The Qur'anic paradigm
It [the Qur'an] is the first and primary source [of the Islamic constitution], containing as it does all the fundamental directions and instructions from God Himself. The directions and instructions cover the entire gamut of man's existence. Herein are to be found not only directives relating to individual conduct but also principles regulating all the aspects of the social and cultural life of man. It has also been clearly shown therein as to why should Muslims endeavour to create and establish a State of their own.
What? The ‘miracle’ only an error of interpretation? A lack of philology?
Although the Qur'an does not explicitly outline a structure for an Islamic state, this is not to say that the holy book should not have an important role in determining what Islam has to say about mankind and its relationship to the world, for ultimately this is the raison d'etre of the Qur'an. However, does this require us to go so far as the Transhistorical, as Mawdudi's assertion that the Qur'an's ‘directions and instructions cover the entire gamut of man's existence’?
We first of all need to be clear what relevance the Qur'an has to contemporary discourse and how we are to approach the text. In terms of the relevance, it almost goes without saying that it is central to the Islamic collective consciousness, quite possibly more so than the Prophet. It is central because all Muslims read it, all Muslims have a familiarity with the text, even if they have only a scant understanding of the life of the Prophet. Of course, the extent of the familiarity with the Qur'an is incredibly varied: from those who only know it via translations, those who have read it in Arabic but cannot actually understand the native language, those who both understand Arabic and have read it in Arabic, and those Islamic scholars who have not only read it in Arabic, understood it, but also quite probably have memorised much (if not all) of it and devoted much of their lives to interpreting it.
Bearing this in mind we are faced with a problem here: how is the modern reader meant to interpret the Qur'an? Can there be any agreement reached as to the fundamental tenets of the Qur'an, and can we then proceed to apply these tenets to an Islamic state? A further point that also must be considered is that even if it can be shown that the Qur'an is conducive to, for example, individual liberty, freedom of thought, the rights of minorities, and so on, what possible reason is there to suppose that we ought to apply these principles to the establishment of a state?
How is the reader—given that he or she comes from different time periods, cultures, beliefs, and so on—meant to make sense of the Qur'an? This question is at the root of hermeneutics, a term defined by Carl Braaten as:
the science of reflecting on how a word or an event in a past time and culture may be understood and become existentially meaningful in our present situation. It involves both the methodological rules to be applied in exegesis as well as the epistemological assumptions of understanding.3
However, since Rudolf Bultmann, the term hermeneutics is ‘generally used to describe the attempt to span the gap between past and present’.4 Hermeneutics assumes that every reader of a text brings with him or her their own ‘baggage’ of beliefs, expectations, questions, and so on, to the extent that it would be ‘absurd to demand from any interpreter the setting aside of his/her subjectivity and interpret a text without pre- understanding and the questions initiated by it [because without these] the text is mute’.5 In Nietzschean terms, any attempt at a philosophy is autobiographical, rather than being able to claim any objectivity. However, despite this, we must still be able to ascertain a degree of consensus concerning certain aspects of the teaching: for subjectivity need not imply extreme scepticism.
Can we then talk of a fixed meaning, of an ‘historical positivism’? The Qur'an, after all, is considered to be literally the word of God, not a work that has been ‘inspired’ by God, or ‘influenced’ by God. In this sense it has a timelessness and a universality. Having said that, all revelations are a commentary on a particular society; they address a specific audience in a specific language and so are part of that socio-historical and linguistic milieu. Making the transcendental into the earthly results in a degree of necessary interpretation. There has been some reluctance in Muslim scholarship (compared with, say, Christian scholarship) to pursue the question of temporal causality in the background of the Qur'an's ‘Otherness’, perhaps for fear that this will weaken the potency of its transcendental quality. However, although there is a reluctance to pursue the implications of such temporal causality there is nonetheless a general acknowledgment amongst Muslim scholars that the Qur'an needed to address itself within a social, cultural, historical and linguistic context if it is to be understood at all. As Mawdudi himself acknowledges: ‘Although the Qur'an addresses itself to all of humankind, its contents are, on the whole, vitally related to the taste and temperament, the environment and history and customs and usages of Arabia.’6
A perennial concern for the monotheistic religions is how to reconcile a time-less, immutable God with what appears to be progressive revelation (tadrij); that is, a series of revelations over periods of time, to different prophets and related to different contexts. The Qur'an was not transmitted as one whole text, but as a response to the demands of concrete situations. This is evidenced from parts of the Qur'an, for example: ‘We have divided the Qur'an into sections so that you may recite it to the people with deliberation. We have imparted it by gradual revelation.’7 When the unbelievers ask, ‘Why was the Qur'an not revealed to him entire in a single revelation?’,8 the response is, ‘We have revealed it thus so that We may strengthen your faith. We have imparted it to you by gradual revelation.’9
Possibly the most renowned traditional scholar of tadrij is Shah Wali Allah Dehlawi (d. 1762) who developed a theory of the relationship between revelation and its socio- historical context. According to Dehlawi, the ideal form of din(which he interprets to mean primordial ideal religion) corresponds to the ideal form of nature. The actualised manifestations of the ideal din descend in successive revelations depending upon changing material and historical conditions. Every succeeding revelation reshapes the world into a new gestalt which embodies din. According to Dehlawi, din adapts its form according to the customs, faiths and practices of the recipient community. Dehlawi uses the analogy of God as the physician who prescribes medication according to the needs, temperament, age and so on of the patient. It follows that to attempt to apply the principles of the Meccan community of seventh century Arabia to any modern society is rather like a physician prescribing medicine made for an adult to a young child. Nonetheless, the ‘din’ remains, though in an altered form. The problem for interpretation, then, is determining what that din is.
The principle of progressive revelation manifests itself into two related disciplines of interpretation: asab al-nuzul (events occasioning revelation) and naskh (abrogation). In terms of the former, this deals with the transmission of the ‘sabab’ of a revelation in terms of its time, place and circumstances. The word 'sabab’ can be translated as ‘cause’ although this might suggest that the event caused the revelation, which would not be according to standard Muslim scholarship. Andrew Rippin has written a good survey of classical works on asab al-nuzul and he states that, ‘The sabab is a constant reminder of God and is the rope, that being one of the meanings of sabab in the Qur'an, by which human contemplation ascends to the highest levels even while dealing with the mundane aspects of the text.’10 Therefore, we are not dealing with merely a text, but an interactive process between the reader and the author. The Qur'an is more of an organic entity, than a static text. However, to attempt to interpret it in light of the modern world, there needs to be an understanding of the situational context to which it was originally revealed, for every chapter ‘is so vitally linked with its situational background…knowledge of the occasions of revelation is of extreme importance and numerous verses will remain incomprehensible without it’.11
The latter discipline, naskh, in Islamic jurisprudence, means the verification and elaboration of different modes of abrogation. The Qur'anic proof for naskh is: ‘If we abrogate a verse or cause it to be forgotten, We will replace it by a better one or one similar.’12 There are different understandings of naskh: First, the Qur'anic abrogation of divine scriptures that preceded it; second, the repeal of certain Qur'anic texts that are said to have been blotted out of existence; third, the abrogation of an earlier commandment of the Qur'an by a later revelation, although the earlier commandment still remains in the Qur'an; fourth, the abrogation of a prophetic practice by a Qur'anic injunction and; finally, the abrogation of a Qur'anic injunction by a prophetic practice. Although there have been many works on the practice of naskh, the problem one has is that, ‘there is probably no other discipline in traditional Qur'anic studies to rival it in confusion regarding its validity, meaning and applicability’.13
Undoubtedly, the problem with abrogation, and this relates closely with asab al-nuzul, is how to accurately determine which are earlier verses and which are later and, therefore, which abrogates which; further, the extent to which one verse is meant to abrogate another. In fact, a number of scholars such as Sir Sayed Ahmad Khan and Isma'il al- Faruqi have rejected naskh altogether, both arguing that the revelations that came earlier in certain circumstances and were modified or improved later were not actually abrogated, rather earlier verses should be regarded as valid and therefore implemented should conditions be similar to those in which they were revealed.14 Muslim scholars have disagreed over both the meaning of the term ‘naskh’ and the extent to which the number of verses have actually been abrogated. For example, as many past Muslims interpreted ‘naskh’ in the literal sense of ‘removal’,15 the debate then raged over how many verses were removed, reaching to some 500 verses. This led to a more recent trend—especially in the 1960s amongst such scholars as al-Faruqi and Hassan—to reduce this number of abrogated verses or, going even further, to deny their actual occurrence altogether.16 Whatever the various opinions surrounding naskh, there is at least a unanimity concerning what Fazlur Rahman calls ‘the situational character of the Qur'an’.17 In other words, we can accept that verses were revealed in a progressive manner within the context of particular social conditions. As Muslim society took shape, the Qur'anic revelations kept up with the changing circumstances. But what happens when the revelations come to an end, yet society continues to change?
For anyone committed to determining how Qur'anic injunctions can be applied to societies of today, the stance of Rahman must be adopted, according to which the Qur'an, ‘despite it being clothed in the flesh and blood of a particular situation, outflows through and beyond that given context of history’.18 Therefore:
The challenge for every generation of believers is to discover their own moment of revelation, their own intermission in revelation, their own frustrations with God, joy with His consoling grace, and their own guidance by the principle of progressive revelation.19
For Fazlur Rahman20 especially, the warning is clear: the objective is not to search for accounts of isolated historical incidents which occurred during Muhammad's era and then attempt to construct a ‘politically correct’ view for the modern world. Rather, an understanding of the Qur'an in its historical context must be understood in relation to its integrated whole and definite ethos.
Two terms are often used in Qur'anic studies in reference to hermeneutics: tafsir and ta'wil. Some scholars use both terms in the sense of ‘elaboration’, although others make a distinction between them, using tafsir (from root ‘fassara’, meaning ‘to explain’ or ‘asfara’ meaning ‘to break’) to denote external philological exegesis (the ‘outer’ or Transhistorical meaning), while ta'wil (from the root ‘ww-l’ meaning ‘to interpret’ or ‘to elaborate’) is taken to refer to the exposition of the subject matter, that is the ‘inner’ or Historical meaning. Ta'wil is more generally understood today to denote the rejection of the obvious meaning of a verse and the adoption of an inner interpretation; a practice most popular with Sufi and Shi'a exegesis.
