|
Mahmood
Ibrahim
The Specificity of
Islamic Thoughts
Recent
titles discussed in this review article include: Suha Taji-Farouki and
Basheer M. Nafi, eds., Islamic Thought in the Twentieth Century
(London and New York: I. B. Tauris, 2004), 367 pp., plus bibliography &
index, Hb. £45.00, ISBN 1 85043 425 5; Raymond William Baker, Islam
without Fear: Egypt and the New Islamists (Cambridge, MA: Harvard
University Press, 2003), 300 pp., plus index, Hb. $29.95, ISBN 0 674
01203 8; and Muhammad Qasim Zaman, The Ulama in Contemporary Islam:
Custodians of Change, Princeton Studies in Muslim Politics
(Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2002), 286 pp., plus index,
Hb. US$29.95, ISBN 0 691 09680 5.
In March of 2001, the Taliban
stunned the world by destroying the historic statues of Buddha at
Bamiyan. The Taliban, in their narrow and peculiar understanding of
Islam, had refused the advice of other Muslims who argued that such
monuments represent civilization’s historic legacy and should remain as
they are. An Egyptian delegation even flew to Afghanistan to try to
convince the Taliban of the error of their ways, arguing that Islam did
not sanction the proposed destruction. Indeed, history shows that the
Buddhas at Bamiyan, among many other pre-Islamic monuments, existed for
centuries under Muslim rule, a clear indication that it was the
Taliban’s interpretation that was at fault and not that of other Muslims
living today.
The
Taliban and the Egyptian Islamists should not be seen as polar
opposites: the one is an aberration, while the other is mainstream.
Also, Islamic thought should not be misconstrued as following either one
extreme or the other. This incident does, however, offer evidence of a
bifurcation in the approach of contemporary Muslims toward the Islamic
foundational texts, especially the Qur'an and the Sunna (including the
Hadith) of the Prophet Muhammad. There are those who heed the commands
of the text in the literal, rigid and inflexible meaning of the word. To
such persons, following the precedents (taqlid) of previous
authorities is the only way to understand Islam: however, because they
apply the interpretations and practices of a bygone era, they appear
retrograde and out of place. The others, while grounding their lives on
the same foundational texts, read these sources applying ijtihad―the
exercise of opinion based upon the use of reason. Their understanding of
the text is dynamic and flexible: thus, they remain current.
This
division goes back many centuries. A decisive moment in the
institutionalization of the split may be located in the conflict
surrounding the Mu`tazili rationalist doctrine of the createdness of the
Qur'an during the third century AH (ninth century AD). The Mu`tazila
advocated their doctrine within the framework of tawh¡d, God’s
unity, a concept that would become central to calls for change by
subsequent reformers throughout Islamic history. Arrayed against the
rationalists were those who insisted that a literal reading of the
Qur'an was the sole criteria for understanding matters of the faith. A
set of social, economic and political circumstances came together to
give victory to these literalists, which led to the birth of the fourth
Sunni school of jurisprudence, the Hanbali madhhab, with its
characteristic rejection of ijtihad as a source of law. Although
adherents to the Hanbali madhhab always remained a minority among
Muslims, literal meaning and taqlid , as an innate outcome,
ultimately became ‘orthodoxy’ owing to a variety of complex factors.
Hence, while never stamped out, ijtihad was marginalized in
Muslim thought for much of the pre-modern era.
It
was not until the nineteenth century that Muslim thinkers began to
reassert, with increasing frequency and urgency, the necessity of
ijtihad if Muslim societies were to formulate authentic and relevant
responses to the challenges facing them. By then, however the “unthought,”
as Muhammad Arkoun would put it, had accumulated several layers, so
Muslims were confronted with a truly formidable task. Indeed, one might
even argue that all attempts at Islamic reform during the last hundred
years have been no more than efforts to peel off these opaque shrouds
which weigh down Muslim thinking and block Muslim creativity―a
creativity which was inherent in Islamic thought for the first two
centuries of its history. Ultimately, for ‘reform’ to be relevant and
meaningful in addressing current concerns, it must be directed toward
the removal of all of the constraints that were imposed in contexts that
are no longer pertinent. We should learn from history, rather than
trying to repeat it.
Identifying
the ‘Islamic’
The three
books under review help us to understand the current manifestation of
this epistemological split and its consequences for contemporary Muslim
thought. Suha Taji-Farouki and Basheer M. Nafi are the editors of
Islamic Thought in the Twentieth Century, a volume packed with
analyses of a multi-faceted discourse aimed at determining what
constitutes ‘Islamic’ and how to forge an authentic Islamic identity in
the face of secularization, globalization and increased Western military
and economic dominance, as well as other local and regional concerns,
not least of which is the urgent need for the internal reform and
revitalization of Muslim society. A generous introduction outlines the
general framework for the study and is followed by eleven essays or
chapters, each focusing upon a vital and distinct aspect of Islamic
thought in the twentieth century.
Reviewing an edited volume is never an easy task, what with the
various authors and their different disciplinary approaches, so I have
decided to consider each essay separately in order to be as fair as
possible to the authors and to their subjects. That being said, each of
these essays is rich in content and detail (and this applies to the
other two books under review as well), so it is impossible to discuss
more than their highlights here. Hopefully, this review article will
pique the reader’s curiosity and lead to a more thorough perusal.
In his essay, “The Rise of Islamic Reformist Thought and Its
Challenge to Traditional Islam,” Basheer Nafi roots the Islamic
intellectual forums of the twentieth century in the upheavals of the
nineteenth, when Muslims were confronted with the ascendant European
Powers. Muslim reformers insisted that the circumstances required
fundamental changes in Islamic thought as it had been constructed over
previous centuries. Indeed, it has become a common methodological
assumption that these changes were inspired by the confrontation with
Europe. However, Nafi cautions that, while it is true that this formed
the immediate background, one should seek out the “inner impulse” for
reform. This approach avoids the pitfalls of a static understanding of
Muslim society and situates reformism within its internal, unfolding
dynamic. As such, reform becomes organic and consistent, rather than
episodic, reactive and inauthentic. Nafi gives examples of reformers
from the fourteenth century onward and in locales as far east as India
and all the way to West Africa. Moreover, he reminds us that reformism
was not solely a Sunni phenomenon. Shi`is also underwent reform as the
Usuli School triumphed over the Akhbaris to reassert ijtihad on
both the jurisprudential and theoretical levels.
It
was only after the mid-nineteenth century that external pressures, in
the form of European military superiority and economic dominance, caused
Muslim statesmen to begin instituting wide-ranging reforms in an effort
to meet the European challenge through modernization. Such modernizing
schemes, superficial and imposed from the top, did not amount to much;
nonetheless, they still shook the position of the `ulama', those
scholars who had been schooled in the traditional institution of the
madrasa and had served to perpetuate it in turn. States removed the
two principal sources of their leadership and influence. They
confiscated the awqaf (endowments) that had sustained the `ulama'
economically; and they overhauled and secularized the school curriculum.
This last act not only reduced the number of students attending
traditional madrasas and, thus, the impact of the ``ulama',
it also challenged their world-view, including their construction of
Islam. To be sure, traditionalist scholars were still produced since
conventional institutions continued to exist alongside reformed ones.
But the leadership role of these traditionally-trained ``ulama'
had effectively been challenged. The ‘rupture with the past,’ of which
current literature speaks, aptly describes the changed fortunes of the
``ulama'. (Zaman, below, concentrates on this specific strand of
Muslim thought.) In underscoring the challenge faced by the
traditionalist ``ulama', Nafi says that the reformist agenda
simultaneously devised modern ways to contain Western influence, while
also disputing “the credibility, even the Islamicity of the dominant
traditional modes of religion by questioning their timelessness and
their reality at the same time” (40). Not interested in the preservation
of the status quo, reformers like Egypt’s Muhammad Abduh based their
reformist ideology upon four principles: God’s unity (tawhid); a
return to the Qur'an and the Sunna as the ultimate sources of
legitimacy; an affirmation of the use of reason; and a reassertion of
the use of ijtihad. Reformist thought, born of a crisis in which
the European Powers dominated Muslims, would eventually exhibit certain
weaknesses, especially as it sought to harmonize Western concepts and
institutions with Islam and through its selective treatment and
borrowing of European models. To their critics, Islamic modernists were
thus exposed as Europeanizers who sought to undermine the foundations of
Islamic society.
