One day of ‘Arafah, twenty years ago, a man known by all the Sufi fuqarā’ of southern Tunisia as “al-‘Ārif” — the Knower of the Divine, or the man of God — though he bore neither the appearance nor the eloquence we usually expect of a “man of God,” said to me:
— Do you know what happened on the day of ‘Arafah?
I responded with what little knowledge I had about the primordial testimony, the famous day of “Alast”, which is alluded to in verse 172 of Surah 7:
وَإِذْ أَخَذَ رَبُّكَ مِنۢ بَنِىٓ ءَادَمَ مِن ظُهُورِهِمْ ذُرِّيَّتَهُمْ وَأَشْهَدَهُمْ عَلَىٰٓ أَنفُسِهِمْ ۖ أَلَسْتُ بِرَبِّكُمْ ۖ قَالُوا۟ بَلَىٰ شَهِدْنَا ۛ
“And [mention] when your Lord took from the children of Adam — from their loins — their descendants and made them testify concerning themselves, [saying to them], ‘Am I not your Lord?’ They said, ‘Yes, we have testified.’” (Surah 7:172)
But he was not satisfied. He then asked me to bring him a new meaning — fresh, true, and worthy of a sincere seeker of ma‘rifah — in his presence, he who was called al-‘Ārif, on a day of ‘Arafah…
So I shared with him a few insights that had been inspired in me in that moment. He was pleased. I felt a bit proud, thinking I had impressed him… until he drew us into a deep silence — a silence that stripped me of all sense of pride and immersed me in a state of poverty and humility.
After a long breath, he looked me in the eyes and said:
— It was on that day that Qābil (Cain) killed his brother Hābil (Abel), out of jealousy.
He then added that my path toward the Truth — ma‘rifah — would be carved in solitude and the pain of separation and betrayal. That my way would be strewn with thorns and blades, set by those whom jealousy would turn hostile to my charisma or to my small, noisy successes. He said other things too — things I only came to understand many years later… and others I still do not understand.
He was indeed a mysterious one, this al-‘Ārif. But what marked me most was what he revealed: that the first murder in human history had taken place on the day of ‘Arafah.
Of course, you might say: this is only the “inspiration” of an illiterate majdhūb Sufi who knew nothing of the accounts found in history books. And I would reply: maybe you’re right. But then, how reliable are those stories preserved in books compared to what might have taken place that day — a day which would become the most sacred of the year for the mu’minīn, the faithful of the Muhammadan identity and path?
Nothing is truly verifiable. No event holds historical value in the scientific sense. Even the figure of Abraham does not appear in any historical record from Iraq, Egypt, or Mesopotamia — regions overflowing with chronicles of kings and significant events.
The truth is that what we find in the so-called “religious histories” holds spiritual value above all — moral and philosophical meaning rather than scientific or historically factual accuracy.
The real question to ask when reading these narratives — including those found in revealed texts like the Qur’an — is not: “Did this really happen?” but rather: “What message is Divine Intelligence trying to convey to human intelligence? What truth is our essence trying to deliver to our conscious mind?”
That is how I reflected on what al-‘Ārif was trying to tell me: that the day of ‘Arafah marks the anniversary of the first crime on Earth — when one brother killed another.
And I immediately grasped the depth of the allusion. The day of ‘Arafah is precisely the day when the great human family is summoned to gather in a spirit of forgiveness — and asking for forgiveness. The entire ritual of Hajj is a celebration of the values of peace, equality, and harmony among human beings; of secure cities, love, and brotherhood.
“Hajj is ‘Arafah,” says a Prophetic teaching. Jurists interpret it to mean that standing at the sacred site called ‘Arafah on the 9th of Dhul-Hijjah is the essential element of the Hajj (note: “pilgrimage” is an inadequate and inaccurate translation of the word Hajj).
Sufis, however, interpret the teaching to mean that the essence of Hajj — and thus of the human journey — is the knowledge of God.
In the light of what al-‘Ārif said, another meaning arises:
‘Arafah means “to know,” but also “to recognize” — and even “to do good” (ma‘rūf) to others. The purpose of Hajj is this knowing and mutual recognition between people, as reminded by verse 13 of Surah 49:
يَا أَيُّهَا ٱلنَّاسُ إِنَّا خَلَقْنَـٰكُم مِّن ذَكَرٍۢ وَأُنثَىٰ وَجَعَلْنَـٰكُمْ شُعُوبًۭا وَقَبَآئِلَ لِتَعَارَفُوٓا۟ ۚ إِنَّ أَكْرَمَكُمْ عِندَ ٱللَّهِ أَتْقَىٰكُمْ ۚ إِنَّ ٱللَّهَ عَلِيمٌ خَبِيرٌۭ
“O mankind! We created you from a male and a female, and made you into peoples and tribes so that you may know one another. Indeed, the most honored of you in the sight of God is the most God-conscious. Truly, God is Knowing and Aware.”
