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THE ARCHITECTS OF ISLAMIC CIVILISATION Edited by

ALEXANDER WAIN MOHAMMAD HASHIM KAMALI

CONTENTS

Introduction Alexander Wain and Mohammad Hashim Kamali

xi

PART ONE: THE FORMATIVE PERIOD 1.

‘Umar bin al-Khaṭṭāb (583CE-23AH/644CE) Tawfique al-Mubarak

3

2.

‘Alī ibn Abī Ṭālib (599CE-40AH/661CE) Apnizan Abdullah

10

3.

‘Ā’isha bint Abī Bakr (ca.613CE-58AH/678CE) Eric Winkel

19

PART TWO: THE CLASSICAL PERIOD 4.

Ja‘far al-Ṣādiq (83-148AH/702-765CE) Karim D. Crow

27

5.

Abū Ḥanīfa Nu‘mān ibn Thābit (80–150AH/699–767CE) Karim D. Crow

39

6.

Mālik bin Anas al-Aṣbaḥī (ca.93-179AH/711-795CE) Tawfique al-Mubarak

45

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7.

Muḥammad ibn Idrīs al-Shāfi‘ī (150-204AH/767-820CE) Karim D. Crow and Mahbubi Ali

51

8.

Aḥmad ibn Ḥanbal (164-241AH/780-855CE) Karim D. Crow and Mohd Fariz Zainal Abdullah

58

9.

Muḥammad ibn Ismā‘īl al-Bukhārī (194-256AH/808870CE)

69

Karim D. Crow and Wan Naim Wan Mansor

10. Abū Yūsuf Ya‘qūb ibn Isḥāq al-Kindī (196-256AH/800870CE)

74

Karim D. Crow 11. Muslim ibn al-Ḥajjāj al-Nīsāpūrī (ca. 202-261AH/817875CE)

79

Ahmad Badri Abdullah 12. Muḥammad ibn Jarīr al-Ṭabarī (224-310AH/839-923CE) Apnizan Abdullah

84

13. Abū Naṣr al-Fārābī (257-339AH/870-950CE) Tengku Ahmad Hazri

95

14. Abū al-Ḥasan al-Mas‘ūdī (ca.282-345AH/896-956CE) Karim D. Crow

101

15. Abū ‘Alī ibn Sīnā (369-429AH/980-1037CE) Elmira Akhmetova

108

16. Abū al-Rayhān al-Bīrūnī (362-440AH/973-1048CE) Daud Abdul-Fattah Batchelor

116

17. Abū Ḥasan al-Māwardī (364-450AH/974-1058CE) Wan Naim Wan Mansor

131

18. Abū Muḥammad ‘Alī ibn Ḥazm (384-456AH/994-1064CE) Wan Naim Wan Mansor and Eric Winkel

139

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CONTENTS

19. Abū Ḥāmid al-Ghazālī (450-505AH/1058-1111CE) Karim D. Crow 20. Abū al-Walīd ibn Rushd al-Qurtubī (520-596AH/11261198CE)

148

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Tengku Ahmad Hazri 21. Muḥy al-Dīn ibn ‘Arabī (560-638AH/1165-1240CE) Ahmad Badri Abdullah 22. ‘Izz al-Dīn ibn ‘Abd al-Salām al-Sulāmī (578-660AH/11821263CE)

164

170

Ahmad Badri Abdullah

23. Jalāl al-Dīn Rūmī (603-672AH/1207-1273CE) Abdul Karim Abdullah

179

24. Taqī al-Dīn ibn Taymiyyah (661-728AH/1263-1328CE) Mohd Fariz Zainal Abdullah

187

25. Ibn Qaiyyim al-Jawziyya (691-751AH/1292-1350CE) Tawfique al-Mubarak

197

26. Abū Isḥāq Ibrāhīm al-Shāṭibī (ca.720-790AH/1320-1388CE) Tawfique al-Mubarak

204

27. ‘Abd al-Raḥmān ibn Khaldūn (732-808AH/1332-1406CE) Elmira Akhmetova

210

PART THREE: FROM EARLY MODERNITY TO THE TWENTIETH CENTURY 28. Hamzah al-Fansuri (d.ca.1602CE) Alexander Wain

219

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29. Liu Zhi (ca.1670-1739CE) Alexander Wain

227

30. Shāh Walī Allāh al-Dihlawī (1703-1762CE) Tengku Ahmad Hazri

234

31. Muḥammad Amīn ibn ‘Ābidīn (1784-1836CE) Muhammad Farid ‘Ali

240

32. Muḥammad b. ‘Alī al-Shawkānī (1759-1839CE) Mohammed Farid Ali

246

33. Muḥammad ‘Abduh (ca.1849-1905CE) Alexander Wain

252

34. Tok Kenali (Muhammad Yusof ) (1868-1933CE) Hakimah Yacoob and M. Fakhrurrazi Ahmad

264

35. Musa Jarullah Bigiyev (1875-1949CE) Elmira Akhmetova

270

36. Bediüzzaman Said Nursi (1877-1960CE) Karim D. Crow

277

37. Muḥammad al-Ṭāhir ibn ‘Āshūr (1879-1973CE) Eric Winkel

283

38. Malek Bennabi (1905-1973CE) Mohamed Azam Mohamed Adil

288

39. Muḥammad Abū Zahra (1898-1974CE) Mohammad Hashim Kamali

297

40. ‘Ali Shariati (1933-1977CE) Alexander Wain

304

CONTENTS

41. Sayyid Abul A’la al-Mawdudi (1903-1979CE) Wan Naim Wan Mansor

ix

312

42. Hamka (Haji Abdul Malik Karim Amrullah) (1908-1981CE)

M. Fakhrurrazi Ahmad 43. Fazlur Rahman (1919-1988CE) Abdul Karim Abdullah

Index

321

328

336

INTRODUCTION In Ramadān 610CE, a solitary figure ascended the side of Jabal al-Nūr (The Mountain of Light) near Makkah. Leaving the dusty city far behind, the figure weaved through the many rocks and boulders strewn across the mountainside, picking out a familiar path to a cave called Ḥirā. For some time, this man, a Qurayshī merchant from the city below,1 had taken to secluding himself in this remote spot, far away from prying eyes. Disgusted by the injustices and immorality of the world below,2 he frequently sought solitude, sometimes for days at a time and without rest, in order to contemplate God and ask for guidance. On this particular occasion, however, his contemplations would result in something unexpected. After taking himself to Ḥirā, this lone individual began his customary meditations until, in the early hours, he fell asleep.3 As he slept, he experienced a vision: on the highest part of the horizon, the angel Jibrīl (Gabriel in English) appeared and began to approach him, stopping within a distance of just two bow lengths or less.4 Towering over the prone figure, Jibrīl commanded him to “Read!” When the terrified man replied that he was unable to read, Jibrīl seized him and pressed him very hard, until he could no longer bear it.5 This happened twice more, after which Jibrīl commanded the man to recite the following: Read! In the name of your Lord who created, created man from a clot (of blood). Read! And your Lord is the most bounteous, who taught by the pen, taught man that which he knew not!6

As all Muslims know, this event changed history. The Makkan merchant who encountered Jibrīl that night in 610 was, of course, the Prophet Muḥammad (pbuh) and the words he repeated were the first of a series of revelations (waḥy) from God (Allāh) that would ultimately become the text of the Qur’ān (lit. ‘recitation’) and the basis of the religion of al-Islām (lit. ‘the way of submission’). From the point of this first visitation onwards, Muḥammad propagated his new religion ceaselessly, calling on the people of Makkah to pray only to God, to return evil only with good, to sacrifice for others, and to never comprise on what they knew to be right and just. The Makkans, however, and although they

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had previously considered Muḥammad to be a man of impeccable moral character, even giving him the nickname al-Amīn (the trustworthy), could not accept his new religion or its break with tradition.7 Instead, they began to persecute both him and those few Makkans who followed him, finally compelling these first Muslims to leave Makkah altogether in 622. This event, known as the Hijra (‘migration’), marked the Prophet’s departure for Madinah some 418km to the north. It also marked the beginning of a great transformation in the life of the nascent Muslim community; no longer a minority group subject to a hostile majority, they became a distinct community of their own. For that reason, the Hijra traditionally marks the beginning of the Islamic calendar. Throughout the subsequent years of his ministry, the Prophet continued to preach Islam to all the peoples of Arabia, as well as to those from further afield. Islam, he said, was a universal message that upheld the equality of all peoples (cf. 17:70 and 49:13), a stance that he would maintain throughout his life-time, most notably during his renowned Farewell Sermon, delivered at Arafat (near Makkah) in 632: O People! Verily your Lord is one, and your ancestor is one. You all come from Adam and Adam was created from the earth. The most noble of you in the sight of God is one who is the most pious among you. No Arab has any superiority over a non-Arab, nor a red over a black, except through piety...The distinctions of the Days of Ignorance are abolished.8

Perhaps in line with the universality of his message, Muḥammad never claimed a monopoly over prophecy. On the contrary, he maintained that God had previously sent messengers to all the peoples of the earth, citing as examples figures like ’Ādam, Nūḥ (Noah), Idrīs (Enoch), Ibrāhīm (Abraham), Mūsā (Moses), Dā’ūd (David), and ‘Īsā (Jesus), amongst others. In the context of these earlier messengers, Muḥammad saw himself as a ‘restorer’ or ‘reviver’ of an Eternal Truth that had since suffered either oblivion or distortion. Certainly, the Prophet did not consider himself above the laws that he conveyed to his followers. On the contrary, he practiced Islam more rigorously than anyone else, praying and fasting regularly, giving more in charity than was exacted from others, and generally leading an ascetic life. Nevertheless, he also emphasised that a believer’s state of mind and heart were more important than the externalities of his conduct. Thus, he reportedly said of one of his closest Companions, Abū Bakr, that: “He surpasses you [other Companions] not through much fasting and prayer but…in virtue of something that is fixed in his heart.”

INTRODUCTION

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Although the Prophet argued that the truth underlying earlier religious messages had been lost, he showed profound respect for the followers of earlier revelations, particularly the Jews and Christians (known in Islam as the Ahl al-Kitāb, or ‘People of the Book’). When, for example, a delegation of sixty Nestorian Christians from the Yemeni town of Najran visited Madinah to make a pact with the Prophet, he entertained them at his mosque and freely listened to their arguments and doctrinal views. On one occasion, when the time for their prayer arrived, he even allowed them to pray in the mosque – which they did, facing towards the east. At the end of their stay, the Prophet made a favourable treaty with them according to which, and in return for the payment of taxes, they were to have the full protection of the Islamic state.9 The Prophet was even-tempered and compassionate, even with his enemies, frequently praying that God would forgive them for their misdeeds. Hence, the Qur’an described him as a noble messenger, endowed with a sublime character, faithful to his promises and loyal to his Companions and friends. Indeed, the Prophet developed a particularly close relationship with his Companions, enjoying exceptional loyalty and support. The voluntary conversion of ‘Umar ibn al-Khaṭṭāb, for example, one of the most gifted of the Qurayshī youth and initially a fierce opponent of Muḥammad’s, speaks volumes about the Prophet’s abilities of persuasion and appeal. The respect the Prophet commanded also manifested itself in a tendency amongst his Companions to imitate the details of his daily life, such as his choice of clothing, manner of eating, sitting, grooming, and so forth. This was despite a Qur’anic injunction limiting the Prophet’s mission to conveying God’s message alone and not burdening the people with an insistence that they follow his personal mannerisms. The Prophet often spoke highly of his Companions: after his return to Makkah, he heard Khālid ibn Walīd, an eminent army commander, argue angrily with ‘Abd al-Raḥmān ibn ‘Awf. The Prophet said: “Gently Khalid; let be [one of ] my Companions. For if you had Mount Uhud all in gold and spent it in the way of God, you would not attain the merit of any man of my Companions.”10 Although forgiving towards his enemies, the Prophet could also be exceptionally brave and resolute in the face of danger. Martin Lings, author of a widely-recognised book on the Prophet’s life, recounts an episode at the Battle of Uhud, a conflict between the Muslims and Makkans that took place outside Madinah during the second year of the Hijra (624). During the battle, a Makkan called Ubayy, whose brother Umayya had just been killed, swore from the back of his horse that he would kill the Prophet

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in retaliation. Upon hearing this, some of the Companions made ready to attack Ubayy. The Prophet, however, ordered them not to. Instead, he took a spear from Ḥārith ibn al-Ṣimma and stepped in front of them all. Not daring to move, they looked on in awe at his grim and deadly earnest countenance. As one of them said: “When the Messenger of God made a deliberate effort toward some end, there was no earnestness that could compare with his.”11 Ubayy approached with drawn sword but, before he could strike, the Prophet thrust the spear into his neck: “[Ubayy] bellowed like a bull, then swayed and almost fell from his horse but, recovering his balance he galloped...until he reached the Meccan camp. ‘Muhammad has slain me,’ he said. They looked at his wound and made light of it, but he was convinced that it was mortal, as indeed it soon proved to be.”12 By the end of the Prophet’s lifetime, Islam had grown from strength to strength. Just eight years after being forced to flee Makkah, the Prophet and his followers triumphantly retook their hometown and forgave their former enemies. When the Prophet died in 632, Islam had spread across the Arabian Peninsula, uniting previously warring tribes into a single ummah (or ‘community’). Under his first four successors, known collectively as the Rightly Guided Caliphs (al-Khulafā, al-Rāshidūn), Islam spread across the Middle East, subduing the Persian Empire in the east and dismantling the Byzantine Empire in the west. From that point on, Islam became not only one of the world’s major religious traditions, but also one of its great civilisations. With few means, a humble Makkan merchant who had suffered in countless ways laid the foundations for a new chapter in human history. Over the succeeding one thousand years, Islam continued to expand. Spreading throughout the known world, by the seventeenth century Muslim rule extended over not just the Middle East, but also large swathes of Europe, Africa, Central Asia, India, and Southeast Asia. Even in remotest China, Muslims had come to constitute a powerful and wellrespected minority, capable of exerting significant political, cultural and economic influence during the Song (960-1279), Yuan (1271-1368) and Ming (1368-1644) dynasties. Moreover, this global pre-eminence was accompanied by a flowering of Muslim culture. In tune with the first revelation received by the Prophet Muḥammad, which stressed the scholarly activities of reading and writing, Islam used the wealth and power it accumulated over its first millennium of existence to facilitate religious, philosophical, scientific, and artistic enquiry. In short, at its height Islam became the most culturally advanced civilisation in the world. Only Imperial China (and then only intermittently) could claim to rival it.

INTRODUCTION

xv

Consequently, when Portugal and Spain initiated Europe’s ‘Age of Discovery’ in the late fifteenth century, the world they sailed into was Muslim dominated. While Christian culture found itself largely confined to a relatively impoverished and intellectually backward Europe, Muslims could travel from Morocco in the west to Indonesia in the east without leaving a prosperous and intellectually dynamic world in which people based their lives around the teachings of the Prophet Muḥammad. The book you are about to read, entitled The Architects of Islamic Civilisation, seeks to outline the life, thought and significance of some of the most important figures to help define that world. Additionally, it also considers a number of more contemporary thinkers who, in the wake of Islam’s decline over the past four centuries, have sought to recapture something of the intellectual vigour of earlier times. In total, therefore, our volume contains the biographies of forty-three prominent Muslim intellectuals, the first of whom died in 644 (just twelve years after the Prophet) and the last in 1988. Each played (and, in most instances, continues to play) a pivotal role in the construction, definition and (latterly) reform of Islamic civilisation. Together, they provide a comprehensive picture of Islam’s intellectual history, collectively charting how this civilisation developed over time, from its earliest days of expansion to the current period of Western-driven globalisation. Arranged chronologically, our volume is divided into three sections. The first deals with three key figures from the formative period of Islamic civilisation: the two Rightly Guided Caliphs, ‘Umar al-Khaṭṭāb and ‘Alī ibn Abī Ṭālib, and the wife of the Prophet, ‘Ā’isha bint Abī Bakr. Perhaps more than any of their contemporaries, these three figures helped shape the immediate legacy of the Prophet. By embodying his example in their own actions, they preserved and passed down his teachings. Equally, by helping to drive forward the territorial expansion of Islam, they also laid the foundations of Islam as a world power. Our second (and largest) section deals with the one thousand years immediately following the death of the Prophet, when Islam remained the world’s dominant cultural, political and economic force. This period saw the development of a vibrant intellectual tradition. In particular, it witnessed the consolidation of Sunni and Shia Islam as distinct sectarian entities, the formation of the major Islamic law schools, and the development of Islam’s rich mystical tradition. It also saw the creation of a range of secular scholarly traditions, in fields as varied as philosophy, science, geography, medicine and history. To encompass this extremely diverse and wide-ranging intellectual legacy, this section contains entries on twenty-

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four separate individuals, including all four founders of the major Sunni law schools (Abū Ḥanīfa Nu‘mān ibn Thābit, Mālik bin Anas al-Aṣbaḥī, Muḥammad ibn Idrīs al-Shāfi‘ī and Aḥmad ibn Ḥanbal), the period’s key traditionalists (Muḥammad ibn Ismā‘īl al-Bukhārī and Muslim ibn Ḥajjāj al-Nīshāpūrī), historians (Muḥammad ibn Jarīr al-Ṭabarī, Abū al-Ḥasan al-Mas‘ūdī, and ‘Abd al-Raḥmān ibn Khaldūn), philosophers (Abū Yūsuf Ya‘qūb ibn Isḥāq al-Kindī, Abū Naṣr al-Fārābī, Abū ‘Alī ibn Sīnā and Abū al-Walīd ibn Rushd al-Qurtubī)13 and mystics (Jalāl al-Dīn Rūmī and Muḥy al-Dīn ibn ‘Arabī). In order to present a balanced view, we also include an entry on the key Shia figure and Imam, Ja‘far al-Ṣādiq. In our third and final section, we deal with some of Islam’s most prominent post-eighteenth-century scholars. As mentioned, this period coincides with Islam’s decline. Perhaps because of this, many of the intellectuals covered in this final section are concerned with renewal (tajdīd) and reform (islāh). . . From Shāh Walī Allāh al-Dihlawī to Fazlur Rahman, they evince a common concern: the rejuvenation of Islamic civilisation. Perhaps more than the other two sections, therefore, this final one presents modern-day Muslims with substantial food for thought. In an era when non-Muslims perceive Islam as being synonymous with bloodshed, oppression and extremism, this section provides a range of important insights into how this religion can regain its former glory. Although each thinker differs on the specifics of their vision for a reformed Islam, they share a common demand: the rejection of blind obedience to past tradition (taqlīd) in favour of embracing independent reasoning (ijtihād). Often this plea is combined with an emphasis on moderation (wasaṭiyya) as the true and most comprehensive cornerstone of Islam.14 The attentive reader cannot fail to appreciate how this scheme constitutes a far more accurate reflection of the Islamic tradition as embodied in the thought and values of its earliest figures than the deeds of the many terrorists who today claim to act in the name of Islam while perpetrating unspeakable acts of barbarism worldwide. Throughout this volume, every effort has been made to transliterate Arabic terms and personal names accurately. Where an Arabic word has become commonly used in the English language, however, the English form of that word has been utilised instead (i.e. fatwa not fatwā, ulama not ‘ulamā’, imam not imām etc.). Similarly, the internationally recognised spellings of Arabic place names are used in preference to their transliterated forms. It should also be noted that non-Arabic languages written in the Arabic script (i.e. Persian, Urdu and Classical Malay) have not been transliterated. Concerning dating formats, for the formative and classical

INTRODUCTION

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periods of Islamic history both the Hijra and Common Era (CE) dates are provided. Following modern scholarly conventions, however, the modern period (defined as the eighteenth century onwards) is represented by only CE dates. Finally, the traditional salutations of “peace be upon him” (ṣallallāhu ‘alayhi wa sallam) for the Prophet and “may God be please with them” (raḍiyallāhu ‘anhu) for his Companions have been omitted. This is to accommodate the use of the English language, which is burdened by repetitions of this sort. Nevertheless, the reader should understand the relevant phrases as being present in all cases. As a last word, we would like to extend our hearty congratulations and thanks to all those who kindly took the time to contribute to this volume. Most of our contributors are either past or present research fellows of the International Institute for Advanced Islamic Studies (IAIS) Malaysia. In particular, we would like to thank former IAIS Principal Fellow, Dr. Karim D. Crow, who was the initial coordinator of this project. He has also personally contributed a large number of the most important entries. It should be noted, however, that this work was completed over a long period of time, during which many contributors left IAIS Malaysia for career or personal reasons. In the later stages of the project, it was therefore difficult to enlist their continued involvement in reviewing and adjusting certain aspects of their contributions. Nevertheless, and although some variations in size, style and format may still be noticeable between entries, we hope they are satisfied with the result. As large as this project is, and despite the best efforts of our contributors, the range and scope of Islam’s intellectual history means that, ultimately, the entries provided cannot be an exhaustive list. To a large extent, our selection was determined by the contributions that were made available to us. We do plan, however, to work on a follow-up volume designed to supplement our existing selection. Once again, we would like to record a note of appreciation to all the scholars and support staff of IAIS Malaysia, without whom this project could not have been completed. We hope that the efforts of all those involved will assist in conveying something of the richness and variety of Islamic civilisation, both to Muslims and non-Muslims alike. Alexander Wain Mohammad Hashim Kamali Editors

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Notes: 1.

2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7.

8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14.

To quote from the Qur’an, during this period Makkah was “a valley without agriculture” (14:37). Most of its inhabitants were therefore engaged in commerce. Indeed, during the seventh century, trade between Europe, India and China passed through Arabia, with the tribe of the Quraysh playing a significant role in its transhipment. They concluded commercial treaties with, among others, the Negus of Abyssinia and the Kindi ruler of Yemen. Each year they would also travel to Syria, Egypt, and Iraq. See, Muhammad Hamidullah, The Life and Work of the Prophet of Islam, vol. 1, ed. and trans. Mahmood Ahmad Ghazi (Islamabad: Islamic Research Institute, 1998), 5 and 17. During this period the Arabian Peninsula was rife with corruption and lawlessness, marked by such barbarities as infanticide, live burial of female infants, unlimited polygamy and a total disregard for women’s rights. The account given by Ibn Isḥāq claims the Prophet was asleep when he received his vision of Jibrīl, see Ibn Isḥāq, The Life of Muhammad (Sīrat Rasūl Allāh), trans. A. Guillaume (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1967), 96. Qur’an 53:4-6. Ṣaḥīḥ al-Bukhārī, Book 1, Hadith 3. Qur’an 96:1-5. Muhammad Yunus and Ashfaque Ullah Syed, Essential Message of Islam, ed. Afra Jalabi (Beltsville, MD: Amana Publications, 2009), 45-7. Although the Islamic sources suggest the people of Makkah, in addition to those inhabiting the surrounding Hijaz region of Western Arabia, preserved some memory of their connection to monotheism via the prophet Ismā’īl, son of Ibrāhīm and brother to Isḥāq (Isaac, from whom the Jews claim descent), by the seventh century they had become polytheists. Moreover, the Hijaz had never been conquered by a foreign force, leaving it relatively untouched by the religious upheavals of surrounding regions, the energies and talent of its inhabitants untapped. For the full text of this Farewell Sermon, see Hamidullah, Life and Work of the Prophet, vol. 1, 202-5. Martin Lings, Muhammad: His Life Based on the Earliest Sources, rev. ed. (Cambridge: The Islamic Text Society, 1991), 326. Cited in Ibid, 329. Ibid, 187. Ibid. In the Western tradition, the last two of these figures are known as Avicenna and Averroes respectively. Concerning this particular theme, see Mohammad Hashim Kamali’s seminal contribution, The Middle Path of Moderation in Islam: The Qur’anic Principle of Wasatiyyah (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015), 328. Also see Kamali’s writings on the schools of Islamic law, taqlīd and ijtihād, particularly Shari’ah Law: An Introduction (Oxford: Oneworld, 2008), 3.

Part One the Formative Period

1 ‘UMAR IBN ALKHAṭṭĀB 583CE23AH/644CE Tawfique al-Mubarak

‘Umar’s full name was ‘Umar ibn al-Khaṭṭāb ibn Nufayl ibn ‘Abdul ‘Uzzā. He was born into the Adi clan of the Makkan Quraysh tribe thirteen years after the Year of the Elephant, or in around 583CE. The Prophet Muḥammad was born in the Year of the Elephant itself, therefore making ‘Umar thirteen years younger than him. Their lineages converge with each other at ‘Umar’s ninth ancestor, Ka’b ibn Lu‘ayy ibn Ghālib. When his daughter, Ḥafsa, married the Prophet, ‘Umar also became the latter’s father-in-law. His agnomen was Abū Ḥafs, probably from his first child Ḥafsa’s name. His mother, Hantama bint Hāshim, was the paternal cousin of Abū Jahl ibn Hishām, who was amongst the staunchest enemies of Islam and the Prophet. Nufayl ibn ‘Abdul ‘Uzzā, ‘Umar’s grandfather, was a reputable personality and was often referred to for judgments and consultations. ‘Umar was therefore brought up in a prominent family, in an environment of knowledge and learning. This might have influenced ‘Umar in his own quest for knowledge. Certainly, he was amongst the very few people in pre-Islamic Arabia who could read and write. He also had a great passion for poetry – he memorised a great number of poems, both by the poets of ancient times and his contemporaries, and would often quote them spontaneously. This indicates that he was a sharp man, with a brilliant memory. He was very eloquent, clear in his speech, persuasive, wise and forbearing. For these reasons, the Quraysh nominated him as their ambassador, marking his eminence and supremacy within the tribe. His father, Khaṭṭāb, was a very harsh man, which ‘Umar remembered throughout his life. He also remembered how he used to tend his father’s livestock and gather firewood for him – tasks he also carried out for his

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maternal aunts. After he became caliph, ‘Umar once told the people about this earlier occupation and how, after tending the flocks for his aunt from the Banū Makhzūm, he would receive just a handful of dates and raisins as payment – that, he said, was all he had to eat for the whole day! When ‘Abd al-Raḥmān ibn ‘Awf asked him why he denigrated himself in front of the people by telling them this, ‘Umar told him that it was meant to remind him about his past, to kill the pride and haughtiness popping up in his heart. Such was the strength of personality of the caliph ‘Umar. During the early days of Islam, ‘Umar was a stern opponent of the Prophet. Along with the other Quraysh leaders, he would mercilessly persecute those people who accepted Islam. Umm ‘Abd Allāh bint Hantama described how, while she was migrating to Ethiopia, ‘Umar went to her and asked her why she was leaving Makkah. She replied that it was due to the unbearable treatment he was doling out to both her and the other Muslims. Although ‘Umar was touched by her words, he did not modify his behaviour: soon afterwards he decided to kill the Prophet and the latter’s close companions at a meeting with the Quraysh leaders. For this purpose, he headed towards Dār al-Arqam, beside Mount Ṣafā, where the Prophet and his companions were in hiding. On his way, however, he met Nu’aim ibn ‘Abd Allāh, who tried to stop him. They both argued and, while trying to stop ‘Umar, Nu’aim informed him that his sister, brotherin-law, and cousins had all accepted Islam. Upon hearing this, ‘Umar ran to his sister’s house and burst in while she and her husband were reciting parts of sūra al-Ṭā Hā (chapter 20). He attacked them, hitting his sister in the face and making her bleed. ‘Umar immediately regretted this and, after calming down, asked them to give him what they were reading. His sister, however, refused to hand the Qur’anic fragment over to him unless he purified himself. After he had done so, he read the sūra and was so deeply moved by its message that he promptly went to the Prophet and declared his faith in Islam. He was the fortieth person to accept Islam. Traditionally, his conversion has been seen as a response to the Prophet’s supplication to Allah that Islam be supported by either Abū Jahl ibn Hishām or ‘Umar ibn al-Khaṭṭāb. Upon accepting Islam, ‘Umar decided to preach the message of truth openly and in public. For his courage and boldness, the Prophet gave him the title al-Fārūq (the differentiator between truth and falsehood). ‘Umar’s Islamic education was earned at the hands of the Prophet. He was amongst the Prophet’s closest companions and would often enquire about Islam, later transmitting the knowledge he gained to others. In particular, ‘Umar would often ask the Prophet about his opinions

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regarding certain Qur’anic verses. Moreover, ‘Umar frequently offered his own personal reasoning (ijtihād). In fact, there are several instances of Qur’anic verses revealed in confirmation of ‘Umar’s opinions: Ṣaḥīḥ alBukhārī reports a tradition from ‘Umar in which he said that: My opinion coincided with that of my Lord (Allah) in three matters. I said ‘O Messenger of Allah, why don’t you take maqām Ibrāhīm [the station of Ibrahim, located near the Ka’ba in Makkah] as a place for prayer?’ Then Allah revealed that. And I said ‘O Messenger of Allah, both righteous and immoral people visit you, why don’t you tell the Mothers of the believers to observe ḥijāb? And Allah revealed the verse of ḥijāb. And I heard that the Messenger of Allah had rebuked some of his wives, so I went to them and said ‘either you stop, or Allah will give His Messenger wives better than you…then Allah revealed the verse of sūra al-Tahrīm (66:5).1

In addition to these examples, when the Prophet was asked to offer a funeral prayer for ‘Abd Allāh ibn Ubay, one of the munāfiqūn (hypocrites), ‘Umar went to him to try and prevent him from doing so. The Prophet, however, simply smiled before proceeding with the funeral. But later, the Qur’anic verse 9:84 was revealed, prohibiting the Prophet from joining the funeral prayer of any of the hypocrites or of standing by their graves to pray for them. These points of agreement reflect the Prophetic statement: “Among the nations before you were some people who were inspired [muhaddathūn]. If anyone among my ummah [people] were to be inspired, it would be ‘Umar.”2 The scholar Ibn Hajar al-Asqalānī (d.852/1448) considers the word muhaddath to imply any of four things: a. someone who is inspired, b. someone who speaks the truth spontaneously, c. someone to whom angels speak without him being a prophet, or d. someone with intuition.3 The correspondence between ‘Umar’s opinions and the Qur’an’s indicates that ‘Umar was a possessor of muhaddath. This rare characteristic closely affiliated him with the Prophet and – given that none of the other companions received it – rendered ‘Umar an unmatchable honour. Upon consultation with the prominent companions, Abū Bakr (Islam’s first caliph, d.13/634) appointed ‘Umar to succeed him. Indeed, ‘Umar’s leadership of the Muslim community had been predicted by the Prophet, and is described in several narrations. One, recorded in Ṣaḥīḥ Muslim, reports that the Prophet said: “While I was sleeping, I saw myself drawing water from a well with a bucket. Abū Bakr came and drew a bucket or two…Then ‘Umar ibn al-Khaṭṭāb came and the bucket in his hands

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turned into a very large one. I had never seen anyone so strong…all the people drank their fill and watered their camels that knelt down there.”4 This hadith foretold the rule of the two prominent companions of the Prophet and implied that ‘Umar, by serving people with a large bucket of water, would strengthen Islam more than any of his predecessors. Indeed, it is undoubtedly true that ‘Umar’s rule saw Islam expand right across the Middle East. He also ushered in a period of governance based upon virtue, piety and wisdom. He was the first Muslim ruler to bear the title Amīr alMu’minīn (Commander of the Faithful). As a leading companion, ‘Umar’s contributions to Islamic civilisation remain unsurpassed. His wisdom and foresight, his guidance and just rule, his integrity and sincerity render him one of the most prominent architects of Islamic civilisation. To give some examples of his specific contributions, it was upon his suggestion (and in consultation with the caliph Abū Bakr) that the Qur’an was first compiled into a complete volume; ‘Umar saw the necessity of such a compilation after many the Companions who had memorised the Qur’an died in the battle of Yamāma (11/632). During his own rule, ‘Umar established the city of the Prophet, Madinah, as the centre of fatwa (legal verdicts and opinions) and fiqh (Islamic jurisprudence). He kept those Companions who were known for their knowledge and legal opinions close to him in Madinah. Leading scholars from amongst the Companions were also dispatched to other cities, in order to teach the people about Islam. For example, ‘Umar sent ‘Abd Allāh ibn Mas’ud, Hudhayfa ibn al-Yamān, ‘Ammār ibn Yāsir, ‘Imrān ibn Ḥusayn and Salmān al-Fārsī to Iraq. Likewise, Mu‘ādh ibn Jabal, ‘Ubāda ibn al-Ṣāmit, Abū al-Dardā’, Bilāl ibn Rabāḥ and others went to Syria, where they established Homs, Damascus and Palestine as top centres of learning. ‘Umar would often communicate with them and supervise their legal opinions. For their part, they would refer issues back to him if they found them difficult to resolve. ‘Umar b. al-Khaṭṭāb also had direct influence over the establishment of the first prominent schools of fiqh in Makkah, Basra, Kufa, and Syria. For example, he personally chose and trained ‘Abd Allāh ibn ‘Abbās, the future leader of the Makkan School, keeping him in his consultative circle and grooming him as a leading mufassir (exegete of the Qur’an). Likewise, Abū Mūsā al-Ash‘arī and Anas bin Mālik, the forerunners of the Basran School, were both close companions of ‘Umar during their stay in Madinah. Additionally, ‘Amr ibn al-‘Āṣ, along with his sons, ‘Abd Allāh and ‘Uqba, were sent by ‘Umar to Egypt, where they became influential scholars in the formation of the Egyptian School. ‘Umar would also often send scholars to

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the army before it was dispatched in order to teach the soldiers about Islam and guide them according to the Prophetic method. He was influential in formulating the concept of qiyās (legal analogy), often writing to his governors and judges to recommend the implementation of this legal principle in cases where there were no precedents in either the Qur’an or Sunna (Prophetic example). Caliph’s ‘Umar’s own legal opinions became so popular that they were compiled into two volumes, including Rawās Qal‘ajī’s Mawsū‘at fiqh ‘Umar ibn al-Khaṭṭāb (The Encyclopaedia of ‘Umar ibn al-Khaṭṭāb’s Jurisprudence). In addition to these points, ‘Umar was the first person to formally organise the night prayers (tarāwīh) during the month of Ramaḍān (the month of fasting). During his long tenure as caliph, ‘Umar al-Khaṭṭāb also successfully introduced many administrative innovations. He was, for example, the first person to introduce an Islamic calendar based on the Arabic months and beginning with the Prophet’s migration from Makkah to Madinah. He also introduced the bayt al-māl (public treasury), from which public welfare funds, stipends for the poor, and government salaries were paid. During the era of his predecessors, there had been no need for a bayt al-māl, as the Islamic state had been very small and wealth could be distributed immediately. As the territorial domains of Islam spread, however, the need for a more systematic method of payment developed. Notably, ‘Umar gave government stipends to poor non-Muslim citizens. Caliph ‘Umar also established judicial courts, learning centres, and a government department tasked with controlling markets. He introduced appropriate salaries for judges, teachers, soldiers, public servants and governors. His fear of misappropriation and corruption motivated him to open a public department for dealing with complaints against government officials. He was the first to introduce land taxation (kharaj) in Islamic territories. As the borders of the Islamic world spread further, he also sought to organise it more efficiently, dividing the new empire into administrative divisions based around cities. He also established new cities and provided incentives for cultivating barren land. This facilitated the rebuilding of societies beyond the major cities and enhanced the state’s general economic condition. Caliph ‘Umar was also the first Muslim ruler to dig canals, notably between the Tigris River and the city of Basra. These were designed to provide cities with water, both for drinking and irrigation. Bridges, roads and highways were likewise constructed under ‘Umar. He also introduced the concept of way-stations (dār al-daqīq – lit. ‘house of floor’, implying food for travellers) and established a postal service, a police force, a

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department of records (where detailed records of public servants and soldiers were kept), and a public census. One of the fundamental rights ‘Umar al-Khaṭṭāb ensured for his subjects was freedom of expression. In his first address as caliph, he stressed the right of the people to criticise him and, if necessary, unseat him should he deviate from the right path. Indeed, he was once questioned by a layman about a piece of cloth he had used to stitch his dress; the layman had noticed that it was longer than the shares of cloth received by other people. ‘Umar’s son, Abd Allāh, had then stood up and informed the group that he had added his share to his father’s because, as ‘Umar was a tall man, he required extra cloth to make his dress. On another occasion, ‘Umar expressed his interest in fixing the dower for women at the time of their marriages. In response, a lady stood up and raised her voice against ‘Umar’s concern, reminding him that Allah had not fixed the dower, even if it be given in bulk. ‘Umar accepted the lady’s opinion, thanking her for correcting him. After returning from the Hajj in the year 23/644, caliph ‘Umar was stabbed by a Magian named Abū Lū‘lū‘ah during the dawn (fajr) prayers. Abū Lū‘lū‘ah stabbed ‘Umar in the back, until the latter fell down bleeding. As he began to lose conscience, ‘Umar al-Khaṭṭāb called for ‘Uthmān, ‘Alī, Ṭalha, Zubayr, ‘Abd al-Raḥmān bin ‘Awf and Sa’d ibn Abī Waqqās. He granted them the authority to consult the Muslims and nominate a ruler from amongst themselves. This outstanding man and caliph of Islam breathed his last on Wednesday 26 Dhu al-Hijja 644. On that day, the world lost one of its great rulers and a leading architect of civilisational reform. Note 1. 2. 3. 4.

Ṣaḥīḥ al-Bukhārī, hadith no. 4213 Ṣaḥīḥ al-Bukhārī, hadith no. 3689; Ṣaḥīḥ Muslim, hadith no. 2398. Ibn Hajar al-Asqalānī, Fatḥ al-bārī sharḥ Ṣaḥīḥ al-Bukhārī, vol. 7 (Beirut:

Dār al-Ma’rifa, 1977), 50. Ṣaḥīḥ Muslim, hadith no. 2393.

Further Reading Al-Sallabi, Ali M. ‘Umar ibn al-Khattab: His Life and Times. Translated by Nasiruddin al-Khattab. Riyadh: International Islamic Publishing House, 2007. Al-Suyuti, Jalal al-Din. The History of the Khalifahs Who Took the Right Way. Translated by Abdussamad Clarke. London: Ta-Ha Publishers, 1995.

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Ibn Hajar al-Asqalānī. Fatḥ al-bārī sharḥ Ṣaḥīḥ al-Bukhārī. Beirut: Dār al-Ma’rifa, 1977. Khan, Majid Ali. The Pious Caliphs. Kuala Lumpur: Islamic Book Trust, 1998. Qal‘ajī, Rawās. Mawsū‘at fiqh ‘Umar ibn al-Khaṭṭāb. Kuwait: Maktabah al-Falāh, 1981.

2 ‘ALĪ IBN ABĪ ṭĀLIB 599CE40AH/661CE Apnizan Abdullah

The full name and lineage of Sayyidina ‘Alī (599CE-40AH/661CE) was ‘Alī ibn Abī Ṭālib (‘Abd al-Manāf ) ibn ‘Abd al-Muṭṭalib ibn Hāshim ibn ‘Abd al-Manāf ibn Quṣai ibn Kilāb.1 First cousin to the Prophet Muḥammad, he also married Fāṭima, the Prophet’s daughter, and fathered the latter’s two beloved grandsons, al-Ḥasan and al-Ḥusayn.2 He is therefore the forefather of the Prophet’s descendants, known collectively as the ahl al-bayt.3 For Shi’a Muslims he is also the first Imam, while for Sunnis he is the fourth of the Rightly Guided Caliphs, having ruled the Islamic caliphate from 35/656 to 40/661. ‘Alī is seen, both by Sunni and Shi’a, as a heroic warrior and eloquent saint. He has even been divinised by some of his Shi’a followers.4 The Life of Sayyidina ‘Alī ibn Abī Ṭālib To understand ‘Alī’s life, it is convenient to divide it into three distinct phases: from his birth until the death of the Prophet (599-10/632), from the Prophet’s demise until the murder of caliph ‘Uthmān ibn ‘Affān (1035/632-656) and, lastly, from the beginning of his own caliphate until his martyrdom (35-40/656-661).5 We will now discuss each of these phases in turn. From His Birth until the Demise of the Prophet ‘Alī was the son of Abū Ṭālib ibn ‘Abd al-Muṭṭalib, a leading member of the Hāshimite clan, and Fāṭima bint Asad, also of the Hāshimite clan. Although disputed, it has been narrated that ‘Alī was (uniquely) born inside the ka‘aba in Makkah, the holiest and the most sacred site

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in Islam.6 Whatever the truth of this claim, Abū Ṭālib was the keeper of the Ka‘ba during this period. When Abū Ṭālib’s father, ‘Abd al-Muṭṭalib, died in 578, the Prophet, who was the orphaned son of ‘Abd al-Muṭṭalib’s younger son, ‘Abd Allāh, found himself without a home. Abū Ṭālib therefore took him in, treating him like his own son. From that point on, the Prophet became very close to his uncle and, when the latter fell on hard times during a famine in 604, the Prophet, wishing to alleviate his suffering, adopted ‘Alī. From that day onwards, ‘Alī became the Prophet’s constant companion, trusted friend and confidant. It has been narrated that ‘Alī was the first male to accept Islam, doing so in 610, at the age of ten. Some, however, have argued that, since ‘Alī was not an adult at that point, he cannot truly be considered to have embraced the faith until later. Nevertheless, ‘Alī’s readiness to execute whatever instruction the Prophet issued has never been questioned. For example, when the Prophet invited the leading members of his clan to a feast in relation to the revelation of the Quranic verse 26:214, ‘Alī, then only thirteen, was the only one to respond. Upon seeing this, the Prophet said “hearken to him and obey him.”7 When the Prophet was threatened with assassination and decided to migrate from Makkah to Madinah, ‘Alī offered to facilitate his escape by taking his place in his bed, where the assassination attempt was to occur.8 Moreover, prior to joining the Prophet in Madinah, and despite the danger involved, ‘Alī remained in Makkah while he ensured the correct distribution of all the valuables that had been entrusted under the Prophet’s name.9 After migrating to Madinah, ‘Alī was honoured with the hand of the Prophet’s beloved daughter, Fāṭima, in marriage.10 After instituting a pact of brotherhood between the muhājirūn (emigrants from Makkah) and the anṣār (helpers in Madinah), the Prophet adopted ‘Alī as his brother. While in Madinah, ‘Alī participated in nearly all the major battles of Islam, always emerging victorious, even in single combat. He was a legendary, skilful warrior. His most prominent military victory was in the battle of Khaybar. In was narrated by Salama that: “‘Alī remained behind the Prophet during the Ghazwa of Khaybar as he was suffering from eye trouble. He then said, ‘(How can) I remain behind the Prophet,’ and followed him. So when he (‘Alī) slept on the night of the conquest of Khaybar, the Prophet said, ‘I will give the flag tomorrow, or tomorrow the flag will be taken by a man who is loved by Allah and His Apostle, and (Khaybar) will be conquered through him, (with Allah's help).’ While

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every one of us was hopeful to have the flag, it was said, ‘Here is ‘Alī’ and the Prophet gave him the flag and Khaybar was conquered through him (with Allah's Help).”11 After the conquest of Makkah in 7/629, the Prophet gave ‘Alī the responsibility of destroying all the idols in the Ka’aba. ‘Alī was also instructed to recite sūra al-Tawba during the pilgrimage to Makkah in 9/631, even though Abū Bakr was the official leader of that event. When the Prophet died in 10/632, it was ‘Alī who washed his body and lowered him into his grave.12 From the Prophet’s Demise until the Murder of ‘Uthmān ibn ‘Affān The death of the Prophet precipitated a religious and political crisis in Islam.13 When the Prophet died, there was commotion amongst the people of the muhājirūn and anṣār about who should succeed him. While the Prophet’s body was still being washed for burial, both sides met at the saqīfa (meeting place) of the Banī Sā’ida and argued for the right of succession.14 The arguments ended with the ascension of Abū Bakr as caliph.15 According to the Shi’a, however, ‘Alī disputed this claim and refrained from recognising Abū Bakr until after the death of Fāṭima in 11/633.16 The Shi’a claim that ‘Alī was in fact the rightful successor to the Prophet, having been nominated by the Prophet himself at Ghadir Khum after both men had returned from the ‘farewell pilgrimage’ in 10/632. The Prophet had reputedly announced ‘Alī’s appointment after a congregational prayer, when he took ‘Alī by the arm and made him stand next to him, saying: “O people, know that what Aaron was to Moses, ‘Ali is to me, except that there shall be no prophet after me, and he is my wali to you after me. Therefore, he whose master (mawla) I am, ‘Ali is his master.” Then he lifted ‘Ali’s arm and said: “O God, be affectionate to him who is devoted to ‘Ali, show enmity to him who is his enemy, give victory to him who helps ‘Ali and forsake him who forsakes ‘Ali. May the truth encompass ‘Ali to the end of his life.”17 According to the Shi’a, this hadith represents the clear designation of ‘Alī as successor to the Prophet. Sunnis, however, dispute this.18 While some have interpreted it as merely an indication of the Prophet’s high esteem for ‘Alī, others have suggested it is a fraudulent tradition because other evidence puts ‘Alī in Yemen when this declaration was supposedly made. Although the famed Muslim historian, Abū Ja’far al-Ṭabarī (d.ca.310/923), disputed this evidence in his Ahādīth Ghadir . Khum (Traditions of Ghadir Khum), the later Ibn Kathīr (d.774/1373) upheld it, arguing that al-Ṭabarī’s argument, despite being extensive (two volumes), failed to distinguish sound information from weak.19

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Given this dispute over the succession to the Prophet, it is unsurprising that the relationship between ‘Alī and the first three caliphs has been a sensitive subject in Islamic history. Many Sunni writers, for example, have tended to downplay the disagreements between ‘Alī and the first three caliphs in order to present a more harmonious picture of the early Islamic caliphate. It is claimed that ‘Alī adopted a passive acceptance of the first two caliphs, only voicing disagreement over certain policies and decisions. All sources agree, however, that this began to change with the demise of the second caliph, ‘Umar al-Khaṭṭāb (d.23/644). Shortly before his death, ‘Umar appointed a shūrā (collective consultation) council tasked with appointing his successor. ‘Alī was both a member of this council and a leading contender to succeed ‘Umar. But, when the head of the council, ‘Abd al-Raḥmān ibn ‘Awf, offered the role to him on the condition that he rule according to the Qur’an, the Sunna, and the precedent of the first two caliphs, ‘Alī replied that he would only rule according to the Qur’an and Sunna. As a result, ‘Abd al-Raḥmān was forced to offer the caliphate to ‘Uthmān ibn ‘Affān instead, who readily agreed to the set conditions. ‘Alī reluctantly accepted this outcome. Many historians have described ‘Uthmān’s caliphate as corrupt and nepotistic.20 Despite his great achievements in expanding the Islamic empire,21 his rule was criticised by many, including ‘Alī and other prominent Companions (like Ṭalḥa ibn Ubaydillāh, Zubayr ibn al-Awām and ‘Ā’isha, the widow of the Prophet). Ultimately, this opposition resulted in ‘Uthmān’s assassination in 35/656, and despite the best efforts of ‘Alī to both restrain ‘Uthmān’s behaviour through warnings and to mediate between him and those aggrieved by his rule.22 After ‘Uthmān’s death, ‘Alī was elected as the fourth caliph of Islam. From His Caliphate until His Martyrdom Although ‘Alī’s caliphate proved short-lived, ending after just five years in 40/661, it had momentous consequences. ‘Alī began his reign by dismissing several of the governors appointed by his predecessor, replacing them with his own allies. He then set about recovering land and other properties granted to elites by ‘Uthmān, favouring their more equal distribution amongst the Muslim community at large. These actions were probably designed to correct the perceived excesses of his predecessor. His efforts did not, however, prevent the calls for him to punish those responsible for ‘Uthmān’s death. It was his failure to do so within a reasonable time that precipitated the eruption of the first Muslim civil war, known as the first fitna (trial, strife).

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The first sign of serious opposition to ‘Alī came when Mu’awiya ibn Abī Sufyān, the governor of Syria and kinsman of ‘Uthmān, who had been incensed by the latter’s assassination, refused to obey ‘Alī’s orders, effectively rebelling. Concurrently, those amongst the Companions who demanded that the murderers of ‘Uthmān be brought to justice began to force the issue; led by the aforementioned Ṭalḥa ibn Ubaydillāh, Zubayr ibn al-Awām and ‘Ā’isha, they met ‘Alī at Basra in 36/656 and insisted that he arrest those responsible. ‘Alī, however, proved reluctant. As a result, the Battle of the Camel ensued. This ended with the death of both Ṭalḥa and Zubayr, and the surrender of ‘Ā’isha. ‘Alī’s victory, however, proved short lived; the powerful Mu’awiya continued to oppose him and began to amass his own army in the Levant. Although ‘Alī attempted to come to terms with Mu’awiya, the latter proved intractable and finally ‘Alī was forced to confront him at Siffin (near modern-day Raqqa, Syria). There the armies of the two men assembled; after negotiations again failed, fighting broke out in 37/657, in what has become known as the Battle of Siffin.23 The Battle of Siffin proved bloody for both sides, but eventually Mu’awiya’s forces began to lose ground. In an attempt to stem ‘Alī’s advance, Mu’awiya’s general, ‘Amr ibn al-‘Āṣ, suggested that their troops hoist copies of the Qur’an onto the tops of their spears. This had the desired effect, with many of ‘Alī’s soldiers refusing to fight anyone holding the Qur’an. In the ensuing stalemate, ‘Alī agreed to settle the conflict between himself and Mu’awiya by arbitration. A protracted process of negotiation ensued, during which ‘Alī was represented by Abū Mūsā al-Asharī and Mu’awiya by ‘Amr ibn al-‘Āṣ. Finally, in 38/659 the process ended: ‘Amr ibn al-‘Āṣ persuaded Abū Mūsā al-Asharī to agree that both ‘Alī and Mu’awiya should be deposed and a shūrā council formed to elect a new caliph. When ‘Alī learnt of this decision, he was dismayed that he, as caliph, had been reduced to the same status as the rebellious Mu’awiya. Moreover, in the public announcement that followed, ‘Amr ibn al-‘Āṣ broke the agreement he had reached with Abū Mūsā al-Asharī and announced that ‘Alī had been deposed and Mu’awiya was caliph. ‘Alī therefore refused to accept the result of the process. This, however, proved costly: by refusing to accept the outcome of the arbitration process that he had originally agreed to, many Muslims accused ‘Alī of breaking his oath. As a result, the majority of his supporters deserted him, leaving him in a weakened position. Most notably, a sect called the Kharijites separated themselves from him. They had strongly opposed arbitration from the beginning, believing that God alone was fit to arbitrate (i.e. that ‘Alī should have continued fighting until a winner emerged by God’s will). Also holding that anyone who disagreed

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with them was an unbeliever, they denounced ‘Alī and began killing his supporters. This conflict culminated in 38/659, when ‘Alī’s forces met and defeated the Kharijites at the Battle of Nahrawan.24 This did not, however, mark the end of their threat to his person: during the fajr prayer on 19 Ramaḍān 40/27 January 661, a Kharijite called ‘Abd al-Raḥmān ibn Muljam struck ‘Alī down with a poisoned sword. As a result, ‘Alī died two days later.25 ‘Alī’s Spiritual and Intellectual Legacy ‘Alī was a pious leader and a person of integrity, who steadfastly held to his principles. Several hadith record the Prophet’s high esteem for him. As mentioned above, the Prophet reputedly said that ‘Alī was to him as Hārūn was to Mūsā (with the exception that ‘Alī was not a prophet).26 It was also narrated that the Prophet said, “‘Alī is with Qur’an and the Qur’an is with ‘Alī.”27 It was reported in al-Mustadrak that the Prophet said “I am a city of knowledge and Alī is the gate.”28 Since the ‘Abbāsid period, Sunni Islam has recognised ‘Alī as a respected spiritual leader and the fourth of the Rightly Guided Caliphs. The Shi’a, on the other hand, consider ‘Alī to be the first of their imams (or spiritual leaders); according to Shi’ism, an imam functions as the only legitimate spiritual guide for all Muslims, being the sole interpreter of revelation and Sharia and the only legitimate political authority. During the ‘Abbāsid period, the Shi’a scholar, al-Sharif al-Raḍī (d.406/1015), compiled ‘Alī’s sermons, letters and aphorisms into a single volume, called Nahj al-Balāgha. This text presented ‘Alī’s theological elaboration on such crucial issues as the transcendence and oneness of Allah and the importance of intellect in rational and legal debate. Through it, ‘Alī’s thought influenced the development of Muslim scholarship, providing the stimulus and content for a large number of intellectual and spiritual disciplines, including Qur’anic exegesis, theology, jurisprudence, rhetoric, grammar, calligraphy, numerology and alchemy. Moreover, ‘Alī’s letter to the Companion, Mālik al-Ashtar, written when the latter was appointed to the governorship of Egypt, has been seen to embody all the ideals of Islamic governance.29 As a person who was committed to the principles of Islamic religion and educated by the Prophet himself, ‘Alī was a man of humanity and integrity. During the Battle of Siffin, he ordered his men not to kill anyone who surrendered or fled the battle, not to finish off wounded men, not to uncover a pudendum, not to mutilate any dead bodies, not to rip open

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a curtain or enter a house without permission, not to take the rebels’ property and not to harm women. These rules have since formed the basis of Islamic humanitarian law. That he allowed the army of Mu’awiya to access the watering places controlled by his army during the Battle of Siffin also proves his merciful nature and religious integrity – especially given that his own army was denied such access when the watering places were controlled by his opponents.30 For these reasons and others, ‘Alī continues to hold a special position in both Sunni and Shi’a branches of Islam as an exemplary Muslim. Notes 1. 2.

3.

4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15.

Ali M. Sallabi, Ali bin Abi Talib, vol. 1, trans. Nasiruddin al-Khattab (Riyadh: International Islamic Publishing House, 2008), 51-2. There are many narrations stating the virtues of al-Hasan and al-Husayn. For . . example, it was narrated from Abū Huraira that: “The Messenger of Allah said: ‘Whoever loves Hasan and Husain, loves me; and whoever hates them, hates me.’” See Ibn Majah, Sunan Ibn Majah, vol. 1, book 1, hadith 143. The Shi’a and the Sunnis differ regarding the definition of ahl al-bayt. According to the Shi’a, the term is limited to the Prophet, his daughter Fāṭima, ‘Alī, and al-Hasan and al-Husayn. This interpretation is supposedly . . supported by sūra al-Ahzāb āya 33 and the hadith known as al-Kisā’ (the . cloak), see Abū ‘Īsā Muhammad al-Tirmidhī, Jāmi’ al-Tirmidhī, vol. 1, . book 46, hadith 3787. By contrast, the Sunnis believe that ahl al-bayt refers to both the aforementioned individuals and all the wives of Prophet, see Abdullah Yusuf Ali, The Meaning of The Holy Quran (Beltsville, MD: Amana Publications, 1997), 1066. Encyclopaedia of Religion, s.v. ‘‘Ali ibn Abi Talib,’ 256. Ibid. Sallabi, Ali, 53. Ibid. See also Ibn Ishaq, The Life of Muhammad, ed. Alfred Guilaume (London: Oxford University Press, 1968), 117-8. Encyclopaedia of Religion, s.v. ‘‘Ali ibn Abi Talib,’ 256. Sami Hassan Homoud, Islamic Banking: The Adaptation of Banking Practice to Conform With Islamic Law (London: Arabian Information Ltd, 1985), 1920. Fred M. Donner, Muhammad and the Believers: At the Origins of Islam (London: Harvard University Press, 2010), 43. Al-Bukhārī, Ṣaḥīḥ Bukhārī, vol. 5, hadith 3702. Encyclopaedia of Religion, s.v. ‘‘Ali ibn Abi Talib,’ 256-7. Mahmoud M. Ayoub, The Crisis of Muslim History (Manchester: Oneworld Publications, 2006), 7-8. Karen Armstrong, Islam: A Short History (New York: Modern Library Edition, 2000), 24-5. Ibid, 9-11.

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16. Ibid, n. 12. 17. Encyclopaedia Iranica, 2nd ed., s.v. ‘Ali b. Abi Taleb’s Life.’ 18. Ibid. See also, Muslim ibn al-Ḥajjāj, Ṣaḥīḥ Muslim, vol. 6, hadith 62206221; al-Bukhārī, Ṣaḥīḥ Bukhārī, vol. 5, hadith 3706; Franz Rosenthal, The History of al-Tabari, vol. 1 (Albany: University of New York Press, 1989), 91-3. 19. Rosenthal, History of al-Tabari, vol. 1, 91-3. 20. Ibid. 21. Donner, Muhammad and the Believers, 147. 22. Encyclopaedia Iranica, 2nd ed., s.v. ‘Ali b. Abi Taleb’s Life,’ 257. 23. Armstrong, Islam, 33-4. 24. See Encyclopaedia Iranica, 2nd ed., s.v. ‘Ali b. Abi Taleb’s Life,’ 258-9; Armstrong, Islam, 34-7; and Rosenthal, History of al-Tabari, vol. 16. 25. Encyclopaedia Iranica, 2nd ed., s.v. ‘Ali b. Abi Taleb’s Life,’ 259. 26. Muslim, Ṣaḥīḥ Muslim, vol. 6, hadith 6217, 6218, 6219, 6220, 6221; alBukhārī, Ṣaḥīḥ Bukhārī, vol. 5, hadith 3706. 27. Cited in Encyclopaedia Iranica, 2nd ed., s.v. ‘Ali b. Abi Taleb’s Life,’ 257. 28. Ibid. 29. Ibid, 259-60. 30. Mohd Hisham Mohd Kamal, ‘International Humanitarian Law From Islamic Perspective,’ paper presented at Seminar on Law and Society III: Recent Development on International Humanitarian Law, AIKOL, International Islamic University Malaysia, Kuala Lumpur, 24 April 2014.

Further Reading Al-Bukhārī, Muḥammad ibn Ismā’īl. Ṣaḥīḥ Bukhārī. Translated by Muhammad Muhsin Khan. Riyadh: Darussalam, 1997. Al-Ḥajjāj, Muslim ibn. Ṣaḥīḥ Muslim. Translated by Nasiruddin al-Khattab. Riyadh: Darussalam, 2007. Al-Ṭabarī, Abū Ja’far. The History of al-Tabari. Translated by Adrian Brockett. New York: State University of New York Press, 1996. Al-Tirmidhī, Abū ‘Īsā Muḥammad. Jāmi’ al-Tirmidhī. sunnah.com/urn/636700.

Available at: http://

Ali, A. Y. The Meaning of the Holy Quran. Beltsville, MD: Amana Publications, 1997. Armstrong, K. Islam: A Short History. New York: Modern Library Edition, 2000. Ayoub, M. M. The Crisis of Muslim History. Manchester: Oneworld Publications, 2006.

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Donner, F. M. Muhammad and the Believers: At the Origin of Islam. London: Harvard University Press, 2010. Homoud, S. H. Islamic Banking: The Adaptation of Banking Practice to Conform with Islamic Law. London: Arabian Information Ltd, 1985. Ibn Ishaq. The Life of Muhammad. Translated and edited by Alfred Guilaume. London: Oxford University Press, 1968. Ibn Majah. Sunan Ibn Majah. Available at: http://sunnah.com/urn/1251430. Mohd Kamal, M. K. ‘International Humanitarian Law From Islamic Perspective.’ Paper presented at Seminar on Law and Society III: Recent Development on International Humanitarian Law, AIKOL, International Islamic University Malaysia, Kuala Lumpur, 24 April 2014. Rosenthal, F. The History of Al-Tabari. Albany, NY: University of New York Press, 1989. Sallabi, A. M. Ali bin Abi Talib. Translated by Nasiruddin al-Khattab. Riyadh: International Islamic Publishing House, 2008.

3 ‘Ā’ISHA BINT ABĪ BAKR CA.613CE58AH/678CE Eric Winkel

‘Ā’isha bint Abī Bakr (ca.613/614CE-17 Ramaḍān 58AH/13 July 678CE) was the younger daughter of the first caliph, Abū Bakr (d.13/634), and a wife of the Prophet Muḥammad. Both her teachings and hadith testimony have become crucial for understanding lived Islam – especially regarding intimate and private matters. In the huge hadith collection known as Musnad Aḥmad, there is a section devoted exclusively to her traditions (technically known as Musnad ‘Ā’isha). In this remarkable collection, spanning hadith nos. 23892-26292 – that is, two thousand four hundred individual hadith (including repetitions) – we hear the voice of an Arabian woman from almost a millennium and a half ago. Historically, patriarchal societies have muted female voices; to read this section, however, is to hear more than two thousand times – ‘Ā’isha said… Perhaps the most oft-transmitted and well-known statement from ‘Ā’isha is that the Prophet was an exemplar (the uṣwata ḥasana described in the Qur‘an) and someone of tremendous character (khuluq ‛aẓīm). One of the Companions, for example, al-Ḥasan al-Baṣrī, is reported to have said: “I asked ‘Ā’isha about the character of the Messenger, peace be upon him, and she replied, ‘His character was the Qur‘ān’.” The following record shows how she absorbed the wisdom she saw modelled in her husband: Aḥmad bin Sulaymān said: Ḥusayn from Zā‘ida from al-‘Amash from ‘Umara from Abū ‘Atīya who said: I came, myself and Masrūq, to ‘Ā’isha, and Masrūq asked her: “There are two men from the Companions of the Messenger, peace be upon him, both of whom strive for the good. One of them delays the prayer and the fiṭr [breaking the fast]. The other hastens the prayer and the fiṭr [that

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is, hastens to eat the iftār just after sunset and then quickly starts the maghrib prayer].” ‘Ā’isha asked: “Who is the one who hastens the prayer and the fiṭr?” Masrūq replied: “It is ‘Abd Allāh bin Mas‘ūd.” She said, “That is the way Messenger of God, peace be upon him, used to do it.”

Thus, instead of singling out the wrong, ‘Ā’isha focused only on the right. She provided her opinion in such a manner that neither person would feel put down by her response. This shows her sensitivity and wisdom. ‘Ā’isha would spend most of her life transmitting the Sunna of the Messenger. This role was extremely important, with there being much to pull the early Muslim community away from the heart of the Prophet’s message. In the following record, for example, ‘Ā’isha corrects a cultural (male) assumption about women that the Messenger had sought to dispel, but which had nonetheless persisted after his death: Abū Mu‘āwiya, al-‘Amash, Ibrāhīm, al-Aswad, from ‘Ā’isha: that it reached her that people were saying that the prayer was broken by the dog, the donkey, and the woman. She said, “Do they not see that they have equated us [women] to dogs and donkeys? Sometimes I saw the Messenger, peace be upon him, praying at night while I was on the bed between him and the qibla [the direction of prayer]. I had to go, so I slipped down in front of the legs of the bed, disliking that I should face him in front of his qibla.”

‘Ā’isha frequently demonstrated a tendency to be outspoken, feeling uninhibited about talking back to anyone, including her husband and father. When, for example, she learned that a verse had been revealed vindicating her in the affair of the necklace (when she was accused of adultery, see sūra 24, al-Nūr), she nevertheless turned away from her parents and husband, both of whom had doubted her. In her own words: When my vindication came down from heaven, the Prophet, peace be upon him, came to me and announced it to me. I said, “We praise God, but we do not praise you.”

As Mohammad Akram Nadwi has argued, this and other similar incidents indicate that ‘Ā’isha considered any obedience that was not, first and foremost, to God as a burden to the self. Her duty was always to obey God. ‘Ā’isha was also very outspoken when correcting wrong ideas about the Prophetic Sunna, as we see here:

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Yazīd, Hammām ibn Yahyā, Qatāda, Abū Ḥassān, who said: Two . men from Banū ‘Āmir came to ‘Ā’isha and told her that Abū Hurayra was repeating a hadith from the Prophet, peace upon him, wherein he said that the [evil] omen may be in the house, the woman, and the horse. [At hearing this] She [‘Ā’isha] got angry and threw a torn piece of her clothing up to the sky and a piece down to the ground, and she said, “By the One who sent the Criterion to Muhammad, . the Messenger, peace be upon him, did not say that at all. Instead, he said that the people in the time of Ignorance considered those evil omens.” Then she recited, Nothing bad comes to the Earth or to any of you except in a record-book [Ḥadīd 57:21].

In another instance, we find it related that: The companion, ‘Urwa bin Zubayr [‘Ā’isha’s nephew], reported that it had come to ‘Ā’isha’s attention that Abū Hurayra was saying that the Messenger, peace be upon him, had said, “The offspring of adulterers is the worst of the three, and that the dead person is tormented by the crying of the living.” In response, ‘Ā’isha said, “God bless Abū Hurayra, but he heard incorrectly and he was wrong about the response.” She explained that there was a hyprocrite [munāfiq] who had bothered the Messenger, peace be upon him, and taunted him, saying that he was an illegitimate offspring. ‘Ā’isha said, “The Messenger said, ‘He is the worst of the three!’” And then she cited the Qur‘an, The bearer of a load does not bear the load of another [al-An‘ām 6:164]. She continued by stating, “As for Abū Hurayra’s statement that the dead are tormented by the crying of the living, the hadith is not like that. The Messenger, peace be upon him, passed by the house of a Jewish man who had died and his family was crying for him. He said, ‘They may cry for him and God may punish him.’ God says, God does not demand of any soul but what it is able to bear [al-Baqara 2:286].”

The traditions relating to ‘Ā’isha also give a rare glimpse into her inner life. Fiercely jealous, she freely admitted that she was never more envious of someone than of the Prophet’s first wife, Khadīja. At various times, she also became jealous of Māriya (mother of the Prophet’s son, Ibrāhīm) and the beautiful Jewish captive, Ṣafiya. ‘Ā’isha also related how she once became jealous of the amount of time the Prophet was spending with another of his wives, Zaynab bint Jahsh. This led to a domestic quarrel which ultimately resulted in the Messenger staying away from his wives for a period of a month (this situation is considered to be the occasion of

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revelation for the first part of sūra 66, al-Taḥrīm). It was also reported that one day the Prophet said to her: “I know when you are angry with me and I know when you are happy with me.” She said, “How do you know that, O Messenger?” He said, “When you are angry you say, ‘O Muḥammad,’ and when you are happy you say, ‘O Messenger.’”

In modern times, perhaps the most controversial aspect of ‘Ā’isha’s biography revolves around the age at which she supposedly married the Prophet: did she, as some hadith and commentators maintain, marry at nine years old, or at nineteen? Certainly, if her older sister, Asmā‘ bint Abī Bakr, was her senior by ten years and died at the age of one hundred in 73/692, then ‘Ā’isha must have married at age nineteen. Later in life, ‘Ā’isha played a highly visible role in the political life of the early Muslim community. After the assassination in 35/656 of the third Rightly Guided Caliph, ‘Uthmān ibn ‘Affān, she actively took sides against the fourth caliph, ‘Alī ibn Abī Ṭālib, in protest against his failure to punish those responsible for the death of his predecessor. She was much criticised for inciting this opposition, which culminated in the Battle of the Camel at Basra. Her role in this conflict subsequently damaged her authority within some sections of the Muslim community; although she herself characterised it as nothing more than the type of dispute that may occur in extended families, her opposition to ‘Alī subsequently led to Shi’a efforts to de-legitimise her. These efforts may even have extended to tampering with hadith evidence. Nevertheless, the sincerity of her subsequent regret and penance over the incident has been universally recognised. The authority ‘Ā’isha wielded throughout her lifetime was not easily accepted by some of her contemporaries, even during the lifetime of the Prophet. For example, one hadith recounts that, when a Companion invited the Prophet to dinner, the Prophet said: “I and this one,” pointing to ‘Ā’isha. The Companion, however, declined to extend his invitation to ‘Ā’isha and so the Prophet refused to go. A solution was only reached when the Companion relented and invited both of them. The favour the Prophet showed to ‘Ā’isha was also questioned in later times, prompting the famed mystic, Ibn ‘Arabī (d.638/1240), to state in his Futūḥāt: And God says, “You have in the Messenger of God a fine exemplar.” Where is your faith, if you would see today a person of elevated rank, like a judge or a lecturer, or a vizier, or a sultan, doing something like this [i.e. favouring a woman], following the model of the Prophet,

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wouldn’t you describe him as having inferior character? But if this quality were not one of the praiseworthy virtues, the Messenger of God would not have done it, he “who was sent to perfectly complete the praiseworthy virtues.”

In sum, we are fortunate indeed to have extensive records of ‘Ā’isha’s teachings, thoughts, and experiences. She was perhaps the most notable and influential of the Prophet’s wives, who are collectively known as the ‘Mothers of the Believers’ (ummuhāt al-mu’minīn). She has become highly revered by Sunni Muslims worldwide, for whom her reports constitute a valuable legal and moral resource. Her life and teachings represent the important contribution of a Muslim woman to the birth of Islam and provide a valued insight into the character and conduct of her husband, the Prophet Muhammad. A signal mark of her unique position is the fact that the Prophet died and was buried in her house, which today lies in the vicinity of the column before the qibla in the Mosque of Madinah. Her passionate convictions, distinctive personality and strong-willed presence left a definite imprint upon Islam. This Mother of the Believers reminds us that, without the sincere and informed participation of women, our community will not conform to the revered model of pristine Islam. Further Reading Al-Nasā’ī, Sunan. Kitāb al-sawm. Beirut: Dār al-Kutub al-‘Ilmīyah, 1426/2005. . Al-Zarkashī, Muhammad ibn Bahadūr. Al-Ijābah li-īrād mā istadrakat-hu ‘Ā’ishah . . . ‘alā l-sahābah. Available at: http://shamela.ws/index.php/book/12703. . . . Ibn Hanbal, Imām Ahmad bin Muhammad. Al-Musnad Aḥmad. Cairo: Dār alHadīth, 1995.

Ibn Kathīr. Al-Bidāyah wa ‘l-Nihāyah. Cairo: Dār al-Ḥadīth, 1426/2005. Nadwi, Mohammad Akram. Al-Muḥaddithāt: The women scholars in Islam. Oxford: Interface Publications, 2007.

Part Two the ClassiCal Period

4 JA‘FAR ALṢĀDIQ 83148AH/702765CE Karim D. Crow

Ja‘far al-Ṣādiq (83-148AH/702-765CE) was a direct descendent of the Prophet Muḥammad. After his death, he became venerated as the sixth imam (or spiritual leader) of Imāmiyya Shi‘ism (also known as Twelver Shi‘ism) and the fifth imam of Ismā‘īliyya Shi‘ism, both of whose doctrines he clearly helped establish (the Imāmiyya’s Ja‘farī legal school, for example, is named after him). In addition to being a member of the ahl al-bayt (‘The People of the House’, referring to the family of Muḥammad), al-Ṣādiq also boasted maternal descent from the first caliph, Abū Bakr al-Ṣiddīq. Thus, al-Ṣādiq’s mother, Umm Farwa bint al-Qāsim, was the great-granddaughter of Abū Bakr. Ja‘far reportedly declared: “I am not hoping for anything through the intercession of ‘Alī (on Judgement Day) save that I hope the same through the intercession of Abū Bakr.” In addition to being revered by the Shi’a, al-Ṣādiq is also highly esteemed by Sunni Muslims, for whom he is a paragon of exemplary wisdom. The Sufis also revere him for his spiritual initiation and esoteric elucidation (ta ′wīl) of the Qur’an. Living through the tumultuous Umayyad-‘Abbāsid transition, alṢādiq became intimately involved in the rival religious, intellectual and political factions of his era, interacting directly with leading figures from a wide spectrum of political and intellectual perspectives. Politically, for example, al-Ṣādiq was summoned to Iraq for several audiences with the first two ‘Abbāsid caliphs, Abū al-‘Abbās al-Saffāḥ (r.132-136/750754) and Abū Ja‘far al-Manṣūr (r.136-158/754-775), the latter of whom suspected al-Ṣādiq of harbouring political ambitions of his own. Intellectually, al-Ṣādiq was visited in his home by the great Kufan faqīh, Abū Ḥanīfa, and by the leading Madinan scholar, Mālik b. Anas. The

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latter praised him for his religious probity. Aside from these orthodox scholars, al-Ṣādiq has been further linked with the occult disciplines of letter-number sciences (‘ilm al-ḥurūf or jafr), prognostication (fāl), and alchemy (he was reputedly the master of the famed early chemist, Jābir b. Ḥayyān, d.ca.200/815). Many controversial questions obstruct a proper understanding of alṢādiq’s historical person, serving to obscure his position on important issues. Conflicting images have been built up over the centuries, each offering a selective portrait of of al-Ṣādiq’s activities and teachings. Robert Gleaves observes: The variety of uses to which Ja‘far al-Ṣādeq’s name has been put, and the ideas and teachings which have been attributed to him, are significant not only because they establish him as an important figure in the history of early Islamic thought, but also because they demonstrate the malleability of his legacy...It is the manner in which his contribution has been recast and, at times, re-invented that enables him to be employed by writers in the different Islamic sciences as integral to their development.1

But, if al-Ṣādiq later became the object of sectarian appropriation and polemical debate, it was because of an acrimonious dispute between the senior Companions of the Prophet.2 The Ahl al-Bayt From the beginning of Islamic history, certain descendants of the Prophet Muḥammad’s Family (the āl Muḥammad or ahl al-bayt) have played a significant role in the elaboration of Islamic religious disciplines and spirituality. To better apprehend al-Ṣādiq’s position in the early Muslim community, the history of this Family must be borne in mind. In 40/661, the Prophet’s first cousin and son-in-law, the fourth caliph, ‘Alī ibn Abū Ṭālib, was assassinated in Kufa following a five-year civil war. Initially, ‘Alī was succeeded by his eldest son, al-Ḥasan. In 41/662, however, al-Ḥasan was forced to abdicate in favour of Mu‘āwiya b. Abū Sufyān (r.4060/661-680), the second Umayyad caliph (after the third caliph, ‘Uthmān ibn al-‘Affān, d.35/656). During Mu‘āwiya’s reign, supporters of ‘Alī were hunted down and persecuted; Mu‘āwiya even instituted the public cursing of ‘Alī from the pulpits of all mosques throughout the empire. Amid this oppression, al-Ḥasan adopted a policy of accommodation. Nevertheless, in 50/670 he was poisoned by his wife, apparently at the behest of Mu‘āwiya,

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who wished his son, Yazīd (d.64/683), to succeed him as caliph (something the terms of al-Ḥasan’s abdication would not allow). When Yazīd eventually succeeded his father in 60/680, ‘Alī’s younger son, al-Ḥusayn, abandoned his late brother’s policy of accommodation and rebelled. His small band, however, was massacred at Karbalā’ (near Kufa) in 61/680. Al-Ḥusayn’s only surviving son, ‘Alī Zayn al-‘Ābidīn (3894/658-712), then became leader of those who still believed that political authority should rest in the hands of the ahl al-bayt. He was al-Ṣādiq’s grandfather. Unlike al-Ḥusayn, however, al-‘Ābidīn returned to al-Ḥasan’s policy of accommodation towards Umayyad power. This was continued by al-Ṣādiq’s father, Muḥammad al-Bāqir (58-115/677-733), who attracted a circle of devoted pupils and began to elaborate the legal and theological basis for a distinct school of Islamic practice. Following al-Bāqir’s death in Madinah, however, support for accommodation again began to flag. Al-Ṣādiq’s younger brother, ‘Abd Allāh Duqduq, was accused by Madinah’s Umayyad governor, Khālid b. ‘Abd al-Mālik b. al-Ḥārith (served 114-118/732-736), of inciting the people to follow al-Ṣādiq as imam. This led to Duqduq’s assassination by poison.3 More prominently, Muḥammad al-Bāqir’s younger half-brother (i.e. al-Ṣādiq’s paternal uncle), Zayd b. ‘Alī, led (and died during) a poorly coordinated uprising in Iraq in 122/740. Although this rebellion garnered widespread public sympathy, it was ruthlessly crushed, prompting a second unsuccessful revolt by Zayd’s son, Yaḥyā (lasting from 122/740 to 126/744). Shortly after this, the Ṭālibite contender, ‘Abd Allāh b. Mu‘āwiya, attained temporary success (127-130/744-747) in Iraq and Fars. From elsewhere within the Banū Hāshim, al-Ṣādiq’s paternal cousins, the Ḥasanid ‘Alids, also attempted to gain power by harnessing the Hāshimite legitimacy in combination with the powerful appeal of apocalyptic propaganda. Thus, ‘Abd Allāh al-Maḥḍ (grandson of alḤasan) groomed his eldest son, Muḥammad, to serve as the mahdī, or the legendary al-nafs al-zakiyya (pure soul) destined to inaugurate just rule. Although al-Maḥḍ was able to elicit support for his son’s leadership from many key Banū Hāshim figures, including the future ‘Abbāsid caliph, Abū Ja‘far al-Manṣūr, al-Ṣādiq refused to render his allegiance. Evidently aware that the ‘Abbāsid family had also begun its own quest for leadership, patiently engineering an underground revolution in the name of the Prophet’s Family, al-Ṣādiq foresaw the approaching failure of his Ḥasanid cousins. Indeed, al-Ṣādiq reputedly uttered a prediction that the self-proclaimed mahdī would be “slain at the oiled stones” at the behest

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of al-Manṣūr – a prediction which came to pass in 145/762 when the former was executed at the shiny lava outcropping near Madinah that is commonly called the ‘oiled stones’. During these tumultuous events, al-Ṣādiq managed to avoid controversy, being neither arrested nor imprisoned. Indeed, after the rise of the ‘Abbāsid dynasty in 132/750, he was free to expand his teaching activities amongst his growing circles of pupils. In the context of the aforementioned ‘Alid pretensions to power, however, the crucial question which has since been asked by Sunni thinkers is whether al-Ṣādiq upheld the view that ‘Alī was explicitly designated as successor to the Prophet (a succession allegedly thwarted by senior Companions). Moreover, did alṢādiq also hold that the ahl al-bayt (confined to the Ḥusaynid hereditary line) were alone authorised to exercise legitimate temporal and spiritual authority over Muslims (i.e. the Shi’a doctrine of the imamate). Sunni Islam has traditionally understood community guidance to be vouchsafed in the Qur’an and the religio-legal consensus of religious experts (ulama). By contrast, the Shi‘a have generally held that valid guidance requires the presence of a divinely appointed and infallible chief from among the Prophet’s Family, who then authoritatively interprets the Qur’an for his followers. The controversy over whether al-Ṣādiq supported the Shi’a position has resulted in a tendency amongst Sunni authorities to reject almost all narrations assigned to him, essentially disqualifying him as a religious authority. The question of the true status of Ja‘far’s narrations should therefore be considered, both with regard to their literary recording and transmission over the generations. Transmission On the whole, canonical Sunni hadith collections rarely cite al-Ṣādiq’s narrations, reflecting the aforementioned cautious attitude to his testimony.4 For example, the staunch Sunni traditionalist, al-Bukhārī (d.256/870), excluded all of al-Ṣādiq’s narrations from his Ṣaḥīḥ (although al-Ṣādiq is occasionally cited in al-Bukhārī’s ethical compilation, al-Adab al-mufrad). The Ṣaḥīḥ of Muslim (d.261/875), on the other hand, cites twenty-six isnāds (or fourteen separate hadith) narrated through al-Ṣādiq.5 Early Mālikī and Ḥanafī jurisprudential works also contained occasional narrations transmitted on the authority of al-Ṣādiq. Throughout the writings of al-Shāfi‘ī (d.204/820), and more generally in the early Shāfi‘ī School as a whole, al-Ṣādiq is also sometimes cited as an authority on matters pertaining to the early history of Madinah or to a variety of

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legal topics. The best example of the Shāfi‘ī School admitting narrations from al-Ṣādiq (and also al-Bāqir) is the Sunan of al-Ḥāfiẓ al-Bayhaqī (d.458/1066).6 Nevertheless, the majority of Sunni critics have stipulated that narrations received through al-Ṣādiq’s family isnād are defective and therefore to be avoided. Their objections appear to have been intended to discredit and dispense with the mass of Shi‘a hadith attributed to al-Ṣādiq, whose doctrinal principles concerning the imamate, coupled with their pejorative portrayal of the motives and deeds of certain leading Companions regarding the succession to the Prophet, were anathema to Sunni Muslims. A revealing statement explaining Sunni traditionalism’s antipathy towards narrations from al-Ṣādiq is reported by the Kufan traditionalist, Yaḥyā b. ‘Abd al-Ḥamīd al-Ḥimmānī (d.228/843). Yaḥyā questioned his teacher and mentor, the Kufan qāḍī, Sharīk b. ‘Abd Allāh al-Nakha‘ī (d.177/793), about unspecified groups (aqwām) who considered al-Ṣādiq ‘weak’ in his narrations. Sharīk, an accomplished traditionalist and faqīh, who served as judge under the ‘Abbāsids, first in Wāsiṭ (from 150/767) and then in Kufa (158-169/768-779), is reported to have said: I will tell you the situation. Ja‘far b. Muḥammad was a righteous man and a God-fearing Muslim. Then a group of foolish ignorant persons [qawm juhhāl] surrounded him, frequenting his home and leaving his presence while saying “Ja‘far b. Muḥammad informed us.” They narrated traditions, all of them objectionable [munkarāt] – lies, forgeries imputed to Ja‘far! – in order to exploit people to their own advantage and take their dirhams, and to this end they brought forth all kinds of objectionable traditions. Thereupon the public [al-‘awām] heard these from them, and some were brought to ruin (by accepting them), while others disclaimed them. These (ignorami) were the likes of al-Mufaddal . . b. ‘Umar and Bayān [b. Sam‘ān] and ‘Amr al-Nabaṭī [sic., correctly ‘Ammār al-Sābāṭī] and others. They stated that Ja‘far narrated to them that recognition of the imām suffices to spare one from fasting and prayer; and that he narrated to them from his father [al-Bāqir], from his grandfather [i.e. ‘Alī] who informed them about (events that will occur) before the Resurrection; and that ‘Alī is in the clouds flying with the wind, and that he used to speak after death, and moved as he was being washed (for burial); and that [‘Alī] is God in heaven while God on earth is the imam – so these errant fools appointed a partner for God! By God, Ja‘far never said anything like this at all! Ja‘far was more mindful of God and God-revering than that. So when the

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people [narrating traditions] heard these things, they deemed him ‘weak’ [and forsook transmitting his narrations]. If you had seen Ja‘far, you would have known that he was truly unparalleled among his peers [wāḥid al-nās].7

Sharīk’s explanation for the mistrust shown al-Ṣādiq is persuasive on one level: it points to the well-attested role of ‘exaggerators’ in al-Ṣādiq’s entourage (notably al-Mufaḍḍal al-Ju‘fī), who ascribed all manner of supernatural abilities and superior knowledge to him. However, Sharīk’s explicit insistence that Ja‘far himself had nothing whatsoever to do with the objectionable teachings that were so often associated with him is not supported by all. Did al-Ṣādiq therefore help evolve mainstream Imāmiyya Shi‘a doctrine (including their legal ideas and practices), or are the narrations the Shi’a assign to him simply ‘lies and forgeries’? His Teachings During al-Ṣādiq’s lifetime, Islamic society experienced a great proliferation and creative elaboration of the major knowledge disciplines, including hadith studies, jurisprudence, grammar and linguistics, Qur’anic exegesis, ethical-spiritual teachings, asceticism, and creedal/theological speculation. Initially, however, these disciplines were not seen as distinct; it was possible to combine them in various ways, within the expertise of a single individual. Al-Ṣādiq’s intellectual activity was no exception to this rule, integrating as it did legal instruction, ethical praxis, theological principles, and individual spiritual guidance. Building upon his father’s work (he inherited a number of al-Bāqir’s senior disciples), al-Ṣādiq projected his legal, theological, and spiritual teachings amongst his circle of students. The latter were overwhelmingly Iraqi partisans, many of whom later attached themselves to al-Ṣādiq’s younger son and designated legatee, Mūsā al-Kāz. im (d.183/799). Al-Ṣādiq sought out and recruited specific individuals who he thought would help fortify and extend his circle of associates and advance the cause of the ahl al-bayt. He also, however, attracted a number of proto-Sunni traditionalists, jurists, grammarian-linguists and poets, in addition to several ‘Abbāsid government officials. Amongst the most prominent of his many close associates were: Zurāra b. A‘yan (d.150/767), a rationalist faqīh and theologian from Kufa; Hishām b. Sālim al-Jawālīqī, who combined theological and legal competency; and ‘Ammār b. Mūsā al-Sābāṭī, an esoteric initiate with legal and theological interests. Perhaps the most

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outstanding of all his students, however, was the theological genius, Hishām b. al-Ḥakam (d.179/795-6) who would later spearhead the rationalist defence of imāmate doctrine in a series of famous disputations with Mu‘tazilite opponents held in the presence of caliph Hārūn alRashīd (r.170-193/786-809).8 When teaching his students, al-Ṣādiq made a definite distinction between an ideal ‘true polity’ (dawlat al-ḥaqq) and the reigning ‘false polity’ (dawlat al-bāṭil) of his own time – that is, between a hoped for ‘just order’ (dawlat al-‘adl) and a prevailing condition of ‘temporary-truce’ (dawlat al-hudnā). For his followers, he deemed the reigning false polity to be ‘the abode of precaution’ (dār al-taqiyya); al-Ṣādiq strongly emphasised the need to exercise caution when dealing with the prevailing expectations and attitudes of the dominant sections of society and of the powerful ruling class. This insistence had a double motive: to safeguard his followers from censure and punitive measures while also deflecting suspicion and baneful consequences from al-Ṣādiq and the ahl al-bayt. Al-Ṣādiq counselled his associates to: Conduct yourselves with the people in accordance with their characters, while differing from them in their deeds [khālaqū l-nāsa bi-akhlāqihim wa khālafūhum bi-a‘mālihim]; for truly each man gets what he earns, and on Resurrection Day he shall be in the company of the one he loved. Do not induce people against yourselves nor against us, and join in with the populace. Truly, we [the ahl al-bayt] have a time and a rule which God shall bring about when He wills.9

This conceptualisation of a sought-for – and ultimately inevitable, because it is divinely ordained – ‘true polity’ that, led by the ahl al-bayt, sits in contrast to a prevailing ‘false polity’ conforms to the essentials of Shi’a ideology. Moreover, according to al-Ṣādiq’s well-known instructions to the reputable Kufan traditionalist, Sulaymān b. Mihrān al-A‘mash (d.148/765), which listed the fundamental ritual and creedal obligations of religion (sharā’i‘ al-dīn, or wājibāt),10 he also strongly emphasised walāya, or love and devotion to the ahl al-bayt, matched by active dissociation (al-bara’a) from their opponents. Repeated mention is also made of the ‘abode of taqiyya’, in addition to the impeccability of the prophets and their legatees (i.e. the Shi’a imams). This again conforms to Shi’a doctrine. In other respects, however, al-Ṣādiq carves out a position that differs little with what is now majority Sunni opinion. For example, he upheld the Qur’an as God’s speech, being “neither the Creator nor created,” and argued that human deeds were accomplished through divine fore-

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ordainment (khalq taqdīr). He also argued that faith (īmān) was superior to simple obedience (islām), and could increase or diminish by means of good or bad deeds. For him, faith stemmed from the acknowledgement of the heart, the confession of the tongue, and the deeds of the limbs. Sinners, however, remained muslim, even if immoral (fāsiq), but were not ‘people of faith’ (mu’min). Those with a preponderance of sin (termed mustaḍ‘if) might still find salvation, but dependent on God’s wish or by intercession. Al-Ṣādiq completed this creedal affirmation by listing the major and minor sins. The seven major sins were: idolatry (shirk), slaying the innocent soul, breaking bonds of blood/kinship, fleeing after the advance of one’s army, sequestering the property of orphans, consuming interest in financial transactions, and falsely slandering married women. Included amongst the minor sins were adultery, pederasty, consuming prohibited food, and various blameworthy deeds, like extravagant indulgence and wasteful consumption (al-isrāf wa l-tabdhīr). In general terms, these all conform to the Sunni position. Al-Ṣādiq also devoted considerable attention to explicating the role of faith in human experience, including its multiple degrees and subtle functions in higher human cognition. A significant aspect of his thought centred on the role of intelligence (‘aql) in faith. On the inner dynamics of prophecy and revelation, al-Ṣādiq specified a hierarchy of inspiration, ranging from veridical dreams to clairvoyant audition to conscious eyewitnessing (only by the Prophet). The purified consciousness of God’s Intimate (walī, pl. awliyā’) would be receptive to inner promptings vouchsafed through the auditory disclosures of angelic inspiration (muḥaddath), but without eye-witnessing. This scheme evidently reflects his own experience and was subsequently very influential in shaping the emerging mystical doctrines of both Sunni and Shi’a Islam (for example, see al-Ḥakīm al-Tirmidhī’s teaching on the ‘seal of sainthood’, later expanded by Ibn al-‘Arabī). All of al-Ṣādiq’s utterances invoked passages from the Qur’an in order to explain his meaning and intent. These abundant explanatory citations constitute the closest expression we have of his own inner-elucidation (ta’wīl) of the Qur’an. Although several strands of tafsīr later appeared which were (especially within Iraqi Sufi circles) attributed to him, the reality of these connections remains uncertain.11 But whether they actually derived from his work or not, this body of teachings retains great significance for the mystical appropriation of the Qur’an amongst all sections of the Muslim community.

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Conclusion The legacy of Ja‘far al-Ṣādiq is multi-levelled and extensive, touching on many domains of thought and experience. His teachings were pressed into service by a variety of doctrinal schools and intellectual disciplines, both Sunni and Shi’a, all of whom sought to profit from his reputation for wise guidance, religious acumen and shrewd insight. This association with such an astonishing breadth of Islamic disciplines has rarely been matched and is testimony to his relevance for our era. Regarding the challenge of comprehending his ideas, al-Ṣādiq reputedly stated: “Our discourse is difficult and painful to comprehend; none may endure it save for a dispatched prophet, or an angel brought nigh, or a believer whose heart God has tested for true-faith.” Despite the extensive literary records we have preserving his teachings, the legendary accretions which still cloud his historical actuality lend an irreducible aura of elusiveness to al-Ṣādiq. Notes 1. 2.

3.

4.

5. 6.

Encyclopedia Iranica, s.v. ‘Ja‘far al-Ṣādeq.’ Consult Wilferd Madelung, The Succession to Muhammad: A Study of the Early Caliphate (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997). This text contains a detailed account, based on a judicious handling of the sources, of the first four Caliphs and the first Muslim civil war. Most Muslims today remain unaware of these events. ‘Abd Allāh ibn Muslim ibn Qutayba, al-Ma‘ārif, ed. Tharwat ‘Ukāshah (al-Qāhira: Dār al-Maʻārif, 1981), 215; Abū l-Faraj al-Isbahānī, Maqātil . al-Ṭālibiyīn, ed. A. Ṣaqr (Qum: Manshūrāt al-Sharīf al-Raḍī, 1995), 159. Taking all data into consideration, one might place Duqduq’s death in ca.116/733-4. It was also at around this time that al-Ṣādiq married his eldest son, Ismā‘īl (d.ca.136/755), to Umm Ibrāhīm al-Makhzūmī, daughter of the next Umayyad governor of Madinah, Ibrāhīm b. Hishām al-Makhzūmī (the maternal uncle of Umayyad caliph, Hishām b. ‘Abd al-Mālik, r.106-125/724743). This marriage was probably arranged in order to help improve relations with the ruling powers, see Mus‘ab al-Zubayrī, Kitāb nasab Quraysh, ed. E. . Lévi-Provençal (al-Qāhira: Dār al-Maʻārif lil-Ṭibāʻa wa-al-Nashr, 1953), 63. The obvious exception, however, is the oft-cited prophetic hadith known as the “long narration of the Pilgrimage” (ḥadīth al-ḥajj al-ṭawīl). This is included in five of the six Sunni canonical hadith collections and excerpted by Mālik b. Anas (d.179/795) in his al-Muwaṭṭa’. The leading Sunni traditionalist, Yaḥyā b. Sa‘īd al-Qattān (d.198/813), also transmitted it directly from al-Ṣādiq, .. whom he personally deemed reliable. Consult the detailed study on al-Ṣādiq’s Sunni riwāyāt, Yasir Battikh, alImām Ja‘far al-Ṣādiq wa Marwīyatuhu al-Ḥadīthiyya (Alexandria: Dār al-‘Ilm wa l-īmān, 2008). Al-Shāfi‘ī, in his Kitāb al-Umm, cited a number of narrations from al-Ṣādiq.

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He also appealed to him for his qadīm corpus – the citations from which are partly recoverable from al-Hāfiz . . al-Bayhaqī’s massive al-Sunan al-Kubrā (see the indices to the old Haydarābād edition of 1936, s.v. Ja‘far b. Muḥammad). . 7. This conversation is preserved by Abū ʻAmr Muhammad ibn ʻUmar al-Kashshī, . Ikhtiyār maʻrifat al-rijāl, al-maʻrūf bi-Rijāl al-Kashshī, ed. Muhammad ibn . al-Hasan Tūsī and Hassan Mostafavi (Mashhad: Danishgah, 1970), §588, . . . 324-5. 8. Al-Ṣādiq reputedly held disputations of his own with exponents of nonMuslim traditions, including Daysānī Gnostics, Manichaeans, natural . scientists and pagan philosophers. These disputations were later preserved in the form of literary dialogues. They show al-Ṣādiq successfully defending Islamic doctrine against subtle rationalist criticisms. 9. Muhammad ibn Muhammad al-Mufīd, Amālī al-Shaykh al-Mufīd: fīhi ithnān . . wa-arbaʻūn majlisan taḥtawī ʻalá maʻtī maṭlab nafīs fī shatī al-buḥūth maʻa isnādihā al-mawthūq bi-ṣudūrihā ʻan al-Nabī wa-āl baytihi al-aṭhar (al-Najaf: al-Maṭbaʻa al-Ḥaydariyya, 1947), 15-7; §3 17. 10. These detailed instructions are found in Muhammad ibn ʻAlī ibn Bābawayh, . Kitāb al-Khisāl, ed. ‘Alī Akbar al-Ghaffārī (Tihrān: Maktabat al-Ṣadūq, . 1969), 603-10. According to al-Ṣādiq, there are six primary components of faith: purity (e.g. ablution, properly repeated once or twice, not thrice), prayer, zakāt, fasting, pilgrimage, and jihād. 11. A notable instance are the exegetical remarks ascribed to al-Ṣādiq in the major Ḥaqā’iq al-tafsīr of ‘Abd al-Rahmān al-Sulamī (d.412/1021). .

Further Reading Abū Zahrā, Muḥammad. Al-Imām al-Ṣādīq: ḥayātuh wa-‘aṣruh, ārā′uh wafiqhuh. Al-Qāhira: Dār al-Fikr al-ʻArabī, 1964. Al-Iṣbahānī, Abū l-Faraj. Maqātil al-Ṭālibiyīn. Edited by A. Ṣaqr. Qum: Manshūrāt al-Sharīf al-Raḍī, 1995. Al-Kashshī, Abū ʻAmr Muḥammad ibn ʻUmar. Ikhtiyār maʻrifat al-rijāl, al-maʻrūf bi-Rijāl al-Kashshī. Edited by Muḥammad ibn al-Ḥasan Ṭūsī and Ḥassan Mostafavi. Mashhad: Danishgah, 1970. Al-Kulaynī, Muḥammad b. Ya‘qūb. Al-Kāfī fī ‘Ilm al-Dīn, 8 vols., 3rd edition. Edited by ‘Alī Akbar al-Ghaffārī. Tihrān: Dār al- Kutub al-islāmiyat, 1953. Al-Mufīd, Muḥammad ibn Muḥammad. Amālī al-Shaykh al-Mufīd: fīhi ithnān

wa-arbaʻūn majlisan taḥtawī ʻalá maʻtī maṭlab nafīs fī shatī al-buḥūth maʻa isnādihā al-mawthūq bi-ṣudūrihā ʻan al-Nabī wa-āl baytihi al-aṭhar. Al-Najaf:

al-Maṭbaʻa al-Ḥaydariyya, 1947.

Al-Ṣādiq, Ja’far. The Lantern of the Path. Translated by Muna Bilgrami. Shaftesbury: Element Books, 1989.

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______________. Tawheed al-Mufadhdhal: As Dictated by Imam Ja‘far AsSadiq. Translated by Muhammad Ibrahim and Abdullah Shahin. Qumm, Ansariyan, 2004. Al-Zubayrī, Mus‘ab. Kitāb nasab Quraysh. Edited by E. Lévi-Provençal. AlQāhira: Dār al-Maʻārif lil-Ṭibāʻa wa-al-Nashr, 1953. Battikh, Yasir. Al-Imām Ja‘far al-Ṣādiq wa Marwīyatuhu al-Ḥadīthiyya. Alexandria: Dār al-‘Ilm wa l-īmān, 2008. Böwering, Gerhard. ‘Isnād, Ambiguity and the Qur’ān Commentary of Ja‘far alṢādiq.’ In Shi‘ite Heritage: Essays on Classical and Modern Traditions, edited by Lynda Clarke, 63-74. Binghampton, NY: Global Publications, 2001. Buckley, Ronald Paul. ‘Ja‘far al-Ṣādiq as a Source of Šhi‘i Traditions.’ Islamic Quarterly 43, no. 1 (1999): 37-58. ______________. ‘The Imam Ja‘far al-Ṣādiq, Abū’l-Khaṭṭāb and the Abbasids.’ Der Islam 79, no. 1 (2002): 118-140. Fahd, Toufic. La divination arabe: Etudes religieuses, sociologiques et folkloriques sur le milieu natif de l’islam. Leiden: Brill, 1966. Gleaves, Robert. ‘Between Hadith and Fiqh: The ‘Canonical’ Imāmī Collections of Akhbār.’ Islamic Law and Society 8, no. 3 (2001): 350-382. Haydar, Asad. Al-Imām al-Ṣādīq wa l-Madhāhib al-Arba‘ah, 3 vols., 2nd edition. Bayrūt: Dār al-Kitāb al-ʻArabī, 1969. Ibn Bābawayh, Muḥammad ibn ʻAlī. Kitāb al-Khiṣāl. Edited by ‘Alī Akbar alGhaffārī. Tihrān: Maktabat al-Ṣadūq, 1969. Ibn Qutayba, ‘Abd Allāh ibn Muslim. Al-Ma‘ārif. Edited by Tharwat ‘Ukāshah, Al-Qāhira: Dār al-Maʻārif, 1981. Kraus, Paul. Jābir Ibn Ḥayyān: Contribution à l’historie des idées scientifiques dans l’islam, Mémoires de l’Institut d’Égypte no. 44. Hildesheim: Georg Olms Verlag, 1989. Loebenstein, Judith. ‘Miracles in Ši‘i Thought: A Case Study of the Miracles Attributed to Imām Ja‘far al-Ṣādiq.’ Arabica 50, no. 2 (2003): 199-244. Madelung, Wilferd. The Succession to Muhammad: A Study of the Early Caliphate. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997. Muzaffar, Muhammed Ḥusayn. al-Imām al-Ṣādiq. Translated by Jasim al. . Rasheed. Qumm: Ansariyan Publications, 1998.

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Nwyia, Paul. ‘Le Tafsir mystique attribué à Ğa‘far Ṣādiq: edition critique.’ Mélanges de l’Université St.-Joseph no. 43 (1967): 179-230. Zadeh, Ensieh Nasrollahi. ‘The Qur’an Commentary Attributed to Imam Ja‘far Sadiq (a.s.): A Study of its Dating and Interpretive Method.’ Unpublished PhD Thesis, University of Birmingham, 2003.

5 ABŪ ḤANĪFA NU‘MĀN IBN THĀBIT 80150AH/699767CE Karim D. Crow

Nu‘mān ibn Thābit ibn Zūṭā (80–150AH/699–767CE), better known as either Abū Ḥanīfa or as ‘the Grand Imam’ (al-Imām al-A‛ẓam), is one of early Islam’s most important intellectual figures. Through him, the foundations of a rational legal methodology were laid, thereby promoting the conceptualisation of normative universal legal principles via both rational methods and consideration of social utility and benefit. His advocacy of rationalist procedures for deducing case law, however, meant that Abū Ḥanīfa aroused much controversy amongst his contemporary Muslim jurists – especially from certain proponents of hadith-based jurisprudence (ahl al-ḥadīth). Traditionalist-orientated jurists viewed his methods, based on independent reasoning (ijtihād), especially with regard to analogical reasoning (qiyās) and juristic preference (istiḥsān), as a threat to the legal validity of the Prophetic traditions. Abū Ḥanīfa’s theological views were also a matter of controversy, leading his critics to label him a Murji’ite – although he himself disavowed this term.1 In all, Abū Ḥanīfa lived for seventy lunar years – fifty-two under the Umayyad caliphs (whose decline and fall he witnessed) and eighteen years under the first two ‛Abbāsid caliphs, Abū al-‘Abbās al-Saffāḥ (r.132-136/750-754) and Abū Ja’far al-Manṣūr (r.136-158/754-775). He was a man of deep social conscience whose political sympathies and conspicuous opposition to ruling regimes brought him into conflict, first with the Umayyads, and then the ‛Abbāsids. Abū Ḥanīfa was also an outspoken critic of errors commitment by his contemporary judges and legal scholars.

