TOPIbn Jubayr has a name for the Sufis' common lodging, ribat, a familiar term to him, though in Damascus, he explains, they are called by the less familiar khanaqa. This latter, a Sufi cloister or convent, was the third, and in the end the most common, of a trio of institutions that served the needs and ends of ascetics and mystics in Islam.
The oldest of the three was, as Ibn Jubayr intimates, the ribat. By tradition this was originally a fortified keep to protect the lands and coasts of Islam, but in the course of time it had evolved into a kind of cloistered hospice for Muslims who for reasons of need—widows were often housed in them—or by preference chose to separate themselves from the world. In the end the ribat became totally identified with Sufism, though it had neither the personal stamp of the shrine-tomb (zawiya) nor the offcial character and internal organization of what seems very akin to a Christian monastery—the text of Usama already suggests the comparison—the khanaqa.
If the Sufi convent had some of the features of the Christian monastery, the shrine-tomb corresponded to another development in Christian spirituality. The earliest Christian holy men attracted others to themselves and provided both a model and an ideal for those admirers to follow. The shaykh of the Islamic tradition had much the same effect: his sanctity drew others to himself and so his quarters, perhaps enlarged to permit others to lodge there as well became a very loosely organized school, a "way" (tariqa), as the Muslims called it.
Most Sufis passed across the terrain of asceticism and spiritual exercises in the company of an accomplished master (murshid, pir). At first that elder may have been simply a skilled and experienced director of souls, but eventually that ideal was replaced, as it was in Christianity, by the notion of a charismatic guide, a "spiritual father" who possessed the gift of divine grace (baraka). It was the murshid, in any event, who introduced the novice into two of the most common practices of Sufism, the "recollection" (dhikr) and the "hearing" (sama). The dhikr has its spiritual, internal sense of recollecting God's blessings, but its more visible form in Sufism is the repetition of set formulas, notably the Muslim profession of faith or the ninety-nine names of Allah. The repetition was rhythmical and often accompanied, as was the "Jesus-prayer" used to the same end in Christianity, by controlled breathing. The ecstatic state of "annihilation" (fana), which was for the Sufi a natural antecedent of union with the Divine, was often accompanied by an elaborate ritual of singing and dancing within which the dhikr might be commingled. This latter, sama or "spiritual concert," as it has been called, though highly characteristic of certain Sufi associations such as the whirling dervishes, was not everywhere approved or accepted in Islam. Why some more sober Muslims might be scandalized becomes apparent in Edward Lane's account of dhikrs of the more extravagant type that he witnessed in Cairo in 1825 and described in chapter 24 of his Account of the Manners and Customs of the Modern Egyptians.
At the shaykh's death he was often buried in the place where he had lived, and so in the final stage of its evolution the zawiya was both a shrine and a tomb, and not always on a modest scale. Ibn Battuta describes a tomb-shrine he visited near Wasit in Iraq in 1327C.E.
This gave me the opportunity of visiting the grave of the saint Abu al-Abbas Ahmad al-Rifai [d. 1182 C.E.], which is set at a village called Umm Ubayda, one day's journey from Wasit. … It is a vast convent in which there are thousands of poor brethren. … When the afternoon prayers have been said, drums and kettle drums were beaten and the poor brethren began to dance. After this they prayed the sunset prayer and brought in the repast, consisting of rice-bread, fish, milk and dates.
After the meal there begins the community "recollection" (dhikr), the widespread form of Sufi devotion already noted by Ibn Jubayr; it is performed in this instance under the direction of the master of the tomb-shrine together with his adepts. Shaykh Ahmad, it is noted, was a lineal descendant of the saint buried there. Finally, the "Rifai" version of a "spiritual concert" was considered notorious even in its own day.
When all had eaten and prayed the first night prayer, they began to recite their "recollection," with the shaykh Ahmad sitting on the prayer-carpet of his ancestor above mentioned, when they began the musical recital. They had prepared loads of fire-wood which they kindled into a flame, and went dancing into the midst of it; some of them rolled in the fire, and others ate it in their mouths, until finally they extinguished it entirely. This is their regular custom, and it is the peculiar characteristic of this corporation of Ahmadi brethren. Some of them will take a large snake and bite its head with their teeth until they bite it clean through. [ibn BATTUTA 1959–1962: 273–274]
The community resident within one of these convents or tomb-shrines might be formal or informal, loosely or tightly structured, made up of permanent members or with transient "sojourners." Where the life and the community was more formal, it was associated with a "way," practices and blessings modeled on and derived from a saintly master.
Spiritual attraction and spiritual authority came together to form the Sufi "orders," also called tariqas or "ways." These "orders," which were generally neither monastic nor enclosed, and so somewhat different from the Christian religious orders, had an immense popular appeal in Islam—not least because they were a social and spiritual reaction to the increasingly clerical and legal character of what had come to be official Islam, which was dominated by a rabbinate with powerful economic, social, and political connections. More, the Islamic tariqa was far more charismatic and had a greater orientation toward a master-novice relationship than its Christian, and particularly its Western Christian, counterpart. In the Sufi reception and training of postulants, for example, we can observe both the similarities to and differences from Christian practice. Ibn Battuta describes the arrival of a postulant, who has already had some training, at the gates of a Cairo convent.
When a new arrival makes his appearance, he has to take up his stand at the gateway of the convent, girded about the middle, with a prayer-rug slung over his back, his stay in his right hand, and his ablution-jug in his left. The gatekeeper informs the steward who goes out and ascertains from what country he has come, what convents he has resided in during his journey (or earlier training), and who was his initiator. If he is satisfied with the truth of his replies, he brings him into the convent, arranges a suitable place for him to spread out his prayer mat, and shows him the washroom. The postulant then restores himself to a state of ritual cleanliness, goes to his mat, ungirds himself, and prays two prostrations. After this he clasps the hands of the shaykh [that is, the murshid or spiritual master] and of those who are present and takes his seat among them. (Ibn Battuta, Travels 1.20)
The postulant has become a novice and is set upon the course of his spiritual training.
The Sufi masters observe the following rule. When a novice joins them with the purpose of renouncing the world, they subject him to a spiritual training for the space of three years. If he fulfills the requirements of this discipline, well and good; otherwise they declare that he cannot be admitted to the Path. The first year is devoted to the service of the people, the second year to service of God, and the third year to watching over his own heart.
At the end of his three-year training and probation, the novice is ready for investiture with the patched Sufi cloak, the "religious habit" of this way of life.
The adept, then, who has attained the perfection of saintship takes the right course when he invests the novice with the Sufi cloak after a period of three years during which he has educated him in the necessary discipline. In respect of the qualifications which it demands, the Sufi cloak is comparable to a winding sheet: the wearer must resign all his hopes of the pleasures of life, and purge his heart of all sensual delights, and devote his life entirely to the service of God. (Hujwiri, The Unveiling) [HUJWIRI 1911: 54–55]