Who is Râbi’a al-Adawiyya, the illustrious Sufi poet of Islam? Did she experience human passion and exaltation of the senses before choosing divine love and mystical ecstasy? Why is one inclined to compare her to Saint Teresa of Avila, Christianity’s great mystical figure?
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Râbi’a al-Adawiyya al-Qaysiyya is the first and most illustrious poetess of Islam’s Sufi mysticism. She created the Sufi school of divine love.
Born towards the end of the first century of the Hegira (or Hijrah), she lived in Basra, which back then was the main center of Sufism. The date of her death is contested: some sources assert that she died in 135 of the Hegira, others in 185. She was the fourth daughter of Ismail al-Adawi, hence the name bestowed on her. She was born into extreme poverty. Her father was a pious man, and her mom a fervent believer. Word has it that her father couldn’t afford to buy oil to treat her umbilical cord, nor a blanket to cover the child. He owned a small boat to transport passengers. Salah Stetieh, the author of Râbi’a de feu et de larmes (Râbi’a of Fire and Tears), perceived this as a symbol of an inherited mediation bequeathed to his divine daughter of Islam (Wilaya), who would dedicate her whole life to God and to the atonement for others. Legend has it that on the eve of her birth, Râbi’a s mother asked her father to scrounge for oil to light up the lantern, but the distraught father was turned down. He went back home and fell asleep on his knees. He dreamt of the Prophet telling him: “Don’t be sad. Your child will be a believer and a saint. Thousands of people will pray for her intercession.”
When Râbi’a was ten years old, her father died and her mother followed suit shortly thereafter. Râbi’a and her three sisters were left to fend for themselves. But as the proverb goes, “when it rains it pours,” and Basra was beset by drought and by all sorts of plagues, including famine. Râbi’a and her siblings fled from the city and lost their way. The girl who would become the most renowned poet of Muslim Sufism was captured by thugs and sold as a slave for six dirhams. Her master was a malicious and tyrannical merchant. One of the myths that circulated around her claims that, like all slaves, she was forced to become a singer and a dancer to survive. The Egyptian movie Râbi’a al-Adawiyya (by Neyazi Mustapha), brought to the big screen in 1963 with Nabila Obeid and the two Arab cinema stars Farid Shawqi and Imad Hamdi, was based on that specific event. It portrayed Râbi’a as a woman of stunning beauty and a silky voice that seduced men and lustily entertained the evenings of Basra’s wealthy rulers. In this movie, the legendary Egyptian actress Umm Kulthum interprets and mimics Râbi’a’s poems.
Râbi’a al-Adawiyya allegedly lived a life of debauchery before willfully opting for one of harsh asceticism, longing for the martyrdom inspired by her ardent passion for the Lord of the Worlds. This is reminiscent of the hagiography of the Christian saints, especially Saint Augustine of Hippo, who plunged into lust and debauchery before his conversion.
For Abdel Rahman Badawi, author of Râbi’a, martyre de l’amour divin (Râbi’a, Martyr of Divine Love) and professor considered as a main reference in the life of the Sufi saint, historians have never been able to identify the real name of Râbi’a’s father. Moreover, some rumors even claim that he might have been a Christian who later converted to Islam because his mysticism focused on the intense love of God. It is important to note that Islam, especially in its early beginnings, perceived Sufism as an innovative way to practice this religion. Professor Abdel Rahman Badawi credits the version of Sufi master Farid al-Din al-Attar. The latter chronicled the poetess’ exceptional talents, namely singing, playing the flute, and her beauty that attracted a vast number of admirers, “despite the possible excesses of the biographer’s fertile imagination,” as Badawi says. He believes that diverging extremes can come together. As such, it seems that Râbi’a al-Adawiyya immersed herself into an exaltation of the senses before repenting and seeking spiritual bliss and fusion or “Al-Fana” with God. Badawi supports the following narrative: Only a passionate spirit can achieve things fully, take a leap of faith, cross all obstacles, and love God feverishly, all while flourishing in a chaste, frugal, ascetic life. We recall the famous quote of Paul Valery that supports this:
“The world acquires value only through its extremes and endures only through moderation; extremists make the world great, the moderates give it stability.”
Râbi’a was strongly influenced by the Sufi introductory lessons taught in Basra’s Muslim temples, especially those of Hassan Bâsri. She might have also met Riyah Ben Amro al-Qayssi, the great Sufi poet who discovered in her the blooms of Sufi spirituality yearning to burst forth. But according to academician Abdel Rahman Badawi, these factors are not substantial enough to explain the radical spiritual upheaval that jarred her. He believes that her spiritual path could have started with a disenchanted passion that ended tragically, the result of which she made her way towards divine love. But Râbi’a’s atonement didn’t happen through personal efforts, but rather through the grace of God: “If we ask God for forgiveness, we must ask God to forgive us for the insincerity of our request,” which points to some similarities with Saint Teresa of Avila. This gives way to a brief comparative lecture between the Christian mystic Teresa of Avila, a doctor of the Church, and the Sufi Muslim mystic Râbi’a al-Adawiyya.
In their respective journeys, we can single out two pivotal periods. The first is social life and pleasures, and next comes the stage of repentance that leads to an ascetic life and offering oneself to God. Saint Teresa says in Chemins de la perfection (The Way of Perfection): “How wonderful it is that He whose greatness could fill a thousand worlds, and very much more, should confine Himself within so small a space.” Teresa of Avila, patron saint of Spain and writer, recounted her mystical experience of Transverberation (piercing) in her autobiography Le Livre de la vie (The Book of Life) in which she solicits suffering to reunite with her beloved, her divine fiancé: “I saw an angel appear in bodily form… In his hands, I saw a golden spear, with an iron tip at the end that appeared to be on fire. He plunged it into my heart several times, all the way to my entrails. When he drew it out, he seemed to draw them out, as well, leaving me all on fire with love for God. The pain was so strong that it made me moan several times, and yet the sweetness of the pain was so surpassing that I couldn’t possibly wish to be rid of it. My soul couldn’t be content with anything but God.”