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A Very Short Biography Born in the thriving city of Kufa, in lower Iraq, then a major centre of legal learning, Abū Ḥanīfa grew up under the rule of the powerful Umayyad governor, al-Ḥajjāj b. Yūsuf (d.95/714). Abū Ḥanīfa’s father, Thābit, was probably a Kabul merchant of Persian ancestry whose father, Zūṭā, had become a Muslim client. Other reports, however, assert that one of Abū Ḥanīfa’s forefathers was a Sassanian provincial military warden who had been stationed in Anbar (central Mesopotamia). When Abū Ḥanīfa reached maturity, he became an independently wealthy silk merchant (khazzāz); he owned a large building for silk manufacture and employed a number of workers and artisans. He therefore had extensive practical experience of business, commerce and finance – something most jurists lacked. Throughout his life, he became noted for liberally bestowing his wealth upon his students and other impoverished religious scholars. Abū Ḥanīfa began his ambitious intellectual career by applying himself to dialectical theology (kalām). Quickly rising to prominence in this field, he became highly regarded throughout Kufa for his disputations against sectarians. In this regard, he made more than twenty trips to Basra to engage in debates with the Khārijites. Eventually, however, Abū Ḥanīfa became disillusioned with the polemical intent of the disputations, viewing them as a source of division and, therefore, as something contrary to the Sunna of the Prophet and his Companions. Convinced of the superiority of legal knowledge, Abū Ḥanīfa therefore devoted himself to the study of Islamic law, taking as his mentor the prominent Kufan faqīh, Ḥammād ibn Abī Sulaymān (d.120/737), a former student of the renowned Ibrāhīm al-Nakha‛ī (d.96/715). Abū Ḥanīfa remained under Ḥammād’s tutelage for eighteen years, later assuming the leadership of his juridical circle after his death. Ultimately, Abū Ḥanīfa studied under a wide range of authorities, both Sunni and Shi‛a. Amongst the latter were the leading ‛Alids, Zayd b. ‛Alī (d.122/740), Muḥammad al-Bāqir (d.114/732) and Ja‛far al-Ṣādiq (d.148/765), all of whom Abū Ḥanīfa deemed qualified to exercise ijtihād (independent legal reasoning).2 In ca.120/738, Zayd b. ‛Alī mounted an anti-Umayyad revolt. Abū Ḥanīfa provided his moral and financial support to this (ultimately unsuccessful) movement, issuing fatwas in support of Zayd’s cause. After the movement’s defeat, however, these resulted in the Umayyad governor of Kufa and Basra, Yazīd ibn Hubayrah (d.132/750), sentencing Abū Ḥanīfa to a severe flogging. Abū Ḥanīfa subsequently sought political

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refuge in Makkah, where he remained for over ten years. Indeed, he only returned to Kufa after the ‘Abbāsids came to power in 132/750. Nevertheless, the Islamic principle of ‘enjoining right and forbidding wrong’ meant that Abū Ḥanīfa never remained silent in the face of an oppressive ruler; more than twenty years later, in 145/762–3, he openly supported another two uprisings, this time against the ‘Abbāsids. Led by two Ḥasanid descendants of the Banū Hāshim, Muḥammad and Ibrāhīm ibnay ‛Abd Allāh, although they came close to defeating the ‛Abbāsid caliph, al-Manṣūr, their revolt was crushed. Afterwards, al-Manṣūr sought to co-opt Abū Ḥanīfa by appointing him to a high-ranking administrative position in the newly built ‘Abbāsid capital, Baghdad. But, out of a scrupulous integrity, Abū Ḥanīfa repeatedly refused this mandated position – in effect rejecting al-Manṣūr’s legitimacy and authority. Abū Ḥanīfa therefore spent the final two years of his life in prison. When he died, six funeral prayers had to be conducted in succession because of the massive crowds. The Ḥanafī Law School There are three fundamental principles underlying the Hanafī legal school. . The first is the pre-eminent position it accords analogical reasoning (qiyās), a rational method of legal generalisation. Certainly, this principle is awarded greater authority amongst the Ḥanafīs than amongst the other Islamic legal schools. The second fundamental principle is ta‛mīm al-adilla, or the fullest logical (or rational) generalisation of established legal precepts. By this principle, the legal statements of the Qur’an and principal legal hadith are given the broadest reasonable authority according to their general implications, being treated as universal legal decrees. The third distinctive feature of Abū Ḥanīfa’s legal thought is its reliance upon the ‘hypothetical method’, or legal speculation. This method, frowned upon by most of Abū Ḥanīfa’s contemporaries, who felt it should be restricted to actual problems as they occurred, was justified by Abū Ḥanīfa as a suitable means of preparing for calamities before they happened – i.e. of knowing how to extricate oneself from a problem before it appeared. This hypothetical method was well suited to Abū Ḥanīfa’s reliance on qiyās, enabling both him and his students to group a wide variety of legal questions together in accordance with a single effective cause (‛illah) applicable to them all. This greatly facilitated the first systematic compilation of a Ḥanafī legal compendia, which in turn provoked the compilation of similar legal collections in the other schools.

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Abū Ḥanīfa’s method of qiyās involved making distinctions between normative (i.e. universal) and non-normative (i.e. exceptional) aspects of the law. He deemed it valid to use qiyās only on the basis of what is normative. Therefore, for every fundamental aspect of the law, Abū Ḥanīfa identified those Qur’anic verses, hadith, and teachings of the Companions which best exemplified the relevant underlying precept – and employed them as principal ratio legis when solving unprecedented legal questions. The disputes between Abū Ḥanīfa and the advocates of hadith therefore revolved primarily around his rejection of those isolated hadith whose apparent legal implications contradicted his conception of the normative principles of the law. Abū Ḥanīfa is also known for his reliance on ‘preferred exceptional rulings’ (istiḥsān). Forming a counterpart to qiyās, this principle aims to make reasonable modifications to inferential precepts when strict application of the general precept is no longer appropriate due to special circumstances. In the Mālikī School, istiḥsān is based primarily upon a consideration of the principle of maṣlaḥa (individual and social benefit). Ḥanafī istiḥsān, however, is more frequently employed by referring the solution to the relevant problem to a less obvious cause with a more favourable social benefit, thereby reflecting the primacy of qiyās in the Ḥanafī School.3 Concerning the commonly-held view associating Abū Ḥanīfa with both ijtihād and the minimising of hadith in the creation of legal rulings, Umar Abd-Allah states that: …although the use of [ijtihād al-]ra’y is an essential part of Hanafite legal theory, it was always combined with the systematic use of Hadith but in accord with special stipulations. Furthermore the use of [ijtihād al-]ra’y is no more prominent in the Hanafite school than it was in the Malikite, which seems…to have given greater scope to its use than Abū Ḥanīfah. [The Hanafites later] rejected the Malikite principles of sadd al-dharā’i‛ (obstruction of legal fictions), and [their] concept of istiḥsān al-ḍarūrah (preferred exceptional rulings based on absolute necessity) does not appear to be as broad as the Malikite principle of al-maṣāliḥ al-mursalah (unprecedented rulings based on social need), which in many ways is the pinnacle of Malikite legal thought.4

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Legacy Immediately after his death, Abū Ḥanīfa’s legal teachings were gathered together and transmitted by his two pupils, Abū Yūsuf (d.182/798) and Muḥammad b. al-Ḥasan al-Shaybānī (d.189/805), both of whom served as official ‛Abbāsid qāḍīs (judges). The qāḍī of Balkh, Abū Muṭī‛ al-Ḥakam b. ‘Abd Allāh (d.183/799), also helped transmit Abū Ḥanīfa’s teachings. The legal compilations each of these authors assembled (and which also included their own independent legal opinions) came to constitute the primary documents of the Ḥanafī juridical school. The writings of alShaybānī in particular aided in the theoretical development of Ḥanafī legal thought, and evidenced both a more rigorous and systematic application of judicial reasoning and a deeper concern for hadith – features reflected in the work of one of al-Shaybānī’s last pupils, the famed jurist al-Shāfi‛ī (d.204/819). Through the labours of Abū Ḥanīfa, the Kufan legal school reached its apogee. As the great modern Egyptian scholar, Jalāl al-Dīn al-Suyūṭī, has pointed out: [Abū Ḥanīfa] was the first to record the science of the Sharia and to arrange it in chapters; afterwards Mālik b. Anas followed him in the arrangement of his Muwaṭṭa’ – and no one preceded Abū Ḥanīfa in this.5

The selection and arrangement of legal questions and topics under definite rubrics (abwāb) represented an original and important contribution to Islamic legal discussions generally. This astute silk merchant, legal mentor and brilliant jurist elevated the method of generalisation, allowing his school to extrapolate from Qur’an and hadith a set of general normative legal principles. Abū Ḥanīfa’s emphasis on qiyās gave Hanafī thought its tendency towards systemisation and theoretical elaboration; his intense concern for maintaining flexibility in legal applications via istiḥsān represented a triumph for rational legal methods informed by keen social sensitivity. All this set a lofty tone for later Islamic legal practice and theory. By the late second/eighth century, a Ḥanafī presence had taken root amongst both the Turks of eastern Khurasan (in Central Asia) and the ruling dynasties based in the east (such as the Samanids). By the fifth/ eleventh century, the Seljuq Turks had also became champions of the law school, coupling it with the Māturidī theology (formed in the Hanafī circles of Transoxiana). Later, the Ottoman Turks would also adhere

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to Hanafī jurisprudence, while today the Hanafī School represents the Islamic world’s most numerous madhhab: from Eastern Europe to India to China, close to thirty percent of the world’s Muslims adhere to it. Notes 1.

2.

3.

4. 5.

The negative connotations surrounding the term ‘Murji’ite’ stem from its early usage as a label for those deemed to be excessively lenient towards sins thought not to impair one’s faith (īmān) as a Muslim. It may have been the Khārijites who first accused Abū Ḥanīfa of this, see M. Abū Zahra, Abū Ḥanīfa: ḥayātuhu wa ‛aṣruhu, ārā’uhu wa fiqhuhu, 2nd ed. (Cairo: Dār alFikr al-ʻArabī, 1965), 161–76. See Abū Zahra, Abū Ḥanīfa, 66–72. Madelung observed considerable similarity between Zaydī and Ḥanafī law, see Wilferd Madelung, Der Imām al-Qāsim ibn Ibrāhīm und die Glaubenslehre der Zaiditen (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1965), 54. See the detailed overview by Abū Zahra, Abū Ḥanīfah, 234–434. Also, see Saim Kayadibi, Istihsan: The Doctrine of Juristic Preference in Islamic Law (Kuala Lumpur: Islamic Book Trust, 2010), 115–33. For the English-rendering of legal terminology, we rely on Umar Abd-Allah’s succinct treatment in his Encyclopaedia Iranica article. Encyclopaedia Iranica, s.v. ‘Abū Ḥanīfah.’ Mahmūd Suyūtī, . . Tabyīḍ al-ṣaḥīfa bi-manāqib Abī Ḥanīfa (Beirut: Dār alKutub al-ʻIlmīya, 1990), 129.

Further Reading Abū Zahra, M. Abū Ḥanīfa: ḥayātuhu wa ‛aṣruhu, ārā’uhu wa fiqhuhu, 2nd ed. Cairo: Dār al-Fikr al-ʻArabī, 1965. Kayadibi, Saim. Istihsan: The Doctrine of Juristic Preference in Islamic Law. Kuala Lumpur: Islamic Book Trust, 2010. Madelung, Wilferd. Der Imām al-Qāsim ibn Ibrāhīm und die Glaubenslehre der Zaiditen. Berlin: de Gruyter, 1965. Ṣuyūṭī, Maḥmūd. Tabyīḍ al-ṣaḥīfa bi-manāqib Abī Ḥanīfa. Beirut: Dār al-Kutub al-ʻIlmīya, 1990.

6 MĀLIK BIN ANAS AL-ASBAHI . .

93179AH/711795CE Tawfique al-Mubarak

Imam Mālik’s full name was Mālik ibn Anas ibn Mālik ibn Abī ‘Āmir al-Ḥimyarī al-Aṣbaḥī al-Madanī. His ancestors originated from Aṣbaḥ in Yemen, later settling in Madinah – the city of the Prophet. Although most sources date Imam Mālik’s birth to 93AH/711CE, Abū Isḥāq al-Shīrāzī (d.476/1083), in his Ṭabaqāt al-fuqahā’, has it in 95/713. Imam Mālik was raised in a family widely known for its scholarly contributions. Al-Dhahabī (d.748/1348), in his Siyar a‘lām al-nubalā’, mentions that the great-grandfather of Imam Mālik, Abū ‘Āmir, was a Companion of the Prophet who participated in all of the major early Islamic battles, except the battle of Badr. Imam Mālik’s grandfather, on the other hand, also called Mālik, was a Successor (tābi‘ī) who narrated hadith from the venerable Companions of the Prophet, including the third Caliph, ‘Uthmān ibn ‘Affān. He also reputedly joined the group of people who transcribed the Qur’an into the Qurayshī style of recitation during the reign of ‘Uthmān. This signifies the social position Imam Mālik’s family occupied, including their long relationship with Islam and its ‘ilm (knowledge).1 The young Imam Mālik reportedly liked to play with pigeons and to sing. His brother, Naḍr, on the other hand, was well-known for his wisdom. Once, their father asked them both a question, which only Naḍr was able to answer. As a result, Imam Mālik was scolded by his father, who told him that his pigeons were keeping him away from seeking knowledge. Soon afterwards, Imam Mālik went to his mother, ‘Āliya bint Sharīk, and told her that he would like to take up singing as a profession. In response, she gave him a very intelligent answer: instead of refuting his interests, she told him that he would also need to be good looking to be a good

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singer. This crushed his interest. These two incidents, however, changed Imam Mālik’s aspirations and attitude; they prompted him to study more earnestly with his shaykh, Ibn Hurmuz. Indeed, he soon began to excel in knowledge until, instead of being known as ‘the brother of Naḍr’, Naḍr became known as ‘Mālik’s brother’.2 Imam Mālik was blessed to have been born in the holy city of Madinah, then Islam’s seat of learning. Imam Yaḥyā Sharaf al-Nawawī claims Imam Mālik had nine hundred teachers in Madinah, three hundred of whom were from the ranks of the Successors (tābi‘ūn), and the other six hundred from among the Successors of the Successors (tābi‘ al-tābi‘ūn). From amongst the Successors, the most prominent of his teachers were Ibn Hurmuz, Rabī‘a al-Ra´y, Ibn Shihāb al-Zuhrī, Nāfi‘ (the freedman of ‘Abd Allāh ibn ‘Umar), Ayyūb al-Sakhtiyānī, Sa‘īd al-Maqburī, ‘Āmir ibn ‘Abd Allāh ibn Zubayr, Ibn al-Munkadir, ‘Abd Allāh ibn Dīnār, Ja‘far alṢādiq, Abū Ḥanīfa, al-Awzā‘ī, Sufyān al-Thawrī, Shu‘ba, Zayd ibn Aslam, ‘Alqama and his uncle Uwais, and Rabī‘. In addition to these figures, alDhahabī mentions another ninety-five shaykhs from whom Imam Mālik narrated the hadith reports in his magnum opus, the Muwaṭṭa’.3 Unlike the other great Imams of the Sunni Schools of fiqh, Imam Mālik never set foot outside Madinah. Intriguingly, a saying from the Holy Prophet, narrated by Abū Mūsā al-Ash‘arī, states that: “People from the East and the West will spread out in search of knowledge, and they shall find none more knowledgeable than the knowledgeable scholar of Madinah.” The majority of scholars favour the opinion that the “knowledgeable scholar” mentioned in this hadith is none other than Imam Mālik. Certainly, the Successor of the Successors, Ibn ‘Uyayna, and despite originally considering the great Successor Sa‘īd ibn al-Musayyab to be the most knowledgeable of Madinan scholars, finally became convinced that it was indeed none other than Mālik ibn Anas.4 Undoubtedly, Imam Mālik was appreciated for his dedication to knowledge. Certainly, his teacher, Ibn Hurmuz, permitted him free access to his house for the purpose of study, a privilege not extended to others. Imam Mālik studied under Ibn Hurmuz continuously, from morning to night, for eight years. Ibn Shihāb al-Zuhrī, another of Imam Mālik’s famous teachers, described him as the best vessel for knowledge.5 Qāḍī ‘Iyāḍ mentions in his Tartīb al-madārik fī taqrīb al-masālik that Imam Mālik began teaching during the lifetime of his teacher, Nāfi‘, or at about age seventeen. His classroom (ḥalaqa) was supposedly larger than Nāfi‘’s, reflecting his credentials as a learned scholar. According to one report, his students numbered more than thirteen hundred. Al-Ḥāfiẓ Abū

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Bakr al-Khaṭīb al-Baghdādī reported that about nine-hundred and ninetythree of Imam Mālik’s pupils narrated the Muwaṭṭa’ from him. The most prominent amongst his students were Imam al-Shāfi‘ī, Imam Abū Yūsuf and Imam Muḥammad ibn al-Ḥasan al-Shaybānī.6 Out of a love and respect for the Holy Prophet, Imam Mālik was very meticulous when recording hadith, observing great caution in their collection. He would never narrate any hadith unless sure of its accuracy. He would also dress in the best of clothes, wear the best of perfumes, and burn incense (bukhūr) while delivering his hadith lectures.7 Certainly, his respect and love for the Prophet and his sayings were beyond description. Another of his students, ‘Abd Allāh ibn al-Mubārak, describes how one day Imam Mālik was narrating a hadith during a class when his face suddenly turned yellow. After everyone had left, Ibn al-Mubārak asked the Imam about this unusual event. The Imam replied that he had been stung sixteen times by a scorpion during the class. He had not, however, wished to interrupt the discourse in order to show honour to the hadith of the Prophet!8 Imam Mālik was once asked why he did not accept hadith from ‘Amr ibn Dīnār. He replied that he had once gone to him and found him narrating hadith while standing; Imam Mālik considered the sayings of the Prophet to be too honourable and majestic to be narrated while standing.9 Mus‘ab ibn ‘Abd Allāh claimed that whenever the Prophet was mentioned, the Imam’s colour would change and he would bow. He also never rode along the roads of Madinah out of respect for the Prophet, even when he was old and weak. When asked about this, he replied: “I will not ride in a city in which is buried the body of the Prophet.”10 Like all other Imams, Imam Mālik was persecuted, flogged and imprisoned. Thus, during the Imam’s lifetime the governor of Madinah was a cousin of the then caliph, Abū Ja‘far al-Manṣūr (r.136-158/754775), and demanded that all citizens swear an oath of allegiance to the caliph. Imam Mālik, however, stated that such an oath, obtained under coercion, was invalid and nullified. Upon hearing this, the governor arrested Imam Mālik and had him flogged and imprisoned.11 However, the caliph subsequently came to Imam Mālik in person, apologised for his governor’s conduct and punished the latter accordingly. The Muwaṭṭa’ Imam Mālik’s greatest contribution to Islamic civilisation was undoubtedly his Muwaṭṭa’, the first compilation of authentic hadith, all categorised

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under different chapters and themes of fiqh. This text also carries the unique attribution of being the first complete Islamic work after the Holy Qur’an. Imam Mālik chose less than a thousand authentic hadith for the Muwaṭṭa’ , out of close to a hundred thousand he had collected. The Muwaṭṭa’ was compiled over the course of forty years, after which Imam Mālik presented it to seventy great scholars of Madinah, all of whom approved of it (waṭṭa’ ‘alaihi).12 Indeed, it was on the basis of their approval that the name Muwaṭṭa’ was adopted (although this word also means ‘something made easy’, reflecting the fact that the book was compiled to make the teachings of Islam easy for laymen to follow). Imam al-Shāfi‘ī testified that the Muwaṭṭa’ was the most authentic Islamic book after the Qur’an (Ṣaḥīḥ al-Bukhārī, to which this term is usually applied, was not compiled until after the demise of Imam alShāfi‘ī). Certainly, the Muwaṭṭa’ is our connecting bridge to the world of authentic hadith, as all later compilations are founded upon it. Perhaps for this reason, the narrators of the Muwaṭṭa’ have been quite numerous. In his Tanwīr al-ḥawālik, Imam al-Suyūṭī mentions about fourteen narrations. Other reports, however, confirm the existence of more than sixty. Among these, that of Yaḥyā ibn Yaḥyā ibn Kathīr ibn Waslās al-Laithī al-Andalusī (d.234/848), the religious scholar who spread the Mālikī madhhab to Spain, is the most well-known and widely accepted. However, his version misses out three chapters of the Book of I‘tikāf because he came to Madinah in the year 179/795-6, before Imam Mālik had completed these sections.13 The narration of Imam Muḥammad ibn al-Ḥasan al-Shaybānī is also wellknown, and often differentiated as ‘The Muwaṭṭa’ of Imām Muḥammad’ because it contains the latter’s commentary on the Muwaṭṭa’ itself.14 It is reported that the caliph once approached Imam Mālik and proposed that the Muwaṭṭa’ be adopted as the official guide for Islamic practice across the ‘Abbāsid Empire. Imam Mālik, however, refused, saying that the Companions had differed among themselves and tolerated disagreement, and this practice should continue. Imam Mālik’s Contributions to Uṣūl al-Fiqh Although Imām Mālik’s outstanding contributions to the field of hadith studies have resulted in him being known as the Imām ahl al-ḥadīth (Leader of the People of Hadith), the most well-known of his doctrines of uṣūl al-fiqh – namely, ‘aml ahl al-Madīnah (common practices of the people of Madinah), istiṣlāḥ (public interest) and sadd al-dharā’i‘ (blocking of the means) – are actually based on his personal reasoning (ra’y). It is

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therefore not surprising to find Imam Abū Zahra assert that Imam Mālik was not only the leading figure of the ahl al-ḥadīth, but also of the ahl alra’y.15 Concerning the details of Imam Mālik’s doctrines of usūl . al-fiqh, the following summarises the most important points. ‘Aml ahl al-Madīnah: Imam Mālik reasoned that the people of Madinah had witnessed the practices of both the Prophet and the Companions first-hand, later passing that information on to subsequent generations, making those practices common in Madinah. He therefore felt that any undisputed Madinan practices which did not contradict the Qur’an and Sunna should be accepted as a valid source of fiqh. Istiṣlāḥ: literally meaning ‘in search of benefit or welfare’, this doctrine was aimed at securing benefit for the people and protecting them from harm – which is, in fact, the purpose of the Sharia. Imam Mālik used this doctrine to validate levying additional taxes on the wealthy whenever the public treasury ran out, in order to protect the lives and properties of the general populace.16 Sadd al-dharā’i‘: this doctrine of ‘blocking the means’ entailed that any means towards an end which is ḥarām is also ḥarām itself. Similarly, any means towards something wājib is also to be considered wājib. As a result, however, the means to anything ḥarām should be blocked in order not to indulge in the ḥarām act itself. Based on this doctrine, Mālikī fiqh has forbidden the sale of grapes to wine-makers and the sale of arms during times of conflict and chaos. Imam Mālik’s many marvellous contributions to Islamic civilisation will ensure that he is never forgotten. A life-long resident of Madinah, he is rightly remembered as the ‘Imam of the Abode of Emigration (hijra)’. Although he did not migrate himself, people certainly migrated to him in search of knowledge. Notes 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6.

Hesham al-Awadi, ‘The Four Great Imams,’ Kalamullah. Available at: http:// www.kalamullah.com/hesham-alawadi.html. (Accessed on: 14th June 2016). Ibid. See Mālik bin Anas, Muwaṭṭa’ al-Imām Mālik (riwāyatan: Yaḥyā ibn Yaḥyā al-Laithī) (Beirut: Dār al-Nafā’is, 2001). G. F. Haddad, ‘Imam Malik,’ As-Sunnah Foundation of America. Available at: http://www.sunnah.org/publication/khulafa_rashideen/malik.htm. (Accessed on 14th June 2016). Al-Awadi, ‘The Four Great Imams.’ See Muhammad ibn al-Hasan al-Shaybani, The Muwatta of Imam Muhammad (London: Turath Publishing, 2004).

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7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15.

Islamic Encyclopedia, s.v. ‘Malik Ibn Anas.’ Al-Shaybani, Muwatta of Imam Muhammad. Islamic Encyclopedia, ‘Malik Ibn Anas.’ Al-Shaybani, Muwatta of Imam Muhammad. Ibid. Mālik, Muwaṭṭa’. Ibid. Al-Shaybani, Muwatta of Imam Muhammad. Mohammad Hashim Kamali, Shari’ah Law: An Introduction (Oxford: Oneworld, 2008). 16. Ibid.

Further Reading Al-Awadi, Hesham. ‘The Four Great Imams.’ Kalamullah. Available at: http:// www.kalamullah.com/hesham-alawadi.html Haddad, G. F. ‘Imam Malik.’ As-Sunnah Foundation of America. Available at: http://www.sunnah.org/publication/khulafa_rashideen/malik.htm. Ibn al-Hasan al-Shaybani, Muhammad. The Muwatta of Imam Muhammad. London: Turath Publishing, 2004. Kamali, Mohammad Hashim. Shari’ah Law: An Introduction. Oxford: Oneworld, 2008. Mālik bin Anas. Muwaṭṭa’ al-Imām Mālik (riwāyatan: Yaḥyā ibn Yaḥyā al-Laithī). Beirut: Dār al-Nafā’is, 2001.

7 MUHAMMAD IBN IDRĪS AL-SHĀFI‘Ī . 150204AH/767820CE Karim D. Crow and Mahbubi Ali

Muḥammad ibn Idrīs al-Shāfi‘ī (d. 30 Rajab 204AH/20 January 820CE) had a profound impact on the foundation of Islamic legal theory during the late second/eighth century. He was the first leading jurist to pioneer the formulation of Islamic legal theory, for which reason he is often referred to as the father of uṣūl fiqh. Even until today, many Muslims continue to revere him as the nāṣir al-sunna (defender of the Sunna) who established one of Islam’s foremost legal schools and reconciled hadithbased jurisprudence with ijtihād-based fiqh. This integration of received tradition and rationalism still offers an important model for Muslims today. Indeed, his school of thought is the second most popular, after the Ḥanafī madhhab. Early Career and Training Born near the town of Asqalan in 150/767, Imam al-Shāfi‘ī was an eighth– generation descendant of the Quraysh nobleman, Hāshim b. al-Muṭṭalib b. Abd Manāf, a first cousin of the Prophet Muhammad’s grandfather, ‘Abd al-Muṭṭalib b. Hāshim b. ‘Abd Manāf of the Banū Hāshim. Al-Shāfi‘ī would later take great pride in his descent from the Prophet’s family, feeling that it imposed upon him a special responsibility to look after the welfare of the Muslim community. Imam al-Shāfi‘ī came from a poor family. His father passed away in Syria when he was about two years old, after which his mother took him back to Makkah to be with his paternal relatives. Although his mother raised him alone and in poverty, she insisted he embark on the pursuit of knowledge and scholarship. While in Makkah, therefore, al-Shāfi‘ī managed

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to memorise the Qur’an by age seven, after which he devoted himself to legal studies under the guidance of his first teacher, the Makkan Mufti Muslim b. Khālid al-Zanjī (d.179/795). He also benefited from contact with Makkah’s leading hadith authorities, including Sufyān b. ‘Uyaynah (d.199/815), and studied al-Muwaṭṭa’, the important collection of legal precedents compiled by Mālik b. Anas (d.179/795), the outstanding legal expert of Madinah. Indeed, he managed to memorise al-Muwaṭṭa’ by age ten, three years before he went to Madinah to study this book with Mālik himself. When al-Shāfi‘ī proved himself capable of reciting sections of the al-Muwaṭṭa’ from memory, Imam Mālik became so impressed that he advised his earnest young pupil to “be conscious of God and steer clear of deeds of disobedience, for you are destined to achieve great things; God the Exalted has cast a light on your heart, so do not extinguish it by disobedience!” (The phrase ‘a light in the heart’ denotes abundant insight and penetrating intelligence). By age fifteen, al-Shāfi‘ī was back in Makkah and deemed competent enough to issue his own fatwas (legal opinions). He was thus trained in both the Makkan and the Madinan Sharia schools of the Hijaz (westcentral Arabia). When Imam Mālik passed away in 179/795, al-Shāfi’ī was already regarded as a leading and brilliant jurist. Though he ultimately disagreed with Imam Mālik on several issues, he nevertheless continued to respect his old mentor, referring to him as “the teacher (al-ustadh)”. His respect for Imam Mālik is also reflected in his famous statement: “If it were not for Malik and Sufyan [b. ‘Uyaynah], the knowledge of the people of Hijaz would have gone.” As a young man, al-Shāfi‘ī also took a keen interest in linguistics and poetry, taking Ibn Abī Ruwād and ‘Abd Allāh al-Makhzūmī as his teachers and memorising almost ten thousand lines of poetry. He also spent over ten years residing with the northern branch of the Hijazi Hudhayl tribe; exposure to the pure speech of this Bedouin group honed his expertise in Arabic. With this experience behind him, he sought and gained employment with the Governor of northern Yemen, who appointed him to administer the city of Najran. Al-Shāfi‘ī soon found, however, that his innate sense of integrity and justice clashed with the self-interested agenda of the Governor. Certainly, al-Shāfi‘ī’s moral counsel was not appreciated, the Governor viewing him as a thorn in his side. As such, the Governor took advantage of al-Shāfi‘ī’s noble heritage to falsely accuse him (along with eight others) of conspiring with pro-‘Alid groups to overthrow the central ‘Abbāsid authorities in Baghdad. Because the ‘Abbāsid caliphs were wary of revolutionary challenges from the Banū Hāshim, they readily gave

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credence to the unfounded charges; in 184/801, caliph Hārūn al-Rashīd had al-Shāfi‘ī taken to Baghdad and interviewed at court. Fortunately, however, Muḥammad b. al-Ḥasan al-Shaybānī (d.189/805), a former disciple of the great Kufan jurist, Abū Ḥanīfa (d.150/767), and a leading Iraqi scholar and judge, was also present at court that day. He immediately realised al-Shāfi‘ī’s unique qualities and intervened with the caliph to secure his release. By this twist of fate, at the age of thirty-four al-Shāfi‘ī became attached to al-Shaybānī and, forsaking government service altogether, plunged himself back into the pursuit of Islamic legal practice. With alShaybānī, al-Shāfi‘ī acquired experience of the rationalist procedures of the Iraqi jurists, cultivating his ‘inferential reasoning’ (qiyās) and learning to apply ‘independent rational effort’ (ijtihād and ra’y) when solving new cases and determining legal rulings. Tradition and Reason Second/eighth century Islamic legal thought was characterised by a strong tension between strict traditionalists (the ahl al-ḥadīth, or ‘people of the hadith’) who, based mainly in the Hijaz, confined legal knowledge solely to the sacred texts, and the rationalising jurists (ahl al-ra’y) based in Iraq. The latter viewed religious knowledge as a body of legal rulings that, although ultimately derived from the sacred texts, only emerged with the intervention of individual reasoning (ijtihād al-ra’y). During most of Islam’s second century, the ahl al-ra’y dominated legal thought; by the close of that century, however, the ahl al-ḥadīth were emerging as a powerful countervailing force, leading to the rationalists’ decline. After the lifetime of al-Shāfi‘ī, the traditionalist orientation continued to gain significant strength, attracting many prominent jurists, including Aḥmad ibn Ḥanbal (d.241/855) and Dāwūd al-Zāhirī (d.270/883). Yet by the end of the third/ninth century, a purely traditionalist approach was also falling out of favour. Instead, the majority of jurists began to combine traditionalism with rationalism, acknowledging that, while human reason could not stand on its own as a central method of interpretation for legal practice (i.e. that reason was essentially in the service of revelation), transmitted religious knowledge nonetheless benefited from critical rational methods. This bridging of the contrasting approaches fertilised the classic elaboration of Islamic legal theory (or usūl . al-fiqh). This successful, and eventually triumphant, integration of revelation and reason was spearheaded by the creative work of al-Shāfi‘ī. After completing his training in Iraq, al-Shāfi‘ī validated rational procedures for deducing legal rulings while confining personal reason (qiyās) to inferences

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based on the Qur’an and Sunna. It was this midpoint between the two trends that eventually came to constitute the normative position for the majority. From this centrist position, the religious ideology and legal practice of the Muslim majority emerged.1 All-in-all, Imam Shāfi‘ī based his Islamic legal theory on four basic principles: the Qur’an, the Prophetic traditions (Sunna), the consensus of Muslim juristic opinion (ijmā’), and inferential reasoning (qiyās). Concerning the applicability of ijmā’, he confined this to obligatory duties (i.e. the five pillars of Islam and other matters upon which the Qur’an and the Sunna are decisive, or qath’i). He did this on the basis that achieving a consensus of juristic opinion on more controversial issues (i.e. on which there is not such clear guidance) is impossible. He also argued that analogy can only be a logical extension of the Qur’an and Sunna; in no way can it conflict with them. It is also worth noting that, and except in certain matters of belief, al-Shāfi‘ī gave equal authority to both the Qur’an and Sunna, arguing that Sunna served as an explanatory guide to the Qur’an. The Sunna, he argued, was transmitted to detail and operationalise the general message of the Qur’an. Rejecting the Sunna therefore meant rejecting the Qur’an itself. Via this argument, he refuted those who recognised the Qur’an as the only valid and legitimate source of Sharia, to the exclusion of the Sunna. He similarly rejected the argument of those who only accepted hadiths narrated by many people (mutawātir) while rejecting solitary hadiths (ahād), arguing that the Prophet did not necessarily call the entire Madinan community to witness his message. He also annulled Imam Mālik’s requirements that hadith not contravene the practice of the people of Madinah and that the opinions and practices of both the latter and the Companions be given preference over the Sunna. Instead, al-Shāfi’ī argued that a hadith – even a solitary one – must take priority over the practice of any given community, including the Companions and Successors. AlShāfi‘ī also emphasised that ijtihād should make reference to the Qur’an and Sunna; it cannot be based solely on inferential reasoning. Thus, alShāfi’ī contested Ḥanafī’s extensive reliance on personal opinion and analogy (ra’y and qiyās), as well as the frequent concessions he made to general principle (istihsān). In this context, he also disapproved of Imam Mālik’s validation of unrestricted maṣlaha . and sadd al-dzarī’a. In light of al-Shāfi‘ī’s strong defense of and support for the Sunna, it is easy to appreciate why he has been called the Champion of the Sunna (nāṣir al-sunna). The legal doctrine of al-Shāfi‘ī is indeed the doctrine of ahl al-ḥadīth. This is further reflected in his prominent statement: “If a

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hadith is authentic, it is my doctrine.” On another occasion, he said: “If you see my words are in conflict with the hadith, apply the hadith and disregard my words.” Mature Work In 186/802, al-Shāfi‘ī returned to Makkah, where he taught in the sacred Masjid al-Ḥaram for nine years, elaborating on his new traditionalistrationalist mode of legal doctrine. He now defined ‘religious knowledge’ as: the Sacred Texts of God’s revealed Book and the Prophet’s Sunnah, and what is sought of their meaning through consensus [ijmā‘] and reasoned inference [qiyās].2

His recognition that critical rational methods formed a necessary tool for understanding Sunna encouraged the development of a sophisticated Islamic legal methodology. This began to come to fruition when al-Shāfi‘ī made his second stay in Baghdad, beginning in 195/810. Lasting two years, during this stay al-Shāfi‘ī taught both rational jurists and traditionalists and wrote his famous al-Risāla in response to a request from the prominent Basran traditionalist, ‘Abd al-Raḥmān b. Mahdī (d.198/813). This set out the basis for a new mode of legal practice. It was subsequently superseded, however, by his Cairene work (hence it is often termed his ‘old [al-qadīm] teachings’). As such, in 199/814 al-Shāfi‘ī moved to Fustat (in old Cairo), where he spent the last five years of his life producing several major new works. During this period, he revised his legal opinions and propounded fresh positions on critical topics, all of which came to be known as his ‘new teachings’ (qaul jadīd). Notable amongst his works during this period were his Kitāb al-umm and Ikhtilāf al-ḥadīth, both of which continue to be studied by Shāfi‘ī jurists today. As before, these texts encouraged the re-grounding of positive legal doctrine in a legal methodology that embraced both the corpus of hadith and individual reasoning. This meant that traditionalists had to meet rationalism halfway by accommodating its creative rational approach to meet human needs. This grew into the balanced integration of traditionalism and rationalism, resulting in thinkers who were simultaneously traditionalist jurists and rationalist theologians, competent in conceptualising legal theory in terms of tradition and rationality – a veritable harmony of revelation and reason. Muslim thinkers – and, indeed, all thinking Muslims – can learn a valuable lesson from al-Shāfi‘ī’s life and work. The midpoint between

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extremes (wasaṭiyya) is Islam’s ideal position for fostering harmony and balanced integration. Revealed truth and scientific advance should be harmonised into a higher synthesis – just as the ‘ahl al-Hijaz’ and ‘ahl al-Iraq’ had to harmonise their conceptions of knowledge. This ideal may guide us in the challenging task of preserving the precious legacy of tradition while constructing more adequate responses to our present and future needs. Notes 1. 2.

On the controversy between traditionalists and rationalists, see Wael Hallaq, Origins and Evolution of Islamic Law (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005), 52–4, 74–6, 113–9, 122–8, 140–6. Cited in Ibn ‘Abd al-Barr, Jāmi‘ bayān al-‘ilm wa fadlih, vol. 2 (Bayrūt: Dār al. Nafāʼis lil-Ṭibāʻah wa-al-Nashr wa-al-Tawzīʻ, 2006), 26. See also Abū Aḥmad ‘Abd Allāh ibn al-Qattān, al-Kāmil fī ḍu‘afā’ al-Rijāl, 2nd ed., vol. 1 (Bayrūt: .. Dār al-Fikr, 1985), 125, where al-Shāfi‘ī is cited: “The basis [for legal rulings] is the Qur’an and Sunnah, and if these do not provide [explicit rulings] then it is ‘reasoned-inference’ [qiyās] upon these two…” Further to this, on qiyās and ijtihād consult al-Shāfi‘ī, al-Risālah (Treatise on the Foundations of Islamic Jurisprudence), 2nd ed., trans. Majid Khadduri (London: The Islamic Texts Society, 1961), 288–303.

Further Reading Abū Zahrah, Muḥammad. Al-Shāfiʿī: Ḥayātuhu wa ‘aṣruhu, ārāuhu wa fiqhuhu. Bayrūt: Dār al-Fikr, 1978. Al-Rāzī, Faḥr al-Dīn. Manāqib al-Imām al-Shāfiʿī. Cairo: Maktaba al-Kulliyāt alAzhariyya, 1986. Al-Shāfiʿī. Al-Risālah (Treatise on the Foundations of Islamic Jurisprudence), 2nd edition. Translated by Majid Khadduri. London: The Islamic Texts Society, 1961. ________. Al-Umm. Bayrūt: Dār al-Fikr, 1990. Hallaq, Wael. Origins and Evolution of Islamic Law. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005. Ibn ‘Abd al-Barr. Jāmiʿ bayān al-ʿilm wa faḍlih, 2 vols. Bayrūt: Dār al-Nafāʼis lilṬibāʻah wa-al-Nashr wa-al-Tawzīʻ, 2006.

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Ibn al-Qattān, ‘Abd Allāh. Al-Kāmil fī ḍuʿafā’ al-Rijāl, 2nd edition, 2 .. Abū Ahmad . vols. Bayrūt: Dār al-Fikr, 1985. Kamali, Mohammad Hashim. Shari’ah Law: An Introduction. Oxford: Oneworld Publication, 2008.

8 AḥMAD IBN ḤANBAL 164241AH/780855CE Karim D. Crow and Mohd Fariz Zainal Abdullah

For centuries, Ḥanbalī jurisprudence – or the fiqh attributed to Aḥmad ibn Ḥanbal – has constituted the fourth school of Sunni jurisprudence. Yet during his lifetime, Ibn Ḥanbal was recognised as a foremost traditionalist rather than a faqīh. The traditionalists (or asḥāb al-ḥadīth) were ultimately responsible for collecting and purifying the hadith of the Prophet. They compiled the vast amounts of narrated reports transmitted over generations on the authority of the ‘Successors’ of the Companions – reports that would form the basis of the Prophetic Sunna, the religious law, and the basic creedal doctrines on the fundamentals of faith (usūl al-dīn). Ibn . Ḥanbal stood at the forefront of this process, as one of the most significant of the traditionalists. Life and Work Abū ‘Abd Allāh Aḥmad ibn Muḥammad ibn Ḥanbal al-Marwazī alShaybānī was born in Baghdad in 164AH/780CE. He is commonly known simply as ‘Ibn Ḥanbal’, after his illustrious grandfather, Ḥanbal, a supporter of the ‘Abbāsid revolution and governor of Sarakhs (Northwest Iran). Originally his family came from Marw in Northwest Iran and were of the Arab Shaybān tribe. Fluent in both Arabic and Persian, Ibn Ḥanbal received a traditional Islamic education in the mosque study circles of Baghdad, being strongly encouraged in this direction by his mother. During Ibn Ḥanbal’s lifetime, the substance of classical Islamic civilisation was still taking shape; Baghdad was the centre of, not just Islam’s political and commercial circles, but also of its intense religious and intellectual developments, all of which

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were receptive to Greek, Persian and Indian thought. Ibn Ḥanbal’s early studies, however, concentrated on just two major religious disciplines: jurisprudence (fiqh) and the Prophetic Traditions (ahādīth). In the realm . of fiqh, he began his studies under the leading qāḍī (judge), Abū Yūsuf (a disciple of Abū Ḥanīfa, d.182/798), who taught him rationalist legal techniques (ra’y and qiyās) and the application of istihsān (legal preference)1 . when deriving legal rulings. In the context of hadith studies, Ibn Ḥanbal studied under the traditionalist scholar, Hushaym ibn Bashīr (d.183/799). It was to this field that Ibn Ḥanbal would become increasingly committed: from 179/795 onwards, Ibn Ḥanbal spent twenty-five years travelling extensively throughout Iraq, Khurasan, Syria, the Hijaz, and Yemen, looking for Prophetic traditions to record. In each place, he studied under leading traditionalist scholars, copying down whatever hadiths they dictated. In Kufa, for example, he worked closely with al-Wakī‘ b. al-Jarrāḥ (d.196/811). In Basra, he encountered the leading critic, Yaḥyā b. Sa‘īd al-Qaṭṭān (d.198/813), and in Makkah he worked with the great traditionalist, Sufyān b. ‘Uyayna (d.198/814). His ten months in Yemen, on the other hand, were spent with ‘Abd al-Razzāq b. Hammām (d.211/827). Throughout his twenty-five years of travelling, however, Ibn Ḥanbal’s closest companion was Yaḥyā ibn Ma‘īn (d.233/847), famed for his expertise in the transmission-chains (rijāl) of hadith reports. In 205/820, Ibn Ḥanbal abandoned travelling and returned to Baghdad, where he began to teach. Very quickly, he gained a reputation as the most celebrated traditionalist of his time, his circle of pupils growing rapidly. Certainly, he had a phenomenal memory and was never seen without a reed pen between his ink-stained fingers, busy copying and correcting hadith. Normally, the collection of hadith would be a two-fold process, comprising samā‘ (auditing) and ‘arḍ (reading back, for textual confirmation). In other words, a teacher would dictate narrations he had audited from earlier authorities and his pupils would record them in their personal notebooks (kutub al-uṣūl), only to then read them back to their teacher to check for accuracy and prevent errors. By Ibn Ḥanbal’s time, however, collectors of hadith had begun copying narrations from the notebooks of their colleagues, without the preferred samā‘, and only then checking them with their teachers. Indeed, this process was rapidly becoming normal practice during the second/ninth century, particularly amongst Madinan scholars like al-Zuhrī (d.124/741-2), Ja‘far al-Ṣādiq (d.148/765), and Mālik b. Anas (d.179/795). However, the Iraqi traditionalists represented by Ibn Ḥanbal insisted on the necessity of oral–aural (mouth-to-ear) transmission, rather than reliance on book

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transmission. As much as possible, therefore, Ibn Ḥanbal sought to retain the two-fold process of hadith transmission. Ibn Ḥanbal also exemplified those traditionalist scholars who sought to minimise the use of rational legal procedures (like ra’y and qiyās). Instead, he favoured basing legal opinions, juridical rulings, and creedal doctrine directly on received hadith. In order to be able to perform this function, however, Ibn Ḥanbal believed that a competent scholar should have at his command – whether recorded in notebooks or (preferably) alive in his memory – at least five hundred thousand hadith. Ibn Ḥanbal’s pupil, the reputable traditionalist, Abū Zur‘a al-Rāzī (d.264/878), estimated that Ibn Ḥanbal himself had memorised one million hadith – both isnād and matn. In this regard, Abū Zur‘a recorded that, when Ibn Ḥanbal’s original hadith notebooks and other manuscripts were catalogued after his death in 241/855, their total volume came to twelve and one-half camel loads (or twenty-five bales/wasaq).2 Ibn Ḥanbal’s greatest achievement in the field of hadith was the compilation of his famous Musnad. Consisting of about 30,000 hadith arranged under the names of the Companions who transmitted them, this text was drawn from approximately 750,000 hadith personally recorded by Ibn Ḥanbal during his twenty-five years of travel. As such, for his Musnad, Ibn Ḥanbal selected only about four per cent of the total material at his disposal. Notably, the order in which he lists the Companions in his Musnad – beginning with the first Four Rightly Guided Caliphs, followed by the shūra council, then the ‘ten promised paradise’, and finally the Family of the Prophet – begins to suggest the emergence of Sunni orthodoxy. As with several other of his writings, his second son, ‘Abd Allāh (d.290/903), assisted with the compilation of the Musnad, even adding some of his own material (ziyādāt). The Inquisition During Ibn Ḥanbal’s lifetime, the ‘Abbāsid caliph, al-Ma’mūn (r.198– 218/814–833), entertained ambitions of uniting the Islamic world around his person, as the final authority in doctrinal matters. Encouraged by the rationalist thinkers in his entourage, the caliph enforced his new doctrinal conformity through an Inquisition (or Miḥna). In large part, this was aimed at stamping out traditionalist dogmas – in particular, the idea that the Qur’an was uncreated, as the pre-existing Word of God (or His Speech, kalām Allāh). In 218/833, or during his last year as caliph, al-Ma’mūn arrested a number of prominent traditionalists and forced them to publicly

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recant this view by affirming the Qur’an to be created-in-time and not part of the Divine Essence. Unlike many other traditionalists (including Yaḥyā ibn Ma‘īn and Ibn Sa‘d), Ibn Ḥanbal refused; quickly singled out, he spent the next twenty-eight months in prison. He did not, however, renounce his beliefs, despite repeated interrogations and even a severe flogging conducted in Ramaḍān 219/September 834 in the presence of al-Ma’mūn’s successor, al-Mu‘taṣim (r.218–227/833–842). Afterwards, as he lay nursing his wounds, his old travelling companion, Ibn Ma‘īn, paid him a visit; Ibn Ḥanbal, however, turned his face to the wall, refusing to speak to someone who had compromised his faith. Ibn Ḥanbal’s persistence and willingness to suffer persecution for the sake of his beliefs caught the imagination of the masses, who magnified him into a hero. This gave a powerful boost to the traditionalist cause, contributing to its eventual success. Certainly, caliph al-Mu‘taṣim finally released Ibn Ḥanbal, although he remained under house arrest and unable to teach. This last limitation remained in force until the reign of the subsequent caliph, al-Wāthiq (r.227–232/842–847). The prestige attached to Ibn Ḥanbal’s person, however, helped facilitate the emergence of a body of legal precedents based on his work, ultimately culminating in the formation of the Ḥanbalī madhhab. Although this School only emerged with the generations after Ibn Ḥanbal, it systematised a body of teachings in his name. The Triumph of Traditionalism In the course of the second/eighth century, a keen tension arose between jurists who focused on the hadith (known as the ahl al-ḥadīth), and thereby confined legal knowledge to the sacred texts, and rationalist jurists (ahl al-ra’y) who, based mainly in Iraq, appealed primarily to a body of legal rulings attained by individual reasoning (ijtihād al-ra’y), and sometimes without explicit reference to the sacred texts.3 Initially, the ahl al-ra’y were undoubtedly in the ascent, dominating all legal reasoning. By the last quarter of the century, however, the ahl al-ḥadīth were experiencing a strong upsurge, exerting powerful pressure upon the rationalists and leading to their partial decline. During the subsequent third/ninth century, conversions from the rationalist to the traditionalist camp became frequent, with the traditionalist movement eventually taking a sharp turn towards total opposition to rationalism, including its use of qiyās. By the middle of the century, partisans of hadith had seemingly triumphed over ra’y, with most jurists favouring the traditionalist methodology.

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The triumph of the traditionalists was ultimately due to the withdrawal of political support from the increasingly unpopular rationalist position. Caliph al-Ma’mūn’s Inquisition, largely directed against the traditionalists, ended in 218/814, with its victims quickly becoming heroes – and with Ibn Ḥanbal at their forefront. From this point on, independent human reason was perceived as incapable of forming the central method of legal interpretation, a position instead given to revelation. Caliphs and governors began increasingly to turn toward this popular religious idea, both for legitimation and support. For their part, the Ḥanbalīs quickly emerged as adept at exercising people-power on the streets of Baghdad, with unruly crowds of their supporters asserting their doctrinal preferences and intimidating their opponents. Characterised by an austere piety and unshakeable conviction in the sacred importance of their task, the traditionalists associated themselves with a famous utterance of the Prophet: A band from my community shall not cease to establish the truth, while those who forsake and oppose them harm them not, until God’s affair is accomplished and they achieve mastery over the people.4

With this development, the primacy of the hadith over and above any linguistic, rational or symbolic attempts to explicate meaning was asserted. The transmitted narratives were to be accepted, word for word, just as they had been passed down and without inquiring into how or why. Certain anthropomorphic and spatial expressions used in the Qur’an to describe God were to be handled by leaving knowledge of their real meaning to God – a position known as tafwīḍ (entrusting). Regarding the contested doctrines of divine pre-ordainment (qadar), of God being an eyewitness, and of the Qur’an being uncreated, Ibn Ḥanbal explicitly affirmed that one must: give assent to narrated-traditions regarding [these doctrines] and believe them – Why? is not to be said, nor How? – rather it is a matter of assenting and believing in these traditions. Whomever did not know the explanation of the specific ḥadīth, and his intelligence informs him [of the meaning], then that suffices and is proper for him; so belief in it and consent is incumbent upon him… [But] he is not to reject a single letter of these traditions nor other narrations transmitted through reliable authorities. Nor should [he] dispute or debate with anyone over their meaning, nor teach others disputation…so that he abandons disputation and gives consent and

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believes in the transmitted reports…For we deem [that a] ḥadīth must be accepted in its literal-external form [‘alā ẓāhirihi], just as it has come down to us from the Prophet, and theological debate over it is a reprehensible innovation. Indeed, we believe in it literally and do not dispute rationally over its import with anyone!5

Ibn Ḥanbal discouraged his traditionalist associates from studying the writings of prominent rationalist juristic authorities, including the important Kufan, Sufyān al-Thawrī (d.161/778), and the great Madinan jurist, Mālik b. Anas. The jurist Muḥammad b. Idrīs al-Shāfi‘ī (d.204/820), the Iraqi philologist-traditionalist, Abū ‘Ubayd al-Qāsim b. Sallām (d.224/838), and the Iraqi jurist, Abū Thawr Ibrāhīm b. Khālid (d.240/854), were likewise condemned as kutub al-ra’y and, therefore, as improperly rationalist. When reminded that the staunch Sunni traditionalist, ‘Abd Allāh b. al-Mubārak (d.181/797), had himself studied such ra’y writings, Ibn Ḥanbal reportedly scoffed: “Ibn al-Mubārak didn’t descend from heaven! We are bidden [only] to take knowledge from above [min fawq, i.e. through the Prophet of God]6.” However, some have affirmed that Ibn Ḥanbal did permit the copying of both al-Thawrī’s early hadith compilation, al-Jāmi‘, and Mālik’s al-Muwaṭṭa’. The assiduous collector of Ibn Ḥanbal’s own legal responses, Abū Bakr al-Khallāl (d.311/923), stated that in his early days Ibn Ḥanbal did study the writings of rationalist jurists, even making copies of their texts. He later disregarded these, however, in favour of the hadith themselves.7 It would be a mistake, however, to think that Ibn Ḥanbal entirely rejected the tools of legal rationalism, and as the traditionalist, Dāwūd al-Zāhirī . (d.270/883), founder of the Ẓāhirī School, would do one generation later. Yet Ibn Ḥanbal only accepted qiyās when absolutely necessary, placing far more restriction on its use than al-Shāfi‘ī (for example) ever did. Ibn Ḥanbal generally preferred to accept unsound or ‘weak’ (ḍa‘īf) traditions as the basis for legal rulings, rather than have recourse to analogic reasoning lacking in any reference to the sacred texts. Hadith Religion The champions of hadith insisted upon the primacy of their narrated traditions, placing them at the centre of all religious and devotional activities. These sacred texts, the Kitāb wa l-Sunna, were seen as an unrivalled wellspring of truth, serving as the criterion for examining the results of human reason. After the obligatory ritual requirements of

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faith – such as prayer, fasting and pilgrimage – the greatest devotional act was deemed to be the study and teaching of those hadith which had been narrated through well-connected chains of transmitters (musnad) and from reliable authorities (thiqāt). This is because the idea of ‘Sunna’ requires holding fast to what the Companions of the Prophet and the early pious authorities (or salaf) practiced. This is achieved by following the guidance of these individuals as found in the hadith, and by rejecting all reprehensible innovations and polemical disputations over divisive doctrinal matters. The hadith therefore form the juridical substance of the Sharia, helping to regulate all aspects of individual and communal life. In this context, the very act of writing down hadith was preferred to supererogatory prayers or fasts. This type of scriptural hadith-based thinking ultimately proved important for the elaboration of normative Sunni doctrine. Traditionalists generally avoided speculative reasoning and did not rationally compare Qur’anic verses or hadith narratives in order to draw juridical and doctrinal conclusions. They taught that, when the Qur’an, Sunna and scholarly consensus (ijmā’) unite, the result is a certain and true perception, which no interpretation can oppose.8 Sunni traditionalism also idealised the foundational basis of the Islamic polity, centred on the Prophet Muḥammad and the heroic figures of his Companions. Above all, the traditionalists dwelt upon the early politicoreligious disputes concerning the succession to the Prophet – although bitter polemics about who amongst the first four caliphs possessed surpassing merit, or who may have committed errors, was to be absolutely avoided. This was because these issues opened the door to the reprehensible innovations of the theologians and rationalists, as well as the subversive doctrines espoused by the Shi‘a and Sufi esotericists. In his letter to the Basran traditionalist, Musaddad b. Musarhad al-Asadī (d.228/843), Ibn Ḥanbal warned him: “beware disputation with those holding errant doctrines, and refrain from discussing the shortcomings of the Companions of the Prophet. Rather, narrate their surpassing merits (fadā’il) and . abstain from discussing what broke out between them (al-imsāk ‘an mā shajara baynahum)9.” He therefore insisted upon uniform conformity to the Jamā‘a (Majority Assembly), as opposed to splintering into disputing sects. Disputation (jadal) and divisive intellectual speculations were to be rejected – especially the controversial doctrines taught by rationalist theologians (ahl al-kalām). Traditionalists attributed some amongst themselves with the saintly abdāl, a mysterious caste of ‘inner humanity’ believed to exercise spiritual

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control over this world. For this reason, Ibn Ḥanbal had a soft spot for pious renunciants (zuhhād) and self-mortifiers, even compiling a valuable collection of their utterances, his Kitāb al-Zuhd (Book on Asceticism). Yet he opposed those proto-Sufi devotees who taught qadarī doctrine on the efficacy of human deeds and transmitted narratives about the religious value of human intelligence (al-‘aql). Many of these were associated with the colony of Basran renunciants at ‘Abbādān island, off the coast of the Shaṭṭ al-‘Arab, who had thrown away their hadith notebooks as a mark of their dedication to a higher mode of ‘experiential knowledge’ (ma‘rifa). This was the earliest Sufi convent and was led by ‘Abd al-Wāḥid b. Zayd (d.150/767), a disciple of al-Ḥasan al-Basrī . (d.109/728). It included as a resident the devotee Dāwūd b. al-Muḥabbar (d.206/822), who compiled the notorious Kitāb al-‘Aql (Book on Intelligence), and whom Ibn Ḥanbal condemned as a liar. Ibn Ḥanbal also strongly discouraged his followers from attending the circle of the prominent Baghdadi scholar, al-Ḥārith al-Muḥāsibī (d.243/857), a Sunni theologian and Sufi theoretician whose seminal work, The Essential Nature of Intelligence, influenced later Ash‘arite thinkers like al-Juwaynī (d.478/1085) and al-Ghazālī (d.505/1111). Nevertheless, it is reported that Ibn Ḥanbal once requested that one of al-Muḥāsibī’s pupils hide him somewhere in the vicinity of al-Muḥāsibī’s private nightly class. There he listened to the shaykh guide the inner workings of his disciples, becoming so deeply affected that he wept.10 Nevertheless, this Sufi master lived the final years of his life closeted in his home, fearing mistreatment at the hands of those radical traditionalists who followed Ibn Ḥanbal. Upon al-Muḥāsibī’s death, only four of his associates dared to attend his funeral; others were absent out of fear of public harassment at the hands of intolerant traditionalists. The Ḥanbalī School Ibn Ḥanbal’s conceptual indebtedness to al-Shāfi‘ī is clear from his attitude towards fiqh. This attitude, which would later be responsible for the emergence of a new legal approach among the traditionalists, emphasised adherence to transmitted āthār and Sunna, while marginalising the use of qiyās and ra’y. Ibn Ḥanbal thereby developed the approach of ‘following authority’ (ittibā’) for legal questions and rulings, privileging transmitted proofs over rational proofs. At the start of the fourth/tenth century, Abū Bakr al-Khallāl systematised Ibn Ḥanbal’s teachings as they had been preserved in various Masā’il

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Aḥmad writings (responsa by Ibn Ḥanbal to different pupils). Eventually, al-Khallāl reshaped these into a coherent legal doctrine, which he then put down in his own text, al-Jāmi‘ li-‘ulūm Aḥmad ibn Ḥanbal.11 At the same time, other jurists, such as Abū al-Qāsim al-Khiraqī (d.299/912), advanced the development of Ḥanbalī fiqh through classification and independent juridical works. By the late fourth/tenth century, Muslim juridical literature began to recognise the Ḥanbalī School as a distinct legal presence. The growing integration of Ḥanbalīs into mainstream intellectual currents induced a pronounced trend towards moderation and more sophisticated intellectual approaches, leading to the disavowal of anthropomophoric literalism and narrow-minded dogmatism. This was especially evident in the careers of ‘Alī ibn ‘Aqīl (d.513/1119), the influential Ḥanbalī preacher ‘Abd al-Raḥmān ibn al-Jawzī (d.597/1201), and Najm al-Dīn al-Ṭūfī (d.716/1316). Even in aspects of the thought of Ibn Taymiyyah (d.728/1328) we see Ibn Ḥanbal’s influence. However, the die-hard Ḥanbalī wing labelled ḥashwiyya maintained an uncompromising doctrinal literalism and strong hostility towards rationalism. Ḥanbalī jurisprudence initially dominated in Baghdad, the Caspian Sea area, and Arabia. By the sixth/twelfth century, however, it had been eclipsed in the central Islamic lands, maintaining a significant presence only in Arabia and Syria. Indeed, the Ḥanbalīs remained the smallest Sunni legal school, both numerically and geographically, until the eighteenth-century ascendency of the Wahhābī movement, which spread from Central Arabia in symbiosis with the ruling family of Sa‘ūd. Ḥanbalī purist convictions were subsequently upheld by the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, allowing them to gain a foothold across the Islamic world from the late twentieth century onwards. Today, Ḥanbalī doctrinal preferences are affecting wide sectors of the Muslim world, where they act as a Sunni bulwark against Westernisation, but while also driving sectarian conflict and jihadist ideology. Notes 1.

In juristic terminology, istiḥsān refers to a ruling which goes against a relevant inferential analogy, normally on the preponderance of counter-evidence from the revealed sources. It therefore forms a component of ijtihād, see Mohammad Hashim Kamali, Principles of Islamic Jurisprudence (Petaling Jaya: Pelanduk Publications, 1989), 245–66. Ibn Ḥanbal is reported to have applied istiḥsān in certain cases (e.g. ownership of the produce of usurped land) and in favour of the indicant from the hadith, which contradicted the seemingly correct qiyās.

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2.

‘Abd al-Raḥmān Ibn al-Jawzī, Manāqib al-Imām Aḥmad Ibn Ḥanbal, 3rd ed. (Beirut: Dār al-Afāq al-Jadīdah, 1982), 59–60. 3. On this controversy, see the balanced appraisal by Wael Hallaq, The Origins and Evolution of Islamic Law (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 52–4, 74–6, 113–9, 122–8, 140–6. Also, Kamali, Islamic Jurisprudence, provides details on juristic reasoning techniques. 4. Preserved in the collections of al-Bukhārī, Muslim, and Ibn Mājah, in addition to Ibn Ḥanbal’s own Musnad. This utterance was often taken to refer to the Abdāl (Saintly ‘Substitutes’), so named because, whenever one of them expires, another takes his place to fulfil his mission. These itinerant hermits sought out uninhabited areas to pursue intense devotions and practice self-mortification. Certainly, Ibn Ḥanbal favoured them, see Ibn alJawzī, Manāqib al-Imām, 147, 180–1, 196. 5. Ibn al-Jawzī, Manāqib al-Imām, 172. A leading theologian, al-Ash‘arī, stated that ahl al-ḥadīth wa l-sunna “disapprove of disputation and ostentatious display in contention regarding doctrine or arguing over qadar…and in defending their doctrines they contend by assenting to sound transmissions… nor do they say ‘how’? or ‘why’?, for that is a reprehensible innovation” (Maqālāt, 294). 6. Ibn al-Jawzī, Manāqib al-Imām, 192–3. Also, consult Christoph Melchert, ‘The Adversaries of Aḥmad Ibn Ḥanbal,’ Arabica 44 (1997): 234–53. 7. Ibn al-Jawzī, Manāqib al-Imām, 63–4. Khallāl’s statement might have been intended to defend his master from the charge of having been a mere muḥaddith (traditionalist), rather than a true faqīh (jurist), and as certain scholars, including Ibn Jarīr al-Ṭabarī, asserted. 8. Thus, on whether humans will physically see God in the Hereafter, the reputable Central Asian traditionalist, al-Dārimī (d.255/869), asserted that: “If the Qur’ān, the Messenger’s utterance and the consensus of the community conjoin – there is no other interpretation!” 9. Cited by Ibn al-Jawzī, Manāqib al-Imām, 166-71. Musaddad was among the first to compile a musnad, see Ibn Ḥajar al-‘Asqalānī, Tahdhīb al-Tahdhīb, vol. 10 (Ḥaydarābād Dāʼīraẗ al-Maʻārif al-Nizāmiyyaẗ, 1968), 202. 10. Ibn al-Jawzī, Manāqib al-Imām, 186-7. 11. See Christopher Melchert, Aḥmad ibn Ḥanbal (Oxford: Oneworld, 2006).

Further Reading ‘Abd al-Rahmān ibn al-Jawzī. Manāqib al-Imām Aḥmad Ibn Ḥanbal, 3rd ed. Beirut: . Dār al-Afāq al-Jadīdah, 1982. Hallaq, Wael. The Origins and Evolution of Islamic Law. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004. Hurvitz, Nimrod. The Formation of Ḥanbalism: Piety into Power. London: Routledge Curzon, 2002.

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Ibn Ḥajar al-‘Asqalānī. Tahdhīb al-Tahdhīb, in 12 vols. Ḥaydarābād Dāʼīraẗ alMaʻārif al-Nizāmiyyaẗ, 1968. Ibn Ḥanbal. Musnad, edited by Aḥmad Muḥammad Shākir, in 15 vols. Beirut: Shu‘ayb al-Arna’ūt, 1993. Kamili, Mohammad Hashim. Principles of Islamic Jurisprudence. Petaling Jaya: Pelanduk Publications, 1989. Melchert, Christopher. Aḥmad ibn Ḥanbal. Oxford: Oneworld, 2006. __________________. ‘The Adversaries of Aḥmad Ibn Ḥanbal.’ Arabica 44 (1997): 234–53.

9 MUḥAMMAD IBN ISMĀʿĪL ALBUKHĀRĪ 194256AH/808870CE Karim D. Crow and Wan Naim Wan Mansor

Muḥammad ibn Ismāʿīl al-Bukhārī (194-256AH/808-870CE) is famed for consolidating the foundational Islamic discipline of Prophetic hadith (traditions). In particular, he attempted to purify the Prophetic Sunna via the creation of his Ṣaḥīḥ al-Bukhārī, commonly recognised as Islam’s most authoritative compilation of sound hadith. This collection has served as an indispensable source of hadith-based jurisprudence for the last one thousand years. Imam al-Bukhārī’s critical work recording authenticated, well-transmitted traditions is seen as the most influential of several compilations by his contemporary traditionalists (known collectively as the al-ṣiḥāḥ al-sitta, or ‘Six Sound Collections’). The critical labours of these ‘Guardians of Tradition’ (aṣḥāb al-ḥadīth) remind Muslims today to properly evaluate and treasure the Sunna of God’s Messenger, Muḥammad. Born in the Central Asian city of Bukhara (now in Uzbekistan), Muḥammad b. Ismāʿīl b. Ibrāhīm al-Juʿfī al-Bukhārī spent his early years studying hadith in Khurasan. His father had also been a scholar and had studied under leading faqīh-traditionalists in both Iraq and the Hijaz, including Mālik b. Anas (d.179/795), Ḥammād b. Zayd (d.179/795), and ʿAbd Allāh b. al-Mubārak (d.181/797). Al-Bukhārī himself first visited the Hijaz with his mother in 210/825, at the age of sixteen. In the sanctuary at Makkah, he reputedly had a dream in which he fanned the Prophet, both to cool him and keep away the flies; al-Bukhārī understood this as a signal to work on purifying the Prophetic hadith. He therefore began travelling widely throughout Iraq, searching for knowledge and studying under such eminent hadith experts as ʿAlī b. al-Madīnī (d.234/849) and Isḥāq b. Rāhawayh (d.238/853). He first arranged the format of his Ṣaḥīḥ in Makkah in ca.217/832 and, working on it over the next sixteen years (i.e.

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until ca.233/847), finally completed it at the Prophet’s tomb in Madinah. He entitled it: al-Jāmiʿ al-ṣaḥīḥ al-musnad min ḥadīth Rasūlillāhi wa sunanihi wa ayyāmihi (The Sound Comprehensive Collection of WellConnected Narratives from God’s Messenger and of his Sunan1 and his Historical Events). In this title, al-Bukhārī used the term al-ṣaḥīḥ almusnad to indicate those traditions which had been properly transmitted through a continuous ‘chain of transmission’ (or isnād) by reliable and trustworthy traditionalists (thiqāt) who upheld sound Sunni doctrine. His pupil, Muhammad ibn Yūsuf al-Firabrī (d.320/932), described . how al-Bukhārī would perform ghusl (an ablution of ritual purity) and pray two rakʿa before recording each hadith in his book. The hadiths alBukhārī selected for inclusion in his al-Jāmiʿ al-ṣaḥīḥ were sifted from a mass of over 600,000 narratives, transmitted (with varying degrees of accuracy and reliability) from the first generations of Muslims (the Prophet’s Companions) to their successors, before passing to the latter’s pupils and then al-Bukhārī’s own teachers. In total, 7,397 hadith made it into al-Bukhārī’s Ṣaḥīḥ. Considering the 1,341 ‘annotations’ (taʿālīq) in his original texts, however, and the 344 confirmatory supporting narrations (mutābiʿāt) transmitted through variant riwāyāt, he actually preserved 9,082 Prophetic hadith. Additionally, in his tafsīr (Qur’anic exegesis), al-Bukhārī cites some additional utterances (aqwāl) from both the Companions and Successors on the legal implications of certain Qur’anic verses, adding still further to this number. Al-Bukhārī’s emphasis on selecting primarily ṣaḥīḥ reports marked a fresh stage in both the literary recording of hadith and in the perfecting of the isnād-based methodology that would become central to the knowledge cultivated by both traditionalists and jurists. Prior to al-Bukhārī, the midsecond/eighth century had seen a literary tradition develop called jāmi’. This comprised all-inclusive collections of hadith, such as those compiled by the Kufan Sufyān al-Thawrī (d.161/777) and the Egyptian ʿAbd Allāh b. Wahb (d.196/812). These texts did not differentiate between reliable and unreliable hadith. By the turn of the century, they were replaced by a series of encyclopaedic works entitled muṣannaf and written by traditionalists like the Yamani ʿAbd al-Razzāq al-Ṣanʿānī (d.211/826) and the Kufan Ibn Abī Shaybah (d.ca.235/849). These muṣannaf were arranged into chapters (or books, mubawwab), each of which treated a separate topic. Again, however, they did not always effectively evaluate traditions. Indeed, they not only included Prophetic narrations, but also the utterances of the Companions and Successors, statements by Muslim mystics, and even those of earlier prophets. Turning to the generation of scholars immediately

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prior to al-Bukhārī, they compiled massive collections of traditions entitled musnad. The traditions contained in these texts would also be of varying soundness and probity. They were arranged in sections under the names of the Companions who reputedly transmitted them. The most famous of these texts was the musnad of Aḥmad ibn Ḥanbal (d.241/855), which included approximately 30,000 traditions. Given the potential unreliability of these musnads, however, al-Bukhārī’s text and methodology represented an important improvement, finally placing quality above quantity. AlBukhārī’s promotion of the sahih . . . class of traditions no doubt reflected al-Shāfiʿī’s (d.204/819) insistence that Prophetic narrations form the basis of decisions in case law (ahkām). This may explain why al-Bukhārī is often . said to have been an adherent of the Shāfiʿī legal school.2 Al-Bukhārī organised his Ṣaḥīḥ into more than one hundred ‘books’, containing about 3,450 sub-sections (tarjama, pl. tarājim). This feature gives his text significant utility as a source of jurisprudence. Al-Bukhārī’s inclusion of detailed ‘prefatory section headings’ to introduce and explain hadiths also facilitated the use of his work as source material for rationally deduced legal rulings (instinbāṭ al-fiqh) and ijtihād. This may reflect indirect influence from the legal school founded by Abū Ḥanīfa (d.150/767), since that great Iraqi rationalist popularised the use of topical arrangements (mubawwab) in legal discussions. However, al-Bukhārī nowhere explicitly cites any tradition on the authority of Abū Ḥanīfa. Al-Bukhārī frequently summarises the texts and isnāds of his hadith, in effect extracting small parts of longer narrations to create shorter narrations that fit into specific topics. As a result, al-Bukhārī often scatters a single hadith across several section headings. His pupil, Muslim b. al-Ḥajjāj (d.261/875), in his own hadith collection, al-Musnad al-ṣaḥīḥ (completed in 250/864 in Nisapur), followed a different method of citation, involving a more systematic arrangement that avoided frequent repetition of hadith across many chapters. Because of this, Sahih . . . Muslim has been deemed easier to employ for juridical purposes – and even though Muslim did not use section headings.3 Nevertheless, al-Bukhārī’s ‘scattered hadith’ methodology had a purpose: the repetition of different hadith in different chapters served to highlight their diverse aspects and applications.4 An illustrative example is al-Bukhārī’s use of the hadith stating that “Deeds rely on intentions.” This first appears in the first book and chapter of Sahih . . . al-Bukhārī, entitled “How the Revelation to the Apostle of God Began.” At first glance, however, it seems ill-suited to a discussion of revelation. Nevertheless, alBukhārī augmented his understanding of this hadith by relating it to the

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Qur’anic verse, “We revealed unto thee as We revealed unto Noah and the Prophets after him” (4:163). This allowed him to argue that this hadith established a normative purpose and sense of continuity between all the revelations to all the prophets.5 In terms of text, al-Bukhārī’s Ṣaḥīḥ exists in several ‘lines-of-narration’ (riwāyāt). The one transmitted by Abū al-Haytham al-Kushmayhānī (d.389/999) on the authority of al-Bukhārī’s pupil, al-Firabrī, remains the most widely accepted.6 At least seventy full commentaries have been written on al-Bukhārī’s great Ṣaḥīḥ. The best known and most oft-cited is that of renowned Egyptian savant, al-Ḥāfiẓ ibn Hajar al-ʿAsqalānī (d.852/1448), known as Fath. al-bārī sharḥ ṣaḥīḥ al-Bukhārī. In sum, al-Bukhārī’s decision to collect only authentic hadith marked a watershed in Islamic scholarship. This revolutionary approach “broke stridently with the practices of the transmission-based school.”7 This sahīh. . . movement, as one might call it, was very much a product of its time. While the earliest Muslims had been first-hand witnesses to revelation, watching it unfold before their eyes, the passage of time had increased the distance between the adherents of Islam and that religion’s origins. What had previously been common knowledge now became obscure and uncertain. It was within this context that al-Bukhārī’s magisterial work emerged, to provide a new measure of certainty for those wishing to emulate the example of the Prophet Muḥammad. Undoubtedly, al-Bukhārī’s exceptional feat of scholarship constitutes a magnificent contribution to Islam, qualifying him as an ‘architect of Islamic civilisation’. Muhammad Asad, in his preface to his translation of Ṣaḥīḥ al-Bukhārī, argued that the authenticated hadiths compiled by al-Bukhārī remain an invaluable source of information, both for scholars and laymen alike.8 In the contemporary period, however, many Muslims have unfortunately turned their back on the hadith literature. Whether infected by an ill-founded scepticism, or misled by the mistaken idea that the Qur’an alone can be the one source of guidance for Muslims, they labour under the misguided impression that the reliability and relevance of the Prophetic traditions is suspect. This attitude, however, does a great disservice to the keen critical intelligence and thorough analytical method taught by al-Bukhārī and the other great hadith scholars who laboured to preserve the Sunna of God’s Messenger.

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Notes 1. 2.

3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8.

The term sunan (pl. sunna) denotes the Prophet’s utterances, deeds and decisions. Ibn Taymiyyah was asked whether al-Bukhārī was qualified to deduce his own conditions in jurisprudence. He replied that al-Bukhārī was “an imām in jurisprudence, a scholar capable of deducing his own rulings [min ahl alijtihād].” See Majmūʿ al-Fatāwā v. 20, 25. Section headings were inserted into Muslim’s Ṣaḥīḥ later, all with varying degrees of success. Like al-Bukhārī’s text, Muslim’s work is also known as al-Jāmiʿ al-ṣaḥīḥ. Ghassan Abdul Jabbar, Bukhari (New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2007), 25. Ibid, 26. See the recent definitive edition of the Ṣaḥīḥ by the eminent Shaykh ʿAbd Allāh b. al-Ṣiddīq al-Ghimārī, which relies on Firabrī’s version: www. thesaurus- islamicus.li. For more details, also consult Jabbar, Bukhari. Jonathan Brown, The Canonization of al-Bukhari and Muslim: The Formation and Function of the Sunni Hadith Canon (Leiden: Brill, 2007), 6. Muḥammad ibn Ismāʻīl Bukhārī, Ṣaḥīḥ al-Bukhārī: The Early Years of Islam, being the Historical Chapters of the Kitāb al-jāmiʻ aṣ-ṣaḥīḥ, trans. Muhammad Asad (Kuala Lumpur: Islamic Book Trust, 2002), vii.

Further Reading Al-Bukhārī, Muḥammad ibn Ismāʻīl. Al-Jāmiʿ al-Ṣaḥīḥ al-Musnad min Ḥadīth Rasūlillāhi wa Sunanihi wa Ayāmihi, edited by Shaykh ʿAbdallāh b. al-Ṣiddīq al-Ghimārī. Available at: www.thesaurus- islamicus.li. ____________________________. Ṣaḥīḥ Al-Bukhārī: The Early Years of Islam, being the Historical Chapters of the Kitāb al-jāmiʻ aṣ-ṣaḥīḥ, translated by Muhammad Asad. Kuala Lumpur: Islamic Book Trust, 2002. Jabbar, Ghassan Abdul. Bukhari. New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2007. Brown, Jonathan. The Canonization of al-Bukhari and Muslim: The Formation and Function of the Sunni Hadith Canon. Leiden: Brill, 2007.

10 ABŪ YŪSUF YA‘QŪB IBN ISHĀQ AL-KINDĪ . 196256AH/800870CE Karim D. Crow

Abū Yūsuf Yaʿqūb ibn Isḥāq al-Kindī was an Arab aristocrat from the tribe of Kinda. Born in Basra in ca.196AH/800CE, he passed away in Baghdad in ca.256/870. A remarkable polymath, he promoted the collection of Hellenic scientific knowledge and its translation into Arabic. Al-Kindī worked for most of his life in Baghdad, where he benefitted from the patronage of three powerful ʿAbbāsid caliphs, al-Ma’mūn (r.197-218/813– 833), al-Muʿtaṣim (r.218-227/833–842) and al-Wāthiq (r.227-232/842– 847), all of whom were keenly interested in harmonising the Hellenic scientific legacy with Islamic revelation. Caliph al-Ma’mūn, for example, expanded his palace library into the major intellectual institution, Bayt al-Hikmah (House of Wisdom), where Arabic translations from Pahlavi, . Syriac, Greek and Sanskrit originals were made by a team of dedicated scholars that included al-Kindī. Al-Kindī was a pioneer in many subjects, including mathematics, chemistry, physics, psycho-somatic therapeutics, geometry, optics, musical theory, and philosophy of science. His mathematical writings, for example, greatly facilitated the diffusion of Indian numerals (today called ‘Arabic numerals’) throughout Southwest Asia and North Africa. He also invented specific laboratory apparatus to help implement experiments, a mathematical scale to quantify the strength of drugs, and a system that, linked to the phases of the moon, permitted a doctor to determine in advance the most critical days of a patient’s illness. He also provided the first scientific diagnosis and treatment for epilepsy and developed psychocognitive techniques to combat depression. The tenth-century scholar, Ibn al-Nadim (d.385 or 388/995 or 998), claimed that al-Kindī wrote over two hundred and fifty books.

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Regrettably, however, less than one-sixth are still extant, and some of those only in Medieval Latin translations. Nevertheless, in the mid-twentieth century, a manuscript was found in Turkey containing twenty-four short philosophical treatises by al-Kindī. These were subsequently published in Cairo, in 1950. This and other fresh discoveries over the past several decades have made it easier to appreciate al-Kindī’s seminal contribution to both Islamic and world civilisation. Indeed, recent research shows that, in addition to the aforementioned subjects, al-Kindī also made fundamental contributions to cryptography, weather forecasting, botany, the study of environmental pollution, pharmacology, cosmetics and the manufacture of perfume. During the first half of the third/ninth century, al-Kindī also gathered together an outstanding group of scholars, drawn from several religious backgrounds. Known today as the ‘Kindī Circle’, their influence persisted over several centuries, until the era of al-Ghazālī (d.505/1111). Al-Kindī directed this circle in their study of Greek, Persian and Indian wisdom, helping them to organise the production of a vast body of work on all aspects of natural science. In his text, On First Philosophy, al-Kindī specified the guiding principle behind this great effort: We must not be ashamed to admire the truth or to acquire it, from wherever it comes. Even if it should come from far-flung nations and foreign peoples, there is for the student of truth nothing more important than the truth…Study the books of wisdom! For that is the feast of the rational souls.

Perhaps al-Kindī’s most important achievement, however, was the formation of an Arabic philosophical vocabulary, which he systematised in his glossary of terms and definitions, entitled Kitāb al-ḥudūd, (Book of Definitions). In the long run, this signaled the rise of a rational discourse beyond that of the traditionalist ulama or speculative theologians. Al-Kindī intended to combine Islam with Hellenic thought; philosophy and science were understood to vindicate the pursuit of rational scientific activity in the service of Islam. In his Book of Definitions, al-Kindī gave six definitions of philosophy: 1. Love of wisdom. 2. To make oneself resemble divine actions to the extent possible for humans (i.e. to perfect virtue). 3. To be concerned with death – with the soul abandoning preoccupation with the body, and the death of the passions. 4. The ‘Art of arts’ and the ‘Wisdom of wisdoms’. 5. Human knowledge of oneself [al-

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Kindī preferred this definition, as it led to knowledge of man as a microcosm]. 6. Knowledge of eternal and universal things to the extent possible for humans (i.e. the essence of philosophy).1

Al-Kindī’s teachings on the mind (al-ʿaql) stressed the immaterial substance of intelligible realities, including the rational soul. He also taught that human knowledge (ʿilm insānī) was derive from various sources and should be expected to develop, increase and be perfected over time. He and his circle took this duty very seriously; he emphasised the value of gaining scientific knowledge as a religious enterprise for all intellectuals. Al-Kindī was committed to formulating a synthesis between certain philosophical ideas and specific articles of Islamic faith. He hoped, for example, to elaborate a mode of philosophic tawḥīd, where Allah would be described as ‘The One First Real’ (al-Wāḥid al-Ḥaqq al-Awwal). He also defended the Qur’anic doctrines of creation from nothing and that the universe will come to an end. This last point, which contradicts Aristotle, was affirmed in his On the Unity of God and the Limitation of the Body of the World. In his cosmologic work, On the Prostration of the Outermost Sphere, al-Kindī also explained that the heavens are possessed of souls and freely follow God’s command, moving in such a way that the providentially intended sublunary events can occur. According to al-Kindī, this is what the Qur’an refers to when stating that the stars ‘prostrate’ themselves before God (cf Q55:6). He viewed philosophy as the contents of “the science of things and their true nature,” and so identical to the message of the Prophets. Al-Kindī thus prayed for God’s assistance in pursuit of knowledge and venerated the Prophet’s message. Among the many important writings produced by the Kindī Circle, we should mention an extensive commentary/paraphrase of the Enneads (Books IV–VI) of Plotinus (d.270 or 271), the great Neoplatonic philosopher of Alexandria. This was translated by the Christian philosopher, ʿAbd alMasīḥ ibn Nā‘imah, with al-Kindī editing its Arabic terminology. This highly influential text was later transmitted as the Theology [uthūlūjiyyah] of Aristotle. Its teachings on the soul and self-knowledge were amongst the fundamental themes of al-Kindī’s rational research. Closely related to the Theology of Aristotle were another set of translations, this time from the Elements of Theology by the major Neoplatonic thinker, Proclus (d.485). These conveyed a monotheistic creationist interpretation of the soul and served al-Kindī’s circle with a philosophical model for Islamic tawḥīd. Later, a translation was also made of Nichomachus’s Introduction to Arithmetic, a Neo-Pythagorean guide to

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number theory that was reworked by al-Kindī from a version by Ḥabīb b. Bihrīz. The distinctive literary style and consistent technical vocabulary of these translations confirmed that a group of multireligious collaborators, united by a common purpose (to promote Hellenic thought in Arabic), could transcend factional dogmas. Despite his achievements, al-Kindī spent the last twenty years of his life suffering humiliation and censure. When caliph al-Mutawakkil (r.232-247/847–861) took power, he chose to win popular support by championing the cause of Ḥanbalī traditionalism. This put an end to the Miḥnah (inquisition) which had enforced rationalist Muʿtazilite doctrine during the previous reign. It also led to al-Kindī’s arrest, the confiscation of his personal library and the suppression of his work. Ultimately, alMutawakkil’s brand of orthodoxy could not tolerate the marriage of revelation and scientific rationalism. Nevertheless, al-Kindī’s legacy persisted as a distinct school, highly esteemed by professional scholars, including those within the secretarial class of the government administration. Over time, his work became a foundational part of the Islamic-Hellenic synthesis that proved central to the classical canon of adab (medieval Islamic literature), helping to furnish the basis for a rationalist approach to ethics, knowledge and virtue. Even today, al-Kindī’s scientific studies provide an argument in favour of the harmonious co-existence of rationality and religion – not only in the context of Islam, but for all divinely revealed faiths. D. Gutas has stated that the Kindī Circle “developed an overarching vision of the unity and interrelatedness of all knowledge and its research along verifiable and rational lines.” Without the achievements of this ‘philosopher of the Arabs’, who brought reason into the orbit of revelation and systematised the Arabisation of philosophic language, later thinkers like al-Fārābī (d.339/950) and Ibn Sīnā (d.429/1037) would not have been able to express their ideas so effectively. Moreover, if the Kindī Circle had not created the language of Arabic–Islamic rationalism, then Europe and the Muslim world, from the Middle Ages until today, would not have found a common language with which to assign names to the principles of Being and understand humanity’s epistemic faculties. In this sense, al-Kindī spearheaded history’s first truly international ecumenist movement.

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Notes 1.

Al-Kindī, Rasā’il al-Kindī al-Falsafiyah, vol. 1, edited by Abu Ridah (Cairo: Al-Qāhirah Dār al-fikr al-'Arabī 1950), 172–4.

Further Reading Adamson, Peter. Al-Kindi. New York: Oxford University Press, 2007. Al-Kindī. Rasā’il al-Kindī al-Falsafiyah, 2 vols., edited by Abu Ridah. (Cairo: AlQāhirah Dār al-fikr al-'Arabī 1950 & 1953). Endress, Gerhard. ‘The Circle of al-Kindi: Early Arabic Translations from the Greek and the Rise of Islamic Philosophy.’ In The Ancient Tradition in Christian and Islamic Hellenism, edited by G. Endress and R. Kruk, 43-76. Leiden: Research School CNWS, 1997. Gari, L. ‘Arabic Treatises on Environmental Pollution up to the End of the Thirteenth Century.’ Environment and History 8, no. 4 (2002): 475–488. Zimmermann, F. W. ‘The Origins of the So-Called Theology of Aristotle.’ In Pseudo-Aristotle in the Middle Ages, edited by J. Kraye et al., 110-240. London: Warburg Institute, 1986.

11 MUSLIM IBN ALḤAJJĀJ AL-NīSĀPURI

ca. 202261AH/817875CE Ahmad Badri Abdullah

Born in ca.202AH/817CE in Nisaphur, a Persian city in the ‘Abbāsid province of Khurasan, Muslim ibn al-Ḥajjāj al-Qushayrī studied the hadith from an early age. After becoming the student of many prominent scholars from his own hometown – including Isḥāq ibn Rāhawayh (d.238/853) and Yaḥyā ibn Yaḥyā al-Tamīmī (d.226/841) – Muslim became well-known in his own right as a muḥaddith (scholar of hadith), with his own hadith compendium, known as Ṣaḥīḥ al-Muslim, gaining recognition as one of Islam’s two most authentic hadith collections (alongside Ṣaḥīḥ al-Bukhārī). Muslim was indeed an excellent example of an active and itinerant savant in the pursuit of studying hadith throughout the Muslim world. At the age of just twelve (i.e. in 220/835) he travelled to Makkah for pilgrimage and grabbed the opportunity to study under ‘Abd Allāh ibn Maslana al-Qa’anabī (d.221/836), a renowned Hijazi hadith scholar. Later, he visited Baghdad to study with Aḥmad ibn Ḥanbal (d.241/855), also travelling to Basra, Syria, Egypt, and Rayy to study with such noted hadith scholars as Abū Zur’a al-Rāzī (d.264/878) and Abū Ḥātim al-Rāzī (d.277/890). Indeed, he only finally returned to settle in Nishapur a few years before his death. Muslim left behind a significant number of scholarly works, greater in number than those produced by his contemporaries. His most famous work is his Ṣaḥīḥ (also known as Musnad al-Ṣaḥīḥ), a collection of approximately 4000 authentic hadith extracted from a body of 300,000 narrations using a stringent selection criteria. Muslim preserved the larger body of hadith in two additional collections – namely, a muṣannaf and a musnad. He also produced some large biographical inventories, such as his al-Ṭabaqāt, in which he provided the names of hadith transmitters

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from the generation after the Prophet. Amongst his smaller works, the alMunfaridāt wal-waḥdān records people from whom hadith were quoted by only one transmitter. He also wrote a book of criticised narrations, called Kitāb al-tamyīz (The Book of Discernment), which only partially survives as the introduction to his Ṣaḥīḥ. Muslim was a close companion and student of the great hadith scholar and teacher, Muḥammad ibn Ismā‘īl al-Bukhārī (d.256/870). Indeed, so close were they that there is considerable overlap between their hadith collections. Abū Bakr al-Jawzaqī (d.388/988) reports in his book, alMuttafaq, that there are 2326 traditions common to both works, with the two scholars sharing approximately 2400 transmitters. Moreover, it is reported that one day Muslim stood up and left the study circle of Muḥammad ibn Yaḥyā al-Dhuhlī (d.258/872), another formidable hadith scholar from Naysabur, when the latter forbade his students from attending al-Bukhārī’s lessons due to a controversy over the creation of the Qur’an (Khalq al-Qur’ān). Muslim even sent a porter to al-Dhuhlī, carrying all the written materials Muslim had collected from al-Dhuhlī’s lectures. This course of action, however, resulted in many criticisms of Muslim; other scholars accused him of being disrespectful to his own teacher. Nonetheless, most hadith scholars, especially in the decades after the demise of al-Bukhārī and Muslim, have come to regard both individuals as the most accomplished scholars in their field. Together, they functioned as a catalyst for hadith transmission, with both of their Ṣaḥīḥ eventually becoming their lasting legacies. Despite his close association with al-Bukhārī, Muslim differed from him on some technical issues. An elementary instance of this relates to the issue of ascertaining a link in a chain of transmitters (isnād) using the word ‘from’ (‘an). Al-Bukhārī set the requirement that two transmitters in an isnād could not be said to have met unless there was evidence of the meeting. Muslim, on the other hand, maintained that when ’an was used, no affirmative evidence of an actual meeting was required. In addition to this, Muslim also differed from al-Bukhārī in excluding any hadith from the Companions that did not have a full isnād. Also unlike al-Bukhārī, Muslim devoted less attention to legal discussions – although when he did, and also unlike al-Bukhārī, he would offer supporting statements for both sides. Regarding the controversy pertaining to the creation of the Qur’an (above), and which plagued al-Bukhārī’s intellectual career, Muslim managed to avoid this issue. In terms of form, Muslim’s Ṣaḥīḥ contains fewer chapters than al-Bukhārī’s and, unlike al-Bukhārī, Muslim keeps all the narrations of a particular hadith in the same section.

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As mentioned, since his death Muslim has been widely recognised for his talent and authority in hadith studies. For instance, Muḥammad b. Bashār Bundār (d.252/866) expressed his admiration for Muslim by saying that “the ḥadīth masters of the world are four: Abū Zur’a al-Rāzī in Rayy, Muslim in Naysabur, al-Darimī in Samarqand, and al-Bukhārī in Bukhara.”1 Nevertheless, it took some time for this recognition to become widespread; it is essential to note that the earliest assessments of the hadith scholars often ignore Muslim (and, indeed, al-Bukhārī). Muslim, it seems, did not merit any special attention from his teachers’ generation. The earliest mention of him, therefore, comes from Ibn Abī Ḥātim (d.327/938), whose monumental work on hadith criticism, entitled al-Jarḥ wa al-ta’dīl, provides a brief account of his life with the rather modest compliment that he was “trustworthy, one of the ḥadīth masters, with knowledge of ḥadīth.”2 This faint praise, may have resulted from the fact that Muslim received some strong criticism from his contemporary hadith specialists. The influential bloc of Rāzī scholars in Rayy, for example, and which included both Abū Zur’a al-Rāzī and Ibn Wāra al-Rāzī (d.270/884), saw Muslim’s work as an attempt to undermine the legal methodology of the transmission-based scholars. In particular, they highlighted three primary criticisms of Muslim’s work. Firstly, they regarded it as an insolent measure, as little more than glory seeking. Abū Zur’a, for example, reputedly said of Muslim’s work: These are people who wanted prominence before their time, so they did something for which they show off; they wrote books the likes of which none had written before to gain for themselves precedence before their time…3

Secondly, they rejected Muslim’s judgement concerning the reliability of some transmitters, deeming his evaluation criteria flawed and subjective. Finally, they claimed that the measure taken by Muslim to produce a compilation of definitive and authentic hadith was laden with risk, as it could impede the use of other hadith which were consequently presumed to be inferior. Regarding this third accusation, however, Muslim provided an answer: Indeed I produced this book and declared it authentic, but I did not say that aḥādīth I did not include in this book are weak. Rather, I produced this from authentic aḥādīth to be a collection for me and those who transmit from me without its authenticity being doubted.

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I did not say that everything else is weak…4

Even though the work of Muslim met with resistance during his own lifetime, in the wake of his death it gained much wider recognition, emerging as a formative Islamic text. This process began in big cities like Naysabur, Jurjan, and Baghdad, and denoted a new tendency among scholars to regard the Ṣaḥīḥ genre as, not a threat to the living transmission of Prophetic traditions, but as an avenue for expressing a personal connection to the authority of the Prophet. From this point on, scholars started using Muslim’s Ṣaḥīḥ and methodologies in order to compile their own collections of hadith. This approach generated the mustakhraj movement, which in Naysabur became centred on Muslim’s Ṣaḥīḥ (at Jurjan, al-Bukhārī’s Ṣaḥīḥ was key, while in Baghdad other works were used). Producing a mustakhraj involved using a Ṣaḥīḥ as a template, with another author then providing his own narrations for each of the hadith in the template, along with his own isnād extending to the Prophet. Immediately after the demise of Muslim, and until the end of the fourth/ tenth century, scholars in Naysabur produced many mustakhraj from his Ṣaḥīḥ. Among those who took such an initiative were Abū Bakr Faḍl alṢā’igh (d.270/883), Abū Bakr Muḥammad ibn Rajā’ (d.286/899), and Aḥmad ibn Salama al-Bazzār (d.286/899). By the end of the fourth/tenth century, it was reported that no less than ten mustakhraj of Muslim’s Ṣaḥīḥ existed in Naysabur. Subsequently, several important commentaries were also written on it. The best-known of these are Muḥyī al-Dīn al-Nawawī’s (d.676/1277) al-Minhāj bi sharḥ Ṣaḥīḥ Muslim and Ibn al-Ṣalāḥ’s (d.643/1245) Ṣiyānah Ṣaḥīḥ Muslim. Muslim breathed his last in 261/875, at the age of fifty-five. His life came to epitomise scholarly devotion to the guardianship of the prophetic traditions. Certainly, his was a laborious and challenging endeavour, involving both the painstaking collection and evaluation of a large number of narrations and the development of a tenable assessment method for the reliability of their transmitters. Some contemporary Muslims fail to fully comprehend the importance of this complex task. Instead, they turn their back on the hadith due to a simplistic and ill-founded belief that the Qur’an alone is sufficient as a primary religious reference for Muslims. To take account of the life of hadith masters like Imam Muslim, however, is to inculcate a sense of urgency amongst those Muslims who wish to benefit from his monumental work.

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Notes 1. 2. 3. 4.

Yāqūt ibn Abdallāh al-Hamawī, Mu’jam al-Buldān, vol. 1 (Tehran: Maktabah al-Asadī, 1965), 174. Ibn Abī Ḥātim, al-Jarḥ wa al-Ta’dīl, vol. 4 (Hyderabad: Dā’irat al-Ma’ārif, 1953), 182-3. Al-Khaṭīb al-Baghdādī, Tārīkh Baghdād, ed. Mustafā ‘Abd al-Qādir, vol. 12 .. (Beirut: Dār al-Kutub al-‘Ilmiyyah, 1997), 363. Al-Nawawī, Sharḥ Ṣaḥīḥ Muslim, vol. 1 (Beirut: Dār al-Qalam, 1987), 1356.

Further Reading Abdul Mawjood, Salahuddin ‘Ali. The Biography of Imam Muslim bin al-Hajjaj, translated by Abu Bakr Ibn Nasir. Riyadh: Darussalam, 2007. Ali, Syed Bashir. Scholars of Hadith: The Makers of Islamic Civilisation Series. Malaysia: IQRAʼ International Educational Foundation, 2003. Azami, Muhammad Mustafa. Studies in Hadith Methodology and Literature. Kuala Lumpur: Islamic Book Trust, 1995. Brown, Jonathan. The Canonisation of al-Bukhārī and Muslim: The Formation and Function of The Sunnī Ḥadīth Canon. Leiden: Brill, 2011.