Clearly, there is a strong tradition within Islam of hermeneutics, despite the reluctance to address the issue of the authorship of the Qur'an. However, the emergence of tafsir and ta'wil as a science is due to the credibility of Islamic scholarship, especially the willingness of Islamic scholars to not only elaborate upon the work of their predecessors, but to reject it wholeheartedly. Indication here that the meaning assigned to the Qur'an by one generation need not be applicable to another generation.
In this chapter, a number of references have already been made concerning Fazlur Rahman (1919–88), and his contribution in this field deserves special attention. In fact, Rahman's importance for Islamic scholarship generally cannot be underestimated, for he was a great defender for modernising Islam in the belief that metaphysical speculation has an important role to play in the modern world, despite the prevalence of naturalistic explanations. As Rahman says:
If metaphysics enjoys the least freedom from assumed premises, man enjoys the least freedom from metaphysics in that metaphysical beliefs are the most ultimate and pervasively relevant to human attitudes; it is consciously or unconsciously the source of all values and of the meaning we attach to life itself… Metaphysics, in my understanding, is the unity of knowledge and the meaning and orientation this unity gives to life. If this unity is the unity of knowledge, how can it be all that subjective? It is a faith grounded in knowledge.21
Rahman's modernist views have been very controversial: ‘his detractors referred to him as “the destroyer of hadiths” because of his insistence on judging the weight of hadith reports in light of the overall spirit of the Qur'an’.22 However, ‘A measure of this leading thinker's impact is that wherever I travelled in the world… I have never met a Muslim scholar or other specialist on Islam who has not heard of Fazlur Rahman or who is neutral about his contributions.’23 Rahman argued that, in the modern world, there has been a serious lack of Islamic metaphysics. Even when there were many brilliant Muslim metaphysicians, during the Middle Ages, their Weltanschauung was mostly Hellenic, not Qur'anic. Rahman's aim was to present a Qur'anic Weltanschauung; an ambition Rahman claims has not been achieved in the modern world, although, Rahman claims, Muhammad Iqbal's Reconstruction of Religious Thought in Islam comes close.
Rahman attacks the trend of what he calls neorevivalism or neofundamentalism. Before classical modernism, there existed a revivalism, or a fundamentalism, since the eighteenth century, for example the Wahhabi movement, which desired to reconstruct Islamic spirituality and morality on the basis of a return to what was perceived as a time of ‘pristine’ Islam. However, neorevivalism has its basis in anti-Westernism, which consequently is also anti-modernism because of its attitude of conforming Islam with Western thought. The key issues of the neofundamentalist include the ban on bank interest, the ban on family planning, the status of women (contrary to modernist views), and zakat. What the neofundamentalist approach consists of, then, is attacking Western values by highlighting specific ‘Islamic’ issues as contrary to it. While Rahman accepts that neorevivalism has acted as a corrective for many of the modernist excesses, he condemns it for its lack of positive Islamic thinking, its intellectual bankruptcy and its use of ‘cliché mongering’24 instead of serious intellectual endeavour. Whereas neorevivalism has been right to criticise traditionalist ulama for turning Muslims away from the Qur'an, Rahman points out that the neorevivalists can be accused of selecting various Qur'anic injunctions as a way of showing how ‘different’ Islam is from the West. The ulama, at least, can be credited for their depth of learning, however misguided, whereas the neorevivalists are 'shallow and superficial’,24 and lack any roots in either the Qur'an or intellectual culture. The neorevivalist, Rahman argues, ignores the complexity of the Qur'an, seeing Islam as essentially a 'simple’ religion.
Rahman also has much to say on the relationship between Islam and politics, notably his observation that in Muslim countries that claim to be democratic, such as Turkey, Islam is ruthlessly exploited for party politics and group interests that subjects Islam to, not only politics, but day-to-day politics, so that ‘Islam thus becomes sheer demagoguery’.26 Politicians use the much cited view that ‘Islam and politics are inseparable’ to their own advantage by duping the common man into accepting that, instead of politics serving the long-term interests of Islam, Islam should serve the short- term interests of the politician.
What is Rahman's solution? First, it is necessary for Muslims to make a distinction between normative (i.e. ‘Transhistorical’) Islam and Historical Islam. The Islamisation of the Muslim mind (for Rahman sees education as the basis for Islamisation) requires the resurrection of the Qur'an and Muhammad so that Historical Islam may be judged by it. On the one hand, it is important to study the Qur'an's social pronouncements and legal enactments in the light of the general ethos of the text whilst, on the other hand, assessing this against the background of the historical-social milieu. Rahman responds to the concern that this will just lead to another form of fundamentalism that he has been so critical of; the Wahabbi-style return to a ‘pristine Islam’. He argues that neither the fundamentalist nor the modernist had a clear enough method of interpreting the Qur'an and sunna. Here, Rahman appeals to asab al-nuzul:
It is strange…that no systematic attempt has ever been made to understand the Qur'an in the order in which it was revealed…by setting the specific cases of the… ‘occasions of revelation’, in some order in the general background that is no other than the activity of the Prophet (the sunna in the proper sense) and its social environment.27
At the same time, this hermeneutics must not lose sight of the Qur'an as a coherent whole, of its metaphysical element that acts as a backdrop to its injunctions. This, Rahman argues, cannot lead to absolute uniformity of interpretation, but will at least get rid of claims to inconsistencies and ambiguities by understanding such verses in the light of the coherency of the whole text. Rahman sees these interpretative attempts occurring not only amongst individual scholars, but by teamwork as well. Through discussion and debate, the community at large can accept some interpretations and discard others. Further, time can allow for one-time interpretations to be replaced; they are not to remain dogma for future generations if the community feels it is no longer viable. Rahman feels that we have to adopt a fresh approach to the Qur'an, to get rid of our baggage, especially the reliance upon many hadith.
Second, Rahman calls for a reconstruction of the ‘Islamic sciences’. This requires a historically systematic study of the sciences but, again, to be judged by the criterion of the Qur'an, that is the Qur'an as understood by following the criteria briefly outlined in the previous paragraph. Adopting an historical critique will lead to a reconstruction of the following ‘Islamic sciences’:
1 Theology. An historical critique of the theological developments in Islam is the first step towards a reconstruction of Islamic theology. By pursuing this critique, a gap should be revealed between the Weltanschauung of the Qur'an and the various theological schools. Rahman is critical of the theological doctrines of Sufism (in fact, Rahman seems particularly vehement and frequent in his dislike for such esotericism), the Mu'tazilites and the Ash'arites. He credits premodernist revivalism and modernism for undermining such doctrines but, again, is critical of them for, in the case of premodernist revivalism, not putting anything in their place and, in the case of modernism, replacing them with Western modes of thought but without giving them an Islamic basis. Rahman praises Muhammad Iqbal once more for essaying a new approach to Islamic theology, but believes that Iqbal relied too much on contemporary scientific views on subatomic theory (leading to the non-determinist view that the physical world is free of cause and effect). Although it is unavoidable for the Qur'anic Weltanschauung to be influenced by contemporary modes of thought (as well as it being necessary if the Qur'an is to be relevant to the contemporary situation) it should not be enslaved to any topical theory, however attractive it may seem.
2 Law and ethics. Rahman argues that Muslim scholars have never attempted an ethics of the Qur'an, systematically or otherwise, despite the fact that the Qur'an is so heavily concerned with morals. The central moral concept of the Qur'an is taqwa: a ‘mental state of responsibility from which an agent's actions proceed but which recognises that the criterion of judgement upon them lies outside him’.28 Secular law, Rahman sees as the abnegation of taqwa, for law has ceased to maintain any organic relation to morality. Because law is to be formulated on the basis of the Qur'an's moral values, it will necessarily be organically related to the latter. But because law governs the day- to-day life of society, it will require constant interpretation according to social change. In the past, the need for the law to keep up with society resulted in a separation between many laws and shari'a. For Rahman, the only way to produce genuine Islamic law is to enlighten public conscience, particularly that of the educated classes, with Islamic values. Rahman further proposes an international committee of Muslim jurists (with al-Azhar University a prime candidate for the venue) to produce works of Islamic jurisprudence
3 Philosophy. Rahman argues that philosophy, as such, cannot create any beliefs about reality and its nature, since its function is to analyse data of experience (for example, sense experience, aesthetic experience, religious experience, and so on). Therefore, philosophy is not to be seen as a rival of theology, but complementary to it, for the object of theology is to build a Weltanschauung on the basis of the Qur'an with the help of the intellectual tools used by philosophy. Rahman is open-minded in accepting that certain philosophical views may create tensions with certain theological views, but this is no reason to fear or ban philosophy; rather to encourage it as an important activity in the pursuit of knowledge.
4 The social sciences. These are important because they can reveal much about how collectivities behave in various fields of human belief and action. What is required is the production of works that demonstrate how societies behave and how they can be imbued with Islamic values conducive to the establishment of an ethical social order in the world. Rahman does not call for indoctrination in our schools, but nor does he support a kind of subjective humanism which would, he argues, result in turning man into nothing more than an animal, without any worthwhile values. Given that the Qur'an contains ethical content that, Rahman believes, is in line with what it means to be human, then this ethical content should be imbued in society, not dismissed under the accusation of ‘indoctrination’: ‘It is a pity of pities that the ethical content of societies is being washed out because of a general rebellion against dogmas. Dogmas, again, are not all of the same level, for there are relatively “rational” dogmas, that is, such as are tied to the ethical content of a system.’29
Rahman's attempt at an Islamic Weltanschauung is certainly ambitious and, so it turns out, far too ambitious. Rahman is arguably the first modern reformist Muslim scholar to link the question of the origin of the Qur'an to both its context and its interpretation. By contemporary Muslim standards his views were radical, but he concentrated on methods of interpretation, rather than on the implications of his views on the nature of revelation for interpretation and meaning. His writings display little insight into hermeneutics as a contemporary discipline, and he is an adherent of essentialist Islam in his appeal for an ‘objective’ appreciation of the Qur'anic meaning. His frequent attack on Sufism is based on his belief that their appreciation of the underlying unity of the Qur'an is misplaced in that it is extrinsic; imposed from without rather than derived from a study of the Qur'an itself. While their ideas were ‘adapted somewhat to the Islamic milieu and expressed in Islamic terminology…this thin veneer could not hide the fact that their basic structure of ideas was not drawn from the Qur'an itself’.30 He therefore concludes that their intellectual constructs had an ‘artificial Islamic character’.31 Such a criticism does, however, reveal the inadequacy of Rahman's hermeneutical methodology.
