The following is a continuation of our our original six part Global Jihad study whereby we investigate here by analyzing the original writings, that is what is considered the original version (although even there varying opinions exist) of Islam.

Historically, Muslims have dealt with questions about right and wrong in a variety of ways. Early on, Islamic civilization produced a number of exceptional philosophers. The great al-Farabi (d. 945) modeled his work The Virtuous City on Plato's dialogue Laws. Ibn Sina (d. 1045) wrote on medicine and politics. Ibn Rushd (d. 1145) composed a number of important and innovative commentaries on the works of Aristotle.1Even more substantial is the literature Muslims call adab, letters, the reflections of cultivated and learned people on the manners and morals appropriate to particular issues and types of work. Thus, al-Jahiz (d. 839) compiled a formidable collection of tales about miserly behavior, the moral import of which was to demonstrate the problems stemming from a lack of generosity. Others wrote works reflecting on the professional ethics appropriate to the practice of medicine. Still others composed "mirrors for princes;' reflecting on the problems of statecraft.2

Alongside these modes of reflection is another that stands out partly because of its endurance and partly because of its contemporary significance. This is the way of thinking I call Shari'a reasoning. Al-shari'a is usually translated as Islamic "law."3 But it is more than that. Literally, al-shari'a means "the path." In a more extended sense, it refers to the path that "leads to refreshment:' With the advent of Islam, this extended sense lent itself to the notion of a path ding to "success;' a way to paradise, a way associated with happi5S in this world and the next. AI-shari'a is thus a metaphorical representation of a mode of behavior that leads to salvation. As the lr'an has it, those who walk the "straight path" (sirat al-mustaqim) are "successful" with respect to the judgment of God (1:6-7).

More prosaically, al-shari'a stands for the notion that there is a ht way to live. The good life is not a matter of behaving in whatever ways human beings may dream up. It is a matter of "walking" in the way approved by God; or, reflecting the notion of Islam as the natural religion, the good life involves behavior that is consistent with the status of human beings as creatures. As Muslim theologians d it, it is possible to imagine God creating other worlds, in which creatures unlike human beings might be judged according to a different standard.4 Once God created the world in which we live, however, he did so in a way that distinguished right from wrong, good and evil. Further, God set these distinctions in the context of a world that ultimately moves toward judgment. On the great and sintar day which the Qur' an speaks of in terms such as al-akhira (thereafter) or yawm aI-din (the Day of Judgment or of Justice), hum beings will see clearly the rewards or punishments they have aquired by acting in certain ways. Given such notions, it is hardly strange to find Muslims inquiring out right and wrong very early on. The Qur' an summoned its hearers to right behavior and exhorted believers to refer questions to God and God's Prophet. Indeed, the Qur'an indicates that submission is measured in terms of obedience to these two sources, which Muslim tradition came to associate with the Qur' an and with the sunna, or example of Muhammad, particularly as related in ahadith, or reports, of the Prophet's words and deeds, as witnessed by his companions.

From very early on, then, Muslim inquiry regarding right and wrong was associated with the interpretation of texts. Not surprisingly, a class of specialists emerged, trained in the reading and interpretation of the Qur'an and ahadith. The 'ulama, or learned ones, became an important resource for a community devoted to inquiry regarding the Shari'a, particularly in contexts where literacy levels were low, and where the available means of book production made texts rare and expensive. More recently, however, groups of "lay" Muslims have asserted their right and duty to read and interpret, sometimes in conversation with the 'ulama, and sometimes in opposition to them. As such groups have it, comprehension of the Shari'a is the duty of all Muslims, who must read and interpret the sacred texts to the best of their ability. As we move through the twentieth and into the twenty-first century, the participation of such groups must be viewed as one of the most important developments in the story of Shari'a reasoning.

When Umar, second leader after the Prophet, died in 644, the first wave of Muslim expansion was drawing to a close. According to standard tradition, 'Uthman, as third leader, inherited 'Umar's system of administering the newly established Muslim regimes. In this system, a centrally located group of officials, buttressed by a military presence, governed a prescribed territory.

Continue to Case Study P.2:

Income from taxes levied on land held by (pre-Islamic) residents of each territory provided both funding for local administration and revenues to the leader in Medina. The latter used these funds to support further expansion, in line with the mission of Islam.

In each territory, the establishment of a new administration bore witness to the hegemony of Islam; the priority of Islamic values provided legitimacy for political authority. Territorial governors, along with the fighters supporting them, conducted prayers after the pattern established in the Arabian Peninsula. Along with the prayers came religious instruction. In this connection, the foremost activity, requiring the specialized knowledge of teachers, was recitation of the Qur' an. Although it is difficult to evaluate the traditional report that credits 'Uthman with standardizing the written text of the Qur' an, it makes sense that systematization of the scriptural text would coincide with the expansion of Islam. When pre-Islamic residents of the territories converted to Islam-and certainly some did-the specialists trained in reciting the Qur' an acquired additional authority and importance.5

Given the report of 'Uthman's role in establishing the Qur'anic text, it is ironic that opposition to his rule developed around the charge that he failed to govern by the Book of God. In 656 a group of fighters dissatisfied with the administration of affairs in Egypt came to Medina, seeking 'Uthman's intervention. Seemingly satisfied with his response, the group began the return journey. Along the way, it seems they began to doubt the leader's intention to carry through as promised. Some returned to Medina and assassinated 'Uthman.6

By prior agreement, leadership passed to 'Ali ibn Abi Talib, the cousin of Muhammad and one of the earliest converts to the prophetic mission. 'Ali sought reconciliation with those responsible for 'Uthman's death. In doing so he offended the members of 'Uthman's family, in particular the territorial governor of Syria. Mu'awiya, arguing that 'Ali's failure to punish the rebels constituted a failure of justice, brought his army to challenge the leader. As the opposing forces approached each other, ready for battle, Mu'awiya's men placed copies of the Qur' an on their lance points and advanced, chanting "Let the Qur'an decide!" 'Ali accepted the challenge, thereby sending the dispute to arbitration. Conducted by those who knew the Qur' an best, the judgment nevertheless failed to provide a clear resolution. Even more, the process of arbitration led to further divisions among the Muslims, so that a certain number seceded from the ranks of 'Ali's supporters, declaring themselves bound only by God and God's Book. These Kharijites (al-khawarij, those who exited) constituted a kind of pious opposition. In the ensuing strife, they declared themselves opposed to both sides. In the end, however, their activities did more harm to 'Ali than to Mu'awiya. One of their number assassinated the fourth leader in 661.

Thus began a period of great disorder, which in Islamic tradition received the name "first fitnd' -what one might call a civil war-as various groups competed for power. Of these, Mu'awiya's was the strongest, not least because the territory of Syria provided economic resources superior to those elsewhere. When the Syrian forces, by now commanded by Mu'awiya's son Yazid, destroyed the army of 'Ali's son Husayn at Karbala (in southern Iraq) in 680, the great conflict was, for all practical purposes, resolved. Rebel forces in Iraq and in the holy cities of Arabia continued to mount an intermittent resistance, and in 692 'Abd aI-Malik even attacked the Ka'ba to put down a rebellion. Nevertheless, for the next sixty years (that is, until the 740s) the political and military epicenter of Islam would be Damascus. Polemics between the two most important divisions within Islam take the events of this first fitna as a point of departure. The Shi'a, or partisans of 'Ali, claim that the victory of Mu'awiya and his descendants constituted a rejection of right leadership, and thus a departure from the Prophet's (and God's) design for the Muslim community. Sunni Muslims, or, as the traditional description has it, "the people of the prophetic example and the consensus (of the Muslims)" (ahl al-sunna wa' I-jama'a), also perceive these early struggles as critical, though typically they assign blame to all involved. Both labels, Sunni and Shi'i, cover a multitude of subgroupings, and their use with respect to Muslims in this very early period is not entirely appropriate. But the labels would emerge strongly as the different perspectives of these divisions became relevant to the development of Shari'a reasoning.

More interesting is the clear priority of the Qur' an in arguments about right and wrong, even in this very early period. The slogan "Let the Qur'an decide!" indicates that most Muslims recognized the relevance of the revealed text in ascertaining guidance. Similarly, the role of the mediators in the dispute provides a glimpse of the importance of a class of specialists whose role was to preserve and recite the Qur' anic text. The importance of this class increased with the consolidation of power by Mu'awiya's descendants in Damascus. Sometimes known as the Marwanids, and more typically as the Umayyads, these constituted the first imperial rulers in Islam. As their critics put it, with the Umayyads, leadership changed from al-khilafat, or governance by one fit to be called the successor to Muhammad, to al-mulk, the kingship, meaning a system in which leadership is passed from father to son, without concern about qualities of character. The Umayyads, of course, preferred to cast their regime as alkhilafat, and presented themselves as God's appointed rulers. In court poetry from the time, we read propaganda consistent with this claim:

The earth is God's.
He has entrusted it to his khalifa.
The one who is head in it will not be overcome.?
God has garlanded you [Umayyad rulers] with the khilafa and guidance;
For what God decrees, there is no change.8
We [God] have found the sons of Marwan [Umayyads] pillars of our religion,
As the earth has mountains for its pillars.9 Were it not for the caliph and the Qur' and he recites, the people had no judgments established for them and no communal worship.10

Of course, recitation of the Qur' an was not confined to the caliph. The class of specialists responsible for it was to some extent sponsored by Umayyad rulers, as is suggested in this poetry. Nevertheless, some reciters apparently maintained an independent center of power. One of the first of these independent scholars was aI-Hasan al Basri (d. 728). As the name indicates, al-Hasan's location was Basra, in the south of Iraq, the geographic center of resistance to the Umayyads. Al-Hasan's fame seems to exceed our actual information about him. Subsequent generations have claimed him as the inspiration for Sufism, that peculiar form of popular Islam that gained a massive following in later centuries. At the same time, various Sunni and Shi'i groups claim aI-Hasan as one of the early advocates of their favorite doctrines.l1 His exploits are legendary, and sayings attributed to him often cryptic. What does seem clear is that aI-Hasan functioned as a critic of some Umayyad claims, and that he did so in a way that advanced the notion that learning itself constitutes a kind of authority. When asked about Umayyad claims to divine legitimacy, aI-Hasan supposedly said: "There is no obedience owed to a creature in respect of a sin against the Creator;' thus pointing to a limit on Umayyad (or other human) authority. That this claim follows from the Qur'anic text seems obvious; after all, there is no god but God.12

As noted, aI-Hasan claimed authority on the basis of 'jIm, or knowledge, and specifically of knowledge of Islamic texts. By the 730s the phenomenon of authority based on learning was widespread, with particular centers in Damascus (or, more generally, Syria), Iraq, and the holy cities of Mecca and Medina.

We know only a little about the activities of scholars in Damascus. Local traditions focus on a figure called al-Awza'i, who is cited as the founder of a distinctive approach to Shari'a reasoning. No works of al-Awza'i are available to us, though some of his opinions are quoted by other scholars. We can surmise that there was a sustained conversation between Muslims and Christians (and perhaps Jews) in the region, not least because works by John of Damascus (d. 750), a prominent Christian theologian, are posed in terms of dialogues between scholars of these traditions concerning issues related to the attributes of God.13 These dialogues (and, one assumes, the attendant discussions) would become important in the development of Shari'a reasoning somewhat later, in the ninth century.