12 MUHAMMAD IBN JARĪR ALṬABARĪ . ca.224310AH/839923CE Apnizan Abdullah

Abū Ja’far Muḥammad ibn Jarīr al-Ṭabarī (ca.224-310AH/839-923CE) was a great Sharia scholar and historian who produced a prodigious chain of history concerning the rise and fall of various Muslim sects.1 His outstanding work, Tārīkh al-Ṭabarī (The History of al-Ṭabarī),2 has become a pivotal source of information for many generations of historians interested in Islamic history and civilisation. His work started to gain its remarkable popularity upon its translation into Persian in the year 351/963 upon the order of the Samanid Prince, Manṣūr ibn Nūḥ. Al-Ṭabarī’s historical data derived from numerous sources, including classical poetry, genealogy and tribal customs. These were all collected during his travels. The sources range in date from the Hijra to the year 302/915.3 Miskawaya (d.421/1030), Ibn Athīr (d.630/1233) and Abū al-Fidā’ (d.731/1331) are amongst the early Islamic historians who have referred to the historical works of al-Ṭabarī.4 Apart from history, al-Ṭabarī is also well-known for his notable contributions to the field of Qur’an and hadith studies. His most influential and best-known work in this area is the Qur’anic commentary, Tafsīr alṬabarī (The Commentary of al-Ṭabarī). This explains the Qur’anic text (sometimes word-by-word) based on its historical, lexicographic and juridical explanations. For every single hadith al-Ṭabarī worked on, the chain of isnāds (narrators) is sound and complete. He learnt fiqh (Islamic jurisprudence) from various schools of thought, including Ḥanafī, Mālikī, Shāfi‘ī, Ḥanbalī and Ẓāhirī. He also founded his own school of thought, known as Jarīrī.5

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His Early Days Abū Ja’far al-Ṭabarī was born in Amul,6 Tabiristan (Iran), during the winter of 224-5/839 in the reign of the ‘Abbāsid caliph, al-Mu’tasim.7 After starting his religious education early, by age seven he had memorised the entire Qur’an. He served as a prayer leader from the age of eight and began to study the prophetic traditions at age nine. It was narrated that his father had a dream concerning him: his father saw him standing before the Prophet, holding a bag filled with stones which he then spread in front of the Prophet. On the basis of this, a dream interpreter told al-Ṭabarī’s father that al-Ṭabarī would grow up as a good Muslim and become a defender of its Sharia.8 Because of this, al-Ṭabarī’s father agreed to support his studies, eventually encouraging him to leave home in his quest for knowledge.9 His Quest for Knowledge Al-Ṭabarī left home in 236/850, when he was just twelve. He retained close ties to his home town, however, returning at least twice (although, on the final occasion in 290/901, his outspokenness caused some uneasiness and led to his quick departure).10 His studies took him first to al-Ray, on the site of present-day Tehran. He remained there for about five years. The most prominent figures amongst his teachers at al-Ray were: alMuthannā ibn Ibrāhīm al-Āmulī (d.ca.240/854), Salama ibn al-Faḍl alMaghāzī (d.191/806) and Aḥmad ibn Ḥammād al-Dawlābī. Perhaps his most notable teacher at al-Ray, however, was Ibn Ḥumayd (or Abū ‘Abd Allāh Muḥammad ibn Ḥumayd al-Rāzī, d.248/862), who was then in his seventies. Ibn Ḥumayd had previously lectured in Baghdad, but had been invited to al-Ray by the noted jurist, Aḥmad ibn Ḥanbal. Ibn Ḥumayd became one of al-Ṭabarī’s most frequently cited authorities.11 Both with him and his other teachers, al-Ṭabarī studied Ḥanafī jurisprudence and the historical works of Ibn Isḥāq (a well-known author of al-Sīra, or the life of the Prophet Muhammad). Indeed, al-Ṭabarī’s own historical approach would be substantially influenced by his study of Ibn Isḥāq’s Mubtada’ and Maghāzī. Al-Ṭabarī was also introduced to pre-Islamic and early Islamic history during this period.12 After al-Ray, al-Ṭabarī’s quest for knowledge took him to Baghdad. Arriving there when he was not yet seventeen, he went with an expectation of studying under Ibn Ḥanbal. The latter, however, had died in either late 241/855 or early 242/856, i.e. shortly before al-Ṭabarī’s arrival. Nevertheless, al-Ṭabarī stayed in Baghdad until 242/859, after which he

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journeyed to other important places, including Basra, Kufa and probably Wasit. In Basra, he met and studied under many eminent scholars, including Ḥumayd ibn Mas’ada (who he frequently quotes in his Tafsīr) and Muḥammad ibn Bashshār, also known as Bundār. Indeed, he frequently cites Bundār as a transmitter in his works.13 In Kufa, on the other hand, al-Ṭabarī met Hannād ibn al-Sarī (d.243/857), who reputedly provided him with much information for his Tafsīr. In addition, al-Ṭabarī also encountered Ismā’īl ibn Mūsā alFazārī (d.245/859), Sulaymān ibn ‘Abd al-Raḥmān ibn Ḥammād alṬalḥī (d.252/866, an expert in reciting the Qur’an) and Abū Kurayb Muḥammad ibn al-A’lā (d.247-8/861-2). The latter in particular exercised great influence on al-Ṭabarī; although Abū Kurayb was a difficult scholar, al-Ṭabarī managed to mollify him, appeasing him with his extraordinary ability. In particular, Abū Kurayb was amazed with al-Ṭabarī’s ability to memorise hadith.14 After spending about two years in southern Iraq, in 244/858 al-Ṭabarī returned to Baghdad. There he was invited by the vizier, Ubaydallāh ibn Yaḥyā ibn Khāqān (al-Khāqānī), to teach his son, Abū Yaḥyā. He held this tutorial position for four years (244AH-248AH), with the vizier paying him ten dinar per month (reportedly al-Ṭabarī refused any extra remuneration or gifts on top of the agreed pay).15 In Baghdad, al-Ṭabarī also reportedly met and studied with Aḥmad ibn Yūsuf al-Taghlibī, before learning Shāfi‘ī jurisprudence under the supervision of Abū Sa’īd al-Iṣṭakhrī.16 Later, in 253/867, al-Ṭabarī visited Egypt, reportedly stopping in Syria and Palestine on the way. Although unclear, he probably also studied in the latter two locations: his writings include references to scholars from Hims (or Homs),17 al-Ramla18 and Asqalan.19 In Beirut, he also studied under al-‘Abbās ibn al-Walīd ibn Mazyad al-‘Udhrī al-Bayrūtī (d.270/883), who instructed him in variant readings (ḥurūf) of the Qur’an according to the Syrian School. Al-Bayrūtī was also instrumental in conveying to alṬabarī the legal views of the important scholar ‘Abd al-Raḥmān al-Awzā’ī (d.156/773-4). With al-Bayrūtī, al-Ṭabarī also completed his study of the Qur’an based on the narrations of the people of Syam.20 When al-Ṭabarī finally arrived in Egypt, he studied under Abū al-Ḥasan ‘Alī ibn Sirāj and Yūnus ibn ‘Abd al-‘A’lā, both leading Egyptian scholars in hadith and Qur’anic recitation. Since Egypt also hosted a great number of Shāfi‘ī and Mālikī scholars, al-Ṭabarī gained an understanding of these legal systems during this period, too. From the Shāfi‘ī side, he studied with alRabī’ ibn Sulaymān and Muḥammad ibn al-Ḥakam, while from the Mālikī side he encountered Muḥammad ibn ‘Abd Allāh ibn ‘Abd al-Ḥakam.21

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After his time in Egypt, al-Ṭabarī returned to Baghdad. There he began identifying himself as a Shāfi‘ī scholar. He continued in this mould for the next ten years (i.e. until 267/880), after which he concentrated on teaching and publishing his own works on legal theory and practice, in addition to Qur’anic commentary and history. This development placed him at the forefront of scholars. Indeed, many students came to study with him, eventually constituting themselves as a special madhhab, known as Jarīrī.22 Al-Ṭabarī: A Scholar Like other scholars from the period, al-Ṭabarī mastered three fields of learning: legal theory, Qur’anic science and history. His enormous contributions to these three areas are attributable to his exceptional learning in a variety of other disciplines. In particular, his work on tafsīr demonstrates his outstanding capability in Arabic grammar and lexicography. Indeed, he was famous for his interest in foreign languages: his tafsīr discusses the relationship between Persian, Arabic and Ethiopic loan words in the Qur’an. He also knew the language of ‘Uman in addition to Coptic.23 Apart from the above, al-Ṭabarī also studied poetry with the great philologist, Thallab. In this respect, Ghulam Thallab (another of Thallab’s students) praised the accuracy of grammar and language used by al-Ṭabarī in his tafsīr. The science of prosody (the patterns of rhyme and sound in poetry, urud) was also known to al-Ṭabarī through his reading of alKhalīl’s fundamental work on the matter. In addition, al-Ṭabarī also excelled in arithmetic, algebra, logic, dialectics and falsafa (philosophy), the last of which he utilised to refute Mu’tazila views. It was reported that medicine was also one of al-Ṭabarī’s great interests, which he pursued with his acquaintance, ‘Alī ibn Rabbān, author of the great medical encyclopaedia, Firdaws al-ḥikma.24 His Prominent Attributes Al-Ṭabarī was well-known for being both humble and ethical. These attributes are particularly evident in the context of his attitudes towards gifts, which he would always reject. For example, he rejected the gifts offered by the aforementioned vizier, al-Khāqānī, when appointed to teach his son. Al-Ṭabarī likewise refused a magnificent gift of three thousand dinars from the politician Ḥamdān ibn Ḥamdūn (d.282/895), the eventual

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founder of the Ḥamdānid Dynasty) on the pretext that he could not afford to return a gift of similar value. Indeed, throughout his lifetime al-Ṭabarī tried his very best to disassociate himself from all gifts, particularly those extended by people in positions of power (including the caliph). He always shied away from them as so as to avoid allying himself with the political agendas of the donors. For him, a gift could become an embarrassment at some future time. This demonstrates his high integrity and dignity. Al-Ṭabarī was an easy going person who had a very good relationship with his neighbours, be they scholars or ordinary people. He attended picnics with them and gave advice to their children. In terms of physical appearance, al-Ṭabarī was tall and lean, had a dark-brown complexion, large eyes and a long beard. He reportedly kept his black hair and beard until he was in his eighties. The leanness of his figure was not heredity, but attributable to his attitude towards diet: he avoided fat and made full use of raisins, fresh dates, herbal leaves (such as thyme and habbatussawda), unripe fruits, refined wheat flour and olive oil. There is an anecdote that he insisted on both cleanliness and good table manners, all in accordance with the traditions of the Prophet. All-in-all, al-Ṭabarī was a religious scholar whose life was occupied with reading and teaching the Qur’an, observing prayers, and writing.25 His Moderate Stance and Accusations of Shi’a-leanings Al-Ṭabarī was an honest scholar whose approach to writing was rooted in his constant and courageous expression of ijtihād (independent judgment). Overall, his views always leaned towards moderation and compromise. This attitude is proven by his interpretation of a Qur’anic verse pertaining to the practice of wiping the boot or washing the foot (5:6). While Sunni scholars interpreted this verse as necessitating the washing of the whole foot (i.e. not a mere act of wiping) Shi’a jurists insisted on interpreting it as just wiping the boot or foot. Al-Ṭabarī combined both views and stated that washing and wiping with one’s foot are equivalent processes.26 His moderation was further evidenced by the fact that he allowed women to hold the post of judge (including in ḥudūd and qiṣāṣ cases), a post many scholars limited to men. Overall, he held the view that male and female judges were on an equal footing.27 Al-Ṭabarī’s admiration of ‘Alī led some to accuse him of being a Shiite. Certainly, al-Ṭabarī made it clear that he viewed ‘Alī as the superior Imam after the demise of the Prophet. Although this allegation may have caused some difficulties with the Ḥanbalī School, it ultimately seems to have been

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baseless; al-Ṭabarī stood as the defender of the first four caliphs, especially Abū Bakr al-Ṣiddīq and ‘Umar al-Khaṭṭāb. It was reported that al-Ṭabarī did not regard Ibn Ḥanbal’s dissenting opinion as having any weight; he opined that Ibn Ḥanbal was not even a jurist, merely a recorder of hadith.28 His Works Al-Ṭabarī’s major works are verbatim records of lectures he delivered to students. Some of his surviving works are regarded as incomplete.29 They include the following:30 1. Adab al-manāsik (The Proper Ways of Performing the Pilgrimage). This work deals with the proper procedure for performing the pilgrimage. Other authors have sometimes referred to it as Mukhtaṣar manāsik alḤaj, such as in Ibn ‘Asākir’s Irshād (also known as Kitāb al-manāsik).31 2. Adab al-nufūs (The Proper Ways of Spiritual Behaviour). This text explains man’s religious duties in relation to all the parts of the human body, beginning with the heart, tongue, eyes, ears and so on. It bases itself on the traditions of the Prophet, the practice of the Companions and their followers, as well as the deeds of the Sufis and other pious men. This work remains incomplete.32 3. Kitāb ikhtilāf ‘ulamā’ al-amṣār fī aḥkām sharā‘i’ al-Islām (The Disagreements of the Scholars in the Major Centres with Respect to the Laws of Islam). Also referred to as either Ikhtilāf al-fuqahā’ (sometimes reduced to just Ikhtilāf) or al-I’tidhār, this text comprises three thousand folios. In it, al-Ṭabarī discusses the substance of the disagreements between scholars like Mālik bin Anas, ‘Abd al-Raḥmān ibn ‘Amr al-Awzā’ī and Sufyān al-Thawrī. This work also contains alṬabarī’s defence of the Ḥanbalīs. The book remained unpublished when al-Ṭabarī died, having been buried in the ground. It was finally made public by the Ḥanbalīs. Al-Ṭabarī reportedly stated that: “I have written two books that are indispensable for jurists, Ikhtilaf and Latif.”33 4. Aḥāḍīth Ghadīr Khumm (Traditions of Ghadir Khum). This work has been utilised by many (particularly Shia) scholars to justify the existence of the event known as Ghadir Khum, when the Prophet reportedly declared ‘Alī ibn Abī Ṭālib as his successor. This work was published by al-Ṭabarī in order to refute a statement made by a Baghdadi scholar that the Ghadir Khum episode could not be true because ‘Alī was in

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Yemen at the time the declaration was supposedly made. Ibn Kathīr, however, another great Muslim historian, was uncomfortable with this work by al-Ṭabarī, claiming that, even though it was two volumes long, al-Ṭabarī failed to distinguish sound information from weak.34 5. Fadā’il (Virtues). When working on his Ghadir Khum text, al. Ṭabarī began praising and highlighting the many virtues of ‘Alī. As a result, many Shi’a Muslims flocked to listen to his lectures on the subject. When some extremist Shi’a, however, began slandering other Companions of the Prophet, al-Ṭabarī started to write this text about the virtues of Abū Bakr and ‘Umar. It also reportedly highlights the virtues of ‘Abbās of the ‘Abbāsid dynasty.35 6. Basīṭ al-qawl fī aḥkām sharā‘i’ al-Islām (A Plain and Simple Exposition of the Laws of Islam). Contained in 1500 folios, each chapter deals with the legal agreements of the Companions and their followers. AlṬabarī also mentions his preferred view on each subject raised. The work contains information about document forms (shurūṭ), records and documents (al-mahādir wa al-sijillāt), last wills (al-wasāyā), . . characters of the judges (adab al-qādī), ritual purity, prayers, charity, . taxes and classification of scholars (tartīb al-‘ulamā’). This work is incomplete. 7. Tabṣīr ulī al-nuhā wa ma’ālim al-hudā (An Instruction for the Intelligent and Directions towards Right Guidance). Also known as just al-Tabsīr, this completed book was addressed to the people of . Tabaristan and concerns the disagreements which had arisen amongst them about the identity or non-identity of names and things named and the doctrines of innovators. This book contains thirty folios.36 8. Ta’rīkh al-rusul wa al-mulūk (History of the Prophets and Kings) or Ta’rīkh al-Ṭabarī. This text remains the major primary source for historians of Islam. In it, al-Ṭabarī references numerous sources to produce a comprehensive narrative of past events, as recorded by the traditions he refers to. Ibn al-Mughallis stated that: “Nobody has ever done what Abu Ja’far did in respect to writing and giving full presentation of history.”37 9. Tahdhīb al-āthār wa tafṣīl ma’ānī al-thābit ‘an Rasul Allāh min al-akhbār (An Improved Treatment and detailed Discussion of the Traditions established as going back to the Prophet). This work deals with the traditions transmitted from the Companions of the Prophet. The work

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was probably meant to rival Ibn Ḥanbal’s Musnad. It is not, however, a mere collection of traditions. Rather, it provides an exhaustive and penetrating analysis of the philological and legal implications of each hadith it contains. The text, however, remains unfinished.38 10. Jāmi‘ al-bayān ‘an ta’wīl āy al-Qur’ān (A Commentary on the Qur’an). More commonly known as Tafsīr al-Ṭabarī, this is al-Ṭabarī’s second great work. It has retained its outstanding importance to this day. Taking him seven years to finish (namely, from 283AH to 290AH), it extended his commentaries on the Qur’an. He used it to explain his tafsīr, the legal data derived from the Qur’an, its abrogating and abrogated verses, its difficult passages, its rare words and its interpretation via the proper vocalization (i‘rāb ḥurūfihī). He did all this word-by-word.39 11. Al-Jāmi’ fī al-qirā’āt (The Complete Collection of Variant Readings of the Qur’an). Also known as al-Faṣl bayn al-qirā’a or Kitāb al-qirā’āt wa al-tanzīl wa al-‘adad, this text is amongst al-Ṭabarī’s completed works. It records the variant readings of the Qur’an and specifies the names of the Qur’anic readers in Madinah, Makkah, Kufa, Basra, Syria and elsewhere. When referring to the readings, al-Ṭabarī states his own preference for what is correct and provides proofs to support his case. He also gives his tafsīr for certain verses and establishes their correct linguistic form (i’rāb).40 12. Laṭīf al-qawl fī aḥkām sharā’i‘ al-Islām (A Light Discussion on the Muslim Laws). This text contains the sum total of his legal school and became key for his followers. A completed text, it is valuable for understanding his madhhab. It is also referred to as just Laṭīf.41 13. Al-Khafīf fī aḥkām sharā’i‘ al-Islām (The Light Work on the Laws of Islam). Also known as al-Khafīf fī al-fiqh, this is an abridged version of Kitāb al-latīf. Likewise meant to facilitate an understanding of Islamic . law, it contains four hundred folios.42 14. Dhayl al-Mudhayyal (The Historical Information on Religious Scholars needed in Connection with History). Also known as Tārīkh al-rijāl, this completed text discusses the history of the Companions of the Prophet. It has one thousand folios.43

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Notes 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17.

18. 19.

20. 21.

M. Nauman Khan and Ghulam Mohiuddin, ‘Abu Jaffar Tabari,’ available at: http://www.salaam.co.uk/knowledge/biography/viewentry.php?id=114 (Accessed on 27th July 2015). This book is also known as Tārīkh al-Rusul wa al-Mulūk (History of the Prophets and Kings). See Al-Ṭabarī, Tārīkh al-Ṭabarī, vol. 1 (Beirut: Dar Sader, 2008), iii. Ibid. Chase F. Robinson, ‘A Local Historian’s Debt to al-Ṭabarī: The Case of alAzdī’s Ta'rīkh al-Mawṣil,’ Journal of the American Oriental Society 126, no. 4 (2006): 521-535. Al-Tabari, The History of al-Tabari, trans. Franz Rosenthal, vol. 1 (Albany: University of New York Press, 1989), 64. Amul is the capital city of Tabaristan, located in the lowlands of the region and at a distance of about 20 kilometres from the southern shore of the Caspian Sea. Al-Tabari himself was not really sure whether his birth fell near the end of 224AH, or the beginning of 225AH. See Al-Tabari, The History of Al-Tabari, 10-1; Al-Tabarī, Tārīkh Al-Tabarī, vol. 1 (Beirut: Dar Sader, 2008), iii-iv. . . Ibid. Ibid, n.7, 15. Ibid, 6. See also, Al-Tabarī, Tārīkh Al-Tabarī, vol. 1, iv. . . Ibid, n.7, 17. See Al-Tabari, The History of Al-Tabari, vol. 1, 17; Al-Tabarī, Tārīkh Al. Tabarī, vol. 1, iv. . Ibid, 20-1. Ibid. Ibid, 22. Al-Tabarī, Tārīkh Al-Tabarī, vol. 1, iv. . . Hims (or Homs) is in Syria. From Hims, al-Tabarī quoted ‘Imran Ibn Bakkār . al-Kalā’ī, Abū al-Jamāhir Muhammad Ibn ‘Abd Rahmān, Sulaymān Ibn . Muhammad Ibn Ma’dīkarib al-Ru’aynī, Muhammad Ibn Hafs . .. . . . al-Wassābī, Sa‘īd Ibn Uthman al-Tanūkhī, Muhammad Ibn ‘A’wf al-Ta’ī, Baqiyyah Ibn . . al-Walīd and Sa‘īd Ibn ‘Amr al-Sakūnī. Al-Ramla is located in Palestine. From there, al-Tabarī referred to Mūsā Ibn . Sahl, ‘Alī Ibn Sahl, ‘Īsā Ibn ‘Uthmān Ibn ‘Īsā, Ismā‘il Ibn Isrā’īl al-Sallāl, alHasan Ibn Bilāl, ‘Abd al-Jabbār Ibn Yahyā . . and Ayyūb Ibn Ishāq . Ibn Ibrāhīm. Asqalan is a village in Kunduz Province, northern Afghanistan. From there, al-Tabarī cited Muhammad Ibn Khalaf, ‘Ubayd Ibn Ādam Ibn Abī Iyās, . . ‘Isām Ibn Rawwād Ibn al-Jarrāh, al-Firyābī and . ‘Ubaydallāh Ibn Muhammad . Ibrāhīm Ibn Ya‘qūb al-Jūzajānī. Al-Tabarī, The History of Al-Tabari, vol. 1, . 23-7. Ibid, 23. See also Al-Tabarī, Tārīkh Al-Tabarī, vol. 1, iv. . . Al-Tabarī, The History of Al-Tabari, vol. 1, 27-8. See also Al-Tabarī, Tārīkh . . Al-Tabarī, vol. 1, iv. .

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22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30.

31. 32. 33. 34. 35. 36. 37. 38. 39. 40. 41. 42. 43.

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Ibid, n.22, 64. Ibid, 45-6. Ibid, 46-51. Ibid, 38-43. Ibid, 56-7. Mohammad Hashim Kamali, Freedom, Equality and Justice in Islam (Petaling Jaya: Ilmiah Publishers, 2002), 69.70. Al-Tabari, The History of Al-Tabari, vol. 1, 31. Al-Tabari, The History of Al-Tabari, vol. 1, 80. Apart from the list of major books given here, the following are also attributed to al-Tabarī: Al-Radd ‘alā al-Hurqūsiyya (A Refutation of the . . . Hurqusiyya); Al-Radd ‘alā dhī al-asfār (A Refutation of the One with Tomes); Al-Radd ‘alā Ibn ‘Abd al-Hakam ‘alā Malik (A Refutation of Ibn Abd alHakam’s statements on Malik); Turuq al-hadīth (Methodology of Hadith); . . Al-Ramy bi al-nushshāb (On Arrow Shooting); Sarīh . . al-sunna (The Essence of Orthodox Muslim Belief ); Al-Dalālah ‘alā nubuwwat (Rasulullah) (Evidence for the Prophethood of the Messenger of God); Ibārat al-ru’yā (On Dream Interpretation); Al-Mujaz fī al-usūl . (A Concise Treatment of Legal Principles); Mukhtasar al-farā’id. (A Short Work on Religious Duties); Al-Mustarshid (The Seeker of Guidance); Al-Musnad al-mukharraj (The Prophetical Traditions made Public); Al-Waqf (Endowment). See, Ibid, n.45. Ibid, 81-2. See also Al-Tabarī, Tārīkh Al-Tabarī, vol. 1, vi. . . Ibid, 82-3 Ibid, 104-5. Ibid, 91-3. Ibid, 90-2. Ibid, 126-7. Ibid, n.31, 132. Ibid, 128-9. Ibid, 105-6. Ibid, 94-5. Ibid, 114-5. See also Al-Tabarī, Tārīkh Al-Tabarī, vol. 1, viii. . . Ibid, 111-3. See also Al-Tabarī, Tārīkh Al-Tabarī, vol. 1, vii. . . Ibid, 89-90. See also Al-Tabarī, Tārīkh Al-Tabarī, vol. 1, vii. . .

Further Reading Al-Ṭabarī. Tārīkh Al-Ṭabarī. Beirut: Dar Sader, 2008. ________. The History of Al-Tabari, translated by Franz Rosenthal. Albany: University of New York Press, 1989. Kamali, Mohammad Hashim. Freedom, Equality and Justice in Islam. Petaling Jaya: Ilmiah Publishers, 2002.

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Khan, M. Nauman, and Ghulam Mohiuddin. ‘Abu Jaffar Ṭabarī.’ Available at: http://www.salaam.co.uk/knowledge/biography/viewentry.php?id=114. Robinson, Chase F. ‘A Local Historian's Debt to al-Ṭabarī: The Case of al-Azdī’s Ta'rīkh al-Mawṣil.’ Journal of the American Oriental Society 126, no. 4 (2006): 521-535.

13 ABŪ NAṣR ALFĀRĀBĪ 257339AH/870950CE Tengku Ahmad Hazri

Abū Naṣr al-Fārābī was an early Muslim philosopher who, amongst other things, is considered both the founder of Islamic political philosophy and a principal agent in the transmission of Greek thought (particularly the NeoPlatonic tradition) into Islamic civilisation. For these reasons, Majid Fakhry has styled him the founder of “Islamic Neo-Platonism.”1 Yet, far from a passive receptor of the Hellenistic tradition, al-Fārābī evinced remarkable originality throughout his work, departing from previous philosophical traditions when he found it necessary to do so. Notably, he defended logic as a distinct and autonomous science at a time when there was debate about the respective domains of logic and grammar. He was also the first Muslim thinker to systematically classify the various branches of knowledge. What is perhaps most intriguing about his work, however, is his delineation of the relationship between philosophy and religion. In plain terms, his examination – even synthesis – of their relationship is really a commentary on a single belief: that “religion is philosophy by other means.” According to Osman Bakar, al-Fārābī’s approach to the sciences was in fact a commentary on his own intellectual and educational background.2 Al-Fārābī (known in the Latin West as Avennasar or Alfarabius) was born Abū Naṣr Muhammad ibn Muhammad ibn Ṭarkhān ibn Awzalagh . . al-Fārābī (257-339AH/870-950CE). Not much is known about his background. By some accounts, he was ascetically inclined, living a frugal life and indulging in Sufi mystical practices. He appears to have been born in Fārāb, Transoxiana (modern-day Turkestan), to a respectable family: his father came from a family tradition of distinguished military service and was himself a military officer (qā’id jaysh) who “served in the army of [the] Samanid rulers who were then governing much of Transoxiana.” Al-Fārābī, however, chose a different path, opting for a scholarly life.3

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In his childhood, al-Fārābī was exposed to a traditional education typical for children of his time. He received instruction in all the religious sciences – including exegesis of the Qur’an (tafsīr) and hadith studies – in addition to elementary arithmetic. He was also knowledgeable in many languages, including Turkish, Arabic, Persian, Syriac and Greek.4 Later in life, al-Fārābī went to Baghdad, where he would subsequently spend most of his life. While there, he became a student of many leading scholars, including the Christian logician, Yūhannā ibn Ḥaylān . (d.ca.320/932), and the Nestorian philosopher, Abū Bishr Mattā ibn Yūnus (d.328/940). The latter had earlier helped translate Aristotle into Arabic. It was with Yūhannā that al-Fārābī studied Aristotle’s system of logic up . until the Posterior Analytics. Later, al-Fārābī would also take students of his own, including the famed Syriac Jacobite Christian philosopher, Yahyā . ibn ‘Adī (d.363/974).5 After he reached the age of 70 (i.e. in ca. 329/940), al-Fārābī left Baghdad for Syria, staying first in Aleppo and then in Damascus. In Aleppo, he gained the patronage of the Hamdanid Shi’a ruler, Sayf alDawla. He then travelled to Egypt, after which he returned to Damascus, where he died in ca. 339/950. His intellectual legacy, however, would live on in the considerable body of work he left behind, including: •

•

• • • • • • •

Iḥṣā’ al-‘ulūm (Enumeration of the Sciences) – on the classification

of the sciences, including the various branches of knowledge. AlFārābī arranged all the sciences in a hierarchical order and explained which was needed to study which. He categorised them broadly, under rational, linguistic, theological and juridical headings. Mabādi’ ārā’ ahl al-madīna al-fāḍila (The Principles of the Opinions of the People of the Virtuous City) – on what may be roughly called political philosophy, which al-Fārābī divides into metaphysics (ilāhiyyāt), physics (ṭabī’īyāt) and ethics (irādiyāt, lit. ‘voluntaries’). Al-Siyāsa al-madaniyya (Civil Polity, also known as Mabādi’ almawjūdāt, or Principles of Beings) – also on political philosophy. Kitāb al-mūsīqā (Book of Music) – on music. Kitāb al-ḥurūf (Book of Letters) – on the philosophy of language. Kitāb al-alfāẓ al-musta‘mala fi’l-manṭiq (Book of Utterances Employed in Logic). Taḥṣīl al-sa‘āda (The Attainment of Happiness). Kitāb al-jadal (The Book of Dialectics). Risāla fi’l-‘aql (Letters Concerning the Intellect).

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• •

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Falsafa Arisṭuṭālīs (Philosophy of Aristotle). . Kitāb al-jam’ bayn ra’yay al-ḥakīmayn Aflāṭūn al-ilāhī wa Arisṭuṭālīs

(Book on the Harmonisation of the Views of the Two Sages, Plato the Metaphysician and Aristotle) – a reconciliation of Plato and Aristotle. This list suggests the breadth of topics al-Fārābī ventured into. Despite its diversity, however, some common and recurrent themes pervade most (if not all) of his writings. These will now be discussed. Religion and Philosophy In al-Fārābī’s writings, the distinction between philosophy and religion is a recurrent leitmotif. These words, however, need to be clarified. By ‘religion’, al-Farabi meant milla, not dīn. Milla here refers to the institutionalised aspects of religion, as distinct from the exoteric dimensions of revelation, comprising the rituals, rites and articles of faith represented by dīn. By ‘philosophy’, al-Fārābī (and although he uses the term falsafa) has in mind the . idea of ḥikma (wisdom). As such, in many instances he refers to philosophers as ḥukamā’ (sages).6 In this respect, philosophy goes beyond mere discursive argumentation to embrace knowledge of esoteric realities, which the Sufis identify via ma‘rifa (gnosis). Both religion and philosophy are therefore concerned with the same reality, although their manner of exposition differs. Both are meant to impart knowledge to humanity so that the latter can attain happiness and perfection. But, whereas in religion such knowledge is taken at the level of faith, in philosophy the same truth can be shown only by demonstration. In simple terms, whereas religion conveys such truth by means of imitation, symbols and allusion (mithālāt), philosophy conveys them ‘as they really are’. Although it is difficult for any one man to have both types of knowledge, there are nevertheless rare individuals who appear from time to time and in whom such knowledge is vested in both ways. Such distinctive individuals are philosophers and, in religious terms, prophets (although admittedly, not all philosophers are prophets).7 But how exactly do they receive such knowledge? From a religious point of view, the process is explicable through mythopoiesis, i.e. the angel of revelation, Jibrīl, comes to the prophets and brings the message. In philosophical terms, however, al-Fārābī explains the process of acquiring such knowledge by appeal to a comprehensive theory of intellect. For him, there are several types of intellect, of which only three are relevant here: the Active Intellect (al-‘aql al-fa‘il), Passive Intellect (al-‘aql al-munfa‘il) and Acquired Intellect (al-‘aql al-mustafād). Revelation (waḥy) is the “emanation

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that proceeds from the Active Intellect to the Passive through the mediation of the Acquired Intellect.” In other words, the Active Intellect is the intermediary between the First Cause (i.e. God), in which all knowledge resides, and the human world. Not all humans, however, have access to their Active Intellect; to utilise this part of the mind, several preconditions must be met. In particular, the person’s faculties must be so well-developed that they can receive information about intelligible objects in one form and then transmute that information into another form. In the case of the prophets, when they receive information about the intelligible through the Active Intellect, the information first passes through their rational-deliberative faculty and then their representative faculty. Out of the former emerges the wisdom which explicates truth in philosophic terms, while out of the latter emerges ‘imitations’ of the said truth – namely, representations that are then conveyed as religion. Prophets are able to do this because their imaginative faculty has mimesis (muḥākāh) as one of its functions. Revelation is superior to intellection because it can be represented by these images. That religion conveys such truth through representation (i.e. metaphorically) also explains why different nations have different religious symbols, insofar as the symbols used are those familiar to the community in question.8 Prophets thus have a dual role: as sage-philosopher who inform humanity about the literal truth, and as visionary prophets of religion who call humanity to the same message by means of symbols and persuasion. In the latter category, prophets also function as lawgivers, rulers and statesmen. Prophets convey to the people the kind of knowledge necessary for their well-being, both in this life and the next. Indeed, for al-Fārābī the latter two realities are closely intertwined – so much so that, in his typology of the cities humanity can live in, he even explains the possible fate in the afterlife that the inhabitants of each city can expect. Ethics, Politics and Society Al-Fārābī’s political thought brings together a series of his insights from metaphysics, psychology, epistemology, ethics and his own religionphilosophy synthesis. This shows how central politics is to his thought – perhaps even constituting a central core around which other concerns revolve. If this interpretation is correct, then this centrality can be justified on the grounds that, according to al-Fārābī, humanity’s perfection can only be attained in a city, not in any lesser form of social order. Political regimes can therefore be seen as the external unfolding of humanity’s psychospiritual state, with the formation of different types of cities reflecting the factors which brought the people in them together – such as the pursuit

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of wealth (resulting in an oligarchy), honour (timocracy), or freedom (democracy).9 In the broadest sense, al-Fārābī divides the different types of political organisation into two groups: Virtuous Cities and Non-Virtuous Cities. A Virtuous City is “the city … in which people aim through association at cooperating for the things by which felicity in its real and true sense can be attained.” The Virtuous City is therefore a city in which man’s true nature finds its fullest expression. Whether or not such a city is real or merely hypothetical – a kind of ‘ideal standard’ – is debatable; Ibn Khaldūn (d.808/1406) observed that it was merely a theoretical postulate, not to be confused with what is realistically attainable. Still, there is evidence that this model, however theoretical, does offer rational and philosophical justification for a prophetic regime. Falling short of the Virtuous City is the Non-Virtuous City, itself divisible into four types: the ignorant city (al-madīna al-jāhiliyya), the wicked city (al-madīna al-fāsiqa), the errant city (al-madīna al-ḍālla), and the city which has deliberately changed its character (al-madīna almubaddala). All of these types represent a departure from the ideals of the Virtuous City and the true aims of human nature. Instead, they favour less noble aspirations.10 For example, the ignorant cities can be further categorised in accordance with the base objective(s) which led to their creation: the pursuit of basic necessity results in ‘the city of necessity’ (al-madīna al-ḍarūra); the pursuit of wealth and riches in ‘the city of meanness’ (al-madīna al-nadhāla); the pursuit of carnal pleasures in ‘the city of depravity and baseness’ (al-madīna al-khissa wa al-suqūṭ); the pursuit of honour and glory in ‘the city of honour’ (al-madīna al-karāma); the pursuit of domination over others in ‘the city of power’ (al-madīna al-taghallub); and the pursuit of freedom to do everything “without restraining [their] passions in the least,” in ‘the democratic city’ (al-madīna al-jamā’iyya). Each of these objectives ultimately leads to a Non-Virtuous City, inconsistent with the attainment of happiness. Turning to the other forms of Non-Virtuous City, the wicked city demonstrates a mismatch between knowledge and deeds – while the former continues to reflect the knowledge possessed by those who reside in the Virtuous City, the latter resembles the actions of those who reside in the ignorant city. Regarding the errant city, inhabitants of this prioritise only worldly happiness while eschewing all forms of religious and metaphysical belief as pernicious (although typically its first ruler falsely claims to have received revelation). Finally, the city which deliberately changed its character is the one which started out as virtuous but subsequently fell into error.

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Conclusion In conclusion, al-Fārābī was one of classical Islam’s leading philosophers and arguably the founder of Islamic Neo-Platonism. But, he never acted as a mere passive receptor of Greek thought. Rather, he consistently adapted and reformed Greek philosophy in accordance with his own needs – in particular, a desire to bridge the gap between religion and philosophy, between faith and reason. Perhaps because of his originality in this regard, he continues to be read and studied today, by both Muslims and non-Muslims alike. Notes 1.

Majid Fakhry, Al-Farabi, Founder of Islamic Neoplatonism: His Life, Works and Influence (Oxford: Oneworld, 2002). 2. Osman Bakar, Classification of Knowledge in Islam: A Study in Islamic Philosophies of Science (Kuala Lumpur: ISTAC, 2006) 3. Ibid. 4. Ibid. 5. Ibid. 6. Ibid, 81 7. Ibid. 8. Ibid. 9. Abu Nasr al-Farabi, On the Perfect State (Mabadi’ Ara’ Ahl al-Madinah al-Fadilah), trans. Richard Walzer (Chicago: Great Books of the Islamic World, 1985). 10. Ibid.

Further Reading Al-Farabi, Abu Nasr. On the Perfect State (Mabadi’ Ara’ Ahl al-Madinah al-Fadilah). Translated by Richard Walzer. Chicago: Great Books of the Islamic World, 1985. __________________. Philosophy of Plato and Aristotle (Revised Ed.). Translated by Muhsin Mahdi. New York: Cornell University Press, 1962. __________________. The Political Writings: Selected Aphorisms and Other Texts. Translated by Charles Butterworth. New York: Cornell University Press, 2001. Bakar, Osman. Classification of Knowledge in Islam: A Study in Islamic Philosophies of Science. Kuala Lumpur: ISTAC, 2006. Black, Deborah. ‘Al-Farabi.’ In History of Islamic Philosophy, edited by Seyyed Hossein Nasr and Oliver Leaman, 178-195. London: Routledge, 1996. Fakhry, Majid. A History of Islamic Philosophy. New York: Columbia University Press, 2004. Reisman, David C. ‘Al-Farabi and the Philosophical Curriculum.’ In The Cambridge Companion to Arabic Philosophy, edited by Peter Adamson and Richard Taylor, 52-71. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005.

14 ABŪ AL-H. ASAN AL-MAS‛ŪDĪ ca.282345AH/896956CE Karim D. Crow

Abū al-Ḥasan ‛Alī b. al-Ḥusayn al-Mas‛ūdī (ca.282-345AH/896-956CE) was a descendent of the Prophet’s Companion, ‛Abd Allāh ibn Mas‛ūd. A native of Baghdad, al-Mas‘ūdī became a merchant and missionary, roaming the world and amassing vast historical, geographic and religious knowledge. Although only four of his extremely valuable writings still survive, they display an extremely impressive global understanding of human cultural and religious knowledge. Al-Mas‘ūdī tried to objectively describe the civilisations he encountered, whether past or present, relating them to Islam’s pluralistic vision of human experience and the unitary nature of its universal worldview.1 Historical writing has always been an important part of the Islamic tradition. With the rise of historians like Muḥammad ibn Isḥāq (d.150/767), Ibn Wadīh al-Ya‛qūbī (d.284/897), Ibn Jarīr al-Ṭabarī (d.310/923), and the great eighth/fifteenth-century Andalusian scholar, ‛Abd al-Raḥmān ibn Khaldūn (d.808/1406), Muslim historiography began to offer a comprehensive account of human existence within the universal perspective of the Qur‘an. By reflecting upon human history, with its diverse ethnicities, languages and religions, these writers hoped to yield moral lessons and guiding admonitions for their attentive readers. ‘History’ became a literary means of instruction as well as an accurate portrayal of the forces shaping human experience. ‛Alī b. al-Ḥusayn al-Mas‛ūdī helped perfect this ‘educational’ function of history, combining it with wide intellectual sophistication to set a standard for future historians. His hard, lonely work collecting and packaging historical data about preceding civilisations and religions better enabled the Muslim intelligentsia, both of his period and after, understand the world they inhabited.

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Journeys and Method From at least 303/915 onwards, travel occupied most of al-Mas‛ūdī’s life, exemplifying the Prophet’s counsel: “Seek knowledge, even unto China.” In a poem describing his extensive journeys to remote corners of the earth, alMas‘ūdī said of himself: “Time did not cease to fling [me] cross far horizons – beyond the reach of caravans.” His extensive voyages took him to Persia and Central Asia (including Armenia, Azerbaijan and the Caspian Sea), as well as to Arabia, Syria, Egypt and North Africa. He voyaged several times to East Africa and travelled to the Indus Valley and other parts of (especially western) India. There may also be good reason to suppose he visited Sri Lanka, the Malay Peninsula, the islands of modern-day Indonesia and even mainland China. Certainly, in the early third/ninth century he would have found Muslim communities in all these places. He knew about Paris and Korea, and discussed the Khazars, the Bulgars, and the Rus (Norsemen of the Volga). He was particularly well-informed about the Rus, describing both their trade with the Byzantines and their competence as sailors. An indefatigable observer of people, al-Mas‛ūdī collected accounts from ancient records and inscriptions, dynastic and administrative archives, temples and ruins. He spoke to local religious communities and scholars, as well as to traders, sailors, and military men, whether Muslim or nonMuslim. Al-Mas‛ūdī received important information about China from the historian-traveller, Abū Zayd Ḥasan al-Sīrafī, whom he met on the coast of the Persian Gulf. In Syria, al-Mas‛ūdī met the renowned Leo of Tripoli (also known as Ghulām Zurāfa), the early-tenth-century Byzantine renegade-turned-Muslim admiral whose fleet threatened Constantinople in 291/907. From Leo, al-Mas‛ūdī received up-to-date information about Byzantium; A. Shboul has observed that al-Mas‘ūdī is the only known classical Muslim author to deal systematically with Byzantine history after the rise of Islam. Al-Mas‘ūdī’s study of ancient nations and peoples was assisted by his competency in Himyaritic (S. Arabian), Coptic, Aramaic, Syriac, Greek (both ancient and Byzantine), Latin, Pahlavi, Soghdian, Sanskrit, and possibly Malayalam. He was also accomplished in all the known sciences (including astrology, medicine, theurgic magic, alchemy, mathematics, geography, philosophy and cosmology) and possessed expertise in the manifold intellectual and religious disciplines of Islamic civilisation, including adab (belles letters), genealogy, hadith, the Prophetic sīra, legal theory, and theology. He manifested a particular interest in comparative religion and intra-Muslim religious/ideological debate.2

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Writings Al-Mas‛ūdī’s magnum opus, his Akhbār al-zamān (The Annals of Time), reportedly ran to thirty volumes, of which only one now survives. Embracing an encyclopaedic vision of human civilisation, this text stretched from the moment of creation to the ancient antediluvian past to the civilisations of Egypt, India, China, Africa, the Biblical lands, pre-Islamic Arabia, Persia, Greece, Rome, Europe, and Byzantium. It also treated the history of the Prophet Muḥammad and his successors, taking Islamic history up to the Shi’ite rebellions against the ‛Abbāsid caliphs.3 After completing his Akhbār al-zamān, al-Mas‘ūdī produced an abridged version, called Kitāb al-awsaṭ (Book of the Middle). Essentially a detailed chronology of historical events up until al-Mas‘ūdī’s own time, it took the important step of trying to separate real events from myth.4 Neither it nor the Akhbār al-zamān, however, impacted upon contemporary scholarship, perhaps because of their daunting lengths. Al-Mas‘ūdī therefore followed them up with another, more accessible summary, his well-known work, Murūj al-dhahab wa ma ‘ādin al-jawhar (Meadows of Gold and Mines of Gems).5 This ‘world history’ secured his reputation. In its introduction, he lists more than eighty historical texts as his source material and stresses the importance of his travels, to “learn the peculiarities of various nations and parts of the world.” After the Murūj al-dhahab, however, al-Mas‘ūdī continued to refine his materials with an eye to educational utility and moral edification. This process culminated in his extremely concise, single volume text, al-Tanbīh wa-l-‘ishrāf (Admonition and Revision), a kind of executive summary of his original Akhbār al-zamān.6 Al-Mas‛ūdī’s approach to history was highly original, utilising social, economic, religious, and cultural perspectives when formulating an understanding of historical events. His detailed geographic expertise, coupled with an awareness of ethnology and environmental factors, led to some quite insightful observations. For example, he attributed the linguistic diversity and political fragmentation of the Caucasus to its mountainous terrain. The political power of Byzantium, on the other hand, he accredited to the strategic location of its capital, Constantinople. He offered details about Khālid b. al-Walīd’s first/seventh-century campaigns in southern Iraq to explain the recession of the Gulf of Basra in his own time. Via these examples and others, he displayed a deep understanding of historical change, tracing current conditions to events that unfolded over generations. Later thinkers, including the scientist al-Birūnī (d.440/1048) and Ibn Khaldūn, took lessons from this approach, replicating it in their own work.

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Al-Mas‛ūdī was also notable for the precision and detail of his citations. He would often provide the full name of an author and of the title of his source, discussing variants and alternative interpretations of terms and concepts, and always recording dates with great accuracy. His historical works also cross-referenced each other, drawing readers to where they could find more comprehensive treatments of specific events or issues.7 Religion and Civilisation Al-Mas‛ūdī’s highly inquisitive scholarship displayed a continual fascination with religion. Many passages in both the Murūj al-dhahab and al-Tanbīh treat philosophical and/or religious teachings and inter-religious controversies, exhibiting marked objectivity and a dispassionate fairmindedness. Clearly al-Mas‘ūdī debated with, not only various Muslim doctrinal groups, but also with the adherents of rival faiths, eagerly probing their beliefs. His work show signs of contact with Zoroastrians, Manichaeans, Mazdakites, Qarmaṭis, Samaritans, Christians, Karaite and Rabbinic Jews, as well as Hindu Brahmins. Likewise, although it is known that al-Mas‛ūdī studied Shāfi‘ī jurisprudence and was influenced by leading Mu‛tazilite masters like al-Jubbā‘ī (d.303/915), al-Nawbakhtī (d.311/924) and Abū al-Qāsim al-Balkhī al-Ka‛bī (d.319/931), a number of his writings point to an adherence to Imāmī Shi’ism.8 Al-Mas‛ūdī was always ready to set aside religious dogma in the light of reason and experience. For example, when he struggled to fit the nations he encountered into the biblical scheme of the ‘seven nations’ descended from Noah, he drew on Persian, Indian and Chinese traditions (none of which supported a universal Flood) to question traditional biblical cosmology. Al-Mas‛ūdī’s questioning of conventional wisdom was prompted by his adherence to scientific cosmology, wedded to empirical geography and supported by his experiential anthropology and ethnography, all nurtured by his wide acquaintance with the tremendous variety in human languages and culture. Al-Mas‘ūdī would often use instructive anecdotes and striking incidents to impart moral wisdom and capture the spirit of an age, dynasty, or people. In particular, al-Mas‛ūdī attempted to sum up the contributions of great civilisations in terms of a particular ‘national genius’: Indians possessed wisdom and virtue; Greeks (including Romans, Byzantines, and Europeans) wisdom and philosophy; the Persians and Chinese superior statecraft, as idealised in their administrative orders and commercial astuteness; the Turks warfare; and the Chaldaeans (i.e. old Syriac speakers

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of Syria and Iraq) agricultural expertise and refined urban development. Indeed, for al-Mas‛ūdī, the Chaldaeans harboured the ancient cradle of civilisation. Above all, al-Mas‘ūdī valued technical modes of verifying and corroborating historical testimony, preferring empirical inquiry (baḥth) over appeals to the ‘obvious’. He favoured inductive reasoning when checking reports, using the natural sciences and his own experience to confirm, discredit or suspend judgment about received accounts, seeking to always understand and rationalise unusual or mythic phenomena. This critical-rational spirit, however, existed in tension with his love of telling a good story and facility for repeating fabulous legends. While not unique to his era, al-Mas‘ūdī’s impressive breadth of learning and depth of cultural interest and inter-civilisational vision stands out. He consistently advanced a global perspective, striving to make his cosmopolitan historical project an attempt at preserving the memory of human culture. Al-Mas‘ūdī inhabited a rich intellectual environment in which Islam’s revealed disciplines were blended with Persian literature, Hellenistic science, and Indian mathematics. This rich heritage helps explain al-Mas‛ūdī’s achievements. This environment enabled the Islamic society of his day to manifest a knowledge-seeking perceptive and analytical attitude – and in marked contrast to Muslim societies of our time. Until Muslims learn to re-energise their civilisational legacy, thinkers like alMas‛ūdī will remain remote and incomprehensible. Indeed, al-Mas‘ūdī would not have been surprised by this; as he wrote in his introduction to Murūj al-dhahab: We had intercourse with kings of different usages and politics, and by comparing them we have come to the result that illustrious actions have faded in this world, and its luminaries are extinguished. There is a great deal of wealth but little intellect. You will find the self-sufficient and ignorant, the illiterate and defective, contented with opinions and blind to what is near them.9

Notes 1. 2. 3.

Ahmad S. Maqbul, ‘Mas‛ūdī, Abū ul-Ḥasan,’ in Dictionary of Scientific Biography, ed. Charles C. Gillispie (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1981), 171-2. See Ahmad A. M. Shboul, Al-Mas‛udi and His World (London: Ithaca Press, 1979). ‘Alī ibn al-Ḥusayn al-Mas‘ūdī, Akhbār al-zamān wa man abādahu l-ḥidthān,

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4. 5.

6. 7. 8. 9.

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ed. ‛Abdallāh al-Sāwī (Beirut: Dār al-Andalus, 1980). This published edition comprises the only surviving volume of the text, covering the dynastic history of the ancient Egyptian pharaohs. Persistent rumours that a complete copy is held by a Berber family in Shanqīṭ remain unsubstantiated. The claim that a manuscript volume from al-Awsaṭ exists in Oxford University’s Bodleian Library has not yet been confirmed. ‘Alī ibn al-Ḥusayn al-Mas‘ūdī, Murūj al-dhahab wa ma‘ādin al-jawhar, 4 vols, ed. Muḥammad Muḥyī l-Dīn ‘Abd al-Ḥamīd (Beirut: Dār al-Ma‘rifah, n.d.). See also The Meadows of Gold: The Abbasids, ed. and trans. Paul Lunde and Caroline Stone (London: Kegan Paul, 1989). ‘Alī ibn al-Ḥusayn al-Mas‘ūdī, al-Tanbīh wa-l-‘ishrāf, ed. ‛Abdallāh I. al-Sāwī (Baghdad: al-Muthannā, n.d.). Tarif Khalidi, Islamic Historiography: The Histories of Mas‛udi (Albany, NY: SUNY Press, 1975). Maqbul, ‘Mas‛ūdī, Abū ul-Ḥasan,’ 171-2. ‘Alī ibn al-Ḥusayn al-Mas‘ūdī, El Masúdi's Historical Encyclopædia, entitled, ‘Meadows of Gold and Mines of Gems,’ vol. 1, trans. A. Sprenger (London: Oriental Translation Fund, 1841), 4-5.

Further Reading Al-Mas‘ūdī, ‘Alī ibn al-Ḥusayn. Akhbār al-zamān wa man abādahu l-ḥidthān. Edited by ‛Abdallāh al-Sāwī. Beirut: Dār al-Andalus, 1980. _________________________. al-Tanbīh wa-l-‘ishrāf. Edited by ‛Abdallāh I. alSāwī. Baghdad: al-Muthannā, n.d. _________________________. El Masúdi's Historical Encyclopædia, entitled, ‘Meadows of Gold and Mines of Gems,’ 1 vol. Translated by A. Sprenger. London: Oriental Translation Fund, 1841. _________________________. Ithbāt al-waṣiyya li-l-imām ‛Alī b. Abī Ṭālib. Najaf: Ḥaydariyyah, 1955. _________________________. The Meadows of Gold: The Abbasids. Edited and translated by Paul Lunde and Caroline Stone. London: Kegan Paul, 1989. _________________________. Murūj al-dhahab wa ma‘ādin al-jawhar. Edited by Muḥammad Muḥyī l-Dīn ‘Abd al-Ḥamīd. 4 vols. Beirut: Dār al-Ma‘rifah, n.d. Horne, Charles F., ed. The Sacred Books and Early Literature of the East: with Historical Surveys of the Chief Writings of Each Nation, Vol. 6: Medieval Arabia. New York: Parke, Austin and Lipscomb, 1917. Khalidi, Tarif. Islamic Historiography: The Histories of Mas‛udi. Albany, NY: SUNY Press, 1975.

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Maqbul, Ahmad S. ‘Mas‛ūdī, Abū ul-Ḥasan.’ In Dictionary of Scientific Biography. Edited by Charles C. Gillispie, 171-2. New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1981. Shboul, Ahmad A. M. Al-Mas‛udi and His World. London: Ithaca Press, 1979.

15 ABŪ ‛ALĪ IBN SĪNĀ 369429AH/9801037CE Elmira Akhmetova

Ibn Sīnā was one the great minds of medieval Islam, whose multifaceted studies encompassed such diverse scholarly fields as exegesis, law, logic, metaphysics, mathematics, astronomy, and medicine. He played a considerable role in the development of not only science, but also of both Islamic and Western philosophy. George Sarton, author of The History of Science, described Ibn Sīnā as “one of the greatest thinkers and medical scholars in history,” and called him, “the most famous scientist of Islam and one of the most famous of all races, places, and times.” For the British philosopher, Antony Flew, Ibn Sīnā was “one of the greatest thinkers ever to write in Arabic,” while William Osler called him “the author of the most famous medical textbook ever written.” Osler also added that, as a medical practitioner, Ibn Sīnā was “the prototype of the successful physician who was at the same time statesman, teacher, philosopher and literary man.” Life and Career Abū ʿAlī al-Ḥusayn ibn ʿAbd Allāh ibn Sīnā, commonly known as just Ibn Sīnā (Latinised name, Avicenna), was born in ca.369AH/980CE in Afshana, a village near Bukhara, in modern-day Uzbekistan (historical Khurasan). His father, ʿAbd Allāh, was a local Samanid official from Balkh, while his mother, Setareh, was from Bukhara. While he was still young, Ibn Sīnā’s family moved to Bukhara, the capital and intellectual centre of the Samanid dynasty. Thanks to his father's position as governor, Ibn Sīnā was able to access an excellent education with the best teachers. According to his autobiography, however, he first began learning arithmetic with an Indian greengrocer, while his medical training began

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with a wandering scholar who gained a livelihood from curing the sick and teaching the young. Later, he studied jurisprudence (fiqh) under the famous Ḥanafī scholar, Ismāʿīl ibn al-Ḥusayn al-Bukhārī al-Zāhid (d.402/1012). By the age of eighteen, Ibn Sīnā had mastered most of the sciences and entered the service of the Samanid court as physician to the Emir, Nūḥ ibn Mansūr . (r.365-387/976–997). This position gave him access to the royal library, as well as to the renowned scholars of the court, and it was during this period that Ibn Sīnā began writing his own works.1 Soon after the death of his father, Ibn Sīnā was promoted to an administrative post. This new role, however, proved short-lived: soon after Ibn Sīnā received it, the Samanid dynasty was destroyed by a Ghaznavid and Qarakhanid invasion. Moreover, Maḥmūd of Ghazni (d.421/1030), the prominent ruler of the Ghaznavid state, burning the famed Samanid library of Bukhara. Under these conditions, Ibn Sīnā proceeded west, to Urgench (modern-day Uzbekistan), where the local vizier was generally regarded as a friend to scholars. In line with this reputation, the vizier gave Ibn Sīnā a small monthly stipend. Subsequently, Ibn Sīnā wandered from place to place, through the districts of Nishapur and Marv, to the borders of Khurasan, seeking an opening for his talents. Eventually, he settled in Rayy, in the vicinity of modern-day Tehran, where he entered the service of the Buwayhid Sultans. Initially acting as a physician, during the reign of Sultan Majd al-Dawla (d.420/1029) – a nominal ruler under the regency of his mother, Sayyida Shirin (d.419/1028) – Ibn Sīnā became vizier. About thirty of Ibn Sīnā’s shorter works were composed in Rayy while he worked in this role. The constant feuds between Sayyida Shirin and her second son, Shams alDawla, eventually compelled Ibn Sīnā to leave Rayy. After a brief sojourn in Qazvin (Northwest Iran), Ibn Sīnā headed south, to Hamadan, where Shams al-Dawla had recently established himself as a Buwayhid Emir. In 405/1015, Ibn Sīnā became Shams al-Dawla’s vizier, continuing in this role until the latter’s death in 412/1021. At that point, Ibn Sīnā moved on to Isfahan, where he served as vizier to the Kakuyid Emir, ‘Alā’ al-Dawla (d.432/1041), and for whom he wrote an important Persian summa of philosophy, entitled Danishnama-yi ‘Ala’i (Book of Knowledge for ‘Alā’ [al-Dawla]). It was in Isfahan that Ibn Sīnā became widely recognised as a great philosopher and physician. All-in-all, he led a very stirring life, travelling from one place to another and yet still finding time to teach, think and write. A very gifted individual, he busied himself as a physician and administrator, while also demonstrating himself to be an outstanding philosopher, capable of advancing many innovative ideas.2 In total, his works numbered almost four hundred and fifty volumes, of which only

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around two hundred and forty have survived. Of these, one hundred and fifty concentrate on philosophy and forty on medicine. Ibn Sīnā died in Hamadan in Ramaḍān 429/June 1037 of colic. He was aged fifty-eight. His tomb at Hamadan is still famous today. The ‘Prince of Physicians’ Along with al-‘Ibādī (Johannitius in Latin, d.259/873), al-Rāzī (Rhazes, d.312/925), al-Zahrāwī (Abulcasis, d.403/1013) and Ibn al-Nafīs (d.687/1288), Ibn Sīnā was one of medieval Islam’s greatest physicians. As mentioned, of his surviving works, forty are concerned with medical subjects, including anatomy and pharmacology. The most important of these medical texts was his gigantic medical encyclopaedia, entitled alQanūn fī al-ṭibb (The Canon of Medicine), which was translated into Latin in ca.545/1150 and subsequently became Europe’s standard medical textbook between the fifteenth and seventeenth centuries.3 Due to its influence, Europeans ranked Ibn Sīnā alongside Hippocrates and Galen as an acknowledged authority on medicine – a princeps medicorum or ‘Prince of Physicians’. In outline, Ibn Sīnā’s medical encyclopaedia consists of five books, each subdivided into subjects, subsidiary subjects, summaries, and sections. The first book, called al-Kulliyyāt (The Universals), discusses the scientific background to medicine and anatomy, including physiology, symptomatology, and the principles of therapy. The second book gives an account of the therapeutic properties of those substances used in medicine, while the third is devoted to pathology and specific/localised ailments. The fourth book then elaborates on general diseases which affect the whole body (such as fever) and the final volume is on pharmacology. In this encyclopaedia, Ibn Sīnā derived his system of medicine from the work of prominent Graeco-Roman physician, surgeon and philosopher, Aelius Galenus (better known as ‘Galen of Pergamon’, d.200CE). In places, he also benefited from the methodologies of earlier Muslim physicians, like al-Rāzī and al-Majūsī (Haly Abbas in Latin, died ca.379/990). All-in-all, Ibn Sīnā presented a systematised and comprehensive overview of the medical sciences of his time. Yet, and as noticed by the Greco-Arabist Jon McGinnis, when it came to the philosophical underpinnings of medicine, Ibn Sīnā would always defer to Aristotle, rather than another physician.4 Ibn Sīnā’s encyclopaedia met the needs of medieval Europe’s new brand of scholastic medicine in three respects. Firstly, with its immense wealth of

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information, it provided European physicians with a synopsis of virtually all the medical knowledge amassed during the preceding 1,500 years. Secondly, with its systematic delineation of subjects within a well-ordered theoretical framework, it not only facilitated the use of the text for teaching purposes, but also satisfied the scholastic desire for logical classification. Lastly, Ibn Sīnā linked the medicine of Galen with Aristotle’s natural philosophy and theory of science, both of which dominated European intellectual life from the thirteenth century onwards. For Ibn Sīnā, medicine was a mixed science, with both practical and theoretical components. At the opening of his encyclopaedia, he identified medicine as “the science from which one comes to recognise the states of the body on the part of health and the loss thereof in order to preserve the health as something realised as well as recovering it when lost5.” For him, living in a healthy climate, positive thinking, and getting proper amounts of sleep accompanied by exercise and a well-balanced diet were the most important ways of preserving one’s health. Ibn Sīnā’s Philosophy Ibn Sīnā wrote extensively on logic, metaphysics and ethics. For the most part, his thought in these areas was influenced by the ancient Greek philosophers, Aristotle, Plato, and Ptolemy (d.168CE). He also drew, however, on earlier and contemporary Muslim scientist–philosophers, including al-Kindī (d.259/873), al-Fārābī (d.339/950) and al-Bīrūnī (Alberonius, d.440/1048). Overall, therefore, Ibn Sīnā’s philosophical investigations combined Aristotelian and Platonic perspectives with Muslim theology (kalām), developing a sophisticated paradigm that divided all knowledge into either the theoretical (mathematics, physics, chemistry, astronomy and metaphysics) or the practical (philosophy, ethics, economics and politics). Over time, Ibn Sīnā came to be regarded as the leading authority in Islamic philosophy. His synthesis of ancient Greek thought and revealed theology even found its way into the work of medieval Christian philosophers, significantly influencing the development of Western thought. Via the Latin translations of his works, Ibn Sīnā’s metaphysics and philosophy of knowledge impacted on those thinkers in the Latin West who were engaged in studying natural philosophy and metaphysics – people like William of Auvergne (d.1249CE), who served as the Bishop of Paris for twenty-one years, and the German Dominican friar and Catholic bishop, Albertus Magnus (d.1280CE). Thomas Aquinas (d.1274CE) was likewise influenced by Ibn Sīnā.

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Overall, Ibn Sīnā’s philosophy deals with the origins of the cosmos, the nature of the soul, and the role of God in human affairs. His greatest contribution to the development of both Muslim and Western thought lies in his attempt to reconcile Hellenic philosophy with the Islamic doctrine of God as the Creator of all things. Fundamentally, Ibn Sīnā’s conception of reality and reason revolved around the existence of God; for him, God was the principle of all existence, a pure form of intellect from which all created things emerged via a Neo-Platonic system of emanation (a scheme Ibn Sīnā modified from the earlier systematised work of al-Fārābī). For Ibn Sīnā, however, there was a distinction between this pure form of intellect, or ‘essence’ (māhiya), and physical existence (wujūd); he argued that physical existence must be due to an agent or cause capable of imparting it to essence via emanation. To do this, the agent/cause must be an existing thing, which later co-exists with its effect. For him, this was God. Ibn Sīnā also wrote a number of treatises on Islamic theology. These included texts on various scientific and philosophical interpretations of the Qur’an (showing how Qur’anic cosmology corresponds to philosophy) and books on prophecy. In the latter regard, and in common with other Muslim philosophers, Ibn Sīnā viewed the prophets as ‘inspired philosophers’. In his Kitāb al-shifā’ (The Book of Healing), for example, Ibn Sīnā recognised that philosophers could reach the Universal Single Truth by means of their rational efforts, yet only prophecy (as inspiration from God) could provide the law for the good society in the ideal state. Prophecy and Sharia were therefore indispensable for the preservation of humanity, with the divinely revealed law also containing truth about God, His universe, the angels, the Hereafter, reward and punishment, and Providence.6 In this way, Ibn Sīnā clearly established the significance of the Prophet Muḥammad as both a law-giver and the first ruler of the ideal (i.e. early Muslim) state.7 During the 410s/1020s, Ibn Sīnā completed his major work on the philosophy of science – the aforementioned Kitāb al-shifā’. He divided this work into four parts: logic, natural sciences, mathematical sciences (the famous classical quadrivium of arithmetic, geometry, astronomy and music), and metaphysics (denoting that which lies beyond – or underlies – natural physical phenomena). In the section on al-burhān (logical demonstration), Ibn Sīnā assessed earlier scientific methods of inquiry and proof. In this context, he reviewed Aristotle’s Posterior Analytics and chose to significantly diverge from it on several issues. In this manner, Ibn Sīnā developed a new method of scientific experimentation informed by Muslim rational thought, as developed by the major rational theologians – namely, the Ash‘arites and Mu‘tazilites.

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Legacy to Civilisation Ibn Sīnā’s works were amongst the first Arabic texts to be translated into Latin and, with their handy compendium format, became immensely popular in Europe. Perhaps as a result of this, and as early as the fourteenth century CE, Dante Alighieri (d.1321CE), in his Divine Comedy, portrayed Ibn Sīnā as a ‘favoured’ heretic; rather than being sentenced to Hell, Ibn Sīnā was put in Limbo alongside other virtuous non-Christian thinkers, like Virgil, Ibn Rushd, Homer, Horace, Ovid, Lucan, Socrates, and Plato. This underlies how Ibn Sīnā had become recognised, both in the East and the West, as a major force in intellectual history. Certainly, Ibn Sīnā’s Graeco-Arabic philosophy, dealing with concerns central to all three Abrahamic religions, helped facilitate and prepare Latin Europe for the reintroduction of the Aristotelian scientific tradition. Consequently, Ibn Sīnā’s thought played an important role in the intellectual reinvigoration of Europe8. Ibn Sīnā, along with other brilliant Islamic scientists and philosophers, like al-Khwārizmī (Algoritmi, d.ca.236/850), al-Fārābī, al-Kindī, ‘Umar Khayyām (d.526/1131), Ibn Rushd (Averroes, d.595/1198) and a host of others, established the foundations of modern science, art and philosophy, thereby enabling Europe to emerge from the Dark Ages into the Renaissance. During the medieval period, to understand Ibn Sīnā was to understand philosophy. While writing his own contribution to this discipline, the leading Ash‘arite theologian and mystic, Abū Ḥāmid al-Ghazālī (d.505/1111), admitted that Ibn Sīnā was his major source of inspiration – and despite the fact that he disagreed with many aspects of Ibn Sīnā’s natural philosophy and cosmology. Similarly, Ibn Sīnā’s philosophical system exerted considerable influence over the thought of the prominent mystic, al-Suhrawardī (d.ca.587/1191), founder of the influential Illuminationist (ishrāqiyya) brand of Sufism.9 Ultimately, Ibn Sīnā was not only able to address issues of concern to earlier philosophers, both in the Hellenic and Islamic traditions, but also to fundamentally change the direction of philosophy in both the Islamic east and Judaeo-Christian west. Even today, Ibn Sīnā’s work on logic, natural philosophy and metaphysics is taught across the Muslim world, in places like Iran, Turkey, and Indonesia. Many contemporary Catholic Christian philosophers also continue to encounter his ideas through the works of Aquinas. In Iran, Ibn Sīnā is considered a national icon and often identified as one of the greatest Iranian thinkers of all time. Further afield, an impressive monument to the life and work of this ‘doctor of doctors’

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stands outside the Bukhara museum in Uzbekistan. There is also a crater on the Moon named ‘Avicenna’, in addition to a plant genus. Amongst the many institutions named in his honour are Bu-Alī Sīnā University in Hamadan (Iran), the Ibn Sīnā Tajik State Medical University in Dushanbe (capital of the Republic of Tajikistan), the Ibn Sīnā Academy of Medieval Medicine and Sciences (Aligarh, India), the Avicenna Medical College (Lahore, Pakistan), the Ibn Sīnā Balkh Medical School (in his native province of Balkh, Afghanistan), and the Ibn Sīnā Faculty of Medicine at Ankara University (Turkey). Notes 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9.

I. Zakaria, The Political Aspects of Avicenna’s General Theory of Cosmology and the Human Soul (Kuala Lumpur: Penerbit Universiti Kebangsaan Malaysia, 2002), 15. Jules Janssens, Ibn Sīnā and his Influence on the Arabic and Latin World (Aldershot: Ashgate Publishing Limited, 2006), 1. Ihsan Ali and Ahmet Guclu, ‘Ibn Sina: An Exemplary Scientist,’ Onislam. Net. Available at: http://www.onislam.net/english/health-and-science/ science/463382-ibn-sina-an-exemplary-scientist.html. Jon McGinnis, Avicenna (New York: Oxford University Press, 2010), 227. Ibid, 230. Erwin Rosenthal, Political Thought in Medieval Islam: An Introductory Outline (Westport, CT: Greenwood Press Publishers, 1985), 147. Ibid, 143. McGinnis, Avicenna, 244. Ibid, 245–50 and Janssens, Ibn Sīnā, 36–49.

Further Reading Ali, Ihsan and Ahmet Guclu. ‘Ibn Sina: An Exemplary Scientist.’ Onislam.Net. Available at: http://www.onislam.net/english/health-and-science/science/463382ibn-sina-an-exemplary-scientist.html. Janssens, Jules. Ibn Sīnā and His Influence on the Arabic and Latin World. Vermont: Ashgate Publishing, 2006. McGinnis, Jon. Avicenna. New York: Oxford University Press, 2010. Rahman, Fazlur. Prophecy in Islam: Philosophy and Orthodoxy. London: George Allen & Unwin Ltd, 1958. Rosenthal, Erwin I. J. Political Thought in Medieval Islam: An Introductory Outline. Westport, CT: Greenwood Press Publishers, 1985.

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Siraisi, Nancy. Medicine and the Italian Universities, 1250–1600. Leiden: Brill, 2001. Ullman, Manfred. Islamic Medicine. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1978. Zakaria, I. The Political Aspects of Avicenna’s General Theory of Cosmology and the Human Soul. Kuala Lumpur: Penerbit Universiti Kebangsaan Malaysia, 2002.

16 ABŪ AL-RAYHĀN ALBĪRŪNĪ 362440AH/9731048CE Daud Abdul-Fattah Batchelor

The great polymath, Abū al-Rayhān Muḥammad ibn Aḥmad al-Bīrūnī (362-440AH/973-1048CE), generally known as just al-Bīrūnī, was one of the first scholars to demonstrate a modern scientific outlook. He lived a full life of seventy-five years and undertook ground-breaking research into almost all the natural science fields. George Sarton described him as “one of the greatest scientists in Islam, and, all considered, one of the greatest of all time.”1 Al-Bīrūnī was an early exponent of the experimental scientific method2 and also a pioneer of comparative sociology.3 Arthur Pope gave him his highest accolade when he wrote: “Alberuni must rank high in any list of the world’s great scholars. No history of mathematics, astronomy, geography, anthropology, or history of religion is complete without acknowledgment of his immense contribution. One of the outstanding minds of all time, distinguished to a remarkable degree by the essential qualities which have made possible both science and social studies, Alberuni is the demonstration of the universality and timelessness of a great mind. One could compile a long series of quotations from Alberuni written a thousand years ago that anticipate supposedly modern intellectual attitudes and methods.”4 His Life Al-Bīrūnī was born in 362/973 in Kath, now called Beruniy. A Persian word, bīrūnī means ‘from the outer district’ and reflects Kath’s remote location on the southern shores of the Aral Sea, in what is now Uzbekistan. In al-Bīrūnī’s time, Kath was Persia’s easternmost province and part of the Samanid Empire, ruled from Bukhara.

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Al-Bīrūnī came from a modest family of Tajik origin and spent most of his life in Central Asia and India. He learned the scholarly languages of Arabic and Persian, in addition to the regional language of Khwarizmian. His studies began at an early age, under the famous astronomermathematician, Abū Nasr . Mansūr . (d.427/1036), a prince of the ruling Banū Irāq. At the age of seventeen, al-Bīrūnī demonstrated his aptitude by using his observations of the maximum altitude of the sun to calculate the latitude of Kath. He also began collecting similar coordinates for other localities and knew from his additional observations that the earth was round. By the age of twenty-two, he exhibited considerable skill when he published his Cartography, a work on map projections.5 Al-Bīrūnī’s early peaceful life ended abruptly with the overthrow of the Banū Irāq in around 385/995. Fleeing to Rayy (near modern-day Tehran), al-Bīrūnī sought shelter there from between ca.385/995 and 387/997.6 Living in poverty and without a patron, he met the astronomer, al-Khujandī (d.390/1000), who was engaged in trying to observe the meridian transits of the sun during the solstices.7 By Jumāda al-awwal 387/May 997, al-Bīrūnī returned to Kath, where he observed an eclipse of the moon. The following year, he settled in the northern Persian town of Jurjan (near the Caspian Sea) where he worked for the local ruler, Shams al-Ma’ālī Qābūs (d.402/1012). Here, in around 390/1000, he wrote his extensive work, Al-āthār al-bāqiyya ‘an al-qurūn al-khāliyya (The Remaining Signs of Past Centuries),8 which he dedicated to Qābūs. This text was a comparative study of different calendrical systems, together with historical, astronomical, ethnological and religious information about the people who created them. By 394/1004, al-Bīrūnī returned to his homeland, where he became part of the Khwarizm court, first under ‘Alī ibn Ma’mum (r.387-398/9971008) and then under the latter’s brother, Abu’l ‘Abbās (r.398-407/10081017). Both proved to be generous patrons. Abu’l ‘Abbās, for example, sponsored al-Bīrūnī’s construction of an astronomical instrument to observe solar meridian transits. However, the famous warrior-Sultan, Maḥmūd Subüktegīn (r.392-421/1002-1030), ruling from Ghazni in eastern Afghanistan, attacked and annexed Kath in 407/1017. Al-Bīrūnī accompanied the victorious army back to Ghazni, probably under duress. There he conducted astronomical observations and joined Maḥmūd in his military excursions into India during the period 407-421/10171030. By 412/1022, Maḥmūd controlled the northern parts of India, enabling al-Bīrūnī to conduct extensive observations to determine the latitudes of towns in the Punjab and Kashmiri border regions. To distance

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himself from Maḥmūd, however, al-Bīrūnī soon removed himself to Lahore, where he wrote “the world’s first book on comparative religion, focusing on Hinduism and Islam.” He then moved to Nandana, near modern Islamabad, where he devised a new, highly accurate technique for measuring the earth’s circumference using spherical trigonometry and the law of sines.9 On Sultan Maḥmūd’s death in 421/1030, the latter’s eldest son, Mas‘ūd (r.421-431/1030-1040), took power and began treating al-Bīrūnī much more kindly than his father had. As a result, al-Bīrūnī returned to Ghazni, where he finally died in ca.442/1050-1. Throughout his life, alBīrūnī consistently demonstrated himself to be “an indefatigable seeker of knowledge with no love for sensuous pursuits.”10 Certainly, it seems he never married, instead being a man fully devoted to science.11 Although he lived during a period of great political instability, he still managed to conduct innovative research. He was a devout Muslim who displayed no prejudice towards different religious sects or races.12 His Works Al-Bīrūnī wrote mostly in Arabic, producing more than one hundred and forty-six titles in a multitude of disciplines, including: astronomy (35), astrolabes (4), astrology (23), chronology (5), time measurement (2), geography (9), geodesy and mapping theory (10), mathematics (15), mechanics (2), medicine and pharmacology (2), meteorology (1), mineralogy and gems (2), history (2), India (2), religion and philosophy (3), literary works (16), and magic (2). Currently, however, only twentytwo of these works are known to still exist, of which only thirteen have been published.13 The most important of al-Bīrūnī’s ideas as expressed in these texts will now be discussed. His Scientific Outlook Contrasted with Philosophical Approaches As a pioneer of the scientific method, al-Bīrūnī was clearly attracted to the study of observable phenomena, both in nature and man. He therefore applied himself to, not only qualitatively describing phenomena, but also to quantifying his observations, wherever possible using mathematics.14 His was therefore a surprisingly modern outlook, characteristic of the dispassionate researcher, and as evidenced by his following insight:

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[In] an absolute sense, science is good in itself, apart from its knowledge [content]; its lure is everlasting and unbroken…[The servant of science] should praise the assiduous whenever their efforts [arise from] delight [in science itself ] rather than from [hope of achieving] victory in argument.15

In his al-Āthār, al-Bīrūnī likewise wrote, “We must clear our minds… from all causes that blind people to the truth – old custom, party spirit, personal rivalry or passion, the desire for influence.”16 In light of these statements, William Durant has described al-Bīrūnī as “an objective scholar, assiduous in research, critical in scrutiny of traditions and texts (including the Gospels), precise and conscientious in statement, frequently admitting his ignorance, and promising to pursue his inquiries till the truth should emerge.”17 Zia Shah has also contributed an assessment of al-Bīrūnī’s great diligence in achieving accuracy: “Biruni’s scientific method was similar to the modern scientific method in many ways, particularly his emphasis on repeated experimentation. Biruni was concerned with how to conceptualise and prevent both systematic and random errors, such as ‘errors caused by the use of small instruments and errors made by human observers.’ He argued that if instruments produce random errors because of their imperfections or idiosyncratic qualities, then multiple observations must be taken, analyzed qualitatively, and on this basis, arrive at a ‘commonsense single value for the constant sought’, whether an arithmetic mean or a ‘reliable estimate’.”18 In addition, J. O’Connor and E. Robertson note that al-Bīrūnī “treats errors…scientifically and when he does chose some [observations] to be more reliable than others, he also gives the discarded observations. He was very conscious of rounding errors in calculations, and always attempted to observe quantities which required minimal manipulation to produce answers.”19 Al-Bīrūnī also held an admirable approach regarding the development of ideas via discussion with other scholars. For example, he had a longstanding collaboration with his teacher, Abū Nasr with each . Mansūr, . asking the other to undertake specific pieces of work to help support their own studies. He also corresponded in a challenging manner with Abū Sa‘īd al-Sijzī (d.ca.410/1020) about the sine theorem20 and exchanged letters with another towering intellect of the age, Ibn Sīnā (d.429/1037). This last debate is first mentioned in al-Bīrūnī’s al-Āthār, but only detailed in his later book, al-As’ila wal-ajwiba (Questions and Answers). Al-Bīrūnī apparently asked Ibn Sīnā eighteen questions, ten of them criticisms of Aristotle’s On

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the Heavens.21 After receiving a reply, al-Bīrūnī was dissatisfied with some of Ibn Sīnā’s answers and wrote back, commenting on them.22 Ziauddin Sardar nicely compares the two different approaches used by Ibn Sīnā and alBīrūnī as they emerge in these letters: “Unlike his contemporary Avicenna’s [deductive] scientific method where ‘general and universal questions came first and led to experimental work’, Bīrūnī developed [inductive] scientific methods where ‘universals came out of practical experimental work’ and ‘theories are formulated after discoveries.’”23 Moreover, American scholar, Ahmad Dallal, has reasoned that in his debate with Ibn Sīnā, al-Bīrūnī “made the first real distinction between a scientist and a philosopher, referring to Avicenna as a philosopher and considering himself to be a mathematical scientist.”24 Al-Bīrūnī criticised Aristotle’s followers for their blind adherence to Aristotelian physics and natural philosophy: “The trouble with most people is their extravagance in respect of Aristotle’s opinions; they believe that there is no possibility of mistakes in his views, though they know that he was only theorizing to the best of his capacity.” In contrast to the philosophers, al-Bīrūnī only accepted mathematical or empirical evidence as reliable.25 The Scientific Discoveries of al-Bīrūnī Astronomy, Geodesy and Geography Al-Bīrūnī made many important contributions to the fields of astronomy, geodesy and geography. Most notably, by age thirty he had successfully calculated the earth’s radius to be 6339.6 km, a degree of accuracy not exceeded in the West until 500 year later.26 Al-Bīrūnī’s al-Qānūn al-Mas‘ūdī (The Mas‘udic Canon), a vast astronomical encyclopaedia almost 1,500 pages in length, has been described as the “greatest work on astronomy from the period between late antiquity and the modern era.”27 In it, al-Bīrūnī summarised all contemporary astronomical and related knowledge. He also included a table containing the coordinates of six hundred different localities. George Saliba has described this text as having “the general outline of a zij (astronomical handbook) but [while being] much more detailed and analytical in its approach to observations and numerical tables.” He commiserated, however, that “it is unfortunate that this text has not yet been translated and studied by modern scholars, for it not only promises to be of great importance to historians of Islamic history but also may change our accepted ideas about the general history of mathematics.”28

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The authors of Muslim Heritage wrote concerning the contents of the al-Qānūn that: “In it he [al-Bīrūnī] determines the motion of the solar apogee, corrects Ptolemy’s findings, and is able to state for the first time that the motion is not identical to that of the precession, but comes very close to it. In this book, too, al-Bīrūnī employs mathematical techniques unknown to his predecessors that involve [an] analysis of instantaneous motion and acceleration, described in terminology that can best be understood if we assume that he had ‘mathematical functions’ in mind.”29 Frederick Starr has praised al-Bīrūnī for his “constant urge to quantify whatever he observed [and for] his enquiring mind.” Indeed, Starr has even argued that: In his Codex, Biruni also hypothesized about the existence of [the Americas]. Biruni began by presenting the research on the earth’s circumference that he had carried out at Nandana. He then set about fixing all known geographical locations onto his new, more accurate map of the globe…When Biruni transposed these data onto his map of the earth he noticed at once that the entire breadth of Eurasia… spanned only about two fifths of the globe. This left three fifths of the Earth’s surface unaccounted for.30

Based on logic, al-Bīrūnī rejected the possibility that the missing area was all ocean and asked, “why would the forces that had given rise to land on two fifths of the earth’s belt not also have had a similar effect on the other three fifths?” He concluded that, within the vast expanse of ocean between Europe and Asia, unknown land masses must be present. As a result, Starr has stated that: If ‘discovery’ includes the unreflective processes of Norse seafaring, then the prize must go to the Vikings. Yet Biruni is at least [as] deserving of the title of North America’s discoverer as any Norseman. Moreover, the intellectual process by which he reached his conclusions is no less stunning than the conclusions themselves. His tools were not the hit-or-miss methods of Venetian seamen or Norse sailors but an adroit combination of carefully controlled observation, meticulously assembled quantitative data and rigorous logic. Only after a further half-millennium did anyone else apply such rigorous analysis to global exploration…Biruni devised completely new methods and technologies to generate his voluminous and precise data and processed it with the latest tools of mathematics, trigonometry and spherical geometry as well as the austere methods of Aristotelian logic. He was careful to present his conclusions in

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the form of hypotheses, on the understanding that other researchers would want to test and refine his findings. This did not happen for another five centuries.31

Starr believed that al-Bīrūnī’s role was all the more impressive given that “he achieved what he did...unconstrained by religious or secular dogmas, folklore or anecdotes,” and that “he carried out his breathtaking intellectual exploration while living far from the sea in a landlocked region…which, in most respects put Columbus, Cabot and the Vikings in the shade.”32 Al-Bīrūnī also invented a number of astronomical instruments, writing treatises on the astrolabe, the planisphere, and the armillary sphere.33 In his astrolabe treatise, al-Bīrūnī provided a comprehensive treatment of the history and construction principles behind various types of contemporary astrolabes.34 Notably, he referred to the astrolabe of Sizjī which had been constructed on the basis that, rather than the heavens moving, it was the earth that moved. This presaged an important development amongst Muslim astronomers: the elucidation of a heliocentric concept of the solar system. This would only be finally confirmed six hundred years later by Galileo, following the invention of the telescope. Al-Bīrūnī also wrote the first treatise on the sextant35 and invented both an early hodometer36 and the first mechanical lunisolar calendar. The latter device employed a gear train and eight gear wheels37 and has been characterised as an early example of a fixed-wired knowledge processing machine.38 In another pioneering effort – one which would not be matched in Europe until the Renaissance – al-Bīrūnī constructed a globe 5.8m in height, showing the earth’s terrestrial features.39 He also discovered that the distance between the earth and the Sun was larger than Ptolemy had estimated.40 Shah has highlighted several other geodetic accomplishments made by al-Bīrūnī:41 “In mathematical geography, Biruni, around 1025, was the first to describe a polar equi-azimuthal equidistant projection of the celestial sphere.42 He was also regarded as the most skilled in…measuring the distance between cities, which he did for many cities in the Middle East and western Indian subcontinent. He often combined astronomical readings and mathematical equation, in order to develop methods of pinpointing locations by recording degrees of latitude and longitude. He also developed similar techniques when it came to measuring the heights of mountains, depths of valleys, and expanse of the horizon.”43 Al-Bīrūnī’s ability to accurately determine the distances between cities was of great political and economic value.44

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Al-Bīrūnī also conducted research in support of the Muslim obligation to pray towards Makkah: his Taḥdid nihāyāt al-amākin litaṣḥīḥ masāfāt al-masākin (Determination of the Coordinates of Places for the Correction of Distances between Cities) was written to enable determination of the qibla (direction of prayer). He described how one should first know with some precision the longitude and latitude of Makkah. These values could then be applied to a spherical triangle, after which the angle from the local meridian to the required direction of Makkah could be determined.45 Al-Bīrūnī also developed an important new method for astronomical observation called the ‘three points observation’. This method was still being used six centuries later by both Muslim and non-Muslim astronomers (including Copernicus, d.1543) to calculate the eccentricity of the Sun’s orbit and the annual motion of the apogee. The sixteenth-century Muslim polymath, Taqī al-Dīn al-Asadī (d.993/1585), described the three points as being arranged so that “two of them [are] in opposition [to] the elliptic and the third in any desired place.”46 Geology and Mineralogy In his book on coordinates, al-Bīrūnī also pioneered the science of palaeontology: he proposed that the presence of fossil shells similar to those found in modern seas proved that present-day mountains and dry lands had once been beneath the sea. From such discoveries, he realised that the earth is constantly evolving and, in essence, a living entity. This was in agreement with his Islamic belief that nothing is eternal.47 At the age of eighty, al-Bīrūnī published another book, entitled Kitāb al-jamāhir fī ma’rifat al-jawāhir (Ethical Reflections and Moral Philosophy).48 Although primarily concerned with ethical principles, this work also included the most extensive mineralogy text of its time, in which al-Bīrūnī made many advances in knowledge. For example, and in common with al-Kindī (d.256/870) and Ibn Sīnā, he rejected the transmutation of base metals into gold, as proposed by the alchemists of his time.49 Through numerous experiments, al-Bīrūnī also laid down the principle that the specific gravity of an object corresponds to the volume of water it displaces per unit weight. Using this concept, he was able to take very accurate measurements of the densities of various elements, including gold, mercury, lead, silver, bronze, copper, brass, iron and tin. He also determined the specific gravity of eighteen precious stones.50 His measurements correspond almost exactly to what we have today.51

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Anthropology, History and Comparative Religion Al-Bīrūnī not only wrote about the natural sciences, but also delved into the realm of the human sciences – into the disciplines now known as anthropology, history and comparative religion. By doing so, and by applying his scientific method to everything he studied, he contributed valuable new insights into these fields of study – to the extent that he has been called “the first anthropologist.”52 For example, al-Bīrūnī used Maḥmūd of Ghazni’s military expeditions as an opportunity to explore Indian Hindu-Buddhist civilisation. This not only included its scientific knowledge, but also its language, religion, philosophy, geography, culture, and customs. His examination of these issues would eventually become the substance of his most famous work, Kitāb fī taḥqīq mā li-‘l-Hind (Book of Inquiry into India),53 published around 421/1030. As Shah has highlighted, until the tenth century ‘history’ most often meant political and military history. However, in his Taḥqīq, al-Bīrūnī wrote primarily about India’s cultural, social and religious history.54 He even learnt Sanskrit so that he could translate several Sanskrit texts into Arabic. Moreover, at the very outset al-Bīrūnī sought to assess the authenticity of the historical accounts he used, sharply distinguishing between hearsay and eyewitness reports.55 In this manner, he demonstrated a very modern historical methodology – although overall Shah has characterised alBīrūnī’s study of India as the beginning of anthropology:56 Like modern anthropologists, he engaged in extensive participant observation with a given group of people, learnt their language and studied their primary texts, and presented his findings with objectivity and neutrality using cross-cultural comparisons… Al-Bīrūnī used his interdisciplinary interests from an anthropological perspective before anthropology existed as a discipline…Through this modern practice, al-Bīrūnī used the concepts of cross cultural comparison, inter-cultural dialogue and phenomenological observation which have become commonplace within anthropology today.57 Within al-Hind, al-Bīrūnī does not pass judgment on the Indian culture or the Hindu faith, but rather speaks through them. Not only did al-Bīrūnī conduct what has been recognized as the first ethnographic fieldwork, he was also the first Muslim to study the Hindu tradition, developing an interest in religious coexistence…

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Indeed, it is evident from al-Bīrūnī’s writings that he believed there is “a common human element that makes all cultures distant relatives.”58 Al-Bīrūnī was also a pioneer in the field of comparative religion. He endeavoured to attain a comprehensive understanding of foreign societies, to identify “a social pattern of similarities across cultural and religious lines.”59 Arthur Jeffrey believed that “it is rare until modern times to find so fair and unprejudiced a statement of the views of other religions, so earnest an attempt to study them in the best sources, and such care to find a method which for this branch of study would be both rigorous and just.”60 Jeffrey believed that “in this field of the sciences of the spirit, alBīrūnī’s contribution to learning was possibly greater than in the field of the more exact senses.” For his part, al-Bīrūnī stated, in his introduction to the Taḥqīq, that his intention was to facilitate dialogue between Islam and the Indian religions: Abu Sahl at-Tiflisi incited me to write down what I know about the Hindus as a help to those who want to discuss religious questions with them, and a repertory of information to those who want to associate with them. We think now that what we have related in this book will be sufficient for anyone who wants to converse with the Hindus, and to discuss with them questions of religion, science or literature, on the very basis of their own civilization.61

Montgomery Watt believed that, on the basis of al-Bīrūnī’s insistence on applying “a strict scientific method,” it could be claimed that he went beyond even the comparative religion of the late nineteenth century. Watt further elaborated that al-Bīrūnī “selects facts in such a way that he makes a strong case for holding that there is a certain unity in the religious experience of the people he considers.” Certainly, in his Taḥqīq al-Bīrūnī argued that Hinduism was a monotheistic faith like Islam, justifying this assertion by quoting the Hindu texts. He argued that the worship of idols was a characteristic of the common people, with which the educated had nothing to do:62 The educated among the Hindus abhor anthromorphisms of this kind, but the crowd and the members of the single sects use them most extensively…The [true] Hindus believe [that] God is one eternal, without beginning and end, acting by free-will, almighty, all-wise, living, giving life, ruling, preserving; one who in his sovereignty is unique, beyond all likeness and unlikeness, and that he does not resemble anything nor does anything resemble him.63

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Conclusion Undoubtedly a highly gifted scholar, al-Bīrūnī exemplifies the great advances possible in human knowledge and understanding, whether with regard to the natural or human worlds. Al-Bīrūnī’s work is also proof that Islam (and religion in general) can inspire great advances in scientific knowledge. Although many of his extant books have not yet been (fully) translated, those which have demonstrate the huge debt humanity owes him. Notes 1. 2.

3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11.

12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18.

G. Sarton, Introduction to the History of Science, vol. 1 (Baltimore: Williams and Wilkins, 1931), 707. J. J. O’Connor and E. F. Robertson, ‘Abu Arrayhan Muhammad Ibn Ahmad al-Biruni,’ MacTutor History of Mathematics Archive, University of St Andrews. Available at: http://www-history.mcs.st-and.ac.uk/Biographies/ Al-Biruni.html (Accessed on: 3rd August 2015). Ziauddin Sardar, ‘Science in Islamic philosophy,’ s.v. Routledge Encyclopedia of Philosophy. Available at: https://www.rep.routledge.com/articles/sciencein-islamic-philosophy/v-1/. (Accessed on: 9th March 2016). Arthur Upham Pope, ‘Al-Biruni as a Thinker,’ in Al-Biruni Commemoration Volume A.H.362-A.H.1362 (Calcutta: Iran Society, 1951), 281. O’Connor and Robertson, ‘Al-Biruni.’ Ibid. Ibid. Muhammad ibn Ahmad al-Biruni, The Chronology of Ancient Nations: An English version of the Arabic text of the Athār-ul-bāqiya of Albīrūnī, or “Vestiges of the Past,” trans. E. Sachau (London: W.H. Allen and Co., 1879). S. Frederick Starr, ‘So, Who Did Discover America?’ History Today 63, Is. 12 (2013). Available at: http://www.historytoday.com/s-frederick-starr/so-whodid-discover-america. (Accessed on: 5th August 2015). Hakim Mohammed Said and Ansar Zahid Khan, Al-Biruni: His Times, Life and Works (Karachi: Hamdard Academy, 1981). Zia Shah, ‘Al Biruni: One of the Greatest Pioneers of Science,’ The Muslim Times, 1st January 2012. Available at: http://www.themuslimtimes. org/2012/01/science-and-technology/al-biruni-the-great-pioneer-of-science. (Accessed on: 5th August 2015). O’Connor and Robertson, ‘Al-Biruni.’ E. S. Kennedy, ‘Biruni, Abu Rayhan al-,’ in Dictionary of Scientific Biography, vol. 2, ed. Charles Coulston Gillispie (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1970), 152. Ibid. Starr, ‘Who Did Discover America?’ W. Durant, The Age of Faith (New York: Simon and Shuster, 1950), 243. Ibid, 243. Shah, ‘Al-Biruni.’

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19. O’Connor and Robertson, ‘Al-Biruni.’ 20. Ibid. 21. Said and Khan, Al-Biruni, 105-6. Some of these questions included: • Aristotle has no sound reason for his supposition that the heavens are neither heavy nor light. • Aristotle’s method of seeking support for his theories in the opinions of former thinkers (in respect of the idea that the universe has no beginning) is improper. • Aristotle’s reasons for rejecting atomic theory are unsound and his own theory of the infinite divisibility of matter is no less open to objection. • Aristotle is not justified in denying the possibility of the existence of other universes besides our own. • Aristotle is not justified in saying that the Heavens move from the east, as the east is the right side. Right and left are merely relative terms. 22. Rafik Berjak and Muzaffar Iqbal, ‘Ibn Sina-Al-Biruni Correspondence,’ Islam & Science, June 2003. 23. Sardar, ‘Science in Islamic Philosophy.’ 24. Ahmad Dallal, ‘The Interplay of Science and Theology in the Fourtheenthcentury Kalam,’ (paper presented at the Sawyer Seminar - From Medieval to Modern in the Islamic World, 2001). 25. See Abdus Salam, H. R. Dalafi, and Mohamed Hassan, Renaissance of Sciences in Islamic Countries (Singapore: River Edge, 1994), 96. 26. O’Connor and Robertson, ‘Al-Biruni.’ NASA records the earth’s equatorial radius as 6378.0km and its polar radius as 6356.8km. 27. Starr, ‘Who Discovered America?’ 28. G. Saliba, ‘Al-Biruni,’ in Dictionary of Middle Ages, vol. 2, ed. Joseph Strayer (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1982), 249. See also ‘Al-Biruni,’ Muslim Heritage. Available at: http://www.muslimheritage.com/article/al-biruni. (Accessed on: 9th March 2016). 29. ‘Al-Biruni,’ Muslim Heritage. 30. Starr, ‘Who Did Discover America?’ 31. Ibid. 32. Ibid. 33. Durant, Age of Faith, 244. 34. Saliba, ‘Al-Biruni,’ 250; ‘Al-Biruni,’ Muslim Heritage. 35. Jean Claude Pecker. Understanding the Heavens: Thirty Centuries of Astronomical Ideas from Ancient Thinking to Modern Cosmology (New York: Springer, 2001), 311. Britain has also claimed the invention of the sextant. This, however, was the navigator’s sextant, discovered 700 years after alKhujandi. See J. Gregory Dill, ‘Who Really Invented the Sextant?’ Ocean Navigator: Marine Navigation and Ocean Voyaging. Available at: http://www. oceannavigator.com/January-February-2003/Who-really-invented-thesextant/. (Accessed on: 7th August 2015). 36. D. De S. Price, ‘A History of Calculating Machines,’ IEEE Micro 4, no. 1 (1984): 22-52. 37. Donald Routledge Hill, ‘Al-Biruni’s Mechanical Calendar,’ Annals of Science 42 (1985): 139-163.

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38. Tuncer Oren, ‘Advances in Computer and Information Sciences: From Abacus to Holonic Agents,’ Turk J Elec Engin 9, no. 1 (2001): 63-70. See also Shah, ‘Al-Biruni.’ 39. Starr, ‘Who Did Discover America?’ 40. Saliba, ‘Al-Biruni,’ 249. 41. Shah, ‘Al-Biruni.’ 42. David A. King, ‘Astronomy and Islamic Society: Qibla, Gnomics and Timekeeping,’ s.v. Encyclopedia of the History of Arabic Science. 43. W. Scheppler, Al-Biruni: Master Astronomer and Influential Muslim Scholar of the Eleventh Century (New York: The Rosen Publishing Group, 2006). 44. Saliba, ‘Al-Biruni,’ 249; ‘Al-Biruni,’ Muslim Heritage. 45. Saliba, ‘Al-Biruni,’ 249; ‘Al-Biruni,’ Muslim Heritage. 46. Sevim Tekeli, ‘Taqi al-Din,’ s.v. Encyclopaedia of the History of Science, Technology and Medicine in Non-Western Cultures; Shah, ‘Al-Biruni.’ 47. Durant, Age of Faith, 243-4. 48. Translated by Hakim Mohammad Said. 49. Michael E. Marmura, ‘An Introduction to Islamic Cosmological Doctrines, Conceptions of Nature and Methods Used for Its Study by the Ikhwan AlSafa, Biruni, and Ibn Sina, by Seyyed Hossein Nasr,’ Speculum 40, no. 4 (1965): 744-6. 50. Durant, Age of Faith, 244. 51. Scheppler, Al-Biruni, 42-3. 52. Mohammed Yahia, ‘Remembering al-Biruni – The First Anthropologist,’ House of Wisdom. Available at: http://blogs.nature.com/houseofwisdom/2012/09/ remembering-al-biruni-the-first-anthropologist.html. (Accessed on: 9th March 2016). 53. Saliba, ‘Al-Biruni,’ 248. 54. Shah, ‘Al-Biruni.’ 55. Durant, Age of Faith, 243. 56. Shah, ‘Al-Biruni.’ 57. Kemal Ataman, Re-Reading al-Biruni’s India: a Case for Intercultural Understanding: Islam and Christian-Muslim Relations (London: Routledge, 2005). 58. Ibid. 59. Shah, ‘Al-Biruni.’ 60. William Montgomery Watt, ‘Bīrūnī and the study of non-Islamic Religions,’ Fravahr. Available at: http://www.fravahr.org/spip.php?article31. (Accessed on: 12th August 2015). 61. Ibid. 62. Ibid. 63. Cited in Ibid.

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Further Reading Al-Biruni, Muhammad ibn Ahmad. The Chronology of Ancient Nations: An English version of the Arabic text of the Athār-ul-bāqiya of Albīrūnī, or “Vestiges of the Past,” translated by E. Sachau. London: W.H. Allen and Co., 1879. Ataman, Kemal. Re-Reading al-Biruni’s India: a Case for Intercultural Understanding: Islam and Christian-Muslim Relations. London: Routledge, 2005. Berjak, Rafik, and Muzaffar Iqbal. ‘Ibn Sina-Al-Biruni Correspondence.’ Islam & Science, June 2003. Dallal, Ahmad. ‘The Interplay of Science and Theology in the Fourtheenthcentury Kalam.’ Paper presented at the Sawyer Seminar - From Medieval to Modern in the Islamic World, 2001. Dill, J. Gregory. ‘Who Really Invented the Sextant?’ Ocean Navigator: Marine Navigation and Ocean Voyaging. Available at: http://www.oceannavigator.com/ January-February-2003/Who-really-invented-the-sextant/. Durant, W. The Age of Faith. New York: Simon and Shuster, 1950. Hill, Donald Routledge. ‘Al-Biruni’s Mechanical Calendar.’ Annals of Science 42 (1985): 139-163. Kennedy, E. S. ‘Biruni, Abu Rayhan al-.’ In Dictionary of Scientific Biography, vol. 2, edited by Charles Coulston Gillispie, 152. New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1970. Marmura, Michael E. ‘An Introduction to Islamic Cosmological Doctrines, Conceptions of Nature and Methods Used for Its Study by the Ikhwan Al-Safa, Biruni, and Ibn Sina, by Seyyed Hossein Nasr.’ Speculum 40, no. 4 (1965): 744-6. O’Connor, J. J., and E. F. Robertson. ‘Abu Arrayhan Muhammad Ibn Ahmad al-Biruni.’ MacTutor History of Mathematics Archive, University of St Andrews. Available at: http://www-history.mcs.st-and.ac.uk/Biographies/Al-Biruni. html. Oren, Tuncer. ‘Advances in Computer and Information Sciences: From Abacus to Holonic Agents.’ Turk J Elec Engin 9, no. 1 (2001): 63-70. Pecker, Jean Claude. Understanding the Heavens: Thirty Centuries of Astronomical Ideas from Ancient Thinking to Modern Cosmology. New York: Springer, 2001. Pope, Arthur Upham. ‘Al-Biruni as a Thinker.’ In Al-Biruni Commemoration Volume A.H.362-A.H.1362. Calcutta: Iran Society, 1951.

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Price, D. De S. ‘A History of Calculating Machines.’ IEEE Micro 4, no. 1 (1984): 22-52. Said, Hakim Mohammed, and Ansar Zahid Khan. Al-Biruni: His Times, Life and Works. Karachi: Hamdard Academy, 1981. Salam, Abdus, H. R. Dalafi, and Mohamed Hassan. Renaissance of Sciences in Islamic Countries. Singapore: River Edge, 1994. Saliba, G. ‘Al-Biruni.’ In Dictionary of Middle Ages, vol. 2, edited by Joseph Strayer, 249-50. New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1982. Sarton, G. Introduction to the History of Science, vol. 1. Baltimore: Williams and Wilkins, 1931. Scheppler, W. Al-Biruni: Master Astronomer and Influential Muslim Scholar of the Eleventh Century. New York: The Rosen Publishing Group, 2006. Shah, Zia. ‘Al Biruni: One of the Greatest Pioneers of Science.’ The Muslim Times, 1st January 2012. Available at: http://www.themuslimtimes.org/2012/01/ science-and-technology/al-biruni-the-great-pioneer-of-science. Starr, S. Frederick. ‘So, Who Did Discover America?’ History Today 63, Is. 12 (2013). Available at: http://www.historytoday.com/s-frederick-starr/so-whodid-discover-america. Watt, William Montgomery. ‘Bīrūnī and the study of non-Islamic Religions.’ Fravahr. Available at: http://www.fravahr.org/spip.php?article31. Yahia, Mohammed. ‘Remembering al-Biruni – The First Anthropologist.’ House of Wisdom. Available at: http://blogs.nature.com/houseofwisdom/2012/09/ remembering-al-biruni-the-first-anthropologist.html.

17 ABŪ ḥASAN ALMĀWARDĪ 364450AH/9741058CE Wan Naim Wan Mansor Thus in response to the person to whom my obedience is due in this affair, I have made known to him the madhhabs of the fuqaha' so that he sees both that his rights are respected and that his duties are fulfilled and that he honours the dictates of justice in their execution and aspires to equity in establishing his claims and in the fulfilment of others’ claims. Al-Māwardī, referring to the caliph in the preface of his al-Ahkām al-ṣulṭāniyya

Abū al-Ḥasan ‘Alī b. Muḥammad b. Ḥabīb al-Māwardī was a distinguished fifth/eleventh-century jurist who operated in Baghdad, then capital of the ‘Abbāsid caliphate. His famous political handbook, al-Aḥkām alsulṭāniyya wal-wilāyāt al-dīniyya (The Ordinance of Government and Religious Positions), continues to be a standard reference document in Sunni Islamic political thought. Al-Māwardī was an Islamic jurist and judge by profession, trained in the Shāfi‘ī School, but while also being well-versed in the other major madhāhib (schools of thought). He held the prestigious position of qāḍī al-quḍāt (head judge) in both Ustawa and Baghdad, and received from the caliph al-Qā’im Bi-Amr Allāh (r.103174) the unprecedented honorific title of aqḍa al-quḍāt (best of judges). As a scholar, al-Māwardī has been variously described as a philosopher, a political theorist, and a social analyst. He was also a skilful mediator, diplomat and, most importantly, political advisor to two ‘Abbāsid caliphs: Qādir Bi-llāh (r.991-1031) and the aforementioned al-Qā’im.1 This article will briefly attempt to describe his life and thought.

