Professional Documents
Culture Documents
ثيولوجيًا لويس ماسينيون
ثيولوجيًا لويس ماسينيون
Louis Massignon
THE THEOLOGY OF
Louis Massignon
ISLAM, CHRIST, AND THE CHURCH
CHRISTIAN S. KROKUS
Foreword by Sidney H. Griffith
Acknowledgments xiii
Abbreviations xvii
Introduction 1
Conclusion 226
Bibliography 231
Index 241
Foreword
When Louis Massignon died on October 31, 1962, the Second Vati-
can Council had barely begun and no one at the time even remotely
foresaw the course of events that would lead in due course to the
promulgation of the council’s “Declaration on the Relation of the
Church to Non-Christian Religions” (Nostra Aetate), promulgated
by Pope Paul VI on October 28, 1965. This brief document was des-
tined to change the Church’s approach to other people of faith, es-
pecially Jews and Muslims. It includes two short paragraphs that
almost immediately resulted in a paradigm shift in the Roman
Catholic Church’s relations with the world’s Muslims. One phrase in
particular, in the very first sentence of the first paragraph, expresses
the new line of thinking: “The Church regards with esteem also the
Moslems.” And the text goes on to highlight points of coincidence
in faith between Christians and Muslims, albeit with crucial differ-
ences on each point: the worship of the one God; God’s word to hu-
mankind; submission to God’s decrees on the model of Abraham;
reverence for Jesus and for Mary, his virgin mother; and work for
peace and justice in the world in view of the expectation of the Day
of Judgment. The second paragraph similarly expresses a new atti-
tude: “Since in the course of centuries not a few quarrels and hostili-
ties have arisen between Christians and Moslems, this sacred synod
urges all to forget the past and to work sincerely for mutual under-
standing and to preserve as well as to promote together for the ben-
efit of all mankind social justice and moral welfare, as well as peace
and freedom.”
It would be difficult to overestimate the importance of Louis
Massignon’s thought in the background of Nostra Aetate’s para-
ix
x Foreword
digm shift in the Church’s view of Islam and her approach to en-
gagement with Muslims. While Massignon was professionally one
of the twentieth century’s major scholars of Islam (and especially of
Islamic mysticism) whose scholarly works still hold the attention
of Islamicists throughout the academic world, he was also a fervent
and observant Catholic thinker who drew on his vast knowledge of
all things Islamic to articulate proposals for a respectfully religious
reception of Qur’anic and Islamic thought and practice on the part
of Jews, Catholics, and Christians in general. He was neither a pro-
fessional philosopher of religion nor a theologian in the academic
sense but was nevertheless a well-informed believer and an en-
gaged Catholic activist in all the corporal works of mercy, especially
as they apply to Christian-Muslim relations. In addition to his more
scholarly work, he wrote widely about how Catholics might, in their
own terms, take Islam religiously seriously and how they might
respond to its challenge in an appreciative way that would enable
them to deepen their own faith as a consequence. Together with an
associate (Mary Kahil) he even founded a Church-approved sodality
of prayer for Christians and Muslims together. Massignon’s religious
writing and testimony, often only informally published and circu-
lated in his lifetime, nevertheless reached a wide European, Chris-
tian audience by the middle of the twentieth century and shaped
the lives and thought of many prominent Christian and Muslim
thinkers, a number of whom had important roles in academic and
ecclesiastical circles, including those engaged in the work of the Sec-
ond Vatican Council. The section on the Church and the Muslims
in the Vatican II document, Nostra Aetate, for example, clearly re-
flects the influence of Massignon’s thought on those who advised
the bishops and who had a major role in crafting the language of the
two paragraphs that would chart the course of Christian-Muslim re-
lations well into the twenty-first century.
Louis Massignon wrote almost exclusively in French, a circum-
stance that in part explains why his thought and influence were
slow to find a wide readership in the Anglophone world outside of
academic circles. It has been only in the last decades of the twen-
tieth century that Herbert Mason’s translations of his major work,
along with some of the more significant essays, have afforded read-
Foreword xi
Sidney H. Griffith
The Catholic University of America
Washington, D.C.
Acknowledgments
I thank Sidney Griffith first for his insightful foreword, which pro-
vides an integral introduction to the book. He was early to recognize
Massignon’s importance for Catholic theology, and he has gener-
ously supported and encouraged my efforts throughout the years.
As will become clear in the following pages, much of what I have
written merely pursues his many leads.
I am, of course, grateful to numerous other people who have
been generous with their time and knowledge. First among them
is Nicole Massignon, daughter-in-law to Louis and wife of Daniel,
who maintained the Louis Massignon archives in her Paris home
until they could be moved to the Bibliothèque nationale de France
in 2013. She allowed me to work in those archives in 2007, and she
provided not only a study with desk and coffee pot but also many
hours of conversation and friendship. Christian Destremau’s sup-
port of my early research in Paris was invaluable, and his biogra-
phy of Massignon remains essential for any serious study. Anthony
O’Mahony has given his time, attention, and critical advice to this
project from its inception. He invited me to present aspects of the
book at two important conferences at Heythrop College (London),
and his historical work on Massignon as a man of the Catholic
Church is foundational for my own. I remain grateful to everyone
associated with Les Amis de Louis Massignon, especially to Bérengère
Massignon, Françoise Jacquin, and Maurice Borrmans, M. Afr., as
well as Jacques Waardenburg, who, along with Arnold Smit, died in
2015. May they rest in peace. Fr. Smit graciously hosted me during
several research trips to Paris over the years, providing tea, conver-
sation, and opportunities to hear him play the piano. His watercolor
xiii
xiv Acknowledgments
EM Écrits Mémorables
Examen
Examen du “Présent de l’homme lettré” par
Abdâllah Ibn al-Torjoman
Q Qur’an
xvii
Introduction
INTRODUCTION
1. Whenever it appears within a quoted passage, I preserve the transliterated Arabic terminology
of the quoted author. However, for the sake of simplicity and consistency, I removed all underdots and
marked all long vowels with a circumflex (^). Otherwise, the transliterations are my own. As much
as possible, I followed examples provided by Massignon, whether found in his French originals or in
English translations of his work. All verses of the Qur’an are quoted from The Meaning of the Glorious
Koran: An Explanatory Translation, trans. Marmaduke Mohammed Pickthall (New York: New American
Library, 1953).
1
2 Introduction
those reasons and more, Massignon has been called “the single most influ-
ential figure [in the twentieth century] in regard to the Church’s relation-
ship with Islam,” and his approach has only become more important in the
decades since his passing.2
It was an unsentimental approach, the fruit of learning as much as
of prayer and friendship. Massignon was among his generation’s greatest
scholars, preeminent in the field of Islamic mysticism, and still authorita-
tive among academics today. He published in all the major areas of Islamic
studies, including mysticism, history, linguistics, sociology, ritual studies,
theology, and philosophy. His monumental Passion of al-Hallâj won acclaim
from European and traditional Muslim scholars alike, securing for him the
chair in Muslim sociology at the Collège de France, a position he held for
nearly thirty years, and from which he trained many of the most important
Islamicists and Arabicists in the next generation, including Henri Corbin
(1903–1978), Ibrahim Madkour (1902–1995), Osman Yahya (1919–1997), Ali
Shariati (1933–1977), George Makdisi (1920–2002), Jean-Muhammad Abd
el-Jalil (1904–1979), Louis Gardet (1904–1986), and Mohamed Talbi.3
Although Massignon died just as the Second Vatican Council opened,
and although he was never invited to participate as an expert, there is wide-
spread consensus among his commentators that his work and his personal-
ity exerted significant influence on the wording of the statements on Mus-
lims and Islam proclaimed by the Council.4 The language about Muslims in
the relevant conciliar documents, namely Lumen Gentium and Nostra Aetate,
closely echoes Massignon’s positions on Muslim belief in God, devotion to
Mary, the virtues of prayer, fasting, and almsgiving, and so on. Many of the
principal writers of the conciliar drafts as well as those persons with au-
thority to promote positive language about Muslims were either students,
especially Georges Anawati (1905–1994) and Robert Caspar (1923–2007), or
friends of Massignon, especially Pope Paul VI (1897–1978); Giuseppe Des-
cuffi (1884–1972), the archbishop of Smyrna; and Pierre-Kamel Medawar
2. Sidney Griffith, “Sharing the Faith of Abraham: The ‘Credo’ of Louis Massignon,” Islam and
Christian-Muslim Relations 8, no. 2 (1997): 193.
3. Talbi is described as having “sat at the feet of Louis Massignon” in Hugh Goddard, A History of
Christian-Muslim Relations (Chicago: New Amsterdam Press, 2000), 164.
4. See Christian Krokus, “Louis Massignon’s Influence on the Teaching of Vatican II on Muslims
and Islam,” Islam and Christian-Muslim Relations 23, no. 3 (2012): 329–45; Krokus, “Louis Massignon:
Vatican II and Beyond,” Logos: A Journal of Eastern Christian Studies 55, nos. 3–4 (2014): 433–50. For a
summary of common hesitations vis-à-vis Massignon’s influence, especially regarding Massignonian
ideas that were seemingly either ignored or rejected by the Council fathers, see Gavin D’Costa, Vatican
II: Catholic Doctrines on Jews and Muslims (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014), 165–67, 180, 186–87.
Introduction 3
signon’s ideas,” because of which “the effort to ‘dialogue’ with Muslims has
been set on a mistaken course.”9 Even one of Massignon’s most devoted stu-
dents, the aforementioned Georges Anawati, was censorious of the open-
ings toward what he called a “maximalist” or overly permissive tendency
implicit in Massignon’s theological judgments.10 It is true that Massignon
ventured further and more sympathetically within Islam than almost any
Catholic thinker before him, so his work quite naturally generated some
controversy, making it all the more important to visit that work again.
This book sets out to explicate the key features of Louis Massignon’s un-
derstanding of Islam in the light of his Catholic-Christian faith, and their
interrelations, along the way correcting misconceptions of his work as ei-
ther unorthodox or naïve. After a consideration of his method, each of the
book’s main chapters explains some key theological locus in his thought,
namely God, Christ, Church, and Islam, thereby providing a comprehensive
examination of his religious worldview. It is an interpretation, roughly as
Bernard Lonergan (1904–1984) understood that functional specialty, name-
ly as an exegetical task in which the interpreter works to understand cor-
rectly the author and texts under consideration.11 The hope is first to get
Massignon right. Subsequently, the hope is both to encourage further stud-
ies of Massignon and also to involve his work in current and future con-
versations among English-speaking thinkers about the proper intellectual
and religious response of the Church to the advent and growing presence of
Islam. Historians will find Massignon essential for understanding what was
going forward in the years prior to and during the Second Vatican Coun-
cil in terms of Catholics’ understanding of and engagement with Muslims.
Dogmatic and systematic theologians working on questions related to reli-
9. Alain Besançon, “What Kind of Religion Is Islam?” Commentary 117, no. 5 (2004): 47–48.
10. By way of contrast with a “minimalist” Christian position that severely limits what good can
be said of Islam as a religion, a “maximalist” position already accepts Muhammad as a prophet in the
vein of the Old Testament prophets and accepts a Christian reading of the Qur’an. Anawati identified
the maximalist position with certain of Massignon’s students, and he criticized them for having dan-
gerously exceeded Massignon’s “via media.” See Georges Anawati, “Christianisme et Islam: point de
vue chrétien,” in Presence de Louis Massignon: Hommages et témoignages, ed. Daniel Massignon (Paris:
Éditions Maisonneuve et Larose, 1987), 86–94. Anawati was often caught between Massignon and
his critics, especially at the Dominican Institute for Oriental Studies. Another student, Louis Gardet,
eventually stopped attending a regular meeting of those interested in Muslim-Christian relations es-
tablished by Louis Massignon, Les Mardis de Dar as-Salam, because he was accused of “loving Mus-
lim culture too much.” Among Gardet’s critics was Jacques Jomier (1914–2008). Anawati sided with
Jomier against Gardet, whose position was a proxy for Massignon’s, but not until after Massignon’s
death. See Dominique Avon, Les Frères prêcheurs en Orient: Les dominicains du Caire (années 1910–an-
nées 1960) (Paris: Cerf, 2005), 606–14.
11. Bernard Lonergan, Method in Theology (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1990), 153–73.
Introduction 5
12. Louis Massignon, Examen du “Présent de l’homme lettré” par Abdallah Ibn al-Torjoman (Rome:
Pontificio Istituto di Studi Arabi e d’Islamistica, 1992); Massignon, Les trois prières d’Abraham (Paris:
Cerf, 1997); Massignon, Badaliya: Au Nom de l’Autre, edited by Maurice Borrmans and Françoise Jac-
quin (Paris: Cerf, 2011).
6 Introduction
It should be noted from the outset that even though Massignon was not
a professional theologian himself, he sought critical feedback and approv-
al from respected Catholic theologian colleagues and friends for the three
books mentioned previously. Massignon hesitated to publish those works,
out of a feeling of inadequacy with respect to his own theological training
as well as a concern not to violate Church teaching. He was well aware that
some of his ideas or “orientations” were “ahead of his time.”13 Daniel Mas-
signon (1919–2000), son of Louis, tells how “L’hégire d’Ismaël,” the center-
piece of Les trois prières d’Abraham, was finally published:
When, on the eve of his death, Louis Massignon evoked the possibility of a sud-
den end, I asked him: “What should we do about your unpublished works?”—
[LM responded], “You can publish the Examen du “Présent de l’homme lettré” d’Ibn
al-Torjoman, if you find a Catholic theologian who agrees to examine it according to
its orthodoxy.”—[DM asks], “And Les trois prières d’Abraham?” He responded to me
by a vague gesture. In fact, he had decided to finish the second edition of La passion
de Hallâj before completely revising L’hégire d’Ismaël and writing, finally, Le sacrifice
d’Isaac. More than thirty years have passed. It is time to provide the last edition cor-
rected by him. The possibility of maintaining the unpublished copies, already widely
circulated in their uncorrected version, seemed to me chimerical.14
13. Daniel Massignon, Avant-propos to Examen du “Présent de l’homme lettré” par Abdallah Ibn
al-Torjoman, by Louis Massignon (Rome: Pontificio Istituto di Studi Arabi e d’Islamistica, 1992), ix.
14. D. Massignon, Avant-propos to Les trois prières d’Abraham, by Louis Massignon (Paris: Cerf,
1997), 15–16.
15. D. Massignon, Avant-propos to Examen, viii.
16. Rocalve refers to the Examen as a “work of youth” and highlights critically Massignon’s “theo-
logical scruples” and desire never to offend Church teaching or morality. Pierre Rocalve, Louis Mas-
signon et l’Islam (Damascus: Institut Français, 1993), 21, 88.
Introduction 7
ostensibly neutral reading of the text’s translator, this was serious business
for Massignon. In matters of faith—for all concerned: author, translator, and
readers—nothing less than the status of one’s soul was at stake. He main-
tained a religious focus in all areas of life as well as sensitivity to the spiri-
tual fortunes of those close to him, and it would be important to such a man
that he not communicate false teaching.
17. Dorothy Day, By Little and Little: The Selected Writings of Dorothy Day, ed. Robert Ellsburg (New
York: Knopf, 1983), 213–14.
8 Introduction
fers not to communism but to Islam and Muslims. Massignon would have
us respond exactly as Day suggests. In fact, in 1946, when a young Francis-
can missionary priest in Cairo approached him with his conviction that Is-
lam “was the religion of Satan,” Massignon responded by quoting the same
passage from St. John of the Cross referenced by Day. Giulio Basetti-Sani,
the missionary in question, tells the story:
I revealed both my ideas and my doubts to my teacher Massignon, whom I revered
as both a saint and a great scholar. He quickly repressed his initial impulse, — he had
started in an apparent indignation and cried out: “No! Absolutely no!” Then he smiled
and said to me with what can only be described as a profound tenderness: “There is a
phrase of Saint John of the Cross which can serve as a starting point: ‘Whenever you do
not find love in something, bring your love into it, and soon you will discover the Love!’ You
should have brought love to your understanding of the Qur’an; you should have put
love into your consideration of the person of Muhammad!”18
When the headlines report brutal repression in Iraq, devastating civil war
in Syria, acts of terror in California, Paris, Nigeria, London, and beyond, it
may seem naïve or worse to recover the work of a Western (but later East-
ern) Catholic who recommends love of the Qur’an and the Prophet, who
saw in the Muslims of his day the least among us, deserving of the Church’s
preferential concern, and who insisted on treating Islam (though not its
distortions) as a religion and not only as a body politic, even as an inspira-
tional call to faith in the one God, and as a check on Western post-Christian
secularist-consumerist idolatry. However, as Dorothy Day suggests, for a
Christian there is nothing else but to love, to see Christ in every human be-
ing, and so the learned, religious, and humanizing vision of Louis Massign-
on is needed as urgently today as it was in his own time, when tensions be-
tween France and her Muslim-Algerian subjects came to a head, or as Day’s
voice was needed in the United States of her generation and ours.
His Holiness Pope Francis has announced an extraordinary jubilee of
mercy (2016). In his bull of interdiction, Misericordiae Vultus, Pope Francis
acknowledges the central and rich role that mercy plays in Islam as an at-
tribute of God (23), and explicitly invites Muslims to participate in the holy
year. The Vatican’s secretary of state confirms: “In a world torn by violence,
it is the right time to launch an offensive of mercy”; “Mercy is also the most
beautiful name of God for Muslims, who may join this holy year, as the
18. Giulio Basetti-Sani, Muhammad, St. Francis of Assisi and Alvernia (Florence: S. Francesco–Fie-
sole, 1975), 9.
Introduction 9
Biography
I conclude the introduction with a brief biography for readers unfamiliar
with Massignon.21 Louis Massignon was born to bourgeois parents in a sub-
19. Sébastien Maillard, “Cardinal Parolin: ‘Il faut une mobilisation générale des moyens de sécu-
rité et des ressources spirituelles,’” in La Croix (Paris), Nov. 15, 2015.
20. BAL 10, 147–48. From here on, I cite the BAL according to letter number, page number. The
page number refers to the recently published edition mentioned previously.
21. Massignon’s biography has been recorded elsewhere, in French and English, in more detail
and at greater length than I have done here. The most complete biography remains Christian Des-
tremau and Jean Moncelon’s Louis Massignon: le “cheikh admirable” (Paris: Éditions Le Capucin, 2005).
In English, see Herbert Mason, Memoir of a Friend: Louis Massignon (Notre Dame, Ind.: University of
Notre Dame Press, 1988); Mason, foreword to Passion of al Hallâj: Mystic and Martyr of Islam, by Louis
Massignon, 4 vols., xix–xliii (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1982); Mary Louise Gude, Lou-
is Massignon: The Crucible of Compassion (Notre Dame, Ind.: University of Notre Dame Press, 1996). In
French, see Vincent Monteil, Le linceul de feu: Louis Massignon, 1883–1962 (Paris: Vegapress, 1987). Guy
Harpigny, Islam et Christianisme selon Louis Massignon (Louvain-la-Neuve: Centre de d’histoire des re-
ligions de l’Université Catholique de Louvain-la-Neuve, 1981); Jacques Keryell, L’hospitalité sacrée (Par-
is: Nouvelle Cité, 1987); Jacques Keryell, Jardin Donné: Louis Massignon à la recherche de l’Absolu (Paris:
Saint-Paul, 1993); and Jacques Keryell, Louis Massignon: la grâce de Bagdad (Paris: Pierre Téqui, 2010).
10 Introduction
urb of Paris. His father, Fernand Massignon, aka Pierre Roche (1855–1922),
a famous Parisian sculptor and onetime student of Auguste Rodin (1840–
1917), “was a skeptic and preferred his son to be raised the same.”22 As a
child, Louis Massignon embraced the traditional Catholic piety and devo-
tion to the Virgin Mary of his mother, Marie Hovyn Massignon (1859–1931),
but his father’s ambition and love of learning characterized the years from
his adolescence to early adulthood.23 He exhibited a natural talent for lan-
guages, eventually reading dozens and speaking perhaps ten fluently, es-
pecially Semitic languages, and his father encouraged his education in lin-
guistics and philology.24 Among Massignon’s closest boyhood friends was
Henri Maspero (1883–1945), the Sinologist and son of the famous Egyptolo-
gist Gaston Maspero (1846–1916). Letters reveal “the breadth and special in-
terests of these two insatiably curious friends, absorbed in turn with Greek
and classical literature, mathematics, history and archaeology, science,
physiology, language, politics, each always impatient to share his discover-
ies, reflections, and enthusiasms with the other.”25 In 1901 Massignon passed
his Baccalauréat examinations with honors and began to study literature,
history, and Sanskrit at the Sorbonne; during 1902–1903 he served as a vol-
unteer in the French infantry. In 1904 he went to the Near East and traveled
from Tangiers to Fez in order to verify the findings of the sixteenth-century
cartographer Leo Africanus—the published results of which he sent to the
hermit (now Blessed) Charles de Foucauld, which marked the beginning of
an important friendship. This was his “first serious contact with the Islamic
world,” and, according to legend, it was the occasion for his study of Arabic:
“As the story goes, when his Bedouin guides became drunk at a stopping
place, he was forced to take command of his caravan and, with revolver
in hand, smashed their wine bottles and ordered them on to complete the
journey. He said himself that he vowed on that occasion never to touch
wine again, and to learn Arabic so that next time he could better under-
stand those on whom his life depended.”26 Upon his return to Paris, through
the influence of the elder Maspero and the encouragement of his own fa-
ther, Louis Massignon began to study Arabic with the intention of pursuing
Egyptology as a career. In 1906 he went to the French Archaeological Insti-
tute at Cairo, but by 1907 his interests had shifted and he decided to study
the times, life, and work of a tenth-century Islamic mystic of Baghdad, Hu-
sayn ibn Mansur al-Hallâj. He wrote to his father: “His character was indeed
very beautiful, and the account of his martyrdom has a very deep quality,
a tragic appeal, which overwhelms me. I want to do my doctoral thesis on
him.”27
During 1907–1908, Massignon had the chance to further his studies on
Hallâj, when a friend of his father arranged for him to undertake an archae-
ological expedition in Mesopotamia.28 He was to live in Baghdad, where
the French consul would look after him; however, against the advice of the
consul, he requested permission to live in a strictly Muslim quarter of the
city. A contact was made for him with the elite and educated Alussy fam-
ily, who ran the local mosque school and maintained a library of medieval
manuscripts. They rented a house to him near their own home. Eventually
a great friendship developed between Massignon and his hosts, but at first
there was a good deal of suspicion on the part of the Alussy family as well
as others in the neighborhood. Why had this European come to live among
the Muslims? Why did he dress as an Arab? There was some sense that Mas-
signon’s intentions may have been less than noble, and he had to convince
his host family that he would do nothing to scandalize or embarrass them.
His word was accepted, and Massignon claimed that as the very moment
he realized the importance of hospitality in Muslim culture.29 The Alussy
family, from that point forward, and in a crucial moment, would vouch for
Massignon’s integrity. Others were less certain. The political situation in the
Ottoman Empire at the time was precarious. The populist movement Union
and Progress threatened revolution; European powers sought to exert in-
fluence; tension was in the air. Massignon’s particular mission was also a
controversial one. He had been given the job of exploring and mapping a
vast area of ancient ruins in Mesopotamia and was supposed to complete
27. Quoted in D. Massignon, “Chronologie,” in Louis Massignon, ed. Jean-François Six (Paris: Édi-
tions L’Herne, 1970), 14.
28. His father’s friend was Leon de Beylié (1849–1910), according to Keryell, Grâce, 48. Keryell
refers to Beylié as the author of the preface of Massignon’s book about Leo Africanus. See Louis Mas-
signon, Le Maroc dans les premières années du XVIe siècle; tableau géographique d’après Léon l’Africain
(Algiers: A. Jourdan, 1906). However, the book actually cites Louis Gustave Binger (1856–1936) as the
author of the preface. On Massignon’s travel and research for the Leo Africanus book, see Destremau,
Louis Massignon, 35–46; Pierre Rocalve, “La découverte du Maroc par Louis Massignon dans les pas de
Léon l’Africain,” in Louis Massignon et le Maroc: une parole donnée, ed. Maurice Borrmans (Casablanca:
King Abdul-Aziz Foundation, 2008), 205–21.
29. Gude, Crucible, 29–30.
12 Introduction
30. The cited events are detailed in many places. The fullest account is in D. Massignon, Le voy-
age en Mésopotamie et la conversion de Louis Massignon en 1908 (Paris: Cerf, 2001). See also Destremau,
Louis Massignon, 51–82; Gude, Crucible, 27–56; Keryell, Grâce, 71–94.
31. In Voyage, Daniel Massignon painstakingly reconstructs the circumstances of the experience.
In the official Ottoman records there are no reports of arrest, only of Massignon’s having been ill, even
delirious and in need of restraint during his passage to Baghdad. However, using his father’s journals
and documents from the French consulate, Daniel Massignon concludes that his father was in fact
detained, though he concedes that his father also may have been infected with malaria at the time of
the events.
32. His despair was linked, in part, to a feeling of guilt related to his romantic relationship with
Luis de Cuadra (1877–1921). See Gude, Crucible, 21–23; Jeffrey J. Kripal, Roads of Excess, Palaces of Wis-
dom: Eroticism and Reflexivity in the Study of Mysticism (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2001),
95–146.
33. Mason, Memoir, 27.
34. Louis Massignon, “Visitation of the Stranger: Response to an Inquiry about God,” in Testimo-
nies, 39–42.
35. D. Massignon, Voyage, 73.
Introduction 13
he awoke, he found in his room the patriarch of the Alussy family praying
for his recovery. His Muslim host had been true to his word. He vouched
for Massignon’s integrity and secured his release from custody. Massignon
recalls: “I was saved in the land of Islam by virtue of the right of asylum, ex-
ercised heroically by my Muslim hosts toward this ‘spy’ as I was denounced
to them. I was not a spy, but there were so many people there, charged with
scientific missions, who, out of European patriotism, were collecting ‘infor-
mation’ about the land of Islam, that the practice of the right of asylum was
becoming ever more rare. Even without reporting ‘information,’ the lack of
hospitality on the part of the European guests was discouraging.”36 Massi-
gnon vowed then and there to repay his Muslim hosts by devoting his life
to the study of Islam and to making Islam better known and better received
in the West. Massignon then remembered that certain persons had interced-
ed for him in his hour of despair. Nowhere does he indicate exactly how he
knew this, but he lists among his intercessors his mother, Charles de Fou-
cauld, Joris-Karl Huysmans (1848–1907), and al-Hallâj.
There is consensus in the secondary literature that the occasion of his
religious conversion marks the beginning of a lifelong vocation. Herbert
Mason has remarked:
In contrast to this event, circa May 1908, all of Massignon’s subsequent body of inves-
tigation and monumental scholarship was an impassioned response but a formality.
What mattered and sustained him was the event itself as a revelation of the existence
of the Absolute One. Thereafter he sought complete union with the presence and
sought and found guidance from others, both in Catholic and early Sufi experiences,
as to the efficacious path to union. Christ and the Christian saints were mirrored for
him in the witness of the Friends of God. I say mirrored, not to suggest exactitude, nor
imply distorted but still visibly similar. Affinities may be a helpful word, preferable to
comparison.37
Sidney Griffith says of this “unwonted enlightenment” that it was partly re-
sponsible for Massignon’s “attempts to discover and to articulate what one
might call a Catholic, Christian theology of Islam that would be rooted in
doctrine and expressed in action.”38 Guy Harpigny summarizes the signifi-
cance of the religious experience as follows:
36. Louis Massignon, “Le respect de la personne humaine en Islam et la priorité du droit d’asile
sur le devoir de juste guerre,” in vol. 1 of Écrits Mémorables, ed. Christian Jambet, François Angelier,
François L’Yvonnet, and Souâd Ayada, 2 vols. (Paris: Robert Laffont, 2009), 790. From here on, I cite
EM according to volume number, page number.
37. Mason, personal letter to the author, November 2006.
38. Griffith, “Sharing,” 194.
14 Introduction
A call to God for help; a call to others for help; a cry and a gesture of desperation. A
presence of God as Lover; an experience of God as Father. The understanding of the
Church as a sacrament, mediation between God and men. A call from God to Mas-
signon who seeks a religious community. Unlimited gratitude for those who prayed
for him during his illness, Arab Muslims. There, in a few traits, we understand the
self-offering that Massignon made to God the 24th of July 1908 when he promised to
live in order to exalt and consummate the Cross, in the compassion of Mary.39
but for Massignon, the web of relationships he enjoyed with Muslims living
and deceased were foundational not only as motivation but also as provid-
ing access to understanding Islam, and especially Islamic mysticism, from
within.
Massignon worked on his Hallâj project for the rest of his life, but he
had already submitted two doctoral theses for acceptance in 1922 (in Eng-
lish translation, The Passion of al-Hallâj: Mystic and Martyr of Islam [four
volumes] and Essay on the Origins of the Technical Language of Islamic Mys-
ticism). In the meantime, he had forged a friendship with Charles de Fou-
cauld, who encouraged Massignon to join him at his hermitage at Taman-
rasset in the Sahara, to be ordained a priest, and to spend his life working
with and studying the local population and languages. Through a difficult
period of discernment, Massignon finally decided not to join Foucauld. In-
stead, on the nineteenth of January 1914, he married his first cousin Mar-
celle Dansaert-Testelin; eventually three children, Yves (1915–1935), the afore-
mentioned Daniel, and Genevieve (1921–1966) were born to them. For their
honeymoon, the couple traveled to the Sahara to receive a blessing from
Foucauld, but because of political insecurity they were unable to reach their
destination. From 1914 to 1919, Massignon served in the French army during
World War I. First, he was part of the diplomatic corps. Then, through the
advice of Foucauld, he requested and obtained a transfer to the front lines
in Serbia. Finally, at the end of his tenure, he was part of the Sykes-Picot en-
tourage that negotiated settlement with the Arab countries formerly ruled
by the Ottomans. It was there that he met T. E. Lawrence (1888–1935), his
British counterpart. Charles de Foucauld was murdered (or martyred) on
the first of December 1916, and the Massignons finally visited his hermitage
in 1950.
As mentioned earlier, Jacques Maritain was among Massignon’s closest
friends, and there exist scores and perhaps hundreds of unpublished letters
between the two men. Other close friends included Paul Claudel (1868–1955),
Gabriel Marcel (1889–1973), François Mauriac (1885–1970), Charles Journet
(1891–1975), Léon Bloy (1846–1917), Pierre Jean de Menasce (1902–1973),
Jean Daniélou (1905–1974), and Thomas Merton (1915–1968), to name just
a few, which places him at the heart of European Catholic intellectual life in
the early to mid-twentieth century. He also had private audiences with three
popes: Pope Pius XI in 1934, in order to have the statutes of the Badaliya ap-
proved; Pope Pius XII in 1949, in order to attain permission to transfer from
16 Introduction
the Latin to the Greek Catholic (Melkite) rite; and Pope John XXIII in 1959,
to attain his blessing on the Badaliya sodality. He also was in frequent con-
tact with a number of high-ranking bishops in both the Latin and Melkite
churches and was a longtime personal friend of Giovanni Battista Cardinal
Montini (later Pope Paul VI).
From 1926 to 1954 he held the chair in Muslim sociology and sociog-
raphy at the Collège de France. It was an unusual position that afforded
him complete freedom with respect to the subjects he wished to research
and teach.43 He devoted much of his time there to studying Qur’anic com-
mentaries, but he also regularly offered a course in Muslim anti-Christian
polemics, one of the ways he sought to understand Islam from the inside.
During many of those years he was also an intellectual and spiritual guide
to many prominent Arab and North African Christians, including Georges
Anawati, Youakim Moubarac (1924–1995), Paul Nwiya (1925–1980), and Mi-
chel Hayek (1928–2005), among others. From 1933 to 1954 he directed the
religious studies section of L’École Pratique des Haute Études at the Sor-
bonne. He founded a journal, Revue des Études Islamique, as well as the Insti-
tut des Études Islamiques, and became president of the Institut des Études
Iraniennes. He also spent a month each year beginning in 1933 lecturing
in Arabic on the history of philosophy at the new University of Cairo. Very
little is written about Massignon’s activities during World War II. In 1939 he
was enlisted by the Ministry of Information and was sent on missions to
the Near East, but he continued to teach at the Collège de France during the
war years. It was during that period that he worked out a theoretical under-
standing of Islam in light of his Catholic faith.
Politically, Massignon was quite involved in French diplomacy. He found-
ed, with Jean Scelles (1904–1996) and André de Peretti, the Comité Chrétien
pour l’entente France-Islam.44 He met and came under the influence of Gan-
dhi (1869–1948) in Paris in 1931, and subsequently accepted the presidency of
Les Amis de Gandhi. Also, in 1934, with Mary Kahil, he founded the Badaliya
sodality, a community of mostly Arab, but some Latin, Christians who de-
voted themselves in prayer to the welfare and salvation of Muslims as well
43. It is fair to ask why Massignon did not pursue a more Catholic or ecclesial teaching position.
In conversations with French scholars of Massignon, it has been suggested to me that his positions
were too radical for an ecclesial faculty. That is a possibility, although it seems unlikely given the tra-
ditional nature of his earliest reflections on Islam. Probably it has more to do with the freedom and
resources available at the Collège de France.
44. André de Peretti and Maurice Borrmans, Louis Massignon et le Comité Chrétien pour l’Entente
France-Islam (1947–1962) (Paris: Karthala, 2014).
Introduction 17
LOUIS MASSIGNON
Method
1. That view is best represented by the work of Jacques Waardenburg (1930–2015), a student of
Massignon, who periodically across his own career challenged his teacher for violating the professional
norms of religionswissenschaft. According to Waardenburg, in Massignon “organized Islamwissenschaft
and Religionswissenschaft as scholarly disciplines became subordinate in practice to a particular schol-
ar’s own spiritual élan. This led to unverifiable interpretations and judgments outside scholarship.” Fur-
ther: “Because of its particular way of interpreting, exaggerating or even constructing the significance
and meanings of particular Islamic data from a particular kind of religious—partly Catholic—perspec-
tive, Massignon’s work poses a real challenge for any scholarly study of Islam.” See Jacques Waarden-
burg, “Louis Massignon (1883–1962) as a Student of Islam,” Die Welt des Islams 45, no. 3 (2005): 335, 339.
In a word, “Massignon’s own interests were too original and personally motivated to permit broad aca-
demic cooperation.” His motivations were also “too Catholic.” See Waardenburg, “L’impact de l’ouvre
de Louis Massignon sur les études islamiques,” in Louis Massignon au coeur de notre temps, ed. Jacques
Keryell (Paris: Karthala, 1999), 295, 302.
18
Louis Massignon: Method 19
Hospitality
Hospitality was a central theme of Massignon’s life and work, but he never
developed a theory of hospitality as some philosophers do today.2 It was for
him a very concrete virtue. In “La signification spirituelle du dernier pèler-
inage de Gandhi,” Massignon writes: “Hospitality is the consummation of
the works of mercy,” for “whatever you did for one of these least brothers of
mine . . . ,” in reference to chapter 25 of Matthew’s Gospel.3 He visited pris-
ons, protected vulnerable women, and even buried the dead. For example,
in 1961 he and others attempted to retrieve from the Seine the bodies of
Algerian “suspects” shot dead by Paris police and dumped into the river.4
Examples could be multiplied. The important thing for Massignon was the
crucial reciprocal relationship between host and guest, of course the same
word in French, l’hôte. Having been accepted as a guest, especially when
vulnerable, one must act as host to the stranger in one’s midst. Hospitality is
for him basically an application of the Golden Rule.
For example, in “Le Signe Marial,” an article that has been called “the
extreme point of Massignon’s progress toward a Christian-Muslim rap-
prochement,”5 he writes: “A self-proclaimed Christian apologist once ob-
jected to me, ‘In thirty years of life in Algeria, I have never met one sincere
or honest [‘afîf] Muslim public magistrate [cadi].’ I responded to him, ‘Here
below, we only find what our heart desires. Had you searched for the good
[bien] of God in the very first cadi you met you would have obtained a word
of truth. You would have recognized it in his canonical mandate and, will-
ing or unwilling, he would have responded to you in the name of the God of
Abraham.’”6 Recall also the story of Massignon convincing the young mis-
sionary priest Basetti-Sani not to fear but to love the Qur’an, Muhammad,
and Islam. And finally, responding to the question directly, “Do you believe
[Muhammad] was sincere?,” Massignon distinguished himself from other
prominent Catholic scholars of Islam:
2. See Catherine Cornille, The im-Possibility of Interreligious Dialogue (New York: Herder and Herd-
er, 2008). Cornille catalogues recent treatments of hospitality in continental and American philoso-
phy. (See 241 n. 1.) See also Jacques Derrida, Acts of Religion, trans. Gil Andijar (New York: Routledge,
2002), 358–80. Derrida (1930–2004) compares Massignon and Lévinas on hospitality. He emphasizes
the Abrahamic aspect of hospitality in Massignon’s thought, but I think he has not sufficiently high-
lighted the evangelical/Christological influence of Matthew 25 upon Massignon.
3. Quoted in Keryell, Grâce, 26.
4. Mason, foreword to Passion of al Hallâj, xxxvii.
5. Rocalve, Louis Massignon, 48.
6. Massignon, “Le Signe,” 214.
20 Louis Massignon: Method
I believe that [Muhammad] was sincere and that, as my old master Goldziher said to
me . . . “We must make of others what we would have them make of us.” The apolo-
getical skepticism, the scalpel wielded by H. Lammens in his studies on the Sîra7 is
a doubled-edged sword. Why reserve to Islam, to Muhammad, and to the Qur’an,
the base explanations by psychological or sociological fraud? The result is to cause
the Muslim apologists to translate into Arabic every pamphlet that, from Lessing to
Couchoud, has treated the Bible as a “grosse Täuschung,”8 Jesus as a mythical person,
and the Church as a consortium of priestly exploitation of the poor and the suffering.9
Hospitality warrants that one always make the best of one’s guest or host,
depending on which position one occupies. One should treat others (and
other traditions) the way one wants himself (and his tradition) to be treat-
ed. Massignon employed a strategy of hospitality not only in relation to per-
sons but also in relation to the texts, histories, and traditions he studied.
Therefore hospitality was really the first principle of his scholarly method.
First, he acted as the guest of Islam, studying its languages, people, cultures,
art, intellectual and legal traditions, and various religious and mystical in-
terpretations, and doing so as much as possible from within. Then, he acted
as host, putting what he learned in the best light possible for his Western,
mostly Christian, readers.
translator, Jean Spiro (1847–1914), who is responsible for the French edition
of the text that Massignon had read. When Massignon checked Spiro’s ver-
sion against the original Arabic manuscript, he found that Spiro had altered
the text in significant ways. Spiro corrected the original author’s mistaken
understandings of Christian doctrine and literature without noting it. Mas-
signon accuses him of trying to make Ibn al-Torjoman’s argument more
palatable to his modern audience. For example, he planed off the rough
and vulgar language of Ibn al-Torjoman, and he even removed several in-
sults (Christians are called “impious” and “dogs” in the original) that may
offend his French Christian readers.17 Where the original Arabic text reads,
in reference to the Christian apologist, “Let us see what the rascal says,” the
French translation gives “Let us pass now to the article. . . .”18 More serious
is Spiro’s exclusion of a significant portion of a hadîth, quoted in full by Ibn
al-Torjoman, about the presumably carnal joys of Paradise, in order to spare
his modern Western readers any “shock.”19 Further, Spiro corrected Ibn
al-Torjoman’s obvious misinterpretations as well as his false citations, but
he rarely noted the changes, and for Massignon that is simply poor scholar-
ship.20 As he writes in the Passion: “[T]he duty of the historian is to criticize
the personal authority of the witness before the text of his testimony; and,
if he accepts the witness, not to mutilate his testimony to support a priori
theories.”21 Spiro failed to investigate whether Ibn al-Torjoman’s work was
dependent upon earlier polemics by Ibn Hazm (994–1064), Ibn Taymiyyah
(1263–1328), or Qadi Iyâd (1083–1149), which Massignon suspects it is—
later he identifies citations from the Gospels in which Ibn al-Torjoman re-
peated the same errors, verbatim, as those found in the text of Ibn Hazm.22
Spiro did not situate the work of Ibn al-Torjoman in the history of Muslim
apologetics,23 and then, having missed some possible authentic sources, he
argued that Ibn al-Torjoman was probably dependent on the (in)famous
Gospel of Barnabas, a claim Massignon finds incredible, because of dating
and language problems.24
In general, one could say that Spiro did not take his role as a critical
translator and editor as seriously as Massignon would have, had he trans-
lated Ibn al-Torjoman’s work. The reader is left with the question why? Mi-
nor errors are easy to forgive, but why would an editor correct the mistaken
ideas of his subject without reporting it? For example, why would Spiro
change Ibn al-Torjoman’s Muslim understanding of the Trinity as “God is
the third of three,” probably an allusion to the Trinity as Jesus, Mary, and
God the Father (Qur’an 5: 73–75), to a Christian-friendly version, “God is
in three persons,” without noting the correction?25 Why would he varnish
the vitriolic approach of his subject’s polemic without alerting the reader?