For Rahman, faith leads to understanding, but he fails to acknowledge an interaction between the two. For example, he deplores Islam's subjugation to politics, rather than genuine Islamic values controlling politics, yet does not recognise the dialectical relationship between these two. His criteria of knowledge are based on the primacy of cognition, but to the detriment of praxis. He seems very dismissive of fundamentalist groups because they use Islam for political struggles, yet it is difficult to see how Islam can be divorced from the specific political struggles and still have any relevance, unless it is proposed that Islam has nothing to say on the subject of, for example, the rights of ethnic minorities. As Tracy points out, ‘There is no historyless, discourseless human being.’32
Along with Nasr Hamid Abu Zaid, the exiled Egyptian scholar Mohammed Arkoun (born 1928) is an example of Muslim scholarship embracing modern hermeneutic insights and literary criticism. Whereas Rahman remains rooted in notions of an essentialist faith, Arkoun represents a radical break with traditional epistemology. In a series of works since the 1970s, Arkoun has attempted to reshape Islamic interpretation through the use of contemporary social-scientific, particularly linguistic, methods. He has embarked on ‘an intellectual crusade’33 by engaging Islamic intellectuals in debate and arguing for pluralism within Islam, acceptance of multiple interpretations of the sacred texts, and a more self-conscious attitude toward one's own interpretation. Currently teaching at the Sorbonne, his writings show a great affinity with recent trends in French academic thought, especially structural linguistics, the post-structuralist writings of Paul Ricoeur and Michel Foucault, and the deconstructionism of Jacques Derrida.
Arkoun favours an historical approach to Islam:
the main intellectual endeavour represented by thinking Islam or any religion today is to evaluate, with a new epistemological perspective, the characteristics and intricacy of systems of knowledge—both the historical and the mythical.34
The discourse on revelation and historicity is decidedly more radical and critical than that of any other contemporary Muslim scholar. A critic of orthodoxy, he rejects the view that he is repeating the position of the islahi; that is the reformist thinking represented since the nineteenth century by the salafi school.
Arkoun believes we need to get away from the view of Islam as a specific, essential, unchanging system of thought, beliefs and non-beliefs. ‘The study of religion, in particular, is handicapped by the rigid definitions and methods inherited from theology and classical metaphysics.’35 Arkoun insists on a historical, sociological and anthropological approach, not to conflict with the theological and philosophical, but to enrich it. Whereas Rahman's aim was to construct a Weltanschauung, Arkoun's aim is deconstruction. To achieve this we must start with the Qur'an because ‘historically, everything started with what I called the “Experience of Medina” including the communication of the Qur'an received as revelation and the historical processes through which a social group, named believers (mu'minun), emerged and dominated other groups—named unbelievers, infidels, hypocrites, polytheists (kafirun, munafiqun, mushrikun)’.36
Arkoun's work in terms of hermeneutics can be summarised thus:
1 Human beings emerge in societies through a variety of changing ‘uses’ such as activity, experience, sensation and observation. Each ‘use’ in society is converted into a sign of this use and realities are expressed through languages as 'systems of signs’.37 These 'systems of signs’ also include scripture, and each sign is ‘a locus of convergent operations [i.e., perception, expression, interpretation, translation, communication] which engages all of the relations between language and thought’.38 As a consequence, Arkoun argues that Arabic as a sacred language is no longer a tenable thesis to uphold and, further, ‘the core of Islamic thought is represented as a linguistic and semantic issue’.39
2 All the signs and symbols produced by a human being during the process of his or her social and cultural emergence are inextricably bound to historicity. As the Qur'an is also a 'system of signs’, this is also bound to historicity, which leads Arkoun to raise the fundamental hermeneutical question: ‘How can we deal with the sacred, the spiritual, the transcendent, the ontology, when we are obliged to recognise that all this vocabulary which is supposed to refer to stable, immaterial values, is submitted to the impact of history?’40
3 It follows that faith does not exist on its own, independent of human beings, and nor does it come from outside, from some divine will, but rather it is 'shaped, expressed and actualised in and through discourse’.41
4 Classical Islamic theology and Islamic jurisprudence has no epistemological relevance or legitimisation because their vocabulary is too compromised by the ideological biases imposed upon them by ‘the ruling class and its intellectual servants…[and] are authoritative only because they refuse to be engaged by the changing scientific environment’.42
Arkoun analyses the process of revelation and the way the written text becomes sacred and authoritative via three levels:43
1 The first level is the word of God as transcendent, infinite and unknown to mankind as a whole, with only fragments of it having been revealed through the prophets. This level is expressed in the Qur'an by such expressions as al-Lawh al-Mahfuz (the ‘well- preserved tablet’) in 85:22, and the Umm al-Kitab (the ‘archetypal book’) in 43:4.
2 The second level are the historical manifestations of the word of God through the Israelite prophets (in Hebrew), Jesus of Nazareth (in Aramaic), and Muhammad (in Arabic). Despite defining scriptures as speech worded by God this does not alter the linguistic and historical fact that the message of God is transmitted in human language and collected in an orthodox, closed corpus in concrete historical conditions.
3 The third level is when the textual objectification of the word of God takes place; the Qur'an, after a time of being memorised and transmitted orally, becomes a mushaf (written text) and the scripture is available to the believers only through the written version of the book preserved in the officially closed canons. This textual objectification, Arkoun proposes, was contingent on many historical facts depending on social and political agents, not on God. Some of the ‘imperfect human procedures’44 which determined the shape of the written word he refers to as ‘oral transmission’,45 the use of ‘imperfect graphic form …conflicts between clans and parties…and unreported readings’.46
There is, therefore, a two-way process going on: as the word of God descends through the levels, the interpreting community ascends in its interpretation:
The interpreting community is the subject-actant of the whole terrestrial history represented, interpreted and used as a precarious stage to prepare the salvation according to the History of Salvation narrated by God as an educative part of revelation.47
And so, the relationship between the individual and the Qur'an is inevitably also a socio political relation to the community.
Arkoun, then, represents what Rahman is so critical of: allowing Islam to be enslaved by a topical theory. However, the ‘topical theory’ that Arkoun adopts, that of a deconstructionism that has its roots in Nietzsche, displays a much clearer appreciation of hermeneutic methodology and, though it may well go against the view that there is any objectivity, we are confronted with the much more coherent and intellectually viable possibility that the only kind of ‘essence’ we can talk about are ‘collective memories’; by the Nietzschean soul. Arkoun argues that history is the actual incarnation of the revelation as it is interpreted by the ulama and then preserved in the collective memory. Revelation allows for the possibility of giving a ‘transcendent’ legitimisation to the social order and the historical process that is accepted by the social group: ‘But this possibility can be maintained only as long as the cognitive system, based on social imaginaire, is not replaced by a new, more plausible rationality linked to a different organisation of the social historical space.’48
Arkoun admits to his crusade as being existential in its roots, which raises the unresolved problem of the role Islam is to play at all in the future of shifting paradigms. While Arkoun is critical of the predominant materialistic paradigms of the West for their lack of much in the way of a strong ethical base, he is unsure as to where the future lies in the 'struggle for meaning’49 and does not commit himself to Islam as resolving that struggle. In fact Arkoun admits he is more sympathetic to empirical research than to divine guidance, which makes one wonder whether the divine has any future at all:
Should we Islamicize knowledge according to the revealed discourse, or should we consider Islam in the context of the universal quest for meaning? Many paths are open again. Let us explore them with confidence, hope, and lucidity.50
If we accept the intellectually more viable option that all our knowledge is subject to interpretation, that we are all our own ‘autobiographies’ when it comes to formulating any thesis, then it must also, of course, be admitted that this work is likewise an ‘interpretation’; an existential exercise. There is an inevitable active participation of the interpreter in producing meaning as the receiving of text and extracting meaning from it do not exist as separate enterprises. Reception and interpretation are always partial. Nonetheless, this is far removed from saying that ‘all is subjective and therefore valid’, a view that neither this book nor Nietzsche would adhere to. In linguistic terms, this would be committing an act of ‘hermeneutical promiscuity’ whereby anyone is allowed to get into bed with the text. What remains to be considered is the extent to which certain interpretations, certain expressions of the will to power, are more coherent and life enhancing than others. Further, in attempting to determine what we can say about Islam in terms of its political philosophy, the reader must look towards the Islamic collective consciousness, to the series of paradigms that have moulded the socio-historical context of what we call ‘Islam’. Accepting the diversity of Islam does not alter the fact that paradigms do exist.
In the 'struggle for meaning’ the Qur'an is, of course, crucial, but Muhammad is also a key agent: ‘To get to the “true meaning” of the text, as intended by God, many Muslims would, in effect, ask: “What did Muhammad understand by this text?”’ This, then, is one direction we must take, but we must go even deeper than that for, to understand the mind of the Prophet—in the same way we must understand the mind of God via the Prophet— we must consider the social, historical and cultural milieu at the time, for the Prophet is a product of the city, of Mecca, as well as of the desert, of the time of Jahiliyya.