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Life and Career Al-Māwardī was born in 364/974, in Basra, then considered a centre of Islamic education and scholarship.2 His family was involved in the selling and manufacturing of rosewater (which translates as ‘al-Māwardī’).3 In Basra, al-Māwardī first studied Islamic jurisprudence and literature under Abū al-Qāsim al-Saimarī (d.386/996),4 before later continuing his studies in Baghdad under the supervision of Shaykh ‘Abd al-Ḥamīd and Shaykh ‘Abd Allāh al-Baqī.5 This early education in Islamic jurisprudence and literature prepared al-Māwardī for his later judicial profession. Al-Māwardī lived during a period of decline in ‘Abbāsid political authority, when challenges to caliphal power were emerging from several quarters. In particular, the aspiring Būyid Emirs (333-447/945-1055) had taken control of large swathes of ‘Abbāsid territory, including Baghdad. In practice, therefore, the ‘Abbāsid caliphs were merely Būyid puppets.6 During the reign of the caliph al-Qādir, however, the ‘Abbāsids sought to regain some of their lost prestige, drawing a “line between a subservient caliph and an assertive one.”7 This reassertion of ‘Abbāsid authority was founded on an allegiance with Sultan Maḥmūd of Ghaznī (r.388-392/9981002) who, in 388/998, conquered Khurasan and put an end to Sāmānid rule there.8 This success, coupled with civil unrest in Būyid territory (including widespread raiding, robbery and Sunni-Shi’a strife), allowed the ‘Abbāsids to pressure the Būyids into accepting a rapprochement: by paying official ‘homage’ to the caliphs of Baghdad, the Būyids could gain legitimacy and reassert their authority over their territories.9 It was in this specific and complex context that al-Māwardī’s work (including the wellknown Al-Ahkām handbook) emerged.10 A tipping point in al-Māwardī’s career came in 429/1037, when his Shāfi‘ī-based legal text, Kitāb al-iqnā‘ (The Book of Conviction), was selected as best amongst four texts commissioned by caliph al-Qā’im from scholars representing all four of the madhāhib.11 Al-Māwardī’s alIqnā‘ was highly praised and, in all probability, contributed towards his receiving the honourific title, aqḍa al-quḍāt.12 Another opinion, however, attributes the conferment of this title to al-Māwardī’s decision to abstain from approving Būyid Sultan Jalāl al-Daula’s wish to use the title Mālik al-Mulūk (or Shahinshah, ‘King of Kings’). Although others from amongst al-Māwardī’s contemporaries, such as the qāḍīs Abū al-Ṭayyib al-Ṭabarī (d.450/1058) and al-Saimarī, had already approved this title,13 al-Māwardī felt it only befitted God.14 The title aqda al-quḍāt may therefore have been intended by the caliph as a reward for al-Māwardī’s courage, academic

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integrity and spiritual sincerity. Indeed, a relationship of admiration and respect typically characterised al-Māwardī’s interactions with rulers. Introduction to His Works Stylistically, al-Māwardī’s political writings fall into two categories: the ‘Mirrors of Princes’ format, focusing on a ruler’s social responsibilities and ideal conduct, and the more structured, government-oriented format that typically expounds on the theory of imāma (the caliphate).15 Works by al-Māwardī belonging to the first group include Naṣīḥat al-mulūk (Advice to Kings), Tashil al-naẓar wa ta’jīl al-ẓafar (Facilitating Judgement and Hastening Victory), and Kitāb al-wizāra’ (Book of the Vizierate). Works in the second category include Kitāb adab al-dunya wa al-dīn (Ethics of this World and in Religion) and the aforementioned al-Aḥkām al-sulṭāniyya. Al-Aḥkām al-sulṭāniyya is the first fiqh (Islamic jurisprudence) text dedicated exclusively to matters of political implementation and governance.16 Although earlier Islamic scholars had touched on these matters, al-Māwardī was “the first Muslim scholar to…collect all the ordinances relating to public law and arrange them in one volume.”17 Probably produced during the reign of al-Qā’im, al-Aḥkām is still regarded as a key document, having been little improved on throughout the centuries.18 It remains the standard reference for both traditional Sunni political thought and the modern study of Islamic medieval political thought. However, it is important to note that al-Aḥkām was written specifically as a handbook for the caliphs and busy government officials. In the preface, it is clear that al-Māwardī did not intend to provide a detailed exposition of Islamic law and ethics, but rather a brief guide to the core components of Islam’s political structure: As the laws of governance are more applicable to those in authority but because these latter, being occupied with politics and management, are prevented from examining these laws as they are mixed with all the other laws, I have devoted a special book to them.19

In al-Aḥkām, al-Māwardī constructed a set of ground-breaking legal guidelines that positioned the caliph within Islam’s legal framework. He sought to outline a contract (‘aqd) of imāma that would detail the caliphate’s necessity, the delimitations of its power, and the process of a caliph’s appointment. This formalisation based on Islamic theology was the first of its kind. In effect, al-Aḥkām placed the caliph “under the law,” stressing that “his authority [was] subordinate to that of the law.”20 This

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constituted a serious reform of Islamic political thought. Al-Māwardī began his chapter on imāma by describing the caliph as a vicegerent of the Prophet Muḥammad, not God.21 This ran contrary to the generally accepted norm and was likely intended to discourage the period’s inclination towards absolute monarchy, as influenced by pre-Islamic Arabian, Byzantine, Persian and Roman practices.22 In terms of the appointment of the caliph, al-Māwardī favoured election and outlined several requirements for both the electors (ahl al-ikhtiyār) and the potential candidates for the caliphate (ahl al-imāma). The criteria for electors included: a just disposition; good knowledge of the Sharia; and “insight and wisdom” into who would be suitable as leader given the situation of the Ummah at the time of election.23 Regarding the candidates for the caliphate itself, al-Māwardī outlined seven requirements: a just disposition; good knowledge of the Sharia (for the purpose of conducting ijtihād, or independent legal reasoning); overall good health (including hearing, sight, speech and mobility); good administrative capabilities; courage in war; and (controversially) direct descent from the Quraysh (the tribe of the Prophet). This theoretical outline became central to all subsequent Islamic political concepts of the imāma. Even the eminent Ibn Khaldūn (d.808/1406) utilised it in his own theory of state.24 Certainly, it is not difficult to appreciate why al-Māwardī became so well-respected; throughout his work, he consistently exhibits a high level of academic rigour, including an openness to opposing views. This inspired confidence in both his honesty and depth of knowledge. Several Perspectives on al-Māwardī Al-Māwardī’s high rank and close relationship with the ‘Abbāsids has drawn much speculation. Numerous writers have remarked that his political theories, although based on the Islamic corpus, conveniently serve ‘Abbāsid interests, especially against the Būyid Emirs. As a result, E. A. Hamid has described al-Māwardī as a “conformist, Abbasid-patronized writer.”25 Certainly, this claim is not totally unfounded – below is J. Auda’s summary of how al-Māwardī ‘harmonised’ existing ‘Abbāsid political culture with his interpretation of the Islamic sources: Al-Mawardi legitimized the Abbasid tribal and monarchic system, which he found most excellent at his time….Al-Mawardi ‘interpreted’ the script[ure]s to imply ‘protecting people with noble lineage’ [such as Abbasids] from having a governor over them unless

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he comes from more noble roots, ‘legitimizing a caliph who is appointed by another of his own’, ‘giving people money from the trust according to their tribal lineages’, and giving the caliph the right to ‘have a monopoly over decision making’ (al-istibdād bi alamr).26

Also, in the event that a caliph failed to meet the basic requirements of his office as outlined in al-Ahkām, there is no mention of any ‘impeachment’ procedures by which he could be removed. This again suggests a desire to protect ‘Abbāsid interests.27 Al-Ahkām also preserves the status quo regarding Būyid dominance; according to the text, as long as the Būyid Emirs continue to show some sort of ‘loyalty’ (e.g. mentioning the name of the caliph in Friday prayers, sending official letters and envoys, etc.), their independent political powers are fully legitimate. Overall, al-Māwardī’s analysis is perhaps too intimately linked to the historical-political context of the fifth/eleventh century. The main weakness of his theory is arguably its failure to touch upon a caliph’s accountability; an absence of legal checks and balances has led to accusations of him being constrained by “necessity and expediency,” of merely conducting a justification of political reality, perhaps to the point of disregarding the Sharia.28 But his ‘harmonisation’ of existing historical-political realities with the Islamic corpus need not be viewed as evidence of intellectual dishonesty. For al-Māwardī, the caliphal system was already many centuries old and deeply rooted in the psychology of the period. Although many of al-Aḥkām’s political theories seem unacceptable by contemporary standards, al-Māwardī may simply have been reacting to what was, for him, the only foreseeable political system. It would have been ‘instinctive’ for him to interpret the Islamic corpus within that model, in the absence of viable alternatives. Conclusion: Al-Māwardī as an Architect of Islamic Civilisation Although it is clear that the fifth/eleventh century caliphal system heavily influenced al-Māwardī, he did make important and original contributions to Islamic political theory. Al-Māwardī was the first scholar to compile all governance-related fiqh into a single volume. This treatment reinforced the subject’s identity as a separate discipline, greatly influencing later scholars’ perceptions of it. Moreover, al-Aḥkām managed to theoretically and legally reposition the imāma and the status of the caliph within the boundaries of Sharia. It formally delimited the powers of the caliph while also introducing

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strict requirements for those who wished to hold that office. To a lesser extent, it also demanded religious and secular accountability. Within the complex nexus of the ‘Abbāsid-Būyid power relationship, al-Māwardī’s work also represents an important re-interpretation of scriptural sources in order to extract original political theories suitable to contemporary needs. It signals the start of a process whereby concrete policies and laws could be formulated from the broad and relatively vague constitutional framework of Sharia. In that context, al-Māwardī provides many useful insights into the reinterpretation of historical events surrounding the ṣaḥāba (Companions of the Prophet) and the Rightfully Guided Caliphs (Khulafā’ al-Rāshidīn), allowing the examples of those key Islamic figures to be successfully applied to the more complex and expanded political system of the ‘Abbāsid caliphate. In sum, al-Māwardī’s acute awareness of his contemporary political circumstances and his ability to make practical, academically rigorous and creative legal suggestions on the basis of those circumstances, is something contemporary Islamic thinkers should strive to emulate. This truly makes al-Māwardī an ‘Architect of Islamic Civilisation’. Notes 1. 2.

3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9.

The Princeton Encyclopedia of Islamic Political Thought, s.v. ‘Al-Mawardi.’ Muhammad Qamaruddin Khan, ‘Al-Mawardi,’ in A History of Muslim Philosophy, with Short Accounts of Other Disciplines and the Modern Renaissance in Muslim Lands, vol. 3, ed. M. M. Sharif (Delhi: Low Price Publications, 1961). Ahmad Mubarak al-Baghdadi, ‘The Political Thought of Abu Hasan alMawardi,’ unpublished PhD Thesis, University of Edinburgh (1981). Ibid. ‘Philosophers: Abu al-Hasan al-Mawardi,’ Trinity College, Hartford Conneticut. Available at: http://www.trincoll.edu/depts/phil/philo/phils/ muslim/mawardi.html. (Accessed on: 21 October 2015). A. K. S. Lambton, State and Government in Medieval Islam: An Introduction to the Study of Islamic Political Theory: the Jurists (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1981). Al-Baghdadi, ‘Political Thought of al-Mawardi.’ Ibid. Ibid. Gaining support by recognising the caliph was not, however, the only option: Mu’izz al-Daula (r.945-967), a Shi’a-inclining Būyid Emir, considered overthrowing the Sunni ‘Abbāsids in favour of a Shi’a ‘Alid (those claiming descendant from ‘Alī and Faṭīma). However, this move was halted after consultation with advisors. It was felt that acknowledging ‘Alid power would give credence to the latter’s supposedly divine right to rule, thereby

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potentially destroying Būyid power in the long term. 10. Abū al-Ḥasan ‘Alī al-Māwardī, al-Ahkam as-Sultaniyah: The Laws of Islamic Governance, trans. Asadullah Yate (London: Ta-Ha Publishers, 1996), 7. 11. Al-Baghdadi, ‘Political Thought of al-Mawardi.’ 12. Khan, ‘al-Mawardi.’ 13. Al-Baghdadi, ‘Political Thought of al-Mawardi.’ 14. According to al-Māwardī, “Verily, the worst title is ‘King of Kings'.” 15. Ibid, 68. 16. D. P. Little, ‘A New Look at Al-Ahkam Al-Sultaniyya,’ The Muslim World 64, no. 1 (1974): 1–15. 17. Al-Baghdadi, ‘Political Thought of al-Mawardi,’ 21. 18. Ibid, 137. 19. Al-Māwardī, al-Ahkam as-Sultaniyah, 7. 20. Lambton, State and Government, 34. 21. E. I. J. Rosenthal, Political Thought in Medieval Islam: An Introductory Outline (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1958). 22. Ibid, 31. 23. Al-Māwardī, al-Ahkam as-Sultaniyah, 11. 24. For example, Ibn Khaldūn upheld al-Māwardī’s prerequisite that the caliph belong to the Quraysh, although modifying it to mean ‘having strong asabiyah’. Ibn Khaldūn’s concept of the ‘cyclical state’ shows clear similarities with al-Māwardī’s theory on government lifespan. See al-Baghdadi, ‘Political Thought of al-Mawardi.’ 25. Eltigani Abdul Hamid, ‘Al-Mawardi’s Theory of State: Some Ignored Dimensions,’ American Journal of Islamic Social Sciences 18, no. 4 (2001): 1–18. 26. Jasser Auda, Maqasid al-Shariah as Philosophy of Islamic Law: A Systems Approach (London: The International Institute of Islamic Thought, 2007), 176. 27. Rosenthal, Political Thought in Medieval Islam, 32. 28. Lambton, State and Government, 102.

Further Reading Al-Baghdadi, Ahmad Mubarak. ‘The Political Thought of Abu Hasan al-Mawardi.’ Unpublished PhD Thesis, University of Edinburgh, 1981. Al-Māwardī, Abū al-Ḥasan ‘Alī. Al-Ahkām As-Sultaniyah: The Laws of Islamic Governance. Translated by Asadullah Yate. London: Ta-Ha Publishers, 1996. Auda, Jasser. Maqasid al-Shariah as Philosophy of Islamic Law: A Systems Approach. London: The International Institute of Islamic Thought, 2007. Hamid, E. A. ‘Al-Mawardi’s Theory of State-Some Ignored Dimensions.’ American Journal of Islamic Social Sciences 18, no 4 (2001): 1–18. Khan, Muhammad Qamaruddin. ‘Al-Mawardi.’ In A History of Muslim Philosophy,

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with Short Accounts of Other Disciplines and the Modern Renaissance in Muslim Lands, vol. 3, edited by M. M. Sharif. Delhi: Low Price Publications, 1961. Lambton, A. K. S. State and Government in Medieval Islam: An Introduction to the Study of Islamic Political Theory: the Jurists. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1981. Little, D. P. ‘A New Look at Al-Ahkam Al-Sultaniyya.’ The Muslim World 64, no. 1 (1974): 1–15. ‘Philosophers: Abu al-Hasan al-Mawardi.’ Trinity College, Hartford Conneticut. Available at: http://www.trincoll.edu/depts/phil/philo/phils/muslim/mawardi. html. Rosenthal, E. I. J. Political Thought in Medieval Islam: An Introductory Outline. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1958.

18 ABŪ MUḥAMMAD ‘ALĪ IBN ḥAZM 384456AH/9941064CE Wan Naim Wan Mansor and Eric Winkel His speech had an elegance that took hold of the hearts of the people. He had a way of moving freely in disciplines which the jurists of alAndalus could not match at that time – due to their inadequacy in the use of philosophical speculation.1 Qādī . Iyāḍ ibn Mūsā describing Ibn Ḥazm

Abū Muḥammad ‘Alī ibn Aḥmad ibn Saʿīd ibn Ḥazm (384-456AH/9941064CE) was a key Cordobian scholar whose work helped define and codify the textualist-oriented Ẓāhirī madhhab. A confident, competent and unflinching Islamic intellectual, Ibn Ḥazm’s views were always put forth with a characteristic tenacity and forthrightness; he had no qualms about making scathing remarks about those who opposed his views.2 A polymath, he remains one of the most prolific scholars in Muslim history: according to his son, Ibn Ḥazm wrote four hundred books, covering 80,000 pages. Very few of these, however, have survived.3 Nevertheless, Ibn Ḥazm’s impact on Islamic thought has been both varied and multidisciplinary. He has been described as a traditionalist, a genealogist, a religious historian, a philosopher, a physicist, a grammarian, and a pioneer of comparative religion. The Aristocrat Turned Scholar Ibn Ḥazm was born and raised in Cordoba (Qurtuba), the then cultural centre of al-Andalus (Spain) and capital of the Umayyad caliphate. Born into a wealthy and influential family, his father, Abū ‘Umar b. Sa’īd b. Ḥazm b. Ghalib, had been a minister in the court of the Umayyad child-

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caliph, Hishām II (r.976-1009 and 1010-1013). An early biographer described Ibn Ḥazm’s father as “a learned, cultured and honest man,” who had a passion for linguistic clarity and a strong sense of justice.4 Coming from a privileged family, Ibn Ḥazm had a comfortable childhood, surrounded by the women of his father’s harem, who taught him the basics of reading and writing.5 Later, he would receive an excellent education at the feet of many leading scholars, in subjects like Qur’anic studies, grammar, poetry, hadith, essential fiqh, and various other subjects considered standard for a boy of Ibn Ḥazm’s aristocratic background.6 This privileged environment, however, served to separate the young Ibn Ḥazm from the company of other children. It also insulated him from the decline of al-Andalus, marked by increasing political instability and the emergence of competing local states.7 It could not, however, shield him from these changes forever. Thus, Ibn Ḥazm was not always an ‘ālim (scholar). Only in his early thirties did he begin to settle down to a life of scholarship.8 Prior to that, he occupied a number of prestigious and powerful political positions (including that of vizier), experiencing many tribulations as a result, including imprisonment and exile.9 As a government officer and member of the political elite, Ibn Ḥazm involved himself in the deepest complexities of Andalusian politics; the weakening power of the Umayyad caliphate meant Ibn Ḥazm spent his twenties negotiating various political factions, their military skirmishes and power plays. Generally, however, he was an Umayyad loyalist with a “fervent partisanship for the Emirs of Banu Umayya, the early ones as well as the ones surviving in the Mashriq and in al-Andalus, his faith in the perfect legitimacy of their imamate [never faltering], his refusal to acknowledge the rights [to the imamate] of whomever owned the same prerequisites among the Qurayshites [unwavering].”10 Ibn Ḥazm nevertheless became involved in the various intricate power plays surrounding the elite brotherhood of government elites, known as mawali amiriyya (Amirid clients), who vied for control with newly-emerging states and the creeping Berber forces from North Africa.11 When Ibn Ḥazm finally tired of politics and turned to scholarship, he quickly became well known for arguing that the interpretation of Islam’s primary sources should be limited to only what is openly apparent (ẓāhir). Thus, Ibn Ḥazm abhorred excessive use of speculative linguistics, preferring instead to limit interpretation to surface meaning alone.12 This position, associated with the Ẓāhirī madhhab, ran contrary to the period’s prevailing intellectual currents, in which speculative Arabic grammar and linguistics occupied a central position.13 Arnaldez differentiates between

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Ibn Ḥazm’s and (for example) al-Shāfi’ī’s theory of language by stating that the former was static (i.e. relying only on what is evident) while the latter was dynamic, or prepared to reach beneath the surface to find new, not necessarily immediately apparent meanings.14 Ibn Ḥazm found this latter position unacceptable. By extension, he also rejected the legal methods of qiyās (analogy), istiḥsān (juristic preference) and ra’y (personal opinion), considering them “too arbitrary…and leav[ing] too much room for human, and therefore fallible, speculation.”15 He did, however, accept logical demonstration (burhān) as a rational means of proof. During the reign of the ‘Abbādid ruler, al-Muʿtadid . (r.433-461/10421069), who was based in Seville, Ibn Ḥazm’s ‘unorthodox’ writings brought him into opposition with Mālikī doctrine, the then prevalent legal school in al-Andalus.16 This, however, did not impede Ibn Ḥazm; it is recorded that he eagerly participated in debates with Mālikī scholars, refusing to shy away from conflicts with them.17 This courage resulted in much rebuke and censure; at one stage during al-Mu‘tad. id’s reign, Ibn Ḥazm was even imprisoned and his books burnt. He responded to this repression with poems like this: They said, be mindful! For people talk A lot, and the declarations of enemies are ordeals. Thus I asked: is it me they censure although I do not express personal opinions, when in their opinion is temptation? I am devoted to the text. I do not turn to Anything else, nor find contempt in supporting it. I do not incline toward opinions that are taught About religion. Rather, my sufficiency is the Qurʾān and the Sunnas!18

Over time, however, several drawbacks to Ibn Ḥazm’s Ẓāhirī position began to emerge. For example, some commented that Ibn Ḥazm’s approach stripped Islam of its ability to adapt and evolve over time, or “tout instrument d’adaptation et toute possibilité d’évolution,”19 and that it would “forfeit any chance of harmonizing the contradictory rulings of the Shariah.”20 According one perspective, his linguistic methods might even go against the intentions (maqāṣid) of the Sharia.21 However, despite ultimately falling outside the mainstream of Islamic scholarship on these issues, Ibn Ḥazm undeniably played a huge role in shaping mainstream Sunni thought, both during his lifetime and afterwards.22 His intellectual courage, his willingness to remain true to his methodologies regardless of their consequences, and his certainty are all worthy of emulation.

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Work and Contribution As briefly mentioned, Ibn Ḥazm was an extremely prolific writer. Aside from the famed historian, Abū Ja’far Muḥammad ibn Jarīr al-Ṭabarī (d.310/923), no other Muslim writer is known to have produced so many texts. Amongst his most significant work is the eight-volume, alKitāb al-muhallā bi‘l athār (The Book Ornamented with Traditions).23 This is a comprehensive examination of legal issues from a comparative, yet literalist, perspective. Partly due to its exceedingly critical tone, it has traditionally invoked hostility, a response which masks the many otherwise valuable contributions it makes, including many refreshingly original interpretations of the Qur’an and hadith. Another important text by Ibn Ḥazm is his book on the sources of law, entitled al-Iḥkām fī uṣūl al-aḥkām.24 He also wrote books on science and medicine, in addition to a text which some consider to be the first comparative study of Islam, Judaism, and Christianity, entitled Kitāb alfiṣal fī al-milal wa al-ahwā’ wa al-niḥal (The Book Separating Religions, Heresies and Sects).25 His book on love, Ṭawq al-hamāma (The Ring of the Dove), has also garnered considerable attention, including from noted Orientalists like Ignaz Goldziher and C. Brockelmann. A. J. Arberry also translated it into English, with the subtitle A Treatise on the Art and Practice of Arab Love.26 Spanish scholars see the Ṭawq al-hamāma as an important basis for later Hispano-Arab poetry and literature, and possibly a crucial stage in the development of the troubadour tradition. To give a sense of Ibn Ḥazm’s writing style and approach, below are two extended passages from his works, one on comparative religion and the other on legal issues. The first extract, taken from Kitāb al-fiṣal, sees Ibn Ḥazm take up the issue of female prophecy, which was highly contentious during his time: The Qur’an says that God sent angels to women and informed them with true revelation from God. The mother of Ishaq was given good news of Ishaq from God. He [God] said, “His wife was standing there and laughed when We gave the good news to her of [the birth of ] Ishaq, and after Ishaq, Yaʿqub. She said, Woe is me, shall I bear a child when I am an old woman and this old man is my husband? This is surely a strange thing. They said, Are you wondering at a command of God? God’s mercy and blessing on you, people of the House [Qur’an 11:71-3].” This address of the angels to the mother of Ishaq from God of good

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news for her of Ishaq and then Yaʿqub, then of their statement to her, “Are you wondering at a command of God,”…could [not] be to any but a prophet of some kind. And we find that God sent Gabriel to Mary mother of Jesus (on them be peace) with an address. He [Gabriel] said to her, “I am a messenger of your Lord, to give a gift to you of a pure son” [19:19]. This is true prophethood, with a true revelation and message from God to her, and Zakariyah found her having from God daily sustenance arriving to bless him with her as a virtuous daughter. And we find with the mother of Moses, on them be peace, that God gave revelation to her to cast her child into the Nile. He informed her that the child would return to her. So He made her a prophet, and this is prophethood, there is no doubt of it.

Thus, Ibn Ḥazm appealed directly to the Qur’anic text for evidence supporting female prophecy. By contrast, he never referred to scholastic opinion, preferring instead to rely entirely on the sacred text. This pattern of enquiry is also apparent in the following passage from al-Muhallā, concerning abandoned babies: Issue: That a small [child] is found, cast off. It is obligatory that the one in its presence pick him up, and necessarily so, as God said, “Help each other in goodness and piety, and do not help each other in offence and enmity” [5:2], and as God said, “Who saves the life, it is as if he saved the people altogether” [5:32]. There is no offense greater than the perishing of a child’s soul born in Islam, small, having no fault, and then dying hungry, cold, or eaten by wild dogs. It is authenticated from the Messenger, peace be on him, that “Who is not kind to people, God will not be kind to him.”

In another section of al-Muhallā, Ibn Ḥazm discusses the financial support (nafaqa) due to a wife from her husband. After expounding on the position of the four leading madhāhib – namely, that a husband’s obligation to support his wife remains undiminished, regardless of his own financial status or whether his wife is independently wealthy – Ibn Ḥazm writes that “all of them have fallen into error.” He then proceeds to encapsulate what he sees as the true spirit of the marital tie, as crystalised in the Qur’an’s characterisation of marriage as “friendship and compassion” (30:21). On this basis, Ibn Ḥazm concludes that it is the duty of a wealthy wife to support her husband when the latter is poor and in need of support, for friendship and compassion cannot be one-sided. This (and

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other) refreshingly original contributions from Ibn Ḥazm have, however, remained sadly neglected, lost under the weight of a generally hostile reception to his work as a whole. Conclusion: Ibn Ḥazm as an Architect of Islamic Civilisation Ibn Ḥazm’s illustrious life frequently alternated between fortune and tribulation. Being from a privileged family gave Ibn Ḥazm access to an excellent education (i.e. Qur’an, fiqh, poetry, language) and gave him the opportunity to ‘rub shoulders’ with people of power and influence. His political exploits during his twenties, however, although entailing periods of prestige and power, also led to hardship. These crucial formative experiences perhaps helped shape Ibn Ḥazm’s disputative manner, his critical thinking and ingenious originality. Ibn Ḥazm’s intellectual ingenuity and originality, although controversial, have ultimately been beneficial for Islamic jurisprudence. Despite falling outside the fold of mainstream Islamic legal thought, Ibn Ḥazm’s methodological criticism and original analysis greatly improved the development of Islamic legal thought in its entirety. Regarding Ibn Ḥazm’s criticisms of qiyās, for example, Talbot has concluded the following: [His] challenges were part of the process by which the legal theory was perfected. Thus, it is from the challenges posed by Ibn Hazm and [other] groups whose theories fell outside the mainstream legal theory that one can understand better the weaknesses, strength and gaps in the existing theories and methodologies.27

Such intellectual courage and clarity in the face of opposition exemplified Ibn Ḥazm’s struggle and, in the end, proved vital to the development and systemisation of mainstream Islamic legal thought, qualifying Ibn Ḥazm as an ‘architect’ of Islamic civilisation. Note 1. 2. 3.

Samir Kaddouri, ‘Refutations of Ibn Hazm by Maliki Authors from AlAndalus and North Africa,’ in Ibn Hazm of Cordoba, ed. Camilla Adang, Maribel Fierro and Sabine Schmidtke (Leiden: Brill, 2013), 561. There is a famous saying that, “the tongue of Ibn Ḥazm was a twin brother to the sword of al-Ḥajjāj [the infamous 1st/7th century general and governor of Iraq]” (Ibn Khallikān, Wafayāt, vol. 3, 328; al-Yāfiʿī, Mirʾa, vol. 3, 62). Jose Miguel Puerta Vilchez, ‘Inventory of Ibn Hazm’s Works,’ in Ibn Hazm of Cordoba, ed. Camilla Adang, Maribel Fierro and Sabine Schmidtke (Leiden: Brill, 2013), 683.

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4. 5. 6.

7.

8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21.

22. 23. 24.

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Jose Miguel Puerta Vilchez, ‘Abu Muhammad Ali Ibn Hazm: A Biographical Sketch,’ in Ibn Hazm of Cordoba, ed. Camilla Adang, Maribel Fierro and Sabine Schmidtke (Leiden: Brill, 2013), 4. Ibid, 4. Camilla Adang, ‘From Malikism to Shafiism to Zahirism: the “conversions” of Ibn Hazm,’ in Islamic Conversions: Religious Identities in Mediterranean Islam, ed. Mercedes Garcia-Arsenal (Paris: Maisonneuve et Larose, European Science Foundation, 2001), 75. Salim al-Hassani and Salah Zaimeche, ‘Ibn Hazm’s Philosophy and Thoughts on Science,’ Foundation for Science, Technology and Civilization (2003). Available at: http://muslimheritage.com/uploads/Main%20-%20Ibn%20 Hazm.pdf. (Accessed on: 12/07/2016). Bruna Soravia, ‘A Portrait of the Alim as a Young Man: The Formative Years of Ibn Hazm, 404/1013-420/1029,’ in Ibn Hazm of Cordoba, ed. Camilla Adang, Maribel Fierro and Sabine Schmidtke (Leiden: Brill, 2013), 35. Vilchez, ‘Ibn Hazm,’ 10. Soravia ‘Portrait of the Alim,’ 38. Cf. Ibid. Salvador Pena, ‘Which Curiosity? Ibn Hazm’s Suspicion of Grammarians,’ in Ibn Hazm of Cordoba, ed. Camilla Adang, Maribel Fierro and Sabine Schmidtke (Leiden: Brill, 2013), 233. Ibid, 235. Adam Sabra, ‘Ibn Hazm’s Literalism: A Critique of Islamic Legal Theory,’ in Ibn Hazm of Cordoba, ed. Camilla Adang, Maribel Fierro and Sabine Schmidtke (Leiden: Brill, 2013), 98. Adang, ‘From Malikism to Shafiism to Zahirism,’ 76. Kaddouri, ‘Refutations of Ibn Hazm,’ 542. Ibid, 550. Ibid, 553. R. Arnaldez, ‘Grammaire et théologie chez Ibn Hazm de Cordoue,’ Vrin (2002), 248. Available at: http://philpapers.org/rec/ARNGET. (Accessed on: 13/07/2016). Sabra, ‘Ibn Hazm’s Literalism,’ 100. See Jasser Auda, Maqasid al-Shariah as Philosophy of Islamic Law: A Systems Approach (London: The International Institute of Islamic Thought, 2007). Auda argues that Ibn Ḥazm disagreed that the Prophet conducted ijtihād (independent reasoning). Rather, he held that the Prophet was always under the guidance of waḥy (revelation). Al-Ghazālī (d.505/1111), however, counterargued that the Prophet’s contact with revelation was only ever occasional, not upon request, thereby necessitating recourse to reason when appropriate. A demonstrative example of this is the Prophet’s misapplication of ‘pollenating palm dates’, in which he used his reason and later acknowledged his error. Karmen E. Talbot, ‘Arguments Against the Sunni Legal Methodology: Ibn Hazm and His Refutation of Qiyas,’ unpublished Masters of Arts thesis, McGill University (1987), 8. ʻAlī ibn Aḥmad ibn Ḥazm, al-Muhalla, ed. and trans. Fouad Muhammad Ayad (Sherman, TX: Islamic Mosque at Texoma, 1985). ʻAlī ibn Aḥmad ibn Ḥazm, al-Iḥkām fī uṣūl al-aḥkām (Cairo: Maṭbaʻat al-

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imām, 1945).

25. ʻAlī ibn Aḥmad ibn Ḥazm, Kitāb al-Fiṣal fī al-milal wa-al-ahwāʼ wa-alniḥal, ed. Muḥammad ibn ʻAbd al-Karīm Shahrastānī (Cairo: al-Maṭbaʻah

al-adabīyah, 1899).

26. ʻAlī ibn Aḥmad ibn Ḥazm, The Ring of the Dove: A Treatise on the Art and

Practice of Arab Love, trans. A. J. Arberry (London: Luzac, 1953). 27. Talbot, ‘Arguments Against the Sunni Legal Methodology,’ 8.

Further Reading Adang, Camilla. ‘From Malikism to Shafiism to Zahirism: the “conversions” of Ibn Hazm.’ In Islamic Conversions: Religious Identities in Mediterranean Islam, edited by Mercedes Garcia-Arsenal. Paris: Maisonneuve et Larose, European Science Foundation, 2001. Al-Hassani, Salim, and Salah Zaimeche. ‘Ibn Hazm’s Philosophy and Thoughts on Science.’ Foundation for Science, Technology and Civilization, 2003. Available at: http://muslimheritage.com/uploads/Main%20-%20Ibn%20Hazm.pdf. Arnaldez, R. ‘Grammaire et théologie chez Ibn Hazm de Cordoue.’ Vrin, 2002. Available at: http://philpapers.org/rec/ARNGET. Auda, Jasser. Maqasid al-Shariah as Philosophy of Islamic Law: A Systems Approach. London: The International Institute of Islamic Thought, 2007. Ibn Ḥazm, ʻAlī ibn Aḥmad. Al-Iḥkām fī uṣūl al-aḥkām. Cairo: Matbaʻat al-imām, . 1945. _____________________. Al-Muhalla. Edited and translated by Fouad Muhammad Ayad. Sherman, TX: Islamic Mosque at Texoma, 1985. _____________________. Kitāb al-Fisal fī al-milal wa-al-ahwāʼ wa-al-nihal. . . Edited by Muhammad ibn ʻAbd al-Karīm Shahrastānī. Cairo: al-Maṭbaʻah al. adabīyah, 1899. _____________________. The Ring of the Dove: A Treatise on the Art and Practice of Arab Love. Translated by A. J. Arberry. London: Luzac, 1953. Kaddouri, Samir. ‘Refutations of Ibn Hazm by Maliki Authors from Al-Andalus and North Africa.’ In Ibn Hazm of Cordoba, edited by Camilla Adang, Maribel Fierro and Sabine Schmidtke, 539-600. Leiden: Brill, 2013. Pena, Salvador. ‘Which Curiosity? Ibn Hazm’s Suspicion of Grammarians.’ In Ibn Hazm of Cordoba, edited by Camilla Adang, Maribel Fierro and Sabine Schmidtke, 233-251. Leiden: Brill, 2013. Sabra, Adam. ‘Ibn Hazm’s Literalism: A Critique of Islamic Legal Theory.’ In Ibn Hazm of Cordoba, edited by Camilla Adang, Maribel Fierro and Sabine

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Schmidtke, 3-24. Leiden: Brill, 2013. Soravia, Bruna. ‘A Portrait of the Alim as a Young Man: The Formative Years of Ibn Hazm, 404/1013-420/1029.’ In Ibn Hazm of Cordoba, edited by Camilla Adang, Maribel Fierro and Sabine Schmidtke, 25–50. Leiden: Brill, 2013. Talbot, Karmen E. ‘Arguments Against the Sunni Legal Methodology: Ibn Hazm and His Refutation of Qiyas.’ Unpublished Masters of Arts thesis, McGill University, 1987. Vilchez, Jose Miguel Puerta. ‘Abu Muhammad Ali Ibn Hazm: A Biographical Sketch.’ In Ibn Hazm of Cordoba, edited by Camilla Adang, Maribel Fierro and Sabine Schmidtke, 3-24. Leiden: Brill, 2013. ______________________. ‘Inventory of Ibn Hazm’s Works.’ In Ibn Hazm of Cordoba, edited by Camilla Adang, Maribel Fierro and Sabine Schmidtke, 683-760. Leiden: Brill, 2013.

19 ABŪ ḤĀMID ALGHAZĀLĪ 450505AH/10581111CE Karim D. Crow

Although Abū Ḥāmid Muḥammad al-Ghazālī (450-505AH/10581111CE) died over nine hundred years ago, his teachings continue to provide a model for contemporary humanity. His life and thought still pose challenges for us, particularly on how to integrate intellectual/rational activity with an inner mystical realisation of truth. Orphaned at an early age, Abū Ḥāmid and his younger brother, Abū l-Futūḥ Aḥmad, were raised by a Sufi-orientated family friend. In their youth, they were trained in the traditional Islamic religious sciences, including jurisprudence (fiqh) and hadith studies. They also travelled to Nishapur, the then provincial capital of Khurasan, to become pupils to the distinguished Ash‘arī theologian and Shāfi‘ī jurist, Imām al-Ḥaramayn alJuwaynī (d.478/1085). Al-Ghazālī would remain committed to both the Ash‘arī theological creed (kalām) and to Shāfi‘ī principles of jurisprudence (usūl al-fiqh) throughout his life, making this form of Sunni orthodoxy the doctrinal basis for his intellectual and spiritual work. But rather than his early contact with al-Juwaynī, it was quite a different event that ultimately proved definitive in al-Ghazālī’s quest for knowledge. Like many students, al-Ghazālī travelled far and wide looking for knowledge. On one occasion, while crossing the high peaks, his donkey laden with study notes, his caravan was robbed by brigands.1 As the bandits prepared to make off with their loot, al-Ghazālī pleaded with their chief to leave him the notes containing all the knowledge he had painstakingly gathered over the years. Mockingly, the brigand replied: “Knowledge lies not on the back of a donkey; knowledge lies within the Heart of man!” From this point on, al-Ghazālī sought for certainty (yaqin) only within the human heart. This quest would take him along the

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well-traveled byways of legal methodology, up the steep paths of rational theological and philosophical investigation, and finally to the lofty peaks of trans-rational spiritual realisation (kashf). Politics and Public Office In 478/1085, al-Ghazālī left his hometown of Tus, Khurasan, for the Seljuq court at Isfahan, where he would enjoy the patronage of the powerful Persian statesman, Nizām al-Mulk (d.485/1092).2 In 484/1091, Nizām al-Mulk appointed al-Ghazālī to the Madrasa Nizāmiyya in Baghdad, the central college of the ‘Abbāsid empire. There al-Ghazālī taught Shāfi‘ī jurisprudence for over four years and was present during the accession ceremony of the seventeen year-old caliph, al-Mustazir . Bi-llāh (r.487512/1094-1118). Soon after ascending, al-Mustazir . commissioned alGhazālī to write a refutation of the ideological claims of the Shi’a Nizārī Ismā‘īlī movement, which was then the chief religious and political threat to ‘Abbāsid authority. The leader of this movement, al-Ḥasan al-Ṣabbāḥ (d.518/1124), had recently seized the mountain fortress of Alamut in Northeastern Iran and was busy conducting an intensive campaign to assert the rights of the Ismā‘īlī Imam to the leadership of all Muslims. Rejecting the legitimacy of the ‘Abbāsid caliphs, al-Ḥasan called for all Muslims to submit to the unimpeachable teachings (ta‘līm) of the Nizārī Ismā‘īlī Imam. In response, al-Ghazālī wrote his Fadā’iḥ al-bātaniyya wa fadā’il al-mustazhiriyya (The Infamies of the Bātinites and the Excellencies of the Mustazharites), which denounced Nizārī Ismā‘īlī teachings for encouraging the reprehensible innovation of blind submission (taqlīd). Instead, al-Ghazālī emphasised the greater authority of reason (‘aql). In total, al-Ghazālī would write four more works refuting Ismā‘īlī claims to the exclusive possession of true knowledge, all of which promoted logic and reason as a surer guide to truth. Al-Ghazālī’s close association with the ‘Abbāsid court allowed him to observe the corruption and immorality of power, as well as the self-serving compromises of religious scholars infatuated by fame and fortune. AlGhazālī’s own political ideas matured from such experiences; he formulated a pragmatic position that, while defending both the religious authority of the caliph and the autocratic central powers of the Sultans and Amirs as necessary bulwarks against disorder, insisted on the reform of those in power via ethical and spiritual education. In both his letters to leading office holders and his famed political manual, Nasīḥat al-mulūk (Advice to Kings), al-Ghazālī sought to moderate and temper the brutal excesses

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and injustices commonly seen during his era. Nevertheless, because of the importance of social harmony for the well-being of Muslim realms, alGhazālī denounced all revolt as illegitimate, even against an oppressive and evil ruler. The Seeker of Truth In his remarkable autobiography, al-Munqidh min al-dalāl (Deliverance from Error), al-Ghazālī describes his painfully sincere search for true knowledge. He describes how, in 488/1095, while at the peak of discharging his duties at the Madrassa Nizāmiyya, he experienced a profound cognitive-spiritual crisis characterised by an inability to speak, forcing him to abandon his eminent public position. This crisis was the culmination of the severe doubts he had been entertaining for some time about the truth of sense perception. Initially, and while still at the Madrassa, these doubts had motivated him to study philosophy. After his final crisis, however, he turned to the spiritual discipline of experiential cognition (or taḥqīq ‘inner-verification’). But, before describing this mystical activity, it is worth briefly looking at al-Ghazālī’s earlier, but equally influential, treatment of philosophy. It is hard to accept al-Ghazālī’s assertion that he mastered the subtleties of Islamic philosophy in less than two years and while still engaged in the burdens of teaching and writing at the Madrasa Nizāmiyya. Rather, it is probable that he began his study of falsafa six years earlier, when he first joined the entourage of Nizām al-Mulk, who actively promoted literary and intellectual pursuits amongst his followers. But regardless of when he began studying the subject, al-Ghazālī soon sought to establish a clear and distinct separation between religion and philosophy, working to reverse the integration of revealed law (sharī‘a) and philosophy (ḥikma) initiated by the Arab scientist-philosopher al-Kindī (d.256/870), and then consummated by the brilliant Iranian thinker, Abū ‘Alī ibn Sīnā (known in the West as Avicenna, d.429/1037). Ibn Sīnā’s philosophical system in particular had attempted to present Muslim intellectuals with a rational explanation for various religious truths, couching them in the latest scientific findings. Dubbed al-Ra’īs (the Chief ) in recognition of this impressive intellectual achievement, Ibn Sīnā succeeded in rationally explaining the validity of spiritual experiences, the nature of love, the operation of prophecy, and even the visiting of the tombs of saints. Although many aspects of Ibn Sīnā’s work attracted al-Ghazālī, including his influential doctrine of the higher faculties of the human soul,

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al-Ghazālī ultimately dismissed those of Ibn Sīnā’s metaphysical doctrines which he believed contradicted essential religious dogmas. In his Tahāfut al-falāsifa (The Incoherence of the Philosophers), for example, al-Ghazālī argued that Ibn Sīnā could demonstrate neither God’s creation of the world nor the spiritual substance of the human soul. He also condemned Ibn Sīnā’s adherence to the philosophical doctrines of the eternity of the world (first taught by Aristotle) and the impossibility of God having knowledge of particular things or events. He also challenged Ibn Sīnā’s denial of the physical resurrection in favour of a spiritual resurrection. Al-Ghazālī felt these doctrines could lead many people “to refuse the details of religions and creeds, and to believe that there are human constructed laws and artifices” (from Tahāfut). Nevertheless, al-Ghazālī’s reservations about Ibn Sīnā’s work did not prevent him from authoring the philosophy primer, Maqāṣid al-falāsifa (The Aims of the Philosophers), essentially an Arabic paraphrasing and clarification of Ibn Sīnā’s Persian-language handbook, Dānish Nameh. Ironically, the Maqāṣid later became a basic text for the study of philosophy in medieval Europe, where ‘al-Gazal’ was viewed as a leading eastern philosopher. In several other philosophical works composed during his time teaching in Baghdad, al-Ghazālī summarised the science of formal logic (manṭiq), stressing the importance of demonstrative proof for both theology and jurisprudence. He also produced his classic manual of Ash‘arī theological doctrine, entitled al-Iqtisād fī l-i‘tiqād (The Middle-Way in Sound Doctrine), which sought to strike a balance between simply accepting the pillars of Islamic faith and trusting to rational methods to prove their validity. In one of his last works, Iljam al-‘awāmm ‘an ‘ilm al-kalām (Restraining the Masses from the Science of Theology), al-Ghazālī pointed out that deep intellectual insight into the mysteries of doctrine (i.e. philosophy) will not help ordinary people of faith rectify their being and obtain salvation. He also wrote a significant work on ethical philosophy, entitled Mīzān al-‘amal (The Balance-Scale of Action), which integrated philosophical opinion concerning the psychology of the soul with alGhazālī’s own rational spirituality. In this text, al-Ghazālī outlined three levels of belief that a teacher must attain before accepting students: 1) the level of the general people (i.e. those who cannot comprehend higher rational and spiritual teachings); 2) the level of a select circle of pupils who have the potential to grasp higher teachings; and 3) a level which the teacher privately knows to be true but which he guards from those incapable of understanding it. This last level demonstrated al-Ghazālī’s recognition of the philosophical principle of ‘withholding knowledge’

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from those who lack the aptitude and/or preparation to receive it, thereby cautioning against the uncontrolled circulation of metaphysical and cognitive teachings without proper training and safeguards. Without these limitations, knowledge could become destructive, impairing rather than encouraging spiritual aspiration. Turning to al-Ghazālī’s later experiences with Sufism, after leaving his teaching position in Baghdad, he performed the pilgrimage to Makkah. He then spent almost three years (the traditional 1001 days) in Palestine and Syria as a wandering dervish.3 Although little is known about this period of his life, it is clear from al-Ghazālī's autobiography that he was driven by the inner logic of his own intellectual and spiritual search for ‘certainty’ (yaqin). This search, he felt, could only be completed through the Sufi path: I apprehended clearly that Sufis are men who had real experiences, not men of words, and that I had already progressed as far as possible by way of intellectual apprehension. What remained for me was not to be attained by oral instruction and study – but only by immediate experience and treading the Sufi Way.4

As al-Ghazālī knew, the practice of Sufism supposedly enables an individual to purify their physical and psychic functions until their perceptive and rational faculties attain such clarity and intensity that reality can be grasped directly – that is, the state of kashf (or 'unveiling' of truth) is achieved, utterly transforms one’s being. It was his hunger for inner certainty and a deeper cognition that propelled al-Ghazālī onto this path – the path of the Heart. During the next sixteen years, or from the beginning of his withdrawal into Sufism until his death, al-Ghazālī produced some of his most significant work, all of it aimed at renewing the relevance and application of Islamic religious praxis via a mature synthesis of the traditional religious disciplines with the Islamic rational sciences and an original spiritual metaphysic. This task was accomplished in his famed four-volume masterpiece, Iḥyā’ ‘ulūm al-dīn (Revivifying the Religious Sciences). Although primarily limited to the sciences of religious praxis (mu‘āmala), this text also provided glimpses into the science of experiential cognition (mukāshafa), especially in its treatment of spiritual virtues and the “wonders of the Heart.” Al-Ghazālī later abridged the Iḥyā’ in the form of his al-Arba‘īn fī uṣūl al-dīn (Forty Principles of the Foundations of Religion), as well as in his more revealing Persian summary, Kīmiyā' al-Sa‘ādah (The Alchemy of Happiness).

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The basic structure of al-Ghazālī’s thought as presented in the Iḥyā’ places God and His essential attributes of Will and Knowledge at the centre of all phenomena. The universe, al-Ghazālī holds, has two aspects: the natural physical world (mulk) and a heavenly realm (malakūt). Of these, al-Ghazālī states: “the bodily world has no real existence, but is in relation to the ‘World of Divine-Order’ (‘ālam al-amr) like the shadow of a body; the shadow of a man is not the real substance of that man, and so the individual being is not really existent but is a shadow of the real substance.”5 Likewise, humanity is basically composed of two aspects: the body and the spirit (rūḥ), each interpenetrating the other. The body is the ‘riding-animal’ for the spirit (also termed nafs ‘soul’, qalb ‘heart’, or ‘aql ‘mind-intelligence’), in which the essential reality of humanity truly lies. Al-Ghazālī portrays intelligence as both the noblest human attribute and the key to ultimate felicity. He views it as a privileged tool for receiving divine illumination, of opening the heart to an experiential knowledge of God.6 For al-Ghazālī, the highest, most authentic form of knowledge is knowledge of God and His actions, for the world is only valuable as a means of understanding God’s ceaseless Will. This does not, however, cancel the value of demonstrative reason, as this is required to defend religion against polemical attacks. Yet, exercising this form of reason is not incumbent upon all; it need only be undertaken by those equipped for it, since it is never a substitute for the workings of the heart. God’s creation and providential ‘generosity’ (jūd) conceal a mystery that can only be grasped by the heart. Despite taking this view, al-Ghazālī adapted aspects of Ibn Sīnā’s teachings on the rational soul in order to provide a more thoroughly consistent portrayal of human ‘knowing’ and spiritual advancement. He placed special emphasis on the possibility of increasing the intensity and purity of human awareness and understanding, culminating in the level of the sacred ‘prophetic mind’ – the highest attainment of human intelligence, achieved only by prophets and, to a lesser degree, the saints. Al-Ghazālī understood that God arranges His creation perfectly.7 His omnipotence has established a cosmos in keeping with the most perfect form of regulation: “it [the universe] is according to the necessarily right order, in accord with what must be and as it must be and in the measure in which it must be; and there is not potentially anything whatever more excellent and more complete than it.”8 In his brief but seminal work, Mishkāt al-anwār (Niche for Lights), al-Ghazālī provided a profound interpretation (ta’wīl) of the famous Light verse in the Qur’an (“God is the Light of the Heavens and the Earth...”), linking it with the Prophetic

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tradition of the “seventy thousand veils of light and darkness” separating creation from the Creator. He begins with the observation that the only true light in the universe is God in His eternal existence. All the beings in the world receive their borrowed illumination from God, the absolute Being and total Light. Al-Ghazālī writes that: “All the beings of this world are the effects of God’s omnipotence and lights of His Essence. There is no darkness more obscure than non-existence and there is no light brighter than existence. The existence of all things is a light of the Essence of God Most High.”9 God is completely manifest in the world, but the divine Light is so blinding that it conceals its original source. But, just as the light of the sun, which shines over the entire world, cannot be perceived by an observer who looks only at the objects around him and does not face up at the sky, humanity must contemplate God in order to truly understand Him. Final Years and Death Al-Ghazālī ceased his wanderings and returned to Iraq in ca.493/1099, before finally going back to his native Khurasan, where he remained in seclusion until 1106. In that year, Fakhr al-Mulk, the son of Nizām alMulk and vizier to the Seljuq Sultan, Aḥmad Sanjar (r.491-512/10971118), coaxed him into resuming his legal teachings at the Madrassa Nizāmiyya. After a little more than two years, however, al-Ghazālī retired again, this time for good. Taking up residence in his hometown of Tus, he began directing a preparatory school for Sufi novices while also privately teaching a select circle of disciples. He passed away in Tus in the presence of his brother and sisters in 505/1111. Al-Ghazālī’s contribution to Islamic thought helped shape a growing synthesis between theology, philosophy, and Sufism. He was the first to elaborate a genuinely metaphysical basis for spiritual teachings in Islam. By joining the mind with the heart, al-Ghazālī helped guide many subsequent generations of Muslims in their worldly affairs, personal devotions and intellectual efforts. Even today, al-Ghazālī continues to pose a significant challenge for us – namely, how to harmoniously integrate rational thought with an inner experience of God. Notes 1.

Frank Griffel, Al-Ghazali’s Theological Philosophy (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009), 28.

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3.

4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9.

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Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, s.v. ‘Al-Ghazali.’ Available at: http://plato. stanford.edu/entries/al-ghazali/. (Accessed on: 26 August 2016) The Seljuqs were Turkish military warlords who, under the nominal authority of the ‘Abbāsids in Baghdad, ruled over the central Islamic lands of Iraq, Iran and Central Asia. Some have claimed that al-Ghazālī left his position at the Madrassa Nizāmiyya not because of a spiritual crisis but because he had received threats from the Ismā‘īlīs. Certainly, the Ismā‘īlīs did issue death threats during this period, typically by leaving a warning note attached to a dagger driven into the pillow of their intended victims. Abū Ḥāmid al-Ghazālī, The Faith and Practice of al-Ghazali, trans. W. M. Watt (Oxford: One World, 1998), 11. Abū Ḥāmid al-Ghazālī, Kitāb al-arba’īn fī uṣūl al-dīn, ed. M. Mustafā Abū .. al-‘Ilā (Cairo: Maktabat al-Jundi, 1970), 62. Abū Ḥāmid al-Ghazālī, Iḥyā' ‘ulūm al-dīn, vol. 1, ed. ʻAbd al-Sabūr Shāhīn . (Beirut: Markaz al-Ahrām lil-tarjamah wa-al-nashir, 1988), 25. See al-Maqsad al-Asnā, al-Ghazālī’s commentary on God’s Most Beautiful Names. Al-Ghazālī, Iḥyā', vol. 4, 229-30. Ibid, vol. 4, 398.

Further Reading Al-Ghazālī, Abū Hāmid. ‘Al-Risalat al-Laduniyya (On the True Meaning of . Esoteric Knowledge).’ Translated by M. Smith. Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society 70 (1938): 177-200, 353-374. ___________________. Council for Kings. Translated by F. Bagley. London: Durham University Press, 1964. ___________________. Iḥyā' ‘Ulūm al-Dīn, 4 vols. Edited by ʻAbd al-Sabūr . Shāhīn. Beirut: Markaz al-Ahrām lil-tarjamah wa-al-nashir, 1988. ___________________. Kitāb al-arba’īn fī uṣūl al-dīn. Edited by M. Mustafā .. Abū al-‘Ilā. Cairo: Maktabat al-Jundi, 1970. ___________________. On Disciplining the Soul and Breaking the Two Desires. Translated by T. J. Winter. Cambridge: Islamic Texts Society, 1995. ___________________. The Faith and Practice of al-Ghazali. Translated by W. M. Watt. Oxford: One World, 1998. ___________________. The Remembrance of Death and the Afterlife. Translated by T. J. Winter. Cambridge: Islamic Texts Society, 1989. Binder, L. ‘Al-Ghazali’s Theory of Islamic Government.’ The Muslim World 45 (1955): 229-241.

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Griffel, Frank. Al-Ghazali’s Theological Philosophy. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009. Ormsby, E. Theodicy in Islamic Thought. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1984. Sherif, M. A. Al-Ghazali’s Theory of Virtue. Albany, NY: SUNY, 1975. Watt, W. M. Muslim Intellectual: A Study of al-Ghazzali. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1963.

20 ABŪ AL-WALĪD IBN RUSHD AL-QURTUBĪ 1 520596AH/11261198CE Tengku Ahmad Hazri

Ibn Rushd of Cordoba was a leading fifth-century AH/twelfth-century CE philosopher and jurist from al-Andalus, Spain. Famed from his knowledge and wisdom, his fellow al-Andalusian, the Sufi master Ibn ‘Arabī (d.638/1240), once described him as “a great master of reflection and philosophic meditation.” Even in the West, where he was known as Averroes, he gained a considerable reputation, the Christian theologian Thomas Aquinas (d.1274) saying of him that, if Aristotle was ‘the Philosopher’, Ibn Rushd was ‘the Commentator’.2 Born in Cordoba in 520/1126, Ibn Rushd came from a family of renowned Mālikī scholars. His grandfather in particular, Ibn Rushd alJadd (d.520/1126), had been a respected Mālikī jurist and “played an important role in the opposition of his city to Almoravid power.” Indeed, Ibn Rushd was born just as Cordoba began to undergo a transition from Almoravid (Ar. al-Murābiṭūn) power, with its strictly legalistic approach to Islam, to the more esoterically-orientated Almohads (Ar. al-Muwahhidūn), . . led by one Ibn Tumart (d.ca.522-525/1128-30). Ibn Tumart himself was a reformist of sorts: he stressed tawḥīd (the Oneness and Unity of God) coupled with personal piety and purification of the soul. This theologicalphilosophical backdrop had a profound influence on Ibn Rushd, as one notices in the connections he makes between legal and philosophical/ theological views.3 Ibn Rushd’s family background ensured that he received an intensive education in the traditional religious sciences, conducted at the feet of al-Andalus’s leading jurists. One of Ibn Rushd’s later biographers, Ibn ‘Abbār (d.658/1260), noted that even as a child Ibn Rushd demonstrated a predilection towards diraya (opinion-orientated tafsīr based on ijtihād,

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or independent legal reasoning) rather than riwaya (tafsīr derived from traditional sources). During this period, Ibn Rushd also studied medicine, later composing the medical treatise, Kitāb al-kullīyyāt fī al-ṭibb (General Studies on Medicine), which was influential in both the Arabic and Latinspeaking worlds.4 Little is known about Ibn Rushd’s education in philosophy, the discipline at which he would eventually excel. All we can say with certainty is that he admired the Andalusian philosopher, Abū Bakr ibn Bājja (d.532/1138), and maintained a close friendship with the latter’s student, Ibn Ṭufayl (d.581/1185). It was Ibn Ṭufayl who introduced Ibn Rushd to the Almohad caliph, Abū Ya’qūb Yūsuf (r.558-580/11631184), as a learned and knowledgeable philosopher. After this flattering introduction, the caliph reputedly asked Ibn Rushd to clarify the position of the philosophers concerning the world – namely, whether it was eternal or created in time. The shy Ibn Rushd, however, offered no answer, whereupon the caliph turned to Ibn Ṭufayl and began discussing the matter in abstruse and profound language. This impressed Ibn Rushd, finally encouraging him to participate in the discourse. The caliph struck Ibn Rushd as someone well-versed in Greek philosophy, especially the works of Aristotle. Ibn Rushd soon realized that despite the caliph’s own erudition, the latter found it lamentable that no qualified person had yet translated the complex works of the philosophers into simple, plain language. Two fruitful outcomes therefore came from this historic meeting: Ibn Rushd was made a judge (qāḍī) in Seville while simultaneously being commissioned to write commentaries on Aristotle, to make the latter’s work easier to understand. Ibn Rushd left behind a vast corpus of learning, ranging from his commentaries on Aristotle to texts on language, politics and jurisprudence. Most notable amongst his works are the Kitāb al-kashf ‘an manāhij al-adilla and the Kitāb faṣl al-maqāl (which includes an important appendix, entitled al-Ḍamīma). The first of these texts delved into various philosophicaltheological questions pertaining to God, the world and knowledge, while the second dealt with the status of philosophy from the standpoint of the Sharia. In this regard, Ibn Rushd defined philosophy as “the study of existing entities insofar as they reveal the Maker.” This allowed him to argue that philosophy is not only permissible in Islam, but obligatory. Crucially, he developed a unique interpretation of sūra 3 āyat 5-7 of the Qur’an. These verses concern the ‘ambiguous’ (mutashābihāt) passages of the Qur’an, stating: “None knows their meaning except God. And those who are firmly rooted in knowledge say…” Ibn Rushd postponed the stop

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in this extract to produce: “None knows their meaning except God and those who are firmly rooted in knowledge. Say…” This permitted him to frame human knowledge as an interpreter of the ambiguous verses – albeit only for “those who are firmly rooted in knowledge” (rāsikhūn fī’l-‘ilm), which he understood to refer to the philosophers (ḥukamā). Ibn Rushd also sought to legitimise philosophy by establishing parallels and analogies with the science of law (fiqh). Obedience to God, he stated, should be both practical (i.e. legal) and intellectual (i.e. philosophical). The latter, however, carried more importance than the former because action should be guided by knowledge. For Ibn Rushd, jurists laid a methodological foundation for judging human action according to Sharia, while the philosophers sought to achieve the same in the domain of thought and intellect. But while correct legal meaning could be divulged to all, philosophical knowledge could only be disclosed to those qualified to understand it. For the vast majority of mankind, the external meaning of religion elucidated by the law should be sufficient. Although Ibn Rushd ranked jurisprudence below philosophy, he did not neglect it. Indeed, his ultimate (unfulfilled) aim was to compose a work on uṣūl al-fiqh for the Mālikī School comparable to the definitive Mudawwana of Ibn al-Qāsim (d.191/806). But despite failing to achieve this, Ibn Rushd did manage to compose the Bidāyat al-mujtahid wa nihāyat al-muqtaṣid (finished in 584/1188). Written over a period of twenty years, Ibn Rushd used this text to critique an apparent over-reliance on taqlīd (imitation) amongst jurists: We find the so-called jurist of our time believing that the one who has memorized the most opinions has the greatest legal acumen. Their view is like the view of one who thought that a cobbler is he who possesses a large number of shoes and not one who has the ability to make them. It is obvious that the person who has a large number of shoes will someday be visited by one whose feet the shoes do not fit. He will then go back to the cobbler who will make shoes that are suitable for his feet. This is the position of most of the faqihs of these times.

Through the Bidāyat, therefore, Ibn Rushd intended to highlight the importance of ijtihād. He did so by discussing scholarly disagreement (ikhtilāf) – that is, diversity of opinion. In the introduction to the Bidāyat, he explained that his purpose was to “give an inventory of the juridical decisions on which scholars are in agreement, and those on which they [have] disagreed, by recourse to those principles and rules

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which are regarded as fundamental.” This process culminated in the text’s concluding chapter, where Ibn Rushd argued that the various rulings of Sharia – or more specifically, of the legal sunan (norms) – were designed to serve specific end-goals, such as respect, gratitude, temperance, justice, balance and individual integrity. Thus, by taking diversity of opinion as his subject matter, Ibn Rushd was able to evolve a method of extracting the underlying principles of the law in order to ascertain the reasoning process underlying those rulings – an approach not unlike that of the maqāṣid alsharī’a (higher objectives of Sharia). According to Yasin Dutton, the Bidāyat is Ibn Rushd’s attempt “to impose a rational structure” on the discipline of fiqh, which by his time had developed into a confusing mass of linguistic detail, concerned with endlessly discussing the meaning of words. Dutton noted that the text demonstrates Ibn Rushd’s conviction that “difference of opinion is inevitable when dealing with the interpretation of language.”5 The Bidāyat also shows that Ibn Rushd considered conscious thought (naẓar) as necessary, not only for a complete understanding of Islam’s tenets, but also for its practical application. Despite his proclivity for general principles, however, Ibn Rushd stressed the inviolability and integrity of the Qur’an and Sunna, merely arguing that they should be viewed holistically. Returning to Ibn Rushd’s work on philosophy, his well-known commentaries helped develop new and novel interpretations of Greek philosophy, shaping both Arab and (particularly) European perceptions of the subject. Concerning political order, for example, Ibn Rushd utilised both Aristotle’s Nichomachean Ethics and Plato’s Republic to locate the origins of political order in human nature, i.e. in man who, as a “political animal,” is only capable of realising his true nature in a political setting, specifically the city (madīna).6 Following Plato, Ibn Rushd argued that there are many different types of city, the arrangement of each following the arrangement of the soul – that is, divided into rational, volitional and appetitive faculties. According to Ibn Rushd, the best type of city is the democratic city (al-madīna al-jamā’iyya): “All the arts and dispositions emerge in this city, and it is so disposed that from it may emerge the virtuous city and every one of the other cities.”7 The democratic city is “the one of which most of the multitude hold…is the city to be admired, for every man asserts on the basis of unexamined opinion that he deserves to be free.”8 Cities only become democratic, however, after their basic needs have been fulfilled, essentially emerging from the ‘city of necessity’. Concerning the ‘virtuous city’ (that is, the supreme form of the democratic city), Ibn Rushd compared it to the regimes of the Rightly Guided Caliphs

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(al-Khulafā al-Rāshidūn). He challenged the rulers of his own time, the Almoravids and Almohads, to live up to their example. Ibn Rushd died in 596/1198 in Marrakesh. Ibn ‘Arabī described how “while his coffin which contained his remains had been loaded on the side of a beast of burden, his works had been placed on the other side in order to counterbalance it.”9 Since his death, many tributes have been paid to him throughout the Islamic world. Ibn Abī Uṣaybi‘a (d.668/1270), for example, in his Ṭabaqāt al-aṭṭibā’ wa tārīkh al-ḥukamā’, said, “He was the peerless authority of his time in the Law and knowledge of juristic differences, and he excelled in medicine...speculative theology, and philosophy.”10 Al-Dhahabī (d.748/1348), the Shāfi’ī jurist and historian, in his Siyar a’lām al-nubalā’ remarked that, “No one of his scholarly perfection, his erudition, or his high manners was ever raised [again] in (d.799/1397), in his alAndalus.”11 The famous biographer, Ibn Farhūn . Dībāj al-mudhahhab fī ma’rifa a‘yān ‘ulamā’ al-madhhab remarked that, “He was of exemplary modesty...he gained eminence in his life through the office of judge in Cordoba, and although kings held him in great awe and respect he never sought after honour or material gain,”12 while Ibn al-‘Imād (d.1089/1679), in his Shadharāt al-dhahab, states, “He excelled in the Law, heard hadith, mastered medicine, and embraced speculative theology and philosophy until his erudition became proverbial in the latter.”13 These accolades notwithstanding, Seyyed Hossein Nasr has highlighted how Ibn Rushd’s fidelity to the Aristotelian corpus, combined with his critique of al-Ghazālī’s famed Tahāfut al-falāsifa, served to weaken his influence in the Islamic world. As a consequence, he was probably more influential in Christian Europe, where his ideas were popularised by many leading figures, including Thomas Aquinas, Siger of Brabant (d.ca.1284) and Dante Alighieri (d.1321). Indeed, Dante was so fond of Ibn Rushd that, in his Divine Comedy, he excused him from the depths of Hellfire, placing him in Limbo alongside other “righteous pagans.” But ‘Latin Averroism’ was not always faithful to the original intention of Ibn Rushd. Most notably, whereas Ibn Rushd advocated harmony between philosophy and religion, holding that one truth could be explicable in many ways, Latin Averroists adopted a theory of ‘double truth’, separating the two disciplines and ultimately facilitating the secularisation of the West. Nevertheless, and whether in its intended form or not, his influence remained. Even in the modern world, Ibn Rushd is still paraded as a figure of enlightenment. For example, the former United Nations SecretaryGeneral, Boutros Boutros-Ghali (d.2016), observed that Ibn Rushd speaks

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directly to the present when writing about the importance of the masses in politics, the need to address their problems and their happiness, and the necessity of organising the state along the principles of reason.14 Notes 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6.

7. 8. 9. 10. 11.

12. 13. 14.

I would like to acknowledge and thank Mohd Fariz Zainal Abdullah and Ahmad Badri Abdullah for their help in preparing this article. May Allah reward them with the best of rewards! Henri Lauziere, The Making of Salafism: Islamic Reform in the Twentieth Century (New York: Columbia University Press, 2015). Dominique Urvoy, ‘Ibn Rushd,’ in History of Islamic Philosophy, ed. Seyyed Hossein Nasr and Oliver Leaman (London: Routledge, 1995), 331. Antony Black, The History of Islamic Political Thought (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2010), 120. Yasin Dutton, ‘The Introduction to Ibn Rushd’s Bidayat al-Mujtahid,’ Islamic Law and Society 1, no. 2 (1994): 188-205. Black, History of Islamic Political Thought, 122-4. Ibn Rushd claims to have been unable to capitalise on Aristotle’s Politics (a more practically-minded extension of the Nichomachean Ethics) because he could not obtain a copy of it. His use of Plato’s Republic was therefore designed to compensate for its absence; it also discusses the various types of political regimes and the constitutional transformations of one polity into another. Ibn Rushd, Averroes on Plato’s Republic, trans. Ralph Lerner (New York: Cornell University Press, 1974), 110. Ibid, 111. Cited in Seyyed Hossein Nasr, Three Muslim Sages (New York: Caravan Books, 1964), 94. Ibn Abī ‘Usaybi‘a, ‘Uyūn al-anbā’ fi ṭabaqāt al-aṭṭibā’, vol. 2 (Frankfurt: . Ma‘had Tārīkh al-‘Ulūm al-‘Arabiyya al-Islāmiyya, 1990), 75. Al-Dhahabī, Siyar a‘lām al-nubalā’, vol. 21 (Beirut: Mawsu’ah al-Risālah, 1974), 307. The full list of these testimonies is available at http://kitaabun. com/shopping3/article_info.php?articles_id=7. We thank Mohd Fariz Zainal Abdullah for his help in verifying the sources. Ibn Farhūn al-Mālikī, al-Dībāj al-mudhahhab fī ma’rifa a‘yān ‘ulamā’ al. madhhab, vol. 2 (Cairo: Dār al-Turāt, 1976), 258. Ibn al-‘Imād, Sharadhāt al-dhahab fī akhbar min Dhahab li-Ibn al-‘Imād, vol. 6 (Damascus: Dār Ibn Kathīr, 1976), 522-3. Boutros Boutros-Ghali, ‘Foreword,’ in Averroes and the Enlightenment, ed. Murad Wahbah and Mona Abousenna (Amherst, NY: Prometheus Books, 1996), 9.

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Further Reading Al-Dhahabī. Siyar a‘lām al-nubalā’. Beirut: Mawsu’ah al-Risālah, 1974. Black, Antony. The History of Islamic Political Thought. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2010. Boutros-Ghali, Boutros. ‘Foreword.’ In Averroes and the Enlightenment, edited by Murad Wahbah and Mona Abousenna. Amherst, NY: Prometheus Books, 1996. Dutton, Yasin. ‘The Introduction to Ibn Rushd’s Bidayat al-Mujtahid.’ Islamic Law and Society 1, no. 2 (1994): 188-205. Ibn Abī ‘Usaybi‘a. ‘Uyūn al-anbā’ fi ṭabaqāt al-aṭṭibā’. Frankfurt: Ma‘had Tārīkh . al-‘Ulūm al-‘Arabiyya al-Islāmiyya, 1990. Ibn al-‘Imād. Sharadhāt al-dhahab fī akhbar min Dhahab li-Ibn al-‘Imād. Damascus: Dār Ibn Kathīr, 1976. Ibn Farhūn al-Mālikī. al-Dībāj al-mudhahhab fī ma’rifa a‘yān ‘ulamā’ al-madhhab. . Cairo: Dār al-Turāt, 1976. Ibn Rushd. Averroes on Plato’s Republic. Translated by Ralph Lerner. New York: Cornell University Press, 1974. Lauziere, Henri. The Making of Salafism: Islamic Reform in the Twentieth Century. New York: Columbia University Press, 2015. Nasr, Seyyed Hossein. Three Muslim Sages. New York: Caravan Books, 1964. Urvoy, Dominique. ‘Ibn Rushd.’ In History of Islamic Philosophy, edited by Seyyed Hossein Nasr and Oliver Leaman, 330-345. London: Routledge, 1995.

21 MUḥY ALDĪN IBN ʿARABĪ 560638AH/11651240CE Ahmad Badri Abdullah

The great Andalusian scholar, Abū ʿAbd Allāh Muḥammad ibn ʿAlī alḤātimī al-Ṭā’ī, otherwise known by his honourific title Shaykh al-Akhbar Muḥy al-Dīn ibn ʿArabī, is commonly remembered as a great Sufi master. For centuries, his teachings have had a special attraction for those who consciously enjoy the mysterious dimensions of God’s presence in human experience. Seyyed Hossein Nasr has maintained that with the works of Ibn ʿArabī the Muslim Ummah encountered a complete metaphysical, cosmological, psychological, anthropological and doctrinal expression of the Sufi tradition. Prior to Ibn ʿArabī, Sufi doctrines derived from the saying of the Sufi masters, offering little theoretical metaphysical exposition. Through Ibn ʿArabī’s work, however, the esoteric dimension of Islam became explicitly formulated and expressed, enabling anyone to contemplate it.1 This brief article aims to outline the life and thought of this important thinker. Ibn ʿArabī’s Early Life, Teachers and Spiritual Adventure Born on 17 Ramaḍān 560AH/25 July 1165CE in the beautiful town of Murcia, set inland from the Mediterranean Costa Blanca, between Valencia and Almeria, Ibn ʿArabī’s spent his early life under the Almohad dynasty (515-668/1121-1269). Ibn ʿArabī’s family was amongst the oldest, noblest, and most pious of Arab lineages in Spain. His father’s family, for example, was descended from the legendary Arabian poet, Ḥātim al-Ṭā’ī, while his mother was from a noble Berber family with strong ties to North Africa. After spending his early life in Murcia, in 578/1183 Ibn ʿArabī moved to Seville, where he began pursuing his natural inclination towards all

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things spiritual. While in the city, he met two female saints, Yasmin of Marshena and Fātima of Cordova, both of whom significantly influenced . the orientation of his life – especially Fātima, whom he would come to . consider his spiritual mother. When he reached his twenties, Ibn ʿArabī left Seville and began to travel throughout al-Andalus, including to Cordova, where he met the famous philosopher, Ibn Rushd (d.595/1198). Later, Ibn ʿArabī would recount a conversation between himself and Ibn Rushd, in which they debated the limitations of rational perception; Ibn Rushd wished to pursue an exclusively rationalistic path to truth, while Ibn ʿArabī favoured a path that sought harmony between reason, mystical intuition and revelation. Ibn ʿArabī would continue to travel until 595/1198, ranging throughout al-Andalus and into North Africa, as far as modern-day Tunisia. While in Africa, he visited Almeria, centre of the mystical school of Ibn Masarra (d.319/931) and Ibn al-ʿArif (d.535/1141). According to Asin Palacious, Ibn ʿArabī received his formal initiation into Sufism while in Almeria.2 In 598/1201, Ibn ʿArabī undertook the pilgrimage to Makkah, where he remained for three years. It was during this period that he began the composition of his magnum opus, Futūḥāt al-Makiyya (The Makkan Illuminations). Leaving Makkah in 602/1205, Ibn ʿArabī proceeded to travel throughout Egypt, Syria, Palestine, Iraq and Anatolia. While in Egypt in 604/1207, he came into conflict with some local jurists, receiving death threats as a result. He therefore returned to Makkah, before travelling back to Anatolia. In the latter location he met his most celebrated disciple, Ṣadr al-Dīn al-Qunāwī (d.673/1274), who would become the main commentator and propagator of his work. From Anatolia Ibn ʿArabī traveled eastward to Armenia, before heading south again towards the Euphrates Valley and Baghdad. In Baghdad, he had the chance to meet the famous Sufi master, Shihāb al-Dīn ʿUmar alSuhrawardī (d.632/1234). During his many travels, Ibn ʿArabī became a renowned intellectual and spiritual figure. Finally settling in Damascus, he spent the end of his life writing, completing his monumental Futūḥāt, essentially a diary recording his spiritual journey over the previous thirty years. In 638/1240, he breathed his last while still in Damascus.

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The Vast Intellectual Legacy of Ibn ʿArabī Ibn ʿArabī produced a large number of texts. In total, approximately eight hundred written works are attributed to him – although only about one hundred survive, mostly in the form of manuscripts kept in libraries across both the Islamic world and Europe. These texts range from short treatises and letters to monumental works like the Futūḥāt that cover a wide array of subjects (including metaphysics, cosmology, psychology, Qur’anic commentary and more). In this section, I will briefly review some of the most important of Ibn ʿArabī’s texts, while also providing an idea of their significance. Beginning with the Futūḥāt al-Makiyya, Ibn ʿArabī completed the first draft of this text in 629/1231, following it up with the final version in 636/1238. Essentially a compendium of the esoteric sciences, it is the largest of Ibn ʿArabī’s works, consisting of five hundred and sixty chapters in thirty-seven volumes (usually published in between four and eight volumes in modern times). In it Ibn ʿArabī discusses the principles of metaphysics, the various sacred sciences, as well as his own spiritual experiences. Additionally, the Futūḥāt also catalogues the lives and sayings of earlier Sufis on matters like cosmological doctrine, alchemy, astrological symbols, and other esoteric staples. It remains the main source on Islamic metaphysics, with Sufis from across the world still studying it today. The next significant text by Ibn ʿArabī is his Fuṣūṣ al-ḥikam (The Bezel of Wisdom). Undoubtedly the most widely read of Ibn ʿArabī’s works, Fuṣūṣ is something of a spiritual testament and deemed by many to be the most effective summary of his teachings as a whole. The majority of the work is concerned with the role of the different prophets in the process of Divine revelation. According to Nasr, the title of the book is a reference to each ‘bezel’ in the nature of the prophets, as those things that allowed them to serve as the vehicle of Divine wisdom.3 According to Ibn ʿArabi, the Divine revelation is ‘coloured’ by its recipients (i.e. the prophets) who are themselves a Divine possibility contained within a celestial prototype. There have been many commentaries on Fuṣūṣ alḥikam, including by Ibn ʿArabī’s own disciple, Ṣadr al-Dīn al-Qunāwī. In total, it is estimated that over fifty commentaries exist, most of them still in manuscript form. Tarjumān al-ashwāq (The Interpreter of Dreams) is another widely read work by Ibn ʿArabī. A collection of exquisite Sufi poetry, Ibn ʿArabī republished it himself with a commentary elucidating the underlying meaning of some of the poetic symbols he used.

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Beside these three major works, other important texts by Ibn ʿArabī include Inshā’ al-dawā’ir (The Creation of the Sphere), ʿUqlat al-mustawfiz (The Spell of the Obedient Servant), and al-Tadbīrāt al-Ilāhiyya (The Divine Direction), all of which touch on the subject of cosmology. Other works, such as Risāla al-khalwa (Treatise on the Spiritual Retreat), Hizb al-wiqāya (Spiritual Counsel), and Ḥilya al-abdāl (The Pillars of Spiritual Transformation), discuss the practical methods necessary for those who want to travel the Sufi path. The Mishkāt al-anwār (Divine Saying) is Ibn ʿArabī’s collection of 101 ḥadīth qudsī. There is also a Qur’anic commentary attributed to Ibn ʿArabī and which touches on the various mystical aspects of the Qur’an, including the symbolism of certain letters. From a cursory survey of Ibn ʿArabī’s work, at least two distinctive themes emerge: the introduction of imagination as an Islamic epistemological reference and the celebration of religious diversity. I will now discuss each of these in turn. Imagination as an Epistemological Reference Henri Corbin asserts that imagination plays a central role in Ibn ʿArabī’s writings; Ibn ʿArabī consistently emphasises imagination (khayāl) as one of Islam’s pivotal epistemology references for pursuing the acquisition of truth and making sense of reality. For Ibn ʿArabī, this ‘epistemology of imagination’ encapsulates an abstract intellectual distillation of mystically perceived truth. Human reason, he claims, can only delimit, define, and analyse. Although it has the ability to perceive distinctions between different objects, allowing it to quickly grasp (for example) the incomparability of the Divine, it cannot perceive God’s self-disclosure (tajallī) since God is incomparable and transcendent. As such, and according to Ibn ʿArabī, creative imagination is essential as a complement to the human ability to rationalise and reason. While discussing imagination as an epistemological reference, Ibn ʿArabī also focuses on the ontological status of imagination. Some researchers have suggested that Ibn ʿArabī’s use of khayāl more correctly denotes ‘image’ than ‘imagination’, as the term is also used in his works to designate mirror images, shadows, dreams, and visions. An image, according to Ibn ʿArabī, brings together two different elements and unites them into one while also maintaining the distinctions between them. For instance, a mirror image is both the mirror and the reflected object, but also neither. Therefore, for Ibn ʿArabī imagination is a process that perceives notions as images that are simultaneously both true and false.

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The Celebration of Religious Diversity Ibn ʿArabī is also known as a celebrant of religious diversity. By arguing that God is the source of all diversity throughout the cosmos (i.e. as its Creator), Ibn ʿArabī has argued that all religious diversity is Divinely intended. According to Ibn ʿArabī, religious plurality is the natural consequence of two underpinning factors: God’s non-limited self-disclosure and the nature of humanity’s receptivity to that self-disclosure. Thus, for Ibn ʿArabī the diversity of religions results from the non-redundant plurality of human souls; since religious traditions are manifested in the lives of human individuals, the diversity of persons will naturally result in a diversity of traditions. In other words, even though the Essence of God is one, understandings of God’s self-disclosure will be diverse owing to the wide array of perceptions amongst humanity. Moreover, according to Ibn ʿArabī, since God’s self-manifestation never ends, understandings of that manifestation will be infinite. Even though Ibn ʿArabī’s approach tends to trivialise the differences between religious affiliations, it is not relativistic. In his teachings, Ibn ʿArabī consistently describes Islam and Sharia as the purest and most correct form of belief and practice. He sees all revealed religions as lights; the revealed religion of Muḥammad is, in comparison to other religions, like the light of the sun amongst the stars. Ibn ʿArabī’s hermeneutical approach to the interpretation of the Qur’an is also relevant to his position on religious diversity. Each word of the Qur’an, Ibn ʿArabī claims, has unlimited meaning. Thus, a correct perusal of the text should bring readers to a new, distinctive understanding in every reading. This assertion of the intrinsic and infinite potential of meaning in the divine text should, if properly understood, promote an awareness amongst people of faith that their understanding of the texts cannot exhaust all possible interpretations. Through such an approach, a meaningful inter-religious dialogue can be achieved. Conclusion It is very hard to find a Sufi born after Ibn ʿArabī who has not come under his influence. Many subsequent, towering figures in Islamic mystical and philosophical circles, including Jalāl al-Dīn Rūmī (d.656/1258) and Mulla Sadra (d.1050/1640), acknowledged their debt to the teachings of this great Andalusian sage. In modern times, Ibn ʿArabī’s teachings continue to be taught throughout the Islamic world, in places as diverse as India,

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Egypt, Turkey and Iran. Even in the West, Ibn ʿArabī’s influence can be identified, including in the work of Christian esoterics like Dante. This truly makes him one of the ‘architects’ of Islamic civilisation. Notes 1. 2. 3.

Seyyed Hossein Nasr, Three Muslim Sages (New Tork: Caravan Books, 1975). Miguel Asin Palacious, El Islam cristianizado. Estudio del sufismo a través de las obras de Abenárabi de Murcia (Madrid: Ediciones Hiperión, 1990). Seyyed Hossein Nasr, Three Muslim Sages.

Further Reading Addas, Claude. Ibn ‘Arabi: The Voyage of No Return. Chicago: Islamic Text Society, 2000. Nasr, Seyyed Hossein. Three Muslim Sages. New Tork: Caravan Books, 1975 Palacious, Miguel Asin. El Islam cristianizado. Estudio del sufismo a través de las obras de Abenárabi de Murcia. Madrid: Ediciones Hiperión, 1990. Yousef, Mohamed Haj. Ibn ‘Arabi: Time and Cosmology. Oxford: Routledge, 2008.

22 ʿIZZ ALDĪN IBN ʿABD ALSALĀM ALSULĀMĪ 578660AH/11821263CE Ahmad Badri Abdullah

Abū Muhammad ʿIzz al-Dīn ʿAbd al-ʿAzīz ibn ʿAbd al-Salām al-Sulāmī . was born in 578AH/1182CE in Damascus and died in 660/1262 while in Cairo. He was from the Moroccan tribe of Banū Sulaym. By the end of his life, he would be counted as a major Muslim scholar who contributed immensely to the fields of Islamic jurisprudence and its principles (fiqh wa uṣūlihi). In particular, he promoted the idea of maṣlaḥa (public benefit) within the ambit of Islamic law, ultimately establishing the science of weighing between maṣlaḥa and mafsada (harm). He was amongst those scholars who put their utmost into developing a theoretical edifice for the higher objectives of Islamic law (maqāṣid al-sharīʿa). Beside his great scholarly contributions to the Ummah, ʿIzz al-Dīn is also well-known for his unwavering defense of the rights of the common people. ‘Izz al-Dīn’s Character and His Passion for Knowledge The famed Egyptian scholar, al-Subkī (d.756/1355), reported in his Ṭabaqāt al-Shāfiʿiyya that ʿIzz al-Dīn’s family suffered from poverty, thereby denying him the chance to pursue formal learning while still young. Later in life, however,ʿIzz al-Dīn seriously and earnestly took up the scholarly cause, ultimately making significant contributions to all the subjects he studied. As reported by al-Subkī, ʿIzz al-Dīn started his academic journey by memorising the Kitāb al-tanbīh wal-ishrāf (The Book of Notifications and Verifications) by al-Masʿūdī (d.345/956). In addition, ʿIzz al-Dīn

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regularly attended the study circles of famous scholars, benefitting from their knowledge and gaining exposure to their ethical conduct. ʿIzz al-Dīn elucidated on his determination to learn with other scholars when he said: I will not be satisfied in a subject until I have completed its learning under a certain teacher. I will not stop until the teacher tells me that, ‘You don’t need me anymore, keep busy [studying] with yourself.’ Instead, I usually remain with the teacher until the completion of the subject.1

On another occasion, he described his devotion to scholarship as follows: It has been 30 years that I cannot fall asleep until I have completely memorised chapters of knowledge by heart.2 ʿIzz al-Dīn studied under a number of prominent scholars, including Sayf al-Dīn ibn ʿAlī ibn Abū ʿAlī ibn Muḥammad al-‘Āmidī (d.631/1233), Baha al-Dīn ibn ʿAlī ibn al-Ḥasan ibn ʿAsākir (d.600/1203), Abū Muḥammad al-Qāsim, and Jamāl al-Dīn al-Harastanī al-Shāfiʿī

(d.614/1217). He is also reported to have learnt about Sufism under the famous mystics, Shihāb al-Dīn ʿUmar ibn Muḥammad al-Suhrawardī (d.632/1234) and Abū al-Ḥasan al-Shādhilī (d.656/1258). Even though he began his education rather late, ʿIzz al-Dīn managed to master his subjects, eventually establishing himself as a respected scholar. Due to his passion and perseverance, ʿIzz al-Dīn became an expert in nearly all the religious sciences, from Islamic jurisprudence and its principles (fiqh wa uṣūlihi) to Qur’anic exegesis, hadith studies, and Arabic language. In particular, his expertise in the field of Islamic jurisprudence and its principles became known far and wide. When he later lived in Egypt, for example, a local scholar, al-Hāfiz al-Mundhirī, decided to refrain from giving legal opinions of his own; he felt his knowledge was too inferior in comparison to that of ʿIzz al-Dīn. In addition to his well-known piety, spirituality and humility, ʿIzz alDīn was an outspoken, fearless, and courageous scholar, known for his uncompromising attitude towards maintaining Islamic principles. His commitment to defending both the rights of God and of the people meant he was loved and supported by the populace at large, while also eliciting respect and honour from the rulers. Al-Subkī illustrates both ʿIzz al-Dīn’s mastery of knowledge and his outstanding character as follows:

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He is the Master [Shaykh] of Islam and Muslim people, one of their leading scholars, a king of scholars. He is the leader of his time without dispute, the one who promoted righteousness and prevented wrongdoing in his time; an analyser of the reality of Sharīʿah and its ambiguities, who is informed by its objectives. There is nobody comparable to him, and anyone who has observed his character will not find any resemblance in terms of knowledge mastery and piety, in holding the truth and bravery, as well as in the strength of his heart and tongue.3

Furthermore, ‘Izz al-Dīn was also known as an adherent of moderate Sufism. Although initially amongst those who criticised and rejected the teachings and practices of the Sufis, al-Suyūṭī tells us how ʿIzz al-Dīn finally became involved in Sufism: In the beginning, Shaykh ʿIzz al-Dīn was on the path of the jurists who would hastily reject Sufism. At the time when Shaykh Abū al-Hassān al-Shāziliy went to perform his pilgrimage and then returned, he visited Shaykh ʿIzz al-Dīn and sent him regards from the Prophet (PBUH). Shaykh ʿIzz al-Dīn then demonstrated his gratification by attending the learning circles of Shaykh al-Shāziliy and then became the one who promulgated positive appraisals of the Sufis after fully comprehending their true path and attending their events.4

A Courageous Advisor to the Rulers Under the Ayyūbid rulers, Mālik al-Ashrāf Mūsā and Mālik al-Ṣāliḥ ʿImād al-Dīn Ismāʿīl, ʿIzz al-Dīn was appointed head of Zawiyya al-Ghazāliyya, a renowned learning institution in Damascus. He also became the Imam and Khatīb . of the Umayyad Mosque, the central mosque in the city. After a period of time, Mālik al-Ṣāliḥ began to wage war against his cousin, Mālik al-Ṣāliḥ Najm al-Dīn Ayyūb, the ruler of Egypt. This led him to conclude an agreement with the Christian Crusaders, offering them safe conduct and free passage to Damascus, where they could buy weapons and food. This measure invited strong criticism from ʿIzz al-Dīn; presenting his contention in his Friday sermon, he announced a legal opinion prohibiting the selling of weapons to the enemy and of developing a close relationship with them. In the sermon he also recited a prayer as follows: “O Allah, grant this Ummah with a wise ruler, gratify therein those who are in obedience, and put disgrace on those who are in grave sin.” He then concluded

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his speech without saying a prayer for the Sultan, as was the usual practice. Mālik al-Ṣāliḥ regarded this as disloyalty and imprisoned ʿIzz al-Dīn. Due to the resulting public unrest, however, ʿIzz al-Dīn was soon released, only to flee to Egypt. ʿIzz al-Dīn arrived in Egypt in 639/1241 and was warmly welcomed by Mālik al-Ṣāliḥ Najm al-Dīn Ayyūb, who appointed him Chief Justice of the state and khaṭīb of the ‘Amr ibn al-‘Āṣ mosque. While holding the former position, ʿIzz al-Dīn noticed an improper practice in the government, related to the status of princes and their daily conduct. The crux of the problem lay in the fact that the princes were originally slaves who had been bought in large numbers to strengthen the position of the rulers. They then emerged as the ruling clique, after which they became involved in sales, marriages and other practices as if they were free individuals. This, however, and according to ʿIzz al-Dīn, was contrary to the teachings of Islam. ‘Izz al-Dīn therefore issued a legal opinion suggesting that, since no one had made claim to own any of the princes, they were the property of the state. Hence, they must all be sold and then freed by their new masters before they could play their role in government. This legal opinion once again soured ʿIzz al-Dīn’s relations with the throne. It led to howls of protests, not just amongst the princes, but from the Sultan himself who, although he dearly loved and respected ‘Izz alDīn, deemed the latter’s opinion to be unacceptable. He therefore pleaded with ʿIzz al-Dīn to reconsider, but the scholar insisted. In his anger, the Sultan finally uttered some words against ʿIzz al-Dīn and which were regarded as compromising the latter’s position. As a result, ʿIzz al-Dīn put his belongings on his donkey and left Cairo. The people of Cairo, however, strongly objected and also left the city in large numbers to follow the scholar. Upon learning of this exodus, the Sultan immediately rode out on his horse to catch up with the shaykh. After seeking forgiveness from him, the Sultan successfully pleaded with ʿIzz al-Dīn to return to the city. Upon returning to Cairo, ʿIzz al-Dīn continued to insist that the sale of the slaves be put into immediate action. This angered the Crown Prince, who rode with a number of officers to ʿIzz al-Dīn’s house in an attempt to kill him. When ʿIzz al-Dīn’s son tried to warn his father against the Crown Prince, asking him to escape, ʿIzz al-Dīn replied: “Move out from my way, son. Your father is too humble to be given the honour of being a martyr for God’s cause.” When ʿIzz al-Dīn encountered the Crown Prince, he presented him with such a hard look that the Crown Prince reputedly lost the ability to move his hand, thus making him drop his sword while filling his eyes with tears. Finally, the Crown Prince asked the scholar to

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make a prayer for him and agreed to the sale of the princes. He asked about the procedure of sale, particularly about the question of who would set the price and where the money should be spent. ʿIzz al-Dīn replied that he would use the money himself to benefit the public. Therefore, all the princes were gathered in the market, with ʿIzz al-Dīn himself calling them out by name and asking prices for them. Each prince had made arrangements with a friend or a relative to buy him. In this way, they were all finally freed and able to function in their positions. Based on these anecdotes, ʿIzz al-Dīn received his two renowned titles ‘The Sultan of Scholars’ (sulṭān al-ʿulamā’) and ‘The Seller of Rulers’ (baiʿ almulūk). Many other anecdotes also display ʿIzz al-Dīn’s courage, firmness, and dedication to truth and justice, without fear or favour, whenever he made a stand on any issue. ʿIzz al-Dīn’s Scholarship and His Contribution to Civilisation ʿIzz al-Dīn wrote a large number of books in various fields, from

Qur’anic exegesis, to commentaries on the hadith, to theology, to Islamic jurisprudence. For example, he wrote a complete commentary on the Qur’an, entitled Tafsīr al-Qur’ān al-ʿAzīm, and which focused on the text’s linguistic aspects in order to suggest an easier method by which to grasp its meaning. However, his most valuable work in this field was his Al– Ishārah ila al-ʿijāz fī baʿda anwāʿ al-majāz, more widely known as Majāz al-Qur’ān. This text succeeded in gaining positive appraisals from many scholars. He also wrote a summary of al-Mawardi’s exegesis, entitled alNaktu wa al-ʿuyūn. On the subject of hadith, ʿIzz al-Dīn wrote four commentaries/ summaries of earlier works. One of these (now lost) was a summary of Saḥīḥ Muslim. On other subjects, ʿIzz al-Dīn wrote a number of books on Islamic belief (ʿaqīda) and theology (kalām). Titles within this category include: Anwāʿ fī ʿilm al-tawḥīd, al-Farqu bayna al-islām wa alimān, Waṣiyya Shaykh al-ʿIzz, and Mulḥah fī al-iʿtiqād ahl al-ḥaq. This last book explains ʿIzz al-Dīn’s doctrinal beliefs and answers many of the false accusations hurled at him by his opponents. ʿIzz al-Dīn also wrote a small set of short works on the issue of tawḥīd, collectively entitled Risāla al-tawḥīd. These comprised a set of responses to certain fundamentalist scholars who had exerted significant influence upon the governor of Egypt. These treatises served as an important presentation of ʿIzz al-Dīn’s views on the correct understanding of tawḥīd and the sound approach to the contentious issue of Allah’s speech and sound (swt).

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In the field of Islamic jurisprudence and its principles, ʿIzz al-Dīn produced a significant number of works. His most valuable is known as Qawāʿid al-ahkām fī maṣālīḥ al-anām. In it, ʿIzz al-Dīn discusses the nature of Islamic law and jurisprudence, which he deemed to be a system aimed at ensuring the realisation of man’s worldly and heavenly benefits. To promote this idea as the main theme of his work, ʿIzz al-Dīn wrote: Moreover, if we investigate the maqāṣid manifested in the Qur’an and Sunnah, we realise that God has enjoined all that is good, from the most trifling to the most momentous, and that He has forbidden all that is evil, from the most insignificant to the most heinous. In speaking of ‘good’, He is referring to the pursuit of benefit and the prevention of harm, and in speaking of ‘evil’ He is referring to the pursuit of harm and the prevention of what is beneficial.5 ʿIzz al-Dīn devoted significant parts of this book (as well as three others, entitled Qawāʿid al-kubrā, Qawāʿid al-sughrā, and Shajārah al-maʿārīf wa al-ahwāl wa ṣāliḥ al-aqwāl wa afʿāl) to discussing maṣlaḥa and mafsada. In particular, ʿIzz al-Dīn developed a set of guidelines to help jurists resolve situations where a maṣlaḥa conflicts with another maṣlaḥa, or a mafsada with another mafsada, or even in cases where a maṣlaḥa contradicts a mafsada. In all, ʿIzz al-Dīn suggested three solutions to these conflicts: i) reconciliation (al-jamʿu) between the opposing elements; ii) prioritisation (tarjīḥ) of the dominant elements; or iii) leaving the issue in question undecided (tawaqquf). ʿIzz al-Dīn supplemented this rich discussion with some practical examples encapsulating various day-to-day issues, thereby helping clarify his argument. Besides the above, ʿIzz al-Dīn is also widely known for his position regarding the ability of human reason to identify earthly benefits (and in contradistinction to otherworldly benefits, which are only known from the Qur’an and hadith). It is actually very compelling that ʿIzz al-Dīn, as a Shāfiʿī scholar and adherent of the Ashʿārite school of thought, would promote such a significant role for human reason in the identification of benefit and harm. In many parts of his work, he displays this means of identifying benefits as follows:

Most sources of earthly benefit and harm are discernible through human reason; moreover, the truth of this affirmation is recognised by most divinely revealed laws. After all, there is no sensible person who – even before the revelation of the divine Law – would fail to perceive the attainment of pure benefit and the prevention of pure harm.6

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Whoever investigates the intents of the Law (maqāṣid al-sharī’a), which are to achieve benefit and prevent harm, will arrive at a conviction or recognition that this or that benefit must not be neglected and this or that source of harm must be avoided. For even if there is no consensus, text, or analogy which deals specifically and explicitly with the source of benefit or harm in question, an understanding of the Law itself necessitates such a conclusion.7

This position invited criticism from other theoretical jurists (uṣūliyyūn), including the infamous scholar of maqāṣid, al-Shāṭibī. In his al-Muwafaqāt, al-Shāṭibī presented his criticism of ʿIzz al-Dīn’s position on the role of reason as follows: As for his [i.e. ʿIzz al-Dīn’s] statement that benefits pertaining to the afterlife may only be ascertained through divine revelation, it is as he says. As for the view he expresses concerning earthly benefits, however, it is not as he says in every respect…Moreover, even if, in promoting earthly interests, the Law’s ultimate intent is to promote those of the life to come, this is not inconsistent with the intent of promoting the benefits of this earthly life so that, in this way, people might conduct themselves in a manner which befits the life to come. In this connection, Islamic law has promoted untold numbers of [beneficial] behaviors and eliminated countless forms of corruption.8 ʿIzz al-Dīn also discussed the wisdom and benefit – whether earthly or

heavenly – of performing prayer, of fasting, and of going on the Hajj. These discussions are embedded in a number of his works, including Maqāṣid alṣalāḥ (the objectives of prayer), Maqāṣid al-ṣaum (the objectives of fasting), and Maqāṣid al-ḥajj (the objectives of pilgrimage). It is interesting to note that ʿIzz al-Dīn’s employment of the term maqāṣid (objective) in the titles of these works shows his commitment to uncovering the teleological aspects of the discussed acts. For instance, in his Maqāṣid al-ṣaum he illustrates the objectives of fasting as follows: To lift the level of faith within people who perform the act, to abort grave sins, to fight against temptations, to offer alms for the needy, to enhance obedience and to be grateful to the All-Knower of the hidden matters as well as to refrain from vices against the Lord.9 ʿIzz al-Dīn was also a strong opponent of blind imitation (taqlīd) within fiqh. He viewed it as unacceptable for any jurist to blindly support weak opinions from within his own school of fiqh, so much so that evidence

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to the contrary from the Qur’an and hadith were neglected. According to him, jurists of this sort violated their positions as true scholars by promoting inaccurate and peculiar interpretations of sources in order to support the opinions of their Imams. ʿIzz al-Dīn’s legacy falls under three main themes. First, he left an intellectual legacy favouring the promotion of openness as a means of fostering creative and innovative thinking amongst scholars searching for new ideas and solutions to social issues. Secondly, ʿIzz al-Dīn’s intellectual legacy also favoured exploring the more pragmatic dimensions of Islamic law, dealing with people’s daily lives. In this regard, he expounded the notion of benefit as a focal point of the law and developed the maxims of weighing the position between benefit and harm. Turning to the third theme, this is sociopolitical: ʿIzz al-Dīn was an early prototype for civil movements in Muslim society. This is illustrated by his support of the voices of the people: ʿIzz al-Dīn not only gained the support of the people, but also represented their voices to the ruling powers. These efforts helped determine how the aspirations of society could be diligently observed by the government. As such, and to summarise, there are three important elements to ʿIzz al-Dīn’s contributions which, together, denote the building blocks of a civilised Muslim community: openness, guided pragmatism, and civil rights. Notes 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9.

Tāj al-Dīn al-Subkī, Ṭabaqāt al-Shāfiʿiyya al-kubrā, ed. Mahmūd Muhammad . al-Tanāhī and ʿAbd al-Fattāh. Muhammad al-Halwa (Beirut: Dār Ihyā Turāth . al-ʿArabiyya, 1964), 8, 212. Ibn Hajar al-ʿAsqalābī, Rafʿu al-Iṣrā’ ʿan Qudāt Misr, . . ed. ʿAlī Muhammad ʿUmar (Cairo: Maktaba al-Khānijī, 1998), 2, 352. Cf. Al-Subkī, Ṭabaqāt al-Shāfiʿiyya, 8, 609. Jalāl al-Dīn al-Suyūtī, fī tārīkh Misr . Ḥusn al-muhādara . wa Qāhera, ed. . . Muhammad Abū Fadl . . Ibrāhīm (Cairo: Dār Ihyā’ Kutub al-ʿArabiyya, 1967), 1, 314. ʿIzz al-Dīn ibn ʿAbd al-Salām, Qawāʿid al-ahkām fi masālīh al-anām, (Beirut: . Dār Jīl, 1980), 2, 189. Ibid, 1, 5-7 Ibid, 2, 189 Abū Ishāq Al-Muwafaqāt fī usūl . Ibrāhīm ibn Mūsā Al-Shātibī, . . al-sharīʿa, ed. ʿAbd Allāh Darrāz (Beirut: Dār al-Maʿrifa, 2002), 1, 30 ʿIzz al-Dīn ibn ʿAbd al-Salām, Maqāsid al-saum, ed. Iyyād Khālid . . (Damascus: Dār al-Fikr, 1995), 10. Other titles ‘Izz al-Dīn composed in this genre include: Ahkām al-jihād wa faḍā’ilihī, al-Targhīb fī ṣalāḥ al-raghā’ib almauḍuʿa, al-Fawā’id fī ikhtiṣār al-maqāṣid (or Qawāʿid al-ṣughrā), Manāsik

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al-ḥajj, al-Imām fī bayān adillāh al-ahkām, al-Fatāwā al-maṣriyya, al-Fatāwā al-muwāṣilah, and al-Ghāyah fī al-ikhtisār . nihāya al-matlab fī dirāya almazhab lil Imām al-Haramayn. Most of his writings are still in manuscript form, having never been published.

Further Reading ʿAbd al-Muʿtiy Farūq. Al-ʿIzz ibn ʿAbd al-Salām sulṭān al-ʿulamā’. Beirut: Dār Kutūb al-ʿIlmiyya, 1993. Ali, Syed Rizwan. Sulṭān al-ʿUlamā’ al-ʿIzz ibn ʿAbd al-Salām: A Great Muslim Jurist & Reformer. New Delhi: Adam Publishers & Distributors, 1998. Burkani, Umm Nail. Al-Ijtihād al-maqāsidiyya inda al-ʿIzz ibn ʿAbd al-Salām. . Kuala Lumpur: IIUM, 1999. Syalābī, Mahmūd. Hayāh sulṭān al-ʿulamā’ al-ʿIzz ibn ʿAbd al-Salām. Beirut: Dār al-Jīl, 1992. Zuhaily, Muhammad Mustafa. Al-ʿIzz ibn ʿAbd al-Salām sulṭān al-ʿulamā’ wa baʿi .. . al-mulūk, al-dāʿiyya, al-muslih, . . al-qādī, . al-usūlī, al-mufassir. Damascus: Dār al-Qalam, 1998.