The most notable learned figure in Mecca and Medina at this time was Malik ibn Anas (d. 795). Here again, information is not extensive. If we take Malik's great work, aI-Muwatta (The Well-Trodden), as representative, it seems clear that some Muslim scholars were developing a way of thinking in which verses from the Qur' an were connected with, and thus interpreted through, reports of the practice of Muhammad, his companions, and the continuing tradition of practice of the Muslims in Mecca and Medina.14

By contrast with Damascus and with the holy cities, we have a great deal of information regarding Iraq. If we take aI-Hasan al-Basri less as an individual, and more as a "type;' representative of the behavior of a group of learned people in the first half of the eighth century, we begin to see the lines of a religious critique of Umayyad rule. Indeed, much of what we have from later generations of Muslims suggests that scholars located in Iraq in the 720s and 730s spent a great deal of time and energy discussing the grounds of such criticism and, beyond this, the proper mode of resistance to what they deemed illegitimate rule. One must use such reports with caution, of course, as later generations often read back into the eighth century something of their own concerns-such as the tendency of various groups to claim al-Hasan al-Basri as the source of their own movements. There is no reason to doubt, however, that numbers of religious specialists in Iraq constituted an intellectual wing of a growing "pious opposition" to Umayyad rule. Our information about these is connected to the success of the Abbasid revolt, which by the late 740s or early 750s attained a level of success sufficient for historians to speak of a relocation of power in the Islamic empire from Damascus to Baghdad, and from the Umayyad to the Abbasid clan.

By the time the Abbasid clan established its khilafat, there was a growing class of religious specialists in Iraq, claiming the authority to distinguish right from wrong on the basis of religious knowledge. All of these connected authority with the text of the Qur' an, and the Abbasids took note of this fact. They promoted their cause by promising to establish "government by the Book of God." Having acknowledged the priority of the Qur'an, however, those claiming authority by reason of knowledge differed considerably in approach. Some, who came to be associated with the kind of the dialectical theology Muslims called al-kalam, literally "speech" but in this context "theological disputation," held that the import of the Qur' an was best extracted through a process of rigorous, systematic argument. The most influential of these, in the early years of Abbasid rule, came to be known as Mu'tazilites, separatists. Mu'tazilites focused on clarifying the system of doctrine outlined in the Qur' an. Their interpretations are not themselves an example of Shari'a reasoning, though they had clear political import and, through the ministrations of the Abbasid caliphs, would come to playa critical role in the development of the practice. For late eighth-century examples of Shari'a reasoning, we must turn to a different circle of Iraqi scholars, of whom the most famous were Abu Hanifa (d. 767), Abu Yusuf (d. 798), and al-Shaybani (d. 804). Muslim sources assign credit to the first of these as the founder of the circle, which eventually came to bear his name. Abu Yusuf and al-Shaybani were the two greatest students of Abu Hanifa, and their works bear witness to the approach taken in his "school:' Two such works are particularly important. Abu Yusuf's Kitab al-kharaj deals with the administration of territories in which an Islamic regime comes to power. It thus reflects a continuing discussion regarding governance of conquered or liberated areas.15

Al-Shaybani's Kitab al-Siyar, by contrast, deals with "movements" or "relations" between territories. Al-Shaybani was thus interested in international relations. Indeed, the modern historian of international relations Majid Khadduri once spoke of this early Iraqi scholar as the Hugo Grotius of Islam, implying that al-Shaybani stands to the development of an Islamic "public international law" as does Grotius to the development of the Western version of such norms. 16 Whether or not Khadduri's comparison is apt, it is true that al-Shaybani's work reflects judgments or opinions on a number of important political and military topics: the declaration and conduct of war, the status of treaties between rulers, grants of safe passage for persons traveling from one territory to another for purposes of diplomacy, trade, and the like are all at issue, as are matters of policy within Islamic territory-for example, the status of rebels, the collection of taxes, and the obligations of Jews, Christians, and other "protected" communities.17

In the works of Abu Yusuf and al-Shaybani, we see the emergence of a specific class of religious specialists, and also of a particular style of reasoning about matters of right and wrong. Al-Shaybani's work is especially instructive. The book is constructed in terms of a series of judgments, or more properly "opinions" (al-fatawa), issued by Abu Hanifa, Abu Yusuf, or al-Shaybani. At one point, for example, the text indicates a question directed to al-Shaybani: "Would a sudden attack at night be objectionable to you?;' that is, as a tactic in war. The reply, "No harm in it;' is to be taken as al-Shaybani's response, reflecting the consensus of the school on this point.18

We get a better sense of how these scholars worked by attending to a story related by Muslim historians. Here, Harun aI-Rashid, the Abbasid ruler in Baghdad from 786 to 809, famous to all readers of the Thousand and One Nights, calls on several scholars to render an opinion on a vexing question. Faced with unrest in Iran, Harun sought peace by offering clemency and protection to a rebel leader. Having accepted Harun's offer, the leader returned to his province, where he promptly reorganized his forces and resumed his troublesome activities. Does this subsequent behavior render Harun's promise of clemency and protection moot?

The question is not to be taken lightly. Technically, Harun provided the rebel leader with al-aman, a trust or pledge of safe passage. On pragmatic grounds, it is not good policy for rulers to violate their word; further, the granting of such a pledge establishes a religious obligation. As the story proceeds, we find Abu Yusuf and alShaybani arguing that, having given the pledge, the Abbasid ruler is obligated to treat the rebel leader in a distinct fashion. He may entreat the leader to cease his troublesome activities, of course. And if rebel troops violate certain standards of conduct, the Abbasid fighters may act as a police force quelling a public disturbance. But Harun ought not to authorize his troops to capture the leader directly, nor, if the leader is captured in the course of a police action, is Harun permitted to authorize the summary execution of the man in question.Abu Yusuf and al-Shaybani do not stand alone in this instance. Other scholars provide Harun with a different opinion. In this case, the argument is that the grant of al-aman presumed the rebel leader would behave in a certain way; since he did not, the trust is null and void. Harun is justified in authorizing his troops to capture the leader, and further in ordering his execution. In this particular instance, the Abbasid ruler chose the second opinion. Nevertheless, both Abu Yusuf and al-Shaybani subsequently served in an official capacity, and Muslim historians remember their names-not the names of those scholars whose advice pleased Harun al-Rashid.19

The primary work of scholars like Abu Yusuf and al-Shaybani, of course, was teaching. The Hanafi school developed as men like these trained others. As we read their texts, we see them citing the Qur' an and reports of the practice of Muhammad and his companions. We also see them issuing opinions that do not directly invoke these sources, but rather appear to involve a claim that learned men, devoted to a life of study, can render trustworthy opinions on matters of right and wrong. Their authority thus rests on the notion that devotion to learning creates a disposition for justice, or a leaning toward virtue. Here, it is interesting that the Hanafi school spoke of aI-ray (opinion) and of al-istihsan (good opinion) as legitimate grounds of judgment. The combination of learning and piety makes for wise people-not perfect or infallible, of course, but nevertheless "sound"-and for wise judgment.

We know more about the Hanafi school than about others, for the obvious reason that scholars like Abu Yusuf and al-Shaybani had dealings with the Abbasid court. The existence of the schools associated with al-Awza'i and Malik ibn Anas, as well as the existence of disagreement among scholars (as, for example, in the story about Harun and the rebel leader), suggested to some that the Hanafi approach, however exemplary, did not command universal assent. It is not strange, then, that we find scholars arguing for a synthesis that would take the best of the various schools and place Islamic practical reason-that is, Shari'a reasoning-on a firmer, more systematic theoretical ground. Of these, the most outstanding was and remains the great al-Shafi'i (d. 820). His works, in particular al-Risala (The Treatise), on the sources by which one comprehends the guidance of God, set forth proposals that transformed the practice of Shari'a reasoning.20

Standard histories of Islamic jurisprudence credit al-Shafi'i with establishing a full-blown theory of Islamic law. That claim is not quite accurate.21 Al-Shafi'i's real contribution lies in his insistence that all local or regional traditions, as well as all scholarly opinions, must be judged with respect to two sources: the Qur'an, and the sunna, or exemplary practice of the Prophet. With respect to developments described thus far, this meant, for example, that the traditions associated with al-Awza'i, Malik, and Abu Hanifa and his students could not stand on their own. Even Malik's Muwatta, with its claim to represent a continuous tradition of practice going back to the earliest Muslims, must be subjected to review. One can be certain of God's guidance only by referring to a sound or well documented report of the Prophet's words and/or deeds. The import of this point becomes clear if we attend to the fullness of al-Shafi'i's argument. He begins with praise of and petition to God: Praise be to God who created the heavens and the earth, and made the darkness and the light . . . Praise be to God to whom gratitude for one of his favors cannot be paid save through another favor from him, which necessitates that the giver of thanks for his past favors repay it by a new favor, which in turn makes obligatory upon him gratitude for it ... I ask him for his guidance: the guidance whereby no one who takes refuge in it will ever be led astray.22

Al-Shafi'i's petition for guidance sets the tone for his argument, which is that God provided for this human need by sending the Prophet Muhammad with a "book sublime:' With respect to this Book, God "made clear to [human beings] what He permitted ... and what He prohibited, as He knows best what pertains to their felicity in this world and in the hereafter."23 Al-Shafi'i stresses that the guidance offered in the Qur'an is comprehensive and sure: "No misfortune will ever descend upon any of the followers of God's religion for which there is no guidance in the Book of God to indicate the right way."24

According to al-Shafi'i, the general mode by which God provides guidance may be described as aI-bayan, a declaration. There are, however, several categories of declaration, and some of these suggest the necessity of other sources accompanying or alongside the Qur'an. Thus, one may speak of declarations "explicit" in the Qur' an, as in commands that believers pray. One may also speak of declarations tied to specific Qur' anic texts, but for which the Prophet's words specify the proper form of obedience. An example is that prayer should be performed five times a day, and at specific times. Then, too, there are declarations from the Prophet, establishing duties even where there exists no specific Qur' ank text. Finally, there are declarations apprehended by human beings through the use of their capacity for reason, for example in locating the precise direction of prayer.25

This discussion of the various types of declaration by which God provides guidance serves to establish that the quest for the Shari'a, or oath, involves reference to a set of sources, which must be construed in relation to one another. Theoretically, the entire world constitutes a "sign;' a source by which human beings may ascertain God's guidance. More concretely those in search of guidance refer to texts-to the Qur'an, which as God's speech constitutes a source "about which there can be no doubt" (2:1); to reliable reports concerning the exemplary practice of the Prophet; and to "reasoning" in the sense of interpreting and applying the signs provided by God in the interests of obedience. In each and all of these sources, God's declarations are clear. That does not mean, however, that ascertaining them is simple. To begin, al-Shafi'i says, the Qur'an and reports of the Prophet's practice are in Arabic. This is not a language everyone knows; and those who do know it are not equal in their comprehension of its rules. For some (in effect, many) purposes, reading and interpreting these texts requires expertise, and there is thus an important role for experts that is, the "learned"-in ascertaining the guidance of God. al Shafi'i reinforces this point with reference to a series of distinctions designed to facilitate interpretation of revealed texts. Some have "general" applicability, as in "God is the creator of everything, and He is a guardian of everything" (Qur'an 39:63). Some have "particular" reference; that is, the declarations are directed toward particular people or contexts, as in "The people have gathered against you, so be afraid of them" (Qur'an 3:167). Of course, in some cases declarations with particular references may take on or contain a general point.26