The critical editor’s job is to render a text accessible for serious study by an
educated reader. Spiro seems to have obscured the true perspective of his
subject. Why?
One possible explanation is Spiro’s incompetence, his lack of awareness
about the seriousness of the task before him, but a second explanation is
more likely. In a beautiful turn of phrase, Massignon writes that, to get it
right, a critical editor and translator must “love textual truth,” and in Mas-
signon’s opinion, Spiro’s willful misrepresentation belies that love of textual
truth.26 Here one finds linked Massignon’s dual concerns as a scholar and a
Christian. The accuracy of the text is not only important for erudite schol-
ars, it matters in the religious lives of readers, and Massignon’s distaste (dis-
gust might be more accurate) for scholars who are religious skeptics and
who “seek in order to seek, not in order to find, who compare without want-
ing to judge or to choose” could not be more plain. Massignon writes:
The translator presents himself as an impartial editor who wants to maintain a balance
between his presentation of Christianity, which is attacked, and Islam, which attacks.
He extends to these two religions the same cold courtesy, that of the skeptics who love
to label and classify on the same shelf, in the same funerary museum, what remains of
the three great forms of Semitic monotheism, Judaism, Christianity, and Islam.
The equal respect that they afford each forbids the scholar from ever practicing
either. This is often the case today in a science with no real knowledge of its subject,
a science which seeks in order to seek and not in order to find, which compares with-
out ever wanting to judge or to choose. Far from seeing the perfect form of the science
known as the history of religions in this much too extolled perspective, a perspec-
tive that forbids to one’s intelligence the possibility of ever achieving possession of
either historical or dogmatic truth and that cannot discern the sacred difference be-
tween nothingness and being, rather we must recognize in this bland and lukewarm
condition that denies the desire of the human heart for certitude and for love a last
degenerate, disabused, seemingly friendly survival of the ancient blasphemy of the
Carmathians that the Middle Ages put on the lips of Frédéric II when he supposedly
derided the “Three Impostors,” Moses, Jesus, and Mahomet.27
Interiorist Method
Good philology is necessary, but for Massignon it is not sufficient for the
understanding of religious or mystical texts, and that marks the third char-
acteristic of his scholarship, namely his so-called interiorist method.30 In
his Essay on the Origins of the Technical Language of Islamic Mysticism, un-
der the heading “The Method of Interpretation,” Massignon addresses the
question of foreign influences in Islamic mysticism. His concerns are how
to detect them and how to declare something original. He concludes that
“the philological method is the only one that will permit the presentation
of serious evidence, i.e., evidence that will be able to bring the specialists
into agreement if certain rules are strictly observed.”31 A properly criti-
cal linguistic-historical study is always essential. However, in Massignon’s
opinion, it is not enough. For example, employing the philological meth-
od, many scholars concluded that Sufism was the product of extra-Islamic
sources, such as Reynolds A. Nicholson (1868–1945), whose claim that Su-
fism borrowed from Indian Hindu practices was typical. Massignon, on the
contrary, was convinced of the Islamic originality of Sufism. Although he
challenged Nicholson on technical grounds, he also argued that to under-
stand mysticism demands understanding “the reality that practicing a con-
structive method can enable [mystics] to discover.”32 One must have some
sense of what the mystic under consideration claims to have achieved.
Therefore, “the scholar [of mysticism] will not succeed as long as he only
classifies technical terms and compares the structure of the authors’ state-
ments of dogma; he must personally redo the moral experiment, reliving the
experience by putting himself, at least hypothetically, in the place of his
subjects, in order to gain a direct, axial understanding of the consequences
of their rules for living.”33
At least hypothetically—that is key. Massignon famously wrote: “Al-Hallâj
said that to comprehend something else does not mean to annex it, but
rather to be transferred, through decentralization of ourselves, into the very
center of the other thing in question. . . . We can help ourselves understand
30. The term comes from the subtitle of an interview with Louis Massignon (by Gulio Basetti-Sani),
“Le Signe Marial, la position ‘intérioriste’ de L. Massignon.” See “Le Signe,” 14.
31. Massignon, Essay on the Origins of the Technical Language of Islamic Mysticism (Notre Dame,
Ind.: University of Notre Dame Press, 2003), 39.
32. Massignon, Essay, 41.
33. Massignon, Essay, 39–40; emphasis added.
26 Louis Massignon: Method
only by entering into the system of the other thing.”34 Massignon never claims
somehow to have adopted the persona of a medieval Sufi, but he does claim
to have taken practical steps to increase the probability of understanding his
subject’s worldview. One way was to take up the Sufi practice of meditation
upon key terminology from the Qur’an or the Sufi tradition. Benjamin Clark
notes that “whether he was reading Arabic or writing French, Massignon kept
in mind the istinbât of difficult words, the ‘chewing’ and ‘swallowing’ that the
mystics practiced in order to assimilate Qur’ânic terms into their lives,”35 and
his footnote reads: “The word istinbât means literally ‘finding the source of
running water.’ Nicholson translates it, in a manner typically divergent from
Massignon’s, as ‘intuitive deduction.’”36 It is emphatically not intuitive deduc-
tion in which either Massignon or his Sufi subjects were engaged. Finding the
source of running water implies investigation, experimentation, trial and error.
One is on a search for a fuller, improved, and corrected understanding of the
reality to which the author or the terms refer.
Another way Massignon entered the system of his subjects was to read
texts at as many levels as were available. In “Soyons des sémites spirituels,”
Massignon argues that Semitic languages—Hebrew, Aramaic, and Arabic
in particular—have the “unique privilege of having been elected to receive
the revelation of the transcendent God of Abraham, not the philosophy of a
deity.”37 The theological claim notwithstanding for the moment, the prob-
lem is that European exegetes often fail to grasp the Semitic sensibility of
the scriptures. Too often they turn to Greek and Latin literary and philo-
sophical references rather than to other Semitic examples for interpreting
difficult passages. He acknowledges that “it would be much more practical”
for the European exegete, who, because of his lack of comprehension, usu-
ally settles on the plain sense of Semitic words in his translations, “if each
word had only one immediate, obvious, material sense, and if this word,
once used dialectically, could be erased from our memory like a balance
sheet wiped clean at the end of the year.”38 Unfortunately, such is not the
34. Quoted in Giulio Basetti-Sani, Louis Massignon: Christian Ecumenist, trans. Allan Cutler (Chi-
cago: Franciscan Herald Press, 1974), 148.
35. Clark, introduction to Essay on the Origins, xxiii.
36. Clark, introduction to Essay on the Origins, xxiii n. 6.
37. Massignon, “Soyons des Sémites spirituels,” in EM 1, 41. The title of the article is apparently an
allusion to a 1938 address of Pope Pius XI to a group of Belgian journalists, in which the Holy Father
concludes: “Spiritually we are Semites.” See Johannes Willebrands, Church and Jewish People: New Con-
siderations (Mahwah, N.J.: Paulist Press, 1992), 60.
38. Massignon, “Soyons,” 42.
Louis Massignon: Method 27
One cannot overemphasize . . . the central position that the Qur’an holds in the elabo-
ration of any Muslim doctrine, even of the most seemingly heterodox one. Memo-
rized by heart in childhood, the Qur’an is a real and revealed “world plan” regulating
the experimentation, interpretation, and evaluation of every event. It is a memoran-
dum for all the faithful, a complete reminder for everyday life, a verbal repository,
“the dictionary of the poor.” Much of it is also an enchiridion, a manual of definitions
and guarantees, continually applicable and providing a basis for reflection. Lastly, it is
for some a vade mecum for the will, a collection of maxims of practical action to medi-
tate on by oneself, focusing attention on the unceasing proofs of divine glory.
The Qur’an thus simplifies the problem of method for the faithful. This revealed
code nourishes memory and inspires action without causing thought to waver for
long between the two.44
One must consent to accept them, that is, the Qur’anic verses, before they will be
understood. One cannot help but recall the Augustinian-Anselmian credo ut in-
telligam, whereby the Christian mysteries in themselves are super-intelligible,
so that only by entering into those mysteries through faith and belief does
one have the chance, the proper disposition, the inclination necessary for
improved understanding. An intelligent outsider could certainly follow the
logic of particular Christological or Trinitarian arguments, but he would
miss something. He would miss the sensus plenior, the why of doctrines that
is integral to the what of doctrines; he would miss the insights that make the
teaching more fully intelligible. Massignon is saying that the same is true, at
least functionally, for Islamic exegesis, theology, and spiritual practice. The
footnotes in this section of the Essay point mainly to Hasan Basri (642–728)
and Hallâj, but it is evident that Massignon’s understanding of the ascetical
dimension of the Qur’an results not only from a “recollection of the words
and a sound perception of their meanings,” but also from putting the direc-
tives into practice. In the Passion, he writes:
The attentive reader of the Qur’an rediscovers in it similar rudiments of the Jewish
and Christian notions of asceticism. In order for the divine wisdom, which is grasped
intelligibly in the heart, to make a man its interpreter, dwell within him, and be able
to be expressed without distortion by the tongue, he must fast, keep watch, and pray.
He must fast first in order to speak ever after, not from the fullness of the belly, but
from the fullness of the heart. Our mouth, through which food enters and words go
out, is sincere only if we have gained control of its appetites through fasting. What
God brings the heart to understand and what the human tongue utters can be identi-
cal only if the appetite of the flesh is completely subdued. In fact, to utter the Divine
Word correctly, one must have not only an accurate recollection of the words and a
sound perception of their meanings, but also a sober and real control of one’s limbs
by one’s will: an ascetical discipline which, by training the body, succeeds in keeping
the heart and its impulses under control.46
Religious Originality
Of course many academics would be skeptical regarding Massignon’s interi-
orist method of scholarship. For example, Jacques Waardenburg wrote:
If it is true, that a researcher to a large extent must “imitate” a leading intention of the
object in order to understand it, it is equally true, that too advanced an imitation on
his side would make not only a judgment in the normal sense of the word, but also
all comparison impossible. According to this method, actually, everything which is
understood becomes more or less “original” or at least unique. And so there is a risk
of faulty conclusions precisely with regard to the originality or the original elements
of a work, admitting thereby that this originality cannot be known “objectively” apart
from the researcher.48
A few replies are in order. First, Massignon never argued that either the
plain sense of a text or the philological method of study is in and of itself
ineffectual. To the contrary, each is necessary, as was indicated in the afore-
mentioned quote. Where he does challenge the received wisdom of much
of academia is in his insistence that the likelihood of understanding im-
proves through imitation, to use Waardenburg’s term, or experimentation, to
use Massignon’s. Second, it is not correct to say that Massignon thought of
religious experience, or response to it, as always and everywhere sui generis.
He often referred to common modes of response and common formulations
of religious experience, drawn from a common pool of symbols and leg-
ends. And though he seems not to have endorsed completely Jung’s notion
of the collective unconscious, Massignon did often cite Jung’s work on ar-
chetypes. For example, he wrote: “There is a number, probably a fixed and
limited number—archetypal, Jung would say—to which we can reduce the
mass of themes in the universe as they might be catalogued by such folk-
lorists as Aarne-Thompson.”49 And he described legend as “an immediate
projection of [an] event in the world of symbols.”50 In other words, Massi-
gnon expected that religious experience must be expressed through a set of
words, images, and symbols common to a particular culture or sometimes
48. Jacques Waardenburg, “Louis Massignon’s study of religion and Islam: An essay à propos of
his Opera Minora,” Oriens 21–22 (1968–69): 144.
49. Massignon, “The Notion of ‘Real Elite’ in Sociology and in History” in Testimonies, 62.
50. Massignon, “The Transfer of Suffering through Compassion,” in Testimonies, 156.
Louis Massignon: Method 31
across cultures, and that when similar images were chosen by diverse per-
sons, there may exist shared experience, at least partially. Therefore, he was
fully aware of the scholar’s need to classify and compare. What he guarded
against was a reduction of the mystic subject to the terms, images, and sym-
bols by which she expressed her relationship with God. He guarded even
more carefully against the temptation of the scholar to think that by clas-
sifying and comparing, he therefore comprehended, in the sense of fully un-
derstood, the mystic’s relationship with God.
That said, when presented with questions of cultural or religious bor-
rowing, it is accurate to say that Massignon tended to err on the side of
originality. As one will see in the pages that follow, Massignon understood
Islam to be an original witness to the transcendent One, not merely a de-
rivative of Judaism and Christianity. He understood Semitic languages in
general and Arabic in particular to bear an original capacity to communi-
cate divine commands. Sufism was an original and organic development
within Islam; Hallâj’s realizations, while dependent upon the experience of
previous Sufis, went further and were therefore original. In a certain sense,
for Massignon every relationship with God is original, but only when that
relationship is authentic. When the spiritually purified subject responds to
God’s instigation in and through the point vierge, the inviolate center of her
soul, then she is in fact an original actor. The difficulty, of course, is in de-
termining when a subject is acting authentically. That is where experimen-
tation on the part of the scholar is an aid. The scholar comes to recognize
movements, obstacles, limits, and the transcendence of limits in her own
soul; those characteristics then become resources for understanding some
subject’s description of religious life.
Massignon’s confidence in originality led to some interesting conclu-
sions. For example, in the Preliminary Note to Les trois prières d’Abraham
he states: “Before those who no longer believe, I confess that I accept in
their simplicity chapters 16–22 of Genesis that transmit to us, in the frame
of Abraham’s life, a memorial of these three astonishing prayers; like a poor
but glorious human sunken treasure [épave], preserved by the same grace
that not only inspired their very outline but also provoked their subsequent
redaction, despite the perils during the long history of their transmission,
until they finally reached us, without the incurred risks having undermined
the divinely precious intelligibility that was conserved for us intact.”51
sented by the text without conceding that they undermined the historicity
of the central events. For example, the doublets one encounters may indi-
cate a mnemonic device developed over the centuries toward better trans-
mission of the stories. As for the early appearance of the Tetragrammaton, if
an image of the Trinity (the three angels who greet Abraham in Genesis 18)
mysteriously appears in the Old Testament, then, he asks, why cannot the
divine name of the LORD do likewise before Moses and the burning bush?57
Whether or not one accepts these as plausible explanations, it is important
to note Massignon’s main concern, which is that internal criticism tends to
“enslave itself to this or that fashionable explanation,” whether it be Marxist
economic theory, Freudian complexes, the racial or astral theories of Renan,
genealogical reductions according to Durkheim, or folkloric roots according
to Frazer.58 All of these are “false keys” if in fact “the text under consider-
ation carries the mark of an original and personal experience, as is the case
with prayer or dialogue with God.”59 A correct interpretation demands that
the interpreter have some familiarity with the aim of the text, and familiar-
ity in this case demands experimentation with the subject studied. For exam-
ple, the chance for insight into the life of Abraham increases when one wel-
comes the stranger, willingly sacrifices out of love for God, etc. This is true of
biblical stories in general. Without entering into it, how will critics ever un-
derstand that “the Holy Book brings a message from God, ‘good news’ from
the beyond, that it confides to us a secret of eternal life and is to be received
with respect and love? At least, that is how Pascal, anticipating [Charles de]
Foucauld . . . treated Holy Scripture, and they were holy [saints].”60
The preceding paragraphs also roughly summarize Massignon’s retort
to the common Islamic claim that textual divergences among the canoni-
cal Gospels undermine the reliability of the accounts therein. According to
Massignon, it is important first to note that the divergences were compiled
(London: Marshall Brothers, 1928). Finn questions the self-assured conclusions of higher criticism re-
garding the composite nature of the Pentateuch. On page 5, the last lines of Finn’s introduction must
have delighted Massignon. They are reminiscent of his own criticism of the supposed “neutrality” of
Jean Spiro, translator of the Examen. Finn writes: “The critics assert that the evidence they adduce is so
clear and so weighty that no candid and reasonable enquirer can fail to be satisfied that their conclu-
sion is the only possible one. Is this assertion really justified? Those of the critical school are prone to
suggest that their opponents are prejudiced, while they stand for impartial enquiry, and the honest
recognition of the facts. To the facts, then, let us go.”
57. Massignon, “Note Liminaire,” in Les trois prières, 26.
58. Massignon, “Note Liminaire,” in Les trois prières, 26.
59. Massignon, “Note Liminaire,” in Les trois prières, 26–27.
60. Massignon, “Soyons,” 44–45.
34 Louis Massignon: Method
and studied by Christian scholars (e.g., St. Justin, Tatian, Origen, St. Augus-
tine) long before the advent of Islam, and the Church managed to persevere
in faith because it was judged that “neither faith nor morals” was affected
by the particular differences.61 Second, and more telling of Massignon’s in-
teriorist reading, to see textual divergences as discrediting the Church is to
miss the essential thing about how the Church came to be in the first place,
that is by personal witness: “If they believed in Christ, it is because they
were overwhelmed by the sincerity of an ensemble of living witnesses, di-
rect disciples of the Apostles of Christ, united by a common creed of faith,
by a common cult, and in a common love.”62 The early Christians were
attracted primarily not by the accuracy of manuscripts or the impressive
style of some “life of Christ,” but by the apostolic tradition, by the rule of life
of churches in communion with the Apostles, by a witness and tradition
maintained despite persecution.63
uments prepared by the historian; the one of actions and examples with
the rules of moral theology regarding the discernment of spirits; the one
of communicated thoughts with the . . . necessary dogmatic data.”65 It is as
if the historian of religion passes off the results of his investigation to the
theologian to address the further questions. Obviously things rarely work
out so neatly in practice, and Massignon performed both roles at different
places within his body of scholarship. There are sections in his books and
articles, often in a concluding reflection, and there are whole texts as well,
in which Massignon quite deliberately puts on a theologian’s cap, reflects
on reality, deliberates about value, and confronts the historical with the
necessary dogmatic data. That is the point of Maurice Borrman’s comment
that there are at least five major texts and a thousand passing comments
throughout the rest of Massignon’s corpus in which his work is explicitly
theological.66 Perhaps the best way to put it is that Massignon’s study of Is-
lam, or anything else for that matter, was pursued as a Christian.67
In that sense, the confessional nature of at least parts of Massignon’s
work anticipates what has come to be called comparative theology.68 The
development in Massignon’s approach to Islam is therefore at least partly
attributable to a process that Francis Clooney argues is universal for inter-
religious understanding: “Theologians cognizant of theology’s interreligious
and comparative dimensions learn to stop judging other religions from afar
based simply on their understandings of their own traditions; instead they
learn to write in a way that speaks and responds to people in other tradi-
tions as well. They also become accustomed to conversing with their peers
Christian Commitments
Louis Massignon adamantly opposed any notion of pluralism that denied
religious differences. In an address to the World Congress of Faiths in 1936,
he wrote: “I feel that union of all creeds is not to be reached through lev-
eling all the dogmas to the lowest common level of natural religious feel-
ing, nor by a mere table of transpositions. Dogmas must, on the contrary, be
tested, develop their full distinct features, sprout till of full height, so as to
be judged on their fruits from this low humble common level by the ordi-
nary man.”71 Through his creative reference to Jesus’s parable of the wheat
and the weeds (Matt. 13:24–30), Massignon encourages an examination of
religious dogmas in their peculiarity. Common and ordinary human be-
ings are in no position preemptively either to reduce all observed doctri-
nal difference to manifestations of a universal religious feeling or to claim
similarity between doctrinal claims on the basis of superficial comparison.
The dogmas must be tested; their fruits must be analyzed, but that demands
patience. Massignon’s own religious commitments were, on one level, un-
ambiguously and even conventionally Christian. He believed in the Triune
God, the divinity of Jesus and his redemption of humanity, the efficacy of
the sacraments, and the necessity of the Church for the salvation of souls,
and he accepted the hierarchy of the Roman Catholic Church as an au-
thentic mediation of apostolic succession and teaching. He defended those
beliefs where relevant to do so, and he did not shy away from explaining
them, even if, as mentioned previously, the technical formulation of his ex-
planations was sometimes unconventional.
Trinity
An example of one such defense is instructive. In the Examen, Massignon’s
Muslim interlocutor argues that positing a plurality of persons in God and
insisting on the identity of Jesus with one of those persons violates God’s
simplicity and incurs guilt of the primary sin in Islam, shirk, association of
partners to God. He is simply repeating a standard and Qur’anically based
Muslim critique of Christian belief in the Trinity. In response, Massignon
first establishes that the logical impossibility of there being three persons
in the one essence of God has never been demonstrated.72 He continues:
“In fact, the unity of the person is not necessarily correlative to the unity
of substance, since in one human person, we admit that there are two sub-
stances, soul and body.”73 The terms of the analogy appear reversed (as the
editor of the text observes in a footnote). In the Trinity there is a plural-
ity of persons in one divine essence (this is already complicated by the fact
that person and substance translate the same word, hypostasis/substantia).
The distinction is between divine persons, but Massignon makes his point
via reference to a distinction within the one human person. The analogy is
further complicated by the fact that the scholastics speak of the relationship
between soul and body as one of form and matter, and they speak of that
body-soul composite as comprising a unity of substance. Massignon, how-
ever, speaks of body and soul as two substances. He proceeds to imagine a
continuum of the degree to which different things decompose. “Masses” or
“material bodies” are the most decomposable, “forces” are somewhere in the
middle, and “spiritual substances” are the least decomposable. His example
of a spiritual substance is the human soul, which “remains simple” even
as the body that it animated “decomposes into atoms.” Finally, he returns
directly to his defense of God’s simultaneous oneness and threeness. He ar-
gues that if the simplicity of the soul is not violated by the decomposition of
the body, a fortiori the divine simplicity is not violated by positing a distinc-
tion of persons: “IT thinks that Christians confuse ontological unity, which
is pure simplicity, with arithmetic unity, which can be resolved into frac-
72. Charles Hefling, in a very different context, said much the same thing, though more color-
fully: “If the very notion of trinity-in-unity were unthinkable, like the concept of circular squareness,
Christianity’s doctrine of God would be like the six impossible things that the White Queen in Alice [in
Wonderland] claimed she could believe before breakfast.” Charles Hefling, Why Doctrines? (Cambridge,
Mass.: Cowley, 1984), 178.
73. Massignon, Examen, 28.
38 Louis Massignon: Method
Christ
Massignon was equally vigorous, and traditional, in his defense of a Chalce-
donian understanding of Christ. In the Examen, Ibn al-Torjoman cites Gos-
pel verses in which Jesus eats and drinks (Matt. 11:19), admits ignorance of
“the Hour” (Matt. 24:36), and prays to the Father (Matt. 26:36–45) in order
to demonstrate that Jesus himself neither claimed divine identity nor be-
haved in such a way that would indicate he was anything other than hu-
man. Massignon responds by accumulating scriptural references to the
divinity of Jesus, emphasizing those accounts in which Jesus “teaches not
by a received investiture, but from authority,” because he is aware of the
Islamic insistence that a prophet teaches or performs miracles only by the
permission of God. He continues: “[Jesus] speaks in his own name, baptizes,
forgives sins, cures, and exorcises demons in his own name.”75 Then, citing
the case of John’s Gospel, in which he argues that Jesus is presented most
clearly as both human and divine, he turns the tables on his interlocutor,
asking why Ibn al-Torjoman cannot hold Jesus’s humanity and divinity in
tension when the Evangelist clearly does so. He answers: “It is because, like
[Ernst] Renan [1823–1892], IT has an a priori principle that forces him to dis-
cern in the Gospels two distinct but intermingled witnesses, one acceptable,
the other to be rejected because of its contradiction of the first.”76 For Renan,
the a priori principle is the impossibility of miracles; for Ibn al-Torjoman,
however, the principle is that creator and creature are contrary terms.77 The
absolute transcendence of God forbids a priori the possibility of union with
the creature.78 Therefore, as in the case of Renan, where miracles like the
raising of Lazarus must have been staged affairs aimed at winning acclaim
for Jesus, in the case of Ibn al-Torjoman and like-minded Muslims, the
Christian scriptures must have been intentionally falsified by overly zeal-
ous disciples.79
Massignon, representing the Catholic position, argues for a different way
of reading the Gospels, one that first accepts the Word of God as true and
subsequently seeks to understand the true teachings therein, in this case
the affirmation that Christ is both divine and human. Roughly put, Massi-
gnon follows the conciliar tradition, a process by which questions for judg-
ment and questions for understanding have been asked and answered in an
ecclesial context.80 Massignon indicates as much when he asks the follow-
ing question: “Why does IT not accept completely the Christ of the Gospels,
such as he was historically, such as he is described, such as he left himself
to his Church in the hypostatic union of his divinity and his humanity?”81
The Christ of the Gospels is the Christ of the Council of Chalcedon, which
proclaimed the hypostatic union of human and divine natures in Jesus’s
divine personhood. Massignon even attempts to explain the teaching ac-
cording to the rules of the communication of properties (communicatio idi-
omatum), which he posits negatively, referring to the “non-communication
of properties” in response to Ibn al-Torjoman’s subordinationist interpreta-
tion of Matthew 24:36, where Jesus states: “But of that day and hour no one
knows, not even the angels of heaven, nor the Son, but the Father only.”82 It
is worth quoting Massignon’s response in full:
77. See Ernst Renan, The Life of Jesus (Buffalo: Prometheus Books, 1991); Mark Allan Powell, Jesus
as a Figure in History: How Modern Historians View the Man from Galilee (Louisville, Ky.: Westminster
John Knox Press, 1998), 15.
78. For Hallâj the terms “creator” and “creature” are not in fact contrary; for John of the Cross, a
Christian mystic, they are, but that does not prevent the possibility of union. See Passion 3, 48; John of
the Cross, Ascent of Mount Carmel, in The Collected Works of John of the Cross, trans. Kieran Kavanaugh
and Otilio Rodriguez (Washington, D.C.: Institute of Carmelite Studies, 1979), 1.4.
79. Martin Accad, “Corruption and/or Misinterpretation of the Bible: The Story of the Islamic us-
age of tahrîf,” Theological Review 24, no. 2 (2003): 67–97.
80. See Bernard Lonergan, The Way to Nicea: The Dialectical Development of Trinitarian Theology,
trans. Conn O’Donovan (London: Darton, Longman, and Todd, 1976), 1–17.
81. Massignon, Examen, 21.
82. Interestingly, as Massignon points out, in the Qur’an, where the Hour is often connected to his
second coming, Jesus has knowledge of the Hour: “And lo! verily there is knowledge of the Hour. So
doubt ye not concerning it, but follow Me. This is the right path” (43:61; the verses before and after this
40 Louis Massignon: Method
One of the rules of the “non-communication of properties” is that what is said of God
exclusively cannot be said of Jesus. Now, it is by divine and incommunicable knowledge
that Jesus knows the Hour of judgment. For he is the Son, perfectly obedient to his
Father, made man in order to save men; before judging them all at the solemn hour of
his second coming, he must save them; also he exhorts them to pray without ceasing
for their own hour, which will precede the terrible day. In order to save them, he finds
the means of “remaining in agony” with them “until the end of the world” in the Eu-
charist, for the way to save them is not to make sure they know the Hour but to teach
them to acknowledge It and to believe in Him. Having been made, by filial obedience,
one of us, Jesus renounced, by this very fact, “knowing the Hour.” [L. M.’s note reads,
“It is therefore not a matter of mental restriction.”]83
one concern the mission of Jesus to the “Children of Israel” by whom He was rejected). Massignon’s
note reads, “Notons que le Qoran (XLIII, 61) soutient le contraire ‘Certes il (= Jésus) connaît l’Heure,’” Exa-
men, 22 n. 18.
83. Massignon, Examen, 22.
84. Instead of writing that “what is said of God exclusively cannot be said of Jesus,” he might have
explained that in the one divine person of Christ, there are two natures, human and divine, such that
to the divine person of Christ may be attributed the concrete properties of either of the two natures,
even though the concrete properties exclusive to either nature individually are not interchangeable.
85. Massignon, Examen, 31–32.
Louis Massignon: Method 41
Church
Sacraments are, for Massignon, means to “sanctify through virtue.”86 He
most frequently refers to the sacraments of baptism and Eucharist, and I
devote some attention later to his thoughts on the former, specifically to the
question of baptizing Muslim converts. Here I only mention his conviction
about the efficacy of the sacraments. Particularly clear is his belief in the
real presence of Christ in the Eucharist. In the long quotation mentioned
previously, Eucharist bodily extends Christ’s offer of redemption in history.
Elsewhere, Eucharist is nothing less than the means of union with God. He
writes: “In the Eucharist, the qualities of the species of bread and wine, cre-
ated and perishable, disappear by the assimilation of these accidents. This
sign, which maintains the distinction between the substances, consecrates
the union between Creator and creation. The form of the promise [i.e., ac-
cidents of bread and wine] is reduced to appearance while the substance is
actually divine. If the body naturally assimilates the material appearance,
why would the soul refuse the spiritual gift of God?”87
The Church was for Massignon not simply a dispensary of sacraments,
however, but also a living and authoritative teacher. Massignon is supposed
to have said, “There is no life of grace in the Church without obedience to
the hierarchy.”88 I mentioned in the Introduction his audiences with three
popes, Pius XI, Pius XII, and John XXIII, his friendship with a soon-to-be
fourth pope, Paul VI, and his friendship with Pierre-Kemal Medawar, aux-
iliary to Melkite Patriarch Maximos IV. Massignon collaborated regularly
with bishops, archbishops, cardinals, and Catholic priests of influence,
and he sought hierarchical approval for his various projects, including his
founding of the Badaliya sodality, his encouragement of Muslim-Christian
A Copernican Revolution
It is important to keep in mind Massignon’s dogged adherence to the par-
ticulars of his Catholic faith when interpreting his famous call for a “veri-
table religious revolution, a ‘Copernican’ revolution,” in the Church’s wider
ecumenical mission wherein one would “rediscover God at the center of the
world.”91 It would be a mistake to read into Massignon’s religious-Copernican
92. That is how I interpret Robert Caspar’s borrowed Massignonian language in his comment that
Nostra Aetate’s statement “Upon the Moslems too, the Church looks with esteem” represents “quite a
revolution, in the Copernican sense of the word, in the Church’s attitude towards Islam.” See Robert
Caspar, “Islam according to Vatican II,” Encounter: Documents for Muslim Christian Understanding 21
(1976): 3.
93. Massignon, “Le Front Chrétien,” in EM 2, 33.
94. Massignon, “Le Front Chrétien,” in EM 2, 32.
44 Louis Massignon: Method
its encounter with Islam, always with the goal of knowing, participating
in, and sharing the divine life into which they are invited through the mis-
sions of the Son and the Spirit.95 The mission to the world is God’s, not the
Church’s.96
Conclusion
It is not surprising that, although no one completely escapes his criticism,
Edward Said (1935–2003) is more forgiving in Orientalism of Louis Massign-
on than he is of other scholars, noting Massignon’s genuine empathy toward
Islamic peoples and cultures.97 Massignon’s scholarly talent, acumen, and
dogged dedication to textual truth are evident. His interiorist method was a
direct application of the concrete virtue of hospitality in the intellectual do-
main. In order to understand someone or something, in this case Islam, one
cannot simply annex it, as the colonial logic of his day was too eager to do.
One must insert oneself, or, in a Massignonian idiom, one must substitute
oneself axially in the place of the system or the person one intends to un-
derstand. What to some collapses the necessary distance between scholar
and subject, for Massignon is necessary for genuine understanding, espe-
cially in the case of religious-mystical subjects. Axial insertion, or substitu-
tion, or understanding, is not simply imaginative, though imagination is a
key component. It demands actual performance of the mystic’s ascetic and
spiritual practices. It means actually striving for holiness in order to under-
stand the obstacles and graces that one encounters along the path.
Massignon’s investigations were influenced not only by his desire to un-
derstand from within but also by his Christian, Catholic beliefs. He believed
in God, in the one transcendent triune God, in Jesus as Son of God, in the
efficacy of the sacraments, in the legitimacy of the institutional Church’s
teaching authority, and so on. In some works, and as Borrmans noted in a
thousand passing comments across his corpus of writings, Massignon made
those Christian beliefs and practices the subject of explicit examination,
understanding, and judgment, usually in comparison to Islamic beliefs and
95. That is not to say Christians have a monopoly on conversion. The need for a Copernican shift,
according to Massignon, has Islamic roots as well. He writes: “Muslim doctrine encourages this shift by
teaching that the ‘virginal point,’ the point at which each person is in contact with the Creator, should
come more and more to be the place out of which we live.” Quoted in Caspar, “La Vision,” 132.
96. See John Sivalon, God’s Mission and Postmodern Culture: The Gift of Uncertainty (Maryknoll,
N.Y.: Orbis, 2012).
97. See Edward W. Said, Orientalism (New York: Vintage Books, 2003), 264–84.
Louis Massignon: Method 45
98. Mason reminds the reader that “as has been noted by both his admirers and detractors, it is
unusual for a learned man of his cultural background and stature to also be a man of exceptional pi-
ety.” Herbert Mason, “Louis Massignon, Catholicism and Islam: A Memoir Reflection,” Spiritus: A Jour-
nal of Christian Spirituality 8, no. 2 (2008): 202.
God: Visitation of the Stranger
t wo
GOD
Visitation of the Stranger
46
God: Visitation of the Stranger 47
given to the subject that was not there before, namely the subject’s definitive
personality. Finally, the experience evokes compassion and enables the sub-
ject to share in the suffering and grief of humanity; the experience is fruitful
socially. The opening of Massignon’s entry on Tasawwuf in the first edition
of the Encyclopedia of Islam echoes many of these themes, but it adds a peni-
tential hue to the finding of oneself: “The mystic call is as a rule the result of
an inner rebellion of the conscience against social injustices, not only those
of others but primarily and particularly against one’s own faults: with a de-
sire intensified by inner purification to find God at any price.”9
Massignon’s definition of mysticism in the Avicenna article serves in-
ternally to determine whether the title’s question should be answered af-
firmatively or negatively. The chief philosophic problem of Avicenna’s day,
according to Massignon, was to reconcile Qur’anic revelation with Hellenis-
tic thought (especially with Aristotle). The anthropomorphic qualities at-
tributed to God, and especially God’s particular and personal activities in
the world, as found in the Qur’an challenge the philosophical understand-
ing of God as one, simple, immutable, eternal, good, perfect, infinite, tran-
scendent, and so on. According to Massignon, two options for solving the
problem were current: Gnosticism and mysticism. The Gnostic solution at-
tributed any appearance of change to a system of divine emanations, not to
God Himself. The mystical solution emphasized the cultivation of a person-
al relationship with God in order to come to some experimental-practical
understanding of divine activity in the world. It is less concerned about
explaining and more concerned about testifying and describing. In at least
one instance Avicenna chose the mystical solution, and after consulting
Sufi literature, he wrote the Ishârât, the title of which Massignon translates
as Directives, understood not as techniques of mechanical “prescriptions”
but as “therapeutic directives” of a doctor of the soul.10 It is a treatise on the
orientation, relationships, practices, and attitudes that bring about the con-
ditions for the possibility of realizing one’s definitive personality.
But Massignon is not satisfied with the results; he determines that in
fact Avicenna is not a mystic, and he makes the case by way of contrast. He
opposes the experience of Avicenna to that of al-Ghazâlî (1058–1111), who,
a century later, addressed the same problem, the reconciliation of Helle-
nistic thought with Qur’anic revelation, with the same method, recourse to
text in which Aquinas taught and wrote.18 The point is rather to draw out
Massignon’s preferred Augustinian, or experiential-descriptive, approach to
God, which attributes priority to love and mystical experience over under-
standing.
Under the first heading, The meaning of the word “God,” its consequences,
he repeats various themes from the definition of mysticism examined ear-
lier. God is something (or someone) that happens to us, that renders one
passive, that happens instantaneously, that produces some concrete effect:
“An internal break in our habits, a brief disturbance of the heart, a point of
departure for a new order in our personal behavior; or, if one looks from
without, the acknowledgment of a sin, the transgression of the Law.”19
The proximate occasion for the discovery of God may involve an in-
tensely intimate experience of falling in love, or, as in Massignon’s case, it
may involve a sudden desire for repentance. It may also involve a concrete
and shocking encounter with poverty or injustice that invites the subject to
compassion, as he explained in a late article on shared suffering:
But how begins this vocation for heroic compassion? By an “epoché,” by a sudden stop
of time, by a sudden abolition of space, by a shock, psychosomatic, viz. in the heart
of someone passing by, on the common road. Someone who suddenly perceives, on
the side of his path, a beggar standing, or a wounded, or a dying wretch, a single case
of blind despair. Someone who has an instant of mindedness, better than a thousand
years of nursing administratively, mechanically, and deceivedly, as do “benevolent
societies.” It is a sparkle from some unknown personal being, badly veiled under the
wretch’s poverty, fleshing out the holes of this pierced frock of disabled humanity. A
Fire, quickening the careless heart with an everlasting Need. Gautama on his royal
youth’s road, the Good Samaritan going down on his tradesway. The psychosomatic
shock they endured was deeper than human love; it was absolute desire defying the
lack of justice in the whole world, a kind of revolt against the laws of nature, in the
name of their hidden Lawgiver; “in the name of the Compassionate,” as says the be-
ginning of the Muslim prayer.20
In summary, the first stage of relationship with God requires that one un-
dergo an experience of what Massignon calls déplacement, a de-centering of
18. See Augustine, On the Trinity: Books 8–15, ed. Gareth B. Matthews, trans. Stephen McKenna,
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002); Thomas F. O’Meara, Thomas Aquinas: Theologian
(South Bend, Ind.: University of Notre Dame Press, 1997); Jean-Pierre Torrell, Saint Thomas Aquinas:
The Person and His Work, trans. Robert Royal (Washington, D.C.: The Catholic University of America
Press, 1996); Jean-Pierre Torrell, Saint Thomas Aquinas: Spiritual Master, trans. Robert Royal (Washing-
ton, D.C.: The Catholic University of America Press, 2003).
19. Massignon, “Visitation,” 39.
20. Massignon, “Transfer of Suffering,” 156–57.
God: Visitation of the Stranger 53
the self. God is the initiator of metanoia; God is the unexpected Guest who
demands a response, who demands hospitality, who demands compassion;
God is the visiting Stranger.
Massignon’s “Visitation of the Stranger” next turns to the response of
the subject:
Before the Lord who has struck the blow, the soul becomes a woman, she is silent, she
consents and the jealousy of her primordial virginity dissuades her from looking for
the “why” or the “how.” She starts only to commemorate in secret the Annunciation, vi-
aticum of hope, that she has conceived in order to give birth to the immortal. This frail
Guest that she carries in her womb determines thereafter all of her conduct. It is not a
made-up idea that she develops as she pleases according to her nature, but a mysteri-
ous Stranger whom she adores and who guides her: she devotes herself to Him.21
to her the miraculous conception by the power of the Holy Spirit of a child
within her womb. Mary’s response to this unexpected visit is recorded in
Luke 1:38, “Behold, I am the handmaid of the Lord. May it be done unto
me according to your word.”24 She consents to the discovery of God’s Word
within her. The phrase may it be done in Latin is fiat, which is an expression
Massignon uses again and again. It summarizes both God’s action toward
the soul and the proper response of the soul. God says, “Let it be so,” and the
soul responds, “May it be done.” Fiat is also Massignon’s preferred transla-
tion of the Arabic term kun, which occurs regularly in the Qur’an to express
God’s free and unlimited creativity: “But His command, when He intendeth
a thing, is only that He saith unto it: ‘Be!’ [kun!] and it is” (36:82).25 The
intriguing fact that the Qur’anic uses of kun! are “always in relation to Je-
sus son of Mary and Judgment” only strengthens Massignon’s conviction
that Mary’s encounter and willing reception of God, the mysterious Stranger
whose visit introduces to her womb the frail Guest, is archetypal.26 In his
encyclopedia entry on Tasawwuf, Massignon writes: “Primitive Sûfîsm was
based on the two following postulates: a. the fervent practice of worship en-
genders in the soul graces (fawâ’id), immaterial and intelligible realities . . . ;
b. the ‘science of hearts’ (‘ilm al-qulûb) will procure for the soul an experi-
mental wisdom (ma’rifa), which implies the assent of the will to the graces
received.”27 The religious-mystical path involves first consent to interior
grace and then progressive purification or unveiling of the heart such that
the Word, which is associated with the subject’s definitive personality, and
which is conceived by God at the point vierge, might finally be birthed, or
released, or lived: “The Sûfîs assert that there is a dynamic character in the
‘science of hearts’; it traces their itinerary (safar) to God, marks it by a dozen
stages (maqâmât) and steps (ahwâl), some virtues acquired, other graces re-
ceived, as in the Scala Sancta of St. John Climacus; their double list varies
with different authors (cf. Sarrâdj, Kushairî, Ghazâlî) but contains almost
always well known terms like tawba, sabr, tawakkul, ridâ’.”28
Those four Arabic terms are classic virtues in the Sufi tradition, namely
repentance, patience, single-minded devotion, and acceptance-surrender,
24. Massignon’s thrice-daily recitation of the Angelus, the prayer that repeats Mary’s words at the
Annunciation, will be addressed later.
25. Fiat is also the Latin translation of the Hebrew Yehi, which refers to the creative activity of
God’s word, davar. Hence, yehi’or = fiat lux = let there be light (Gen. 1:3).
