Background to the debate and work outlined
This book has two interconnected aims. First, it sets out to demonstrate that, contrary to many perceptions on the matter, Friedrich Nietzsche is not the standard bearer for atheism. In fact, it shall be argued, both the man and his philosophy are imbued with a deep religiosity. Second, I will argue that Nietzsche's philosophy has particular relevance for how Islamic identity is perceived in the modern world. Whilst Nietzsche rarely spoke specifically on Islam, his admiration for it as a religion is in sharp contrast to his criticism of Christianity. What I set out to determine is why Nietzsche felt inclined to be so generous towards Islam and, in the process of this determination, what this tells us about Nietzsche's own views on the importance of religion.
In the light of current events, particularly the ‘post 9/11’ debates with much focus on aspects of the ‘clash of civilisation’ thesis, the issue of Islamic identity is a crucial one. Whilst Nietzsche was addressing an audience of a different culture and age, I aim to show that his philosophy can make an important contribution to this ongoing debate.
In achieving these aims, I want to focus on what is considered to be Islam's key paradigms: that of the Qur'an, Muhammad, Medina as the first ‘Islamic state’, and the four ‘Rightly-Guided’ (Rashidun) caliphs. The focus is on these paradigms as they tend to dominate in terms of Islamic identity amongst Islamic revivalist scholars. In that respect, ‘returning’ to Islam in what is perceived as its Golden Age is nothing original nor would be seen by Islamists as unorthodox. However, the originality lies in how one is to approach a study of these paradigms. It is in this respect that, I will argue, Nietzsche's own originality, creativity, psychological, philological and historical insights allows for a fresh and enlightening understanding of the Islamic paradigms within the context of our modern era.
The West as a concept of civilisation has seen its centre of gravity move from Western Europe to America to Eastern Europe. Israel represents the projection of this centre into the East to wipe out its specific character, its spiritual wealth, and humankind's hope for a new renaissance.1
The above quote by the exiled leader of the Islamist movement in Tunisia, Rashid Ghannushi, is typical of a concern amongst many Muslims that there is a growing civilisational conflict between Islam and the West. Rather than being presented with the theological view of Islam as a member of the same family as the Judaeo-Christian tradition, we have conflict and difference. Such a perception, of course, does not lie only with Islamist commentators, but many Western writers are just as guilty, if not more so, of portraying Islam as an ‘Other’.
Edward Said's well-known study, Orientalism,2 has recounted how images of the Other have often been created to confirm one's own sense of racial and cultural superiority, or to provide justification for the conquest and abuse of other people's territory. From the eighteenth century, when the West was at its economic and military apex, Islam was perceived as, not a threat, but as decadent, irrational, inefficient, lazy, barbaric, false and Satanic. Therefore, the Others became ‘objects’ that were defined not by their own discourses, but by a discourse imposed upon them by the West. The results, of course, were a grossly biased view of Islam that still continues to reverberate in contemporary discourse. Said's later study, Covering Islam,3 provides an incisive account of Western media treatment of Muslims and Islam following the Iran hostage crisis of 1979–80 and it is certainly still not too difficult to detect similar media treatment in the Western press of the twenty-first century. Said's contribution is important for any study of contemporary Islam for it warns us to be wary of making quick judgements within the context of our own Wittgensteinian ‘language game’, as, in the past, much Western understanding of Islam ‘has less to do with the Orient than it does with “our” world’.4 However, although Said's concept of Orientalism is more important than a 'straw man’ invented to be knocked down,5 there is some justification in Albert Hourani's criticism that Said constructed an ‘ideal type of Orientalist’ and ‘ideal types must be used with care’.6 We can, in fact, learn much from Western scholars of Islam from the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. As Albert Hourani noted:
There is…running through the work of the great [Western] Islamic scholars one central strand of concern…which attempted to articulate what Muslims believed to be the revelation given to mankind through the Prophet Muhammad: tradition, law, theology, mystical thought. A hundred years of study of these matters have produced a body of work which cannot be regarded as badly done.7
Charles Lindholm rightly states that:
Contemporary Western enmity…is not simply a consequence of modern conflict. It is a reflection of the thousand-year rivalry between the Muslim Middle East and Christian Europe for economic, political and religious hegemony over the Western hemisphere and beyond—a contest dominated until recently by Islam.8
Initially, through the encounters of the Crusades, Western reaction to Islam was a fear of a Muslim invasion and a return to the days when Islam spread as far as Spain and southern France. The Ottoman challenge that, in 1529, led to Suleiman's army at the gates of Vienna, was a genuine concern and fear for the world of Christendom, and this was reflected in the Western literature at the time. Norman Daniel has treated the subject of these Christian perceptions in detail in his book Islam and the West: The Making of an Image.9 Daniel shows how popular themes that are still with us today first emerged. For example, accusations of Muhammad instigating revelation to justify sexual indulgence; or that ‘Muhammad had made up his doctrines from the Old and New Testaments on the advice of an Arian monk who instructed him’10 and, therefore, Muhammad's claim that he had received divine revelation was spurious. In Daniel's earlier book, The Arabs and Medieval Europe, he notes that in medieval Christian accounts of the Prophet, ‘he was subjected to gross abuse which, however shocking in itself, we must understand as rooted in folklore. The Qur'an was seen as the product of the events of the life of the Prophet, rather as a deliberate contrivance than as God's revelation, in response to particular needs.’11 Although modern Western scholarship no longer engages in such fanciful stereotypes, the roots of medieval folklore have survived in the Western psyche; most notably in popular literature, ‘bestsellers’, and journalistic pieces, as Said's Covering Islam illustrates.