23 JALĀL ALDĪN RŪMĪ 603672AH/12071273CE Abdul Karim Abdullah

Jalāl al-Dīn Rūmī, a Persian mystic poet, lived during the closing years of the ‘Abbāsid caliphate (132-656AH/750-1258CE), the Golden Age of Islamic civilisation. Born in 603/1207, in Khurasan, present-day Afghanistan, his life began three years after the end of the Fourth Crusade and twelve years before the Mongol invasion of Muslim lands. He died in 672/1273, fifteen years after the destruction of Baghdad in 656/1258. On account of the beauty of his poetry, Rūmī’s work is popular amongst both Muslims and non-Muslims. His works have been translated into twenty-three languages and have sold in the millions of copies. He has fans all over the world and is the best-selling poet in the US. In the Muslim world, his work occupies a place comparable to that of Shakespeare in the English-speaking world. Indeed, due to its linguistic excellence, spiritual erudition and depth, his major work, the Masnavi, has often been referred to as the Qur’an of the Persian language. The appeal of the Masnavi transcends tribal distinctions, communal proclivities and differences of colour and creed. In comparison to legalistic expressions of Islam, Rūmī’s poetry is attractive and articulate. He focuses on the human condition, which may be characterised as the ‘separation’ of humankind from God, or what can be termed its spiritual alienation. Rūmī combines Islamic mysticism with artistic experimentation. Rūmī saw himself as a teacher and a preacher. While meditating and composing poetry, which he dictated, Rūmī would whirl. His work displays optimism, playfulness, humour, and deep longing.

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Rūmī’s Life and Historical Context Rūmī lived during a traumatic period of history, when several major assaults occurred against the Muslims, both from the east and the west. Five crusades (the Fifth to the Ninth, dating from between 609/1213 and 670/1272) and the Mongol invasions all took place during his lifetime. Indeed, the intensity of his work may be a reflection of the turbulence he lived through. In 615/1219, when he was twelve years old, Rūmī’s family fled the approaching Mongol armies. Travelling through Baghdad, Makkah, and Damascus, they finally settling in Konya, Asia Minor (present-day Turkey). Konya at that time was part of the Seljuk Sultanate of Rūm – ‘Rūmī’ means ‘of Rūm’. In Konya, Rūmī’s father worked as a teacher at a local madrassa (religious school). In his twenties, Rūmī studied in Aleppo and Damascus. He married in 622/1225, at the age of eighteen. When his father died six years later, Rūmī replaced him as the local teacher. In all, he had four hundred students. When Rūmī’s work came to the attention of Sultan ‘Alā’ al-Dīn Kayqubād (r.617-635/1220-1237), who became his ardent supporter, Rūmī’s fame spread.1 Rūmī stayed in Konya for the remaining fifty years of his life. Rūmī and Sufism Within Islamic civilisation, Rūmī falls under the rubric of Sufism, also known as taṣawwuf or mysticism. At the other end of the spectrum one finds theology, exegesis, and jurisprudence. Like other Sufis, Rūmī emphasised sincerity. Rūmī wrote that “everything beautiful reflects the glory of God.” Sufism offers an intuitive approach to Islam, in contrast to doctrinaire methods. Where the Sharia regulates external behaviour, Sufism concentrates on spirituality. In this way, Sufism serves to moderate zealous displays of Islam. Sufis see true spirituality as extending beyond the performance of ritual. After attaining a level of enlightenment, the mystic continues to seek a higher awareness. Seeking the pleasure of God provides the Sufi with an incentive to continue his journey. The term Sufi comes from the Arabic ṣafā, which means ‘purity’. Sufis are known for meditating on the attributes (ṣifat) of God, in particular His Majesty (ṣifat al-jalāl) and Beauty (ṣifat al-jamāl). Sufis are concerned with how a person can come ‘close’ to God. Confirmation that a ‘closeness’ between humanity and God is possible comes from the Qur’anic verse

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4:125, which states that God “did take Abraham for a friend [khalīl].” This ‘closeness’ is typically achieved by means of meditation and the remembrance (dhikr) of God.2 The practice of ritualised dhikr among Rūmī’s Sufi followers (known as the Mevlevi Order) is known as sema. It includes recitation, singing, instrumental music, dance (Sufi whirling), meditation, and trance. The purpose of sema is to restore one’s original purity (or fiṭra) by way of a spiritual awakening. Because of its tolerance and acceptance of diversity, this form of Sufism offers a non-coercive approach to spirituality in contrast to other, mostly ritualised manifestations of ‘religiosity’. In particular, the sema of Rūmī’s followers contrasts sharply with the fanatical manifestations of ‘religiosity’ currently gaining notoriety with groups like Jabhat al-Nusra and ISIS. Shams-i-Tabrīzī Rūmī was influenced by Shams-i-Tabrīzī (d.646/1248), a charismatic wandering dervish. They met in 642/1244, when Shams was 60 and Rūmī was 38. During his lifetime, Shams had travelled extensively and interacted with many Sufis. When he encountered Rūmī, the latter invited him into his house. The two fasted for forty days and subsequently lived as devout Muslims for more than a year. Legend has it that Shams possessed miraculous powers. Under his influence, Rūmī began a spiritual journey from theology to mysticism, from being a Mufti to becoming a Sufi. “I used to recite prayers. Now I recite rhymes and poems and songs,” Rūmī said (ghazal 2:351). In short, after befriending Shams, Rūmī became a mystic and began incorporating poetry, music and dance into his practice of Islam. Over a thirty-year period, between the ages of 37 to 67, Rūmī also wrote many mystical poems, including his magnum opus, the Masnavi. However, Shams left Rūmī’s home after less than a year and a half; he was made to feel less than welcome by some of Rūmī’s relatives, who had difficulty accepting what they viewed as ‘eccentric’ practices. As a result, Rūmī became disconsolate. In response, his family finally sent Rūmī’s son, Sultan Valad, to implore Shams to return. By that time, Shams had settled in Syria. After receiving Rūmī’s son, however, Shams returned to Konya in 1247.3 Nevertheless, over time Rūmī’s friends once again became averse to Shams, again compelling him to leave, this time for good. In addition to Shams, Rūmī was also influenced by the equally famous Sufi, Farīd al-Dīn ‘Aṭṭār (d.ca.617/1220). He also had two additional

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companions, Salaḥ al-Dīn Zarkub (d.657/1259) and Ḥusām al-Dīn Chalabi (d.683/1284), who remained with Rūmī until his death.4 Rūmī expressed his ideas in the Masnavi and the Fi-he Ma Fih (Discourses). His work gave rise to the Mevlevi Order, which lasted until 1344/1925, when it was abolished by Kemal Ataturk in his zeal for ‘progress’. Nevertheless, in many parts of the world, including the West, readers have remained captivated by Rūmī’s work, ensuring its survival. Rūmī on Education According to Rūmī, the aim of education is spiritual awakening. The Qur’an states that God does not change the condition of a people until they change what is in themselves (13:11). In other words, true reform begins from within. It takes place ‘from the bottom up’, rather than ‘from the top down’. Spiritual awakening also requires the practice of virtue and the rejection of vice. Education obliges humanity to undergo a process of purifying the soul (tazkiya al-nafs). Purification is required on account of humanity’s proclivity to follow its desires. For Rūmī, the challenge of education is to harmonise humanity’s inclinations and obligations. Rūmī also taught the need to obtain control over one’s self as a requirement for approaching nearer to God. This required spiritual discipline. To help achieve this, Rūmī said that education needed to address both the intellect (‘aql) and the heart (qalb). The intellect was required for the purpose of appreciating the ‘signs of God’, the ‘heart’ for internalising knowledge. Also central to Rūmī’s concept of education was the idea of the ‘Perfect Man’ (al-insān al-kāmil). For Rūmī, perfection was attainable through virtues such as piety, justice, compassion, truthfulness, sincerity, patience and courage. The Prophet Muḥammad, Rūmī said, as the exemplification of the Perfect Man, continues to serve as the best example for humanity to emulate in this regard (Qur’an, 33:21). Ultimately, Rūmī emphasised that humanity develops its spirituality and its talents by means of effort. It is through struggle (jihād) that humanity realises its potential. Jihād is not limited to armed struggle but includes, first and foremost, a striving for self-improvement and achieving mastery over one’s self, known as the greater jihād.

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The Masnavi Rūmī’s Masnavi is essentially a collection of meditations on virtues and vices. It is addressed to all humanity, not just Muslims. In it, Rūmī illustrates each of the virtues and vices using stories, parables, and allegories. Ultimately, the text seeks to restore the equilibrium (mizan) between spiritual and physical existence. To do this, it emphasises inclusivity, peace and tolerance. These qualities, the text states, could help avert a clash of civilisations, and even bring about an alliance of civilisations. By promoting peace in this manner, Rūmī contributes to inter-religious and inter-cultural harmony. Later on in history, the Masnavi would contribute towards a revival of Indian Sufism, achieved in the face of competition from Buddhist and Vedantic ideas. By encouraging the reading and writing of poetry and literature inspired by the Qur’an, the Masnavi promoted a balanced understanding of Islam in India. Indian reformers who drew on it emphasised the ethical ideals of Islam and concentrated on the betterment of the people. In this way, they also contributed to the Islamic educational system in India at that time. More recently, the Masnavi has influenced the thought of such outstanding scholars as Syed Ahmad Khan (d.1316/1898), founder of Aligarh University, and Muhammad Iqbal (d.1357/1938), the intellectual father of modern-day Pakistan. Iqbal expressed his thoughts on the text in his well-known Urdu poem, ‘The Sage Rūmī and His Indian Disciple.’ Rūmī’s Modern-day Appeal Given the uneasy relationship between Islam and the West, some may find it hard to understand how Rūmī, a Muslim who lived eight hundred years ago, could become the best-selling poet in twenty-first-century America. We do not, however, have to look far for the answer. Materially, modern-day humanity is generally – although not universally – well provided for. Spiritually, however, it experiences deprivation. Humanity’s lifestyle, while possibly characterised by a ‘high’ standard of living as measured by per capita income, at the same time offers a low quality, spiritually impoverished life. This manifests itself in (for example) the demise of the family, high divorce rates, high rates of abortion, and high rates of crime. The condition of modern-day humankind can be described as being distanced from an important part of reality: its own spirituality.

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Problems always arise as a result of adopting a flawed methodology for pursuing reality. In such cases, liberation from misconception requires adopting a better approach. What is required is to find the truth – not only truth in the ordinary sense, but also truth in the transcendental, spiritual sense. In other words, humanity needs to find its bearings. It needs to be oriented. To assist humanity in this search for truth, God endowed it with intelligence. Assuming that humanity avails itself of this gift, the application of intellect should help it distinguish truth from falsehood. Also, there are many signposts along the way – the signs (āyāt) of God. The challenge is to take note of them and act accordingly. It is in helping humanity to re-establish its connection with spiritual reality, to restore the balance between its spiritual and material existence, that Rūmī’s work becomes useful. Love of Truth Rūmī reminds us of the need to love truth (ḥaqīqa). A love of truth manifests itself not only in a subjective sense, but also in a transcendental form, as the highest truth. But, while Rūmī calls his readers to the truth, he also provides them with a method of discovering it: Sufism. By means of the search for truth, humanity becomes reconciled to God and, by accepting the truth, overcomes its spiritual alienation. Rūmī, like many others before and after him, found the way to truth – in particular, the highest truth – by means of revelation, specifically through the Qur’an. The Qur’an alerts humanity to the many signs of God, both within itself and in the world of nature, and promises the righteous the “home of the hereafter.” The Qur’an refers to God as the “Light of the heavens and the earth” (24:35) and teaches that “in the remembrance of God hearts do find their rest” (13:28). The challenge is therefore to find one’s way back to the straight path (ṣirāṭ al-mustaqīm). This requires the ‘remembrance’ of God and the following of His guidance. The ‘signs’ of God are everywhere, and they are there to help humans ‘remember’, as they are by nature forgetful. The signs can be found in the world of nature as well as in the world ‘within’ (51:20-1). The Sufi orders (or ṭarīqas) are designed to enable this ‘return’ or ‘reunion’ with God. As Rūmī says in the Masnavi, “He who abides far away from his home is ever longing for the day he shall return” (Book I, Prologue).

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The Limitations of Rūmī’s Poetry Like other poets, Rūmī made use of what is known as ‘poetic license’, allowing him to take certain liberties not commonly open to others. This was done in order to convey meaning while also achieving beauty. Often, poets achieve beauty through the use of rhyme. This, however, presents a risk: the poet may choose a word that rhymes in preference to a word that expresses the intended meaning with a high degree of accuracy. For example, Rūmī wrote three thousand poems to his ‘beloved’, but it is not always clear whom or what he meant by the term. Sometimes he seems to mean his worldly companion, Shams (Masnavi 1:25), while at others he means the Prophet Muḥammad. At still other times, however, Rūmī means God (Masnavi 1:111) and in yet other instances everything in this world and the hereafter (Masnavi 6:3234). This ambiguity makes his text hard to follow. Conclusion Rūmī’s poetry provides humanity – in particular modern-day humanity – with a starting point for analysing its condition. This should help it fill the spiritual void in its soul, caused in part by the – perhaps hasty – adoption of new ways of thinking. Rūmī’s work gives us a much-needed pause to reflect and, indeed, appreciate the spiritual manifestation of existence. Reservations about poets and poetry have been voiced in the past. Poets have been blamed for failing to tell the truth, for exaggerating, and even for justifying licentious behaviour. The Qur’an itself contains a powerful critique of poets: it describes poets as being under the influence of “evil spirits.” It also asserts that poets have a tendency to lie, not least to themselves (26:221-4), and that those who follow poets are “lost in grievous error” (26:224). The Qur’an even implies that poets cannot be trusted because, “they say what they do not do” (26:226). Nevertheless, the Qur’an excludes from its disapproval, “those who have attained to faith, and do righteous deeds” (26:227). Thus, the Qur’an differentiates between two kinds of poets: righteous persons, and those inspired by “evil spirits.” It hardly needs to be added which category of poets Rūmī belongs to.

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Notes 1. 2. 3. 4.

Ahmed Selahaddin Hidayetoglu, Mawlana Muhammad Jalal al-Din Rumi: His Life and Personality (N.p.: Konya Province Directorate of Culture and Tourism, 2010). Masoud Ahmad Ariankhoo, Inter-Religious Peace and Harmony in Mawlana Rumi and ‘Ayn al-Qozat Hamadani, IAIS Malaysia working paper (2015). Hidayetoglu, Mawlana Muhammad Jalal al-Din Rumi. William C. Chittick, The Sufi Doctrine of Rumi (Bloomington, IN: World Wisdom Inc., 2005).

Further Reading Ariankhoo, Masoud Ahmad. Inter-Religious Peace and Harmony in Mawlana Rūmī and ‘Ayn al-Qozat Hamadani. IAIS Malaysia working paper 2015. Bakar, Osman. ‘The Inculcation of Objective Values for Human Development according to Rūmī’s Educational Philosophy.’ IAIS Bulletin Nos. 5-6 (2011-2): 12-13. Chittick, William C. The Sufi Doctrine of Rumi. Bloomington, IN: World Wisdom Inc., 2005. Ciabattari, Jane. ‘Why is Rumi the best-selling poet in the US?’ BBC. 14 April 2015. Available at: http://www.bbc.com/culture/story/20140414-americasbest-selling-poet Hidayetoglu, Ahmed Selahaddin. Mawlana Muhammad Jalal al-Din Rumi: His Life and Personality. N.p.: Konya Province Directorate of Culture and Tourism, 2010.

24 TAQĪ AL-DĪN IBN TAYMIYYAH 661728AH/12631328CE Mohd Fariz Zainal Abdullah

During fifteen centuries of highs and lows, the Islamic world has been graced with certain individuals who are considered heirs to the prophets, people who always stand up for their beliefs and strive to allow what is good and forbid what is evil for the sake of Allah alone. These godly individuals have been identified by their specific contributions, with some being known as just and merciful rulers, others as brave military leaders, highly intelligent jurists, eloquent theologians, prolific writers or historians. Some are just normal individuals who sought to submerge themselves in the love of their Creator, like the ascetics of old. Whether the illustrious subject of this paper, Taqī al-Dīn Abū al-‘Abbās Aḥmad ibn ‘Abd al-Ḥalīm ibn ‘Abd al-Salām ibn ‘Abd Allāh ibn al-Khadr . ibn . ibn Muḥammad ibn al-Khadr ‘Alī ibn ‘Abd Allāh ibn Taymiyyah, deserves to be considered as one of these individuals is controversial.1 Revered and reviled in equal measure, the name Ibn Taymiyyah awakens many hearts, both for and against him. Famously known by some as Shaykh al-Islām, Ibn Taymiyyah’s influence on Islamic thought and jurisprudence is unarguably all-encompassing. It is no exaggeration to state that the history of Islamic thought can be divided into two: ‘Pre-Ibn Taymiyyah’ and ‘Post-Ibn Taymiyyah’. His thought and influence are so significant that many modern-day scholars and every-day Muslims, whether they support him or not, remain enthralled to his views. Followers and detractors alike continue to discuss the influence of Ibn Taymiyyah’s thought and actions. This is not only in abstract terms, but also with regard to the practical issues of national harmony and cross-border security; the name Ibn Taymiyyah is just as likely to trigger excitement and caution inside an international airport as in a theology classroom. Perhaps because of this, a

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plethora of books and papers have been written about him. Although this perhaps makes it difficult to provide a fresh study of his personality, the significance of his contributions to the renewal of theological discourse, the reconciliation of reason and revelation, and the reinvigoration of jihād and al-amr bi al-ma’rūf wa al-nahy ‘an al-munkar (bidding good and forbidding evil) all make the brief biographical sketch presented by this article both necessary and relevant to contemporary issues. Early Life and Education Ibn Taymiyyah was born on 10 Rabī’ al-Awwal 661AH/22 January 1263CE, in the city of Harran (modern-day Turkey). When he was aged just seven, advancing Mongol armies forced his family to flee to Damascus. A family of well-known Ḥanbalī scholars, it is said that they travelled only at night, with their most precious possessions, their books, on a handcart. Certainly, it is evident that Ibn Taymiyyah grew up in a family dedicated to knowledge. His grandfather, for example, Abū al-Barakāt Majd al-Dīn ibn Taymiyyah (d.653/1255), was the famous author of Muntaqā al-akhbār (Selection of Messages), a compilation of legal hadith that later became a standard textbook. Along with its commentary, Nayl al-awṭār sharḥ muntaqā al-akhbār min aḥādīth Sayyid al-Akhyār (Fulfilment of Wishes, Commentary on a Selection of Messages from the Sayings of the Lord of the Virtuous Ones), written by Muhammad al-Shawkānī (d.1834), it . is still taught in Islamic universities all over the world. In addition, Ibn Taymiyyah’s father was Shihāb al-Dīn ‘Abd al-Ḥalīm ibn Taymiyyah (d.682/1284), who upon his arrival in Damascus became a teacher at the Great Mosque and the city’s chair of Ḥanbalī fiqh, a position he held until the end of his life. While growing up, Ibn Taymiyyah had little interest in sports and other outdoor activities, preferring to remain consistently focused on the acquisition of knowledge. Continuing his family’s legacy of scholarship, Ibn Taymiyyah began his pursuit of knowledge by memorising the Holy Qur’an, completing it by the time he was just seven. Subsequently, he studied with his family members and at various study circles in the mosques and madrasas of Damascus. He memorised the Musnad of Aḥmad ibn Ḥanbal (d.241/855), the Sunan (Traditions) of Abū Dāwūd al-Sijistānī (d.275/889), and the al-Jam‘ bayn al-ṣaḥīḥayn (Compilation of the Two Ṣaḥīḥ) of Abū ‘Abd Allāh al-Ḥumaydī (d.488/1095), together with other major books of hadith. By his teens, he was already prominent in so many

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branches of knowledge that he stood head and shoulders above the rest of the students in Damascus. In short, Ibn Taymiyyah grew up in a dignified environment devoted to knowledge and worship. He demonstrated a brilliance and intelligence that amazed the prominent scholars of his time. He mastered not only the religious sciences, but also logic, philosophy, arithmetic, linguistics and comparative religion. It was said that he began to issue fatwas at the age of just nineteen and, by age twenty-one, had replaced his father as teacher at the Great Mosque of Damascus. Becoming well-known throughout the Muslim world, he would deliver lectures from memory, with eloquent speech and a measured pace. All the noble qualities associated with a scholar were imbued in Ibn Taymiyyah’s personality.2 The Muslim World during the Time of Ibn Taymiyyah The worst situations frequently bring out the best in a nation. During Ibn Taymiyyah’s life-time, Muslim society was facing many problems, both internal and external. Politically, the Muslims were being threatened by two major forces: from the West, Muslims had to defend themselves against Christian Crusaders, while from the East the Mongolian Tatars were already pushing into the heart of the Middle East. Indeed, five years before Ibn Taymiyyah’s birth, the Mongols had conquered Baghdad and 3 executed the caliph al-Musta’sim . Billāh. The agony of this defeat, coupled with the subsequent wide-spread destruction of Muslim lands, violently impressed itself upon Ibn Taymiyyah. It undoubtedly helped shape his uncompromising attitude towards his beliefs, and his unapologetic stance towards his opponents. Economically, the Middle East of Ibn Taymiyyah’s time was also in crisis. The absence of political stability negatively impacted upon the socioeconomic conditions of the entire region. People lived in fear of their own security and the prices of goods (including basic foodstuffs) rose so high that both Egypt and Damascus were gripped by food shortages. Serious fire in 681/1283, agricultural disaster in 701/1303, earthquake in 702/1304 and massive floods in 717/1319 only added to these difficulties.4 In this midst of these societal pressures, a loss of faith and rationality ensued; social turbulence was paralleled by chaos in religious discourse. Moreover, the earlier expansion of Muslim states, coupled with the advent of the Mongol invasions, had brought Islam into contact with other religions and cultures. This resulted in the importation of foreign

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concepts and philosophies (particularly grave worship), with many varying Muslim groups and sects emerging, some of them closely associated with the ruling elites. All of this caused Ibn Taymiyyah considerable distress; he associated it with a serious decline in the ‘aqīda (creed) of the Muslims. He therefore made it his mission to provide arguments after arguments against the followers of these innovations (bid’a), turning himself into the ultimate enemy of all those pseudo-scholars who held important positions in government. In his eyes, he became a true reformer, conducting proper iṣlāḥ for the sake of the Ummah. A Positive or Negative Figure?5 Not everyone, however, sees Ibn Taymiyyah as a caller to iṣlāḥ and tajdīd (renewal). Some, whether during his own life-time or subsequently, have perceived him as a troublemaker. He has been labelled a difficult ideologue who persistently tried to demolish the established beliefs of others and go against the ruling government. Certainly, his life was full of trials and tribulations stemming from these perceptions, with most of his later life being spent in prison. Nevertheless, such views are perhaps uncharitable. Thus, rather than a foe to rulers and his fellow scholars, Ibn Taymiyyah was actually the archenemy of blind following (taqlīd) and innovation in worship and knowledge. For example, when he first performed the Hajj in 689/1291, he found himself confronted with many blatant innovations in worship. When he returned to Damascus in 690/1292, he therefore wrote his Manāsik al-Ḥajj (Rituals of the Hajj), specifically designed to denounce what he had seen in Makkah. It was from this point that many began to recognise him as a highly knowledgeable scholar and an important reformer, championing renewal in Islamic thought and practice – that is, a scholar of iṣlāḥ. When Ibn Tayimiyyah was appointed principal of the Madrasa Ḥanbaliyya, the oldest and most respected school of Ḥanbalī fiqh in Damascus, he wrote his Fatwā Ḥamawiyya al-kubrā (Legal Opinions for the Great People of Hamah), a compilation of legal judgements intended for the people of Hamah, in Syria. In this text, Ibn Taymiyyah explained the Divine attributes of Allah according to the principles of the ahl alsunna wa al-jamā’a (People of the Traditions [of the Prophet] and the Consensus [of the Ummah]) and the pious predecessors. Although many scholars deemed this text to be very hostile to dominant Ashʿarī thought and ilm kalām (scholastic theology), with some even claiming that Ibn Taymiyyah’s fatwas could lead to anthropomorphism and false belief, after

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many debates on the subject, his opponents eventually admitted he was right. Likewise, when he wrote his creedal text, al-‘Aqīda al-wāsiṭiyya, those scholars who initially accused him of having wrong beliefs ended up acknowledging his innocence. Other incidents from Ibn Taymiyyah’s life, however, paint a more divisive picture. For example, in 691/1293 the Christian, ‘Assāf alNasrānī, was found guilty of insulting the Prophet (peace be upon him), . with the people demanding that he be put to death. The judge, however, gave him the choice of embracing Islam instead, which ‘Assāf promptly did. But Ibn Taymiyyah strongly disagreed with this decision: he was of the opinion that whosoever was found guilty of insulting the Prophet, whether Muslim or not, must be put to death. This reaction resulted in Ibn Taymiyyah being imprisoned in Damascus. In response, he wrote his al-Ṣārim al-maslūl ‘alā shātim al-Rasūl (The Unsheathed Sword Drawn against the Reviler of the Messenger), a comprehensive elaboration of his thoughts on the subject, with an accompanying refutation of those who disagreed with him. Additionally, while resident in Cairo, Ibn Taymiyyah became wellknown for criticising the mystical concept of waḥdat al-wujūd (the unity of being), as developed by the famous Sufi, Ibn ‘Arabī (d.638/1240). During Ibn Taymiyyah’s life-time, this concept was very popular. His opposition to it therefore resulted in his imprisonment once again, initially for a period of one and a half years. Only months after his release, he was again accused of criticising Ibn ‘Arabī, in addition to other aspects of Sufism. This time, the Cairo authorities offered him a choice: imprisonment for an indeterminate period or the opportunity to live freely in either Damascus or Alexandria, provided that he refrain from issuing any fatwas or other opinions against either Ibn ‘Arabī or Sufism in general. As a man of principle, Ibn Taymiyya chose prison over a free life with an imprisoned tongue. He served his time in Alexandria, under house arrest. During this period, he wrote al-Radd ‘alā al-manṭiqiyyīn (The Refutation of the Logicians), aimed at critiquing those who (in his opinion) wrongly applied logic to the affirmation of theology and divinity in Islam. Upon his eventual release from house arrest, Ibn Taymiyyah travelled to Cairo, where he remained for three years. During that time, the people of Egypt benefited immensely from his presence, obtaining answers to many important religious questions. Indeed, Ibn Taymiyyah was even consulted by Sultan al-Mālik al-Nāsir . Qalāwūn (r.693-694; 698-708; 709741/1293-1294; 1299-1309; 1310-1341). During his time in Cairo, Ibn Taymiyyah also developed his policy of Siyāsa shar’iyya, by which rulers

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could determine the manner in which Sharia was administered. Many books have since been written on Siyāsa shar’iyya, most of which (and especially in the modern day) cite Ibn Taymiyyah, thereby underlining his centrality to this discipline. Before him, discussions on Siyāsa shar’iyya were limited to isolated chapters in fiqh books, hadith encyclopaedias, and various other works designed to advise princes. Intellectual Legacy Even during his own life-time, Ibn Taymiyyah was a renowned public intellectual. In Damascus, for example, he was accorded the rank of mujtahid muṭlaq (absolute or independent mujtahid). His life was defined by teaching, writing and striving in the way of Allah. He was not known for wasting time or energy on things unrelated to knowledge. Indeed, he did not marry until the last day of his life. Certainly, his dedication to knowledge is evident through his works, which utilise hundreds of references, including sayings from the Prophet’s Companions, from the Successors (tābi’un), and books that were otherwise unknown to others. As a mark of the high-regard in which he was held, none of his contemporaries – whether friends or foe – questioned the legitimacy of his unknown references; no one saw fit to deny his citations or accuse him of making up quotations. Ibn Taymiyyah often focused on writing books about the fundamentals of religion, rather than on minor issues. One of his students, al-Imām alDhahabī (d.748/1348), the famous Shāfi’ī historian and scholar of hadith, reported that in all Ibn Taymiyyah wrote more than seven hundred titles. It is perhaps for this reason, that he made many enemies. Thus, he gave us Minhāj al-sunna al-nabawiyya (The Way of the Prophetic Tradition), which attempted to refute the teachings of the Shi’a, the Muʿtazilites, and the Batiniyya. As a result, these groups (and especially the Shi’a) have traditionally been very hostile to Ibn Taymiyyah. Ibn Taymiyyah also gave us Dar’ al-ta‘āruḍ al-‘aql wa-l-naql (The Removal of Conflict between Reason and Revelation), a systematic and analytical work refuting the methodologies of the Ashʿarites, Maturidites and Mu’tazilites. Many consider this work to be his magnum opus on account of its considerable impact on Ashʿarite theological thought. In terms of size, however, Ibn Taymiyyah’s largest work is probably his Majmū’ al-fatāwā (Collection of Fatwas), a 35-volume encyclopaedia of his legal opinions. For some, this has become as important as the six canonical books of hadith. In some parts of the world, students even memorise it by heart.

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In addition to these key texts, Ibn Taymiyyah also wrote al-Jawāb alṣaḥīḥ li-man baddala Dīn al-Masīḥ (The Correct Response Concerning the One who Converts from the Christian Faith), an extensive defence of both Islam against Christianity and of the prophethoods of Muhammad and . Jesus. Ibn Taymiyyah also authored Naqd al-manṭiq (A Critique of Logic) and the aforementioned al-Radd ‘alā al-manṭiqiyyīn, both designed to limit the heavy influence of philosophy and dialectics on Muslim thought. Rather than taking the path of staunch criticism and total rejection, however, Ibn Taymiyyah tried to demonstrate the superiority of the Qur’an and Sunna over philosophy and dialectics, while at the same time constructively working out new propositions and theories. His students are another of Ibn Taymiyyah’s great contributions. Perhaps his most recognised pupil, and who subsequently bore the flag of his teaching, was Muḥammad bin Abū Bakr (d.750/1351), also known as Ibn Qaiyyim al-Jawziyya. A famous Ḥanbalī jurist and member of the ahl al-ḥadīth, Ibn Qaiyyim al-Jawziyya was a prolific writer in many disciplines, especially in matters relating to fiqh and the purification of the heart. Regarding the latter, he famously wrote the Madārij al-sālikīn (Ranks of the Seekers) and Miftāḥ dār al-sa’āda (Key to the Abode of Happiness), while on fiqh he authored the monumental Zād al-ma’ād (Provisions of the Hereafter), a three-in-one book of fiqh, hadith and sīra. These and other texts by Ibn Qaiyyim al-Jawziyya, like al-Ṭuruq al-ḥukmiyya (Methods of Judgment) and Aḥkām ahl al-Dhimma (The Legal Status of the Protected Peoples), helped propagate Ibn Taymiyyah’s teachings, further strengthening his legacy. The aforementioned al-Dhahabī was another notable student of Ibn Taymiyyah. Another prolific writer, he reportedly authored a complete anthology and induction of all hadith and their known narrators. Two other important students of Ibn Taymiyyah were Yūsuf ibn al-Zakī ‘Abd al-Raḥmān al-Mizzī (d.743/1342), a notable hadith expert and scholar of rijāl (biography) who famously edited and abridged the monumental work by ‘Abd al-Ghanī al-Maqdīsī (d.600/1203), al-Kamāl fī asmā’ al-rijāl (A Great Collection of Fabricated Traditions), and Ismā‘īl ibn ‘Umar ibn Kathīr (d.744/1373), the great Shāfi’ī scholar of tafsīr and history. Indeed, Ibn Kathīr’s Tafsīr al-Qur’ān al-azīm is still the main reference for Qur’anic exegesis today, with his al-Bidāya wal-nihāya also remaining an important historical source. Ibn Taymiyyah’s long list of students is testament to his greatness as a teacher. It also indicates the importance of his intellectual legacy, signifying him as a living force behind Islamic knowledge and civilisation.

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Striking with both the Pen and the Sword Ibn Taymiyyah was not only fearless in his scholarship, but also on the battlefield, a very rare combination of skills for a renowned scholar. Thus, in the early seventh/fourteenth century, he helped defend Damascus against the invading Tatars. This conflict lasted several years, until Sultan al-Mālik al-Nāsir . Qalāwūn sent additional troops to bolster Damascus’s position, culminating in a Muslim triumph over the Tartars in Ramadān . 702/May 1303. During the course of the final battle, Ibn Taymiyyah issued a fatwa permitting those who fight in the cause of jihād to dispense with the duty of fasting. This victory increased Ibn Taymiyyah’s fame in Damascus. He took the stature and influence it gave him to persuade the army to launch another attack, this time towards the Assassins (a group of militant fanatics who had branched out from the Ismā‘īlī sect) and other deviant groups capable of threatening society. Later, at the age of 51, Ibn Taymiyyah was called upon to perform jihād again, this time in the defence of Jerusalem. Only after this mission was completed did he return to his beloved Damascus. Death Ibn ‘Abd al-Hādī (d.744/1343), in his al-Ūqūd al-durriyya min manāqib Shaykh al-Islām Aḥmad Ibn Taymiyyah, reports that in 726/1326 some Sufiorientated enemies of Ibn Taymiyyah distorted a sixteen-year-old treatise by him regarding the permissibility and validity of visiting the tombs and shrines of the prophets and saints. On the basis of this work, they lodged a complaint with al-Mālik al-Nāsir . Qalāwūn that Ibn Taymiyyah had prohibited Muslims from visiting the grave of the Prophet Muhammad . (peace be upon him), deeming it bid’a. As a result, an order of arrest was produced and, on the 17 Sha’bān 726/18 July 1326, Ibn Taymiyyah was imprisoned in the citadel of Damascus. His chief pupil, Ibn Qaiyyim alJawziyya, was also incarcerated along with him. Reports indicate that shortly after his imprisonment, Ibn Taymiyyah’s health deteriorated. The confiscation of his writing materials appears to have been the chief cause of this. Without the ability to write, his condition worsened day-by-day until, finally, Ibn Taymiyyah breathed his last on the night of Monday 20 Dhū al-Qa’da 728/26 September 1328. He had suffered from pain for twenty consecutive days before he left this world. After his death, the markets of Damascus were closed and all day-today business halted. A congregation of 200,000 people came to his funeral,

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a figure only matched by those who attended the funeral of Imam Aḥmad ibn Ḥanbal. Rulers, scholars, students, men, women and children, all went out to pay their last respects to this great man, a man of astounding integrity, who would never trade his principles for lowly worldly pleasures. Ibn Taymiyyah was a scholar who diligently studied and mastered every discipline. Full of dignity and confidence, he was unafraid to ally himself to truth, even when no one else would. Ibn Taymiyyah was committed to reform, but without neglecting the original understandings of the pious predecessors. He was rightly feared by all his enemies, be it ideological or political. He was truly Shaykh al-Islām, the epitome of diligence and integrity. One of Ibn Taymiyyah’s disciples, Imam al-Bazzār, said: “Every wise person agreed that he [Ibn Taymiyyah] was one of those whom the Prophet (peace be upon him) meant when he said: ‘At the beginning of every century, Allah will send someone to revive this ummah’s religious commitment.’6 By means of him, Allah revived issues of Shari’ah that had been forgotten with the passage of time, and He made him proof against all the people of his era. Praise be to Allah, the Lord of the Worlds.”7 Lessons for Reform in the Modern World Ibn Taymiyyah was undoubtedly an architect of reform in his time, contributing to the development of Islamic thought and civilisation. Above all, he was committed to a renewal of the Islamic creed in strict conformity to the understandings of the first three generations of Islam. Despite all the suffering and hardship he endured, he firmly believed in a specific form of Muslim identity, as expounded in his Iqtiḍā’ ṣirāṭ almustaqīm (The Meaning of the Straight Path). Although Ibn Taymiyyah became well-known for defending the preeminence of revelation, he did not neglect the role of reason. For Ibn Taymiyyah, Islam was like a tree: the roots were the Qur’an and hadith, the trunk the core beliefs and understandings of the first three generations, and the branches human reason. Thus, reason helped the tree bear fruit for the spiritually hungry and provided shade for the needy. As a consequence of this perspective, Ibn Taymiyyah was also a model of ijtihād, exercising his reason and intellect in the service of the Qur’an and Sunna. Certainly, he was not someone who blindly followed previous scholarly opinions, being rather better well-known for going against the mainstream. His fatwas on ṭalāq (divorce) and contracts are just two simple examples of this. In his fatwa on ṭalāq, for instance, he held that saying ṭalāq three times (during the

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divorce process) could be considered as just once. Regarding contracts, Ibn Taymiyyah’s fatwas remain relevant to current market practices because of the wide scope and role he gave to the principle of original permissibility (ibāḥa). Ibn Taymiyyah’s life is also clear proof that aggression and rebellion are not legitimate ways of challenging government; even with all the influence and supporters he had, his method of calling rulers to enjoin goodness and forbid evil was always respectful and intellectual. For him, jihād did not mean launching military resistance; Ibn Taymiyyah only took up the sword when ordered to by the government. He exemplified the belief that obeying the rulers was part of the creed of ahl al-sunna wa al-jamā’a, without neglecting the obligations of al-amr bi al-ma’rūf wa al-nahy ‘an al-munkar and proper adab (etiquette). Some groups, however, have incorrectly interpreted Ibn Taymiyyah and used his teachings to promote extreme violence. Via the many different aspects of his work, Ibn Taymiyyah helped demonstrate how Islam preserves peace and brings forth prosperity, all under the will and grace of Allah the Almighty. May Allah have mercy on Ibn Taymiyyah. Notes 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7.

Muhammad ‘Abd al-Raḥmān al-‘Arīfī, Zubdat al-Fawā’id min Kutub Ibn . Taymīyah (Riyadh: Dār al-Tadmurīyah, 2009), 12. Ibid, 13. Amal Fathullah Zarkasyi, Akidah Tauhid Ibn Taymiyyah (Nilai: Universiti Sains Islam Malaysia, 2014), 23. Ibid, 27-8. For this and subsequent sections of the article, I would like to thank Professor Mohammad Hashim Kamali for making available to me his personal notes on Ibn Taymiyyah. For the original hadith, see Abū Dāwūd al-Sijistānī, Sunan Abī Dāwūd, Kitāb al-Malāḥim, hadith no. 4291. Al-‘Arīfī, Zubdat al-Fawā’id, 6.

Further Reading Al-‘Arīfī, Muḥammad ‘Abd al-Raḥmān. Zubdat al-Fawā’id min Kutub Ibn Taymīyah. Riyadh: Dār al-Tadmurīyah, 2009. Zarkasyi, Amal Fathullah. Akidah Tauhid Ibn Taymiyyah. Nilai: Universiti Sains Islam Malaysia, 2014.

25 IBN QAIYYIM ALJAWZIYYA 691751AH/12921350CE Tawfique al-Mubarak

This great Damascene scholar, whose full name was Shams al-Dīn Muḥammad ibn Abī Bakr al-Zur‘ī, is more often known by his laqab, Ibn Qaiyyim al-Jawziyya. His father was the qaiyyim (superintendent) of the Madrasa al-Jawziyya in Damascus, located next to the office of the chief judge (qāḍī al-quḍāt) and considered the official seat of Ḥanbalī jurisprudence in greater Shām (Levant).1 Despite Ibn Qaiyyim’s versatile contributions to Islamic civilisation, he is most prominently known as the greatest student of Taqī al-Dīn ibn Taimiyyah (d.728AH/1232CE). It is for this reason that Bori and Holtzman have rightly called him “a scholar in the shadow” – that is, in the shadow of his great master.2 Ibn Qaiyyim was born on 7 Ṣafar 691/29 January 1292 in Damascus. That his father, Abū Bakr (d.723/1323), was superintendent of al-Jawziyya indicates that his family was of high social status. Given Damascus’s position as a major centre of seventh/thirteenth century Islamic learning, Ibn Qaiyyim was also blessed with the company of some of the greatest scholars of his era. His education began at the hands of his learned father, who was himself an erudite scholar on the laws of inheritance (‘ilm alfarā´iḍ). Like any other student of Islam during his era, Ibn Qaiyyim learnt ‘aqīda (Islamic belief system), ‘ilm al-kalām (theology), tafsīr (Qur’anic exegesis), fiqh (Islamic Jurisprudence), uṣūl al-fiqh (Principles of Islamic Jurisprudence), ‘ilm al-farā´iḍ, Arabic language, grammar and syntax, alongside other fields. His later works also reflect knowledge of medicine and taṣawwuf (Islamic spirituality). Ibn Qaiyyim’s first formal affiliation with a shaykh (master/teacher) reportedly occurred during his seventh year, when he became the student

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of Shihāb al-Dīn al-Nablūsī (d.697/1298), nicknamed al-‘Ābir (the dream interpreter) for his unique skill in interpreting dreams. Ibn Qaiyyim mentions him in his Zād al-ma‘ād fī hadyi khair al-‘ibād (Provisions for the Afterlife, on the Teachings of the Best of all People). Among his other prominent teachers were Sulaymān Taqī al-Dīn ibn Qudāma al-Maqdisī (d.715/1315) and ‘Imād al-Dīn al-Wāsiṭī (d.711/1311).3 The former was the chief judge of the Ḥanbalī School in Damascus, while the latter was a well-known Ḥanbalī jurist and Sufi from whom Ibn Qaiyyim learnt taṣawwuf and read Ansārī . al-Harawī’s spiritual manual, Manāzil al-sā´irīn (The Stations of those who walk along the Mystical Way). Al-Wāsiṭī also influenced Ibn Qaiyyim’s most esteemed work on taṣawwuf, Madārij alsālikīn bayna manāzil iyyaka na‘budu wa iyyaka nasta‘īn (Stages of the Travellers Between the Stations of “We worship You alone, and we seek help from You alone”). In Bakr Abū Zayd’s biography of Ibn Qaiyyim, entitled Ibn Qaiyyim al-Jawziyya: Ḥayātuhū āthāruhū mawāriduhū, and which is considered the most comprehensive account of Ibn Qaiyyim’s life and works,4 there is an additional list of twenty-five further teachers.5 Frequently mentioned amongst these are: Sharaf al-Dīn ibn Taymiyyah (d.727/1327); Ṣafī al-Dīn al-Hindī (d.715/1315); the Shāfi’ī qādī . (judge) of Damascus, Muhammad . Abūl-Ma‘ālī al-Zamlikānī (d.727/1327); the qādī . of Aleppo, Yūsuf Jamāl al-Dīn al-Mizzī (d.743/1342), considered the imām al-muḥaddithīn (leader of the hadith scholars) for his astounding knowledge of hadith; and the female traditionalist, Fātima bint Jawhar (d.711/1311). By far . the most important figure, however, was the famous Shaykh al-Islām, Ibn Taimiyyah. From the latter’s arrival in Damascus in 712/1313 until his death in 728/1328, Ibn Qaiyyim devoted his life to studying under him. Indeed, both were imprisoned (along with a wider group of Ibn Taimiyyah’s followers) in 726/1326, following a fatwa (legal opinion) issued by Ibn Taimiyyah condemning the popular custom of visiting the graves of saints. This ruling incurred the fury of the province’s governor and senior religious officials. Although all other disciples of Ibn Taimiyyah were released immediately, neither the Shaykh al-Islām himself nor Ibn Qaiyyim were: the master and his disciple remained behind the Citadel’s prison bars for another two years, Ibn Qaiyyim only being set free a month after his shaykh’s demise. Ibn Qaiyyim started his teaching career at al-Jawziyya. Although no exact date is recorded for the beginning of his appointment, his biographies mention him teaching while Ibn Taimiyyah was still alive, suggesting that he started teaching before they were arrested in 726/1326, i.e. before he

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was thirty-four years of age. After his release in 728/1328, he re-established his teaching career and, by the age of thirty-six, was highly regarded as an independent scholar. By 743/1342, one of his greatest students, the famous mufassir (exegete) and historian, Ismā‘īl Abū al-Fidā’ ibn Kathīr (d.774/1373), mentions him teaching at the Madrasa al-Ṣadriyya, suggesting that he became formally affiliated to this institute later in life. Aside from Ibn Kathīr, Ibn Qaiyyim’s most famous students included the well-known muḥaddith and Ḥanbalī jurist, Ibn Rajab al-Ḥanbalī (d.795/1393), the erudite Shāfi’ī jurist and muḥaddith, Taqī al-Dīn alSubkī (d.756/1355), the notable historian, muḥaddith and Shāfi’ī jurist, Muḥammad ibn Aḥmad al-Dhahabī (d.748/1348), and the famous lexicographer who complied al-Qāmūs al-muḥīṭ, Abū al-Ṭāhir alFairūzābādī (d.817/1414). These luminous figures left their mark on a variety of Islamic sciences, reflecting Ibn Qaiyyim’s immense influence on succeeding generations of scholars. As mentioned, Ibn Qaiyyim was highly influenced by his own master, Ibn Taimiyyah, whose teachings he passed on to his students. Despite this influence, however, the two men differed on various points. For example, Ibn Qaiyyim developed a different attitude towards Sufism. Although initially upholding Ibn Taimiyyah’s negative views of Sufism, during a later period of imprisonment, Ibn Qaiyyim busied himself with pondering the Qur’anic text and its inherent meaning. During his seclusion, he experienced a series of mystical visions (described as adhwāq, pl. of dhawq). From this point on, his interest in taṣawwuf intensified, until he devoted himself fully to the Sufi path. Ibn Qaiyyim’s most poignant work on taṣawwuf was his Madārij al-sālikīn, a well-celebrated masterpiece. Additionally, he also composed Miftāḥ dār al-sa‘āda wa manshūr wilāyat al-‘ilm wal-´irāda (The Key to the Abode of Happiness and the Decree of the Sovereignty of Knowledge and Will), which elaborated on the wisdom behind Allah’s creation and alluded to the Sufi practice of dhikr (remembrance of God). His earliest biographers, including Ibn Kathīr and Ibn Rajab, described him as an earnest Sufi who loved to abandon the pleasures of this world for the sake of ‘ibādāt (servitude to God).6 Ibn Qaiyyim also differed with Ibn Taimiyyah regarding ḥiyal (legal artifices). Ibn Taimiyyah severely refuted the use of ḥiyal, disapproving of any artifice in any matter, regardless of whether the means and goals actually contravened the Sharia or not. Indeed, he dedicated the whole of his treatise, Iqāmat al-dalīl ‘alā ibṭāl al-taḥlīl (Establishing the Proofs to Refute the ‘Catalyst Marriage’), to a rebuttal of the claimants of ḥiyal in marriage. Ibn Qaiyyim, however, took a differing view: he argued that any ḥīla which

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led to a valid intent and goal (maqṣad wal-wuṣūl) was permissible.7 He discussed this subject in detail, both in his I‘lām al-muwaqqi‘īn ‘an Rabb al-‘Ālamīn (Informing the Drafters of Legal Documents about the Lord of All Beings) and Ighāthat al-lahfān min maṣāyid al-Shayṭān (Rescuing the Distressed from Satan’s Snares). Ibn Qaiyyim contributed to almost all branches of the Islamic sciences. Indeed, the list of his works is so vast that one would find it cumbersome to innumerate them all. So far, the most comprehensive list of his writings can be found in Abū Zayd’s biography, in which ninety-eight titles are mentioned, both published and unpublished. The most important of these (by subject) are as follows. On ‘aqīda, Ibn Qaiyyim authored several treatises refuting the Mu’tazilites and the Ash’arites, of which al-Kāfiya al-shāfiya fī intiṣār al-firqa al-nājiya (The Sufficient and Healing [Poem] on the Vindication of the Saved Sect) is an early example. This treatise, written in poetic form, comprises nearly six thousand verses, each ending with -anī, and thus resulting in the text’s alternative name, al-Qaṣīda al-nūniyya (The Ode Rhyming in N). Another of Ibn Qaiyyum’s works, Ijtimā‘ al-juyūsh al-Islāmiyya ‘alā ghazwi al-Mu‘aṭṭila wal-Jahmiyya (Mustering the Islamic Armies to Attack the Mu‘aṭṭila and the Jahmiyya), refuted both the Mu’tazilites (whom he termed Mu‘ṭṭila, or those practicing ta‘ṭīl, the negation of Allah’s attributes) and the Jahmiyya (a sect who denied certain attributes of Allah and human free will). A more mature version of this text later appeared under the title alṢawā‘iq al-mursala ‘alā al-Jahmiyya wal-Mu‘aṭṭila (Thunderbolts Directed against the Jahmiyya and the Mu‘aṭṭila). Ibn Qaiyyim was also well-versed in the field of tafsīr, although no complete tafsīr has ever been attributed to him. Nevertheless, several compilations of his commentaries on specific Qur’anic verses exist, including those collected by Uwais Nadwi8 and Yusrā al-Sayyid.9 Other of his works on tafsīr include al-Tibyān fī aqsām al-Qur’ān (Explaining the Oaths in the Qur’an). Ibn Qaiyyim’s work on the hadith literature is also well-celebrated, especially his Tahdhīb Sunan Abī Dāwūd (The Neat Arrangement of the Sunan of Abū Dāwūd), which he wrote entirely from memory while in Makkah in 733/1332. In his al-Manār al-munīf fī al-ṣaḥīḥ wal-da’īf (The Lofty Tower on Authentic and Weak Hadith), he introduced the method of differentiating between forged and authentic hadith, an important topic addressed to soothe the concerns of his students. One of Ibn Qaiyyim’s earliest works was his al-Furūsiyya (Horsemanship), a treatise on various types of sports and exercises essential for the ruling

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elite. He also wrote on new-born babies and their care, including the role of parents in bringing them up. This treatise, entitled Tuḥfat al-mawdūd fī aḥkām al-mawlūd (The Gift of the Beloved regarding Laws Dealing with the New-born), is a unique and entertaining volume, unprecedented in its genre. On politics, Ibn Qaiyyim wrote Al-Ṭuruq al-ḥukmiyya fī al-siyāsa alshar‘iyya (The Ways of Governance, on Islamic Law related to Rulings) and Aḥkām ahl al-dhimma (Laws Regarding the Dhimmis, or protected religious minorities), among other titles. He also wrote on music in his Kashf al-ghiṭā’ ‘an ḥukm sam‘ al-ghinā (Unveiling the Legal Ruling on Listening to Music), where he described the legal opinions relating to the permissibility of listening to music, dancing and certain music-related Sufi practices. One of his last written works was the celebrated Zād al-ma‘ād fī hadyi khair al-‘ibād (Provisions for the Afterlife, on the Teachings of the Best of People). Reflecting his practical advice for living a better life, this text is presumed to have been composed during his travels. In it, Ibn Qaiyyim drew upon examples from the Prophetic traditions to describe the Prophet’s daily life. The last part of this treatise is Ibn Qaiyyim’s acclaimed al-Ṭibb alNabawī (The Prophetic Medicine), in which he discussed those remedies for mental and physical illnesses mentioned in the hadith literature. He also discussed the benefits of several herbs and natural medicines. Ibn Qaiyyim left this world to meet his Lord on the night of 23 Rajab 751/26 September, 1350. His funeral was held at the great mosque in Damascus, after which he was laid to rest at the Bāb al-Ṣaghīr cemetery. May Allah have mercy on this great architect of Islamic civilisation!

Notes 1.

The Madrasa al-Jawziyya was named after its founder, Muhyī . al-Dīn alJawzī (d.656/1258), son of the famous Ḥanbalī scholar, Abūl Faraj ‘Abd al-Rahmān ibn al-Jawzī al-Qurashī (d.597/1201). Due to the similarity . between the names Ibn al-Jawzī and Ibn Qaiyyim al-Jawziyya, many have become confused on this point. Ibn al-Jawzī was the author of Talbīs Iblīs (The Devil’s Deception) and Minhāj al-qāsidīn wa mufīd al-sādiqīn (The . . Road of the Pursuers and the Instructor of the Truthful), among other titles. His lineage goes back to the first caliph, Abū Bakr al-Ṣiddīq. He was reportedly the author of more than seven hundred works on various issues and is considered to have been one of the greatest scholars to have ever lived. For further details, see G. F. Haddad, ‘Ibn al-Jawzi.’ Available at: http://www. sunnah.org/history/Scholars/ibn_aljawzi.htm. (Accessed on: 30 April, 2015).

202 2.

3. 4.

5. 6. 7.

8. 9.

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Caterina Bori and Livnat Holtzman, ‘A Scholar in the Shadow,’ in A Scholar in the Shadow: Essays in the Legal and Theological Thought of Ibn Qayyim al-Jawziyyah, ed. Caterina Bori and Livnat Holtzman (Rome: Istituto per l’Oriente, 2010), 14. Livnat Holtzman, ‘Ibn Qaiyyim al-Jawziyyah,’ in Essays in Arabic Literary Biography II: 1350-1850, ed. Joseph E. Lowry and Devin J. Stewart (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag, 2009), 202-222. Bakr ‘Abdullāh Abū Zayd, Ibn Qaiyyim al-Jawziyyah: Ḥayātuhū Āthāruhū Mawāriduhū, 2nd ed. (Riyadh: Dār al-‘Āṭimah, 1423AH). Also see: Ṣalāḥ al-Dīn ‘Alā ‘Abd al-Mawjūd, The Biography of Imām Ibn al-Qaiyyim, trans. Abdul-Rāfī Adewale Imām (Riyadh: Darussalam, 2006). Abū Zayd, Ibn Qaiyyim, 161-179. ‘Abd al-Mawjūd, Biography of Ibn al-Qaiyyim, 275-9. For a detailed discussion of differing opinions surrounding the use of ḥiyal, see Tawfique al-Mubarak, ‘Ḥiyal and Their Applications in Contemporary Islamic Financial Contracts: Towards Setting Acceptable Norms,’ Unpublished Masters Thesis, Hamad Bin Khalifa University, Doha (2012). Abū Zayd, Ibn Qaiyyim, 232. Holtzman, ‘Ibn Qaiyyim al-Jawziyyah,’ 207. Yusrā al-Sayyid’s compilation is called Badā’i‘ al-Tafsīri, ‘The Amazing Items of the Qur’anic Exegesis’.

Further Reading ‘Abd al-Mawjūd, Salāh . . al-Dīn ‘Alā. The Biography of Imām Ibn al-Qaiyyim. Translated by Abdul-Rāfī Adewale Imām. Riyadh: Darussalam, 2006. Abū Zayd, Bakr ‘Abdullāh. Ibn Qaiyyim al-Jawziyyah: Ḥayātuhū Āthāruhū Mawāriduhū (Ibn Qaiyyim al-Jawziyyah: His Life, Heritage and Sources), 2nd edition. Riyadh: Dār al-‘Āḥimah, 1423AH. Al-Mubarak, Tawfique. ‘Ḥiyal and Their Applications in Contemporary Islamic Financial Contracts: Towards Setting Acceptable Norms.’ Unpublished Masters Thesis, Hamad Bin Khalifa University, Doha. 2012. Bori, Caterina, and Livnat Holtzman. ‘A Scholar in the Shadow.’ In A Scholar in the Shadow: Essays in the Legal and Theological Thought of Ibn Qayyim alJawziyyah, edited by Caterina Bori and Livnat Holtzman, 1-14. Rome: Istituto per l’Oriente, 2010. Haddad, G. F. ‘Ibn al-Jawzi.’ As-Sunnah Foundation of America. Available at: http://www.sunnah.org/history/Scholars/ibn_aljawzi.htm. Holtzman, Livnat. ‘Ibn Qaiyyim al-Jawziyyah.’ In Essays in Arabic Literary Biography II: 1350 – 1850, edited by Joseph E. Lowry and Devin J. Stewart, 202-222. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag, 2009. Krawietz, Birgit. ‘Ibn Qayyim al-Jawzīyah: His Life and Works.’ Mamlūk Studies Review 10, no. 2 (2006): 19-64.

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Al-Shāmī, Sālih Imām Ibn Qaiyyim al-Jawziyyah: al-Dā‘iyyah al-Muṣliḥ . . Ahmad. . wal-‘Ālim al-Mausū‘ī (Imam Ibn Qaiyyim al-Jaziyyah: The Reformer Caller and the Encyclopaedic Scholar). Damascus: Dār al-Qalam, 2008.

26 ABŪ ISḥĀQ IBRĀHĪM ALSHĀṭIBĪ ca.720790AH/13201388CE Tawfique al-Mubarak

Abū Isḥāq Ibrāhīm b. Mūsā b. Muḥammad al-Lakḫmī al-Shāṭibī alMālikī (ca.720-790AH/1320-1388CE) was one of the great scholars of al-Andalus (modern-day Spain and Portugal) and one of the brightest stars of Mālikī juresprudence. Despite his prominence, however, the details of his (especially early) life have not been well recorded.1 This could be because he came from a poor and uncelebrated family of scholars, for whom such records have not survived. Nevertheless, Aḥmad al-Raysūnī, a contemporary Moroccan scholar who has taken up Imam al-Shāṭibī’s theory of maqāṣid al-sharī’a (the higher intentions of Sharia), mentions three early biographies: one by al-Shāṭibī’s own student, Abū ‘Abd Allāh al-Majārī (d.862/1458), called Barnāmij al-Majārī, and two by the great seventeenth-century Mali scholar, Aḥmad Bābā al-Timbuktī (d.1036/1627), called Nayl al-ibtihāj and Kifāyat al-muhtāj.2 Using these and other, more recent sources, this paper will attempt to reconstruct the details of al-Shāṭibī’s life. Early Life and Education Al-Shāṭibī was born into a poor family in Granada, the then capital of the Nasrī . Kingdom. Little information exists about the Imam’s year of birth. It is thought, however, to have been between 720/1320 and 730/1330. From his full name we may deduce that his ancestors were from the Lakḫmī tribe of Arabia, and therefore immigrants to al-Andalus. It is unlikely, however, that al-Shāṭibī came from the eastern Spanish town of Shāṭiba (modern-day Xativa or Jativa); authentic reports confirm that he was neither born nor ever lived there. Certainly, there is no record

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of any Muslim settlement in Shāṭiba after its fall to the Christians in 645/1247, eight to nine decades prior to al-Shāṭibī’s birth.3 Instead, this nisba probably indicates that his immediate ancestors moved to Granada from Shāṭiba. During his lifetime, al-Shāṭibī never travelled outside Granada, whether for education or for the Hajj. Nevertheless, during his youth the Nasrī . Kingdom, both for its development and prosperity, projected itself as the centre of scholarship in both Muslim Spain and North Africa. As a result, all the great scholars of the period, like Ibn Khaldūn (d.808/1406) and Ibn al-Khaṭīb (d.775/1374), visited Granada and attached themselves to the 4 Nasrī . court. With these great scholars, al-Shāṭibī was able to master all the available branches of knowledge: tafsīr (Qur’anic exegesis), hadith studies, fiqh (Islamic law), uṣūl al-fiqh (the principles of Islamic jurisprudence), and Arabic grammar. Some of his treatise also indicate that he received training in medicine and history.5 Perhaps the most prominent of al-Shāṭibī’s teachers was Abū ‘Abd Allāh al-Maqqarī, chief qāḍī of the Marīniyūn Sultanate. He was sent to Granada in 757/1356 on a diplomatic mission, but was later arrested by the Nasrī . Sultan and sent back to Fez. While he remained in Granada, however, al-Maqqarī taught al-Shāṭibī Arabic grammar, uṣūl al-fiqh, and Sufism. Indeed, al-Maqqarī initiated al-Shāṭibī into a Sufi silsilah.6 Another of al-Shāṭibī’s teachers was Abū Sa’īd ibn Lubb (d.782/1380), the muftī (jurisconsult) and khaṭīb (preacher) of Granada, with whom he studied fiqh. Although al-Shāṭibī came to owe much to Ibn Lubb, they later entered into controversies over several issues. Concerning Arabic grammar, al-Shāṭibī studied with both Abū ‘Abd Allāh Muḥammad al-Birī (d.754/1353), known as the ‘master of grammarians’ (shaykh al-nuḥāt), and Abū al-Qāsim al-Sharīf al-Sibtī (d.760/1358). Al-Sibtī was known as the ‘Bearer of the Standard of Rhetoric’ for his eminence in Arabic language and grammar.7 In the field of ‘ulūm al-aqliyya (rational sciences), al-Shāṭibī owed his knowledge to two great scholars: Abū ‘Alī Mansūr . alZawawī, who lived in Granada from 753/1352 to 765/1363 and shaped al-Shāṭibī’s knowledge of falsafah and kalām, and Abū ‘Abd Allāh al-Sharīf al-Tilmisānī (d.771/1369), a prominent mujtahid.8 Aside from these, al-Shāṭibī’s teachers also included Abū ‘Abd Allāh of Valencia, Abū Ja’far al-Shaqūrī of Granada, and Ibn Marzūq al-Khaṭīb alTilmisānī. Under the latter – who was considered the Shaykh al-Islām of his time – al-Shāṭibī studied the Muwaṭṭa’ of Imam Mālik and the Ṣaḥīḥ al-Bukhārī.9

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Career Although it is known that al-Shāṭibī spent a good portion of his life teaching, because of the gaps in his biography the details of this career remain unclear. Al-Timbuktī, however, does mention three of his students: the two brothers, Abū Yaḥya ibn ‘Āsim and Abū Bakr ibn ‘Āsim, . . and Abū ‘Abd Allāh al-Bayānī. Of these, Abū Bakr became the chief qāḍī of Granada and wrote Tuḥfat al-ḥukkām, a compendium of rulings for the judges of Granada. Abū ‘Abd Allāh, on the other hand, became a wellknown faqīh.10 But, if little is known about al-Shāṭibī’s teaching career, more can be said about his intellectual legacy. Although al-Shāṭibī’s written work was largely forgotten after his death, in 1884 his magnum opus, al-Muwāfaqat fī uṣūl al-sharī’a, was republished in Tunis and soon became celebrated throughout the Islamic world. Since then, numerous important treatises by al-Shāṭibī – mainly in the fields of Arabic grammar and fiqh – have been recorded and examined. Here is a summary of the most important:11 1.

2. 3.

4.

Sharḥ ‘ala al-khulāṣa fī al-naḥw, a four-volume commentary on Ibn Mālik’s Alfiyah. Al-Timbuktī described it as “an unprecedented work on Arabic grammar.” Kitāb al-majālis, a commentary on the chapter on sale (buyu’) in Ṣaḥīḥ al-Bukhārī. Kitāb al-i’tiṣām, a two-volume work focusing on bid’a (religious innovation). Bid’a, al-Shāṭibī writes, has led to heresies and deviation. Generally, it has had its roots in two factors: ignorance of the Arabic language (and so of the inherent meaning of the religious texts) and ignorance of the purposes and objectives (maqāṣid) of Sharia. This text by al-Shāṭibī was re-introduced into the Islamic world by Rashīd Ridā . (d.1935), in his magazine al-Manār. It remains one of al-Shāṭibī’s most widely-read texts. Al-Muwāfaqat fī uṣūl al-sharī’a, in which al-Shāṭibī follows the Ḥanafī method (tarīqa al-Hanafiyyin, also known as the jurists’ . . method) of deriving rules and principles from the Qur’an and Sunna. Using this method and while dividing his book into five parts – premises, aḥkām (rules), maqāṣid al-sharī’a, ‘adillāh (sources), and ijtihād (legal reasoning) – al-Shāṭibī argued that maṣlaḥa (public interest) is the underlying principle of Sharia. This text is therefore the first systematic study of maqāṣid al-sharī’a and modern writers on uṣūl al-fiqh are greatly indebted to it; the concepts of maṣlaḥa

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5.

6.

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and maqāṣid al-sharī’a as widely understood today are largely derived from it. The University of Leiden reputedly preserves a medical treatise by al-Shāṭibī. Although not mentioned by any major authority, the University’s catalogue clearly attributes its manuscript copy to the Imam and describes it as having been written down by his student, Ibn al-Khaṭīb. Fatāwā, a compilation of his fatwas made by Abū al-Ajfān. This text consists of sixty fatwas on subjects as diverse as knowledge, prayer, ijtihād, charity, vows, slaughter, penalties, inheritance, and innovation.

Al-Shāṭibī: The Imam of Maqāsid . al-Sharī’a As mentioned, al-Shāṭibī’s text, al-Muwāfaqat, is his most important and describes the maqāṣid al-sharī’a. After similar discussions on maqāṣid by Imam al-Ḥaramayn al-Juwaynī (d.478/1085) and his disciple, Imam alGhazālī (d.505/1111), al-Shāṭibī’s major contributions to this area can be summarised thus:12 1. From ‘unrestricted interests’ to ‘fundamentals of law’. Prior to al-Shāṭibī, discussions surrounding maqāṣid were confined to ‘unrestricted interests’. As a result, they were not considered to be part of the ‘fundamentals of law’ in their own right. Al-Shāṭibī, however, referred to the Qur’an to establish that the Creator had a purpose for His creation, and which manifested itself in (amongst other things) the ordaining of laws for that creation. Therefore, alShāṭibī considered maqāṣid to be amongst the “fundamentals of religion, the basic rules of law and the universals of belief.” 2. From ‘wisdom behind the rulings’ to ‘basis for the rulings’. AlShāṭibī’s emphasis on maqāṣid highlighted the necessity for formulating a basis for rulings. In this respect, he gave precedence to the universality of necessities (ḍarūrīyāt), needs (ḥājīyāt) and luxuries (taḥsīnīyāt), over partiality (juz’iyya). For him, universal rulings could not be overridden by partial rulings, a position which deviated from the Mālikī School, wherein partial rulings are given precedence over universal rulings. Al-Shāṭibī also considered knowledge of maqāṣid to be a fundamental condition for ijtihād. 3. From ‘uncertainty’ (ẓanniyya) to ‘certainty’ (qaṭ’iyya). Al-Shāṭibī argued that, to formulate a new theory of maqāṣid al-sharī’a, there

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should be a degree of certainty about the intentions behind a law. This certainty, he said, should be formulated by inductive reasoning, thereby challenging the popular position that inductive reasoning was invalid as a method of generating knowledge. Death and Legacy Imam al-Shāṭibī died on the 8 Sha’bān 790/11 August 1388.13 In modern times, he has become one of the few classical jurists upon whom contemporary Islamic reformers rely. His concern for producing laws in answer to the social challenges of his time has meant that his work maintains a high degree of contemporary relevance. Many recent scholars, like Rashīd Ridā . and ‘Abd al-Muta’āl al-Ṣa’īdī (d.1966), consider him to be amongst the leading mujaddid (religious reformers) of the eighth/ fourteenth century, having a status equal to Ibn Khaldūn and Imam alShāfi’ī. Notes 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13.

Muhammad Khalid Masud, Shatibi’s Philosophy of Islamic Law (Kuala Lumpur: Islamic Book Trust, 2000). Ahmad al-Raysūnī, Naẓarīyat al-Maqāsid . . ‘inda al-Imām al-Shātibī . (Herndon, VA: International Institute of Islamic Thought, 1995). Ibid. Muhammad Khalid Masud, ‘Recent Studies of Shatibi’s al-Muwafaqat,’ Islamic Studies 14, no. 1 (1975): 65-75. Masud, Shatibi’s Philosophy of Islamic Law. Ibid. Al-Raysūnī, Nazarīyat al-Maqāsid . . ‘inda al-Imām al-Shātibī. . Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. See Ibid and Masud, Shatibi’s Philosophy of Islamic Law. See Jasser Auda, Maqasid al-Shariah as Philosophy of Islamic Law: Systems Approach (Kuala Lumpur: Islamic Book Trust and the International Institute of Islamic Thought, 2010). Masud, Shatibi’s Philosophy of Islamic Law.

Further Reading Al-Raysūnī, Ahmad. Nazarīyat al-Maqāsid Herndon, . . . ‘inda al-Imām al-Shātibī. . VA: International Institute of Islamic Thought, 1995. Auda, Jasser. Maqasid al-Shariah as Philosophy of Islamic Law: Systems Approach.

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Kuala Lumpur: Islamic Book Trust and The International Institute of Islamic Thought, 2010. Masud, Muhammad Khalid. ‘Recent Studies of Shatibi’s al-Muwafaqat.’ Islamic Studies 14, no. 1 (1975): 65-75. ______________________. Shatibi’s Philosophy of Islamic Law. Kuala Lumpur: Islamic Book Trust, 2000.

27 ‘ABD ALRAHMĀN IBN KHALDŪN . 732808AH/13321406CE Elmira Akhmetova

‘Abd al-Raḥmān ibn Khaldūn was a Muslim historian of Arab origin. Best known to modern readers for his Muqaddima (Prolegomena [To History]), the introductory section to his magnificent seven-volume account of world history, Kitāb al-‘Ibar (Book of History), and which outlined the basic foundations for his science of civilisation, he is commonly considered to be a founding father of the modern disciplines of historiography, sociology and economics. The well-known British historian, Arnold J. Toynbee, designated the Muqaddima as a “philosophy of history which is undoubtedly the greatest work of its kind that has ever yet been created by any mind in any time or place.” Another British scholar, Robert Flint, commented on the significance of Ibn Khaldūn thus: “as a theorist of history he had no equal in any age or country until Vico appeared, more than three hundred years later. Plato, Aristotle, and Augustine were not his peers, and all others were unworthy of being even mentioned along with him.” Life and Career ‘Abd al-Raḥmān ibn Muḥammad ibn Khaldūn al-Ḥadramī al-Ishbīlī, . more commonly known as simply Ibn Khaldūn, was born in Tunis in 732AH/1332CE to an influential Arab family of the Banū Khaldūn, from the Ḥadramaut. His family’s high social status enabled Ibn Khaldūn to . study with the best teachers in the region, providing him with a standard education in all the traditional disciplines. Subsequently, he became a court official, serving many North African rulers. At the age of twenty, and in the midst of various inter- and intradynastic disputes, Ibn Khaldūn began his public career as secretary to the

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Hafsid . sultan of Tunis. Soon, however, he transferred his loyalties to the rival Merinide dynasty, based in Fez. Staying in Fez for almost ten years, he served the Merinides in numerous ways, but most notably by helping them negotiate with the Bedouin tribes of North Africa. During this period, he delighted in the many intrigues taking place between various members of the Merinide dynasty, who ruthlessly competed with each other for supremacy. Indeed, between 758/1357 and 760/1359, Ibn Khaldūn was himself imprisoned following his role in a Hafsid . conspiracy to overthrow the Merinides. He was released only upon the death of the Merinide sultan, Abū ‘Inān, after which the new sultan, Abū Salīm, appointed him to senior positions, including to the supervision of civil law. In 762/1361, however, Abū Salīm was murdered and Ibn Khaldūn was forced to leave Fez on the condition that he left North Africa altogether.1 Subsequently, Ibn Khaldūn was welcomed at the Nasrid court in . Granada by Sultan Muḥammad V (r.755-760/1354-1359 and 763793/1362-1391). During his stay in Granada, Ibn Khaldūn was given various duties, including leading an embassy to Pedro El Cruel (d.770/1369) in Seville in 765/1364. Not long after this mission, and due to a now obscure disagreement with an influential wazīr, Ibn Khaldūn was forced to leave Granada. Returning to North Africa, he settled in Bougie and became chamberlain to the Hafsid . prince, Abū ‘Abd Allāh. Just one year later, however, Abū ‘Abd Allāh was murdered by rebels. For the next nine years, Ibn Khaldūn travelled around central and western North Africa, developing tribal relations. It was during this period that he first recognised the fundamental differences between nomadic and sedentary lives, between rural and urban areas. This distinction inspired his interpretation of history; in the solitude of a Berber castle, he proceeded to write his Muqaddima (completed in Rajab 779/November 1377) and some parts of Kitāb al-‘Ibar. In 785/1383, Ibn Khaldūn left Tunis for Egypt with the hope of obtaining a more peaceful life teaching and writing. The following year, he became Egypt’s grand judge and expert in Mālikī law. He was reportedly a very harsh judge, causing many conflicts, intrigues and dismissals. He died in Cairo in 808/1406. Science of Civilisation (‘Ilm al-‘Umrān) In the Muqaddima, Ibn Khaldūn outlined the basic theoretical and methodological foundations of his science of civilisation (‘ilm al-‘umrān). His main concern was to describe the rise and fall of various North African

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Muslim dynasties; by focusing on what he regarded as the essential social differences between pastoral nomadic (‘umrān badawī) and sedentary (‘umrān ḥaḍarī) societies, he provided a simple but profound explanation for this phenomenon. ‘Umrān badawī, he claimed, were societies which only produced bare necessities, while ‘umrān ḥaḍarī involved the production of luxuries. With increased security and freedom, Ibn Khaldūn believed all people would naturally develop ‘umrān ḥaḍarī from ‘umrān badawī as they became involved in competition tied to economic production and growth. In other words, as ‘umrān developed it would naturally increase and flourish – old cities would be rebuilt and new ones constructed. Ibn Khaldūn therefore envisaged civilisation as a product of material progress and economic development. It was a continuous, progressive process that humanity achieved through cooperation and striving. When the scale of cooperation and number of people involved increased, a larger and more improved ‘umrān would emerge.2 For Ibn Khaldūn, ‘umrān came into existence with the formation of ‘aṣabiyya, often translated as ‘group feeling’ or ‘social cohesion’. He maintained that groups with strong ‘aṣabiyya would establish political rule over those with weak ‘aṣabiyya. At the same time, and in order to build a strong civilisation, ‘aṣabiyya must be guided by religious law; for Ibn Khaldūn, religion gave additional power to ‘aṣabiyya by uniting people under strong leadership.3 Consequently, he concluded that ‘umrān came into existence as a result of a harmonious interplay between ‘aṣabiyya and religion. In the thought of Ibn Khaldūn, ‘umrān was always in a state of change, from a primitive form to an advanced form. But, and just as with biological organisms, a natural and necessary consequence of this growth and maturity was an eventual decline; once ‘umrān ḥaḍarī was established, it would necessarily decline back into ‘umrān badawī, creating a cyclic process that would be repeated over and over. According to Ibn Khaldūn, each stage of ‘umrān ḥaḍarī would be culturally more advanced than the preceding one, but politically weaker. He also suggested that rural communities were morally stronger than urban communities; he felt the Bedouin were characterised by courage, intrepidity, freedom, morality and religion, while city-dwellers tended to embody dishonesty, a failure to maintain unity and solidarity, and (due to their sedentary lifestyle) an addiction to luxury and ease.

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Discipline of Historical Criticism Ibn Khaldūn also made a significant contribution to the field of historiography. In the Muqaddima, he succeeded in widening the scope of historical inquiry, giving priority to the study of social, economic and cultural matters, and setting out a system of good and sound historical criticism based on the rational evaluation of historical accounts. Ibn Khaldūn considered early Muslim historians to have been outstanding scholars, who presented a comprehensive collection of sound historical events. Afterwards, however, a tradition developed of fraudulent stories and reports; later generations of historians, Ibn Khaldūn said, habitually neglected to consider the circumstances, conditions and customs of the different nations and races their historical accounts were concerned with. In their work, they presented myth as established fact, without any supporting evidence. Ibn Khaldūn found this unacceptable. As a result, he outlined a method of historical criticism comprising several important steps of assessment. According to him, in order to create authentic and trustworthy historical accounts, historians should possess a good command of the principles of politics, of the true nature of existent things, and of the differences between nations, places and time periods (i.e. differences in character, customs and traditions). They also needed a comprehensive knowledge of present-day conditions, which they should then compare to past conditions with an eye to the similarities and differences between the periods in question as a basis for the evaluation of historical events. Ibn Khaldūn accordingly requested that historians consider the differing conditions accompanying the rise of different dynasties, in order to recognise the disparate reasons and incentives which brought them into being and eventually led to their fall. The main goals of the historian, Ibn Khaldūn believed, were to have a comprehensive knowledge of the reasons for every happening and to be acquainted with the origin of every event. He suggested that historians check transmitted information with the basic principles of their own knowledge. If they tallied, then the information should be considered sound. Otherwise, it should be rejected as spurious.4 Economic Thought Through his great sense and knowledge of history, together with his meticulous observations of men, times, and places, Ibn Khaldūn also analysed the role of wealth in the rise and fall of civilisations. For the first

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time, Ibn Khaldūn raised significant socioeconomic questions concerning population, wealth, surplus, and the hopes of labourers vis-à-vis the fruits of their toil. By doing so, he clearly demonstrated breadth and depth in his coverage of a range of issues, including: material wealth and its relationship to labour; capital accumulation and its relationship to the rise and fall of dynasties; and the dynamics of demand, supply, pricing, and profit. By considering these factors, not only did Ibn Khaldūn plant the seeds of classical economics – production, supply, and cost – but he also pioneered an understanding of the cornerstones of modern economic theory: consumption, demand, and utility.5 For Ibn Khaldūn, ‘umrān was a dynamic socioeconomic concept, a process for increasing wealth and material well-being. In this regard, the economic content of ‘umrān constitutes the ultimate criterion by which its different stages are distinguished from one another; depending on the nature of human industry, or the way in which people make their livings, ‘umrān takes on either its badawī or haḍarī form. While ‘umrān badawī is dominated by agricultural activity and the production of the necessities of life, ‘umrān haḍarī is marked by commercial labour, crafts and an increasing variety of luxury habits.6 Wealth therefore provides the substance of ‘umrān, with labour and human industry being the real sources of wealth. In addition to this, Ibn Khaldūn also discusses the worldliness of man and his acquisitive nature. According to Ibn Khaldūn, people constantly reach out for this world, for its wealth and prestige. While these worldly desires are natural and even necessary for man and his survival, the exploitation of the labour of others to achieve them is both unnatural and unjust. It is a type of oppression (zulm) that eventually becomes harmful to both society and civilisation. This is because it kills the incentive to work. Incentive is the major link between prosperity and population; killing it also kills people’s hope and eventually leads to the waning of ‘umrān. As a consequence, Ibn Khaldūn stated that, in order to ensure law and order, it is necessary that society has a large population with access to labour specialisation and free trade while also being subject to minimal taxation. The last of these factors is particularly important: in order to maintain stability, the state should only take a minimal amount of surplus through taxation in order to provide a minimum of services and other necessary public works. An ideal taxation system would be one that is large enough to provide the funds necessary for maintaining and sustaining ‘umrān, but not so large as to stifle economic initiative and thereby kill ‘umrān.

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Ibn Khaldūn’s contribution to economic thought was unprecedented for its time and places him at the very forefront of the history of economic theory. If may even make him the ‘father’ of modern economics – a title traditionally given to Adam Smith, whose eminent works were published around three hundred and seventy years after Ibn Khaldūn’s death. When Ibn Khaldūn wrote his Muqaddima, Islamic civilisation was already in decline. Perhaps because of this, his methods and rules would remain forgotten in the Muslim world for centuries. Nevertheless, his ideas and methodology were extensively used by early modern European scholars in the fields of sociology, political science, economics and history. Ibn Khaldūn’s biography appeared in many European texts from as early as the end of the seventeenth century, with the first translation of the Muqaddima appearing in Europe in 1806. Notes 1. 2. 3. 4.

5. 6.

Aziz Al-Azmeh, Ibn Khaldūn: An Essay in Reinterpretation (London: Frank Cass & Company Ltd., 1982), 2-3. Elmira Akhmetova, ‘Defining Civilisation and Religion,’ IAIS Journal of Civilisation Studies 1, no.1 (2008): 47-8. Ibn Khaldūn, The Muqaddimah: An Introduction to History, 2nd ed., trans. Franz Rosenthal (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1980), 1:320. See, Ahmed Elyas Hussein, ‘Ibn Khaldun’s Contribution to Historical Criticism,’ in Ibn Khaldun and Muslim Historiography, ed. Ahmed Ibrahim Abushouk (Kuala Lumpur: International Islamic University Malaysia, 2003), 7-8. Oweiss Ibrahim, ‘Ibn Khaldun, The Father of Economics,’ Georgetown University. Available at: http://www9.georgetown.edu/faculty/imo3/ibn. htm. (Accessed on: 13th August 2013). George Firzly, ‘Ibn Khaldun: A Socio-Economic Study,’ Unpublished PhD Thesis, University of Utah (1973), 213-4.

Further Reading Hussein, Ahmed Elyas. ‘Ibn Khaldun’s Contribution to Historical Criticism.’ In Ibn Khaldun and Muslim Historiography, edited by Ahmed Ibrahim Abushouk. Kuala Lumpur: International Islamic University Malaysia, 2003. Al-Azmeh, Aziz. Ibn Khaldūn: An Essay in Reinterpretation. London: Frank Cass & Company Ltd., 1982. Al-Mudamgha, Anwar Ameen. Ibn Khaldun’s Socio-Historical Theory: A Study in the History of Ideas. Ann Arbor, Michigan: UMI Research Press, 1990.

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Akhmetova, Elmira. ‘Defining Civilisation and Religion.’ IAIS Journal of Civilisation Studies 1, no.1 (2008): 43-65. Firzly, George S. ‘Ibn Khaldun: A SocioEconomic Study.’ Unpublished PhD thesis, University of Utah, 1973. Ibrahim, Oweiss. ‘Ibn Khaldun, The Father of Economics.’ Georgetown University. Available at: http://www9.georgetown.edu/faculty/imo3/ibn.htm. Rosenthal, Erwin I. J. Political Thought in Medieval Islam: An Introductory Outline. Westport, CT: Greenwood Press Publishers, 1985.

Part Three From early modernity to the twentieth Century

28 HAMZAH AL-FANSURI d.ca.1602 Alexander Wain

Hamzah al-Fansuri is the first identifiable Southeast Asian Islamic scholar to leave behind a substantial and systematic body of work. Very little, however, is known about his life; although his nisba suggests he came from Fansur (modern-day Barus, in north Sumatra), little else is certain. As outlined below, he apparently travelled to the Middle East (notably Makkah and Baghdad) and subscribed to the Wujūdiyya branch of Sufism – that is, to the controversial Neo-Platonist brand of mystical philosophy which argues for a unity between God and His creation.1 Besides these points, however, most other aspects of Hamzah’s biography remain unresolved – including when he lived. Traditionally, scholarship has dated Hamzah’s death to the reign of Aceh’s Sultan ‘Alauddin Ri‘ayat Shah (r.1588-1604). This conclusion is based on a number of considerations. Firstly, Hamzah appears to have dedicated a poem to this ruler, suggesting he survived into the latter’s reign.2 Second, in 1602 Aceh was visited by the British envoy, Sir James Lancaster. While there, Lancaster negotiated a treaty with two Acehnese noblemen, one of whom he described as a “wise and temperate” man who held great favour with the king and knew fluent Arabic.3 Simply identified as Aceh’s “chiefe bishope,” it has been speculated that this was Hamzah. Certainly, there is no other known Acehnese religious figure of this stature from this period.4 By the reign of Iskandar Muda (r.1607-1636), however, Hamzah disappears from the scene. If mentioned at all – such as by Iskandar Muda’s Shaykh al-Islām, Shams al-Din al-Samatrani (d.1630) – it is only briefly and as a former presence in the kingdom.5 This strongly suggests that, although still alive in 1602, Hamzah died before Iskandar Muda’s ascent to the throne.

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Despite the strength of this argument, in 2000 C. Guillot and L. Kalus challenged it with an article detailing a discovery made in 1930s Makkah.6 Throughout that decade, the then director of Cairo’s Museum of Arab Art, Gaston Wiet, had been attempting to compile a complete record of Makkah’s early epigraphy with the ultimate aim of publishing the collected material as a book entitled Corpus d’Inscriptions de la Mecque. He died, however, before being able to complete his task and, as a result, his research never appeared. Nevertheless, in the 1990s Guillot and Kalus gained access to his notes. Amongst them, they discovered a copy of an inscription made in 1934 by Wiet’s assistant, Hassan Mohammad el-Hawary. Made during a visit to Makkah’s Bāb al-ma‘lā cemetery, it recorded a gravestone dated 9 Rajab 933/11 April 1527 and apparently inscribed with the name Ḥamza 7 bin ‘Abd Allāh al-Fansūrī. According to the accompanying epitaph, this . Ḥamza bin ‘Abd Allāh al-Fansūrī was “al-Shaykh al-ṣāliḥ [the devoted . Shaykh], a servant of God, [and] a zāhid [ascetic]” who bore the title Sayyidinā. All this clearly identified him as a high-ranking Sufi. Moreover, the inscription also called Ḥamzah bin ‘Abd Allāh al-Fansūrī al-shaykh al. murābiṭ, which Guillot and Kalus interpreted to mean a ‘combattant de la frontière,’8 thereby implying that this individual came from the very edge of the Islamic world. As a result, and despite their record of the inscription being Wiet’s copy of el-Hawary’s own copy (the latter’s photograph had disappeared, and no rubbing was ever made), Guillot and Kalus argued that this grave almost certainly belonged to Southeast Asia’s Hamzah alFansuri, thereby pushing his lifetime back into the late fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries. Although Guillot and Kalus have subsequently attempted to bolster their argument with a range of additional details,9 their case has proven unconvincing. This is for several reasons. First, there are questions surrounding the veracity of the reading ‘Ḥamza bin ‘Abd Allāh al-Fansūrī’. . As noted, Guillot and Kalus analyse the relevant inscription using only a copy of a copy, with no further research (such as someone going to Makkah to find the grave) to determine whether el-Hawary and/or Wiet copied it correctly.10 Indeed, even if little reason exists to suppose Wiet made a copyist’s error, el-Hawary could easily have done so: he was, after all, working quickly in the midst of a busy cemetery. As V. Braginsky has noted, many other nisba could, with the misplacement of a diacritical mark or reproduction of a wrong letter, be mistaken for ‘al-Fansūrī’. . For example, during this period North Africa’s premier Sufi centre was Mansūra, which gives the nisba al-Mansūrī. When written in Arabic, al. . Mansūrī potentially needs just a single misplaced dot to be transformed .

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into al-Fansūrī. Indeed, in that context the gravestone’s description of . Ḥamza bin ‘Abd Allāh as an al-shaykh al-murābiṭ is significant. As Guillot and Kalus note, murābiṭ at one time referred to a person who, while being dedicated to the defence of Islam, lived on the edge of the Islamic world. By the early sixteenth century, however, it signified a Sufi saint. Although this would connect with Hamzah al-Fansuri, this usage has always been primarily North African; in Southeast Asia, the term khanqa has been preferred.11 The application of murābiṭ therefore suggests a North African context. Given the similarity between the nisbas Ḥamza bin ‘Abd Allāh may consequently have al-Mansūrī and al-Fansūrī, . . been from Mansūra. . It is also unfortunate that Guillot and Kalus do not evaluate the Acehnese traditions which locate Hamzah al-Fansuri’s grave at the southernmost tip of Aceh, in Kampung Oboh (in Simpang Kiri, Rudeng).12 If these traditions are correct, they refute any possibility that Hamzah was buried in Makkah. Equally, Guillot and Kalus ignore the fact that a lesser-known Sumatran scholar, Hasan al-Fansuri, names Hamzah as his teacher, claiming that the latter taught him dhikr (the Sufi’s ritualised remembrance of God). Although Hasan’s precise dates are unknown, his writings utilise the work of the Gujarati Sufi, Muhammad ibn Fadlillāh . . al-Burhānpūrī (d.1029/1620), notably the latter's al-Tuḥfa al-mursala ilā rūḥ al-Nabī, written in 1590.13 Consequently, Hasan must post-date the late sixteenth century. If he was Hamzah’s pupil, and if the latter died in 1527, Hasan must therefore have lived into his nineties, only finalising his mystical philosophy at the very end of his life. Although this is technically possible, it is unlikely: few lived that long during this period. Rather, it is far more probable that Hamzah lived closer to 1590, thereby allowing (the therefore much younger) Hasan to be both his pupil and, a few years later, able to absorb influences from al-Burhānpūrī. But perhaps most conclusively in favour of the original dating is the fact that, although Hamzah does not explicitly date his writings, he does claim to have been writing during the “season of the white man [orang putih]”. Malay writers did not use the term orang putih until after the arrival of the Dutch and the English in the late sixteenth century. Any earlier than this and they would refer to Europeans as either pertugan or peringgi (from the Arabic faranjī, meaning ‘Franks’).14 This strongly suggests that Hamzah was writing at the end of the sixteenth/beginning of the seventeenth century, just as has traditionally been thought. Turning to Hamzah’s teachings, these constitute a form of Wujūdiyya Sufism that, while being closely linked to the Qādiriyya ṭarīqa, draw

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upon both the Persian and Arabic literate traditions. The precise nature of Hamzah’s education, or the cauldron in which these ideas formed, is complex. His poems, for example, mention a trip to the Middle East, where he visited both Baghdad and Makkah. According to one poem, it was in Baghdad that he was initiated into the Qādiriyya15 (although no known Qādiriyya silsila preserves his name).16 In Makkah, on the other hand, and despite actively seeking God, he did so unsuccessfully.17 Instead, he claims final enlightenment came while he was visiting Shahr-i Nawi, the Ayuthian capital: The Hamzah who was originally from Fansur, Found God [mendapat Wujud] in the land of Shahrnawi.18 Hamzah therefore claims to have completed his religious training in Southeast Asia, in what is now Thailand. Certainly, the Portuguese traveller, Fernão Mendes Pinto (d.1583), who travelled to Ayuthia in 1554, observed many Turkish and Indian Muslims residing there.19 Hamzah’s claim is therefore plausible; Wujūdiyya Sufism was very popular amongst Indian Muslims during this period.20 To elaborate more fully on the nature of Wujūdiyya Sufism, this brand of mysticism is largely derived from the thought of the famous medieval Sufi, Ibn ‘Arabī (d.638/1240). He believed that God’s creation was an extension of His own Essence, something which had grown out of Him (or emanated from Him) in a series of stages, like a seed. By framing the issue like this, Ibn ‘Arabī and his followers created what has been perceived by many as a pantheistic worldview – that is, a worldview in which God and His creation are one. For many Muslim scholars, this is controversial.21 Nonetheless, Hamzah drew fully upon both Ibn ‘Arabī and other noted Wujūdiyya thinkers (like the Baghdadī mystic ‘Abd al-Karīm al-Jīlī, d.1428, and ‘Abd al-Rahmān Jāmī, d.1492) to argue that creation emerged . from the Absolute Reality of God in a five-stage emanation.22 As a result, however, and beginning with Nur al-Din al-Raniri (active in Aceh between 1637 and 1644), there have been long periods during which Hamzah’s teachings have been spurned by the majority of Southeast Asian scholars. Preferring to interpret God as transcendent (or fundamentally different from His creation), these other scholars have largely rejected Wujūdiyya teachings. This does not mean, however, that Hamzah has been regionally insignificant. On the contrary, despite sometimes falling out of favour, many subsequent Southeast Asian scholars have taken their inspiration

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directly from him. The aforementioned Shams al-Din al-Samatrani, for example, described Hamzah as his teacher and essentially subscribed to the same brand of Wujūdiyya-orientated mysticism.23 More recently, the postcolonial period has seen a re-blossoming of interest in Hamzah’s work, including its republication for a modern audience. But more generally, it is Hamzah’s role as the initiator of a greater scholarly connectivity between Southeast Asia, India and the Arab world that is significant. Prior to him, few Southeast Asian religious texts showed any awareness of the intellectual trends circulating in these other parts of the Islamic world. Southeast Asia’s earliest Islamic works (from historical chronicles like the Hikayat Raja Pasai to early Javanese religious texts like the Kitab Bonang)24 demonstrated little specific knowledge of the Islamic doctrines and/or legal questions circulating in either India or the Arab world. Rather, they evidenced heavy Persian influence, usually mediated through Central Asia. Although this Persianate influence did not end with Hamzah,25 it did begin to decline with him: from his lifetime onwards, Southeast Asian scholars (like al-Raniri, ‘Abd al-Ra’uf al-Singkili, d.1693, or Muhammad Yusuf al-Maqassari, b.1627) spent significant amounts of time studying in the Arabic-speaking world and/or India, familiarising themselves with the depth of scholarship present in those regions.26 This trend, which has continued right up to the present, eventually reshaped Southeast Asian Islam. For example, it introduced Southeast Asia to the ṭarīqas which would eventually dominate its mystical tradition – in particular, the Makkan-based Shaṭṭāriyya and Indian-based Naqshbandiyya orders.27 More importantly, however, it helped facilitate an exponential rise in Ḥadramī influence throughout the region: beginning with al-Raniri . (whose father was probably a Ḥadramī from the al-Ḥāmid branch of the . banī Zuhra, itself a branch of the Quraysh),28 Ḥadramī Arabs would come . to occupy prominent religious positions throughout Southeast Asia. By the eighteenth century, they were also marrying into local ruling elites (even becoming Sultans on occasion).29 From these places of influence, Hadramīs were ultimately able to project their Shāfi‘ī-based version of . . Islam right across Southeast Asia. It was arguably with Hamzah that this process began.30

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Notes 1. 2.

3.

4.

5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23.

See Hamzah Fansuri, The Poems of Hamzah Fansuri, ed. and trans. G. W. J. Drewes and L. F. Brakel, Bibliotheca Indonesica 26 (Dordrecht: Foris Publications, 1986). The relevant poem does not provide a name for the ruler, only calling him Shāh ‘Ālam. This, however, was a title applied to Sultan ‘Alauddin Ri‘ayat Shah, see Syed Muhammad Naguib al-Attas, Rānīrī and the Wujūdiyyah of 17th Century Acheh, Monographs of the Malaysian Branch Royal Asiatic Society No. III (Singapore: Malaysian Printers Ltd., 1966), 44. James Lancaster, The Voyages of Sir James Lancaster to Brazil and the East Indies, 1591-1603, ed. William Foster (London: The Hakluyt Society, 1940), 96. Another Englishman, John Davies, who visited the region between 1598 and 1603, also refers to the “archbishop” of Aceh; favoured by the king, the people called him a prophet and he was allowed to wear separate apparel from everyone else, see John Davies, The Voyages and Works of John Davies, ed. Albert Hastings Markham (London: The Hakluyt Society, 1880), 151. Azymardi Azra, The Origins of Islamic Reformism in Southeast Asia: Networks of Malay-Indonesian and Middle Eastern ‘Ulama’ in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries (Honolulu: Asian Studies Association of Australia, Allen & Unwin and University of Hawai’i Press, 2004), 53. Ibid, 53. There is also an Indonesian version of their article, Claude Guillot and Ludvik Kalus, ‘Batu Nisan Hamzah Fansuri,’ Jurnal Terjemahan Alam dan Tamadun Melayu 1 (2009): 27-49. Claude Guillot and Ludvik Kalus, ‘La stèle funéraire de Hamzah Fansuri,’ Archipel 60 (2000): 5-6. Ibid, 6. Ibid, 14. Vladimir I. Braginsky, ‘On the Copy of Hamzah Fansuri’s Epitaph Published by C. Guillot & L. Kalus,’ Archipel 62 (2001): 22-4. Cesar Adib Majul, Muslims in the Philippines (Quezon City: The University of the Philippines Press, 1999), 82. Braginsky, ‘Hamzah Fansuri’s Epitaph,’ 28. Azra, Origins of Islamic Reformism in Southeast Asia, 41. Al-Attas, Rānīrī and the Wujūdiyyah, 9. Fansuri, Poems, poem XVI. Martin van Bruinessen, ‘Origins and Development of the Sufi Orders (tarekat) in Southeast Asia,’ Studia Islamika 1, no. 1 (1994): 6. Fansuri, Poems, poem XXI. Ibid, 5. Fernão Mendes Pinto, The Travels of Mendes Pinto, ed. and trans. Rebecca D. Catz (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1989), 307. Fansuri, Poems, 5. Julian Baldick, Mystical Islam: An Introduction to Sufism (London: Tauris Parke, 2000), 83. See Fansuri, Poems. Azra, Origins of Islamic Reformism in Southeast Asia, 42.

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24. See Russell Jones, ed., Hikayat Raja Pasai (Kuala Lumpur: Yayasan Karyawan dan Penerbit Fajar Bakti, 1999) and G. W. J. Drewes, ed. and trans., Kitab Bonang (The Admonitions of Seh Bari), Bibliotheca Indonesica 4 (The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff, 1969). 25. On the contrary, his work shows some considerable signs of Persian influence: not only is his poetry an impersonation of Persian ghazal poetry, but Persian quotations appear throughout his work. In fact, overall Hamzah demonstrates a far profounder knowledge of Persian literature than of Arabic; while the vast majority of his Arabic quotations are Qur‘anic, with some from the hadith, his Persian quotations come from a very diverse range of sources, including the Sufis al-Bistāmī (d.874), Junayd al-Baghdādī (d.910) and al-Ḥallāj (d.922), see al-Attas, Rānīrī and the Wujūdiyyah, 45-6. He even accessed al-Ghazālī’s Iḥyā’ ‘ulūm al-dīn through its Persian abridgement, Kimiya-i sa’adat, see Fansuri, Poems, 14. In all probability, this tendency towards Persian literature reflects the continuation of earlier Southeast Asian trends, thereby providing further evidence that Hamzah completed his religious training in Southeast Asia, rather than the Middle East. 26. Azra, Origins of Islamic Reformism in Southeast Asia, 57, 71, 87-8. 27. Ibid, 57; 71; 87-8. 28. Ibid, 54. 29. Engseng Ho, The Graves of Tarim: Genealogy and Mobility across the Indian Ocean (Berkley, CA: University of California Press, 2006), 98, 104. 30. Syed Farid Alatas, ‘Hadhramaut and the Hadhrami Diaspora: Problems in Theoretical History,’ in Hadhrami Traders, Scholars and Statesmen in the Indian Ocean, 1750s-1960s, ed. Ulrike Freitag and William G. ClarenceSmith (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1997), 25.

Further Reading Alatas, Syed Farid. ‘Hadhramaut and the Hadhrami Diaspora: Problems in Theoretical History.’ In Hadhrami Traders, Scholars and Statesmen in the Indian Ocean, 1750s-1960s, edited by Ulrike Freitag and William G. Clarence-Smith, 19-34. Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1997. Al-Attas, Syed Muhammad Naguib. Rānīrī and the Wujūdiyyah of 17th Century Acheh, Monographs of the Malaysian Branch Royal Asiatic Society No. III. Singapore: Malaysian Printers Ltd., 1966. Azra, Azymardi. The Origins of Islamic Reformism in Southeast Asia: Networks of Malay-Indonesian and Middle Eastern ‘Ulama’ in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries. Honolulu: Asian Studies Association of Australia, Allen & Unwin and University of Hawai’i Press, 2004. Baldick, Julian. Mystical Islam: An Introduction to Sufism. London: Tauris Parke, 2000. Braginsky, Vladimir I. ‘On the Copy of Hamzah Fansuri’s Epitaph Published by

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C. Guillot and L. Kalus.’ Archipel 62 (2001): 21-33. Bruinessen, Martin van. ‘Origins and Development of the Sufi Orders (tarekat) in Southeast Asia.’ Studia Islamika 1, no. 1 (1994): 1-23. Davies, John. The Voyages and Works of John Davies. Edited by Albert Hastings Markham. London: The Hakluyt Society, 1880. Drewes, G. W. J., ed. and trans. Kitab Bonang (The Admonitions of Seh Bari), Bibliotheca Indonesica 4. The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff, 1969. Engseng Ho. The Graves of Tarim: Genealogy and Mobility across the Indian Ocean. Berkley, CA: University of California Press, 2006. Fansuri, Hamzah. The Poems of Hamzah Fansuri, Bibliotheca Indonesia 26. Edited and translated by G. W. J. Drewes and L. F. Brakel. Dordrecht: Foris Publications, 1986. Guillot, Claude, and Ludvik Kalus. ‘Batu Nisan Hamzah Fansuri.’ Jurnal Terjemahan Alam dan Tamadun Melayu 1 (2009): 27-49. ______________________________. ‘La stèle funéraire de Hamzah Fansuri.’ Archipel 60 (2000): 3-24. Jones, Russell, ed. Hikayat Raja Pasai. Kuala Lumpur: Yayasan Karyawan dan Penerbit Fajar Bakti, 1999. Lancaster, James. The Voyages of Sir James Lancaster to Brazil and the East Indies, 1591-1603. Edited by William Foster. London: The Hakluyt Society, 1940. Majul, Cesar Adib. Muslims in the Philippines. Quezon City: The University of the Philippines Press, 1999. Pinto, Fernão Mendes. The Travels of Mendes Pinto. Edited and translated by Rebecca D. Catz. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1989.