26. Massignon, “Le Signe,” 216.
27. Massignon, “Tasawwuf,” 683a.
28. Massignon, “Tasawwuf,” 683b.
God: Visitation of the Stranger 55
and they are progressively realized and exhibited though prayer and asceti-
cal training, what Massignon, borrowing the Sufi nomenclature, calls the
science of hearts. The goal is to cultivate a humble, patient, simple, surren-
dered human being, which is to say, to cultivate one’s real personality.
interior spiritual life among women and men. However, what Sarah Coak-
ley has written about contemporary efforts to extol gender complementar-
ity in religious discourse might apply retroactively to Massignon: “Precisely
as male theology has wallowed in a new adulation of ‘vulnerability’ and ‘re-
ceptivity’ (perhaps aiming—consciously or unconsciously—to incorporate
a repressed “femininity” into its dogmatic system), feminist theology has
emerged to make its rightful protest. Such a strategy, it has urged, merely
reinstantiates, in legitimated doctrinal form, the sexual, physical and emo-
tional abuse that feminism seeks to expose.”43 To be fair, Massignon was
already aware of the problem. For example, after delivering a public lecture,
he wrote: “Women often treat me harshly for my ideas. I went and preached
among feminists, and they did not receive me well, saying: ‘You have a way
of admiring us that discards us.’”44
Not intending to minimize the importance of Massignon’s views re-
garding the lived experience of actual women, I shift to the relevance of his
notion of the feminine for Christian-Muslim engagement. In “Le salut de
l’Islam,” Massignon writes that “if we [Christians] want Islam to understand
our own wonder before the fullness of salvation in God, then we must help
it to reform its ideas about women and to restore women to their place in
the dialogue between humanity and God.”45 Again, “it is necessary for this
hard and virile people [i.e., Muslims] to discover the maternal role of woman
in the order of messianic salvation.”46 Muhammad himself, “when he was
brought into the presence of God was too manly [viril] to accept the propo-
sition of infinite love.”47 That is, in Laude’s words, he lacked the “spiritual
audacity” of Mary in particular and of women in general.48 Therefore, ac-
cording to Massignon, “it remains that the intercession of Mary for these
people who venerate her [i.e., Muslims] cannot but deliver them from a
spirit of servitude and render them vulnerable to the Spirit of adoption. It
falls to Christianity to offer, through women, that Marian intercession before
God.”49 The references to Muhammad’s virility, to hard and virile Muslims,
and to the need for Mary’s intercession highlight that for Massignon certain
43. Sarah Coakley, Powers and Submissions: Spirituality, Philosophy, and Gender (Oxford: Blackwell
Publishers, 2002), xv.
44. Quoted in Laude, Pathways, 110.
45. Massignon, “Le Salut,” 148.
46. Massignon, “Le Salut,” 146.
47. Massignon, “Le Salut,” 148.
48. Laude, Pathways, 80.
49. Massignon, “Le Salut,” 148.
58 God: Visitation of the Stranger
aspects of Islam are not sufficiently feminine. Certain strains of Islam encour-
age servitude toward God, which in Massignon’s vision constitutes a mascu-
line disposition, rather than vulnerability, which represents the feminine. The
two dispositions may be equally obedient to God, but the latter goes further
than the former (perhaps à la Ghazâlî and Ibn Sina), seeking intimacy with
God and rendering the point vierge of the heart vulnerable to God’s penetra-
tion. As Laude notes, the point vierge, “through which the soul is in contact
with God, is the feminine part of being, the seat of consent to the Truth,”
and it is “precisely the place in the soul where the welcoming of the Other
may occur.”50 Being in touch with the feminine point vierge has implications
for the possibility of union with God (complete welcoming of the Stranger),
which has further implications for the possibility of Incarnation. Hence Mas-
signon encourages Christian women, through the intercession of Mary, to
pray for the cultivation of the feminine in Islam with the hope of opening at
least the questions of union and Incarnation among more Muslims.
52. Massignon’s feelings about the newly founded state of Israel were connected, in complicated
ways, to his devotion to Mary. In “La Palestine et la paix dans la justice,” he cites historical records
of the Jewish community of Nazareth that refer to Jesus as the “son of an adulterous woman,” thus
insulting Mary. In response, Massignon placed great weight upon the Qur’anic confirmation of Mary’s
virginity. He also argued that a lasting fraternal peace between Jews and Christians would demand
revisiting the case of Mary’s reputation at Nazareth. However, a Jewish interlocutor once “emphasized
that the lack of respect towards Mary is a virtually unknown phenomenon in the world of Judaism.”
He acknowledged that a faithful Jew, if presented with the claim of Mary’s virginity, would necessarily
reject that claim, but he insisted that, in actuality, the question “simply does not arise for him, since
it does not touch at all upon the spiritual integrity of the tradition in which and from which he lives.”
The implication is that Massignon created a conflict where for most contemporary Jews there simply
was none. All quotations from Laude, Vow, 49–50.
53. Massignon, “Muslim and Christian,” 127.
54. Massignon, “Visitation,” 40.
60 God: Visitation of the Stranger
of humanity are the uprooted words of prayer which are rich with dogmatic defini-
tions (not yet mummified by theological directives). “Lex orandi, lex credendi.”55
When God becomes one value among others, then we are deluded
into thinking we can control and manage God through pious explanations
and theological formulae. It is likely that Massignon had in mind early-
twentieth-century French Neo-Thomistic theology when worrying about
the mummifying effect of theological directives and the priority of answers,
creeds, law, and system over questions and prayer. The reference to Jesus’s
overturning of the vendors’ tables in the Temple (Matt. 21:12–13) suggests
that theologians can be guilty of cheapening conversation about God. As
a corrective, it is imperative that the I-Thou sense of relationship with the
Stranger be maintained through prayer. If true to his vocation, the theolo-
gian can never be too uncomfortable. He must expect that his theology will
be overturned by the One about whom his theology speaks. Massignon does
not dismiss theology altogether, but he subordinates the importance of re-
flection and objectification to religious experience and love in religious life.
The citation of the ancient formula Lex orandi, lex credendi privileges acts
of intercession and sacrifice as especially fruitful for providing religious in-
sight: “It is in the bosom of Abraham, beyond the Law, in the sacrifice of the
‘King of Justice,’ when Abraham was blessed, that all liturgies inspired by
human supplication will rediscover the unique ‘God,’ the principle of their
unity.”56 It is in direct encounters with the living King of Justice, the God of
Abraham, and not in an overarching theological concept of plurality, that
we discover our human unity.
In response to the third and final prompt, which asks for a personal re-
flection on the word God, Massignon begins broadly, explaining that aware-
ness of God provokes one “to do as if God were all in all.”57 However, that
requires “a mental shift of our center, one that is, so to speak, Copernican, to
function in us, or, rather, to be felt.”58 The disruptive, commotion-producing
Stranger invites the soul into a radical Copernican déplacement. She is invit-
ed to see not with her own eyes, but with the eyes of God. As I said earlier,
the required shift of our center is actually both a radical centering of our
heart in the point vierge and one of the means by which God manifests God’s
self to the world. To describe the soul’s new vision, Massignon employs a
spatial metaphor: “In terms of spiritual cartography, in order to carry out
the divine course indicated by fixed landmarks on the rectangular projec-
tion of a Mercator’s chart, one has to get to the axial peak of a conical pro-
jection of the world, to the summit of the umbra where all durations will
be eclipsed.”59 One must undergo a peak experience, or, more likely, several
such experiences, in which one glimpses and participates not only in God’s
perspective but also in God’s time, which is instantaneous.
Although he criticized what he called the traditional Muslim apologetic
for being occasionalist, his understanding of God was nonetheless strongly
influenced by his reading of Islamic theological, legal, and philosophical
texts with respect to his understanding of time. According to Massignon in
“Time in Islamic Thought,” in Islam the instant is the way God created time,
and it is also the way God appropriates His creation. He writes: “There is no
question here of [humans] inventing time; it is time that reveals to us the
order (amr) of God, the fiat (kun, kuni), which releases the acts we perform
as responsible beings. Thus for the Muslim theologian time is not a con-
tinuous ‘duration,’ but a constellation, a ‘galaxy’ of instants.”60 For Islam, the
instant serves “as an authoritative reminder of the Law, as inevitable as it is
unexpected.”61 All instances of time ultimately remind one that “the only
perfect, self-sufficient instant is the Hour (Sa’a), the hour of the Last Judg-
ment, the final summation of the decrees of all responsibilities incurred.”62
All time has an eschatological component. The reminder of the Law is the
reminder of judgment; and the reminder of judgment, ultimately, is the re-
minder of God. Such an understanding of time is indicative of Massignon’s
frequent description of the style of the Qur’an as elliptical. The individual
verses themselves are pregnant with meaning beyond the immediate lit-
eral context. It is almost as if they leap off the page to grab the reader’s or
hearer’s attention. Likewise, the Qur’an frequently describes Muhammad as
a warner (Q 25:1), implying that without warning, we may drift along sleep-
ily unaware of God, judgment, and the Hour. The people who best under-
stand time as a collection of instants are the “grammarians and fundamen-
talists (in canon law), physicians, psychologists of ecstasy, and musicians,”
because each of those persons has a feel for the natural “pulse” of the uni-
verse.63 However, preeminent among such persons are the mystics.
The Arabic word used by some early Sufis to capture the peak of mysti-
cal experience already connotes the instantaneous: “The first psychologists
of ecstasy, wajd, gave it this name to signify a sudden shock of grace, per-
ceived as an instant of anguish (wajada = to find; wajida = to suffer), without
duration but endowed with a variety of mental colors (joy, sorrow; grati-
tude, patience; dilation, constriction; etc.).”64 As noted previously, the now
familiar instantaneous shock has lasting effects:
The instant of anguish can in some sense survive, but like a germ of hidden immor-
tality, buried at the bottom of the heart (tadmin), not like those virtues worshiped by
certain fanatical ascetics, who, through wishing to keep them as emblems, forsake
for them the God who made them desire them. We can form an idea of the “hidden”
persistence if we recall that the duality of the annunciatory instant is not symmetri-
cal, but oriented toward the future, toward the marked term (ajal musamma) that has
been “announced” to us, and that the “empty” dimensions of the period of this expec-
tation engender a kind of spiritual rhythm destined to impress on each creature its
personal melodic mark in the symphony of the Beyond.65
All the characteristics of religious experience from the more expository sec-
tion of the article are present in his personal narrative. He was struck unex-
pectedly by the inner presence of the Stranger, and he felt a deep need for
repentance and forgiveness. He was initially unable to name the source of
the disturbance. A feminine veil was made iridescent by the Stranger’s ap-
proach, and his soul was taken and rendered inert in the Stranger’s hand. His
God of Hâllaj
Among the mystics Massignon studied, he gave pride of place to the
tenth-century thinker, poet, and activist al-Hallâj. I have already indicated
the importance of Hallâj for Massignon’s personal biography, but the mys-
tic of Baghdad was essential also for his understanding of God, especially
of God’s relationship to the human soul and of God’s activity outside the
Church. What follows is a sketch of key elements in Hallâj’s life and words
as they relate to Massignon’s own understanding of mysticism and of God.
The first thing to note is that Massignon divided Sufism into early and later
Sufism. He favored early Sufism, which he described as experimental, ac-
tive, and vibrant, and he judged Hallâj as the pinnacle of its development.
Later Sufism for Massignon generally (but certainly not in all cases) de-
volved into decadent speculation or cultivation of detached ecstatic experi-
ences. On Hallâj as the perfection of early Sufism, Massignon writes:
[Studies of the early Sufis] show how much the presentation of doctrine in Hallâj’s
work depends upon the terminology gradually established by his predecessors. Al-
most all of his vocabulary, his principal allegories, even his rule for living, can be
found in those who preceded him. His originality is in the superior cohesion of the
definitions he brings together; and in the firmness of the guiding intention that led
him to affirm in public, at the cost of his own life, a doctrine his teachers had not
dared make accessible to all. Just as the rationalist movement in Greece ended in
Socrates with the affirmation of a religious philosophy valid for all, so the ascetic
God: Visitation of the Stranger 65
Hallâj studied with and eventually broke from famous Sufi teachers:
Sahl in Tustar (818–896), ‘Amr Makki in Basra, and Junayd in Baghdad (830–
910), and he is best known for having declared “anâ al-haqq,” which can be
translated as “I am the Real,” or “I am the Truth,” but which effectively means
“I am God,” haqq being one of the Qur’anic divine names, often serving as
shorthand for God.69 For this apparent blasphemy, though officially for pos-
sible other religious infractions, and largely due to political intrigue at the
Abassid imperial court, Hallâj was arrested, tried, and executed. The major
medieval Muslim commentators who address the topic focus almost exclu-
sively on the controversy stirred by Hallâj’s religious teachings, specifically
his expression of divine identity, so I will too.70
Hallâj’s expression anâ al-haqq, or “I am the Real,” is an example of sha-
th, which Carl Ernst, after surveying the etymology and usage of the term
among Sufis, translates simply as “ecstatic expression.”71 According to the
Khurasani compiler and commenter of early Sufi teaching al-Sarrâj (d. 988),
shath “means a strange-seeming expression describing an ecstasy that over-
flows because of its power, and that creates commotion by the strength of its
ebullience and overpowering quality.”72 The basic meaning of the term in
Arabic is “movement,” and it is related to the noun al-mishtah, the “shaking
house,” where flour is sifted, as well as the verb shataha, to overflow, as water
in a flooded stream. Sarrâj writes: “When the ecstasy of an aspirant becomes
powerful, and he is unable to endure the assault of the luminous spiritual
realities that have come over his heart, it appears on his tongue, and he ex-
presses it by a phrase that is strange and difficult for the hearer, unless he be
worthy of it and have widely encompassed the knowledge of it.”73 Hallâj’s “I
soul enters with God into this ecstatic dialogue of which the first revelations are made
by Râbi’a, Muhâsibî and Yahyâ Râzî, a state which raises the difficult question of theo-
pathic conversation (shath)?78
the nafs or lower soul, the rûh or upper soul, and the sirr, the point vierge.
Now one sees that the sirr is also the subject’s latent but truest personality.
To be most authentically oneself is to strip away the layers of false selves.
As mentioned previously, that process is called by Sufis and by Massignon
the science of hearts. Hallâj described it in terms roughly coordinate with
what Catholics call the active and passive purgation of senses and spirit.
He writes: “Renouncing this world is the asceticism of the senses; renounc-
ing the next life is the asceticism of the heart; renouncing oneself is the as-
ceticism of the Spirit.”81 The radical detachment not only from sin but also
from all creatures allows God’s voice to emerge, transforming the subject
in the process. One’s true personality is that which emerges from the deep-
est heart; that is why déplacement is necessary. Massignon writes: “Teach-
ers of Sufism such as Misri, Junayd, and Hallâj said again and again that
only on condition of self-mastery could a humble soul attract, if God wills,
the unpredictable grace of shath, the divine speech that attacks the soul di-
rectly through the unwitting reciter’s voice, in the form of the consecrated
words.”82 One must be de-centered from attachment to self and things and
re-centered in God’s will and voice: “When man agrees to give up this final
covering of the heart, God makes it fertile, causing . . . its ultimate explicit
personality, its legitimate ‘personal pronoun,’ the right to say ‘I,’ to enter it:
the right which unites the saint to the very source of the divine word, to its
fiat.”83
The question remains, Why was Hallâj executed? He appeared before of-
ficials at least three times. First he was charged with anthropomorphism
for having admitted the possibility of love between humans and God, using
for “love” the noun ‘ishq, which Massignon translates as désir essentiel (es-
sential desire), to indicate both the creature’s and the Creator’s dispositions.
At the second trial, he was accused of hulûl, infusion or incarnationism,
and of having claimed to be the mahdî, the messiah, the one to appear at
the day of judgment. Hallâj was acquitted of the first charges and received
only minimal punishment the second time, but at the third trial, again ac-
cused of hulûl, he was finally convicted, officially for having spiritualized
the rites of pilgrimage, having constructed a miniature ka’ba at his home,
and having recommended the possibility of performing the rites of the hajj
locally for those unable to make the trip to Mecca. Still, it is for uttering “I
am the Real!,” the expression that crystallizes his audacious claims to divin-
izing union, that Hallâj is remembered, and it is that expression with which
popular and institutional Muslim memory associates his conviction and
execution.
In three fatwas on the subject, the medieval jurist and theologian Ibn
Taymiyyah—on whose opinions many traditionalist scholars continue to
base their own—reviewed the case of Hallâj and judged the condemnation
valid. He affirmed the accusation of incarnationism and declared Hallâj’s
supposed postmortem miracles contrived. He also reviewed and dismantled
the responses of other Sufis, which are worthwhile noting. Many protested
Hallâj’s innocence on the ground either that he uttered such provocative
sayings during moments of religious ecstasy and was therefore not respon-
sible for his words or that his error was not in claiming identity with God
but in knowingly revealing the secret of realized union between creature
and Creator, which knowledge is too dangerous for the masses. Typical is
the saying of the poet Hafiz (1325–1389): “His crime was this: he made the
secrets public!”84 Also, Shibli (861–946) is reported to have remarked: “I
and Hallâj are of one mind, but my madness saved me, and his intellect de-
stroyed him.”85 Another group, among them Ibn ‘Arabî (1165–1240), argued
that Hallâj meant to indicate not a unique personal union, but the essen-
tial unity of all creation with the divine. Finally, according to Ibn Taymiy-
yah, some argued that Hallâj was actually “possessed of God,” for “God alone
can declare through our voice that He is One.”86 In other words, the first
three responses—that he suffered a bout of temporary insanity, that he
publicized what should remain esoteric knowledge, and that he used a pro-
vocative example to demonstrate a general principle—all assume primary
agency on the part of Hallâj. By way of contrast, the last response assumes
divine agency, and it is that response that Ernst, following Massignon, calls
the “‘theory of the witness,’ according to which the divinized human be-
comes the earthly witness of divinity, speaking with the voice of God.”87
Shath is deliberate on God’s part and is therefore on behalf of others with
how the Church should respond to Qur’anic denials of the Incarnation and
the Trinity.
Hallâj’s role as victim would complete his union with God and would
identify him liturgically with the sacrificial victim offered at ‘Arafat during
the hajj. Ernst observes: “In his spiritualization of the hajj, which ultimately
cost him his life, Hallâj evidently saw himself as a sacrificial victim, the re-
placement for the sheep and the goats that were to be slaughtered the follow-
ing day on ‘Id al-Adha.”90 He desired the role of a sacrificial lamb, for from the
Hallâjian perspective, God uses his loved ones in precisely that way; He al-
lows their suffering, even their death, in order to mediate some benefit, such
as unity, to the wider community. In ‘Attar’s account of his execution, Hallâj
says: “My God, do not condemn them for all the trouble that they are taking
for your sake. Do not deprive them of this good fortune of theirs. Praise be
to God that they cut off my hands and feet on your path! If they remove my
head from my body, they will place it upon the gallows, contemplating your
glory.”91 At the same time, God rewards the one who suffers, for in his annihi-
lation, the saint attains union with God. Thus, as his end approached, Hallâj
wrote: “So kill me now, my faithful friends, / For in my killing is my life. / My
death would be to live; / My life would be to die. / To me removal of my self
/ Would be the noblest gift to give.” The poem ends with Hallâj’s belief in the
resurrection, suggesting confidence in the approval of his path. He asks that
his body be burned and buried in the ground so that “When seven days have
passed, / A perfect plant will grow.”92 Rather than evidence of demonic pos-
session, insanity, or rejection by God, the suffering and death of Hallâj repre-
sent for Massignon a divine stamp of approval on the life he lived.
The case of Hallâj is obviously compelling for a Christian observer, be-
cause his realization of union, which was facilitated in part by meditation
on and in imitation of the Qur’anic Jesus, has such obvious Christological
resonance.93 It is no coincidence that Massignon, as we will see, describes
90. “What was Hallâj trying to accomplish here, at the high point of the hajj . . . when Muslims ad-
dress God in penitential prayer? In one verse, he explains, ‘You who blame my longing for Him, how
long can you blame? If you knew what I meant, you would not blame me. The people have their pil-
grimage, but I have a pilgrimage to my Love. They lead animals to slaughter, but I lead my own heart’s
blood. There are some who circle the Ka’bah without the use of limbs; they circled God, and He made
them free of the sanctuary.’” Diwan 51 in Ernst, Words, 69.
91. Attar, Farid ad-Din. Memorial of God’s Friends: Lives and Sayings of Sufis, trans. Paul Losensky
(Mahwah, N.J.: Paulist Press, 2009), 404–6.
92. Diwan 14 in Mason, Al-Hallâj, 73–74.
93. See Massignon’s section on “Hallâj’s Resemblances to the Qur’anic Model of Jesus” in Passion
3, 219–21.
72 God: Visitation of the Stranger
94. For the various Islamic positions on the crucifixion of Jesus, see Todd Lawson, The Crucifixion
and the Qur’an: A Study in the History of Muslim Thought (Oxford: Oneworld, 2009).
95. Laude, Pathways, 38.
96. Laude, Pathways, 38.
God: Visitation of the Stranger 73
the school of wahdât al-wujûd, which “is founded on the insight into an es-
sential unity of being.”97
For Massignon, the mysticism of Ibn ‘Arabî and his followers, which he
describes with terms such as monistic, neo-Platonic, quietist, and syncretis-
tic, lacks three key elements of authentic relationship with God, namely the
precipitating shock to the conscience, the compelling urge to witness pub-
licly on behalf of truth and of justice for oppressed persons, and the pos-
sibility of intermittent but real and unique moments of union with God.
The quietism he (fairly or unfairly) associates with Ibn ‘Arabî is overly in-
tellectualist, cautious about public expression, solitary and unconcerned
for this-worldly justice, and suspicious of claims of momentary union with
God; such a mystic prefers to say that there is nothing to be united to God.
There is only God. Massignon writes: “This quietism . . . led the Sûfîs among
other paradoxes to the rehabilitation of Iblîs (supported by Djîlî) and of the
Pharaoh of the Exodus (the celebrated thesis of Ibn ‘Arabî).”98 His reference
to the rehabilitation of Iblîs, or the Devil, has to do with a Sufi tradition of
characterizing Iblîs’s refusal to bow before God’s creation of humanity in
the Qur’an (Q 2:34; 7:11–13; 17:61–62) as a jealous preservation of love for
God alone as well as a protection of divine transcendence.99 Herbert Mason
has summarized Hallâj’s seemingly similar account of the episode:
Iblîs is presented justifying himself as a pure monotheist, affirming God’s transcen-
dence by refusing to bow down before His unclean lowly creature man. This Iblîs is
thus a higher mystic lover who witnesses the inaccessibility of God, but who through
his extreme intellectualization of God as Pure Idea is unable to attain that humility
97. Laude, Pathways, 38. For a summary of and commentary on Massignon’s famous criticism of
Ibn ‘Arabî as representative of “existential monism,” the beginning of a mysticism that, having blurred
the doctrine of divine transcendence, sheds its societal therapeutic role and thus begins the decline of
Sufism, see Rocalve, Louis Massignon, 59–61. Michael Sells argues that anything resembling “monism”
in Ibn ‘Arabî’s discourse should be taken as “linguistic strategy,” that is, not as a judgment of reality.
For this reason Sells prefers the phrase monistic method to monism when discussing Ibn ‘Arabî. See
Sells, “Ibn ‘Arabî’s Garden Among the Flames: A Reevaluation,” History of Religions 23, no. 4 (1984):
310. Seyyed Hossein Nasr includes Massignon’s failure to recognize the genius of “later Sufism” among
three persevering critiques of his scholarship. The others are overemphasizing the role of redemptive
suffering in Islam and too confidently judging the religious intention of an author or meaning of a
text. However, Nasr defends Massignon, mostly, against all three charges. See Seyyed Hossein Nasr,
Traditional Islam in the Modern World (London: KPI, 1987), 266–72.
98. Massignon, “Tasawwuf,” 684a.
99. See William Chittick, “Iblîs and the Jinn in al-Futuhat al-Makkiyya,” in Classical Arabic Hu-
manities in Their Own Terms: Festschrift for Wolfhart Heinrichs on His 65th birthday, ed. Michael Coo-
person, 99–126 (Leiden: Brill, 2007). Carl Ernst, “Controversies over Ibn al-‘Arabî’s Fusus: The Faith of
Pharaoh,” Islamic Culture 109, no. 3 (1985): 259–66.
74 God: Visitation of the Stranger
necessary to accept the reality of His creativeness. Iblîs, in Hallâj’s subtle monologue,
marks the spiritual boundary of the mystic’s hubris and dares to cross it through his
defiant need of self-justification in order to attain his full tragic self-perception . . .
Iblîs, in his way, as a Shi’ite neo-gnostic Manichean, is a negative witness of the
Unity of the One he professes only to love, and to love more purely, more uncompro-
misingly than humanity can. To Hallâj he is therefore a teacher of contemplative love,
albeit a tragic figure of fatal self-deception . . .
Hallâj’s Satan is an utterly solitary figure who can bear no companion but God,
who aspires to no human quality given by God, whose message infused subcon-
sciously, as it were, to humans is to believe that they themselves, because of their
lower natures, can never attain God’s Presence let alone be one with Him, that their
true position is one of separation from God and despairing solitude.100
Allah = Dieu
It has been said that Massignon preferred Hallâjian Sufism because it was
“consonant with his Christian outlook,” and in a sense that is true.104 How-
ever, it is not that Hallâj confirmed for Massignon the superiority of his own
Christianity. Rather, Hallâj’s life confirmed that the God who captures the
hearts of Christians is the same God who captures the hearts of Muslims. If
Hallâj’s passion conforms to Christ’s passion, then it is because it is the same
God working in and through the two men, even if for Massignon the for-
mer’s experience is a created participation in the latter’s permanent identity.
That is another fundamental feature in Massignon’s understanding of God.
Jews, Christians, and Muslims all worship the one, true—and, very impor-
tantly—same God of Abraham. Massignon was once asked, “Do you believe
in Islam?” He answered: “I believe in the real, imminent, personal God of
Abraham, not in the ideal Deity of the philosophers and of the Devil, and
that is the first link that unites me to my Muslim friends.”105 Another time
he was asked, “Yes or No, Is Allah of the Qur’an the God of Abraham?” He re-
sponded: “My entire life as a convert, as a penitent, as a ‘substitute’ [badali-
yyote] depends, for being judged, on this fundamental question,” which he
answered affirmatively.106 Islamic faith is “faith in our God.” It “testifies to
the unicity of God, points to the revelation of God’s transcendence, the rev-
elation that Abraham and the prophets of Israel received; this witness is
worth more than the monotheism of ancient philosophers or of syncretis-
tic theodicies.”107 His conviction that Christians and Muslims worship the
same God may not strike the Catholic reader as particularly revolutionary
today, but that is because Nostra Aetate and Lumen Gentium both affirmed
it to be the case. In Massignon’s pre–Vatican II era, the question was very
much a live one. As Andrew Unsworth has observed, in various writings of
Leo XIII, Pius XI, and Pius XII, “the ‘God of Muhammad’ was not generally
considered to be the one true God.”108 It has been argued by admirers and
critics alike that Massignon’s work was, at least in part, responsible for the
stance the Church took at the Second Vatican Council.109
A very mundane consequence of Massignon’s conviction was his habit
of using the French Dieu to refer to God in both Christian and Islamic con-
texts and thus as a translation of Allah. He was an expert linguist and Ara-
bicist, and just skimming any of his articles or books, even those written for
a wide and mainly French Catholic audience, proves that he was not averse
to burdening his Western readers with original Arabic and Islamic termi-
nology (though he usually transliterated). He could very easily and defen-
sibly have used Allah when discussing God in a Muslim context, but he did
not.110 He chose Dieu, because Allah and Dieu are identical. This may seem
a small point. However, it stirred some controversy between Massignon and
others, including one of his students, the Dominican Jacques Jomier, who,
when writing his doctoral thesis in French, refused, against Massignon’s
wishes, to translate Allah as Dieu.111
God of Abraham
To say that Christians and Muslims worship the same God is not to say that
they have exactly the same understanding of God.112 For example, Chris-
tians, including Massignon, obviously believe God to be triune, while Mus-
lims do not. Still, there are major areas of agreement between Christian and
Muslim understandings of God. Massignon captures those agreements in
his frequent references to the God of Abraham. I devote an entire chapter to
Islam’s Abrahamic standing according to Massignon. Here I will identify a
few attributes of the God of Abraham. First, in line with the central Islamic
dogma of tawhîd, the God of Abraham is one, and He is absolutely tran-
scendent. The God of Abraham is absolutely simple and therefore demands
“naked faith of childlike simplicity [enfantine]”; such faith “witnesses to the
faith of Abraham, revived by Muhammad through an unshakeable and an-
cestral conviction.”113 Because it cultivates worship of the God of Abraham,
Islam has “predisposed millions to a sort of militant, svelte, and sober mo-
nastic discipline; it is not only a matter of spontaneous hospitality and of
110. Archbishop Michael Fitzgerald reports that some Muslims prefer the term Allah pre-
cisely to maintain a distinction between Muslim and Christian conceptions of God, “forgetting that
Arabic-speaking Christians have no difficulty in giving a Trinitarian connotation to the same term.”
Fitzgerald, “From heresy to religion: Vatican II and Islam,” in Interfaith Dialogue: A Catholic View, eds.
John Borelli and Michael Fitzgerald (Maryknoll, N.Y.: Orbis, 2006), 114.
111. In a letter to Georges Anawati, Massignon admitted feeling “very hurt” [fort peiné] by the
episode. See Avon, Les Frères, 607.
112. That is the main point of François Jourdan, Dieu des chrétiens, Dieu des musulmans: Des re-
pères pour comprendre (Paris: Éditions de l’Oeuvre, 2008). Jourdan argues that were one to ask wheth-
er Christians and Muslims worship the same God, invoke the intercession of the same Jesus, share the
same books, he would have to answer yes and no because Christian and Muslim understandings differ
in important ways in each case.
113. Massignon, “Le Signe,” 219.
God: Visitation of the Stranger 77
fraternal charity . . . and of rigorously observed fasting . . . but also, and above
all, it is a contemplation, undertaken in the hand of God, a quiet, immateri-
al, and sacred premonition of a pure omnipresent divine transcendence—in
which the knowing Christian . . . recognizes in its simplicity the patriarchal
adoration of the earliest times.114
In Midrashic commentary and again in Qur’an 21:51–59, it is said that
Abraham’s father was an idol maker. Abraham, witness to the one God,
destroys the idols of his father’s shop, thereby reflecting and anticipating
the Jewish and Islamic prohibitions toward graven images. Massignon was
deeply affected by the intensity of living Islamic denial of devotion to any-
thing but God already inherent in the testament of faith (There is no god but
God): “The destruction of idols and forms by Islam is for me a witness.”115
The Qur’anic touchstone for the divine simplicity is sûra 112: “1. Say: He
is Allah, the One! 2. Allah, the eternally Besought of all! 3. He begetteth not
nor was begotten. 4. And there is none comparable unto Him.” The third
verse presents an obvious difficulty for Christians, but Massignon, turning
to Church history, insists that in fact the Church adopted this formula near-
ly verbatim to describe the divine essence. He frequently cites the Fourth
Lateran Council, which in 1215 “defined that the [divine] essence is neither
begetting nor begotten, nor proceeding; but it is the Father who begets, the
Son who is begotten, and the Holy Spirit who proceeds.”116 The Church was
concerned not to turn the Trinity into a Quaternity by suggesting that the
divine essence begets. It is only the Father who begets, and it is only the Son
who is begotten. Thus traditional Islamic and Christian theologies share the
same classic negative attributes of the Creator, that is, simplicity, immuta-
bility, eternity, aseity, and transcendence, as well as the same basic positive
attributes, for example, God’s omnipotence and omniscience. Agreement
between Christians and Muslims about the unity of the divine essence leads
Massignon to argue that sûra 112 “does not refute the dogma of the Trinity,
which is nowhere clearly understood by Islam, from the Qur’an to Ghazâlî
to Ibn ‘Arabî.”117 That is a controversial position to which I will return; for
now it is important simply to have established that the God of Abraham,
Here I want briefly to touch upon the first essay, “The prayer for Sodom,”
in order to demonstrate that for Massignon the God of Abraham, in addition
to being the one, wholly transcendent, and absolutely simple God, is also
the God of hospitality and the God who responds to intercessory prayer.
“The prayer for Sodom” was completed in 1949. It is a dense and compli-
cated treatise on the virtue of hospitality that takes its bearings from the
biblical passage cited previously in which the men of Sodom seek to abuse
the three visiting strangers, representatives of God. Among the many inter-
esting things about this essay, I will cite just two. First, whether in scholarly
or pastoral settings, people often interpret Abraham’s arguing or haggling
with God as a justification of his (and by proxy one’s own) right to argue
or to bargain with God. From this interpretation we could infer that one
must occasionally demand justice from an arbitrary and wrathful God.120
Massignon’s interpretation, however, focuses on the sincerity and faithful-
ness of God. It also highlights Abraham’s dual role as a universal interces-
sor—he did not just rescue Lot, but he prayed for the entire city—and as
a model of hospitality, contrary to the residents of Sodom. For Massignon,
God’s promise to spare the city if ten righteous persons could be found re-
veals a law built into the divine-human relationship. Where just persons
live, pray, serve, and intercede on behalf of a wider community, as Abraham
did in this instance, there God withholds the punishment deserved by sin-
ners. These holy people are the “substitute saints,” the “apotropaic saints,”
the abdâl (the cognate term and function in Islam) among whom Massi-
gnon counts Abraham the first, and to whom we return in the next chapter.
Regrettably, in the case of Sodom, only three just persons could be found,
hence the ensuing destruction, but Abraham’s prayer is a reminder that the
promise stands. God protects and blesses the many because of the often
hidden and unknown holy ones among them.
The second interesting thing about Massignon’s interpretation of this
episode in Genesis is his understanding of the sin of Sodom. There is a di-
vide among exegetes who see it primarily as the sin associated with homo-
sexual acts and those who see it primarily as the sin of inhospitality. Others
Constantine (with the Happisses), under Sultan Baibars (of the Mamluks), and now—Nazareth would
resound with a legalistic protest.” Massignon, “The Three Prayers of Abraham,” in Testimonies, 16.
120. For a helpful discussion of the ways in which “Yhwh’s voice has not been heard aright be-
cause we have been too taken with the voice of Abraham,” see Nathan MacDonald, “Listening to Abra-
ham—Listening to Yhwh: Divine Justice and Mercy in Gen. 18:16–33,” Catholic Biblical Quarterly 66,
no. 1 (2004): 25–43.
80 God: Visitation of the Stranger
argue that the crime is rape, not homosexual sex per se.121 Massignon was
early among scholars to denounce Sodom as the “city of self-love which ob-
jects to the visitation of angels, of guests, of strangers, or wishes to abuse
them,” that is, the city of inhospitality.122 At the same time, he explicitly
linked that inhospitality with homosexuality itself. It is not my purpose
to analyze this aspect of Massignon’s thought in any detail. I just mention
his argument that “uranism [i.e., homosexuality] is essentially ‘antisocial,’”
that it denies the biological level of intimate relationships, namely the abil-
ity to reproduce, which itself is an act of hospitality, and that it fosters se-
crecy (no doubt because of social prohibition).123 He did, however, see in
chaste friendships an ideal that would apply as readily to same-sex as to
mixed pairs: “If [friendship] deepens in modesty and chastity, it can arrive
at the point of conceiving a vow of virginity and of loving it . . . [and] in
the end, this connatural friendship becomes complementary to transnatu-
ral love which unites us with God.”124 The most important lesson here is
that of hospitality: “The perfect hospitality which [Abraham] offered to his
three mysterious visitors (‘tres vidit et Unum adoravit’), who came to over-
whelm him with the promise of Isaac, led them to test him: Will Abraham,
now that he is assured an heir, continue to look after the people of Sodom
121. For a brief review of scholarly interpretations as well as the Church’s position, see John Har-
vey, The Homosexual Person: New Thinking in Pastoral Care (San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 1987), espe-
cially 98. Harvey himself, in interpreting the episode at Sodom, condemns both homosexual sex and
inhospitality.
122. Massignon, “The Three Prayers of Abraham,” 10.
123. Massignon, “The Three Prayers of Abraham,” 11.
124. Massignon, “The Three Prayers of Abraham,” 12. Massignon was quite open with people, of-
ten to their embarrassment, about his homosexual encounters as a young man. Some have focused on
this aspect of his biography. Most notably, see Jeffrey Kripal, Roads of Excess. The section on Massignon
is titled “The Passion of Louis Massignon: Sublimating the Homoerotic Gaze in The Passion of al-Hallâj
(1922).” Kripal attributes the results of much or most of Massignon’s work either to the sublimation of
frustrated homosexual longing or to repentance and guilt over the fact of such longing. In my view,
Kripal’s reading is terribly reductive. Massignon would have thought so too. He famously resisted psy-
chological deconstructions of important religious authors; such a method limits a person’s authentic
response to God and authentic belief in the Church’s teachings. Plus, his approach to homosexuality
after his religious conversion, which some today might consider outdated or even offensive, was quite
pastoral at the time. He argued, against the prevailing opinion of his contemporaries, that one can-
not “treat” homosexuality by purely psychological or chemical means. The approach must include
developing a “blessed rule of life, sacraments first of all (even marriage sometimes), confraternity, ob-
lature, third order . . . daily meditations,” and establishing “a common place of pilgrimage,” a church
where people could pray in common, invoke the intercession of saints, and keep in their intentions
especially those who “survived Sodom.” “La prière sur Sodome,” in Les trois prières, 53–55. The goal is
to help them “find God as a third in their friendship of two.” “The Three Prayers of Abraham,” 9. It is
impossible to know what Massignon would have made of current thinking, inside and outside the
Church, regarding homosexuality.
God: Visitation of the Stranger 81
. . . when he learns that they have gone astray by their iniquity?”125 Here
one sees the essential Abraham-Mary connection, centered on response to
the divine fiat and already explicit in the Magnificat. Abraham and Mary
both received God directly, allowing their lives to be turned upside down in
the process.126 For Massignon, Abrahamic hospitality anticipates and par-
ticipates in that foundational Marian holiness. One also now sees why, in
Massignon’s interpretation, “Ibn ‘Arabî’s doctrine is perceived . . . as a subtle
betrayal of the Abrahamic message of faith.”127
God as Trinity
In subsequent chapters I will address Massignon’s belief in God’s Incarna-
tion as well as his efforts to reconcile his Christian beliefs with his reading
of the Qur’an and Islamic tradition. Here I want simply to reiterate Massi-
gnon’s traditional belief that the God of Abraham is also the Triune God,
acknowledging that on this point Christians and Muslims (and Jews) part
company. The reference to Abraham’s greeting of the three mysterious visi-
tors (Gen. 18), tres vidit et Unum adoravit (He saw three and adored One),
indicates Massignon’s acceptance of a traditional patristic-allegorical Chris-
tian reading of the episode.128 The “allusion to a Trinitarian theophany” in
Genesis, like the appearance of the Tetragrammaton before its revelation
to Moses, is for Massignon a wholly acceptable component of God’s provi-
dential design.129 His reflections on the Trinity were primarily experiential.
Revelation of the Trinity, in addition to confirming the Incarnation, was for
Massignon first and foremost an indication of “the dynamism of the divine
life” and “of the procession of love by which we have been invited to par-
ticipate in Faith.”130 It is important to note that for Massignon the Trinity
grounds our own authentic loves: “The Charity of God is mediated by our
charity.”131 Our love witnesses to and participates in God’s inner relations
Conclusion
The most fundamental characteristic of Massignon’s God is that He is real,
hence his fascination with Hallâj’s identification of God as haqq (truth, real-
ity). Massignon encountered God in religious experience, and he discovered
God in the testimony of mystics, both Muslim and Christian. Ever skepti-
cal and hesitant of an overly intellectualized or idealized God—the so-called
God of the philosophers—Massignon emphasized a God of will and action
(perhaps not unlike Pascal’s or Bergson’s God), a God who communicates
through creative divine fiat. Massignon’s God is the mysterious Stranger
who conceives in the feminine soul a divine Guest, a loving word of truth
and justice. The Stranger purifies the soul in order to bring the Guest to
birth, thus compelling a chosen one to witness publicly on behalf of the
oppressed. Massignon’s is the God of Hallâj, the God who inhabits the point
vierge of the heart, who arouses intimates to moments of divine union, and
who speaks through the chosen witness. Massignon’s is the God of revela-
tion, the God of Abraham, and the God of Mary. God is one, transcendent,
and absolute, and God is simultaneously Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Fi-
nally, God reveals Himself in and through the life, teaching, passion, death,
and resurrection of Jesus Christ, so it is to Massignon’s understanding of
Christ that we turn.
CHRIST
Substitute Spirituality
Louis Massignon is reported to have said, “I begin every day at the foot of
the cross.”1 There is a Christological key, sometimes explicit, sometimes im-
plicit, to all of Massignon’s reflections on God, Christian and Islamic mysti-
cism, and the relationship between the Church and Islam. For Massignon,
Jesus is God’s definitive self-expression in history. He is the model of hu-
man sanctity; his wounds are evident in mature religious lives. Christ’s in-
carnation grounds the possibility of mystical union with God, and it is in Je-
sus’s redemption of humanity that all who are saved participate, no matter
their religious tradition. Even his ordination to the priesthood, according to
Harpigny, was principally about identifying with Christ’s sacrifice.2 Finally,
Christology is for Massignon the link between the Qur’an and the Church.