Nonetheless, the discourse of these reformers in newly-established
journals and newspapers introduced “a new linguistic medium in society,
less elitist than the language of the traditional ulema, comprehensible
to the ordinary man and capable of carrying the novel idioms and
concepts of the modern times” (48). In their advocacy of reform, in
their articulation of political, social and economic responses to what
challenged them and in their efforts to forge an authentic identity,
they produced a clear distinction between state and society and prepared
the ground for the later development of secular nationalism. The concept
of the nation, initially thought of in Islamic terms (consider `Allal
al-Fasi and Ibn Badis), would develop a life of its own during the
twentieth century.
Nafi
maintains that by “attempting to engage modernity on philosophical and
socio-political levels, the Muslim reformists contributed in a
significant measure to affirming the relevance of Islam to modern times”
(51). They also paved the way for the assimilation of modernity with the
least possible loss for Islam. Finally, it was under the wing of these
reformers that political Islam was born and that Islamic activists, such
as Hasan al-Banna and Abu al-`Ala' al-Mawdudi, found space for their
projects.
It
might be tempting to think that, with the rise of political Islamist
activists wanting to take over state power, reformism would have no
place in Muslim thought during the second half of the twentieth century.
Current media, which sensationalize the activities of extremists and the
attempts of various states to curb the ‘Islamic awakening,’ create the
false impression that Islam is contested, protected, interpreted, or
advocated by representatives of these two camps alone. However, simply
scratching the surface reveals that such generalizations are far from
true. William Shepard contests these positions in his essay on “The
Diversity of Islamic Thought: Towards a Typology.” Shepard reminds us
that Western imperialism in its various forms remained dominant as
Muslim thinkers continued their search for spiritual and cultural
revival. Traditional explanations for the decay of Muslim society no
longer sufficed given the persistence and depth of the Western
challenge. This was especially true after the 1970s, when Western
cultural imperialism was seen as the most direct threat. In fact, when
relevant to their subject, the authors in this edited volume (as well as
Zaman and Baker) recognize the 1970s as a significant turning point in
Muslim thinking. New responses and alternative strategies became
necessary; hence, a veritable rainbow of opinion suffused Islamic
discourse.
Examining the various manifestations and articulations of this
discourse, Shepard categorizes Muslim groups and intellectuals as
belonging to one of three broad types, each of which he subdivides.
Those with a secularist orientation reject the notion that Islam is
all-encompassing and argue that it should be limited to ritual and
private life: public life should be governed by reason and not by the
sahri`a. Secularists are positioned across the political spectrum,
from Kamal Ataturk and Reza Shah on the right to the anti-religious
communist regime of Albania (among other states) on the left.
Islamists, who might be either modernists or radicals, affirm the
central role of Islam, not only in private life, but also in public
life; hence, they are opposed to secularism. They argue that it is not
Islam per se, but the way in which the religion has been interpreted
that has led to the moral and material decline of the Muslims. If
Muslims only would be true to their faith and live, once again,
according to the sources, they would regain their previous unity,
strength and glory. What makes these Islamists either modernists or
radicals is their attitude toward the sources and the extent to which
one should adhere to them―if at all. Thus, Muhammad Said al-Ashmawi, for
example, can distinguish between sahri`a and fiqh
(jurisprudence) to advocate greater flexibility in understanding Islam
(to such an extent that he might be considered a secularist). He has
gone so far as to say that most existing Egyptian legislation is in
conformity with the sahri`a. Others, like al-Mawdudi and Sayyid
Qutb, are more rigid in their understanding of the sahri`a and
how it should be applied. Indeed, groups typified as Islamist exhibit a
greater range of opinions and strategies than the others. To illustrate
the point, Shepard notes that
some movements are more
populist, as with both the Muslim Brothers and the Iranian Revolution,
while others are more elitist, as with the Jama`at-i-Islami. Some are
willing to accept a limited amount of Islamic legislation for a start …
while others are inclined to insist on all or nothing (79).
Indeed,
some are willing to participate in the political process and to field
candidates for election, while others opt for violence as the preferred
route to power. The appeal of all of these groups lies in their
combination of modernity with a strong claim to Islamic authenticity.
While
the secularists and the Islamists are modern, the traditionalists and
the neo-traditionalists have “a strong loyalty to the particular forms
they have inherited from the past” (81). The traditionalists are, of
course, the conservative, conventionally-trained scholars mentioned
above. The neo-traditionalists are those who have taken on some modern
values while still cherishing their traditions, such as the Azhar `ulama',
the ayatollas in Iran during the Pahlavi period and the members
of Sufi orders. All traditionalists have been in the minority because of
the transformations of the twentieth century yet, although their numbers
are relatively few, traditionalism is still a very complex phenomenon.
Shepard classifies the traditionalists according to two scales: a
vertical one ranging from a striking modernism to extreme
traditionalism; and a horizontal one ranging from adaptationism to
extreme rejectionism. Shepard’s typology shows not only the range of
Islamic thought, but also―and this is significant―that secularism, which
was once believed to be the wave of the future, has been seriously
challenged. Islamic states, political parties, banking, garb, values,
norms and so on are being asserted by all manner of groups and
movements. Shepard believes that there is presently a stalemate between
the Islamists and the secularists. Perhaps this explains the
‘heavy-handedness’ of some regimes when they strike against Islamists of
all types and the equally fierce and often irrational reaction by
extremist groups, as the Algerian case illustrates. Although Egypt did
not suffer to the same extent as Algeria during the 1990s, the Egyptian
regime apparently had no coherent policy to distinguish between the
Islamist groups in the country, including the New Islamists, which only
made the situation worse.
According to Shepard, Sufi orders are neo-traditional. Elizabeth
Sirriyeh’s essay, “Sufi Thought and Its Reconstruction,” discusses their
current status in greater detail. Sufism struggled for many centuries
before it was finally accepted by mainstream Islam, yet it still bore
the brunt of attacks by Islamic reformers in the nineteenth century.
Considered backward, reactionary and attractive only to the ignorant
masses, Sufism declined rapidly during the first half of the twentieth
century, especially in the Middle East. It flourished, however, in India
and West Africa due to the books of Ahmad Reza Khan, on the one hand,
and the spread of the Tijani and Qadari orders, on the other. As
Sirriyeh points out: “[I]n most of sub-Saharan Africa until late in the
twentieth century, to think of Islam was to think about Sufi
interpretation of it” (109).
Building upon earlier efforts at reform, Sufism began to experience
a rebound in the Middle East toward the end of the twentieth century. An
important aspect of this reform was emphasis on adherence to the
sahri`a. For instance, the well-known Egyptian Sufi, Muhammad Zaki
Ibrahim, “stressed obedience to the shari`ah in an organized,
socially responsible manner with the suppression of wild forms of
dhikr, music, dance, and the mixing of men and women” (115). Ibrahim
also defended Sufism’s Islamic authenticity to critics, saying that it
sought human perfection, which is an essential Islamic duty. The most
notable revival of Sufism, however, has involved its spread to the West,
as illustrated by the rising fortunes of the Naqshabandiyya-Haqqaniyya
order in England and the United States. Neo-Sufis, like Idris Shah,
influenced this westward expansion, despite severe criticism that
neither Shah’s method nor his philosophy owe anything to Islam or
traditional Sufism.
Attacked in the past, Sufis are still being assailed in the present.
Yet, if history provides a clue, they will remain with us in the future,
for the mystical remains an intrinsic part of religious experience.
The
fifth and sixth essays in this volume deal with nationalism, democracy
and the state. In “Nationalism and Culture in the Arab and Islamic
World,” Ralph Coury considers two related subjects; the presentation of
nationalism―primarily Arab nationalism―in Western discourse and the
Islamist response to the same phenomenon. This discussion is important
because nationalism and the territorial state have played pivotal roles
in the modern history of the Muslim world, roles so central that they
are indicative, according to Reinhard Schulze, of the dominant, while
extremely flexible, world-view among Muslims. Thus, Coury asks “how are
we to understand the persistence of the widespread assumption that this
[Islamic] world is exceptional in its immunity to nationalism” and that
it can only produce a flawed variety of it― Coury believes that this
assumption is due to the Orientalist approach to the Islamic world as
having a religious essence with “unique and exceptional features that
are decisive and everywhere the same” and the contention that Islam “has
governed the cultural, economic, social, and political process of
Islamic societies” (133-34), although this is not said of any other
religion or part of the world. Paradoxically, despite this ‘unity,’ the
Islamic essence is also thought to be fragmentary because Orientalists
view Islamic societies as “mosaics of eternally antagonistic, or at
least profoundly disparate religious, sectarian, tribal, and ethnic
groups” (135).
