Islamic thought and the public sphere

Introduction

The main purpose of this article is to revisit Islam’s thought using the notion of the public sphere as the point of reference. This requires an initial operational definition both of Islamic thought and of the public sphere. Islamic thought is used to ‘represent’ what is commonly regarded as Sunni Islam including the works of al-Ghazali, Ibn Taymiyyah, Ibn Hazm, al-Shatibi and Ibn Abdil Salam.

These authors reflect on various Islamic schools of thought as well as different and ranging historical circumstances. My contention is that other names in the Sunni tradition can be accommodated in reference to one or another of the above-mentioned names; the later concern, though, is not a major worry. As for the notion of the public sphere I am referring to a broad ethical frame in which elements of equality, reciprocity, plurality, freedom and liberty, deliberation, translation, fraternity and neutrality of state are assumed to be important.

In this article I consider Jürgen Habermas, John Rawls and Charles Taylor as representative of this tradition. The emphasis is on the common attributes although contention over the notion of translation may be considered. The question is: Can we revisit Islamic thought in reference to the public sphere without compromising the intellectual integrity of various Islamic discourses present in such thought? Selectivity needs to be avoided.

In the first part of this article I explore and identify three basic traditions. I will call them models in Islamic thought. Model (A) is the individualist/Sufi model; model (B) is the shariah/legal model; and model (C) is the ethical model. My contention is that only model (C) can meaningfully be part of a public sphere discourse. It is to be stated that this model is only partially and selectively developed, thus the major task of this article is to look at the elements which legitimately can be identified as major components of that frame, but equally important is to state explicitly the implications of this model for the ideas of authority, society and the individual, as I do in the second part of the article. I conclude with a question of practical value: namely, whether this model stands a chance of replacing that which is the more established and widely perceived as Islam, namely model (B)?

I Islamic thought: Three models

Model (A) or the Sufi/‘individualist’ model is associated with names such as al-Muhasabi (867), al-Ghazali (1111) and Ibn Arabi (1240). The adjective ‘individualist’ is simply because Sufi tradition places strong focus on individual believers rather than groups or communities; it is not individualist in the liberal sense. My focus, here, is on al-Ghazali for two reasons: first, knowledge and familiarity (Eiedat, 2014), but second, and more important, because al-Ghazali himself recognized the limit and limitations of this model as a general ethical principle. It is essentially a model of disengagement and withdrawal rather than an active engagement and deliberation. Its potential contribution to public deliberation lies in reference to rights rather than active deliberation in general public issues of political entities. The true devotee in reference to this model is closer to angels than to other fellow men and women, and is little concerned with desire and temptation. And it is not even the rewards of paradise that drive individuals to a total commitment to the commandments but rather to have the opportunity to be in the shadow of God, with God and experiencing God, and that is in this world and the world after. And to make the point clear – and the contrast with worldly issues evident – al-Ghazali referred to this world of faith as one of revelation and illumination [mukashafa] rather than the concern of others in which shariah is particularly relevant, namely interaction or mumala. It is a world of separate and dispersed individuals [furada], in which every one of them is a community. Even when regulations and rules of interaction apply, they are of relevance to the purification and heart-cleansing of all acts and thoughts that might stain the hearts of devotees:

They [ordinary individuals] have forgotten that the true perfection which demands of us to be similar to God and his angels…and this is to free oneself from chain of desires, anxiety of the world and these attempts to control its powers by coercion. It is to follow the path of angels who are not provoked by desire and are not tempted by anger. Getting rid of temptation and anger is a perfection which is the quality of angels. (al-Ihya, 3:349; Eiedat, 2014: 308)

Islamic thought and ideas, however, place noticeable interest on society at large which model (A) simply cannot accommodate. Islam is too socially engaging to be reduced to a state of spiritual contemplation and stillness; hence the two following models.