After reviewing his promotion of what is common in the Muslim and Chris-
tian understandings of Jesus, which I identify with the Qur’anic appellation
‘Isa ibn Maryam (Jesus, son of Mary), and after highlighting his attachment
to what is proper and exclusive to the Christian understanding, namely Je-
sus’s divinity, captured by the title Son of God, I devote the lion’s share of this
chapter to a discussion of Massignon’s understanding of Jesus as intercessor
and redeemer of humanity from sin, especially as that function grounds the
accent that he places upon substitute spirituality.
83
84 Christ: Substitute Spirituality
3. Sidney Griffith, The Bible in Arabic: The Scriptures of the “People of the Book” in the Language of
Islam (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 2013), 85.
4. Some recent books or parts of books on Jesus by Muslim scholars include Mahmoud Ayoub, A
Muslim View of Christianity, ed. Irfan Omar (Maryknoll, N.Y.: Orbis, 2007); Zeki Saritoprak, Islam’s Jesus
(Gainesville: University Press of Florida, 2015); Mona Siddiqui, Christians, Muslims, and Jesus (New Ha-
ven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 2014). For studies of the many references to Jesus in the Qur’an, the
hadîth, and other Islamic texts, see Tarif Khaldi, The Muslim Jesus; Sayings and Stories In Islamic Litera-
ture (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2003); Geoffrey Parrinder, Jesus in the Qur’an (Lon-
don: Sheldon Press, 1965). For an exhaustive study of Qur’anic commentary on Christians and their
understanding of Jesus, see Jane McAuliffe, Qur’anic Christians: An Analysis of Classical and Modern
Exegesis (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991). On Mary in the Qur’an, see Jean-Muhammad
Abd-el-Jalil, Marie et l’Islam (Paris: Beauchesne, 1950).
5. Griffith, Bible, 87.
6. BAL 1, 64.
Christ: Substitute Spirituality 85
agony and he prayed so fervently that his sweat became like drops of blood
falling on the ground” (Luke 22:42–44).
Massignon’s description of Jesus in his agony as being robbed of all di-
vinity is likely also a reference to what has been called Jesus’s cry of derelic-
tion, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Mark 15:34). In those
passages, what is revealed is a Jesus utterly dependent upon God, but who
momentarily seems to feel disconnected from or abandoned by God, or, as
Massignon puts it, robbed of all divinity. Patristic and medieval theologians
labored at length to reconcile such statements with Jesus’s divinity, even-
tually working out an understanding of his human nature as distinctively,
but always and completely, obedient to his divine nature.7 To cite just one
non-Gospel New Testament source for Jesus’s obedience to God, Hebrews
5:4–8 reads: 4. “No one takes this honor upon himself but only when called
by God, just as Aaron was. 5. In the same way, it was not Christ who glori-
fied himself in becoming high priest, but rather the one who said to him:
‘You are my son; this day I have begotten you’; 6. just as he says in another
place: ‘You are a priest forever according to the order of Melchizedek.’ 7. In
the days when he was in the flesh, he offered prayers and supplications with
loud cries and tears to the one who was able to save him from death, and
he was heard because of his reverence. 8. Son though he was, he learned
obedience from what he suffered.” This passage has been said to depict Je-
sus’s “submissive priesthood,” which is characterized by his “appointment
by God,” his “dependence on God,” his “reverence for God,” and his “obedi-
ence to God.”8
Massignon’s point, I believe, is that no Muslim, basing her judgment
upon the Qur’anic data, would disagree with such descriptions of Jesus’s re-
lationship to the Father (even if she disputed calling God Father). The Qur’an
attests repeatedly that ‘Isa ibn Maryam is completely dependent upon the
will of God. For example: “Lo! The likeness of Jesus with Allah is as the
likeness of Adam” (Q 3:59); “The Messiah, son of Mary, was no other than
a messenger” (Q 5:75); “Thou [God] knowest what is in my [‘Isa’s] mind,
and I know not what is in Thy Mind. Lo! Thou, only Thou, art the Knower
of Things Hidden” (Q 5:115). I believe that by saying “In his Agony, Jesus is
7. See Christian Krokus, “Jesus’ Expression of Sorrow, Fear, Doubt, and Abandonment in the Pas-
sion Narrative of Mark (14:33–36; 15:34) according to Modern Catholic Exegesis and Thomas Aquinas’s
Summa Theologiae: Pastoral and Doctrinal Concerns,” Angelicum 85 (2008): 675–96.
8. Raymond Brown, The Message of Hebrews (Leicester, England: Inter-Varsity Press, 1982), 57–58.
86 Christ: Substitute Spirituality
very much the Muslim Issa ibn Meryem,” Massignon means to identify the
common ground between Christians and Muslims in their understanding
of Jesus. A few years after his death, Nostra Aetate 3 would cite in positive
fashion that “though [Muslims] do not acknowledge Jesus as God, they re-
vere Him as a prophet.” It is implied that there is overlap in the Christian
and Muslim understandings of Jesus, there captured by the term prophet.
What is really interesting is that, for Massignon, it is not a matter of iso-
lating a lowest common denominator. The Qur’anic Jesus is not generically
a prophet just like any other prophet. No, the Qur’anic Jesus has distinctive
features, and although those features are found in Christian understand-
ings of Jesus as well, they are points of emphasis in the Qur’an, which Mas-
signon appreciated, because in their own way they further the mission of
the Church. The Qur’an confirms Jesus’s virgin birth in conjunction with
the immaculate conception of Mary (at least in some interpretations), his
messianic role, his transparent conformity to the divine will, and his role
as eschatological judge. Most important for Massignon were the openings
or perhaps allusions he perceived in the Qur’an to the Incarnation. They
include what he called the “sign of two” and also the Qur’anic account of
the judgment of the fallen angels. However, his hunch about the potential
openness of the Qur’an to the Incarnation was confirmed by his study of
Sufism and in particular Hallâj, whose meditation on the Qur’anic Jesus as
the model of union with God led him to enjoy his own experiences of mys-
tical union.
Sign of Two
Massignon often referred to the “sign of two” or the “double Marian sign” of
the Qur’an, in reference to its supposed confirmation of both the immacu-
late conception of Mary and the virgin birth of Jesus, but he was also al-
luding to the Qur’an’s repeated designation of Jesus as a “sign” (19:21). The
virgin birth is clear in sûra 19:
16. And make mention of Mary in the Scripture, when she had withdrawn from her
people to a chamber looking East. 17. And had chosen seclusion from them. Then We
sent unto her Our spirit and it assumed for her the likeness of a perfect man. 18. She
said: Lo! I seek refuge in the Beneficent One from thee, if thou art God-fearing. 19. He
said: I am only a messenger of thy Lord, that I may bestow on thee a faultless son. 20.
She said: How can I have a son when no mortal hath touched me, neither have I been
unchaste? 21. He said: So (it will be). Thy Lord saith: It is easy for Me. And (it will be)
Christ: Substitute Spirituality 87
that We may make of him a revelation [sign] for mankind and a mercy from Us, and
it is a thing ordained. 22. And she conceived him, and she withdrew with him to a far
place.
9. Parrinder, Jesus, 62. Pages 67–74 include reviews of opinions, Muslim and Christian, about the
Immaculate Conception and Mary’s virginity.
10. Massignon, “Le Signe,” 216.
88 Christ: Substitute Spirituality
the heavens’ i.e., would divide the angels, which actually happened.”16 And
in a long and dense passage from HI, he elaborates:
It makes sense that [the Qur’an] appeared in the Arabian desert, where Azâzîl,17 the
scapegoat, was chased [Lev. 16:6], and among those who have no more link to the God
of Abraham than being of physical descent from Ishmael, and where the concern of
tribal genealogies, their only heritage, impedes them from grasping the secret of the
divine Paternity in the unheard of conception of a Virgin giving birth to the Media-
tor, that a voice resounded from beyond . . . formulating the protest of the primordial
angelic nature, in order to reveal to an Arab, and by him to an entire idolatrous world
enamored of avatars, haunted by the horrible myth of demi-gods, what inviolable
seal, forever virginal, encloses the mystery of the Incarnation; grace surpassing the
order of creation, as the angels first understood it, and which, like lightning, “split the
heavens” (Qur’an 19:92) thus [evoking] the Rorate caeli . . . of Isaiah: 45:8;18 grace con-
ceived by the unique Fiancée, Mary, in the other Abrahamic line, the predestined one.
It makes sense that this anonymous protest of the angelic nature, making itself heard
in Arabic, in the tongue of the excluded, was attributed to “Gabriel,” since the Qur’an
there defends the honor of Mary against the Jews, as did Gabriel when he re-assured
Joseph. Who was the real organ of this protest . . . ? Even before the creation of Adam,
the first Azâzîl, the first scapegoat, Satan . . . protested, in the name of the angelic na-
ture, at the Judgment of the angels, against the hypothesis of a divine Incarnation.
Here, in the Arab race, on the lips of Muhammad, whose role in the Mi’râj has been
justly compared by Hallâj to this attitude of Satan, the protest expresses itself, takes
its historical signification, the one of an anticipated closure, in view of the imminent
Judgment of men. After this Judgment, there will be no more legal genealogical filia-
tion, the elect among men will have all become “like the angels in the heavens.” This
is the open [brute] proclamation of the primordial love of God for the whole lot of the
predestined ones, passing a bit quickly under silence how the Lover came to save
the lovers and to conduct them to the Beloved,19 for God is not only the Lover—but
the Loving and the Loved—from which he proceeds.20
Many of the themes are now familiar, but Massignon pulls them together
in a fascinating way. The Arabian desert was populated by the Ishmaelite
exiles, those denied the spiritual blessings of the descendants of Isaac. As
a result, their too-carnal attachment to tribal lineage and loyalty prevents
them, at least immediately, from being open to the correct idea of incarna-
tion, which depends upon the notion of spiritual, rather than physical, pa-
ternity. Plus, they were infected with wrong, even horrible, ideas about in-
carnation, including the ideas of avatars and demi-gods. In that milieu, the
most pressing concern, and the one the Qur’an assumes, is to establish the
absolute transcendence of God. However, the Qur’anic testimony is actually,
according to Massignon, ambiguous. On the one hand, it denies the hypoth-
esis of a divine Incarnation, leading Massignon to wonder whether perhaps
Satan was the real organ of this protest, while on the other hand, it alludes to
a division among the angels, some of whom accepted the Incarnation, pre-
figured in God’s creation of the first human being, grace surpassing . . . cre-
ation. With Muhammad, whose refusal of the possibility of human-divine
union Hallâj compares with Satan’s refusal to bow before Adam, the protest
is transposed from the heavenly realm into history. Massignon closes by
noting that the Qur’an universalizes God’s love for humanity. It is no longer
the privilege of Israel, nor the privilege of the spiritual descendants of Isaac,
the Church. The exiled have been reincorporated. Massignon’s understand-
ing of Islam as an Abrahamic schism, which is implied here, will be the sub-
ject of chapter 6. For now, I simply observe that he closes the passage with
a Trinitarian reference, hinting that Muslims have avoided the important
questions of how God mediates God’s love to humans and what the effect is
of accepting God’s offer of love.
It is essential to note that Massignon certainly understood that his
Christian allegorical interpretation of the sensitive Qur’anic passages quot-
ed previously ran against the grain of centuries of tradition both in the
Church and in Islam. Asked whether many Muslims read those passages
as he does, Massignon responded negatively, but added: “there have always
been some, within the Muslim ascetical and mystical tradition, who wit-
nessed explicitly to the sanctifying action of Jesus and his Mother upon
Muslim souls—with direct reference to the Qur’an.”21 He lists Hasan of Bas-
ra, Shâfi’î (767–820), Nazzâm (775–845), Ibn ‘Aqîl (1040–1119), and Ghazâlî
as examples, and I will turn in a moment to the importance of Sufi attach-
ment to Jesus. Asked whether there were many Christians who extended
this kind of reading to Islam and the Qur’an, Massignon responded: “Very
few; the most explicit was the Melkite bishop Paul of Sidon in the twelfth
century.”22 In other words, Massignon was not naïve about the problems.
He knew from personal experience the real and frustrating difficulties of
reconciling Christian doctrine not only with the Qur’an but with the Arabic
milieu into which the Qur’an was introduced:
I myself, reborn a Christian, thinking in Arabic, dressed like an Arab, was struck by the
difficulty which I encountered in trying to re-think Christianity and the Incarnation in
Arabic terms, because the Arabs are still distinguished by a concept of transcendence
even more intransigent than that of the Jews. The Jews hope for the coming of the
Messiah. However, they reproved the early Christians by telling them that they were
turning the Messiah into a second God, greater than the first! A difficult theological
elaboration was necessary before we Christians could escape this apparent dualism.
The Muslims don’t admit the validity of this theological elaboration. They oppose us
with their rigid monotheism. It is God who judges creation. Alright! But how can His
Word take on physical form, even the miraculous form of the Messiah?
There are several difficulties in the theology of the communicatio idiomatum
which are almost incomprehensible in the Arabic language. The Arabs, who have
been excluded from the Covenant because they are descendants of Ishmael, have no
other means of attaining the Divine Word (and they have indeed attained it!) except
through their language. That is why they love the Arabic language so deeply. I too love
it because it brought me back to Christ. Therefore we are obligated to fix our attention
on the predisposition of the Arabic language to communicate the word of truth if we
want to understand why Islam exists.23
dicates in the aforementioned quote, there have always been some. It is Sufi
devotion to the Qur’anic Jesus and Mary that supports, for Massignon, his
interpretation of the Qur’an.
Hallâj is reported to have said, “It is in the religion of the cross that I die,”
and Ghazâlî cites a tradition in which Hallâj is reported to have quoted the
Qur’an 4:156 before his death: “ . . . they slew him not nor crucified him, but
it appeared so unto them.”27 In the paragraphs of the Passion following the
sees “the message of the Koran as intended for the Jews of Mecca first, then for those of Medina and
for the Arab pagans, descendants of Ishmael.” The Arab pagan environment accounts for the return of
Islam to the patriarchal faith of Abraham. It is necessary that a people be prepared via Abrahamic faith
before realizing the Mosaic covenant or the Incarnation. Basetti-Sani, Koran, 39, 36, 205. Andrew Rippin
reviewed Basetti-Sani’s book in 1981. He praised the author’s honesty but criticized the results: “One can
only laud such frankness in expression even if the whole enterprise leaves one feeling cold.” Further,
“Many of the practitioners of ‘dialogue’ would find his whole enterprise as a step backwards: to suggest
that Muslims have the ‘wrong’ interpretation of their Holy Book is to alienate them immediately and
to destroy all possibility of meaningful conversation.” Rippin, “Approaches to Islam: A Review Essay,”
Religious Studies Bulletin 1, no. 4 (1981): 140–41.
25. Massignon, Passion 3, 219–20.
26. Massignon, Passion 3, 220.
27. Massignon, Passion 3, 221; Massignon, “Le Christ dans les Évangiles selon Ghazâlî,” in EM 2, 100.
94 Christ: Substitute Spirituality
Then he argues the following: The very fact that human beings, Christian
and Muslim, speak about God at all, whether by apophatic means (via re-
motionis, tanzîh) or kataphatic means (via excellentiae, tamjîd), suggests that
love and desire for God exists in all human hearts, if only unthematically in
some cases, and that all human beings ultimately seek fulfillment in an Ab-
solute: “Human nature in its will as in its reason is not deprived a priori of
all access to God.”36 Thus, against the first charge, on scriptural and anthro-
pological grounds, Massignon argues that an intimate relationship between
Creator and creature at least cannot be ruled out a priori.
To the second charge, that to express the idea of incarnation one is
forced to say absurd things about both Creator and creature, Massignon
returns to the communicatio idiomatum in order to demonstrate the logical
control of meaning regarding the hypostatic union in the person of Jesus.
This time he cites it in its classical expression and in French, communication
des idiomes, and he attempts a further explanation: “Jesus was personally
both God and man, the point of union between creation and Creator. Thus
one cannot say anything about him that applies abstractly and exclusively to
the man (human nature) or to God (divine essence). However, one can say
about Jesus anything that can be said essentially and personally about the
Son of God and about a man.”37 He provides an example: “One can say: the
Christ is all powerful, eternal . . . , and the Son of God was born of a wom-
an, crucified. . . . One cannot say: The Trinity, the Holy Spirit was crucified;
the Son is only a creature; the humanity of Christ is uncreated, impassible.
Thus, one observes that the logical relations between the words ‘God’ and
‘man’ employed a propos the Christ cannot be reduced to the antinomy
between ‘Creator’ and ‘creature’ in the way IT imagines.”38 In short, Mas-
signon argues that Christians are well aware of the philosophical problems
involved and in response have posited the doctrine of the hypostatic union.
To the third charge, that the Incarnation would make of Jesus a
half-man, half-God, Massignon corrects a faulty presupposition: “[IT] de-
fines it [the Incarnation] as the introduction from heaven of a material par-
cel into the womb of Mary. And God, not being a material substance, could
not have produced a piece of divine material from himself with which to
form the Christ.”39 Massignon responds: “This argument is sophistry; it con-
fuses the person of Christ with his body. In the same way that God, without
human concourse, creates the soul and unites it to the body engendered by
the parents, so also He united the person of the Word to a human nature
(both body and soul) at the moment of the conception of Jesus. The person
of the Word is not a piece broken off from the divine essence!”40 In a foot-
note, he observes that this “materialist confusion” is pervasive in the text of
Ibn al-Torjoman.41 Once again, Massignon has argued for a spiritual rather
than material understanding of divine paternity.
Massignon’s commitment is not only defensive. He argues that the fact
of the Incarnation also produces pastoral effects; it affects how one prays,
for example:
The Christian certitude of union of the sanctified soul with God encourages that soul to
pray more in order to defer or to slow the chastisements that prophetic knowledge has
revealed to him.42 In Islam, on the contrary, the holy fear of an inaccessible God keeps
[arrête] the prayer within the soul to the degree that the secrets of predestination have
been revealed to him. Compare the prayers of Abraham for Sodom (Gen. 18:16–33) and
of Jesus for Jerusalem (Matt. 23:20) [in the Bible] with the passages of the Qur’an where
Abraham refuses to pray for his father (60:4; 9:114) and where Moses learns from an
anonymous messenger not to protest against predestination (18:61–83).43
Note the relationship between the Incarnation and the confidence every
sanctified soul should have about its union with God. The former justifies
the latter. In HI, Massignon somewhat poetically extends the insight, argu-
ing that Jesus’s incarnation both grounds and heuristically orients the pos-
sibility of mystical union:
When the appointed hour came, . . . when Rome dedicated the Pantheon to the com-
memoration of All Saints, the true cross, ending its brief Abrahamic pilgrimage (614–
628) where it was elevated at Ctesiphon on the horizon of paradise lost, returned to
Jerusalem by an oriental route, through Édom and Basra, to be pulverized into pieces
and scattered throughout Christendom, before Islam was able to disrupt it. The cycle
of Christological definitions would conclude by proclaiming and fully formulating
the coexistence of two wills, divine and human (pledge of mystical union), in the
person of Jesus. That is according to the Qur’an, “the sign of the Hour”; the herald of
Judgment; “temporary arbiter between Justice and Mercy, together at last.”44
The teaching of Christ’s two wills, one human and one divine, was decreed
formally at the Third Council of Constantinople (681) in order to correct
the Monothelite position, which stated that Jesus’s two natures shared
only one will. For Massignon, this was an extremely important judgment,
for it showed that the Incarnation successfully joined not simply human
and divine natures but specifically human and divine wills, and the union
of human and divine wills is, of course, the ultimate aim of both Christian
and Muslim mystics. He therefore celebrates the roughly contemporaneous
assembly of events, including the Qur’an’s affirmation of the permanent
union of human and divine wills in Jesus, the Third Council of Constan-
tinople, and the discovery of the true cross as an auspicious confirmation
of the link between Incarnation, our capacity for union with God, and the
cross as the requisite condition for achieving union.
For Massignon, the Incarnation also grounds the efficacy of the sacra-
ments. As an example, it is worth repeating and expanding upon his com-
parison of the Qur’an and the Eucharist as the central organizing principles
of Islam and Christianity, respectively:
If we compare the sign of union in Islam, which is the reading of the Qur’an, to the
sign of union in the Church, which is communion in the Eucharist, then we observe
that, in the Qur’an, the substance of the Divine Word is reduced to a series of phonetic
articulations, corresponding to the reading of a written text, where man spells out the
Law of an inaccessible God. This sign that unites believers by a common recitation
attests to the separation of Creator and creation by the written pact. In the Eucha-
rist, the qualities of the species of bread and wine, created and perishable, disappear
by the assimilation of these accidents. This sign, which maintains the distinction be-
tween the substances, consecrates the union between Creator and creation. The form
of the promise45 is reduced to appearance while the substance is actually divine. If
the body naturally assimilates the material appearance, why would the soul refuse
the spiritual gift of God?46
ditional Muslim apologetic, “history has neither stages nor center. Jesus is
just a prophet like the others and God has no need of making [the earlier
prophets] wait for their deliverance in Jesus.”50 Christian history is a graded
progression, and the heavenly Jerusalem built from the ruins of Babylon
is a compelling image. There is development in the tradition just as there
is development in the spiritual life of the individual believer, and such de-
velopment requires conversion of the heart.51 That is an absolutely central
theme in Massignon’s thought that cannot be overemphasized. The Incar-
nation is first and foremost evidence of God’s desire to rescue sinners out of
His infinite love, and our acceptance of God’s extended hand involves, for
Massignon, the practice of substitute spirituality.
Substitute Spirituality
In the opening paragraphs of “The Three Prayers of Abraham,” Massignon
lists Léon Bloy, Joris-Karl Huysmans, and Charles de Foucauld as “men of
prayer and spiritual longing who have appeared on the threshold of this
generation” and who “have left a testimony of God’s Holy Name, an incor-
ruptible trust, a spiritual vow, for those to whom they spoke of Him, to be
passed on to coming generations in order that they, in turn, might expe-
rience its saving power.”52 At the turn of the twentieth century, among a
circle of French Catholic intellectuals, many of whom were adult converts
and many of whom have been described as either “reactionary” or “jazz
age” Catholics, the subject of voluntary and vicarious suffering was strongly
in vogue.53 Massignon was introduced as a young man to many of those
writers, including Huysmans and Bloy, and it is fair to say that they were
particularly important for his understanding of substitute spirituality.54 A
novelist in the decadent school, J. K. Huysmans was a friend of Massignon’s
father, the Parisian sculptor Pierre Roche, and like Roche, Huysmans left
the Catholic Church as a young man. However, he converted back to the
Catholic faith late in life (1891), and it was during that period that Massi-
gnon, before his own religious conversion, came to know him. Mary Lou-
ise Gude recounts their first meeting: “Among the topics touched upon was
Huysmans’ forthcoming biography of Saint Lydwine of Schiedam, whose
life exemplified the writer’s belief that one could atone for the sins of others
by offering up one’s sufferings on their behalf.”55 Richard Griffiths’s obser-
vation helps to contextualize that first Huysmans-Massignon conversation:
“In the religious writings of Huysmans the theme of vicarious suffering has
a dominant place. In most of his religious novels it is stressed above all oth-
er doctrines, and in Sainte Lydwine de Schiedam (1901) it is the cornerstone
of the whole work, which is a paean of praise for suffering, the example
being a medieval ‘compatiente,’ the Blessed Lydwine . . . who devoted her
life to suffering for the world around her.”56 Massignon came to share Huys-
mans’s fascination with redemptive suffering—substitute spirituality—and
he also included Huysmans among those who (he believed) interceded for
him during his own crisis and conversion of 1908.57
Massignon was also influenced by Bloy, with whom he was in frequent
contact, often at the home of the Maritains. Bloy was largely responsible
for Massignon’s devotion to La Salette, and his thinking helped to provide a
theological structure to Massignon’s interest in suffering.58 Bloy argued that
we are “the continuators of Christ, since we are his members, and our duty
Schloesser observes this trend among many of the confidantes in Massignon’s own circle, such as the
Maritains, Bernanos, Bloy, and Claudel, so it is not unreasonable to assume that this community of
friends would have encouraged both Massignon’s Catholic faith and his exploration of Islam. See Ste-
phen Schloesser, Jazz Age Catholicism: Mystic Modernism in Postwar Paris, 1919–1933 (Toronto: Univer-
sity of Toronto Press, 2005), 203–6.
54. Other important writers include Paul Claudel, Émile Baumann (1868–1941), and Charles Pé-
guy (1873–1914). See Griffiths, Reactionary Revolution, 149–222; Gude, Crucible, 58–59.
55. Gude, Crucible, 9.
56. Griffiths, Reactionary Revolutionary, 181.
57. See Massignon, “Notre-Dame de la Salette et la conversion de J. K. Huysmans,” in EM 1, 135–36;
“Le Tombeau de J. K. Huysmans,” in EM 1, 137–39; “Huysmans devant la ‘confession’ de Boullan,” in EM
1, 139–46; “Le témoignage de Huysmans et l’affaire Van Haeke,” in EM 1, 147–56.
58. Destremau, Louis Massignon, 108. See “Notre-Dame”; Jean Sarocchi, “Le secret de l’histoire ou
‘l’invention’ de Bloy par Louis Massignon,” in Louis Massignon au coeur du notre temps, ed. Jacques
Keryell, 44–63 (Paris: Éditions Karthala, 1999).
102 Christ: Substitute Spirituality
He concludes the thought by repeating his claim about the extreme and he-
roic nature of authentic virtue: “To [the Semites] virtue is not a Greek bal-
ance, a medium ‘méson,’ between two extremes, but a ‘supremely noble
moral behavior’ (makârim al-akhlâq), a heroic tension, at its peak, without
either counterpoises or counterslopes (Eckhart).”70 For Massignon, there is
no escaping the facts that Jesus’s moral teachings are extreme (“Love your
enemies,” “Bless those who curse you,” “Give the other cheek,” “Lend with-
out expecting repayment”) and that those who closely follow these teach-
ings often behave in ways the “servants of order” deem strange or even
71. Luke 6:27–38. The phrase “servants of public order” (gendarmes de l’Ordre public) appears in
“L’Oratoire de Marie à l’Aqçâ,” where Massignon critically discusses the efforts of Omar (583–644, sec-
ond rightly guided caliph of Islam), whom he calls “the true founder of the Sunni Muslim theocratic
State,” to force Fâtima, the prophet’s daughter, with whom Massignon is sympathetic, to submit to
the authority of Abu Bakr (573–634, first rightly guided caliph of Islam). See Massignon, “L’oratoire de
Marie à Aqça,” in EM 1, 269. Laude observes that for Massignon, Fâtima fulfills a role that “consists in
calling for justice, both in resistance and silence, thereby foreboding the revelation of the truth and
the final redemption of mankind through ‘feminine grace.’” Laude, Pathways, 105.
72. Massignon, Examen, 71.
73. Massignon, Examen, 71.
74. Massignon, Examen, 72.
75. Massignon, Examen, 73; emphasis added.
76. Massignon, “La conversion,” 54. See Krokus, “Louis Massignon’s Secret of History Read in the
Light of Bernard Lonergan’s Law of the Cross,” Lonergan Workshop Journal 24 (2013): 20–26.
106 Christ: Substitute Spirituality
the bloodied instrument of the martyrdom of Jesus became after the resur-
rection the distinctive sign of Christianity, its pledge of hope and its cry of
tears. The cross is for the world a sign of death and war, but it is a pledge of
hope and salvation for the Christian.”77 With these tantalizing few words,
Massignon concludes his explanation.
What is distinctive about Christian life is both the call to seek meaning
in suffering and the invitation to give oneself in an ecstasy of compassion.
Even the physical act of participating in Eucharist, which involves absorp-
tion of the host, the body of Christ, by the communicant, is an intentional
participation in the Christ event and thus a self-offering as well as an offer-
ing of Christ.78 It is worth observing again that Massignon was fascinated
by the stigmatics of the Christian tradition, from St. Francis of Assisi to St.
Thérèse Neumann to the Blessed Anne Catherine Emmerich, because they
so fully identified with, participated in, and imitated Jesus’s suffering and
compassion for others that they manifested his wounds physically. If the
crusaders wore the “bloody cross” as an insignia on their chests, the stig-
matics “were really wounded in their limbs and in their hearts out of com-
passion for the wounds of Christ.”79 Taking the stigmatics as its expression
and the Eucharist and cross as its primary symbols, one might say that ac-
cording to the law, suffering, and even death, when accepted out of faithful
obedience to God, out of desire for union with God, out of compassion for
the sufferings of others, out of contrition for one’s sins, out of sorrow at the
sins of one’s neighbor, and out of desire for reconciliation of one’s neigh-
bor with God, is mysteriously transformed into an occasion for announcing
God’s glory and healing a broken world. That is the substance of Massign-
on’s understanding of Christ.
Conclusion
In this chapter I meant only to demonstrate a few things. First, Jesus was
central to Massignon’s religious worldview, and his understanding of the
preaching, healings, miracles, and eschatological role of Jesus as messiah
and judge was informed not only by his reading of the Bible and Church
tradition but also by his reading of the Qur’an. Second, Massignon’s respect
ISLAM
Traditional Muslim Apologetic
1. For a succinct overview of Massignon’s study of Shi’a Islam, see the chapter “Louis Massignon,
le Si’isme et les sectes” in Rocalve, Louis Massignon, 67–84. Rocalve shows that Massignon has been
criticized by scholars of Islam equally for not paying enough attention to Shi’ism and for paying too
much attention to Shi’ism. Rocalve interprets the seemingly contradictory criticisms as follows. Mas-
signon undeniably devoted a significant portion of his scholarship, especially in his later years, to
various sects, ideas, and traditions within Shi’ism. Further, many spiritual and theological themes
within Shi’a thought obviously resonated with Massignon’s personal interests, including redemptive
suffering, outsider figures such as Fatima and Salmân Pak, messianism, and eschatological justice as-
sociated with resurrection. However, to the end, and to the consternation of key Islamicists such as
his student Henri Corbin, Massignon refused approval of what he considered Shi’a heterodoxy. As he
was to “orthodox” Roman Catholicism, he was devoted to “orthodox” Sunni Islam, particularly Sunni
Sufism, which he believed rendered the Imamite system unnecessary, and whose this-worldly cry for
justice he preferred to what he saw as pseudo-mystical and futurist Shi’a esotericism and Gnosticism.
Massignon’s ultimate preference for Sunni Islam had a linguistic component as well; Arabic was an
authentic carrier of Semitic-Abrahamic revelation, while Persian (the vernacular of much Shi’a devo-
tional literature) was susceptible to Indo-European philosophical corruption.
108
Islam: Traditional Muslim Apologetic 109
Pierre Rocalve argues that Massignon’s research into medieval and mystical
Islam dominated his early period, while a focus on Islam generally (what
Rocalve calls “eternal Islam”) and the relationship of Islam to the Church
dominated his middle period; in his latter period Massignon focused on
contemporary Islam and the possibility for greater Christian-Muslim frater-
nity. I would like to apply the three-stage hermeneutic to Massignon’s un-
derstanding of Islam, particularly in relation to the Church. In this chapter I
focus on the early part of his life and career.
Massignon’s mature, more conciliatory views are better known and more
influential. It is vital to attend critically to the earlier views, partly in order
to correct a popular view of Massignon as being naïve about the dogmatic
differences between Christianity and Islam. In his early writings on the topic
it was precisely difference that he emphasized, by drawing a severe contrast
between what he called the Christian and the traditional Muslim apologetics.
The latter represented for Massignon a narrow interpretation of the Qur’an
and an exaggerated insistence on the separation of Creator from creation,
which he associated with the names Aboû Qolâba, Ibn Hanbal (780–855),
Ibn Taymiyyah, and the Wahhabites, as well as al-Ashâri (874–936) and the
doctrine of occasionalism (all events are directly caused by the will of God;
there is no secondary causality). Today one would likely associate the tra-
ditional Muslim apologetic with a Salafist, literalist, legalistic interpretation
of the Qur’an and implementation of Islam.2 It represents an intellectualist
abstraction, devoid of popular devotion, devoid of mystical tendencies, and
devoid of humanist artistic, literary, or musical impulses. Massignon was not
foolish enough to think that such an abstraction captured the Islamic tra-
dition as a whole, so it is absolutely crucial to keep in mind the context in
which he typically addressed the traditional Muslim apologetic, namely his
study of, and his own responses to, Islamic anti-Christian polemic, where for
the sake of effective dispute clear propositional lines are drawn.
In this chapter I rely principally on a close reading of his Examen du
“Présent de L’Homme Lettré” par Abdâllah Ibn al-Torjoman, the early work that
best conveys Massignon’s understanding of Islam in light of his Catholic
faith. Along the way, in addition to highlighting his critiques of the tradi-
tional Muslim apologetic, I also revisit Massignon’s Christian-allegorical
3. Christian Destremau identifies the priest as Father Alcantara; he also specifies that Massignon
was residing at the famed British Arab Bureau. See Destremau, Louis Massignon, 167. Harpigny notes
that it was on this trip that Massignon really came to know the Holy Land. See Harpigny, Islam et
Christianisme, 66.
4. See the annual syllabi collected and reproduced in EM 2, 797–848.
5. Griffth, “Sharing,” 195.
Islam: Traditional Muslim Apologetic 111
trines, but it is also instructive for the distinctions he makes within Islam.
For example, in the Examen he provides his most thorough critique of what
he calls the traditional Muslim apologetic (l’apologétique musulmane tradi-
tionnelle), or sometimes simply the Muslim apologetic (l’apologétique musul-
mane) or the Islamic apologetic (l’apologétique islamique).
Massignon identifies three trends of Qur’anic interpretation within Is-
lam. In the Passion, the first two “paths” are “natural,” and then there is a
third “path.” The first corresponds to a literal interpretation of the Qur’an; the
second is the intellectual way of the philosophers, especially the Mu’tazila;
the third is the way of the Sufis, and he argues that this third path “perfects”
the first two paths.6 The Examen does not include the language of natural,
but the schema basically mirrors that of the Passion. The first is the tradi-
tional Muslim apologetic,
which has no criteria of holiness, which says “al roûh min amr Rabbî,”7 which presents
Providence as only ever leading men to the truth of the faith. It is what I call the dia-
lectic of dilemma, the alternation between the presence and the absence of fact, the in-
termittent appearance of the miracle, of the verse, in the field of intellectual intuition.
The Qur’an [according to the traditional Muslim apologetic] presents this “logic” of
intuition to the mind as the revealed Law. It is itself a kind of intellectual proof by the
fact that God gives His Law, and it does not include explanation.8
The logic of intuition is really a cognitional theory wherein the mind receives
flashes of insight that are direct communications and, importantly, imper-
atives from the Divine. Such, in Massignon’s reading, is the nature of the
Qur’an according to the traditional Muslim apologetic. Every verse is an ap-
pearance of the divine will. The Qur’an is its own proof.9 Neither explanation
nor interpretation is necessary, only recognition and acceptance. The tradi-
tional Muslim apologetic is suspicious of unchecked reason. It sees God’s
hand immediately behind every act and every creature. Massignon regards
Ibn al-Torjoman as a run-of-the-mill representative of this tradition.
Massignon speaks of “another way” of interpreting the Qur’an, one that
“human reason normally follows, that is, the natural logic, the logic of dis-
cursive syllogism,” but this other way “has never been fully accepted by Is-
lamic theology because it is not completely reducible to the Qur’anic logic
is the way of spirituality, the way of the Sufis. This is also the way of love
by which the whole of the person, not just his mind, is drawn through the
inescapable harmony and beauty of the created world to the Creator Him-
self. Massignon, whom Rocalve credits “more than any other orientalist”
with introducing Sufism to the West, was well aware of this way in Islam;
in fact, as we have already seen, he was attracted to and even persuaded
by it.15 In the preface to the Essay, Massignon judges it “dangerous to mini-
mize the role of the mystical lexicon in the development of Islamic dogma.
The mysticism of Islam is what has made it an international and univer-
sal religion. International, through the proselytizing work of mystics visit-
ing infidel countries,” and “[u]niversal because the mystics were the first
to understand the existence and moral efficacy of al-hanifiyya, the rational
monotheism natural to all men.”16
The difference between Sufism (or the poetic way) and the tradition-
al Muslim apologetic could not be more pronounced. If the latter derives
meaning immediately and literally through flashes of insight, then the for-
mer demands patient meditation, experimentation, and interiorization in order
to plumb the depths of meaning inherent in the text and its resultant tra-
ditions. For example, over the course of his life Hallâj transformed the five
pillars of Islam by means of interiorization, which both spiritualized their
meaning and universalized their accessibility. In Massignon’s interpreta-
tion, through Hallâjian interiorization, the five pillars began to resemble the
evangelical vows (poverty, chastity, and obedience) of the Christian tradi-
tion. Pilgrimage (hajj) for Hallâj became “immolation,” fasting (sawm) be-
came “abstinence,” giving alms (zakât) became “poverty,” ritual prayer (salât)
became “obedience,” and testimony (shahâda) became “thanksgiving.”17
Hallâj was not alone. According to Massignon, the first to undertake a “sym-
bolic and anagogical tafsir” of the Qur’an was Sahl Tustari, the early Sufi for
whom “interiorizing . . . worship through spiritual poverty” was necessary
18. Massignon, Passion 1, 21–22. In the Islamic mystical tradition there is of course the equivalent
of the four senses of exegesis; Rumi even proposed seven. Passion 3, 175–76.
19. Massignon, Essay, 81–82.
20. Massignon, “L’expérience mystique,” 288.
21. Rocalve, Louis Massignon, 51, 50, 61.
22. Massignon, Examen, 38.
23. Massignon, Examen, 38.
Islam: Traditional Muslim Apologetic 115
the Christian defense is real and living. Massignon observes elsewhere that
the traditional Muslim apologetic enjoys an advantage over the Jewish and
Christian apologetics, because it reduces complex theological problems to
radical simplicity, hence the adjectives critical, sharp, literal, and destruc-
tive.24 The traditional Muslim apologetic “proposes to man only that he ad-
here via reason to the evidence of the natural religion and that he wage
holy war against the partisans of error,” while the Christian apologetic “in-
vites one to humble himself in order to understand the mystery of God, in
order to love, with God, sinful souls even if that love brings the Cross and
martyrdom to the lover.”25 The traditional Muslim apologetic, in Massignon’s
understanding, reduces the reading of the Qur’an to an intellectual assent
to its divine origins, perfect transmission, and inscrutability. It reduces the
cosmos to a set of dichotomies, e.g., creator/creature, believer/unbeliever,
elect/damned, and it reduces the purpose of human life to an intellectual
assent or denial of the divine unity. It reduces the Islamic cult to a simple
manifestation of the intellect’s subordination to God, and, most problematic
for Massignon, it collapses into the Qur’an four functions of divine com-
munication that remain distinct in the Christian apologetic, namely the
appearance of the Word in history, the announcement of Judgment, the
revelation of divine positive law, and the indication of the natural law.26
Again and again, Massignon criticizes the tendency of the traditional Mus-
lim apologetic to reduce, to narrow, to collapse, and to close, whereas he
celebrates the Christian apologetic’s tendency to open, to expand, to ascend,
and to integrate.
As an aside, in the passage quoted previously, Massignon refers to the
traditional Muslim apologetic as a natural religion, but it is difficult to say to
what extent he held that view for Islam in general. He certainly emphasizes
that no new supernatural data were revealed in the Qur’an, but he also in-
sists on the importance of the Islamic doctrine of the mîthâq, the primordial
covenant at which every soul swore an oath of allegiance to the Creator,
such that revelation, via the prophets, reminds one of this calling before
God. He even referred to the mîthâq as a kind of Muslim baptism, where the
soul says yes to God, and he occasionally uses the word “revelation” in re-
lation to the Qur’an.27 Therefore, as a description of activity (prayer, fast-
ing, etc.), beliefs (divine unity, simplicity, and transcendence), and morality
(sharp distinction between right and wrong, reward and punishment), Mas-
signon would characterize Islam as a natural religion. However, in terms
of its origin (from God or from merely human strivings), he would not be
content to call Islam a natural religion, as we will see in subsequent chap-
ters, especially in the discussion of Islam as having theologal faith. The best
interpretation is probably Griffith’s, who sees in Massignon’s “natural reli-
gion” the equivalent of identifying Islam with “primitive religion,” a more
positive assessment in line with Islam’s own self-understanding.28
A similar interpretation should be made of Massignon’s description
of Islam as a “deism without mysteries” in the aforementioned quotation.