This verse addresses al-nās — human consciousness — the very ones whom Abraham was commanded to summon to Hajj, as mentioned in verse 27 of Surah 22:
وَأَذِّنْ فِي ٱلنَّاسِ بِٱلْحَجِّ يَأْتُوكَ رِجَالًۭا وَعَلَىٰ كُلِّ ضَامِرٍۢ يَأْتِينَ مِن كُلِّ فَجٍّ عَمِيقٍۢ
“And proclaim the Hajj among mankind — they will come to you on foot and on every lean camel, coming from every distant mountain pass.”
People are called to Hajj to remember who they truly are: brothers and sisters, capable of and called to live in peace and harmony. For safety is an essential value in human society, and no one should live in fear of being harmed by another.
It is an invitation — to those carrying the symptoms of Cain as well as those marked by the wound of Abel — to heal from their respective traumas, to rediscover new possibilities of living and living together. To find new meaning in existence, to rediscover the very purpose of human life on Earth, as taught in verse 30 of Surah 2:
وَإِذْ قَالَ رَبُّكَ لِلْمَلَـٰٓئِكَةِ إِنِّى جَاعِلٌۭ فِى ٱلْأَرْضِ خَلِيفَةًۭ ۖ قَالُوٓا۟ أَتَجْعَلُ فِيهَا مَن يُفْسِدُ فِيهَا وَيَسْفِكُ ٱلدِّمَآءَ وَنَحْنُ نُسَبِّحُ بِحَمْدِكَ وَنُقَدِّسُ لَكَ ۖ قَالَ إِنِّىٓ أَعْلَمُ مَا لَا تَعْلَمُونَ
“And [mention] when your Lord said to the angels, ‘Indeed, I will place upon the Earth a successor.’ They said, ‘Will You place upon it one who causes corruption therein and sheds blood, while we glorify You with praise and sanctify You?’ He said, ‘Indeed, I know that which you do not know.’”
A Reading of the Cain and Abel Story: Beyond Condemning Murder, a Critique of Ritualism
The mythology of Adam’s two sons tells us that they were both called to offer a sacrifice at the top of a mountain. Lightning consumed the offering of one — Abel — but not that of Cain:
فَتُقُبِّلَ مِنْ أَحَدِهِمَا وَلَمْ يُتَقَبَّلْ مِنَ ٱلْآخَرِ
(Surah al-Mā’idah, 5:27)
Witnesses interpreted this event as a divine sign. They celebrated Abel as God’s chosen one, seeing in that cosmic phenomenon the mark of divine approval. Cain, envious and confused as to why his own offering had not been accepted — though he had followed all the required rules — sought to eliminate his brother in the eyes of both God and society.
But Abel reminded him of the true purpose behind the rituals — and that Divine Acceptance is not always visible or tied to social approval:
إِنَّمَا يَتَقَبَّلُ ٱللَّهُ مِنَ ٱلْمُتَّقِينَ
(Surah al-Mā’idah, 5:27)
This dialogue, as reported by the Qur’an, is in truth an eternal exchange between two tendencies: the ritualists and the finalists — or the intentionalists.
Since the emergence of religion, these two approaches have coexisted.
The ritualist seeks social validation: the gaze of others, their praise, their approval. The judgment of people becomes his god. His religion turns into performance.
The finalist, on the other hand, knows that intention is the heart’s action. That people’s approval adds nothing to him — and their disapproval or condemnation takes nothing away.
The ritualist pays no attention to inner meaning. The ritual becomes an end in itself — a performative achievement:
— “I perform my prayers, so I must be good.”
— “I completed my Hajj, so I must be important.”
But the finalist is concerned with the source, the intention, the aim. For him, the ritual is a living, adaptable means designed to cultivate a deeper spiritual reality. This is why the forms of worship have varied throughout the eras and messengers. But the aim remains the same: at-taqwā — the conscious effort to bring oneself fully back into Divine Presence.
Hamdi Ben Aissa
Cape Breton
Thursday 9 Dhul-Hijja 1446
June 5th 2025