The undisputed reference point for Muslims is the Qur'an and, for Sunni Muslims, the Prophet's sunna, and these remain the criteria to determine Transhistorical Islam. However, the past is not the ‘past’ as such, but partakes in the present. In interpreting a tradition such as Islam, an understanding of its meaning is not value-free. Every interpreter enters into the process of interpretation with some pre-understanding and presuppositions regarding that tradition, for ‘There is no innocent interpretation, no innocent interpreter, no innocent text.’51 Any attempt at understanding is conditioned by ‘The radical plurality of our differential languages and the ambiguity of all our histories.’52
Any act of interpretation is a participation in the linguistic-historical process, and the shaping of tradition and this participation occurs at a particular time and a particular place, whether this be an engagement with the Qur'an or with the sunna of the Prophet, or with the early history of Islam—the ‘Golden Age Narrative’—the interpreter remains within a ‘prison’ of language, culture and tradition. Much of reformist thinking in Islam argues that Muslims must return to a ‘pristine Islam’ and bracket those intervening years. Yet how is this really possible? In terms of ‘going back to the Qur'an’, as has been demonstrated in this chapter, exegesis of a text cannot be entirely independent of its historical productivity. Likewise, a ‘return’ to a ‘Golden Age’ supposes that this ‘Golden Age’ is some disembodied phenomenon floating around, waiting to be plucked from the sky. It is not possible to simply ‘bracket’ or bypass the intervening years, to return to the womb once one has been born. Arkoun's heuristic methodology, in contrast to that of Rahman, is rooted in pluralism. He argues that the similarities in the theological and intellectual developments among the Abrahamic religions should be the new basis for dialogue.53 However, there is a danger that pluralism leads to convenient subjectivism; if it is convenient to interpret Islam as democratic, then it is democratic, if it is convenient to interpret Islam as supporting women's rights, then it is supporting women's rights. On the other hand, going down the fundamentalist road in the search for singular truths lacks intellectual credibility.
How much freedom do we have to interpret the meaning of a tradition? The temptation is strong, as an intellectual exercise, to pluck out a few selective ayats from the Qur'an, a few convenient hadiths, a series of historical precedents and then build up an argument for, say, Islam's compatibility with animal rights. It would certainly be a hard task but not, one suspects, impossible. But this is not a fundamentalist thesis, it is not in the business of picking and choosing to suit the circumstances. Rather, it is an attempt to establish a basis for ‘truth’, and ‘truth’ in the Nietzschean sense. Faced with a number of paradigms, of Islamic archetypes, and an armoury of empirical sources, what can we conclude concerning Islam and its political motivation?
To what extent can we interpret the Qur'an as proposing an ethical ought? That is, what does it require of the believer in terms of duty, morality and, more specifically, political obligation? There are certain terms, contained within the Qur'an, which need to be surveyed in more detail. They are: taqwa (responsibility and awareness in relation to the presence of God); tawhid (unity of God); al-nas (the people); al-mustad'afun fi'l-ard (the oppressed of the earth); ‘adl and qist (balance and justice); and jihad (struggle).
Taqwa
The word ‘taqwa’ is from the Arabic root w-q-y, which literally means ‘to ward off, ‘to guard against’, ‘to heed’ and ‘to preserve’, and it has been used in all these senses in the Qur'an.54 In the Qur'anic sense, it may be defined as ‘heeding the voice of your conscience while being aware that you are responsible to God’. According to Jafri, among all the ethical terms contained in the Qur'an, ‘the most widely applicable and most inclusive of all is the term taqwa’.55 Man's responsibility rests not only towards God, but also to the whole of humankind.56 The Qur'an links taqwa to belief in God57 and regards its attainment as one of the objectives of serving God.58 Those who have taqwa are compared favourably with those who prefer more short-term goals.59 However, what is most important in this context is the Qur'an's link between taqwa and various forms of social interaction, notably sharing,60 fulfilling covenants,61 and kindness.62 After the injunction to ‘fear God’63 (taqwa), the Qur'an then goes on to say: ‘Let there become of you a nation that shall call for righteousness, enjoin justice, and forbid evil. Such men will surely triumph.’64
Tawhid
From the root w-h-d, tawhid means ‘to be alone’, ‘one’, ‘an integrated unity’. Tawhid has been described as ‘the foundation, the centre and the end of the entire [Islamic] ritual’.65 In terms of politics, the term tawhid has been used more frequently during the last few decades amongst political exponents. Foremost among those who have advocated tawhid as a comprehensive socio-political worldview are Ali Shari'ati and the Mujahidin-i-Khalq of Iran. They contrast tawhid, a ‘worldview’, with the narrow-mindedness associated with, for example, exploitation, consumerism and class distinctions. A 'spirit of tawhid’, it is argued, encourages the communal feeling of justice, people's liberation and taqwa. In terms of Qur'anic interpretation, it is the adoption of Rahman's hermeneutics as seeing the text as a whole, it is the 'spirit’ of the Qur'an.
al-Nas
From the root n-w-s, nas refers to ‘the people’ as a social collective, as ‘humankind’, which is placed in a ‘world of tawhid where God, people and nature display a meaningful and purposeful harmony’.66 Humankind is considered central in the Qur'an, for God has chosen humanity to act as His viceregents67 on earth, and has God's 'spirit’.68 Humanity is the recipient of great trust,69 as well as the wielder of great power.70 The term ‘the people’ has been used as a rallying call for suppressed Muslim minorities,71 although the extent to which viceregency means political sovereignty is a debatable one.
al-mustad'afun fi'l-ar
From the root d-‘-f, mustad'af refers to someone who is oppressed or is deemed weak and of no consequence and, therefore, treated in an arrogant manner. The mustad'afun are, therefore, those people who have an ‘inferior’ status in society and are vulnerable, marginalised and/or oppressed in the socio-economic sense. The term needs to be distinguished from other terms used to describe the lower and impoverished classes: for example, aradhil (marginalised),72 fuqara’ (poor),73 and masakin (indigent).74 What distinguishes the mustad'afun is that they are in a position of weakness as a result of the behaviour or policies of the arrogant and powerful (mustakbirun). The Qur'an makes a number of contrasts between the mustad'afun and the mustakbirun, giving favour to the former over the latter. One of the most often-quoted verses in the Qur'an by those oppressed has been the following:
But it was Our will to favour those who are oppressed (mustad'afun)and to make them leaders among men, to bestow on them a noble heritage and to give them power in the land; and to inflict on Pharoah, Haman, and their warriors, the very scourge they dreaded.75
This verse is from the chapter al-Qasas (‘The Story’), which tells of the flight of the Israelites from oppression in Egypt, and is regarded as an example of God's favouritism for the oppressed, irrespective of their faith.
‘adl and qist
The Qur'an uses two terms to refer to justice: ‘adl and qist. ‘Adlmeans ‘to act equitably, justly or rightly’,76 whereas qist (root, q-s-t) means ‘equity’, ‘justice’ or ‘to give someone his or her full portion’.77 Both terms are used interchangeably in the Qur'an with justice forming the basis of the natural order of the world: ‘God created the heavens and the earth to manifest the truth, and to reward each soul according to its deeds. None shall be wronged.’78 Justice, here, is equated with truth,79 and its understanding can be seen on the basis of tawhid in the following:
It is the Merciful who has taught the Qur'an. He created man and taught him articulate speech. The sun and the moon pursue their ordered course. The plants and the trees bow down in adoration. He raised the heaven on high and set the balance of all things, that you might not transgress that balance. Give just weight and full measure.80
These verses place mankind and the task of doing justice within the context of a responsibility towards God (taqwa) and the order which exists in the universe (tawhid). God sees injustice as a deviation from the natural order, not unlike Aquinas’ natural law. However, like the natural law theory of ethics, we are confronted with the problem of ‘what is justice’? Can this be determined through a holistic hermeneutic of the text?
Jihad
Jihad literally means ‘to struggle’ or ‘to exert oneself’, although it has also come to mean the ‘sacralisation of combat’.81 The Qur'an itself uses the term in various contexts, including warfare,82 but also as a spiritual struggle.83 Jihad assumes that human life is essentially a practical matter, for the theology will follow later. Although the term is often used—and is better known as such in the West—as referring to warfare, it is also commonly used by Muslims who associate the term with fighting against oppression and injustice; in this sense jihad is equated with adland qist.
Iman and kufr
Iman and kufr are the two most frequently invoked terms in the Qur'an. Iman means ‘faith’ or ‘belief’ whereas kufr means its opposite (i.e. ‘disbelief’). In Muslim discourse, iman has been replaced by Islam, although the latter term only occurs eight times in the Qur'an, compared with forty-five times for iman. Further, the correlative of iman, mu'min occurs, in its various forms, forty times. These terms are extremely important in modern discourse because of the way they are used in any issue of inter-faith dialogue or discussions on pluralism. In this respect, they are highly relevant to this book. Ultimately, the question that needs to be considered is what is meant by iman and kufr in terms of specific groups, and the degree to which they are mutually exclusive.
A case may be made that the way the terms iman and kufrare used today differs somewhat from the way they were understood originally. Today's understanding is usually taken as iman equalling Muslim and kufr meaning non-Muslim; labels that are set in stone and not allowing any degree of flexibility, fluidity or change. However, a number of scholars, adopting the hermeneutic approach of reading the terms in the context of the time the Qur'an was uttered, have attempted to show that these terms are qualities that are dynamic and variable, rather than entrenched.
Wilfred Cantwell-Smith presents God as a being who is ‘concerned with something that persons do, and with the persons who do it, rather than with abstract entity [called belief]’.84 In line with the Islamic tenet of taqwa and jihad especially, it cannot be sufficient to be a good Muslim merely by a product of birth. Further, in line with the tenet of adl and qist, the non-Muslim cannot be condemned merely for being a non-Muslim. In fact, the idea that the Qur'anic islam is not specific to the Muslim has many sympathisers amongst Islamic scholars; the acknowledgement of the potential to submit to ‘God’ in their own way, and outside of the institution of Islam, has a number of supporters, for example Sayyidain,85 Talbi,86 Engineer,87 Hanafi,88 Rahman,89 Ayoub,90 and Faruqi91 to name but a few. The best summary of this view is provided by Troll who states that a number of scholars acknowledge that:
primordial and universal Islam, i.e. the attitude of surrender to the Absolute in co-fraternity, can be discerningly discovered and acknowledged in the most varied symbols and patterns of belief and action, in the religions and ideologies of the past and present… Any sincere response to the call from the hidden Mystery, the source of existence, realizes existential and personal islam.92
Now, of course, ‘existential and personal islam’ suggests a coat of many colours, although we can see here an awareness of the distinction between Historical Islam and the Transhistorical (or ‘primordial’). Further, as the Qur'an clearly denounces the kufr in numerous passages, we need to be clear as to who then would count as ‘kufr’ in the ‘primordial’, or Transhistorical, sense, which we will come back to later on.