Identification of Islam with deism has a long history in orientalist scholar-
ship, but Massignon’s employment of the term has a particular meaning. In
“La conversion du monde musulman,” a piece written in 1923 and thus at
the limit of Massignon’s early period, he specifies that Islamic faith, “testify-
ing to the unicity of God, points to the revelation of God’s transcendence,
the revelation that Abraham and the prophets of Israel received; this wit-
ness is worth more than the monotheism of ancient philosophers or of syn-
cretistic theodicies.”29 That it is worth more than the philosophers’ mono-
theism would seem to mitigate any facile equation of Islam with deism. In
fact, Massignon’s use of deism, as the addition of “without mysteries” sug-
gests, has more to do with the lack of mystery in the classic Christian sense
of that term than it does with the degree to which God takes an active inter-
est in the world, on which a classical understanding of deism might rest.30
The appendix to the Examen shows that, for Massignon, mystery has to do
with the divine nature, which, because it is inexhaustibly intelligible and
good, draws the believer beyond himself through questions.31 Massignon
asks: Why does God present Himself to each consciousness as a question? Why
28. Griffith, “Sharing,” 202. Basetti-Sani’s criticism of the term was almost certainly intended to
reflect Massignon’s vision: “I cannot talk in terms of a ‘natural religion’ when treating of the Koran.
The religious spirit of the Koran always supposes revelation in the line of descent from the historical
and supernatural revelation of the God of Abraham. If man does not come to realize the greatness and
presence of God by looking at the world with all its dynamic forces, nor through the ‘witness’ of his
conscience, God then, in his mercy toward man, intervenes by sending his ‘messengers.’” Basetti-Sani,
Koran, 86.
29. Massignon, “La conversion,” 48.
30. Unrelated to consideration of Massignon, Kenneth Cragg (1913–2012) writes: “The created
world, on the Qur’an’s firm showing, is not a divine jest (21.16 and 44.38), not a divine ‘hobby,’ not
a divine enigma, not a divine ‘toy.’ That way lies deism, and the Qur’an is passionately theist.” Cragg,
Muhammad and the Christian: A Question of Response (London: Darton, Longman and Todd, 1985), 136.
31. Massignon, Examen, 73.
Islam: Traditional Muslim Apologetic 117
does God present Himself as mystery? Why is God not immediately obvious?
Massignon answers that God leaves one free to respond to His invitation.
Without freedom there is no love, and God, who is Love, wants us to love
Him sincerely. To do so, we must transcend ourselves, and it is precisely the
asking of the question of God that calls us forth. A deism without mysteries
renders questions about the divine nature and the divine will beside the
point.32 Again, his criticism is of narrow reductionism, which he contrasts
with the ability of mystery to draw the soul forward in self-transcendence.
32. Commenting on the phrase “Even to his inscrutable decrees” as descriptive of Muslim faith in
Nostra Aetate, Robert Caspar, one of the experts who drafted Vatican II’s texts on Islam, writes: “These
few words indicate the place of ‘mystery’ (ghayb) in Muslim faith. This mystery (ghayb) is not related
to the nature of God, who is one and invisible, but to the will of God concerning the world and every
man in it.” Caspar, “Vatican II,” 4.
33. The traditional believer simply trusts “that the Qur’anic passages mentioning ‘the life, the
view, the hearing, the hands, the side, the throne’ of God, designate divine perfections that are radi-
cally imperceptible to the spirit (balkafiyah),” for “it is impossible to imagine a relationship of real
participation between God and created being, for only materials of the same nature can mix; this is
the heresy of holoûl, ‘infusion,’ which is a matter of grace, of holiness, or of the hypostatic union. It is
forbidden to employ analogy, tashbîh, drawn from a created thing in order to explain the perfections
of God.” Massignon, Examen, 41–42.
34. HI, 89.
35. Massignon, Examen, 59. Sublation should be understood in Karl Rahner’s (1904–1984) intend-
ed sense of the higher incorporating, perfecting, and extending the lower, rather than in a Hegelian
sense of the higher eclipsing and denying the lower. In a similar way to Massignon’s schema, Bernard
Lonergan speaks of the threefold nature of conversion: intellectual, moral, and religious. See Loner-
gan, Method, 241–43, 318, 338.
36. Massignon, Examen, 42.
118 Islam: Traditional Muslim Apologetic
ances in history, and Massignon uses a different word to refer to each, “one’s
intellectual appearance [comparution] before the divine Law where one dis-
covers one’s destiny [sentence] and one’s bodily appearance [apparition] in
the created universe where the sanctions [of the Law] are applied.”37 The
traditional Muslim apologetic emphasizes the second moment of appear-
ance, “and it reduces human life to the manifestation of an intellectual vo-
cation of obedience to God.”38 By contrast, the mystical Muslim apologetic
emphasizes the first, “the impassive appearance [comparution],” on “the day
of the [primordial] Covenant, mîthâq, in order to swear a solemn oath of
obedience to Him,” and situates anthropology in an exitus/reditus schema:
“The day of Judgment, and the final reality of the human person, nihâyah,
for eternity, is actually a return to the commencement, bidâyah, to the pri-
mordial act of intellectual assent to the presented evidence”39 In summary,
according to the traditional Muslim apologetic, human living “is a matter
of faith in pure thought, not contrition, not sanctification. There is no dif-
ference between actual grace and sanctifying grace.”40 Consequentially, the
traditional Muslim apologetic is typically concerned only for sins that dis-
rupt the public good; it rarely inquires into private faults, thus reinforcing
the sense that only the intellectual assent counts. For Christian anthropol-
ogy, which does not distinguish between an intellectual and a corporeal ap-
pearance, the body is not simply the manifestation of the soul, and as such,
because they are held in common, the person is equally responsible, bodily
and intellectually, for his or her actions.41
The same contrast informs Massignon’s description of the apologetics’
respective views of creation. If for Christianity creation is “a splendid hier-
Providence
History in the traditional Muslim apologetic, according to Massignon, can
also be reduced to a succession of unconnected moments, each a part of a
“perpetual oscillation between ignorance and revelation, reward and pun-
ishment, election and damnation; nothing explains the duration of the
drama wherein all the scenes are examples of an identical situation.”43 The
consequence of this vision is that there is no providential link between the
events of human history. One of Massignon’s footnotes in the Examen tells
the story from sûra 18 of Khidr, the mysterious Elijah-like Qur’anic figure,
in which Khidr kills a child because he would have become greedy, “as if
his future were totally unavoidable.”44 Even the various prophetic missions
do not depend on each other. Muhammad’s mission takes precedence only
because it is the last one.45
The contrast between the Christian and traditional Muslim apologetics
is especially evident in their respective treatments of suffering, sorrow, and
pain, which Massignon treats in relation to providence. I have already in-
troduced Massignon’s understanding of the law as revealed in the passion,
cross, and resurrection of Jesus and as communicated sacramentally in the
Church. For the traditional Muslim apologetic, attempting to reconcile the
fact of suffering, sin, and evil with the goodness of God could mean “expos-
ing oneself to the heresy of badâ (supposing that God contradicts God’s self),
or to shirk (associating the creature with the simplicity and glory of God).”46
In the extreme view, “the divine will has predetermined with equal force
monotheism and atheism, the negation of God as well as his affirmation
(naîf wa ithbât in the shahâda), the commandment and the transgression.”47
One resolves the question of evil by attributing all acts directly and imme-
diately to God. The believer’s role is to be patient (sabr) with the divine ac-
tivity, to enjoin good and avoid evil, but not to speculate about the meaning
or purpose of good and evil. Despite the fact that human responsibility is
safeguarded by the doctrine that all have been apprised of the divine law
“in advance, before the creation of their bodies” and that they have “sworn
an oath of obedience to God and to his law which never changes,”48 and de-
spite the fact that in Islam God sends prophets precisely to remind humans
of this “pre-eternal” covenant, Massignon remains dissatisfied, for such ac-
count eliminates the dialectic of sin and grace so central to the Christian
view. As the reader will recall, he observed that we rightly want to under-
stand why suffering, sorrow, and pain, “and our hope is not in vain, for it is
acceptable neither to adore sorrowful pain like a masochist nor to deny it
like a morphine addict.”49 He was convinced that, regarding suffering, “rea-
son, if it seeks, can find the Law.”50
Divine Word
The Christian apologetic locates the divine word in a person, while the tra-
ditional Muslim apologetic locates the divine word in a recitation recorded
in writing, that is, the Qur’an.51 Identifying the divine word with a writing
has several consequences. It seals the separation of creature and Creator, be-
cause as a text, complete in God, it must be delivered via an angel to the
Prophet Muhammad rather than realized through self-transcendence.52 The
fact that there is no “mediation between God and his people except for the
Qur’an,” so that the only “bridge between” God and humanity is the “Arabic
language,” also impossibly limits access to God’s word for most people and
most times.53 Further, Massignon turns back on itself a typical Muslim cri-
tique of Christianity. Whereas Muslims accuse Christians of having compro-
mised the divine unity by claiming divinity for Jesus, Massignon argues that
more confusion results from exclusive identification of the Word and the
Qur’an. The Christian apologetic, clear about Jesus’s humanity being created,
and knowing that creation itself is a work “ad extra, God’s pure act,” realizes
that when the Word, the second person of the Trinity, assumes creation in all
its corporal and spiritual composition and multiplicity, the divine simplicity
ab intra has not been violated. The traditional Muslim apologetic, however,
is ambiguous about the nature of God’s speech, that is, the Qur’an, tending
to emphasize only its uncreated nature, which then potentially introduces
multiplicity into the divine essence.54
ries about the formation of the Qur’an, see John Wansborough, The Sectarian Milieu: Content and Com-
position of Islamic Salvation History (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1978), and Christophe Luxenburg,
The Syro-Aramaic Reading of the Koran (Berlin: Hans Schiler, 2007). For analysis of those controversial
theories, see the essays collected in Gabriel Said Reynolds, ed., The Qur’an in Its Historical Context (Lon-
don: Routledge, 2008).
53. Rocalve, Louis Massignon, 40.
54. On the absolute transcendence of God and the problem of God’s attributes as well as God’s
speech as present in creation, there is a vast tradition of debate and multiple positions. Often the ques-
tion centers on whether the Qur’an is created or uncreated. Those who hold to the uncreatedness of
the Qur’an, the orthodox position as set forth by al-Ash’arî, tend not to speculate about the how of
God’s communication to creation. For example, al-Ash’arî’s solution “was to speak of the reality of the
attributes but that these are not attributes in the same way that humans have such. God does have a
hand, but we just ‘do not know how’ this is to be conceived. The phrase bila kayf, ‘without knowing
how,’ became a key term in Ash’arite theology, to be used whenever reason and the Qur’an or hadîth
met head-on in conflict. Al-Ash’ari saw the Qur’an as the eternal and uncreated word of God, precisely
because it was the word of God and, therefore, must partake in the character of His attributes.” Rippin,
Muslims, 84–85. The Mu’tazilite position, against which al-Ash’arî argued, held to the createdness of
the Qur’an and did attempt to work out solutions to the problem of the absolutely transcendent God
speaking in creation: “To explain the notion of ‘the speaking God,’ the Mu’tazilites devised a singular
mechanical theory. . . . It cannot be the voice of God, they argued, that manifests itself to a prophet
when he feels the divine revelation acting upon him through his sense of hearing. The sound is cre-
ated. When God wishes to manifest Himself audibly, He causes, by a specific creative act, speech to
occur in a material substratum. That is the speech which the prophet hears. It is not the immediate
speech of God, but rather a speech created by God, manifested indirectly, and corresponding in its
contents to the will of God. This theory offered a form into which they could fit their doctrine of the
created Qur’an, which they set against the orthodox dogma of the eternal and uncreated word of God.”
Ignaz Goldziher, Introduction to Islamic Theology and Law, trans. Andras and Ruth Hamori (Princeton,
N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1981), 98. For comparative readings of the Christian and Islamic un-
derstandings of the divine word, see Daniel Madigan, “God’s Word to the World: Jesus and the Qur’an,
Incarnation and Recitation,” in Godhead Here in Hiding: Incarnation and the History of Human Suffering,
eds. Terence Merrigan and Frederik Glorieux (Leuven, Belgium: Peeters, forthcoming), 143–58, and
122 Islam: Traditional Muslim Apologetic
Missions of Islam
Despite his repeated and virulent critiques, Massignon’s earliest works show
that from the very beginning he envisioned a positive role for Islam, even
for the traditional Muslim apologetic, in history. That is, whereas for many
historical Christian thinkers Islam was at best a paganism to be converted
or a heresy to be corrected, and at worst a Satanic cult and anti-Christian
imperialism to be defeated, for Massignon, from its inception, Islam’s advent
was providential: “Islam which founded Medina (622) at the moment of the
consecration of the Pantheon of Rome to the Queen of Martyrs (699) and
of the exaltation of the True Cross at Jerusalem (614) is one of the strongest
divine proofs, the most permanent proofs of the truth of the Church.”57 As
noted earlier, in other texts among that constellation of auspicious events
is included the Third Council of Constantinople (681), at which was pro-
claimed the doctrine of two wills, divine and human, in Christ.58 According
to Massignon, Islam’s role in history manifests itself as a threefold mission
vis-à-vis idolatry, Judaism, and Christianity.
First, Islam attempts to prove, “against all idolatry,” that the primitive
religion of the patriarchs—from Adam to Noah to Abraham—is “sufficient
for meeting all the social needs of man. All that is commanded is for reason
to adore the unique God of the natural law by faith, forever.”59 Massignon
explains that Medina was to be a city organized according to its faith in the
promises and sanctions of the one God, and it was to be ordered accord-
ing to honest contracts among honest God-fearing men. There would be no
need in Islam to placate the whims of false gods. Massignon notes, however,
that “fear of sanctions and of Judgment is not sufficient for maintaining or-
der among men. The patriarchal religion could not preserve men, despite
Enoch, from the growing sinfulness that the flood came to punish.”60 Islam’s
mission to idolaters is therefore valid but insufficient. The same is true of its
mission to the Jews: “Islam wants to prove, against Judaism, that the law of
Moses was meant for all people and all times and that for observing its [Ju-
daism’s] rigorous rules, faith suffices.”61 However, it also insists that there
is no need for “supernatural hope, no personal pact between God and one
nation to the exclusion of others, no right of filial primogeniture. [Islam]
wants to reduce the hope of men to the patient endurance of the Law.”62
Massignon, a Catholic Christian, endorses Islam’s critique of the Jewish re-
ligion in favor of universalism, but he argues that Islam fails to understand
either the messianic hope of Judaism or the special place of Israel in the
history of the divine plan. It fails to recognize that the special blessings and
hope bestowed upon Israel are in preparation for the Messiah to be born
of its race. Jewish hope anticipates both the Incarnation and the Redemp-
tion.63 Finally, “Islam wants to establish, against the Church, that God only
wills love among men themselves, that love is a thing too prostituted among
men for God to want to be loved by men. It wants to exclude from beatitude
any intuitive vision of the divine essence, and from holiness any union of
transforming love. It wants to reduce eternity to contentment of the body
and to pure thought in the intellect.” But Massignon objects, “this [state of
pure intellect] would be Hell, with the penalty of damnation64 but with-
out the punishment of the senses.”65 In other words, Islam’s mission to the
Church, unlike its missions to paganism and Israel, is not only insufficient,
but also invalid. Patience of the divine positive law (sabr) is not enough.
Human beings want to transcend the law, and the Church inspires desire
for the real kingdom, the Kingdom of God. Likewise, love among men is not
enough. Human beings want to love God; Massignon mentions as Muslim
examples Ghazâlî and Bistami, both engaged with Sufism. Human desire for
God is evidenced universally through sacred art, sacred music, and sacred
architecture, among which even the Ka’ba at Mecca should be counted.66
One might put it this way. Vis-à-vis its contacts with idolatry and with
Israel, Islam plays both positive and negative roles. Positively, it rejects false
gods and superstition and calls Israel to universality. Negatively, by its omis-
sions seen in the light of Catholic faith, it exposes both the inadequacy of
natural solutions to the problem of sin and the necessity of Israel’s prepara-
tory mission vis-à-vis Christ. In Les trois prières d’Abraham, Massignon ar-
gues for a positive mission of Islam vis-à-vis the Church,67 but in the Exa-
men, Islam’s role in that regard is strictly negative. That is why it is one of the
strongest divine proofs, the most permanent proofs of the truth of the Church,
or as one section title in the Examen states, “The role of Islam in world his-
tory toward the triumph of Christianity.” Islam mainly provides an opportu-
nity for the Church to fulfill its divine vocation. Historically, the remarkably
rapid expansion of Arab and Islamic civilization in the first centuries of the
religion’s existence is well documented. Massignon describes the expan-
sion under two aspects, military and intellectual, the former having caused
“vertigo” in the Byzantine emperors, and the latter having “seduced the
masters of Israel . . . and nearly conquered the theology of the Middle Ages
with Ibn Rushd and the nominalists.”68 On both fronts, the Catholic Church
alone was responsible for arresting the conquest. Militarily, Catholic Europe
launched the Crusades, at which “all the Christian nations came to receive
a baptism in blood before commencing the colonization of the world.”69
In “The Roman Catholic Church and Islam,” Massignon’s ecclesial pride is
amplified. He lists several benefits, spiritual and temporal, of the European
Crusades, including the solidarity effected among Christians living in Mus-
the idea of a Paradise of divine joy as too Christian.” See Massignon, “L’aridité spirituelle selon les au-
teurs musulmans,” in EM 2, 308.
66. Massignon, Examen, 69.
67. It is in this sense that Massignon’s frequent references to Islam as the “evangelical lance”
should be taken. See Rocalve, Louis Massignon, 86.
68. Massignon, Examen, 60–61.
69. Massignon, Examen, 60.
Islam: Traditional Muslim Apologetic 125
lim lands, the hope offered to those same dwindling Christian communities,
the reunion of Eastern churches with the Roman see, the institution of new
feast days in commemoration of important battles during and beyond the
Crusades (e.g., Transfiguration of our Lord, commemorating the victory at
Belgrade [1456]; Our Lady Help of Victory, commemorating the victory at
Lepanto [1571]; Our Lady of the Rosary, commemorating the victory at Pe-
terwardin [1716]; and the feast of the Holy Name of Mary, commemorating
the victory at Vienna [1683]), the establishment of new devotions such as
local stations of the cross (because the via dolorossa in Jerusalem was inac-
cessible to Christians), and, finally, the founding of several new religious or-
ders, including the Trinitarians and Brothers of Mercy, as well as new apos-
tolates for existing orders.70 In “La conversion du monde musulman,” to that
list he adds the unity effected among Europeans of all classes by a common
cause; the prayer of the Angelus (in defense of the Incarnation); the pilgrim-
age to Compostella; the stigmata of St. Francis of Assisi; the numerous Arab,
Greek, Armenian, Georgian, Ethiopian, French, Italian, and Spanish martyrs
as well as numerous vocations (including St. Louis of France and St. Igna-
tius of Loyola); and even more religious orders, including the Lazarists and
the White Fathers.71 Intellectually, “only Catholic scholasticism was able
to stop [the Muslim advance],” and in one of his most explicit defenses of
the particularity of the Roman Catholic confession, Massignon argues that
it is basically still “Muslim textual criticism, reprised by Protestant exegesis
and enhanced by the printing press, which attacks the Church,” thus “every
Christian who wants to justify his faith in the face of the attacks of the Mus-
lim apologetic must return forcefully to the doctrines, morality, and sanctity
of the Catholic Church.”72
As a result, Massignon insists that “work[ing] for the conversion of
their Moslem brethren of the colonies of their mother country is, indeed,
an imperative duty upon the Catholics of every nation.”73 That is a position
much modified in Massignon’s mature writings, where he distinguishes
between conversions to the body and to the soul of the Church. However,
one sees here the complex interconnection of religion and politics, church,
state, and colonialism so prevalent in Massignon’s early works and in Eu-
70. Massignon, “The Roman Catholic Church and Islam,” The Moslem World 2 (1915): 130–34.
71. Massignon, “La conversion,” 49–50.
72. Massignon, Examen, 61. It is implied that the Catholic Church, at least in certain strains of
scholastic theology, rejected nominalism and literalist readings of scripture, which Massignon attri-
butes in part to the influence of Islam.
73. Massignon, “The Roman Catholic Church,” 138.
126 Islam: Traditional Muslim Apologetic
Abraham
Abraham would eventually become central to Massignon’s thinking about
the relationship between Christianity and Islam. However, in his earliest
works, such as the Examen, he rejects attributing any spiritual lineage to
Ishmael and Islam through Abraham:
IT translates in a tendentious way the prediction of the angel to Hagar (Genesis 16:12)
about the destiny of Ishmael. It should read: “He will be among men as the wild ass
among the animals (IT has ‘the leader of men’) [that is to say he will live in the desert]
his hand will be against all and the hand of all against him (IT has: ‘humbly extended
toward him’); and he will pitch his tents in the country of all his brothers (IT has:
‘in the greater part of the earth’).” This prediction, just like the one made by Daniel
about the empires and just like the benediction on Esau, only concerns the temporal
future of Ishmael’s descendants, as has been acknowledged in Christian commentar-
ies, which have located the military domination of the “Hagarians” in Islam since the
Armenian bishop Sebeos, contemporary of the first Umayyads, and the popes from
Urban II to Innocent III, up to the most adventurous apologists [for Islam] like G. Pos-
tel (1581) and Charles Forster (1829).80 Did Abraham obtain anything more from God
for the “son of his handmaid”? No, the sacred text specifies: Ishmael will be blessed,
he will found a great nation (17:18–21; 21:13) but God reserves to Isaac alone and to his
descendants the eternal heritage of his spiritual covenant with Abraham. This is af-
firmed even more solemnly at Mt. Moriah by the sacrifice asked by God of Abraham,
the offering of Isaac (22) at which a ram was substituted, a prefigure of the paschal
lamb of the Exodus and perhaps more strikingly of the supreme sacrifice of the Cross.
This is so clear that the Muslim apologetic, holding that all of Hebrew tradition has
been a lie, argues that it was Ishmael and not Isaac who was offered by Abraham: and
not at Mt. Moriah but at the Ka’bah. The Medina sûras serve as the foundation of this
theory by uncovering, as Snouck has shown, a commemoration of the sacrifice of
Abraham in the rituals of the Meccan hajj (Qur’an 2:121).81
Massignon’s position could not be more clear. Did Abraham obtain any-
thing more than temporal blessings for Ishmael? No. Ishmael, and thus the
Arab people and all Muslims, is effectively cut off from God’s spiritual cov-
enants. Although it would surprise readers of the later Massignon, this ap-
proach to Abraham is typical of the early Massignon. In “The Roman Catho-
lic Church and Islam,” he reviews the history of Islamic-Christian relations
according to a threefold mission of the papacy vis-à-vis Islam, namely “rul-
ing power (imperium), sanctifying power (ministerium), [and] doctrinal power
(magisterium),” and argues that “[j]ust as Ishmael has been excluded for
Isaac’s benefit, so the Mosaic synagogue and the Moslem community have
been excluded for the benefit of the Christian Ecclesia.”82 He notes with ap-
proval that even the rallying cry for the Crusades, “reiterated by thousands
of papal bulls up to the time of Nicholas V, especially those of Innocent III
and Honorius III,” was taken from Genesis 21:10: “Drive out the handmaid
[Hagar] and her son [Ishmael]!”83 In the next chapter, one encounters in
Massignon a very different approach to the question of Abraham, includ-
ing a much more sympathetic interpretation of the Abrahamic aspect of
the hajj.
80. L. M.’s note says “[Forster] recognized in the book of Daniel 8:23 a prophecy announcing Mu-
hammad.”
81. Massignon, Examen, 14–15.
82. Massignon, “Roman Catholic Church,” 129–30.
83. Massignon, “Roman Catholic Church,” 129–130.
Islam: Traditional Muslim Apologetic 129
Qur’an-Bible
Despite his rather damning portrayal of the Qur’an according to the tradi-
tional Muslim apologetic, Massignon’s own reading of the Qur’an at this
early stage is difficult to pin down. On the one hand, from the beginning,
he finds in it authentic ground for mystical-spiritual development. For
example, “mystical union between the human soul and its Creator is not
wholly missing from the Qur’an.”84 On the other hand, he suggests that
there are several “historical themes” and “detached anecdotes” in the Qur’an
that “only a Christian can piece together [reconstituer].”85 The reader has
already encountered several examples, including the Qur’anic account of
the fall of Satan “for having refused to adore Adam,” which from a Chris-
tian point of view Massignon interprets not as punishment for disobeying
a strangely idolatrous request on the part of God, but as punishment “for
having refused to adore the future coming of the Redeemer in the flesh, the
Incarnation.”86 He also declared the Qur’anic “double purification of Mary,”
her immaculate conception and “spotless humility,” as unintelligible with-
out reference to the Annunciation, the miraculous birth of Jesus, and espe-
cially her role as theotokos.87 He reads in Qur’an 5:114–15 a nascent if “con-
fused” acknowledgement of the Eucharist that is only clarified by Catholic
teaching and practice.88
In “La conversion du monde musulman,” Massignon advances the fol-
lowing claim:
Their unique book, the Qur’an, amalgamates and condenses fragments of the Penta-
teuch, the Psalter, and the Gospel under a singularly elliptical form; this book, which
a superior constraint seems to seal, imprisons under literal and carnal ambiguities
the sources of grace overflowing in our sacred texts. It is as if the Qur’an were to the
Bible what Ishmael, the excluded, was to Isaac. At the same time, we note that if the
crucifixion of Jesus appears put in doubt there, still the virginity of Mary is affirmed;
and both of them are honored therein, not only as prophets but as saints without sin.
And this can prepare certain pure hearts to invoke them preferably.89
Conclusion
Clearly the early Massignon emphasizes the difference between the Church
and Islam, and difference in that case is not to be celebrated. Massignon
even argues that any correspondence between the two religions—“the Im-
maculate Conception and the Nur Mohammadiyah” or “the rosary and tas-
bîh,” or even the “Aristotelianism of Thomas Aquinas and the Kalâm of
Averroes,” to name a few examples—is “a mere aberration, an adventitious
growth” for Islam, “whereas in the structure of Catholic dogmas, they form
an integral part of a logical system. They form in Islam an historical and
personal feature of worship, in Catholicism a sacramental source of grace
precisely defined.”91 Where Islam differs from Christianity, Massignon de-
fends the latter and criticizes the former. Christians understand history as
developmental, progressive, redemptive, and open, that is, Jerusalem built
from the ruins of Babylon (as quoted in the last chapter). The Bible elevates
human history, intelligence, and love, integrating them with the divine life.
So too, the individual human being is drawn forth by the mystery of God
and invited to participate in the law of self-sacrificing love inherent in his-
tory, made explicit in the cross of Christ, and enjoined by the Church—dog-
ma to morals to mysticism. Muslims who subscribe to the traditional Muslim
apologetic view history as a series of disconnected events, each an opportu-
nity to accept or reject the divine will. However, the results are predestined.
The Qur’an reveals a Creator wholly transcendent and invites believers to
a strictly intellectual assent. Islam enjoys only a temporal, not a spiritual,
Abrahamic inheritance through Ishmael. Although it enjoys positive, cor-
rective missions vis-à-vis idolatry and Judaism, Islam’s mission vis-à-vis
the Church is strictly negative, exposing areas of potential evangelization
and demanding of the Church holy witnesses, except in the case of certain
Sufis, who constitute points of insertion, participants in the law of Christ
within the world of Islam.
At the conclusion of the Examen, after reminding his reader that apolo-
getics always call into question a person’s faith, Massignon argues that “the
hour comes, after reading, of collecting oneself and of understanding, rea-
soning and concluding.”92 He then provides a dramatic scenario in which
the soul of the reader, in conversation with two friends, one Muslim and
one Christian, must judge between the traditional Islamic and Christian
apologetics. The friends fall into now predictable categories. The Muslim
friend, as we have come to expect, emphasizes intellectual assent. He is un-
fazed by the reader’s struggle to judge. He knows that this person, like all
creatures, ultimately can only serve God and ultimately will necessarily do
so, whether by acceptance or rejection of the Muslim apologetic. All that
can be done has been done. Evidence of the divine Law was brought to his
attention. It should have clarified his mind and convinced him of his own
open stance toward Islam also have their roots in this period. His emphasis
on the need for holy Christian witness anticipates the less doctrinally driv-
en conversation with Muslims in his later years. The recognition of Sufism
as cooperative with the Church anticipates his later understanding of the
law as already broadly available within Islam. Although he excluded Islam
as Abraham’s spiritual heir, still his reflections represent the beginning of
a long, evolving, and fruitful meditation on the role of Abraham in the re-
lationship between Jews, Christians, and Muslims, and he will eventually
accept Islam’s Abrahamic claim. His treatment of the missions of Islam like-
wise indicates not a static position, but a moving understanding. Later, Mas-
signon will argue for a mutually complementary relationship among the
three “Abrahamic traditions.”
Therefore, one should treat the Examen and contemporaneous articles
not as Massignon’s final word on Islam—clearly they were not—but as an
exposition of the Christian eyes through which he would continue to seek
understanding of Islam’s relationship to the mission of the Church. In that
sense the Examen is a foundational text, in that it establishes Massignon’s
religious conversion as evidenced by his acceptance of all the key Catholic
teachings. It is also foundational methodologically and hermeneutically, for
his approach there is and continues to be one of faith seeking understand-
ing, and his faith, here established, orients his further understanding.
Islam: Massignon’s Positive Judgments
Five
ISLAM
Massignon’s Positive Judgments
1. HI, 89.
2. HI, 100.
134
Islam: Massignon’s Positive Judgments 135
3. HI, 101.
4. HI, 104.
5. HI, 110.
6. HI, 76. Elsewhere, he notes that pilgrims are required to make a vow of chastity during the Hajj.
See Massignon, Essay, 100 n. 48.
7. Massignon, “La foi,” 16.
8. Massignon, “La foi,” 14.
9. HI, 92.
10. Massignon, “Aspects and Perspectives of Islam,” in Testimonies, 67–68.
11. Massignon, “Le Salut,” 143.
136 Islam: Massignon’s Positive Judgments
against oversimplifying the Islamic cult and seeing there only a kind of fac-
ile, insincere, even “slothful” submission to God.12 On the contrary, Islamic
prayer is to be admired precisely for the attitude it cultivates in the believer,
an attitude that was unimpressed by Nazi power during World War II and
remains unimpressed by any worldly power that fails to submit to the only
real power, that of God.13
Massignon’s affection for Muslims’ unshakeable faith in the one God
is captured by an old anecdote that he shared on more than one occasion.
The story is about a Muslim who undertakes the pilgrimage from his native
Baghdad to Mecca. He knows that he only has around twenty days to make
the journey in time for the sacrifice, and he knows that all the books of the-
ology and law recommend a pilgrim equip himself with enough provisions
to make the journey safely. Still, he brings neither camel, nor horse, nor suf-
ficient supplies. His friends admonish him about the danger into which he
has placed himself, and they remind him that Islam does not permit suicide.
The pilgrim, “confident that the divine will would not let him set out with-
out guaranteeing his safety, even miraculously,” responds: “If I die, let the
blood fall on my Murderer,” that is, God.14 For Massignon, there is a radical
seriousness of Muslim faith that is worth esteeming and even emulating.
In his later writings, Islam is to be admired for its insistence on the im-
portance of liturgy as the only really lasting thing, because of its potential
and orientation toward transfiguration.15 Massignon even highlights Islamic
pilgrimage (hajj) as a privileged and salvific practice, salvific because at hajj,
particularly at the culminating sacrifice, one “participates in the sacrifice of
Abraham,” which in Islam refers to the sacrifice of Ishmael at the Ka’ba. He
detects therein a Eucharistic motif. For Christians, Abraham’s sacrifice of
Isaac “prefigures the sacrifice of Christ,” and in Islam, “the sacrifice of the
lamb [also] brings salvation; the pardon of God descends, with His presence,
on all the assembled people.”16 The Abrahamic aspect of hajj is key particu-
larly because it is the only place, in Massignon’s opinion, where intercession
on behalf of sinners by the faithful is permitted. Intercession, or substitu-
tion, is the root of the Islamic abdâl, the chain of mystical substitute saints.
Obviously it is not, however, only the mystics who participate; at the hajj the
general Muslim population participates. He elaborates: “[T]he essential part
of the hajj is ‘Arafat (al-hajj: ‘Arafat); it is there . . . that God pardons everyone,
present and absent . . . , while taking into account the spiritual declaration by
certain individuals, pure and predestined Witnesses (shuhud) of a vow made
in humble and repentant adoration of the God of Abraham, Who, in order to
accept the figurative victims of the next day, is content with the ardent and
sacrificial contrition of these Witnesses: and rejoices in it (yubahi) with his
Angels.”17
In the Examen, Massignon contrasts the Eucharist with Muslim prayer
in order to celebrate the former and condemn the latter. Now, implicitly
perhaps, participation at ‘Arafat is analogous to participation in reception of
divine descent at the Eucharist.
Finally, in his later writings, Massignon draws his famous parallel be-
tween Judaism, Christianity, and Islam and the virtues on which they are
concentrated: “If Israel is rooted in hope, and if Christianity is vowed to char-
ity, then Islam is centered on faith.”18 He specifies that Islamic faith is rooted
in “a supernatural, nearly theologal [théologale], source”19 and that for Mus-
lims, salvation depends only upon faith, “faith that is truly theologal.”20 The-
ologal is a word rarely read in English, and even though French theologians
have long employed a distinction between théologique and théologale “in
order to stress the distinctive ways that mind and heart figure in the Chris-
tian life,”21 Massignon’s use of the term confuses many of his interpreters.
Pierre Rocalve asks: “Did he not misuse the word ‘theologal’?”22 In any case,
Massignon’s choice of theologal was quite deliberate. On the one hand, he
did not want to call the faith of Islam theological (théologique). That term
is reserved for a full and thematic articulation of Christian faith, including
confession of the principal Christian mysteries such as Trinity, Incarnation
of the Son, and Redemption. On the other hand, he is no longer content to
describe Islam’s faith as simply natural. Theologal functions for Massignon,
I cannot help but connect Massignon’s usage of theologal with this pas-
sage from the Catechism, where a distinction is made between Jesus’s path,
meaning his life or his way of prayer, and his explicit teachings about the
Father and the Holy Spirit, which are revealed gradually, drawing first on
what his listeners already know of prayer before opening to them the new-
ness of the coming Kingdom. Contemporary thinkers who employ the term
theologal, including Romanus Cessario (and the medievals upon which he
draws) and Ignacio Ellacuría (and his interpreters), have a purely Christian
context in mind for its usage. Probably none would envision extending the
23. Cessario writes: “the former term principally signifies speculative study and learning, where-
as the latter is used to describe the actual practice of Christian faith”; the difference is the emphasis on
knowing versus living, as Cessario demonstrates by turning to Thomas Aquinas, who “would argue
that even a Christian who lacks charity—a person of dead faith—can be said to experience the begin-
ning of this [theologal] movement precisely because believing involves both intellect and will. This
holds true even if, as happens in the case of the person without charity, this experience entails the
contradiction of being affectively drawn toward an end that one does not love.” Cessario, “Theologal,”
136–37. Ignacio Ellacuría (1930–1989) is probably the most recent theologian/philosopher to employ
the term, which he adopted from his teacher Xavier Zubiri (1898–1983). For Ellacuría, the term indi-
cates “unity-in-difference” and shows “transcendence ‘in,’ not ‘away from,’ history.” Michael Lee, Bear-
ing the Weight of Salvation: The Soteriology of Ignacio Ellacuría (New York: Herder and Herder, 2009), 117.
It is “related to but distinct from theological. The latter deals with the study, formulation, and explica-
tion of the divine, while the former attempts to express the implicit ‘God dimension’ of reality.” Kevin
Burke, The Ground Beneath the Cross: The Theology of Ignacio Ellacuría (Washington, D.C.: Georgetown
University Press, 2000), 40 n. 48. Along with the seventeenth-century Anglican poet and theologian
John Donne (1572–1631), who used theologal to indicate the inauguration of a life lived with God, Ces-
sario, Aquinas, and Ellacuría all use theologal as a way of designating faith that is on the way either
from an unthematic to a thematic articulation or from a potency to actualization in charity.
24. Catechism of the Catholic Church (Vatican City: Libreria Editrice Vaticana, 2000), no. 2607.
Islam: Massignon’s Positive Judgments 139
L’Hégire d’Ismaël
I turn now to what has been called Massignon’s credo of Islam, that is, his
judgments regarding key aspects of Islamic belief and practice, includ-
ing Muhammad and the Qur’an, judgments Borrmans calls “striking” and
“audacious.”26 I must say at the outset that the phrase is not Massignon’s.
Jean Moncelon organized part of his doctoral thesis under the heading Mas-
signon’s credo of Islam, and he addressed therein five points: the God of the
Muslims, the sincerity of Muhammad, the inspiration of the Qur’an, the mis-
sion of Islam, and the vocation of the Arabic language.27 Sidney Griffith then
adopted Moncelon’s schema, and much of the secondary literature has fol-
lowed suit. I do too, but I will not treat Massignon’s judgment that the God of
the Muslims is the God of the Christians, since I covered it in chapter 2. The
primary source for Massignon’s mature theological vision of Islam is his Les
trois prières d’Abraham. I focus on the central essay of the book, “L’Hégire
d’Ismaël,” which Michel Hayek has called “the key to the vault of all [Mas-
28. Michel Hayek, “L. Massignon face à l’Islam,” in Louis Massignon, ed. Jean-François Six (Paris:
Éditions L’Herne, 1970), 189.
29. Massignon, “Les trois prières d’Abraham: père des croyants,” Dieu Vivant 13 (1949): 15–28.
30. Massignon, Parole Donnée, ed. Vincent-Mansour Monteil (Paris: Seuil, 1983), 257–72.
31. Massignon, “The Three Prayers of Abraham.”
Islam: Massignon’s Positive Judgments 141
seeds planted in pre-Islamic pagan Arabia, seeds that take root and grow in
Sufism especially. Section V examines the personality of Muhammad and
his sincerity vis-à-vis God’s command to preach. Section VI treats Salmân
Pâk, Muhammad’s advisor, whose Christianity Massignon insists he never
completely renounced, as well as early Muslim history around the question
of legitimate authority. Section VII examines the Qur’an. Section VIII exam-
ines the privileged revelatory mission of Semitic languages in general and
Arabic in particular. Section IX takes up the traditional Muslim apologetic
and its characteristic virtue, faith. Section X treats Islam as a community
of religious believers, a community Massignon designates an Abrahamic
schism, and Section XI turns to the history of Christian-Muslim relations as
well as the role of Islam vis-à-vis the Church at present and going forward.
Muhammad
Pierre Rocalve observes that “the personality of Muhammad is manifestly
not what most attracted Massignon in Islam.”32 The Qur’an, Hallâj, and the
mystical tradition constitute his way into Islam.33 That is not to say, how-
ever, that he did not give due consideration to Muhammad. In what follows,
I examine Massignon’s understanding of the prophet in three parts. First, I
treat his description of Muhammad as sincere and of Muhammad’s role as
that of a negative prophet. Second, I look more closely at how Muhammad’s
sincerity was demonstrated for Massignon in the event of the Muhâbala (or-
deal). Finally, I touch on Massignon’s exposition of Muhammad’s role vis-à-
vis the mystics of Islam, especially Hallâj.
Sincerity of Muhammad
In a section of the Examen in which Massignon critiques the traditional
Muslim apologetic’s tendency to collapse the natural law into the Qur’an, he
writes: “[As] the natural law, that is to say, the eternal law, directing the acts
and movements of men toward their proper end,” the “Qur’anic revelation
reminds all people that engraved in their reason is the natural law which is
necessary and sufficient for them.”34 The Qur’an is a kind of divine reminder
or pointer to the natural law.35 Massignon argues from the Catholic position
that just as reason is necessary but not sufficient, neither is natural law suf-
ficient. He asks, “How will I discern the human law from the natural law?
How will it be proved to me that Islam is legitimate? Or that Muhammad is
trustworthy and true? Muhammad believed that a simple adhesion of hu-
man reason to its constitutive law was sufficient.”36 Massignon concludes
the section by referring to Muhammad’s insistence on the sufficiency of
natural reason as evidence of “his obstinate sincerity.”37
In HI, he attributes to Muhammad a much more positive “sincerity of-
ten impressive and undeniable.”38 In order to understand the significance
of that assessment, one must recall the long history of Christian vilification
of the prophet, wherein Muhammad was accused of having invented the
Qur’anic revelations for his own personal gain. With few exceptions, Mu-
hammad was considered quite insincere.39 Medieval European custom, as
early as the time of Guibert of Nogent (1055–1124), allowed that “it is safe
to speak evil of one whose malignity exceeds whatever ill can be spoken.”40
Therefore, “essential to the Christian campaign against Islam was the defa-
I believe that [Muhammad] was sincere and that, as my old master Goldziher said to
me . . . “We must make of others what we would have them make of us.” The apolo-
getical skepticism, the scalpel wielded by H. Lammens in his studies on the Sîra, is a
doubled-edged sword. Why reserve to Islam, to Muhammad and to the Qur’an, the base
explanations by psychological or sociological fraud? The result is to cause the Muslim
apologists to translate into Arabic every pamphlet that, from Lessing to Couchoud, has
treated the Bible as a “grosse Täuschung,” Jesus as a mythical person, and the Church
as a consortium of priestly exploitation of the poor and the suffering.45
[i.e., the Mubâhala] is very important. It is the only manifestation of the to-
tal faith of Muhammad in his mission, and it proves he only accepts as a
visitation of God to His creation the burning of criminals, as before Elijah
at Mt. Carmel.”60 The scene is elliptically recounted in the Qur’an as follows:
3:59. Lo! The likeness of Jesus with Allah is as the likeness of Adam. He created him
of dust, then He said unto him: Be! And he is. 60. (This is) the truth from thy Lord (O
Muhammad), so be not thou of those who waver. 61. And whoso disputeth with thee
concerning him, after the knowledge which hath come unto thee, say (unto him):
Come! We will summon our sons and your sons, and our women and your women,
and ourselves and yourselves, then we will pray humbly (to our Lord) and (solemnly)
invoke the curse of Allah upon those who lie. 62. Lo! This verily is the true narrative.