In some cases, the meaning is clarified with reference to the sunna, or exemplary practice, of Muhammad. At this point, al-Shafi'i's unique contribution becomes clear. As he has it, the Qur' an contains God's declaration that obedience to God requires obedience to the Prophet. For God has placed His Apostle [in relation to] His religion, His commands, and His Book, in the position made clear by Him as a distinguishing standard of His religion by imposing the duty of obedience to him [the Prophet] as well as prohibiting disobedience to him.27

For this reason, one who wishes to identify with Islam must pronounce the shahada (confession of faith), indicating faith in God and in Muhammad as the messenger of God. As al-Shafi'i has it, the authority of the Prophet is such that reports of his words and deeds confirm and explain the guidance contained in the Qur' an. They also extend it, in the sense that a sound report of the Muhammad's words or deeds may itself establish a duty in cases in which there is no Qur' anic text. We have, as it were, two sets of texts with which Shari'a reasoning must work: the Qur' an, as the Book of God; and ahadith, reports of the sunna, or practice, of the Prophet. The latter may interpret the former but will never contradict it; the former establishes the importance of the latter. To show this, al-Shafi'i embarks on a long discussion of "the abrogating and the abrogated;' by which we come to understand that interpretation of the divine declarations sometimes involves understanding that a text revealed at one time may be abrogated or rendered null and void by a text revealed at a later point. For al-Shafi'i, verses of the Qur' an may be abrogated only by other verses of the Qur'an; while one report of the Prophet's practice may abrogate another report, it can never be the case that any report of the words and deeds of Muhammad abrogates any verse of the Qur'an.28 Of course, such stress on ahadith makes it crucial that one have a way of distinguishing "sound" reports-those in which one may have confidence that its text stems from the Prophet himself-from those which are "weak;' and thus not suitable for use in making judgments. And if some sound reports abrogate others, one must have a way of relating specific sayings or deeds of the Prophet to particular times in his career. Al-Shafi'i's treatise relates some of the basic rules of what one might call "hadith criticism;' particularly with respect to the problems of judging the "chain" (al-isnad) by which reports are transmitted. During the next century several other scholars would devote their skills to this issue, with the result that six major collections of ahadith came to be identified as useful in the context of Shari'a reasoning.29

If all this sounds very complex, that is because it is so! Al-Shafi'i's text promises that God provides guidance. The comprehension of guidance involves struggle, however, and in that struggle, not everyone is equal In particular, those who understand the language and rules of interpretation pertaining to the signs provided by God serve as guardians of right and wrong, in the sense of rendering opinions on the duties incumbent on human beings. The learned are not infallible, of course. Indeed, the system outlined by al-Shafi'i is made to order for disagreement. After all, the meaning of God's declarations is not obvious. This much al-Shafi'i has said, and he reinforces it again and again. As the argument continues, we learn of the variety of ways by which scholars attempt to extract guidance from the Qur' an and from the practice of the Prophet. Some, by which al-Shafi'i means the scholars of the Iraqi school, rest their opinions on ra'yor istihsan. Others trumpet the validity of other modes of reasoning. All are engaged in ijtihad, meaning that they exert "effort" in the attempt to ascertain the path of God. But the best form of such effort, says al-Shafi'i, is one that stays as close as possible to God's declarations. This is called al-qiyas, a kind of reasoning by analogy, in which the texts of the Qur' an and the sunna are treated as precedents from which one may draw wisdom. In this connection, the objective of interpretation is to establish a fit between precedent and current circumstance, by way of identifying a principle or ground that unites them. As an example, consider al-Shafi'i's discussion of the duties pertaining to parents and children:

The Book of God and the sunna of the Prophet indicate that it is the duty of the father to see to it that his children are suckled and that they are supported as long as they are young. Since the child is an issue of the father, the father is under an obligation to provide for the child's support while the child is unable to do that for himself. So I hold by analogical deduction [that] when the father becomes incapable of providing for himself by his earnings, or from what he owns, then it is an obligation on his children to support him by paying for his expenses and clothing. Since the child is from the father, the child should not cause the father from whom he comes to lose anything, just as the child should not lose anything belonging to his children, because the child is from the father. So the forefathers, even if they are distant, and the children, even if they are remote descendants, fall into this category. Thus I hold that by analogy he who is retired and in need should be supported by him who is rich and still active. 30

The duties of children to support their elderly parents, and even a more extended duty of those who are active to support those who are retired, are drawn by way of analogy from textual precedents requiring parents to care for children. As al-Shafi'i's text shows, such judgments are not self-evident. Throughout, he engages the views of others from the learned class. In the end, effort is what is required; in effect, God requires a conscientious attempt at the comprehension of guidance. How does one distinguish one opinion from another? According to al-Shafi'i, one should look for consensus, a convergence of views. The more extensive the consensus, the more likely that a particular opinion is in fact correct. Even here, however, disagreement is possible, unless one finds an opinion on which the entire Muslim community agrees. In that case, the opinion must be correct, for the Prophet said: "My community will never agree on an error." Such agreement must have been a rare thing, however; al-Shafi'i provides no examples.3l

Al-Shafi'i did not develop his system in a vacuum. That much is already clear, by way of the relation of his argument to the regional "schools" in which religious specialists developed their distinctive approaches to the problem of guidance. But we must fill out the picture with a brief account of the religious policies of the Abbasid caliphs. The Abbasids came to power in the 740s. In doing so, they rode the wave of religious criticism of the Umayyads. Promising government by the Book of God, the new rulers appealed to many in the developing class of the learned, and through them to popular religious sentiment. In so doing, the Abbasids obtained a measure of legitimacy. They also pointed to a problematic that would persist throughout the centuries of their dominance. The problem was as follows: a slogan like "Government by the Book of God" is appealing, in part, because it is simple. Followers of Iraqi scholars like Abu Hanifa understood it, as did everyone else in the 740s. Once in power, however, the Abbasids found such general appeals of limited use. What mattered, with respect to actual governance, was the ability of a ruler to command the loyalty of particular groups, each of which varied in important details. One might, of course, decide to rule by using a large measure of coercion. The Umayyads had shown that such a strategy could work, at least for a time. And, from another point of view, the true problems of governance in the far-flung realm now controlled by Muslims had to do with economic integration and reform, especially as these matters affected the competing interests of merchants and the landed class.

Abbasid rulers clearly spent a great deal of time on such matters, and they showed themselves willing to use coercive measures. As Max Weber put it in his studies of political economy, however, rulers seek legitimacy, at least in part to avoid the costs of coercive governance. The goal is to rule with authority, meaning that the subjects of rule believe there are reasons to follow the ruler's directives other than those associated with fear.32 The Abbasids understood this psychology, and they sought to ally themselves with various religious parties, searching for a message of broad appeal. Indeed, in some cases the search seems to have been not only a matter of political expediency. The caliph al-Ma'mun, for example, is reported as a man genuinely interested in the debates of the learned, responsible for (among other things) the institution of a major translation project by which works from antiquity were put into Arabic.33

Al-Ma'mun ruled from 813 to 833. His quest for religious allies led him, first, to break with precedent by appointing someone other than a family member as his successor. In 817 'Ali al-Rida, a man of piety revered by large segments of Muslim society, agreed to succeed al-Ma'mun as ruler. When al-Rida died the following year, this particular plan became moot.34 Al-Ma'mun possessed other resources, however. Thus he turned to some of the scholars associated with the Mu'tazila, which formed part of the general religious movement during the Abbasid revolt. Its members practiced a highly distinctive form of religious reasoning called az-kazam, a kind of dialectic argumentation focused on doctrinal concerns. By the time of al-Ma'mun, members were known for adherence to five principles: az-tawhid, or unity, stressing the uniqueness of God in relation to God's creatures; az- 'adz, or justice, in the sense that God is the author of moral law, always does what is right or best for God's creatures, and requires that human beings use their freedom to follow in this path; "the promise and the threat;' meaning that God will enforce the moral law by means of rewards  and punishments, in this world and the next; "commanding right and forbidding wrong:' in the sense that human beings have a duty to pursue justice; and "the intermediate position:' indicating the distinctive way the group approached the religio-political disputes associated with the early conflicts between 'Ali and Mu'awiya.35

For our purposes, the Mu'tazili teaching on al-tawhid is the most important; for it was this principle that led to a highly distinctive and controversial judgment regarding the Qur'an. When al-Ma'mun's alliance with members of the group led him to impose a mihna, or test, upon important members of the learned class, the resulting outcry had important consequences for the development of Shari'a reasoning. For the Mu'tazila, al-tawhid meant that God is "incapable of description" in human terms. In a certain sense, this is a notion shared by all Muslims. The Qur' an declares: He is God, the one; God, the eternal, absolute; He does not beget, nor is He begotten; And there is none like Him. (112)

At the same time, the Qur'an speaks of God as "all-seeing:' "allknowing:' "powerful:' "wise" -in effect, attributing to God the kinds of abilities characteristic of human beings, albeit in superlative quantities. At 2:256 we read: God! There is no god but God, The Living, the self-subsisting, supporter of all. No slumber can seize Him, nor sleep. To him belong all things in the heavens and on earth. Who can intercede with Him, except as He permits? He knows that which is before, and after, and behind his creatures. They shall not comprehend any aspect of His knowledge, save as he wills. His Throne extends over the heavens and the earth, and He feels no fatigue in guarding and preserving them, for He is the Most High, the Supreme.

The image of God here is as a king-a superlative one, to be sure, mt comparable to those familiar in human experience. The suggesion is that one trying to think about God should take human kinghip to the maximum, and in doing so will begin to understand the lwesome power of deity. The Mu'tazila feared the possibility of misunderstanding presented by such anthropocentric language. Their interpretation of al-tawhic, ",as designed to clarify the meaning of the Qur' an, specifically by means of a proposal about the relationship between human language and the deity of God. Mu'tazili thinkers insisted that all speech about God was metaphorical. This stricture applied not only to ordinary speech but even to the "divine speech" enshrined in the Qur'an. When the sacred text speaks of God's throne extending ove] the heavens and the earth, this is a kind of accommodation on God': part, employing a vivid image in order to suggest the sense of awe appropriate to creatures encountering the deity. The "throne verse; powerful as it is, does not reach to God's "essence;' which ultimately must be described in negative terms: God is "not finite;' "has no beginning and no end;' "begets not, and is not begotten."36

The Mu'tazila spoke of the Qur' an as "God's created speech:' The' insisted that the Holy Book provided the best guide with respect to human attempts to acknowledge and respond to the maker 0 heaven and earth. Yet they thought it important to signify that eve] this book, "within which there is no doubt;' and which provide "guidance for the pious;' did not constitute a mode of direct address There were several reasons for this Mu'tazili version of al-tawhid. Not least was their worry that popular modes of interpretation might elide the distinctions between Islamic and Christian representations of deity. As Muslims understood it, the practice by which Christians referred to Jesus of Nazareth as "son of God" confused the creature with the Creator. If popular piety presented God as sitting on an actual, albeit heavenly, throne, or as actually seeing (by means of some superlative capacity of vision), how much difference would remain between Muslims and their Christian subjects?38

 And there is in fact evidence that Muslims did speak in ways that suggested the kind of embodied God who might be able to sit on a throne, watch over humanity, and so on. Popular creeds promised that the blessed would "behold the face of God" in paradise. In doing so, the creeds rested on the notion that the Qur'an, as God's speech, is God's self-description. For many reciting the creeds, the pages of the Qur' an might be created, as were the ink and the voice of the reader. But the speech is God's speech. One who hears the Qur'an recited or reads with comprehension does not simply encounter notions of deity. Such a person is in the presence of nothing less than the living God. Under Mu'tazili tutelage, al-Ma'mun determined to institute a test by which the learned would testify to their adherence to the doctrine of God's created speech. According to standard accounts, the test focused on well-known scholars in and around the capital. The same accounts insist that most of those subjected to the test swore their allegiance to the Mu'tazili doctrine of the Qur'an. It seemed that al- Ma 'mun was well on his way to ensuring a uniform notion of orthodox practice, which would certainly serve well in the Abbasid quest to secure religious support. The main (and, in some accounts, the sole) holdout among the learned was Ahmad ibn Hanbal (d. 855).39

Ahmad was a scholar of ahadith; that is, he specialized in collecting reports about Muhamad's words and deeds, and in searching these out so as to ascertain hose that were sound.40 The connection between Ahmad's scholar;hip and the work of al-Shafi'i is striking. Not that they agreed on all Joints; however, Ahmad shared with al-Shafi'i the idea that the dirine path was best comprehended by a faithful reading of the precedents established in the Qur' an and the sunna. It is significant that much of the substance of popular piety involved appeals to the Prophet's words and deeds. Thus, the notion that the blessed will see 30d's face rests not on the Qur'an, but on reports from the Prophet. Similarly, stories of God shaping the human creature out of clay and Jreathing life into it are prophetic extensions or elaborations of verses in the Qur' an. Perhaps most important, sayings attributed to the Prophet tie the Qur' an and other scriptural texts to a heavenly book, specifically characterizing the Qur' an as an Arabic version of the divine speech enshrined in this "mother of books."