A series of events in the seventeenth century, however, proved to be important turning points in the Western view of Islam. In 1606 the Sultan deigned to treat a European power as an equal by signing a treaty with the Hapsburgs that ended a costly 150-year stalemate on the Danube. In 1683, a quarter of a million Ottoman soldiers besieged Vienna, but the overconfidence and slowness of the Turkish general to press a military advantage allowed the Christians to prepare and gather resources, resulting in the besieging army being routed and chased down the Danube all the way to Belgrade. The sixteen years of war that followed were a series of military disasters for the Ottomans, and at the treaty of Karlowitz, signed in 1699:
The empire which barely a generation earlier had challenged Vienna lost half its European dominions at a stroke; and what perhaps was worse, her cover was blown, her weakness revealed, and her importance, in the world's eyes, was now almost wholly diplomatic.12
Until the nineteenth century, the military (as distinct from the commercial) advance of the West into the Islamic world was limited to the areas of the Balkans and along the northern and eastern shores of the Black Sea. The further turning point came with the occupation of Egypt by Napoleon Bonaparte in 1798: ‘the first armed inroad of Europe on the Arab near East since the Crusades’.13 The event is significant in that it began the period of Western intervention in the Islamic world and completely shattered any remaining illusions of the superiority of Islam:
The great Ottoman Empire, which had aspired to convert the world to Islam, now was obliged to look to the West for inspiration; instead of being Europe's nemesis, it soon would be its 'sick man’.14
The psychological impact for the Muslim world of such a decline cannot be overestimated and must be a factor in the residual collective memory of the contemporary Islamic world; especially considering the confidence, wealth, efficiency and technology that the Ottoman Empire possessed compared with frightened, fragmented and superstitious Europe. Further, the seeming ‘natural’ triumph of the West over Islam must contribute to the justification of Orientalism as a concept. It is not surprising, therefore, that Islam refers to its own Golden Age as its justification for the ‘natural triumph’ of Islam over Jahiliyya; the unbelievers. The fact that Islam has suffered under the Western dominance also, for many, brings into question the validity of Islam as superior to other civilisations and ideologies. This collective memory on both sides (the Muslims versus the Christians) continues to be evident in contemporary events; most recently following the events of 9/11 with the attack on the World Trade Centre and the Pentagon. Similarly the concern that Islamic ‘fundamentalism’ is a threat has its basis in the fear that was prevalent in Western Europe during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries.
Since Islam was perceived as a threat by the West, the Muslim empires have been depicted as vast tyrannies, compared with an enlightened, liberal Europe. As Hegel famously wrote in Reason in History, ‘the Orientals knew only that one is free, the Greeks and Romans that some are free, while we know that all men absolutely, that is, as men, are free’.15 As the fear of Islam receded to be replaced by patronage, Western commentators, such as Max Weber, perceived the Islamic nations as arbitrary, personalised kingships with inefficient and corrupt bureaucracies. In the case of the Ottoman Empire, the Sultan was conceived as lacking any kind of moral purpose, other than the pursuit and retention of power. Authority was cruel, inefficient and irrational and based purely upon the ability of the leader to coerce.16
The rhetoric against the Muslims could fill thousands of pages, but it is sufficient here to cite some of the renowned remarks of Lord Cromer, who was the British consul- general of Egypt from 1882 to 1907. It is typical of the confident conqueror who, despite living and researching amongst a people for fifteen years, still succeeded in presenting a complacent and disparaging picture of the conquered. In his hefty work Modern Egypt, he notes: ‘the want of mental symmetry and precision…is the chief distinguishing feature between the illogical and picturesque East and the logical West’,17 and further he states that 'somehow or other the Oriental generally acts, speaks and thinks in a manner exactly opposite to the European’.18
The turning point in terms of perceiving Islam was the 1979 Iranian revolution, demonstrating just how politically motivated Islam can be. For the secularising West, a ‘good religion’ is one that keeps itself pretty much separate from political concerns, a ‘bad religion’ is one that is politically motivated. Islam encroaching upon politics is perceived as theocratic and, by implication, totalitarian, xenophobic, backward and illiberal. The Iranian revolution has resulted in Shi'a Islam being labelled ‘bad Islam’ as opposed to what is perceived as the more democratic Sunni. Partly this is due to the presence of a powerful clergy in Shi'a, whereas Sunni Islam does not have such a prevailing religious body. Theoretically, Shi'a political theory is not as totalitarian and anti-democratic as the West might conceive and, historically, many examples of anti- democratic Islamist movements in Sunni countries can be provided. Therefore, Islamic extremism—represented by Shi'a Islam—is regarded as an aberration of orthodox, mainstream Islam, as represented by Sunni Islam.