There is no God save Allah, and lo! Allah is the Mighty, the Wise. 63. And if they turn
away, then lo! Allah is Aware of (who are) the corrupters. 64. Say: O People of the
Scripture! Come to an agreement between us and you: that we shall worship none
but Allah, and that we shall ascribe no partner unto Him, and that none of us shall
take others for lords beside Allah. And if they turn away, then say: Bear witness that
we are they who have surrendered (unto Him).
Incorporating the accounts in the hadîth, Louis Gardet fills out the story:
When the Muslim state spread down to the Yemen, the people of Najran sent an em-
bassy to Medina—seventy horsemen, fourteen nobles among them, led by the chief of
the artisans, the supervisor of the caravans and the bishop, all clad in their gala finery
of brocade. They came in among the people of the city and Mohammed allowed them
to go into the mosque and pray, turning towards the east. Then they were received
in audience. Mohammed upbraided them for believing in the divinity of Christ and
tried to convert them to Islam. The discussion became heated and Mohammed, in
line with the Koran, 3, 54 [3:61] proposed settling the matter the next morning by “or-
deal by execration.” At the meeting, the leaders of the Najran Christians declared that
they would not have recourse to this method. Terms were discussed and a pact signed
by which they placed themselves under the protection of Mohammed.61
62. Of great importance to Massignon is the significance of the four persons chosen by Muham-
mad to enter the trial at his side should the Christians agree. According to tradition, they were his
grandsons Hasan and Husayn, his daughter Fâtima, and his son-in-law ‘Alî. Gardet recalls that the
“story of this Mubâhala was specially cherished by the Shiites: there, in this solemn affirmation of
the unity of the divine nature, stood together the ‘five’ and the ‘people of the House.’ Miniatures por-
tray Mohammed facing the Najranites, folding in his cloak his four co-witnesses and guarantors, with
lightning flashing from his forehead.” Louis Gardet, Mohammedanism, trans. William W. F. Burridge
(New York: Hawthorne, 1961), 43. In his later years, Massignon became increasingly interested in Mus-
lim devotion to Fâtima, comparing it favorably to the Catholic hyperdulia lauded upon Mary. The
significance of the Marian apparition at Fatima, Portugal, was not lost on him. See especially Massi-
gnon, “La Mubâhala de Médine et l’hyperdulie de Fâtima,” in EM 1, 222–45; also “La notion du voeu et
la dévotion musulmane à Fâtima,” in EM 1, 245–64. Even the famous American bishop Fulton J. Sheen
(1895–1979) was aware of a Mary-Fâtima connection: “‘Fâtima peut être considérée en Islam comme
une figure de Marie, pour le second avènement de Jésus – comme Esther l’a été en Israël, avant le pre-
mier avènement’ (Mgr. Fulton Sheen).” BAL 9, 4.
63. Massignon, “Le Salut,” 141.
64. HI, 80.
65. Basetti-Sani, Muhammad, 28.
66. See Basetti-Sani, Muhammad. On Massignon and the historicity of St. Bonaventure’s account
of St. Francis and the trial by fire, see Tolan, Saint Francis, 294–99. See also Paul Moses, The Saint and
Islam: Massignon’s Positive Judgments 149
the Sultan: The Crusades, Islam, and Francis of Assisi’s Mission of Peace (Colorado Springs, Colo.: Image
Books, 2009), especially pp. 208–21.
67. HI, 80.
68. Massignon, Examen, 48.
150 Islam: Massignon’s Positive Judgments
servance he is sent to put into effect; the saint who has perfectly united
his will with the will of God is in everything and everywhere interpreting
directly the essential will of God, and participating in the divine nature,
‘transformed’ in God.”69
In Massignon’s reading, Muhammad was a prophet, but not a saint. His
religious experience amounted to instantaneous contacts with the Divine
Word, flashes of understanding, “like a flint when struck,” the content of
which was to be communicated verbatim. This was the “intellectual miracle”
by which Muhammad received the Qur’an. Each flash was a verse (âyah),
transcribed as it arrived, in the concise style of the Qur’an. However, “there
is no ‘discernment of spirits.’”70 Were Muhammad to practice discernment
in his communication of the Qur’an, then he might be guilty of associat-
ing partners (i.e., himself) to God (shirk). In fact, Muhammad so jealously
guarded the divine unity and so carefully resisted any hint of intermingling
of Creator and creature, that in that regard, as we have already seen, ac-
cording to Massignon’s reading he is comparable to Satan, Iblîs, in Islam. He
writes: “Two beings have been predestined to witness that the unity of God
is inaccessible, Iblîs before the angels in Heaven, Muhammad before the
men on earth; and both stopped half way: through love of the simple idea of
the Deity, which veiled God to them; and through abuse of the shahâda.” He
continues: “The one and the other defend, like two boundary marks of pure
nature, the threshold that the divine Spirit makes cross the sanctified beings
whom He introduces into Union through an unforeseeable and transnatu-
ral stratagem of love.”71 Massignon’s comment that both stopped halfway is
particularly important and in need of further explanation.
Massignon opens section three of HI with the following observation:
“Hagar was separated from Ishmael by ‘one bowshot’ [Gen. 21:16] in order
not to watch her son die. It was [to the distance of] ‘two bowshots or a bit
less’ that Muhammad, ‘at the hour when the star of the evening declines’
approached the place where the divine glory resides.”72 He is referring to an
episode in the prophet’s life known as the mi’râj, his ascension through the
heavens and approach to the divine essence. For Massignon the length of
two bowshots indicates not the proximity of Muhammad to the divine es-
sence, but rather that Muhammad either chose to refrain or was prohibited
from full access to God. Qur’an 53:6b–12 reads: “6b. [A]nd he grew clear to
view 7. when he was on the uppermost horizon. 8. Then he drew nigh and
came down, 9. until he was two bows’ length or even nearer, 10. and He re-
vealed unto His slave that which He revealed. 11. The heart lied not in what
it saw. 12. Will ye then dispute with him concerning what he seeth?”
According to Massignon, those verses indicate that Muhammad, out of
respect for the divine transcendence as well as holy and reverent fear of
God, chose not to go all the way, or to stop halfway, but as a Sufi proverb
reads: “He does not return who returns; that one having gone [only] half
way.”73 Explanations for Muhammad’s having gone halfway fall into three
categories. Muhammad either remained outside the “impenetrably dense
holiness” of God, or was really only privy to intercession by an unnamed
angel, or, if he was illuminated by the divine essence, then it was intellec-
tual illumination, not illumination of the heart (i.e., union).74
Patrick Laude has astutely and critically examined Massignon’s unique
interpretation of Qur’an 53:6–18. I quoted 53:6–12 previously; the remain-
ing verses read as follows: “13. And verily he saw him yet another time, 14.
by the lote tree of the utmost boundary, 15. nigh unto which is the Garden
of the Abode. 16. When that which shroudeth did enshroud the lote tree, 17.
the eye turned not aside nor yet was overbold. 18. Verily he saw one of the
greater revelations of his Lord.” Laude writes: “Massignon is less interested
in the symbolic suggestion of proximity implied by the Qur’anic expres-
sion ‘two bows’ length or even nearer’ than in the remaining distance that
it explicitly denotes.”75 Laude mentions a few early Sufi thinkers who, while
acknowledging the ultimate inaccessibility of the divine, nonetheless see
in this passage evidence of Muhammad’s having been graced with divine
proximity. However, he argues: “It is clear that Massignon tends to approach
the phenomenon of Muhammad in a way that emphasizes its specificity
vis-à-vis the Christic manifestation. The key concepts, here, are the inac-
cessibility of the Divine, and the consequent exclusion of the Prophet from
the ‘surrounding walls of Union.’ These traits contrast sharply with the im-
mediacy of the Incarnation in Jesus, and the discipline and path of mystical
union through Divine Love that constitutes His central teaching.”76 Hence
Massignon “understands the Prophet’s mystical vocation in light of, and in
73. One could say that, for Massignon, Avicenna went only halfway, while Ghazâlî went farther.
True mysticism demands going all the way. See “Avicenna,” 111–15.
74. HI, 69.
75. Laude, Pathways, 80.
76. Laude, Pathways, 76. Rocalve also reminds the reader that Massignon himself emphasized the
152 Islam: Massignon’s Positive Judgments
parallel with, Hagar’s hegira. Both are situated within the context of a dis-
tance, a hegira precisely, that prefigures the spiritual identity of Islam and
calls for a completion.”77 Therefore, as Laude observes:
Unable to enter the Garden of the Abode, which is the “consummation” of Divine
Presence, the Prophet only bears witness to transcendence, as a second Abraham that
has not known Christ. The Christian outlook of Massignon detects in this distance,
symbolically expressed by the “two bows’ length” that separates him from his vision,
a sign of the incomplete character of the way that he opens for his community. This is,
paradoxically perhaps, the source of a spiritual nostalgia for union, which Massignon
will pursue in the spiritual paths of tasawwuf. Massignon’s Sufism is entirely situated
within the space of this distance, and the lack that it entails, a remark that has pon-
derous consequences for the way in which he approaches Islamic mysticism.78
That Muhammad did not achieve full union with the divine has at least
two major and converging consequences. First, his “exclusion from divine
union, like the exclusion of Moses from the promised land, prepared the way
for others by causing them to desire the supreme exodus [hégire].”79 To those
sensitive to its implications, Muhammad’s journey provides a taste of what
could have been and what might be. That is what Laude means when he says
that Massignon’s Sufism is situated in the distance that Muhammad main-
tained. Sufism is the intra-Islamic attempt to complete Muhammad’s unfin-
ished supreme hegira.
The second consequence of Muhammad’s refusal is that, because he did
not enter into union, he did not know the interior life of God; he did not
know the Incarnation as St. Francis did. He writes: “In the seraphic miracle
at Alvernia, associating the angelic nature with the crucifixion, the stigmata
of Francis appeared precisely as a supernatural and exquisite compensation
for the human failure of Muhammad.”80 St. Francis is the beneficiary of the
stigmata in part because he knew the Incarnation and in part because he
was willing to go all the way. He was willing to die for proof of the union be-
tween Creator and creatures. His willingness so closely identified him with
Jesus, including Jesus’s own willing surrender to death out of love for the
Father and his fellow human beings, that he bore Jesus’s wounds physically.
Though Muhammad too was once willing to take up the ordeal, he did not
limitations rather than the positive aspects of Muhammad’s religious experience. See Rocalve, Louis
Massignon, 49.
77. Laude, Pathways, 76.
78. Laude, Pathways, 80.
79. HI, 70.
80. HI, 70.
Islam: Massignon’s Positive Judgments 153
receive the stigmata, because, according to a certain circuitous logic, his was
a testimony against going all the way. Therefore, “it must be observed that,
left at the doorstep, dazzled, he . . . excluded himself from understanding, ab
intra, the personal life of God who would have sanctified him.”81 The im-
plication is that had Muhammad achieved mystical union with the divine,
then he would somehow have come to a realization of the truth of God’s
having entered history in Jesus. He would have known the Incarnation. He
would have known God as Trinity. Instead, “Muhammad remains a ‘specta-
tor’ of the Divine Nature but he does not enter the spiration of Love that is
the internal life of God,” and therefore the Qur’an rejects the Trinitarian God
of Christian belief.82 It is a fascinating claim to which I will return. Here I
simply reiterate that because Muhammad “was not inclined to conceive the
Fiat of the Immaculate one [i.e., Mary] . . . he could only mark and proclaim
the divine inaccessibility.”83 Such hesitation extends throughout Muham-
mad’s ministry. Massignon explains:
Invited to pray for sinners, he did not dare to intercede for all of them. He stuck to the
limits of his origin; he prays only for those of the Muslim community. If he rediscov-
ers engraved in his memory the decree enjoining each person to worship the Creator,
he does not liberate [dégage] the final sense of the precept; his will does not dare ad-
here to the counsel of the perfect life; he refuses mystical aspirations and silences
them under pain of death for all future Muslims.
This marks the importance and the scandal of every mystical vocation in Islam; it
is not permitted even to try to pass beyond the doorway where Muhammad stopped
himself, nor to penetrate this “holy light” promised long ago to Abraham as his true
inheritance. [The holy light] is enclosed under glass, zojâja, and against it the lov-
ing moths come and destroy themselves. Wanting to complete the nocturnal ascent
begun by Mohammad . . . causes one to fall under the sword of the Law. “The law of
Mohammad puts to death the holy ones [saints] of God” says a Muslim adage; and
it crucifies them.84 No one has better proved this than Hussein ibn Mansur Hallâj,
contemporary of Photios85 and Formosus,86 dismembered87 and put to the cross in
Baghdad in 922, to the cry of “his execution will be the salvation of Islam; let his blood
fall on our necks”; all the while, burning with spiritual fire, and offering himself to die
anathema for his brethren, he announced the destruction of the (Meccan) temple and
the cessation of figurative sacrifices; this true Hussein, who—moreso than his name-
sake, the grandson of the prophet, [who] dies voluntarily “for Justice” at Kerbela—is
the ransom [porte-rançon] [of Muhammad] and the sanjâqdâr [standard bearer] of
Islam: for his ecstatic death by full participation in Christ, by lawful incorporation
to his Spouse of blood, summons Islam to admit that the crucifixion was really real,
after 309 years88 of a “suspended sentence”; at the moment when the twelfth Alide
imam disappeared definitively, and when the official text of the Qur’an was fixed
without variation. “It is in the confession of the cross that I will die, I no longer worry
about going to Mecca or Medina.”89
88. Hallâj was crucified in the year 309 of the Islamic calendar.
89. HI, 70–72.
Islam: Massignon’s Positive Judgments 155
Any coordination of the human will with the divine will is thus grounded
in Christ. For Massignon, the mystic’s union, whether in Islam or Christian-
ity, was temporary, while Jesus’s union was permanent.90 As we saw, there
is a mutually confirming relationship between the Church’s teaching about
the union of human and divine wills in Jesus and Sufism’s adoption of Je-
sus as the mystic par excellence, the exemplar of union with God.91 Muham-
mad himself, however, according to Massignon, resisted and even forbade
what Hallâj and others would eventually embrace. However, it is important
to reiterate that Muhammad’s lack of mystical vocation did not preclude
Massignon from assessing many aspects of the prophet’s character and mis-
sion positively. He summarizes: “We cannot easily adopt Ghazâlî’s hypothe-
sis that Muhammad was at first a ‘passionate lover of his God,’ wandering in
solitude on Mt. Hira and drunk with desire for union. But we must not, like
many orientalists led astray by the fuqahâ’s partisan reasoning, deny the
sincere and lasting vehemence of Muhammad’s devotion, indicated by his
severe discipline and frequent supererogatory prayers after midnight (taha-
jjud). Like all true leaders, he was hard on himself, and sometimes even on
his harem.”92
Qur’an
As mentioned previously, Massignon’s comments concerning the Qur’an
even in HI could be quite pejorative. For example: “Among the intermediate
means in religion, some are sterile [caduc], like signs that are meant to be
surpassed; others are permanent (vows, sacraments), and they transform
us when we assimilate them. Like the black Stone, the Qur’anic text is an
accidental and sterile means.”93 More typical of his later writings, however,
is the high esteem in which he held the Qur’an. One of the clearest expres-
sions of that esteem occurs in an article he wrote on the Seven Sleepers of
Ephesus, a pre-Islamic Christian legend that is appropriated in Sûra 18 of
the Qur’an. Massignon writes: “By putting the three ‘Abrahamic’ religions
on the same plane (and thus apart from others), I envisage the existence
90. Massignon’s position on the temporary nature of mystical union has been debated: “[I]t
needs to be tested further, though, in the context of certain descriptions of the highest degree of ec-
stasy as a continuous experience.” Ernst, Words, 47.
91. For a brief summary of Jesus according to Sufi tradition, see Khalidi, The Muslim Jesus, 41–43.
92. Massignon, Essay, 97.
93. HI, 89. However, as I indicated earlier, the pilgrimage, hajj, is a vow.
156 Islam: Massignon’s Positive Judgments
contemporaneous political situation, and sometimes from the old Arab pa-
ganism (which is legitimate, since it is a matter here and there of simple
examples, ad extra, the Hagarians having been excluded from the messianic
privileges).”98 Although it seems to confuse some biblical characters and
scenes, “thus imprisoning under literal and carnal ambiguities what were
formerly sources of grace,” it also fills in the biblical picture in interesting
ways.99 For example, as the reader has seen several times, it relates that the
judgment of the angels (Jude 1:6; 2 Peter 2:4) is related to God’s invitation
for them to bow down before Adam, a scene that, for Massignon, prefigures
the Incarnation. Finally, the Qur’an “can be considered as a truncated Ara-
bic edition of the Bible, joined with some previously unpublished material,
catching up the descendants of Ishmael, and one can apply to it the rule of
conditional authority conceded to some decisions of the anti-popes, in the
limits where it could constitute the ‘scriptural rule of the Abrahamic schism,
of the excluded Hagarians.’ The Qur’an would be to the Bible what Ishmael
was to Isaac.”100 In his early works the Qur’an:Bible::Ishmael:Isaac anal-
ogy appeared to preclude from the Qur’an any sense of inspiration. How-
ever, here it seems to support a qualified sense of Qur’anic inspiration. The
Qur’an is a truncated Arabic edition of the Bible; it catches up the descendants of
Ishmael; it enjoys conditional authority; it even constitutes the scriptural rule
of the Abrahamic schism. The entire next chapter is really an exposition of
those key judgments and descriptions, so I will not belabor the point here.
For now, I simply concur with Sidney Griffith: “Here Massignon is obviously
. . . struggling with the effort to put the Qur’an in a positive light, in terms
which would be familiar to pre-Vatican II Catholics, and which would sug-
gest some positive valuation of it while at the same time recognizing the
not entirely satisfactory status of the Islamic scripture in Catholic eyes.”101
Arabic
Louis Gardet notes that Massignon’s engagement with Arabic was like
“searching for a secret” or searching for “the real.”102 Paul Nwyia argues
that Massignon’s fascination with Arabic was at the same time “linguistic,
semantic, philosophical, religious, and mystical.”103 Nwyia also highlights
Massignon’s belief that the study of language could lead to a grasp of the
thought structure of a particular people. As Massignon says, “It is the lan-
guage, in effect, that is the vivifying form of each culture, the thing that
personalizes it, allows it to endure, allows one to love it. One can vary the
material content of a culture but, in a given language, the order of the pre-
sentation of the idea, the ‘interior syntax’ of all living morphology, cannot
change.”104 In this regard, Massignon follows in the footsteps of many other
European philologists who focused on non-European languages.105 I am
concerned only to show, briefly, the way that Massignon’s vision of Arabic
affected his understanding of Islam vis-à-vis the Church and Israel.
St. Paul says that Jews (Massignon would include Semites generally) de-
mand signs or miracles, while Greeks demand reasons (1 Cor. 1:22). Interest-
ingly, “for Islam the miracle is verbal, it is the Qur’anic i’jaz; the essential thing
in Islam is the Arabic language of the Qur’an, a linguistic miracle.”106 Arabic is
the vehicle of divine communication and thus, as a language, sacralized. In a
limited way, this might echo the Christian understanding of the Incarnation
as sacralizing all of creation, for in Jesus all orders of creation are present.
There are no approved translations of the Qur’an, only interpretations in oth-
er languages, because the Arabic language itself is central to the revelation.
Andrew Rippin notes that the doctrine of the inimitability (i’jaz) of the Qur’an
is “tied to an understanding of the nature of the Arabic language” and that
the “Qur’an, according to its own statements (Qur’an 12/2, 26/192–5) has been
revealed by God in a clear Arabic tongue and, the argument is made, must par-
senses are involved in Hallâj’s ecstatic cry âna al-haqq. Paul Nwyia, “Massignon ou une certaine vision
de la langue arabe,” Studia Islamica 50 (1979): 125. Nwyia’s article is the most exhaustive study of Mas-
signon and Arabic, and I recommend it especially for his grasp of the technical aspects of Massignon’s
vision. He shows how Massignon’s love of Arabic was nurtured by personal friendships and experi-
ences, including his conversion, after which he prayed for the first time in Arabic.
103. Nwyia, “Une certain vision,” 127, 126, 128.
104. Massignon, “La sauvegarde des cultures dans leur originalité,” in vol. 1 of Opera Minora, ed.
Youakim Moubarac (Beirut: Dar al-Maaref, 1963), 205.
105. For example, the Sanskrit scholar Wilhelm von Humboldt (1767–1835) believed “that lan-
guages are worth studying comparatively because the differences among languages correspond to the
differences among ‘peoples and races’—not so much peoples who might happen to (or learn to) speak
them, but the people who originally generated them.” For Humboldt, “language formation is a ‘task’
that each people or nation must ‘resolve’; it is an accomplishment of a people, an expression of their
intrinsic nature.” Tomoko Masuzawa, The Invention of World Religions: Or, How European Universalism
Was Preserved in the Language of Pluralism (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2005), 159–60.
106. Massignon, “L’involution sémantique du symbole dans les cultures sémitiques,” in EM 2, 269.
Islam: Massignon’s Positive Judgments 159
take in all the features of that language.” He concludes: “This sort of argument
is difficult, if not impossible, to evaluate, due to the lack of contemporaneous
profane literature by which the rhetorical accomplishment of the Qur’an can
actually be assessed; the argument remains a dogmatic one.”107 Whether he
was led there by Islamic dogma or by his own study, conversations, prayer,
and meditations (it was likely by all these things), Massignon accepted the
fact of the religious mission of Arabic to the world. Just as the Qur’an com-
municates its message independent of the personality of Muhammad, so too
Arabic communicates “the idea that it wants to express without yielding un-
der the grasp of the speaking subject who announces it.”108
To understand its mission, it helps to consider Massignon’s description
of Arabic in HI, where he writes:
[Arabic] condenses and coagulates—with a certain metallic hardness, and sometimes
a hyaline refulgence of crystal109—the idea that it wants to express, without yielding
under the grasp of the speaking subject who announces it. It is a Semitic language,
occupying thus an intermediary position between the Aryan and the agglutinate lan-
guages; and if in the other Semitic languages, the presentation of the idea is already,
for reasons of grammatical texture, elliptic110 and gnomic,111 intermittent and jerky,
then in Arabic, the only one which subsists as the language of a civilization, these
traits are exaggerated so that the idea gushes from the gangue112 of the phrase like a
spark from pure-ground silicon.
Islam, by making Arabic its “liturgical” language, favored, in the extreme, this
compact and dense hardening, this skeletal abstraction. It is in Arabic, neither in
Hebrew nor in Aramaic, that Semitism takes consciousness of its own grammatical
originality: tri-literality fixes the roots, verbal syntax relative to the action and not to
the agent, trivocal morphology (to learn to vocalize is to learn to think; the vowel en-
livens the shapeless and inert consonantal text) with unique inflexion for the nouns
and the verbs, holds sway over the morphology of the lexicon and the syntax—it is
in Arabic that these traits affirm themselves best, under the impression of Islam.113
In this way will be accomplished the mission of the Arabic language, which has been
the tongue of Islam, “submission of the faith,” only in order to become one day the
language of salâm, of Peace, proclaimed by the Messiah returning to Éretz Israël
thanks to the victory of an Arab mahdî, issued from the witnesses of the Mubâhala.
Under its dense and hard appearance, the Arabic language has been from all times
predestined to articulate this final salutation, this last word of pardon. It will be the
language of the promulgation of the second Coming, for it is the language of the
countries of Job and of the queen of Sheba, from whence the caravans of camels car-
ried the incense and the myrrh offered to the child-Savior, the nard and the aromatic
ointments prepared for the anointing at his tomb, the palm leaves raised before his
royalty, here below one day, and on high forever.121
birth of Jesus within them, anticipated by them in this advent of the Spirit of God, the
resurrection of the dead of which Jesus is the sign.
This double claim of Islam against the Jews and the Christians who abuse their
privileges as if they belonged to them by right and of themselves, this summons
which is as incisive as the sword of divine transcendence, whose unconditional rec-
ognition, and this alone, can perfect their vocation of holiness, is an eschatological
sign which ought to cause us to revive, with infinite respect, the second prayer of
Abraham, that of Beersheba.126
Islam will not be rejected forever. Islam is now a mysterious response of grace
to Abraham’s prayer for Ishmael (to be addressed fully in the next chapter).
Islam indeed has a positive mission. Islam makes a double claim against Jews
and Christians, because it belongs at the “Holy Table” with them. Christians
are obliged to take up Abraham’s prayer on behalf of Ishmael and his de-
scendants in order that God may bless them.
A key point of this passage, and the one that dominates Massignon’s
thought on the relationship of the Church and Islam from HI forward, is
that Islam’s positive mission to the Church entails calling Christians to a
life of holiness. In fact, it can perfect their vocation of holiness. He makes this
claim in various ways, and it usually revolves around the reference to rah-
bânîya, which requires a brief explanation. Qur’an 5:82b reads, “And thou
wilt find the nearest of them in affection to those who believe (to be) those
who say: Lo! We are Christians. That is because there are among them
priests and monks [râhib], and because they are not proud.” Qur’an 57:27
reads: “We caused Our messengers to follow in their [i.e., Noah’s and Abra-
ham’s] footsteps; and We caused Jesus, son of Mary, to follow, and gave him
the Gospel, and placed compassion and mercy in the hearts of those who
followed him. But monasticism [rahbânîya] they invented—We ordained it
not for them—only seeking Allah’s pleasure, and they observed it not with
right observance. So We give those of them who believe their reward, but
many of them are evil-livers.”
These texts are important to Massignon for many reasons. He believes
they justify the practice of monasticism within Islam, which he equates
with Sufism, despite the tradition to the contrary.127 Sufism, for instance, is
the desire to recover the perfect rule of life, as Massignon says of Muhâsibî’s
(781–857) Ri‘âya, “a book intended precisely to rediscover for believers
the ‘method’ (ri‘âya) that God had willed and the [Christian] monks had
lost.”128 Massignon also accepts the aforementioned Qur’anic passages quite
literally in the esteem they profess for Christian religious, the disappoint-
ment they profess toward Christian hypocrisy, and the hope they profess
that Christian monks will observe with right observance. That is what Mas-
signon means when he speaks of the second birth of Jesus in the long section
mentioned previously from “The Three Prayers of Abraham.” It is through
Christian holiness, Christian perfection, that Jesus is seen walking the earth
again in anticipation of his ultimate return. It is through an established rule
of life as well as vows to maintain such a life that God, through grace, per-
fects the soul. He asks: “[After thirteen centuries of Christian-Muslim en-
counter], who among us would dare to say that Christianity has found this
final Rule, teacher of sublime virtue, that would consummate men in uni-
ty, so that Islam could finally recognize there the living Gospel, the ‘fiat’ of
Mary actually lived . . . ?”129 In other words, Massignon thinks the Qur’anic
critique of Christians, at least on this score, is on the mark.
Islam perpetually calls one to surrender to the divine summons, to co-
operate with the divine plan, and, despite the failings of Muslims, Islam also
plays this role with respect to the Church. Massignon writes: “Islam exists
and will continue to survive because of its Abrahamic faith [and] in order
to force Christians to recover a method of sanctification more plain, more
primitive, more simple. I admit that Muslims [themselves] attain to this
state only very rarely, but it is our fault, because we have not yet shown to
them, in ourselves, that which they await from us, and from Christ.”130 They
have been waiting for centuries. If the simplicity of Islam was a problem for
Massignon in his early works, where it paled in comparison to the dogmatic
richness of the Christian tradition, in his later writings it is an asset that
potentially provokes the Church into fidelity to the Gospel. A favorite image
for Massignon in this period is of Islam as “the angelic lance that has stig-
matized Christianity.”131 That is, Islam menaces the Church by preventing
its mission to convert the world, thereby forcing the Church into ongoing
self-examination and self-critique.
I add two final notes. First, Massignon sometimes conflates Islam’s mis-
sion vis-à-vis the Church with its mission vis-à-vis Europe. For example, he
warns (eerily, given current events) that “Islam threatens to take the lead
of a general insurrection of the exploited against the superior scientific, fi-
nancial, technological oppression of a Europe without Messiah and without
God,” and that it may once again seize Constantinople, “the material symbol
of success . . . the city par excellence of Christian triumph.”132 The interde-
pendence of the religious and the national aspects of colonialism is as un-
deniable as it is complicated. His celebration of Islam’s simplicity was thus
not only spiritual but also cultural, and Massignon wonders whether the
Church of his day had become more interested in “exporting” to the Muslim
world “Western products” and “secular civilization” rather than “charity.”133
Second, as the reader knows, it was in an Islamic context and under the
protection and prayers of Muslim friends that Massignon converted to
Christ in 1908. In “Le Signe Marial,” decades later, he reiterates his debt to
Islam’s faith in the God of Abraham: “I hear a summons to superhuman
justice, which ascends, from believing, disadvantaged, colonized, despised
Muslims, and which awoke the Christian in me some forty years ago.”134
But he was not alone. As quoted earlier, Massignon attributed similar expe-
riences to Charles de Foucauld and Ernst Psichari. Islamic witness, at least
potentially and in some cases actually, awakens awareness of divine tran-
scendence, even leading souls to Christ, and that, for Massignon, may be
Islam’s greatest mission.
Conclusion
Massignon’s judgments regarding God, Muhammad, the Qur’an, Arabic,
and the mission of Islam can rightly be understood as theological doctrines
(as opposed to ecclesial doctrines, or dogma).135 They are provisional an-
132. HI, 114, 63–64. For more detail on this aspect of his thought, see Massignon, “Textes relatif à la
prise de Constantinople en 1453,” Oriens 6, no. 1 (1953): 10–17.
133. Massignon, “Le Salut,” 146.
134. Massignon, “Le Signe,” 219.
135. Some interpreters have rejected this line of thinking. According to Roger Arnaldez, Massi-
gnon never wished to be “mechanized,” organized, or systematized. It is therefore dangerous to make
an “article of faith” of what in Massignon might have been just an occasional expression or idea, for
in the end “Louis Massignon was not a professor of dogma but a master of life and thought.” Arnaldez
even felt Massignon’s writings “could be qualified as dangerous,” especially if one intended to inter-
pret them as doctrinal statements. See Arnaldez, “Abrahamisme,” 125. Georges Anawati also worried
that Massignon’s more enthusiastic “disciples” had perverted the “master’s” intentions by trying to sys-
166 Islam: Massignon’s Positive Judgments
tematize what were really “religious or intellectual intuitions expressed under a paradoxical form or
in poetic images.” Anawati, “Vers un dialogue islamo-chrétien,” Revue Thomiste 4 (1964): 605–6. More
recently, David Burrell has expressed similar caution, arguing that Massignon was “not himself a sys-
tematic thinker.” Burrell, “Mind and Heart at the Service of Muslim-Christian Understanding: Louis
Massignon as Trail Blazer,” Muslim World 88, no. 4 (1998): 277.
Islam: Abrahamic Schism
S ix
ISLAM
Abrahamic Schism
Guy Harpigny called the middle period of Massignon’s life and work his
Abrahamic cycle for good reason. In his writings about Islam in relation to
Christian faith during the 1930s and 1940s, Massignon articulated a simple
but profound thesis, that Islam is an Abrahamic religion. While Massignon’s
inclusive phrase “Abrahamic faiths”1 has become ubiquitous among enthu-
siasts of Jewish-Christian-Muslim dialogue, and while recent popes have
seemed to embrace the notion, still it is not the official position of the Catho-
lic Church.2 In its day, Massignon’s conviction was even more avant-garde. He
wrote that Islam is a “naked faith of childlike simplicity [enfantine], resigned
[resigné], lacking [sans] the flame of Jewish hope, smoldering [couvant] un-
der the ashes without the radiance of Christian love [dilection]; it witnesses to
the faith of Abraham, revived by Muhammad through an unshakeable and
ancestral conviction.”3 As such, Islam has “predisposed millions of men to a
sort of militant, svelte, and sober monastic discipline; it is not only a matter
of spontaneous hospitality and of fraternal charity . . . and of rigorously ob-
served fasting . . . but also, and above all, it is a contemplation, undertaken in
the hand of God, a quiet, immaterial, and sacred premonition of a pure omni-
present divine transcendence – in which the knowing Christian . . . recognizes
in its simplicity the patriarchal adoration of the earliest times.”4
167
168 Islam: Abrahamic Schism
Abrahamic Schism
Islam “is almost an Abrahamic schism, like Samarian religion and Talmud-
ism were Mosaic schisms, like Greek orthodoxy was a post-Chalcedonian
schism.”5 Such is Massignon’s revolutionary description of Islam. For much
of the Church’s history, Islam was considered, at least by some, as pagan,
infidel, or, worse, Satanic, but from John of Damascus (675–749) forward, a
consistent designation for Islam was heresy.6 Massignon, however, argued
that Islam is not a heresy at all. It is not like Nestorianism, the position of
a community that knowingly rejected Chalcedonian Christology.7 It does
not distort the message of the Bible, “like certain American sects.” Rather,
Islam is “a true community, which can be judged as infidel neither by the
law of fear nor the law of grace—for, although formed after their dispensa-
tion, it has been provided an abridgment of the Bible that places it anterior,
not only to Pentecost, but to the Decalogue.”8 One aspect of his argument
here is parallel to his defense of Muhammad. He is no false prophet; he does
not positively prophesy something false, as indicated in the previous chapter.
Instead, Massignon invented the category of negative prophet to acknowl-
edge the difference, even the insufficiency, of Muhammad’s preaching while
maintaining both that it was not contradictory to Church teaching and that
5. HI, 107.
6. As “defined by Canon Law, heresy is ‘the obstinate post-baptismal denial of some truth which
must be believed with divine and catholic faith,’” and for a long time it was assumed that this defini-
tion fit Muhammad and the movement he founded. See Fitzgerald, “Heresy,” 110. The view of Islam as
a heresy persisted at least into the first half of the twentieth century. For example, it is identified as
such in Hilaire Belloc, The Great Heresies (New York: Sheed and Ward, 1938). The early view of Pierre
Jean de Menasce, who would later acknowledge Massignon’s contribution to the Church’s more posi-
tive view of Islam, would be typical: “The biblical revelation, although poorly known, is not unknown
[in Islam] and is formally rejected with respect to the essential truths: the Incarnation and the Trin-
ity.” Quoted in Anthony O’Mahony, “The Influence of the Life and Thought of Louis Massignon on the
Catholic Church’s Relations with Islam,” The Downside Review 126, no. 3 (2008): 187–88 n. 27.
7. Massignon, “Le Signe,” 218.
8. HI, 107.
Islam: Abrahamic Schism 169
(the Bible) are not in conflict, the Qur’an remains authoritative, as would,
presumably, an anti-pope, but in the case of apparent contradiction, there
are two possibilities. Either the Qur’an warrants correction, because the
Church alone has the benefit of full and explicit knowledge of revelation, or
some higher viewpoint must be sought that makes sense of the difference. I
am convinced Massignon was mainly trying to do the latter.10
The higher viewpoint that Massignon embraced was to see in Islam
the fulfillment, millennia later, of God’s blessings upon Ishmael through
his promise to Abraham. If, in his early writings, Ishmael is the beneficiary
of temporal blessings alone, in his later writings, Islam is a “mysterious re-
sponse of grace to Abraham’s prayer for Ishmael and the Arabs.”11 Through
Islam, the “genealogical and legal expectation of the Messiah, reserved to
Israel, from which Ishmael was excluded, is finished.”12 Islam “completes
geographically the rhyme of the Christian verse, whose quantity appeared
thus satisfied for a thousand years.”13 Each of these passages, drawn from
various of Massignon’s mature writings, indicates that Islam represents the
completion of a grand narrative. As indicated in the previous chapter, Mas-
signon introduces the category of temporal involution—a mathematical term
that has to do with evolution in reverse direction—in order to explain the
incorporation of Islam into the Jewish and Christian lineage:
By a movement of temporal involution, by a return-climb [une remontée] toward the
most distant past, inversely symmetrical to the growing messianic waiting of the Jews
from Isaiah to Herod, Islam announces the closure of Revelation, the cessation of the
waiting: like a cone of ember projected in advance by the final eclipse of all created
things. Expatriate himself, like Ishmael, in his “exile,” which is the reversal of the ban-
ishment of Hagar, Mohammad leaves Mecca for Yathrib [later Medina], a city where
there are tribes converted to Judaism, and of which the name signifies “reprimand.”
There, at their contact, the awareness of his genealogy became a desire for avenging
his race. Before God, he reclaims Abraham and vindicates for the Arabs their heritage
(inheritance), spiritual and temporal.14
Ishmael’s blessings are now both spiritual and temporal. Through the
appearance of Muhammad and the Qur’an, and especially through Muham-
mad’s dawning awareness of his Abrahamic roots, Islam returns humanity
10. Rocalve sees this “Christian choice” as problematic, because it imposes a Christian authority
on the Qur’an. See Rocalve, Louis Massignon, 38.
11. Massignon, “The Three Prayers of Abraham,” 14; emphasis added.
12. Massignon, “Le Signe,” 218.
13. HI, 65.
14. HI, 65, emphasis added.
Islam: Abrahamic Schism 171
15. For a summary of the Islam as Abrahamism versus Islam as Ishmaelism debate, see Robinson,
“Abrahamic Religion”: 197–98; Harpigny, Islam et Christianisme, 89 n. 169; Joris-Karl Kuschel, Abraham:
Sign of Hope for Jews, Christians, and Muslims, trans. John Bowden (New York: Continuum, 1995), 219–
20. Eventually “the practitioners of the historical-critical methods of scholarship would systematically
rule out any plausible historical connection between Muhammad and the Arabs on the one hand, and
Ishmael and Abraham on the other.” Griffith, “Sharing,” 196. Presumably this is what led Anawati, gen-
tly criticizing Moubarac’s development of the Abrahamic thesis, to conclude that such a judgment was
“rather revolutionary.” Quoted in Rocalve, Louis Massignon, 24. As Neal Robinson states, either way,
“from a Christian perspective . . . the Abrahamic status of Islam is not dependent on the Arabs being
Abraham’s physical descendants,” for “after all, Christians maintain that they themselves are Abra-
ham’s spiritual heirs, not that they are descended from him.” Robinson, “Abrahamic Religion,” 199. Pim
Valkenberg agrees: “It is [the] reference to the faith of Abraham [i.e., not biological lineage] which in
my opinion is decisive for the use of his name in the dialogue between Christians and Muslims today.”
Valkenberg, “Does the Concept of ‘Abrahamic Religions’ Have a Future?” in Islam and Enlightenment:
New Issues, eds. Erik Borgman and Pim Valkenberg (London: SCM Press, 2005), 104. For the believing
Muslim, there is no question about the historicity of the Abraham-Ishmael-Arab-Muhammad-Islam
lineage. A recent biography of Muhammad by a respected Muslim scholar of Islam opens with the
biblical account of the births of Isaac and Ishmael and concludes: “Not one but two great nations were
to look back to Abraham as their father—two great nations, that is, two guided powers, two instru-
ments to work the Will of Heaven, for God does not promise as a blessing that which is profane, nor
is there any greatness before God except greatness in the Spirit.” Martin Lings, Muhammad: His Life
Based on the Earliest Sources (Rochester, Vt.: Inner Traditions International, 1983), 1. For the scholar of
religion who employs historical-critical analysis, such a connection is highly improbable. The believ-
ing Christian meets alternative possibilities. Massignon, like the pre-modern Church, simply assumed
the historicity of Abraham, Ishmael, and their relationship to the Arabs. It is worth noting that the fa-
thers of the Second Vatican Council endorsed neither Islam’s historical connection to Abraham nor its
spiritual claim to his blessing upon Ishmael. They referred instead to “Abraham, with whom the faith
of Islam takes pleasure in linking itself” (Nostra Aetate, 3) and to “the Muslims, who [profess] to hold
the faith of Abraham” (Lumen Gentium 16). However, the Council did not close the door on the matter.
It deferred judgment on Islam as an “Abrahamic faith” pending further research. Caspar, “La vision,”
139. Post–Vatican II documents and attitudes seem to nudge the Church forward on this question. See
Unsworth, “John Paul II,” 253–302.
172 Islam: Abrahamic Schism
ily life (Jewish and Christian history) has proceeded without this group, as
family life does. The estranged members have been caught up on key points
of family history (Jewish and Christian history and thought), but their re-
port (the Qur’an) was only a truncated edition or an abridgment of the full-
er narrative. In some ways the exiled descendants enjoy a keener sense of
what it means to be part of this family than do the acknowledged members
(Islam’s positive mission confirms Jesus as Messiah and rebukes both Israel
and the Church for failing in their vocations to holiness and universalism).
