Maḥmūd Shaltūt and Islamic Modernism [Hardcover ed.] 0198263309, 9780198263302

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Maḥmūd Shalt=ut and Islamic Modernism Kate Zebiri

Print publication date: 1993 Print ISBN-13: 9780198263302 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: October 2011 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198263302.001.0001

Title Pages (p.i) Maḥmūd Shaltūt and Islamic Modernism (p.ii) (p.iii) Maḥmūd Shaltūt and Islamic Modernism

(p.iv) This book has been printed digitally and produced in a standard specification in order to ensure its continuing availability

Great Clarendon Street, Oxford OX2 6DP Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford. It furthers the University’s objective of excellence in research, scholarship, and education by publishing worldwide in Oxford New York Auckland Bangkok Buenos Aires Cape Town Chennai Dar es Salaam Delhi Hong Kong Istanbul Karachi Kolkata Kuala Lumpur Madrid Melbourne Mexico City Mumbai Nairobi São Paulo Shanghai Singapore Taipei Tokyo Toronto with an associated company in Berlin Oxford is a registered trade mark of Oxford University Press in the UK and in certain other countries Published in the United States by Oxford University Press Inc., New York Page 1 of 2

Title Pages © Kate Zebiri 1993 The moral rights of the author have been asserted Database right Oxford University Press (maker) Reprinted 2002 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of Oxford University Press, or as expressly permitted by law, or under terms agreed with the appropriate reprographics rights organization. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside the scope of the above should be sent to the Rights Department, Oxford University Press, at the address above You must not circulate this book in any other binding or cover and you must impose this same condition on any acquirer ISBN 0-19-826330-9

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Preface

Maḥmūd Shalt=ut and Islamic Modernism Kate Zebiri

Print publication date: 1993 Print ISBN-13: 9780198263302 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: October 2011 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198263302.001.0001

(p.v) Preface WHILE there has been a plethora of works on the recent Islamic ‘resurgence’, there has been relatively little analysis of exactly what it is that is resurgent. Since Maḥmūd Shaltūt wrote up until the early 1960s, and his work has continued to be republished and distributed up to the present, this study should help to shed some light, if not on the causes of that phenomenon (for that is the task of the sociologist), then on some of the ontological and epistemological assumptions underlying modern Islamic thought and consciousness. Shaltūt was, by virtue of his position and popularity, both separate from and yet part of the larger Muslim community. He was a prominent Muslim leader, distinguished by his scholarly accomplishments, yet at the same time he was in harmony with the majority of educated practising Sunnī Muslims in many of his opinions and sentiments. Shaltūt’s multifarious roles as teacher, reformer, preacher, jurist, muftī and Qur’ānic commentator provide an opportunity to explore various dimensions of Islam as seen from within. Chapter 3 describes, through Shaltūt’s eyes, something approximating to an Islamic ‘world view’, and depicts some of the intellectual and emotional tensions experienced by large numbers of Muslims today, while Chapter 4 illustrates the conscious attempt of Islamic thinkers to meet specific challenges in the modern age. Chapters 5 and 6 focus on Shaltūt’s contribution to different aspects of Islamic legal thought: the scholarly, theorybased discipline of fiqh, and the more practical dispensation of religious guidance through the medium of fatwās. Chapters 7 and 8, as well as analysing Shaltūt’s own contribution to tafsīr, explore modern developments within that discipline generally.

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Preface This study is primarily textually and theoretically based; however, the introductory chapter on Shaltūt’s life and reform work attempts to place him in a socio-political and historical perspective, and in later sections where specific social and legal issues are (p.vi) touched on it has often seemed relevant to refer to social realities in Egypt and the Muslim world generally. Indeed, many of Shaltūt’s writings are clearly influenced by (and seek to influence) his sociocultural environment. While giving due weight to this consideration, I make no apology for the fact that Shaltūt is studied here primarily as a religious thinker. Much of the groundwork for the present study was done between 1985 and 1988, in the course of a Ph.D. thesis which was submitted to the University of London. I owe a debt of gratitude to Dr Muhammad Abdel Haleem of the School of Oriental and African Studies for his patient supervision of that thesis, and moral support throughout. I would also like to thank the British Academy for providing the financial support which made that research possible. I am grateful to the editor of the Oxford Journal of Islamic Studies for allowing me to publish excerpts from my article on Shaltūt which appeared in July 1991, and the editor of the Maghreb Review for allowing me to publish, with some modifications, my article on Shaltūt’s fatwās which appeared in Volume 16 (1991), Nos. 1 and 2. For the benefit of the non-Arabist, a glossary of Arabic terms used can be found at the end of the text. All terms (with the exception of a few very basic ones) are translated in the text at their first mention. K.Z.

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Note on Transliteration and Qur’ānic Translation

Maḥmūd Shalt=ut and Islamic Modernism Kate Zebiri

Print publication date: 1993 Print ISBN-13: 9780198263302 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: October 2011 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198263302.001.0001

(p.viii) Note on Transliteration and Qur’ānic Translation THE system of Arabic transliteration followed here is the same as that in the International Journal of Middle Eastern Studies; aw and ay are preferred over au and ai for the diphthongs. Most of the Qur’ānic translations are my own, but they are sometimes based on those of N. J. Dawood or Marmaduke Pickthall.

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Abbreviations

Maḥmūd Shalt=ut and Islamic Modernism Kate Zebiri

Print publication date: 1993 Print ISBN-13: 9780198263302 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: October 2011 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198263302.001.0001

Abbreviations BSOAS Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies EI2 Encyclopaedia of Islam, New Edition IJMES International Journal of Middle Eastern Studies JRAS Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society MEA Middle Eastern Affairs MEJ Middle East Journal MIDEO Mélanges de l’Institut Dominicain d’Etudes Orientales du Caire REI Revue des Etudes Islamiques

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Introduction

Maḥmūd Shalt=ut and Islamic Modernism Kate Zebiri

Print publication date: 1993 Print ISBN-13: 9780198263302 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: October 2011 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198263302.001.0001

Introduction KATE ZEBIRI

DOI:10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198263302.003.0001

Abstract and Keywords This introductory chapter explains the coverage of this book, which is about the contribution of Egyptian Islamic scholar Shaykh Maḥmūd Shaltūt to Islamic modernism. Shaltūt's vision of Islam is universalistic and he always sought to address contemporary problems from within an Islamic framework and to make the fruits of the Islamic tradition accessible to ordinary Muslims. He was also involved in reform issues and was one of the pioneers of the movement for the conciliation between the schools of law. Keywords:   Maḥmūd Shaltūt, Islamic modernism, Islam, Islamic traditions, Muslims, religious reform

FOR the last five years of his life, Shaykh Maḥmūd Shaltūt held the highest religious office in Sunnī Islam: that of Shaykh al-Azhar (Rector of the Azhar).1 Although this distinction has undoubtedly enhanced the significance and popularity of his work, his contribution to modern Islamic scholarship, in particular his work on Islamic law and Qur’ānic exegesis, also stands on its own merits. It is my hope that this work will help to fill a lacuna within modern Islamic studies, since no single ῾ālim (traditional Islamic scholar) of this century, with the obvious exception of Muhammad ῾Abduh,2 has hitherto attracted much attention, and quite apart from the value of following up his legacy among the religious scholars, the generally held view that there has been no thinker from this class worthy of more than passing mention requires reassessment.

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Introduction There are a number of studies which concern themselves with the role of the ῾ulamā’ (Islamic scholars) in society this century, usually focusing on their social and religious influence in a given country, for example, Egypt, Saudi Arabia, Pakistan, and of course Iran.3 However, there are very few works which provide an analysis of the Islamic thought of ῾ulamā’ either individually or collectively.4 On Shaltūt himself, the secondary sources are few and far between; indeed, I have found nothing substantial in Arabic at all. In European scholarship he features mainly in works on reform of the Azhar, most notably Wolf-Dieter Lemke’s Maḥmūd Šaltūt (1893–1963) und die Reform der Azhar.5 He is given brief mention in the works of Crecelius, Eccel, and Lazarus-Yafeh, and short selections from his works have been translated into European languages.6 His name most commonly occurs in connection with issues which are considered socially or politically relevant, such as (in addition to Azhar reform) socialism or birth-control, while his substantial contribution to religious scholarship or Islamic thought per se is neglected. When one considers the reasons for this lacuna as regards the (p.2) thought of the ῾ulamā’ many possible causes come to mind. The most obvious is that on the whole, it has been thought that any original, creative thinking is far more likely to come from outside the ranks of the ῾ulamā’ Consequently, there have been numerous studies on the ‘liberal intellectuals’ of the earlier twentieth century such as Ṭāhā Ḥusayn, Muḥammad Ḥusayn Haykal, Aḥmad Amīn, and others,7 while other studies have focused on radical Islamic activists such as Sayyid Quṭb or Abu’l A῾la Mawdudi, less for the quality or significance of their intellectual thought than for the impact they had on their social and political environment.8 Leaving aside the exceptional case of the Shī῾ī ῾ulamā’ of Iran, the general decline in the status of the ῾ulamā’ which has occurred particularly in this century is undeniable, and the causes are not hard to identify. Since Muḥammad ‘Alī initiated the painful process of modernization in Egypt in the early nineteenth century, simultaneously undermining the economic independence of the ῾ulamā’ and founding modern institutions which aimed to bypass rather than supplant the traditional religious institutions (a process which has been paralleled in other Muslim countries), their sphere of influence has progressively dwindled.9 Their reaction to the threatening external forces of modernization has typically been a dual response of ‘opposition and withdrawal’.10 Ill-equipped to confront the forces of modernity or engage in any meaningful debate on the issues at stake, their overriding concern was to preserve their own autonomy. Their opposition to the modernizing policies of successive Governments was political and pragmatic rather than ideological, arising from the threat to their own status and interests rather than from opposition to modernization per se.11

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Introduction More recently the ῾ulamā’ have found themselves under attack from all sides; while on the one hand the secularizing elites continue to accuse the ῾ulamā’ of being reactionary and medievalist, on the other hand the radical Islamists pour scorn on their failure to provide decisive leadership for the Muslim masses, and their subservience to the ruling authorities.12 Modernists and fundamentalists alike assert that there is no ‘priesthood’ in Islam, and challenge the ‘ulamā’’s monopoly on interpreting Islam. Under the pressures of modernity, the ῾ulamā’ have been unable to maintain their traditional stance of ambivalence towards temporal authority: that of seeking to remain aloof from the vicissitudes of politics while still influencing the major social institutions.13 Instead, (p.3) even in Saudi Arabia, where the ῾ulamā’ enjoy a privileged status as the guardians of the Wahhābī-based ideology, they have increasingly come under the bureaucratic control of the Government. In Egypt, the course of events since the Free Officers’ revolution of 1952 has resulted in an even greater degree of subservience. The processes by which Jamāl ‘Abd al-Nāṣir sought to ‘nationalize’ Islam will be described in Chapter 2; the significant development to be noted here is the fact that instead of seeking explicitly to further the process of secularization or marginalize Islamic institutions, the State now sought to assume direct responsibility for the reinterpretation of Islam. In this enterprise the ῾ulamā’ were expected to follow rather than lead, and many were in fact prepared to write in praise of ‘Islamic socialism’, etc.14 In the light of the foregoing, it may appear that the ῾ulamā’ have an increasingly small contribution to make to contemporary Muslim society. However, this would be to deny the importance of traditional Islam for the vast majority of the Muslim population and, by implication, their continuing respect for its traditional guardians, the ῾ulamā’.15 In many areas they still enjoy a popular legitimacy envied by rulers. They continue to act as ‘culture brokers’ in their various roles of preachers, muftīs, teachers, and spiritual mentors generally.16

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Introduction Notwithstanding the fact that the ῾ulamā’ are no longer the only socially recognized carriers of religious learning, and notwithstanding changing attitudes to knowledge and a new ‘intellectual technology’,17 there is still a widespread feeling that it is only the ῾ulamā’ who can preserve the vital link with the past. The cultural dichotomy which has plagued Muslim societies in this century, and which has been both the cause and the effect of a dichotomy in educational and legal institutions, has resulted in a shortage of the kind of people who, it is generally recognized, are needed to reformulate aspects of the Islamic tradition in response to the complex challenges of the modern age: those who have both a thorough grounding in the content of the traditional religious learning, and an extensive knowledge of the modern world.18 In the absence of such a class, the ῾ulamā’ continue to be the sole custodians of the undoubtedly rich heritage of traditional Islam; as Gibb commented in 1945: ‘The future of Islam rests where it has rested in the past—on the insight of the orthodox leaders and their capacity to resolve the new tensions as they arise by a positive (p.4) doctrine which will face and master the forces making for disintegration.’19 Enayat points out that the procedure by which a thinker has arrived at an idea should be given as much weight as the idea itself. It is not enough to extol a writer for his brave new ideas without first ascertaining the extent to which his credal, epistemological and methodological premises have ensured the continuity of Islamic thought. Otherwise, one is apt to allow fascination with novelty to keep oneself from differentiating what is germane from what is extraneous to Islamic culture.20 Despite recent vicissitudes in its fortunes, the Azhar has maintained its position as the oldest and most prestigious centre of Islamic learning, and is still regarded as the main centre of religious and spiritual leadership for Sunnī Muslims. Although its autonomy was severely undermined by the 1961 Reform Law (to be discussed in Chapter 2), the decline in its status domestically was offset by a higher profile abroad. Successive Governments have been keen to make use of the Azhar’s prestige and promote its role internationally; it now hosts many pan-Islamic conferences, and continues to receive international student missions and to send representatives abroad. Its Fatwā Commission, inaugurated in 1935, answers the queries of Muslims from all over the Islamic world.21 Crecelius commented in 1966 that in spite of the redistribution of some of his functions and powers in the 1961 law, the position of al-Azhar’s Shaykh as the pre-eminent religious scholar in Egypt, his important ceremonial functions and the special aura surrounding his person were all retained. As the head of this venerable 1000 year old institution the Shaykh al-Azhar today enjoys a dignity and importance unmatched by any Sunnī ‘ālim in the world of Islam.22

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Introduction This observation is significant in its implications for the importance of Shaltūt’s work. He had already established a reputation as an Islamic scholar through works published during the years preceding his appointment to the Rectorship. But the fact that he occupied that position for the last five years of his life must have greatly enhanced both the popularity and authority of his work, and the number of editions of his books that have been and continue to be published posthumously bear witness to this. Shaltūt is in fact cited as possibly the bestknown author from among the Shaykhs of the Azhar, second only to ‘Abd alḤalīm Maḥmūd (Shaykh al-Azhar, 1973–9) as regards his academic productivity.23 One scholar singles him out as the only ‘ālim in this (p.5) century apart from Muhammad ‘Abduh who is popularly regarded in Egypt as having the status of mujtahid (one who is qualified to apply reasoning in legal thought).24 Unlike certain of his predecessors such as Muṣṭafā ‘Abd al-Rāziq and ‘Abd alRaḥmān Tāj (who held the Rectorship from 1945–7 and 1954–8 respectively), Shaltūt neither learned a European language nor travelled to a European country. Naturally he was aware in a general way of some of the attacks which had been directed against Islam by Western or Westernized thinkers, and of the influence of Western culture particularly on young Muslims, but he was not involved in Orientalist-Muslim polemics. This situation entailed both advantages and disadvantages. On the plus side, he was able to convey a sense of confidence in the self-sufficiency of Islamic society and culture;25 his work was not dominated by the need to justify Islamic precepts in the light of the values prevalent in Western societies, and therefore did not suffer from the pitfalls and flaws of apologetic literature.26 Nor did he suffer from the unbearable ‘strain of double-mindedness’ which Gibb cites as a reason for some modernists ending up as ‘ultra-orthodox bigots’.27 On the debit side, it may have meant that he was in a sense preaching to the converted; he was not equipped to build bridges between East and West, or to ‘rescue’ those who had already been seduced from the fold of Islam by the attractions of Western civilization (notwithstanding his painful awareness of that phenomenon).28 Shaltūt concentrated his energies on Islam and the Muslim community, and his work represents part of the internal debate among Muslims.

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Introduction Although Shaltūt studied neither foreign cultures nor (beyond the minimum curricular requirements) philosophy or mysticism, his outlook was not narrow or parochial. He was deeply concerned with communicating his knowledge to ordinary Muslims and with its application to contemporary problems; he was unusually active among Shaykhs of the Azhar in broadcasting and publishing in newspapers and journals.29 He strove to de-mystify the Islamic sciences, for example quoting sources and underlying reasons in his fatwās (formal legal opinions) rather than giving bare answers to the questions asked. In addition to his scholarly activities he was involved in reform issues which affected not only the Azhar but Muslims world-wide; he was one of the pioneers of the movement for al-taqrīb bayna al-madhāhib (the conciliation between the schools of law), and worked hard to improve Sunnī-Shī῾ī relations. (p.6) It will be seen in the course of this study that although Shaltūt is in many ways a product of his traditional education, he is also one of the heirs to the modernist tradition initiated by Muhammad ῾Abduh. His writings reflect various elements of modern Islamic consciousness, at times demonstrating the scholarly sobriety of the traditionalist, at others the rationalism and pragmatism of the modernist, and at yet others the moral zeal of the so-called fundamentalist.30 The various psychological phases through which the Islamic world has passed in the last hundred or so years are also discernible: Islam defensive, ‘nationalist’ Islam, Third-World5 Islam, Islam resurgent. Shaltūt’s vision of Islam is universalistic; he seeks to address contemporary problems from within an Islamic framework, and to make the fruits of the Islamic tradition accessible to ordinary Muslims. At the same time he is heir to the ‘wise tolerance of Islamic tradition’,31 a modern-day carrier of the ‘high tradition’ of Islam or what may be termed ‘normative’ Islam. His thought is authentically Islamic by any accepted criteria. Notes:

(1.) The Azhar, which is said to be the oldest university in the world, was originally founded in the 10th century by the Shī ῾ī Fatimid dynasty, but reverted to Sunnī control two centuries later to become, somewhat ironically, the most prestigious centre of religious authority and learning in the Sunnī Islamic world.

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Introduction (2.) Although the far-reaching influence of ῾Abduh is undoubted, monographs on his work have drawn attention to the weaknesses and inconsistencies in his thought. Cf. Malcolm H. Kerr: ‘The teachings of ῾Abduh and his circle rested on intellectual foundations that were, on the whole, vague and unsystematic. Their social and psychological impact was immense, but it was ambiguous’, in Islamic Reform: The Political and Legal Theories of Muhammad ῾Abduh and Rashīd Riḍā (Berkeley, 1966). Other published works on ῾Abduh include C. C. Adams, Islam and Modernism in Egypt: A Study of the Reform Movement Inaugurated by Muḥammad ‘Abduh (London, 1933), Z. Badawi, The Reformers of Egypt (London, 1978), and E. Kedourie, Afghani and ‘Abduh: An Essay on Religious Unbelief and Political Activism in Modern Islam (Cass, 1966). (3.) The most comprehensive study on Sunnī ῾ulamā’ is Daniel Crecelius, ‘The Ulama and the State in Modern Egypt’ (unpublished Ph.D. diss., Princeton, 1967); see also on Saudi Arabia: A. Bligh, –The Saudi Religious Elite as Participant in the Political System’, IJMES 17 (1985), 37–50, and J. Kechichian, ‘The role of the Ulama in the politics of an Islamic State: the Case of Saudi Arabia’, IJMES 18 (1986), 53–71; on Pakistan: I. H. Qureshi, Ulema in Politics (Karachi, 1972); in the case of Iran sources are too numerous to mention, since any work which deals with post-revolutionary Iran can scarcely avoid discussion of the role of the ῾ulamā’. (4.) Hava Lazarus-Yafeh has written several articles which focus on the thought of religious scholars, including ‘Contemporary Religious Thought among the ῾Ulamā’ of Al-Azhar’, and ‘Modern Muslim Attitudes toward the Ka῾ba, and the Hadjdj: The Rise of Neo-Fundamentalism in Islam’ in his collection of articles entitled Some Religious Aspects of Islam (Leiden, 1981), and ‘Muhammad Mutawalli al-Sha῾rawi—A Portrait of a Contemporary ῾Alim in Egypt’, in G. Warburg and U. Kupferschmidt (eds.), Islam, Nationalism and Radicalism in Egypt and the Sudan (New York, 1983); selections of writings by religious scholars are often included in anthologies on modern Islamic thought such as those edited by Karpat, Donahue and Esposito, and Morgan, mentioned in n. 6. (5.) Frankfurt, 1980. However, this work concentrates exclusively on the history of reform within the Azhar and has no reference to Shaltūt’s scholarship and religious writings.