Model (B) (or the shariah/legalist model) is the most established and deeply rooted of all Islamic models, and thus far is proven to be resilient to challenge or at least appears to be so. The survivability of this model cannot be explained by intellectual articulation alone; historical circumstances and deeply rooted association between a certain narrative of identity and the human condition also take part. Those who belong to this model vary considerably in terms of what we call epistemology and methodology, and yet regain common characteristics in that they rightly are members of the same school of thought. Among them are Ibn Hazm (1064), Ibn Abdil Salam (1262), Ibn Taymiyyah (1328) and al-Shatibi (1388).

In terms of basic assumptions about faith and method of reasoning, model (B) prevents any possibility of revisiting Islam. Ibn Taymiyyah made the claim that true faith was partial and incomplete in the early phases of Islam and became complete and supreme only when shariah was revealed (Ibn Taymiyyah, al-rasael wa almassel, 2000: I, 342). The operational definition, for Ibn Taymiyyah and others, of the basic principle of commanding right and forbidding wrong was the implementation and enforcement of shariah (Ibn Taymiyyah, al-amr bi al-marouf, 2002; 78; Ibn Hazm, al-muhala, 2010: II, 243). Shariah for Ibn Abdil Salam was ‘God’s speech’ (al-Qawid al-Kubra, 2010: II, 317) and commanding right and forbidding wrong was to ‘feel anger at seeing the violation of God’s commandments’ (Shajarat al-marif, 1996: 112). The Koran, Ibn Hazm asserted, was final in its structure and order, every word, every verse, should be preserved and kept in that order. Any attempt at reordering amounted to tampering with the divine and the revealed and that was the path of non-believers (Ibn Hazm, al-Ihkam, n.d.: I, 566).

The Koran and Hadith were perfect and complete, thus nothing of value in religious matters was left to chance or opinion. Two verses of the Koran may be cited to make and assert that point: ‘This day I have perfected for you your religion, completed my favour upon you and chosen for you Islam as your religion’ (madina, 3) and ‘nothing we have omitted from the book, and they shall be gathered to their Lord in the end’ (al-Annam, 6). These two verses were quoted and paraphrased in al-Ihkam ([n.d.]: I, 270–7. Perfect, complete and final and thus the only logical choice open to believers was total obedience to God. Innovation [bida] is disobedience to God and a suspension of God’s commandments and nothing would come out of innovation but evil (Ibn Taymiyyah, Naqd al-Mantiq, 1999: 137). This sentiment is shared by al-Shatibi as well; his book al itsam (1997) is truly about one single theme, namely the evil of innovation. Reasoning about God’s commandments amounted to demanding that God explain Himself to us (Ibn Hazm, al-Ihkam, [n.d.]: I, 482–3).

The revealing of Hadith was equal to that of the Koran; the only difference was the miraculous text of the Koran as a standing challenge (Ibn Hazm, al-muhala, 2010: I, 32). This emphasis on the complete and perfect nature of faith was given historical, human embodiment by elevating the first Islamic century and the community associated with it to an imagined moral community, highly revered and respected and worthy of imitation (Ibn Taymiyyah, Ubodya, 1997: 17–18). Faith for this model was essentially about keeping a historical legacy alive. And if that was the principle of judgement, such a model certainly succeeded.

Many contemporary Islamic scholars including most famously Mohammad al-Jabiri (bunyat al-aql al-arabi [Structure of Arab Reason], 2000: 538–48; al-aql al-akhlaqi al arabi [Arab Ethical Reason], 2001: 593–602) made the claim that what is known as the theory of maqasid [higher purposes/aims/intentions of shariah) constituted a paradigm shift in the history of Islamic theology and jurisprudence; and that the most systematic of those who advocated the theory, namely al-Shatibi and Ibn Abdil Salam, revisited the Islamic faith in the spirit of ‘rationality’ and openness. The latter claim is simply impossible to verify and substantiate. Simply put, the claim has no merit in reality. We need to keep a clear distinction between two separate claims: first the question of whether the theory of maqasid can serve to revisit the Islamic faith in a more inclusive manner as part of an ethical model, and the other whether those famous advocates of the theory actually revisited the Islamic faith in a manner that qualified as inclusive or offered a new meaning to religion which previously did not exist. My argument is that the latter claim was simply false. Both al-Shatibi and Ibn Abdil Salam made a more systematic categorization of the Islamic religion but it was not a revisit of the faith.