In other ways, the exiled descendants have much to learn about the signifi-
cance of their heredity.
The notion of temporal involution had an eschatological aspect for Mas-
signon; it also seems to have depended upon the particulars of the era in
which he wrote:
Since Columbus and Magellan, the cycle of global discovery has been completed, and
symmetrically the three Abrahamic expansions, namely the dispersion of the Jewish
Diaspora, the conquests of the Muslim Holy War, and colonization by Christian na-
tions, have [also] come to completion.
It seems that, by an Einsteinian curvature of time, the expansions are causing us
to return to the time of Abraham, father of all believers, and that the commandment
“Lèsh Lèsha” (“Depart from your city”) once again casts unskilled workers beyond na-
tional borders, in the wandering life of transhumances,16 the last believing pilgrims
in the apostolate of universal compassion.17
the same time.18 There he argues in very succinct fashion the pillars of his
Catholic understanding of Islam. It provides a kind of theoretical framework
for the pastoral emphasis that dominates his letters and convocations to the
Badaliya sodality, explored in the next chapter. It is for that reason that pre-
vious scholars (especially Borrmans and O’Mahony) identified the letter as a
cornerstone of Massignon’s mature vision.19
First, Massignon claims that Christians are privy to a fuller revelation
than are Muslims, and he reminds Christians of the terrible responsibility
that accompanies their privileged position: “One must keep in mind, above
all else, that the Muslims have not yet received from God all the graces,
whether private or public-sacramental, which the Christians are redoubt-
ably privileged to have obtained. [The privilege is] redoubtable for them,
[especially] if they abuse it by scorning the Muslims to whom God has not
yet given [the graces].”20 He then summarizes for Charles-Barzel his under-
standing of Islam as an Abrahamic schism, that is, a religion of patriarchal
faith, reminding her of the necessity of conversing with one’s interlocutor
according to his status vis-à-vis God’s revelation: “In the history of human-
ity, we have three religious periods: 1) the state of nature, wounded by the
sin of Adam, corresponding to the patriarchal epoch; 2) the legal state that
begins with the Decalogue at Sinai; 3) the evangelical state that begins with
Christ and Pentecost. It is absurd to dialogue with a Jewish believer as if he
had arrived at the evangelical state; he is still under the Law of fear. In the
same way, it is absurd to dialogue with a Muslim as if he had arrived either
at the legal state or the evangelical state.”21 To expect one’s partner to accept
evangelical faith as a precondition for dialogue is a failed strategy.22
He specifies the status of Islam: “Islam is still in the patriarchal state, at
the time of Abraham. The fact that Muhammad preached 600 years after
Pentecost and that the Qur’an acknowledges Moses and Jesus, son of Mary,
does not preclude Islam from remaining in the patriarchal, rather primitive,
state, where the moral conscience, which is admirably enlightened on obe-
dience to God, first served, and on the prohibition of idolatry, is not yet fully
illuminated on matters such as polygamy, concubinage, kidnapping, and
the ruses de guerre.”23 According to Massignon, none of this is surprising,
for spiritual and moral development is gradual, no less for Christians than
for Muslims: “Even the Christians, already arrived at the evangelical state,
have been slow to condemn those things mentioned above. Alas! They still
practice them, knowing it is evil to do so, whereas it is only by contact with
us that the Muslim masses even realize such things are evil.”24 Only when
they realize the immorality of such acts are Muslims fully culpable for
committing them. Therefore, because he remained in the patriarchal state,
where such things were permissible, Muhammad could “ingeniously prac-
tice ruses de guerre and the most atrocious acts of vengeful retaliation with
an untroubled conscience.”25 Even on “the question of women,” Muham-
mad’s practice of maintaining a harem was not fully blameworthy, for he
was practicing “the polygamy of the Patriarchs before the Law.”26 Besides,
the comparison of Christian and Muslim moral tenets is unfair, because
“Muhammad founded a temporal state, whereas Jesus never had to govern
a temporal state”; in fact, “Muslims reproach us for having an impracticable
Law,” for they argue that “their law is more proportioned to the capacity of
the average person.”27 All of this, for Massignon, mitigates the apparent de-
ficiency of Muslim morality when compared with Christian morality.
It is uncontroversial in Catholic theology to acknowledge that at any
given time different individuals, communities, or geographic regions may
have achieved different levels of intellectual, moral, or even religious ma-
turity. That assumption has grounded centuries of missionary activity. Mas-
signon raises a much more troubling question: “How could God allow the
Christian East to regress from the evangelical state to the patriarchal state
through the arrival of Islam?”28 It is one thing to acknowledge, even to ex-
cuse, the deficiencies of Islam. It is quite another thing to grapple with the
historical reality that this supposedly inferior tradition has largely replaced
God’s favored people (the Church) from the homeland of His Son. Massi-
gnon’s answer is twofold. He first proposes an analogy between Islam’s re-
lationship to Near Eastern Christianity and Protestant Christianity’s rela-
Paolo Dall’Oglio has argued that with the mature Massignon “there is a shift
from a missiology of the Triumph of the Church, which is parallel to colo-
39. In that respect, one wonders about the conversation between Isaac and Ishmael at the burial
of their father, Abraham.
40. Massignon, “Le Signe,” 220.
178 Islam: Abrahamic Schism
hospitality is the basis for the final judgment.53 It is crucial to note that he
identified Muslims as the poor and the least of his day, and in a creative vari-
ation on Matthew 25, he writes: “At the hour of judgment, Christ will say to
us, under the appearance of a Muslim brother, Marid’to falam ta odni, ‘I was
sick, and you did not visit me; I was unjustly treated by your brothers, and
you did not compel them to render justice unto me.’”54 As with liberation
theologians’ privileging of the poor, Massignon made a fundamental option
for Muslims. Such an attitude was, and remains, revolutionary. Muslims are
not an obstacle to be overcome; they are not even primarily a people to be
converted. Muslims are the least among us; they are to be welcomed home
and offered hospitality, which is to say they are to be served.
That is not to say Christians should abandon their beliefs. The Church
remains bound to preach the Good News, to communicate the full doctrinal
elaboration of creedal Christian faith. In “Le Salut de l’Islam,” the article in
which Massignon is most directly concerned with the question of the salva-
tion of Muslims, he acknowledges that beyond a new hospitable orienta-
tion, beyond acceptance of Islam as an Abrahamic brother, there remains
the problem that Islam’s faith is merely theologal, to borrow his own term.
Even if sûra 112 and other Qur’anic passages can be interpreted as not refut-
ing the Christian mysteries of Trinity, Incarnation, and Redemption, they
do not affirm them either, and recognition of those mysteries is necessary
for a full and explicit—theological—faith. He asks, “In a more precise way,
along what axes could one extend and perfect the orientation [démarche] of
Islam? Under what conditions could the fullness of the gift of Salvation be
realized and revealed little by little to this warrior and faithful people? How
can we ease, or rather, how can we liberate their own vision of salvation
from a certain spirit of servitude?”55 His answer may surprise the reader. It
authentically Christian city, except perhaps among the visitors to prisons. I became a prison-visitor
and I must say that I found the presence of God much more there in prison than among free people
and among the people of power. This kind of presence of God in the city, under a paradoxical form,
appears next to [arrive à travers] sin by a certain solidarity that reproaches honest people vis-à-vis sin-
ners.” Quoted in Keryell, Jardin donné, 152–53. Dorothy Buck echoes Keryell’s point when she reminds
the reader that Massignon “discovered that his own Christian religious experience was enhanced
rather than threatened or diminished. He called this engagement with the Muslim community, ‘sacred
hospitality.’” Buck, Dialogues, 205.
53. Keryell, L’hospitalité, 25.
54. Massignon, “Le Salut,” 149.
55. “Le Salut,” 147. On the Arabs as a “warrior and faithful people,” Massignon writes: “Abraham
consented to [the] exile [of his son Ishmael] in the desert, provided that Ishmael’s descendants could
survive there, endowed by God for their life in this world with a certain privileged perpetuity which
distinguishes that Ishmaelite Arab race with a vocation to the sword, to ‘iron, wherein is mighty pow-
Islam: Abrahamic Schism 181
may even strike us as counterintuitive, given his desire for fraternity and
common worship. He argues that “our ‘witness’ must include [a lived] faith
in the Trinity.”56
Why Trinity? It seems an obstacle rather than an opportunity, but Trini-
tarian faith witnesses to “the dynamism of the divine life.” The Muslim al-
ready “has the sense of the sovereign will of God.” Even more profoundly,
he has the sense of God as “pure Act.”57 It is not necessary to bring to “our
brother” the “God of the philosophers who is Act,” as the structure of the
Summa Contra Gentiles shows Thomas Aquinas already knew in the thir-
teenth century.58 Instead, one must offer the “sovereignly vital and beauti-
ful revelation of Trinitarian truth, of the procession of love by which we
have been invited to participate in Faith.”59 But the only way to offer this
Trinitarian faith is for Christians to draw upon God as their only source so
that “his transcendence can manifest itself by a mystery of love,” for Trini-
tarian faith allows us to participate “in the procession of love,” and the
“Charity of God is mediated by our charity.”60 By embracing and appropriat-
ing in their lives the particularity of the triune God—that is, by participat-
ing in the life of the Spirit who proceeds in love from the Father and the
Son—Christians call “the children of the world to realize their condition as
children of God.”61
In its particular relations with Islam, the Church must first “alleviate the
Muslim’s concerns to establish his Arab filiation with . . . Abraham by assur-
ing him through witness and proof of the divine Paternity from which he is
no longer excluded.”62 Then, by living the missions of the Son and the Spirit,
the Church incorporates the historical Abrahamic lineage of the three faiths
in a higher spiritual orientation toward the one true God. Ultimately it is
not about one’s relation to Abraham; it is about one’s relationship with and
participation in the life of God. If the Examen is an apologetic and doctrinal
er’ (Qu’ran 57:25), which, with the birth of Islam, held sway over the idolaters. Against the latter, im-
placable holy war has been declared so long as they do not confess that there is only one God, the God
of Abraham—‘the first Muslim.’” “The Three Prayers of Abraham,” 13.
56. Massignon, “Le Salut,” 147.
57. Massignon, “Le Salut,” 147.
58. Aquinas also already knew that “the notion of generation in Islam has always been taken in
a physical [and therefore problematic] sense.” Joseph Ellul, “The Issue of Muslim-Christian Dialogue:
Nostra Aetate Revisited,” Angelicum 84 (2007): 369.
59. Massignon, “Le Salut,” 147.
60. “Le Salut,” 147. Of course, Massignon had long argued that a “dynamic” sense of God existed
within Sufism, especially in Hallâjian thought. See “Notion de ‘l’essentiel désir.’”
61. Massignon, “Le Salut,” 147.
62. Massignon, “Le Salut,” 147.
182 Islam: Abrahamic Schism
63. Jacques Dupuis, Christianity and the Religions: From Confrontation to Dialogue (Maryknoll, N.Y.:
Orbis, 2001), 255–58.
64. Massignon, “Le Salut,” 146.
65. All quoted material in this paragraph is from “Le Salut,” 146.
66. Massignon, “Le Salut,” 147.
Islam: Abrahamic Schism 183
of the Badaliya were wont to do. More important, in its prayer “the Church
itself will be elevated by the unshakeable faith of the descendants of Ish-
mael in the God of Abraham.”67 Catholic prayer not only recommends Mus-
lims to God but it also helps Catholics themselves realize the authenticity of
Islamic faith and communion. The Church, if she pays prayerful attention,
can be inspired and uplifted by the faith of Muslims.
Next, Catholics must put their prayer into action. They must live holy
lives. They must recall the rahbânîya. Muslims are watching, waiting to see
whether Christians will finally live according to an authentically evangelical
Rule of life. He writes that “for Muslims (for Ibn ‘Arabî above all) Christ is
the Spirit of the unique Rule of the perfection of life,” and if anything “at-
tracts the profound instinct of Muslims toward us”—and this is the Catho-
lic advantage vis-à-vis the Protestants—it is undoubtedly “our Religious
contemplatives.”68 How to establish this rule? Christians must live Marian
lives. As did Mary, they must answer “yes” to the divine will. As did Mary,
they must conceive the word of truth in themselves, and then they must
birth or communicate it. They must also, as we saw in chapter 2, ask Mary
to intercede for virile Muslims.
Hussain and Zayd and on the social vocation of men like Ibn Hanbal, Ghazâlî, and
Niyazi Misri, then one glimpses the profound truth of the program that was fixed by
the first Muslim mystics, Antaki, Mohâsibi and Jonayd, whose purpose was to real-
ize the monastic life, rahbânîya—“conform to the good pleasure of God”—which was
first sketched by the Christian hermits of whom the Qur’an speaks in a famous verse
(47:27). Those Muslims set out to perfect and to practice the rule of life (ri’âya) that
the Christians did not perfectly follow. It was for them, and is always, about founding
under the sign of Jesus, son of Mary, “seal of the saints,” the true Islam, the one of the
voluntarily excluded ones, the spiritual expatriates, prefigured by the Arab patriarch
Ayyoûb (Job) before Abraham, the Muslim community of the end times, wherein the
supreme emigration [hégire] must coincide with the second coming of Jesus, and that
must complete the mi’râj of Muhammad. For “Islam began in the expatriation to Me-
dina and it will conclude in the expatriation to Jerusalem [the first and final qibla]
and blessed are the members of community of Muhammad who expatriate them-
selves,” says the hadîth al ghorba.
It is upon this foundation that indirectly the [Khadiric] movement of the Mus-
lim congregations—unfortunately distracted by the quest for mechanical ecstatic
techniques—has realized authentic sacrifice and prayers. And it will be the ground of
the final junction between Islam and Christianity, since, as Ursula Benincasa [1547–
1618]75 and Charles de Foucauld, following Raymon Llull [1232–1315], thought, it is
only by the establishment of an order of cloistered contemplatives in Muslim lands
that the entente will be realized; in this “Abbey of divine love” about which Mary of
the Valleys [d. 1656]76 and Shustarî (who called it the “Convent of Wine” consecrated
and reserved in Islam for paradise) have spoken.77
There are several key points in that long and extremely important quo-
tation. First, the mystical vocations and lives of Muslim saints are seeded
by the Holy Spirit. They represent not merely natural or human striving to-
ward God, they respond to direct prompting from God. Second, the hero-
ism, piety, and sanctity of extraordinary persons have always served to pu-
rify Islam from within. That is the heart of Massignon’s approach and the
fruit of his interiorist disposition. As I quoted earlier, it is not a matter of
the Church converting Muslims as though they knew nothing of the one
God. It is a matter of observing, tending, and nurturing what the Holy Spirit
has planted. Third, authentic Sufism constitutes what Massignon calls true
Islam. It is an interiorized, intentional Islam that focuses on the common
good and seeks personal relationship with God. Fourth, Sufism directly an-
swers the challenge issued by the Qur’an to Christian monks who have not
lived up to the goals they set for themselves. The Muslim Jesus is the mystic
or saint par excellence, the “seal of the saints,” and the spiritual guide of the
willing expatriates, the true Muslims. Thus, the entire Sufi project is colored
with a Christian characterization.78 Notice, however, that the characteriza-
tion is derived from strictly Muslim sources, for example, Qur’an and Sufi
tradition. In Massignon’s interpretation, Sufism and Christian monasti-
cism cannot be seen as two completely separate entities, for in the Qur’anic
worldview they are interrelated, mutually mediated attempts at achieving
the perfection to which God calls all humans. For that reason, Massignon
invokes the memory of Llull, Benincasa, and Foucauld and encourages the
establishment of Christian monasteries among Muslims. They potentially
stimulate Muslim desire to perfect the “rule of life” and simultaneously wit-
ness that any Christian-Muslim integration (without denying real differ-
ences) will be based upon authentic selfless sacrificial love and desire for
union with God. There is the ground of the final junction between Islam and
Christianity. It is difficult to interpret Massignon’s invocation of Mary of the
Valleys and Shustari and their respective calls for an abbey of divine love and
a convent of wine. It could envision a tertium quid, an actual contemplative
community in which Muslims and Christians work and pray together. Or
he may have in mind that independent but likeminded, mutually influ-
encing, and increasingly cooperative communities must arise simultane-
ously among Christians and Muslims. His Badaliya sodality (discussed in
the next chapter) certainly pointed in that direction. The members interior-
ized aspects of Islam, hosted discussions and meals among Christians and
Muslims, and organized joint projects of social activism. The Jesuit Paolo
Dall’Oglio’s Syrian monastery, Deir Mar Musa, witnesses to Massignon’s vi-
sion today: “It is a shared [between Louis Massignon and Mary Kahil] dream
of a Monastery of Love in which contemplative men and women share in
silence, contemplation, and hospitality, a central ‘Abrahamic,’ Arab, Middle
Eastern and evangelical concept for Islam.”79
On authentic Sufism as the Islamic partner in the entente between the
No, it would not be overbold to suggest such a thing, since his entire Badali-
ya project was dedicated to a reimagining of the Catholic missionary en-
deavor among Muslims. But that is the subject of chapter 7.
Conclusion
Islam is an Abrahamic religion, or, in relation to the Church, an Abraha-
mic schism. God’s blessings upon Ishmael in Genesis were not simply tem-
poral; they were also spiritual. Islam’s appearance and sustenance in his-
tory indicates the return of the exiled Hagarian lineage to claim its rightful
place among the descendants of Isaac, namely Jews and Christians, at the
Abrahamic table. Islam must be thought of primarily not as a rejection of
Christianity, but as a reminder of the validity of patriarchal Abrahamic faith
in the absolutely transcendent One. In that sense, one can even say that
Islam has a positive religious mission vis-à-vis the Church. Like the lance in
the side of Jesus, Islam continually hounds and stigmatizes the Church, re-
minding her of her privileges and admonishing her to realize the lofty stan-
dard of Christlike living that she set for her members, especially by estab-
lishing and faithfully following a rule of life that would allow Christ to be
born again among us. The Church, in its relations with Muslims, ought first
and foremost to extend hospitality toward the exiled brethren. She ought to
welcome the Muslims home. Only after convincing her Muslim neighbors
that she concedes their rightful Abrahamic claim should the Church pre-
sume to teach Muslims about the Christian mysteries to which they have
not been privy. Until then, the Church can recognize the conditional au-
thority of the truncated or abridged Arabic edition of the Bible, the scrip-
tural rule of the Abrahamic schism, the Qur’an.
Finally, the Church must recognize in Sufism a Christological orienta-
tion within Islam itself. Massignon once made this astonishing confession:
“We discover the ultimate meaning of the word ‘Islam,’ surrender [aban-
don], in the martyrdom of an al-Hallâj.”84 Hallâj is the epitome of Islam for
Massignon, but he is also the proof that Sufism derives from the ground of
the final junction between Islam and Christianity.
Massignon’s is not merely a traditional theology of religions or missiolo-
gy thought out in terms of the preparatio evangelica. In that theory, the seeds
of the Word are scattered among the world’s religions such that in their de-
CHURCH
Badaliya
Louis Massignon was, after his return, a dedicated member of the Catholic
Church. Solicitous of ecclesial approval for his various projects, he met with
several popes, befriended a future pope, and enlisted the assistance of vari-
ous bishops and priests in his efforts toward Christian-Muslim understand-
ing and other concerns. Pope Pius XI even reportedly said to him, “You are
in fact a Muslim Catholic.”1 However, he could certainly be critical of the in-
stitutional Church. He transferred to the Melkite rite, at least in part in order
to escape what he perceived to be excessive bureaucratic foci and a too-easy
relationship with political power in the Roman Church, although the trans-
fer mainly facilitated his desire to pray the liturgy in Arabic in order to re-
main close to the tongue of Jesus (in anticipation of the eschatological ban-
quet), to the Church of the Middle East, and to his Islamic apostolate. Still,
whatever reservations he entertained, and despite his global scholarship
and interreligious interests, he remained committed to the Catholic Church
in all its particularity.
At one point in the Examen, Massignon’s interlocutor Ibn al-Torjoman
takes the separation of the various churches as evidence of the lack of any
real authority in the universal Church. Massignon, sensitive to the charge,
especially from a Muslim, whose community is centered on a single text
and a basically uniform set of canonical practices, emphasizes the interpre-
tative authority of the magisterium:
190
Church: Badaliya 191
The Church in nineteen centuries has never been deprived of the effective presence
of a teaching authority, which rests with the Popes in the Roman Apostolic Chair. This
authority is legitimate because its founder, St. Peter, the first to announce the Messiah,
was expressly invested with the doctrinal magisterium three times by Jesus himself
(Luke 22:31; Matt. 26:18; John 21:15). The infallibility of his orthodoxy is guaranteed by
the invisible Holy Spirit who guides the Church through its various levels of hierarchy
and who especially assists the Pope in his exposition of the deposit of the faith.2
Massignon was a man of his time, and the most proximate council was the
First Vatican Council, at which papal infallibility, under all the prescribed
conditions, was affirmed as dogma. Still, it is instructive that he so force-
fully defends Roman hierarchical authority, an enthusiasm not always as-
sociated with those who work for ecumenical and interreligious fellowship.
By the time of his later writings, Massignon’s notion of the Church had
expanded. He maintained his commitment to the hierarchical and sacra-
mental life of the institutional Church but distinguished what he called the
body and the soul of the Church. That distinction allowed him to incorporate
to the soul of the Church persons who were not explicitly Catholic or even
Christian. The criterion for such inclusion was sanctity, which in Massign-
on’s understanding meant conformity, whether knowing or unknowing on
the part of the saint, to the life, teachings, and passion of Christ. The soul of
the Church, therefore, was a collective of saints—as described in chapter 3,
that is, the fulfillment of substitute spirituality—and the sodality that Mas-
signon founded with Mary Kahil, the Badaliya, had as one of its aims the
conversion of Muslims to Christ, but from within Islam, without necessar-
ily explicit conversion to the body of the Church. I begin this chapter by
returning to Massignon’s notion of sanctity and its connection to substitute
2. Massignon, Examen, 37. By way of contrast, Massignon criticizes the traditional Muslim un-
derstanding of teaching authority. He writes: “1) ‘the authority of the ancients’ (Salaf) is weak when
one considers the discussion of the Companions of Muhammad. 2) ‘personal sentiment,’ wherein the
evidence is too individual. 3) universal consent (ijma’), which has never been realized in a council of
ulemas. [However,] whatever the Church teaches by pontifical authority is corroborated by tradition,
by the conviction of the saints throughout history and by the absence of contradiction among doctri-
nal and moral pronouncements promulgated by the thousands during nineteen centuries as much by
the ecumenical councils as by the popes.” Examen, 37 n. 49. From a political perspective, Massignon
found the lack of clear centralized authority in Islam equally problematic. As he reports it, so did
many Muslims themselves. In 1920, in a list of Muslim “demands,” he includes the re-establishment
of the caliphate: “The Moslems are doubtless willing (and they have proved it) to be loyal subjects,
and faithful citizens of foreign states; but, in order to have the assurance of the Divine mercy and to
persevere patiently in the united observance of their faith, they need to know, to proclaim and to have
it recognized that somewhere on this earth there is a Muslim chief whose authority comes from God
alone, who maintains the prescribed rules intact and punishes illegal acts in accordance with the text
of the Koran.” See “What Moslems Expect,” 16.
192 Church: Badaliya
spirituality, but I focus on his notion of the real elite, the collection of holy
persons across confessional boundaries. Then, I introduce his work in the
Badaliya, which best represents Massignon’s vision for the Church at large.
I include a treatment of the sensitive and controversial question of explicit
conversion to the Church through sacramental baptism of Muslims who
may experience an interior conversion to Christ. Finally, I conclude with a
note on the increasing importance in Massignon’s scholarship and personal
spiritual discipline of holy Christian-Muslim bridge figures, including the
Seven Sleepers of Ephesus, Salmân Pâk, Fâtima, and Hallâj.
Real Elite
In the Examen, Massignon explained the Christian understanding of the
possibility for transformation of suffering and evil through self-sacrificial
love as the law revealed by Jesus and communicated in and through the
Church’s sacraments. In his later writings, he refers to that same dynamic
as the secret of history, whose realization he discovers within a horizon that
has expanded when compared to his early reflections on the law. Reflecting
on the social disruption often caused by substitute saints, he writes: “The
impact of ‘heroic compassion’ on most of our human, traditional, and leg-
endary records (and legend is an immediate projection of the event in the
world of symbols), shows that there is the secret of history, and that this se-
cret is disclosed only to an elite, tested only by men of sorrow and compas-
sion, born to assume the blind anguish of living multitudes and to under-
stand and announce its transcendental glory.”3 The secret of history reveals
that evil cannot be overcome by power or violence. Instead it can only be
transformed through redemptive suffering, or extreme compassion, or lov-
ing substitution, all of which for Massignon refer to the same reality. Only
persons of sorrow and compassion willing to assume the blind anguish of oth-
ers can orient the rest of us toward transcendental glory.
What does Massignon mean by elite, a term that conjures all sorts of
meanings for different people? In an article written in 1959, “The Notion of
‘Real Elite’ in Sociology and in History,” Massignon explains what he means
by real elite by way of contrast with those people normally perceived to be
the elite of a given society.4 About the latter he writes:
There is an inequality among men; a minority exists in every epoch and in every
group. The cohesion of this minority has been sustained in a lasting and almost mag-
netic fashion by its “historical basis of reaction,” its social vitality and action of per-
suasion. We read in Ecclesiastes of a certain person who suddenly showed himself
capable of saving everything when the city was threatened, but fell back again into
obscurity when the danger subsided. Posterity is grateful to them, to these superior
men, these animators, pace-setters, inventors, and discoverers. They are the “great
men” inscribed on Auguste Comte’s universal calendar of positivism and, more re-
cently, celebrated on the international calendar of UNESCO. But the cult of such men
dies with the earthly cities which they have made flourish through some accidental
invention (vanishing like the epidemic that it has wiped out) without much regard
for their true personality.5
Such are the heroes of secular society, but they are not, for Massignon, the
real elite. Neither are royalty, politicians, intellectuals, priests, the wealthy,
the famous, etc. The real elite often go unnoticed during their own lifetime.
Not content simply to fend off suffering, as are the great men mentioned
in the long quotation previously, they go further, identifying with, assum-
ing, and transforming suffering. Distinct from the men and women whose
inventions may long benefit societies but whose personalities remain vir-
tually irrelevant, the real elite (“Hindus call them mahatmas, Arabs abdâl,
and Christians saints”), once discovered, are remembered precisely for the
personalities they formed under the extraordinary trials they voluntarily
accepted.6 Massignon continues: “If their posthumous renown gives to their
name a special glory, it is not because of their posthumous life, which spirit-
ists and theosophists have not been able to establish with certainty, but to
their apotropaion character. That is to say, they are not isolated in time but
become part of a homogenous series, bearing witness to the same certitude
about the efficacy of spiritual means in improving corrupted social and po-
litical situations with their sense of compassion for the universal.”7 Those
who manifest sanctity are in relationship with each other in a community
of saints that transcends cultural and temporal boundaries. They are apo-
tropaic, that is, healing and protective elements, which for Massignon is evi-
dence of the divine hand at work. God chooses His servants, and through
those servants God heals and redeems a largely unaware population of sin-
ners. The effects are often noticed only in hindsight. The apotropaic saint,
ties in which they live. The saints elevate the masses. Collectively they are
for Massignon akin to the principle of Archimedes, to which I referred in
chapter 1, that is, the fulcrum that elevates the world. For example, Hallâj’s
execution brought opposed factions together into a unity; Abraham’s inter-
cession for Sodom was granted, though the righteous could not be found;
subsequent to Jesus’s crucifixion, the Holy Spirit was sent to the apostles at
Pentecost and the sacramental life of the Church was born; Gandhi’s death
on behalf of Hindu-Muslim unity in India inspired movements of nonvio-
lence globally.
Massignon opens “The Three Prayers of Abraham” by reflecting on this
theme, nominating three persons as the holy ones of his own generation:
“J. K. Huysmans, Léon Bloy, and Charles de Foucauld—all three of them, in
their return to God, were characterized by a discipline of fasting and prayer
that was among the starkest and harshest that the Latin West has known,
and also the closest to the great immemorial asceticism of the East. I refer
to the discipline of La Trappe . . . [that is] humanity’s ultimate recourse.”13
He argues that the health of a Christian society is directly proportional to
the health of its contemplative monasteries: “When the monasteries of the
strict observance become weak, as was seen in France before 1789 and in
Russia before 1917, society begins to collapse.”14 That is, authentic ascetics
and contemplatives serve as the abdâl, the apotropaic saints, guaranteeing
the health of the wider community to which they belong. The Church needs
more than monks and clergy, however; the Church needs holy laypeople:
These three cited witnesses [Huysmans, Bloy, and Foucauld] are counted as laity
(Foucauld became a priest only at age forty-three and as such remained secular and
alone). Such is the way. Certainly, it would be desirable in these days of social action
to be able to rely upon the public testimonies of communities constituted and conse-
crated for this purpose. But it is precisely the abuse of their privileges which fossilizes
them and deprives us of their help. A testimony is worth something only when it is
personal, committing a name that is ordinarily unknown during the man’s lifetime.
Bloy and Foucauld experienced something like this; and though Huysmans knew
such notoriety late in life, it came when he was already terminally ill with cancer.15
might mean locating substitute saints within Islam and encouraging imita-
tion of those saints by other Muslims. Ultimately the Badaliya was about
increasing the ranks of the real elite, which is to say, for Massignon, the soul
of the Church.
Badaliya
François Mauriac fittingly observed of Massignon’s last years: “I know of
no more striking example of knowledge transformed into love.”16 Knowl-
edge transformed into love: although Massignon the scholar was also always
Massignon the religious-social activist, he was particularly keen in the last
stage of his career—roughly 1950 to 1962, which Guy Harpigny refers to as
the “Gandhian cycle” (alternatively the “Franciscan cycle”)—to witness to
his love for Muslims and for Islam; that is, to put into action his vision for
Christian-Muslim fraternity.17 For example, from 1947 to 1962 he was in-
volved with the Comité Chrétien d’Entente France-Islam.18 In 1953 Massi-
gnon, with François Mauriac, George Izard (1903–1973), and Charles-André
Julien (1891–1991), founded the France-Maghreb Committee, whose pur-
pose was to champion human rights and respect in the French African
colonies. That same year he began a practice of fasting every first Friday
of the month in order to bring about a “serene peace” in the Middle East.
In 1954 he accepted the presidency of the Committee for the Amnesty of
Overseas Political Prisoners. Also in 1954 he invited Muslims to join a tradi-
tional Breton pardon and pilgrimage to the Chapel of the Seven Sleepers in
Vieux-Marché, Brittany, in which he participated every year until his death.
In 1958, as he began a presentation on the life of Charles de Foucauld, he
was physically attacked by people who judged his sympathy for Algerian
rights treasonous, and in 1960 he was arrested twice for public demonstra-
tions against French abuses of Algerian prisoners and protesters (at least
once with Jean-Paul Sartre [1905–1980]). It was during this time that Pope
Pius XII approved, in private audience, Massignon’s request to transfer to
the Melkite Greek-Catholic rite, and in 1950 he was ordained a priest in Cai-
ro, not without some controversy, in the same Melkite rite of the Catholic
Church.19
The most theologically significant expression of Massignon’s vision dur-
ing this period was the sodality he and Mary Kahil founded, the Badaliya,
whose statutes received formal recognition (imprimatur) from the Melkite
auxiliary patriarch Pierre Kamel Medawar in 1947 and whose approval was
renewed in 1959 by Pope John XXIII. Badaliya means “substitutes” in Arabic.
It is the plural of abdâl, the substitute saint, the one who, chosen by God,
offers herself in the place of, or for the protection of, another. The Badaliya
sodality was the organ Massignon developed in order to participate inten-
tionally, concretely, and ecclesially in a Christian mission of substitution for
Muslims. It would enact the new relationship between Christians and Mus-
lims that he imagined, as I described in the previous chapter. The Badaliya
would live the Trinitarian missions of self-emptying love and knowledge as
the means for inviting, attracting, and welcoming Muslims, and they would
become spiritually dependent upon Muslims by offering their own lives to
God as a way of redressing in love whatever might be lacking in Muslim
prayer and belief.20
The Badaliya sodality originated in Massignon’s personal vow of mysti-
cal substitution in 1909, a year after his own conversion, on behalf of his
Spanish friend Luis de Cuadra, who had converted from his native Roman
Catholicism to Islam.21 Borrmans calls this “a first substitution.”22 Massign-
19. Rome hesitated to allow Uniate churches to ordain men who transferred from the Roman rite,
especially married men. As Massignon was being ordained in Cairo, Rome’s denial of permission arrived
via post at the patriarch’s headquarters in Beirut. It was agreed by all involved that Massignon would
have no public priestly ministry, and that as far as possible his ordination would be kept secret. Ordina-
tion proved more an expression and extension of Massignon’s personal spirituality than it was an eccle-
sial office. For a full account of the circumstances of Massignon’s ordination, see Anthony O’Mahony,
“Louis Massignon as Priest: Eastern Christianity and Islam,” Sobornost 29, no. 1 (2007): 20–34.
20. In this section, I am largely dependent upon Maurice Borrmans’s introduction to the recently
published BAL (Borrmans is, in turn, considerably dependent upon Jacques Keryell’s compilation of
texts, correspondence, and interviews related to the Badaliya in L’hospitalité). Borrmans, “Aux origines
de la Badaliya,” in Badaliya: Au Nom de l’Autre, eds. Borrmans and Françoise Jacquin, 19–48 (Paris: Cerf,
2011).
21. On the early romantic nature of Massignon’s relationship with Cuadra, see Gude, Crucible,
21–22.
22. Borrmans, “Aux origines,” 19.
Church: Badaliya 199
on intended his intercession to bring Cuadra back into the Catholic fold. In
1912, while offering lectures in Islamic philosophy at the new University of
Cairo, Massignon met and formed a friendship with Mary Kahil, an Egyp-
tian Melkite Christian, whom he invited to participate in his offering on be-
half of Cuadra, seriously ill with typhus and presumed to be near death.23
Kahil recalls: “Massignon said to me: ‘You are sad because Luis [de Cuadra]
is going to die; so make a sacrifice for him! Sacrifice your life.’ I said to him:
‘What? Sacrifice my life? Me?’—‘Yes, offer your life that Luis might be con-
verted.’ In that way, together, we made the vow . . . [and] that was the begin-
ning of the Badaliya.”24 The seed was sown. Massignon and Kahil were out
of contact for some years, but in 1934 Massignon, then a third-order Fran-
ciscan, having taken the name Ibrahim, brought Kahil to the abandoned
Franciscan church at Damietta, where St. Francis offered to take up the trial
by fire in order to witness to the Incarnation, and there “Massignon and Ka-
hil vowed together to offer their lives for the Muslims ‘not so they would be
converted, but so that the will of God might be accomplished in them and
through them.’”25 The original offers of substitution for Luis de Cuadra were
formalized and expanded to include all Muslims. Such a commitment was
difficult for Kahil, whose native Arab-Christian family had suffered exclu-
sion and persecution at the hands of Muslim majorities. In a conversation
reported by Kahil herself, Massignon reminds her that her “vocation” is “to
work with Muslims.”26 Kahil expresses sadness and anger at the disappear-
ance of the ancient Christian population from Damietta. Massignon then
instructs her: “You are marked for a vow. Make a vow . . . of loving [Mus-
lims]”; but Kahil demurs: “It is impossible.”27 However, Kahil finally surren-
ders: “Then he told me that there is nothing closer to hate than love: ‘Make
a vow of giving your life for them.’ In an exalted state that is impossible
to reproduce, I did it. I made a vow to live for them, to stand in their place
before the throne of Jesus, and for the rest of my life and forever to beg
23. In 1913 Massignon arranged for a friend, a Franciscan priest, to visit Cuadra in the hospital
with the hope of converting him. Although he confessed his sins, apparently it was only to appease his
mother’s concerns: “[Massignon’s] failure to effect his friend’s conversion, and Cuadra’s seeming hy-
pocrisy of going through the motions of confession, all weighed heavily on Massignon. He wondered
if his offering had been rejected by God.” Gude, Crucible, 79. It is worth considering whether the imag-
ined interpersonal exchanges at the end of the Examen reflect Massignon’s conversations with Cuadra.
In 1921, Cuadra committed suicide in a Spanish prison.
24. Quoted in Borrmans, “Aux origines,” 20.
25. Gude, Crucible, 134–35.
26. Quoted in Borrmans, “Aux origines,” 29 n. 3.
27. Quoted in Borrmans, “Aux origines,” 30.
200 Church: Badaliya
that they may receive the light. Then Massignon took me by the hand and
made the same vow.”28 Borrmans notes: “Henceforth both were consecrated
to an evangelical witness of Christian life in compassion and substitution
for their Muslim friends and compatriots.”29 The letters exchanged by Mas-
signon and Kahil in the aftermath reveal their shared love of God, enthusi-
asm for the project, and deepening spiritual bond.30
Their personal vow and offering was officially sanctioned later that year
(1934) by Pope Pius XI, and the statutes were formally approved in 1947 by
Melkite Auxiliary Patriarch Kamel-Pierre Medawar, and then by Pope Pius
XII. In the meantime, Massignon and Kahil gathered a core of sympathetic
Christians to the sodality. Early participants included Jean-Muhammad
abd-al-Jalil, Maurice Zundel (1897–1975), Jean-François Six, Youakim Mou-
barac, Jean-Pierre de Menasce, Monsignor Achille Glorieux (1910–1999)—a
personal friend of Giovanni-Battista Montini, the future Pope Paul VI, who
also associated with the Roman Badaliya—and Georges Anawati, among
others.31 The group was centered in Cairo and was meant especially for
Eastern Christians living among Muslims, although Latin Christians par-
ticipated from the beginning. Among the activities sponsored by the group
was a series of presentations and discussions of Christian-Muslim relations
called Tuesdays at the House of Peace (Les Mardis de Dar es Salaam), which
took place at a property attached to the church of St. Mary of Peace in Cai-
ro. Satellite groups formed in other cities, including Paris, naturally, but
also Beirut, Damascus, and Rome. The groups were to meet weekly (later
monthly) for prayer, to plan, and to report on the activities of the members.
From 1947 until his death in 1962, Massignon directed the sodality—though
he consistently referred to himself merely as “one of the members from our
Paris group”—and he wrote and distributed to the membership fifteen an-
nual letters in which he explained the philosophy of the Badaliya, encour-
aged the members in their efforts, reported on particular crises in need of
person of Jesus. In doing so, “one can see that being present is two-sided. The person who contemplates
makes him- or herself present with respect to the mystery—but that mystery is of a person already
present, here and now, and indeed in a unique way, to the person contemplating. The mystery thus
contains not so much an event from the life of Christ that might reveal the working of God, but the
person of Jesus Christ himself, present in a fixed geographical and temporal context.” Nicolas Stan-
daert, “The Composition of Place: Creating Space for an Encounter,” The Way 46, no. 1 (2007): 10.
36. BAL 1, 57.
37. BAL 1, 58.
38. BAL Statutes, 51–52.
Church: Badaliya 203
they were called to “perfect and to complement the passion of Christ vis-à-
vis [the Muslims]” by accepting the trial by fire Muhammad offered to their
seventh-century ancestors. In all of this, as the heading of section two of BAL
1 suggests, the Badaliya intended to accomplish The blossoming of Jesus, son
of Mary, in Islam (Zuhûr ‘Issä-ibn-Meryem fî ‘l-Islâm).39 They would seek Mus-
lims’ “slow configuration . . . [and] incorporation to Christ, who wants, bit by
bit, to win everyone.”40 Badaliya members were to strive for personal sanc-
tification, “aspiring to become another Christ (like living Gospels),” in order
that Muslims might “recognize Him through us.”41 Finally, they prepared to
suffer rejection, persecution, even martyrdom, as Christ demanded and as
Foucauld received.42
However, despite the traditional vocabulary he employs, Massignon in-
sists in the Statutes that the “Badaliya is distinct from other associations and
leagues of prayer that exist in Europe.”43 For one thing, the Badaliya was
not one more Western Christian solution to the problem of Islam. Badaliya
Christians were not Western Europeans bringing Christ from afar in a pack-
age that included European political, military, and economic domination.
The focus was on support for Middle Eastern Christians, who because of
the “Muslim conquest have been reduced to a ‘little flock,’” and who must
therefore “follow the example of the Word made flesh, living among [Mus-
lims] daily, mixing with their lives . . . as salt is mixed with food in order to
add flavor.”44 In the first section of BAL 1 he adds: “With these Christians,
still tolerated in Muslim lands because they continue to speak and pray
in Arabic, we identify ourselves in love, we Christians, whether western
or eastern, Latinized or Hellenized.”45 From the inception of the Badaliya,
Massignon envisions Christians and Muslims living together rather than
Christians replacing or expelling Muslims. Even more distinctive from Eu-
ropean leagues of prayer, however, was that the “promotion of the manifes-
tation of Christ in Islam” and “desire for the incorporation of Muslims to the
Church” did “not necessarily mean external conversions.”46 Rather, it was
enough to increase the number of Muslims who “belong to the soul of the
Church” and who therefore “live and die in grace.”47 Such an attitude was
revolutionary.