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Introduction (6.) His article entitled ‘Islam and Socialism’ (originally published in the Egyptian daily ‘Al-Jumhūriyya’ 22 Dec. 1961), seems to have attracted most attention; it has been translated into French in Orient, 5 (1961), No. 20, 163–84, and in abridged form into English in K. H. Karpat (ed.), Political and Social Thought in the Contemporary Middle East (London, 1968), and J. Donahue and J. Esposito (eds.), Islam in Transition: Muslim Perspectives (New York, 1982). His treatise on the Qur’ān and fighting is translated into English in Rudolph Peters’ Jihad in Mediaeval and Modern Islam (Leiden, 1977), and a specially commissioned article entitled ‘Islamic Beliefs and Code of Laws’ is contained in K. W. Morgan (ed.), Islam—The Straight Path: Islam Interpreted by Muslims (New York, 1958). There is also a review of his Al-Islām: ῾Aqīda wa-Sharī ‘a: Yves Linant de Bellefonds, ‘A propos d’un livre récent du recteur d’al-Azhar’, in Orient, 5 (1961), No. 19, 27–42. (7.) Notable examples are Nadav Safran, Egypt in Search of Political Community (London, 1961), esp. chs 9–11, A. Hourani, Arabic Thought in the Liberal Age, 1798–1939 (London, 1970), esp. chs 7, 8, 11 and 12, and C. D. Smith, ‘The “Crisis of Orientation”: The Shift of Egyptian Intellectuals to Islamic Subjects in the 1930s’, in IJMES 4 (1973), 382–410. (8.) See inter alia, on Sayyid Qutb: I. Abu Rabi, ‘Sayyid Qutb: From Religious Realism to Radical Social Criticism’, Islamic Quarterly, 28 (1984), 103–26, Y. Haddad, ‘Sayyid Qutb: Ideologue of Islamic Revival’, in J. Esposito (ed.), Voices of a Resurgent Islam (New York, 1983); on Mawdudi: Charles C. Adams, ‘Mawdudi and the Islamic State’, in Esposito (ed.), Voices, Aziz Ahmad, ‘Mawdudi and Orthodox Fundamentalism in Pakistan’, MEJ 21 (1967), 369–80, and A. Rashid Moten, ‘Pure and Practical Ideology: The Thought of Mawlana Mawdudi’, Islamic Quarterly 28 (1984), 217–40; on both: Youssef M. Choueiri, Islamic Fundamentalism (London, 1990). (9.) See particularly D. Crecelius, ‘The Course of Secularization in Modern Egypt’, in J. Esposito (ed.), Islam and Development: Religion and Sociopolitical Change (New York, 1980), for a more detailed description of this process. (10.) This phrase is from Crecelius, ‘Nonideological Responses of the Egyptian Ulama to Modernization’, in N. Keddie, Scholars, Saints and Sufis (Los Angeles, 1972), 186. (11.) See Crecelius, ‘Nonideological Responses’, 185.

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Introduction (12.) Cf. E. Sivan, ‘῾Ulamā’ and Power’, in E. Sivan, Interpretations of Islam: Past and present (Princeton, NJ, 1985), 107: ‘They are taken to task for contemporary failures as well as for those in the faraway past; they can be held responsible not only for the evils of present society but also for the evils of Muslim society throughout history.’ For a description of the attitude of the Muslim Brothers to the Azhar ῾ulamā’, see R. P. Mitchell, The Society of the Muslim Brothers (London, 1969), 211–12. (13.) See E. Sivan, ‘῾Ulamā’ and Power’ for a historical discussion of the ῾ulamā’’s evolving relationship with temporal authorities. (14.) See Hamid Enayat, Modern Islamic Political Thought (repr. Hong Kong, 1986), 118. (15.) Cf. Dale Eickelman, The Middle East: An Anthropological Approach (Englewood Cliffs, NJ, 1989), 305: ‘One pervasive element in Islam as a religious tradition is respect for those aspects of belief and ritual which are considered to be fixed and enduring.’ See also Crecelius, ‘Course of Secularization’, 70: ‘Traditional beliefs, practices, and values reign supreme among Egypt’s teeming village population and among the majority of its urban masses. It should be emphasized that adherence to tradition is not confined to any single class or group of occupations, but is characteristic of a broad spectrum of all Egyptian social classes.’ (16.) Leonard Binder mentions ‘the rapport which persists between the ulama and the majority of the Muslim population’ in Ideological Revolution in the Middle East (New York, 1964), 24. Richard T. Antoun, in his Muslim Preacher in the Modern World (Princeton, NJ, 1989) gives a fascinating insight into the complex role of the local preacher. With regard to the possible influence of the processes of modernization and secularization on Islamic belief and practice in the village setting, he warns observers against a ‘too firm faith in the power of states and the influence of political elites’—244. (17.) See Antoun, Muslim Preacher, 265–8, and Eickelman, Middle East, 315, for a description of these changes. (18.) Seyyed Hossein Nasr, ‘The Western World and its Challenges to Islam’, in K. Ahmad (ed.), Islam: Its Meaning and Message (Leicester, 1983), 219–20. (19.) H. A. R. Gibb, Modern Trends in Islam (Chicago, 1947), 122. (20.) Enayat, Political Thought, p. ix. (21.) A recent newspaper article states that no less than a hundred people apply in person to the Commission every day—Al-Nūr, 14 Dhu al-Ǥijja, 1411 AH (26 June 1991), 3.

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Introduction (22.) D. Crecelius, ‘The Emergence of the Shaykh al-Azhar as the Preeminent Religious Leader in Egypt’, in Colloque international sur l’histoire du Caire, 27 mars-5 avril 1969 (1974), 121. (23.) Minbar al-Islām (‘῾Adad Tārīkhī bi-Munāsabat al-῾Īd al-Alfī li’l-Azhar alSharīf’) 41, Nos. 5–6 (Mar. 1983), 167. (24.) A. Eccel, Egypt, Islam and Social Change: Al-Azhar in Conflict and Accommodation (Berlin, 1984), 422. (25.) He once expressed the view that Muslims should postpone the study of foreign languages and cultures until such time as they fully appreciated their own religious and cultural heritage, in case such study should lead to a weakening of self-confidence and sense of identity—see his Al-Islām: ῾Aqīda waSharī῾a (henceforth referred to in notes as ῾Aqīda wa-Sharī῾a) (17th edn.; Cairo, 1991), 136; however he later presided over the introduction of the study of foreign languages into the curriculum of the Azhar in 1958. (26.) See W. C. Smith’s critique of the work of Farīd Wagdī in his Islam in Modern History (Princeton, NJ, 1957), 132–50, for an admirable description of those pitfalls. Gibb describes the self-defeating nature of the modernists’ tendency to exaggerate the social virtues of the Islamic system and the social evils in Western societies, thus reinforcing conservative opposition to any innovation which may be seen as Western in inspiration—see Gibb, Modern Trends, 107. (27.) Gibb, Modern Trends, 119; he does not name names, but Muhammad ḥusayn Haykal and ῾Abbās Maḥmūd al-῾Aqqād were almost certainly in his mind. (28.) Shaltūt, Tafsīr al-Qur’ān al-Karīm: al-ajzā’ al-῾asharat al-’ūlā (henceforth referred to in notes as Tafsīr) (11th edn.; Cairo, 1988), 210–11. (29.) Minbar al-Islām 41, Nos. 5–6 (Mar. 1983), 168. (30.) I do not wish to add to the growing volume of definitions and reservations concerning the use of this term; a bibliography of references and definitions of this and related terms can be found in Antoun, Muslim Preacher, 235. (31.) Gibb, Modern Trends, 128.

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Shaltūt’s Life and Reform Work

Maḥmūd Shalt=ut and Islamic Modernism Kate Zebiri

Print publication date: 1993 Print ISBN-13: 9780198263302 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: October 2011 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198263302.001.0001

Shaltūt’s Life and Reform Work KATE ZEBIRI

DOI:10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198263302.003.0002

Abstract and Keywords This chapter discusses the life and reform work of Islamic scholar Maḥmūd Shaltūt. He was born on April 23, 1893 in a farming village of Lower Egypt called Minyat Bani Mansur in the province of Buhayra. Shaltūt enrolled at the new Religious Institute of Alexandria in 1910 and graduated in 1918 from the Ashar University with the highest honours. After graduation and his appointment in various teaching positions, Shaltūt supported different reform movements and policies. These include the independence movement started by Sa'd Zaghul in 1919 and Muhammad Mustafa al-Maraghi's reform plans as Shaykh al-Azhar in 1928. Keywords:   Maḥmūd Shaltūt, Buhayra, Egypt, Islamic scholar, reform movements, Sa'd Zaghul, Muhammad Mustafa al-Maraghi

Shaltūt’S Life MAḤMŪD Shaltūt was born on 23 April 1893 in a farming village of Lower Egypt called Minyat Banī Manṣūr in the district of Ītāy al-Bārūd in the province of Buḥayra.1 It is most probable therefore that like the majority of Azhar students, he was from the peasant class. After learning the Qur’ān by heart, Shaltūt was enrolled in 1906 at the new Religious Institute of Alexandria, one of the four mosque schools then affiliated to the Azhar, for the primary and secondary stages of education, where he was consistently top of his class. In 1918 he graduated from the Azhar with his ‛ālim diploma (Shahādat al-‛Alimiyyat al-Niẓāmiyya),2 obtaining the highest mark for his year group.

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Shaltūt’s Life and Reform Work In 1919 Shaltūt is said to have supported the independence movement led by Sa‛d Zaghlūl in characteristically bold fashion with his pen and his tongue,3 and in the same year he was appointed to teach at the Alexandrian Religious Institute. During his time there he was active in academic circles, publishing articles on the religious sciences in the Institute’s press. Already in the early 1920s he took an interest in the issue of Azhar reform.4 In 1927 he was transferred to teach at the Higher Division (al-Qism al-‛Ālī—undergraduate level) of the Azhar; while there he taught fiqh (jurisprudence) in one of the new ‘specialist sections’ (aqsām al-takhaṣṣuṣ—postgraduate level).5 When Muḥammad Muṣṭafā al-Marāghī was first appointed Shaykh al-Azhar in 1928, Shaltūt openly supported his reform plans, but the majority of the Azharīs were not yet ready for radical reform, and strong opposition forced al-Marāghī’s resignation the following year.6 Al-Marāghī’s rival, the more conservative Muḥammad al-Aḥmadī al-Zawāhirī, was appointed to the Rectorship, but faced unrest from the more progressive elements in the Azhar. These circumstances led to the dismissal of Shaltūt and several others on 17 September 1931.7 (p.12) During his period of dismissal Shaltūt worked as a lawyer in the Sharī‛a courts and was also active in journalism, continuing to publish his views on reform.8 Interestingly, he worked in partnership with ‛Alī ‛Abd al-Rāziq, who had himself been condemned by the Azhar and stripped of his title of ‛ālim in 1926 because of his denial that Islam necessarily entailed Islamic government’.9 In 1935, however, the year when al-Marāghī began his second term of office as Shaykh al-Azhar, Shaltūt was reinstated and appointed Wakīl (Vice-Dean) of the Kulliyyat al-Shanī‛ ’a (Faculty of Islamic Law),10 and then (in 1939) Inspector of the Religious Institutes. From then on his career at the Azhar went from strength to strength. In 1937 he represented the Azhar at an international conference on comparative law held at The Hague. There he gave a lecture on the nature of Islamic law which was well received and which won recognition for the Sharī‛a as a viable and independent source of law from the delegates.11 In 1941 he was admitted to Jamā‛ at Kibār al-‛Ulamā’ (The Council of Senior Religious Scholars)12 on the basis of his paper on civil and criminal liability, and became its youngest member. In 1946 he was chosen as a member of Majma‛ al-Lughat al-‛Arabiyya (Arabic Language Academy), and in 1950 he was appointed General Supervisor of Islamic Culture and Research at the Azhar, which gave him an opportunity to develop relations with the rest of the Arab/Islamic world. In 1957 Shaltūt was appointed Consultant to the Islamic Conference, and on 9 November of that year the President issued a decree appointing him to the position of Wakīl al Azhar (Vice-Rector).13 On 21 October 1958, following the resignation of Shaykh ‛Abd al-Raḥmān Tāj, his elevation to the rank of Shaykh alAzhar was announced.14 Shaltūt was then 65 years old. Page 2 of 29

Shaltūt’s Life and Reform Work Throughout his academic career Shaltūt’s activities in many committees and societies reflected his wide-ranging interests. He was a member of (inter alia) the Senior Committee for Foreign Cultural Relations (al-Lajnat al-‛Ulyā li’l-‛Alāqāt al-Thaqāfiyyat al-Khārijiyya) of the Ministry of Education, the Supreme Broadcasting Council (al-Majlis al-A‛lā li’l-Idhā‛a), and he presided over the Committee for Customs and Traditions (Lajnat al-‛Ādāt wa’l-Taqālīd) of the Ministry for Social Affairs. Within the Azhar Shaltūt was a member of many academic committees, including those which dealt with law and economics, geography and history, and the Arabic language.15 In 1948 he was involved in the (p.13) founding of Jamā‛ at al-Taqrīb bayna al-Madhāhib (the Society for the Conciliation between the Schools of Law). He published many articles in newspapers and periodicals, made regular morning radio broadcasts on religious topics, and gave frequent public lectures at cultural and educational institutions.16 During his Rectorship Shaltūt received visits on an unprecedented scale from many international figures including politicians, journalists, academics, and prominent men of various religions.17 His visitors included the heads of state of Iraq, Yemen, Cameroon, Burma, Cyprus, Ethiopia, Algeria, and the VicePresident of India.18 He himself made several trips abroad, including visits to Malaysia, the Philippines, and Indonesia. It seems that his last visit was to the Gaza Strip to offer encouragement to the Palestinians living in refugee camps.19 India, Pakistan, Yugoslavia, South Africa, Algeria, the Yemen, Italy, and Germany are listed as some of the countries to which Shaltūt was officially invited towards the end of his life; ill-health precluded his acceptance. He also received several honorary doctorates and many other honours from various countries including Chile, Morocco, Afghanistan, and Cameroon.20 His published works have been collected into five main volumes: Tafsīr al-Qur’ān al-Karīm: al-ajzā’ al-‛asharat al-’ūlā, a Qur’ānic commentary which follows the ‘thematic’ style of tafsīr (tafsīr mawḍū‛ī); Al-Islām: ‛Aqīda wa-Sharī‛a, most of which is devoted to the Sharī‛a, dealing with various legal topics as well as the sources of Islamic law; Al-Fatāwā, a collection of his fatwās grouped under subject headings; Min Tawjīhāt al-Islām, which consists of collected writings and articles on miscellaneous topics; and Min Hudā al-Qur’ān, a collection of monographs on Qur’ānic topics. With the exception of the latter, all of these have run into many editions and received a wide distribution throughout the Arab world.21 He also produced a textbook on comparative jurisprudence for students at the Kulliyyat al- Sharī‛a in collaboration with Muḥammad ‛Alī Sāyis, entitled Muqāranat al-Madhāhib fi’l-Fiqh.

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Shaltūt’s Life and Reform Work By all accounts Shaltūt was a very popular choice for the position of Shaykh alAzhar; it was the first time that the official Azhar journal Majallat al-Azhar had devoted a special edition to mark such an appointment, and in it were printed letters and telegrams of congratulation from numerous notables in Egypt and abroad, representing many organizations and countries.22 He has (p.14) been described by several people as a gifted orator, having a powerful voice and a commanding presence.23 During his period of dismissal from the Azhar, his Friday sermons at the Amir Muḥammad ‛Alī Tawfīq Mosque attracted large numbers of people.24 His obituaries all refer admiringly to his tenacity in clinging to his reform ideas and his indefatigable activities in the service of Islam. Aḥmad Ḥasan al-Zayyāt, a fellow Azharī, relates an anecdote in order to illustrate Shaltūt’s integrity: when ‛Abd al-Majīd Salīm was appointed Shaykh alAzhar (in 1950), he asked King Fārūq to appoint Shaltūt as Wakīl al-Azhar. Fārūq agreed only on condition that Shaltūt would cease teaching and delivering sermons at the Amīr Muḥammad ‛Alī Mosque at Qaṣr al-Manyal (this desire was apparently due to some reasons of family rivalry). Al-Zayyāt was charged to convey this message to Shaltūt, who replied in anger that he would prefer to be dismissed from the Azhar again and suffer poverty with his children than compromise his honour, and that he would rather work for God at the Amīr mosque than for Satan at the Palace as Wakīl of the Azhar.25 Shaltūt was admired for the boldness of certain of his fatwās;26 in particular the fatwā concerning ‘the raising up of Jesus’ (raf‛ ‛Īsā), in which he maintained that it was not an essential part of the Islamic creed to believe that Jesus had been physically raised up to be with God in heaven, where he now remains, waiting for the end of the world when he will descend. This fatwa was first published in al-Risāla, and raised such a storm of protest that Shaltūt was obliged to write a second article in defence of his position.27 He was also admired for his gallantry in scholarly disputes, or what may be termed ‘adab’ Another article published in al-Risāla, in which Shaltūt drew a distinction between the different roles of the Prophet (for example, ordinary human being, qāḍī (judge), messenger of God, etc.) in order to determine the status of particular aḥādīth (i.e. upon whom and to what extent they are binding), was opposed by Muḥammad al-Khiḍr Huṣayn (Shaykh al-Azhar 1952– 4). However, in this case the argument took place in a civilized atmosphere with due respect on both sides. Shaltūt is described as welcoming the criticism, and a well-known anecdote recounts how, in the face of expectations of a rift between the two men, Shaltūt announced: ‘Man asqaṭa al-Khiḍr qad asqaṭa nafsahu’ (‘Whoever belittles al-Khiḍr belittles himself’).28