The principal question is how did al-Shatibi and Ibn Abdil Salam translate the idea of faith using the theory of al-maqasid? More specifically, how did they narrate and approach the idea of the individual, society and political authority as part of their religious discourse? Were they in any significant manner different from Ibn Hazm and Ibn Taymiyyah in this regard? The answer is no. This should bring us back to why we included both al-Shatibi and Ibn Abdil Salam in model (B). One salient aspect of this model is that of narrating and approaching political authority as an integral part of religious discourse; hence the claim that authority in Islam is a religious authority and thus could not be neutral. I will respond to this claim when addressing model (C), or the ethical model; here I am merely interested in providing a certain context to this particular narrative.

The centrality of political authority to the religious narrative of model B is self-evident. The moral justification for political authority is the activation and implementation of the principle of commanding right and forbidding wrong. The principle itself was translated into enforcement of shariah domestically and carrying out the religious duty of war against the other (i.e. jihad). Order and thus conformity were virtues by themselves and for the purpose of mobilization were essential for the project of permanent war. Religious discourse was essentially reduced to a narrow discourse of political authority as a religious one under which no individual, group or society could claim any meaningful autonomy. Society in their narrative could not exist independent of an active, intrusive political power carrying its duty of commanding right and forbidding wrong (Ibn Taymiyyah, as-siyasah ash sharia, 2005: 105; Ibn Abdil Salam, Shajarat al-marif, 1996: 223–4; Ibn Hazm, al-Ihkam, [n.d.]: I, 180).

Individuals are narrated as part of the moral project of enforcing or confirming certain ideas of the good. Abuse of political authority, which was evident and equally recognized by all, was never allowed to question the religious sanctity of authority nor, with the exception of Ibn Hazm, was it allowed to challenge authority. This limited selective and partial narrative has proven nevertheless resilient and able to regenerate itself (Sayyid Qutub, fi dilal al-Quran [In the Shadow of the Koran], 2008: 6 vols). Its appeal perhaps is partly its simplicity which avoids contradictions and inconsistencies by ignoring them, a mobilization capacity based on a state of permanent war and clarity of identity as anti-other is very strong. It is for better or worse a modern notion of religious nationalism which indeed should be another name for model (B). This model feeds into raw human emotions.

II The ethical model (C) reconstructed

Any Islamic ethical model can only be Koranic-based. This could explain why the most pronounced of modern and contemporary Islamic scholars put their hearts and minds on the issue of interpretation of the Koran (Abu Zayd, 2001, 2008; Arkoun, 1996, 2010; Jueit, 2008). Al-Jabiri’s final work, and perhaps the most important one, was his most comprehensive attempt at revisiting the Koran (Al-Jabiri, 2008–9). By placing major emphasis on the occasion of revelation, al-Jabiri was trying to introduce historical sensitivity and human circumstances into any attempt at reading the Koran. The other major idea which al-Jabiri underlined was the unity and integrity of the Koran. This led him to reject an idea which long had been held by many Islamic scholars from different and diverse persuasions: namely, the idea of al-naskh [abrogation]. The unity and integrity of the Koran contradicted the notion of abrogation (ibid.: III, 110). His third major idea is that the Koran’s defining feature is first and foremost its ethical dimension (ibid.: II, 319–418). In the following section, I identify elements of an Islamic ethical frame and then I look at the implications of that frame for the idea of individuals, society and the state.

There are certain consistent themes and sub-themes in the Koran which were evident in the Mecca verses of the Koran but never disappeared from the Medina verses, hence the emphasis on the unity of the Koran. These elements include universality; the minority status of believers and choice; suspension of judgement and a debating God.