29 LIU ZHI1 ca.16701739CE Alexander Wain What is recorded in the books of Islam [tianfang] is no different from what is in the Confucian canon. Observing and practicing the proprieties of Islam is like observing and practicing the teachings of the ancient sages and kings. Liu Zhi, Tianfang dianli

Liu Zhi (ca.1670-1739), also known as Liu Jia Lian, was born in the former Chinese imperial capital of Nanjing.2 Little is known about his background and personal life – only that his relatives considered him too studious and, therefore, quite dull! He was, however, a member of China’s Hui community. With roots stretching back to the seventh century, the Hui were (and continue to be) a sizable community of Sinicised Muslims.3 Originally descended from a transient population of Persian and Arab merchants, by the seventeenth century the Hui were fully acculturated Chinese Muslims: they spoke Chinese, wore Chinese clothing and observed Chinese customs. Because of (in some cases centuries of ) intermarriage, they also appeared physically identical to the Han (China’s dominant ethnic group).4 Despite this level of acculturation, however, the Hui maintained their Islamic heritage – a Ḥanafī-based form of Islam that, coloured by traditional Chinese culture, is often termed gedimu (from the Arabic qadīm, meaning ‘old’).5 From the seventeenth century onwards, this type of Islam was further supplemented by various Sufi. tarīqa, in particular the Qādariyya, Naqshbandiyya and Kubrawiyya.6 Liu Zhi was born into the heart of this cultural milieu, at a point when the gedimu and Sufi traditions were beginning to interact. By the end of his life, he would be the Hui’s leading scholar, representing the pinnacle of their intellectual

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tradition. Even today, and despite the increasing influence of Wahhābī thought throughout modern-day China, for whom both the gedimu and Sufism are anathema, Liu Zhi’s ideas remain popular amongst Chinese Muslims in general.7 Liu Zhi’s education began in his native Nanjing, in a school established by the leading Hui educational master, Yuan Shengzhi. The latter was a relative of Liu Zhi’s father, Liu Hanying (also known as Liu Sanjie), and a disciple of the great Chinese Muslim educational reformer, Hu Dengzhou (also known as either Puchao or Muhammad Ibrāhīm Ilyās, d.1597). . Often called taishi (Great Teacher), Hu Dengzhou had travelled widely throughout the Islamic world. After encountering many great centres of Islamic learning, he became deeply concerned about the plight of Hui Islamic education. When he returned to his homeland, he therefore began work on establishing a rejuvenated education system. At its centre, he proposed that gedimu learning cease to be transmitted in the ancestral Hui languages of Persian and Arabic, and as had previously been the case. Instead, he favoured Chinese, by then was the lingua franca of the Hui community. Beginning in his home county of Xianyang (in Shaanxi province), Hu Dengzhou therefore created a new brand of Chinese-language-based Islamic learning. By the seventeenth century, this had spread to several important Hui centres, including Xian, Jining, Kaifeng and Nanjing.8 Most importantly, Hu Dengzhou’s decision to express Islamic learning in a non-Islamic idiom (i.e. Chinese) provided the inspiration for a radically different approach to Islamic thought. Known as the Hān Kitāb (from han qitabu, literally meaning a Chinese Islamic book), this new school of thought tried to perfect the gedimu’s blend of Islamic and Chinese customs via a systematic positioning of Islamic teachings within the broader context of orthodox Chinese thought.9 By the time of his death in 1739, Liu Zhi would encapsulate the culmination of this philosophical approach; the seeds planted in his mind by Yuan Shengzhi blossomed into the epitome of what could be achieved within the boundaries of the Hān Kitāb.10 Before Liu Zhi could reach this potential, however, he had to undertake an extensive programme of study. Beginning at age fifteen, and after leaving Yuan Shengzhi’s care, he spent eight years studying the traditional Chinese classics and histories, followed by a further six years studying Arabic and Islamic texts. He then moved on to Buddhism (three years) and Daoism (one year), before rounding off his education with one hundred and thirty-seven Western (Xiyang) books – a collection of European texts introduced into seventeenth-century China by the Jesuits.11 Exposure to this programme of study gave Liu Zhi an extremely broad intellectual

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foundation; not only was he fully versed in the Islamic tradition, but equally well qualified to be a member of the Chinese literati. This joint identity led to an important realisation: utilising the breadth of his knowledge, Liu Zhi developed a conviction that Islam’s universal nature meant Islamic thought could not be inward looking. In his own words: The sacred book is the sacred book of Islam, but li [justice] is the same li which exists everywhere under Heaven.12

In other words, and building on his Sincised gedimu heritage, Liu Zhi considered both Islam and Confucianism to be expressions of the same universal truth. Liu Zhi argued that both Confucius and the other Chinese sages had been, and just like the Prophet Muhammad, bearers of Divine . inspiration. On this basis, Liu Zhi developed a strong desire to reach out to the Confucian Chinese establishment, to reconcile them to Islam.13 With this imperative in mind, after completing his studies Liu Zhi took up residence at the foot of Nanjing’s Qingliangshan Mountain, in a studio called Saoyelou (House of Sweeping Leaves). There he began translating Arabic texts into Chinese. In addition, he also composed several hundred original Chinese-language manuscripts, all seeking to relate Islam to Confucianism. Although only one tenth of these were ever published, three became very influential: the Tianfang Xingli (The Principles of Islam, published in 1704),14 the Tianfang Dianli (The Rules and Proprieties of Islam, 1710)15 and the Tianfang Zhisheng Shilu (The Record of the Prophet of Islam, 1724).16 The first focused on usūl . al-dīn (specifically, on tawhīd, nubuwwa and ma‘ād), the second on furū‘ al-dīn (the branches . and applications of faith), and the last on a biography of the Prophet (based primarily on a Persian translation of the work of Muḥammad ibn Mas‘ūd al-Kāzarūnī, d.1357).17 Significantly, Liu Zhi intended these three texts to be read together; through them he was attempting to describe the three stages of Sufism – namely, the Sharia (i.e. the way), the tarīqa . (the teachings) and the ḥaqīqa (the Reality of God, as embodied in the example of the Prophet). By doing so, Liu Zhi’s intention was to parallel traditional Chinese philosophy, where discussions begin with the dao (theoretical underpinning), before moving on to the jiao (the concrete, relative and practical vehicle of the dao) and then the Sages who act as the bridge between these points.18 In other words, Liu Zhi was aiming to express Islam in the same terms as traditional Chinese thought. Indeed, to further facilitate this task, Liu Zhi adopted a very unconventional approach to his topic. His work on furū‘ al-dīn, for example, is by no means typical of the genre. Most Islamic texts falling

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under this heading are works of fiqh (jurisprudence), designed to illustrate methods of ibāda (such as prayer). Liu Zhi’s discussion, however, centres on the theoretical underpinnings behind Islamic rituals. In other words, he is not interested in describing how (for example) Muslims pray (and, indeed, his text cannot be used as a guide on that matter), but only with establishing why they pray. By delving into these theological matters, Liu Zhi sought to highlight numerous parallels between Islamic teachings and those of the ancient Chinese sages, frequently expressing Islamic concepts in Confucian terms. As a result, he managed to bridge the gap between the two traditions, merging their essential ideologies into a single whole. Certainly, his efforts in this regard were by no means unsuccessful: Liu Zhi’s biography of the Prophet, for example, was honoured with a preface by China’s Vice-Minister of the Board of Ritual, who wrote: The ancient Confucian doctrine has been undermined at different times by Buddhists and Taoists…now, however, in this book of Liu Zhi we see once more the way of the ancient sages, Yao and Shun, King Wen and King Wu and Confucius. Thus, although this book explains Islam, in truth it illuminates our Confucianism.19

Likewise, the Vice-Minister of the Board of War contributed a preface to Liu Zhi’s book on furū‘ al-dīn, stating that the minister, while discussing Islam with Liu Zhi, had come to the realisation that it upheld traditional Confucian values (such as loyalty to the Sovereign, filial piety and brotherly love).20 Indeed, this text was later included in the Siku quanshu (The Complete Library of Four Sections), history’s largest compilation of Chinese books, initiated by the Qianlong Emperor in 1772. Inclusion in this Imperial project gave Liu Zhi’s text official Neo-Confucian recognition.21 But Liu Zhi’s appeal to traditional Chinese values, did not result in a neglect of his Islamic learning. On the contrary, the above three texts referenced a total of sixty-six Islamic sources. Although varied in nature, many of these were Ishrāqiyya (or Illuminationist) Sufi works from the Central Asian Kubrawiyya ṭarīqa. Thus, the two works Liu Zhi cited the most are both Kubrawiyya: the Mirsād al-‘ibād min al-mabda’ ila’l-ma‘ād . of Najm al-Dīn al-Rāzī (d.1247) and the Maqsad-i aqsā of ‘Azīz al-Nasafī (d.ca.1300). In addition, Liu Zhi also drew upon Shāfi’ī works and the mystical philosophy of Ibn ‘Arabī – Nasafī, for example, as a disciple of Sa’d al-Dīn Ḥammūyya (d.1252), was both a Shāfi’ī scholar and a follower of Ibn ‘Arabī. Ibn ‘Arabī’s philosophy also entered Liu Zhi’s work via two other important texts: the Ashi‘ ‘at al-lama‘āt and the Lawā’ih, . both by ‘Abd al-Raḥmān Jāmī (d.1492).22

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By drawing upon both Islamic and Chinese texts, Liu Zhi demonstrated a truly international mind set. Determined to fully reconcile the Chinese and Islamic intellectual traditions, he was unafraid to highlight commonalities between them and see in those similarities the hand of God. After his death, Liu Zhi became a local walī (saint) in northwest China, where his name appears in many hagiographical texts as the spiritual forbearer of several important regional shaykhs.23 Liu Zhi’s grave, located outside the southern gate of Nanjing, is still an object of veneration for many Chinese Muslims today.24 Notes 1.

This biographical sketch is based on my much more detailed article, Alexander Wain, ‘Islam in China: The Hān Kitāb Tradition in the Writings of Wang Daiyu, Ma Zhu and Liu Zhi, With a Note on Their Relevance for Contemporary Islam,’ Islam and Civilisational Renewal 7, no. 1 (2016): 2746. 2. Encyclopedia of Islam, 2nd ed., s.v. ‘Liu Chih.’ 3. According Hui legend, their community was first established by “Sa Ha Bo Sa Ha Di Wo Ge Si” – that is, by the ṣaḥāba Sa‘d ibn Abī Waqqās, the Prophet Muhammad’s maternal uncle. The Hui claim that Sa‘d ibn . Abī Waqqās travelled to China during the reign of the Gaozong Emperor (r.649-683). According to the Hui, he succeeded in meeting Gaozong, who became favourably impressed with Islam’s teachings, feeling them to be akin to Confucianism. As a result, Sa‘d was allowed to remain in China and build the first mosque in Guangzhou. The Hui claim Sa‘d’s grave can still be seen there. See Haiyun Ma, ‘The Mythology of [the] Prophet's Ambassadors in China: Histories of Sa‘d Waqqas and Gess in Chinese Sources,’ Journal of Muslim Minority Affairs 26, no. 3 (2006): 446. 4. Raphael Israeli, Islam in China: Religion, Ethnicity, Culture, and Politics (Oxford: Lexington Books, 2002), 113. 5. Dru C. Gladney, Muslim Chinese: Ethnic Nationalism in the People’s Republic (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1996), 37. 6. Dru C. Gladney, Dislocating China: Reflections on Muslims, Minorities, and other Subaltern Groups (Chicago, IL: The University of Chicago Press, 2004), 128-30. 7. Ibid, 134. 8. Sachiko Murata, William C. Chittick and Tu Weiming, The Sage Learning of Liu Zhi: Islamic Thought in Confucian Terms (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2009), 4-5. 9. Encyclopedia of Islam, 3rd ed., s.v. ‘Chinese Muslim Literature.’ 10. Zvi Ben-Dor Benite, The Dao of Muhammad: A Cultural History of Muslims in Late Imperial China (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center, 2005), 144-5. 11. Encyclopedia of Islam, s.v. ‘Liu Chih.’

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12. Cited in J. F. Ford, ‘Some Chinese Muslims of the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries,’ Asian Affairs 5, no. 2 (1974): 150. 13. Encyclopedia of Islam, s.v. ‘Liu Chih.’ 14. See Murata, Chittick and Tu, Sage Learning. 15. See James D. Frankel, Rectifying God’s Name: Liu Zhi’s Confucian Translation of Monotheism and Islamic Law (Honolulu, HI: University of Hawai’i Press, 2011). 16. See Isaac Mason, The Arabian Prophet: A Life of Mohammed from Chinese and Arabic Sources, a Chinese Muslim Work by Liu Chia-lien (Shanghai: Commercial Press, 1921). 17. Murata, Chittick and Tu, Sage Learning, 6-9. 18. Ibid, 8-9. Murata identifies a fourth Sufi stage, ma‘rifa (final mystical knowledge of God), which she accuses Liu Zhi of neglecting in order to maintain his threefold parallel. Sufis, however, often subsume ma‘rifa under ṭarīqah, meaning there is not necessarily any inconsistency here. 19. Cited in Encyclopedia of Islam, s.v. ‘Liu Chih.’ 20. Encyclopedia of Islam, s.v. ‘Liu Chih.’ 21. Murata et al., Sage Learning, 6. 22. Murata, Chittick and Tu, Sage Learning, 10-14. 23. Encyclopedia of Islam, s.v. ‘Chinese Muslim Literature.’ 24. Encyclopedia of Islam, s.v. ‘Liu Chih.’

Further Reading Benite, Zvi Ben-Dor. The Dao of Muhammad: A Cultural History of Muslims in Late Imperial China. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center, 2005. Ford, J. F. ‘Some Chinese Muslims of the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries.’ Asian Affairs 5, no. 2 (1974): 144-156. Frankel, James D. Rectifying God’s Name: Liu Zhi’s Confucian Translation of Monotheism and Islamic Law. Honolulu, HI: University of Hawai’i Press, 2011. Gladney, Dru C. Dislocating China: Reflections on Muslims, Minorities, and other Subaltern Groups. Chicago, IL: The University of Chicago Press, 2004. _____________. Muslim Chinese: Ethnic Nationalism in the People’s Republic. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1996. Haiyun Ma. ‘The Mythology of [the] Prophet's Ambassadors in China: Histories of Sa‘d Waqqas and Gess in Chinese Sources.’ Journal of Muslim Minority Affairs 26, no. 3 (2006): 445-452. Israeli, Raphael. Islam in China: Religion, Ethnicity, Culture, and Politics. Oxford: Lexington Books, 2002.

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Mason, Isaac. The Arabian Prophet: A Life of Mohammed from Chinese and Arabic Sources, a Chinese Muslim Work by Liu Chia-lien. Shanghai: Commercial Press, 1921. Murata, Sachiko, William C. Chittick and Tu Weiming. The Sage Learning of Liu Zhi: Islamic Thought in Confucian Terms. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2009. Wain, Alexander. ‘Islam in China: The Hān Kitāb Tradition in the Writings of Wang Daiyu, Ma Zhu and Liu Zhi, With a Note on Their Relevance for Contemporary Islam.’ Islam and Civilisational Renewal 7, no. 1 (2016): 27-46.

30 SHĀH WALĪ ALLĀH AL-DIHLAWĪ 17031762CE Tengku Ahmad Hazri

Shāh Walī Allāh of Delhi (1703–1762), born Quṭb al-Dīn Aḥmad b. Shāh ‘Abd al-Raḥīm, was an Indian reformist scholar and mystic philosopher. Praised by Muhammad Iqbal (d.1938) as the first Muslim scholar to “rethink the whole system of Islam without completely breaking with the past,” Walī Allāh’s intellectual project evinced a desire to re-enchant every minutiae of life with glitters of the transcendent. His mission was to reform the intellectual and sociopolitical conditions of his time, motivating him to attempt an illumination of the inner meaning of Islam through a new discipline called ‘ilm asrār al-dīn (science of the subtle meanings of religion), which some have understood to be a new form of kalām (scholastic theology). Underlying the versatility and eclecticism of his writings was a coherent vision affirming diversity within unity. While learning much from the leading scholars of his time, the most influential personality in Walī Allāh’s education was his own father, Shāh ‘Abd al-Raḥīm (d.1719). Much of Walī Allāh’s philosophy bore his father’s imprint: ‘Abd al-Raḥīm’s chief concern was hikmat-e ‘amali (practical philosophy), where theoretical formulations were saturated with pragmatic considerations. Walī Allāh inherited this perspective, helping him propel his mission to reform the intellectual and sociopolitical conditions of his time, when the Mughal Empire was in its twilight. ‘Abd al-Raḥīm also initiated Walī Allāh into the Naqshbandiyya Sufi order when he was just fifteen. He also founded the religious school, Madrasa Raḥīmiyya, where Walī Allāh would later teach and eventually succeed his father as head. As a youth, Walī Allāh spent fourteen months visiting the Holy Sanctuaries. These impressed him profoundly; while there he experienced mystical visions, chronicled in his Fuyūḍ al-Ḥaramayn (Over-Flowings of the

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Two Sanctuaries). In one of these, he saw the Prophet Muḥammad embrace him and dress him in a special robe – perhaps symbolising the ‘robe’ of demonstrative proof (below). This drove him to pursue his intellectual career with the ‘divine’ assurance of his destiny as the “seal of the sages” (a phrase from his work al-Khayr al-Kathīr, ‘The Abundant Virtue’). Writings Walī Allāh’s major works include his magnum opus, Ḥujjat Allāh al-bāligha (The Conclusive Argument for God), which treated his new discipline of ‘ilm asrār al-dīn, shaping it as a kind of ‘philosophy of religion’ synthesising diverse fields of learning, from metaphysics and cosmology to jurisprudence and political theory. Additionally, Walī Allāh also wrote: al-Budūr al-bazīgha (Full Moon on the Horizon), a condensed version of his Hujjat; al-Fawz al-kabīr fī usūl . . al-tafsīr (The Great Triumph in the Principles of Exegesis), on the principles of Qur’anic commentary; and Alṭāf al-Quds, on Sufi psychology and epistemology. He also wrote several treatises on jurisprudence, including ‘Iqd al-jīd fī ahkām al-ijtihād wa . al-taqlīd (Chaplet On Rules for Ijtihād and Taqlīd) and al-Insāf . fī bayān sabab al-ikhtilāf (Just Clarification On Causes of Juristic Disagreement). Underlying the versatility and eclecticism of these writings was a coherent vision affirming a unity between metaphysics and religion, thereby aiming to eliminate divisive tendencies. This unified worldview is displayed in even his most peripheral inquiries, such as in his juristic theory – e.g. against the conventional argument that ijmā‘ requires total consensus amongst the mujtahid, Walī Allāh advocated a ‘relative’ consensus consistent with his support of diversity. Walī Allāh firmly established his philosophy on a teleological footing. According to him, all things were made towards the service of the cosmic telos, or the al-maslaha . . al-kulliyya (universal comprehensive benefit). The process of change and flux were therefore dialectically interpreted, so that tensions between different elements of the universe – whether between the different faculties of the soul, the various elements in society, or different states in a global political order – were seen as part of the Divine project, whereby their resolution elevated them to a higher level and ultimately resulted in the fulfilment of their destined role in the total scheme of creation. This provided a cosmological basis for understanding change and diversity in the created world. To accomplish this project, Walī Allāh expanded his inquiries beyond a strictly ‘religious’ or ‘spiritual’ discourse to embrace a civilisational context wherein these values could find full expression.

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Diversity and Civilisations These considerations explain Walī Allāh’s tolerant and pluralistic views. In what resembles a proto-cosmopolitan philosophy, Walī Allāh affirmed the centrality of custom in social life, the elimination of which would drag man down to his lowest common denominator. Even in his elucidation of religion, Walī Allāh did not simply conflate this concept with Islam. Rather, he explained ‘religion’ as an archetypal reality inscribed into an imaginal world (‘alam al-mithāl) reminiscent of (but different from) the Platonic ‘World of Forms’. This reality instantiated gradually, by phases and throughout history, until its cycle of revelation and manifestation in the phenomenal world became finalised in the religion sent to Muhammad. . But notwithstanding the finality of the prophethood of Muhammad, the . messages sent to earlier prophets did not fade into oblivion; they were not just given a ‘message’ as is commonly understood – i.e. inviting people to God in the ‘religious’ sense – but also charged with setting up a spiritual, moral, psychological, cultural, social infrastructure capable of preparing humanity for receiving the call to God. This infrastructure could assume many forms, including social institutions, branches of knowledge, or even particular types of craftsmanship. In Walī Allāh’s interpretation of ‘religion’, humanity is by default encoded with theomorphic sensibilities designated as fiṭra (innate disposition). If humanity does not turn to God, or denies Him, it is because their soul is blemished by ‘veils to fiṭra’ that operate on several fronts: physio-biological, customary, and in relation to false conceptions of God. These veils have to be confronted on their own battlefields. The Prophet Idrīs, for example, was “raised…to a lofty station” (Qur’an 19:57). Walī Allāh interpreted this to mean that Idrīs ascended to a higher level of reality, endowing him with superior knowledge of metaphysics from which sprang forth such individual sciences as medicine, astronomy, anatomy, and psychology – all applications of immutable metaphysical principles to specific domains of contingent reality. In this manner, Idrīs’s metaphysical insights served as the foundation for knowledge in his time. Indeed, all prophets were given more than just a religious message; they also received knowledge of socio-spiritual infrastructures. These infrastructures Walī Allāh called irtifāqāt (singular: irtifāq ‘support of civilisation’), by which he intended the place at which the spiritual/ mystical and civilisational intersect. Noah’s Ark, David’s metallurgical gifts and Solomon’s unique political kingdom (spanning cross-dimensional

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territories) were all manifestations of irtifāqāt. Walī Allāh even included the advancement of irtifāqāt as part of the ‘objectives of the Lawgiver’ (maqāsid . al-shāri‘a). Rationality and the Supra-natural Cosmos Among Walī Allāh’s major concerns was the need to rationalise religious truths. He believed that “the divine law of Muḥammad would shine forth in this age by being presented in long and loose-fitting robes of demonstrative proof ” (recall his vision at the Ḥaramayn and the special robe), as well as the integration of mundane human affairs into spiritual life. To this end, Walī Allāh incorporated certain elements into his philosophy which would normally feature as ‘supra-natural realities’. In fact, according to Fazlur Rahman, Walī Allāh “naturalises the so-called supra-natural and supra-naturalises the so-called natural,” while also unifying them into an emanationist cosmology by means of his concept of the ‘great theophany’ (al-tajallī al-aʿẓam). The latter indicates the Divine ‘self-disclosure’, when the many worlds are seen as one harmonious continuum. For example, the Highest Council (al-mala’ al-aʿlā – see Qur’an 37:8 and 38:69), while representing the apex of the angelic realm, nevertheless participates in the ordinary life of humankind, from praying for the righteous servants of God to the transmission of knowledge from its divine origin to the human world. From these premises, it follows that man is capable of knowing things beyond the immediacy of his sense-perception. To reflect this, Walī Allāh created a special classification of knowledge capable of accommodating this broader understanding. In his scheme, the sciences were divided into ʿilm al-manqūlāt (transmitted sciences), ʿilm al-maʿqūlāt (intellectual sciences), and ʿilm al-mukāshafāt (revelatory sciences). Elsewhere, he also spoke of ʿilm al-ḥuṣūlī (knowledge by ratiocination – i.e. knowledge mediated through the process of thought and reasoning) and ʿilm alḥuḍūrī (knowledge by presence – i.e. direct or immediate knowledge). Corresponding to these different types of knowledge were the plurality of the faculties of cognition, or the means by which knowledge is perceived. In this regard, humanity is not left alone: given its intrinsic susceptibility to be distanced from its own fiṭra, humanity is guided to religion (dīn) via the prophets. Over the course of time, their messages are institutionalised (milla) so that humanity can be constantly reminded to return to its fiṭrī (primordial nature).

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Knowledge and Self-transformation In terms of knowledge, religion supplies the possibility of traversing the higher cognitive-mystical highlands, thereby yielding insights into otherwise occluded dimensions of reality and existence. In the case of Islam, religion also prescribes a means of purifying the soul and its cognitive faculties through the Sharia (sacred law). The Sharia works both as a regulation of social life and as a therapeutic exercise, enabling one to maintain an optimum spiritual state. Such knowledge is not discursively formulated, but rather encrypted in the form of rites, rituals and worship, the interior dimensions of which await discovery through learning wedded to spiritual discipline and mystic realisation. In Walī Allāh’s eyes, this reality justifies the human need for prophecy; the latter yields an understanding into such matters as fasting, prayer, and other practices. Nonetheless, Walī Allāh recognised that the Sharia was addressed generally, to humanity as a whole, and therefore did not take into account the distinctive spiritual needs of different individuals. This is why for Walī Allāh knowledge of the inner dimensions of religion – which also subsume a penetrative insight into the nature of reality – became indispensable if the true message of religion were to be realised within a civilisational framework. The purpose of soaring into the higher echelons of knowledge is to tap into its inner reservoir, and thereby effectuate transformation in this all-toohuman world in a way reminiscent of the prophets themselves. Walī Allāh’s sociopolitical theory – coloured no doubt by Naqshbandiyya teachings, which enjoin social activism as part of spiritual training – envisioned a civilisational context where the vagaries of life presented the individual with the formidable task of cooperation and collaboration with others towards the establishment of the necessary irtifāqāt. Indeed, according to Walī Allāh, knowledge of irtifāqāt is one of the three characteristics distinguishing humans from the animals – the other two being aesthetic sensibility (ẓarāfa) and universalist vision (al-ra’y al-kullī). Employing creative psycho-spiritual typologies derived in part from scripture, Walī Allāh devised a social order in which individuals played a predetermined role conforming to their distinctive personality traits. For example, the highest state of individual psycho-spiritual equilibrium produces the ‘Foremost’ (sābiqūn). Next come the ‘Companions of the Right Hand’ (aṣḥāb al-yamīn), while at the lowest level are the ‘Companions of the Left Hand’ (aṣḥāb al-shamāl). The role one is to play is influenced partly by physical temperament (mīzāj), which in turn shapes the constitution of those of the Soul’s faculties which determine

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one’s particular strengths and shortcomings. Walī Allāh even classified the prophets in terms of this system, seeing them as either ‘the instructed ones’ (mufahhamūn), caliphs (khalīfa, like David and Solomon), warners (mundhir, like Ṣāliḥ) or sages (ḥakīm). In the post-prophetic era, the irtifāqāt have to be worked out with the guidance of revelation and Sharia. In light of this, Sharia should not be seen in an exclusively deontological sense, but also teleologically. That is, it is ultimately meant to secure the benefit of humanity and all creation. Although it may be argued that the rulings of Sharia do not have beneficial purposes (maṣāliḥ) and that there is no relationship between human action and that which Allāh makes requital for, with the obligations of Sharia being like the case of a master who wants to test the obedience of his servant by ordering him to lift a stone or touch a tree (i.e. an act which has no use besides testing obedience), this is a false idea refuted by the practice of the Prophet and the consensus of the generations of those whose goodness has been attested to. Shāh Walī Allāh’s legacy in the Indian Subcontinent is so widespread that various groups, all of them different in terms of ideology, claim him as their forbearer. His descendants helped spread this legacy – particularly his son, the hadith scholar Shāh Abd al-ʿAzīz, who authored the famous Bustān al-muḥaddithīn (Garden of the Hadith Scholars), and grandson, Shāh Ismāʿīl Shāhid. Walī Allāh’s voice, echoing almost three centuries later, still reverberates today. Its message responds to a perennial quest within humankind, calling it to the Divine, guided at all times by the spirit of Unity. Further Reading Al-Ghazali, Muhammad. The Socio-Political Thought of Shah Wali Allah. Islamabad: International Institute of Islamic Thought, 2001. Jalbani, G. N. Life of Shah Waliyullah. New Delhi: Kitab Bhavan, 2006. Shāh Walī Allāh. Shāh Walī Allāh's treatises on juristic disagreement and Taqlīd: Alinṣāf fī Bayān Sabab al-Ikhtilāf and ʿIqd al-Jīd fī Ahkām al-Ijtihād wa-l Taqlīd. Translated by Marcia Hermansen. Louisville: Fons Vitae, 2010. ____________. The Conclusive Argument from God: Shāh Walī Allāh of Delhi's Hujjat Allāh al-bāligha. Translated by Marcia Hermansen. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1995.

31 MUHAMMAD AMĪN IBN ʿĀBIDĪN . 17841836CE Mohammed Farid Ali

The eminent Damascene scholar, Muḥammad Amīn ibn ʿUmar ibn ʿAbd al-ʿAzīz (1784-1836), better known in South Asian Ḥanafī circles as Ibn ʿĀbidīn al-Shāmī, was an ʿAlid sayyid descended from Jaʿfar alṢādiq (d.ca.148AH/765CE). He stands at the juncture between the long tradition of Islamic jurisprudence and modernity. Born in the Qunawāṭ quarter of Damascus, he took his early education in the Shāfi‘ī legal school, before later adopting Ḥanafī jurisprudence. Historically the most widespread juridical school in Islam, the Ḥanafī School was established by Abū Ḥanīfa in the second/eighth century, in Iraq. Later, it spread among the populations of Central Asia, India, China and (finally) the Ottoman Empire. Under leading Ḥanafī Shaykhs like Shākir al-ʿUqqād al-ʿUmarī and Saʿīd al-Ḥalabī, Ibn ʿĀbidīn studied inheritance law, mathematics, legal theory, hadith studies, Qur’anic exegesis, mysticism (tasawwuf), . and various rational disciplines (ʿulūm ʿaqliyya). He acquired a thorough competence in the authoritative classics of Ḥanafī jurisprudence, including the al-Durr al-Mukhtār of ʿAlā’ al-Dīn al-Haṣkafī (d.1088/1677). Ibn ʿĀbidīn subsequently served as deputy mufti under Shaykh Ḥusayn alMurādī, the mufti of Ottoman Damascus. In this capacity, Ibn ʿĀbidīn became a prominent authority in the resolution of conflicts in judicial opinion, achieving fame in his own lifetime. Eighteenth-Century Ottoman Damascus and the Role of the Muftis Ibn ʿĀbidīn played an important role in the eighteenth-century province of Damascus, then ruled by the Ottomans. The province’s size and geographic location made it the most strategically and politically

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significant Syrian province. It occupied a central position in international trade, linking lines of communication between East and West – Iraq, Iran and the Mediterranean coast – and North and South – between Anatolia, Northern Syria, Egypt and Arabia. The importance of long distance commerce during this period may be appreciated when we remember that Damascus was already drinking West Indian Coffee, rather than the Yemeni variety.1 Damascus also had the permanent honour and responsibility of administering and conducting the annual Syrian pilgrimage to Makkah. Under the Ottoman sultans, eighteenth to nineteenth-century Damascus was the seat of a wālī (also termed Pāsha or Wazīr), the only administrator in the province appointed directly by the central government in Istanbul. The wālī directed an administrative council (dīwān) and a consultative assembly composed of leaders from the military corps, the judiciary (including the Ḥanafī chief qāḍī – or judge – and the Ḥanafī mufti), the head of the syndicate of the Prophet’s descendants (naqīb alashrāf), leading religious scholars (ulama), and other notables (aʿyān). The provincial judicial administration and courts, on the other hand, were headed by the Ḥanafī qāḍī, who was also appointed by the Ottomans, and usually the only non-Arab figure within the scholarly circles of Damascus. Although the office of the mufti was under the authority of the Ottoman judicial administration, the mufti played a significant role – perhaps more significant than the qāḍī. Legal decisions taken by the qāḍī were often little more than an authentication of the reasoned rulings supplied by the mufti. The latter office was normally held by an outstanding member of the local scholarly authorities. In the first half of the eighteenth century, the prominent ʿImādī family had furnished a number of Damascus’ muftis; in the second half, the office had been dominated by the al-Murādī family. The candidate for mufti was selected by nomination from amongst the ulama, his name later being submitted to the Shaykh al-Islām (the highest religious authority in Istanbul) for approval and official appointment. Unlike the qāḍī, the mufti could hold his position for life, unless removed due to political or administrative reasons. The function of the mufti was to render his considered legal opinion (fatwa) on any legal issue presented to him by the qāḍī or any concerned individual. Such a fatwa required the mufti to exercise his juridical expertise in relation to the history and consensus of jurists over the centuries. The qāḍī would then pronounce his decision in accordance with the opinion of the mufti, since the mufti had the support of both the local ulama and (more often than not) the general populace. Certainly, any failure to do so might arouse the opposition of the populace and could result in the qadi’s

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removal. The Ḥanafī mufti of Damascus had an assistant, referred to as amīn al-fatāwā or amīn fatāwā Dimashq, who held the same qualifications and training as the mufti himself. Besides assisting the mufti, this figure would also act as his authorised representative. His considered responses to legal questions carried just as much weight as those of the mufti. Ibn ʿĀbidīn’s Work and Contribution After the demise of the wālī Asʿad Pāshā al-ʿAẓm, who had governed Damascus from 1743–1758, Syria experienced an era of unstable governance; from 1784 to 1836, Ibn ʿĀbidīn experienced the rule of twenty-seven successive Ottoman governors. These constant changes impacted very negatively on everyday life – from the political to the economic to the social. They resulted not just from the failings of the Syrian provincial administration, but also from new pressures affecting the central Istanbul government. During this period, the Venetians, Dutch, Portuguese, French, and British were all granted concessions to conduct trade and commerce in the Middle East. As they entered the region, they introduced major innovations in business practices and lifestyle that the authorities failed to regulate. This led to instability, while also entailing a new set of legal questions for religious scholars to answer. The latter in turn implied a need for innovation in religious thinking – a need which forms the background to Ibn ʿĀbidīn’s work. Under these dramatically changing circumstances, Ibn ʿĀbidīn composed a series of important commentaries (hawāshī) designed to . encourage ijtihād (independent legal reasoning). The most famous of these was his Radd al-muhtār ʿalā l-durr al-mukhtār – Sharh also . . tanwīr al-absār, . known simply as H . āshiyya Ibn ʿĀbidīn. This, the largest and best known of all his texts, is still considered a basic source-book for Ḥanafīs. Ibn ʿĀbidīn died, however, before its completion. The final, sixth part was therefore finished by his son, ʿAlā’ al-Dīn (d.1888), with an extension later being added by ʿAbd al-Qādir al-Rāfiʿī (d.1894). Ibn ʿĀbidīn intended this work to be a digested compendium of all earlier major compilations of Ḥanafī law. It therefore stands alone as a comprehensive summary of his school’s jurisprudential methods, opinions and rulings. In it, Ibn ʿĀbidīn compiled the opinions of Ḥanafī legal scholars relevant to freshly occurring legal issues and responded to legal queries posed to him. He traced the main sources of previous juristic opinions, correcting mistakenly referenced citations and verified the authenticity of earlier views. In particular, he encouraged all Ḥanafī jurists to acquire rectified reasoning, instead of

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simply studying fiqh without learning which opinions were preferred and which were secondary or less than sound. This level of verification, Ibn ʿĀbidīn believed, would save jurists from imitation and indiscriminate following, opening up before them the path of ijtihād. In this book, Ibn ʿĀbidīn also produced many important fatwas relating to contractual transactions, a field of Sharia practice which now occupies a prominent place in contemporary Islamic banking and finance. With his creative approach, Ibn ʿĀbidīn challenged those amongst his contemporaries who used the fame of an earlier scholar or text to justify relying on them for legal judgments. His carefully crafted method demonstrated that he was concerned about this attitude’s prevalence amongst those legal scholars entrusted with the important task of effectively serving fatwa-granting institutions. Ibn ʿĀbidīn saw novice jurists ignore well-considered ijtihād and instead rely on a number of famous works by earlier scholars to resolve freshly arising matters. Ibn ʿĀbidīn took these ulama to task; he sought to initiate a discussion of the underlying principles of deriving fatwas and the requisite tools needed to serve this important Islamic institution. This overriding concern led Ibn ʿĀbidīn to another genre of writing, rasā’il. Roughly equivalent to contemporary academic research papers and/or monographs, Ibn ʿĀbidīn produced thirty-one rasā’il texts on a wide variety of topics and issues relevant to the principles of deriving fatwas and other specific legal solutions. In particular, he undertook to explain certain intricate issues (including those not explicated by scholars before him) in expansive detail, in a way which could not be done in his responses to specific legal questions. These treatises were first published in Istanbul, beginning with his ʿUqūd al-la’ālī fī al-asānīd al-ʿawālī (1870). All his treaties have since been compiled and published together as a single volume, entitled Majmūʿat rasā’il Ibn ʿĀbidīn. Of Ibn ʿĀbidīn’s monographs, two have proved particularly popular. The first is his commentary (or Sharḥ) on his own work, ʿUqūd rasm al-muftī. This text interweaves seventy poems relating to the principles of deriving reasoned opinions (iftā’). Even now, studying this treatise is a pre-requisite for any scholar working in a mufti’s office in the Indian subcontinent. His second most popular treatise is Nashr al-ʿurf fī binā’ baʿḍ al-aḥkām ʿalā alʿurf. Written on customary practice, it was a follow up to his discussion on ʿurf in his ʿUqūd rasm al-muftī. For Ibn ʿĀbidīn, knowledge of customary practice was necessary for any scholar who wished to know the public interest and necessary requirements of the people. Contemporary authorities still cite Ibn ʿĀbidīn as an authority on this subject.

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Legacy Ibn ʿĀbidīn passed away at aged fifty-four, on 21 Rabīʿ al-Thānī 1252/4 August 1836, and was buried in the al-Bāb al-Ṣaghīr graveyard, beside the tomb of ʿAlā’ al-Dīn al-Ḥaskafī (the author of al-Durr al-mukhtār, above). . Ibn ʿĀbidīn was described as a tall, light-skinned man who wore the attire of the scholars of his time: the jubba and caftan, with a white turban coiled around a red .tarbush. He was a devoted Sufi, a man of wide culture and interests, and an eminent figure in society. Surveying Ibn ʿĀbidīn’s large output of books and treatises, it is clear that he wrote on a wide variety of subjects, including fiqh, usūl . al-fiqh, fatwas, tasawwuf and poetry. But whatever the subject, he made sure to . treat any arising issues from a vantage point seeped in the contemporary political, social, and economic realities of Damascus and the wider Middle East. The topics of his monographs remind us that an effective and creative response is necessary from men of religious learning if they are to earnestly bring about the advancement of society and the well-being of humanity. Reasoned and well-researched responses by the learned authorities are the blueprint for the architecture of civilisation. Although most of his writings are commentaries on classical fatwa collections and juridical works, Ibn ʿĀbidīn did not lose sight of the need to re-interpret those classical works in the light of evolving societal needs. Legal issues based on custom, socioeconomic realities, and public well-being demand adequate and effective application in harmony with present conditions. This deliberate, reasoned approach demonstrates the universality and moderation of Islam, as well as its ability to accommodate modernity. Ibn ʿĀbidīn also demonstrates, however, that civilisational renewal is not feasible if society’s intellectual leaders – as children of their time (ibn alzamān) – do not remain creative and adaptable to shifting circumstances. Ibn ʿĀbidīn perceived that many of the ulama of his time were intellectually constrained by both a misunderstood conception of taqlīd and a failure to search for fresh legal solutions when new problems arose. To curb this, he refreshed the long-forgotten style of writing fiqh and fatwa with rectification and careful deliberation, by measuring the cogency of arguments – a style which may be traced back to the origin of Islamic legal rulings. In short, he appealed to ijtihād as the crucial element behind maintaining the Sharia’s flexibility and compliancy with contemporary issues and conditions.

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Notes 1.

George Koury, The Province of Damascus 1783-1832 (Michigan: University Microfilms International, Dissertation Information Service, 1970), 142; Albert Hourani, The Fertile Crescent in the eighteenth century. A vision of History: Near Eastern and other essays (Beirut: Khayats, 1961), 65. Many details provided here are drawn from these two works, as well as the study by Michael Chamberlain, Knowledge and Social Practice in Medieval Damascus 1190-1350, Cambridge Studies in Islamic Civilization (Cambridge University Press, 1994).

Further Reading Ali, Mohammed Farid. ‘Principles of Giving Fatwa (Uṣūl al-Iftā’) in the Ḥanafī Legal School, with an Annotated Translation, Analysis and Edition of Sharḥ ʿUqūd Rasm al-Muftī of Ibn ʿAbidīn al-Shamī.’ Unpublished PhD thesis, International Islamic University Malaysia, Kuala Lumpur, 2012. _________________. ‘Custom (ʿUrf ) as a Source of Islamic Jurisprudence in the Works of Ibn Abidin al-Shami (d. 1252/1836).’ Unpublished MA thesis, International Islamic University Malaysia, 2006. Calder, Norman. ‘The ʿUqūd Rasm al-Muftī of Ibn ʿAbidin.’ Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies 63, no. 2 (2000): 215–288. Ibn ʿĀbidīn. Radd al-Muḥtār ʿalā l-Durr al-Mukhtār – Sharh. Tanwīr al-Absār. . Damascus: Dār al-Thaqāfah wa al-Turāth, 2000. Recently, a section of Radd al-Muḥtār was translated into English by Anas al-Muhsin and Amer Bashir, The Book of Sales (Kitāb al-Buyūʿ), IBFIM. ________. Majmūʿat Rasā’il Ibn ʿĀbidīn. Beirut: Dār IÍyā’ al-Turāth al-ʿArabī, n.d.

32 MUḥAMMAD B. ‘ALĪ ALSHAWKĀNĪ 17591839CE Muhammad Farid ‘Ali

Imam al-Shawkānī’s full name was Muḥammad b. ‘Alī b. Muḥammad b. ‘Abd Allāh al-Shawkānī al-Ṣan‘ānī (1759-1839). Of his two nisba, ‘alShawkānī’ derives from his birth place, Hijra Shawkan, a small town a day’s journey from Sana‘a, Yemen. ‘Al-San‘ānī’, on the other hand, refers to Sana’a itself and reflects where he grew up, studied and held the position of qādī . al-qudāt (head judge) under the city’s Qāsimī Imāmī rulers. In his early years, al-Shawkānī studied under his father, ‘Alī b. Muḥammad al-Shawkānī (d.1797), who was a judge at Sana‘a. During this period, al-Shawkānī’s milieu was decidedly Zaydī (a branch of Shi‘a Islam). It is difficult to say, however, whether al-Shawkānī himself was Zaydī or Sunni. Certainly, he was well-read in both traditions, as substantiated by the list of works and teachers he is known to have encountered: besides Zaydī works like Sharḥ al-Azhār and Sharḥ al-Nāẓirī, al-Shawkānī also studied Sunni classics like Saḥīḥ Bukhārī, Saḥīḥ Muslim, Sunan alTirmidhi, Muwaṭṭa Mālik, the Shifā of al-Qāḍī ‘Iyāḍ, al-Muntaqā and so on.1 With his mastering of numerous sciences, al-Shawkānī claimed that, by the age of thirty, he had “dispensed with taqlīd [imitation] and became a mujtahid mutlaq,” or someone able to excise independent legal judgement. He subsequently dedicated the rest of his life to issuing fatwas (an activity he started at the age of twenty), teaching his students and writing. Indeed, he wrote prodigiously on various sciences and issues. Some of his more famous works include: 1.

Nayl al-awṭār min aḥādīth Sayyid al-Akhyār (Attainment of the Objectives from the Hadiths of the Chief of the Righteous).

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A commentary on the Muntaqa al-akhbār of Ibn Taymiyyah (d.728AH/1328CE), a hadith-based fiqh manual. Fath. al-qadīr: Jāmi‘ bayna fannay al-riwāya wa al-dirāya min ‘ilm altafsīr (The Aid of the All-Powerful in considering both Narrations and Analysis in the Science of Tafsīr). A Qur’anic exegesis. Irshād al-fuḥūl ilā taḥqīq al-ḥaqq min ‘ilm al-uṣūl (Guiding the Eminent to the Verification of the Truth in the Science of Uṣūl). A work on uṣūl al-fiqh (the principles of jurisprudence).2

One could say that Imam al-Shawkānī was fortunate in that he encountered both rigid Zaydīs who adhered closely to the traditional anti-Sunna Hādawī school of Zaydī thought, and more open-minded Sunna-oriented Zaydīs. Although the early Qāsimī Imāms of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries had remained staunch followers of Hādawī thought, maintaining an active hostility to Sunnism, their eighteenthcentury successors developed an openness to Sunni teachings and sourcetexts. This change occurred as early as the Qāsimī Imam, al-Mutawakkil Aḥmad b. Sulayman (r.1724-1756), who utilised canonical Sunni hadith collections in his Uṣūl al-aḥkām fi al-ḥalāl wa al-ḥarām. From then on, an openness to Sunni scholarship became a trend amongst Zaydī scholars; from initially just citing Sunni hadith to bolster Zaydī-Hādawī views, they moved to a more pure Sunni traditionalist position. The first such scholar do to so was Muḥammad b. Ibrāhīm al-Wazīr (commonly known as Ibn alWazīr, d.839/1436). Under the influence of the Sunni hadith sciences, Ibn al-Wazīr abandoned the Zaydī-Hādawī school altogether, declaring the Sunni canonical collections as “unconditionally authoritative in religion.”3 He was then followed by al-Ḥasan b. Aḥmad b. al-Jalāl (d.1673), Ṣāliḥ b. Mahdī al-Maqbālī (d.1696), Muḥammad b. Ismā‘īl al-Amīr (commonly known as just Ibn al-Amīr, d.1769), and Ibn Amīr’s student, ‘Abd al-Qādir b. Aḥmad al-Kawkabānī (d.1792). This last figure became the principle teacher of al-Shawkānī, with whom the Sunni traditionalist path reached its peak amongst Zaydīs, dominating the “circles of power and learning” in Sana‘a.4 The rise of both Sunna-oriented Zaydī scholars and the Imams who patronised them was due to both internal and external factors, notably the Qāsimī Imams’ needed to accommodate the sentiments of their Shāfi‘ī subjects. During this period, a large proportion of the population of lower Yemen were Shāfi‘ī, thereby making it necessary for the Qāsimī Imams to placate them; lower Yemen generated considerable tax revenues and

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produced large amounts of the Imamate’s cash-crop, coffee, which was in big demand on the international market. A merchant of the time described the commerce of that period thus: “The riches of Yemen may be considered as solely owing to its coffee, for it is from the sale of that commodity, that its merchants receive [Spanish] dollars in Egypt, with which they purchase the manufactures and spices of India.” Some modern writers even name the Qāsimī state ‘The Coffee Imamate’. Additionally, there was also a need to legitimise the dynastic ambitions of the eighteenth-century Qāsimī Imāms. As such, the Qāsimī Imams did not live up to the ideals of Zaydī political doctrine, behaving more like kings than Imams. Strictly following Zaydī political doctrine would not give them this freedom, so they chose to delegitimise Zaydī political doctrine by utilising the Sunni conception of the Imam, which more readily served their ambitions.5 But regardless of the reasons behind it, al-Shawkānī and his teachers chose to focus their scholarly attention on the canonical Sunni hadith collections, considering them to be the most authoritative sources in religion after the Qur’an. In this sense, it would be accurate to categorise them as Sunni traditionalists. Certainly, they used Sunni hadith to reject the Zaydī-Hādawī doctrines of Imamate, specifically the conditions that the Imam be a mujtahid, of ‘Alawī-Fātimī decent and that his appointment . to the Imamate be in response to a call (da‘wa) and on condition of his willingness to rise against illegitimate rulers (khurūj). For al-Shawkānī, the first two of these requirements were unnecessary and the Imamate could only be attained via the allegiance (bay‘a) of people of note (ahl al-ḥall wa al-‘aqd), not da‘wa. Al-Shawkānī also forbade Muslims from rising against an unjust Imam as long as he fulfilled the basic tenants of Islam and did not publically perform acts of disbelief.6 In his treatise, al-Qawl al-mufīd fī adillat al-ijtihād wa al-taqlīd, alShawkānī deemed taqlīd a reprehensible innovation developed by the followers of various schools of law. He argued that taqlīd had led to factionalism (madhabiyya), while the application of ijtihād would be a means to combat sectarian and antagonistic tendencies between different schools of law.7 He urged a return to the principle sources of the Qur’an and Sunna when determining legal rulings. In the context of usūl al. fiqh, one could argue that this almost exclusive dependence on Qur’an and Sunna added greater certainty to al-Shawkānī’s model; through it, he aimed to free usūl . from principles that were either presumptive (zannī) . or textually baseless. He did not, for example, consider ijmā‘ (consensus) to be a valid source of law. This was because, firstly, there was no textual proof for it while, secondly, and as elaborated in his Wabl al-ghamām ‘alā

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shifā’ al-uwām, it is impossible to ascertain the consensus of all scholars of all regions on an issue because of the existence of “different schools, temperaments, differences in understanding, contradictory dispositions, and the love of contradiction.” By rejecting ijmā‘, al-Shawkānī was able to refute many of the distinctive and identifying legal teachings of the Hādawīs. For instance, Hādawīs based their two-fold form of the call to prayer (known as al-adhān al-muthanna) and the inclusion of the saying Ḥayya ‘ala khayr al-‘amal (Come to the best of deeds) on the ijmā‘ of the ahl al-bayt (the ijmā‘ al-‘itrah argument). Al-Shawkānī, however, said that . such ijmā‘ was not valid because these practices were not traceable to the Sunna.8 Similarly, al-Shawkānī did not accept all forms of qiyās (analogical reasoning). He argued that most qiyās types were based on ra’y (personal opinion), while he only accepted qiyās if the cause (‘illah) was established by the text (either the Qur’an or Sunna). In this regard he said: “we are not among those who deny qiyās, but we forbid establishing rules by it, except when the text comes with its cause [al-‘illah al-manṣūṣah].”9 Based on this methodology, al-Shawkānī sought to reform the legal decisions of the Zaydī-Hādawīs and other legal schools. Al-Shawkānī’s epistemology and legal methodology can further be understood by considering his Irshād al-fuḥūl ‘ilā taḥqīq al-ḥaqq min ‘ilm al-usūl, especially when we look at his discussion on ijtihād. Al-Shawkānī’s . epistemological approach saw authoritative knowledge as textually derived. Since generations of scholars, from the time of Prophet down to his own, had collected, classified and codified Islam’s textual legacy, the possibility of arriving at authoritative legal decisions had increased over time. He argued that Muslims could access the fruits of this process only through ijtihād – or, at the very least, through consulting a mujtahid. He strongly believed in the training of mujtahids, writing a pedagogical work on the subject, entitled Adab al-ṭalab wa muntaha al-arab. In this work, he outlined a curriculum which could prepare scholars capable of ijtihād.10 He argued that ijtihād was a continuous and necessary process, and not something bound to any time or place. Basing himself on a Prophetic saying “until the day of reckoning a group in my nation will remain manifesting truth,” he argued that for every time period there will be a mujtahid. Al-Shawkānī’s advocacy of ijtihād and resistance to taqlīd not only made an impact on socio-legal matters, but also on the political system. In 1795, he was appointed qādī of the Qāsimī Imamate. He would . al-qudāt . hold this position for almost forty years, under the reigns of three different Imams, namely al-Mansūr ‘Alī b. ‘Abbās (r.1775-1809), al-Mutawakkil .

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Aḥmad b. ‘Alī (r.1809-1816) and Mahdī ‘Abd Allāh b. Aḥmad (r.18161835). These three Imams, however, were not mujtahids; al-Shawkānī used his position to stipulate that all three elect mujtahids and accomplished jurists (ulama) for consultation. Non-mujtahid Imams, he stipulated, “must render all disputes to the ‘ulamā’ and whatever they judge he must execute and whatever they order he must do.”11 Al-Shawkānī issued his legal judgments in the form of short and long fatwas or binding letters to judges under his supervision. Since his fatwas and legal judgments superseded all others, he became the ultimate legal reference in the region. He also gained many Shāfi‘ī admirers, many of whom came to study with him. Indeed, he had students from as far away as India. Al-Shawkānī died in Jumādā al-Thānī 1250/October 1834. His jurisprudential opinions and methodology not only influenced his own contemporary society, but also, through the disseminating efforts of his students, later and more widespread societies. He is considered the last great figure amongst traditionalist scholars. His arguments concerning how to reform Islamic society have “resonated with the concerns of many modern Sunnī reformers,” both in Arab and non-Arab countries.12 Notes 1.

Salahuddin Ali Abdul-Mawjood, The Biography of Imam al-Shawkānī, trans. Abu Bakr ibn Nasir (Riyadh: Darussalam, 2006), 59. 2. Abdul-Mawjood, The Biography of Imam al-Shawkānī, 93; Bernard Haykel, Reforming Islam by Dissolving the Madhāhib: Shawkānī and His Zaydī Detractors in Yemen (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003), 19. 3. Ibid, 338. 4. Ibid, 9. 5. Ibid, 15. 6. Ibid, 84 7. Muhammad al-Shawkānī, ‘al-Qawl al-mufīd fī adillat al-ijtihād wa al-taqlīd,’ . in al-Rasā’il al-Ṣalafiyyah fī iḥyā’ sunnat khayr al-barīyah (Beirut: Dār al-Kitāb al-Arabī, 1991), 191. This is as cited in Reforming Islam. 8. Haykel, Reforming Islam, 90. 9. Muhammad al-Shawkānī, Wabl al-ghamām ‘alā shifā’ al-uwām, vol. 1 (Cairo: . Maktabah Ibn Taymiyyah, 1416AH), 132-3. 10. Muhammad al-Shawkānī, Adab al-ṭalab wa muntaha al-arab (Beirut: Dār . Ibn al-Ḥazm, 1998); Haykel, Reforming Islam, 102-8. 11. Bernard Haykel, ‘Al-Shawkānī and the Jurisprudential Unity of Yemen,’ Revue du monde musulman et de la Mediterranee, no. 67 (1993): 57. 12. Haykel, Reforming Islam, 243.

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Further Reading Abdul-Mawjood, Salahuddin Ali. The Biography of Imam al-Shawkānī. Translated by Abu Bakr ibn Nasir. Riyadh: Darussalam, 2006. Al-Shawkānī, Muhammad. Adab al-ṭalab wa muntaha al-arab. Beirut: Dār Ibn . al-Ḥazm, 1998. _____________________. ‘al-Qawl al-mufīd fī adillat al-ijtihād wa al-taqlīd,’ in al-Rasā’il al-Ṣalafiyyah fī iḥyā’ sunnat khayr al-barīyah. Beirut: Dār al-Kitāb al-Arabī, 1991. _____________________. Wabl al-ghamām ‘alā shifā’ al-uwām, vol. 1. Cairo: Maktabah Ibn Taymiyyah, 1416AH. Haykel, Bernard. ‘Al-Shawkānī and the Jurisprudential Unity of Yemen.’ Revue du monde musulman et de la Mediterranee, no. 67 (1993): 53-65. ____________________. Reforming Islam by Dissolving the Madhāhib: Shawkānī and His Zaydī Detractors in Yemen. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003.

33 MUḥAMMAD ‘ABDUH ca.18491905CE Alexander Wain He was a man of daring disposition and free spirit, openly expressing his opinion and adhering to it, without fear of the might of any one in authority or the power of any of the great.1 (from the Arabic newspaper, al-Muqaṭṭam)

Early Years Muḥammad ‘Abduh’s birth has been variously dated; while most sources place it in 1849 (or 1266AH), others have suggested anywhere between 1842 and 1848.2 What is certain, however, is that his father was an Egyptian named ‘Abduh ibn Ḥasan Khair Allāh, from the village of Mahallat Nasr, in the Nile Delta. Hailing from one of Egypt’s longstanding (and heavily Arabised) Turkish families, ‘Abduh ibn Ḥasan was forced to flee Mahallat Nasr shortly before ‘Abduh’s birth in order to escape the oppression being metered out by the province’s local officials. Leaving his wife and children behind, ‘Abduh ibn Ḥasan travelled to Gharbiyya Province, in the Central Delta region. There, and after a period spent moving from village to village, he met ‘Abduh’s mother, taking her as his second wife. Originally from the city of Tanta, she claimed descent from Islam’s second caliph, ‘Umar al-Khaṭṭāb. Although ‘Abduh would later claim that neither of his parents were wealthy, soon after his birth his father acquired some land in Mahallat Nasr, enabling him to return to his ancestral home. There he subsequently became a well-respected member of the local community.3 It was in Mahallat Nasr that ‘Abduh spent his formative years. Like all small children growing up in mid-nineteenth-century rural Egypt, he spent much of his time outdoors, gaining proficiency in swimming, horseriding and the use of firearms. His father, however, desired more for his

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youngest son; finding himself with the necessary funds, he hired a teacher who, coming to the house regularly, taught young ‘Abduh to read and write.4 Later, from the age of ten (i.e. from ca.1859), ‘Abduh also began attending the classes of a local ḥāfiz. Under the latter’s guidance, ‘Abduh demonstrated his talent as a student by memorising the entire Qur’an in just two years.5 Encouraged by his son’s achievements, in ca.1862 ‘Abduh ibn Ḥasan sent ‘Abduh to study at the Aḥmadī mosque, Tanta, then a prestigious religious college considered second only to the famous al-Azhar.6 Once there, ‘Abduh began studying Arabic grammar. This first foray into more advanced Islamic learning, however, proved unsuccessful: ‘Abduh quickly became infuriated by his teachers who, in a manner common at the time, would frequently discuss a subject using an array of technical terms, none of which were explained beforehand. ‘Abduh complained that this made it almost impossible to understand them; in frustration, he ran away, taking refuge in the nearby home of his (maternal) uncles. His stepbrother, however, who was also one of his teachers, tracked him down and returned him to the mosque. Nevertheless, ‘Abduh fled again, this time returning to Mahallat Nasr. There he announced his determination to give up learning altogether and become a farmer, just like his other relatives. To this end, and at the age of sixteen (i.e. in ca.1865), ‘Abduh married and attempted to settle down.7 After just forty days of married life, however, Abduh’s father compelled him to return to the Aḥmadī mosque. Once again, ‘Abduh was unwilling: while still en route to Tanta, he took flight for a third time, making for relatives in the village of Kanayyisat Adrin. It was there that he encountered his father’s uncle, Shaykh Darwīsh Khādir, a Sufi of .the Shādhiliyya ṭarīqa who had studied under the famous Libyan scholar, Muḥammad alMadanī. Upon seeing his great-nephew, Shaykh Darwīsh became deeply concerned about his extreme aversion to learning. Before he went to visit ‘Abduh, he therefore decided to take along a book summarising Shādhalī teachings. He asked ‘Abduh to read this aloud. ‘Abduh’s rebelliousness, however, immediately came to the fore and, in a fit of temper, he hurled the book across the room. But Shaykh Darwīsh was not to be put off so easily; he persisted with his request until ‘Abduh became so embarrassed he finally began to read. As he did so, Shaykh Darwīsh explained each passage aloud and, thereby, gradually engaged ‘Abduh’s interest. After three successive afternoons spent in this pursuit, ‘Abduh began reading the book of his own volition, even making notes on specific passages so that he could ask questions later.8

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After just fifteen days spent studying with Shaykh Darwīsh, ‘Abduh decided to return to Tanta. Once back at the Aḥmadī mosque, he immediately became a far more diligent pupil, his religious outlook decidedly tinged with Shādhalī teachings. His fellow students, quickly noticing his new-found dedication, promptly flocked to ‘Abduh, asking for help in their studies. But despite this attention, ‘Abduh decided not to stay in Tanta. Instead, he found himself attracted to Cairo’s great centre of Islamic learning, al-Azhar. In February 1866, therefore, he left Tanta for Egypt’s capital. Just one month later, he enrolled as a student at al-Azhar.9 As a Student at al-Azhar and meeting Jamāl al-Dīn al-Afghānī For the next four years, ‘Abduh studied at al-Azhar, attending lectures and reading set texts. As at the Aḥmadī mosque, however, he felt unsatisfied; not only were his new teachers also using technical terms without explaining them, but ‘Abduh found their choice of subjects restrictive. Throughout these four years, therefore, ‘Abduh continued to visit his great-uncle, Shaykh Darwīsh. The latter encouraged ‘Abduh to look beyond al-Azhar’s narrow curriculum, to subjects like logic, mathematics and geometry. Taking this advice, ‘Abduh began searching for teachers outside al-Azhar, ones capable of instructing him in these additional topics. After scouring the length and breadth of Cairo, he became the student of such notable philosophers and mathematicians as Shaykh Muḥammad al-Basyūnī and Shaykh Ḥasan al-Ṭawīl. In addition, ‘Abduh also spent many long hours searching al-Azhar’s library for religious (especially Sufi) texts not included in al-Azhar’s official curriculum.10 Indeed, throughout this period ‘Abduh maintained a strong connection to Sufism. Fasting throughout the day, he would spend his nights in prayer, all the time wearing the rough garments characteristic of the ascetic. Indeed, so austere did his lifestyle become – including long periods of self-imposed isolation – that even Shaykh Darwīsh became concerned; during a visit ‘Abduh paid him in 1871, Shaykh Darwīsh pointed out that any knowledge ‘Abduh gained during his studies would be useless unless implemented for the benefit of others. To this end, Shaykh Darwīsh persuaded ‘Abduh to attend local religious meetings in and around Kanayyisat Adrīn, where he could discuss his ideas with others. Thereby, Shaykh Darwīsh gradually reintroduced ‘Abduh to the world.11 In 1871, ‘Abduh also began attending another, this time Cairo-based, set of meetings hosted by the charismatic Sufi shaykh, Jamāl al-Dīn al-Afghānī (d.1897). ‘Abduh first met al-Afghānī in 1869, when his philosophy and

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logic teacher, the aforementioned Muḥammad al-Ṭawīl, took him to an evening meeting at al-Afghānī’s house. A passionate advocate of renewal and reform in the Islamic world, over dinner al-Afghānī presented ‘Abduh with a Sufi-orientated vision of Islam dedicated to revival, resisting European infiltration and promoting a unified Muslim community. More importantly, ‘Abduh found in al-Afghānī a brilliant teacher capable of penetrating Islam’s inner depths – something his teachers at al-Azhar and (to a lesser extent) Shaykh Darwīsh were unable to do.12 In 1869, however, al-Afghānī was only visiting Egypt briefly, before going on to Istanbul. Nevertheless, when he returned in 1871, ‘Abduh immediately joined the dedicated circle of students gathered at his feet.13 Together with al-Afghānī, this circle studied classical Arabic religious texts, probing their meaning and (most importantly) assessing their relevance for the present. Bit by bit, al-Afghānī explained the teachings contained in each text and sought to apply them to the modern world; when this could not be done, al-Afghānī developed new teachings. Unlike ‘Abduh’s teachers at al-Azhar, therefore, al-Afghānī was not prepared to merely accept a point without first examining it, testing it and (if necessary) replacing it. For al-Afghānī, blind following of tradition (taqlīd) was to be rejected in favour of reviving independent reason (ijtihād).14 Ultimately, this perspective would come to define ‘Abduh’s career. It was while studying with al-Afghānī that ‘Abduh wrote his first book, entitled Risālat al-Wāridāt (A Treatise Consisting of Mystical Inspirations, 1874).15 Although not published until after his death, 16 it placed at centrestage ‘Abduh’s desire to be free of the shackles of tradition: [I am] one who has turned away from such subjects as dogmatics and dialectic and has freed himself from the chains of adherence to sects, to be at liberty to pursue the chase of knowledge.17

Based on this call to independent thought, ‘Abduh used the rest of his text to develop a Wujūdiyya-influenced brand of Sufism. Heavily pantheistic in tone, ‘Abduh controversially argued that there was no true existence apart from God; contrary to the teachings of al-Azhar, ‘Abduh argued that God was synonymous with His creation (i.e. not purely transcendent).18 In 1876, ‘Abduh produced a second text, entitled Ḥāshiyya ‘alā sharḥ al-Dawwānī li al-‘aqā’id al-‘Aḍudiyya (A Gloss on Dawwānī’s Commentary on the Sentences of Adud al-Dīn al-Ījī). Not published until the year . of his death, this text constituted a collection of annotations on al-Jalāl . al-Dawwānī’s commentary on al-‘Akā’ id al-Aḍudiyya, a brief theological

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treatise by ‘Adud al-Dīn al-Ījī (d.1355). Although lacking the mystical . referents of ‘Abduh’s first text, this second one argued that human reason . is the only true guide to faith.19 Therefore, and unlike the Ash’arite position taken at al-Azhar, ‘Abduh maintained that human reason was capable of choosing right from wrong. Moreover, he also stated that the Qur’an must conform to human reason – if a current interpretation of the Qur’an appeared to be irrational, a new one must be found. This stance immediately opened ‘Abduh up to charges of reviving Mu’tazilite thought, the extinct branch of Islamic theology which privileged human reason over faith to argue that the Qur’an was created and not eternal (and therefore subject to human reason).20 ‘Abduh would be pursued by this accusation throughout his career. As a result of both his ideas and his association with al-Afghānī, ‘Abduh’s final years at al-Azhar were dogged with controversy. His modernising attitude, centred on independent thought and (when appropriate) revisionism, was viewed with deep suspicion. Finally, the leader of alAzhar’s conservative circle, Shaykh ‘Ulaish, openly accused ‘Abduh of being a Mu’tazilite (akin to an accusation of heresy).21 To this, ‘Abduh responded: If I give up blind acceptance of Ash’arite doctrine, why should I take up blind acceptance of the Mu’tazilite? Therefore I am giving up blind acceptance of both, and judge according to the proof presented.22

This statement, however, did little to alleviate the controversies surrounding him; when ‘Abduh presented himself for examination in May 1877, he found many of his examiners already set against him. Indeed, it is unlikely ‘Abduh would have been allowed to graduate had it not been for the intersession of the university’s liberal rector, Muḥammad al-‘Abbāsī (in office from 1870-1882).23 The latter was so impressed with ‘Abduh’s work that he insisted the examiners pass him. But, rather than the special class above first class that the rector felt ‘Abduh deserved, the examiners granted him only the second class. Nevertheless, with this ‘Abduh became a fully-fledged ‘ālim (scholar).24 His Early Career: Teacher, Newspaper Editor, Revolutionary After his graduation, ‘Abduh immediately returned to al-Azhar as a teacher. Lecturing on a wide variety of theological topics, he made a concerted effort to utilise al-Afghānī’s teaching techniques; acutely aware of his own

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negative experiences as a student, ‘Abduh sought to introduce an ijtihādcentred approach to al-Azhar’s education system, one that would encourage independent thought.25 Perhaps because of this reforming agenda, in 1878 ‘Abduh was appointed (seemingly at the direction of Egypt’s liberal Prime Minister, Riād. Pāshā, d.1911) to teach history at the newly-founded Dār al-‘Ulūm. This institution, established in 1873 by ‘Alī Pāshā Mubārak, the then Minister of Education, aimed to rival al-Azhar as a centre of religious education. It differed from its competitor, however, by emphasising modern teaching methods – thereby coalescing with ‘Abduh’s reform agenda and no doubt explaining his appointment.26 Simultaneous to obtaining this position, ‘Abduh also received an offer to teach Arabic language and literature at the government-run Khedivial School of Languages, another reform-minded institution.27 While working at both locations, ‘Abduh maintained his position at al-Azhar. ‘Abduh’s first venture into education, however, proved short-lived. In 1879, the ineffective Khedive of Egypt, Ismā’īl Pāshā (r.1864-1879), was replaced by his son, Tawfīq Pāshā (r.1879-1892). Despite early indications to the contrary, Tawfīq Pāshā proved hostile to reform; in an attempt to maintain the conservative status quo, he expelled al-Afghānī from Egypt and forced ‘Abduh into retirement at Mahallat Nasr.28 Nevertheless, early the following year, Riād. Pāshā, who had been absent when Tawfīq Pāshā took the throne, returned to Egypt. Eager to maintain a reformminded presence in the public arena, he appointed ‘Abduh to one of three editorial positions at the official government organ, al-Waqā’i‘ al-Miṣriyya (Egyptian Events). From 1880 onwards, therefore, ‘Abduh found himself able to freely voice his reformist opinions via a government mouthpiece.29 Also during the early 1880s, ‘Abduh became involved in a short-lived revolutionary movement aimed at freeing Egypt from foreign interference. Led by the then Minister of War, Aḥmad ‘Urābī Pāshā (d.1911), the movement’s agitation for Muslim independence linked with the themes ‘Abduh had assimilated under al-Afghānī. He therefore readily offered his assistance, becoming a key advisor to many of the movement’s top figures. In June 1882, however, the revolution met a disastrous end: after unsuccessfully attempting to expel the British from Alexandria, ‘Urābī Pāshā was defeated and everyone judged to have been complicit in his revolt arrested and put on trial.30 Although ‘Abduh had opposed any violence, he was found guilty of administering unlawful oaths to the principal ministers and officers of the rebellion and was exiled from Egypt.31

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His Later Career: In Exile, Egypt’s Mufti, Islamic Reformer After leaving Egypt, ‘Abduh travelled to Beirut, then part of Ottoman Syria. Remaining there for a year, in late 1883 he received a letter from al-Afghānī. Writing from Paris, al-Afghānī invited ‘Abduh to join him in Europe. As a result, in early 1884 ‘Abduh set sail, arriving in Paris later the same year.32 Although ‘Abduh’s time in Paris was brief (ten months in total), it proved highly productive. Working closely with al-Afghānī, ‘Abduh founded an organisation called al-‘Urwa al-wuthqa (The Strongest Link).33 Dedicated to bringing about a reunification of the Muslim Ummah, al-‘Urwa alwuthqa’s accompanying publication (bearing the same name) attempted to identify a series of practical solutions to the problems currently besetting the Muslim world. At its heart lay a conviction that the Ummah could only be successfully revived if Muslims remained steadfast to Islam’s core values, as enshrined in the lives of its founders (the salaf). Al-‘Urwa al-wuthqa therefore sought to refute accusations, common amongst Europeans and European-educated Muslims, that Islam could not hope to progress if it remained loyal to its fundamental principles.34 Overall, al-‘Urwa al-wuthqa struck a more radical tone than ‘Abduh was used to, perhaps reflecting his recent experiences in Egypt – although al-Afghānī always tended towards the radical, too.35 Although an influential organisation, al-‘Urwa al-wuthqa proved short-lived; by the end of 1884, after publishing just eighteen issues of its newsletter, it was supressed by colonial and Ottoman authorities, both of whom considered it subversive.36 Soon after, al-Afghānī and ‘Abduh left Paris, al-Afghānī for Russia and ‘Abduh for Tunis. ‘Abduh, however, only stayed in North Africa briefly, before moving (usually incognito) across the Middle East, trying to raise support for the al-‘Urwa al-wuthqa’s ideas. By 1885, he was back in Beirut, teaching. Drawing in students from all faiths, his lectures (held at home) centred on theology and, in particular, the commonalities between all three Abrahamic religions. Ultimately, ‘Abduh hoped to present these commonalities as a basis for some form of future union.37 ‘Abduh’s Beirut lectures were subsequently collated into a text called Risālat al-tawḥīd (The Theology of Divine Unity, published in 1897).38 This elucidated Islamic doctrine, the nature of revelation and the role of reason in human affairs, while also presenting Islam as the pinnacle of human achievement. Indeed, ‘Abduh argued that Europe’s current strength rested on ideas it had borrowed from Islam during the Renaissance. Consequently, if Muslims wished to attain the same cultural heights as Europe, all they

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needed to do was re-appropriate the Islamic values Europe had taken for itself – values ‘Abduh ultimately associated with the salaf.39 Rather than needing to imitate Europe, therefore, Islam had the capacity to reform itself from within, without the need for European accretions. All Muslims had to do was learn how to reclaim the dynamic forces inherent to Islam itself. Central to this process would be the return to ijtihād advocated by al-Afghānī; Islam’s recent decline necessitated the religion’s restatement in a manner conducive to the modern world, a feat which could only be accomplished by a return to ijtihād and rejection of taqlīd.40 After developing these key arguments, in 1888 ‘Abduh was allowed to return to Egypt. Various influential people, including the British ConsulGeneral of Egypt, Lord Cromer (or Evelyn Baring, d.1917), impressed by ‘Abduh’s liberal reputation and earlier efforts at reform, interceded on his behalf to obtain a pardon.41 Once back in his native land, ‘Abduh (and again at Cromer’s instigation)42 became a judge (qāḍī) at al-Maḥākim alahliyya al-ibtidā’iyya (The Court of First Instance of the Native Tribunals). In this capacity, ‘Abduh served first at Benha, and then at Zagazig and Cairo. Later, he was also made a Consultative Member of the Maḥkamat al-isti’nāf (Court of Appeal).43 Throughout this period, ‘Abduh remained unable to engage in any official teaching activity; although many favoured his involvement in this area, Tawfīq Pāshā still feared his reforming influence over the young.44 In 1892, however, Tawfīq Pāshā died and was succeeded by his more reform-minded son, Abbās II (r.1892-1914). With this change of leadership, ‘Abduh saw an opportunity to push the educational reforms he had been advocating for over a decade. Increasingly, ‘Abduh saw these reforms as the key to reinitiating ijtihād and, thereby, bringing about the rejuvenation of Islamic society. Promptly seeking an audience with the new Khedive, ‘Abduh laid before him a series of plans for reforming al-Azhar. Impressed, Abbās II ordered the formation of an Administrative Committee tasked with enacting the reforms. Coming into operation in 1895, this Committee included ‘Abduh as a government representative. Through its activities, ‘Abduh was able to institute wide-ranging reforms, including the addition of subjects like arithmetic, algebra, Islamic history, composition, geometry and geography to al-Azhar’s curriculum. Students now had to pass a selection of these new subjects, in addition to the more traditional ones, in order to graduate. ‘Abduh even weighted the examinations so that those who took more of the new subjects would be more likely to pass.45 The peak of ‘Abduh’s career came in 1899, when he was made Mufti of Egypt.46 In this role, he became Egypt’s official interpreter of canon law,

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the authority whose fatwas (legal verdicts) were final.47 Once again, ‘Abduh brought a reformist mind-set to this new role: whereas his predecessors had been content to issue rulings only on matters referred to them by government departments, ‘Abduh opened the process up to the public. In effect, anyone could present a matter for his consideration. Moreover, many of the fatwas he issued demonstrated very liberal and modernising sentiments. For example, not only did ‘Abduh allow Muslims to eat meat slaughtered by Jews and Christians, but he also permitted them to deposit money in the Postal Savings Bank, even though this would mean collecting interest. Although popular amongst reformers, these rulings made ‘Abduh the bane of many traditionalists.48 Death and Legacy ‘Abduh died on the 11 July 1905/8 Jumādā I 1323, while in Alexandria. He had cancer of the kidney.49 The morning after his death, a large cortege assembled to accompany his body to the railway station, where a government-chartered train waited to take him back to Cairo. All along the route, large crowds assembled to pay their respects. Once the body reached the capital, it was met by government ministers, diplomatic representatives, leading scholars and religious representatives. Together, they escorted the body to al-Azhar, where a brief funeral service was held. In line with ‘Abduh’s wishes, no grand eulogising took place in his honour.50 Since his death, ‘Abduh has been labelled as a pioneer of modern Islamic reform.51 As outlined above, his aim was to reframe Islam in a modern idiom, to make it relevant to the contemporary world. He strongly opposed any tendency towards taqlīd, a principle which (along with his teacher, al-Afghānī) he blamed for Islam’s backwardness. Instead, he favoured a return to ijtihād coupled with modernisation. As seen, however, he did not favour merely imitating European culture; despite a deep respect for Europe, reinforced by several additional visits to France and England after his initial 1884 trip to Paris, ‘Abduh did not favour the adoption of modern European ideology as a means of rejuvenating Muslim culture.52 Rather, ‘Abduh advocated reform from within, believing that Islam had the capacity to reform itself. Indeed, and as seen, he traced much of Europe’s success to Islam; Muslims, ‘Abduh said, must learn to reclaim those dynamic forces for themselves. The bulk of ‘Abduh’s work was therefore aimed at reawakening Muslims to the value of their own civilisation. At the core of this process lay his educational reforms. For ‘Abduh, effective education geared towards developing independent thought constituted the only effective means

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of reclaiming Islam’s lost heart. His attempts to reform al-Azhar were therefore motivated, not just by his own negative childhood experiences, but by an urgent desire to develop a propensity for independent reasoning amongst Muslims in general. Only this, he felt, could effectively act as a basis for renewal. In addition, ‘Abduh also favoured returning to the minimal essentials of Islam – or those doctrines that all schools and factions could adhere to. For him, these were the bare teachings of Islam, as contained in the Qur’an and as represented by the deeds and actions of the Prophet and his Companions (the salaf). Because of this stance, ‘Abduh has been called the founder of modern-day Salafism.53 Commonly associated with Islamic extremism, contemporary Salafī interpretations of Islam do indeed emphasise a return to original sources. Unlike ‘Abduh, however, they often equate the letter of the Islamic texts (or what is evident, al-zāhir) with their meaning (or what is hidden, al-bāṭin). Consequently, Salafī practitioners tend towards literalism, or the blind following of a text’s surface meaning54 – an approach which clearly runs contrary to ‘Abduh’s stated aims. For ‘Abduh, Salafī Islam was not about blindly adhering to the actions of the salaf, but about interrogating those actions in order to uncover their true meaning (al-bāṭin). It was this inner heart, ‘Abduh argued, rather than any external form, which constituted true Islam. Muslims needed to reacquaint themselves with that pure essence, and then restate it for the modern world. For ‘Abduh, it was necessary to submit every original Islamic source (except the Qur’an) to interrogation and, where appropriate, modification. For many modern Salafīs, however, any such attempt at interpretation, modification and restatement is taboo.55 Notes 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8.

Cited in Charles C. Adams, Islam and Modernism: A Study of the Modern Reform Movement Inaugurated by Muhammad ‘Abduh (Kuala Lumpur: Islamic Book Trust, 2010), 96. The date 1848 was given by ‘Abduh himself, see Muḥammad Rashīd Ridā . ed., Tārīkh al-ustādh al-imām al-shaykh Muḥammad ‘Abduh, vol. 1 (Cairo: al-Manār, 1931), 16. Al-Manār, 8 (1905): 379; Ridā, . Tārīkh, vol. 1, 13. Adams, Islam and Modernism, 20. Ibid, 20. Yvonne Haddad, ‘Muhammad ‘Abduh: Pioneer of Islamic Reform,’ in Pioneers of Islamic Revival, ed. ‘Ali Rahnama (London: Zed, 1994), 31. Al-Manār, 8 (1905): 381. Adams, Islam and Modernism, 23-4.

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9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16.

Ibid, 24-7. Ibid, 30-1. Al-Manār, 8 (1905): 386, 396-8. Adams, Islam and Modernism, 33; Haddad, ‘Muhammad Abduh,’ 32. Haddad, ‘Muhammad Abduh,’ 31. Al-Manār, 8 (1905): 399-400. Reprinted in Ridā . ed., Tārīkh, vol. 2. Elie Kedourie, Afghani and ‘Abduh: An Essay on Religious Unbelief and Political Activism in Modern Islam (London: Routledge, 2008), 12. Ridā . ed., Tārīkh, vol. 2, 9. Ibid. For a summary of this text and its contents, see Oliver Scharbrodt, ‘The Salafiyya and Sufism: Muhammad ‘Abduh and his Risalat al-Waridat (Treatise on Mystical Inspirations),’ Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies 70:1 (2007): 89-115. Adams, Islam and Modernism, 41. Muhammad Qasim Zaman, Religion and Politics under the Early ‘Abbāsids: The Emergence of the Proto-Sunnī Elite (Leiden: Brill, 1997), 61-2. Adams, Islam and Modernism, 42. Cited in al-Manār, 8 (1905): 391. Adams, Islam and Modernism, 30. Al-Manār, 8 (1905): 393. Ibid, 404. Ridā . ed., Tārīkh, vol. 3, 242; Adams, Islam and Modernism, 45. Al-Manār, 8 (1905): 404. Ibid, 405. Adams, Islam and Modernism, 46. Ibid, 51-2. Kedourie, Afghani and ‘Abduh, 35. Ridā . ed., Tārīkh, vol. 2, 526; al-Manār, 8 (1905): 455. Adams, Islam and Modernism, 58. A more detailed outline of these aims can be found in Ridā . ed., Tārīkh, vol. 2, 250-4, 279-85. See also Haddad, ‘Muhammad Abduh,’ 33. Adams, Islam and Modernism, 61-2. Haddad, ‘Muhammad Abduh,’ 32. Al-Manār, 8 (1905): 462; Kedourie, Afghani and ‘Abduh, 15. Muhammad ‘Abduh, The Theology of Unity (Risālat al-tawhīd), trans. Ishāq . . . Musa‘ad and Kenneth Cragg (Kuala Lumpur: Islamic Book Trust, 2004), 11. Ibid. Ibid, 132-141. Al-Manār, 8 (1905): 467. Kedourie, Afghani and ‘Abduh, 37-8. Adams, Islam and Modernism, 69. Al-Manār, 8 (1905): 467. Adams, Islam and Modernism, 71-5. Al-Manār, 8 (1905): 487. Adams, Islam and Modernism, 79. Ibid, 80. Al-Manār, 8 (1905): 378.

17. 18.

19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33. 34. 35. 36. 37. 38. 39. 40. 41. 42. 43. 44. 45. 46. 47. 48. 49.

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50. 51. 52. 53. 54.

Adams, Islam and Modernism, 91-2. See Haddad, ‘Muhammad Abduh,’ 31 Ibid, 34-5. Ibid, 36. Robert Gauvain, Salafi Ritual Purity: In the Presence of God (London: Routledge, 2013), 4. 55. Abduh’s early positive experience of Sufism also stands in sharp contrast to modern Salafism, which tends to condemn all forms of mysticism, see Scharbrodt, ‘Salafiyya and Sufism,’ 89-115.

Further Reading ‘Abduh, Muhammad. The Theology of Unity (Risālat al-tawhīd). Translated by . . Ishāq Musa‘ad and Kenneth Cragg. Kuala Lumpur: Islamic Book Trust, 2004. . Adams, Charles C. Islam and Modernism: A Study of the Modern Reform Movement Inaugurated by Muhammad ‘Abduh. Kuala Lumpur: Islamic Book Trust, 2010. Al-Manār, 8 (1905). Gauvain, Robert. Salafi Ritual Purity: In the Presence of God. London: Routledge, 2013. Haddad, Yvonne. ‘Muhammad ‘Abduh: Pioneer of Islamic Reform.’ In Pioneers of Islamic Revival, edited by ‘Ali Rahnama, 30-63. London: Zed, 1994. Kedourie, Elie. Afghani and ‘Abduh: An Essay on Religious Unbelief and Political Activism in Modern Islam. London: Routledge, 2008. Rida, Rashīd ed. Tārīkh al-ustādh al-imām al-shaykh Muḥammad . . Muhammad ‘Abduh, in 3 vols. Cairo: al-Manār, 1931. Scharbrodt, Oliver. ‘The Salafiyya and Sufism: Muhammad ‘Abduh and his Risalat al-Waridat (Treatise on Mystical Inspirations).’ Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies 70:1 (2007): 89-115. Zaman, Muhammad Qasim. Religion and Politics under the Early ‘Abbāsids: The Emergence of the Proto-Sunnī Elite. Leiden: Brill, 1997.

34 TOK KENALI (MUHAMMAD YUSOF) 18681933CE Hakimah Yacoob and M. Fakhrurrazi Ahmad

Anyone who has studied the history of the Malay Peninsular – and especially Kelantan – will have encountered Tok Kenali. Born in 1868 in Kampung Kenali, Kubang Kerian (4.5 miles from Kota Bharu, Kelantan’s state capital), Tok Kenali came from a very poor but religious family.1 His father was named Ahmad bin Abdul Samad, while his mother was called Fatimah binti Mohamed Salleh. Tok Kenali’s real name was Muhammad Yusof – ‘Tok’ is a common Kelantanese nickname, signifying someone who is old or knowledgeable, while ‘Kenali’ refers to his place of birth. After spending his formative years in Kelantan, in 1886 Tok Kenali went to Makkah, a journey made possible only with the financial help of his friends and the generosity of a rich man from Kota Bharu. Once there, and after performing the Hajj, Tok Kenali joined the study circles of Nik Mahmud Ismail (a fellow Kelantanese Malay, d.1964) and Shaykh alFatani (a Malay scholar from Patani, d.1908). His poverty, however, made studying difficult; when he wanted to read books, he had to go to the local book shops and ask permission to borrow what he needed. Nevertheless, Tok Kenali successfully completed his studies, after which he taught at the Masjid al-Ḥarām for five years, only finally choosing to return to Kelantan after the death of his beloved teacher, Shaykh al-Fatani. Later he said that he would not have returned to Kelantan but for Shaykh al-Fatani’s death. In 1908, therefore, Tok Kenali returned to his homeland, where he started teaching at his house in Kampung Paya. After just two years, his name had become well known throughout the state. It was also at this point that his earlier relationship with Nik Mahmud Ismail again became useful. By this time, Nik Mahmud had also returned to Malaya and become the Chief Minister of Kelantan. Under his influence, Tok Kenali became

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an informal advisor to the state government. In this capacity, in 1915 Tok Kenali, along with Nik Mahmud and another famous Kelantanese scholar, Haji Mohamad Said, suggested to Kelantan’s Sultan Muhammad IV (r.1900-1920) that a Council of Islamic Religion be established. As a result, on the 7 December 1915, an official body with this title came into being. Although its main objective was to maintain Islam’s privileged position as the official religion of Kelantan, it also managed affairs related to education and culture. It was in these areas that Tok Kenali would exert his greatest influence. Tok Kenali and the Pondok System Tok Kenali was passionate about education, believing it was the only way to free the people from ignorance and poverty. Consequently, when Nik Mahmud asked him about how to develop Kelantan, he suggested the government increase the number of educational institutions in the state.2 This suggestion resulted in Tok Kenali becoming Kelantan’s Chief of State for Religious Education, in which capacity he accomplished his most significant achievement: the reform of the pondok system. The pondoks were (and still are) training centres for ulama, politicians, writers and scholars, both in Kelantan and beyond. Traditionally, they did not conform to a formal curriculum, simply seeking to encourage the growth of Islamic knowledge and provide both theoretical and practical education; students were responsible for carrying out daily chores within the school and for assisting the institution economically, for which purposes they learnt skills like carpentry, farming and animal husbandry in addition to religious studies. Under Tok Kenali, however, the pondok system was reformed, with a formalised curriculum put in place. Very quickly, the establishment of reformed and standardised pondok became state policy, with pondok-inspired institutions springing up throughout Kelantan. Some of these became very influential. Tok Kenali’s own pondok (known as Pondok Kenali), for example, became the state’s Faculty of Qur’anic Science, Linguistics and Arabic Literature. Another pondok at Bunut Payung, opened by Tok Kenali’s student, Haji Abdullah Tahir, became the state’s Faculty of Fiqh, while another in Kampung Sireh became the Faculty of Hadith.3 The establishment of these and other pondok attracted both local and foreign students, including from countries like Cambodia, Thailand and Indonesia. From being known only for its agricultural and fishing industries, Kelantan soon became an important centre of Islamic education in the Nusantara.

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Overall, Tok Kenali’s educational outlook was influenced by the famous Egyptian reformer, Muhammad ‘Abduh (d.1905). Like ‘Abduh, Tok Kenali urged Muslims to return to the authentic teachings of the Qur’an and Sunna. Moreover, he felt it was impossible to understand these two sources of Islamic jurisprudence without knowing Arabic. He therefore made Arabic compulsory in all the pondoks. To this end, he wrote his Durus alKenaliah, Malaya’s first indigenously-produced book on Arabic grammar. Even today, some pondoks still use this text as their main reference work. Tok Kenali’s emphasis on Arabic subsequently influenced many of his students, including Idris al-Marbawi, the well-known compiler of the first comprehensive Malay-Arabic dictionary, the Kamus al-Marbawi, another important reference text for Arabic learners in the Nusantara.4 Educational Philanthropy The majority of Tok Kenali’s students came from very poor families. As a responsible and reliable teacher, Tok Kenali could not let their poverty deny them their right to a better education. He therefore used his reputation as a great scholar to establish a fund for these students, supported by contributions from wider society. Tok Kenali acted as the trustee of this fund and his wife the manager. Although Tok Kenali lived a simple and humble life, he never used the contributions he received for his own benefit. All the money he received was spent on the education of others. Many students and poor people therefore benefitted from Tok Kenali’s cup of kindness. In honour of this great contribution, the Kelantan state government established the Tok Kenali Foundation in 1992. This foundation was designed to support educational endeavours, charities and a social security scheme for senior citizens. Tok Kenali’s Most Famous Students Teachers can have a lifelong impact on their students, and Tok Kenali was no exception.5 Pondok Kenali became the alma mater of many prominent Southeast Asian Muslim scholars. As well as the Chief Minister of Johor, Datuk Haji Hasan Yunus al-Azhari, Pondok Kenali was also the former home of many Muftis, including Kelantan’s Datuk Haji Ahmad Mahir bin Haji Ismail and Datuk Haji Ismail bin Yusuf, Melaka’s Haji Hasan bin Abu Bakar, Selangor’s Haji Ab. Jalil bin Ismail, Central Java’s Dzu al-Mukhtasar bin Dzu al-Fudhail and Vietnam’s Haji Ismail Fikri.

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Many of Tok Kenali’s former students also went on to found their own religious educational institutions, including Uthmaan Jalaluddin alKilantani (founder of Madrasah Manaabi’ al-‘Uluum wa Mataali’ alNujum, Penanti, Seberang Perai), Haji Abdullah Tahir bin Haji Ahmad (founder of Madrasah Ahmadiyyah Bunut Payung, Kota Bharu), Haji Ali Shalaahuddin bin Awang (founder of Madrasah al-Falaah, Kota Bharu), Haji Nik Muhammad Nik Mat (founder of Pondok Pulau Melaka), Haji Ismail bin Ahmad (founder of Pondok Jabat, Narathiwat, Thailand) and Haji Shalih bin Harun (founder of Pondok Asahan, East Sumatera). Tok Kenali’s Literary Creativity In addition to his educational work, Tok Kenali was also instrumental in establishing Kelantan’s Office for Translation (he was personally entrusted with the translation of important Arabic books, like Kitāb al-Umm, Tafsīr Khāzin, and Tafsīr Ibn Kathīr). He also established a government printing press, an official library of the State, and the fortnightly magazine, Pengasuh (first published on 24 February 1918). He was also an informal advisor for another monthly journal, al-Hibayah, launched in 1923. In his writings, Tok Kenali was influenced by the literary traditions of his time, especially penglipur lara (sad forms of entertainment) and dikir barat (the exchanging of quatrains by singing). During Tok Kenali’s lifetime, parables were also a common teaching method, one he frequently utilised. For example, his most famous story revolves around methods of problem solving; wisdom, Tok Kenali seeks to establish, is not just about memorising and understanding texts, but also about understanding a problem and solving it in an appropriate way. As such, his most famous story is known as “The Brilliant Qāḍī [Judge].” It begins with two farmers, one of whom breeds horses and the other cows. One day, the horse breeder loses his horse and, after searching, finds it mixed in with a group of his neighbour’s cows. When he tries to get the horse back, however, the cow breeder refuses, claiming that the horse actually belongs to him. A bitter conflict between the two men therefore ensures, motivating them to go to the qāḍī for a resolution. Upon hearing their case, the qāḍī immediately realises that there is a liar amongst them and determines a strategy for deciding who: he asks his clerk to tell the two breeders that he cannot see them because he is menstruating. Upon hearing this, the cow breeder expresses disbelief and insists on seeing the qāḍī anyway. At this, the qāḍī immediately appeared and declared, “If you did not believe that I am menstruating, then how do you expect me to believe a cow can give birth to a horse? It is against nature.”

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Fleeing from death is another important theme in Tok Kenali’s work. In his anthology of short stories, for example, there is a story about a rich man who is told by a fortune teller that he will die after being bitten by a scorpion. Eager to escape death, the rich man decides to build a palace on a lake where, surrounding by water, scorpions cannot reach him. Nevertheless, one day a scorpion manages to reach the island with the help of a frog. As a result, the rich man is bitten and dies. With this story Tok Kenali hoped to convey how no one can escape death. Even though he did not publish many books, Tok Kenali regularly contributed to Pengasuh, as well as al-Hidayah and al-Imam magazines. Other Contributions In addition to the aforementioned activities, Tok Kenali was also: 1. a member of the Council of Islamic Scholars, Kelantan, between 1915 and 1933; 2. Headmaster of the Madrasah Muhammadiyyah, Kota Bharu; 3. a member of the Kelantan Council of Islamic Religion and Malay Customs; 4. Founder of Jam’iyya al-‘Ashriyya (The Contemporary Convention Centre), located in Kota Bharu. This centre organised educational seminars and conferences designed to discuss contemporary Islamic issues.6 Death and Legacy On 19 November 1933, after suffering from a foot infection for several months, Tok Kenali developed gangrene and died at the age of sixty-five. Throughout his life, Tok Kenali had been well known as a generous and honourable man, respectful of his elders and kind towards children. As a teacher, he would always answer questions promptly, or else frankly admit that he did not know the answer. Although his literary creativity is certainly of value, he has not received the recognition he deserves in contemporary Malaysia; his short stories are written in the Kelantanese dialect which, although understandable to Malays in general, only really finds mass appeal amongst the Kelantanese people themselves. Nevertheless, he was undoubtedly one of colonial Malaya’s most exemplary scholars and, even though his educational reforms were temporarily halted five years after his death when Japan conquered Malaya, the pondok system survives today as a testament to his dedication to Islamic reform.

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Underpinning all of Tok Kenali’s activities was a belief that Islam was revealed to abolish superstitious custom. A famous saying of his was biar mati adat, jangan mati agama (let the custom die, but not the religion), which stood in contrast to the popular Malay proverb, biar mati anak, jangan mati adat (let the children die, but not tradition).

Notes 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6.

This short biography is based on Abdullah al-Qari Salleh’s Detik-detik Sejarah Hidup Tok Kenali (Kuala Lumpur: al-Hidayah Publishers, 2006) and Cerpen Warisan Tok Kenali (Kuala Lumpur: al-Hidayah Publishers, 2006). Al-Qari Salleh, Sejarah Hidup Tok Kenali, 136-7. Ibid, 233. Syaikh Idris al-Marbawi was the first recipient of the Ma’al Hijrah Award from the Malaysian government. He received the award in 1987 (1408 Hijrah). Abdullah al-Qari Salleh, Tuk Kenali Penggerak Ummah (Kuala Lumpur: Dewan Bahasa dan Pustaka, 2009), 72-122. Al-Qari Salleh, Sejarah Hidup Tok Kenali, 154-8.

Further Reading Al-Qari Salleh, Abdullah. Cerpen Warisan Tok Kenali. Kuala Lumpur: al-Hidayah Publishers, 2006. ___________________. Detik-detik Sejarah Hidup Tok Kenali. Kuala Lumpur: al-Hidayah Publishers, 2006. ___________________. Tuk Kenali Penggerak Ummah. Kuala Lumpur: Dewan Bahasa dan Pustaka, 2009.

35 MUSA JARULLAH BIGIYEV 18751949CE Elmira Akhmetova

Musa Jarullah Bigiyev (1875-1949) was a Muslim Tatar religious scholar, journalist, politician, educator and prolific writer, who devoted his entire life to reconciling Islam with modern progress. He published more than sixty books in Arabic and Old Ottoman Turkish, dealing with Islamic jurisprudence, theology, the sciences of the Qur’an, the sciences of the hadith, literature, economics, law, politics and history. Life and Times Musa Jarullah was born in 1875, in Novo-Cherkassk, a Russian city near Rostov-on-Don, to a middle-class scholarly Tatar family. His father died when Jarullah was just six years old, after which Jarullah’s mother, Fatimah, strove to raise her two sons – Zahir and Musa – as religious scholars. Rostov-on-Don, however, was then a business centre dominated by ethnic Russians. It was thus not conducive to Islamic learning. Consequently, in 1888 Jarullah’s mother sent him to the city of Qazan, where he first enrolled in the region’s famous religious school, Apanay, before joining the Kul Buye madrasa. Two years later, Jarullah returned to Rostov-on-Don and completed his studies at the Rostov-on-Don Real Technical lyceum. After completing his initial education in Russia, Jarullah went to Central Asia, to Bukhara and Samarqand. Unable, however, to satisfy his religious and intellectual curiosity there, he journeyed on to Istanbul, where he stayed for just a short time before moving on to Egypt. Once in Egypt, he studied under both Shaykh Muhammad Bakhit al-Mutiʿī (d.1935) and . Muhammad ‘Abduh (d.1905), two of Egypt’s most influential scholars . and both former students of Jamāl al-Dīn al-Afghānī (d.1897).1 During

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this period, Jarullah also furthered his studies into the history of Qur’anic studies at the National Library of Egypt. After his time in Egypt, Jarullah went to perform Hajj, staying in Makkah and Madinah for two years, where he continued his study of the Qur’an and hadith of the Prophet Muḥammad. He later travelled to India and spent a year in Uttar Pradesh, learning Sanskrit so that he could read the Mahabharata (an ancient Indian epic, containing the Bhagavad Gita). From India he travelled back to Egypt and continued his research at the National Library for another three years. He then went to Beirut, and from there by foot to Damascus. In 1904, Jarullah finally returned to Russia. He was, however, very depressed at the miserable situation of the educational system in the Muslim world. Settling down in St Petersburg, he joined the Law Faculty at the city’s university.2 This move to the then Russian capital, coincided with the 1905 Revolution and the Tsarist government’s proclamations of freedom for both the press and all political and religious association across Russia, including for the Muslim community. Jarullah eagerly joined the Muslim political and educational activities that ensued; together with his comrade, the famous Tatar Pan-Islamist activist and thinker, ‘Abd al-Rashid Ibrahimov (d.1944), Jarullah founded the Ülfet and Tilmiz newspapers in St Petersburg. Jarullah was also active in organising the All-Russian Muslim Congress during 1905-1917, which aimed at both uniting all Muslims living under Tsarist rule and finding appropriate solutions to their social, religious, educational and political dilemmas. He also served as a Central Committee Member for the Russian Pan-Islamist party, Russiya Musulmannarining Ittifaqi (Union of Russia’s Muslims), throughout 19061917. In 1910, he was appointed Imam of the St. Petersburg mosque. Jarullah initially welcomed the Russian February Revolution of 1917, claiming (perhaps naively) that “slavery is gone and will never return.”3 Even when the Bolsheviks came to power following the October Revolution, his confidence in achieving freedom for Russia’s Muslims did not decrease. The new regime issued a ‘Declaration of the Rights of the Peoples of Russia’ (26 October 1917), which proclaimed the equality and sovereignty of the different peoples living in Russia, confirming their rights to self-determination. Jarullah therefore considered the Soviet regime a potential ally in the Muslim struggle against European imperialism. However, when the Russian civil war finally ended in 1920, resulting in the establishment of undisputed Soviet authority over the Muslim populated territories of the Volga-Urals region, the Caucasian area and Central Asia, the Communists began doing everything in their power to

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liquidate Islam. As a result, in 1920 Jarullah wrote his Alphabet of Islam, a response to The Alphabet of Communism (1919) by Nikolai Bukharin, the main theorist behind the Russian Communist identity. Two months later, his harsh criticisms of Marxist ideology led to his arrest by the Cheka (the first Soviet Security organisation). He was later released, but only under pressure from the international Muslim community. In 1926, Jarullah attended the International Islamic Conference in Makkah as one of the seven elected Russian delegates. Shortly afterwards, he was accused by the Soviet regime of being a “spy of Turkey and India,” and, consequently, left Soviet Russia secretly in 1930. After leaving Russia, Jarullah travelled extensively throughout the world. In 1933, for example, he was in Europe, where he founded an Islamic publishing house in Berlin with the intention of using it as a religious and scientific centre capable of uniting all European Muslim intellectuals. The following year, Jarullah visited Finland, from where he went to Iran and Iraq to learn about Shi’ism. By the end of 1935, he had returned to Cairo, to continue his research into Qur’anic studies. In 1937, he moved on to India, first to Mumbai (Bombay) and then Varanasi, where he studied the Hindu Vedas. In 1938, he was invited by his friend, Ibrahimov, to visit Japan. Afterwards, they both travelled on to China, Indonesia (Java and Sumatra), and Singapore, acting as preachers of Islam. In 1939, with the outbreak of World War II, Jarullah left for India. Once there, he decided to settle down and end his expeditions. For that reason, he headed for Kabul, Afghanistan, only to be arrested by the British in Peshawar and imprisoned for several years without charge. Although the ruler of Bhopal, Muḥammad Ḥamidullāh Khan (d.1960), was later able to secure his release from prison, Jarullah remained under house arrest until 1945. Although a difficult episode for Jarullah, this war-time period was perhaps his most intellectually fruitful, as evinced by the publication of ten major works on different issues.4 Jarullah passed away in Cairo in a charitable hospice in October 1949. Views on Islam and Civilisational Renewal In his numerous writings, Jarullah deliberated about the problems facing the modern Muslim world, especially the reasons for its backwardness. He proposed many ways via which progress and virtue could be revived. In his most significant work, entitled Khaliq Nazarina Bernicha Mas’ala (‘Several Issues for Public Attention’, published in 1912), Jarullah praised Europe (he called it the “civilised world”) for its freedom of thought as generated

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(in his eyes) by the Protestant Reformation. By contrast, he decried the miserable situation of the Muslim world, wherein the will to reason had become captive to the restrictions favoured by the followers of different madhhabs. Jarullah asserted that constriction of the unlimited potential of Islam into the narrow circles of the existing madhhabs was the main reason for the decline of Islamic civilisation.5 Jarullah also believed that the educational stagnation prevalent throughout the Muslim world acted to confine Muslim willpower and reason. As mentioned, after returning from his initial educational travels across the Middle East, Jarullah expressed his dissatisfaction with the existing Muslim educational system: Seeds of love for religious sciences were planted into my heart by the hands of the Almighty. After wasting ten years in the religious schools of Qazan and Mawaraennahr, I departed to the Muslim countries full of hope. I travelled in the Islamic lands of Turkey, Egypt, Ḥijāz, India and Shām for nearly five years and stayed at the madrasahs of those countries for either short or long periods. I have seen every famous religious school of those lands. But, unfortunately, the thing that I was able to find least in these ‘great religious madrasahs’ was religious education.6

Jarullah felt that urgent educational reform was the only way to achieve real success and progress in the Muslim world. He acknowledged, however, that the defects of the Muslim educational system were not due to the incompetence of the teaching staff, but to wrongly selected textbooks: those currently in use were incapable of guiding students towards a considered application of knowledge in the contemporary world.7 To solve this problem, and upon his return to Russia in 1904, Jarullah began writing his own textbooks for use in Islamic educational institutions. In 1909, Jarullah also began teaching at the Husainiyya madrasa in Orenburg, Russia, then renowned for its diverse and progressive teaching staff. He would, however, eventually lose this job because of his support for the idea of the universality of God’s Mercy – an idea he fully expounded in two books, both published in 1911: Rahmat Ilahiyye Borhannary (Evidences for the Mercy of God) and Insannarning ‘Aqidah Ilahiyatlarene Ber Nazar (A Glimpse of the People’s Belief in God). Also in 1911, Jarullah published another controversial work, entitled Ozin Konnarda Ruza: Ijtihad Kitaby (Fasting during Long Days: A Book of Ijtihād), which was a result of his journey to Finland. Based on his

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own ijtihād (independent legal reasoning), Jarullah suggested that there was no obligation for Muslims to fast during the phenomenon of polar nights. Instead, they could pay fidya (a donation made when the fast is broken). A Russian scholarly periodical, Mir Islama (The World of Islam), appraised the publication of this book as a significant event in the Muslim world: “Works of Musa Bigiyev suddenly became an object of special attention. The ideas of the Tatar philosopher began to spread increasingly amongst the Muslims of Constantinople. His courageous critique of traditional interpretations began to please many.”8 Likewise, a famous Turkish periodical, Türk Yurdu, labelled Jarullah the mujtahid of fourteenth-century AH Islam. Even so, in 1913 Mustafa Sabri, the shaykh al-Islām of the Osmanli Sultanate, banned several ground-breaking books by Jarullah on the grounds that they were too controversial. Jarullah has often been labelled the ‘Martin Luther of Islam’ and a key ‘Islamic Reformist’.9 He repeatedly opposed these titles, however, saying that his aim was not to reform the religion, since “Islam has no need for religious reformation.” Rather, “it is not Islam, but we ourselves who have social, religious and political diseases. For sure, we should seek remedies for these diseases. Therefore…we need to reform ourselves.”10 Political Views During Jarullah’s lifetime, nationalism was fast becoming the world’s principle ideology. Spread across the Muslim world by European colonialism, nationalism offered an alternative to Islam’s traditional ummah-based identity. In Russia, Muslims became members of the Soviet regime, which denounced both Islam and nationalistic inspirations as superstition and sources of deviation from communism. In his writings, Jarullah tried to expound on the modern ideologies of nationalism, socialism and secularism through their relationship with the universal values of rights, justice, equality and mutual assistance – principles which he thought were essential for maintaining peace, social stability and human security. He disowned racial ideas of nationalism (such as Turkism) and the offering of privileges to ‘advanced’ nations at the expense of so-called ‘backward’ ones (as in the Soviet form of nationalism). At the same time, Jarullah questioned the Soviet policy of ‘Proletarian Internationalism’, or the worldwide unification of the proletariat against capitalism, calling it a ‘myth’ and an ‘artificial remedy’ that would actually hinder attempts to improve people’s social conditions. He believed that class-based civil uprisings and enmity destroyed true human civilisation; they could only

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ruin aspirations of social progress by developing a desire to promote personal interests.11 According to Jarullah, only the protection of the natural rights of nations could provide the world with real progress and social harmony. Ultimately, Jarullah affirmed that there was only one system capable of achieving this protection and bringing equality to all nations: Islam. He argued that, and unlike the principles of nationalism, racism or communism, Islam saw all ethnic groups as equals. Jarullah believed in the equality of all peoples, regardless of their religious, ideological or ethnic peculiarities. According to him, the words of Allah, “As long as these stand true to you, stand ye true to them: for Allah doth love the righteous” (Qur’an 9:7), constituted the basic Islamic principle governing relations between Muslims and other peoples. Adhering to it, Jarullah called for equality between all nations, both in Russia and beyond.12 Notes 1.