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Shaltūt’s Life and Reform Work (p.15) The importance which Shaltūt attached to independent thought is illustrated by an incident which occurred relatively early in his career, around 1938. At that time he visited the Religious Institute at al-Zaqāzīq in the province of Sharqiyya in his capacity of Inspector of Religious Institutes. There the students had been taught according to the Shāfi‛ī school of law that it was ‘sunna’ (religiously recommended) to pronounce the niyya (declaration of intent, particularly before performing religious duties) aloud. Shaltūt asked a class of students in the presence of their teacher to give the definition of ‘sunna’; they replied that it was something which is rewarded if performed, but not punished if omitted. Shaltūt, however, told them that it is an action which was actually performed or approved by the Prophet, and was most emphatic in recommending that the students should ask for evidence so that they could judge for themselves in matters such as the pronouncement of the niyya instead of taking them on trust.29 In the last years of his life Shaltūt suffered from ill-health. He apparently suffered a stroke even before his appointment as Shaykh al-Azhar.30 For at least a part of his period in office he suffered from paraplegia and was confined to a wheelchair.31 In January 1963 he moved his office to his own house. This move has been variously attributed to his poor health and to his disillusionment with the Government’s interference in Azhar affairs, but in fact the latter appears to have been the decisive factor.32 On 25 November 1963, at the age of 70, Shaltūt was taken into Cairo’s AlAgouza Hospital. There his condition worsened until a day after undergoing prostate surgery, he died of a heart attack on the evening of 13 December. ‛Abd al-Mun‛im al-Khafājī relates his last hours thus: The Shaykh was never so joyful as on the last day of his life…he regained consciousness after his three-hour operation and called his family…he kept calling each of them by name, and joking with them…he asked for his young grandchildren and caressed them, a broad smile constantly on his lips all day long, until the attack came upon him.33 The funeral was held the following day after the Friday prayer at Al-Azhar Mosque, and he was buried in a private cemetery nearby.34 The funeral procession included several high-ranking members of Government, and was attended by huge numbers of mourners.35

(p.16) Shaltūt’s Reform Work

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Shaltūt’s Life and Reform Work It is not clear precisely why in 1906 Shaltūt was sent to the Alexandrian Religious Institute in preference to the mosque school at Tanta which lay nearer home. The Alexandrian Institute was at that time the most progressive of the religious institutes. It had been founded in 1903 under the administration of the Azhar, and Muḥammad ‛Abduh had been able to implement some of his reform ideas there, including the introduction of the ‘modern sciences’ (al-‛ulūm alḥadītha) such as the natural and mathematical sciences, and the encouragement of independent thinking.36 Shaltūt must have been influenced in his reform ideas and his general intellectual outlook by the progressive atmosphere at the Alexandrian Institute, where he came to know something of both the religiously motivated visions for reform of Muḥammad ‛Abduh and the State interest in reform.37

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Shaltūt’s Life and Reform Work The history of the reform of the Azhar is a long and troubled one, which has been documented in several places.38 Our focus here will necessarily be on the reform ideas of the ‛ulamā’ themselves, in particular Shaltūt. It should be borne in mind, however, that from the time that reforms were first mooted at the end of the nineteenth century up until the time when the somewhat drastic 1961 Reform Law was imposed by Governmental decree, there was a distinct lack of correspondence between the reform visions of innovative thinkers such as Muḥammad ‛Abduh, al-Marāghī, ‛Abd al-Majīd Salīm, and Shaltūt, and the actual ‘reforms’ which were implemented. Although several reform laws were passed, their effectiveness was severely impaired by the prevailing attitude within the Azhar—that of obstinate resistance to any kind of innovation. Those individuals such as Ṫāhā Ḥusayn and ‛AIT ‛Abd al-Rāziq (in the 1920s), Muḥammad Aḥmad Khalafallah (in the late 1940s), and Shaykh Bakhīt (in the 1950s), whose published ideas were out of harmony with the prevailing mentality at the Azhar, were heavily penalized by the authorities.39 Those whose religious ideas were more acceptable but who nevertheless saw the need for far-reaching reforms in the Azhar, such as Muḥammad ‛Abduh, al-Marāghī, and Shaltūt, encountered entrenched opposition: ‛Abduh gave up in disgust shortly before his death,40 alMarāghī was forced to resign only a year after his first appointment, and Shaltūt was expelled from the (p.17) Azhar for four years. On several occasions particular reforms had to be reinforced by further laws due to the failure to get them implemented at the first attempt. Such changes as were achieved only scratched the surface, affecting administrative procedures rather than the spirit and substance of education at the Azhar.41 The positive achievements were in such areas as living and working conditions, and the regulation of examinations, certification, and timetabling. However, in spite of numerous initiatives to revise textbooks, the students continued to study traditional Islamic subjects via medieval commentaries and super-commentaries, and teaching methods remained essentially unchanged.42 In addition to resistance from within, the course of reform was hampered by political circumstances. Although the ‛ulamā’ ceased to involve themselves directly in Egyptian politics after their participation in the independence movement of 1919 (after which time they ceased to have common ground with the secularizing nationalists), the Azhar continued to be at the centre of a three-cornered power struggle which involved, in addition to the Azhar itself, the Palace and Parliament.43 While it suited the King to use the Azhar in order to enhance his position vis-à-vis Parliament, the Wafd, or the British, the Azhar for its part was able to use the King’s support in order to resist any Government-led attempts at reform.

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Shaltūt’s Life and Reform Work This state of affairs came to an abrupt end with the coming to power of the Free Officers in the 1952 revolution. Religious institutions now faced the attentions of a unified political leadership which was capable of acting independently. On his accession to the presidency in 1954, Jamāl ‛Abd al-Nāṣir embarked on a series of measures to increase his control over the forces of Islam in Egypt.44 The suppression of the radical Islamists, i.e. the Muslim Brothers, began in 1954; confrontation with them was inevitable, since their comprehensive view of Islam represented an ideological threat to Nāṣir, who sought rather to harness religion to his own vision of Egypt’s future. Having (temporarily at least) successfully quelled the radical Islamic opposition, Nāsir then turned to institutional Islam: in 1956 the autonomous Sharī‛a courts were abolished in order to achieve a unified judicial system which came under State control. The abolition of the family waqfs (awqāf ahliyya) (charitable endowments) in 1952 was followed in 1957 by the nationalization of the public endowments (awqāf khayriyya), thus weakening the religious Establishment’s economic (p.18) position. All mosques came under the supervision of the new Ministry of Waqfs. By 1961, the regime was ready to take on the Azhar itself. Throughout the 1950s, the regime had been exerting pressure on the Azhar; increased Government interference caused several Shaykhs of the Azhar to resign.45 In 1961, Nāsir took steps to impose his own vision of reform. The way in which this reform law was imposed appears to have been somewhat brutal, and the role of Shaltūt in its development and imposition is by no means entirely clear;46 this will be discussed following a review of the main reform ideas which came from within the Azhar. By the late nineteenth century, the Azhar was in a lamentable state; it had suffered decades of neglect and deterioration, even to the extent that its buildings were crumbling. There was no administration, no formal rules governing the appointment of Shaykhs or their conduct, no fixed salaries, and no examinations.47 The late nineteenth century witnessed the first halting attempts to bring the Azhar into the modern age, but, aside from the factors impeding reform already discussed, the expansion of the State system of education from the early twentieth century left the Azhar at a disadvantage. Azhar graduates lost out to graduates of the State system, who had more opportunities and received higher salaries.48

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Shaltūt’s Life and Reform Work By the 1920s, there was a strong feeling even within the Azhar that some kind of change was needed to restore the Azharīs to their former prestige; even the relatively conservative al-Zawāhirī accepted this.49 The conflict centred on the extent of the proposed reforms; al-Zawāhirī proposed superficial reforms which affected the structure of courses but not their content,50 while the more progressive-minded ‛ulamā’ including al-Marāghī and Shaltūt, like the Government, called for more far-reaching reform. Al-Marāghī was the first Shaykh al-Azhar to put forward a detailed proposal for substantive reform. When he was first appointed to the Rectorship in 1928, he presented a ‘memorandum’ to King Fu’ād in which he laid out his ideas for reform.51 The ideas presented therein gained wide support among the reform-minded ‘ulamā’, including Shaltūt, and raised great hopes among them. In the memorandum, al-Marāghī praised the efforts of the medieval scholars and the past work of the Azhar, but lamented the fact that in more recent times religious leaders had become intellectually lazy, abandoning original thought (ijtihād), and (p.19) becoming isolated from the world and everyday life. These men were inadequate as preachers and defenders of Islam.52 He referred to the ineffectiveness of the reform attempts of the past twenty years, and called for changes of a more fundamental kind.53 Al-Marāghī believed that the learning material should be pruned of superfluous or erroneous elements such as elaborations on the central doctrinal tenets, or false or contradictory interpretations of the Qur’ān. He recommended the study of other religions and their histories in order better to defend Islam, and the widening of the syllabus to include the study of secular subjects such as the natural sciences, as well as foreign languages and their history and philology. He asked that modern educational methods be employed;54 this meant concentrating on the ‘development of the powers of the mind’ rather than traditional methods of rote-learning.55 He referred to the inadequacy of the old textbooks which were abstruse and unsystematic in their arrangement, and called on those professors who were able to understand them to ‘set forth the old learning in the new ways’.56 He felt that the archaic manner of instruction in the Sharī‛a had led to its abandonment in many cases, in the belief that it was not suited to modern times. He therefore called for the exercising of ijtihād, while preserving the essential core of the religion.57 The actual legal rulings ought to be studied in conjunction with the principles of jurisprudence, in order to promote a fuller understanding of the workings of the Sharī‛a. The curriculum should be purged of sectarianism (madhhabiyya), and legal rulings should be brought in line with modern knowledge and circumstances.58 He criticized the prevailing emphasis on theoretical rather than practical matters, and the lack of general knowledge on the part of Azhar professors, qāḍīs, etc., resulting in a narrow outlook.59

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Shaltūt’s Life and Reform Work Al-Marāghī additionally called for administrative changes, including a unification of the Azhar system with the Government’s Dār al-‛Ulūm and Madrasat al-Qaḍā’ al-Shar‛ī,60 and a more efficient structuring of divisions and grades. There should also be realistic adaptations to the labour market so that graduates could be sure of obtaining suitable employment.61 In 1936, soon after the commencement of his second period of office, al-Marāghī did in fact implement a reform programme, but it was primarily concerned with organizational and administrative (p.20) matters and did not entail farreaching changes.62 Much of it was concerned with reconfirming the provisions of the two previous Reform Laws of 1930 and 1933, due to a delay in their implementation.63 Subsequent to this, political circumstances, especially with the advent of the Second World War, were not in any case favourable for the implementation of reforms. Whether for political reasons or through a lack of real resolve, al-Marāghī achieved virtually none of his original hopes.64 During al-Marāghī’s second term as Shaykh al-Azhar, Shaltūt and others became increasingly disillusioned with his failure to take decisive action.65 Shaltūt therefore took the initiative and put forward his own ideas for reform. In fact his ideas did not differ substantially from those of al-Marāghī, and Shaltūt himself stressed the continuity of his reform ideas with those of ‛Abduh and al-Marāghī; Lemke states that the main difference between al-Marāghī and Shaltūt was the latter’s greater determination to succeed.66 There are two main sources for Shaltūt’s views on reform: a list of suggestions for the reform of Jamā‛at Kibār al-‛Ulamā’ which he raised before that body at a meeting on 5 November 1941, only three months after his election thereto, and a lecture on educational policy at the Azhar entitled ‘Al-Siyāsat al-Tawjīhiyyat al-‛Ilmiyya fi’l-Azhar’, which he delivered in February 1943 at the Azhar. When it was founded in 1911, Jamā‛at Kibār al-‛Ulamā’ was charged among other things with the task of exerting religious control over the ‛ulamā’ and of carrying out the functions of al wa‛ẓ wa’l-irshād (preaching and providing spiritual guidance to the Muslims). There was however no formal training for the ‛ulamā’ to become preachers or missionaries; in fact their traditional education made them ill-equipped to communicate with the largely uneducated mass of Muslims.67

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Shaltūt’s Life and Reform Work In his famous suggestions68 Shaltūt makes it clear that he feels that the Jamā‛a has not lived up to original expectations. In the preamble to his suggestions he quotes from the original 1911 statutes: The members of Hay’at Kibār al-‛Ulamā’ should be beacons of knowledge, preservers of the Sharī‛a and of the language of the Qur’ān, so that troubled hearts can turn to their knowledge, and agitated souls find rest in their guidance.’ He states that the Muslim community still looks to this body to (p.21) promote and strengthen the cause of Islam and defend it against attack, and to elucidate the precepts of the Sharī‛a. He therefore suggests the setting up of a permanent academic board for the Jamā‛a, which will work to achieve the following aims: 1. to defend religion in general and Islam in particular, in accordance with modern methods of study and research; 2. to investigate disputes or differences between ‛ulamā’ and to lay down criteria in order to differentiate between that which is bid‛a (blameworthy innovation) and that which is not (i.e. in order to clarify the areas in which differences are permissible and need not lead to dispute); 3. to compile a list of isrā’īliyyāt 69 contained in popular tafsīrs, in order to protect people from lending them too much credence; 4. to issue fatwās in response to questions from Muslims worldwide; 5. to investigate modern transactions in order to discern the Islamic rulings regarding them, so that people may appreciate the tolerance and flexibility of the Sharī‛a; 6. to organize the activities of preaching and guidance, and to liaise with other concerned bodies such as the Ministry for Social Affairs and Islamic societies abroad; 7. to search for useful books in the various academic disciplines, and to revise them and publish them in an academically sound form; 8. to supervise Majallat al-Azhar and direct it in order best to serve the interests of the ‘Islamic intellectual movement’ and in such a way as to reflect the activities of the three faculties (Islamic Law, Arabic language, Theology).

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Shaltūt’s Life and Reform Work The majority of these suggestions are concerned with strengthening the Jamā‛a’s pastoral role and spiritual leadership. There is an emphasis on communication between the ‛ulamā’ and lay Muslims, on breaking down the Azhar’s international isolation, and on bringing it more in line with the spirit of the modern age. The suggestion concerning liaison with the Ministry for Social Affairs shows a willingness to co-operate with the Government, significant in the light of later developments. Certain of the suggestions, such as the need to defend religion in general and to identify points of difference between scholars, reveal Shaltūt’s catholic and ecumenical tendencies, which were later to find expression in his work for taqrīb (conciliation between the schools (p.22) of law). He evidently felt that Majallat al-Azhar was not reflecting the full gamut of intellectual activity at the Azhar; in recent times it had been somewhat dominated by the editorship of Farīd Wagdī.70 It is noteworthy that several of the suggestions put forward refer to tasks which had in fact already been delegated to other bodies, and would therefore appear to suggest that those bodies were not successfully performing their functions. Al-Marāghī had been instrumental in establishing Lajnat al-Fatwā (the Fatwa Commission) in 1935 for the issuing of fatwās, and Shaltūt had himself been involved with that committee. Similarly, al-Marāghī had stipulated that the Jamā‛a should undertake to organize al-da‛wa wa’l-irshād (missionary activity and spiritual guidance); indeed, Shaltūt explicitly mentioned those facts in the course of his suggestions. He did, however, praise the achievements of a committee which al-Marāghī had formed in order to investigate differences between ‛ulamā’ the second aim on Shaltūt’s list of suggestions. It is not clear whether he envisaged the continuation of that committee or its replacement. These suggestions had repercussions outside the Jamā‛a; there were heated discussions of them in the pages of periodicals and an enthusiastic response from those ‛ulamā’ such as Muḥammad al-Madam and Muḥammad ‛Abd alMun‛im al-Khafājī who supported radical reform.71 They were seen by many as a criticism of and challenge to al-Marāghī; the very fact that Shaltūt had put forward his own reform plan while the latter was still in office demonstrated his disillusionment with al-Marāghī’s reform attempts. It seems likely that alMarāghī was more or less offended, for he did little to facilitate the implementation of the suggestions.72 A commission was set up to look into them under the auspices of ‛Abd al-Majīd Salīm, but with no immediate results, although in 1952 a committee was appointed to take over the apologetic tasks outlined in Shaltūt’s first suggestion.73

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Shaltūt’s Life and Reform Work Shaltūt followed up these suggestions with his 1943 lecture on educational and academic policy at the Azhar.74 This lecture apparently aroused considerable interest and was relayed by loudspeaker to an audience of approximately four thousand students and ‛ulamā’ including many in prominent positions; it was delivered in the Kulliyyat al-Sharī‛a of the Azhar.75 Like al-Marāghī in his memorandum, Shaltūt began by praising the (p.23) Azhar’s work in the Middle Ages in preserving the Islamic religion and the Arabic language. He particularly commended the fact that at that time the law was taught according to the various madhāhib rather than just one, and the curriculum included several mathematical and rational sciences.76 He went on to explain that the situation deteriorated with the spread of the practice of taqlīd (adherence to the opinions of former scholars, as opposed to ijtihād); intellectual effort then revolved around mere formal or superficial discussions and disputes, hypothetical questions unrelated to practical life, and the invention of ḥiyal (legal fictions formulated in order to circumvent the intention of the law). The spirit of sectarianism grew and people were obliged to confine themselves to a single madhhab. All this obstructed real intellectual progress, and the Azhar became increasingly isolated from the Muslim community.77 Shaltūt then acknowledged the valuable reform efforts of Muḥammad ‛Abduh and al-Marāghī, stressing the continuity of his own ideas with theirs. He praised the former for ‘awakening the Azhar from its slumber’, and commended the latter for his famous memorandum, mentioning the great hopes it had aroused. He mentioned with approval certain points raised therein, including the modernization of textbooks, the elimination of the sectarian spirit, and the simplification of the study of the various religious sciences. He then expressed disappointment that despite the passage of time since the issuing of that memorandum, these things had remained unchanged, and much energy was still being wasted on hypothetical and unnecessary matters.78 Shaltūt regretted that the reforms which had taken place were not implemented in the spirit in which they were originally intended. He concluded that until bold steps for reform were taken, ‘al-Azhar will remain isolated from the community, neither fulfilling its [i.e. the community’s] needs nor being properly respected by it, even if a thousand [reform] laws were to be passed’.79 Shaltūt’s lecture was warmly received; it was interrupted by loud applause and cheering, and at the end he was publicly congratulated by the Muftī of Egypt and embraced by the Wakīl of the Azhar. The students insisted on carrying Shaltūt out of the lecture hall on their shoulders.80 As with Shaltūt’s suggestions of 1941, the lecture received an enthusiastic press in al-Risāla,81 and al-Khafājī in his book Al-Azhar fī Alf‛Ām (first published in 1954), (p.24) included it in his collection of fourteen important documents concerning the history of Azhar reforms, despite the fact that Shaltūt had not yet been promoted to the position of Shaykh or Wakīl of the Azhar at the time of writing.