This
‘essentialist’ view was taken up in post-modernist discourse, in which
academics placed greater emphasis on smaller, heterogeneous groups and
“sang the praises of the playful, the hybrid, the nomadic, the
migratory, the fragmented, the contingent, the multiple, diffuse, and
de-centered self” (135). It is easy to see why the Orientalist
characterization of Arab nationalism would be repeated in such a
framework. Neo-liberalism or neo-modernism, by contrast, would highlight
larger, universal structures, such as capitalism, the market and
globalization, and the diminished role of the state. Smaller structures,
such as those invoked by nationalists, are criticized because they may
impede the spread of capitalism or threaten the hegemony of the
capitalist core. Thus, Arab nationalism (which is criticized from left
and right) is seen not only as unworkable and flawed, but also as unable
to make any headway in Muslim societies owing to the nature of Islam.
Ernest Gellner, for example, says that people in the West have sought
power through production
rather than force, and having both disassociated glory from territory,
and abjured faith in a unique and obligating salvation, [are] no longer
inclined to go to war against each other. But they share the planet with
other religions in which there are societies which exemplify either the
role of honour-committed coercers, or which take an absolutist Faith
seriously and literally, or both of these conditions at once (138).
And when
Islam has already been characterized as a ‘barrack-room religion’ or a
‘tribal religion,’ it is not surprising to see it demonized in this
imagined construct. Islam and Arab nationalism are seen as incompatible
and unable, either together or separately, to produce the type of ‘good
nationalism’ prevalent in the West. Elie Kedourie, in particular, made a
career out of tarnishing Arab nationalism and his efforts are followed
in tight step by Martin Kramer and the Karshs.
Coury
reminds us that Arab nationalism is not only criticized by Westerners
and Orientalists, but also by Islamists and secular Arab intellectuals,
regardless of their faith. They have viewed nationalism as an alien
ideology brought to the region by the West as a means to divide and
conquer it. Hazim Saghiyya contends that it has created a new form of
paganism; Bassam Tibi says that it has promoted superficiality and
sloganeering. Whether it resulted from a methodological imperative or
was intended to promote strategic interests, the nation-state confounded
culture and politics. Arab nationalism in conjunction with the
nation-state has become an antiquated, ineffective means of governance
that must be replaced by local associations or, alternatively, by larger
loyalties so as to better serve market forces and globalization―if, as
some believe, no other ideology has been left standing except liberal,
democratic capitalism.
Such
criticism notwithstanding, Coury believes that Arab nationalism and the
nation-state continue to have relevance. He argues that “nationalism has
been as modular in the Islamic world as it has been anywhere else, and
that it has not differed essentially from the contractual, civic
nationalism that is said to characterize the nationalism of the West”
(161). State structures, such as they are, remain intact and many other
factors supporting Arab unity remain vital. Arab intellectuals, such as
Muhammad al-Jabiri of Morocco and Burhan Ghalyun of Syria, have
transcended local entities to speak of Arab unity and a larger, more
viable governing structure as Arabs continue to develop social, economic
and cultural ties. Finally, Coury says, these scholars, among others,
are aware of two contending trends: one internal, constant and
homogenizing; and the other external, episodic and promoting sectarian
and ethnic differences into communal incompatibilities. The interaction
of Arab nationalism with local nationalisms and pan-Islamism still
continues.
Abdelwahab
El-Effendi’s essay, “On the State, Democracy and Pluralism,” takes up
Muslim attitudes on political issues from their first,
nineteenth-century manifestations through to the ‘khilafa debate’
and the subjects of Islamic government, democracy and human rights. The
earliest discourse, especially during the nineteenth century, focused
upon constitutionalism, particularly the appropriate limits to the
authority of the ruler and the participation of influential groups in
governance under established rules of law. Although these early efforts
were rather fruitless, Iran’s 1906 Constitutional Revolution energized
the atmosphere: the ``ulama' participated and overall support for
such endeavours increased. This support, however, grew tepid as members
of the Majlis began to seek wider representation, including minority
religious groups, and to advocate an expanded democratic process.
Nevertheless, this short-lived experiment set the themes of political
discourse.
It
was the ‘khilafa debate’ that initially stirred up serious
political controversy among Muslim thinkers. When the Caliphate was
abolished in 1922, in the context of nationalism and nationalist
aspirations and the secularizing reforms of Turkey’s Ataturk, a number
of Muslim intellectuals and groups strongly objected. Rashid Rida, for
example, considered the re-establishment of the institution to be a
religious duty believing, as many did, that the Islamic community did
not exist without a Caliphate. By contrast, Shaykh `Ali `Abd al-Raziq,
himself educated in traditional circles (a graduate of al-Azhar, as well
as a sahri`a judge), argued that the Caliphate was repressive and
despotic, that it could not be justified according to Islamic texts, and
that Muslims were free to choose their own form of government. The
debate was so contentious that he was dismissed from his post. Another
notable figure, Muhammad Iqbal, also supported the move to abolish the
Caliphate and to vest authority in an elected assembly.
The
focal point of the debate soon shifted, especially with the rise of the
Islamists, from the necessity of the Caliphate for the existence of the
community to the necessity of an Islamic state for the good of that
community. Hasan al-Banna founded the Muslim Brotherhood in the 1930s
and went on to become the most influential of the self-styled
intellectuals familiar with both traditional and modern forms of
learning. The Islamists’ central premise was and is that people must be
guided back to ‘true’ Islam since their deviation from the straight path
is the source of Muslim misfortune. The writings of al-Mawdudi and,
later, Sayyid Qutb were widely influential in post-Caliphate discourse.
Both condemned nationalism and both rejected democracy, arguing that the
divine will is the final and ultimate authority and not the “whims of
men.” Al-Mawdudi advocated the creation of a ‘true’ Muslim community to
set up a “theo-democracy”: while the leader of this Islamic state would
be elected and receive advice from an elected assembly, he would also be
absolute in his authority and within his rights to disregard all
advisors if he so chose. Qutb preferred to concentrate on the creation
of the ‘community,’ believing that it was still too early to consider
the question of political structure. By the 1970s and owing to a host of
intervening developments, Salafi and other conservative groups began to
claim that they represented the very community that would establish the
long-desired Islamic state. Particularly in Egypt, the mid-1970s saw
groups like Takfir Wa Hijra and al-Jama`a al-Islamiyya trying to bring
their new order into being through the use of violence.
In
the second half of the twentieth century, Islamic discourse on democracy
also gathered momentum as Islamic states emerged in Iran, Sudan and
Afghanistan, and as Islamic political parties competed in local and
national elections. In his conclusion, El-Effendi says that
we can discern three main
trends as far as Islamic attitudes to democracy were concerned: those
who enthusiastically espoused the idea and worked to promote it and to
prove its compatibility with Islam; those who were inclined to accept
democratic procedures, but voice conceptual and philosophical objections
to democracy and propose certain procedural limits on the democratic
process to ensure conformity to Shari`ah; and finally, those who reject
democracy root and branch (189).
Given
the diversity of their opinions on other issues, it is unsurprising that
Muslims also have divergent ideas about democracy. Islam is latitudinal
and the Muslim understanding and interpretation of the faith runs the
gamut from the literal to the rationalist―and sometimes involves a
mixture of both. (Of course, as Shepard’s typology indicates, the
possible lines of demarcation can vary.) This may be illustrated by the
fact that Sunni Muslims were once able to identify with any one of the
four schools of sahri`a (at present, this is hardly the case),
yet still seek a ruling from the other three madhhabs. Indeed,
even non-Muslims have had recourse to the sahri`a, despite
possessing their own courts. El-Effendi concludes by noting that
“whatever is holding up democratic advances in the Muslim world, it is
not religious doctrine.”
After
the Prophet Muhammad migrated to Medina, he set about constructing an
economic infrastructure for the nascent Muslim community. In the
twentieth century, reformers and Islamists followed his example and
turned their attention to the financial and developmental issues vital
to their community. In fact, it was al-Mawdudi who popularized the term
“Islamic economics,” as we learn in Rodney Wilson’s essay on “The
Development of Islamic Economics: Theory and Practice.” Al-Mawdudi
criticized the economic injustices that prevailed in his time,
especially the indebtedness of Muslim sharecroppers. Although not an
economist himself, his writings on the subject influenced people like
Muhammad Abdul Mannan and Muhammad Nejatualla Siddiqi, trained
economists who published pioneering works in the 1960s. Mannan saw
Islamic economics as both system and science: as a system based upon the
Qur'an and the Sunna, as well as the consensus (ijma`) of
religious scholars; and as a normative (prescriptive) science governing
the behaviour of the Muslims (in other words, economics as a behavioural
science). Siddiqi, who was not opposed to conventional, neo-classic
economics, proposed that an Islamic strategy should be developed to
construct an economic system with clear goals, well-defined moral values
and based upon the sahri`a.