Ahmet Kanlıdere, Reform Within Islam: The Tajdid and Jadid Movement among the Kazan Tatars (Istanbul: Eren, 1997), 53-4. 2. Abdullah Battal-Taymas, Musa Carullah Bigi: Kişiligi, Fikir Hayatı ve Eserleri (Istanbul: M. Sıralar Matbaası, 1958), 8. 3. Ibid, 17 and Elmira Akhmetova, ‘Musa Jārullāh Bigiev (1875-1949): Political Thought of a Tatar Muslim Scholar,’ Intellectual Discourse 16, no. 1 (2008): 53. 4. Akhmetova, ‘Musa Jārullāh Bigiev,’ 57. 5. Jārullāh, Khaliq Nazarina Bernicha Mas’ala (Qazan: Electro-Tipografiya Umid, 1912), 38-9. 6. Jārullāh, Al-Luzumiyyat (Qazan: Sharaf Publishing House, 1907), 2. 7. Ibid. 8. See E. Akhmetova, Ideas of Muslim Unity at the Age of Nationalism: A Comparative Study of the Concept of the Ummah in the Writings of Musa Jārullāh and Said Nursi (Germany: Lambert Academic Publishing, 2009), 24. 9. See Kanlıdere, Reform Within Islam, 58-71. 10. Jārullāh, Buyuk Maudu’larda Ufaq Fikerler (St Petersburg: M-A. Maqsutov Publishing House, 1914), 5. 11. Akhmetova, ‘Musa Jārullāh Bigiev,’ 58-9. 12. E. Akhmetova, ‘Impact of Nationalism on Civilisational Development and Human Security,’ Islam and Civilisational Renewal 4, no. 4 (2013): 626.

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Further Reading Akhmetova, E. ‘Musa Jārullāh Bigiev (1875-1949): Political Thought of a Tatar Muslim Scholar.’ Intellectual Discourse 16, no. 1 (2008): 49-71. Akhmetova, E. Ideas of Muslim Unity at the Age of Nationalism: A Comparative Study of the Concept of the Ummah in the Writings of Musa Jārullāh and Said Nursi. Germany: Lambert Academic Publishing, 2009. Akhmetova, E. ‘Impact of Nationalism on Civilisational Development and Human Security.’ Islam and Civilisational Renewal 4, no. 4 (2013): 615-633. Jārullāh. Al-Luzumiyyat. Qazan: Sharaf Publishing House, 1907. ______. Buyuk Maudu’larda Ufaq Fikerler. St Petersburg: M-A. Maqsutov Publishing House, 1914. ______. Khaliq Nazarina Bernicha Mas’ala. Qazan: Electro-Tipografiya Umid, 1912. Kanlıdere, Ahmet. Reform Within Islam: The Tajdid and Jadid Movement among the Kazan Tatars. Istanbul: Eren, 1997. Kanlıdere, Ahmet. ‘Musa Jarullah Bigiyef: Why Did the Muslim World Decline While the Civilized World Advanced?’ In Modernist Islam 1840-1940: A Source Book, edited by C. Kurzman, 254-6. New York: Oxford University Press, 2002.

36 BEDIÜZZAMAN SAID NURSI 18771960CE Karim D. Crow

Few twentieth-century Muslims have had so great an impact on their countrymen and upon Islamic renewal as the Turkish intellectual and spiritual activist, Bediüzzaman Said Nursi (1877-1960). Contemporary Turkish Muslim identity owes its validity to Nursi’s untiring labour. His collected letters, Risale-i Nur (Epistles of Light), seek to demonstrate, through clearly reasoned arguments and easily understood stories and comparisons, that Islamic revelation offers a rational explanation for existence. According to Nursi, the truth of religion corroborates and reinforces modern scientific discoveries. Said Nursi was born in 1877, in the Kurdish hamlet of Nurs, Bitlis province, eastern Turkey. Few details are known about his early life, though a Sufi aura is evident; not only did he later claim that the famous Sufi Shaykh, ʿAbdul Qādir al-Jilānī (d.561AH/1166CE), magically guided him during his youth, but throughout his life he felt a clear affinity for the Naqshbandiyya Sufi order. Nursi was a child prodigy with a prodigious memory and far-reaching vision. While residing in the regional centres of Bitlis and Van, he encountered the leading scholars of eastern Anatolia. Although rustic in manner and dress – he sported a dagger at his waist and was a skilled horseman and courageous fighter – at heart he loved nature and preferred solitude. Noted for his extreme frugality and service, Nursi was a model of utter sincerity, intelligence and faith. Nursi became deeply learned in not just the traditional Islamic religious and intellectual sciences, but also in the modern disciplines of mathematics, physics, chemistry and astronomy, all before he reached the age of twenty. Wanting to put this knowledge to good use, towards the end of the nineteenth century he opened his own madrasa in Van, where

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he combined positive science with classical religious disciplines. While in Van, he also pursued his own education: I used to repeat by heart the eighty to ninety books I had memorized. They were the steps by which to ascend to the truths of the Qur’an. Sometime later, I ascended to those truths, and I saw that each verse of the Qur‘an encompasses the universe. No need then remained for anything else, the Qur’an alone was sufficient for me.

During his early years as a teacher, Nursi conceived the idea of founding a university in eastern Anatolia, where modern and religious sciences could be taught side-by-side. He anticipated that educational reform of this sort would help reverse ignorance and backwardness and contribute towards resolving the social and political problems facing Islam. An Ottoman Intellectual and Opponent of Kemalist Reform In 1907, Nursi left Van for the Ottoman capital, Istanbul. There he swiftly advanced amongst Ottoman political and intellectual circles, becoming involved in the Committee of Union and Progress, the Constitutional Movement, and the Society for Muslim Unity. Between 1914 and 1916, however, he returned to Van, to help organise and lead the resistance against a Tzarist and Armenian invasion of his homeland. There he was captured by the Russians in 1916, subsequently enduring harsh captivity in Kosturma (Northern Russia) until 1918, when he made his escape by crossing the Volga. Returning to Istanbul via Berlin, he arrived back in his homeland as a hero. His return to Istanbul, however, occurred after the Ottoman defeat during the First World War. In the wake of that event, Nursi became actively involved in several leading national organisations, remaining so throughout the Turkish war of liberation (1920-1922), the subsequent demise of the Ottoman sultanate, and the consolidation of the independent nation state of modern-day Turkey, led by the Grand National Assembly under the leadership of Mustafa Kemal Atatürk (d.1938). Throughout 1918-1922, Nursi also served on the learned body, Darul’-Hikmeti’l-Islamiye, which sought to promote Islamic principles in the newly emerging political order. In 1923, his membership of this organisation brought him into conflict with Atatürk; the two men disagreed about the role of Islam in the new Republic, Atatürk coming to see Nursi as a chief opponent to his policy of secularisation, which he deemed necessary for the establishment of modernity. Nursi was therefore compelled to return to Van, where he re-

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engaged with his educational goals. He did so, however, in the realisation that his true enemy was this newly ascendant secular mentality, bent on uprooting Islam in the name of progress, power and science. Non-Violent Resistance: Moral-Spiritual Jihād After Atatürk succeeded in placing the Turkish Republic on a secularnationalist footing, Nursi conceived, organised and directed a remarkable non-violent campaign to renew and fortify Islam in Turkey. The nonviolent nature of this campaign was inspired by Nursi’s refusal to support the 1925 Şeyh Said Revolt, a Kurdish uprising against Atatürk’s new government. This revolt was led by the Naqshbandiyya Shaykh of Palu, who had earlier solicited Nursi’s support in a letter. Nursi had refused to assist, however, stating that for Muslims to kill other Muslims was against the Sharia; all Muslims were brothers, with fighting only being permitted against external enemies. Nevertheless, after the Şeyh Said Revolt had been crushed, Atatürk suspected Nursi of involvement and placed him under house arrest, where he remained for more than thirty years. First confined to the town of Burdur, he was later moved to Barla (near Lake Eşridir), then Kastamonu (south of the Black Sea), and finally Emirdağ. Throughout this period, Nursi endured continual police surveillance, periods of imprisonment, attempted poisonings, and psychological torment. He was also the subject of four dramatic public trials (Eski Şehir 1935, Denizli 1944, Afyon 1949, and Istanbul 1952), as well as numerous other court proceedings. All Nursi’s public trials, however, resulted in his acquittal. Throughout his many tribulations, Nursi taught the necessity for ‘positive action’, both to counter the attacks of those inimical to Islam and refute the widespread perception that Islam (as traditionally taught and practised) contradicted reason and modern science. Throughout the period 1925 to 1945, this non-violent campaign of çihad-i mânavî (moralspiritual jihād) manifested itself in a non-stop stream of essays, epistles, and treatises. These writings, written in literary Ottoman Turkish using the by-then defunct Arabic script (after 1928, the Kemalist regime enforced the Latin script), became collectively known as Risale-i Nur (Epistle of Light). Officially banned, this text had to be hand-copied and privately distributed through informal networks. A large number of sections were written out by children, women and the elderly, and then smuggled back to Nursi for review and correction. Nursi placed great stress on this selfsacrificing service of copying and disseminating, well aware of the risks

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involved. His followers were continuously watched by state authorities and their homes searched for any traces of his writings, possession of which brought imprisonment. Only in 1947 were two duplicating machines finally acquired for reproducing his writings, with some pieces being put into the Latin alphabet. From this point on, Istanbul and Ankara became major centres for the distribution of his work, including amongst university students and young professionals (army officers and bureaucrats). In 1956, the courts finally lifted all legal restrictions on the publication of the Risale-i Nur and, from the following year, it began to be printed on modern presses in the Latin script. Nursi’s view of ‘positive action’ entailed patient, silent struggle to strengthen faith while also stressing mutual consultation, cooperation, consensus, brotherhood, and the cultivation of a collective personality embedded in the shared values of self-sacrifice and service. He grounded this understanding of peaceable jihād in essential Qur’anic teachings. This method had few counterparts in the Islamic world at that time, where attempts to serve and promote Islam were often politically driven and tinged with violence. It is, for example, interesting that Nursi’s non-violent campaign occurred contemporaneously with Abdul Ghaffar Khan’s militant ‘Servants of God’ campaign against British occupation in North West India. For Nursi, the Risale-i Nur was about true sincerity. It was about complete and selfless service, deep taqwā (God-consciousness), and the preservation of public order and stability. For him, this was the essence of non-violent action and the purest method of persuasion and reform in Islam. As Nursi stated in his last instructions, given on 30 December 1959 in Ankara: The essential matter at this time is cihad-i mânavî. It is to form a barrier against moral and spiritual destruction, and to assist internal order and security with all our strength…The most important condition of the spiritual-moral jihad is not interfering in God’s concerns; that is: ‘Our duty is to serve, its results are Almighty God’s concern. We are charged with carrying out our duty, and are obliged to do so.’…It is not material or physical service that is needed, but non-physical and moral. For this reason we do not interfere with politicians, nor have politicians any right to busy themselves with us!1

Nursi’s life was marked by great perseverance and self-sacrifice, flowing from remarkable inner resources. In his last years, and despite his rapidly increasing fame, Nursi curtailed his meetings with other people, receiving only those involved in the publication of his Risale-i Nur. This was because

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of the discomfiture he felt when faced with the excessive respect and veneration his visitors tended to direct towards him, coupled with his innate need to maintain absolute sincerity. On one of his last visits to Konya in December 1959, Nursi prayed at the tomb of Jalāl al-Dīn Rūmī (d.656/1258) while surrounded by policemen charged with monitoring him and restricting his contact with other people. On emerging from the tomb, he told the police: Thank you! It is torment for me to have my hands kissed, and you prevented it. For twenty-eight years I have served this country’s peace and security with imprisonment, torture, detention, and oppression. You serve its order and security physically, while I serve it in a non-material way. We have served it as much as a thousand public prosecutors and police chiefs, so look upon us as fellowofficials, not in any other way. And tell this to your fellow police.2

Nursi died in Urfa (North East Turkey) on 25 Ramadān 1379/23 . March 1960. An official record states that at the time of his death, his total possessions amounted to 551 Turkish lira and 50 kuruş, a watch, a gown, shawl, prayer mat, and a tea pot with accompanying glasses. Although Nursi had asked to be interred in an unknown grave, the population of Urfa laid him to rest in their most sacred shrine, the grave of the prophet Ibrāhīm. Three and a half months later, however, in July 1960, Turkey’s newly installed military government secretly moved his body to an unknown location near Isparta. His brother, Abdülmecid, was brought in from Konya to assist in identifying the corpse; Abdülmecid later stated that Nursi’s body had been in a perfect state of incorruptibility, his face smiling and a sweet odour emanating from his body. In Turkey (as elsewhere), physical immunity from decay is taken as an indication of great sanctity. After Nursi’s body was removed to Isparta, its precise location has remained unknown. Nursi’s message of non-violent resistance, self-sacrifice and service has left an indelible mark on modern-day Turkey. It was largely because of his singular campaign that Islam retains any kind of public presence in Turkey today. Arabic, Urdu and English translations of his writings continue to be produced and have helped disperse his teachings worldwide. The popular Fethullah Gülen organisation, with its global educational and cultural mission, is a direct off-shoot of Nursi’s lifework. The uniqueness and value of his message, coupled with its continued resonance, surely qualifies Nursi as an architect of Islamic civilisation.

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Notes 1. 2.

Bediüzzaman Said Nursi, Jihad and the Word of Positive Action: Bediuzzaman Said Nursi’s Interpretation of Jihad in the Modern Age (Istanbul: Sozler Publications, n.d.). Cited in Şukran Vahide, The Author of the Risale-i Nur: Bediuzzaman Said Nursi (Istanbul: Szler Publications, 1992), 367.

Further Reading Mardin, Šerif. Religion and Social Change in Modern Turkey: The Case of Bediüzzaman Said Nursi. Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 1989. Nursi, Bediüzzaman Said. Işârâtü l-I‘caz fi Mazânni’ l-Icaz. Istanbul: Sözler Yayınevi, 1978. ____________________. Jihad and the Word of Positive Action: Bediuzzaman Said Nursi’s Interpretation of Jihad in the Modern Age. Istanbul: Sozler Publications, n.d. ____________________. Risale-i Nur. Available at: http://saidnur.com/en ____________________. The Supreme Sign: Observations of a Traveller Questioning Creation Concerning His Maker. Translated by Hamid Algar. Berkeley, CA: Risale-i Nur Institute of America, 1979. Şahiner, Necmeddin. Bediüzzaman Said Nursî ve Nurculuk Hakkında Aydınlar Konuşuyor, 2nd ed. Istanbul: Yeni Asya Yayınları, 1979. Vahide, Şukran. The Author of the Risale-i Nur: Bediuzzaman Said Nursi. Istanbul: Sozler Publications, 1992. __________. Islam in Modern Turkey: An Intellectual Biography of Bediuzzaman Said Nursi. Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 2005.

37 MUḥAMMAD ALṬĀHIR IBN ‘ĀSHŪR 18791973CE Eric Winkel

The Tunisan scholar, Muḥammad al-Ṭāhir ibn ‘Āshūr (1879-1973), came from a renowned family of scholars. When he entered al-Zaytūna University in Tunis, special care was taken to provide him with the best teachers. Later he became a teacher at al-Zaytūna himself, staying there for the whole of his career. Throughout his life, he was famous for his integrity: when President Habib Bourguiba of Tunisia wanted a fatwa issued justifying the abandonment of fasting during the month of Ramadān . (because it supposedly decreased economic productivity), Ibn ‘Āshūr made his response by reciting sūra 2 (al-Baqara) āya 183 (“Prescribed for you is fasting”) while adding “ṣadaqa Allāh al-‘Aẓīm [Allah speaks the truth] and Bourguiba lies.” Influenced by the modernist reformer Muḥammad ‘Abduh (d.1905), Ibn ‘Āshūr combined a thorough knowledge of the Islamic classics with a desire to revive modern-day Islamic civilisation. In his most famous work, the Maqāṣid al-Sharī‘a al-Islāmiyya (The Intents/Higher Goals of Islamic Law), published in 1946, it is clear that he saw himself as a bridge between Islam’s classical legal heritage and the needs of the modern world. While his references to the great works of Islamic law were always respectful, he never hesitated to point out their shortcomings. In particular, Ibn ‘Āshūr believed that the discipline of uṣūl al-fiqh (the principles of Islamic jurisprudence) had reached its limit, having become over-burdened with methodological technicalities. Notably, he felt that Muslims could not generate legal responses to modern-day situations by simply delving deeper and deeper into the meaning of a word (a common preoccupation of uṣūl al-fiqh). By its very nature, language is fundamentally ambiguous; one

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cannot simply take a word and endlessly delve into its meaning without understanding the larger context in which that word resides. As such, Ibn ‘Āshūr argued that Muslims must take up the perennial challenge of discovering and implementing the higher goals (maqāṣid) of Sharia.1 Because it is frequently difficult to ascertain the intent of a speaker from a single sentence, Ibn ‘Āshūr also questioned the juridical weight of isolated (ahad) hadiths when determining legislation. Instead, he felt that legislative value should be sought from the totality of Sharia. Ibn ‘Āshūr worried that taking a solitary hadith in isolation would entail the abandonment of contextual understanding; for him, it was problematic to prefer a solitary hadith over a rational deduction based on established context. In this regard, Ibn ‘Āshūr felt that Imam Shāfi’ī (d.204AH/820CE) had been misunderstood as accepting solitary hadith over the totality of Sharia. Likewise, he argued that Aḥmad ibn Ḥanbal (d.241/855) had also been misrepresented as accepting a weak hadith over qiyās (analogical reasoning, a part of rational deduction). Ibn ‘Āshūr argued that, while both hadith and qiyās were open to error, because a weak hadith might be a lie, the consequence of using it would be worse than using qiyās.2 Ultimately, Ibn ‘Āshūr understood that the basis of the Sharia must be rational. He said: One of the greatest things required by the universality of the sharī‘ah is that its rules be equal for all communities following it to the utmost extent possible, because similarity in the flow of rules and laws helps achieve group unity. Because of this special wisdom, Allah founded this sharī‘ah on wisdom, that it may be reflected upon [i’tibār alhikam] by a reason that may be perceived by the intellect, which does not differ [from person to person] even though communities and customs may be different.3

In other words, because the Sharia is universal, it cannot be restricted to a single culture. Although the Sharia was revealed in the Arabic language, and to an Arabic people, thereby colouring it with Arabic culture, its intent was universal. It should therefore be intelligible to people everywhere, telling us that there must be reasons behind the law. Indeed, this is not hard to see. The prohibitions against keeping raisin juice in certain kinds of containers, for example, comes from the fact that, in the heat of the Hijaz, the juice would quickly ferment. In cold climates, however, this would not apply, necessitating a different type of container. But to stubbornly hold onto superficialities like this without understanding the intent behind them would be to “expose the sharī‘ah to being dismissed disdainfully.”4

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In this context, Jasser Auda notes Ibn Ashūr’s comment that “the Prophet forbade his Companions to write down what he said, ‘lest particular cases be taken as universal rules.’”5 Ibn ‘Āshūr saw literal-mindedness as a legacy of the Ẓāhirī juristic position. His strongest argument against this position appealed to the limited occurrence of the literal occasions Ẓāhirīs relied on to make sense of the law. The different situations people encounter all around the world, he said, were unlimited and rendered these literal occasions irrelevant. Ibn ‘Āshūr therefore argued that the maqāṣid of the Sharia must be engaged, to determine the intent behind the rules. Ibn ‘Āshūr’s work consistently focused on current situations; while many Muslims believe that Islamic law is a codebook allowing judges to make decisions about right and wrong, after working with the original meanings of qaḍāʾ and qāḍī, Ibn ‘Āshūr argued that the role of a judge is actually to make evaluations (i.e. judgements) based on contemporary evidence. In this regard, Ibn ‘Āshūr cites two hadith which demonstrate the importance of ‘reading’ current situations and recognising that judgements are not always prescribed. He writes: In a ḥadīth in the Muwattāʾ two men are disputing before the .. Messenger of God, and one of them says, “Judge between us, O Messenger of God, by the book of God.” The other says – and he was the more understanding of fiqh of the two – “Hold on, O Messenger of God. Judge between us by the book of God and give me permission to speak.” The Messenger of God said, “Speak.”

Ibn ‘Āshūr also refers to an occasion when the Prophet dispatched a qaḍī to Yemen, instructing him as follows: When two disputants sit before you, do not make your judgment until you have heard out the second just as you heard out the first, because it is more appropriate that the judgment become gradually clarified for you.

This means that the judge needs to understand all the facts of a situation before making a judgment. In conjunction with Ibn ‘Āshūr’s views on the maqāṣid al-sharīʿah, this makes it clear that Ibn ‘Āshūr attached equal importance to knowing and understanding the situation (ḥāl) a judgement pertains to as to knowing and understanding the relevant legal maxims (aḥkām). Literalists, on the other hand, tend to think that consideration of only what is apparent is sufficient, that superficialities should rule society. The above phrase, however, “give me permission to speak,” tells us that,

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no matter how simple a situation may be, we still need to delve deeper if we are to discover the truth. Ibn ‘Āshūr uses the word istiṣqā for this ‘digging in deep’, or investigating thoroughly and not being content with the superficial. Far from a technique or methodology, the search for the higher objectives of Sharia is an inner desire for amelioration. Ibn ‘Āshūr writes: It has come over me today that the greatest objective of the Law is attraction toward amelioration and repulsion of polluting. That comes about by ameliorating the state of the human being and repelling his pollution, because as he is the guardian over this world, in his amelioration there is the amelioration of the world and its situations, and that’s why we see Islam as the remedy and treatment for the human being by bettering his individual members who are a part of him, and by bettering the whole.

This is an internal or spiritual foundation for the human being; from this foundation of love for amelioration, the whole gains its benefit. In this context, Ibn ‘Āshūr also cites the Prophetic statement, “Indeed in the body there is a lump; when it is healthy, the whole body is health, and when it is polluted, the whole body is polluted. Indeed, it is the heart.” Although this inner or spiritual aspect is too frequently ignored today, in Ibn ‘Āshūr’s time it was sufficiently well understood to allow him to concentrate on other issues. Most notably, he was concerned with demonstrating to his audience that the Sharia was designed for felicity and not punitive hardship. He writes: And in the ḥadīth in Ṣaḥīḥ Bukhārī and others, the Messenger of God ṣallallāhu ‘alayhi wasallam sent ‘Alī and Mu‘ādh to Yemen and told them, “Make things easy and don’t make things hard, and give good news and don’t drive people away.” And the Messenger of God ṣallallāhu ‘alayhi wasallam said to his companions, “You were sent to be ones making things easy, and you weren’t sent to make things hard.” And from ‘Āʾishah, “The Messenger of God always decided between two things by choosing the easier one of the two as long as there was no offense.” And the meaning of “offense” here is what the Law points to of taboo, as al-Shātibī said in the second . section on the seventh issue of the kinds of taboo, and in many places repeated in his book, “The evidence for removing hardship for this community is definitely what has been conveyed,” and he points this out with much evidence…

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Finally, Ibn ‘Āshūr called for ijtihād (independent legal reasoning) in the strongest terms. He said, “Ijtihād is a collective duty (farḍ al-kifāyah) on the community according to the measure of need.” He chastised Muslims for neglecting ijtihād, despite the fact that the capacity to engage in it was readily available.6 He wanted to see Muslims coming forth to practice ijtihād globally. For him, it was clear that a lack of ijtihād would have grave consequences. He called for the assembly of a group of mujtahid (those qualified to perform ijtihād) from all the countries of the world, and from all the different madhahib (legal schools), to address the needs of the Muslim community as a whole. This would be the basis for a renewal of Islamic civilisation. Certainly, civilisational renewal requires this kind of creative approach, and Ibn ‘Āshūr’s legacy challenges and invites us to take up that project. Auda recognises this legacy thus: Whether we consider Ibn Ashur’s contribution to be a sort of reinterpretation of the same theory with a new one, it is clear that Ibn Ashur’s contribution had opened the door for contemporary 7 scholars to develop the theory of maqāsid . in new ways.

Indeed, Ibn ‘Āshūr ended his own work in similar terms, saying: We have fulfilled what was connected to the most important intentions of this book in filling out the maqāṣid of sharī‘ah, and perhaps this has opened the eyes of the legal scholars.

Notes 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7.

Muhammad al-Ṭāhir ibn ‘Āshūr, Maqāsid . al-Sharī’a al-Islāmiyya (‘Ammān: . Dār al-Nafā’is, 2001), 203. Ibid, 204-5. Ibid, 320. Ibid, 215. Jasser Auda, Maqasid al-Shari`ah: A Beginner’s Guide (London: IIIT, 2008), 44. Ibn ‘Āshūr, Maqāṣid al-Sharī’a, 407. Auda, Maqasid al-Shari`ah, 24.

Further Reading Auda, Jasser. Maqasid al-Shari`ah: A Beginner’s Guide. London: IIIT, 2008. Ibn ‘Āshūr, Muhammad al-Ṭāhir. Maqāsid . . al-Sharī‘a al-Islāmiyya. ‘Ammān: Dār al-Nafā’is, 2001. [Also see the English translation of this text, Muhammad al-Tahir ibn Ashur, Treatise on Maqāsid . al-Shari‘ah. Translated by Mohamed el-Tahir el-Mesawi. London: International Institute of Islamic Thought, 2006]

38 MALEK BENNABI 19051973CE Mohamed Azam Mohamed Adil

Malek Bennabi (or Mālik bin Nabī, 1905-1973) was one of the twentieth century’s most important and original Muslim thinkers. Considered by many to be the greatest Muslim historian since Ibn Khaldūn (d.808AH/1409CE), Bennabi originally graduated in engineering from Paris and Algiers, later spending an enormous amount of time in Cairo, where he studied history, philosophy and sociology.1 After returning to Algeria in 1963, at a time when modern science and technology were unfolding across the country, he developed a desire to search for the essence of culture and the birth of civilisation. This coalesced in his search for the root of the problems facing Muslim society; like Ibn Khaldūn, he learnt history in order to determine the causes behind the rise and fall of civilisations. Frustrated with the failure of some Muslim leaders to address the problems faced by the Muslim Ummah, he tried to solve them in his own way. Life Malek Bennabi was born in Constantine, Algeria, on 1 November 1905. The only brother to three sisters, he came from an educated family who valued the pursuit of knowledge. But during the French occupation of Algeria, which lasted until 1962, most Algerians lived in poverty. Bennabi’s father, too, faced difficulty obtaining a job, making the education of his only son difficult. But despite this limitation, Bennabi’s father did his best to further Bennabi’s education, starting with Qur’anic school. While

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young, Bennabi also learnt much from his grandmother, who used to tell him fables. During this period, fables played an important role in Algerian life, transferring values, ideas and beliefs. Bennabi’s grandmother helped him formulate an appreciation of these stories as cultural resources.2 During World War I (1914-1918), Bennabi’s family saw their financial situation worsen. Bennabi was therefore sent to live with his great uncle’s wife, with whom he could continue studying. During this period, Bennabi also had the opportunity to learn from his grandfather, who had returned from Tripoli after the Italian invasion (1911). His grandfather use to complain about the social and economic problems facing Algeria, exposing Bennabi to the frustrations and problems of the Ummah.3 Once his formal schooling began, Bennabi proved quite brilliant, achieving the highest scores in all his final elementary school examinations. Despite this, the French authorities’ habitual practice of racial discrimination meant Bennabi was not given the highest grade in his class – a fact which only motivated him to study even harder, as a challenge to the system.4 Subsequent to his elementary school education, Bennabi was transferred to a madrasa in Constantine, where (and unusually) classes were in both French and Arabic. Bennabi enjoyed his French classes, in which he read novels by Jules Verne and others. In his Arabic classes, he use to read both classical and modern poetry, by authors like Mustafā Lutfī .. . . al-Manfalūtī (d.1924), Ḥafiz. Ibrāhīm (d.1932), and the Lebanese-American, Khalil Gibran (d.1931). During this period, he also encountered two books that would later influence his critical thinking: a French translation of John Dewy’s How We Think? and G. Courtellemont’s L’Histoire sociale de l’humanite (A Social History of Humanity).5 In addition to his madrasa schooling, Bennabi also studied under Shaykh Ibn Mawhub, a former Mufti of Constantine and an advocate of progress via modern scientific reform and the adoption of European ideas. Bennabi studied Arabic grammar at the Grand Mosque of Constantine, where he joined the teaching circle of Shaykh ‘Abd al-Majīd, a prominent critic of Algeria’s traditional Sufism and the abusive policies of the French colonial regime. Exposure to these two intellectual figures encouraged Bennabi to think critically, inclining him towards Islamic reformist ideas (iṣlāḥ). Some of the most important reformist texts to influence him during this period were Ahmad Riza’s La faillite morale de la politique occidentale en orient (The Moral Bankruptcy of Western Policy in the East), ‘Abd al-Raḥmān al-Kawākibī’s Umm al-qura (The Mother of Towns), Isabella Eberhardt’s L’Ambre chaude de l-Islam (The Warm Shadow of Islam) and Muḥammad

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‘Abduh’s Risalāt al-tawḥīd (The Theology of Divine Unity). Bennabi’s contact with these texts helped shape his intellectual development. They also made him more aware of the social and cultural changes taking place in Algeria.6 When he left school in 1925 at age twenty, Bennabi had no clear picture of what he wanted to do. Travelling to France, he worked for one company after another, finally ending up at a brewery. Quickly becoming disgusted with France’s second-class treatment of its Algerian workers, he soon gave up and returned to his homeland. Upon his return, he worked as a courtroom assistant, later rising to become a court officer. Throughout this period he regularly took the opportunity to develop and spread his reformist ideas.7 After five years spent in Algeria, Bennabi decided to return to France to further his studies. Travelling with the support of his family, he attempted to join L’Ecole des Langues Orientales (The School of Oriental Languages) in Paris. But, and despite the ease of the entrance examination, he was turned down. This, Bennabi soon realised, was because he was an Algerian Muslim; it had nothing to do with his intelligence. Moreover, this initial setback proved to be a blessing in disguise: because of it, Bennabi enrolled in engineering instead, where he learnt the principles of scientific reasoning that would eventually become invaluable in his pursuit of Islamic reform.8 During his undergraduate years, Bennabi joined several organisations, including the Parisian Chapter of the Christian Youth Organisation (which provided him with cheap meals). Bennabi’s association with this Christian movement helped develop his spirituality and keen sense of social analysis. Ultimately, however, iṣlāḥ maintained its influence over him, inspiring him to champion a position similar to that of Jamāl alDīn al-Afghānī (d.1897) and Muḥammad ‘Abduh (d.1905). He sought to root out the reasons behind the backwardness of the Ummah and suggest integrated and effective solutions. At the same time, he became very sceptical of Algeria’s leading reformist movement, the Jami’yat al-‘ulamā’ (Association of the Ulama), established in 1931 by ‘Abd al-Ḥamīd ibn Bādis (d.1940). In particular, Bennabi condemned a visit by Ibn Bādis and a group of ulama to Paris during the 1930s, criticising them for lodging in an expensive hotel while not doing enough to support the suffering of ordinary Algerians. For his part, Bennabi swore never to return to his country again until it had gained its independence; he was “disappointed with the attitude of his people for not using systematic strategy in their struggle and to change the society and culture from within.”9 After World War II (1939-1945), Bennabi wrote several books,

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including Le Phenomene Coranique (The Qur’anic Phenomenon, 1946), Les Conditions de la Renaissance (The Conditions of a Renaissance, 1948) and La Vocation de l’Islam (The Vocation of Islam, 1954). All concerned with iṣlāḥ-themed topics, these writings were not welcomed by either Algeria’s traditional ulama or its nationalists. Although frustrated by this lack of acceptance, Bennabi continued to express his views via lectures in both Arabic and French. Then, in 1956, he migrated to Egypt, where he received far more support from the Egyptian authorities. While there, and despite his earlier admiration for the Ikhwān al-Muslimūn (Muslim Brotherhood) movement of Ḥasan al-Bannā (d.1949), Bannabi showed no sympathy for their suppression under Jamal Abdel Nasser (d.1970).10 In 1963, a year after Algeria gained its independence, Bennabi returned to his homeland. By 1965, however, his efforts to promote intellectual discourse in Algeria had led to difficulties with the authorities. The Algerian government banned him from leaving the country and tried to control his movements. Only in 1971 was he again allowed to leave Algeria, this time for the pilgrimage to Makkah. Going with his wife and three daughters, he took this opportunity to visit Egypt, Syria, Lebanon, Libya and Tunisia, where he met with his many friends. In Lebanon, he granted his friend, Omar Masqawi, full authority over his twenty-four books in the event of his death. While in Saudi Arabia, he met with King Faisal, with whom he shared his frustrations about the lack of freedom in Algeria.11 Two years after returning from Makkah, Bennabi passed away on 31 October 1975, at his home in Algeria. He was sixty-eight.12 Bennabi’s Thoughts on Civilisation Despite his background in engineering, all of Bennabi’s books relate to social science, culture, history and civilisation. In the last of these areas, Bennabi was greatly influenced by Ibn Khaldūn’s Muqaddima. Like Ibn Khaldūn, Bennabi related the development and maturity of civilisations to the individuals who inhabited them. Thus, in his Theory of the Three Ages, Bennabi argued that all individuals go through a three-stage development. The first of these is ‘The Age of Objects’, an infantile period during which individuals can not identify anything except their mother and only learn about new things by putting them into their mouths. Next comes ‘The Age of People’, a kind of ‘adolescence’ in which individuals develop greater social and emotional connections with each other. During this stage, an individual’s mental and social behaviour is shaped by the norms and social values of the people around them. Turning to the final stage, Bennabi

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called this ‘The Age of Ideas’ and equated it with the age of maturity, when individuals slowly begin to appreciate conceptual abstracts.13 Based on these three stages of human development, Bennabi identified three categories of human civilisation: (1) the pre-civilised nation; (2) the civilised nation; and (3) the post-civilised nation.The pre-civilised nation is primitive by nature, equivalent to the jahiliyya nation of pre-Islamic Arabia. The people inhabiting this type of civilisation believe only in the things surrounding them (like idols) and strongly support nomadic ways of life. By contrast, a civilised nation is settled and, through the rise of complex ethical systems like Islam, develop a new holistic individual character. The post-civilised nation, on the other hand, faces decline as a result of a stagnation of ideas. It suffers from a loss of genuine structure, becoming more focused on materialistic matters, while leaving the mundane to unqualified people.14 Bennabi argued that “the problem of any people is that of its civilisation. Therefore, any attempt to solve the people’s problem should focus on its civilisation.” All of the problems currently burdening the Muslim Ummah, he said, were historically contingent and had resulted in a severe deficiency in Muslim culture.15 To resolve this decline, Bennabi proposed three possible approaches: (1) reformist; (2) modernist; and (3) an analytical civilisational approach.16 Amongst the so-called reformists, Bennabi grouped intellectual leaders like Arslan, al-Kawākibī and Ahmad Riza. According to Bennabi, their work had fallen short by concerning itself only with self-defence and selfjustification, not with how to transform the immediate social condition of the Ummah. They did not engage intellectually, culturally or psychologically with the real causes of their community’s decay. Furthermore, they were more interested in developing theories than actual practices, even though (in Bennabi’s opinion) “actions speak louder than words.”17 In the modernist camp, Bennabi admired the aforementioned ‘Abduh and al-Afghānī. He argued, however, that they had spent too much time criticising external enemies and not enough considering the internal causes of Islam’s disintegration. Likewise, Bennabi argued that ‘Abduh’s Risalāt al-tawḥīd spent too much time trying to convince Muslims of Islam’s superiority and not enough trying to reform the Ummah. According to Bennabi, “the problem [is] not how to prove God’s existence to the Muslims but how to make them sense that His existence fills up their souls as a source of energy.”18 According to Bennabi, the renewal of Islamic civilisation need not mean the blind imitation of Western culture. Rather, Muslims should

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interact with the West only in order to discover its ‘spirit’, which they can then harness in order to rebuild Islam. Unfortunately, however, the majority of Muslims visiting the West tend to imitate rather than understand, thereby obtaining only a very superficial view of the West and what makes it successful. According to Bennabi, civilisation is “a result of a living dynamic idea which mobilises a pre-civilised nation to build history and construct a system of ideas according to its archetypes. As a result, the society thereafter develops an authentic cultural milieu which in return controls all the characteristics that distinguished that society from other cultures.” It is this “living dynamic idea” that Muslims need to capture. This is Bennabi’s analytical civilisational approach.19 Humanity, Soil and Time According to Bennabi, the beginning of civilisation is tied to three key ‘elements’: humanity (insān), soil (turāb) and time (waqt). Of these, Bennabi argued that humanity is the most significant because “man is the major factor of civilisation, the primary society device. If he moves, society and history move. But if he pauses, society and history pause. Human being[s are] the constructor and product of civilisation simply because they are indebted to it for the ideas and objects as its disposal. Thus, the great challenge face[d] by the Muslims in this context is to create other people…capable of utilising soils, time and their creativity to reach the great goals in history.”20 Concerning the other two ‘elements’, namely soil and time, Bennabi was quite careful when choosing his terminology. Regarding ‘soil’, for example, he argued that this word had a broader meaning than merely ‘raw material’. For Bennabi, ‘soil’ meant land, the main source of man’s food and nourishment. All human civilisations, he noted, began with agriculture and the utilisation of natural resources. This made soil essential to humanity’s needs. Indeed, from an Islamic perspective, soil can be regarded as the ‘entire earth’, created by Allah for the benefit of humankind. Because of this, Bennabi carefully selected the word turāb for ‘soil’, rather than madda (substance or matter). This was because he felt the former alone indicated ownership, control and security while also suggesting a love of country.21 As for time, Bennabi considered this to be the ‘guide’ behind planning and productivity. Every civilisation, he argued, grows over time. We should not merely use time for the sake of performing a task, but utilise it in order to measure our progress, aiming to do things in the shortest possible time to thereby enhance our progress.22

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Nevertheless, Bennabi stressed that “Human[ity], Soil and Time cannot by themselves create civilisation. They need religion or spiritual ideas as a catalyst to make the equation function properly. It is the religion that stimulates the spirit to elevate society above its stagnation. Thus, religion is the prerequisite for all civilisations.”23 The Renewal of Muslim Culture To bring about cultural renewal, Bennabi emphasised two important actions: (1) the eradication of ‘negative culture’, as that which causes backwardness; and (2) the construction and nourishment of ‘positive culture’, as that capable of reviving Muslim civilisation.24 From the social science perspective, culture contains two important components, the material and the non-material. For Bennabi, the nonmaterial is the more important because it can potentially last forever. The re-development of Muslim culture must therefore begin with the examination and filtering of non-material Muslim ideas. This will allow for the removal of anything ‘negative’ in favour of only the ‘positive’. This filtering process is crucial for the eradication of harmful ideas capable of damaging the Muslim Ummah. In particular, Bennabi stressed that, in order to avoid backwardness, conflict must be eliminated. In his book, Wijhat al-‘ālam al-Islāmī, he suggested that the never-ending conflict between reformists and modernists will only harm the Ummah in the long run.25 For Bennabi, the backwardness of the Muslim Ummah originated in the realm of ideas, where the production of knowledge had become inappropriate and irrelevant. Notably, the existence of an ‘anti-knowledge’ or an ‘anti-intellectual’ mindset amongst Muslims had resulted in hedonism, materialism and foolishness. This mindset, he said, must be overcome.26 Muslims, Bennabi held, should adhere to the path of cultural purification. Although not an easy task, Muslims must try and transform the social, political and economic landscape of the Islamic world. This approach, combining aspects of history, sociology and scientific method, comprehensively analysed the events surrounding the present malaise of the Muslim community.27 For this reason, and although he passed away more than four decades ago, Bennabi’s ideas remain fresh and relevant.

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Notes: 1. 2.

3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13.

14.

15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27.

Muhammad Tahir al-Mesawi, The Problem of Ideas in the Muslim World, trans. Mohamed T. el-Mesawi, (Petaling Jaya: Budaya Ilmu Sdn. Bhd., 1994), xiii. Alwi Alatas, ‘Malik Bennabi on Civilisation,’ The Hoggar Institute. Available at: http://www.hoggar.org/index.php?option=com_content&view=article& id=1021:malik-bennabi-on-civilization-alwi-alatas&Itemid=36. (Accessed on: 7 October 2016). Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. Ali al-Quraisyiy, Malik Bin Nabi dan Pergolakan Sosial, vol. 1 (Kuala Lumpur: Yayasan Dakwah Islamiah Malaysia, 1996), 18-28. Alwi Alatas, ‘Malik Bennabi on Civilisation.’ Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. Meinhaj Hussain, ‘Thoughts on Malek Bennabi: Have Muslims Returned to Jahiliyyah?’ Grande Strategy. Available at: http://www.grandestrategy. com/2011/02/thoughts-on-malek-bennabi-have-muslims.html. (Accessed on 7 October 2016). Ibid; Wan Fariza Alyati Wan Zakaria, ‘Malik Bennabi, Dinamisme Tamadun dan Cabaran Globalosasi Era Pasca Kolonial,’ in Islam di Era Globalisasi, ed. Jaffary Awang and Jawiah Dakir (Bangi: Fakulti Pengajian Islam, Universiti Kebangsaan Malaysia, 2009), 4-6. Fawzia Bariun, Malik Bennabi: His Life and Theory of Civilisation (Kuala Lumpur: Muslim Youth Movement of Malaysia, 1993), 123-4. Wan Zakaria, ‘Malik Bennabi, Dinamisme Tamaduan,’ 5. Alwi Alatas, ‘Malik Bennabi on Civilisation’; Bariun, Malik Bennabi: His Life and Theory, 123-4. Alwi Alatas, ‘Malik Bennabi on Civilisation’; Bariun, Malik Bennabi: His Life and Theory, 123-4. Alwi Alatas, ‘Malik Bennabi on Civilisation’; Wan Zakaria, ‘Malik Bennabi, Dinamisme Tamaduan.’ 8; Malik Bennabi, Islam dalam Sejarah dan Masyarakat (Kuala Lumpur: Dewan Bahasa dan Pustaka, 1991), 10. Wan Zakaria, ‘Malik Bennabi, Dinamisme Tamaduan,’ 9. Ibid, 9. Ibid, 9. Ibid, 9. Ibid, 10. Ibid, 10. Ibid, 10. Ibid, 10.

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Further Reading Abu Sulayman, Abdul Hamid Ahmad. Crisis in the Muslim Mind. Herndon, VA: International Institute of Islamic Thought, 1993. Alatas, Alwi. ‘Malik Bennabi on Civilisation.’ The Hoggar Institute. Available at: http://www.hoggar.org/index.php?option=com_content&view=artic le&id=1021:malik-bennabi-on-civilization-alwi-alatas&Itemid=36. Bariun, Fawzia. Malik Bennabi: His Life and Theory of Civilisation. Kuala Lumpur: Muslim Youth Movement of Malaysia (ABIM), 1993. Bennabi, Malik. Islam dalam Sejarah dan Masyarakat. Kuala Lumpur: Dewan Bahasa dan Pustaka, 1991. ____________. Islam in History and Society. Translated by Asma Rashid. Islamabad: Islamic Research Institute, 1994. ____________. On the Origins of Human Society. Translated by Mohamed Tahir El-Musawi. Kuala Lumpur: The Open Press, 1998. ____________. The Problem of Ideas in the Muslim World. Translated by Mohamed T. el-Mesawi. Petaling Jaya: Budaya Ilmu Sdn. Bhd., 1994. ____________. The Question of Culture. Kuala Lumpur: Islamic Book Trust, 2003. ‘Malek Bennabi sur la crise de civilisation du Arabo-Musulman.’ Laseptiemewilaya. Available at: https://laseptiemewilaya.wordpress.com/category/malek-bennabi. Berghout, Abdulaziz. ‘The Concept of Culture and Cultural Transformation: Views of Malik Bennabi.’ Intellectual Discourse 9, no. 1 (2001): 67-83. Hussain, Meinhaj. ‘Thoughts on Malek Bennabi: Have Muslims Returned to Jahiliyyah?’ Grande Strategy. Available at: http://www.grandestrategy. com/2011/02/thoughts-on-malek-bennabi-have-muslims.html. Wan Zakaria, Wan Fariza. ‘Malik Bennabi, Dinamisme Tamadun dan Cabaran Globalosasi Era Pasca Kolonial.’ In Islam di Era Globalisasi, edited by Jaffary Awang and Jawiah Dakir. Bangi: Fakulti Pengajian Islam, Universiti Kebangsaan Malaysia, 2009.

39 MUḥAMMAD ABŪ ZAHRA1 18981974CE Mohammad Hashim Kamali

Abū Zahra was one of the twentieth century’s leading ulama, a man who left behind a distinctive legacy of scholarship that, both during his lifetime and after, gained him international acclaim. Life Born on 19 March 1898, Muhammad b. Ahmad b. Mustafā b. Ahmad, . . .. . better known as Abū Zahra, wrote over thirty-four books and one hundred other works on Islamic law and jurisprudence, Qur’anic commentary, theology, hadith studies, law and society, and Arabic literature. He was born and brought up in al-Mahalla al-Kubra, a provincial capital in Lower Egypt, to a respectable religious family. His early education started at al-Raqiyya school, where he studied modern science subjects alongside religion and Arabic. In 1913, he continued his studies at the College of al-Ahmadī al-Azharī, part of the famous Ahmadī Mosque in . . Tanta. Later, in 1916, he entered Egypt’s Judicial Studies School, which only took exceptionally talented students. Established in 1907, this school was designed to train judges and equip them with the practical skills and qualifications necessary to take up appointments as Sharia court judges in Egypt. Abū Zahra’s keen intelligence and interest in Sharia enabled him to excel in the entry examinations for this school, wherein he became a top student. But, although he successfully graduated in 1923, he did not take up a judicial post. Rather, his career path would develop along more academic lines: following his graduation, he joined the Muḥammad ‘Atif Barkāt Madrasa for Sharia studies, graduating from there with a degree in 1924. He then obtained a second degree in the same field in 1927 from the Dār al-‘Ulum of Tanta. He then taught at the same institute for a year (1927-1928) before moving to Cairo.

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In Cairo, Abū Zahra first taught Arabic at a secondary school before later securing a faculty position in the Law School at Cairo University. There he taught Arabic and comparative religion, while also writing his first book on uṣūl al-khiṭāba (principles of rhetoric). Then, in 1933, he joined the Faculty of Usūl . al-Dīn at al-Azhar, later moving to the Law Faculty of the same university. Whereas the first of these faculties specialised in Islamic theology and thought, the second covered modern and civil law subjects. Abū Zahra’s main interest, however, remained Sharia. During this period, he encountered and studied under such renowned scholars as ‘Abdul Wahāb Khallāf, Shaykh ‘Alī al-Khafīf, and ‘Abdul ‘Azīz al-Khūlī. He also published numerous texts, including Tārīkh al-jadal (History of Argumentation and Debate), Diyānāt al-qadīma (Ancient Religions) and Muḥāḍarāt fī nasraniyya (Lectures in Christianity). By the end of his teaching career, Abū Zahra was head of the Islamic Law Department and Professor of Sharia at al-Azhar. After retiring from teaching, he served as Deputy Dean of the al-Azhar Law Faculty until 1958. In 1962, he became a member of the prestigious Islamic Research Academy (Majma‘ al-Buḥūth al-Islāmiyya) at al-Azhar, a position he retained until his death at age 76, on Friday 12 April 1974. He died at his home in Zaitun, while engaged in writing the final sections of his multivolume Qur’anic commentary, then being serialised in Majalla Liwā‘ alIslām. He had earlier published a book, al-Mu’jizat al-Kubra al-Qur’ān (Great Miracles of the Qur’an), which was a precursor to this commentary. Abū Zahra was tall, endowed with a commanding voice and a retentive memory. He often lectured and delivered speeches without using notes. His colleagues and students described him as an affectionate family man who was close to his wife, sons and daughters, and who was a fatherly figure to his students. He is also remembered for the intensity of his discourse, for his forthright character, his independence of thought, and for keeping his distance from men of power and influence. These traits reflected themselves throughout his adult life in a determination to stand up for what he believed in, sometimes against powerful opposition.2 He was easily amused and easily stirred to anger, taking issue with those who opposed him. Shaykh ‘Abdul Halīm Maḥmūd (d.1978), the former Shaykh of alAzhar, said that, whenever there was a problem at the Research Academy, Muḥammad Abū Zahra would be consulted and his fatwa solicited on the matter. He had definitive views and stood firm, including on issues such as the ban on usury, which he thought was necessary to protect the welfare of Muslims.

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His Work and Its Significance Most of Abū Zahra’s work in the discipline of Sharia – including in uṣūl al-fiqh, contracts and obligations, crime and punishment, religious endowments (waqf), inheritance, and international law – took the form of textbooks. Nevertheless, they include some of his own views on important topics. Moreover, he wrote extensively on comparative religion, gave fatwas and wrote research papers for academic journals and the media. His output in these areas also neatly summerise his thought on key issues. For example, his fatwas on gender issues tend to vacillate between egalitarian and conservative positions; although he took a strongly negative view of family planning, he argued that it was permissible for a woman to work outside the home with the permission of her husband. Politically, he denounced despotism in favour of consultative and democratic governance under the rule of law. He criticised President Jamal ‘Abd al-Nasser (d.1970) for his harsh treatment of the Muslim Brotherhood, after which he was placed under police surveillance, damaging his professional career and personal life. He also criticised President Gadhafi (d.2011) of Libya for his derogation of the authority of hadith and advised President Anwar al-Sadat (d.1981) to put an end to his wife, Jihan Sadat’s, interference in politics. He called for codification and enforcement of the Sharia, but also urged a revival of unfettered ijtihād (independent legal reasoning) guided by the original teachings of the Qur’an and authentic hadith. Abū Zahra was a traditional ‘ālim (scholar) who focused on the Qur’an and moved abreast of existing interpretations of Sharia. A clarity of style and encyclopedic knowledge, combined with a degree of conciseness, distinguished his works, many of which became widely known throughout the Muslim world. Abū Zahra was particularly concerned about the cultural revival of Islam, which he advised should begin with adherence to three core principles and teachings of the Qur’an and Sunna: promotion of good and prevention of evil (al-amr bi’l ma‘rūf wa nahy ‘an al-munkar), humility and moderation (al-hayā’), and concealment of immorality coupled with exposure and declaration of virtuous conduct (satr al-radhā’ il wa kashf al-faḍā’il). His persistent concern with Islamic revival was also demonstrated by his involvement in the production of biographies dealing with the leading figures of Islamic jurisprudence. He wrote no less than eight voluminous books on the eight leading Imams, namely Abū Ḥanīfa (d.150AH/767CE), Mālik ibn Anas (d.179/795), Muḥammad ibn Idrīs al-Shāfi‘ī (d.205/819), Aḥmad ibn Muḥammad ibn Ḥanbal (d.241/855), Ibn Ḥazm al-Zāhirī (d.270/884), Taqī al-Dīn Aḥmad ibn Taymiyyah (d.728/1328), and the

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two Shi‘i Imams, Zayd b. ‘Alī Zayn al-‘Ābīdin (d.120/737) and Abū ‘Abd Allāh Ja‘afar al-Ṣādiq (d.148/765). His decision to include the last two is indicative of an admirable originality, as one hardly finds a prominent Sunni scholar who is prepared to devote two voluminous works to leading Shi‘a figures. Ultimately, his biographical works were comprehensive, providing useful expositions of the doctrines and teachings of their subjects. Abū Zahra remained cognizant of the inordinately rich legacy these towering figures left behind them. He used dignified and reverential language in the exposition of their views and doctrines, even when he noted a degree of weakness in their arguments. On such occasions, he often tried to find a plausible explanation for the observed weakness by referring to the historical settings and/or conditions of the scholar that might have invoked a defective view and/or response. Abū Zahra often recorded his appreciation for the sincerity of the learned Imams. With reference to Imam Mālik, for instance, he noted that the Imam admitted on scores of occasions that he did not know the answer to certain questions. Abū Zahra also considered Mālikī jurisprudence to be the most versatile of all the leading schools of Islamic jurisprudence, particularly in its recognition of virtually all the proofs and sources of Sharia, including those others have disagreed about.3 Abū Zahra was appreciative of the strong stand al-Shāfi‘ī took in support of the Sunna, vindicating its authority as the second most authoritative source of Sharia after the Qur’an. In this regard, he drew attention to a somewhat similar situation in modern times, whereby questionable factions and groups (like the Lahore-based Jama‘at al-Qur’an, and its equivalents in Egypt, Libya and elsewhere) have recognised the Qur’an as the only valid source of Sharia, to the exclusion of all else. To this Abū Zahra responded that, “would we have another Shāfi’ī and a robust campaigner to set the priorities right again.”4 In his magnum opus, Tārīkh al-madhāhib al-Islāmiyya (A History of the Islamic Law Schools), which runs to over 700 pages, Abū Zahra devoted a chapter to the newly emerging madhhabs, including the Wahhābī, the Bahā’ī, and the Qādiyānī. Although particularly critical of the last two – even saying that some of their beliefs were downright un-Islamic – I shall not discuss them here. Rather, I shall focus on his important critique of the Wahhābī. Abū Zahra began his account of the Wahhābī by emphasising their origin in the Arabian Desert. The Arabs of that region, he pointed out, had always tended to indulge in personality cults, sanctifying prominent

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individuals and building shrines in their honour. In that context, Abū Zahra found it unsurprising that the Wahhābī had decided to revive the teachings of the key Ḥanbalī scholar, Ibn Taymiyyah (d.1328), in order to counter these pernicious innovations (bid’a). The founder of the Wahhābī movement, Muḥammad ibn ‘Abd al-Wahhāb (d.1786), had studied Ibn Taymiyyah’s works in depth and had decided to make them the basis of his reform agenda. Although Muḥammad ‘Abd al-Wahhāb did not add anything new to Ibn Taymiyyah’s views, Abū Zahra pointed out how he exaggerated the practice of those views. He described how: 1.

2.

3.

4.

The Wahhābī exceeded the limits of moderation with regard to certain aspects of worship in Islam, and in ways not stipulated by either the Qur’an, the Sunna, or the works of Ibn Taymiyyah. For instance, they treated customary matters and usages (‘ādāt) as if they were part of the religion, seeking to make them binding on all Muslims. Thus, they declared cigarette smoking forbidden (ḥarām), exaggerating this ruling to the point that commoners amongst them considered the smoker to be a mushrik (infidel). As a result, they resembled the Khawārij seceders, who declared apostate whoever committed a sin. In the beginning, the Wahhābī also declared coffee (and whatever resembled it) forbidden, although they later became more lenient in this regard.5 The Wahhābī did not restrict themselves to just giving advice and inviting people to what they saw as right. Rather, they also resorted to warmongering, threatening all who disagreed with them. This was wrongly justified with reference to the Qur’anic injunction to command good and forbid evil – this was mistakenly seen as justification for declaring all innovation an evil that must be fought militarily. Muḥammad ibn Sa‘ūd, the ancestor of the ruling Sa‘ūdī family in the Arabian Peninsular, and brother-in-law to Muḥammad ibn ‘Abd al-Wahhāb, became their leader in this regard. After embracing the madhhab, Muḥammad ibn Sa‘ūd argued that it should be defended by force of arms. He announced that he was doing this to uphold the Sunna and eradicate innovation. When the Wahhābī were able to seize a town or city, they would demolish its tombs, turning them into ruins and destroying whatever other structures (including mosques) they found in the vicinity. They exaggerated their claims that the people had turned these tombs into places of worship, wrongly justifying their actions

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by quoting the authority of a hadith wherein the Prophet denounced those amongst the Children of Israel who turned the tombs of their prophets into temples.6 5. Wahhābī tomb destruction did not stop with the above: when the ruler of the Hijaz surrendered to them, they also destroyed the graves of the Companions, razing them to the ground and only allowing visitors/pilgrims to say “Assalamu Alaykum” when paying their respects. 6. The Wahhābī continually focused on small matters (such as photography), condemning them altogether, despite the fact that they had nothing to do with idolatry or anything which leads to idolatry. This approach appeared throughout the fatwas and epistles of their ulama – although their political leaders often ignored such fatwas. 7. The Wahhābī expanded the meaning of innovation in peculiar ways, to the point of claiming that draping the walls of the Prophet's grave and chamber in Madinah was innovation. Hence they forbade the renewal of the drapes that were found there, until they fell in tatters and became unsightly. Additionally, some amongst them also considered the Muslim expression “our Master Muhammad” (sayyidina Muḥammad) impermissible. 8. They indulged in ugly and objectionable language, until most people denounced them. Ultimately, Abū Zahra concluded that the Wahhābī, while actualising the opinions of Ibn Taymiyyah, had become extremely zealous in their pursuit of those views. In particular, they expatiated the meaning of innovation: as Abū Zahra noted, Islam has traditionally considered worship to be the principal context of innovation, while the Wahhābī construed it to mean any variation from Sunna, in any sphere of life. Abū Zahra also observed how the Wahhābī considered themselves to be the only true Salafī/revivalists. Indeed, leading Wahhābī ulama have even gone so far as to consider their opinions the only sound ones, with no possibility of them being incorrect. In this respect, they resemble the Khawārij, who declared those who dissented from them apostates to be fought against. Thus, although the Wahhābī’s strict form of Islam may have been a relatively harmless matter while it remained cloistered in the desert, it became far more serious when it spread to the towns and cities of Arabia under the Sa‘ūd family. From that point on, it became necessary to take action against such views.7

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Abū Zahra left an impressive legacy, characterised by a high intellectual calibre and dedication to noble objectives. He was a man of principle, who always acted on what he taught. His colleagues, students and those familiar with his work remember him with great admiration and respect. Being a specialist in Sharia, I have also personally benefited from his inspiring contributions to a balanced understanding of the discipline. Notes 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7.

This is a revised and enlarged version of my article, ‘Abu Zahra, Muhammad,’ in the Encyclopedia of Islam, vol. 3 (2008), 28-30. Adil Salahi, ed., ‘Scholar of Renown: Muhammad Abu Zahrah,’ Arab News, 14 November 2001. Available at: www.arabnews.com/node/216148. (Accessed on: 26/07/2015). Cf. Muhammad Abū Zahrah, Mālik: Hayātuh wa ‘asruh, ‘ārā’uh wa fiqhuh, . 2nd ed. (al-Qāhirah: Dār al-Fikr al-‘Arabī, 1952), 376. Muhammad Abū Zahrah, Tārīkh al-Madhāhib al-Islāmiyyah (al-Qāhirah: . Dār al-Fikr al-‘Arabī, n.d.), 465. Ibid, 212. Ibid., 213. See also Jibril Haddad, ‘Wahhabism: Imam Muhammad Abu Zahrah Explains,’ Sunnah.org. Available at: http://www.sunnah.org/history/ Wahabism_explained_Imam_Abu_Zahra.htm. (Accessed on: 26/07/2015). Abū Zahrah, Tārīkh al-Madhāhib, 214. See also Aḥmad Tamīm, ‘Abū Zahrah: ‘Ālam Yu‘raf Qadruh (Abū Zahrah: The world recognises his stature),’ Islam Online. Available at: islamonline.net/Arabic/history/1422/01/article20a. shtml. (Accessed on: 26/07/2015).

Further Reading Abū Zahra, Muhammad. Mālik: Hayātuh wa ‘asruh, ‘ārā’uh wa fiqhuh, 2nd edition. . Al-Qāhira: Dār al-Fikr al-‘Arabī, 1952. ___________________. Tārīkh al-Madhāhib al-Islāmiyya. Al-Qāhirah: Dār alFikr al-‘Arabī, n.d. Haddad, Jibril. ‘Wahhabism: Imam Muhammad Abu Zahrah Explains,’ Sunnah. org. Available at: http://www.sunnah.org/history/Wahabism_explained_ Imam_Abu_Zahra.htm. Salahi, Adil, ed. ‘Scholar of Renown: Muhammad Abu Zahrah.’ Arab News, 14 November 2001. Available at: www.arabnews.com/node/216148. Tamīm, Aḥmad. ‘Abū Zahra: ‘Ālam Yu‘raf Qadruh (Abū Zahra: The world recognises his stature).’ Islam Online. Available at: islamonline.net/Arabic/ history/1422/01/article20a.shtml.

40 ‘ALI SHARIATI 19331977CE Alexander Wain [I aim] to wage an emancipatory cultural and intellectual struggle to save human freedom from the barren wastelands of capitalism and class exploitation, equality and justice from the violent and pharaonic dictatorship of Marxism, and God from the ghastly and gloomy graveyard of clericalism.1 ‘Ali Shariati

Ali Shariati was born on 23 November 1933 in the village of Kahak, a suburb of Sabzevar, a city in Iran’s eastern Khurasan province.2 The eldest child of Mohammad-Taqi (Mazinani) Shariati (d.1987), a religious scholar from the nearby village of Mazinan, and a woman from Kahak called Zahra, by the end of his life Shariati would be widely recognised as one of twentieth-century Iran’s greatest intellectuals and (at least for some) a pivotal figure behind the 1979 Islamic Revolution.3 Shariati’s religious education began at home; later in life, he would frequently speak very highly of his mother and her intense religious devotion, attributing his own mystical sensibilities to her influence.4 His propensity for scientific enquiry and logical thought, however, came from his father. On his father’s side, Shariati was descended from a long line of religious scholars, some of whom had risen to considerable prominence.5 His grandfather, for example, Akhond Molla Qorban-Ali (or Akhond Hakim), had studied at the prestigious Shi’i institutions in Bukhara, Najaf and Mashhad, before eventually settling in rural Mazinan. There Akhond Hakim had become a teacher at a local school built at his request, and where Mohammad-Taqi later succeeded him. But while Akhond Hakim was a very traditional Islamic scholar, Mohammad-Taqi adopted

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a Westernised approach to education.6 This modernising attitude would ultimately imprint itself very strongly on Shariati, making it worthy of brief explanation. Mohammad-Taqi’s Westernised approach to education – encompassing everything from the use of Western teaching methods to the wearing of Western clothing – was not intended as a challenge to traditional values, but rather as a means of attracting an increasingly secular youth who were otherwise becoming estranged from Islam. Thus, 1941 saw the foundation of Iran’s official communist organisation, the Tudeh Party. Quickly gaining influence throughout Iran’s schools, the Tudeh Party attracted many young minds to its secular cause by presenting communism (as opposed to Islam) as the only means of attaining true social justice – a primary concern for many young Iranians during this period. The secular nature of this message greatly concerned Mohammad-Taqi; also in 1941, he moved to Mashhad (the capital of Khorasan province) and dedicated himself to defending Islam against the Tudeh Party’s secular onslaught. Through his teaching, he sought to present a modernised version of Islam capable of meeting contemporary needs. Sharing the Tudeh Party’s concern for social justice, Mohammad-Taqi tried to reconcile this concept with Islam, to show that the latter (and not communism) was actually the great political, social and economic leveller. In 1947, Mohammad-Taqi’s efforts culminated in the foundation of the ‘Centre for the Propagation of Islamic Truths’ (Kanun-e Nashr-e Haqayeq-e Eslami) in Mashhad. Intended to project MohammadTaqi’s modernised version of Islam, this institute became well known locally. Attended by Shariati, it helped shape his views on Islam. Funded almost entirely by Mohammad-Taqi himself, however, it also ensured that Shariati grew up in an impoverished household.7 Against this back drop, Shariati’s formal education began in 1941, at one of Mashhad’s prestigious private primary schools, Ibn Yamin, where Mohammad-Taqi had recently been appointed Director of Studies.8 Leaving Ibn Yamin in 1947, Shariati went on to the Ferdowsi High School (also in Mashhad), where his father taught Arabic literature.9 Just three years later, and before completing his high school certificate, Shariati sat the entrance exam for the local Teacher’s Training College (where Mohammad-Taqi was also teaching Arabic and Islamic studies). Shariati appears to have taken this step at the behest of his father, who desired him to continue in the family’s scholarly tradition. Mohammad-Taqi’s financial difficulties, however, may also have played a part: while at the college, Shariati would receive a monthly allowance and have his board paid for by the government. But whatever his reason for applying, Shariati successfully

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passed the college examination and began his teacher training during the same year (1950).10 While at the college, he also became an active member of the Popular (or Mosaddeqist) Movement, a political faction aligned with the then Prime Minister, Mohammad Mosaddeq (in office 1950-3). This movement favoured extending Iran’s secular democracy and resisting all foreign interference, particularly in the oil industry.11 Shariati’s involvement in this movement brought him into frequent conflict with those Tudeh Party members also operating in the college.12 In 1952, Shariati successfully graduated as a teacher, going on to briefly teach at the Ketabpur primary school in Ahmadabad, a village near Mashhad. He did not, however, enjoy his new career; by 1954, he had decided to abandon school teaching altogether and go to university. In the same year, therefore, Shariati completed his high school diploma (not achieved at college) and obtained a high school certificate in literature.13 This allowed him to enter the University of Mashhad in 1956. By the time he graduated in 1960, he knew what he wanted to do: teach at university. In the same year, therefore, he travelled to France and entered the Sorbonne (University of Paris) as a sociology student.14 It was at the Sorbonne that Shariati encountered a number of prominent intellectuals who, building on the foundations laid by Mohammad-Taqi, helped him define his view of Islam in the modern world. First amongst these was the famous French Orientalist, Louis Massignon (d.1962). While acting as Massignon’s research assistant, Shariati developed a deep respect for this long-term Christian enthusiast for Islam. Indeed, Shariati would later describe Massignon as his spiritual leader: Had I not met him, what an impoverished spirit, mediocre mind and stale vision would I have had.15

In particular, Massignon inspired in Shariati an intense compassion for the poor and a belief in social justice. Under his guiding hand, Shariati came to associate all three Abrahamic religions with sociopolitical mission.16 As a mark of his respect for Massignon, Shariati dedicated his most famous text, Fatimah Fatimah ast (Fatima is Fatima, 1971), to him.17 In addition to Massignon, Paris also introduced Shariati to the important Marxist thinker, Max Gurvitch. Another lecturer at the Sorbonne, Gurvitch taught Shariati about the importance of political activism. In Gurvitch’s classes, Shariati learnt how to transform a religion into an ideology for action.18 Even more important than Gurvitch, however, was Shariati’s brief association with the pivotal post-colonial thinker, Frantz Fanon (d.1961), author of The Wretched of the Earth (1961).

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Frequently cited as the twentieth century’s most important post-colonial thinker, Fanon sought to challenge Europe’s former colonies (or the ‘Third World’, as Europeans called it) to discover and speak for themselves, arguing that “the Third World must start over a new history of man.”19 Fanon saw colonialism as fundamentally dehumanising – not only did it lead to the exploitation, oppression and repression of its colonial subjects but, via a complex web of colonial identities (notably European-colonisersuperior versus native-colonised-inferior), it degraded and subverted the value of non-European civilisation. Additionally, Fanon deplored how, through the post-colonial European training of ‘native’ officials and intellectuals, Europe continued to ‘brand’ its culture onto the heads of the formerly colonised and argue that only by imitating (superior) European culture could (inferior) native culture become ‘modern’ (that is, truly ‘advanced’ or ‘developed’). Fanon rejected this argument as little more than an imperial tool of cultural suppression and oppression. Modernity, he argued, was not something Europe could claim a monopoly over. Rather, he felt Europe’s time was over. Arguing that the continent was in terminal decline, Fanon sought to intellectually divorce it from its former colonies in order to encourage the latter to speak for themselves and, thereby, see the feasibility of forging a new indigenous modernity (that is, the “new history of man”).20 Shariati came to attach enormous importance to this idea, even translating The Wretched of the Earth into Persian.21 Drawing on his Parisian experiences, Shariati returned to Iran in 1964 with a clear sense of mission: to turn Shiism into a political ideology for social activism, thereby reintroducing religion into Iranian society and creating an example of Fanon’s indigenous modernity. Upon returning to his homeland, however, Shariati was immediately arrested and imprisoned, charged with participating in forbidden political activities while still in France.22 Nonetheless, upon his release in 1965, he immediately began teaching sociology at Mashhad University. Very quickly gaining widespread popularity amongst his students, his lectures consistently discussed the problems of Iranian society in light of Islamic (i.e. indigenous) principles.23 Throughout the rest of the 1960s and into the 1970s, Shariati’s lectures focused more and more on this advocacy of indigenous-based solutions to Iran’s problems. Fusing Marxist and existentialist traditions with religious nationalist discourse, Shariati advocated the advancement of Iranian society on the basis of a radical restructuring and reform of the country’s traditional cultural and religious institutions.24 This sat in sharp contrast to Western thought, which continued to frame modernity as the sole product of secular Western civilisation.25 Drawing on Fanon, Shariati argued that

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an autonomous will based on freedom from colonial tyranny was the only prerequisite for modernity – only by being free could Iran find appropriate solutions to the challenges it faced. Most importantly, Shariati saw autonomous will as a continuation of the core principles of monotheism – principles not always followed, but always there. Consequently, although Western secularism had universalised autonomous will, it did not own it. Religion, Shariati argued, must take it back. In a society like Iran, where religious norms prevailed, he believed sustainable change leading to modernity could only be achieved through religious transformation. Rather than a retrograde force, therefore, Shariati painted religion as a harbinger of progressive social change.26 By demanding a ‘new thought’ and a ‘new humanity’ – in short, a ‘new modernity’ – Shariati was not only advocating a rejection of narrow Western readings of the ‘modern’, but also advocating the reform of Islam. In this regard, he stood enamoured of earlier Muslim reformers like Jamāl al-Dīn al-Afghānī (d.1897) and Muhammad Iqbal (d.1938), who had seen fit to critique both Western modernity and Islam. Their calls to reinstitute ijtihād (independent legal reasoning) and reform Islam in line with modern needs resounded with his own concerns.27 Shariati strongly opposed the essentialist readings of Islam presented by Islamists like Pakistan’s Abul A’la Mawdudi (d.1979), Egypt’s Sayyid Qutb (d.1966) and Iran’s own Ayatollah Khomeini (d.1989). While they tended to attribute Muslim decline to Western domination, arguing that the only viable solution was the restoration of an earlier and more pristine form of Islam, for Shariati the decay of Muslim society was as much a result of Islam’s obsolescence in the face of modern realities as Western imperialism. For him, Islam must also be reformed (as opposed to ‘reset’) if any progress was to be made.28 It is also worth noting that, and especially during the 1960s, Shariati’s lectures and writings favoured violence against the state as a means of provoking social transformation. Significantly, therefore, his lectures and texts attracted the attention of numerous people who would later become prominent figures in the 1979 insurrection against the Pahlavi regime. His lectures provided these oppositional intellectuals with a language of revolution. For this reason, Shariati has often been termed (although not without controversy, see below) the architect of the 1979 Islamic Revolution.29 At the very least, however, his radical message caused friction with the Pahlavi authorities; by 1968, his Mashhad-based courses had been discontinued. Not to be discouraged, however, Shariati promptly moved to Tehran, where he took up a post at the religious institute, Houssein-e-Ershad.30 But there, too, his courses proved controversial, attracting the attention of

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the authorities and ultimately resulting in the closure of Houssein-e-Ershad in 1972. The following year, Shariati was arrested and imprisoned. Released in 1975, Shariati remained under close surveillance, forbidden to either teach or publish.31 This period also saw him become more quietist, rejecting violent change in favour of cultivating a revolutionary sensibility capable of bringing about spontaneous transformation. This shift in emphasis may have been the result of pressure from SAVAK (or the ‘Organisation of Intelligence and National Security’, Iran’s prerevolutionary secret police agency).32 Certainly, by 1977 it was clear that Shariati was unhappy with his situation in Iran; drawing inspiration from the Prophet’s migration from Makkah to Madinah, he decided to leave. Heading for the United Kingdom, he died there just three weeks later, on 19 June 1977, while in Southampton. Although the official cause of death was filed as a heart attack, it has since been suggested that SAVAK played a role in his sudden demise.33 In sum, Shariati was one of late twentieth-century Islam’s most important intellectual figures. A bold ideologue, he sought to craft a new type of modernity, one which refused to remain beholden to Western norms, preferring instead to stand out as proudly and authentically Islamic. Moreover, and as seen, many have argued that his work became the backbone of the 1979 Islamic Revolution. Not all, however, agree with this assessment: the collection of Iranian-based intellectuals known as Neo-Shariatis, and who currently maintain Shariati’s legacy, have argued that, far from being the ‘architect’ of the Islamic Revolution, Shariati would have fundamentally opposed Khomeini and his aims. Pointing to Shariati’s frequent critiques of Islamism’s cultural essentialism, along with the accompanying implication that past identities are unsustainable, they argue that Khomeini’s revolution opposes many of the core principles of Shariati’s work. Where Shariati called for the development of a progressive and independent conception of Islam suited to the modern world, NeoShariatis see modern-day Iran as a reactionary throwback to a past age, as much a product of Iran’s hegemonic condition as the Shah’s regime. Likewise, although Shariati did not argue for a privatisation of religion (as in the West), neither did he favour religious regulation of all aspects of public and private life (as in contemporary Iran). For Shariati, religion was only a source of inspiration – a means to a human end, not an end in and of itself. For Khomeini, however, the Divine Will was the only end. On this basis, Neo-Shariatis accuse Khomeini of undermining human freedom – a principle Shariati (in common with Fanon) held dearest of all.34

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But, if this brings into question Shariati’s role in shaping the final outcome of the 1979 Revolution, it nevertheless remains clear that his work represents an important step forward in Islamic thought. NeoShariatis still hope that, through their own efforts and those of other interested Muslim ideologues, Shariati’s moderate and modernising stance may yet come to bear on the Muslim world as a whole, to produce a truly modern and Islamic society. Notes 1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11.

12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22.

Cited in Siavash Saffari, ‘Rethinking the Islam/Modernity Binary: Ali Shariati and Religiously Mediated Discourse of Sociopolitical Development,’ Middle East Critique 24, no. 3 (2015): 244. Mohammad Emani, ‘Louis Massignon and Ali Shariati: An Enigmatic Encounter of Christianity and Islam,’ Religious Studies and Theology 30, no. 1 (2011): 101. Ali Rahnema, An Islamic Utopian: A Political Biography of Ali Shariati (London: I. B. Tauris, 2000), 11, 35. Ibid, 35. In addition to his grandfather, another of his forbearers, Allamah Mahmanabadi, taught philosophy in Tehran at the bequest of the Qajari ruler, Nasir al-Din Shah (r.1848-96), see Mehbi Abedi, ‘Ali Shariati: The Architect of the 1979 Islamic Revolution of Iran,’ Iranian Studies 19, no. 3 (1986): 229. Rahnema, Islamic Utopian, 11-12. Ibid, 11-13. Ibid, 36. Ibid, 38-9. Ibid, Homa Katouzian, ‘Mosadeqq’s Government in Iranian History: Arbitrary Rule, Democracy, and the 1953 Coup,’ in Mohammad Mosadeqq and the 1953 Coup in Iran, ed. Mark J. Gasiorowski and Malcolm Byrne (Syracuse, NY: Syracuse University Press, 2004), 4-6. Rahnema, Islamic Utopian, 39-40. Ibid, 41. Emami, ‘Louis Massignon and Ali Shariati,’ 102. Ibid, 102. Ibid, 102. Ali Shariati, ‘Fatima is Fatima,’ Al-Islam.org: Ahlul Bayt Digital Islamic Library Project. Available at: http://www.al-islam.org/fatima-is-fatima-dr-ali-shariati. (Accessed on: 28/03/2016). Emani, ‘Louis Massignon and Ali Shariati,’ 103-4. Frantz Fanon, The Wretched of the Earth, trans. Richard Philcox (New York: Grove Press, 2004), 238. Ibid. Emani, ‘Louis Massignon and Ali Shariati,’ 104. Rahnema, Islamic Utopian, 131-4.

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23. Ibid, 176-206 24. Arash Davari, ‘A Return to Which Self? ‘Ali Shariati and Frantz Fanon on the Political Ethics of Insurrectionary Violence,’ Comparative Studies of South Asia, Africa and the Middle East 34, no. 1 (2014): 86. 25. Saffari, ‘The Islam/Modernity Binary,’ 231-2. 26. Ibid, 238-9. 27. Ibid, 239-40. 28. Ibid, 236-7. 29. Davari, ‘Which Self?’ 86-7. 30. Rahnema, Islamic Utopian, 226. 31. Ibid, 330-349. 32. Davari, ‘Which Self?’ 87. 33. Rahnema, Islamic Utopian, 363-9. 34. Saffari, ‘The Islam/Modernity Binary,’ 242-3.

Further Reading Abedi, Mehbi. ‘Ali Shariati: The Architect of the 1979 Islamic Revolution of Iran.’ Iranian Studies 19, no. 3 (1986): 229-34. Davari, Arash. ‘A Return to Which Self? ‘Ali Shariati and Franz Fanon on the Political Ethics of Insurrectionary Violence.’ Comparative Studies of South Asia, Africa and the Middle East 34, no. 1 (2014): 86-106. Emani, Mohammad. ‘Louis Massignon and Ali Shariati: An Enigmatic Encounter of Christianity and Islam.’ Religious Studies and Theology 30, no. 1 (2011): 101-5. Fanon, Frantz. The Wretched of the Earth. Translated by Richard Philcox. New York: Grove Press, 2004. Katouzian, Homa. ‘Mosadeqq’s Government in Iranian History: Arbitrary Rule, Democracy, and the 1953 Coup.’ In Mohammad Mosadeqq and the 1953 Coup in Iran, edited by Mark J. Gasiorowski and Malcolm Byrne, 1-26. Syracuse, NY: Syracuse University Press, 2004. Rahnema, Ali. An Islamic Utopian: A Political Biography of Ali Shariati. London: I. B. Tauris, 2000. Saffari, Siavash. ‘Rethinking the Islam/Modernity Binary: Ali Shariati and Religiosity Mediated Discourse of Sociopolitical Development.’ Middle East Critique 24, no. 3 (2015): 231-250. Shariati, Ali. ‘Fatima is Fatima.’ Al-Islam.org: Ahlul Bayt Digital Islamic Library Project. Available at: http://www.al-islam.org/fatima-is-fatima-dr-ali-

shariati.

41 SAYYID ABUL A’LA ALMAWDUDI 19031979CE Wan Naim Wan Mansor Of all the factors of social life which impinge on culture and morality, the most powerful and effective is government…Hence the best way of putting an end to the fitna [strife] and purifying of life of munkar [evil] is to eliminate all mufsid [corrupt] governments and replace them with those which in theory and practice are based on piety and righteous action. Mawdudi, Jihād fī al-Islām1

In the above excerpt, Mawlana Abul A’la al-Mawdudi (25 September 1903-22 September 1979) outlines his case for an Islamic State. A true believer, he argues, will never limit the role of religion to the private realm; all true believing Muslims who accept the sovereignty of Allah should also automatically desire a political system based on His laws and principles, so that they can live in the full light of Islam. This brief quotation also captures Mawdudi’s distinctive, unapologetic and ‘fiery’ style – bold yet rational, modern yet principled. Mawdudi was a key mujaddid (revivalist) who, nearly forty years after his death, still needs no introduction for anyone in South Asia.2 As a theologian, sociopolitical philosopher, political leader and Islamist reformer, Mawdudi championed efforts to re-introduce Islam into Muslim society as a holistic and complete solution to the bleak condition of the Muslim Ummah in the early to mid-1900s. Marked by widespread political and economic decline, as epitomised by the fateful abolition of the last Muslim caliphate in 1924, this bleak condition reached its

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peak with the early twentieth-century colonisation of almost all Muslim lands. From that period on, Muslim society underwent major structural shifts, including the bifurcation of the education system (into secular and religious) and the restructuring of the political system in tune with liberalwestern philosophy. All this marginalised the role of Islam, both in the sociopolitical and public spheres. For Mawdudi this was unacceptable: Muslims, he argued, could only return to glory if they embraced Islam as a total “way of life,” not confining it to the realm of ritual and worship, or by perceiving it only as a past reality. Mawdudi is regarded by many as a gifted, erudite and prolific Islamist/revivalist thinker. His writings are often bold, forceful, cogent and rational, presenting Islam as a holistic and coherent ideology.3 As an important Muslim ideologue, Mawdudi challenged many of the key concepts of Western civilisation, including nationalism, communism, secularism and democracy.4 His Islamist ideas and philosophy left clear marks on his contemporaries, many of whom also became key reformists/ Islamists – including the Sunni Egyptians, Ḥasan al-Bannā (d.1949) and Sayyid Qutb (d.1966), and the Iranian Shi’a cleric, Ayatollah Khomeini (d.1989). Qutb, for example, was influenced by Mawdudi’s ‘vanguard’ idealism,5 while Khomeini viewed Mawdudi’s theory of an Islamic State as an appropriate model for his own Shi’a theocracy.6 Mawdudi also gained the attention of the venerable Muhammad Iqbal (d.1938), collaborating with him on a research project entitled ‘fiqh and modernity’.7 During and after his lifetime, Mawdudi became well known for his comprehensive treatment of Islam, covering multiple disciplines and issues. In the field of political science, for example, Sayyid Vali Reza Nasr has identified Mawdudi as the first Islamic political thinker to articulate a systematic understanding of an ‘Islamic state’ – and while also providing a clear social plan to accompany it. Nasr has further pointed out that Mawdudi’s coherent and elaborate articulation of political Islam became the “essential breakthrough that led to the rise of contemporary revivalism,” inspiring Islamic revivalists from across the globe, in places as diverse as Morocco and Malaysia.8 In the field of economics, Timur Kuran has credited Mawdudi with single-handedly coining the term ‘Islamic economics’, thereby triggering the current worldwide growth in Islamic financial institutions. In his paper, Kuran states that, since Mawdudi, Islamic banks have been formed and continue to flourish in over sixty countries, all of them offering Sharia-compliant services.9 Without doubt, Mawdudi’s thoughts and ideas formed the core of first-generation Islamist ideology. He coined several key concepts – such

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as ‘Islamic ideology’, ‘Islamic politics’, ‘Islamic constitution’, and ‘Islamic way of life’ – all of which sought to present Islam as the ultimate cure for the twentieth-century Ummah’s ills. Likewise, Mawdudi’s political vehicle, the Jamaat-e-Islami (founded in 1941), and alongside Ḥasan al-Bannā’s Muslim Brotherhood (founded in 1926), became the model organisation for all subsequent Islamist movements. This article intends to present a brief overview of this illustrious Islamic thinker, providing a glimpse into his vibrant personal life and an overview of his work and social activism. The Life, Works and Contributions of Mawlana al-Mawdudi Born on 25 September 1903, Mawdudi grew up in the politically charged climate of late colonial British India, where fierce political competition was taking place between majority Hindu nationalists on the one hand and various secularist and disunited Muslim factions on the other. Born in Awrangabad, Deccan (Hyderabad), a former Mughal stronghold well known for its literary and cultural traditions, Mawdudi was the youngest son of the lawyer, Sayyid Ahmad Hasan. The second child of Hasan’s second wife, Mawdudi hailed from a noble lineage: his mother claimed descent from a family of Turkish generals who served under the Mughals, while his father could trace his ancestors back to India’s well-known and wellestablished Chishti Sufi order, which in turn traced its “origin to a family of sayyids (descendants of the Prophet) of the ahlu’l-bayt (descendants of the Prophet through his daughter, Fatimah).”10 In fact, the name Abul A’la al-Mawdudi was taken from an eponymous ancestor, the Afghan ascetic who first established the Chishti order in India and who died in 1527.11 In his autobiography, Mawdudi speaks about his father’s religiosity and return to Islam (in particular Sufism) after a secular education. This left a strong impression on Mawdudi, especially in terms of “idealism, piety and humility.”12 It further imprinted itself on him when Hasan became his first teacher, carefully shaping his curriculum in order to prepare him for life as a traditional Islamic scholar (mawlvi). From that point on, most of Mawdudi’s time was spent studying Persian, Urdu and Arabic, in addition to manṭiq (logic), fiqh (jurisprudence), and hadith. By contrast, both the English language and Western sciences (including mathematics) were deliberately excluded from Mawdudi’s studies.13 This advanced homeschooling programme, coupled with a prohibition against mingling with other children his own age (in order to protect his speech and Urdu accent), meant Mawdudi endured a lonely childhood. When he finally entered a local school at the age of eight, and although

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immediately standing out as an outstanding student, his lack of social exposure made it difficult for him to mingle with other children. His advanced curriculum and isolation left an indelible mark on him, playing a big part in shaping his personality – especially his famous ‘aloofness’.14 In 1916, Mawdudi and his family moved to Hyderabad, where he enrolled at the Darul-U’lum College. He remained there for only six months, however, at which point his father fell ill with severe paralysis. Mawdudi therefore postponed his studies and helped attend his father for the next two years, until the latter’s untimely death.15 It was during this period that his family experienced financial difficulty, prompting Mawdudi to begin a career as a journalist, to help support his family. His journalistic years were quite dynamic; by age fifteen, and alongside his elder brother, Sayyid Abul Khair Mawdudi, he had already become one of the editors of the weekly magazine, Taj. After a negative encounter with the colonial government, however, he resigned this position. Nevertheless, by 1921 he was editor of the newspaper, Muslim, a mouthpiece for Jamiat Ulama-e-Hind. Although this paper ceased operation two years later, by 1925 Jamiat Ulama-e-Hind had introduced a new newspaper, al-Jamiat, to which Mawdudi was appointed as editor until 1928.16 After his father’s death, Mawdudi’s financial condition steadily improved until he was able to resume his religious studies. Through his Jamiat Ulamae-Hind connections, he managed to enter the study circle of the prominent ‘ālim, Mawlana ‘Abdu’ssalam Niyazi. With Niyazi, Mawdudi began the dars-i nizami syllabus (a traditional syllabus for the ulama), which included subjects such as Arabic, tafsīr (Quranic commentary), hadith, fiqh, manṭiq, kalām (theology) and philosophy. He would later finish this curriculum with two Deobandi scholars in Old Delhi, from whom he received an ijāza (certificate to teach religious classes). Later, in 1926 and 1928 respectively, he also received two sanads (scholarly lineages).17 In addition to these high religious studies credentials, during this period Mawdudi also became well-versed in Western thought, as demonstrated by his later works, which include references to an “impressive array of Western thinkers, from Plato, Aristotle, Augustine, Liebniz, Kant, Saint Simon, Comte, Goethe, Hegel, and Nietzsche to Darwin, Fichte, Marx, Lenin, and Bernard Shaw.”18 Mawdudi began his scholarly career with the publication of his Jihād fī al-Islām in 1937.19 After the success of this text, his confidence in his writing abilities grew quickly. Giving up his career as a journalist, he began to focus his energy solely on scholar pursuits, including the editorship of the monthly academic journal, Tarjuman al-Quran.20 The extensive networks he had built up as a journalist continued to stand him in good

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stead during this period: they facilitated the construction of a strong base of followers and like-minded individuals. With their support, on 26 August 1941 Mawdudi formed his Islamic revivalist party, Jamaat-e Islami. With seventy-five founding members and Mawdudi as its inaugural amir (president),21 Jamaat-e Islami “continues to be active in Pakistan to this day, as well as [through] its sister organizations in India, Bangladesh, Kashmir and Sri Lanka.”22 Jamaat-e Islami’s active participation in politics, coupled with Mawdudi’s bold and fiery style, did not come without its trials and tribulations. From October 1948 to June 1950, Mawdudi and several other key Jamaatie Islami leaders were imprisoned, primarily as a result of Mawdudi’s inflammatory speeches demanding an Islamic order in Pakistan.23 Three years later, in 1953, Mawdudi was arrested again and this time sentenced to death for purportedly using his pamphlet, The Qadiyani Problem, to incite violence against the Ahmadi community. In the same year, however, and under mounting international and local pressure, Pakistan’s High Court reduced his sentence to life imprisonment, before finally cancelling it.24 Mawdudi has often been praised for offering “a concrete, comprehensive and intellectually convincing presentation of Islam” that relates to personal, social, economic, and political matters.25 He proclaimed Islam to be a comprehensive ‘way of life’, in which all “have to seek guidance, spiritual heat and [a] code of conduct.”26 His texts often used contemporary issues to develop new and much needed understandings of Islam. Mawdudi’s writings covered a vast arrays of topics, from veiling to jihād.27 His most important works include: Towards Understanding Islam, Purdah and the Status of Women in Islam, Islamic Law and Constitution, Let Us be Muslims, Human Rights in Islam, Four Basic Quranic Terms, Economic System of Islam, The Qadiyani Problem, and The Rights of Non-Muslims in an Islamic State. In presenting his views, Mawdudi focused on the pristine and pure nature of Islam. He wrote in an accessible, cogent and easy-to-read style, peppered with only the occasional constitutional term or modern concept (such as ‘theo-democracy’ or ‘democratic caliphate’). Mawdudi also made a clear distinction between Islamic law (sharī’a) as a normative guide and “historical Islamic laws,” which were temporal and contextual.28 As a case in point, he discussed modern-day free elections and democratic practices in the context of shūrā (a form of consultative assembly mentioned in the Qur’an). First, Mawdudi carefully dissected the main principles behind shūrā, deconstructing it from within its own historical context. Mawdudi noted that the ṣaḥāba (companions of

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the Prophet) who formed the classical shūrā assembly were paragons of “loyalty, sincerity and ability,”29 able to command high levels of respect and confidence within the Muslim community. He therefore identified the primary element of shūrā as ‘public confidence’. On the basis of this ‘extracted’ principle, Mawdudi provided a commentary on modern-day elections: Consequently, after considering the circumstances and needs of modern times, we can adopt all such possible and permissible methods whereby we might be able to find out truly as to which persons enjoy the confidence of the masses in greatest measure. The modern system of elections is one of those permissible methods, provided it is not tarred with the corrupt practices which render the democracy a sheer farce.30

Mawdudi’s modern political reforms were not therefore concerned with reviving shūrā in its classical form, but with reinterpreting it based on the principles embedded within that classical form – in this case, to justify democracy as a legitimate means of gaining public confidence. Based on this principle, Mawdudi pioneered the modern Islamist approach: to carry out an Islamic sociopolitical project within the framework of modern democracy. This, however, does not mean Mawdudi wholeheartedly embraced democracy. Rather, he ardently opposed the core of democratic philosophy: that sovereignty belongs to the collective will of the people, not God. The above is merely a snippet of Mawdudi’s ideas and methods. As seen, his vast body of work spans a wide range of topics. What set Mawdudi apart from his contemporaries, however, was his magnetic appeal to the younger generation. At a time when liberal Western thought was still considered the benchmark of modernity, Mawdudi’s anti-establishment and reactive approach appealed to those young Muslims who wished to carve out a new identity for themselves. Mawdudi’s fervent challenges to, and criticisms of, Western liberal thought served these Muslims in two ways: firstly, they dispelled the notion of western superiority and, secondly, acted as a rallying point for those Muslims seeking a renewal of their faith.31 Mawdudi passed away on 22 September 1979, in Buffalo, USA, while under the care of his son, a medical doctor. He was subsequently buried at his house in Lahore.32

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Conclusion: Mawlana al-Mawdudi as an Architect of Islamic Civilisation The early twentieth century proved a very tumultuous time for Muslims. The fall of the last Muslim Caliphate constituted a low ebb for this once proud community, officially ending a legacy stretching back to the Prophet. In its wake, Muslims all over the globe suddenly faced a new set of challenges, both to their thought and identity. By responding to these challenges, Mawdudi became one of the leaders of Islamic revivalism. His clarity of thought and erudition shattered the ‘docile’ and ‘defeatist’ attitudes of other Muslims, itself the product of prolonged intellectual and economic decline. His message was clear: Islam is not just a matter of faith, separate from the modern political system, but a way of life applicable to all circumstances. ‘Dualism’, he said, is not an option: In Islam the religious, the political, the economic, and the social are not separate systems; they are different departments and parts of the same system.33

His ability to utilise contemporary concepts kept his Islamic narrative fresh, further helping to free those Muslims trapped within a ‘dualism’ mindset. But in doing so, Mawdudi was careful not to fall into the trap of tajaddud (innovation) – of interpreting Islam merely to suit modern trends. Rather, he espoused tajdīd (renewal), or a revival of outlook that nonetheless remained faithful to Islam as a whole.34 In sum, Mawdudi was a prolific and talented ideologue whose legacy of activism remains a shining example for current Muslim thinkers. Notes 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7.

Cited in Roy Jackson, Mawlana Mawdudi and Political Islam: Authority and the Islamic State (London: Routledge, 2010), 128. Ibid, 1. Zeenath Kausar, ‘Mawdudi’s Philosophy of an Islamic State, Government and Citizenship,’ in Contemporary Islamic Political Thought: A Study of Eleven Thinkers, ed. Zinat Kauser (Kuala Lumpur: IIUM Press, 2009), 113-153. Mohammad Abdullah, ‘Islamic Response to Western Civilization: A Study of Maulana Maududi and Sayyid Qutb,’ Unpublished PhD Thesis, University of Kashmir (2008). Roy Jackson, Mawlana Mawdudi and Political Islam: Authority and The Islamic State (London: Routledge, 2010), 2. See S. V. R. Nasr, Mawdudi and the Making of Islamic Revivalism (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1996). See Sarwat Saulat, Maulana Maududi, 1st ed. (Karachi: International Islamic

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8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33. 34.

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Publishers, 1979). Nasr, Mawdudi and Islamic Revivalism, 3. Kuran, ‘Genesis of Islamic Economics,’ 301–338. Nasr, Mawdudi and Islamic Revivalism, 9. Ibid, 9-11. Ibid, 11. Ibid, 12. Ibid, 13-4. Thameem Ushama and Noor Mohammad Osmani, ‘Sayyid Mawdudi’s Contribution Towards Islamic Revivalism,’ IIUC Studies 3 (2006): 94. Saulat, Maulana Maududi, 3. Nasr, Mawdudi and Islamic Revivalism, 17-8. Ibid, 15. Jackson, Mawlana Mawdudi and Political Islam, 41. Saulat, Maulana Maududi, 4. Ibid, 11. Jackson, Mawlana Mawdudi and Political Islam, 1. Saulat, Maulana Maududi, 34. Ushama and Osmani, ‘Sayyid Mawdudi’s Contribution Towards Islamic Revivalism,’ 95. Kausar ‘Mawdudi’s Philosophy,’ 118. Abdullah, ‘Islamic Response to Western Civilization,’ x. Jackson, Mawlana Mawdudi and Political Islam, 35. Ushama and Osmani, ‘Sayyid Mawdudi’s Contribution Towards Islamic Revivalism,’ 93–104. Kausar, ‘Mawdudi’s Philosophy,’ 134. Ibid, 134. See Abdullah, ‘Islamic Response to Western Civilization.’ Ibid, 95 Nasr, Mawdudi and the Making of Islamic Revivalism, 82-3. Ushama and Osmani, ‘Sayyid Mawdudi’s Contribution Towards Islamic Revivalism,’ 97.

Further Reading Abdullah, Mohammad. ‘Islamic Response to Western Civilization: A Study of Maulana Maududi and Sayyid Qutb.’ Unpublished PhD Thesis, University of Kashmir, 2008. Jackson, R. Mawlana Mawdudi and Political Islam: Authority and the Islamic State. London: Routledge, 2010. Kuran, T. ‘The Genesis of Islamic Economics: A Chapter in the Politics of Muslim Identity.’ Social Research 64, no. 2 (1997): 301–338. Nasr, S. V. R. Mawdudi and the making of Islamic revivalism. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1996.

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Saulat, Sarwat. Maulana Maududi, 1st edition. Karachi: International Islamic Publishers, 1979. Ushama, Thameem, and Noor Mohammad Osmani. ‘Sayyid Mawdudi’s Contribution Towards Islamic Revivalism.’ IIUC Studies 3 (2006): 93–104. Kauser, Zeenath. ‘Mawdudi’s Philosophy of an Islamic State, Government and Citizenship.’ In Contemporary Islamic Political Thought: A Study of Eleven Thinkers, edited by Zinat Kauser, 113–153. Kuala Lumpur: IIUM Press, 2009.