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Shaltūt’s Life and Reform Work Shaltūt adhered to his original views on reform during the following years, but since the time was not yet ripe for their implementation, there was no opportunity to elaborate on them. In the intervening years between Shaltūt’s proposals and his promotion to the Rectorship, one or two of the Rectors were interested in reform but their periods of office were too short for them to achieve any progress. Prominent among them was ‛Abd al-Majīd Salīm (Shaykh al-Azhar from October 1950 to September 1951 and February to September 1952), whose views on reform were in harmony with those of al-Marāghī and Shaltūt. He stressed among other things the need to review textbooks, encourage originality among students by means of academic prizes, found a major library and publishing house at the Azhar, and strengthen the Azhar’s international role.82 In the absence of an atmosphere conducive to reform within the Azhar, Shaltūt channelled some of his reforming zeal in another direction: the cause of promoting harmony between the schools of law, in particular between Sunnīs and Shī‛īs. His involvement with Jamā‛at al-Taqrīb bayna al-Madhāhib lasted for over twenty-five years, until his death in 1963.83 Several prominent Azharīs were involved in its founding along with Shaltūt, including Muṣṭafā ‛Abd al-Rāziq (Shaykh al-Azhar 1945–7) and ‛Abd al-Majīd Salīm.84 On the Shī‛ī side, the Iranian scholar Muḥammad Taqī al-Qummī was involved at the outset; Shaltūt describes him as one of the first to call for taqrīb,85 but attributes the original idea for the movement to al-Marāghī, who called for the abolition of the sectarian spirit in his memorandum of 1928.86 The mouthpiece of the organization was Risālat al-Islām, the first number of which was issued in January 1949 under the editorship of Muḥammad al-Madanī. The first president of the organization was Muḥammad ‛Alī ‛Ulūba Pāsha.87 The three main aims of Jamā‛at al-Taqrīb, as propounded in Article 2 of its Constitution, were: (1) to bring together the Islamic sects and madhāhib; (2) to publish the principles of Islam in various languages and convince people of the need to adhere to them; and (3) to attempt to settle disputes between Muslim peoples or sects by acting as mediator between them.88

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Shaltūt’s Life and Reform Work (p.25) Shaltūt refers to the vehement opposition with which the movement met (characteristically naming no names), but sees this as a reflection of its importance. He attributes this opposition variously to narrow-mindedness, a vested interest in conflict, or misunderstanding on the part of those who feared that taqrīb represented an attempt to merge all the schools into one.89 It is stressed by various members of the movement that the aim is not to abolish the madhāhib themselves but to abolish the causes of enmity between them. Difference of opinion itself is seen as a healthy sign of intellectual activity.90 As long as there is unity on a small core of essential points of creed, differences of opinion on other matters are to be tolerated and even welcomed.91 Muḥammad Āl Kāshif al-Ghiṭā’ (a prominent Shī‛ī cleric of Iraq) expresses the belief that despite the difference in creed concerning the Imamate, Sunnīs and Shī‛īs can accept each other as fellow Muslims.92 In connection with his work in this area Shaltūt corresponded with several eminent Shī‛ī scholars, including the aforementioned Muḥammad al-Ḥusayn Al Kāshif al-Ghiṭā’, al-Imām Muḥammad al-Khāliṣī (the foremost Shī‛ī cleric in Iraq), Sharaf al-Din al-Mūsāwī from Lebanon, and the Ayatollah Muḥammad Ḥusayn Āqā Burujirdī from Iran.93 In a meeting between Shaltūt and Muḥammad Taqī al-Qummī, it was agreed to implement a project whereby a collection of ahādīth recognized by both Sunnīs and Shī‛īs would be compiled.94 The freedom to compare objectively the opinions of the various madhāhib was a corollary of taqrīb, and Shaltūt had an active academic interest in comparative jurisprudence. He sometimes issued fatwās which gave preference to the Shī‛ī opinion; as examples of instances in which he preferred the Shī‛ī opinion, he mentioned two types of divorce which the Shī‛a, unlike most Sunnīs, do not recognize—‘conditional’ divorce (al-ṭalāq al-mu‛allaq) and the triple irrevocable divorce where the three pronouncements are made on a single occasion.95 As Shaykh al-Azhar, Shaltūt remained constant in his desire for taqrīb, and issued a controversial fatwā in which he declared that worship according to a Shī‛ī madhhab was equally legitimate as worship according to a Sunnī madhhab.96 He also introduced the study of Shī‛ī jurisprudence (Imāmī and Zaidī) into the curriculum of the Kulliyyat al-Sharī‛a, and established a chair in the same subject. In interviews he claimed that the difference between the (p. 26) Shī‛ī madhhab and the Sunnī madhhabs was no greater than the differences between the Sunnī madhhabs themselves, and that the Shī‛ī ḥadīth collections were legitimate.97 The establishment of the Islamic Research Academy (in accordance with the 1961 Reform Law) to some extent represented a fulfilment of Shaltūt’s longstanding ambition of increasing Sunnī- Shī‛ī co-operation.

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Shaltūt’s Life and Reform Work With his appointment to the Rectorship, it seemed that Shaltūt would at last have an opportunity to implement his reform ideas. In interviews given to journalists soon after his appointment, he stated that he still adhered to the views expressed in his 1943 lecture and made it clear that he still looked for radical reform, expressing optimism that this could be achieved in the present circumstances (a reference to the interest taken by the Government in the reform of the Azhar). He emphasized the need for the Azhar to produce not just teachers but competent scholars who could exercise ijtihād, as well as the need to modernize textbooks and clarify the aims of fiqh, relating it to everyday life. He also referred to the need for a centralized administration at the Azhar, and the importance of the teaching of foreign languages.98 Shaltūt’s appointment by the Government to the highest position in the Azhar in 1958 was doubtless due in part to his longstanding involvement with the reform movement and the wide respect he had gained; his reputation would lend credibility to the Government’s reform plans for the Azhar. It is not within the scope of this work to describe in detail the far-reaching changes in administration, organization, and curriculum involved in the Reform Law (Law No. 103) which was passed by the National Assembly in June 1961, nor to evaluate its ultimate degree of success, which could not in any case become clear until after Shaltūt’s death.99 Here the aim is to discuss the underlying principles of the reform and the points which bear some relation to Shaltūt’s own reform ideas.100 An ‘explanatory memorandum’ was published with the Reform Law, purporting to explain the reasons which necessitated these changes. This document uses several ingenious and highly persuasive arguments. Prominent among them is the theme that religion is not a vocation; Islam recognizes no separation between religion and the affairs of everyday life. All members of society should be capable of doing useful, productive work, and contributing to the national development so crucial for the Muslim countries which (p.27) have recently gained their independence. Most professionals in Muslim countries are either Europeans or Muslims with little knowledge of their own religion, and this situation should be rectified. Conversely, the ignorance of the ‛ulamā’ regarding the affairs of this world creates a barrier between them and the rest of society. At present, men have to choose between a religious education and a vocational training, whereas they should be able to procure both. A unified system of certification between the Azhar and Government institutions would provide for greater freedom of movement between them and equality of opportunity for all graduates, and would help to solve the ‛ulamā’’s unemployment problem.101 While the Reform Law was being pushed through, a concerted attack was launched against the ‛ulamā’ by the Press, which depicted them as at best hidebound reactionaries out of touch with the modern world, and at worst corrupt individuals interested only in their own gain.102 Page 16 of 29

Shaltūt’s Life and Reform Work Administratively, the Azhar was to come under the Ministry of Waqfs, with the Minister becoming Director of Azhar Affairs. The Azhar was to consist of five institutions: the Supreme Council (al-Majlis al-A‛lā), the Islamic Research Academy (Majma‛ al-Buḥūth al-Islāmiyya), the Islamic Culture and Missions Department (Idārat al-Thaqāfa wa’l-Bu‛ūth al-Islāmiyya), the University itself, and the Azhar Institutes (i.e. the primary and secondary religious educational institutions affiliated to the Azhar).103 The regulations governing the composition of the Supreme Council ensured that the Government held the balance of power in decision-making.104 Shaltūt was involved in the planning of the Islamic Research Academy, which in some respects represented the culmination of some of his original suggestions regarding Jamā‛at Kibār al-‛Ulamā’.105 The Academy was in fact a continuation of that body, members of whom automatically qualified for membership of the new Academy. It was to be of an international character, transcending sectarian divisions. It was to consist of fifty members from the five madhāhib (i.e. the four Sunnī schools and the mainstream Shī‛ī school, the ‘Ja‛farī’ or ‘Imāmī’ school), a maximum of twenty of whom would be from the United Arab Republic. Its aims were to renew Islamic culture, purify it from foreign elements and clarify the essential core of the religion, and work for the removal of sectarian fanaticism.106 By its very nature and composition, the (p.28) Academy would promote the international role of the Azhar and end its former isolation. The Culture and Missions Department, in addition to being an executive arm of the Research Academy, was to concern itself with matters relating to publication, translation, foreign missions and preaching, and the reception of foreign students.107 The University itself, Jāmi‛at al-Azhar, which now consisted exclusively of the faculties, was to actively develop links with foreign universities and Arabic and Islamic institutions.108 The faculties of the Azhar were to consist of the Faculty of Islamic Studies and the Faculty of Arabic Studies (which together would replace the three existing faculties of the Azhar and continue to provide an essentially religious education), and four new faculties: Business and Administration (al-mu‛āmalāt wa’l-idāra), Engineering and Crafts (al-handasa wa’l-sinā‛āt), Agriculture, and Medicine.109

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Shaltūt’s Life and Reform Work It emerges from the foregoing that there is a degree of correspondence between the reform ideas of al-Marāghī and Shaltūt and the aims of the 1961 Reform Law. In particular the aims of broadening and modernizing the curriculum and learning materials, the elimination of madhhabiyya and the concentration on the core elements of the Islamic religion, and the development of external relations can all be seen to have their origins in the demands of Azharī reformers from Muḥammad ‛Abduh’s time onwards. On the other hand it is certain that the ‛ulamā’ were very concerned (with good reason, as it later emerged) about the heavy demands on the future Azharī scholars who would have to take vocational courses in addition to pursuing their religious studies.110 It is difficult to ascertain Shaltūt’s real attitude towards the Government reform. He publicly expressed confidence in it, praising the law in general terms for its aims of unifying the country and integrating men of religion into the community, improving standards and tackling the unemployment problem of ‛ulamā’.111 In his opening address to the newly formed Azhar Planning Committee (Hay’at alTakhṭīṭ) shortly after the announcement of the new Law, Shaltūt applauded ‛Abd al-Nāṣir for implementing a programme that would end the harmful cultural dichotomy which had arisen between those educated in the Azhar system and those who received a State education. Under the new system, Shaltūt optimistically asserted that all (p.29) would be able to benefit from the best of both worlds and that the learning of the Qur’ān by heart would form the basis of both systems. With the introduction of the new secular disciplines such as medicine, Shaltūt stated: ‛the Azharī doctor will be able to treat the heart and soul as well as the body.’112

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Shaltūt’s Life and Reform Work It is not difficult to imagine some of Shaltūt’s motives for being supportive of the reform in the first instance, even though it may be assumed that he would have preferred the reform to have come from within the Azhar rather than being imposed from above. In view of past failures he probably accepted that only the Government had the ability to effect meaningful reform. Being a man of positive thought, and faced with a choice between co-operating with the Government and having some say in the reforms, and resigning, Shaltūt (at least initially) chose the former. This must have seemed the most constructive course of action, and once having chosen it, it would be characteristic of Shaltūt to be wholehearted in his public endorsement of the Law, thereby increasing its chances of success. One cannot ignore the fact that any Azhar shaykh who wished to stay in office had little choice but to support the Government. Shaltūt, like many of his colleagues, made favourable pronouncements on the ‛socialism’ of Islam; yet it need not be assumed that he acted out of self-interest, or that he would be prepared to accommodate the Government indefinitely. Indeed, there are indications that he became increasingly dissatisfied with the way the reforms were being implemented. While none of the Government-appointed Directors of Azhar Affairs succeeded in establishing a satisfactory working relationship with the Azhar shaykhs,113 it seems that the conflict came to a head with the appointment of Muḥammad al-Bahī as Minister of Waqfs and Director of Azhar Affairs (1962–4).114 In January 1963 Shaltūt felt that he could keep silent about the situation no longer, and he began to write letters of protest, first to the Prime Minister, ‛Alī Ṡabrī, and later to President Nāṣir.115 The letters accuse Muḥammad al-Bahī of issuing arbitrary resolutions which exceed his jurisdiction, bringing the Azhar into disrepute by giving interviews to the Press in which he implies (wrongly, Shaltūt insists) corruption and inefficiency on the part of the Azhar Shaykhs, and undermining the authority of senior Azhar figures by disregarding chains of command. Shaltūt makes it clear that he feels that Dr al-Bahī has distorted the true (p.30) character of the 1961 Reform Law, and made his own position as Shaykh al-Azhar quite untenable—so much so that he actually tenders his resignation in a letter to President Nāṣir dated 6 August 1963.116 It seems that Nāṣir had made some reassuring noises in response to Shaltūt’s earlier letters, but there is no record of his response to the resignation. It is likely that the régime preferred to avoid the embarrassment of yet another Shaykh al-Azhar resigning; either he was persuaded to retract his resignation or his state of illhealth and subsequent death in December helped them to obscure the true situation. In any case the official line is that he died in office.117

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Shaltūt’s Life and Reform Work The crux of the matter was the precise definition of the respective spheres of jurisdiction of the Shaykh al-Azhar and the Minister. In May 1963 Shaltūt wrote to the President of the Supreme Court of the State (ra’īs majlis al-dawla) asking for clarification of this matter, since a fatwā had been issued by the State Counsel (mustashār al-dawla) in January 1963 empowering al-Bahī to issue resolutions to facilitate the implementation of the Reform Law until such time as the implementation law (al-lā’iḥat al-tanfīdhiyya) should come into effect.118 Shaltūt assumed that, as laid down in the 1951 State Employment Law, the Shaykh al-Azhar still held ministerial status, since there was no explicit provision denying this in the new Law. His question was referred to the General Assembly of the Consultative Department of the Supreme Court who met in September, and the reply was closely based on a report submitted to that General Assembly by one Muḥammad Maḥmūd al-Dakrūrī.119 Since the latter was Legal Counsel (mustashār qānūnī) to the Ministry of Waqfs, it is not surprising that the report unequivocally favoured the Minister over the Shaykh al-Azhar in the matters under discussion. On 20 September, the Vice-President of the Supreme Court dispatched a reply to Shaltūt. It was brutally direct: the creation of the new Ministry meant that no one else could hold ministerial status within the Azhar, and the post of Shaykh al-Azhar was now a religious rather than an administrative one, with only such limited administrative duties as are specifically laid down in the regulations. One can only imagine the devasting effect this must have had on Shaltūt, and one is left with the suspicion that it hastened his death less that two months later. Writers on Shaltūt vary in their opinions as to the extent to (p.31) which his own ideas reached fruition in the 1961 Law.120 Although the 1961 reform exceeded the demands of the Azharī reformers, it was not on the whole incompatible with them. The greatest blow to the ‛ulamā’ did not come from the nature of the reforms themselves but from the erosion of their own precarious semi-autonomy. The Government expected the Azhar shaykhs to cooperate closely with the Ministries of Waqfs and Education, and it consolidated its reform programme by appointing ‛ulamā’ who had received postgraduate education at European universities to senior posts in the Azhar.121 The fact that reform had to be implemented by the Government (which in consequence was able to claim most of the credit for the reform) does not necessarily detract from Shaltūt’s own achievement, or negate his significant contribution to the reform movement over more than half a century at the Azhar. Notes:

(1.) Unless otherwise stated, details in this brief biographical sketch are taken from ‘‛Adad Mumtāz’ (special edn. to mark Shaltūt’s appointment as Shaykh alAzhar), Majallat al-Azhar, 30 (1958/9), preceding Part 4 (Oct. 1958), no page numbers.

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Shaltūt’s Life and Reform Work (2.) This was the highest certificate granted by the Azhar, attained after the successful completion of 12 years of study, and roughly equivalent to a Ph.D in a modern university—Bayard Dodge, Al-Azhar: A Millennium of Muslim Learning (Washington, DC, 1961), 136, and J. Jomier, ‘Al-Azhar’, EI2 i:818. (3.) ‛Alī ‛Abd al-‛Aẓīm, Mashyakhat al-Azhar (mundhu inshā’ihā hatta l’ān) (Cairo 1979), ii: 181. (4.) Lemke, Maḥmūd Šaltūt, 46. (5.) An article in Minbar al-Islām states that it was Muḥammad Muṣṭafā alMarāghī, soon to be instated as Shaykh al-Azhar, who was responsible for Shaltūt’s transfer to the Azhar—see the special edn. devoted to al-Azhar’s millennial anniversary, Vol. 41, Nos. 5–6 (Mar. 1983), 186. (6.) Crecelius, ‘The Ulama’, 308–11. (7.) Crecelius states that 19 ‘insurgents’ were included in a group of 70 shaykhs who were being forcibly pensioned off on the pretext of advancing age—see ‘The Ulama’, 314. See Lemke, Maḥmūd Šaltūt, 90–1, for the names of some of those who were dismissed with Shaltūt. (8.) Shaltūt is cited as only one of 5 Shaykhs of the Azhar to have practised law prior to his appointment; the other 4 were qādīs—see Minbar al-Islām 41, Nos. 5–6 (Mar. 1983), 167. (9.) ‛Alī ‛Abd al-Rāziq, ‘Al-Marḥūm al-Ustādh al-Akbar al-Shaykh Maḥmūd Shaltūt’, Majallat Majma‛ al-Lughat al-‛Arabiyya, 19 (1965), 150. For a description of his views on the Caliphate, their wider implications, and their reception in the Azhar, see Hourani, Arabic Thought, 183–91. (10.) This was one of the 3 faculties into which the Azhar was divided in 1933, the other 2 being the Faculty of Arabic Language and the Faculty of Theology— Dodge, Al-Azhar, 149. (11.) The lecture concerned civil and criminal liability, and is likely to have been similar or identical in content to the thesis he submitted in 1941 for admission to Jamā‛at Kibār al-‛Ulamā’—see Lemke, Maḥmūd Šaltūt, 128 s, n. 1. This dissertation is now to be found in Shaltūt’s ‛Aqīda wa-Sharī ‛a, 392–429. (12.) This body, originally called Hay’at Kibār al-‛Ulamā’, was founded in 1911; it consisted of 30 leading shaykhs from among whom Shaykh al-Azhar was to be selected. In order to qualify for entry to this exclusive group, a scholar had to be at least 45 years of age and to have submitted a substantial dissertation in a recognized area of Islamic scholarship—see Dodge, Al-Azhar, 142, and Jomier, ‛Al-Azhar’, 818.

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Shaltūt’s Life and Reform Work (13.) The resolution is published in Majallat al-Azhar, 29 (1957/8), preceding Part 6 (Dec. 1957). (14.) This resolution is published in ‘‛Adad Mumtāz’. (15.) Muḥammad Mahdī ‛Allām, ‘Al-Marḥūm al-Ustādh al-Akbar al-Shaykh Maḥmūd Shaltūt’, Majallat Majma‛ al-Lughat al-‛Arabiyya, 19 (1965), 155. (16.) Ibid. 158. (17.) Ahmad Ḥasan al-Zayyāt, ‘Al-Imām al-Akbar al-Shaykh Maḥmūd Shaltūt’, Majallat al-Azhar, 35 (1963/4), 644. (18.) ‛Allam, ‘Al-Marḥūm’, 162, and Muḥammad ‛Abd al-Mun‛im al-Khafājī, AlAzhar fī Alf ‛Ām (2nd edn., Cairo, 1988), i: 347. (19.) ‛Allām, ‘Al Marḥūm’, 161, and ‛Abd al-’Aẓīm, Mashyakhat al-Azhar, ii: 193. (20.) Al-Khafājī, Al-Azhar, i: 346, and ‛Abd al-‛Aẓīm, Mashyakhat al-Azhar, ii: 194. (21.) I have seen various other titles listed in bibliographies of Shaltūt’s work (for example, Ila’l-Qur’ān al-Karīm, ‘Al-Qur’ān wa’1-Qitāl’), but have subsequently discovered these to have been identical or nearly so with sections contained in these 5 main works. For the fullest list of titles, see Minbar al-lslām 41, Nos. 5–6 (Mar. 1983), 186. He has of course contributed articles too numerous to mention to the religious press, and to Majallat al-Azhar in particular; the bibliography notes only those which are quoted in this book. (22.) See ‘‛Adad Mumtāz’. (23.) ‛Abd al-Rāziq, ‘Al-Marḥūm’, 150, al-Zayyāt, ‘Al-Imām’, 645, and conversation with Dr Zakī Badawī on 23 May 1988. (24.) ‛Abd al-Rāziq, ‘Al-Marḥūm’, 151. (25.) Al-Zayyāt, ‘Al-Imām’, 644. (26.) Muḥammad Rajab al-Bayyūmī, ‘Sadāqat al-Fikra bayna Shaltūt wa’l-Risāla’, Majallat al-Azhar, 36 (1964/5), 153. (27.) Both articles are now contained in Shaltūt’s Al-Fatāwā (16th edn.; Cairo, 1991), 59–82. (28.) Al-Bayyūmi, ‘Ṣadāqat’, 153–4. (29.) Incident related by Dr Z. Badawī to this writer on 23 May 1988. (30.) Conversation with Dr Z. Badawī, 23 May 1988.