One might suppose, therefore, that the West would be more prone to work with Sunni Muslims than with what are perceived as radical Shi'a Muslims. Of course, this has not been the case in the past. The West had a very close, longstanding relationship with Iran before the revolution and other examples of Muslim countries that certainly are not within the mainstream can be cited; Saudi Arabia19 comes to mind. In terms of the West's relationship with Muslim countries it seems to come down to talking to those countries that have power, and those that do not are seen as ‘anti-Western’; regardless of ideology. As Hunter points out:
the underlying but largely unspoken and unacknowledged cause of the dichotomy between Islam and the West is the question of power and the consequences of its exercise—that is, influence at the regional and global levels.20
Consequently, the West may not be so concerned with Islamic revivalism as such, but rather the effect it may have on the power balance. Many Islamic countries are important both strategically and economically, especially in terms of oil. Appeal to ideology might be used as a blanket for more materialistic concerns: ‘Western leaders justified the Persian Gulf War of 1990–1 on the basis of punishing aggression and restoring democracy to Kuwait rather than securing Arabian oil fields.’21 Thus, much of the language that comes from the West referring to Islam—especially the ‘political’ kind—as a threat is nothing more than rhetoric. As Graham Fuller wrote in 1995, ‘a civilisational clash is not so much over Jesus Christ, Confucius, or the Prophet Muhammad as it is over the unequal distribution of world power, wealth, and influence’.22 Therefore, in examining the extent to which Islam is an ideological Other—or at least perceived as such—we must also take account of the use of power, its use in terms of legitimisation, and the function of the belief system as an instrument for that legitimisation. Ultimately, we are getting to the roots of how authority is perceived; by those subject to authority (the citizens of an Islamic state), those in authority (the rulers of an Islamic state), and those outside of that authority (non-Muslim—primarily ‘Western’—ideologies).
It was the Persians who first conceived of the world as having a beginning: a cosmic battle between good and evil that will ultimately lead to the end of the world and the Day of Reckoning. Zoroastrianism was a huge influence on Judaism, Christianity and Islam. For these religions, the end to this battle will be due to divine intervention. This denouement has not, of course, happened yet if you are a Christian, Jew or Muslim. However, in Francis Fukuyama's popular and controversial book The End of History and the Last Man,23 history has already come to an end with the triumph of Western liberal democracies. According to Fukuyama, other ideologies do still exist, of course, but they are no competition for the West and, indeed, it is up to the West to maintain a league of civilised nations to police these non-compliant nations until, eventually, they enter the global community of liberal democracy. Such a proud assumption occasionally takes a battering. With the decline of Communist power it is perhaps understandable that there exists a new-found confidence in Western superiority. However, other ideologies seem reluctant to enter the fold. The Iranian revolution of 1979 was a defining moment in this respect. Why, the West wondered, would a wealthy materialist nation like Iran want to throw it all away and embrace what, in the eyes of many Western commentators, is a backward, totalitarian system of radical Islam?
A point needs to be made as to what the terms ‘Western’ or ‘West’ mean. Political scientist Samuel Huntingdon's well-known article in Foreign Affairs,24 for example, places Japan as ‘West’ and it is not uncommon to take a religion course in ‘Western Religions’, studying Judaism, Christianity and Islam (as opposed to ‘Eastern Religions’ of Hinduism, Buddhism and Sikhism). Although, generally, we might say that the US and Western Europe are ‘Western’ we must wonder about, for example, Mexico or Turkey; and then we have such apparent anomalies as Australia and New Zealand. Therefore, it cannot be said that ‘West’ is merely a geographical term. Although, in the case of Turkey, the term ‘one foot in the West and one foot in the East’ may be taken as a geographical reference, what is also meant is ideological.
Likewise, one often speaks of ‘Western ideology’ and ‘Western civilisation’ (or Islamic ideology/civilisation) as if the two terms are synonymous. Certainly, Huntingdon's work suggests this. Thus we have ‘Western civilisation’, ‘Islamic civilisation’, ‘Confucian civilisation’ and so on.25 However, this ignores the fact that within any one civilisation there are also cultural and ideological clashes. As already briefly noted, it is not so easy to speak of ‘Western civilisation’ as one all-encompassing term. When, for example, British Prime Minister Tony Blair spoke of Yugoslavia joining the ‘family of global nations’26 he has in mind a particular ideological make-up of the family which is distinct from the reality of nations that are culturally and ethnically diverse, and yet are classed as belonging to ‘Western civilisation’.
Clifford Geertz has pointed out the irony that the term ‘ideology’ has itself become ideologised. At one time, the concept meant a rather loose collection of largely impractical, idealistic political proposals and is now defined as, ‘the integrated assertions, theories and aims constituting a politico-social program, often with an implication of factitious propagandising; as Fascism was altered to fit the Nazi ideology’.27 Civilisation expresses itself outwardly through its culture. Thus, it could be argued that ‘Western civilisation’ and ‘Western culture’ are much the same thing. Geertz also defines culture as ‘a historically transmitted pattern of meaning embodied in symbols, a system of inherited conceptions expressed in symbolic forms by means of which men communicate, perpetuate, and develop their knowledge about and the attitudes towards life’. Therefore, ideology is merely one aspect (though, quite possibly an important one) of a culture/civilisation. When we talk of Western culture/civilisation or Islamic culture/civilisation, we are referring to not only religion, but to art, politics, language, food, and so on. In this respect, it is perfectly possible, and often the case, for two separate elements within the same civilisation to conflict.