Muslims agree that Islam is a universal faith. Universality, however, implies relevance to all races and should be meaningful and applicable to changing times and circumstances. Model (B) is essentially ‘nationalist’/a creed-carrying universal flag. The verse which is usually cited as evidence of that universal inclination of faith is: ‘We have not sent thee but as a universal (Messenger) to men’ (Sabá: 28). If one were to take the notion of universality seriously which as a Muslim one should, then two consequences are unavoidable. First, revisiting faith is a logical product of the notion of universality. It is a generational right. The comprehensive nature of faith, its detailed attributes and the adjective of being complete should not be used to prevent or to deny this right. Second, universality means that the original Islamic community could only be a historical community. Universality also implies that faith is about a new and open horizon and not a closed dogma. Islam prided itself and justified the reason of its being in the spirit of the new, even the progressive. This could explain why so many verses in the Koran were questioning and challenging established wisdom and manners of thinking. Universality, therefore, should serve to revive that original spirit of Islam as being open and reasonable.

The minority status of believers is a well-established and consistent theme in the Koran. Historically the Koran repeatedly points out that believers were always a minority: ‘But only a few believed with him’ (Hud, 40). Then as a statement of fact: ‘And truly before them, many of the ancients went astray’ (As-Saffat, 71). And as for the future: ‘but most men believe not’ (Ar-Ra’d, 1).

All major Islamic theologians and jurists recognized and referred to those verses which highlighted the minority status of believers. However, with the sole exception of al-Ghazali, the minority status of believers was used and approached as being consistent with a closed ethical order, a proactive notion of commanding right and forbidding wrong that bordered on coercion, was supported by conformity and was backed up by a strong mobilization tendency defined against the other. Minority status was translated into a classic dogmatic narrative model (B). Al-Ghazali, on the other hand and as stated earlier, was more sensitive and consistent in approaching and seeing the logical implications of the minority status for the idea of faith. The community of one was taken seriously as positive; self-identification treated the issue of sincerity very seriously. It amounted to downplaying moral posturing and pretension, hence his limited use of the principle of commanding right. His scepticism and his suspicion of political authority could be translated into questioning the moralizing mission of authority associated with model (B). Societies were too complex to be reduced to conformity.

Minority status is also consistent with another major ethical principle, namely that of choice which denies coercion. If minority status is a statement of fact and moral principle, then accepting the principle of choice becomes unavoidable. Under the interesting title of Suraht al-Insan [man], the issue of choice is evident: ‘We showed him the way: whether he is grateful or ungrateful [rests on his will]’ (al-Insan, 3). Similarly there is another restatement of the same principle: ‘Say, “the truth is from your Lord”: let him who will, believe, and let him who will, reject [it]’ (al-Kahf, 29). And if one still is in doubt: ‘if it had been thy Lord’s will, they would all have believed – all who are on earth! Wilt thou then compel mankind, against their will, to believe!’ (Yunus, 99). Theologians within model (B) referred to the idea of free will in the context of one’s accountability and responsibility for good acts and wrong acts. However, principles, ideas, policies, attitudes which would bring the question of compatibility into the open were never recognized or admitted as legitimate issues of concern. One important issue is that of apostasy, for example. Attitudes towards apostasy as a criminal act deserving punishment are at best a restrictive clause to the general principle of choice and free will. It could only be seen as a historical principle, not a general principle. In retrospect, it contradicts the ethical principle of choice as well as other ethical principles identified here. Taking choice seriously as an ethical principle would also allow us to revisit the notion of jihad as a way of promoting faith as well.

The endings of verses in the Koran can be used to support and give credence to the aforementioned ethical principles: namely, universality, minority status and choice. They could also support another ethical principle: namely, suspension of judgement. Endings usually have three notable features: first, the judgement of people is for God, not for others to make; second, real justice and the only meaningful judgement could take place only on the day after; and, finally, there is always a window of hope for repentance, and thus for change of heart. There are many surahs in the Koran that end with a prayer, mercy, forgiveness and a state of contemplation. This pattern is relevant for both the Mecca and the Medina verses of the Koran. Surah al-Baqara, a Medina verse and the longest, closes with this:

