Sufism, though firmly rooted in Islamic belief and practice, has often been received in non‑Muslim settings as a universal path of inner transformation, love, and direct encounter with the divine. In South Asia, for example, Sufi orders such as the Chishti, Qadiri, Suhrawardi, and Naqshbandi became deeply woven into a wider religious landscape, so that their shrines drew Hindus, Sikhs, and others seeking blessing, healing, or fulfillment of vows. In such shared spaces, Sufi poetry and music interacted with bhakti currents, emphasizing heartfelt devotion over rigid ritual or social hierarchy. In other regions, including parts of Southeast Asia, Sufi‑colored practices such as saint veneration and the use of amulets blended with older local customs, creating forms of piety that felt familiar to non‑Muslim neighbors even as they remained grounded in Islamic symbolism.

Beyond these historical interactions, Sufi music, dance, and poetry have become powerful vehicles for cross‑cultural reception. Qawwali in South Asia and the Mevlevi Sema in Turkey are often encountered by non‑Muslims as moving artistic performances or meditative practices, sometimes detached from their original function as dhikr, the remembrance of God. The poetry of figures such as Rumi, Hafez, and Ibn ‘Arabi has been widely translated and read in Europe and North America, where selective renderings can encourage a perception of Sufism as a largely universal mysticism with minimal reference to Islamic law or creed. In many non‑Muslim contexts, these artistic forms serve as a doorway into Sufi sensibilities—love, longing, and the annihilation of ego—without necessarily carrying the full doctrinal framework that shaped them.

In Western spiritual and intellectual circles, Sufism has also been taken up in more explicitly “universalist” or secularized ways. Movements inspired by teachers such as Hazrat Inayat Khan present Sufi teachings as a path open to people of any or no formal religion, often emphasizing unity of religions, inner experience, and psychological transformation rather than Islamic ritual obligations. Other groups draw on classical Sufi metaphysics while framing them in language accessible to Christians, Jews, Buddhists, or secular seekers, sometimes integrating them with psychotherapy, healing practices, or contemporary forms of meditation and movement. In such settings, Sufi practices like dhikr, breathing exercises, and contemplative study may be retained, while Islamic law and explicit theological commitments are minimized or bracketed.

This broad reception has generated both creative exchanges and serious tensions. Some Muslim scholars and Sufi practitioners regard the separation of Sufi ideas from Islamic belief and practice as a distortion, arguing that concepts such as tawḥīd, dhikr, and fanā’ only fully unfold within an explicitly Islamic worldview. At the same time, non‑Muslim admirers sometimes romanticize Sufism as “mystical Islam without law,” or as inherently more tolerant than other Islamic expressions, a view that can oversimplify both Sufism and the wider tradition. Yet across these varied appropriations—academic, artistic, interfaith, and “universalist”—Sufism continues to function as a bridge, inviting those outside Islam into a contemplative encounter with themes of divine love, unity, and self‑knowledge, even when that encounter remains partial or selectively framed.