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Shaltūt’s Life and Reform Work (31.) Al-Zayyāt, ‘Al-Imām’, 645. (32.) In a letter to President Nāṣir dated 20 January 1963, Shaltūt asks permission to confine himself to his home until such time as his position vis-à-vis the Director of Azhar Affairs should be clarified—see ‛Abd al-‛Aẓīm, Mashyakhat al Azhar, ii: 211–12. See also Lemke, Maḥmūd Šaltūt, 238–9. (33.) Al-Khafājī, Al-Azhar, i: 345. (34.) These details are taken from a report in the New York Times, 14 Dec. 1963, reproduced in Muslim World, 54 (1964), 148. (35.) Al-Khafājī, Al-Azhar, i: 347, and A. Eccel, Egypt, 384, where it is stated that attendance at the funeral of the Egyptian singer Umm Kalthūm was rivalled in recent times only by that of ‛Abd al-Nāṣir and Shaltūt. (36.) Lemke, Maḥmūd Šaltūt, 36, 42. (37.) Ibid. 37. (38.) In addition to the works of Crecelius, Lemke, Dodge, and al-Khafājī which have already been cited, the following are worth mentioning: ‛Abd al-Muta‛āl alSa‛īdī, Tārīkh al-Islāḥ fi’l-Azhar (Cairo, 1943); Ṣaniyya Qarā’a, Tārīkh al-Azhar fī Alf ‛Ām (Cairo, 1968); A. Sékaly, ‘La réorganisation de l’université d’el-Azhar’, REI 1 (1927), 95–116, 465–529, and ‘L’Université d’el Azhar et ses transformations’, REI 2 (1928), 47–165, 255–337, 401–72; and J. Kraemer, ‘Tradition and Reform at Al-Azhar University’, MEA (1956), 89–94. (39.) See Hourani, Arabic Thought, 188–90 on ‛Abd al-Rāziq; Adams, Islam and Modernism in Egypt, 254–6 on Ṭāhā Ḥusayn; J. Jomier, ‘Quelques positions actuelles de l’exégèse coranique en Egypte’, MIDEO 1 (1954), 39–72, and K. Cragg, The Pen and the Faith: Eight Modern Muslim Writers and the Qur’ān (London, 1985), ch. 4: ‘The Case of a Qur’ānic Exegete’, on Khalafallah; and MIDEO 3 (1956), 46–8, on Bakhīt. (40.) Although ‛Abduh was able at times to gain the co-operation of the incumbent Shaykh al-Azhar, it was primarily the opposition of the Khedive which thwarted his plans for reform—see Crecelius, ‘Emergence’, 119. (41.) Crecelius comments that no substantive change was achieved in all the reforms from 1895 to 1952—‘The Ulama’, 337. (42.) Kraemer, ‘Tradition’, 92–3, and Jomier, ‘Al-Azhar’, 821. (43.) The course of this struggle has been documented in some detail by Crecelius in his ‘The Ulama’.

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Shaltūt’s Life and Reform Work (44.) See Y. Haddad, Contemporary Islam and the Challenge of History (Albany, NY, 1982) ch. 2: ‘The Nationalist and Socialist Challenge’, for a description of these measures. (45.) Crecelius, ‘The Ulama’, 344–5, and Jomier, ‘Al-Azhar’, 320. There was no head-on confrontation between the Shaykhs and the regime, indeed several of them made pronouncements favourable to the regime, particularly in support of ‘Islamic socialism’. The attitude of the Shaykhs might be best described as one of passive resistance. (46.) Crecelius describes how the legislation was rushed through in the last meeting of the Parliamentary Session on 22 June 1961. The whole procedure was confusing and humiliating for the Shaykhs; they were clearly unhappy about the law but their objections were dealt with brusquely and they were finally obliged to concede at 3.30 a.m. the following morning—see ‘The Ulama’, 347–9, and ‘Al-Azhar in the Revolution’, MEJ 20 (1966), 38–9. The Reform Law was actually drawn up by the Deputy Minister of Education, Muḥammad Sa‛īd al-‛Aryan, but it is not clear whom he consulted in doing so—‛Abd al-‛Azim, Mashyakhat al-Azhar, ii: 195. (47.) Crecelius, ‘Emergence’, 115. (48.) Jomier, ‘Al-Azhar’, 820. (49.) Lemke, Maḥmūd Šaltūt, 93, and Crecelius, ‘The Ulama’, 311. (50.) Lemke, Maḥmūd Šaltūt, 242. (51.) This memorandum was originally published in al-Ahrām, 5 and 7 August 1928; it has been translated into English in Moslem World, 19 (1929), 183–95, under the title: ‘A Defence of Reforms in Al-Azhar’. For a German version and comments see Lemke, Maḥmūd Šaltūt, 65 ff. Since I have not had access to the original Arabic, the discussion here refers to the English translation. (52.) Al-Marāghī, ‘A Defence of Reforms in Al-Azhar’, Moslem World, 19 (1929), 183–4. (53.) Ibid. 186 (54.) Ibid. 187 (55.) Ibid. 189 (56.) Ibid. 193 (57.) Ibid. 188 (58.) Al-Marāghī, 187. Page 24 of 29

Shaltūt’s Life and Reform Work (59.) Ibid. 190. (60.) These schools were founded by the Government in order to train secondary-school teachers and qāḍīs independently of the Azhar. (61.) Al-Marāghī, 188–95. (62.) Crecelius, ‘The Ulama’, 319. (63.) Dodge, Al-Azhar, 151. (64.) Crecelius, ‘The Ulama’, 321, and Lemke, Maḥmūd Šaltūt, 148–9. (65.) Al-Zayyāt, ‘Al-Imām’, 643, and al-Bayyūmi, ‘Ṣadāqat’, 150. Al-Marāghī himself is described as rather dispiritedly admitting his failure to implement effective reform—see Muḥammad Muḥammad al-Madanī, ‘Amthila…’, in al-Risāla 11, No. 512 (26 Apr. 1943), 327. This failure was due in part to the fact that alMarāghī was a controversial figure; his closeness to the young King Fārūq and his involvement in the Liberal Constitutionalist Party alienated many, particularly the Wafd—see Crecelius, ‘The Ulama’, 322–5, and E. Kedourie, ‘Egypt and the Caliphate 1915–46’, JRAS (1963), 209ff. (66.) Lemke, Maḥmūd Šaltūt, 147. (67.) Ibid. 129–31; Lemke describes subsequent attempts to provide training for al wa‛ẓ wa’l-irshād, but concludes that there was no real commitment to this up until the time when Shaltūt made his suggestions—see Maḥmūd Šaltūt, 132–4. (68.) The full text of these suggestions is reproduced under the title of ‘Iqtirāh marfū‛ ilā Jamā‛at Kibār al-‛Ulamā’’, al-Risāla 9, No. 437 (17 Nov. 1941), 1415– 16. Slightly shortened versions can be found in al-Madanī, ‘Ṣafḥa Bayḍā’ min Jihād Shaltūt fī sabīl al-Iṣlāh wa’l-Taqrīb bayna al-Muslimīn’, Majallat al-Azhar, 35 (1963/4), 651–2, and al-Bayyūmī, ‘Ṣadāqat’, 151. (69.) These are the reports from Jewish or Christian converts in the early period of Islam, who drew on their own religious heritage in order to throw light on certain events related in the Qur’ān, such as the contents of the table which the disciples asked to be sent down. The reform movement inaugurated by Muḥammad ‛Abduh strongly objected to the inclusion of such unreliable material in tafsīr. (70.) Wagdī edited the journal between 1933 and 1952; for a description of his editorship and its shortcomings, see Smith, Islam in Modern History, 132–50. (71.) Al-Risāla in particular, under the editorship of the progressive al-Zayyāt, supported Shaltūt’s programme and published articles in praise of them—see Lemke, Maḥmūd Šaltūt, 141, n. 5 for a list of articles. Page 25 of 29

Shaltūt’s Life and Reform Work (72.) Al-Bayyūmī, ‘Ṣadāqat’, 151, and al-Madanī, ‘Ṣafḥa Bayḍā’’, 653. (73.) Lemke, Maḥmūd Šaltūt, 142; he comments that the commission was installed in order to avoid having to make a decision. (74.) Although ‘‛Adad Mumtāz’ gives the year of this lecture as 1942, it seems probable that Lemke was correct in believing it to have been in 1943 (Maḥmūd Šaltūt, 147). An article written in Apr. 1943 describes the lecture as having taken place ‘last February’ (al-Madanī, ‘Amthila…’, 327), and the fact that the articles written in response to this lecture (see Lemke, Maḥmūd Šaltūt, 147, n. 2 for list) were all published in mid-1943 make it highly unlikely that it was delivered in Feb. 1942. The main part of the lecture is reproduced in al-Khafājī, Al-Azhar, iii: 13–22; it is summarized in an article by al-Madanī entitled ‘AlSiyāsat al-Tawjī-hiyyat al-‛Ilmiyya fi’l-Azhar’, al-Risāla 11, No. 515 (17 May 1943), 384–6. (75.) Al-Madanī, ‘Amthila…’, 327–8. (76.) Al-Khafājī, Al-Azhar, iii: 14. (77.) Ibid. 15–16, and al-Madanī, ‘Al-Siyāsat’, 385. (78.) Al-Khafājī, Al-Azhar, iii: 20–1, and al-Madanī, ‘Al-Siyāsat’, 385. (79.) Al-Madanī, ‘Al-Siyāsat’, 386. (80.) Al-Madanī, ‘Amthila…’, 328. (81.) See Lemke, Maḥmūd Šaltūt, 147, n. 2, for a list of articles. (82.) Minbar al-Islām 41, Nos. 5–6 (Mar. 1983), 181. (83.) Al-Madanī, ‘Ṣafḥa Bayḍā’’, 654. (84.) Ibid. 653. (85.) Al-Madanī (ed.), Da‛wat al-Taqrīb (Cairo, 1966), 10. (86.) Shaltūt and Muḥammad ‘Ali Sāyis, Muqāranat al-Madhāhib fi’l-Fiqh (Cairo, 1953), 5. (87.) Risālat al-Islām, 1 (1949), 5. (88.) Ibid. 8. (89.) Al-Madanī, Da‛wat al-Taqrīb, 13. (90.) Ibid. 34–5 and 288–9.

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Shaltūt’s Life and Reform Work (91.) Al-Madanī, ‘Ṣafḥa Bayḍā’’, 653, and Risālat al-Islām, 1 (1949), 93. (92.) Al-Madanī, Da‛wat al-Taqrīb, 289–90. (93.) Al-Madanī, ‘Ṣafḥa Bayḍā’’, 654; see ‘Risāla wa-jawābuhā’, Majallat al-Azhar, 30 (1958/9), 761–3 for a copy of al-Khāliṣī’s congratulatory letter to Shaltūt on his appointment as Shaykh al-Azhar and the reply. (94.) Al-Madanī, ‘Ṣafḥa Bayḍā’’, 654–6. To my knowledge the project was never actually undertaken. (95.) ‘Ārā’ wa-Aḥādīth’, Majallat al-Azhar, 30 (1958/9), section preceding Part 8 (Feb. 1959), 22nd page (no page numbers). (96.) Dar al-Taqreeb, Two Historical Documents (Cairo, 1383 ah), 14–16. This contrasts strongly with the attitude of ‛Abd al-Ḥalīm Maḥmūd (Shaykh al-Azhar, 1973–8), who declared the Shī‛ī additions to the adhān to be invalid, since according to him they are not based on any accepted authority. He further states that they amount to a contravention of the Sunna, persistence in which constitutes a ‘grave sin’. See ‛Abd al-Ḥalim Maḥmūd, Fatāwā al-Imām ‛Abd alḤalīm Maḥmūd (2nd edn.; Cairo, 1985), i: 426. (97.) For the foregoing information, see ‘Ārā’ wa-Aḥādith’, Majallat al-Azhar, 31 (1959/60), 239–41, and F. Bagley, ‘The Azhar and Shi‛ism’, Muslim World, 50 (1960), 122–4. (98.) See ‘Ārā’ wa-Aḥādith’ (1958/9), preceding Part 8 (Feb. 1959), interviews with al-Masā’ and al-Sha‛b (no page numbers). Shaltūt did in fact issue a resolution implementing the teaching of English, French, and Russian at the Azhar a few days prior to his appointment to the Rectorship; for the text of this resolution see ‘‛Adad Mumtāz’, last page. (99.) Crecelius, writing 4 years after its implementation, noted that the activities of the 5 new departments were uncoordinated, that the Islamic Research Council had failed to achieve anything concrete, and that the new faculties were filled almost exclusively with students from the Government universities. On a positive note, however, he spoke of a higher calibre of personnel and a ‘new vigor’ which had been injected into the institution—see his ‘Al-Azhar in the Revolution’, 44–8. (100.) The text of Law No. 103 (‘Qānūn Taṭwīr al-Azhar’) is reproduced in several Arabic works on the Azhar, including al-Khafājī’s Al-Azhar, ii: 188–227, and AlAzhar fī Ithnā ‛Ashara ‛Ām (Cairo, n.d.), 102–28. There is an English translation entitled Law No. 103 for 1961: reorganizing al-Azhar (Cairo, 1961). (101.) Al-Khafājī, Al-Azhar, ii: 188–91.

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Shaltūt’s Life and Reform Work (102.) See Crecelius, ‘Al-Azhar in the Revolution’, 40–3 for a description of this campaign. (103.) See Art. 8 of the Reform Law. (104.) Crecelius, ‘The Ulama’, 356. (105.) Al-Madanī, ‘Ṣafḥa Bayḍā’’, 656. Shaltūt had in fact been pressing for the creation of this Academy for some years—see ‛Abd al-Aẓīm, Mashyakhat alAzhar, ii: 183, 185–6. (106.) Arts. 15–17. (107.) Art. 25. (108.) Art. 33. (109.) Art. 34. (110.) They attempted to express this concern at the time when the Reform Law was rushed through Parliament—Crecelius, ‘The Ulama’, 247–9. (111.) Shaltūt, ‘Risālat al-Azhar fīḍ aw’ Qānūnihi al-Jadīd’, Majallat al-Azhar, 33 (1961/2), 779–82; here he supports the Government line that religion is not a profession in its own right. See also the article by Shaltūt entitled ‘The Message of Al-Azhar after its Reorganisation’, Majallat al-Azhar, 34 (Jan.–Apr. 1962), English supplement, 16–20. (112.) Shaltūt, ‘Ārā’ wa-Aḥādīth: Kalimat al-Ustadh al-Akbar fī Hay’at al-Takhṭīṭ’, Majallat al-Azhar, 33 (1961/2), 506–8. (113.) Crecelius, ‘The Ulama’, 346, and ‘Nonideological Responses’, 207–8. (114.) Al-Bahī indicates that there was some conflict between himself and Shaltūt—see his Ḥayātī fī Riḥāb al-Azhar (Cairo, 1982), 64–5. (115.) These letters are reproduced in ‛Abd al-‛Aẓīm, Mashyakhat al-Azhar, ii: 204–16.

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Shaltūt’s Life and Reform Work (116.) In this letter Shaltūt writes: ‘He [Dr al-Bahī] has proceeded in a manner which is not in harmony with the mission of the Azhar, or with the desires of those who wish to reform it, to the extent that he has violated its character and caused its structure to split asunder…Things have gone from bad to worse, until the Azhar has been deflected from its mission, and the Rectorship no longer has any existence or substance. In these circumstances I find myself faced with two alternatives: either I remain silent while the Azhar fails in carrying out its trust (and neither my religion nor my honour allow me to accept that), or I regretfully request that I be excused from carrying the burden of this trust (and I am certain that you share with me the responsibility for that trust before God and before history). Therefore I have no alternative but to tender my resignation from the Rectorship, now that I have been prevented from carrying out that trust.’—ibid. 215–16. (117.) Some lingering annoyance with Shaltūt may be reponsible for the fact that in the special edition of the Government periodical Minbar al-Islām devoted to the millennial anniversary of the Azhar, a section on reforming Shaykhs mentions al-Marāghī and al-Zawāhirī by name when describing the reform laws which were passed during their periods of office, while Shaltūt’s name is conspicuously absent from the section on the 1961 Reform Law—Minbar alIslām 41, Nos. 5–6 (Mar. 1983), 168. (118.) The fatwā and Shaltūt’s letter are reproduced in ‛Abd al-‛Aẓīm, Mashyakhat al-Azhar, ii: 217–19 and 220–6 respectively. The extreme delicacy of the matter is illustrated by the fact that the implementation law, which should have clarified the relations between the various senior positions in the Azhar, was not in fact issued until 1975—see Eccel, Egypt, 499. (119.) The report and the letter are reproduced in ‛Abd al-‛Aẓīm, Mashyakhat alAzhar, ii: 231–40 and 227–30 respectively. (120.) Cf. al-Zayyāt, ‘Al-Imām’, 644, and ‛Allām, ‘Al-Marḥūm’, 162, who are both optimistic, and ‛Abd al-Rāziq, ‘Al-Marḥūm’, 153, who is rather less so. Haddad describes the 1961 Law as ‘a reform that Shaltūt had planned and helped to institute’; no sources are given, but this is almost certainly overstating Shaltūt’s direct influence on the law—Contemporary Islam, 26. (121.) Lemke, Maḥmūd Šaltūt, 165, and Crecelius, ‘Al-Azhar in the Revolution’, 47.

