Sufism: Myth, Moral Discipline or Another Realm of Reality?

Sufism, or the Sufi school of thought, is often presented through fictionalised stories, extraordinary personalities and accounts of divine powers. Popular narratives portray a Sufi as a superior personality who can change someone's fate, perform miracles or connect ordinary people with a hidden spiritual realm. Yet beneath these stories lies a deeper philosophy. Kashf-ul-Mahjoob, written by Data Ali Hajveri, is not merely a collection of mystical stories; it is an architectural map of spiritual transformation. Almost every sentence demands another explanation, reflection and journey into the self.

Data Ali Hajveri writes that a Sufi is one who possesses good human interaction and positive intentions; the more a person becomes a well-wisher of others, the further he advances on the path of Sufism. Sufism therefore begins not with miracles but with character. The first admission paper of this spiritual school is the purity of heart. A mureed, under the guidance of a sheikh, passes through stages of self-purification.

The first assignments may appear ordinary: cleaning pilgrims' shoes, washing utensils, maintaining the shrine and providing drinking water to thirsty people. Their purpose is the demolition of ego. Service becomes spiritual education. Cleaning a graveyard, helping build an orphanage without personal gain, feeding the hungry or helping someone in distress may appear insignificant materially, but Sufism considers such actions instruments of enlightenment. The mureed progresses towards serving people through his own hands and character.

Data Ali Hajveri describes spiritual designations such as Imran, Ibrar, Otaad, Aghyar, Ghous, Qutab and Abdaal, presenting an elaborate spiritual architecture parallel to the visible material world. Whether understood literally or metaphorically, the principle remains: advancement in the spiritual realm is not a licence to rule over people; it is an appointment to serve them.

One profound lesson associated with Kashf-ul-Mahjoob is that “what you put in a bucket, same comes out of the bucket.” The heart is that bucket. Fill it with hatred and hatred emerges; fill it with love and love flourishes. At a certain stage, the Sufi becomes like water: people may throw different things into it, but he absorbs them rather than immediately returning hostility.

Another striking statement is “a generous kafir is nearer to God then miser momin.” Whatever theological debate surrounds it, its moral emphasis is generosity. Charity purifies wealth and the heart. Likewise, the Prophetic teaching that the most pious among you is the one who is nice to his family reminds us that authority does not mean ruthlessness; greater position should bring greater patience and kindness.

Then comes another profound principle: “If you can't thank the people how you would be thankful to God?” Gratitude becomes a school of humility. Even if the body becomes paralysed, the Sufi tongue thanks God for having at least a tongue to praise Allah. Gratitude prevents spiritual superiority because every ability is ultimately a gift. Humility therefore becomes a central attribute of the Sufi.

But is Sufism merely mythology, or does it represent another realm of reality?

This is where the rational mind questions extraordinary stories. Accounts of Shahbaz Qalandar flying through the air or appearing in different places challenge conventional physical laws. Modern science can investigate consciousness, psychology and electromagnetic activity, but it would be incorrect to claim that science has already proven Sufi miracles.

The modern world often describes this phenomenon as the aura of a person—an energy that emerges from purity and accumulates around the individual. Every person carries a magnetic field, throwing magnetic lines of force outward. When another person enters that field, the flux may be accumulated in the body. Ampere’s law also describes the relationship between electric current and magnetic fields. In this sense, one may imagine that a Sheikh possessing a strong spiritual and emotional presence creates an environment in which a mureed or a sorrowful soul entering the shrine experiences a kind of resonance. The flux, metaphorically understood as vibrational energy, may make the person's inner frequency resonate with the surrounding energy, producing a feeling of smoothness, peace and relief. This may partly explain why Sufi shrines remain filled with people seeking comfort: they experience the atmosphere, presence and emotional resonance associated with the Sufi as soothing. Today, the world may call this an aura, while the Sufi tradition may describe it as the spiritual influence emerging from purity of heart. However, such an explanation should be understood as an analogy rather than established scientific proof of mystical powers.

The final mystery is the story of a Sheikh reaching forty mureed homes at the same time. How could that be possible? Perhaps the forty dimensions are not an illusion but a reality to which ordinary human beings have no access. Time, dimensions and consciousness may one day provide another language for such experiences. If someone could attain that level of spiritual power and control, perhaps presence in more than one place would no longer appear impossible.

Until science reaches that frontier, Sufism remains suspended between faith and inquiry, between the visible world and the unseen. Perhaps its greatest lesson is not to prove every miracle, but to purify the heart, serve humanity, practise patience, remain grateful and humble—and continue exploring the unexplained dimensions of existence.

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