The question of conversions remains a sensitive one. In section four
of BAL 1, which is titled Substitution realized (la substitution réalisée), Mas-
signon writes: “The most profound apostolate is not trying hard to ‘convert’
from the outside, [which derives from] an attitude that misrepresents [trav-
estit] and renders odious the Christian zeal for souls.”48 Success is not de-
pendent upon our ability to manipulate the statistics of religious identifica-
tion in our favor; rather “it is God alone who converts the other when He
reconciles him, interiorly, in the solitude of his heart. It is enough for us to
be axially substituted for this consoled soul.”49 Here one finds a real evolu-
tion from Massignon’s reflections on conversion in his early years where
he linked salvation with explicit and sacramental conversion to the Roman
Catholic Church. It is now sufficient to know that Muslims who have con-
verted interiorly, in their hearts, can live and die in a state of grace, attached
to the soul of the Church.
Rocalve rightly asks: “Can we really say it is not a matter of [exterior]
conversion when one envisages the possibility of bringing Muslims to rec-
ognize the Incarnation and the Cross?”50 It is true that Massignon never re-
jected explicit conversions altogether, but conversion to another religious
tradition is never simply a matter of adherence to a new set of doctrines.
It requires new institutional and ritual involvement as well.51 Massignon’s
hesitation vis-à-vis what he called exterior conversions meant that, while he
did hope Muslims would realize the truth of Christian teaching about Je-
sus, he nonetheless would not insist on a change of institutional allegiance.
What if a Muslim sincerely sought baptism? As it remains today, so it was
a live question then. In BAL 4 Massignon writes: “The question is posed—
at least three times this year [1950]—whether the Badaliya members may
arrange for the baptism of those for whom they ‘substitute’ themselves.”52
He answers cautiously: “We have neither required it nor refused it, but we
must insist that any neophytes exhibit discernment and maturity in their
desire.”53 If those conditions were met, then a member of the Badaliya could
satisfy the would-be convert’s petition, arranging for baptism according to
local ecclesiastical norms, “for we desire to become One in Christ forever
and at any price.”54
Massignon was criticized for his position on conversions by both Muslims
and Christians. In BAL 13 he explains that Les Mardis de Dar es Salaam were
“attacked by a fatwa of al-Azhar” as advancing a “missionary agenda [mission-
narisme] camouflaged in scientific orientalism.”55 Disappointed, he responds:
“The Badaliya does not seek the ‘exterior conversion’ of its non-Christian
friends; it asks them to deepen, by an ‘interior conversion’ on the axis of the
God of Abraham, their present confessional position (see the autobiography
of Al-Ghazâlî) by a meditative and ascetical rule of life, which is susceptible
to engendering in them the Face ‘that was formed in Mary, of Jesus’ at the
very depths of their Muslim heart, the Face that will cast [mouler] itself in
them through a ‘baptism of desire.’”56 His position was equally misunder-
stood by Christians. He writes: “Apropos baptism, we are also attacked by
certain Christian brothers who call us ‘Qur’anizers’ and who would have us
work on our friends in order to administer sacramental baptisms.”57 In re-
sponse, Massignon reminds his critics of the dubious effectiveness of bap-
tisms of Muslims in fifteenth- and sixteenth-century Spain, and he highlights
the story of Philip and the conversion of Queen Candace’s Ethiopian eunuch
(Acts 8:26–40): “It was only after the eunuch understood the passage of Isaiah
on the sacrifice of the lamb that Philip could baptize him in the sign of the
sacrificial Cross. Until the adult desires to be clothed in the Blood of Christ
and in the Fire of the Spirit (the eastern Church does not separate Confirma-
tion and Baptism), it is wise to defer sacramental baptism.”58
The main thrust of Christian mission is, therefore, not to increase mem-
bership in a club; it is to win a decision for, and to encourage participation
in, the life, suffering, death, and resurrection of a person, namely Jesus
Christ. Until a Muslim knows in wide-eyed and clear-headed fashion what
he is getting into, until he explicitly desires the blood of Christ and the fire of
the Spirit, it is wise to cultivate conversion from within Islam, using Islam-
ic resources such as the authentic vocations to mystical union among the
“friends of God,” hoping to develop slowly the face of Jesus in “their Muslim
hearts.”59 Massignon summarizes his position very clearly elsewhere:
Conversion is not a certificate of passage that we paste on the conscience of someone
else. It is the thorough search for whatever is most noble in their religious loyalty
and which our presence wants to bring about in them, in the course of a common la-
bor, provided always that our mask of substitutes makes us become really “theirs,” by
means of compassion, the transferral of suffering and, let us boldly add, of hope. We
are not talking about abandoning Christianity for Islam or the Western bloc [NATO]
for the Soviet bloc [Warsaw Pact]. Forma servi accepta [having accepted the form of
a slave], we must work to make sure that they find liberation within themselves,
accepting in their soul that image of the insulted Christ, the Redeemer, which has
moved us to love them and, if necessary, to give them everything we own.60
Solidarity is easier said than done. Resistance and rejection are real pos-
sibilities, so he quotes encouragingly from the last letter he received from
Charles de Foucauld. Foucauld told Massignon (and now Massignon tells
the Badaliya) to “go to the front,” by which he means “never hesitating to
request the posts where the danger, the sacrifice, and the [required] loyalty
are the greatest: as for the honor, let him who wants it have it, but the dan-
ger and the pain, let us always be the ones to accept them.”65 Then, with an
important turn of phrase that I revisit later on, Massignon comments: “That
is the true jihâd akbar [greater jihâd] of the Arabs, the ‘holy war,’ waged
deep within oneself, suffering the very problems for which one seeks re-
pair and wants to atone.”66 As we can see, Massignon regularly employed
military terminology, but he turned the meaning of that terminology on its
head. War is to be waged against internal, rather than external, enemies.
The Badaliya is positioned on the front lines not to win the honor of having
drawn first blood, but to render itself deliberately vulnerable to rejection
and disappointment. He effectively challenged the colonial-missionary log-
ic of the day, arguing that charity must never be “tactical, annexationist [an-
nexionniste], colonialist; neither Hellenist, nor Latin; neither Franciscan, nor
Jesuit, nor Foucauldian.”67 There is no grand strategy for success here, there
is only love; but for Christians, the possibility of salvation depends upon
the character of that love: “We will receive above, said Foucauld, what we
gave below.”68 According to Massignon, the members should refrain even
from emphasizing their role as members of the Badaliya. If the diocese in
which they find themselves comprises a native Arab hierarchy and is sym-
pathetic to their aims, then they should simply support the efforts of the
local church.69
The emphasis on process over results culminates in section three of
BAL 1, titled The Means that Become the End (Le moyen qui devient fin), where
Massignon defines the term Badaliya as follows:
“Badaliya,” in Arabic, means “replacement, exchange with the soldier whose lot was
drawn [tiré au sort]”; it also means to become one of the “abdâl,” one of the humble,
hidden, and rejected cornerstones of the Community of true Believers in the God of
65. BAL 1, 59. This was a response to a letter during World War I in which Massignon asked Fou-
cauld’s counsel regarding the possibility of a transfer from the Ministry of Information to an infantry
brigade at the front.
66. BAL 1, 59–60.
67. BAL 1, 62.
68. BAL 1, 62–63.
69. BAL 1, 62.
208 Church: Badaliya
Abraham, who, imitating Abraham in his intercession, share with him, according to
the immemorial legend of Islam, from age to age, the overwhelming (and obscure)
honor of participating in the reconciliation of the sinful world with its judge. For that
is our vocation, to rediscover the primordial word of divine love to which our hearts
were predestined, to recognize it in the call of those whom we go to help, and to re-
spond to it by witnessing to the Tawhîd 70 among them, rendering “a purer meaning
to the words of the Arab tribe.” [We do this] in order that the saving mission of this
language, the last evoked in the Pentecost story, is brought to perfection in Arabia
where St. Paul commenced the Bishâra71 that responds to the Sayha bi’l-Haqq 72 of the
oppressed and the excluded, to their clamor for justice.73
For Massignon, the means become the end. The critics condemned Badali-
ya members for failing to secure more baptisms among Muslims, but that
is to focus on the end. Massignon focused almost exclusively on the means,
organizing “a response of heroic love to the objections” of Islam.74 Not he-
roic answers, but heroic love. If the means—love, intercessions, prayer, and
substitution—were undertaken sincerely, then the end would take care of
itself. As the section title indicates, the means would become the end. A lov-
ing, prayerful, fraternal, Abrahamic, interceding community of Christians
and Muslims would be formed. Only then, after suspending concern for
the end in favor of purifying the means, would it become clear that “the
Incarnation really took place.”75 Only when “compassion for our brothers”
becomes an end in itself will Muslims recognize the wisdom of the cross.76
When God became human, He rendered Himself vulnerable to criticism,
rejection, persecution, suffering, and murder, all of which He experienced,
not out of desire for honor, but out of authentic love for His wounded, sin-
ful creatures. The Badaliya was thoroughly Christian not fundamentally
because it depended upon Christian liturgy or because it was approved
by the Catholic hierarchy, although all of that was essential, but because
it attempted to embrace and advance God’s self-emptying love toward and
identification with God’s people, in this case specifically the Muslims. The
Badaliya put into practice Massignon’s first step of welcoming to their right-
ful place at the Abrahamic table the exiled descendants of Ishmael.
of the section, he writes: “If it is true, my God, as You said Yourself, that to
die proves our love completely to those for whom we die, then let us medi-
tate together on how to die with Him in order to prove how much God de-
sires [the Muslims].”82 Then he suggests that dying with Christ demands a
firmer attachment to the sacrament of the Eucharist. It is in the Eucharist
that Christ allows his real physical presence to be utterly destroyed through
the assimilation of the accidents of bread and wine in the digestive pro-
cess, in order to share life with the one who consumes Him. The Christian
is asked to give his own life for others, and in this way, “[Jesus] no longer
suffers in Himself but in his members who have experienced [qu’a touché]
his agonizing humility and who suffer more cruelly in his place the insults
and contempt that no longer reach him from the spiteful idiot [sotte mé-
chanceté] who cannot tarnish the radiant truth.”83 It was “Hallâj and Gan-
dhi” who helped Massignon to understand the Eucharistic nature of hospi-
tality, to understand that “hospitality shared amongst companions in work
and in honor is the prefiguration of the extension of the Last Supper to all
mankind.”84 The celebration of the Eucharist illuminates the aspect of re-
demptive suffering inherent in the Christian life:
Physical death, which comes to silence every voice here below, cannot take hold of
our witness, and the expansion of its echo in every direction no longer preoccupies
us. He takes us; He has already taken us alone with Him alone. The one who will
cause us to die has already paid the price in blood, this Diyà85 of the Arabs “that falls
to the Murderer.” The élan of compassion that unites us together to the origin causes
us to be thrilled with hope. The sad humiliation will pass. It will lead us from the In-
carnation across pure faith in the transubstantiation of the intelligible species toward
the direct peace of divine glory. We recognize him who was made a sign, in suffering
with his Cross, in the Holy Sacrament where he is annihilated, resurrected, trium-
phant, glorious.86
The same One who created every person and who will cause every person to
die underwent death Himself, and He gave Himself to the world in perpetuity.
The sentence in which Massignon writes that Jesus “has already paid
the price in blood” and refers to the Diyà of the Arabs is a double reference
to Islamic tradition. Recall the story of the Sufi about to undertake the pil-
grimage from Baghdad to Mecca who was ill prepared in terms of provi-
sions but whose attitude suggested total abandonment to God: “If I die, let
the blood fall on my Murderer.” Probably Massignon means here to invoke
that same reference. It is in giving oneself completely to God, in surrender-
ing to God the consequences of one’s services, that one comes to realize
hope. That is the lesson of the Incarnation and the Eucharist. Second, having
“already paid the price in blood” is a favorite reference of Massignon’s from
the life of Hallâj. In fact, that saying was the first to strike his curiosity about
this mystic and martyr. The context is Hallâj’s execution, when, as was the
custom, before being crucified his arms and legs were severed. Here is a re-
construction of the scene:
In the account of ‘Attar . . . [Hallâj] is said to have “rubbed his bloody amputated hands
over his face, so that both his arms and his face were stained with blood.”
“Why did you do that?” people enquired.
“Much blood has gone out of me,” he replied.
“I realize that my face will have grown pale. You suppose that my pallor is be-
cause I am afraid. I rubbed blood over my face so that I might appear rose-cheeked in
your eyes. The cosmetic of heroes is their blood.”
“Even if you bloodied your face, why did you stain your arms?”
“I was making ablution.”
“What ablution?”
“When one prays two rak’as in love,” Hallâj replied, “the ablution is not perfect
unless performed in blood.”87
the greater jihâd. That is how Sufis would characterize the process of in-
ner purification that accompanies the soul’s striving toward union with
God. There is a hadîth in which Muhammad, returning from the battlefield,
tells his companions that while they have completed the lesser, or outer,
struggle of the battlefield (al-jihâd al-asghar), they now must return to the
greater struggle of self-purification (al-jihâd al-akbar).88 Elsewhere in BAL 1,
Massignon encourages the members to share in a “full acceptance of the
Will of God, tawakkul, islâm, ikhlâs, a poor and adoring khalwa . . . renounc-
ing everything but the Marian ‘fiat,’ the kun, in the House of the family of
Nasâra, at al-Nâsira, Nazareth.”89 Tawakkul, which refers to complete trust
in God, and ikhlâs, which refers to sincere devotion, are common terms in
Sufi manuals. They typically appear among the maqamat (stations) or ah-
wal (states), that is, the various levels or degrees of spiritual maturity to be
achieved by the Sufi en route to union with God. Islâm and taslim, which
derive from the same Arabic root, refer to complete surrender or acknowl-
edgment of God’s universal presence, guidance, and just authority, the very
goal of human existence, according to the Qur’an. In another place, Massi-
gnon identifies the Holy Spirit with the “Rûh Allâh, identical, for Islam, with
Issa ibn Meryem”; he lauds the basmala, “In the name of God,” the Muslim
invocation that precedes almost every sûra of the Qur’an and is ubiqui-
tous in daily Muslim life; he praises the Muslim spiritual principle ibtighâ’
mardât Allâh, “the desire to satisfy God”; and he even mentions the khalwat
al-arb’in, the Sufi forty-day retreat.90 Examples could be multiplied indefi-
nitely. The point is that Massignon fairly regularly employs Islamic religious
categories and terminology to communicate with the Christian Badaliya
membership, for many of whom such terms would be foreign.91
The purpose for doing so, besides having become natural for Massi-
gnon (to which a reading of any of his later writings attests), was to facili-
tate among the membership at least an imaginative adoption of a Muslim’s
perspective; that is, to begin to cultivate in them what Basetti-Sani called
an “internalization of Islam.”92 As mentioned at the beginning of the book,
88. John Renard, Seven Doors to Islam: Spirituality and the Religious Life of Muslims (Berkeley, Calif.:
University of California Press, 1996), 11.
89. BAL 1, 58.
90. BAL 1, 58–59.
91. Sidney Griffith demonstrated how indebted to Islam all Arabic religious language is. See
Griffith, Bible.
92. Basetti-Sani dedicates the second half of his book to Massignon’s “internalization of the five
pillars of Islam.” Basetti-Sani, Louis Massignon, 103–60.
Church: Badaliya 213
“To the Muslims, I became a Muslim” in order to win the Muslims, but
to become a Muslim, for Massignon, means to enter into the system of Is-
lam.94 Here one finds on the personal-practical level a transposition of
Massignon’s interiorist methodology as a scholar. He argues that, in order
to understand the content of a mystic’s reflection, one must at least hypo-
thetically put oneself in the mystic’s place. One must personally redo the
relevant moral experiment. Here, in order to enter the system of Islam, one
must put oneself in the Muslim’s place, even to the point of adopting, at
least hypothetically or imaginatively, the Muslim perspective on Jesus and
Christianity. For example, Massignon’s reference to the Nasâra in the previ-
ous quotation is an acceptance of the common Qur’anic title for Christians,
namely the Nazarenes. It may seem simple enough, but actually it is com-
plicated, because the Nasâra are regularly criticized in the Qur’an for devi-
ating from the message of Jesus and making false claims about Jesus and
God, especially about the Trinity and Jesus’s divinity.95 As we saw, ‘Isa of the
Qur’an is not divine, and he is not the Son of God; he was not even crucified.
Yet, as we saw in the chapter on Christ, in order to affirm the Qur’an’s posi-
tive account of Jesus, Massignon wrote: “In his Agony, Jesus is very much
the Muslim Issa ibn Meryem, robbed of all divinity.”96 Accepting the Qur’anic
designation Nazarenes for Christians works the same way. The Badaliya,
here representative of the Church, in another kind of Copernican shift, ac-
cepts its place as part of the Muslim landscape. It therefore grants to Islam
a certain authority, but it does so in order to invite further reflection on the
significance of al-Nâsira as the place of the Marian fiat, the place of the In-
carnation. For Massignon, the traditional Muslim perspective on Christians,
as on Jesus, is not sufficient, but it is legitimate.
From the tenth through the fifteenth letters of the BAL (1956–1962), a
significant portion of each text was dedicated to a Moral Report (Rapport
moral) for the previous year, which was structured according to the five
pillars of Islam: witness or profession of faith (shahâda), prayer (salât),
almsgiving (zakât), fasting (sawm), and pilgrimage (hajj). The purpose of
organizing the report that way was to show how “our spiritual and mate-
rial assistance to our Muslim friends by our humble works of mercy” al-
lows one to “intensify . . . the five pillars [plans] of their social and religious
life.”97 Typically, the moral report of each communiqué was a chance to list
the Badaliya’s activities according to those five pillars, loosely interpreted.
For example, in BAL 14, which summarizes the previous thirteen years of
activity, Massignon mentions visiting Arab refugees in the Holy Land and in
France, praying outside the Paris mosque in solidarity with Muslim work-
ers in Paris, arranging proper funerals for Muslims killed by French police,
setting up a Christian-Muslim pilgrimage to the Chapel of the Seven Sleep-
ers in Brittany, fasting in solidarity with Muslims during Ramadan and es-
pecially for an end to French-Muslim violence, visiting Muslims in various
prisons, lobbying for the reinstatement of the Sultan of Morocco, raising
money for many causes, including a hospital in Tokyo, protesting against
prisoner camps for North Africans in France, and much more.98
Witness (in French témoignage, in Arabic shahâda) refers principally
to the public testimony of Muslim faith, There is no god but God, and Mu-
hammad is the messenger of God, but in the case of the Badaliya, the cate-
gory of witness included all the ways that members publicly demonstrated
their faith, usually in relation to Muslim welfare. Massignon might men-
tion marching in protests or presenting at conferences, publishing books
or articles, securing audiences with members of the hierarchy, meeting
with Muslim intellectuals or prayer groups, etc. A unique and specific goal
of witness was to “persuade our Muslim brothers in Egypt and Syria that
Christianity is ‘native’ to Arab countries,” in a way reminding them of the
Qur’anic legitimacy of the Nazarenes.99 Almsgiving in Islam, zakât, refers to
the obligatory charity tax on every able Muslim for distribution among the
needy of the community. In the Badaliya it referred to various projects in
need of funding, including support for North African refugees, restoration
of churches and monasteries, and assistance to Arab-Christian communi-
ties. It also meant working for the end of legalized prostitution instituted
by French officials in Algeria and Morocco.100 Fasting, sawm, in Islam refers
principally to the obligatory fast during the month of Ramadan in prepa-
ration for the commemoration of the descent (tanzîl) of the Qur’an. In the
Badaliya it referred principally to the fasts undertaken by members on the
first Friday of each month with the intention of securing from God a just
and “serene peace” in the Middle East. Massignon also listed numerous ad-
ditional fasts undertaken (at least by him), sometimes in concert with the
Friends of Gandhi, sometimes with the main Foucauldian group, the Union,
and often with Jewish friends on Yom Kippur. Pilgrimage, hajj, of course
refers first to the annual pilgrimage to Mecca where, according to Muslim
understanding, Abraham and Ishmael built the Ka’ba. Every adult Muslim
who is able to do so physically, financially, psychologically, relationally, and
so on is obligated to make the journey at least once in his or her lifetime.
The rite also includes the intercessory sacrifice that commemorates Abra-
ham’s near sacrifice of his son. In the BAL, Massignon listed the destinations
members reached as pilgrims in any given year, and they span the globe.
One deserves special mention, an annual pilgrimage with invited Muslim
guests to the chapel of the Seven Sleepers at Vieux-Marché (Plouaret) in
Brittany, about which I say a word in the following discussion.
Prayer, or salât, represented the most controversial aspect of the Badali-
ya’s appropriation of the pillars of Islam. Muslims are required to pray five
times per day (approximately at dawn, noon, afternoon, dusk, and night),
performing a series of prostrations and reciting certain formulae and
Qur’anic passages. In addition to adopting Massignon’s thrice-daily recita-
tion of the Angelus, according to BAL 10, Badaliya members also celebrated
mass each Friday during the Islamic month of Ramadan and particularly
on the Night of Power (laylat al-Qadr), when the revelation of the Qur’an is
Muslims then or now as the least among us, the hostility and mockery that
one receives for defending Muslims is unfortunately self-evident.
109. See Andrew Unsworth, “Louis Massignon, the Holy See and the Ecclesial Transition from
‘Immortale Dei’ to ‘Nostra Aetate’: A Brief History of the Development of Catholic Church Teaching on
Muslims and the Religion of Islam from 1883 to 1965,” ARAM 20 (2008): 299–316. Massignon founded
Les Amis d’Éphèse et d’Anne-Catherine Emmerick (1774–1824), whose visions were central to the dis-
covery of the house at Ephesus. See Harpigny, Islam et Christianisme, 201–8.
110. Massignon, “La Mubâhala”; “La notion du voeu”; “L’Oratoire”; “Salmân Pâk et les prémices
spirituelles de l’islam iranien,” in EM 2, 576–613; “La ‘Futuwwa’ ou ‘pacte d’honneur artisanal’ entre
les travailleurs musulmans au Moyen Âge,” in EM 2, 613–39; “Nouvelles recherches sur Salmân Pâk,”
in EM 2, 639–42.
111. Destremau, Louis Massignon, 253.
Church: Badaliya 219
123. The tombs are now protected by a chain-link fence and barbed wire (as of June 2012).
124. See Massignon, “Le culte liturgique.”
125. See Massignon, “Les ‘Sept Dormants’”; “Éphèse et son importance.”
222 Church: Badaliya
Conclusion
I conclude with a word about Hallâj as a Muslim-Christian bridge figure. In
1932 Massignon wrote an extraordinary prayer in remembrance of Hallâj.127
It opens with a plea to the Lord to “remember this spiritual son of Abra-
ham,” whose passion was configured to Christ’s. It then reviews key char-
acteristics and events from the life of this “martyr of the Cross,” including
the unmistakable similarities between the betrayals, trials, convictions, and
executions of Jesus and Hallâj. Massignon then includes a litany of saints
with their feast days, including Abraham, Moses, other biblical figures such
as John the Baptist, Lazarus, and the three magi, a number of Arab saints,
martyrs, and confessors born into an Islamic context, and those whose lives
intersected with Islam in some significant way, asking, “Remember, my
God, the prayers of your Saints in the land of captivity and in the Muslim
world.” He concludes with the following incredible words about Hallâj and
his companions:
Remember also, Lord, those who prepared, understood, and justified the apostolic de-
sires of this man, pilgrim to your Holy Sepulchre one Good Friday evening, herald of
your second coming under the aspect of the Sovereign Judge.
His teachers: Hasan Basri, Râbi’a, Antâki, Mohâsibi, Jonayd.
His friends: Ibn’ Atâ, Nasr, Shâkir.
126. Anthony O’Mahony, “Louis Massignon, the Seven Sleepers of Ephesus and the Christian
Muslim Pilgrimage at Vieux-Marché, Brittany,” in Explorations in a Christian Theology of Pilgrimage,
eds. Craig Bartholomew and Fred Hughes (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2004), 130.
127. Massignon, “Pro Hallagio,” in EM 1, 76–79.
Church: Badaliya 223
The guardians of his memory: Ibn Khafîf, Shiblî, Fâris, Nasrabâdhî, Ibn’ Aqîl,
Ghazâlî, ‘Aynal qodât Hamadhânî, Sohrawardî of Aleppo, Baqlî, Nesîmî, Niazi.
And the poor black slaves of Râs el Fellâhat buried in proximity to his tomb in
Baghdad.
In order that one day the Church might remember him. Amen.128
CONCLUSION
Among my hopes for this book is that it will facilitate a wider theological
conversation about Louis Massignon’s work, and in so doing will partially
have answered, but mainly have echoed, Herbert Mason’s call from nearly
thirty years ago: “Just as there are many dimensions to Massignon the Is-
lamicist . . . so are there many dimensions to Massignon the Roman Catho-
lic, of which I [hope] my remarks may direct readers to a fuller examina-
tion of his thought through his own works.”1 I began by wondering whether
a serious recovery of Massignon’s sympathetic understanding of Islam
was naïve. At its conclusion, I remain convinced that it is not. At the very
least, Massignon’s own evolution models stages of any authentic dialogue
(though not necessarily always in the same order), from passionate interest,
to recognition of genuine differences, to understanding the religious other
in the terminology and categories of one’s own tradition, to an engagement
with the other in mutual fraternity and love. Massignon’s work demon-
strates the value of grounding interreligious dialogue in scholarly learning,
and it charts a path for the Church that is both Christian and knowledge-
able about Islam, in contrast to many current approaches that sacrifice one
or the other essential dimension.
Certainly this is not the last word on Louis Massignon. There remains
much to be said about his rich and varied friendships and his own spiritual
life and practices of prayer. That will demand a fuller exploration of his per-
sonal correspondences and diaries, while I privileged his published scholarly
works. There is also more to be discovered about the extent of his influence
on the teachings of the Second Vatican Council.2 The Council fathers did not
226
Conclusion 227
endorse all of Massignon’s views; neither Lumen Gentium nor Nostra Aetate
says anything whatsoever about Muhammad or the Qur’an, and each is non-
committal about Islam’s Abrahamic status. Were his positions on those top-
ics seriously considered? Again, a fuller investigation of the correspondence
and diaries of the relevant experts will provide much-needed clues.
There are important tensions and underdeveloped aspects of Massign-
on’s work that demand fuller treatment and critique. His Pascalian prefer-
ence for the God of revelation, the God of Abraham, and the God of the mys-
tics over and against the God of the philosophers, for example, runs against
the traditional Catholic position, which insists that the God of Abraham
(and the God of the mystics) is the God of the philosophers.3 His descrip-
tion of Muhammad as a negative prophet implies the validity of post-Jesus
prophecy, but he does not work out a fully developed prophetology. There
is work to be done on his understanding of the relationship between revela-
tion and time, in order to understand better his employment of the category
temporal involution, whereby Islam folds back on the earlier revelations and
constitutes, in effect, an Abrahamic, pre-Mosaic phenomenon. Especially
in the light of the relevant comments in Dominus Iesus, Massignon’s dec-
laration of a qualified inspiration and conditional authority for the Qur’an
deserves further attention and should be brought to bear on current theo-
logical questions related to religious pluralism. The tension in his treatment
of Sufism both as exceptional and as the true Islam is not fully resolved,
and finally, some have expressed wonder at how Massignon “reconciled the
Christian Trinity and Islamic Absolute Monotheism.”4
Some of Massignon’s judgments have come under criticism among ex-
perts in Islamic studies. They include his pronouncement that Muhammad
was not a mystic, his allegorical interpretation of the Qur’anic judgment of
the angels as a prefiguration of the Incarnation, his rehabilitation of Hallâj
as a Muslim exemplar, and his preference for Hallâj over and against Ibn
‘Arabî, which he portrays as a preference for a self-emptying mysticism of
witness, love, and concern for this-worldly justice over an intellectualist,
speculative, and quietist mysticism. All such judgments deserve continued
ship to explain the changes in the Council as the influence of Massignon. While there is some truth to
this claim, the case as it stands is possibly overstated.” D’Costa, Vatican II, 165.
3. One might compare his position with that of his students and colleagues, Georges Anawati and
Louis Gardet, who paid more attention than he did to the important medieval philosophical exchanges
among Jews, Christians, and Muslims, especially on the nature of God. See Anawati and Gardet, Introduc-
tion à la théologie musulmane: Essai de la théologie comparée (Paris: Libraire Philosophique J. Vrin, 1948).
4. Mason, “Catholicism and Islam,” 205.
228 Conclusion
5. Sometimes we hold comparative studies to impossibly high standards, expecting them to pro-
vide a neat and settled classification of the other religious tradition, but as Francis Clooney has noted:
“Theologians not engaged in comparative work are quite often willing to be tentative in their conclu-
sions, which remain open to revision and correction, and there is no reason to demand speedier prog-
ress of comparative theologians.” Clooney, Hindu God, 12.
6. William James, The Varieties of Religious Experience: A Study in Human Nature (New York: Pen-
guin, 1982); Teresa of Avila, The Interior Castle: Study Edition, trans. Kieran Kavanaugh and Otilio Rodri-
guez (Washington, D.C.: Institute of Carmelite Studies, 2010). A more contemporary interlocutor repre-
sentative of a gradualist understanding of mysticism might be Michael Buckley, Denying and Disclosing
God: The Ambiguous Progress of Modern Atheism (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 2004).
7. Lonergan, Insight; Method.
8. René Girard, I See Satan Fall Like Lightning (Maryknoll, N.Y.: Orbis, 2001); Violence and the Sa-
cred (New York: Continuum, 2005).
Conclusion 229
name of erudition, the moral, social, and spiritual values of Islam, which
he was able to understand so profoundly; [rather he proceeded] by loving
them with all his lucidity as a scholar and Christian, by re-situating them,
as a Christian, under a light which does not judge, but fulfills. That is the
source, it seems to me, of his numerous and very deep friendships with
Muslims.”11 Massignon’s heart would surely break in the face of both the
contemporary atrocities committed in the name of Islam and the related
fear-mongering and demonization of Muslims in the name of Western se-
curity and capitalist interests. Yet I am convinced he would remain commit-
ted to patient, careful, and scholarly study of the sources, the traditions, and
the saints of Islam. He would not shy away from decrying the monstrous
distortions of that religion, but neither would he abide the strange collu-
sion between those distortions and their Western anti-Islamic ideological
counterparts. Both work to ignore and to erase the rich, learned, humanist,
and spiritual traditions of Islam. He would remain committed in hope to
the wholly transcendent God of justice and truth who invites humanity to
practice compassion rather than violence, whether in activism or in schol-
arship, and he would urge us to do the same.
231
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Index Index
Index
Abd el-Jalil, Jean-Muhammad, 2, 84n4, 187, of Muslims, 126, 203–6; criticisms of,
200, 205n54 205; definition, 102–3, 207–8; difference
Aboû Qolâba, 109 from other sodalities, 126n78, 203–4;
Abraham: and blessings upon Ishmael, founding, 1, 41, 197–201; importance of
127–28, 130–31, 162–63, 170–71, 177–80, Eucharist, 209–10; major themes, 201;
188–89; faith in one God, 60, 75–77; and papal approval, 15–16; prayer of Fâtiha,
hajj, 136–37; historicity of, 32–33; and 215–17
hospitality, 19n2, 80–81, 82; and Mary, Basetti-Sani, Giulio, 3n7, 8, 19, 25n30,
80–81, 82; relationship to Ishmael, Arabs, 26n34, 92n23, 92n24, 116n28, 130n90,
Muhammad, 90, 92n24, 171n15; as sub- 139n25, 147n61, 148n65, 148n66, 195n11,
stitute witness, 70, 78–79, 136–37 206n60, 210n84, 212, 213n93, 213n94
Al-Ashâri, 109 Benincasa, Ursula, 185, 186
Al-Ghazâlî, 49–51, 54, 58, 65n70, 72, 77, 91, Bergoligo, Jorge Mario. See Francis, Pope
93–94, 115n24, 124, 151n73, 155, 185, 205, Beylié, Leon de, 11n28
223 Binger, Louis Gustave, 11n28
Alussy family, 11, 13, 179 Bloy, Léon, 15, 100, 101–2, 107, 196, 224
Amr Makki, 65 Borrmans, Maurice, 16n44, 34n64, 35n66,
Anawati, Georges, 2, 4, 16, 46, 76n111, 44, 132n96, 139, 173, 198, 200, 201n33, 217
165n135, 171n15, 190n1, 200, 227n3 Buck, Dorothy, 53, 179n52, 201n33
Antoinette, Marie, 56, 102 Buckley, Michael, 228
Aquinas, Thomas, 51–52, 85n7, 118n40, 130, Burrell, David, 3n7, 165n135
138n23, 173n22, 181
Arabic: i’jaz, 158–59; in relation to Hebrew Caspar, Robert, 2, 41n88, 43n92, 44n95,
and Aramaic, 159–61; in relation to rev- 117n32, 171n15, 145, 187n81
elation and mysticism, 31, 46–47, 92–93, Cessario, Romanus, 137n21, 138
108n1, 120–21, 130, 139–41, 157–61, 190 Charles-Barzel, R., 172, 173, 175
Arnaldez, Roger, 21, 36, 46, 165n135 Christ: biblical humanity, 84–86; in Qur’an
Attar, Farid ad-Din, 65n70, 71, 211 (‘Isa ibn Maryam), 84–89; as redeemer,
Augustine, 34, 50–51, 52, 62–63, 72, 97n41, 99–100; in relation to Hallâj, 93–94; as
130n90 Son of God, 94–99; virgin birth in Qur’an
Averroes, 112, 130 (sign of two), 86–89
Avicenna, 48–51, 58, 72, 151, 221 Christine the Admirable, 56, 102, 136n15,
224
Badaliya: approach to (solidarity with) Church: distinction between body and soul,
Islam, 9, 127, 173, 177–79, 201–3, 206–9; 191–92; Eucharist, 41–42, 98–99, 105–7,
appropriation of Islamic terminol- 129, 136–37, 160–61, 209–11; sacraments,
ogy, 211–14; appropriation of pillars of 36, 41–42, 44–45, 98–99, 191–92, 215–16;
Islam, 182–83, 186, 214–17; conversions teaching authority, 36, 42, 44, 133, 190–91
241
242 Index
Clark, Benjamin, 20n10, 26, 34n64, 113n16 Gandhi, Mohandas K., 16, 102, 103, 194, 195,
Claudel, Paul, 15, 101n54, 132 196, 210, 217
Clooney, Francis, 35, 36n69, 228n5 Gardet, Louis, 2, 4n10, 41n88, 46, 147–48,
Cloots, Anacharsis, 24 157, 187n82, 223, 227n3, 229, 230n1
Coakley, Sarah, 57 Gendarmes de l’ordre public. See Servants of
Collège de France, 2, 16, 21, 110 order
Comité Chrétien pour l’entente George-Tvrtković, Rita, 3n5
France-Islam. See André de Peretti Girard, René, 228
Communicatio idiomatum, 39–40, 92–93, Glorieux, Achille, 200
95–96 God: of Abraham (Pascal) vs. of philoso-
Copernican revolution, 42–44, 52–53, phers, 46, 50–51, 227; and the feminine,
60–61, 68, 182, 214, 222 55–58; as one, 76–78; relationship
Corbin, Henri, 2, 108n1 between Allah and Dieu, 74–76; and
Cornille, Catherine, 19n2 religious experience, 48–55; as Triune,
Cragg, Kenneth, 116n30, 122n55 81–82; and witness, 58–64
Crollius, Arij, 200n31 Goddard, Hugh, 2n3, 223
Crusades, 106, 124–25, 128, 153n86, 162, Goldziher, Ignaz, 20, 121n54, 143–44
202–3 Gospel of Barnabas, 22
Cuadra, Luis de, 12n32, 198–99, 202 Gréa, Dom Adrian, 100n51
Griffith, Sidney, 2n2, 3n7, 5, 13, 22n24,
Dadosky, John, 35n67, 229 27n42, 34n64, 110, 116, 139, 142n39, 145,
Dall’Oglio, Paolo, 126n78, 177–78, 186 156, 157, 160, 171n15, 197n17, 204n51,
Daniélou, Jean, 15 209n77, 212n91
Dansaert-Testelin, Marcelle, 15 Griffiths, Richard, 100n53, 101, 102n59
Day, Dorothy, 7–8 Gude, Mary Louise, 3n7, 9n21, 11n29, 12n30,
D’Costa, Gavin, 2n4, 3n6, 226n2 101, 179n50, 247, 198n21, 199n23, 199n25
Déplacement. See Copernican revolution Guibert of Nogent, 142
Derrida, Jacques, 19n2
Descuffi, Giuseppe, 2, 3n5, 218 Hafiz, 69
Destremau, Christian, 9n21, 11n28, 12n30, Hagar, 27, 56, 78, 127–28, 140, 146, 150, 152,
17n45, 101n58, 110n3, 218, 219n112 157, 170, 178, 183, 188, 206
Dominus Iesus, 227 Hallâj: anâ al-haqq!, 1, 65–67, 74, 154,
157n102; difference from Ibn ‘Arabi,
Ellacuría, Ignacio, 138 72–74; execution, 68–72, 210–11; impor-
Emmerich, Anne Catherine, 106 tance for Massignon’s understanding of
Ernst, Carl, 65, 66n74, 66n75, 69, 70n89, 71, God, 64–72; intercession for Massignon,
73n99, 155n90 13, 14–15; interiorization of pillars of
Islam, 113–14; as ransom of Muhammad,
Fâtima, 56, 105n71, 108n1, 148n62, 192, 153–54; in relation to Jesus, 93–94; as
218–19, 224 subject of Massignon’s scholarship, 1, 2,
Finn, Arthur Henry, 32n56 11, 14–15; understanding of Iblîs, 73–74,
Fitzgerald, Michael, 76n110, 168n6 90–91; understanding of mysticism, 29,
Foucauld, Charles de, 3, 10, 14, 15, 33, 100, 31, 39n78, 53
107, 126, 164n129, 165, 185, 186, 187, 196, Hajj, 69, 71, 113, 128, 135, 136–37, 155n93, 175,
197, 203, 205n55, 207, 209, 217 184, 214, 215
France-Maghreb Committee, 197 Haqq, 1, 65, 66, 67, 74, 82, 154, 157, 158, 206,
Francis of Assisi, 74, 106, 125, 148–49, 208
152–53, 162, 175, 195 Harpigny, Guy, 5, 9n21, 13–14, 34n64,
Francis, Pope, 8–9 81n126, 83, 99, 110n3, 167, 171n15, 197,
218n109
Index 243
115n27, 121n53, 124n67, 137, 141, 142n35, Substitute spirituality: importance for Mas-
145, 151n76, 170n10, 171n15, 204, 220 signon, 100–106; in relation to Muslims,
Roche, Pierre, 10, 101 177–83
Roncalli, Angelo. See John XXIII, Pope Sufism: Hallâj as pinnacle, 64–65; nexus of
Rumi, Jalal ad-Din, 47, 65n70, 114n18 Islam with Church, 183–88; work of Holy
Spirit, 184–85
Sahl of Tustar, 65, 113 Sussman, Violet, 56
Said, Edward, 44
Salmân Pâk, 32, 108n1, 141, 184–85, 192, Talbi, Mohamed, 2
218–19, 224 Temporal involution, 160–61, 170, 172, 227
Sarrâj, 65–66, 228 Teresa of Avila, 228
Sartre, Jean-Paul, 198 Theologal, 116, 137–39, 169, 180
Satan, 8, 73–74, 87–91, 122, 129, 150, 168, Tolan, John, 146n59, 148n66
184, 228 Toland, John, 24
Scelles, Jean, 16 Traditional Muslim apologetic: on Creator
Schloesser, Stephen, 100n53 vs. creature, 117–19; on divine word,
Second Vatican Council, 1–2, 2–3, 4, 75–76, 120–22; on Islam’s missions, 122–27, 131;
117n32, 157, 171n15, 226 main characteristics, 114–27; on provi-
Secret of history. See Law of the cross dence, 119–20
Sells, Michael, 73n97, 89n15
Servants of order, 104, 105n71, 217 Unsworth, Andrew, 3n7, 75, 171n15, 218n109
Seven Sleepers of Ephesus, 17, 32, 155, 192, Urvoy, Marie Thérèse, 3n8
219–22, 224
Sfair, Pietro, 3n5 Valkenberg, Wilhelmus, 171n15
Shâfi’î, 91 Vatican II. See Second Vatican Council
Shariati, Ali, 2
Shath, 65–69, 228 Waardenburg, Jacques, 18n1, 30–31, 35n67
Sheen, Fulton, 148n62
Shibli, 69, 223 Yahya, Osman, 2
Six, Jean-François, 200
Snouck-Hourgronje, Christiaan, 113n16, 128 Zubiri, Xavier, 138n23
Spiro, Jean, 22–24, 33, 110 Zundel, Maurice, 200
Stigmatics, 106, 125, 148, 152–53, 162
V
The Theology of Louis Massignon: Islam, Christ, and the Church was designed and typeset
in Frutiger Serif by Kachergis Book Design of Pittsboro, North Carolina. It was printed on
60-pound Sebago IV B18 Cream, and bound by Maple Press of York, Pennsylvania.