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Islam: Ideals and Realities

Maḥmūd Shalt=ut and Islamic Modernism Kate Zebiri

Print publication date: 1993 Print ISBN-13: 9780198263302 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: October 2011 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198263302.001.0001

Islam: Ideals and Realities KATE ZEBIRI

DOI:10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198263302.003.0003

Abstract and Keywords This chapter examines the works of Maḥmūd Shaltūt to address the tension between ideal and reality in contemporary Islamic discourse. This conflicting need of a contemporary Muslim involved reconciling the dictates of his religion with his environment. In light of this situation, Shaltūt devoted a certain amount of attention to establish man's need for religion in general. His arguments for the need of religion were partly moral and theological, and partly rational. Shaltūt 's most persuasive argument on the issue related to the perennial reason versus revelation debated where he described the inherent shortcomings in man's intellect. Keywords:   Maḥmūd Shaltūt, ideal, reality, Islamic discourse, religion, intellect, Muslims

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Islam: Ideals and Realities SHALTŪT’S writings reveal a tension which underlies much of the contemporary Islamic discourse: the tension between ideal and reality. This is perceptible in the sometimes conflicting needs felt by the contemporary Muslim in reconciling the dictates of his religion with his environment. The role of religion in society must be established at least on a theoretical level, even if this is merely fighting a rearguard action against continuing encroachments on its domain in practice. At a time when Islam is felt to be under attack there is the need, felt especially by the preacher, to present Islam as a unified organic entity: aesthetically appealing, logically satisfying, commanding admiration. Last but not least, there is the need to face one’s existential reality and to confront external challenges, which in this case consist not only of the continuing legacy of the imperialist phase and the ever-present Western threat, but also indigenous Egyptian political realities. Shaltūt performs all of these tasks with varying degrees of success, sometimes straying into utopianism, at others striking a compromise in order to accommodate political realities. It is a sign of the times that Shaltūt devoted a certain amount of attention to establishing man’s need for religion in general,1 and was not able to take this entirely for granted. Shaltūt’s arguments in favour of the need for religion are partly moral and theological, and partly rational. Primarily, of course, religion is necessary for man in his battle against evil, or against his own lower self.2 Only religion can provide man with the true happiness and security that the enormous scientific and material progress of this century, enabling mankind to conquer space, has not been able to provide.3 Religion provides man with a shield against the inevitable trials and tribulations of life; the quality of ṣabr (steadfastness) and the practice of ṣalāh (ritual prayer) are particularly fortifying in this regard.4 Shaltūt’s more persuasive arguments on the subject relate to the (p.40) perennial reason versus revelation debate. He describes the inherent shortcomings in man’s intellect. It is essentially subjective, no two minds being alike, hence the proliferation of vastly differing man-made systems such as capitalism and communism; objectivity is in fact precluded by the various environmental factors that influence individuals. Men’s intellects are limited in nature—unlike God, they are not able to see all possible eventualities. Added to these considerations is the somewhat simplistic observation that religious law, which appeals to people’s consciences, commands a far more deep-seated loyalty than man-made law, where the only deterrent for wrongdoing is the fear of discovery and punishment.5

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Islam: Ideals and Realities As Shaltūt is addressing Muslims, once the need for religion has been affirmed there is no need to justify his choice of Islam as opposed to any other religion; a simple statement suffices, to the effect that the only religion which is free from complexity and distortion is Islam, ‘the seal of the divine messages, the religion of the spiritual and the material, the heart and the mind, the individual and society, of this world and the next’.6 However, he feels a definite need to reaffirm the importance of the role of religion in society: This idea [of the separation between religion and society] has become prominent, and the men who have actually undertaken social reform have not based their ideas upon religion; as for the men of religion, they have shrunk before them, and have confined themselves to instructing people in the performance of the acts of worship and their outward particulars, and those things which render them valid or invalid. Thus, many people have come to imagine that religion, with its rulings and directives, is one thing, and society, and all that it entails and requires, is another.7 For Shaltūt there is no question of discussing social issues outside the context of religion, for Islam establishes not only the relationship between man and God but also that between man and his fellow man: It is a social religion above all else’—if a man’s devotional acts do not instil in him a social conscience, then his worship is useless.8 However, Muslims anxious to relate religious acts to everyday life should not fall into the trap of reductionism, interpreting religion materialistically, dwelling for example on the salubrious aspects of wuḍū’ (ritual ablutions) and ṣawm (fasting), or maintaining that prayer provides beneficial physical exercise, (p.41) or that the most important function of the ḥajj (pilgrimage to Mecca) is to provide an opportunity for the promotion of greater communication between Muslims from different countries.9

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Islam: Ideals and Realities Shaltūt reinforces the organic relationship between religion and society by relating specific religious texts to current social realities, thus presenting a striking contrast to the ‘men of religion’ castigated in the above quote. Thus, ‘holding fast to the rope of God’ (Qur’ān 3: 103) involves, among other things, evolving an authentic Islamic economic infrastructure, in order to prevent imperialist nations from siphoning off the wealth of underdeveloped Muslim countries, as well as establishing an effective military power.10 The Qur’ānic category of ‘fi’l-riqāb’ (for the freeing of captives or slaves), listed as one of the heads of expenditure for zakāh (alms-tax) (9: 60) is deemed by some to be obsolete in an age when slavery has died out, but Shaltūt maintains that the ideological, economic, and political slavery of nations is an even worse phenomenon than the slavery of individuals, and deserves to have much money and effort spent for the sake of its removal.11 The occasion when the Prophet ordered the destruction of the ‘opposition mosque’, and the ḥadīth which says that peep-holes giving onto a neighbour’s private quarters must be blocked, lead Shaltūt to talk of the importance of national security. Bearing in mind that even a mosque can be used as a screen for hostile activities, one should be suspicious of all institutions which could be used to serve imperialist ends, be they cultural, educational, charitable, financial, etc.; the taking of non-Muslim ‘military allies’ is particularly deleterious.12 Similarly, in the case of the well-known ḥadīth which mentions three methods of changing munkarāt (reprehensible actions) with the hand, the tongue, or the heart, Shaltūt has practical suggestions in each case. In the first two categories (changing things with the hand and the tongue) he refers specifically to those who are in the best position to effect changes, namely those in authority whether it be on the national level, in the religious sense, in the sphere of education, or within the family. In the second category (changing things with the tongue), he mentions the special responsibility of broadcasters, journalists, and publishers. As for the third category (changing things with the heart), Shaltūt emphatically rejects the notion that this is a purely passive feeling of disapproval, for otherwise it could not be described as ‘changing’ at (p.42) all. At the very least this should involve cutting all links with the perpetrator of munkarāt, so that he will feel isolated and rejected, and perhaps be thus encouraged to review his behaviour.13

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Islam: Ideals and Realities Failure to practise the Islamic religion properly in general, and the separation between religion and society in particular, are largely responsible in Shaltūt’s eyes for the whole phenomenon of imperialism and consequently for the current weakened state in which Muslim countries generally find themselves vis-à-vis the West.14 The necessary link between observance of the true spirit of the religion and worldly success is established by a familiar process of a priori reasoning: since God has promised his help to Muslims in overcoming their enemies (for example, Qur’ān 8: 66), then if Muslims are defeated it can only be because they are not applying the teachings of their religion properly.15 However, this does not mean that Muslims can simply carry out their religious duties and then relax in the knowledge that God will not allow non-Muslims to be victorious over Muslims; they must also pursue the material means which will ensure victory. It was neglect of these means that enabled their enemies to gain power over them.16 Intellectual laziness, in the form of allowing taqlīd to predominate over ijtihād, and the moral lethargy induced by fatalism, each contributed to the deterioration of the Muslims’ position, conspiring to make the imperialists’ task easier.17 The belief that worldly success is the natural destiny of Muslims leads Shaltūt to talk of specific Muslim or Arab victories in religious terms: Jamāl ‘Abd al-Nāṣir, the champion of Egypt and Arabism, is described in one speech as ‘the chosen hand of God’, and the 1956 Suez Canal incident is obliquely referred to as an example of how strength of faith and a readiness to fight can enable the Muslims to overcome superior numbers.18 The problem of power is one which greatly preoccupies Shaltūt, for obvious historical reasons. He lived and wrote at a time when not all Muslim countries had gained political independence, and he was aware of the legacy of foreign influence in those countries which, like Egypt, had gained formal independence: One of the bitter fruits of the foreign occupation of our country, and their systematic campaign (ghazw) against our beliefs and traditions, is that they have persuaded us to reject the civil and criminal rulings [of the Sharī‛a], so that we only have left of our laws those rulings which appertain to the family, whose central pillar is the woman; in spite of this, (p.43) they [i.e. the imperialists] could not even bring themselves to retain this meagre remnant of the Islamic law…so they began to tempt women in their deceitful, twisted and tendentious way, while affecting to defend her.19 He commented on the insidious tendency for people to be attracted to the values of a powerful and materially superior nation, a sort of interiorization of the principle ‘might is right’,20 and cited Turkey as an example of a Muslim country which had been so influenced by the West that it had turned away from Islam altogether.21 Page 5 of 23

Islam: Ideals and Realities Although Shaltūt was not directly cognisant of the writings of Orientalists, he was aware in a general way of some of the accusations which had been directed against Islam by Europeans or Westernized Muslims, and occasionally undertook to defend Islam against specific charges.22 To some extent, the defence of Islam has been a necessary occupation of Muslim reformers for the last century. AlAfghānī, ‘Abduh, and Muḥammad Rashīd Riḍā all devoted considerable energies to this cause, although a change of emphasis is discernible over time: while alAfghānī and ‘Abduh both engaged directly in polemics with Western or nonMuslim thinkers,23 Riḍā found himself having to defend Islam to Westernized Muslims. Unfortunately apologetic writing is not conducive to intellectual integrity, and its potential hazards are ably documented by Wilfred Cantwell Smith.24 These include selectiveness in the use of sources (for example, copious quotes in support of one’s view from obscure Western authors), frequent references to external criteria (again, quotations from Western authors—why cite them at all?), a cavalier attitude towards history, and a tendency to overgeneralize. The sacrifice of truth and objectivity is compounded by the moral poverty of such works which are more likely to engender complacency than to inspire constructive action. Illustrations can be gleaned even from the more scholarly and responsible Muslim writers; Rashīd Riḍā writes in his Qur’ānic commentary (in defence of polygyny) that in Europe there is not one man in 100,000 who is not adulterous,25 and (defending the position of women in Islam generally), he claims that before Islam all nations treated women as animals and denied them any rights.26 Shaltūt himself succumbs to this temptation relatively rarely, and almost invariably in the context of a discussion relating to women’s position in Islam.27 (p.44) A more recent evolution that can be detected in contemporary Islamic apologetic work is towards what may be termed an ‘aggressive defence’. This appears to be a contradiction in terms, of course, yet it accurately describes the phenomenon whereby a priori assumptions are made, and frequently reiterated, that Islam is the best possible religion (or system) for mankind, that it is the embodiment of various ideal qualities such as moderation (tawassuṭ), naturalness (fiṭriyya), tolerance and lenience (samāḥa wa-yusr), rationality (‘aqliyya), progressiveness (taqaddum), eternality (khulūd), and comprehensiveness (kamāl).28 Such statements can be found already in the works of ‘Abduh and Riḍā, but not with the same regularity and easy assumption as later on. The aggressiveness of such writing lies in the fact that Islam is frequently compared with Western civilization to the detriment of the latter, and the constant assumption of Islam’s superiority can entail a dismissive attitude towards anything of un-Islamic provenance. This attitude is most entrenched in the writings of radical Islamists. The defensiveness lies in the fact that in using this type of discourse Muslims are still defining themselves in relation to the West, and still feel themselves (no doubt with good reason) to be living in its shadow. Page 6 of 23

Islam: Ideals and Realities Shaltūt’s writings are not on the whole over-defensive or aggressive, but he does at times seek to demonstrate all the above-mentioned ideal qualities of Islam. To a great extent this type of material is scattered throughout his works in a relatively well-digested form, though he occasionally produces an article under a heading such as ‘Islam encourages progress’, or ‘Islam is the religion of intellect and knowledge’.29 The statement that Islam is the religion of moderation or the middle way has become commonplace; the Qur’ān itself describes Muslims as ‘the median community’ (ummatan wasaṭan—2: 143). In elaborating on this principle Shaltūt lists several sets of extremes, in relation to which Islam represents the golden mean:30 atheism and polytheism; pure materialism and pure spirituality; cowardice and recklessness; miserliness and profligacy; arrogance and subservience; tyranny and anarchy; and capitalism and communism.31 More arbitrarily, Islam is said to be moderate in its legislation, neither leaving everything to man nor arrogating everything to itself; in the individual’s relation to society, neither giving the individual complete freedom so that the strong would be free to (p.45) oppress the weak, nor negating man’s individuality and making him a mere tool of society; and in international relations, neither neglecting the defence of the Muslim nations, nor allowing them to oppress other nations. Interestingly, Shaltūt elevates tawassuṭ almost to the level of a legal maxim, referring to it as a ‘major principle’ (aṣl ‛aẓīm) of Islam, and citing it as a supporting authority for the opinion that music is neither absolutely ḥarām (prohibited) nor absolutely ḥalāl (permitted), but is in fact lawful with certain provisos.32 The statement that Islam is in harmony with nature (al-fiṭra), and in particular human nature, is equally familiar. This quality is related to tawassuṭ, since Islam is said neither to deny nor to indulge man’s natural inclinations, but to moderate them. Shaltūt asserts that ‘the Islamic legislation is invariably nothing more than the regulation of that which human nature requires’.33 A commonly cited example is that of polygyny, which is seen as making allowances for man’s natural requirements in certain cases (whether because the first wife is sexually inactive or because the husband has an unusually large sexual appetite), while placing limits on the number of wives and providing for their equitable treatment.34 Another example given is that of Islam’s injunctions with relation to the family, whereby the woman, in accordance with her physical and psychological disposition, devotes herself to the upbringing of the children, while the man bears the responsibility for financial matters and acts as guardian of the family.35

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Islam: Ideals and Realities Human nature is seen as essentially good (there is no concept of original sin in Islam); thus, mankind is naturally disposed to believe in God, and the Qur’ān itself appeals to man’s innate knowledge as a witness to tawḥīd (the oneness of God).36 If it were not for ‘external pressures’, men would hasten to obey God’s commands under the dictates of their own human nature; indeed, Muḥammad’s mission was, in a sense, to awaken this natural spirit in man.37 If one accepts that the precepts of Islam are in accordance with human nature, then it is logical to assume that this makes them easier to practise, which leads to the assertion of the qualities of samāḥa and yusr. Shaltūt quotes several texts from the Qur’ān and the Sunna which reinforce this: They [i.e. those who consider religion to be unduly harsh and restrictive] ought to acquaint themselves with the general foundation upon which the (p.46) religious legislation is based, and read the words of God Almighty: ‘God does not charge a soul with more than it can bear’ (2: 286), and ‘God desires your well-being, not your discomfort’ (2: 185), and ‘He has not made the observance of your faith difficult for you’ (22: 78), and they should listen to the words of the noble Prophet: ‘Religion is easy; whomsoever overburdens himself in his religion will be defeated, so do your best and do not complicate matters’, and: ‘Make things easy, not hard, give good news and do not alienate people’.38 The main example which Shaltūt provides of Islam’s leniency is the phenomenon of tashri‛ al-badal: those areas of legislation, particularly in acts of worship, where alternatives are allowed in case of difficulty or hardship, for example, the provisions with regard to travelling that one may shorten the prayer, resort to tayammum (using earth or dust instead of water for ablutions) in place of wuḍū’ and postpone the fast of Ramadan.39 Of a similar nature are those cases where necessity removes prohibition, as for example when prohibited substances are contained in medicine which is essential for one’s health, or one is starving and the only available food would normally be ḥarām.40 As with the principle of moderation, Shaltūt brings out the significance of this principle in deducing legal rulings; it appears to be the principal factor behind his opinion that men whose work entails loading wine off and on to ships do not come under the Prophetic curse on the carrier of wine, since their intention is merely to earn their living.41

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Islam: Ideals and Realities The demonstration of the rational and progressive qualities of Islam has long been a preoccupation of Muslim reformers. The evidence adduced here includes the oft-repeated statement that Muḥammad’s mission did not have recourse to sensuous miracles but relied instead on the use of reasoned arguments which are contained in the Qur’ān.42 Shaltūt reiterates the idea, first propounded by ‘Abduh, of the evolution of religions, Islam representing the culmination of a series of messages which was revealed at a time when man had reached the final stage of his rational development.43 The Qur’ānic emphasis on the importance of thinking and reflection (for example, where it asks man to contemplate the workings of nature), and its elevation of those who have knowledge is also adduced.44 It is pointed out that historically, the early Muslims’ recognition of the importance of (p.47) knowledge and literacy caused a largely illiterate nation to give birth to a highly developed civilization.45 An important related theme is the condemnation of taqlīd. Shaltūt describes intellectual stagnation as ‘a crime against human nature’, and is surprisingly positive about the potential of the human intellect: Intellectual evolution is like the evolution of plants and animals and people,46 for they are all an essential part of life. If intellectual evolution ceased, man would get tangled up in the great multitude of natural phenomena which nature produces, and of which he is one, and would be unable to cope with life’s never-ending expansion, which is there only to serve man, for his own well-being and benefit, and he would fail in his task of being God’s vicegerent on earth, a task for which he was chosen and which was entrusted to him in the beginning of Creation.47 Shaltūt stresses the vital role of ijtihād in ensuring Islam’s adaptability and hence progressiveness: If this aspect of Islam indicates anything, it is that it is a religion which is sufficiently broad to accommodate man’s freedom of thought (within the limits of reason) and that, with the exception of certain basic articles of faith and legal principles, it is not restricted to one type of thinking or one method of legislation; and because of that freedom it has been able to adapt itself to all healthy types of culture and all civilizations which man’s intellect has produced for the benefit and the advancement of mankind, no matter how far that intellect progresses, and no matter to what degree life evolves.48 In case this should seem to weigh too heavily in favour of reason vis-à-vis revelation, Shaltūt strikes a cautionary note when he warns that rational thought or contemplation (tafakkur) must always be accompanied by remembrance of God, for materialistic ways of thinking are worse than intellectual stagnation.49

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Islam: Ideals and Realities On the whole Shaltūt is less disposed to incorporate modern scientific theories into Islam than were ‘Abduh and Riḍā; they may have toyed with the possibility of the Qur’ān’s accommodating Darwin’s theory of evolution, but he does not.50 However, he is not averse to the idea that some of the precepts of Islam are based on scientific knowledge which man has only acquired in the modern age, as where he claims that modern medicine confirms the Qur’ānic statement that menstruation can be harmful (2: 222), the female reproductive organs being more susceptible to infection (p.48) at this time because of the alkalinity and the general inflammation of the vagina.51 Such examples serve to reinforce the belief that Islam is in harmony with natural laws. Departing from the classical Ash‘arite theory of ‘occasionalism’, which entails an atomistic vision of the universe and the denial of the laws of cause and effect (since this would imply an obligation on God to adhere to those laws), Shaltūt in common with most Muslim scholars of this century does not feel that natural and divine law are two separate phenomena in competition with one another. On the contrary, nature and its laws are a part of God’s creation and therefore His implicit revelation.52 The ideas of the completeness and eternality of Islam are related to many of the aforementioned points; the flexibility implied in ijtihād allows for adaptation to changing circumstances through the ages, and the idea of the evolution of religions reinforces the view of Islam as the final and complete message. Islam is seen not just as one religion among many but as the primordial religion—the perfected version of the previous revelations which were, in their pure forms, the same message in slightly different form.53 According to Shaltūt, Islam is as eternal as God’s mercy of which it is the manifestation, and its teachings contain in essence all that is necessary for man’s well-being: If we examine its teaching as a whole and in its details, we will find that it is an ideal system, catering for the happiness of the individual and society in this world and the next. It has not neglected to enjoin and encourage anything which is for man’s well-being and success, and which makes for a good life and eternal happiness, nor has it neglected to forbid and discourage anything which is harmful and corrupting, and which makes for a life of humiliation and lasting wretchedness.54 This idea of the comprehensiveness of Islam has become almost an article of faith among Muslims today. It is clear that in fact the Islamic sources do not cover every area of life in detail, but it can be argued that they contain the underlying principles which can provide guidance for all eventualities:

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Islam: Ideals and Realities For a thing to be ḥarām or makrūh (reprehensible) in Islam, there does not have to be a text on that particular subject, for the underlying reasons for legal rulings (‘ilal al-aḥkām) and the general principles of legislation are both of value in deciding the legal status of things, and by virtue of these reasons and those principles, Islam is fully able to evaluate anything which men may invent, as regards its legality or illegality.55 (p.49) The elaboration of the various ideal qualities described above, when skilfully done and rooted in the Qur’ān, is a persuasive tool in the hand of the preacher (or for that matter the religious activist); it presents a holistic and harmonious vision of Islam which is psychologically reassuring for the Muslim who feels himself besieged. At the same time it is not difficult to harness these qualities for didactic ends, relating them to everyday morality or practical issues. Shaltūt has a highly idealized vision of the archetypal Islamic society in which social solidarity (based essentially on religious brotherhood) and corporate moral responsibility are strong. He sees this society as an organic entity with ‘a throbbing heart and a living soul’.56 His conception of the uniqueness of the Islamic umma (community) is expressed by the use of the word shakhṣiyya (personality/identity). He believes that societies have a moral identity (shakhṣiyya ma‘nawiyya) as well as a purely physical one (shakhṣiyya ḥissiyya) which is determined by such factors as geography and demography. It is the shakhṣiyya ma‘nawiyya which gives a society its feelings of self-worth and selfrespect;57 if it lacks a strong sense of its own identity, it becomes vulnerable to attack from other nations, no matter how favourable its physical characteristics may be.58 However, it is argued that whenever people’s sense of identity has rested on such arbitrary considerations as race or geographical area, this has resulted in a spirit of selfishness which has led ultimately to conflict and war.59 While certain aspects of the umma’s identity which are subject to human experience and endeavour, such as its activities in the spheres of agriculture and industry, may be common to many societies, its uniqueness lies in the divinely inspired Islamic dimension of its identity.60 This identity embraces many aspects of the society’s existence; at the centre are creed and worship, but it extends to the attitude towards many aspects of societal life: financial affairs, legislation, government, morality, and culture.61 As in the Qur’ān, in Shaltūt’s writings there is a strong sense of the collective destiny of societies; the Muslim nations became subservient to others because they forgot their God-given identity, and allowed themselves to become absorbed in the identity of others, following them in all spheres of life—military, economic, political, and even in the areas of legislation and culture.62