Iman
Before that, an attempt can be made to put the Qur'an within the context of the time it was recited by the Prophet by considering a possible interpretation of the word ‘iman’ (and its noun mu'minun), rather than what the modern world understands by ‘Muslim’. A key section of the Qur'an, in this respect, is the following, as it is the most explicit in defining a mu'min:
The true believers [mu'minun] are those whose hearts are filled with awe at the mention of God, and whose faith [iman] grows stronger as they listen to His revelations [ayat]. They are those who put their trust in their Lord, pray steadfastly, and bestow in alms from that which we have given them. Such are the true believers [mu'minun]. They will be exalted and forgiven by their Lord, and a generous provision shall be made for them.93
First, this section talks of the ‘true believers’, which suggests there are various ‘grades’ of believers; therefore it is not enough simply to be born a ‘mu'min’ or to proclaim submission to Allah, but to be a ‘true believer’ is related to the acts that one does. Iman, then, is a dynamic quality that can be increased or strengthened. There is a close relationship between iman and righteous deeds, specifically in this case, a trust in God, constant prayer and the giving of alms. This text is at the beginning of the sura ‘The Spoils of War’ which deals largely with the event of the Battle of Badr (623). This passage is widely regarded as a rebuke to some of Muhammad's Companions who desired more of the spoils of war than Muhammad considered fit. After being told that the spoils belong to the community as a whole the Companions were reminded about the nature of faith, which was being weakened because of their greed.
In terms of its etymology, iman is the verbal noun of the fourth form from the root a- m-n. The root implies ‘being secure’, ‘trusting in’, or ‘turning to’, from which follows its meanings of ‘good faith’, 'sincerity’, ‘fidelity’ and ‘loyalty’. The fourth form, amana, has the twofold meaning of ‘to believe’ and ‘to give one's faith’.94 Its principal meaning is ‘becoming true to the trust with respect to which God has confided in one by a firm believing with the heart; not by profession of belief with the tongue only’.95
The term, together with its variations, occurs over 200 times in the Qur'an, most frequently as part of the expression, ‘O those who have iman’ (fifty-five times). In the majority of cases, it refers to followers of Muhammad, however it also refers to Moses and his followers in eleven cases, and to other prophets and their followers in twenty-two cases. As Rahman states, ‘iman is an act of the heart, a decisive giving oneself up to God and His message and gaining peace and security and fortification against tribulation’.96
The degree to which iman is a dynamic phenomenon has been much debated by scholars, which included an attempt by Abu Hanifa to use Aristotelian logic that iman itself is not subject to increase or decrease, but that its weakening is an increase in kufr, while its strengthening is a decrease in kufr, thus simultan eously allowing you to be both a believer and non-believer!97 There are two hadiths narrated by al-Bukhari and Muslim: ‘The least of iman will save one in the hereafter’ and ‘Iman is of [various] kinds and has seventy branches. The highest is the testimony that there is no deity except God and the lowest is the removal of an obstacle from the road. And [even] modesty is a branch of faith.’98 The vast majority of Muslims, it is considered, do not satisfy the criteria set out in Qur'an 8:2–4, yet they still have iman. Therefore, it exists at different levels, and is dependent upon the social and personal encounters and actions of the individual. What is interesting is the requirement to act in a certain manner, to avoid various wrongs and live in the spirit that the Qur'an inculcates—even if this is just removing obstacles from the road—rather than subscribe wholeheartedly to a set of traditions and rituals. Iman is an active attribute of character in direct contrast with the opposite activity, kufr, for, ‘the context of the term “they rejected” (kufr) show that according to the Qur'an, to “disbelieve” is an active attitude to life as a whole…the opposite of iman is an active attribute of character, the attitude of heedlessness and scorn and pride’.99
Kufr
A better understanding of what is meant by iman can be ascertained by contrasting it with its opposite, kufr, (root k-f-r) best illustrated in the following verse:
Those that deny God's revelations [i.e. kufr] and slay the prophets unjustly and kill the men who preach fair dealing—warn them of a woeful scourge. Their works shall come to nothing in this world and the hereafter, and there shall be none to help them.100
The kufr, here, are those who ‘kill the men who preach fair dealing’ (justice), and so is making a link with the socio-political acts of everyday discourse. The expression ‘those that deny God's revelations’ is one of a number of ways of describing the ‘non-believer’ in the Qur'an using some form of the word kufr. Other forms are the participle noun kafir, and its plural, kuffar or kafirun. The term kufr has become in Muslim discourse the term most associated with what is disliked in the ‘Other’, the ‘non-believer’, and has become a term of abuse in many languages. A kafir has come to mean someone who, having ‘received God's benevolence, shows no sign of gratitude in his conduct, or even acts rebelliously against his benefactor’.101 In fact, Isutzu has shown that while the word kafir itself contains an important element of non-belief, ‘it must be remembered, that this is not the only basic semantic constituent of the word, nor is it the original one’102 that, in fact, the ‘real core…of its semantic structure was not “un-belie”, but rather “ingratitude” or “unthankfulness”’.103
There are many examples in the Qur'an where the word is used to refer to ingratitude,104 and most frequently it is used as the opposite of iman which has led Isutzu to claim that the word kafir came to mean unbeliever ‘because it occurs very frequently in contrast to the word mu'min’105 and if ‘the nature of a word is such that it comes to be used with remarkable frequency in specific contexts alongside its antonym, it must of necessity acquire a noticeable semantic value from this frequent combination’.106 However, even if kufr acts as an antonym to iman, this is still considered a conscious attitude and an act; one is not simply a non-believer by not being born a Muslim. As Muhammad Asad has pointed out:
the term kafir cannot be simply equated, as many Muslim theologians of post-classical times and practically all Western translators of the Qur'an have done, with ‘unbeliever’ or ‘infidel’ in the specific, restricted sense of one who rejects the system of doctrine and law promulgated in the Qur'an and amplified by the teachings of the Prophet—but must have a wider, more general meaning.’107
Interestingly, in the more widely used sense of the term ‘kafir’ as ‘rejecter of the faith’, this was first applied to some Meccans who insulted Muhammad and, later in Medina, to various elements of the People of the Book as well. In this sense, kufr is more of an attitude, such as arrogance, insulting behaviour, oppression, injustice and so on.108 It is not merely passive, but refers to those who, for example, committed actual or attempted assassinations of the prophets,109 or attempted to destroy Muhammad's mission,110 or refused to spend their wealth on the poor,111 or opposed the weak,112 or remained silent in the face of evil and oppression.113 Therefore, in this sense, a mu'min can also be a kafir!
However, it would be going too far to suggest that one can be a non-believer in God and still, because of actions committed, be a mu'min, for kufr does also relate to the denial of the teachings of the Qur'an, which broadly would include the unity of God (tawhid), the scripture as the word of God, the signs of God, the resurrection and the prophets. More specifically, the Qur'an denounces as kufr notions of the divinity of Christ,114 and any attempt to attribute to God a begotten son.115 This is problematic, to say the least, as it seems to declare all Christians as kafirun, and it really depends upon how far one is prepared to go in ascribing the hermeneutical approach to the Qur'an. We may be generous and agree with Esack that:
It is impossible to separate the kufr denounced in the Qur'an from the personal and social attitudes of Muhammad's opponents as individuals or a group in Mecca or Medina. We have to try to find exactly where we see such attitudes to islam and such patterns of socio-political behaviour in order to develop a contemporary application of the term kufr and not the mere transference of labels.116
A reasonable case can be made for this, and Esack does so on the following grounds:
1 Whenever the Qur'an links kufr to the teachings it does so within a socio-historical context. At the time of Muhammad, a belief in the unity of God was indelibly linked to the idea of humanism, social and economic justice. Therefore, anti-monotheism was akin to a denial of a right and just community:
In the light of the argument that beliefs and the consequences of holding them are always intrinsically connected, one cannot refer to kufr, or any other notion, as ‘purely doctrinal’. This would be affording doctrine an ahistorical sense which is not borne out by the very dynamic interplay of revelation and society.117
2 The Qur'an portrays the kafir as someone who, despite having recognised the unity of God and Muhammad as His Prophet, still refuses to acknowledge it; they recognise the truth, but prefer to ‘conceal’ it.118
3 The Qur'an denounces as kufr those who show an antagonism for the kind of society/community Muhammad was attempting to create. ‘Islam’, in this sense, is a reference to a community of people who believe in the ethical spirit of the Qur'an and, therefore, the kufr are those who are ‘unethical’.
4 Finally, the kuffar are the way they are because of essentially selfish motives; whether it be because of narrow-minded material gains, tribal bonds, or because islam would upset the unjust social order that existed at the time. Therefore, it is an attack on people who are guided by selfish motives.
