We’d been discussing the mawlud, and Bin ul-Faragh had been
unable to contain himself. Every family has its Bin ul-Faraghs. But we were in
a cramped space, and there was no such thing as an easy, diplomatic getaway.
I could see those around me shifting uneasily with embarrassment. They knew, like I did, that “you people” was a rhetorical challenge – and the harbinger of unavoidable confrontation. I had to think quickly on my feet to avoid it.
“I agree. The commemoration of the Prophet’s (SAW) birthday
is a bid’ah. The mawlud is an innovation, you are dead right, brother,” I
answered, “if you don’t like it, stay away from it.”
“Whaddaya mean?” Bin ul-Faragh’s head snapped back in
surprise. “So you, Shafiq Morton, say mawlud is shirk then? You admit that the
mawlud isn’t mentioned in Qur’an and Sunnah? You admit that the Prophet (SAW) didn’t
celebrate birthdays in his lifetime?”
He was now speaking with a raised voice. Others began to
fall silent in the crowded room, turning from their chatter to see what the
source of the commotion was. Instead of damping the flames, I’d only stoked the
fire in Bin ul-Faragh.
“No, I don’t agree that the mawlud is polytheistic,” I said
quietly. And facing those at my table asked whether anybody present worshipped
the Prophet (SAW) as Bin ul-Faragh accused us of.
There was an uneasy silence, soon followed by utterances of
“astaghfirullah” (May Allah forgive me) and very heated denial.
“Surely you’ll concede,” I added, “that the origination of
the mawlud celebration is historically derived from the necessity to love – and
not worship – the Prophet (SAW)?”
“Ja, man, but you
people are all misguided. You people
make mawlud into a Christmas carol,” retorted Bin ul-Faragh.
Bin ul-Faragh’s response was to enter into a long monologue
in which I was accused of using “pre-Islamic” texts and “Zionist-influenced
mischief” to argue about the permissibility of the impermissible mawlud. He
suggested that I was drunk with the propaganda of my Shaikhs.
He then quoted Hadith in Arabic: “Beware of matters newly
begun, for every innovation is misguidance …and every misguidance is in hell.” He
had mangled the syntax by inserting a negative “ma” before the first
“misguidance”.
“Brother,” I said, “you’ve totally misunderstood the context
of this Prophetic axiom. Scholars agree that what’s being referred to here is
something new in Islam that’s contrary to the spirit of Shari’ah, or Sacred
Law. What do you say if something is not
contrary to Sacred Law?”
Bin ul-Faragh glowered as those at my table tut-tutted. I
went on to say that tarawih (the prayers in Ramadan), the Islamic calendar, the
compilation of the Qur’an – as well as some of the utterances in the prayer –
were all innovations introduced by the Prophet’s (SAW) noble Companions.
“Are people such as Sayyidina ‘Umar (ra) in hell?” I asked.
I borrowed Shaikh Nuh Keller’s commentary on the Shafi’i
scholar, Naqib al-Masri’s The Reliance of
the Traveller, to explain. The principle
was that whatever was introduced to Islam in contravention of Sacred Law would be
discarded, but whatever was regarded as good (and not contrary to Sacred Law) would
be beneficial.
"That’s the distinction you can’t make. There’s bad bida’h
and there’s good bid’ah. Good innovation is lexically an innovation, but
legally speaking is actually an inferable Sunnah,” I said to Bin ul-Faragh.
“And no, I’m not going to argue that the mawlud is an issue
of Fiqh (the application of Sacred Law) when it clearly isn’t, and that it
might be obligatory, which it isn’t too. It’s a question of choice, a question
of respect for the Prophet (SAW) and a noble way of remembering him.
“The mawlud – which is usually a recitation of the Prophet’s
(SAW) life combined with the remembrance of Allah – is a social gathering that
carries with it the power and grace of good intention. By its very nature it
does not contravene Sacred Law.
“This is what ‘ulama over the centuries, together with the
various Caliphs of the Islamic realm, have acknowledged,” I said.
I pointed out that until the 19th century the
scholars of Makkah had visited the house of the Prophet (SAW) and walked to the
Haram in a procession on the night of the Prophet’s (SAW) birth.
“But you people make haraam at these gatherings…you commit extravagances instead of giving to the poor,” argued Bin al-Faragh.
“Is extravagance for the sake of the Prophet (SAW) a
blameworthy trait?” I asked. “Has any poor person ever been denied access to a
mawlud? And what about those who give sadaqah, or charity, at that time?”
Bin ul-Faragh reddened with indignation, but the tide was
turning. I could sense that the room was now against him. Cape Town,
with its strong Sunni ethos and 300-year legacy of tasawwuf (or Sufism), was
not the best place for petro-dollar Islam.
“I think everybody here will agree to disagree,” I said. “Nobody
is forcing you to attend a mawlud, so you should not condemn those who do
celebrate it as misguided.”
“But you are misguided! There are no birthdays in Islam,
period. You people are going to roast
in hell,” shouted Bin ul-Faragh, rising to his feet and stumbling over those
sitting next to him as he rushed for the door.