A
decade later, after the Islamic Development Bank’s establishment (1973)
and the First International Conference on Islamic Economics in Mecca
(1976), Islamic economics emerged as a discipline. At its core is
economic justice, in which wealth, in the words of Umer Chapra, becomes
a means for realizing human well-being and facilitating spirituality,
not for wasteful ostentation.
Emerging as it did in the second half of the twentieth century and
in the larger context of the Cold War, Islamic economics confronted the
economic stances of Marxism and capitalism. Baqir al-Sadr, a leading
Shi`i cleric who was later executed by Saddam Hussein, rejected the
basic assumptions of Marxist analysis, especially its materialist
underpinnings, while simultaneously arguing that Islam was incompatible
with capitalism, particularly because he saw the latter as being
inherently unjust. In the 1980s and the 1990s, when communism was no
longer a threat and global capitalism was demanding open markets,
deregulation and privatization―in short, a diminished state role in
economic affairs―Muslim economists seized the opportunity to critique
capitalism more emphatically in an effort to promote their alternative
Islamic vision. Syed Naqvi, for example, noted that Islam does not
object to private property and the accumulation of wealth, but cautioned
that unfettered self-interest, a mainstay of capitalism, might be a
motivating factor in economic behaviour, but must not go unchecked.
Excessive self-interest, the exploitation of labour and economic
injustice are all qualities that require the mediation of norms and
values derived from the sahri`a.
Wilson
then turns his attention to Islam and development, highlighting the work
of Khurshid Ahmad of Pakistan, Aidit Ghazali of Malaysia and others.
Ahmad maintains that human values are the
vital
element in the development process and that there is no single Islamic
‘way’ to achieve development: the path should involve a multiplicity of
approaches or models. Ghazali, the leading Malaysian writer on the
subject, stresses religious values and principles as being crucial to
development, which is intended to benefit people after all. Both see the
Islamic concept of tazkiya, purification and growth, as the
framework for development and the way to achieve falah, success
in both material and spiritual attainment.
If
Muslim works on development only began to appear toward the end of the
century, those on finance and banking started to reach maturity at the
same time. Perhaps inspired by the model of the Islamic Development
Bank, many Islamic banks have been established in the last few decades,
such as the Dubai, Qatar, and Bahrain Islamic Banks, the Jordan Islamic
Bank, and the Faisal Islamic Bank of Egypt and Sudan. By the year 2000,
Islamic banking had become a US$150-billion industry. Central to the
concept of Islamic banking is the Qur'anic prohibition against usury or
excessive and exploitative interest on monetary loans. Mudaraba,
the sharing of profit and loss, has long been practiced among Muslims.
But as risk to banks increased, Sami Homoud proposed an alternative
called murabaha, mark-up trade financing, where the mark-up and
the period of repayment are agreed upon in advance by the lender and the
borrower. Most of the banks mentioned above use murabaha in their
financing, even for the long-term projects conducive to economic
development. Still, other practices, such as ijara (leasing) and
musharaka (partnership), have also appeared to meet the demands
of an expanding industry.
Wilson
ends his essay by mentioning several issues that have not yet been dealt
with―or only marginally addressed―such as Islamic taxation, especially
the role of the zakat and jizya (the poll-tax on
non-Muslims), the distinction between religious and non-religious tax
and the role that Muslim states should play in a global economy.
Undoubtedly, these and many other topics will be addressed in the future
as Muslims continue to find strategies to keep up with the evolving
global market.
Compared
to the discourse on Islamic finance, that on gender is relatively
underdeveloped (if voluminous), for some of the fundamental assumptions
governing it have not changed. Hiba Abugideiri’s essay, “On Gender and
the Family,” discusses the literature on the subject and finds that it
has been constrained by an emphasis on motherhood at the expense of
women’s legal and religious rights. Part of the problem is
that twentieth-century
Islamic discourses uphold a system of law that has ultimately petrified
the very process of interpreting gender roles vis-à-vis the institution
of the family in ways that prevent their redefinition … because the
paradigm of family used to guide the interpretative process renders the
Islamic values of family and a traditional understanding of gender roles
synonymous (223-24).
Hence,
although liberal, traditional and Islamist thinkers evince varying
attitudes toward other issues―say, democracy―they all converge on the
issue of gender. In large part, this is because the position of women is
seen as relational to men: in other words, a woman’s individuality or
personhood is de-emphasized and she is only considered, ideologically
and biologically, in relation to men and to society―either as a wife or
as a mother. Viewed only in terms other than herself, she functions as
the cultural authenticator of society.
It
is instructive to note that such thinking is a reversal of what was
advocated by earlier figures―Muhammad Abduh, for example, whose view of
the family “was tied not to establishing gender roles based on a
designated sexual division of labour or sexual difference, but rather to
reforming rights of men and women as equal members of both society and
family” (229). Abduh saw no difference between men and women in terms of
their common humanity and he conceived of women as social, not domestic,
agents. Abugideiri shows that it was secularist, nationalist discourse,
beginning with Qasim Amin, that initiated the reversal. With its vision
of middle-class domesticity, nationalist discourse reduced the role of
women to the mothers who would provide tarbiya (cultural upbringing) to
the nation’s future generations. Amin’s emphasis on the education of
women, it seems, was intended not to enhance their public role, but the
performance of their domestic duties. During the course of the twentieth
century―and particularly with the Islamic resurgence of the last few
decades―Muslim thinkers reappropriated and Islamized this nationalist
thesis. In their discourse, the domestic role of women became still more
sensitive because “their biological and ideological reproductive
capacity was conceptually tied to the preservation and regeneration of
Muslim society” (231). If Amin viewed women as the guardians of the
nation, certain Islamists have seen them as the guardians of Islam.
Furthermore, the family is perceived as a divinely-ordained institution.
Gender roles are not social constructs, but divinely-mandated, and
Islamic values are confounded with traditional views of gender.
What
is striking, Abugideiri says, is that modern Islamists frame their views
on gender and the family in the context of the notion of spiritual
equality. But equality “does not entail non-differentiation of their
respective roles and functions in society,” as Jamal Badawi asserts
(233). This differentiation is understood as the application of the
Qur'anic concept of complementarity: a husband is responsible for the
protection, economic well-being and overall leadership of the family
(that is, in dealing with society and the public sphere) and a wife is
responsible for the home, where “she rules as a queen” (over the family
and the private sphere). A host of other notions characterized by gender
inequality depend upon this concept, not least of which is the
institution of ™§`a (wifely obedience). When a woman is seen as a wife
or wife-to-be, mother or mother-to-be, a woman who is single, educated
and financially-independent is not recognized as a member of a legal
category worthy of elaboration―her relational status has not been
fulfilled.
This
is not to say that the role of women is taken lightly. Women are the
unique ‘cement’ that keep family, society and culture together. The
major impediment to gender justice is the limited conceptual space left
for Islamic thinkers to attempt to expand women’s rights and to redefine
their role. Works by Amina Wadud, Asma Barlas and Khaled Abou El Fadl
represent pioneering efforts to reclaim some needed space by focusing
upon family law and Qur'anic hermeneutics, where the interpretative
process is considered a human endeavour. Such interpretative methods
should consider, not resist, change in the pursuit of gender justice.
The modest beginnings of what Wadud calls “gender Jihad” will allow for
an authentic Islamic response that bases itself upon Qur'anic exegesis
and challenges the patriarchal, authoritarian hermeneutics that have
corrupted Islamic texts through selective reading and subjective
interpretation.
The
last three essays in this volume deal with Islamic thought concerning
non-Muslims, namely, the West in general; Christians and Christianity;
and the Jews. In “Reflections on the West,” Jacques Waardenburg
discusses the different meanings that the ‘West’ has acquired in Muslim
literature. Noting that the term indicated Western Europe until World
War II, after which it largely referred to the United States,
Waardenburg reminds us that “Muslim discourse about the West developed
in particular historical contexts and situations, in which certain
Muslims and certain Westerners encountered each other, (263)” producing
a wide range of opinion dependent, in part, upon the experiences of
different Muslim countries with the ‘West.’ Muslim discourse on the
‘West’ is a construct and Waardenburg identifies five different meanings
for the term. First,
there is the East-West (Orient-Occident) opposition: for instance, the
‘East’ is spiritual, while the ‘West’ is materialistic, and so on. This
meaning was largely replaced by another one in which the ‘West’ is a
political force, a power and a potential enemy, whether in terms of
colonialism or, later, as a combatant in the Cold War. A third meaning
posits the ‘West’ as the locus of modernity; thus, the term has positive
connotations for those wishing to develop their societies along
‘Western’ lines and negative ones for those wishing to preserve their
traditions or advocate alternative models. The fourth meaning focuses
upon the ‘West’ as a ‘particular way of life’ in its external aspects.