Islam
The importance of a hermeneutical approach to the text (and, later, the tradition) is evident, for it would be remiss to assume that the Islam of the seventh century is exactly as the Islam of today, or that the audience that was being addressed at the time had the same outlook as the audience of today. However, attempting to enter the world of seventh-century Arabia is no straightforward matter and it must be reiterated here that there is always an element of the writer in any writing, however objective and dispassionate the author may claim to be. Considering the possibilities before us of a hermeneutical understanding of iman and kufr, it allows for a rethinking of what is meant by the term ‘islam’, particularly within the context of din. Echoing Jane Smith who stated that there has been a ‘historical flow, involving both movement and continuity, that takes us from the islam meant to what it “has meant” and what it “means”’.119 We are dealing with a term for which there is ‘dynamic, both within the understanding of individual writers and as expressed by the historical development of the concept from one age to another’.120
There is a distinction that is so often ignored in any study of Islam, yet should be blatantly obvious. That the ‘islam’ that was referred to in the Qur'an was for a living, vibrant and changing community that were undergoing significant and radical changes during the process of the use of the word ‘islam’; in that sense ‘islam’ was a changing, flexible entity undergoing historical change. When pinpointing the use of the word ‘islam’ and, by extension any other term for that matter, this must be borne in mind, yet most interpreters have adopted the term as if it applied to a complete and stable entity; to a community of believers that were certain in their beliefs and complete in every respect. Further, the way terms were used at the time would have been understood within the context of a series of ‘givens’ that are not applicable—or even known—today. Islam, then, should be seen not merely through Transhistorical spectacles, but more importantly through the Historical; as a community in its nascent stage which had certain seventh century Arabian assumptions and beliefs: ‘the Qur'an is engaged in a dynamic relationship with its hearers; it speaks and uses expressions in terms of the understanding of a community or individuals at a particular stage of their development’.121
At this point, a most apropos section of the Qur'an comes to mind:
Righteousness does not consist in whether you face the East or the West. The righteous man is he who believes in God and the Last Day, in the angels and the Book and the prophets; who, though he loves it dearly, gives away his wealth to kinsfolk, to orphans, to the destitute, to the traveller in need and to beggars, and for the redemption of captives; who attends to his prayers and renders the alms levy; who is true to his promises and steadfast in trial and adversity and in times of war. Such are the true believers; such are the God-fearing.122
It is not enough to be born a Muslim, and it is not a sin to be born a non-Muslim. Come the Last Day, ‘Whoever does an atom's weight of good shall see it, and whoever does an atom's weight of evil shall see it also.’123 Individuals, as well as groups, are changing entities and must be measured according to the deeds they do. In this sense, concepts such as kufr, iman and islam are interrelated and dynamic: ‘Every new encounter with ourselves and others, every deed we do or refuse to do, is a step in our perpetual transformation.’124
What, then, is the attitude of the Muslim to the ‘Other’ in the Qur'an? To begin with, it is not easy to determine the various meanings of the terms used. As has been demonstrated, the most frequent expressions used in the Qur'an to describe different ‘types’ are: mu'minun, the ‘People of the Book’, ‘Jews’, ‘Christians’, ‘associationists’, the kafirun/kuffar and the munafiqun. The Qur'an does not have an equivalent of the words ‘non-Muslim’ or ‘unbeliever’ as such, despite these being the most common translations of kafirun/kuffar. Further, the terms mu'minun, ‘People of the Book’, ‘Jews’, and ‘Christians’ are all used interchangeably in the Qur'an. Also, reference to these various groupings is sometimes to a specific community within a historical setting, and at other times to the community in the general, Transhistorical sense.
In terms of the People of the Book, it seems that Muhammad, in his early Meccan days, had no enmity towards Jews or Christians and ‘he regarded the contents of the message he brought as substantially the same as that received years ago by the Jews on the Sinai’.125 According to the Constitution of Medina ( see Chapter 6 ), the following extract gives an indication of how the questions of belief were handled: ‘The Jews of Banu ‘Awf will be a community with the mu'minun; the Jews shall have their religion and the Muslims theirs, their allies and their persons shall be safe except for those who behave unjustly, for they hurt but themselves and their families.’126 According to Muslim accounts, however, many Jews secretly allied themselves with the Quraysh and, together with breaches in the treaty and attempts on the life of Muhammad, led to the expulsion of the Jewish tribes. Therefore, it was not due to religious reasons.
Although Christians were not, on the whole (if at all), a presence in Medina, they are an important part of the Qur'anic makeup. Muhammad had met Christian ascetics on his business travels, most notably the Syrian monk known as Bahira, and there were Christian slaves and visiting traders to Mecca. Further, the Muslim flights to Abyssinia, an established Christian state by that time, certainly seemed to leave a positive impression on the Muslims. Theologically, Muslim understanding of Christian doctrine seemed to be dependent on the Jewish community in Medina, at least until the arrival of a Christian delegation from Najran in southern Arabia in 632. Although they did not recognise Muhammad's prophethood they, nonetheless, prayed in the mosque and would pay taxes in return for Muslim protection, thus attaining dhimmi status. This community continued to survive for at least another 200 years.127
The reasons why there is so much emphasis on the People of the Book—as opposed to other religions—needs to be considered. Obviously, an important reason is the Qur'an's (and Muhammad's) claim of affinity with those of the ‘Abrahamic tradition’ which, in itself, caused tension in the early Muslim community because of the accentuation of the differences between them, as well as the claim that the Qur'an is the final and ‘correct’ revelation, which, by implication, places other revelations (or, rather, the passing down of these revelations) at a lower status in the hierarchy. Much of the Qur'an is inevitably devoted to this tension because of its prevalence during the formative period of Islam. A further reason for this dominance is that the Christians and Jews were the two religious groups that Muslims encountered in their dealings during Muhammad's prophethood. An additional reason for the focus on the People of the Book in the modern world is that it is largely ‘Christian’ (European and American) and ‘Jewish’ (Israeli) people that Muslims find themselves in conflict with and so look for references to the People of the Book in the Qur'an for theological advice.
However, there are a number of problems with associating the People of the Book during early Islam with the Christians and Jews of today:
1 The Qur'an naturally dealt only with those of the People of the Book with whom the early Muslim community came into contact with. To extract the Jews and Christians of the Arab world of the seventh century and to apply it to Jews and Christians of today is to ignore the Qur'anic context. As an example, the Qur'an accuses Christians of shirk because of their alleged worship of three deities,128 although this may well be due to a misunderstanding of what was meant by the doctrine of the Trinity by confusing it with Tritheism.129 Alternatively, it could well be that the Christians themselves had a different conception of the Trinity than that understood today and so it was not misunderstood at all. Christianity, it must be remembered, has also been flexible and undergone many changes both in time and in its greater insistence on dogmatic universality. At the time Muhammad was alive, there were far more different types of Christians—and Jews—which is understandable considering the isolation and lack of centrality these communities experienced.
2 In none of the disciplines of exegesis, Islamic history or in legal scholarship have Muslims achieved anything near a consensus concerning the identity of the People of the Book. At various times, Hindus, Buddhists, Zoroastrians, Magians, and Sabaeans have been included as People of the Book, dependent upon the interpretation of Muslim scholars and, more importantly, the geo-political context.
It should, however, be pointed out that, historically speaking, Islam has not in practice always been so liberal minded and pluralistic. On the positive side, Luis Gómez has pointed out:
For a long time scholars have debated the causes for the decline of Buddhism in India. Although there is little chance of agreement on a problem so complex—and on which we have precious little evidence— some of the reasons adduced early are no longer widely accepted. For instance, the notion that Tantric Buddhism was a ‘degenerate form’ of Buddhism that controlled or brought about the disappearance of Buddhism is no longer entertained by the scholarly community. The image of a defenceless, pacifist Buddhist community annihilated by invading hordes of Muslim warriors is perhaps also a simplification. Though the Turkish conquerors of India were far from benevolent, the Arabs who occupied Sindh in 711 seem to have accepted a state of peaceful coexistence with the local population. Furthermore, one must still understand why Jainism and Hinduism survived the Muslim invasion while Buddhism did not… The disappearance of Buddhism in India may have been precipitated by the Muslim invasion, but it was caused primarily by internal factors, the most important of which seems to have been the gradual assimilation of Buddhism into Hinduism.130
Kulke and Rothermund emphasise that Indian culture was enriched by the encounter of Islam which opened up new connections with West Asia. Indeed, the Islamic countries of the West transmitted ideas to Europe such as the Indian numerical system and, of course, the game of chess. During the ninth and tenth centuries, Muslim rulers 'seem to have followed a policy of peaceful coexistence with the Hindu population. It is said that the rulers of Multan even carefully protected the temple of the sun god at Multan.’ However, in the year 1000, this peaceful coexistence came to an end when the Afghan Mahmud of Ghazni made a series of raids into northern India, resulting in the looting and destruction of the holy places:
The climax of these systematic campaigns was Mahmud's attack on the famous Shiva temple at Somnath on the southern coast of Kathiawar in Gujarat. After a daring expedition across the desert Mahmud reached this temple in 1025. Chronicles report that about 50,000 Hindus lost their lives in defending the temple. Mahmud destroyed the Shiva lingam with his own hands and then is said to have returned through the desert with about 20 million gold dinars (about 6.5 tons of gold).131
Mahmud has had a lasting impact on Indian history and 'signifies the very embodiment of wanton destruction and fanaticism—much like Attila and Chingis Khan for the Europeans’.132 Curiously, Mahmud showed no interest in establishing an empire in India, although he quite probably was capable of doing so. Rather he used the loot to turn his capital, Ghazni, into one of the finest cities of its day, surrounding his court with scholars and poets. Further, Mahmud did not limit his military attacks against Hindus only, being quite prepared to kill Muslims he regarded as heretics, such as the Ismailis who lived peacefully in Multan. It was not until the end of the twelfth century, however, that almost the whole of northern India was conquered and came under the rule of Muhammad of Ghur.
Under Muslim rule, the military were a better match against the Mongols—who started to appear in the thirteenth century—than the Hindu princes. Notably, Ala-ud-din, who ascended the throne in 1296 and wanted to be the second Alexander, fought successfully against hordes of Mongol invaders and, indeed, proved to be as cruel in revenge as the Mongols themselves. After an attempt to conquer Delhi, thousands of Mongol prisoners were trampled to death by elephants while the sultan's court watched and a pyramid composed of the heads of the Mongols was erected outside the Delhi city gates. Ala-ud-din also invaded southern India, burning down cities and destroying great Hindu temples such as Srirangam.133 However:
Although Ala-ud-din had the indisputable merit of having saved India from being overrun by the Mongols, the Hindus naturally disliked him because he oppressed them intentionally. Hindu historians have, therefore, criticised him just as they criticised Aurangzeb. But they tend to forget that Ala-ud-din was rather impartial in his oppression, his measures being aimed at Muslim courtiers just as much as against Hindu notables and middlemen.