The idea, therefore, of a Western culture conflicting with an Islamic culture seems a rather superficial and largely false dichotomy. Within Islamic civilisation there are—and have been—conflicts of ideology and, it may well be, that two separate civilisations can communicate on the same ideological level better than two separate ideologies within the same civilisation. In considering the supposed Otherness of Islam, we must take account of the differing ideologies within Islam itself, plus the fact that it has, in the words of Kevin Avrush, been ‘caught up in the processes of social and cultural construction’ which is part of ‘invented, reinvented and temporally shifting contingencies of material conditions and historic practice’.28
Much of Western responses to Islam is an instinctive desire for Western survival. Particularly, conservative intellectuals in America are concerned about what they see as a threat to Western culture, and, according to one such contributor to the debate, ‘the twenty-first century could once again find Islam at the gates of Vienna, as immigrants or terrorists if not as armies’.29 And so, Europe has gone from a fear of the Islamic Other in the sixteenth and seventeenth century, to complacency and confidence in the nineteenth and much of the twentieth century, and now to a return to a fear once more as Europe itself suffers from a lack of the confidence that it once possessed, coupled with the decline in its economic and military supremacy. It is sufficient to summarise the decline of Western imperialism and the crisis of Western confidence in the words of Hans Kohn:
the tendency of the colonial peoples to assert their national independence and equal rights is depriving imperialism first of its justification, and afterward of the possibility of survival. The cultural mission of the West as a basis of its dominance is no longer recognised in the East, and even in the West it is called in question by an increasing number of people.30
Hans Kohn was writing in the early 1930s with reference to Eastern nationalism. However, the same can be applied to more contemporary views of ‘Western civilisation’ in reference to Islamic states. The West, in reaction to what it perceives as a threat to its flagging self-confidence, reverts to an attack posture. Whereas the West is perceived as enlightened, rational and morally just, the ‘East’, the ‘Third World’ or ‘Islamic ideology’ (more specifically, the radical ‘political form’ of it) is an evil. Much contemporary discourse in the media is concerned with the topic of whether or not Islam can participate and contribute to the seeming globalisation of a variously defined liberal democratic code of living. In terms of international affairs, a distinction should, and, indeed, often is, made between political Islam and cultural Islam. The West has a number of good relationships with countries that have a Muslim majority, and do not necessarily see religious belief and practice of a country as in any way relevant to political dialogue, provided cultural Islam (encompassing, as it does, religious belief) is recognised by its believers as separate from the political arena. The question, however, is not whether the West may perceive a difference between cultural and political Islam but whether Islam itself can be understood in that way.
Like the ‘clash of civilisation’ thesis, the attitude that Islam is inimical to liberalism can invoke an essentialist, ahistorical culturalism. Hunter, critical of essentialism, points out that:
Understanding Islam and analysing its relationships to other ideas and civilisations can be accomplished correctly only within specific frames of time and space [my italics]. Any other approach leads to incomplete and hence inaccurate generalities that would represent only one aspect of Islam, not its totality.31
Hunter sees Islam as an ideology which has a full spectrum of symbols that can either point towards absolutism and hierarchy, or towards democracy and egalitarianism. Therefore, to say that Islam is inherently democratic has neither more nor less credence than to say that Islam is inherently autocratic. Hence the need to concentrate on a particular kind of Islam. Bearing this in mind, how then are we to make any assertions at all as to what Islam 'symbolises’? What, in other words, particular kind of Islam should be chosen as a study? What justification is there in choosing one kind of Islam over another?
Although attempting to determine an ideology in its totality is destined to result in a certain degree of vagueness and obscurity, it does not follow that it is therefore impossible to come to any conclusions concerning the essence of Islam. As will be demonstrated in this work, it can be asserted that Islam does have an essence, and that it is constructive to talk of Islam as being compatible with liberalism, democracy, globalisation etc. Although it is indeed far more constructive to adopt the approach of studying Islam within specific frames of time and space, it is possible to go further and say that we can then reach general, viable and appropriate conclusions that apply to Islam as an ideology. Provided it is possible to show that there are common factors that exist amongst these different times and places, then it seems a rational approach to make conclusions as to what informs these common factors, and, therefore, show that there is such as thing as a ‘totality’, however general that may be.
We will examine a series of 'specific frames of time and space’, to quote Hunter, to see if there are common attributes that they all share, and attempt to show that we can talk of there existing a ‘central core’ to Islamic belief. The accusation may well be levelled that other 'specific frames of time and space’ can be found to prove the opposite; that Islam is, indeed, anti-democratic, irrational, autocratic etc. Scholars may cite, for example, Saudi Arabia as a particularly autocratic system and, therefore, conclude that Islam, at the very least, has autocratic tendencies. However, Saudi Arabia is not considered by the majority of Muslims as an ideal model of Islam; as a paradigm. What needs to be stressed is that Islam, as a religion, is a series of paradigms that govern belief and practice.
At issue here is the understanding of religion as ideology, and the distinction between the Utopic vision of Islam (as one, perfect, etc.) and Islam as is practised and engaged in by living, breathing human beings needs to be recognised. As Clifford Geertz has remarked, ideologies bridge ‘the emotional gap between things as they are and as one would have them to be, thus insuring the performance of roles that might otherwise be abandoned in despair or apathy’.32 Depending upon whether or not you are a realist or idealist, the use of ideology (as either not very important in determining state behaviour, or as the principal impulse) can be debated. Likewise, as a motivating factor, it varies from one Muslim nation to another. However, the ideology is nonetheless there as a motivating factor and, if a nation so chooses to pursue the goal of an Islamic state based upon the linked belief that that is what it means to be Islamic, then ideology becomes even more real, even more here, rather than there. To argue that Islam can be whatever you want it to be rather makes a mockery of the whole point of having Islam, of possessing a series of essential paradigms that inform roles and functions.