Our Lord! Condemn us not if we forget or fall into error. Our Lord! Lay not on us a burden like that Thou didst lay on those before us; our Lord! Lay not on us a burden greater than we have strength to bear. Blot out our sins, and grant us forgiveness. Have mercy on us. (al-Baqara, 286)

In Islam God has 99 beautiful names; ‘debater’ is not one of them. However, the Koran is not short of cases and examples in which God is narrated as engaged in discussion and debate, even reasoning. One of these cases is that of Abraham who was presented as sceptical and doubtful about the judgement day and resurrection. God questioned such attitudes but took the view that principles of faith needed demonstration and evidence (al-Baqara, 260). Acts of God or on behalf of God were also brought into questioning which led to explanation, justification and reasoning (al-Kahf, 67–82). God’s acts had to be presented as being reasonable, just and not arbitrary. If this is true of fundamentals of faith, would it not be reasonable to generalize the same principle concerning ideas of faith, the nature of the relation between the ethical and legal, about general ideas and limiting examples (Eiedat, 2013: 518–19)?

III Implications for individuals, society and authority

Model (C) or the ethical model is the closest in terms of analogy to an idea of a ‘constitutional frame’ except it is not enforceable by law. The primacy of the ethical to shariah is only logical. We judge a law on constitutional basis or principle. Shariah could have a meaning only in the context of the ethical. Revisiting shariah is therefore unavoidable. Shariah can be seen as a limiting case; it is historical and thus its relevance or irrelevance can be judged only on that ethical point of reference. The broader ethical frame outlined above does not allow for the idea of enforcement of shariah to be inherently true. It can be seen only as self-imposed limitation on acts by individuals and groups (i.e. avoiding committing wrong acts).

Positive identification is a key both for individuals and for the community of believers. The individual believer is a model by the fact of moral integrity and sincerity. Faith for individuals and groups could only mean self-discipline by adhering to its ethical principles, avoiding wrong-doing and doing good. Faith could only be a voluntary act. Those who violate the ethical/moral standard of the group could either opt out of the group or reconsider their position. This means that we move the discussion and debate concerning individuals and the community of believers from imposition and enforcement into a matter of rights. The general principle is that people of faith similar to others and in keeping with reciprocity should always aspire to have more freedom and thus rights to live and act according to their standard of morality. Any legal or constitutional restrictions imposed on the rights of believers/non-believers should always be subject to deliberation and revision. This could range from code of dress to polygamy, provided choice, reciprocity and voluntarism are adhered to. Right to preach (i.e. promotion of faith) is subject only to the right of free speech, which is to be accepted. The principle of commanding right and forbidding wrong can be endorsed only as part of the right to free speech.

If we approach the religious community as ‘a minority group’ entitled to fundamental rights reflecting its narrative of the good, the notion of the religious state would simply have no moral justification. Morality of religious political authority in the discourse of model (B) was about legitimization of power, mobilization and conformity. It brought and justified what was worst in man and buried what was decent and ethical. Abuse of power whether common or historical by religious authority was overlooked for the satisfaction of vanity and identity based on hostility. Pushing towards religious political authority would bring the whole ethical reasoning of religion itself into question. Religion does not need to be about power and the struggle for power and dominance.

Deliberative politics not only allows the rights of individuals and communities, including those who would identify themselves as religious communities, but also offers religious ideas an opportunity to define ethical attributes of the political entity as a whole. It can play a part in defining the general character of the entity itself. Justice stands out as an important ethical principle in Islam (Eiedat, 2013: 520–3), but its universal and inclusive aspects would require emphasizing to be relevant and meaningful in a context of public deliberation. Justice in Islam could only be placed in the broader ethical settings, i.e. model (C). To illustrate the point let us consider Ibn Abdil Salam’s idea of justice. Market and exchange are the attributes and general characteristics of the economic system. By its very nature it could not meet the needs of those who are needy and poor. Almsgiving was mandated as the right of the poor. This could address limited human generosity without compromising the dignity of the poor. Addressing those in duress and need ‘reduces the urge of those who suffer injustice to turn to God for redress’ (Ibn Abdil Salam, al-Qawid al-Kubra, 2010: I, 206). Thus those who failed the standard of justice were ‘the worst of all’ (ibid.: I, 198). As a matter of principle, the rights of the poor should be given priority over the rights of the rich (ibid.: II, 133). The right of a debtor is more important than the rights of a creditor (ibid.: II, 217).