The fifth is a moral springboard: the ‘West’ stands for a disintegrating
society, in which materialism reigns and which is, above all, secular,
seductive and aggressive. This society is destructive―not only of
itself, but also of others. This is a negative image of a world and a
culture that must be avoided.
This
portrayal or construct fits particularly well in Islamist discourse,
which views the West in oppositional ideological terms, as if a conflict
between Islam and the West has always existed. After the 1970s, the
West’s secularism and materialist ideology were deemed threatening to
Islam, but its science and technology were broadly accepted. However,
when the West’s political impact is discussed, a wide spectrum of views
dependent upon experience again emerges. In general, the thesis of the
‘clash of civilizations’ is rejected and initiatives for dialogue are
welcomed. There is also an appreciation of certain Western norms and
values that are viewed as being universally applicable. Muslim discourse
on culture and cultural relations is also quite varied and raises
several concerns with the West as a referent. There is a growing
tendency to discuss the West in intellectual and ethical terms. Overall,
Muslim discourse on the West, in its varied forms and for numerous
reasons, has generated as many stereotypes about the West as Western
discourse has generated concerning Islam and the East. This is a
veritable field in itself and one requiring further research.
The
next essay, “Perception of Christians and Christianity,” is by Hugh
Goddard, who explores the changing attitudes of Muslim thinkers toward
Christians and Christianity as their experience with the Christian West
evolved. Muslims and Christians have always interacted and, prior to the
twentieth century, the Muslim view was informed by the classic concept
of Christians as ‘People of the Book.’ As dhimmis (members of a
protected community), Christians were accorded autonomy in religious
affairs in return for the payment of certain taxes, such as the jizya.
Discourse during this period either showed a warm appreciation of Jesus
and Mary, especially their spirituality, or consisted of little more
than hostile polemics, with Christianity seen as having been grossly
corrupted well before the coming of Islam. During the nineteenth
century, with the arrival of Christian missionaries and the West as a
colonial power, the tendency, with few exceptions, was to equate
Christianity with colonialism.
In
the twentieth century, Muslim attitudes began to demonstrate evidence of
fresh thinking, especially about Jesus, as is evident in the writings of
Abbas Mahmud al-Aqqad and Muhammad Kamil Hussein, among others. The same
may be said about texts dealing with Christianity by such authors as
Isma`il al-Faruqi, Hasan Hanafi and Adnan Aslan, who have made attempts
to generate a deeper understanding of the faith and have called for a
reappraisal of traditional attitudes. The discourse on Christians
necessarily includes discussion of dhimmi status and the jizya,
and opinion varies considerably. Thus, while some see these as forming a
framework for contemporary relations, others, like Muhammad Selim
al-Awa, consider them to be part of history and no longer valid in
modern states. Changes in attitude, especially in the postcolonial
period, have been boosted by the calls for interfaith dialogue that
followed meetings between Western Muslim and Christian groups, which
began publishing journals and newsletters about their encounters. In the
Middle East also, especially in the aftermath of the Lebanese civil war,
Arab Muslims and Christians met to discuss their relationship in the
interfaith framework. This has resulted in the formulation of an Arab
Muslim-Christian Covenant around the principles of the rejection of
bigotry and the promotion of equality, tolerance, political
participation and coexistence.
The
last essay in the book is “Thinking about the Jews” by Suha Taji-Farouki.
Muslim thought on the Jews has undergone several transformations in the
modern period largely owing to the Zionist project and the creation of
the state of Israel in 1948. The realities of this experience, ranging
from the expulsion of the Palestinians in 1948, through successive
Arab-Israeli wars (especially the one of 1967), to the peace process of
the last few decades, have necessarily influenced Muslim ideas and
attitudes.
Two
principal phases are apparent from Taji-Farouki’s discussion. First,
there is the traditional Muslim position of the classical period, which
was based upon the Qur'an and other exegetical works. Like Christians,
Jews were considered ‘People of the Book’ and were accorded dhimmi
status, with their lives, property and places of worship guaranteed in
return for the payment of jizya. They enjoyed autonomy in their
internal, religious affairs, but also had a considerable number of
opportunities to interact with the dominant culture in various fields,
from business to intellectual endeavours, so that a “profound cultural
and intellectual exchange” (321) took place between the two communities.
This “creative symbiosis,” as S. D. Goitein has described it, has become
the basis for understanding Muslim-Jewish relations in the Middle Ages.
Recent
scholarship attempting to equate anti-Zionism with historic anti-Judaism
(or even anti-Semitism) prefers to show the ‘darker’ side of Jewish life
under Islam and challenges Goitein’s description as a myth; however, the
vast majority of scholars agree that creative symbiosis is a concept
central to the study of early Muslim-Jewish relations. Mark R. Cohen,
for example, has found that the scale of Jewish persecution under Islam
“did not remotely approach Jewish suffering in Western Christendom”
(332). When there were instances of persecution, they were not directed
at the Jews per se, nor were they accompanied by the usual irrational
accusations against the Jews as a community. There have been no recorded
expulsions of Jews from Islamic lands and, Cohen says, the Jews of Islam
lack a collective historical memory of persecution at the hands of
Muslims. When Muslim traditional texts (for example, exegetical and
jurisprudential works) are scrutinized by scholars, such as Ronald
Nettler and Camilla Adang, one finds that negative stereotypes certainly
exist, but that the treatment of Jews is “devoid of hatred” (333) and
that Jews were treated no differently than the Christians and
Zoroastrians also encountered by early Muslims.
This
attitude began to change during the nineteenth century as traditional
political and social structures began to crumble. The advent of
political Zionism and the struggle for Palestine provided “the backdrop
to an appropriation of the Qur'anic and early Islamic treatment of the
Jews that [was] both new, and unique to the specific circumstances of
the twentieth century” (334). In discussing the range of opinion during
this second phase of Muslim thought on the Jews, Taji-Farouki raises
several interesting points concerning the creation of an Islamic
meta-narrative on Palestine (Palestine is for all Muslims; Palestine is
a waqf or perpetual trust for all generations) that sought to make sense
of the situation and to offer solutions based upon a particular reading
of foundational Islamic texts. Taji-Farouki traces the development of
this meta-narrative, especially during the Mandate period, showing how
traditional stereotypes were appropriated to characterize contemporary
Jews creating, in the process, an image of the “essential Jew” (328).
Mahmud Abu Rayya, for example, conflated early Jewish converts to Islam
(who were transmitters of Hadith) with Zionist Jews in pre-1948
Palestine. These early Jewish converts were “cunning deceivers” (325)
who had incorporated Isra`iliyyat (a traditional Muslim literary
category focusing upon Hebrew prophets and legends) into Muslim
tradition to undermine Islam. An early Jewish convert, Ka`b al-Ahbar,
was accused of being the first Zionist and a member of the conspiracy to
assassinate the second caliph, `Umar.
The
Isra`iliyyat issue had emerged in the context of Salafi and
reformist attempts to return to a pristine, rationalist Islam. Muhammad
Abduh, for instance, questioned the applicability of these legends in
the larger context of his criticism of taqlid, while Rashid Rida
laid the foundation for the conflation of past with present by insisting
that the Isra`iliyyat , with their irrational content, had
actually been introduced to corrupt the faith. The meta-narrative gained
greater acceptance through writings on the subject by conservative `ulama',
Islamists and diverse other scholars and was accentuated by repeated
Arab military defeats and Israeli intransigence.
This was a new anti-Jewish attitude that differed from traditional
Muslim stereotypes as well as from European anti-Semitism.
European-style anti-Semitic literature was known, but it served as an
“external proof” in Muslim discourse, indicating that such texts were
“functional, rather than organic” (338). However, during the last
decades of the twentieth century in particular, when it became clear
that Israel would not yield and that Arab governments could not restore
Palestinian rights, motifs from European anti-Semitism began to form a
strand in the broad range of opinion emerging alongside political Islam.
Israeli and other scholars who claim that the new anti-Jewish discourse
is part of “historic anti-Semitism” not only over-generalize, but repeat
the error of conflating past with present. Needless to say, the current
political climate provides the best explanation for the pervasiveness of
this anti-Jewish, anti-Zionist attitude, as well as the cold peace
between Israel and Egypt more than two decades after Camp David.