In the context of this book it is necessary to limit the field of study if it is to have any concerted focus. However, the reader may well be inclined to puzzle over the omissions. In particular, a study such as this could include a veritable plethora of material on the contributions of medieval Islamic philosophers, the jurists and Sufi thought. However, it was felt that there was sufficient material as it is without the inclusion of such contributions, as well as a concern that the study may become diluted in the process. For the same reasons, I am concentrating on Islam as an Arabic phenomenon. Remembering that the aim is to determine the essential 'soul’ of Islam, the formative period has a profound impact upon the Islamic psyche. The paradigms that are considered here have undergone significant transformations over the years, but if we are to get to the essence of the paradigms, that is to the hermeneutical core, then the variety of multi-coloured cloaks that have been placed over the paradigms need to be stripped away. This is not to say that the works of Islamic philosophers, or the legal scholars, or mystics, or Islam as it is expressed outside of the Arabic phenomenon are not an important and integral part of Islam. As already pointed out, there are many Islams, but a study such as this can only focus on ‘one Islam’.
When, for example, we look to the life of the Prophet and, in particular, in relation to the establishment of the first umma in Medina, we see that social justice was a key virtue. A Muslim was a man or woman who was prepared to submit their entire being to God and to behave to one another with justice, equity and compassion. The ritual prayer, salat, was designed to counter the perceived inequality, arrogance and materialism of Mecca. By prostrating their bodies it teaches the Muslim to lay aside his or her pride and selfishness for, before Allah, mankind is nothing. Similarly zakat and fasting during Ramadan stress the need to consider the injustice of society. The umma was initially guided by practical compassion in which there was a fair distribution of wealth; elements far more important that theological or philosophical speculation. Reference in the Qur'an to theological speculation is referred to as zanna, self-indulgent whimsy about ineffable matters that nobody can ascertain one way or another. We in the prosperous Western world are in the fortunate position of being able to devote much of our energies to 'self- indulgent whimsy’, but this was not the case amongst the first Muslims, and was not, therefore, considered to be important in terms of what it meant to be a Muslim. Far more important was jihad, a personal struggle to live a virtuous life. It is this existential element that is frequently forgotten in modern dialogue; even the term jihad has taken on negative connotations. The Qur'an insists that its teachings are not new, but a ‘reminder’ of past teachings. At the fundamental level, Islam teaches what it considers to be inherent in nature. For the Muslim to enter the ‘transcendent’ he or she must live according to God's will which is essentially practical and simple. The aim is tawhid which can give the Muslim intimations of the unity of God.
The Rashidun had to confront such difficult questions as to what form the umma should take and what kind of leadership it would have. During this time only Arabs could be Muslims, but generally Muslims lived peaceably with non-Muslims, especially as most of the people they encountered were ahl al-kitab (People of the Book). The Arabs at this time thought that only descendants of Ishmael could be Muslim and so conversion was not encouraged, and so the People of the Book were accorded dhimmi status, which was also rewarding financially as they had to pay a ‘protection’ tax that Muslims were exempt from. The Muslims, once they conquered a territory, lived in separate garrison towns, amsar. These amsar were effectively Arab enclaves, ‘untainted’ by foreign mores. The first fitnah, or civil war, between Ali and Muawiyyah, is significant in that it resulted in the Islamic capital moving to Damascus. It seemed to many that Islam was moving away from its cradle and, perhaps, losing sight of its original ethos. It is not surprising, then, that the paradigms of the Prophet, the Qur'an, Medina and the Rashidun are perceived as ingredients of the Golden Age for Islam for, as history demonstrates, the result of the first fitnah created a very different Islam from that known by Muhammad. In time the Islamic empire was ruled by a wealthy, absolute and hereditary monarchy and the old ‘Meccan’ values of self-interest and inequality re-emerged. There are certainly justifiable and pragmatic reasons as to why Islam drifted away from its essence, in the same way it can be said the institution of Christianity differs from the teachings of Christ. However, this does not alter the fact that Islam, especially Sunni Islam, did drift from its core ethos and became, in effect, a powerful, politically, militarily and economically successful empire. It was still ‘Islamic’ in the broadest sense of the term, but had lost its true essence. The best example of how things had changed is the case of Caliph Harun al- Rashid (786–809) who isolated himself from his subjects, the courtiers kissed the ground in his presence, and the executioner stood behind him to demonstrate the Caliph's power over life and death. How far removed this was from the leadership of the Prophet! It was also during this time of al-Rashid that the Greek philosophical texts were translated into Arabic and such philosophical speculation was encouraged. In customs and beliefs, Islam became more Persian than Arabic and, in parallel, became less ‘Islamic’ in its essentials.