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Islam: Ideals and Realities In Shaltūt’s conception there is an inseparable link between the (p.50) religious faith of the individual and the social solidarity of the community. Faith inevitably leads to a strong sense of religious brotherhood, which in the Qur’ān and the Sunna is elevated over blood ties.63 Social solidarity (al-taḍāmun/altakāful al-ijtimā‛ī) may be expressed materially or morally.64 The material aspect consists of helping those in need and contributing towards the establishment of necessary public utilities, and is stressed in the Qur’ānic references to charitable spending and helping others. Shaltūt does not, however, envisage a situation of institutionalized poverty where certain sections of society are always on the receiving end: the act of giving is beneficial not only for the recipient but also for the giver—even the poor person should try to give something, ‘in order to have the experience of giving’, for this will increase his feelings of self-respect and may inspire him to greater efforts to change his own situation.65 However, material aid is not sufficient on its own. In order for a society to be healthy, there must prevail a strong sense of corporate moral responsibility; each member of the community must take it upon himself to fulfil the Qur’ānic injunction to ‘command what is good and forbid what is evil’ (‘al-amr bi’l-ma‘rūf wa’l-nahy ‘an al-munkar’). From Muḥammad ‘Abduh’s time on, modern Islamic reformers have stressed the importance of this Qur’ānic precept. Shaltūt mentions the way in which Sūrat al-‘Aṣr (Sūra 103) embodies the two related aspects of a Muslim’s behaviour: as individuals, they are asked to believe and do good works, but they should also exhort one another to good actions and to steadfastness. It is not enough just to work out one’s own salvation—one has a moral duty to help others on their way too.66 As with the use of the term ‘shakhṣiyya’ Shaltūt coins specific expressions to give added impetus to his meaning. A healthy society needs two essential qualities: irshād (guidance), which is used to describe this active sense of responsibility, and istimā‛ (receptivity), the ability to admit one’s errors and accept good advice.67 The changing fortunes of the Muslim community in history are related to the extent to which these two factors were present. Shaltūt relates that in the early Medinan community even those in authority allowed themselves to be corrected by others, and this resulted in a vigorous and healthy society. However, this sense of responsibility waned in later ages, and people became afraid of angering others by speaking out, preferring to acquiesce (p.51) in wrongdoing rather than risk losing their wealth and influence—with lamentable consequences for society as a whole.68 Shaltūt’s emphasis on social harmony leads him to condemn the spirit of selfish individualism which he discerns in modern societies, along with a tendency to defend immoral actions and ideas in the name of ‘freedom of opinion’.69 Ideally, he sees the relationship of the individual to society as one of mutual benefit rather than conflict of interests:

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Islam: Ideals and Realities Society is, in reality, no more than the individuals which are its bricks, for it is of these that it is built; and individuals are, in reality, no more than the society which they go to make up. Its happiness is their happiness, its wellbeing is their well-being, its suffering is their suffering, and when it is corrupt, they are corrupt.70 While it is true that the preacher has to try and inspire his audience with an exalted vision of life in order that they should aim high, he should at the same time attempt to strike a balance, making that vision seem not altogether unattainable or unrelated to current realities. In his writings on the ideal Islamic society, Shaltūt is at his most Utopian; at times it is hard to relate his images to the complex realities of twentieth-century socio-political conglomerations. Shaltūt is similarly idealistic in his writings on political authority within the Islamic society. As one would expect, he is insistent on the inseparability of religion and State: ‘You could only separate dīn (religion) and dawla (state) in Islam if you were able to separate a man’s soul from his body without killing him.’71 He explicitly disregards the body of Islamic political theory that was formulated by scholars in the Middle Ages: Islamic political principles…can be discerned from the Qur’ān and the authentic Sunna, and guidance can be obtained from their practical application by the Prophet (peace be upon him) and the rightly-guided Caliphs after him. However, we should not confuse these principles, which are based on the primary sources of Islam, with the political principles which were an expression of the actual state of Government and its institutions after the Muslims had become disunited.72 It is generally the case that when primarily religious thinkers turn their attention to political principles (which in itself is probably a uniquely Islamic phenomenon), the result is disappointing. It is (p.52) perhaps as well, then, that Shaltūt does not expand on the subject at length, but confines himself to relatively brief tracts treating very general principles.73 Certainly there is nothing particularly original in these tracts, and no discernible evolution in thought since, for example, Rashīd Riḍā wrote on Islamic Government earlier this century. Yet the fact that the same principles continue to be invoked by Islamists, often in a somewhat jejune way, is in itself an interesting phenomenon.

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Islam: Ideals and Realities One ubiquitous element in these writings is the dictum that ‘sovereignty (alsiyāda) belongs to God alone’; man is God’s vicegerent on earth and so can only wield authority as a representative (nā’ib) of God and an agent (wakīl) of the people. Authority on earth is essentially vested in the umma as a whole, as illustrated by the Qur’ānic injunctions which are addressed to all believers: ‘Yā ayyuha alladhīna āmanū’ (‘O you who believe’), ‘Yā ayyuha al-nās’ (‘O mankind’).74 These statements beg various questions which are rarely addressed, such as the difference in practical terms between ‘sovereignty’ and ‘authority’. Another common element is the emphasis on the principle of shūrā (consultation), which is mentioned twice in the Qur’ān (42: 38, 3: 159), and for which numerous examples can be cited from the life of the Prophet.75 Like others before him, Shaltūt describes how well this principle worked in the early Muslim community: ‘It was a natural process; the Prophet or Caliph would assemble his companions, put the issue to them, and they would express their views; then either the majority opinion or the strongest argument would be put into effect.’76 He does not venture to suggest how this informal process could be adapted for implementation in a modern nation-state. While it must surely be beneficial to stress the importance and inviolability of this principle, as Shaltūt does at some length, this issue begs several questions as to the method of its execution. It is to Shaltūt’s credit that he is not entirely silent on this matter; he draws attention to the fact that neither the Qur’ān nor the Sunna laid down any regulations concerning the implementation of shūrā, and maintains that this flexibility is in the Muslims’ interests, since different circumstances may require different methods of implementation. However, there is a somewhat cavalier dismissal of such details in his assertion that so long as the aim of shūrā is the realization of justice and the unity and prosperity of the umma, then the actual means will be ‘a simple affair’.77 (p.53) A certain amount of light is shed on the implementation of shūrā by linking it with the definition of ‘ūlū’l-amr’ (‘those in authority’), mentioned in the Qur’ān (4: 59), there being an implicit assumption that these are the people whose consultation is to be sought. As in the writings of Rashīd Riḍā, the ūlū’lamr are taken to be the acknowledged experts in all areas of life, including the military, legal, financial, and political.78 Religious knowledge, in this regard, is just one branch of specialization among others.79 Like Riḍā again, Shaltūt takes the logical step of identifying ūlū’l-amr with ahl al-ijmā‛ (those whose opinion is to be taken into consideration in arriving at a consensus); whatever they agree upon, whether unanimously or by majority consensus, is to be observed by the Muslims until such time as renewed circumstances require a change in the ruling.80

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Islam: Ideals and Realities Little is said specifically on the subject of the head of state. It is striking that Shaltūt uses the term khalīfa quite casually, and interchangeably with the word ḥākim (ruler),81 though the inferences to be drawn from this are not clear. It would appear to be an indication that he is treating the subject in isolation from current political realities, but whether through caution, indifference, or cynicism is hard to say. He stresses the right of the umma to choose their head of state, to supervise his public and private actions (inasmuch as he must be morally upright in order to be worthy of office), and to dismiss him, if necessary by force, if he fails in his duties.82 He emphatically rejects the principle of unconditional obedience to the ruler, affirmed by the medieval scholars in violation of the principle of shūrā, and of the principle: ‘Lā ṭā‘ata li-makhlūq fī ma‘ṣiyat al-khāliq’ (‘No obedience to man in disobedience to God’).83 In fairness to Shaltūt, one would not expect a man of his position and background to produce sophisticated political theories, or detailed provisions for procedural details such as precisely how an unworthy ruler is to be identified as such and subsequently removed. Since he only treats political matters in passing, perhaps in order to pay lip-service to the above-stated ideal of men of religion being concerned with all aspects of society, a certain degree of ingenuousness is perhaps more forgivable in him than in one who professes to write authoritatively on such matters, such as Rashīd Riḍā, or the Islamic activist who purports to be actively seeking to implement God’s rule on earth. (p.54) The foregoing may have given the impression that Shaltūt was interested only in constructing an ideal paradigm for the Islamic polity. However, he also shows himself willing to accept and recognize certain political realities, most notably the phenomena of Arab nationalism and an undefined form of socialism, which may be loosely described as Arab/Islamic/Nasserite. These terms should not be understood here in any strictly technical sense, as Shaltūt’s use of them is somewhat vague; yet his reasons for endorsing the principle of ‘socialism’ at all, no matter how ill-defined, are obviously pragmatic in view of the circumstances prevailing in Egypt at that time. Shaltūt maintains in his more idealist writings that the State in Islam is not based on considerations of race, nationality, or geographical accident, for this would be placing restrictions on Islam’s universal appeal. In the Islamic State, unity is based on something higher than this, namely religious brotherhood.84 This view is, of course, a corollary of the inseparability of dīn and dawla. However, on a more practical note, he maintains elsewhere that this ideal does not in fact preclude the possibility of the existence of separate Muslim communities living in different lands, each with its own ruler and each having a state ‘with all the characteristics of the Islamic State, as is the case today [sic]’. In this case the strong bonds which are or should be established between them would be sufficient to fulfil the intention of the Qur’ānic declaration: ‘This community (umma) of yours is indeed one community’ (21: 92).85 Page 15 of 23

Islam: Ideals and Realities Patriotism presents no problem for Shaltūt, in common with most traditional Islamic thinkers; indeed, there is a well-known ḥadīth which endorses ‘love of one’s country’ (ḥubb al-waṭan). Shaltūt takes a pride in his own country, describing Egypt in one place as ‘the qibla of Arabism and Islam’;86 he mentions Arabism and Islam together in several places,87 and one has the impression that the phrase is used for its emotive value rather than in any strict theoretical sense, especially as some of these references occur within speeches which he delivered on various auspicious occasions. However, the link between the two is further developed when he refers to the special relationship which exists between Arabism and Islam, in view of the importance of the Qur’ān for the Arabic language; he further erodes the distinction between the two by hinting that Arabism is a spiritual rather than a national or (p.55) regional phenomenon, having a profound influence on intellectual and emotional development.88 This corresponds to the fact that historically Arab nationalism has been based more on cultural and linguistic considerations than on racial ones;89 all Arabs can take a pride in their Islamic heritage just as all Muslims take a pride in the Arabic language. In any case, Arab nationalism, particularly in the minds of religious thinkers, has most often been ‘a movement for guarding a nation’s independence and freedom in the face of an external aggressor’, rather than ‘an intellectual assertion of a nation’s separateness and identity’.90 Shaltūt’s pronouncements on the subject of socialism are for the most part similarly equivocal. In fact he often does not appear to be writing about any specific man-made system but uses the word ‘ishtirākiyya’ (socialism) to denote social justice, thus: ‘Ṣadaqa (charity) fulfils the noblest aims of socialism’.91 His conception of socialism is adapted to his conception of Islam rather than vice versa. Significantly, he never uses the term ‘Islamic socialism’, in which Islam is relegated to a mere descriptive epithet; the article he wrote on the subject of socialism is entitled: ‘Islam and Socialism’.92 In fact Shaltūt contrasts ‘socialism’ as a political school of thought with the true ‘socialism’ of Islam: However much the advocates of socialism raise their heads and proclaim it abroad, you will not find in what they say or in their actual lives anything approximating to that socialism which emanates from the depths of faith, and which Islam has made into a way of life.93

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Islam: Ideals and Realities In his article on socialism94 Shaltūt reiterates much of what he has said elsewhere on society in general, stressing, for example, a concept of ‘moral solidarity’ which he sees as deriving exclusively from Islam. On the subject of ‘material solidarity’, he stresses the importance of the development of the sources of wealth, i.e. agriculture, industry, and commerce. He sees it as a religious obligation for the nation to be self-sufficient with regard to its material needs, thus avoiding the necessity for any foreign interference.95 He further states that these three realms of activity must be co-ordinated, so that one is not allowed to develop at the expense of the others, ‘even if this means transforming agricultural land into commercial or industrial concerns, according to the country’s needs’. Thus he envisages an extensive role for the State in organizing the domestic economy, including if necessary the (p.56) confiscation or limitation of land, for which he cites precedents in Islamic history.96 This may be regarded as the nearest Shaltūt comes to being supportive of specific Government policies. The statement that all material possessions belong to God and are only held in trust by man, who is therefore obliged to observe the needs of the community in their disposal, is one for which support can easily be found in the Qur’ān, and which is invariably prominent in any writings which seek to reconcile Islam with socialism. However, Shaltūt does not address in any detail the crucial question of the relative balance which is to be struck between the rights of the individual and the rights of the community. The bulk of his article is uncontroversial, and infused with a tone of religious piety; there are abundant Qur’ānic quotes to illustrate such things as Islam’s emphasis on charitable spending.97 On a more superficial level, an article by Shaltūt in Majallat al-Azhar entitled ‘The Attitude of Islam Towards the Exploiters’, reveals how the revolutionary rhetoric had filtered down into the ranks of the religious scholars: there is reference to ‘masters’ and ‘workers’, ‘monopolists’ and ‘exploiters’, ‘tyrannical capitalism’, and ‘revolution’.98

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Islam: Ideals and Realities It is evident that in his writings on the subject of socialism, Shaltūt was to some extent deferring to political realities; ‘Abd al-Nāṣir’s regime used its considerable resources in the 1950s and early 1960s to mobilize the Islamic Establishment in support of its socialist ideology, and one can conjecture that the pressure to conform would have been felt by Shaltūt, directly or indirectly, in proportion to the eminence of his position. A look through the pages of Majallat al-Azhar for the year 1962 reveals a sudden crop of titles relating to socialism, closely following the inauguration of the ‘Social Revolution’ in Egypt in 1961.99 In spite of this I am not convinced that he was altogether insincere in his endorsement of socialism; it seems that he did not actually compromise his religious beliefs or radically depart from the spirit of his other writings, and it is only fair to say that there is a genuine correspondence between some of the basic principles of Islam and those of socialism.100 His motives were probably complex, and not confined to the obvious practical consideration that to refuse to give at least a nominal endorsement of socialism would mean sacrificing his own position and ability to influence the course of events. It appears that Shaltūt felt considerable admiration for the (p.57) achievements of ‛Abd al-Nāṣir (an admiration which he expressed on several occasions), in particular the latter’s strong anti-imperialist stand, and therefore was hopeful that the new emphasis on socialism would be to Egypt’s benefit. At the same time he must have felt a certain sense of responsibility to ensure that Islam remained on the political agenda. Thus his writings on socialism, extremely religious in tone, would serve a constructive purpose. I have little doubt that as a man nearing seventy, Shaltūt was swayed more by considerations of public interest than by mere personal ambition in his actions. Whatever the truth of the matter, there is no doubt that this particular issue serves to underline the eternal dilemma of the ‛ālim between the dictates of his religious conscience and the need to maintain good relations with those in political power.

Notes:

(1.) A whole article is devoted to this subject in his Min Tawjīhāt al-Islām (8th edn.; Cairo, 1987), 12–28. (2.) Ibid. 12–13. (3.) Ibid. 28. (4.) Ibid. 23–7. (5.) Ibid. 14–16. Page 18 of 23

Islam: Ideals and Realities (6.) Ibid. 28. (7.) Shaltūt, Min Huda’l-Qur’ān (2nd end.; Cairo 1968), 235. (8.) Ibid. 233–4, and Min Tawjīhāt al-Islām, 105. (9.) Min Tawjīhāt al-Islām, 370–1; Rashīd Riḍā was less reticent in this regard anout the implications of wuḍū’ for general hygiene—see ‘Abduh and Rida, Tafsīr al-Qur’ān al-Ḥakīm (Cairo, 1324–6 AH—commonly known as Tafsīr al-Manār and hereafter referred to as such), vi: 262. (10.) Min Tawjīhāt al-Islām, 543. (11.) Al-Fatāwā, 118–19. (12.) Min Tawjīhāt al-Islām, 279–81; this unequivocal stand is greatly admired in a newspaper article where a more recent Shaykh al-Azhar, al-Najjār, is unfavourably compared with Shaltūt, the former having issued fatwās in support of petty vested interests, while the latter retains his integrity and impartiality— see Fahmī Huwaydī, ‘Lahūt al-Taḥarrur’, in Al-Ahrām, 8 Mar. 1988. (13.) See Shaltūt’s article entitled: ‘Al-munkarāt wa atharuhā fi-’l mujtama‛’, in Min Tawjīhāt al-Islām, 194–201. (14.) Min Tawjīhāt al-Islām, 58–9, and Min Huda’l-Qur’ān, 234. (15.) Min Tawjīhāt al-Islām, 477–8. (16.) Ibid. 286. (17.) Min Huda’l-Qur’ān, 251, 281. (18.) Min Tawjīhāt al-Islām, 544, 478. (19.) ‛Aqida wa-Sharī‛a, 219. (20.) Ibid. 218, and Shaltūt, Tafsīr, 148. (21.) ‛Aqida wa-Sharī‛a, 193. (22.) E.g. where he sets out to refute the charges that historically Islam was spread by the sword, and that the primary motivation for the Battle of Badr was the hope of plunder—see Tafsīr, 522 ff. (23.) Most notably al-Afghānī’s debate with Ernest Renan on the subject of the compatibility of Islam and science, and ‛Abduh’s interchanges with M. Hanotaux and Faraḥ Anṭūn—see respectively Hourani, Arabic Thought, 120–3, and Adams, Islam and Modernism in Egypt, 86–90.