Accounts of the mihna thus present Ahmad ibn Hanbal as the champion of the kind of popular piety associated with ahadith. He was an adherent of the sunna of the Prophet who did not substitute his own theory of religious language for the Prophet's characterization of the Holy Book. And, true to this image, Ahmad did not swear allegiance to Mu'tazili doctrine. Rather, he insisted that he would not answer, because the caliph lacked competence to put the question. It is important to note the technical and reserved way in which Ahmad ibn Hanbal resisted the mihna. Traditional accounts do suggest that his differences with al-Ma'mun and thus with the Mu'tazila were substantive. For Ahmad, faithfulness required staying within the language of revealed texts. One might qualify the throne verse by saying something to the effect that God's throne is unlike any present to ordinary experience. One would not, however, speak of the depiction as metaphorical; the verse is God's self-description. Nevertheless, Ahmad's resistance to the test was technical. Claiming that the authority of the caliph rested on adherence to the Shari'a, he noted that there was no text in the Qur' an or in sound reports of the prophetic sunna on which to base the claim that the Qur' an was "created" speech. Where there was no text, there could be no binding judgment; where there was no binding judgment, there could be no obligation; where there was no obligation, there was no right or duty of the ruler to. demand obedience. With respect to the question at hand, the caliph had no right to restrict the conscience of a Muslim. Al-Ma'mun had overstepped his bounds.

Answering the caliph's summons, Ahmad appeared at court. By this time, al-Mu'tasim (833-847) held the office, al-Ma'mun having died. Having been flogged and imprisoned by order of the ruler, Ahmad presented a careful justification for resistance. A Muslim, he said, is obligated to honor the ruler, and to obey all lawful orders. Faced with an unjust command, the same Muslim is obligated to refuse obedience. According to Ahmad, such refusal ought not to be confused with a right to revolt. Ahmad seems to have been one of those scholars who held that revolution is never (or almost never) justified. Rather, the refusal of an unjust command should be construed as "omitting to obey." Ahmad's resistance to the mihna thus provides a fascinating instance of political behavior. On the basis of the stories of the mihna and of Ahmad's continuing refusal of association with the Abbasids, even after the caliph al-Mutawakkil (847861) succeeded to power and reversed al-Ma'mun's order, Michael Cook speaks of Ahmad's "apolitical politics."41 By this, Cook means to capture the political relevance of a life devoted to religious testimony, inclusive of a refusal of any and all directassociations with governing institutions.

One could say more about this episode in Islamic history. However, the point with respect to our interests has to do with Ahmad ibn Hanbal as an exemplar of developing trends in the practice of Shari'a reasoning. Devotion to the Prophet and, with it, the interest of the learned in identifying sound reports of the prophetic sunna had tremendous implications for the development of Shari'a reasoning. Al-Shafi'i and Ahmad ibn Hanbal are two of the most important figures in this development. Indeed, Ahmad would be remembered as much for his collection of prophetic reports as for his various responses to questions, even as al-Shafi'i would be remembered for his systematic statement defining the Qur' an and the prophetic sunna as primary sources for comprehending the Shari'a.

By the eleventh and twelfth centuries, the system toward which alShafi'i and Ahmad ibn Hanbal pointed was firmly in place, with scholars like al-Mawardi (d. 1058), al-Sarakhsi (d. 1096 or 1101), Ibn 'Aqil (d. 1119), and Ibn Rushd (d. 1198) as exemplary practitioners. Their goal, via Shari'a reasoning, was comprehension of the divine path. To this end, they worked with usul al-fiqh, the sources of comprehension, meaning a system of agreed-upon texts and rules of interpretation by which the learned might craft al-fatawa, opinions or responses to questions raised by the faithful, and thus facilitate the Muslim community's fulfillment of its mission, namely, commanding right and forbidding wrong, for the good of all humankind.

As an example, consider the brief account given in Ibn Rushd's prefatory remarks to Bidayat al-Mujtahid, a book intended to aid in the training of the special class of the learned trained in al-fiqh, or comprehension, of the Shari'a.42 Ibn Rushd's work is a compilation of the opinions of the learned on a variety of questions. The opinions gathered on these questions show the ways in which the learned work with texts (the Qur'an and the sunna) in order to judge cases. In some cases, judgments are based on explicit texts. There may nevertheless be important issues of interpretation, such as those related to whether a given prescription is general or particular. Thus, when the Qur'an (at 9:103) orders the Prophet to "take zakat [alms] of their [believers'] mal [wealth], wherewith you may purify them and may make them grow;' it is important to know that the word mal applies only to certain kinds of holdings. Or again, when Qur' an 17:23 orders "Do not say 'fie' unto them nor repulse them, but speak to them a gracious word;' it is important to understand that the prohibition is not only of one specific kind of act, but of all sorts of rude or antisocial behavior: "beating, abuse, and whatever is more griev 43

Similarly, it is important to know the type of prescription or prohibition implied by a particular text. Some judgments indicate that a particular act is "obligatory;' as in the order to establish right worship by praying five times daily. Others are recommended, as in acts of worship above and beyond such required prayers. Still others are forbidden, as in the command against eating carrion. Others are "reprehensible;' in that they make it easier for one to perform forbidden acts. Finally, some judgments indicate that a particular act is "permissible"; that is, there is choice with respect to its commission or omission. In each case, it is critical to know not only how to classify an act, but also how it applies to particular agents. Thus, some acts are "communal" obligations; that is, so long as some perform them, others may be excused. Others, by contrast, are "individual" obligations, which no one can perform for anyone else. Fighting in war, at least in most circumstances, provides an example of a communal obligation. Praying five times a day provides an example of individual duty.

In ascertaining the type of judgment enshrined in the Qur' an and the sunna, some opinions are clear, in the sense that there is no dispute about them, while others must be described as "probable:' The latter are within a range of acceptable interpretations, and thus reasonable or conscientious disagreement is tolerated. There are cases, however, for which there is no clear text. With respect to these, a scholar must exert his reason. The preferred mode for such effort is al-qiyas, or analogy, already mentioned in our discussion of al-Shafi'i's work. As Ibn Rushd puts it, legitimate "analogy is the assigning of the obligatory judgment for a thing to another thing, about which the Shari'a is silent, [because of] its resemblance to the thing for which the Shari'a has obligated the judgment or [because of] a common underlying cause between them:'44 In some cases, the analogy between a judgment enshrined in the Qur'an and the sunna is established through a kind of similitude (al-shabah) of cases; in others, by an appeal to a common principle (al- 'illa) that joins them. As Ibn Rushd has it, the differences between these are subtle, and they often lead to disagreement. With respect to such differences, one may often be instructed by the consensual judgment of the learned, which suggests that a given judgment (attained by reasoning) is "considered definitive [because of] predominant probability."45 But the fact that such consensus (al- 'ijma) rests on interpretations of the Qur' an and the sunna always leaves open the possibility that a specific judgment might be overturned or overridden as a result of new information, difference of circumstance, and the like. Thus Ibn Rushd establishes the notion that independent judgment-that is, the promulgation of a learned opinion that overturns a precedent established in the judgment of earlier generations of scholars-always remains a possibility. Wael Hallaq characterizes the work of Ibn Rushd and other 'ulama of the eleventh and twelfth centuries as a kind of "golden age" of Shari'a reasoning among Sunni Muslims. The terminology of Sunni and Shi'i is not particularly useful for the very early period of Islamic history. It is relevant at this point, however, and thus it is useful to think of a comparable golden age among Shi'i scholars, either in connection with the work of noteworthies like al- Mufid (d. 1023) and his students Sharif al-Murtada (d. 1044) and Muhammad ibn al- Hasan al- Tusi (d. 1068) in eleventh -century Baghdad, or in connection with the school of aI-Hilla, a town located between Kufa and Baghdad, in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries.46 As the locations suggest, a distinctively Shi'i approach to Shari'a reasoning grew up in the southern and eastern portions of Iraq; Iran also became an important center. Both Baghdad and Hilla scholars may be associated with the Ithna ash'ari, or Twelver, version of Shi'ism, meaning that they accepted the notion that after the death of Muhammad, leadership of the umma passed to 'Ali as his designated successor, and then to a series of others, up to the twelfth imam, Muhammad, son of Hasan al-Askari.’ As the Shi'a had it, the infant Muhammad was taken into hiding by the will and purpose of God in 873/874, where he will remain until the day of God's decision. At that point the hidden imam will appear as al-Mahdi, the rightly guided one, who will lead the faithful in establishing the reign of justice and equity, and will rule over humanity for a thousand years.

From the Shi'i point of view, the events of the first fitna thus constituted a rejection of the Prophet's plan for his community, and further created a context in which the majority of Muslims were prevented from following the straight path associated with alshari'a. This rejection, confirmed in the subsequent careers of 'Ali's sons and their successors, meant that important parts of the enterprise of Shari'a reasoning were to be viewed with suspicion. In particular, the use of reports of the Prophet's sunna needed critical scrutiny, so as to ascertain when and where persons involved in the rejection of 'Ali's leadership might have altered or even fabricated these important texts.