One could go on and explore how Islam, in its historical development, deviated from its original paradigms, but to do so would only inform the reader how Islam has become ‘many Islams’ and embraced beliefs, cultures and traditions of cultures external to Arabia. Rather, the concern here is with Islam as an essentially Arabic phenomenon in an attempt to determine its essence. In this respect, this work has much in common with many of the characteristics of the Islamic revivalism of such notable Muslim scholars such as Ahmad ibn Hanbal (d.855) and Ibn Taimiyya (1263–1328). What is evident in much Islamic discourse on issues of Islamic identity is this stress to ‘return’ to the Islam that existed at the time of Muhammad, Medina and the Rashidun, and so to engage in Islam as it developed beyond those confines would only obfuscate my primary purpose.
The debate proceeding from 9/11 has raised yet again the issue of Islamic identity, of what constitutes the political philosophy of over one billion Muslims. Salman Rushdie has called for moderate Muslims who favour trying to reconcile Islam with ‘modernity’ to come forth:
The only aspect of modernity in which the terrorists are interested is technology, which they see as a weapon that can be turned against its makers. If terrorism is to be defeated, the world of Islam must take on board the secularist-humanist principles on which the modern is based, and without which their countries’ freedom will remain a distant dream.33
In another response to 9/11, Don Cupitt wrote:
Our Christianity reeks of humanism, whereas Islam is totally without it. In Islam they do not commemorate the dead or permit any human image in a place of worship. A man may kiss and hold the hand of another man in public, but husband and wife walk separately. She is veiled. Our humanitarian ethic is entirely religious in its inspiration; Islam lacks any such tradition. Another factor, equally important, is that we are products of the Reformation. The crucial point is that it has been shown that religion can be criticised and reformed; and, if that is so, then anything else can be criticised and reformed… Islam has never undergone such a change. It has never reconciled itself to critical thinking, or to the idea that the individual thinker may be right against the world. It cannot accept the idea that religion needs continual self-criticism and reform in order to develop aright. It does not accept the idea of an autonomous, secular sphere of life that can and should function independently of religious control.34
The suggestion that Islam is ‘totally without’ humanism and that it lacks an ability to think critically or subject itself to continual self-criticism and reform goes totally against historical evidence, however. What is evident from debates on the nature of Islam is the confusion between the perception of Islam as a historical phenomenon with that as an ideal. It has been interesting to note how the scholars and journalists have responded to the events of 9/11: initially as presenting a ‘politically correct’ but largely uninformed thesis that the events had nothing to do with Islam to, a few weeks after the event, varying theses that Islam is in some way responsible, but still a confusion as to what is meant by ‘Islam’.
States, politicians and groups that declare themselves to be under the umbrella of ‘Islamic’ only aid such confusion. Whether it be Ayatollah Khomeini's establishment of an ‘Islamic government’ in Iran in 1979 or, in October 1981 the assassination of the Egyptian President Anwar al-Sadat on the basis that he was a ‘pharaoh’ and an opposer of attempts to achieve a legitimate Islamic government. Since then, many states have claimed to represent true Islam, yet they vary from Iran, Pakistan, the Sudan and Saudi Arabia. Any study of such states presents the difficulty of finding what they all have in common that could possibly be called ‘Islamic government’. Further, new religious forces that have earned world status such as Hezbollah, Hamas, al-Qaeda, and the FIS have utilised methods such as assassination and terrorism in an attempt to establish an Islamic government which has presented a perception of Islam that is hardly favourable towards its more supposedly ‘enlightened’ aspects. The fact is that peace and egalite do not make good news stories. Rather, the image of Islam as a ‘religion of the sword’, as inherently aggressive with its fatwas and jihads, has been the image more readily presented and newsworthy.
Bearing all of this in mind, how then are we to reach any conclusions as to what is Islam? Which religious group, if any, is getting it right? To what extent are these contemporary presentations of Islam representative of the only true Islam li kull makan wa zaman (‘for all time and all place’)? Leon Carl Brown raises the question that must be borne in mind throughout this study:
No serious person maintains that the this-worldly manifestation of, say, Christianity is the same today as it was in the time of Luther or Aquinas or Augustine or Paul. One accepts Christianity's diversity throughout time and space. Isn't it plausible to expect roughly the same of Islam in history?35
As part of the central aim of this work—the aim to show that Islam is not so alien or ‘Other’ as often portrayed—we need to be clear as to how this ‘Otherness’ is described.
Having placed the importance of the issues in context in this chapter, Chapter 2 will clearly define the key terms that will be used throughout this book. After briefly considering why Nietzsche is important to the topic, the four key Islamic paradigms of the Qur'an, the Prophet, Medina, and the Rightly-Guided Caliphs will be outlined. After which the concept of the Transhistorical will be defined, key to this is the philosophy of Mawlana Mawdudi as the archetypal Transhistorical. This will then be contrasted with the concept of Historical Islam which is informed by such concepts as secularisation and the Nietzschean ‘soul’. In this respect, Nietzsche is the Historical archetype.