This is an area in which Ibn Abdil Salam went beyond procedural justice or pure legalism into the realm of the ethical and moral. However, that was not enough reason for him to revisit shariah in the context of the ethical. Equally he maintained that extended generosity and the idea of justice itself remained confided to Muslims and that non-Muslims were rightly discriminated against (Ibn Abdil Salam, al Qawid al-Kubra, 2010: I, 103). Discrimination in applying justice based on religion is difficult to sustain morally and ethically. Applying the ethical model (C) requires no such distinction. Thus any meaningful Islamic notion of justice could only be inclusive and humane. The poor is poor, the weak is weak and the vulnerable is vulnerable. Debating and deliberating the idea of justice and the meaning of being just should be natural in the context of the ethical.

Conclusion

The debate between Jürgen Habermas and Charles Taylor (Butler, Habermas, Taylor and West, 2011) concerning the translation proviso reveals two issues of contention in relation to religion and society. One is related to religious language and public deliberation concerning politics of a given political entity. Habermas (ibid.) drew a distinction between the open and unrestricted access to the public sphere and that of formal decision-making institutions in which only ‘neutral’ language could be admitted, hence the translation proviso in reference to religious views. Taylor (ibid.) considered that as being restrictive and ‘discriminatory’ for religious groups and unnecessary. The other issue of debate is that of the role that religion and religious views can play in shaping what Habermas called ‘the political’ (Habermas, 2011: 34–59). ‘The political’ can be translated into that aspect of aspects that provides political associations with meaning or character – or if you like ‘the soul’ of the entity (i.e. the deeper reason). For Habermas it is ‘solidarity’ among strangers (Habermas, 2002: 123). Taylor would call it ‘fraternity’ (Taylor, 2011: 34–59). Deeper reasons can be a product of religious as well as non-religious views. The difference is that Taylor believes religious narrative is equally relevant in shaping ‘the political’, whereas Habermas believes that religious narrative could play only a limited and supportive role in this regard in which the political can be a product only of human deliberation, not that of God or the divine (Habermas, 2011: 27). The debate reveals a subtle tension concerning the identity of the association and its source. John Rawls refused to call his political entity an association or community (Rawls, 2005: 40–3), partly to avoid speaking of the political in the singular. Singularity of aim, purpose or the intention of a group runs the risk of mobilization against the other, threatening plurality and its potential to rank values, which could also threaten liberty itself. Habermas is no doubt aware of these dangers, but his insistence on the political reflects a dilemma. Leaving his community with a vague notion of identity may also leave it exposed to a threat and counter-narrative of identity in which clarity and singularity are its very essence (i.e. religious nationalism). This led him to follow a balancing act in which his community is not a single-purpose association but it is more than a simple affection between strangers. Emotionally, Rawls’ entity is more detached than the community of Habermas and Taylor. None of them, however, abandoned subtlety, ambiguity and silence in approaching the identity of society.

This debate is of direct relevance to the question of whether model (C), the ethical model in Islam, stands any real chance of competing with model (B), the legalist/shariah/religious nationalist model. Does it have any chance to prevail? Model (B) has the advantage of clarity, simplicity and certainty and therefore the issue of identity appears to be settled. It is a model which is based on and feeds into raw emotions and the ‘other’ is singled out as the enemy. The gap between image and reality is bridged. Model (C) is deliberately vague and to sustain itself would require awareness and mental and emotional subtlety. The comfort of clarity based on dichotomy is no longer available. The question of who we are is neither given nor settled. It has the advantage of providing an open horizon for those who can grasp it and see it. That is why perhaps we have no choice but to endorse the vague: vagueness based on plurality, diversity, freedom, equality, fraternity and solidarity. Silence is also a virtue.