The work of Shi'i 'ulama thus presupposed an alternative to the great collections of ahadith utilized by Sunni scholars. In this regard, the Shi'a drew on tenth-century works by collectors like al-Kulayni (d. 941/942) and Ibn Babuya (d. 991), each of whom focused on the isnad, or chain, of transmitters attached to a specific report. Reports were judged "sound;' and thus useful for the normative purposes of Shari'a reasoning, only in cases in which the chain was secured through the inclusion of the name of one of the designated imams or leaders, or of the names of people whose trustworthiness was established by the leaders' testimony.48

Interestingly, certain of the reports approved in Shi'i collections testify to the authority of "reason" (al- 'aql) in the affairs of humanity. These reports correlate with the general tendency of Twelver 'ulama to affirm al- 'aql as one of the sources of Shari'a reasoning. The precise import of this affirmation-that is, in what way it serves to distinguish Shi'i from Sunni versions of the practice of Shari'a reasoning-is a matter of some debate. We might note the way in which Shi'i scholarship and piety delighted in stories whereby the learned find consensus on a certain matter, only to have one dissenter rise and prove the consensus wrong-in which case "consensus" is the error of the majority, and "right reason" the mode by which the dissenter makes the case. Such stories fostered a culture in which the learned considered themselves more independent, and thus more willing to revise precedent than in the Sunni case.49 At the same time, the development of the Shi'i approach to Shari'a reasoning indicates that the Twelver 'ulama were not always clear about the extent to which reason should be viewed as an independent source of judgment. In the sixteenth- and seventeenth-century debates between usulis, advocates of reason, and akhbari, advocates of textual precedent, Twelver 'ulama engaged in complicated disputes regarding this question. While all parties asserted that, in principle, a sound judgment is in accord with right reason, it was not-some would say, still is not clear just how this claim works in relation to specific cases. 50

Continue to Case Study P.3:

The judgments scholars in the eleventh and twelfth centuries reached about specific questions-for example, "When may the ruler of the Muslims authorize military force?" or "What tactics are acceptable in the conduct of war?" -served as precedents to which subsequent generations of scholars would recur.

In either case-that is, whether one is speaking about the framework of Shari'a reasoning or about judgments pertaining to specific questions of right and wrong-the practice of Shari'a reasoning involved a balance between continuity and creativity. With respect to continuity, the accomplishments of earlier generations demanded respect. A scholar working in the fourteenth century, as did Ibn Taymiyya (d. 1328), styled himself a follower of Ahmad ibn Hanbal and his disciples, referred to his predecessors as guides and teachers, and clearly thought that in some sense they were his betters. Similarly, al-Wansharisi (d. 1508) expressed his particular debt to Malik ibn Anas and his followers, and in his opinions showed particular deference to their approaches and judgments. In this emphasis on continuity with the past, Ibn Taymiyya and al- Wansharisi were typical. Scholars learned the craft of Shari'a reasoning at one or another center of Islamic learning-Damascus, Baghdad, Cairo, the holy cities-in terms of the practice of one of several madahib, schools, or, perhaps more accurately, trajectories of interpretation. Having mastered a set curriculum, a scholar received a certificate signifying qualification to advise believers regarding the Shari'a in a manner appropriate to his level of attainment. For most, this meant practicing al-taqlid, or imitation, meaning a qualification to repeat the consensual judgment of scholars associated with a particular trajectory of interpretation. For others, it meant practicing al-taqlid with a wider range; these were qualified to repeat the consensual judgments .f each of the four standard schools, and to engage in comparison nd contrast so that those seeking advice might select the judgment hat seemed best, or most advantageous.

For a few, however-scholars like Ibn Taymiyya and altVansharisi-training in Shari'a reasoning provided a platform by I'hich to engage in independent judgment. Here, the ability to crete might rest on fresh insight into the sources and framework of ;hari'a reasoning. As noted in the discussion of Ibn Rushd's sumnary of the theory of sources, analogical reasoning could be the ource of much disagreement. Ibn Taymiyya understood this, and he lrgued that many of his predecessors leaned on this overmuch in heir attempts to distinguish right from wrong. Appealing to the exlmple of Ahmad ibn Hanbal, Ibn Taymiyya held that a direct appeal o al-maslaha, "that which is salutary with respect to public interest;' n many cases constituted a more honest and better approach, not east because it did not attempt to force connections between textual )recedents and contemporary judgment. At other times, the ability to create rested on an understanding hat distinctive circumstances call for new judgments. Thus, when u-Wansharisi dealt with the question "Are Muslims living under a lon-Islamic government required to emigrate to the realm of Isam?" he argued that the proper answer would be yes, despite the fact hat the consensual precedent of several generations suggested the opposite. In doing so, al- Wansharisi appealed to the special circum,tances created by the Spanish reconquista, and argued that these constituted a renewed threat, not only to the security of Muslims livng in this formerly Islamic territory but to the rest of Islamic civilizations1 Muslims who continued to reside in Spain constituted a security risk, in the sense that their lives and property might be seized 'y the new regime and utilized to extort territorial or other conces:ions from the Muslim ruler.

Thus, new times or new insights might yield new approaches or judgments. Nevertheless, Shari'a reasoning is properly characterized as a conservative practice, in the sense that it requires that most participants follow the line of precedent. True creativity, in the sense of establishing new or further precedent, is reserved for the few. When those few claim the right of independent judgment, their claims are likely to be controversial. It is not surprising, then, that the history of Shari'a reasoning is a history of conflict, in which argument is often connected with violence. That Ibn Taymiyya spent much of his life, and wrote most of his books, in the prison of the Mamluk ruler in Cairo, is instructive. Similarly instructive are the careers of several figures who stand out as early respondents to the great changes that began to affect Muslim societies in the mid to late eighteenth centuries. The first, Shah WaliAllah of Delhi (1703-1762), was the most eminent member of the learned class working during the closing decades of Mughal rule.52 Beginning in the sixteenth century with Babur (d. 1530), the Mughal rulers asserted Islamic dominance in India. By the time of Wali Allah's birth, the power of the Muslims was fading, and Aurangzeb (d. 1707) was the last great Mughal ruler in the Indian subcontinent. Muslim scholars like Wali Allah hoped to revivify Islamic power through renewed attention to the practice of Shari'a reasoning. To that end, he established a new center for the training of young scholars, whose job it would be to call the Muslims of India to fulfill their vocation of exercising leadership by commanding right and forbidding wrong.

The project would prove difficult, however, not least because of the gradual yet seemingly irresistible growth of British power. One of the sons of Wali Allah would deem it necessary to declare in 1820 that India should no longer be regarded as Islamic territory. In part, 'Abd al- 'Aziz's fatwa, or opinion, reflected intra-Muslim polemics. In solidifying their power, the British turned first to Shi'i Muslims, who were concentrated in the north; Abd al- Aziz and other Sunni culama regarded this recognition of the Shica as an establishment of heresy.

At the same time, the 1820 ruling reflected a more basic reality: whether working through the Shica or through the Hindus, the British were not dedicated to the Sharica. From cAbd al- cAziz's perspective, British rule meant a non-Islamic establishment, in which the ability of the Muslim community to carry out its historical mission would necessarily be limited. For Islam to flourish, there should be a political entity dedicated to rule by the Sharica. A Muslim ruler or a group of Muslim rulers should plan and carry out policy, in consultation with the learned class. And in such a context, the flourishing of Islam would redound to the benefit of all those governed, and indeed of all humanity-even, or perhaps especially, those members of the protected Jewish and Christian-or, more importantly in India, Hindu and Parsee (Zoroastrian)-communities. While Abd al- Aziz did not declare that the new situation required armed resistance, his opinion did suggest the need for struggle aimed at change. The participation of Muslims in the 1857 rebellion known as the Sepoy Mutiny summons echoes of the opinion of cAbd al- cAziz. And when a number of the learned responded to this failed rebellion by founding a new center of Islamic Studies in Deoband in 1867, the spiritual and physical descendants ofWali Allah and cAbd al- cAziz were important participants. 53 Today their influence is most clearly felt in the activities of two quite distinctive groups: the Tablighi JamaCat, which aims at revival of Islamic influence through the cultivation of spirituality among Muslims; and the Taliban, best known for their brief but noteworthy period of governance in Afghanistan between 1990 and 2001.54

A second figure illustrating the early modern course of Sharica reasoning is Muhammad ibn cabd al-Wahhab (1703-1791), the founder of the Wahhabi movement.55 cAbd al-Wahhab's legacy in Saudi Arabia and, through Saudi missions, throughout the world is pervasive. His career began in relative modesty, however. In the eighteenth century, the Arabian Peninsula was regarded as a backwater by the rulers of the Ottoman state. Perhaps, though, the very distance between economic and cultural centers like Istanbul, Damascus, and Baghdad provided space for a reformer like 'Abd al- Wahhab. In any event, he and his colleagues began to issue Shari'a opinions condemning much of the religious practice of those living in the historicalland of Muhammad. In 1746 the group of scholars formed an alliance with the family of al-Sa'ud, adding political and military force to their campaign against jahiliyya. As the Wahhabi-Saudi leadership understood it, the combination of "calling" Muslims to repentance and punishing (fighting) anyone who refused the invitation was consistent with the Shari'a vision of Muslim responsibility. Commanding right and forbidding wrong through the establishment of an Islamic state was the key in carrying out the mission of Islam.

For a third set of developments in the early modern period, we turn to Iran, where Shi'i scholars found it necessary to issue opinions urging the Qajar rulers to use military force in order to resist Russian incursions into Iranian territory. In doing so, the Twelver 'ulama presented themselves as guardians of the Shi'i (and thus, from their point of view, the Islamic) character of the Iranian state. While not without precedent in the premodern practice of Shi'i scholars, such judgments did move the 'ulama in the direction of an activism that would enhance their authority as leaders of a resistance intended to safeguard the territory of Islam against foreign intruders.56

Shari'a reasoning is best regarded as an open practice, in that readings of its sources with a view toward discerning divine guidance in particular contexts can yield disagreement. So it is not surprising that the course of Shari'a reasoning from the 1700s to the present is characterized by vigorous (and not always irenic) argument. Thus, even as some of those inheriting Wali Allah's mantle took Shari'a precedents to suggest a duty of armed resistance to British rule in India, others suggested that the new context led in a different direction. Similarly, even as the Wahhabi scholars allied themselves with the Saudi clan in a movement that would issue in the founding of a new state, or as the Shi'i 'ulama urged resistance to foreign influence in Iran, their judgments were subjected to criticism. For now, let us focus on India, where the scholars of Deoband could support the pietistic revival of the Tablighi Jama'at, as well as the political and military campaign of the Taliban. Even more distinct was the program of educational reform advocated by Sayyid Ahmad Khan. Declaring that armed struggle cannot be required in the face of superior force, Sayyid Ahmad cited Qur'an 13:11 (God "never changes the condition of a people until they change themselves") in support of a program of modern scientific and technical as well as traditional learning. By this means, he argued, the historical stature of the Muslim community might be restored, for those who control scientific and technical knowledge hold the keys to political influence. And political influence, in turn, would create a space for Muslims to command right and forbid wrong. 57

Sayyid Ahmad's program of reform provided the inspiration for a new center of learning, Aligarh Muslim University, which came to represent a kind of "modernist" or "reformist" approach to the new situation of Muslims. Whereas Deoband maintained a more or less traditional approach, particularly with respect to the training of religious specialists, Aligarh Muslim University sought to train a new type of Muslim leader: a "lay" person, literate in the sources of Shari'a reasoning, but also trained in the kinds of scientific and technical learning that Sayyid Ahmad saw as the root of British power. But although both institutions could be described as "Shari'a minded;' in the sense of advocating a particular role for the Muslim community, connected with its historical mission of religious and moral leadership, Sayyid Ahmad's university came under serious criticism from those who thought they discerned in its program an overly cooperative, even conciliatory, approach to British rule. In particular, Jamal al-Din, known as aI-Afghani (1839-1897), mounted a vigorous critique of Sayyid Ahmad, arguing that the first task before the Muslims was to free themselves from British dominance. Only afterward would it make sense for Muslims to determine the course of reform most appropriate for carrying out their mission in the modern world. AI-Afghani advocated extensive reform.58

From his perspective, the traditionalism represented by Deoband was inadequate to the condition of Muslims in the nineteenth century. Muslims must first comprehend the nature and scope of the change affecting the Indian subcontinent, and indeed the whole of the realm of Islam. AIAfghani thought the change could be described only as a catastrophe. Moving from India to Turkey to Egypt to Iran, this mysterious and charismatic personality carried a message of reform based on a return to authentic Islamic sources. For al-Afghani, however, such return could not simply be a matter of reading and rereading precedents set in other generations. To cope with their loss of power, Muslims needed to recover a sense of the openness of the Shari'a vision, particularly with respect to scientific and technical learning. Quoting the Prophet, "Seek knowledge, wherever you may find it;' aI-Afghani argued that true religion-true Islam-supports scientific inquiry, and that a community practicing true religion-again, true Islam-would find itself, as a matter of course, fostering scientific and technical expertise. Noting that Christian scriptures are filled with such otherworldly sentiments as Jesus' or Paul's suggestions that poverty or celibacy might be of greater value than the creation of wealth or the building and maintenance of families represented in marriage, aI-Afghani argued that Europeans had obtained scientific and technical prowess only by the abandonment of faith represented by the Enlightenment. By contrast, Muslims lost such prowess as a result of their lack of piety, and recovery of piety would go hand in glove with recovery of scientific power.

