Why the Great Sufis Refused Power

In classical Islamic history there is a continuous line connecting figures such as al-Junayd (830–910), Rumi (1207–1273), Abu Yazid al-Bistami (804–874), al-Hallaj (858–922), al-Qushayri (986–1074), Abd al-Qadir al-Jilani (1077–1166), Shihab al-Din al-Suhrawardi (1154–1191), Ibn Arabi (1165–1240), al-Niffari (d. 965), Ansari of Herat (1006–1089), along with the Persian masters of Shiraz active between the twelfth and fourteenth centuries (1100–1399), the mystics of Baghdad active between the eighth and thirteenth centuries (700–1299), and the Iraqi ascetics of the Abbasid period (750–1258): all united by the unwavering conviction that the purity of spiritual experience arises from refusing political power, social prestige, and worldly authority. Abu Yazid al-Bistami (804–874) embodied the radical asceticism of early Khurasani Sufism; al-Hallaj (858–922) represented the extreme witness of refusing any compromise with authority; al-Qushayri (986–1074), writing in the midst of Seljuk ascendancy, taught in his “Risala” that Sufi authenticity is measured by freedom from worldly advantage; Abd al-Qadir al-Jilani (1077–1166) became a reference point in Baghdad precisely because of the distance he maintained from political structures; al-Suhrawardi (1154–1191), in the Ayyubid era, saw wisdom as a light that dims when the heart desires domination; Ibn Arabi (1165–1240), a bridge between Andalusia and the Eastern Islamic world in the thirteenth century, described worldly power as an illusion distracting from the inner reality; al-Niffari (d. 965) interpreted proximity to rulers as the abandonment of the inner self; Ansari of Herat (1006–1089) taught that spiritual poverty is preserved by avoiding rank and worldly temptation. Sufi sages did not seek positions in courts, did not turn their knowledge into social capital, did not shape their teachings to please the powerful, and considered proximity to rulers a contamination of the soul. Al-Junayd (830–910) described the Sufi path as sobriety and continuous presence before God rather than before political elites; Rumi (1207–1273), living in Seljuk-era Konya, described worldly power as dust that blinds the heart and prevents it from hearing the inner call; the Persian masters of the great khanaqahs active between 1100 and 1399 criticized court scholars who adapted religion to the ambitions of the sultan. Throughout the medieval Islamic world—from the Abbasid period (750–1258) to the Seljuk era (1037–1194) and the early Mongol centuries (1206–1400)—the same dynamic appears: those who sought power lost spiritual authority, while those who rejected power became points of reference for generations. This logic is not confined to the past; it illuminates the present. The idea that spiritual greatness can be measured by visibility, notoriety, cultural competition, or micro-fame is foreign to the Sufi tradition. The true sage does not enter symbolic contests, does not attempt to prove superiority, and does not display himself to gain recognition. His strength comes from another level: inner discipline, constancy in the remembrance of God, and the ability to remain silent while the world makes noise. Those who chase fame become agitated; those who cultivate presence become rooted. This is why the great Sufis became centers of gravity: sultans, judges, poets, and travelers crossed continents to hear them precisely because they asked for nothing, wanted nothing, and fought for nothing. The paradox of the inward path is simple: those who renounce visibility gain authority, while those who desire power lose the ability to guide. Today, as in the past, the measure of sincerity on the spiritual path does not lie in the noise one creates but in the clarity one leaves behind. This Sufi inheritance continues to speak to those living in environments saturated with intellectual vanity and useless competition: value does not arise from appearing important but from who one truly is when no one is watching.

 

Roberto Minichini, February 2026