sufi culture the “consensus
of the people”, in H. A. R. Gibb’s words, remained stronger than
the “consensus of the learned”,88 orthodox and modernist alike.

84
S. Schielke, “Habitus of the Authentic, Order of the Rational: Contesting Saints’ Festi-
vals in Contemporary Egypt” in: Critique 12 (Fall 2003), 155-172.
85
Al-Hil§l, June 1985, 53-60.
86
\asan, 49-54; Hoffman, 13-18; Nadia Abu-Zahra, The Pure and the Powerful: Studies in
Contemporary Muslim Society (Berkshire, 1997), 205-230.
87
See, e.g., Nancy Tapper, “Ziyaret: Gender, Movement and Exchange in a Turkish
Community” in J. Eickelman and J. Piscatori (eds.), Muslim Travellers: Pilgrimage, Migration
and the Religious Imagination (London,1990), 236-255; Hakan Yavuz, “The Matrix of Modern
Turkish Islamic Movements: The Naqshbandi Sufi Order” in: Özdalga (ed.), Naqshbandis
in Western and Central Asia: Change and Continuity (Istanbul, 1999), 129-146; Leif Stenberg,
“Naqshbandiyya in Damascus: Strategies to Establish and Strengthen the Order in a
Changing Society” in: ibid., 101-116; Mark Sedgwick, “In Search of a Counter-Reformation:
Anti-Sufi Stereotypes and the Budshishiyya’s Response” in: Michaelle Browers and Charles
Kurzman (eds.), An Islamic Reformation (Lanham, 2004), 133-141; Mustafa Kabha and Haggai
Erlich, “al-Ahbash and the Wahhabiyya—Interpretations of Islam” in: International Journal of
Middle East Studies 38 (2006), 19-538; E. Sirriyeh, “Sufi Thought and its Reconstruction” in:
S. Taji-Farouki and B. M. Nafi (eds.), Islamic Thought in the Twentieth Century (London, 2004),
104-127.
88
Gibb, 38.

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