The first order of the day, however, should be the reassertion of the political vision associated with Shari'a reasoning. Given that Muslims were called to lead humanity, al-Afghani argued, how could they accept the dominance of Great Britain, of France, or of Russia, particularly in the territories historically associated with Islamic rule?

Al-Afghani's legacy transcended a career marked by recurrent failures. His encounter with Ahmad Khan occurred during a sojourn in India in 1879 after time spent in Afghanistan, Turkey, and Egypt. In every case, his personal charisma proved sufficient to secure him access to circles of power, seemingly with great ease. But his outspokenness proved equally sufficient to ensure that no circle of power could long abide al-Afghani's presence. By the early 1880s he was living in Paris, where he wrote several influential works, in particular a response to Ernst Renan's portrayal of an inevitable rivalry between science and religion. In the early 1890s al-Afghani reemerged as a player in the Iranian resistance to British rule, even traveling to Russia in order to explore the possibilities of support from that quarter. There he found allies among the Shi'i 'ulama, who increasingly viewed the Qajar rulers as ready to sacrifice the Islamic identity of the state for monetary gain. The Tobacco Revolt of 1890-91 saw these scholars joining with aI-Afghani and others who sought to reverse the shah's sale of Iran's tobacco industry to Great Britain, on the grounds that this transaction (which would have required Iranian tobacco producers to sell their crop to the British, and Iranian tobacco users to buy from British suppliers) reduced the independence necessary to the maintenance of a viable state. When, in 1906, a coalition of Shi'i 'ulama and political activists moved to define and delimit the authority of the Qajar shah through the establishment of a written constitution, it was not difficult to perceive the influence of al-Afghani.

Throughout these travels, al-Afghani's most consistent intellectual partnership was with the Egyptian Muhammad 'Abduh (1849-1905), and it is through 'Abduh (pictured below), that one may see his most enduring legacy. 'Abduh, who would become the leading member of the 'ulama in Egypt, tried to walk a careful line by which political independence and religious reform might be combined. Egypt, and by extension other territories historically associated with Islam, needed to move toward political independence, and to that end, European dominance must not become a permanent fact of life. At the same time, Muslims must be ready to govern themselves and to carry out their mission in a new situation. To that end, a broad reform of education, both at the elite level of the training of members of the learned class, and at the level of educating lay experts in scientific and technical matters, would be necessary. In obtaining both goals, the one thing to be avoided at all costs was a premature standoff between Muslim activists and European military and economic might.59

One the chief ideologues of the Urabi Revolt, that landed him in jail when the revolt failed, he went in exile to Paris where he joined other radicals in calling all Muslims to jihad against the West.  After he returned to Egypt, he worked his way up the government hierarchy from a minor position as a judge in a provincial court to the appeal court in Cairo, and finally won the favor of the Khedival palace, the confidence of the British, and the position of Mufti. As grand mufti, 'Abduh issued numerous opinions in the style characteristic of Shari'a reasoning. Just like al-Afghani (whose biography by Nikki R. Keddie  is outdated) in the case of is contributions are worthy of a separate study in themselves. Of chief importance for our purposes, however, he prepared the way for the crisis in the relationship between Shari'a reasoning and political vision that would occupy Muslims in the 1920s. The First World War posed a major crisis for European civilization. It led to a loss of faith, to an unsatisfactory settlement in the Treaty of Versailles, and ultimately to the rise of National Socialism in Germany and the renewal of European conflict in 1939. The war also posed a crisis for Islam.60

The regional crises created by the expansion of British rule in the Indian subcontinent, the comparable struggles to which al-Afghani contributed in Egypt and Iran, and the continuing Wahhabi-Saudi campaigns in the Arabian Peninsula all reflected the passing of great and long-standing political arrangements. By 1914 only the Ottoman empire remained as a symbol of the old territory of Islam and its universal khilafat. In 1921 the great powers of Europe had divided the heartland of that empire as spoils of war, with the French taking Syria and Lebanon and the British adding Palestine, Transjordan, Iraq, and the Arabian Peninsula to their already established hegemony in Egypt and India. The Ottoman empire now consisted of one state, Turkey. However, that was changing as well. Already in 1914, a group of young military officers recognized the weakness of the old regime. By 1918 these "young Turks" were effectively in control of state administration. And by 1921 and 1922 Mustafa Kemal, better known as Ataturk, and his colleagues were on the road to declaring that the identity of Turkey would be recast as a secular republic rather than an Islamic state. By 1924 the new Turkish republic would announce that it could no longer support the Ottoman ruler. If others wished to do so, they could find a home and financial means to support the institution associated with the historical khilafat.

Case Study P.4: The Ottoman Demise

The abolition of Ottoman rule posed a crisis of legitimating in the realm of Islam. Interestingly, the greatest outcry came from India, which had never been under Ottoman rule. The real value of the Ottoman ruler, as the poet/philosopher Muhammad Iqbal (d. 1932) put it, was as a symbol of Islamic unity.61 The Muslims of India, as elsewhere, were at a crucial point in their struggle with European power. The Ottoman khilafat, whatever its problems, constituted a focal point around which Muslims might rally. The khilafat movement, as a plea to the Turks to maintain the Ottoman ruler, formed a part of the landscape of the Indian campaign for independence in the mid-1920s. The Turks deemed the call of Iqbal and other Indians as too little, too late. Turkey would attend to its own issues. Nevertheless, to Iqbal it seemed clear that the immediate future of Islamic renewal would involve the various regional communities focusing on their own struggles. Perhaps one day these communities would reemerge, strong enough to unite and once again playa world-historical role. Egyptian and other Arab Muslim scholars interpreted the abolition of the Ottoman court variously, differing on the type of rule represented by the Ottomans. Clearly, these were sultans-an old word, quite literally associated with military power. And the rule of sultans had not been all bad. Insofar as the Ottomans acknowledged the priority of the Shari'a, consulted with the learned, and maintained the proper relationship between Muslims and the protected peoples, they approached the ideals of an Islamic state. But the 'ulama concluded that the Ottoman rulers did not really deserve the title "caliph"; if nothing else, their lack of connection with the Arabian Peninsula constituted a point against them.

The demise of the Ottomans thus represented an opportunity. Could Muslims reestablish khilafat, in its full and proper sense? As interest in this topic grew, so did consciousness of the importance of a settlement. The needs of Indian Muslims were one thing; the needs of Arab Muslims in Palestine were another. Agreement on the meaning of khilafat would give a unified focus to Arab resistance to expanded emigration and settlement by European Jews. The issue needed care, since it focused on the Shari'a and its sources. But it also needed resolve, given the crisis of Arab Islam. As a matter of Shari'a judgment, discussion of the issue fell largely to the scholars of al-Azhar, the ancient seat of Islamic learning in Cairo. Discussion began in 1925, with a listing of the traditional qualifications for one who might hold the title khalifa: physically capable, from the tribe of Quraysh, knowledgeable in the sources of Shari'a, and so on. The scholars clearly sought a classical form of governance: a single ruler, legitimate by reason of acknowledgment of the Shari'a, governing in consultation with members of the learned class, establishing Islamic religion. Early in the discussion, a challenge emerged. 'Ali 'Abd al-Raziq, a younger scholar of considerable promise, published a treatise on Islamic government. Colleagues viewed the argument as revolutionary, or-to put the matter in more strictly Islamic terms-as an "innovation." The term was, and remains, negative.62

In one sense, al-Raziq's thesis was simple. The sources of Islam indicate the importance of just government. Indeed, they support the view that the establishment of just government is an obligation, and that all human beings are required to work toward this goal. Some texts indicate that this obligation flows from reason; others, that it is a matter of revelation. In any case, no one should argue with the judgment that Muslims are obligated to exert themselves in the service of establishing just and wise governance. That said (so al-Raziq argued), neither the Qur'an nor the sunna of the Prophet establishes a particular pattern of governance. True, the sources indicate that Muhammad exercised leadership in politics as well as religion, at least after the migration to Medina in 622. But his political leadership rested on a very different basis from his authority in religion. As Prophet, Muhammad was the recipient of divine revelation, by which God (through Muhammad) called people to faith and provided a discipline for the believers, establishing patterns of worship and ritual observance. As political leader, Muhammad derived his authority from his contemporaries' recognition of his trustworthiness and skill in managing affairs of state. Not least important in these considerations was his skill as a diplomat and a military leader. It was in view of these abilities that Muhammad's followers, as well as some non-Muslims, pledged loyalty to him in political and military affairs. And those who followed or succeeded him, holding the title of khalifa, attained that position on the basis of a similar set of worldly skills.

It is true (al-Raziq continued) that the rightly guided caliphs, meaning the first four successors to Muhammad, also commanded a certain respect in matters of religion. This authority, however, did not derive from a sense that they were somehow Muhammad's successors in the office of Prophet. Rather, the religious authority of Abu Bakr, 'Umar ibn al-Khattab, 'Uthman, and 'Ali ibn Abi Talib stemmed from their recognized status as significant companions of the Prophet, and thus from their familiarity with his sunna. Those who followed these early leaders and claimed the title khalifa were a diverse group. They did both some harm and some good, which is what one should expect from human beings attempting to fulfill their obligations. The community's acknowledgment of their leadership rested on recognition of their political and military skills. No one, al-Raziq asserted, should confuse authority in religion and authority in politics; they are distinct. The Muslim community should recognize this fact, and understand that restoration of the Ottoman caliphate, or of any other particular pattern of governance, is not a requirement of religion.

In one sense, al-Raziq's argument was not new. We have already seen that many Muslims regarded the Umayyads as "kings" rather than "caliphs:' The practice of hereditary rule, by which the eldest son of the ruling clan assumed his father's duties, in itself mitigates the claim that Muslims should be ruled by the best of each generation. In addition, for most purposes the authority of the learned and the authority of rulers did involve a de facto division of labor, and some of the latter regarded a certain distance between their craft and the practice of ruling as required de jure as well.Nevertheless,  a firestorm of criticism greeted al-Raziq's treatise. In 1931 al-Azhar declared it a forbidden book. Al-Raziq never advanced professionally; when he died in 1966 he still held a position equivalent to that of a graduate student instructor. Why this reaction?