Chapter 3 will move on to consider in more detail the justification for adopting Nietzsche's philosophy as a methodological ‘tool’ in considering Islamic paradigms. Central to this is the ensuing examination of Nietzsche's religiosity. That is to say, to what extent can Nietzsche be classed as a ‘religious atheist’? This is an important consideration, as a popular approach to Nietzsche regards the German philosopher as an atheist pure and simple (as if there were such a thing as a pure and simple atheist) and a consequence of this is that it is assumed that any contribution he makes to debates in the realm of theology will be purely negative. An essential appeal of his philosophy is his use of religious language, metaphors and symbols; together with the fact that Nietzsche himself does not escape from his own 'soul’, that is his Lutheran upbringing. Further, Nietzsche was specifically addressing an audience at a specific time and place (that is the coming new century in Europe) and what Nietzsche perceived to be an important turning- point for Europe: the dawn of a new age in which the old God was dead and society was confronted with an increase in the secularisation process. Nietzsche's ‘religiosity’ rests in his lack of ‘faith’ in the secular order to provide humanity with any meaningful existence. Nietzsche is, to an extent, a product of the German Reformation. Islam, in our current age, appears to be faced with a crisis not dissimilar to the audience Nietzsche was addressing. Confronted, as it is, by the secularisation process, calls are being made for a form of ‘Islamic Reformation’ after many hundreds of years of relative self-confidence. Islam, then, is faced with a number of options, the two most fundamental being either to follow the same trajectory of Christianity in Europe and turning its God into the ‘dead God’ that Nietzsche is so critical of, or to learn from Nietzsche's religiosity and embrace a ‘living God’ that does not perceive secularisation as an enemy. In considering this, the response of Christian theology to Nietzsche's religiosity, and how this might be applied to Islamic theology (bearing in mind that this is a subject for which Islamic scholars have remained largely silent), can prove very helpful. In particular the works of Giles Fraser and Alistair Kee will be considered. One Muslim scholar, however, who has embraced Nietzsche's philosophy—particularly his call for the Übermensch—is Muhammad Iqbal, whose contribution will also be examined.
Nietzsche studied philology, the determination of the meaning and validity of texts. He extended this skill beyond text however, to a hermeneutic interpretation of the world. For the Muslim, the holy text, the Qur'an, is the world. Chapter 4 will set the tone of the whole work, with its emphasis on the importance of contextualisation. Such emphasis is often a reluctant practice amongst Islamic scholars, which, it shall be argued, only does more harm than good if one is to argue that the fundamental message of Islam is applicable to modern, pluralistic society. At the same time, it should be pointed out that this is not an exercise in political correctness, in adopting a contemporary trend in intellectualism but, rather, a genuine attempt to determine the Islamic 'soul’ in the Nietzschean sense of the word.
In the spirit of the Nietzschean emphasis on context, this chapter will consider the contribution made by mostly modern Islamic scholars who have been prepared to challenge the Transhistorical, orthodox approach to Islam, notably the works of Fazlur Rahman, Mohammed Arkoun and Mohamed Talbi. Although it may be stretching the analogy somewhat, they can be seen as precursors of something of an ‘Islamic Reformation’. Nietzsche calls for a new philosopher who will present a Weltanschauung for a new Europe. Likewise, Rahman does not believe that adopting an Historical approach to Islam, to contextualising the Qur'an, will result in watering down its power, but rather will lead to Islamic revivalism, to a Qur'anic Weltanschauung. Further, like Nietzsche, Rahman—following on from his medieval Islamic precursors—calls for the coming together of philosophy and religion; for the tools of rational Western philosophy to be used in conjunction with the values and world outlook of Islam. Arkoun is also steeped within the Western philosophical tradition and the influence of Nietzsche, via the works of Derrida especially, is clearly evident. In interpreting the Qur'an, both Rahman and Arkoun recognise how important it is to contextualise those common terms that are contained within the holy text. How are we to understand what it means to be a Muslim if we do not appreciate how such terms denoting ‘Muslim’ were used in the Qur'anic era? The Qur'an is an important paradigm in the Muslim psyche, and so we must be clear what the Qur'an is saying to today's Muslims. Mohamed Talbi's contribution to this debate is crucial here. He gives us an understanding of the Muslim as someone who acts in defence of social justice, of the upholder of values that are life-enhancing and in no way contradictory to the values of the Western world. In this sense ‘Muslim’ is not a label or a birthright, but rather an attitude as well as an active power for a value-society.
Chapter 4 looks at what was meant by ‘muslim’ in the Qur'anic context. That is, what kind of person constituted a ‘muslim’ in seventh century Arabia. However, the term ‘Muslim’ with a capital ‘M’ is usually understood very differently in the modern world, as we have already suggested. In the contextualised Qur'anic sense, anyone who upholds the values of the Qur'an is a ‘muslim’. Yet, in our modern world, this is not the only ‘kind of muslim’ that needs to be considered for there exists some 1.2 billion people who do give themselves the label of ‘Muslim’ (and, henceforth, ‘Muslim’ with a capital ‘M’ is referring to these people) and would wish to distinguish themselves from the Christian, Jew, atheist and so on.
Chapter 5 seeks to determine the 'soul’ of Jahiliyya and how this relates to our understanding of Islam. The term ‘Jahiliyya’ usually (though not exclusively) refers to the time prior to the message of Muhammad, to a state of ‘ignorance’. Implied here is the belief that Jahiliyya is the antonym of Islam. If we are to challenge the assertion that the religious and secular cannot be separate in Islam then it helps to contextualise the debate by showing the extent to which Arabia—the ‘cradle’ of Islam—would have allowed such a situation to exist. Remembering the Nietzschean analogy that concepts do not evolve autonomously, but are fragments of a broader perspective like fauna in continents, we can only understand Islam by seeing it within the context of its social, cultural, political and, indeed, geographical environment.