42 HAMKA HAJI ABDUL MALIK KARIM AMRULLAH) 19081981CE M. Fakhrurrazi Ahmad Hamka does not only belong to the nation of Indonesia, but he is the pride of all nations of South East Asia.1 Tun Abdul Razak, Malaysian Prime Minister 1970-1976

Prof. Dr. Haji Abdul Malik Karim Amrullah is perhaps the most famous Malay cultural figure of the twentieth century. More commonly known by his nickname, Buya Hamka,2 he contributed to Malay Islamic civilisation as a scholar, philosopher, writer, poet, novelist, political leader, anthropologist and Islamic reformer. He was also the first person to be awarded the title Ustadziyya Fakhriyya (or Doctor Honoris Causa) by Egypt’s famous al-Azhar University in 1959. Universiti Kebangsaan Malaysia (The National University of Malaysia) also conferred this title on him in 1974, in a ceremony presided over by the then Malaysian Prime Minister, Tun Abdul Razak (d.1976). In his native Indonesia, the Moestopo University of Jakarta inaugurated him as Guru Besar (Professor) in 1960, while the Muhammadiyyah University of Prof. Dr. Hamka (UHAMKA) is named in his honour. In this short paper, I will attempt to outline his life and work. Early Life Hamka was born on 17 February 1908 (13 Muḥarram 1362) in Kampung Molek, Maninjau, West Sumatra. The first of seven brothers, he was the son of Shaykh Abdul Karim bin Amrullah (or Haji Rasul), a prominent

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Minangkabau Islamic reformer, and Sitti Shafiyah. Shaykh Abdul Karim was a pioneer of iṣlāḥ (Islamic reform) in the Minangkabau region, a movement known locally as Kaum Muda (Young Clan). This movement sought to implement tajdīd (revival) in Indonesia, with Shaykh Abdul Karim helping to initiate it after his return from Makkah in 1906. It was soon challenged, however, by the Kaum Tua (Old Clan). Although Hamka spent his early years with his grandmother in Maninjau, from age six, when he moved to Padang Panjang to live with his father and study the Holy Qur’an, he experienced first-hand a peak in hostilities between the Kaum Muda and Kaum Tua. This exposed him to the two factions’ theological and philosophical debates from an early age, greatly influencing his later quest for knowledge and helping to develop his critical thinking on theology, philosophy, politics and social issues.3 Education Hamka’s formal education began in 1915, at the Sekolah Rakyat (Public School) in Padang Panjang. As a young child, he was naughty, playful and roguish. He would often go to school early just so he could play before classes began. In particular, he enjoyed playing hide-and-seek, wrestling and roaming around the village. Also during this period, Hamka began to develop his love of the arts, especially poetry; during his childhood years, he spent much time listening to kaba (Minang folk stories narrated to traditional music) and composing pantun, syair and gurindam.4 From 1916 to 1923, Hamka studied Islamic theology, first at the Diniyyah School in Padang Panjang, and then at Sumatera Thawalib in Parabek. In addition to his father, his teachers included Shaykh Ibrahim Musa Parabek, Engku Mudo Abdul Hamid, and Zainuddin Labay elYunusy.5 In 1924, Hamka travelled to Yogyakarta, Java, where he began learning philosophy, anthropology and political science. While in Yogyakarta, his teachers included H. O. S. Tjokroaminoto, H. Fakhruddin, R. M. Suryopranoto and A. R. Sutan Mansur. These figures also introduced him to Java’s Islamic political movements.6 Early Writing Career In 1927, Hamka went to Makkah, where he became a correspondent for the Indonesian-language newspaper, Pelita Andalas (Light of Andalas).

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Returning to Indonesia in 1935, Hamka went back to Padang Panjang, where he began developing his writing skills further. Thus, his first book appeared during this period, entitled Khatibul Ummah (Preacher of the Nation). He also began writing for several Indonesian magazines, including Seruan Islam (The Call of Islam), Bintang Islam (The Star of Islam), Suara Muhammadiyyah (The Voice of the Muhammadiyyah), Pembela Islam (Defender of Islam) and al-Mahdi. From 1936 to 1943, he also published the Pedoman Masyarakat (A Guidebook for Society) magazine, based in Medan (Sumatra). This published articles on Islamic theology, philosophy and taṣawwuf (mysticism), in addition to fictional stories, including Hamka’s famous Tenggelamnya Kapal Van Der Wijck (The Sinking of the Van Der Wijck). During the Japanese occupation, Hamka also produced the books Semangat Islam (The Spirit of Islam) and Sejarah Islam di Sumatera (The History of Islam in Sumatra). After the Indonesian National Revolution (1945-1949), Hamka moved to West Sumatra and published many avant-garde and revolutionary books, including: Revolusi Pemikiran (Intellectual Revolution), Revolusi Agama (Religious Revolution), Adat Minangkabau Menghadapi Revolusi (Minangkabau Custom Facing Revolution), Negara Islam (Islamic State), Merdeka (Independence), Islam dan Demokrasi (Islam and Democracy), and Menunggu Beduk Berbunyi (Awaiting the Sound of the Drum). In 1950, he went to Jakarta, where he published Ayahku (My Father), KenangKenangan Hidup (Mementos of Life), Perkembangan Tasawwuf dari Abad ke Abad (The Spread of Mysticism from Century to Century) and Urat Tunggang Pancasila (The Core of Pancasila). He also wrote the travelogues, Di Tepi Sungai Nil (By the River Nil), Di Tepi Sungai Dajlah (By the River Dajlah), Mandi Cahaya di Tanah Suci (A Shower of Light in the Holy Land) and Empat Bulan di Amerika (Four Months in America).7 In 1952, Hamka was appointed by Indonesia’s Ministry of Education and Culture to the Cultural Deliberation Council. He was also inaugurated as Guru Besar (Principal) of the Advanced Islamic College and Islamic University of Makassar, as well as Advisor of the Indonesian Ministry of Religion.8 In 1955, he published Pelajaran Agama Islam (A Study of the Islamic Religion), Sejarah Hidup Jamaluddin al-Afghany (A History of the Life of Jamauddin al-Afghani) and Sejarah Umat Islam (A History of the Islamic Community). In the 1970s, he published Soal Jawab (tentang Agama Islam) (Questions and Answers [concerning Islam]), Kedudukan Perempuan dalam Islam (The Place of Women in Islam), Do’a-Do’a Rasulullah (The Supplications of the Messenger of God) and many others.

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Involvement in Politics Hamka first became involved in politics in 1925, when he joined the Indonesian trade union, Sarekat Islam. After Indonesian independence, however, he became an active member of Partai Masyumi (Partai Majelis Syuro Muslimin Indonesia), even being elected to its Constituent Council in 1955. In that position, and together with Mohammad Natsir, Mohammad Roem and Isa Anshari, Hamka urged the implementation of Sharia as the foundation of the Indonesian constitution. In a speech given at the time, Hamka insisted that the first commandment of Pancasila be (and as stated in the Jakarta Charter) “Belief in Almighty God with the obligation for the Muslim to practice sharī’ah.” During the Indonesian-Malaysian Confrontation (1963-1966), the Indonesian government accused Hamka of conspiring with Malaysia to topple President Sukarno in a coup d’etat. As a result, in 1964 Hamka and several other Indonesian political leaders were arrested, interrogated and sent to prison without trial. Hamka was incarcerated for the next two years and four months in Sukabumi Prison. In 1967, the 30 September Movement swept President Sukarno from power, replacing him with his general, Suharto (d.2008). Sukarno was placed under house arrest, where he remained until his death in 1970. Interestingly, Sukarno’s last wish was that Hamka lead his funeral prayer: Bila aku mati kelak, minta kesediaan Hamka untuk menjadi imam shalat jenazahku (When I die, please ask Hamka to be the Imam at my funeral). Without any hesitation, Hamka accepted this honour and fulfilled Sukarno’s last wish. When asked whether he held a grudge against Sukarno for the injustices done to him, he replied: “I never hold grudges against people who treat me unjustly. Grudges lead to sin. When I was imprisoned for two years and four months, I felt like it was a blessing, [because] I managed to complete writing Tafsir al-Azhar behind the bars.” On 26 July 1975, Hamka was elected leader of the Majlis Ulama Indonesia (Indonesian Council of Muslim Scholars), the third largest Muslim organisation in Indonesia behind Nahdatul Ulama’ and Muhammadiyyah. Important Works As a talented linguist, Hamka was able to use the finest literary Malay, whether in poetry, fiction or scholastic discussion. For this reason, Slamet Mulyono regards him as the “Hamzah Fansuri of the New Era.”9 His most notable works include:

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1. Tafsir al-Azhar (The al-Azhar Exegesis) Considered my many to be his masterpiece, this text was written and completed during his imprisonment. An exegesis of the Holy Qur’an, in it Hamka integrates the concepts of aqlī-naqlī, riwaya-diraya and ijtihād al-ra’yī in order to produce an interpretation of the Holy Qur’an suited to the modern era. In this regard, he was influenced by the Tafsīr al-Manār of Rashīd Ridā . (d.1935) and the Tafsīr fī Ẓilāl al-Qur’ān of Sayyid Qutb (d.1966). While writing this text, Hamka frequently consulted experts on matters beyond his range of expertise. For instance, the Indonesian astronomer, Saadoe'ddin Djambek (d.1977), advised him about those Qur’anic verses related to astronomy. Indeed, Hamka put such stock in accurate knowledge that he even considered allowing a trained biologist to write the exegesis of those Qur’anic verses related to embryology and creation, a zoologist the exegesis of Sūra al-Naḥl (The Bee), and a meteriologist that of Sūra al-Ra’d (The Thunder).10 Tafsīr alAzhar was intended for all stratums of society, hence its style is easy to understand, being neither intricate nor tedious. Hamka tried to elucidate each Qur’anic verse from different perspectives: linguistic, philosophical, historical, logical and scientific. In order to enhance his arguments, he would sometimes cross-reference with other holy scriptures.11 2. Tasawuf Moden (Modern Tasawwuf ) . This text is concerned with achieving happiness and contentment through spirituality. In it, Hamka stresses the importance of purifying the heart and soul, and of cultivating virtues and moral principles. As well as discussing the philosophy of happiness from the perspectives of Muslim thinkers like Ibn Sīnā (d.429/1037) and al-Ghazālī (d.505/1111), the text also examines the thought of Western thinkers like Aristotle (d.322BCE), Hendrik Ibsen (d.1906), Leo Tolstoy (d.1910), and George Bernard Shaw (d.1950).12 3. Revolusi Agama (Religious Revolution) In this text, Hamka positions the Indonesian revolution within the wider framework of a ‘revolution of mankind’. The real essence of the revolution, he argues, was religious awakening, or a desire to more fully understand the nature of humanity and its Creator. Hamka emphasises that Muslims can only achieve freedom via their own self-confidence.13

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4. Lembaga Hikmat (Constitution of Wisdom) This text is a compilation of ten short stories expressing ideas and values from multiple regions of the world. It includes the stories of Kaizer Franz Josef of Austria, the Brahman monk of the Gangga River, the Egyptian general, the sheperd of the Sahara desert, Caliph Umar Abdul Aziz, and others.14 5.

Teguran Suci dan Jujur Terhadap Mufti Johor (Honest and Sincere Admonition to the Mufti of Johor) In an article published in Semenanjung magazine (No. 109), as-Sayyid Alwi bin Tahir al-Haddad, the then Mufti of Johor (Malaysia), claimed that the Kaum Muda were the primary cause of pervasive Communist and Christian influence in Indonesia. He also accused them of being disrespectful towards the ahl al-bayt (the family of the Prophet).15 Hamka wrote this text in order to refute the Mufti’s arguments. 6. Tenggelamnya Kapal Van Der Wijck (Sinking of the van der Wijck) This novel concerns the story of the two young lovers, Zainuddin and Hayati, who are prevented from marrying each other because of rigid indigenous traditions and the gap in their social status. Although most literary critics, including Bakri Siregar, describe this novel as Hamka’s best, Abdullah S. P. has accused him of plagiarising an earlier work by Jean-Baptiste Alphonse Karr, entitled Sous les Tilleuls (Under the Limes, 1832). A comparative study by H. B. Jasin, however, has concluded that there is little chance of plagiarism: Hamka’s meticulous narrative and the consistency between this story and his earlier work suggests it has not been copied.16 This novel remains in print in Indonesia, Singapore and Malaysia.17 In 2013, it was also adapted for film. Death Hamka died on 24 July 1981, aged 73. He had been suffering from multiple organ dysfuntion. His funeral was held at the Grand Mosque of Jakarta and his body subsequently interred at the Public Cemetry of Tanah Kusir, South Jakarta. In addition to President Suharto, various important ministers, religious leaders, and thousands of ordinary people attended his funeral in order to pay their respects.

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Notes 1. 2. 3. 4.

5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17.

H. Rusydi Hamka, Hamka Pujangga Islam Kebanggaan Rumpun Melayu (Shah Alam: Pustaka Dini, 2010), 17. Buya is an Arabic word for ‘father’ and here denotes great respect. ‘Hamka’ is an acronym of his full name. Rusydi Hamka, Hamka Pujangga Islam Kebanggaan Rumpun Melayu, 1. A pantun is a Malay poem consisting of a quatrain with a particular rhyme scheme; the syair is a form of traditional Malay poetry made up of four-line stanzas; the gurindam is a poem consisting of long couplets of two stanzas each, with each stanza consisting of two lines in the same rhyme. Hamka, Tasawuf Moden (Jakarta: Republika Penerbit, 1939), iii. Ibid, iv. Ibid, v. Ibid. Ibid, vi. Hamka, Tafsir al-Azhar: Jilid I (Jakarta: Pustaka Panjimas, 1982), 6. Ibid. Hamka, Tasawuf Moden. B. J. Boland, The Struggle of Islam in Modern Indonesia (Dordrecht: Springer, 1982), 77. Hamka, Lembaga Hikmat (Shah Alam: Pustaka Dini, 2008). Hamka, Teguran Suci dan Jujur Terhadap Mufti Johor (Shah Alam: Pustaka Dini, 2010). Hamka, Tenggelamnya Kapal Van Der Wijck (Batu Caves: PTS Publications, 2015). PTS Publication republished this novel in April 2015. This company alone managed to sell more than 20,000 copies of it in just one year.

Further Reading Boland, B. J. The Struggle of Islam in Modern Indonesia. Dordrecht: Springer, 1982. Hamka. Lembaga Hikmat. Shah Alam: Pustaka Dini, 2008. ______. Tafsir al-Azhar: Jilid I. Jakarta: Pustaka Panjimas, 1982. ______. Tasawuf Moden. Jakarta: Republika Penerbit, 1939. ______. Teguran Suci dan Jujur Terhadap Mufti Johor. Shah Alam: Pustaka Dini, 2010. ______. Tenggelamnya Kapal Van Der Wijck. Batu Caves: PTS Publications, 2015. Rusydi Hamka, H. Hamka Pujangga Islam Kebanggaan Rumpun Melayu. Shah Alam: Pustaka Dini, 2010.

43 FAZLUR RAHMAN 19191988CE Abdul Karim Abdullah

Fazlur Rahman, the leading Muslim modernist intellectual, aimed to revive Islamic thought. He distinguished between ‘normative Islam’ and ‘historical Islam’, challenging his contemporaries to re-interpret tradition.1 Rahman had reservations about literalist interpretations of the Qur’an; he stressed that context was important for an understanding of the text.2 He saw the purpose of the Qur’an as being to establish an ethical and just society where the weak and vulnerable would be protected and where the talented could develop to their full potential, without being overly restricted.3 He did not therefore support the views of secularists, who saw no role for Islam in the modern public sphere.4 But Muslims, Rahman believed, had to rediscover “the real Islam”, not only for their own benefit, but also “for the benefit of all mankind.”5 He argued that it was necessary to go beyond traditional, atomistic readings of the Qur’an, to see how its wisdom could be applied to the contemporary era. He insisted that: the Qur’an must be so studied that its concrete unity will emerge in its fullness, and that to select certain verses from the Qur’an to project a partial and subjective point of view may satisfy the subjective observer but it necessarily does violence to the Qur’an itself…6

Rahman believed that knowledge of historical context was a sine qua non for a good understanding of the Qur’an. Rahman proposed classifying all verses of the Qur’an as either universal or historical.7 Universal verses,

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such as those emphasising tawḥīd (the Oneness of God), would be seen as timeless, while the principles underlying the historical verses would be seen as only applicable under specific historical conditions. To facilitate this appreciation of historical context, Rahman argued in favour of educational improvements and a new ijtihād.8 He provided a strong critique of current Islamic education and suggested ways of achieving renewal. Life in Pakistan Fazlur Rahman Ansari al-Qadri was born on 21 September 1919, in the Hazara district of what was then British India. He died on 26 July 1988. His father studied at Deoband and attained the rank of ‘ālim (scholar). The young Fazlur Rahman learned Arabic at Punjab University in Lahore, gaining an MA in Arabic (with distinction). Subsequently, he went on to Oxford University, where he earned a PhD in 1949 with a dissertation on Ibn Sīnā (Avicenna). He then taught Persian and Islamic philosophy at Durham University (UK). From there he went to Canada where, from 1958 to 1961, he taught at the then recently established Institute of Islamic Studies at McGill University. During these years, Rahman focused on the study of philosophy and theology through the medium of classical Islamic scholarship and published his famous text, Prophecy in Islam (1958). In 1961, at the invitation of President Ayub Khan, Rahman returned to Pakistan, where he served as Visiting Professor at the Islamic Research Institute of Islamabad.9 The following year, he was appointed Director of the Islamic Research Institute of Karachi, a post he held until 1968.10 Here he was tasked with the development of an Islamic Studies curriculum suitable for the young country’s future religious leaders. He was also appointed a member of the Advisory Council of Islamic Ideology, a policy research institute, and helped found the journal, Islamic Studies. It was also during his time in Pakistan that Rahman published two significant works, Islamic Methodology in History (1964) and Islam (1966). The former was a historical-critical analysis of the prophetic traditions (or ahādīth) and the role they played in the development of the Prophet’s . Sunna, one of the two major sources of Islamic law. The latter text, on the other hand, was a general reader on Islam looking at the various branches of Islamic learning, including theology, Sharia, and Sufism, in addition to Islam’s textual sources (the Qur’an, Sunna and so forth). This book has remained an important reference work on Islam. It may also be described as an elaboration of an Islamic worldview within the context of modernity.

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Ultimately, Rahman’s thought during this period hinged on his opinion that all existing interpretations of the Qur’an were suited only for the time periods in which they were produced. Each generation had responded to and approached the Qur’an in light of its own experience, drawing its own conclusions about how to apply the text’s teachings in response to the specific historical challenges it faced. The emergence of taqlīd (indiscriminate imitation) had therefore greatly undermined the authenticity of later Muslim scholars, who became intellectually beholden to their predecessors. In Rahman’s view, taqlīd was an unqualified disaster, effectively stifling any further growth in Islamic civilisation. It effectively ‘froze’ Muslim civilisation in time, imposing a rigid conformity. Taqlīd effectively precluded any possibility of renewal and destined Islam to intellectual stagnation. While in Pakistan, Rahman also further developed his critique of the second source of Sharia, the Sunna of the Prophet. He differentiated between what he called the ‘ideal Sunna’, which was the Sunna of the Prophet, and the ‘living Sunna’, which was the Sunna of the community. He argued that the meaning of the Prophet’s Sunna underwent a change over time; initially, only a small number of hadith were understood to reflect Prophetic practice on a range of given issues. Over time, however, it was assumed that all hadith reflected the Prophet’s Sunna.11 As a result, later scholars found themselves confronted with the need to reconcile inconsistencies (if not contradictions) between various hadith, and also between some hadith and the Qur’an. In the late 1960s, a new and more conservative regime came to power in Pakistan. As a result, Rahman found himself under threat from various conservative elements within the Pakistani religious establishment, who viewed his ideas as inimical to Islam.12 Due to this less than conducive political climate, Rahman resigned from his position at Karachi’s Islamic Research Institute in 1968. He resigned because, as he put it, he was “unwilling to compromise on his humanist take of Islam.” Certainly, Rahman’s modernist ideas had touched off violent protests across the country, organised by traditional religious scholars. Because of his controversial views, Rahman was forced to leave Pakistan in 1968. Life in the US Travelling to the US, upon his arrival Rahman joined the University of California Los Angeles, where he worked for a year as a Visiting Professor. He also served as an advisor to the State Department. The following year

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(1969) he joined the University of Chicago. There he helped found the Near Eastern Studies Program, still held to be amongst the best in the world.13 At Chicago, he taught several generations of students and wrote Major Themes of the Qur’an (1980) and Islam and Modernity (1982). In his Islam and Modernity, Rahman argued there was a need for educational reform within the Muslim world. Traditional Islamic educational methods, he said, were unsuitable for enabling Muslims to adapt to the demands of modernity.14 A new Islamic epistemology was needed, one that would be both Islamic and scientific at the same time.15 This methodology of interpretation would reject “strict literalism in favour of ‘rational reconstruction.’”16 Like Muhammad Iqbal (d.1938) before him, and who had also argued for a ‘reconstruction’ of religious thought, Rahman favoured a holistic approach to reform, capable of enabling a re-application of the eternal principles of Islam in the post-colonial era. He felt that the heritage of Islam contained the necessary resources to allow contemporary Islamic civilisation to adapt successfully to modernity.17 What prevented it from doing so, however, was the methodology used to study it – a challenge he grappled with in his Islamic Methodology in History. He felt, for example, that the Qur’an carried a universal ethical message that tended to be overlooked because of an overemphasis on legalistic approaches to the text. In his work, therefore, Rahman sought to restore the balance between spirituality and ritual. Unlike the Egyptian Islamist, Sayyid Qutb (d.1966), Rahman disdained the rhetoric of revolution. Like Qutb, however, Rahman was wary of using extra-Qur’anic sources when interpreting the Qur’an itself; he felt that an overreliance on extra-Qur’anic texts would overshadow the text of the Qur’an itself and lead to misinterpretations and misunderstandings. According to Rahman, exegetes who had used extra-Qur’anic sources in the past had often used unreliable and obscure sources, negatively affecting their interpretations. Ultimately, Rahman believed that the best interpreter of the Qur’an was the Qur’an itself. Rahman entertained the possibility of what he called an “alliance of civilisations,” but on the condition that “Muslims hearken more to the Qur’an than to the historic formulations of Islam.”18 In particular, he rejected the historical idea that the so-called “verse of the sword” abrogated those conciliatory Qur’anic verses counselling peaceful co-existence and inter-religious tolerance. For Rahman, jihād was primarily an ethical struggle (the ‘greater jihād’ of the Prophet), rather than a military engagement.

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Rahman emphasised the continued relevance of the Qur’an and urged his contemporaries to approach it in a fresh way, without preconceived notions. He felt that the intellectual, cultural and economic backwardness of Muslim majority nations was due to intellectual rigidity and a limited critical engagement with the intellectual heritage of the past, coupled with an insufficient willingness to adapt and evolve. Conclusion The experience of Fazlur Rahman illustrates the challenges facing any would-be Muslim reformer and modernist. Resistance to change remains strong in the Muslim world; attempts to re-interpret the past are often seen as little more than attempts to undermine tradition. Nevertheless, Rahman’s work has undoubtedly inspired an entire generation of Muslim scholars, both in America and elsewhere. It is, however, only a first step. One area that deserves much further attention is the relationship between reason and revelation; while reason is rationalistic and empirical, revelation is intuitive. Further consideration must be given to how these can work together. Traditionally, ijtihād has been used as a regulated modality for harmonising these concepts. Certain aspects of this methodology, however, may need reappraisal in order to accommodate modern advances in scientific rationality. In addition, any new interpretative methodology for approaching the sacred texts will have to take into account not only historical context, but also new intellectual approaches to understanding reality. It was in this area that Rahman made his most important contributions to the building (and indeed rebuilding) of Islamic civilisation, qualifying him as one of its ‘architects’. Notes 1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

Earle H. Waugh, ‘The Legacies of Fazlur Rahman for Islam in America,’ The American Journal of Islamic Social Sciences 16, no. 3 (1999): 27-44. Ziauddin Sardar, ‘Rethinking Islam,’ Critical Muslim, 91. Available at: http:// ziauddinsardar.com/2011/02/rithinking-islam/. (Accessed on: 20 December 2015). Frederick M. Denny, ‘Fazlur Rahman: Muslim Intellectual,’ The Muslim World 79, no. 2 (1989): 91-101. ‘Qur’an,’ Oxford Islamic Studies Online. Available at: http://www. oxfordislamicstudies.com/article/opr/t236/e0661. (Accessed on: 19 December 2015). Fazlur Rahman, ‘Islam: Challenges and Opportunities,’ in Islam: Past Influence

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6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18.

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and Present Challenge, ed. Alford T. Welch and Pierre Cachia (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1979), 315-30. Fazlur Rahman, Major Themes of the Qur’an (Minneapolis, MN: Bibliotheca Islamica, 1980), 98-9. Mehmet Akif Koc, ‘The Influence of Western Qur’anic Scholarship in Turkey,’ Journal of Qur’anic Studies, 14, no. 1 (2012): 15. ‘Rahman, Fazlur,’ Oxford Reference. Available at: http://www.oxfordreference. com/view/10.1093/oi/authority.20110803100401842. (Accessed on: 18 December 2015). ‘Islamic Research Institute,’ Oxford Index. Available at: http://oxfordindex. oup.com/view/10.1093/oi/authority.20110803100012422?rskey=H4Carr& result=18. (Accessed on: 19 December 2015). Willem A. Bijlefeld, ‘Dr. Fazlur Rahman,’ The Muslim World 79, no. 1 (1989): 80. R. Kevin Jaques, ‘Fazlur Rahman Quran, Prophecy and Islamic Reform,’ Studies in Contemporary Islam 4 (2002): 63-83. Frederick Mathewson Denny, ‘The Legacy of Fazlur Rahman,’ in The Muslims of America, ed. Yvonne Yazbeck Haddad (New York: Oxford University Press, 1991), 97. Hafeez Malik, ‘Dr. Fazl–ur–Rahman,’ Journal of South Asian and Middle Eastern Studies, 12, no. 3 (1989): 3. Fazlur Rahman, ‘Islamic Studies and the Future of Islam,’ in Islamic Studies: A Tradition and its Problems, ed. M. H. Kosr (Malibu, CA: Undena Publications, 1980), 125-133. Basit B. Koshul, ‘Fazlur Rahman’s Islam and Modernity Revisited,’ Islamic Studies 33, no. 4 (1994): 403-17. Waheed Hussain, ‘A Philosophical Critique of Fazlur Rahman’s Islam and Modernity,’ Harvard Middle Eastern and Islamic Review 6 (2000-1): 53. S. Parvez Manzoor, ‘Damning History but Saving the Text: Fazlur Rahman between Tradition and Modernity,’ Islamica 2, no. 4 (1998): 41. Celene Ibrahim-Lizzio, ‘Qur’anic Exegesis and Two Postcolonial Reform Agendas: Sayyid Quṭb (1906-1966) and Fazlur Rahman (1916-1988),’ Muslim World Affairs. Available at: http://muslimworldaffairs.com/2015/08/08/ quranic-exegesis-and-two-postcolonial-reform-agendas/. (Accessed on: 18 December 2015).

Further Reading Bijlefeld, Willem A. ‘Dr. Fazlur Rahman.’ The Muslim World 79, no. 1 (1989): 80-1. Denny, Frederick M. ‘Fazlur Rahman: Muslim Intellectual.’ The Muslim World 79, no. 2 (1989): 91-101. _______________. ‘The Legacy of Fazlur Rahman.’ In The Muslims of America, edited by Yvonne Yazbeck Haddad, 96-108. New York: Oxford University Press, 1991.

334

THE ARCHITECTS OF ISLAMIC CIVILISATION

Hussain, Waheed. ‘A Philosophical Critique of Fazlur Rahman’s Islam and Modernity.’ Harvard Middle Eastern and Islamic Review 6 (2000-1): 53-81. Ibrahim-Lizzio, Celene. ‘Qur’anic Exegesis and Two Postcolonial Reform Agendas: Sayyid Qutb . (1906-1966) and Fazlur Rahman (1916-1988),’ Muslim World Affairs. Available at: http://muslimworldaffairs.com/2015/08/08/quranicexegesis-and-two-postcolonial-reform-agendas/. ‘Islamic Research Institute,’ Oxford Index. Available at: http://oxfordindex.oup. com/view/10.1093/oi/authority.20110803100012422?rskey=H4Carr&resu lt=18 Jaques, R. Kevin. ‘Fazlur Rahman Quran, Prophecy and Islamic Reform.’ Studies in Contemporary Islam 4 (2002): 63-83. Koc, Mehmet Akif. ‘The Influence of Western Qur’anic Scholarship in Turkey.’ Journal of Qur’anic Studies 14, no. 1 (2012): 9-44. Koshul, Basit B. ‘Fazlur Rahman’s Islam and Modernity Revisited.’ Islamic Studies 33, no. 4 (1994): 403-17. Malik, Hafeez. ‘Dr. Fazl–ur–Rahman.’ Journal of South Asian and Middle Eastern Studies 12, no. 3 (1989): 3. Manzoor, S. Parvez. ‘Damning History but Saving the Text: Fazlur Rahman between Tradition and Modernity.’ Islamica 2, no. 4 (1998): 41-4. ‘Qur’an.’ Oxford Islamic Studies Online. Available oxfordislamicstudies.com/article/opr/t236/e0661.

at:

http://www.

Rahman, Fazlur. ‘Islam: Challenges and Opportunities.’ In Islam: Past Influence and Present Challenge, edited by Alford T. Welch and Pierre Cachia, 315-30. Albany: State University of New York Press, 1979. ____________. ‘Islamic Studies and the Future of Islam.’ In Islamic Studies: A Tradition and its Problems, edited M. H. Kosr, 125-133. Malibu, CA: Undena Publications, 1980. ____________. Major Themes of the Qur’an. Minneapolis, MN: Bibliotheca Islamica, 1980. ‘Rahman, Fazlur.’ Oxford Reference. Available at: http://www.oxfordreference. com/view/10.1093/oi/authority.20110803100401842. Sardar, Ziauddin. ‘Rethinking Islam.’ Critical Muslim. Available at: http:// ziauddinsardar.com/2011/02/rithinking-islam/.

FAZLUR RAHMAN

335

Waugh, Earle H. ‘The Legacies of Fazlur Rahman for Islam in America.’ The American Journal of Islamic Social Sciences 16, no. 3 (1999): 27-44.

INDEX ‘Abbāsid dynasty 141 ‘Abbār, Ibn 157 ‘Abbās, ‘Abd Allāh ibn 6 ‘Abbās, al-Manṣūr ‘Alī b. 249 ‘Abbās II (Khedive) 259 ‘Abbāsī, Muḥammad al- 256 ‘Abbāsid Caliphate 15, 27, 29-30, 39, 41, 52-53, 58, 90, 103, 131-132, 134136, 149, 155n.2, 179 ‘Abd Allāh, Abū Muṭī‛ al-Ḥakam b. 43 ‘Abd Allah, Umar 42 ‘Abd al-Azīz, Shāh 239 ‘Abd al-Muṭṭalib 11, 51 ‘Abd al-Muṭṭalib, Abū Ṭālib ibn 10-11 ‘Abd al-Raḥīm, Shāh 234 ‘Abd al-Wahhāb, Muḥammad ibn 301 ‘Abd Manāf, Hāshim b. al-Muṭṭalib b. 51 abdāl (inner humanity) 64-65, 67n.4 ‘Abduh, Muḥammad 252-263, 266, 270, 283, 290, 292 ‘Abdul ‘Uzzā, Nufayl ibn 3 Abī Bakr, ‛Ā’isha bint (wife of Muḥammad) 13, 14, 19-23, 286 Abī Bakr, Asmā‘ bint 22 Abī Ruwād, Ibn 52 Abī Shaybah, Abū Bakr ibn 70 Abī Sufyān, Mu’awiya ibn 14, 28-29 Abī Sulaymān, Ḥammād ibn 40 Abī Ṭālib, ‘Alī ibn 8, 10-18, 22, 27, 28, 31, 88, 89-90, 136n.9, 286 Abī Uṣaybi‘a, Ibn 161 Abī Waqqās, Sa’d ibn 8, 231n.3 ʿĀbidīn, ‘Alī Zayn al- 29, 300 ʿĀbidīn, Muḥammad Amīn ibn 240-245 Abū al-‘Abbās 117 Abū ‘Inān 211 Abū Lū‘lū‘ah 8 Abū Salīm 211 Abū Yūsuf 43, 47

Abū Zahra, Muḥammad 49, 297-303 Abū Zayd, Bakr 198, 200 Aceh 219, 222 Adab al-manāsik (al-Ṭabarī) 89 Adab al-mufrad (al-Bukhārī) 30 Adab al-nufūs (al-Ṭabarī) 89 Adab al-ṭalab wa muntaha al-arab (alShawkānī) 249 ‘ādāt (tradition) 269, 301 ‘Adī, Yaḥyā ibn 96 ‘Affair of the Necklace’ 20 ‘Affān, ‘Uthmān ibn 8, 13, 22, 28, 45 Afghānī, Jamāl al-Dīn al- 254, 256-259, 260, 270, 290, 292, 308 Africa 102, 103, 164, 165, 205, 210-211, 220-221 Aḥāḍīth Ghadīr Khumm (al-Ṭabarī) 89-90 aḥkām (case law) 71, 285 Aḥkām ahl al-Dhimma (Ibn Qaiyyim) 193, 201 Aḥkām al-sulṭāniyya wal-wilāyāt aldīniyya, al- (al-Māwardī) 131, 133-136 ahl al-bayt (people of the house) 16n.3, 27, 28-30, 32, 33, 249, 314, 326 ahl al-ḥadīth (traditionalists) 39, 42, 49, 53, 54-55, 58, 61-64, 67n.5, 75, 193, 248 ahl al-kalām (theologians) 64 ahl al-ra’y (rationalists) 49, 53, 61, 64, 75 Aḥmad, Mahdī ‘Abd Allāh 250 Ahmadabad 306 Aḥmadī, the 300, 316 Aḥmadī Mosque, the 253, 254, 297 ‘Akā’ id al-Aḍudiyya, al- (al-Ījī) 255 Akhbār al-zamān (al-Mas‘ūdī) 103 A’lā, Abū Kurayb Muḥammad ibn al- 86

INDEX

alchemy 15, 28, 102, 123 Aleppo 96, 180 Alexandria 191, 257, 260 Algeria 288-291 Algiers 288 ‘Alī, al-Mutawakkil b. Aḥmad b. 249250 ‘Alī, Zayd b. 29, 40 Aligarh University 183 Alighieri, Dante 113, 161, 169 Allāh (God) vii, 20, 33, 62, 67n.8, 76, 98, 112, 134, 142-143, 153-154, 168, 180-181, 184, 185, 187, 207, 219, 222, 236, 284 Allāh, al-Qā’im Bi-Amr 131, 133 Almeria 164, 165 Almohad dynasty 157-158, 161, 164 Almoravid dynasty 157, 161 Alphabet of Communism (Bukharin) 272 Alphabet of Islam (Bigiyev) 272 Alṭāf al-Quds (Shāh Walī Allāh) 235 A‘mash, Sulaymān b. Mihrān al- 33 Ambre chaude de l-Islam, L’ (Eberhardt) 289 American Continent: discovery of 121122 ‘Āmidī, Sayf al-Dīn ibn ʿAlī ibn Abū ʿAlī ibn Muḥammad al- 171 Amīr, Muḥammad b. Ismā‘īl al- 247 ‘Amr ibn al-‘Āṣ, mosque of 173 Amrullah, Abdul Karim b. 321-322 Amul 85, 92n.6 Anas, Naḍr b. 45-46 Anatolia 165, 241 Andalus, al- 139-141, 157, 164-165, 204-205 Andalusī, Yaḥyā ibn Yaḥyā ibn Kathīr ibn Waslās al-Laithī al- 48 Ankara 280 Ankara, University of 114 Anṣār (the Helpers) 11, 12 Anshari, Isa 324 anthropology 124-125 Anwāʿ fī ʿilm al-tawḥīd (al-Sulāmī) 174 Apanay Religious School 270 ‘aqīda (Islamic creed) 190, 197, 200 ‘Aqīda al-wāsiṭiyya, al- (Ibn Taymiyyah) 191 ‘aql (human intelligence) 65, 76, 149, 182, 184

337 Aquinas, Thomas 111, 113, 157, 161 ‘Arabī, Muḥy al-Dīn ibn 22, 34, 157, 161, 164-169, 191, 222, 230 Arabia 66, 102, 103, 241 Arabic language 52, 75, 171, 197, 205, 228, 253, 266, 284, 315 Arafat, Mount viii Aral Sea 116 Arberry, A.J. 142 ‘Arif, Ibn al- 165 Aristotle 76, 96, 97, 110-111, 119-120, 127n.21, 151, 157, 158, 210, 315, 325 Armenia 102, 165, 278 ‘Āṣ, ‘Amr ibn al- 6, 14 ‘aṣabiyya (group feeling) 212 Asad, Fāṭima bint 10 Asad, Muhammad 72 Asadī, Musaddad b. Musarhad al- 64 Asadī, Taqī al-Dīn al- 123 ʿAsākir, Baha al-Dīn ibn ʿAlī ibn alḤasan ibn 171 Aṣbaḥī, Mālik b. Anas al- 27, 43, 45-50, 52, 54, 59, 63, 69, 299, 300 Ash‘arī, Abū Mūsā al- 6, 14, 46, 67n.5 Ash‘arites 112, 113, 148, 151, 175, 190, 192, 200, 256 Ashi‘ ‘at al-lama‘āt (Jāmī) 230 Ashtar, Mālik al- 15 ‘Āshūr, Muḥammad al-Ṭāhir ibn 283-287 Asia 121 As’ila wal-ajwiba, al- (al-Bīrūnī) 119 ‘Āṣim, Abū Bakr ibn 206 ‘Āṣim, Abū Yaḥya ibn 206 Asqalan 51, 86, 92n.19 astrolabe, the 122 astronomy 108, 117, 120-123, 277 Atatürk, Mustafa Kemal 182, 278-279 Āthār al-bāqiyya ‘an al-qurūn alkhāliyya, al- (al-Bīrūnī) 117, 119 ‘Aṭṭār, Farīd al-Dīn 181 Auda, Jasser 134-135, 145n.21, 285, 287 Augustine, St. 210, 315 Auvergne, William of 111 Averroes, see Qurtubī, Abū Walīd ibn Rushd alAvicenna, see Sīnā, Abū ‘Alī ibn Avicenna Medical College 114 Awām, Zubayr ibn al- 8, 13, 14 ‘Awf, ‘Abd al-Raḥmān ibn 4, 8, 13

338

THE ARCHITECTS OF ISLAMIC CIVILISATION

Awrangabad 314 A‘yan, Zurāra b. 32 Ayyūb, Mālik al-Ṣāliḥ Najm al-Dīn 172-173 Ayyūbid dynasty 172 Azerbaijan 102 Azhar, al- 253, 254-257, 259-260, 261, 298, 321 Aẓm, As‘ad Pāshā al- 242 Bādis, ‘Abd al-Ḥamīd ibn 290 Baghdad 41, 52, 55, 58, 59, 62, 66, 74, 79, 82, 85, 87, 96, 101, 131, 132, 149, 151, 152, 165, 179, 180, 189, 219, 222 Baghdādī, Junayd al- 225n.25 Bahā’ī, the 300 Bājja, Abū Bakr ibn 158 Bakar, Osman 95 Balkh 108 Bangladesh 316 Bannā, Ḥasan al- 291, 313 Baqī, ‘Abd Allāh al- 132 Bāqir, Muḥammad al- 29, 31, 32, 40 Baring, Evelyn (Lord Cromer) 259 Barla 279 Barus 219 Bashār Bundār, Muḥammad b. 81, 86 Bashīr, Hushaym ibn 59 Basīṭ al-qawl fī aḥkām sharā‘i’ al-Islām (al-Ṭabarī) 90 Basra 6, 7, 14, 22, 40, 59, 74, 79, 86, 132 Basra, Gulf of 103 Basran School, the 6 Baṣrī, al-Ḥasan al- 65 Basyūnī, Muḥammad al- 254 Batiniyya 192 Bayānī, Abū ‘Abd Allāh al- 206 Bayhaqī, al-Ḥāfiẓ al- 31 Bayrūtī, al-‘Abbās ibn al-Walīd ibn Mazyad al-‘Udhrī al- 86 Bayt al-Ḥikmah (House of Wisdom) 74 bayt al-māl (early Islamic treasury) 7 Bazzār, Aḥmad ibn Salama al- 82 Bedouin, the 211, 212 Beirut 86, 258, 271 Benha 259 Bennabi, Malik 288-296 Berbers, the 140, 164, 211

Berlin 272, 278 Bible: traditions of 104 bid’a (innovation) 190, 194, 206, 207, 301-302, 318 Bidāya wal-nihāya, al- (Ibn Kathīr) 193 Bidāyat al-mujtahid wa nihāyat almuqtaṣid (Ibn Rushd) 159-160 Bigiyev, Musa Jarullah 270-276 Bihrīz, Ḥabīb b. 77 Billāh, al-Musta’ṣim 189 Billāh, Mustaẓir 149 Billāh, Qādir 131-132 Birī, Abū ‘Abd Allāh Muḥammad al- 205 Bīrūnī, Abū al-Rayhān al- 103, 111, 114-128 Bistāmī, al- 225n.25 Bitlis 277 Bodleian Library, the 106n.4 Bolsheviks, the 271 Bougie 211 Bourguiba, Habib 283 Boutros-Ghali, Boutros 161-162 Brabant, Siger of 161 Braginsky, V. 220 Britain 127n.35, 257, 272, 309 Brockelmann, C. 142 Bu-Alī Sīnā University 114 Buddhism 183, 228 Buffalo 317 Bukhara 69, 108-109, 116, 270, 304 Bukhārī, Muḥammad ibn Ismāʿīl al- 30, 69-73, 80-81 Bulgars, the 102 Bunut Payung 265 Burdur 279 burhān (logical demonstration) 141 Burhānpūrī, Muḥammad ibn Faḍlillāh al- 221 Buwayhid dynasty 109 Būyid Emirs, the 132, 134-136 Byzantine Empire x, 102, 103 Cabot, John 122 Cairo 75, 170, 173, 191, 211, 254, 259, 260, 272, 288, 297-298 Cairo, University of 298 California Los Angeles, University of 330 Cambodia 265

INDEX

Camel, Battle of 14, 22 capitalism 304 Caspian Sea 66, 92n.6, 102 Caucasus, the 103 Chalabi, Ḥusām al-Dīn 182 Chaldea 104 Cheka, the 272 Chicago, University of 331 China x, 44, 102, 103, 104, 228, 230, 240, 272 Chinese language 228, 229 Chishti, the 314 Christian Youth Organisation, the 290 Christianity xi, 96, 104, 142, 193, 260, 326; Nestorian ix; philosophy and 111, 113 Columbus, Christopher 122 Communism 305 Companions, the, see Ṣaḥāba Conditions de la Renaissance, Les (Bennabi) 291 Confucianism 227, 228-231 Confucius 229 Constantine 288, 289 Constantinople, see Istanbul Copernicus 123 Corbin, Henri 167 Cordoba 139, 157, 161, 165 Cordoba, Fāṭima of 165 Cruel, Pedro el 211 Crusades, the 172, 179, 180, 189 Daesh, see Islamic State of Iraq and Syria Dallal, Ahmad 120 Damascus 6, 96, 165, 170, 172, 180, 188-189, 190, 191, 192, 194, 197, 240-242, 244, 271 Danishnama-yi ‘Ala’i (Ibn Sīnā) 109, 151 Daoism 228 Dār al-Arqam 4 Dār al-‘Ulūm 257, 297 Dar’ al-ta‘āruḍ al-‘aql wa-l-naql (Ibn Taymiyyah) 192 Dārimī, al- 67n.8 Daula, Jalāl al- 132 Daula, Mu’izz al- 136n.9 Davies, John 224n.3

339 Dawla, ‘Alā’ al- 109 Dawla, Majd al- 109 Dawla, Sayf al- 96 Dawla, Shams al- 109 Dawwānī, al-Jalāl al- 255 Delhi, Old 315 Deobandi, the 315, 329 Dhahabī, Muḥammad ibn Aḥmad al161, 192, 193, 199 Dhayl al-Mudhayyal (al-Ṭabarī) 91 dhikr (ritualised remembrance of Allāh) 181, 199, 221 Dhuhlī, Muḥammad ibn Yaḥyā al- 80 Dihlawī, Shāh Walī Allāh al- 234-239 Dīnār, ‘Amir ibn 47 diraya (opinion-orientated tafsīr) 157158, 325 Diyānāt al-qadīma (Abū Zahra) 298 Djambek, Saadoe’ddin 325 Duqduq, ‘Abd Allāh 29, 35n.3 Durant, William 119 Durham, University of 329 Durr al-Mukhtār, al- (al-Haṣkafī) 240 Durus al-Kenaliah (Kenali) 266 Dutton, Yasin 160 Ecole des Langues Orientales, L’ 290 Economic System of Islam (Mawdudi) 316 education 182, 259-260, 261, 273, 278, 305, 331; Chinese Muslim 228; Malay pondok system 265-266, 268-269 Egypt 6, 15, 79, 86-87, 96, 102, 103, 165, 169, 171, 172-173, 189, 211, 241, 257-258, 259, 270-271, 273, 291, 297 Egyptian School, the 6 Emirdağ 279 Enneads (Plotinus) 76 Europe 44, 77, 103, 104, 110-111, 113, 121, 122, 151, 160, 161, 166, 215, 242, 258-259, 260, 272, 273; ‘Age of Discover’ xi; colonialism and 257-258, 274, 289, 307, 313 Fadā’iḥ al-bātaniyya wa fadā’il almustazhiriyya (al-Ghazālī) 149

340

THE ARCHITECTS OF ISLAMIC CIVILISATION

Faḍā’il (al-Ṭabarī) 90 Faillite morale de la politique occidentale en orient, La (Riza) 289 Fairūzābādī, Abū al-Ṭāhir al- 199 Fakhruddin, H. 322 Fakhry, Majid 95 falṣafa, see philosophy Falṣafa Arisṭuṭālīs (al-Fārābī) 97 Fanon, Frantz 306-307, 309 Fanṣūrī, Ḥamza b. ‘Abd Allāh al- 220221 Fansuri, Hamzah al- 219-226, 324 Fansuri, Hasan al- 221 Fārābī, Abū Naṣr al- 77, 95-100, 111, 112, 113 Farḥūn, Ibn 161 Farqu bayna al-islām wa al-imān, al(al-Sulāmī) 174 Fatani, Shaykh al- 264 Fatāwā (al-Ajfān) 207 Fatḥ al-bārī sharḥ ṣaḥīḥ al-Bukhārī (al‘Asqalānī) 72 Fatḥ al-qadīr (al-Shawkānī) 247 Fāṭima (daughter of Muḥammad) 10, 11, 12, 16n.3, 136n.9 Fatimah Fatimah ast (Shariati) 306 fatwa (legal opinion) 6 Fatwā Ḥamawiyya al-kubrā (Ibn Taymiyyah) 190 Fawz al-kabīr fī uṣūl al-tafsīr, al- (Shāh Walī Allāh) 235 Fez 205, 211 Fi-he Ma Fih (Rūmī) 182 Finland 272, 273 fiqh 6, 15, 32, 48, 59, 65, 84, 102, 108, 151, 159-160, 170, 175-177, 180, 193, 197, 205, 230, 235, 240, 270, 297, 314, 315 Firabrī, Muḥammad ibn Yūsuf al- 70, 72, 73n.6 Firdaws al-ḥikma (Rabbān) 87 First World War 278, 289 Fitna, the First 13, 28 Flew, Anthony 108 Flint, Robert 210 Four Basic Quranic Terms (Mawdudi) 316 France 290 furū‘ al-dīn 229-230

Furūsiyya, al- (Ibn Qaiyyim) 200-201 Fustat (old Cairo) 55 Fuṣūṣ al-ḥikam (Ibn ‘Arabī) 166 Futūḥāt al-Makiyya (Ibn ‘Arabī) 22, 165-166 Fuyūḍ al-Ḥaramayn (Shāh Walī Allāh) 234-235 Gabriel, angel, see Jibrīl Gadhafi, Muammar 299 Galenus, Aelius 110-111 Galileo 122 Gaozong Emperor, the 231n.3 gedimu (traditional Chinese Islam) 227229 geology 123 Ghadir Khum 89-90 Ghazālī, Abū Ḥāmid al- 65, 75, 113, 145n.21 148-156, 207, 325 Ghaznavid dynasty 109 Ghazni 117-118 Ghazni, Maḥmūd of 109, 132 Gibran, Khalil 289 Gleaves, Robert 28 Gnosticism 36n.8 God, see Allāh Goldziher, Ignaz 142 Gospels, the 119 Granada 204-205 Greece 103, 104 Guangzhou 231n.3 Guillot, C. 220-221 Gülan, Fethullah 281 Gurvitch, Max 306 Gutas, D. 77 Haddad, as-Sayyid Alwi bin Tahir al- 326 hadith 41, 43, 47, 59, 63-65, 66n.1, 6972, 79-82, 84, 90-91, 96, 174, 175, 177, 200, 205, 247-248, 270, 284, 297, 299, 314, 315; transmission of 59-60 Ḥaḍramaut, the 210 Ḥaḍramīs, the 223 Ḥafṣid dynasty 211 Hajar al-Asqalānī, Ibn 5 Haji Abdul Malik Karim Amrullah, see Hamka Hajj (pilgrimage to Makkah) 8, 89, 152,

INDEX

165, 190, 205, 241, 264, 271 Ḥakam, Hishām b. al- 33 Ḥalabī, Sa‘īd al- 240 Ḥallāj, al- 225n.25 Hamah 190 Hamdan 109-110 Ḥamdūn, Ḥamdān ibn 87-88 Hamid, E.A. 134 Hamid, Engku Mudo Abdul 322 Hamka (Haji Abdul Malik Karim Amrullah) 321-327 Hammām, ‘Abd al-Razzāq b. 59 Ḥammūyya, Sa’d al-Dīn 230 Ḥanafī School, the 30, 41-44, 51, 54, 84, 85, 109, 206, 240, 242-243 Ḥanbal, ‘Abd Allāh ibn Aḥmad ibn 60 Ḥanbal, Aḥmad ibn 53, 58-68, 79, 85, 89, 195, 284, 299 Ḥanbalī, Ibn Rajab al- 199 Ḥanbalī School, the 58, 61, 65-66, 77, 84, 88, 89, 188, 193, 197, 198, 227; ḥashwiyya 66 Hantama, Umm ‘Abd Allāh bint 4 Ḥaqā’iq al-tafsīr (al-Sulamī) 36n.11 ḥaqīqa 229 Harran 188 Ḥasan, al- (grandson of Muḥammad) 10, 16n.2, 28-29 Hasan, Sayyid Ahmad 314-315 Ḥasanids 29 Hāshimites 10, 29, 41, 52 Ḥāshiyya ‘alā sharḥ al-Dawwānī li al‘aqā’id al-‘Aḍudiyya (‘Abduh) 255-256 Ḥāshiyya Ibn ‘Ābidīn (Ibn ‘Ābidīn) 242 Hawary, Hassan Mohammad el- 220 Ḥaylān, Yūḥannā ibn 96 Ḥayyān, Jābir b. 28 Ḥazm, Abū Muḥammad ‘Alī ibn 139147, 299 Hidayah, al- (magazine) 267, 268 Hijaz, the xvi, 52, 59, 69, 273, 284, 302 Hijra, the viii, 7, 11, 309 Hijra Shawkan 246 Hijrī calendar 7 Hikayat Raja Pasai 223 Ḥilya al-abdāl (Ibn ‘Arabī) 167 Ḥimmānī, Yaḥyā bin ‘Abd al-Ḥamīd al- 31 Hindī, Ṣafī al-Dīn al- 198

341 Hinduism 104, 124-125, 183 Hippocrates 110 Ḥirā, cave of vii Hishām II (Umayyad caliph, al-Andalus) 140 Histoire sociale de l’humanite, L’ (Courtellemont) 289 historiography 124-125, 213 ḥiyal (legal artifices) 199-200 Hizb al-wiqāya (Ibn ‘Arabī) 167 Homer 113 Homs 6, 86, 92n.17 Horace 113 Houssein-e-Ershad 308-309 How Do We Think? (Dewy) 289 Hu Dengzhou 228 Hudhayl, tribe of 52 Hui, the 227, 231n.3 Ḥujjat Allāh al-bāligha (Shāh Walī Allāh) 235 Human Rights in Islam (Mawdudi) 316 Hurmuz, Ibn 46 Ḥusayn, al- (grandson of Muḥammad) 10, 16n.2, 29 Ḥuyyay, Ṣafiya bint (wife of Muḥammad) 21 Hyderabad 315 Hypocrites, the, see Munāfiqūn IAIS Malaysia xiii ibāḥa (original permissibility) 196 Ibn Sīnā Academy of Medieval Medicine and Sciences 114 Ibn Sīnā Balkh Medical School 114 Ibn Sīnā Tajik State Medical University 114 Ibrāhīm (prophet) xiv, 181, 281 Ibrāhīm (son of Muḥammad) 21 Ibrāhīm, Ḥafiẓ 289 Ibrahimov, ‘Abd al-Rashid 271 Ibsen, Hendrik 325 Idrīs (prophet) 236 Ighāthat al-lahfān min maṣāyid alShayṭān (Ibn Qaiyyim) 200 Iḥkām fī uṣūl al-aḥkām, al- (Ibn Ḥazm) 142 Iḥṣā’ al-‘ulūm (al-Fārābī) 96 Iḥyā’ ‘ulūm al-dīn (al-Ghazālī) 152-153, 225n.25

342

THE ARCHITECTS OF ISLAMIC CIVILISATION

ijmā‘ (scholarly consensus) 30, 54, 55, 64, 235, 241, 248-249 ijtihād (independent legal reasoning) xii, 5, 39, 40, 42, 48-49, 53, 54, 55, 59, 60, 61, 65, 66n.1, 71, 88, 134, 141, 145n.21, 159, 195, 206, 207, 242-244, 246, 248-250, 255-257, 259, 260, 273, 274, 284-285, 287, 299, 308, 325, 329, 332 Ijtimā‘ al-juyūsh al-Islāmiyya ‘alā ghazwi al-Mu‘aṭṭila walJahmiyya (Ibn Qaiyyim) 200 ikhtilāf (scholarly disagreement) 159-160 Ikhtilāf al-ḥadīth (al-Shāfi‘ī) 55 Ikhwān al-Muslimūn (Muslim Brotherhood) 291, 299, 314 I‘lām al-muwaqqi‘īn ‘an Rabb al‘Ālamīn (Ibn Qayyim) 200 Iljam al-‘awāmm ‘an ‘ilm al-kalām (alGhazālī) 151 ‘ilm al-‘umrān (science of civilisation) 211-212 ‘ilm asrār al-dīn (science of the subtle meanings of religion) 234, 235 ‘Imād, Ibn al- 161 Imam, al- (magazine) 268 īmān (faith) 33-34, 44n.1 ‘Imrān, Maryam bint (mother of ‘Īsā) 143 India 44, 102, 103, 104, 117, 168, 183, 223, 239, 240, 250, 271, 272, 273, 316 Indonesia xi, 102, 113, 265, 272, 321, 322, 323, 326 Indonesian-Malaysia Confrontation 324 Indonesian National Revolution 323, 325 Inṣāf fī bayān sabab al-ikhtilāf, al- (Shāh Walī Allāh) 235 Insān al-kāmil, al- (the Perfect Man) 182 Insannarning ‘Aqidah Ilahiyatlarene Ber Nazar (Bigiyev) 273 Inshā’ al-dawā’ir (Ibn ‘Arabī) 167 Iqāmat al-dalīl ‘alā ibṭāl al-taḥlīl (Ibn Qaiyyim) 199 Iqbal, Muhammad 183, 234, 308, 313, 331 ʿIqd al-jīd fī aḥkām al-ijtihād wa altaqlīd (Shāh Walī Allāh) 235 Iqtiḍā’ ṣirāṭ al-mustaqīm (Ibn Taymiyyah) 195

Iqtisād fī l-i‘tiqād, al- (al-Ghazālī) 151 Iran 58, 113, 169, 241, 272, 307-308; Islamic Revolution of 304, 308, 309 Iraq 6, 27, 29, 53, 59, 61, 69, 154, 165, 241, 272 Irshād al-fuḥūl ilā taḥqīq al-ḥaqq min ‘ilm al-uṣūl (al-Shawkānī) 247, 249 irtifāqāt (the supports of civilisation) 236-237, 238-239 ‘Īsā 193 Isfahan 109, 149 Isḥāq (prophet) xiv, 142-143 Isḥāq, Muḥammad ibn 85, 101 ISIS, see Islamic State of Iraq and Syria iṣlāḥ (reform) xii, 190, 195-196, 234, 238-239, 244, 258-261, 270, 272-274, 277, 283, 287, 289-291, 292-293, 294, 307-308, 309, 317318, 322, 328-329, 331 Islam 77, 105, 125-126, 141, 142, 158, 167, 168, 183, 193, 195, 229, 236, 274, 275, 279, 286, 292, 305, 308, 313; revelation of viiix; spread of x, 231n.3, 238, 244; value of knowledge within x Islam (Rahman) 329 Islam and Modernity (Rahman) 331 Islam dan Demokrasi (Hamka) 323 Islamic economics 313 Islamic Inquisition, see Miḥna Islamic jurisprudence, see fiqh Islamic Law and Constitution (Mawdudi) 316 Islamic Methodology in History (Rahman) 329, 331 Islamic Research Institute (Islamabad) 329 Islamic Research Institute (Karachi) 329, 330 Islamic State of Iraq and Syria 181 Islamism 312-313, 316-317 Ismā‘īl (prophet) xiv Ismāʿīl, Mālik al-Ṣāliḥ ʿImād al-Dīn 172-173 Ismail, Nik Mahmud 264-265 isnād (chain of transmission) 70, 71, 80, 82 Isparta 281

INDEX

Iṣṭakhrī, Abū Sa’īd al- 86 Istanbul 102, 103, 243, 270, 274, 278, 280 istiḥsān (juristic preference) 39, 42, 43, 54, 59, 66n.1, 141 istiṣlāḥ (public interest) 48-49 istiṣqā 285-286 Jabal, Mu‘ādh ibn 286 Jabhat al-Nusra 181 Jadd, Ibn Rushd al- 157 Ja‘farī School, the 27 jahiliyya (Age of Ignorance) 292 Jahmiyya 200 Jahsh, Zaynab bint (wife of Muḥammad) 21 Jakarta 323, 326 Jakarta Charter, the 324 Jalāl, al-Ḥasan b. Aḥmad b. al- 247 Jama‘at al-Qur’an 300 Jamaat-e-Islami 314, 316 Jam‘ bayn al-ṣaḥīḥayn, al- (al-Ḥumaydī) 188 Jāmī, ‘Abd al-Raḥmān 222 Jāmi’ fī al-qirā’āt, al- (al-Ṭabarī) 91 Jāmi‘ li-‘ulūm Aḥmad ibn Ḥanbal, al(al-Khallāl) 66 Jamiat, al- (newspaper) 315 Jami’yat al-‘ulamā’ 290 Jam’iyya al-‘Ashriyya 268 Japan 268, 272 Jarḥ wa al-ta’dīl, al- (Ibn Abī Ḥātim) 81 Jarīrī School, the 84, 87, 91 Jarrāḥ, al-Wakī‘ b. al- 59 Jasin, H.B. 326 Jawāb al-ṣaḥīḥ li-man baddala Dīn alMasīḥ, al- (Ibn Taymiyyah) 193 Jawālīqī, Hishām b. Sālim al- 32 Jawhar, Fāṭima bint 198 Jawzaqī, Abū Bakr al- 80 Jawzī, Muḥyī al-Dīn al- 201n.1 Jawziyya, Ibn Qaiyyim al- 193, 194, 197-203 Jeffery, Arthur 125 Jerusalem 194 Jesuits, the 228 Jesus, see ‘Īsā Jews, the ix, xiv, 104, 142, 260, 302 Jibrīl, angel vii, 97, 143

343 jihād (holy struggle) 182, 194, 196, 316, 331; çihad-i mânavî 279-281 Jihād fī al-Islām (Mawdudi) 312, 315 Jilānī, ‘Abdul Qādir al- 277 Jīlī, ‘Abd al-Karīm al- 222 Jining 228 Johor 326 Ju‘fī, al-Mufaḍḍal al- 31-32 Jurjan 82, 117 Juwaynī, al-Ḥaramayn Ḍiā‘ al-Dīn al65, 148, 207 Ka‘aba 10, 12 Kabul 272 Kāfiya al-shāfiya fī intiṣār al-firqa alnājiya, al- (Ibn Qaiyyim) 200 Kaifeng 228 kalām (theology) 15, 32, 40, 102, 111, 112, 151, 154, 174, 180, 190, 197, 205, 258, 270, 297, 315, 329 Kalus, L. 220-221 Kamāl fī asmā’ al-rijāl, al- (al-Maqdīsī) 193 Kampung Kenali 264 Kampung Molek 321 Kampung Oboh 221 Kampung Paya 264 Kampung Sireh 265 Kanayyisat Adrin 253, 254 Kanun-e Nashr-e Haqayeq-e Eslami 305 Karbalā’ 29 Kashf al-ghiṭā’ ‘an ḥukm sam‘ al-ghinā (Ibn Qaiyyim) 201 Kashmir 316 Kastamonu 279 Kath 116-117 Kathīr, Ismā’īl ibn 12, 90, 193, 199 Kaum Muda (Young Clan) 322, 326 Kaum Tua (Old Clan) 322 Kawākibī, ‘Abd al-Raḥmān al- 292 Kawkabānī, ‘Abd al-Qādir b. Aḥmad al- 247 Kayqubād, ‘Alā’ al-Dīn 180 Kāzarūnī, Muḥammad ibn Mas‘ūd al229 Kāẓim, Mūsā al- 32 Kelantan 264-265 Kenali, Tok (Muhammad Yusof) 264-269 Khāḍir, Shaykh Darwīsh 253-254

344

THE ARCHITECTS OF ISLAMIC CIVILISATION

Khafīf, ‘Alī al- 298 Khafīf fī aḥkām sharā’i‘ al-Islām, al- (alṬabarī) 91 Khair Allah, ‘Abduh ibn Ḥasan 252-253 Khaldūn, ‘Abd al-Raḥmān ibn 99, 101, 103, 134, 137n.24, 205, 208, 210-216, 288 Khaldūn, tribe of 210 Khālid, Abū Thawr Ibrāhīm b. 63 Khaliq Nazarina Bernicha Mas’ala (Bigiyev) 272 Khallāf, ‘Abdul Wahāb 298 Khallāl, Abū Bakr al- 63, 65-66, 67n.7 Khan, Abdul Ghaffar 280 Khan, Ayub 329 Khan, Muḥammad Ḥamidullāh 272 Khan, Syed Ahmad 183 Khāqānī, Ubaydallāh ibn Yaḥyā al- 86, 87 kharaj (land taxation) 7 Kharijites 14-15, 40, 44n.1, 301, 302 Khaṭīb, Ibn al- 205, 207 Khatibul Ummah (Hamka) 323 Khaṭṭāb 3 Khaṭṭāb, ‘Umar b. al- ix, 3-9, 13, 89, 90, 252 Khawārij, see Kharijites Khaybar, Battle of 11 Khayr al-Kathīr, al- (Shāh Walī Allāh) 235 Khayyām, ‘Umar 113 Khazars, the 102 Khedivial School of Languages 257 Khiraqī, Abū al-Qāsim al- 66 Khomeini, Ruhollah 308, 309, 313 Khujandī, al- 117 Khūlī, ‘Abdul ‘Azīz al- 298 Khurasan 43, 59, 69, 79, 109, 132, 148, 154, 179 Khuwaylid, Khadīja bint (wife of Muḥammad) 20 Khwārizmī, al- 113 Kinda, tribe of 74 Kindī, Abū Yūsuf Yaʿqūb ibn Isḥāq al74-78, 111, 113, 123, 150 Kindī Circle, the 75, 76-77 Kitāb adab al-dunya wa al-dīn (alMāwardī) 133 Kitāb al-alfāẓ al-musta‘mala fi’l-manṭiq (al-Fārābī) 96

Kitāb al-awsaṭ (al-Mas‘ūdī) 103 Kitāb al-fiṣal fī al-milal wa al-ahwā’ wa al-niḥal (Ibn Ḥazm) 142 Kitāb al-ḥudūd (al-Kindī) 75 Kitāb al-ḥurūf (al-Fārābī) 96 Kitāb al-‘ibar (Ibn Khaldūn) 210, 211 Kitāb al-iqnā‘ (al-Māwardī) 132 Kitāb al-i’tiṣām (al-Shāṭibī) 206 Kitāb al-jadal (al-Fārābī) 96 Kitāb al-jam’ bayn ra’yay al-ḥakīmayn Aflāṭūn al-ilāhī wa Arisṭuṭālīs (al-Fārābī) 97 Kitāb al-jamāhir fī ma’rifat al-jawāhir (al-Bīrūnī) 123 Kitāb al-kashf ‘an manāhij al-adilla (Ibn Rushd) 158 Kitāb al-kullīyyāt fī al-ṭibb (Ibn Rushd) 158 Kitāb al-majālis (al-Shāṭibī) 206 Kitāb al-muhallā bi‘l athār (Ibn Ḥazm) 142 Kitāb al-mūsīqā (al-Fārābī) 96 Kitāb al-shifā’ (Ibn Sīnā) 112 Kitāb al-tamyīz (Muslim) 80 Kitāb al-tanbīh wal-ishrāf (al-Mas‘ūdī) 170-171 Kitāb al-Umm (al-Shāfi‘ī) 35n.6, 55 Kitāb al-wizāra’ (al-Māwardī) 133 Kitāb al-Zuhd (Ibn Ḥanbal) 65 Kitab Bonang 223 Kitāb faṣl al-maqāl 158 Kitāb fī taḥqīq mā li-‘l-Hind (al-Bīrūnī) 124-125 Kitāb ikhtilāf ‘ulamā’ al-amṣār fī aḥkām sharā‘i’ al-Islām (al-Ṭabarī) 89 Konya 180, 181, 281 Koran, see Qur’an Korea 102 Kosturma 278 Kota Bahru 264, 268 Kubrawiyya, the 227, 230 Kufa 6, 28, 31, 32, 40, 41, 59, 86 Kuran, Timur 313 Kurds, the 279 Kushmayhānī, Abū al-Haytham al- 72 Lahore 118, 317 Lakḫmī, tribe of 204 Lancaster, Sir James 219

INDEX

Laṭīf al-qawl fī aḥkām sharā’i‘ al-Islām (al-Ṭabarī) 91 Lawā’iḥ (Jāmī) 230 Lebanon 291 Leiden, University of 207 Lembaga Hikmat (Hamka) 326 Let Us be Muslims (Mawdudi) 316 Levant, the 14 Libya 291 Lings, Martin ix Liu Hanying 228 Liu Zhi 227-233 Lubb, Abū Sa’īd ibn 205 Lucan 113 Mabādi’ ārā’ ahl al-madīna al-fāḍila (alFārābī) 96 Madārij al-sālikīn (Ibn Taymiyyah) 193 Madārij al-sālikīn bayna manāzil iyyaka na‘budu wa iyyaka nasta‘īn (Ibn Qaiyyim) 198, 199 Madrasa al-Jawziyya 197, 198, 201n.1 Madrasa al-Ṣadriyya 199 Madrasa Ḥanbaliyya 190 Madrasa Husainiyya 273 Madrasa Kul Buye 270 Madrasa Muḥammad ‘Atif Barkāt 297 Madrasa Nizāmiyya 149, 150, 154, 155n.3 Madrasa Raḥīmiyya 234 Madrasah Muhammadiyyah 268 Madinah viii, ix, 6, 11, 29, 30, 45, 46, 47, 52, 70, 234-235, 271, 302 Madinah, Mosque of 23 Madīnī, ‘Alī b. al- 69 Madinī, Muḥammad al- 253 mafsada (harm) 170, 175-176 Magnus, Albert 111 Mahabharata, the 271 Mahalla al-Kubra 297 Mahallat Nasr 252-253, 257 Maḥḍ, ‘Abd Allāh al- 29 Maḥḍ, Muḥammad b. ‘Abd Allāh al- 2930, 41 mahdī, the 29-30 Mahdī, ‘Abd al-Raḥmān ibn al- 55 Mahmanabadi, Allamah 310n.5 Maḥmūd, ‘Abdul Halīm 298 Ma‘īn, Yaḥyā ibn 59, 61

345 Majalla Liwāc al-Islām (magazine) 298 Majārī, Abū ‘Abd Allāh al- 204 Majāz al-Qur’ān (al-Sulāmī) 174 Majlis Ulama Indonesia 324 Majmū’ al-fatāwā (Ibn Taymiyyah) 192 Majmūʿat rasā’il Ibn ʿĀbidīn (Ibn ‘Ābidīn) 243 Major Themes of the Qur’an (Rahman) 331 Makassar, University of 323 Makhzūmī, ‘Abd Allāh al- 52 Makkah vii, x, 4, 6, 11, 12, 41, 51-52, 55, 69, 79, 165, 180, 190, 200, 219, 221, 222, 234-235, 264, 271, 322 mala’ al-a‘lā, al- (Highest Council of Angels) 237 Malay Peninsula, the 102, 264 Malaya 264, 268 Malaysia 268, 313, 324 Mālik, Anas b. 6 Mālikī School, the 30, 42, 48, 84, 86, 141, 157, 159, 204, 207, 211, 300 Ma’mum, ‘Alī ibn 117 Ma’mūn, al- 60, 74 Manār, al- (magazine) 206 Manār al-munīf fī al-ṣaḥīḥ wal-da’īf, al(Ibn Qaiyyim) 200 Manāsik al-Ḥajj (Ibn Taymiyyah) 190 Manāzil al-sā´irīn (al-Harawī) 198 Manfalūṭī, Muṣṭafā Luṭfī al- 289 Manichaeanism 36n.8, 104 Mansur, A.R. Sutan 322 Manṣūr, Abū Ja‘far al- 27, 29-30, 39, 41, 47 Manṣūr, Abū Naṣr 117, 119 Manṣūr, Nūḥ ibn 109 Mansura 220-221 manṭiq (logic) 314, 315 Maqassari, Muhammad Yusuf al- 223 Maqāṣid al-falāsifa (al-Ghazālī) 151 Maqāṣid al-ḥajj (al-Sulāmī) 176 Maqāṣid al-ṣalāḥ (al-Sulāmī) 176 Maqāṣid al-ṣaum (al-Sulāmī) 176 maqāṣid al-sharī‘a (higher objectives of Sharia) 141, 160, 170, 172, 175-176, 204, 206-208, 237, 284, 285-286, 287 Maqāṣid al-Sharī‘a al-Islāmiyya (Ibn ‘Āshūr) 283 Maqbālī, Ṣāliḥ b. Mahdī al- 247

346

THE ARCHITECTS OF ISLAMIC CIVILISATION

Maqdisī, Sulaymān Taqī al-Dīn ibn Qudāma al- 198 Maqqarī, Abū ‘Abd Allāh al- 205 Maqsad-i aqsā (al-Nasafī) 230 Marbawi, Idris al- 266, 269n.4 Marinide dynasty 205, 211 Marrakesh 161 Marshena, Yasmin of 165 Marv 109 Marxism 304, 307, 315 Mas’ada, Ḥumayd ibn 86 Masarra, Ibn 165 Mashhad 304, 305 Mashhad, University of 306, 307 Masjid al-Ḥarām 55, 264 maṣlaḥa (individual or public benefit) 42, 54, 170, 175-176, 206-207, 235, 239 Masnavi (Rūmī) 179, 181, 182, 183, 184 Masqawi, Omar 291 Massignon, Louis 306 Mas‘ūd, ‘Abd Allāh ibn 101 Mas‛ūdī, Abū al-Ḥasan al- 101-107 mathematics 102, 108, 240, 254, 277, 314 Māturidī theology 43, 192 Mawaraennahr 273 Māwardī, Abū Ḥasan al- 131-138 Mawdudi, Sayyid Abul A’la al- 308, 312-320 Mawdudi, Sayyid Abul Khair 315 Mawhub, Ibn 289 Mazdakites 104 Mazinan 304 McGill University 329 McGinnis, Jon 110 Mecca, see Makkah Medan 323 medicine 74, 87, 102, 108, 110-111, 158, 197, 201, 205, 207, 236 Medina, see Madinah Mevlevi Order, the 181 Miftāḥ dār al-sa’āda (Ibn Taymiyyah) 193 Miftāḥ dār al-sa‘āda wa manshūr wilāyat al-‘ilm wal-´irāda (Ibn Qaiyyim) 199 Miḥna (Islamic Inquisition) 60-61, 62, 77 Minangkabau 322 Minhāj al-sunna al-nabawiyya (Ibn

Taymiyyah) 192 Mir Islama (magazine) 274 Mirṣād al-‘ibād min al-mabda’ ila’lma‘ād (al-Rāzī) 230 Mishkāt al-anwār (al-Ghazālī) 153-154 Mishkāt al-anwār (Ibn ‘Arabī) 167 Mīzān al-‘amal (al-Ghazālī) 151 Mizzī, Yūsuf ibn al-Zakī ‘Abd alRaḥmān al- 193, 198 Moestopo, University of 321 Mongols, the 179, 180, 188, 189, 194 Morocco xi, 313 Mosaddeq, Mohammad 306 Mosaddeqist Movement, the 306 Mu‘āwiyya, ‘Abd Allāh b. 29 Mu‘āwiyya, Yazīd ibn 29 Mubārak, ‘Abd Allāh b. al- 63, 69 Mubārak, ‘Alī Pāshā 257 Muda, Iskandar 219 Mudawwana (Ibn al-Qāsim) 159 Mughals, the 234, 314 Muḥabbar, Dāwūd b. al- 65 Muḥāḍarāt fī nasraniyya (Abū Zahra) 298 Muhājirūn (migrants from Makkah to Madinah) 11, 12 Muḥammad (prophet) vii-x, 3, 11, 15, 19-23, 27, 34, 46, 47, 49, 54, 69, 85, 103, 112, 134, 145n.21, 185, 191, 193, 235, 285, 286; alleged nomination of ‘Alī 12, 30, 64; as al-insān al-kāmil (the Perfect Man) 182 Muḥammad IV (Kelantan) 265 Muḥammad V (Naṣrid ruler) 211 Muhammadiyyah 324 Muhammadiyyah University of Prof. Dr. Hamka 321 Muḥāsibī, al-Ḥārith al- 65 Mu’jizat al-Kubra al-Qur’ān, al- (Abū Zahra) 298 Mulḥah fī al-iʿtiqād ahl al-ḥaq (alSulāmī) 174 Muljam, ‘Abd al-Raḥmān ibn 15 Mulk, Fakhr al- 154 Mulk, Nizām al- 149, 150 Mulyono, Slamet 324 Mumbai 272 Munāfiqūn (hypocrites) 5 Mundhirī, al-Hāfiz al- 171

347

INDEX

Munfaridāt wal-waḥdān, al- (Muslim) 80 Munqidh min al-dalāl, al- (al-Ghazālī) 150 Muntaqā al-akhbār (Abū al-Barakāt ibn Taymiyyah) 188, 246 Muqaddima (Ibn Khaldūn) 210, 211-213, 215, 291 Murata, S. 232n.18 Murcia 164 Murji’tes, the 39, 44n.1 Murūj al-dhahab wa ma ‘ādin al-jawhar (al-Mas‘ūdī) 103-104, 105 Mūsā, Mālik al-Ashrāf 172 Musayyab, Sa‘īd ibn al- 46 Museum of Arab Art (Cairo) 220 Muslim (magazine) 315 Musnad Aḥmad (Ḥanbal) 19, 60, 67n.4, 71, 91, 188 mustakhraj movement, the 82 Mu‘taḍid, al- 141 Mu‘taṣim, al- 61, 74, 85 Mutawakkil, al- 77 Mu‘tazalites, the 33, 77, 87, 104, 112, 192, 200, 256 Muti‘ī, Muḥammad Bakhit al- 270 Muwafaqāt fī uṣūl al-sharī’a, al- (alShāṭibī) 176, 206-207 Muwaṭṭa’, al- (Mālik) 43, 46, 47-48, 52, 63, 205, 246, 285 mysticism, see Sufism Nablūsī, Shihāb al-Dīn al- 198 Nadwi, Mohammad Akram 20 Nahdatul Ulama’ 324 Nahj al-Balāgha (al-Raḍī) 15 Nahrawan, Battle of 15 Nā‘īmah, ‘Abd al-Masīḥ ibn 76 Najaf 304 Najran ix, 52 Nakha‛ī, Ibrāhīm al- 40 Nakha‘ī, Sharīk b. ‘Abd Allāh al- 31-32 Nandana 118, 121 Nanjing 227, 228, 229, 231 Naqd al-manṭiq (Ibn Taymiyyah) 193 Naqshbandiyya, the 223, 227, 234, 238, 277, 279 NASA 127n.26 Nashr al-ʿurf fī binā’ baʿḍ al-aḥkām ʿalā al-ʿurf (Ibn ‘Ābidīn) 243

Naṣīḥat al-mulūk (al-Ghazālī) 149-150 Naṣīḥat al-mulūk (al-Māwardī) 133 Nasr, Sayyid Vali Reza 313 Nasr, Seyyed Hossein 161, 164, 166 Naṣrānī, ‘Assāf al- 191 Naṣrid dynasty 204-205, 211 Nasser, Jamal Abdel 291, 299 nationalism 274-275, 307, 313 Natsir, Mohammad 324 Nawawī, Yaḥyā Sharaf al- 46 Nayl al-awṭār sharḥ muntaqā al-akhbār min aḥādīth Sayyid al-Akhyār (al-Shawkānī) 188, 246-247 Naysabur 82 Negara Islam (Hamka) 323 Neo-Shariatism 309-310 Nichomachean Ethics (Aristotle) 160, 162n.6 Nichomachus 76-77 Nishapur 79, 109, 148 Nīshāpūrī, Muslim ibn al-Ḥajjāj al- 30, 71, 79-83 Niyazi, ‘Abdu’ssalam 315 Novo-Cherkassk 270 Nūḥ, Manṣūr ibn 84 Nurs 277 Nursi, Bediüzzaman Said 277-282 Orenburg 273 Osler, William 108 Ottomans, the 43, 240-241, 258, 278 Ovid 113 Oxford, University of 329 Ozin Konnarda Ruza (Bigiyev) 273 Padang Panjang 322, 323 Pahlavi regime, the 308 Pakistan 183, 316, 329, 330 Palacious, Asin 165 Palestine 6, 86, 103, 152, 165 Pancasila 324 Parabek 322 Parabek, Ibrahim Musa 322 Paris 102, 258, 288, 290, 306 Partai Masyumi 324 Pāshā, Aḥmad ‘Urābī 257-258 Pāshā, Ismā’īl (Khedive) 257 Pāshā, Riāḍ 257 Pāshā, Tawfīq (Khedive) 257, 259

348

THE ARCHITECTS OF ISLAMIC CIVILISATION

Pedoman Masyarakat (magazine) 323 Pelita Andalus (newspaper) 322 Pengasuh (magazine) 267, 268 Persia x, 102, 103, 104 Peshawar 272 Phenomene Coranique, Le (Bennabi) 290-291 philosophy 36n.8, 74-77, 87, 95, 102, 108, 111-113, 150-152, 154, 157-159, 160-161, 189, 193, 205, 234-237, 315; Hān Kitāb tradition 228-231; Neo-Platonism 95, 100, 112, 219; politics and 98-99, 160-161; religion and 76, 97-98, 150-151; science and 118-120 Pinto, Fernão Mendes 222 Plato 97, 111, 113, 210, 315 poetry 52, 87, 166, 183, 185, 222, 225n.25, 243, 267, 322, 327n.4 political Islam, see Islamism Politics (Aristotle) 162n.6 Pondok Kenali 266 Pope, Arthur 116 post-colonialism 307 Posterior Analytics (Aristotle) 112 Proclus 76 prophecy 34, 112, 238; philosophy and 97-98; universal nature of viii, 229, 236; women and 142-143 Prophecy in Islam (Rahman) 329 Protestant Reformation, the 273 Ptolemy 111, 121, 122 Punjab University 329 Purdah and the Status of Women in Islam (Mawdudi) 316 Qa’anabī, ‘Abd Allāh ibn Maslana al- 79 Qābūs, Shams al-Ma’ālī 117 Qādiriyya, the 221, 227 Qādiyānī, the, see Aḥmadī Qadiyani Problem, The (Mawdudi) 316 Qalāwūn, Mālik al-Nāṣir 191, 194 qalb (heart) 182 Qānūn al-Mas‘ūdī, al- (al-Bīrūnī) 120121 Qanūn fī al-ṭibb, al- (Sīnā) 110-111 Qarakhanid dynasty 109 Qarmaṭis 104

Qāsim, Abū Muḥammad al- 171 Qāsimī Imāms, the 246, 247-248, 249250 Qaṭṭān, Yaḥyā b. Sa‘īd al- 35n.4, 59 Qawāʿid al-ahkām fī maṣālīḥ al-anām (al-Sulāmī) 175 Qawl al-mufīd fī adillat al-ijtihād wa altaqlīd, al- (al-Shawkānī) 248 Qazan 270, 273 Qazvin 109 Qianlong Emperor, the 230 qibla (direction of prayer): its determination 123 Qibṭiya, Māriya al- 21 qiyās (legal analogy) 7, 39, 41, 42, 43, 53, 54, 55, 59, 60, 61, 65, 66n.1, 141, 144, 249, 284 Qorban-Ali, Akhond Molla 304 Qunāwī, Ṣadr al-Dīn al- 165, 166 Qur’an, the 7, 13, 14, 19, 27, 30, 41, 43, 48, 49, 54, 62, 64, 72, 76, 91, 101, 142-143, 158, 160, 175, 177, 182, 184, 193, 195, 206, 248, 271, 278, 299, 328-329, 331; compilation of 6, 45; created or uncreated 60-61, 80, 256; God’s speech 33; opinions of ‘Umar and 5; poetry and 185; Prophet and ix; Quraysh and vii, 3; revelation of vii; variant readings of 91 Qurashī, Abūl Faraj ‘Abd al-Raḥmān ibn al-Jawzī al- 201n.1 Quraysh, tribe of vii, 3, 134, 137n.24, 223 Qurtubī, Abū al-Walīd ibn Rushd al- 113, 157-163, 165 Qutb, Sayyid 308, 313, 331 Radd ‘alā al-manṭiqiyyīn, al- (Ibn Taymiyyah) 191, 193 Raḍī, al-Sharif al- 15 Rāhawayh, Isḥāq b. 69, 79 Rahman, Fazlur 237, 328-335 Rahmat Ilahiyye Borhannary (Bigiyev) 273 Rajā’, Abū Bakr Muḥammad ibn 82 Ramaḍān (month of fasting) 7, 283; in the polar north 274

INDEX

Ramla 86, 92n.18 Raniri, Nur al-Din al- 222, 223 Rashīd, Hārūn al- 33, 53 ra’y, al- see ijtihād Raysūnī, Aḥmad al- 204 Rayy (old Tehran) 79, 85, 109, 117 Razak, Tun Abdul 321 Rāzī, ‘Abd Allāh Muḥammad ibn Ḥumayd al- 85 Rāzī, Abū Ḥātim al- 79 Rāzī, Abū Zur’a al- 60, 79, 81 Rāzī, Ibn Wāra al- 81 religion 104, 236, 237-238 Renaissance, the 113, 122, 258 Republic (Plato) 160, 162n.6 revelation, see waḥy Revolusi Agama (Hamka) 323, 325 Riḍā, Rashīd 206, 208 Rights of Non-Muslims in an Islamic State, The (Mawdudi) 316 Risāla, al- (al-Shāfi‘ī) 55 Risāla al-khalwa (Ibn ‘Arabī) 167 Risāla al-tawḥīd (al-Sulāmī) 174 Risāla al-Wāridāt (‘Abduh) 255 Risāla fi’l-‘aql (al-Fārābī) 96 Risālat al-tawḥīd (‘Abduh) 258-259, 289-290, 292 Risale-i Nur (Nursi) 277, 279-281 riwaya (traditionally-derived tafsīr) 158, 325 Riza, Ahmad 292 Roem, Mohammad 324 Rome 103, 104 Rostov-on-Don 270 Rūmī, Jalāl al-Dīn 168, 179-186, 281 Rus, the 102 Russia 258, 270, 273-274, 278; 1905 Revolution, 271; February Revolution 271; October Revolution, 271; Soviet 271-272, 274-275 Russiya Musulmannarining Ittifaqi 271 S.P., Abdullah 326 Sābāṭī, ‘Ammār b. Mūsā al- 32 Ṣabbāḥ, al-Ḥasan al- 149 Sabri, Mustafa 274 Sabzevar 304 Sadat, Anwar al- 299

349 Sadat, Jihan al- 299 sadd al-dharā’i‘ (blocking the means) 48-49, 54 Ṣādiq, Ismā‘īl b. Ja‘far al- 35n.3 Ṣādiq, Ja‛far al- 27-38, 40, 46, 59, 240, 300 Sadra, Mulla 168 Ṣafā, Mount, 4 Saffāḥ, Abū al-‘Abbās al- 27, 39 Ṣaḥāba, the ix, 6, 14, 28, 30, 31, 49, 54, 60, 64, 70, 80, 90, 91, 136, 192, 316-317 Ṣaḥīḥ al-Bukhārī 5, 30, 48, 67n.4, 69-72, 79, 82, 205, 246, 286 Ṣaḥīḥ Muslim 5, 30, 67n.4, 71, 73n.3, 79-82, 174, 246 Said, Haji Mohamad 265 Ṣa’īdī, ‘Abd al-Muta’āl al- 208 Ṣā’igh, Abū Bakr Faḍl al- 82 Saimarī, Abū al-Qāsim al- 132 Salaf, the 64, 258, 259 Salafism 261, 263n.55, 302 Saliba, George 120 Sallām, Abū ‘Ubayd al-Qāsim b. 63 Samanid dynasty 43, 84, 95, 108-109, 116, 132 Samaritans, the 104 Samarqand 270 Samatrani, Shams al-Din al- 219, 223 Sana‘a 246 Ṣan‘ānī, ‘Abd al-Razzāq al- 70 Sanjar, Aḥmad 154 Sanskrit 271 Sardar, Ziauddin 120 Sarekat Islam 324 Sarī, Hannād ibn al- 86 Ṣārim al-maslūl ‘alā shātim al-Rasūl, al(Ibn Taymiyyah) 191 Sarton, George 108, 116 Sa‘ūd, Muḥammad ibn 301 Sa‘ūd, tribe of 66 Saudi Arabia, Kingdom of 66, 291 SAVAK 309 scientific method, the 118-120 Second World War 272, 290 secularism 278-279, 305, 307-308, 313, 328 Sejarah Islam di Sumatera (Hamka) 323 Seljuqs, the 43, 149, 155n.2 Seljuqs of Rūm, the 180

350

THE ARCHITECTS OF ISLAMIC CIVILISATION

Semangat Islam (Hamka) 323 Seville 141, 158, 164-165, 211 sextant, the 122, 127n.35 Şeyh Said Revolt, the 279 Shādhaliyya, the 253-254 Shādhilī, Abū al-Ḥasan al- 171 Shāfiʿī, Muḥammad ibn Idrīs al- 30, 43, 47, 48, 51-57, 63, 65, 71, 141, 208, 284, 299, 300 Shāfiʿī, Jamāl al-Dīn al-Harastanī al- 171 Shāfi‘ī School, the 30-31, 71, 84, 86-87, 104, 131, 148, 175, 223, 230, 240, 247, 250 Shah, ‘Alauddin Ri‘ayat 219, 224n.2 Shah, Nasir al-Din 310n.5 Shah, Zia 119, 122, 124 Shāhid, Shāh Ismā‘īl 239 Shahr-i Nawi 222 Shakespeare, William 179 Sharḥ ‘ala al-khulāṣa fī al-naḥw (alShāṭibī) 206 Sharia 49, 54, 58, 64, 85, 112, 134, 135-136, 158, 159-160, 168, 172, 180, 192, 199, 229, 237, 238-239, 244, 279, 284-285, 286, 297, 298, 299, 316, 324, 329 Shariati, Ali 304-311 Shariati, Mohammad-Taqi 304-305, 306 Shāṭibī, Abū Isḥāq Ibrāhīm al- 176, 204209, 286 Shaṭṭāriyya, the 223 Shaw, George Bernard 315, 325 Shawkānī, ‘Alī b. Muḥammad 246 Shawkānī, Muḥammad b. ‘Alī al- 188, 246-251 Shayban, tribe of 58 Shaybānī, Muḥammad b. al-Ḥasan al- 43, 47, 48, 53 Shāziliy, Abū al-Hassān al- 172 Shboul, A. 102 Shi’ism xi, 10, 15, 16, 30, 33, 35, 40, 64, 88-90, 96, 136n.9, 192, 272, 307; ‘Ā’isha and 22; Imāmiyya 27, 32, 104; Ismā‘īliyya 27, 149, 155n.3, 194; Zaydī 44n.2, 246, 247-248, 249 Shirin, Sayyida 109 shirk (idolatry) 34 shūrā (consultation) 316-317; after death of ‘Umar 13; after death of

‘Uthmān 14 Sibtī, Abū al-Qāsim al-Sharīf al- 205 Ṣiddīq, Abū Bakr al- viii, 5, 6, 12, 19, 27, 89, 90, 201n.1 Siffin, Battle of 14, 15-16 Sijzī, Abū Sa’īd al- 119 Siku quanshu (Complete Library of the Four Sections) 230 Sīnā, Abū ʿAlī ibn 77, 108-115, 119-120, 123, 150-151, 153, 325, 329 Singapore 272 Singkili, ‘Abd al-Ra’uf al- 223 Sīrafī, Abū Zayd Ḥasan al- 102 Siregar, Bakri 326 Siyar a‘lām al-nubalā’ (al-Dhahabī) 45 Siyāsa al-madaniyya, al- (al-Fārābī) 96 Siyāsa shar’iyya (Ibn Taymiyyah) 191192 slavery 173-174 Smith, Adam 215 Socrates 113 Sorbonne, the 306 Sous les Tilleuls (Karr) 326 Southampton 309 Southeast Asia 222, 223 Spain 48 Spain, Islamic, see Andalus, alSri Lanka 102, 316 St. Petersburg 271 Starr, Frederick 121-122 Subkī, Taqī al-Dīn al- 199 Subüktegīn, Maḥmūd 117-118 Subüktegīn, Mas‘ūd ibn Maḥmūd 118 Successors, the see Tābi‘ūn Sufism 32, 34, 64-65, 89, 95, 97, 152154, 164-169, 171, 172, 179-185, 191, 194, 197, 198, 199, 205, 221, 229, 232n.18, 235, 238, 240, 244, 253-256, 263n.55, 277, 289, 325, 329; Ishrāqiyya 113, 230; Wujūdiyya 219, 222, 255 Suharto, Muhammad 324, 326 Suhrawardī, Shihāb al-Dīn Yaḥyā al113, 165, 171 Sukarno 324 Sulāmī, ʿIzz al-Dīn ibn ʿAbd al-Salām al- 170-178 Sulaym, tribe of 170 Sulayman, al-Mutawakkil Aḥmad 247 Sunan (Abū Dāwūd) 188

INDEX

Sunan al-Kubrā, al- (al-Bayhaqī) 35n.6 sunna (Prophetic example) 7, 13, 20, 40, 49, 54, 55, 58, 64, 65, 73n.1, 89, 160, 193, 195, 201, 206, 248, 271, 302, 329, 330 Sunnism xi, 10, 12, 15, 16, 23, 27, 30-31, 33, 35, 64, 70, 88, 246, 247; political thought in 131, 133-136, 149-150, 201 Suryopranoto, R.M. 322 Suyūṭī, Jalāl al-Dīn al- 43 Syria 6, 14, 51, 59, 66, 79, 86, 102, 152, 165, 181, 241, 291 Ṭabaqāt al-fuqahā’ (al-Shīrāzī) 45 Ṭabaqāt al-Shāfiʿiyya (al-Subkī) 170 Ṭabarī, Abū al-Ṭayyib al- 132 Ṭabarī, Muḥammad ibn Jarīr al- 12, 67n.7, 84-94, 101, 142 Tabaristan 90 Tābi‘ūn (Successors) 45, 46, 54, 58, 70, 192 Tabrīzī, Shams-i- 181, 185 Tabṣīr ulī al-nuhā wa ma’ālim al-hudā (al-Ṭabarī) 90 Tadbīrāt al-Ilāhiyya, al- (Ibn ‘Arabī) 167 tafsīr (Qur’anic exegesis) 15, 32, 34, 70, 87, 96, 108, 112, 167, 168, 171, 174, 180, 197, 200, 205, 235, 240, 270, 297, 315, 325, 330, 331 Tafsir al-Azhar (Hamka) 324, 325 Tafsīr al-Manār (Riḍā) 325 Tafsīr al-Qur’ān al-ʿazīm (al-Sulāmī) 174 Tafsīr al-Qur’ān al-azīm (Ibn Kathīr) 193, 267 Tafsīr al-Ṭabarī (al-Ṭabarī) 84, 91 Tafsīr fī ẓilāl al-Qur’ān (Qutb) 325 Taghlibī, Aḥmad ibn Yūsuf al- 86 Tahāfut al-falāsifa (al-Ghazālī) 151, 161 Tahdhīb al-āthār wa tafṣīl ma’ānī al-thābit ‘an Rasul Allāh min alakhbār (al-Ṭabarī) 90-91 Tahdhīb Sunan Abī Dāwūd (Ibn Qaiyyim) 200 Taḥdid nihāyāt al-amākin li-taṣḥīḥ masāfāt al-masākin (al-Bīrūnī) 123 Tahir, Haji Abdullah 265

351 Taḥṣīl al-sa‘āda (al-Fārābī) 96 Ṭā’ī, Ḥātim al- 164 Taj (magazine) 315 tajdīd (renewal) xii, 190, 318, 322 ṭalāq (divorce) 195 ta‘mīm al-adilla (logical generalisation) 41 Tamīmī, Yaḥyā b. Yaḥyā al- 79 Tanbīh wa-l-‘ishrāf, al- (al-Mas‘ūdī) 103 Tanta 252, 253, 254, 297 Tanwīr al-ḥawālik (al-Suyūṭī) 48 taqlīd (imitation) xii, 149, 159, 176-177, 190, 243, 244, 246, 248, 249, 255, 259, 260, 273, 330 taqwā (awareness of Allāh) 280 Tārīkh al-jadal (Abū Zahra) Tārīkh al-madhāhib al-Islāmiyya (Abū Zahra) 300 Tārīkh al-Ṭabarī (al-Ṭabarī) 84, 90 Tarjumān al-ashwāq (Ibn ‘Arabī) 166 Tarjuman al-Quran (journal) 315 Tartars, the 270 Tartīb al-madārik fī taqrīb al-masālik (Qāḍī ‘Iyāḍ) 46 Tasawuf Moden (Hamka) 325 taṣawwuf, see Sufism Tashil al-naẓar wa ta’jīl al-ẓafar (alMāwardī) 133 tawḥīd 76, 157, 174, 229, 329 Ṭawīl, Ḥasan al- 254, 255 Ṭawq al-hamāma (Ḥazm) 142 Taymiyyah, Abū al-Barakāt Majd al-Dīn ibn 188 Taymiyyah, Sharaf al-Dīn ibn 198 Taymiyyah, Shihāb al-Dīn ‘Abd al-Ḥalīm ibn 188 Taymiyyah, Taqī al-Dīn ibn 66, 73n.2, 187-196, 197, 198, 199-200, 299, 301, 302 Teguran Suci dan Jujur Terhadap Mufti Johor (Hamka) 326 Tehran 308, 310n.5 Tenggelamnya Kapal Van Der Wijck (Hamka) 323, 326 Thābit, Abū Ḥanīfa Nu‘mān ibn 27, 3944, 46, 53, 59, 71, 240, 299 Thailand 222, 265 Thallab 87 Thawrī, Sufyān al- 63, 70 theology, see kalām

352

THE ARCHITECTS OF ISLAMIC CIVILISATION

Theory of the Three Ages (Bennabi) 291-292 Tianfang Dianli (Liu) 227, 229-230 Tianfang Xingli (Liu) 229 Tianfang Zhisheng Shilu (Liu) 229, 230 Ṭibb al-Nabawī, al- (Ibn Qaiyyim) 201 Tibyān fī aqsām al-Qur’ān, al- (Ibn Qaiyyim) 200 Tigris River, the 7 Tilmisānī, Abū ‘Abd Allāh al-Sharīf al- 205 Tilmiz (newspaper) 271 Timbuktī, Aḥmad Bābā al- 204, 206 Tirmidhī, al-Ḥakīm al- 34 Tjokroaminoto, H.O.S. 322 Tok Kenali Foundation, the 266 Tolstoy, Leo 325 Towards Understanding Islam (Mawdudi) 316 Toynbee, Arnold J. 210 Traditionalists, see ahl al-ḥadīth Tripoli 289 Tripoli, Leo of 102 Tudeh Party, the 305 Ṭufayl, Abū Bakr ibn 158 Tuḥfa al-mursala ilā rūḥ al-Nabī, al- (alBurhānpūrī) 221 Tuḥfat al-ḥukkām (al-Bayānī) 206 Tuḥfat al-mawdūd fī aḥkām al-mawlūd (Ibn Qaiyyim) 201 Tumart, Ibn 157 Tunis 206, 210-211, 258, 283 Tunisia 165, 291 Türk Yurdu (periodical) 274 Turkestan 95 Turkey 75, 104, 113, 169, 273, 277, 278, 281 Ṭuruq al-ḥukmiyya, al- (Ibn Qaiyyim) 193, 201 Tus 149, 154

Umm al-qura (al-Kawākibī) 289 ummuhāt al-mu’minīn (mothers of the believers) 23 ‘umrān badawī (nomadic civilisation) 212, 214 ‘umrān ḥaḍarī (sedentary civilisation) 212, 214 United Kingdom, see Britain United States of America 179, 183, 330, 332 Universiti Kebangsaan Malaysia 321 ʿUqlat al-mustawfiz (Ibn ‘Arabī) 167 ʿUqūd al-la’ālī fī al-asānīd al-ʿawālī (Ibn ‘Ābidīn) 243 ʿUqūd rasm al-muftī (Ibn ‘Ābidīn) 243 Urfa 281 Urgench 109 ‘Urwa al-wuthqa, al- 258 Ustawa 131 uṣūl al-dīn (Islamic religious sciences) 58, 229 uṣūl al-fiqh (Islamic jurisprudence) 4849, 51, 53, 205, 248, 283-284, 299 uṣūl al-khiṭāba (principles of rhetoric) 298 Uttar Pradesh 271 ʿUyaynah, Sufyān b. 46, 52, 59 Uzbekistan 69, 108, 114, 116

Ubaydillāh, Ṭalḥa ibn 8, 13, 14 Uhud, Battle of ix-x Ülfet (newspaper) 271 ‘Umar, Ḥafsa bint (wife of Muḥammad) 3 ‘Umarī, Shākir al-‘Uqqād al- 240 Umayyad Caliphate 27, 29, 39, 139-140 Umayyad Mosque (Damascus) 172, 188, 189, 201

Wabl al-ghamām ‘alā shifā’ al-uwām (alShawkānī) 248-249 Wahb, ‘Abd Allāh b. 70 Wahhābī, the 66, 228, 300-302 waḥy (revelation) 97; to the Prophet Muḥammad vii, 145n.21 Walīd, Khālid ibn al- ix, 103 Waqā’i‘ al-Miṣriyya, al- (magazine) 257

Valencia 164 Van 277-278 Varanasi 272 Vedas, the 272 Verne, Jules 289 Vico, Giambattista 210 Vikings, the 121-122 Virgil 113 Vocation de l’Islam, La (Bennabi) 291 Volga, the River 278

353

INDEX

waqf (endowments) 299 wasaṭiyya (moderation) xii, 56 Wasit 31, 86 Wāsiṭī, ‘Imād al-Dīn al- 198 Waṣiyya Shaykh al-ʿIzz (al-Sulāmī) 174 Wāthiq, al- 61, 74 Watt, Montgomery 125 Wazīr, Muḥammad b. Ibrāhīm al- 247 Wiet, Gaston 220 Wijhat al-‘ālam al-Islāmī (Bennabi) 294 Wretched of the Earth, The (Fanon) 306-307 Xativa 204 Xian 228 Yamāma, Battle of 6 Ya‘qūb (prophet) 142-143 Ya‘qūbī, Ibn Wadīh al- 101 Yemen 45, 52, 59, 247-248, 285, 286 Yogyakarta 322 Yuan Shengzhi 228 Yūnus, Abū Bishr Mattā ibn 96 Yunusy, Zainuddin Labay al- 322

Yūsuf, Abū Ya’qūb 158 Zād al-ma’ād (Ibn Taymiyyah) 193 Zād al-ma‘ād fī hadyi khair al-‘ibād (Ibn Qaiyyim) 198, 201 Zagazig 259 Zāhid, Ismāʿīl ibn al-Ḥusayn al-Bukhārī al- 109 Ẓāhirī, Dāwūd al- 53, 63 Ẓāhirī School, the 63, 84, 139, 140-141, 285 Zakariyah (prophet) 143 Zamlikānī, Muḥammad Abūl-Ma‘ālī al- 198 Zanjī, Muslim bin Khālid al- 52 Zarkub, Salaḥ al-Dīn 182 Zawawī, Abū ‘Alī Manṣūr al- 205 Zawiyya al-Ghazāliyya 172 Zayd, ‘Abd al-Wāḥid b. 65 Zayd, Ḥammād ibn 69 Zayd, Yaḥyā b. 29 Zaytūna University, al- 283 Zoroastrianism 104 Zuhrī, Ibn Shihāb al- 46, 59 Zur‘ī, Abū Bakr al- 197