One part of the explanation seems to be that al-Raziq's exploration of the sources went further than the al-Azhar scholars were prepared to go. It was one thing to criticize specific rulers like Mu'awiya, Yazid, al-Ma'mun, and others for shortcomings in politics or religion. It was another thing entirely to suggest that Muhammad's politicalleadership was not intrinsically connected with his authority as Prophet, or to suggest that the rightly guided caliphs' recognition as particularly outstanding associates or companions of the Prophet was important only with respect to their religious, and not their political, role. Al-Raziq himself was at great pains in his treatise to note that his argument went further than others', and that his thesis regarding the distinction between religious and political authority ran counter to the historical consensus of the 'ulama. Nevertheless, alRaziq was convinced that he was right, and said forcefully that the Muslim community would be better off if it followed his line rather than that of received tradition.

A second reason for the vigorous reaction to al-Raziq's treatise is closely related. The thesis that religion and politics are distinct, and that the Muslim community will do better to keep them so, was articulated at a time of great political ferment throughout the historical territory of Islam. As a scholar, al-Raziq made his points with great care. The argument is largely negative: Having examined the sources, he says, I think it highly probable that the consensus point of view is wrong. Others, more activist in nature, are busy putting the point into practice. If Muslims are not bound by the politics of the past, they are free to act on the notion that changing circumstances require new political arrangements. Precedents established by earlier generations do not bind the Muslim conscience. The point is to approximate justice in our own time, a goal that can (with all due respect to our predecessors) lead in new directions.

The reforms in Turkey, by which the post-Ottoman state was recast as a secular republic, present one example of this activist trend. In Egypt, the ferment surrounding the Wafd (Delegation) of Sa'ad Zaghlul Pasha and the struggle for independence from British domination present another. Those who viewed these developments as positive noted that the scholars of classical Islam took the best wisdom of their day and gave it an Islamic twist, and argued that Muslims thinking about political life in the 1920s should do the same. As reformers saw it, the forms of government associated with political success in the modern world were an admixture of monarchic and non-monarchic forms; some countries had written constitutions, others did not. All converged on one point, however: they capitalized on the gifts of all their citizens and built institutions designed to encourage full participation, insofar as possible. It is possible to speak of this as democracy, or as a matter of republican virtue. In any case, the implication (for the Muslim reformers) was that one must avoid models of governance that restricted power to the one or to the few. A modern state needed the contributions of all its population if it was to flourish.

'Abd al-Raziq's treatise thus coincided with the program of activists who suggested that Egypt, and by extension other historically Muslim states, should view the descriptive "Islamic" less as a matter of formal institutions, and more as a matter of the implementation of values of justice and equity. Such activists did not necessarily believe that modern politics required the kind of radical separation of religious and political institutions characteristic of the new Turkish republic. Some argued, for example, that states with Muslim majorities should recognize some sort of Islamic religious establishment, along the lines of England's recognition of the Anglican Church. And most supposed that the policies of a state in which Muslims constitute a majority would bear an Islamic stamp. The reformists' vision of the precise nature of Muslim influence differed. The one thing on which they agreed was that a state ought not to restrict or foreclose participation or debate by any of its citizens. Nor should any instantiation of the sentiments of a Muslim majority arbitrarily restrict the participation of non-Muslims. A modern state needed the contributions of each and all.

With these details, it is perhaps clearer why al-Raziq's thesis was startling. In one fell swoop, a scholar of al-Azhar, steeped in the sources of Shari'a reasoning, mitigated or did away with the priority of the classical model of political order. There need be no khilafat; no ruler dedicated to governance by the Shari'a; no consultation between a religious establishment and political leaders; and no priority for Muslims as the first citizens of an Islamic state. The logic of alRaziq's model can be taken further, so that the sense of mission that permeates the classical notion of order is altered. The Islamic community now exists as one among others, dedicated to the formation of individual conscience through education and persuasion, but drastically reduced with respect to the making of policy.

Al-Raziq's interpretation of the relevant sources did not develop in a vacuum. Muhammad 'Abduh had set the stage for much of the debate over the khilafat, and some of 'Abduh's fatawa lent themselves to the view that a modern state could not afford to forgo the contributions of any of its citizens. In Egypt, this meant that Coptic Christians, in particular, should receive rights and opportunities adequate to their participation as citizens. 'Abduh had also called for a reopening of some old theological debates, particularly with respect to the question "Does reason, apart from special revelation, give sound knowledge with respect to the basic precepts of social morality?" Although 'Abduh's discussion was circumspect, it seemed clear to many that his answer was yes, and that the many reservations classical theology associated with this question should be withdrawn or overridden. In the end, 'Abduh was willing to sacrifice much of the classical vision of order for the sake of al-maslaha, or public good.

On the opposite side, among those repudiating the reformer's treatise, one of the foremost critics was the venerable Rashid Rida, 'Abduh's student and close associate.63 Rida did not deny al-Raziq's central claim, that the sources of Shari'a did not establish a detailed plan of government. He did, however, deny that religion and politics could be distinguished as sharply as al-Raziq suggested. Arguing that politics required a moral grounding more extensive than the vague phrase "basic precepts of social morality;' Rida held that humanity was still in need of the superintendence of the Muslim community. Political order depended on a shared and secure sense of public morality; in turn, an adequate public morality depended on an establishment of true religion. And thus, Copts or Jews or other citizens of Egypt could benefit from the state's public acknowledgement of Islam.

Rida agreed that a modern state needs the contributions of all its citizens. But such an acknowledgment did not preclude the notion that those citizens have different contributions to make. Muslims, or at least those most knowledgeable in the sources and tradition of Shari'a reasoning, should provide leadership. Others, whose knowledge of religion and morality was less secure, should submit to the government of the best. That said, Rida argued for a kind of consultative or even a parliamentary khilafat, in which representatives of the people would deliberate about the course of policy. He was not entirely clear on the makeup of such a representative or consultative assembly. One might, for example, imagine an assembly in which a certain number of seats were assigned to Muslims, another number to Christians, and so on. Or one might imagine an assembly in which some members were elected to represent particular districts or interest groups, while others were members of the religious class, chosen by their peers at al-Azhar or other institutions of learning. Rida also thought for a time that the Muslim community could benefit from the establishment of a universal khilafat, which would serve in ways analogous to the Vatican; that is, it would control the holy cities of Mecca and Medina, oversee the pilgrimage, and, on occasion, intervene as a kind of primus inter pares authority in Shari'a debates. It would not, however, possess the kind of imperial political control wielded by the Abbasids or Ottoman or Mughal rulers. That kind of authority would be left to the more regional communities that Europeans and North Americans call nations.

In the end, Rida's arguments carried the al-Azhar debate. They did not translate into political reality, however. As Egypt struggled toward independence, the combination of a declining monarchy and a nascent, almost anarchic parliamentary democracy could not bring order quickly enough. Beginning in 1948, the military began to take control. When, in 1952, Gamal 'abd al-Nasr led an officers' revolt, the pattern followed ever since emerged: rule by a strongman, ready to recognize, limit, and/or dissolve parliament whenever he deems fit; a recognition of Islam as the official religion and the sources of Shari'a as primary for legislation, but with its role effectively circumscribed to deal with questions of marriage and divorce; official recognition of Coptic Christians and other minorities as equal under the law, but in practice laboring under more or less severe restrictions on religious practice and social opportunities; and finally, a way of regulating Islamic practice, including Shari'a debate, that ensures that its most vital expression takes place in private associations, outside the officially sanctioned public centers of learning.

Case Study P.5:

This last is signified, most importantly, by the movement known as ikhwan aI-muslim in, the Muslim Brothers, whose founder, Hasan al-Banna, established the movement almost at the very moment 'Ali 'abd al-Raziq published his controversial thesis.64 In 1928, as the learned at al-Azhar began their critique of al-Raziq, a high school instructor in an outlying town (Americans would call it "the boondocks") began his program of renewal. Members of the learned class would view Hasan al-Banna and his successors as ignorant and unreliable in the art of Shari'a reasoning.

 

The Islam Code P.1 of 3

The Islam Code P.3 of 3

 

1. For a brief introduction to Islamic philosophy, see Marshall G. S. Hodgson, The Venture of Islam, 3 vo1ls. (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1974), 1: 410-443. The volume edited by Seyyed Hossein Nasr and Oliver Leaman, History of Islamic Philosophy (London: Routledge, 1996), contains a number of useful entries.

2. Again, Hodgson, The Venture of Islam, provides a good introduction at 1: 444-472. Al-Jahiz’s Book of Misers is available in an English translation by R. B. Serjeant (New York: Garnet Education, 1998). See also The Life and Works of al-Jahiz, ed. Charles Pellat, trans. David Martin Hawke (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1969). Nizam al-Mulk, The Book of Government, or, Rules for Kings, 2d ed., trans. Hubert Darke (Boston: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1978), provides a good example of the “mirrors of princes” genre.

3. The most important scholarly treatments have been Ignaz Goldziher, Introduction to Islamic Theology and Law, trans. Andreas Hamori and Bernard Lewis (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1981); and Joseph Schacht, The Origins of Muhammadan Jurisprudence (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1951); idem, An Introduction to Islamic Law (1964; reprint, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1983). These older treatments are now supplemented by the various works ofWael Hallaq, among them A History of Islamic Legal Theories (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), The Origins and Evolution of Islamic Law (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004), and Authority, Continuity, and Change in Islamic Law (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005). Norman J. Calder, Studies in Early Muslim Jurisprudence (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1993), poses important questions about the dating of texts and, in general, the development of Shari’a discourse. A. Kevin Reinhart, “Islamic Law as Islamic Ethics;’ Journal of Religious Ethics 11, no. 2 (1983), 186-203, develops a perspective close to the one articulated here.

4. See George F. Hourani, Islamic Rationalism: The Ethics of ‘Abd alJabbar (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1971); idem, Reason and Tradition in Islamic Ethics (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1985); Richard M. Frank, Beings and Their Attributes (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1978); and Josef van Ess, The Flowering of Muslim Theology, trans. Jane Marie Todd (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2006).

5. In this early period, it appears that conversion involved adoption into one of the Arab clans. As Hodgson put it, Islam constituted the religious aspect of Arab identity; The Venture of Islam, 1: 206-230.

6. The various accounts of these incidents collected by al- Tabari indicate how controversial the struggle was for later generations; see The History of al- Tabari, 39 vols., ed. Ihsan Abbas et al. (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1989-1998), vol. IS, trans. R. Stephen Humphreys, 181 ff.

7. As translated in W. M. Watt, The Formative Period of Islamic Thought (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1973), 83.

8. Ibid.

9. Ibid.

10. Ibid.

11.Thus reinforcing the point that the application of such labels in the early period is problematic.

12. Watt, Formative Period, 75, 77-81. Watt emphasizes that al-Hasan’s opposition did not extend to approval of armed uprisings. In this, alHasan appears to be an advocate of the position that although a citizen should “omit to obey” an unjust or irreligious order, he or she is not to take this as a right to revolt.

13. For a brief description of John’s Dialogue between a Christian and a Saracen, see Harry Wolfson, The Philosophy of the Kalam (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1976), 129-131. John’s treatise is available in French and German translations: Jean Damascene, Ecrits sur l’Islam, ed. and trans. Raymond Le Cazr (Paris: Cerf, 1992),229251; and P. Bonafat Kotter, Die Schriften des Johannes von Damaskos (Berlin: W. de Gruyter, 1981),427-438.