Finally, in terms of brutality, mention must also be made of Timur (1336–1405)134 who saw himself as the scourge of Allah. Timur, a Turk, grew up in the Mongol Chaghaytay state in Samarkind and he seized power over the declining Chaghaytay empire. He was passionate about the Mongol ideal, and by 1387 he had conquered all the Iranian highlands and the plains of Mesopotamia. In 1395 he subjugated the old Golden Horde in Russia, and in 1398 he descended upon India and sacked Delhi:
For three days Timur's soldiers indulged in an orgy of murder and plunder in the Indian capital. The Hindu population was exterminated; the Muslims were spared, although presumably their property was not. The deeds of these Turkish warriors shocked even Timur, who wrote in his autobiography that he was not responsible for this terrible event and that only his soldiers should be blamed.135
Why is the Qur'an so insistent on monotheism? Within the Meccan/Medinan context, there was a close association made between orthodoxy and orthopraxis: the rejection and ignorance of Allah was what led to economic and social oppression in Mecca. Monotheism equals community, unity and selflessness. There are many Qur'anic references here,136 but sura 90 seems most appropriate:
Does he think that none has power over him? ‘I have squandered vast riches!’ he boasts. Does he think that none observes him? Have We not given him two eyes, a tongue, and two lips, and shown him the two paths? Yet he would not scale the Height. Would that you knew what the Height is. It is the freeing of a bondsman; the feeding, in the day of famine, of an orphaned relation or a needy man in distress; to have faith and enjoin fortitude and mercy.137
Here it is asserted that a denial of Allah causes people to squander their riches and that faith in an all-powerful God is directly linked with an active social conscience. Those who will 'scale the Height’ are those that have rejected Allah and, therefore, deny mercy and compassion. What is highly significant is that although the Jews were much closer to Muslims in terms of creed than, for example, the Sabaeans (who were believed to have worshipped stars and angels), the former are often denunciated whereas the latter are included amongst the People of the Book. This is another example whereby practice is actually more important than orthodoxy; the Sabaeans, in their actions, are worthy of being called People of the Book whereas the Jews (that is, the historical Jews of Medina) through their deceit and treachery are unworthy of the title. Such actions of dishonesty are not as a result of the doctrine, but a misunderstanding of the doctrine by those who claim to be following their Scriptures, but in actual fact are not: ‘There are illiterate men among them who, ignorant of the Scriptures, know of nothing but lies and vague fancies.’138 Hence a close association between sin and ignorance and the much-stressed call for knowledge and understanding.
The Qur'an is quite explicit in denouncing religious exclusivism, which appears to have been characterised by the Jewish and Christian communities encountered by Muhammad in the Hijaz. According to the Qur'an, many Jews and Christians believed that they were not like any other people whom Allah had created, and that their covenant with Allah had given them an elevated status that enabled them to engage in tribal exclusivism and to treat people outside their community, especially the weak and vulnerable, with contempt.139 The Qur'an alleges that they have claimed a privileged position with God simply because of their birthright, rather than having anything to do with social practice or moral behaviour, whereas the Qur'an asserts in response to this that:
We have ordained a law and assigned a path for each of you. Had God pleased, He would have made of you one nation: but it is His wish to prove you by that which He has bestowed upon you. Vie with each other in good works, for to God you shall all return and He will resolve for you your differences.140
It is ignorance that leads the individual to sway from the ‘assigned path’, regardless of the religion a person belongs to. What is more important, ultimately, is ‘good works’, for ‘They say: “Accept the Jewish or Christian faith and you shall be rightly guided.” Say: “By no means! We believe in the faith of Abraham, the upright one. He was no idolater.”’141 Rather, ‘Abraham was neither a Jew nor Christian. He was an upright man, one who surrendered himself to God.’142
A further significant saying of the Qur'an is: ‘Believers, Jews, Christians, and Sabaeans—whoever believes in God and the Last Day and does what is right—shall be rewarded by their Lord; they have nothing to fear or to regret.’143 Here is an explicit support for religious pluralism, which also makes a clear link with salvation. Muslim scholars, as other religious communities were encountered that were unknown during Muhammad's time, extended the spirit of this passage to apply to these religions; giving them, in theory at least, social and religious recognition as well as acceptance of salvation provided they pursued good ‘practice’.
The Qur'an, it should be emphasised, considers Muhammad as ‘one of a galaxy of prophets’144 who are all bound by ‘din’ by ‘faith’, or ‘religion’. ‘But you are only to give warning. Every nation has its mentor.’145 The Qur'an includes the history of many prophets to emphasise the unity of din: these prophets came with identical messages which were preached within the context of the various and differing situations of their listeners. ‘An apostle is sent to every nation. When their apostle comes, justice is done among them; they are not wronged.’146
Of course, the problem remains as to how adherents of other religions are to know that they are doing right or wrong, especially if, as the Qur'an claims, the original message has been distorted. In other words, what is the Muslim responsibility towards other faiths if, on the one hand, there is a call to respect religious diversity whilst, on the other hand, a suggestion that the Qur'an is the ‘correct’ message? Rahman has quite rightly described the Qur'anic position on this as 'somewhat ambiguous’147 which is hardly helpful. The Qur'an does, for example, urge Muhammad to challenge the beliefs of non-Muslims,148 as well as the task of calling them to submit to Allah.149 In an effort to break through such an ambiguity, the best that can be proposed is, again, to stress the context of the Qur'anic injunctions, for the Qur'an itself is silent about the extent and nature of the distortion of other beliefs, and, when it does attack specific doctrinal beliefs150 it is making reference to specific religious groups at a specific time and place.
One other example in the Qur'an is helpful in an understanding of the general attitude towards other beliefs: ‘Say: “People of the Book, let us come to an agreement: that we will worship none but God, that we will associate none with Him, and that none of us shall set up mortals as deities besides God”’.151 This was uttered after a refusal by a Christian delegation from Najran to enter Islam and submit to Muhammad as prophet. An ‘agreement’ was therefore reached whereby they were only required to ‘worship none but God’. Again, this must be seen in the context of orthodoxy equalling orthopraxis; to worship ‘none but God’ (which, incidentally, can be perhaps better translated as to follow the ‘path of God’) and not 'set up mortals as deities besides God’ is equivalent to following the spirit of the Qur'an in terms of avoiding greed, inequality, avarice and the worship of money:
For every nation We have ordained a ritual which they observe. Let them not dispute with you concerning this. Call them to the path of your Lord: you are rightly guided. If they argue with you, say: ‘God knows best all that you do. On the Day of Resurrection God will judge your differences.’152
As the above clearly shows, there is no condemnation of differences, rather it is for God to decide who, after all, gave each nation its own ritual in the first place. The task, ultimately, is to determine what are the essential messages of each teaching of each nation and come to some consensus.
What seems clear is that the Qur'an, and Muhammad, lays emphasis on co-existence as a primary principle. However, coexistence is not to be equated with liberalism and freedom for all, but with the recognition of a definite authority and ideology. Although Islam was not to be considered superior to other religions—for this would go against the Qur'anic condemnation of arrogance and the desire to appropriate God for a specific community—this does not mean that ‘anything goes’, but that there are definite moral codes. What comes across in the Qur'an is a common struggle against oppression and injustice and a solidarity with the marginalised and exploited. In this sense, we can perceive a religious pluralism. However, the Qur'an also is quick to condemn certain elements of the Other, notably idolaters, but only because of their practice of neglecting the weak and oppressed. In this context, what hope of an Islamic society that is pluralistic?
Granted then, that the Qur'an adopts a pluralistic approach to religious belief and upholds the rights of the oppressed and weak. However, we must now move on to the ‘is-ought’ dilemma. Given the Qur'an's moral code, why should we impose this upon citizens of a state? What Qur'anic injunction is there that says that a Muslim can only be a true Muslim in an Islamic state? For many Islamists, perhaps most notably Mawlana Mawdudi, the view is adopted that Islam is, first and foremost, a particular sort of polity and society, through which religion is most perfectly expressed in accord with the divine will. Mawdudi, like so many modernists of the previous century, thought that though personal faith was essential, it is ultimately absorbed in the more general political and social dimension of Islam. It is through the Islamic political expression that the world will acknowledge Islam's truth and by which Islam will liberate humanity from the depravity of its secularism and the corruption of its religions.153
In contrast with this common view a leading contemporary modernist Muslim thinker is Mohamed Talbi. Born in Tunis in 1921, he was educated there and later in Paris. In his discussions on such subjects as religion and politics, Islam and human rights, women and Islam, religious pluralism, historical analysis and Qur'anic exegesis, Talbi makes clear his dependence upon the Qur'an, while also evincing an easy incorporation of certain Western ideas. In line with the arguments presented in this chapter, Talbi found in the Qur'an and other early sources and historical documents much evidence of Islamic mercy, critical reasoning, freedom and pluralism.
For Talbi, the Qur'an is Islam, and he understands Islam as personal piety and worship of God within an ethical framework. Importantly, the Qur'an, for Talbi, contains both universal ethical principles and more detailed timebound injunctions meant by God only for the particular situations of their revelation. Therefore, in his view, ‘the timeless “wheat” of revelation must be separated from its timebound “chaff”’.154 This, for Talbi, is essential if Islam is to avoid fossilisation by applying timebound principles to situations that are no longer appropriate. The whole ethos of Islam, specifically in the Qur'anic ethical universalism, is its timelessness, its ability to be relevant to different times and cultures. Talbi argues that for much of Islamic history since the Prophetic period, the development of Islam has been along the wrong path of a rigid application of ancient teachings to inappropriate times and situations on the assumption that it is the application of God's will. This ‘conservatism’ is as relevant to modern Islamic scholarship as it was to the classical and medieval scholars and, in fact, if anything, they are more conservative now (for example, on the issue of women's rights) than they once were.