Taji-Farouki ends her discussion by presenting some alternative
approaches (not in the sense of political solutions) aimed at mitigating
the attitudes described above and makes special mention of people like
Sadiq Nayhum and Mohammad Talbi, who critique the ways of thinking
common among political Islamists. She also mentions the often positive
influence of ‘official’ Islam, such as the Azhar `ulama', who
stepped forward to endorse the peaceful relations initiated by President
Anwar Sadat. However, efforts at interfaith dialogue in Europe and the
US may bring Jewish and Muslim groups together, but the continuing
Palestine conflict impedes the realization of any meaningful progress in
this direction. Moreover, without Israeli and Western recognition of the
impact of Zionism on the current Muslim formulation and attitudes, there
will be only limited opportunities to develop alternative approaches.
Stated differently, if there is no threat, there is no need to be on the
defensive―nor on the offensive for that matter. Only when the Palestine
conflict is ended will interfaith dialogue and other, similar
initiatives be more fruitful.
Egypt’s New
Islamists as a moderating force
In
Islam without Fear: Egypt and the New Islamists, Raymond Baker
presents the moderate Islamic intellectuals who make up the Wassatteyya
(Centrist) movement, an organized Egyptian grouping that is influential
among the various contemporary Muslim thinkers and tendencies discussed
above. United by their common stand, members of the movement come from a
wide range of professions and include journalists, lawyers, judges,
members of the `ulama' and other religious scholars. In their
writings, public pronouncements and other elaborations, they have
addressed a wide range of issues in the spheres of culture, society,
politics and the economy. In Baker’s opinion, “because these Islamic
scholars have maintained an organic relationship to their society as
individuals and as a group, their work can be situated in the modern
history of Egypt and the Middle East” (4).
Appealing
to those groups and individuals who fall within the category of the
Islamic awakening and to society at large, members of the Wassatteyya
movement start from the assumption that Islam is a civilization that
demands constructive social action. All Muslims, they believe, must
engage in moderate, productive and creative activity to meet the
challenges of modernity and secularism. They have spoken repeatedly and
unapologetically against extremism and the use of violence. At the same
time, they argue that the best way to combat extremism is by renewing
the national struggle against poverty, while simultaneously working for
social justice and progress. This is the way, they feel, to rekindle
hope and faith, and to rescue youth from the despair and alienation that
make them potential recruits for extremists. Baker groups and presents
the Wassatteyya and their ideas in three separate sections on
culture, society and politics.
The first
section, on culture, considers the group’s attitudes toward education
and the arts. In perhaps a deliberate reference to Muhammad Abduh, the
group calls for a national commitment to education, describing it as a
necessary step and the one most certain to achieve social reform. By
education, they mean both formal schooling (ta`lim) and cultural
upbringing (tarbeyya). As Baker notes, the New Islamists provide
“a realistic critique of the deteriorating conditions in education and
the inadequacy of the government’s response” (23). The journalist, Fahmy
Huwaidy, a member of the New Islamists, uncovered a 1996 report on
education in Egypt that had been suppressed and had even cost its author
his career: the report showed a steady decline in the proportion of the
budget allocated to education. The inadequacy of Egypt’s educational
infrastructure was underscored by the fact that 77% of the primary
schools surveyed held two sessions a day and that some schools in Cairo
and environs even held three. Middle and higher grades and even higher
education fared no better and, in addition to large classes, such
facilities as libraries, laboratories, educational equipment and
playgrounds were absent, broken down, or simply inadequate. This neglect
created a vacuum into
which all kinds of disruptive forces moved― anomic social pressures,
anti-social forces, and various groups with competing political agendas.
These outside intruders ranged from American education experts brought
in at the upper levels, to Islamist extremists who crowded in from below
(28).
Students
and their parents have naturally looked elsewhere and, by the year 2000,
more than 5000 private schools were operating under very loose
regulation by the Ministry of Education. Some of these schools provide a
Westernized curriculum, others an Islamic one. Private for-profit
universities also came into being, but their facilities remain “modest,
and the faculties are mainly overworked adjuncts from the national
universities” (31).
The New
Islamists assert that this debacle is the result of a cultural crisis
brought on by a failure to resolve issues of national identity and that
meaningful educational reform cannot take place until these issues are
settled. Tariq al-Bishry traces the dilemma to Egypt’s struggle against
colonialism, when two competing trends of opposition and resistance came
into being, one Westernized and nationalist and the other Islamist.
Nationalist governments failed to devise a rational educational policy
owing to the inconsistency of their overall orientation creating severe
policy gaps that were exploited by many groups. The New Islamists’
position is that the government’s lack of vision has been extremely
dangerous and that it led to terrorism, “a phenomenon that grew in the
void created by the collapse of the regime’s ideology into incoherence
at a time when the material conditions of ordinary Egyptians were
deteriorating” (38).
To deal
with the cultural crisis, the New Islamists, in their centrist
moderation, propose a renewal based upon their understanding of Islamic
civilization “as one that inspires learning and instills confidence in
human reason as a guide to understanding not only revelation but also
the world” (45). Islam, rightly understood, relies upon rationality,
sound advice and healthy argumentation―all enjoined by the Qur'an.
Hence, there can be no renewal and revitalization of Islam without the
use of ijtihad. The Wassatteyya want to forge a broad
national consensus coalescing around civilizational identity and
engaging the moderate social forces that lie between Westernized
Egyptians and Islamist extremists. They see their role as providing
guidance, tarshid, in a long-term process that will require new
definitions and a new understanding of the nation. They argue for an end
to the duality that creates confusion and for educational reforms based
upon inclusiveness, rational thought and creativity. The school
curriculum should develop the sense of a secure Arab-Islamic identity
and provide the values needed to build a strong community. But critical
and imaginative thinking are not only necessary for reformers, but for
students as well. Students need larger frameworks of understanding
within which they can make sense of their reality; they also need the
freedom to explore that reality. Indeed, students should be encouraged
to participate in national issues so that they connect with the nation
and society.
The
movement’s elaborations on the arts and their place in Islamic society
took place in the shadow of ugly developments as Islamist extremists
attempted to silence all of those whose work they found disagreeable.
Nasr Hamid Abu Zeid was tried on charges of apostasy; Farag Foda was
assassinated; and, in 1994, Naguib Mahfouz survived an attempt on his
life. The New Islamists have condemned these attacks in no uncertain
terms. Addressing religious extremists, Yusuf al-Qaradawy, for example,
insists that there is no justification in the Qur'an or the Sunna for
prohibitions against the arts. On the other hand, addressing secular
extremists who argue for absolute freedom of creative expression,
Huwaidy notes that freedom and responsibility are inseparable and that
freedom is absolute nowhere in the world. Distancing themselves whenever
possible from these ‘cultural wars,’ the New Islamists have acted
consistently to create space for dialogue and to remind both sides to
consider such issues in the larger context of national needs.
They have
also criticized the government’s cultural policy for promoting
consumerism and degrading spiritual values, as the lawsuit brought by
Mustafa Shaka against the “Ramadan Riddles” indicates. The spiritual
values behind the Ramadan fast, they insist, are being eroded and
Ramadan has become closely identified with unrelated things like
watching television serials, smoking nargilas and frequenting
entertainment tents that provide music and dancing all night long. They
object to the commercialization of Ramadan and argue that the media
could and should play a constructive role in propagating proper values,
not misguided political propaganda.
In the second section of his book, which looks at the
New Islamist position on society, Baker emphasizes their rejection of
violence and extremism: differences, they believe, should be solved
through dialogue. True, the Wassatteyya advocate building a
community according to the shari`a, but their understanding of
the shari`a and their approach to it, including its
implementation, set them apart from Islamist activists. Crucial to their
view is the distinction between fiqh or the process of adducing law and
the shari`a. Fiqh is a human endeavour and thus subject to
change from one time to another. To the New Islamists, the extremists
misunderstand and misrepresent Islam by putting fiqh and the
shari`a on the same plane and demanding their immediate application.
But the shari`a is not a ready-made structure that is imposed
from above: it is flexible as well as comprehensive. It must answer the
needs of society and it can only do that if it is applied gradually and
thoughtfully, and if it is based upon ijtihad to permit modern,
creative solutions to modern problems.