The Transhistorical is not entirely separate from the Historical. The two interlink and feed from each other. To argue for an emphasis of the Historical, an insight into its paradigmatic ‘moments’ is required. Likewise, the Transhistorical transforms these ‘moments’ into statues that people will not let crumble. The 'shattering of idols’ requires an understanding of why those idols exist in the first place and, indeed, whether we have a right to shatter them will be governed by the extent to which they hinder rather than help Islam's revival. Nietzsche was as much a philosopher of history as a philosopher of morals, for the two are indelibly linked as he demonstrates most notably in The Genealogy of Morals. If we are to assert that Islam, in its Historical face, is compatible with Western pluralistic values and a civil society, then we must adopt an historical- critical approach to the ‘moments’ in Islamic history. Here we are still contextualising, but now also going beyond the text to the people and times of Arabia. What, then, do the ‘moments’ of Jahiliyya, of Medina, of Mecca, tell us about the soul of Islam?
Important here is the groundbreaking work of Ibn Khaldun, particularly in his use of the concepts of asabiyah and mulk. Asabiyah signifies the internal cohesion of a society, often brought about by unity of blood or faith, whereas mulk is the stage when a society is in decline as boundaries between kinship groups weaken. These concepts bear a close relation to Nietzsche's view of society requiring a periodic reassessment of its values. For society to survive and prosper it must contain mechanisms that encourage renewal and reform. As we look at Islamic history, in a very broad sense we can see that, in the case of Sunni Islam, there has always existed a tension between the desire for maintaining the established order and the Islamic imperative—contained within the paradigm of the Bedouin ethos as well as the Prophet—for constant renewal and reform. When Islam has been confident it has allowed for asabiyah to assert itself. However, in times of insecurity Sunni Islam especially ‘tightens up’ and hides behind an impractical utopic vision as a way of preventing criticism and questioning: its people feel a sense of guilt and fear if they make any attempt to question the established order. Inevitably, Islam will atrophy unless it allows for a fresh intake of asabiyah. As will be examined there are some— though still small in numbers—who are starting to assert a different view of Islam; of Islam as Historical. Chapter 5 moves on to more modern research into the Bedouin ethos in an attempt to ascertain how this relates to the situation in Mecca at the time of Muhammad, leaving aside the position of Muhammad until the next chapter.
In Chapter 6, the Constitution of Medina is examined to see what it can tell us about two very important paradigms: Medina as the first Islamic state, and Muhammad as the Prophet and leader of this state. The work of the Turkish Muslim scholar Ali Bulaç is important here, as is the contribution made by the controversial Egyptian Muslim legal scholar Ali ‘Abd al-Raziq. The picture that will be presented of Medina is of a society that is pluralistic in nature with a leader who could not claim to be a political and religious ‘king’ of any kind, but rather a charismatic arbiter of disputes with a mission to imbue asabiyah back into his home city of Mecca. In sharp contrast, the views of Mohammed Bamyeh, who teaches social theory and comparative civilisations at the Gallatin School in New York City, will also be examined. In particular, his conception of Muhammad as taking full advantage of the Transhistorical, presenting himself as a prophet who could command allegiance like a King David.
As history progresses, we shall see in this chapter how the authority of the Prophet is indeed transformed to a semi-divine status, and is used by the Caliphs and Sultans to legitimise their own authority. The Islamic state is presented as a utopic vision, ruled by Philosopher-Kings: the paradigm of Medina and the Prophet are used in the Transhistorical sense to support this concept of Islam. Likewise, a further paradigm, that of the Rashidun (the Rightly-Guided Caliphs), is utilised by the adherents of the Transhistorical to further enhance the view of an unobtainable, pristine Islam.
By way of conclusion, Chapter 7 will consider the options for the future, especially in terms of how far certain Muslim scholars have been prepared to go in supporting the process of secularisation and recognising the authority of Islamic paradigms. This chapter will return, first of all, to the philosophy of Mawdudi as symbolising the Transhistorical and then will consider the views of other Muslim scholars who, though fitting within the Transhistorical mould, have been more prepared to admit the need for individual human will. The conclusion will be reached, in line with Nietzsche's philosophy, that it is the human will to power that is the ultimate paradigm. In addressing the question of what kind of society will allow the assertion of the human will, Nietzsche is not anti- democratic provided it allows room for the rare, unique and noble to breathe. Nietzsche's emphasis is upon the importance of culture and he is aware that democratic politics is capable of promoting and furthering culture, although he is 'speaking of democracy as something yet to come’.36 Nietzsche's stress on ‘culture’ goes back to his earliest writings. For example, in The Birth of Tragedy, he emphasises the importance of art (art in the Greek sense) as salvation and as providing the deepest insights into the human condition. Essentially, a society which praises culture is the antithesis of one that promotes instrumental or utilitarian values at the expense of its cultural heritage. The problem with democracies—at least those that we are familiar with (and Nietzsche was familiar with in terms of the German state of the time)—is that they are driven by a money-economy which, Nietzsche believed, sees no value in culture. In this sense, Islam, as Nietzschean ‘culture’ and in the possession of important paradigms that emphasise the human will to create and re-evaluate, can have an important role to play in any society.