In Talbi's article ‘Religious Liberty: A Muslim Perspective’,155 he argues for placing the Qur'an within context when we attempt to determine Islamic ethical values. Talbi considers the relationship between man and God by quoting the Qur'an: ‘He first created man from clay, then made his offspring from a drop of humble fluid. He moulded him and breathed into him of His spirit.’156 Here man is seen from two perspectives, from a lower perspective of merely matter (created from clay), but also from the higher perspective of sharing in God's 'spirit’. Man, then, has the potential to be the greatest creature on earth, represented by Adam as the heavenly prototype for humankind. On the level of the 'spirit’ all people are really equal, irrespective of their physical and intellectual abilities or religious persuasion. All of mankind has the ‘breath’ of God in them, the same dignity, the same ability to ascend to God, the same sacredness and entitlement to be vicegerent on earth. Here, Talbi argues, ‘from a Qur'anic perspective we may say that human rights are rooted in what every human is by nature, and this is by virtue of God's plan and creation. Thus the cornerstone of all human rights is religious liberty.’157
Although all people have been given the ‘breath’ of God they must be free to choose their own way, without coercion, and to fulfil their own destiny, quoting the Qur'an once more:
There shall be no compulsion in religion. True guidance is now distinct from error. He that renounces idol-worship and puts his faith in God shall grasp a firm handle that will never break. God hears and knows all.158
This verse was used to reprove some Jews and Christians, newly converted to Islam in Medina, who wished to convert their children to Islam too. Faith, to be true and reliable, must be a voluntary act and is an individual concern. Faith is a gift from God that can be accepted or rejected, for mankind has the capacity to resist the call of God and the mission of the prophet is strictly to advise, warn, convey a message, and to admonish but without compelling: ‘Therefore give warning. Your duty is only to give warning: you are not their keeper.’159
Talbi goes on to cite two examples whereby traditional Islamic theology has not, for historical reasons, been in accord with the Qur'an. It is worthwhile summarising his argument here as it demonstrates his understanding of how theology can be out of accord with the basic tenets of the Qur'an. The two examples are the case of dhimmis, and the case of apostates:
1 Dhimmis. The dhimmis are the name given to minority groups that existed within Islamic states. Even though a number of countries came under Muslim rule as a result of force or jihad, the teachings of the Qur'an have been observed to the extent that Islam was never imposed by compulsion. With two or three exceptions, dhimmis have been allowed to pursue the religion of their choice and, in many cases, their situation was improved under Islamic rule, enjoying lengthy periods of tolerance and prosperity, as well as holding high positions in administrations, courts and economic activities. However, they did suffer discrimination from time to time, notably after the reign of al-Mutawakkil (847–61), with oppression culminating especially during the reign of al-Hakim (966–1021) who, quite possibly, was insane. Discrimination and open oppression was always prompted, or strongly backed, by the theologians. However, Talbi emphasises that the Qur'an is explicit in teaching us to respect the dignity and freedom of one another.
2 Apostates. According to traditional theology, though conversion to Islam must be without coercion, once inside Islam it is practically impossible to get out of it again. Conversion from Islam to another religion is considered treason, and the apostate could face the death penalty. Talbi notes that traditional theologians rely on the precedent set by the first rightly-guided caliph, Abu Bakr, for their interpretation. The apostasy wars involved the caliph fighting against the tribes that rejected his authority and refused to pay the alms taxes. The caliph likened this rebellion to apostasy. Further, the theologians cite the authority of the hadith, ‘Anyone who changes religion must be put to death.’160 This hadith, Talbi points out, is usually mixed in the books of hadith with rebellion and highway robbery. The cases of ‘apostates’ killed during the Prophet's life or shortly after his death are without exception those people who turned their weapons against the Muslims. Therefore, the death penalty is more as a consequence of a threat against a fragile community, as well as attacking the values inculcated in the Qur'an of equality and freedom. Talbi also believes that in the case of this hadith, ‘we have many good reasons to consider it a forgery’.161 In the Qur'an there is no mention of the death penalty required against the apostate; punishment is to be left to God's judgement in the afterlife.
We need not go into Talbi's analysis of Qur'anic exegesis here, as it would result in repeating much of what has already been said. The main point is that Talbi's contribution lies in accompanying such conservative development in Islamic thought and practice with the conception and attempted implementation of an ideal Islamic state. Such attempts, however, were implemented according to timebound ideals which, Talbi argues, are ill- conceived and that religion should, in fact, be divorced from politics. For Talbi, there is no Islamic concept of the state and, even if there was, it should not be followed anyway as it would most likely turn out to be irrelevant to the modern world. Any attempt to interpret the Qur'an as being a ‘constitution’ would lead to a state that was tyrannical simply because of the strict adherence to Qur'anic injunctions that are no longer applicable to modern times.
However, even if it is the case that the Qur'an should not be seen as a political document, this still leaves the issues of what values the Muslim should adhere to, which in itself has inevitable political consequences. Talbi cites such ethical principles as freedom, human rights and pluralism as values that are in the spirit of the Qur'an, taken from a hermeneutic perspective. If such values are to be promoted, then, in our modern world, these can be best expressed through democracy. Talbi does not argue for democracy specifically as a Qur'anic injunction, but on the premise that this is the best current political system if we are to adhere to Qur'anic and, therefore, Islamic values. This may lead one to conclude that, for example, a theocracy is perfectly acceptable in Islam provided it adheres to Qur'anic values. Likewise, although democracy may well be the best political system at the present time, this does not mean that it will not be superseded by an even better political system in the future.
Talbi is well aware of the argument amongst many Islamists who argue that there are Islamic precedents in support of democracy which at the very least suggest that this system is also ‘Islamic’. Here, scholars refer to the ancient Arabian (and Qur'anic) institution of shura (‘consultation’) by rulers with their subjects as examples of justifying (if not enjoining) democracy in the Islamic world. However, Talbi rejects the association between shura and democracy. Again, Talbi asks us to contextualise the concept of shura, arguing that as this concept comes from a particular time and place when the conception of democracy as we know it today did not exist, shura has no application to modern society. Neither Islam, nor Western civilisation as a whole, had a conception of democracy as understood in the modern era; certainly not the modern conception of democracy which Talbi understands to mean ‘the voice of the many’ who determine who rules and how they rule. Shura may well contain some elements of ‘true democracy’, in particular the concern for the individual and his or her views, however this is far from arguing that it was a functional political institution. Muslims who would today attempt to implement democracy in their countries are, or should be, doing so because they wish to see a society based on universal Islamic values (which, Talbi believes, are also universal human values) rather than arguing that the Qur'an dictates such a system, or that there are historical precedents.
Talbi is by no means a lone voice in his call for a contextualisation of Islam and the use of hermeneutics. His ideas correspond to that of a number of renowned contemporary modernists, yet it is still a relatively new approach.162 The task is still at hand to distinguish common features, pre-modern as well as modern, on modernist thought which would then provide a foundation for more detailed identification of the trend. In this respect, reference can be made to an interesting article by the American social anthropologist of Islam Dale F.Eickleman. In ‘Inside the Islamic Reformation’,163 Eickleman—as the title of the article suggests—makes the far-reaching assertion that Islam is at the point of undergoing an ‘Islamic Reformation’ embodied in this modernism and having the same impact and function as the Protestant Reformation in Europe.
Eickleman argues that mass media and mass education, in the context of modernisation and Westernisation, have largely engendered an emerging individualism which has resulted in the emergence of believers who are far more critical of official and traditional interpretations of belief and practice. Although this has led to a degree of ‘fanaticism’, it has also resulted in the kind of modernism I have considered in this chapter. Eickleman cites the contemporary Syrian civil engineer Muhammad Shahrur whose book, The Book and the Qur'an: A Contemporary Interpretation (1990), has sold many thousands of copies despite an official ban in much of the Middle East. Shahrur adopts an historical-critical approach, along the same lines as Talbi and, indeed, this book, by asking Muslims to interpret the Qur'an in terms of their own lives and the time and place they live in. Though strongly apolitical, again like Talbi, Shahrur tends towards democracy as his political form for the same reasons. Eickleman refers to other scholars in the same vein to demonstrate his view that there is an underlying transformation taking place amongst believers—and not only amongst Islamic scholars—that is so significant, that, ‘We will look back on the latter years of the twentieth century as a time of change as profound for the Muslim world as the Protestant Reformation was for Christendom.’164 Eickleman sees this reformation as the depoliticisation of Islam, and as being unavoidable provided the mass media is allowed to thrive, for this militates against any prescribed form of Islamic political order and promotes the conception of a more personal, pietistic Islam that develops best in a non-Islamic democratic society.
Eickleman's contribution to the debate does highlight the fact that there is no ‘one Islam’, certainly not a monolithic political Islam, and it helps to put into context much of the contemporary debate on the nature of Islamic identity, particularly the questioning of the Transhistorical, orthodox, traditional and curiously rarely-questioned view that there is no separation between the religious and secular in Islam. Having said that, the need for Islam to find its own ‘collective consciousness’, its own 'soul’, may be hindered by making comparisons with the European Protestant Reformation, rather than helping. Although there may be certain common features, notably the call for a more personal interpretation of the holy scripture and the resultant emphasis on individualism, the specific situation that gave rise to the Protestant Reformation is very different from that faced by the modern world, especially in the emergence of secularism and the dominance of Western culture. Given that the influence of mass media and education on the Islamic world is a fact, this is not the same as saying that Islam should give up its 'soul’ and become nothing more than an incongruous and empty shell.
If the term ‘islam’ is to be seen as a flexible, changing entity, as a motivator for the Qur'anic concept of social justice, then it has a vital role to play in modern society. In Beyond Good and Evil, Nietzsche sees moral values as important in the sense that they can promote the survival and posterity of the species, depending, of course, on which moral values are adopted. His 'shattering of idols’ does not, or should not, result in nihilism, in the destruction of all moral values and social order. Rather, Nietzsche is in many respects a ‘conservative’ who upholds order and moral codes. The Qur'an echoes this, for it certainly is a guide for mankind, providing a clear set of values that act as an imperative. We ought to be moral, we ought to be honest, kind and treat others with due respect, we ought to be pluralistic and accepting of other people's beliefs. Like Beyond Good and Evil, the Qur'an does not merely present us with how things are but also how things should be.