This
community, contrary to the position of extremists, is inclusive,
pluralistic and tolerant. Its position on the role of women, for
example, although ultimately grounded in the Qur'an and the Sunna, goes
a long way toward dealing with prevalent gender injustice, which,
significantly enough, the New Islamists admit exists. They proclaim that
men and women, who have absolute equality in human dignity and
responsibility, are the essence of humanity and the expression of the
unity of creation. While they do believe that the primary duty of women
is to care for the family, they contend that nothing in Islam prevents
women from seeking a public role and even political leadership.
Addressing the sectarian conflict that has emerged in Egypt, the New
Islamists insist that it is not religion per se that is the cause,
rather it is the dilution of religious values and religion improperly
understood and applied that fan religious hatred. They call for national
unity and fraternity, and categorically affirm the absolute equality of
Muslims and non-Muslims in civil and political rights. In their
discourse, the traditional status of dhimmis and the special
taxes are irrelevant: all are equal citizens with
constitutionally-guaranteed rights. This inclusiveness also extends to
secularists on the basis of constructive dialogue and the integration of
all elements in the nation.
In
addition to a revamped educational system, the national community needs
an economy that serves a higher order of human dignity and justice. This
Islamic economic order should have its elements “assessed according to
their capacity to enhance human relationship to Divine purpose” (132).
The Islamic economy will not be based upon exploitation, excess and the
accumulation of wealth for its own sake. Rather, it will be ethical,
humane and balanced. Economic development and the eradication of poverty
are inherent in this system. The notion of istikhlaf, humanity’s
role as God’s vice-regent on earth, shapes the New Islamist view on many
issues, such as human rights, which includes the economy. In this
notion, human beings, regardless of nationality, religion, or gender,
have the obligation to build, grow and progress. Islam does not provide
a blueprint for how this order should come about, merely general
principles. The creation of a framework is a demanding task left to
human endeavour and the creativity of each generation.
Baker
addresses the New Islamists’ discourse on politics, the nature of the
state, democracy and citizenship in the third section of the book.
Islam, properly understood, they maintain, provides for the “full
participation of non-Muslims as citizens of an Islamic community …
Egyptians as a people are made up of both Muslims and Copts who are the
joint heirs of an incomparable shared history and culture” (165). As a
matter of fact, Fahmy Huwaidy advocated the election of Copts in the
electoral campaigns of 2000. The New Islamists also believe that
democracy is the best means to achieve justice, arguing that democratic
political processes are inherent in the Islamic concept of shura
(consultation).
Thus, an
Islamic political system would have several characteristics: legitimate
authority resting with the people; society having duties and
responsibilities that it exercises independently of the commands of the
ruler; freedom and equality as the rights of all citizens; injustice
religiously forbidden; and finally, the shari`a providing the
guiding principles for legislation to achieve all of these goals. Once
again, there are no blueprints. What Islam or the shari`a
provides is general principles, values and norms, and it is up to each
generation, using ijtihad, to devise a political system that best
meets society’s needs.
In their discourse, the New Islamists address themselves to the extremes
of right and left, to the religious, in order to articulate a centre―a
national consensus based upon pluralism and equal rights. They approach
all subjects from a position of ijtihad, which they see as
essential to the revitalized understanding of Islam needed to underpin
their new society. They readily admit that they do not have all of the
answers for the social, economic and political reconstruction of their
society. Nor do they put themselves forward as the exclusive spokesmen
for Islam or recognize any group which claims such exclusivity. Their
moderate stands put them at odds with extremists. Unfortunately, the
Egyptian regime has often lumped these moderates with the extremists in
hasty attempts to suppress the latter, further exacerbating the
situation. For example, a political party founded on the principles
advocated by the New Islamists, the Wassat Party, which included Muslims
and Copts, was denied legitimacy by the regime and thus prevented from
fielding candidates for election. This ‘black and white’ approach to
‘things Islamic’ is neither conducive to harmony nor constructive when
it comes to addressing Egypt’s pressing national concerns. It is
certainly a counter-productive method of dealing with the conditions
that facilitate the emergence of extremist attitudes and their
propagation. Regardless, the New Islamists have taken upon themselves
the task of tarshid, ‘guidance’, and seem to be gaining valuable
ground. Only time will tell if the vision that they articulate can
succeed and endure.
Resistance
to state Islamization in India and Pakistan
Islam
arrived in India roughly at the same time as in Egypt, but it took
centuries before a civilizational structure developed there to produce
an outstanding and truly unique expression of Islam. Distinctive in many
respects, Indian Muslims have had continuous links with the Middle East
and have often shared similar experiences and challenges, for example,
British rule during parts of the nineteenth and early-twentieth
centuries. Sometimes they even shared the same rulers: a scion of the
Baring banking family, Sir Evelyn Baring (Lord Cromer) was a finance
minister in India before he became the British consul-general in Egypt
in 1883, a post which he held until 1907.
It is
tempting to think, like those who ‘essentialize’ Islam, that Indian and
Egyptian Muslims have responded in the same way to modern, external and
secular pressures like colonialism. However, Muhammad Qasim Zaman
dispels any notion of the homogeneity of Muslim thought in The Ulama
in Contemporary Islam: Custodians of Change, a masterly study of the
role of the `ulama' in India and, after 1947, in Pakistan. Zaman
focuses upon those Muslim intellectuals who were trained in conventional
madrasas, especially the Deobandi madrasa, and who fall
within the category of ‘traditionalists’ in William Shepard’s typology.
They are not Islamic modernists like Sayyid Ahmad Khan and Muhammad
Iqbal, nor are they Islamist activists like Abu al-`Ala¥ al-Mawdudi.
Although numerically they are a minority, it would be a mistake to
consider their role as insignificant or inconsequential. In fact, it is
persistent and seems to be expanding. In 1947, there were only 150
madrasas in Pakistan; currently, there are more than 2700 of these
traditional institutions in Punjab province alone.
Zaman starts out by examining the response of the `ulama' to the
changing world around them as occasioned by the advent of British
colonialism. Confronted with both colonial law and British ‘reform’ of
their own laws, these scholars had to devise strategies and
justifications to safeguard Muslim law and the foundational sources of
such law, as well as the qualifications of individuals who could
interpret the law in an authoritative manner. In assuming a conservative
position regarding several issues that they felt encroached upon the
shari`a, like the circumstances surrounding the Dissolution of
Muslim Marriage Act of 1939, these `ulama' not only preserved the
integrity of the Muslim community― and, of course, Islam, at least from
their perspective―but also created a space for their own continued
leadership. What Zaman has demonstrated is that the `ulama' “had
the resources within the Islamic legal tradition to bring about legal
change [and] that the ulema were indispensable to the guidance of the
community” (30-31).
What is
remarkable here is that, rather than invoking ijtihad, like their
counterparts elsewhere, these `ulama' have opted for taqlid
or the imitation of past precedent. This is particularly striking
because most of these `ulama' belong to the Hanafi school of law,
usually considered the most cosmopolitan of Islam’s four schools, whose
founder, Abu Hanifa, was the original champion of ijtihad. While
taqlid in other contexts might rightfully convey rigidity and
petrifaction, Zaman makes it clear that this has not been the case here,
particularly in his discussion of contending Deobandi viewpoints on the
partition of India. One can follow taqlid while still having the
latitude to practice ijtihad in some instances. So although al-Mawdudi
favoured partition to create an Islamic state, another Deobandi scholar,
Mawlana Husyan Ahmad Madani, opposed partition and advocated a position
of “united nationalism.”
Zaman
also notes the diversity of opinion in religious commentaries. He shows
that these commentaries, rather than representing useless, sterile
scholasticism, have “allowed scholars to preserve the identity and the
authority of their school, their legal tradition, while simultaneously
providing them with the means of making sometimes important adjustments
in that tradition” (38). One of his examples is taken from the work of
Mawlana Zafar Ahmad Uthmani, a Deobandi scholar who not only used his
commentary on the Hadith to show that the Hanafi school is solidly based
in the Prophetic tradition, but also used that same Prophetic tradition
to refute the position of Madani, his Deobandi colleague, on united
nationalism.
Having established the authority of their school and legal tradition and
having carved out a central role for themselves in the process, the `ulama'
needed to maintain their role both under colonial rule, which introduced
educational ‘reform’ (that is, a secular curriculum), and in
post-independence states, which also moved to regulate education and
bring educational institutions under their control. Under British rule,
many a madrasa was closed down, especially if it did not teach
secular or (according to the criteria of some administrators) otherwise
‘useful’ subjects. In his discussion of the issues surrounding the
madrasa reforms in Pakistan in the 1960s and 1970s, Zaman observes
that they apparently amounted to little more than government attempts to
bring the madrasas under its control. But much as they had
resisted British attempts, the `ulama' also defied the Pakistani
state, seeing the proposed reforms as thinly-veiled pretexts to
undermine altogether the institution of the madrasa and the authority of
the `ulama'. The differing view of reform held by these scholars
was lost on the government. These Deobandi `ulama' did not see
reform in terms of incorporating a secular or ‘useful’ curriculum into
their courses of study. Rather, reform meant a change that would bring
“religious doctrine and practice, as interpreted by these reforms, into
conformity with whatever is conceived of as true or original Islam”
(80).
