Ibrahim Negm
In the relentless pace of modern life – where screens multiply, consumption accelerates, and stimulation never ceases – many people find themselves caught in a strange paradox: the more they acquire, the emptier they feel. Anxiety is no longer a passing state tied to occasional crises; it has become a structural feature of contemporary existence, so much so that anxiety disorders now rank among the most widespread mental health complaints worldwide.
Amid this reality, the Islamic Sufi tradition deserves fresh attention – not as ornamental spirituality or isolated ritual, but as a comprehensive educational framework for disciplining the self and freeing the heart from its burdens.
At its core, anxiety – as many contemporary psychologists suggest – often stems from a disconnection between the individual and a sense of purpose that could otherwise anchor their existence.
Sufism offers a profound response to this rupture: human beings do not find security by accumulating possessions, but by restoring their connection to God, the true source of tranquility, as reflected in the Quranic verse: “Verily, in the remembrance of God do hearts find rest.”
This is not merely devotional rhetoric; it is an epistemological claim that emotional turmoil requires not only external remedies, but an inward reordering of one’s relationship with the Divine.
Contrary to how outsiders sometimes perceive it, the Sufi educational method is not an escape from reality but rigorous training in what modern psychology would call “self-regulation,” long before that term entered clinical vocabulary.
The Sufi concept of muhasabah (self-accounting) closely resembles today’s notion of self-awareness; the concept of rida (contentment) parallels what positive psychology terms acceptance; and tawakkul (reliance on God) offers a psychological release from the exhausting need to control every outcome.
These are not substitutes for psychological treatment, but a spiritual depth that complements what purely materialist approaches often fail to address.
Notably, major figures in Islamic spirituality – al-Junayd al-Baghdadi, al-Ghazali, and Ibn Ata’illah al-Sakandari among them – treated psychological distress as a “malady of the heart” requiring diagnosis and treatment, not as a moral failing. In his seminal work Ihya’ Ulum al-Din (The Revival of Religious Sciences), al-Ghazali examines afflictions such as envy, arrogance, and heedlessness, prescribing behavioral and spiritual remedies with a structured, step-by-step approach strikingly similar to modern cognitive-behavioural therapy – differing chiefly in that his framework anchors healing to a transcendent purpose beyond the individual self.
The spiritual disconnection experienced by modern individuals is not simply a drift away from religious ritual; it is a rupture from a larger sense of meaning.
This is where practices like remembrance (dhikr), mindful self-observation, and spiritual retreat become significant – not as rituals divorced from daily life, but as tools for reshaping consciousness and quieting the internal noise that fuels anxiety.
Dhikr, from a psychological standpoint, functions much like mindfulness meditation, whose stress-reducing benefits are well documented in contemporary research – yet it carries an additional dimension that transcends technique, rooted in a felt connection to the Divine.
Reclaiming this educational dimension of Sufism does not call for withdrawal or disengagement from the world.
Rather, it invites a renewed understanding of its original function: refining the self, restoring inner balance, and connecting the individual to a purpose greater than the noise of daily life.
As anxiety intensifies as a collective phenomenon, the need to revive this spiritual inheritance grows more urgent – not as an intellectual luxury, but as a genuine remedy for the modern individual’s estrangement from themselves.
That said, this discussion would be incomplete without distinguishing authentic Sufism – firmly grounded in Quran and Sunnah – from distorted offshoots wrongly associated with it, such as total withdrawal from worldly responsibility, claims of exemption from religious obligations, or the exploitation of spiritual language for personal gain.
Historically, orthodox Sufism, as embodied by its great masters, was never a retreat from responsibility; its adherents were active participants in social reform, scholarship, and even military defense of their communities.
This distinction matters today, both to protect the tradition from wholesale rejection by rigid critics and to prevent superficial popular practices from hollowing out its deeper educational substance.
On a practical level, reconnecting with this spiritual dimension does not require elaborate rituals or withdrawal from everyday responsibilities.
A few minutes of daily remembrance and reflection, a brief evening practice of honest self-review, and simple attentiveness to one’s intentions before acting are accessible steps for anyone, regardless of how demanding their life may be.
These modest practices, though seemingly small, accumulate over time into meaningful psychological and spiritual change – offering a practical entry point to renewed meaning, far removed from abstract theorising, and much closer to the lived reality of people searching today for a peace that neither abundance nor speed can provide.
Ibrahim Negm is a senior advisor to the Grand Mufti of Egypt
