Louis Massignon and Mystical Christian-Muslim Engagement

Louis Massignon at Al-Azhar University in Cairo, Egypt, 1909 (Image credit: Massignon Collection)

There is a certain spiritual inspiration a religious believer can find by looking with an open heart and an open mind at a tradition other than that of their own. In my own case, as an Orthodox Christian, I often find myself drawing inspiration, and even a deeper understanding of my own faith, by looking not only at other Christian traditions, but at non-Christian ones as well, particularly Islam. Without experiencing any delusions of grandeur (I promise), I feel a certain connection with the French Orientalist, Melkite Catholic priest, and scholar of Islam Louis Massignon (1883-1962).

Unfortunately, not enough of Massignon’s writings—at least according to my impeccable Googling skills—have been translated from his native French into English yet. Therefore, I, as a bad Canadian who can barely read a menu in a Quebec poutinerie, will have to learn a profound amount of patience as I wait for more English translations of Massignon’s works to become available. Although it is worth noting that an abridged edition of his most famous work, Hallaj: Mystic and Martyr, is available in English, as well as a few biographies of Massignon himself and a study of his theological thought, The Theology of Louis Massignon: Islam, Christ, and the Church by Christian Krokus.

What is perhaps most intriguing to me about Massignon is that he approached the subject of Islam not as a neutral observer, and certainly not as a polemicist, but as a person of faith and a mystic. While I often find mysticism to be a bit bewildering, and at times, sleep inducing, I greatly appreciate the insights that Massignon’s encounter with Islam had on his spiritual life and work. Although raised in (nominally?) Catholic France, the young Massignon was an agnostic. His conversion to Catholicism would take place while on an archeological expedition in Iraq. In fact, one of the key figures whom he would credit with his coming to Christ was not a Christian but a Sufi Muslim by the name of al-Husayn bin Mansur al-Hallaj, who had been born over a thousand years prior to the Frenchman. Hallaj was a person with incredible spiritual gifts, and his example lit the fire of God’s love in Massignon’s heart. Sadly, as it is often the case with exceptional souls, Hallaj was not well received during his life by those in power. 

You see, Hallaj had uttered the words “Ana al-Haqq,” or “I am the Truth.” While the mystic was probably saying that nothing but God truly exists—a not so uncommon Sufi insight—the authorities believed him to be equating himself, a mere mortal, with the divine, especially given the fact that al-Haqq is one of the names that the Qurʾan gives to God. Thus, in 922, Hallaj was sentenced by the Abbasid authorities to a brutal death in Baghdad. Yet, even while having his hands and feet cut off by his torturers, the Sufi continued to pray to God for them to be forgiven. In truth, Hallaj rejoiced in being martyred, even dancing his way to the gallows, for he desired to die on behalf of his people. It is not surprising then that Massignon would choose Hallaj as a sort of Muslim patron saint, as he saw profound parallels between the Sufi mystic and Jesus Christ. Seyyed Hossein Nasr, an admirer of Massignon’s, even called Hallaj a “Christic Sufi” for manifesting the spirit of Jesus within an Islamic context.

Seventeenth-century Mughal miniature: The Execution of Mansur al-Hallaj (Image credit: Brooklyn Museum)

Massignon also felt a mystical connection with the patriarch Abraham. In the 1920s, when he joined the Third Order of St. Francis, Massignon took the Arabic form of Abraham, Ibrahim, as his name. While Christianity and Islam share figures who predate Abraham according to tradition, e.g., Adam or Noah, Abraham, of course, is seen as the sort of fountainhead of the three great monotheistic faiths: Judaism, Christianity, and Islam. Massignon’s connection with Abraham and his deep feelings of love for Islam and the Arab people forced him to also re-examine Abraham’s other son Ishmael, whom the Christian tradition has often disregarded, or worse, denigrated, in a much more positive light.

Of course, Ishmael has traditionally been seen as the father of the Arabs, just like his brother Isaac is the father of the Jews, and thus Muslims believe that the Prophet Muhammad descended from Ishmael. Moreover, while Muslims revere both Ishmael and Isaac as prophets, Ishmael is given a higher status in Islam, as he is believed to have helped his father Abraham build the Kaʿba and was the son whom the patriarch sacrificed to God. Massignon even calls Hagar and Ishmael’s exile by Sarah a hijra (migration), which, of course, conjures up the image of Muhammad and the early Muslims’ hijra from Mecca to Medina. Just as Massignon would feel a spiritual bond with Abraham and Ishmael, he would also feel one with their descendant, the Prophet Muhammad. While Massignon, as a Christian, disagreed with some of Muhammad’s teachings, particularly ones which clashed with Christian doctrines pertaining to Jesus or the Trinity, he also saw that Muhammad had turned the Arabs, who had been polytheists for centuries, to the worship of the God of their ancestors Abraham and Ishmael, and this allowed Massignon to recognize Muhammad as a holy individual.  

Especially interesting for us admirers of Thomas Merton is that Massignon and the Trappist monk were able to develop a friendship. Merton was taken by an article Massignon had written on the Seven Sleepers of Ephesus, and the two devout, though at times unconventional, Catholics began to correspond. Massignon would play a major role in Merton’s encounter with Islam, particularly with the inner tradition of Sufism, and on the former’s advice, Merton would get in touch with the Pakistani Sufi Abdul Aziz, whom he would correspond with for years, growing in his knowledge and appreciation of the spiritual treasures of Islam. 

What is perhaps most important to me, however, about the example of Louis Massignon is that his interest in Islam did not end with books or theories. Massignon believed that Christians and Muslims were brothers in Abraham, not by flesh and blood, but by faith in the God who had first called the great patriarch to him. Massignon would organize Christian-Muslim pilgrimages to the church dedicated to the Seven Sleepers of Ephesus (whose story is recounted in Qurʾan 18:9-26) in Brittany, France, where members of both faiths could pray and dialogue with one another. He also made sure that his faith in Christ and his love for Muslims meant that he would make tangible sacrifices on their behalf. Thus, inspired by Mahatma Gandhi, Massignon fasted and took part in non-violent civil disobedience to protest French atrocities in Algeria. Pope Pius XI even nicknamed him the “Muslim Catholic”—which has a nice, be it confusing, ring to it. 

Massignon’s example shows us that true interfaith scholarship involves a love for the people and faith you are engaging with, while also remaining true to your own tradition, for the French mystic never compromised his belief in the dogmas of the Catholic Church or accepted a sort of religious syncretism. Yet, Massignon felt a true mystical and spiritual connection with Muslims. For him, they were fellow believers in the God of Abraham, Isaac, Ishmael, and Jacob and this, undoubtably, is the approach any Christian who wants to seriously and honestly engage with Islam and Muslims needs to take.