In resisting the state and keeping their distance from it, these `ulama'
nurture an ambivalent position toward state power. Such ambivalence may
have existed in the past, but here Zaman discusses the immediate
background to current configurations, particularly the efforts of the
government of General Zia ul-Haqq (1977-88) and its “thoroughgoing
program of Islamization,” which was continued by the subsequent
government of Nawaz Sharif in the 1990s. Despite the widespread
Islamization, tension between the `ulama' and the state did not
dissipate―in fact, it may have increased―and Zaman argues that the Haqq
and Sharif eras saw the commencement of Pakistan’s current social
problems. Government-appointed judges, who were often Western-educated,
had little regard for the ability of the `ulama' to interpret the
law, considering them anachronistic, if not completely uneducated,
because they had not attended college or university. Meanwhile, the `ulama'
grew more suspicious of the state, which was strengthening its authority
and expanding its legitimacy at their expense through the Islamization
programs. Indeed, the state’s newfound strength allowed it to penetrate
deeply into all of its citizens’ affairs.
The `ulama' have also had an ambivalent relationship to those
Islamist activists who call for an Islamic state. Zaman explains this
situation with references to the Sunni activist, al-Mawdudi, and the
Shi`i, Khomeini. At stake is the eventual role of the `ulama' and
the entire issue of authority. Thus, while al-Mawdudi saw authority as
resting with the amir, the head of the community that brought
about the Islamic state, for Khomeini, authority was the head of the
state, as encapsulated by his notion of vilayat-i-faqih, and he
went so far as to suggest that the government’s power should not be
constrained by Islamic law. In sum, the ambivalence of the `ulama'
to these activists, notwithstanding their call for the implementation of
the shari`a in an Islamic state, has been related to their fear
that, “in the guise of upholding Islam, the state might make it
subservient to its own goals and ultimately absorb it within itself”
(107).
Of
interest in Zaman’s unfolding discussion of the role of Pakistan’s `ulama'
is the emergence of sectarian identities and the subsequent
intensification of Sunni-Shi`i conflict. Several factors are responsible
for this turn of events and Zaman discusses the social and economic
background of the persons and groups involved in sectarian conflict. One
factor was the Iranian Revolution, which seems to have emboldened the
Pakistani Shi`a to raise several grievances against existing conditions
and to demand the right to practice Shi`ism freely. Shi`i political
parties were formed, protest marches were held and petitions were
signed. A particular Shi`i group, Sipah-i Muhammad, came into being in
1991 and was linked to violent methods; it eventually splintered into
many extremist factions. Fearing the spread of the Islamic Revolution or
of Shi`ism itself, as well as the vilification of Muhammad’s companions
in Shi`i ceremonies, militant Sunni groups, such as Sipah-i Sahaba,
began to organize in turn. Zaman discusses this militant environment and
its deadly consequences (over 900 sectarian riots in eight years with
436 dead and over 1000 injured) not only in terms of sectarianism, but
also in relation to the social and economic forces in Pakistan that
fuelled the tension.
Sunnis and Shi`is share a great deal, especially their rural-urban
dislocation, their traditional madrasa education and even their
participation in the war in Afghanistan. Altogether, sectarianism seems
to have expanded the influence of the `ulama' from the bottom up,
especially with the expansion of the madrasa network to
accommodate the millions of Afghani refugees who were displaced by
decades of war. Of course, several other factors influenced these
developments, not least US and Saudi financial assistance and Pakistan’s
strategic decision to support the students, the Taliban, of these
madrasa institutions in their attempt to take Kabul in 1996. In one
sense, the Taliban’s victory in Afghanistan may be seen as an expansion
of the role of the Deobandi `ulama', who had educated the new
rulers in their schools. And, not surprisingly, the sectarian milieu in
which these students were educated had its effects later in Afghanistan,
as the massacre of Shi`is in Mazar-i-Sharif demonstrates.
Although not all of the Deobandi `ulama' supported the Taliban’s
vision of Islam and its method of rule, Pakistan’s active participation
in the Afghan regime’s eventual fall exacerbated the poor relations
between the `ulama' and the regime of Parvez Musharraf. Such
conditions ensured the continuation of ambiguities regarding the role of
Islam and the `ulama' in Pakistani public life and the latter’s
ambivalent attitude to the state.
Zaman
ends his study by describing and comparing the religio-political
activism of some `ulama' in Pakistan, Egypt, Saudi Arabia and
India, exploring the links that they forge with one another and with
governments (especially for financial support). These links have been
important in allowing the `ulama' to situate themselves within
larger developments in the Islamic world. A case in point discussed by
Zaman involves the career of the Indian scholar, Sayyid Abul Hasan Ali
Nadawi. With Saudi support and with his own perspective on Islam and
nationalism, especially as they pertained to India, Nadawi was a
virulent critic of Arab nationalism and chastised the Arabs for
abandoning Islam. In general, however, the failed promises of liberal,
nationalist and socialist ideologies (in addition to Islamist activists)
have given the `ulama' a space in which to continue to exert
their influence. This prospect, according to Zaman, should raise the
well-worn question of how
the interests of Islam are best served: Are they served better by trying
to interpret the foundational religious texts in a way that modern
exigencies and values seem to require― Or should long-standing religious
traditions as historically articulated guide the position one adopts in
facing these exigencies (190)?
The
answer, it seems, as these questions are debated by Muslims
everywhere―and not only the traditionally-educated `ulama', who
are, after all, but a thread in a tapestry―is bound to be varied and
complex, and the paths taken will be multiple.
Conclusion
The three
books before us deal with Islamic thought on different levels, from the
macro to the micro level. In their edited volume, Taji-Farouki and Nafi
show us the meandering path of Islamic thought in much of the Islamic
world over the past century; Baker examines the Islamic thought of a
group of Egyptian intellectuals, a movement to find a ‘centre’ that,
while often relevant to Muslims in general, has the specificities of
Egypt in mind; and Zaman considers a particular strand of traditional
thought as it has evolved in South Asia, but more so in Pakistan.
I will
limit myself to two overarching observations by way of a conclusion. The
first is that if Islamic thought could be described in one word, that
word would be ‘complex.’ There is an incredible variety of Muslim
opinions and attitudes on any single issue. This complexity has been a
constant feature of Islamic thought throughout its history. Muslims who
stood against the status quo and who wanted to change their society had
recourse to inherent concepts within Islam, such as islah
(reform), tajdid (renewal), ijtihad and, above all,
tawhid. In the twentieth century, the complexity increased as a
result of the emergence of territorial nation-states, which have
constantly influenced both religious and secular thought. Today, it is
less accurate to speak of Islamic thought than of how Muslims in each
nation-state think: despite the fact that they all use the same
foundational texts as their sources of legitimacy, the evidence shows
that Muslims really want to address their own immediate concerns before
all others. In fact, to do so and to reform one’s own condition is
Islamic practice as understood from the Qur'anic verse (13:11) which
says: “God does not change a people’s lot unless they change what is in
their hearts.” It is then more practical to think of the concerns of the
immediate umma rather than the more abstract and unmanageable
concerns of the universal Islamic community. The stalemate between the
secularist and the religious that Shepard notes above means that the
living conditions of the people will further deteriorate as each side
tries to check the other. Some sort of accommodation between the two
sides must be reached. Hopefully, it is an accommodation that will see
the two sides as one wheel working for the common good, not as two
separate wheels, each spinning its own interests.
The second and related observation is that studies like these allow us
to see the historical trajectory of where Muslim thought, in all of its
shades and configurations, has been and where it is now. The simple and
obvious truth is that all thought, including religious thought, is
historically conditioned. Understanding the political, economic and
social context can provide us with clues on how thought was constructed
and how we can deconstruct it, and I use ‘deconstruct’ in the literal
meaning of the word―to pick apart, to dismantle―so as to render its
extremist versions ineffective. Extremist thought is the by-product of a
set of circumstances often described as including poverty, oppression,
alienation and other negative attributes. Thus, if extremist thought is
a threat, then it is the circumstances which nurture it that must be
addressed and resolved.
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