14. See Al-Muwatta of Imam Malik Ibn Anas, trans. Aisha Abdurrahman Bewley (London: Kegan Paul, 1989).

15. The “Book on the Land Tax” has been translated into French: E.Fagnan, Le livre de l’impOt foncier (Paris: Paul Geuthner, 1921).

16. See Majid Khadduri, trans., The Islamic Law of Nations: Shaybani’s Siyar (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins Press, 1966), 1-74.

17. For analysis, see John Kelsay, “Al-Shaybani and the Islamic Law of War;’ Journal of Military Ethics 2, no. 1 (2003), 63-75.

18. Sees. 1419-20, in Khadduri, The Islamic Law of Nations, 236.

19. See The History of al- Tabari, vol. 30, trans. C. E. Bosworth, 125.

20. See the translation by Majid Khadduri, Islamic Jurisprudence: Shafi’i’s Risala (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins Press, 1961).

21. As demonstrated in the various works cited in note 3, above.

22. Sec. I, in Khadduri, Islamic Jurisprudence, 57-58; translation modified.

23. See. 10, ibid., 64, citing Qur’an 41:41-42.

24. See. 11, ibid., 66.

25. Sees. 12-28, ibid., 67-80.

26. Sees. 54-85, ibid., 88-108.

27. See. 86, ibid., 109.

28. Sees. 100-131, ibid., 123-145.

29. The collections of Muslim (d. 874) and of al-Bukhari (d. 870) are particularly favored, though those of al-Nisa’i (d. 915), Abu Da’ud (d. 888), al-Tirmidhi (d. 892), and Ibn Maja (d. 866) are used, as are works like those by Malik ibn Anas (Al-Muwatta) and Ahmad ibn Hanbal (Al-Musnad). The “chain;’ as the term implies, is simply a list of names of those who “heard” and, in successive generations, related a particular report. The trustworthiness of such transmitters would become a critical issue between Sunni and Shi’i scholars. See J. Robson, “Hadith;’ in Encyclopedia of Islam, 2d ed., 12 vols., ed. E. van Donzel, Bernard Lewis, and Charles Pellat (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1978), 3: 23-38.

30. Sec. 592, in Khadduri, Islamic Jurisprudence, 310.

31. As the text of Risala makes clear, al-Shafi’i is wary of the idea that communal consensus establishes a valid claim. For him, guidance comes from reading and applying the texts of the Qur’an and the sunna. He supposes that there may be cases for which he and other scholars do not know the textual precedents related to an established practice; if that practice is regarded by the entire Muslim community as valid, then there must be a text, and it has somehow been “lost:’ Later generations of the learned would apply the notion of consensus to the “consensual judgment” or “opinion” of the established schools of Shari’a reasoning. This is something different from the consensus mentioned byal-Shafi’i.

32. In general, see selections in H. Gerth and C. Wright Mills, eds. and trans., From Max Weber (New York: Oxford University Press, 1946), especially “The Social Psychology of the World’s Religions” (267301) and “Politics as a Vocation” (77-128). David Little, “Max Weber and the Comparative Study of Religious Ethics;’ Journal of Religious Ethics 2, no. 2 (1974),5-40, informs much of my approach to the religious-ethical dimensions of religious traditions (in this case, Islam).

33. See Hodgson, The Venture of Islam, 1: 389-390,473-481.

34. Given that Twelver Shi’i texts present al-Rida as the eighth Imam, it might be appropriate to interpret al-Ma’mun as reaching out to the partisans of ‘Ali, though it is still too early to speak of a developed form of Shi’i piety. Twe1ver doctrine would eventually mirror the positions of the Mu’tazila in the matter of the “created” Qur’an, as in most matters. See the important treatise of al-Muhaqqiq al-Hilli (d. 1277), translated by William McElwee Miller as AI-Babu ‘l-Hadi ‘Ashar: A Treatise on the Principles of Shi’ite Theology (London: Royal Asiatic Society, 1928).

35. See, among others, Hourani, Islamic Rationalism; H. S. Nyberg, “AlMu’tazila;’ in Shorter Encyclopedia of Islam, ed. H. A. R. Gibb and J. H. Kramers (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1953); Watt, Formative Period, 209253; and John Kelsay, “Religion and Morality in Islam” (Ph.D. diss., University of Virginia, 1985),235-262.

36. See Frank, Beings and Their Attributes; Daniel Gimaret, Theories de l’acte humain en theologie musulmane (Paris: J. Vrin, 1980); Josef van Ess, Fruhe Mu’tazilitische Haresiographe (Beirut: Imprimerie Catholique, 1971); idem, “Early Development of Kalam;’ in Studies on the First Century of Islamic Society, ed. G. H. A. Juynboll (Carbondale: Southern Illinois University Press, 1982).

37. J. R. T. M. Peters, God’s Created Speech: A Study in the Speculative Theology of the Mu’tazili Qadi l-qudat Abul-Hasan ‘Abd al-Jabbar ibn al-Hamadani (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1976).

38. See Harry A. Wolfson, The Philosophy of the Kalam (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1976); and the work of John of Damascus, cited above, note 13.

39. For more information on Ahmad ibn Hanbal and the controversy of the mihna, or test, see John Kelsay, “Divine Commands and Social Order: The Case of Classical Islam;’ Annual of the Society of Christian Ethics 10 (1990), 63-80; and, more recently, Michael Cook, Commanding Right and Forbidding Wrong in Islamic Thought (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001), 87-113.

40. See above, note 29.

41. Cook, Commanding Right and Forbidding Wrong, 113.

42. Imran Ahsan Khan Nyazee, The Distinguished Jurist’s Primer: A Translation of Bidayat al-Mujtahid, 2 vols. (New York: Garnet Education, 1995), 1: xliii-xlxix.

43. Ibid., xiii and xiv.

44. Ibid., xlvi.

45. Ibid.

46. The work of these and others is discussed at length in Abdulaziz Sachedina, The Just Ruler in Shi’ite Islam (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1988).

47. The term “designated” approximates the Arabic al-nass, which carries with it the notion that the object is set apart, in this case by exemplary learning and piety, and that the leader is thus “elevated” (alma’sum) so as to be divinely protected from the commission of serious sin. The doctrine of the imamate, or leadership, is perhaps the most characteristic feature of the various Shi’i groups, all of which agreed on the principle that God appoints one leader for every generation, and that it is the duty of the faithful to seek out that person and, upon finding him, to provide support. In general, see Abdulaziz A. Sachedina, Islamic Messianism: The Idea of the Mahdi in Twelver Shi’ism (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1981).

48. Thus grew up the distinctively Shi’i mode of scholarship known as ‘ilm al-rijal, the science of the men, whose names appear in chains of transmission. For a description of this practice, see Liyakat N. Takim, The Heirs of the Prophet: Charisma and Religious Authority in Shi’ite Islam (Albany: State University of New York Press, 2006).

49. See the many works purporting to explain the role of Shi’i history and doctrine in the events leading up to the Iranian revolution of 1978-79, and the establishment of the Islamic Republic of Iran. Particularly helpful are Abdulaziz A. Sachedina, “Activist Shi’ism in Iran, Iraq, and Lebanon;’ in Fundamentalisms Observed, ed. Martin M. Marty and R. Scott Appleby (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1994), 403-456; Said Arnir Arjomand, The Shadow of God and the Hidden Imam (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1987); and Roy Mottahedeh, The Mantle of the Prophet (Oxford: Oneworld Publications,2000).

50. Shi’i theology is, on most matters, consonant with the Mu’tazili position. Thus the “trust” assigned to human beings in Qur’an 33:72 is said to include a knowledge of the most basic principles of religion and morality. Further, this knowledge establishes human responsibility before God. In one sense, the affirmation of reason as a source by which humans may comprehend the Shari’a simply follows from this.

51. Spain, or al-Andalus, came under Islamic rule in the late seventh century and remained so until the late Middle Ages. On al-Wansharisi’s response to this episode, see Khaled Abou El Fadl, “The Legal Debates on Muslim Minorities: Between Rejection and Accommodation;’ Journal of Religious Ethics 22, no. 1 (1994), esp. 137-138.

52. On Shah Wali Allah, and also on the opinion of ‘Abd al- ‘Aziz, see works by S. A. A. Rizvi, in particular Shah Wali-Allah and His Times (Canberra: Ma’rifat Publishing House, 1980) and Shah ‘Abd al- ‘Aziz: Puritanism, Sectarian Polemics, and jihad (Canberra: Ma’rifat Publishing House, 1982).

53. See the important study by Barbara Daly Metcalf, Islamic Revival in British India: Deoband, 1860-1900 (New York: Oxford University Press, 2004).

54. On the membership and program of the former group, see Mumtaz Ahmad, “Islamic Fundamentalism in South Asia: The Jamaat-i-Islami and the Tablighi Jamaat;’ in Marty and Appleby, Fundamentalisms Observed, 457-530. For an influential account of the Taliban, see Ahmed Rashid, Taliban: Militant Islam, Oil, and Fundamentalism in Central Asia (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2000).

55. See, among others, Christine Moss Helms, The Cohesion of Saudi Arabia (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1980).

56. See Ann K. S. Lambton, “A Nineteenth-Century View of Jihad;’ Studia Islamica 32 (1970), 180-192.

57. See the account in Christian Troll, Sayyid Ahmad Khan (College Park, Md.: Prometheus, 1978).

58. See Nikki R. Keddie, An Islamic Response to Imperialism: Political and Religious Writings of Sayyid Jamal aI-Din “AI-Afghani” (Berkeley:
University of California Press, 1983). Keddie and others suggest that Jamal al-Din’s place of birth and his education were in Iran, and thus that he was probably a Shi’i Muslim of the Twelver School. This would provide a partial explanation for some of his approach, which emphasizes the correlation or complementarity between reason and revelation. If Keddie is correct, then the adaptation of al-Afghani (that is, pointing to Afghanistan as his place of birth), with its suggestion of a Sunni affiliation, would be a way of avoiding obstacles reflecting historic polemics between the two great branches of Islamic tradition.

59. See the accounts in Albert Hourani, Arabic Thought in the Liberal Age, 1798-1939 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983); and Hamid Enayat, Modern Islamic Political Thought (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1982); as well as Malcolm Kerr, Islamic Reform: The Political and Legal Theories of Muhammad cAbduh and Rashid Rida (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1966).

60. David Fromkin, A Peace to End All Peace (New York: Avon Books, 1990), does a good job of chronicling the political arrangements negotiated by the European powers, and thus of setting the context for Islamic developments.

61. See Muhammad Iqbal, The Reconstruction of Religious Thought in Islam (1929; reprint, Chicago: Kazi Publications, 1999).

62. Al-Raziq’s treatise, AI-Islam wa usul al-hukm (Islam and the Fundamentals of Government), is available in a French translation by Abdou Filali Ansary, L’Islam et les fondements du pouvoir (Paris: Editions la Decouverte, 1994); and in English as part of the 1928 dissertation by Charles Clarence Adams at the University of Chicago, “The Modern Reform Movement in Egypt and the Caliphate.”

63. See the discussions in Hourani, Arabic Thought in the Liberal Age; and in Enayat, Modern Islamic Political Thought.

64. The best account is still Richard Mitchell’s 1969 study, The Society of the Muslim Brothers (reprint, New York: Oxford University Press, 1993). Also see Five Tracts of Hasan al-Banna (1906-1949), trans. Charles Wendell (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1978).

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