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Islam: Ideals and Realities (24.) See particularly his Islam in Modern History, 132–50, where he uses Muḥammad Farīd Wagdī, disciple of ‛Abduh and editor for some twenty years of Majallat al-Azhar, as an illustration of these hazards. (25.) Tafsīr al-Manār, iv: 355. (26.) Ibid, iv: 306. (27.) As where he quotes with approval ‛Abduh’s remark that 50 years ago (i.e. c. 1850) European women were like slaves in every respect, just as they were with the Arabs in the Jāhiliyya or possibly even worse, or where he quotes from an unknown ‘English authoress’, who laments the increasing numbers of vagrant girls and women, and sees an answer to this problem in polygamy—see ‛Aqīda wa-Sharī‛a, 155, 192 respectively. (28.) The shelves of any well-stocked Arabic Islamic bookshop are likely to contain such titles as: ‘Al-Islām, Dīn al-Fiṭra wa’l-Ḥurriyya’ ‘Samāḥat al-Islām’ ‘Naẓariyyat al-Tawassuṭ fi’l-Islām’ ‘Yusr al-Islām’, ‘Ḥikmat al-Islam’, etc. (29.) Min Huda’l-Qur’ān, 247–51, and Min Tawjīhāt al-Islām, 140–50. (30.) Most of the following examples are taken from Tafsīr, 31–6. (31.) The last two points are to be found in Min Tawjīhāt al-Islām, 107–8, and ‛Aqīda wa-Sharī‛a, 95, and Tafsīr, 497. (32.) Al-Fatāwā, 409–14, particularly 411–12. (33.) ‛Aqīda wa-Sharī‛a, 222. (34.) Ibid. 181–2. (35.) Ibid. 222. (36.) Min Tawjīhāt al-Islām, 5, 35, and Ila’l-Qur’ān al-Karīm (Cairo, n.d.), 63–4. (37.) Min Tawjīhāt al-Islām, 151–2, 453–4. (38.) Ibid. 21–2. (39.) See ‛Aqīda wa-Sharī‛a, 110–11, 89–91, and Al- Fatāwā, 141–3. (40.) Al-Fatāwā, 380–2. (41.) Ibid. 378–9. (42.) Min Tawjīhāt al-Islām, 140. (43.) Min Huda’l-Qur’ān, 247. Page 20 of 23

Islam: Ideals and Realities (44.) Min Tawjīhāt al-Islām, 140. (45.) Ibid. 149–50. (46.) Shaltūt unequivocally rejects the Darwinian theory of evolution. (47.) Min Tawjīhāt al-Islām, 142–3. (48.) ‛Aqīda wa-Sharī‛a, 9. (49.) Min Tawjīhāt al-Islām, 125–9. (50.) Al-Fatāwā, 401–4. (51.) Min Tawjīhāt al-Islām, 177. (52.) Al-Fatāwā, 207–8. Similar views are expressed in Tafsīr al-Manār, ix: 593, and ‛Abbās Maḥmūd al-‛Aqqād, Al-Falsafat al-Qur’āniyya (Cairo, n.d.), 18ff. (53.) Min Tawjīhāt al-Islām, 81–5. (54.) Ibid. 85–6. (55.) Al-Fatāwā, 384–5 (56.) Min Huda’l-Qur’ān, 289. (57.) Min Tawjīhāt al-Islām, 56. (58.) Ibid. 57, and Min Huda’l-Qur’ān, 252. (59.) Min Huda’l-Qur’ān, 252. (60.) Al-Fatāwā, 182–5. (61.) Min Tawjīhāt al-Islām, 66–78. (62.) Ibid. 59–60. (63.) ‛Aqīda wa-Sharī‛a, 43, and Min Huda’l-Qur’ān, 208–9. (64.) Min Hudal-Qur’ān, 210, and Min Tawjīhāt al-Islām, 297. (65.) ‛Aqīda wa-Sharī‛a, 436, and Al-Fatāwā, 156. (66.) Min Tawjīhāt al-Islām, 296. (67.) Min Huda’l-Qur’ān, 210–22. (68.) ‛Aqīda wa-Sharī‛a, 437–8.

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Islam: Ideals and Realities (69.) Min Tawjīhāt al-Islām, 299. (70.) Min Huda’l-Qur’ān, 172; see also Min Tawjīhāt al-Islām, 295, 74, and 555 for similar descriptions. (71.) Min Tawjīhāt al-Islām, 554. (72.) Ibid. 551. Shaltūt proceeds to mention specific examples, including the classic work of al-Mawardī: Al-Aḥkām al-Sulṭāniyya. (73.) These are ‘Al-Naẓariyyat al-Siyāsiyya fi’l-Islām’ and ‘Al-Ḥukm fi’l-Islām’, in Min Tawjīhāt al-Islām, 550–69, and ‘Usus al-Dawla fi’l-Islām’, in ‛Aqīda waSharī‛a, 433–50. (74.) Min Tawjīhāt al-Islām, 560–1, 567–8. (75.) Shaltūt does so in Min Tawjīhāt al-Islām, 562–3; for his views on shūrā generally, see ‛Aqīda wa-Sharī‛a, 438–44. (76.) ‛Aqīda wa-Sharī‛a, 440. (77.) Ibid. 440–1, and Min Tawjīhāt al-Islām, 562. (78.) ‛Aqīda wa-Sharī‛a, 443 and Min Tawjīhāt al-Islām, 563. (79.) ‛Aqīda wa-Sharī‛a, 444. (80.) Ibid. 443. (81.) See e.g. Min Tawjīhāt al-Islām, 568, 558, and ‛Aqīda wa-Sharī‛a, 295, n. 1. (82.) Min Tawjīhāt al-Islām, 563–4, 558. (83.) Ibid. 564–5, and ‛Aqīda wa-Sharī‛a, 444. (84.) ‛Aqīda wa-Sharī‛a, 433. (85.) Min Tawjīhāt al-Islām, 557. (86.) Ibid. 272. Qibla (lit: direction of prayer, i.e. towards Mecca) is used metaphorically here to mean focal point. (87.) Ibid. 523, 539, 544. (88.) Shaltūt, ‘Amānat al-Qawmiyyat al-‘Arabiyya fī Dhimmat al-Azhar’, Majallat al-Azhar, 33 (1961/2), 655–6. (89.) ‛Abd al-‛Azīz al-Durr, ‘The Historical Roots of Arab Nationalism’, in K. H. Karpat (ed.), Political and Social Thought in the Contemporary Middle East (London, 1968), 37. Page 22 of 23

Islam: Ideals and Realities (90.) Enayat, Political Thought, 112. (91.) Al-Fatāwā, 114. (92.) Terminology is a sensitive issue in this area; Sayyid Quṭb, for example, places emphasis on the self-sufficiency of Islam, and rejects any labels or ideologies of foreign origin, such as socialism or nationalism, as ‘man-made’ systems. However, a closer examination of his ideas as to what constitutes a just society reveals that they are not dissimilar to Shaltūt’s. (93.) ‛Aqīda wa-Sharī‛a, 95. (94.) Originally published in al-Jumhūriyya, 22 Dec. 1961; since I was unable to obtain the original article I have based my comments on the French translation, which is apparently unabridged, contained in Orient, 5 (1961), No. 20, 163–74, under the title of ‘Le Socialisme de l’Islam’. (95.) ‘Le Socialisme de l’Islam’, 170. (96.) Ibid. 171–2. (97.) Ibid. 172–4. (98.) ‘Mawqif al-Islām min al-Mustaghillīn’, Majallat al-Azhar, 34 (Jan.–Apr. 1962), 1168–73. (99.) For a description of the measures introduced under the ‘Social Revolution’, see G. Lewy, ‘Nasserism and Islam: A Revolution in Search of Ideology’, in G. Lewy (ed.), Religion and Revolution (New York, 1974), 450 ff. (100.) Enayat elaborates on their common elements in Political Thought, 139.

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Religion in Society: Social Issues Addressed

Maḥmūd Shalt=ut and Islamic Modernism Kate Zebiri

Print publication date: 1993 Print ISBN-13: 9780198263302 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: October 2011 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198263302.001.0001

Religion in Society: Social Issues Addressed KATE ZEBIRI

DOI:10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198263302.003.0004

Abstract and Keywords This chapter examines the works of Maḥmūd Shaltūt relevant to the pressing need of contemporary Muslims to address specific social issues that have arisen in modern times or that for some reasons have become newly prominent. Shaltūt responded to this need in his fatwās issued in response to specific questions and in his monographs on topics of particular social relevance. This chapter analyses the social issues that confronted the Muslims including the role of women, relations with non-Muslims, family planning, and birth control. Keywords:   Maḥmūd Shaltūt, social issues, Muslims, fatwās, role of women, non-Muslims, family planning, birth control

THERE is clearly a pressing need for Muslims to address specific social issues which have arisen in modern times or which have for some reason become newly prominent. Shaltūt responds to this need, both in his fatwās issued in response to specific questions and in his monographs on topics of particular social relevance. One such issue, which has perhaps attracted more attention than any other, is the status of women. It is not hard to ascertain the reasons for this; on the one hand, it is the area in which Muslims have felt themselves most under attack, and on the other, it represents a sort of last bastion of Islamic law and civilization. Many Muslims see the woman as the repository of Islamic culture and values, and family law or personal status is the area of traditional Islamic law which has been least eroded in modern times.

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Religion in Society: Social Issues Addressed Another area which has taken on a new significance in this century is that of relations with non-Muslims, in particular ‘ahl al-kitāb’ (‘the people of the Book’). In this area Muslims face the problem of adapting a religious and legal framework which was developed in the context of a superior civilization to a totally contrasting situation where Muslims are dominated rather than dominant. The results of the combined need for greater tolerance of other creeds and an increasingly felt need for Muslims to guard and preserve their own identity are sometimes paradoxical. In addition to these two areas, this chapter will explore specific social issues in which the social changes of the last century have been an especially important factor: family planning and birth-control, which have attracted much attention on the part of Muslim scholars, and financial transactions, a subject which was and still is of some practical urgency for Egypt as for all developing Muslim nations.

(p.62) The Status of Women in Islam On this subject an element of apologetic is almost inevitable; the literature abounds with studies on the rights of Muslim women, the attention paid to them by the Qur’ān, and the lowly position of women in the Jāhiliyya period (thus highlighting the improvements brought by Islam), all of which can be found in the writings of Shaltūt.1 Of more interest here is his treatment of specific issues such as the husband-wife relationship, female testimony, and polygyny, where he candidly addresses the relevant parts of the Qur’ānic text. Shaltūt feels that the critics of Islam tend to concentrate on the dry legislation, ignoring the humane and moral aspects of marriage. Essentially, marriage is not about demanding one’s rights, but about achieving a spirit of co-operation and harmony: Good companionship (iḥsān al-‛lshra) does not just mean the wife responding to the husband when he calls her, or him providing for her when she is hungry; rather, it is something which is known to everyone, and which is possible for all to attain—it is to do with the manner of looking and speaking, it is a spirit of love and affection which emanates from the man’s heart and fills the woman’s heart with pleasure and joy, and likewise comes from the woman’s heart and holds sway over the man’s heart, so that he enjoys an atmosphere of peace and security.2 Indeed, the carefully balanced system of rights and duties of the husband and wife is designed to achieve that domestic harmony. Moreover it is desirable that they should help each other in their respective duties whenever possible. The Qur’ān enjoins them to consult together in important decisions, and the extent to which the wishes and feelings of the husband and wife merge is embodied in the Qur’ānic description of them as a garment for each other.3 Page 2 of 20

Religion in Society: Social Issues Addressed The moral context is again invoked on the issue of man’s authority over his wife. His degree of authority or superiority is expressly referred to in two Qur’ānic verses: 4: 34, which states that men are ‘in charge of’ (qawwāmūna ‛ala) women, because God has made ‘some of them [mankind?]’ to excel others, and ‘because of what they [i.e. men] spend’; and 2: 228, which states that men have a ‘degree’ (daraja) above women. Thus enshrined in the Qur’ān, this authority is, for Shaltūt and the vast majority of Muslims, unquestionable; the matter for discussion is rather the nature of that authority. Shaltūt maintains that it does not give the (p.63) husband any power of coercion over his wife; it constitutes rather a kind of ‘domestic leadership’ (riyāsa baytiyya), which entails added responsibilities and a duty of protection towards her. The need for authority and leadership is one which permeates all levels of society, and applies to the family no less than to the nation. He attaches significance to the Qur’ānic phraseology in 4: 34. The statement: ‘because God has made some of them to excel others’, rather than a specific statement that he had made males excel females, is seen as an indication that this superiority is merely ‘like the superiority (tafḍil) of one part of the body over another, and there is no shame in the right hand being superior to the left hand…since this is part of the divine plan of things’.4 The implications of the wording of 4: 34, which specifies the fact that the man spends money on his wife as a reason for his superiority, have been taken a stage further by a minority of Muslim modernists, who understand it to imply mere functional differentiation rather than inherent superiority. This may lead to the conclusion that ‘if a woman becomes economically sufficient…the male’s superiority would be to that extent reduced’.5 However, it must be said that such a view is exceptional, and it is almost inconceivable that an ‛ālim would concur in this. Shaltūt’s belief that the man’s superiority is a result of the combined factors of natural disposition (i.e. his superior bodily strength and ‘resolve’ (‛azm)), and earning power, precludes such a suggestion.6

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Religion in Society: Social Issues Addressed The husband’s right of chastisement (ta’dīb) is similarly enshrined in the Qur’ān, and has been a source of disquiet for many modern Muslim apologists. Shaltūt, however, appears undaunted by the subject, and believes the chastisement to be natural and necessary in certain cases. He points out that the Qur’ānic directives form a comprehensive system, of which physical chastisement is only the last resort (verbal admonishment (wa‛ẓ) and isolation (hajr) having failed), the desired effect of which is to hold the marriage together. An important advantage of this system is that it keeps the dispute within the confines of the marriage. Shaltūt expresses confidence that any reasonable woman would prefer this system to one where she was allowed to persevere in behaviour which displeased her husband (a course which would put her marriage at risk), or one where disputes had to be settled by recourse to law, so that any trivial domestic upset could assume enormous proportions and endanger her family life. Shaltūt makes (p.64) no apology for advising the wife, in cases where it is the husband who is at fault, to favour him with a kind word or a smile in order to achieve a reconciliation, basing this on Qur’ān 4: 128: ‘If a woman fears perverseness (nushūz) or aversion on the part of her husband, it is no sin for them if they make peace between themselves’. His use of the subheading ‘Deception and Servile Flattery’ (Talbīs wa-tamalluq) when describing those Muslims who consider the system of chastisement unduly harsh or derogatory to women, makes it clear that he considers them to be influenced by Western values.7 An effective indicator of the attitude to women within Muslim debate is the case of female testimony. Traditionally Muslim jurists have taken the Qur’ānic verse on the subject of credit transactions which regards two female witnesses as equivalent to one male witness (2: 282) to apply to legal testimony in general, regardless of the matter in hand. Shaltūt rejects such an interpretation as implying that the woman has a weaker mind, which in turn implies that she is inferior as a human being. He makes the point that the Qur’ān was revealed at a time when women were not accustomed to taking part in financial transactions, and for this reason their evidence in such matters would be less trustworthy, since one’s memory is more reliable concerning that which one understands. Although Shaltūt feels that it is still largely the case that it is men rather than women who undertake such transactions, he believes that in an environment where women are routinely involved in financial dealings, their testimony should be considered equal to that of men. He mentions that conversely, in domestic matters where women can be presumed to have superior knowledge, their testimony is likely to be more reliable than that of men.8

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Religion in Society: Social Issues Addressed On this issue Shaltūt is to be commended for refraining from attributing the Qur’ānic ruling on female testimony to a weakness of intellect or to women’s supposed emotional volatility. Rashīd Riḍā, writing a few decades earlier, did not hesitate to attribute man’s ‘degree’ above women not only to his superior physical strength but also to his superior intellect.9 As Riḍā was, according to the prevailing standards of his time, relatively progressive on matters relating to women, it is likely that changing social conditions had some influence on Shaltūt’s opinion. However, one does not have to look far to find proponents of women’s intellectual (p.65) inferiority or emotional instability in more recent writings. An extremely popular Islamic book written by a member of the Muslim Brothers, which has been widely disseminated and translated into foreign languages, remarks on the subject of female testimony: ‘the woman is by her very nature vehemently emotional, impressionable and liable to digress from the real facts of the case in hand’.10 Shaltūt’s stance on this subject may also be favourably compared with that of one of his successors, ‛Abd al-Ḥalīm Maḥmūd (Shaykh al-Azhar 1973–8). The latter does not question the general rule that female testimony is worth half that of a man, indeed he cites it as one of the justifications for men’s ‘guardianship’ over women as described in Qur’ān 4: 34.11 The issue of polygyny is a sensitive one in modern times, therefore it has occupied a disproportionately prominent position in contemporary debate. Although it has lost much of its social relevance, being so rarely practised, it is still a significant indicator of contemporary Muslim attitudes towards the sacred text and social change. On this question Shaltūt reacted against modern legislation, which he saw as eroding the Sharī‛a: Tunisia had actually prohibited polygyny in 1956, while several other countries had introduced restrictive legislation.12 Shaltūt clearly suspects the motives behind such legislative reform: Polygyny is one of the areas where the fanatical voice of the West and its poisonous propaganda have been instrumental in making people critical of it, to the point where some of the Muslims themselves try continuously to make laws which place restrictions on it, while God did not impose any such restrictions.13 A well-known device by which reformers have sought to argue against the continued practice of polygyny is the juxtaposition of two Qur’ānic verses on the subject, one of which asks men to restrict themselves to one wife if they fear they cannot do justice to more than one (4: 3), while the other speaks of the impossibility of absolute justice between co-wives on the part of the husband (4: 129). The inference drawn is that polygyny is effectively prohibited.14 Shaltūt regards this as a blatant manipulation of the Qur’ānic text, which explicitly permits polygyny in 4: 3.15

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Religion in Society: Social Issues Addressed It has been argued by other reformers, with less casuistry, that polygyny could be restricted or prohibited on the grounds of changed social conditions. Muḥammad ‘Abduh maintained that (p.66) the jealousy resulting from the practice of polygyny in the modern age could result in any of a long list of vices and crimes, including murder. He argued that in the Prophet’s age, people were of better character and more pious, and this helped to contain the undesirable effects of jealousy.16 More recently a Muslim modernist has argued that the Qur’ānic injunctions on polygyny (i.e. to be just to one’s wives or else keep to only one) are a sanction which constitutes ‘a moral ideal towards which the society was expected to move, since it was not possible to remove polygamy legally at one stroke’.17 Thus polygyny is seen in a similar light as slavery, something sanctioned temporarily rather than actively encouraged. Shaltūt, however, shows no tendency to regard polygyny as either a temporary licence or as a source of social evil. He expresses impatience with the Governmental preoccupation with restricting or banning polygyny, since he feels there are many other issues related to marriage which require attention; he himself is much more concerned that young men are turning away from marriage altogether rather than marrying too many women. He is at least halfserious when he says that instead of banning or restricting polygyny, those in authority should on the contrary be putting an upper age-limit on celibacy and passing laws to help rather than hinder those who choose to marry more than one wife.18 He reacts specifically to legislation requiring that a man demonstrate to a court his financial ability to support an additional wife before being granted permission to practise polygyny; such legislation had already been passed in Syria and Iraq.19 One senses his indignation that it should be made a prerogative of the rich. He observes with irony that if poverty and wealth are to be taken as criteria for the permissibility of polygyny, then one had better allow it for the poor and ban it for the rich, since in a rich household the husband can afford presents and luxuries which arouse jealousy among co-wives. The poor, on the other hand, are accustomed to contenting themselves with what little they have and to living in a spirit of mutual support and co-operation.20 Shaltūt does not claim that polygyny is suitable for everyone or deny that it can cause problems, but he believes that its possible good outweighs the potential difficulties, and the exceptional cases where grave problems do arise do not justify its total prohibition.21 (p.67) It emerges therefore that he wishes both the choice to practise polygyny and the responsibility for observing justice between co-wives to be left up to the conscience of the individual rather than curtailed by legislation.

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Religion in Society: Social Issues Addressed On the whole, as one would expect, Shaltūt’s views on women fall very much within the Qur’ānic framework. They are characterized by a certain integrity, in that the Qur’ānic provisions are directly addressed, even if not with total consistency—while it is allowed that the provisions on female testimony may be subject to modification in the light of a changing socio-cultural environment, no such allowance is made in the case of polygyny. Underlying his writings on polygyny and chastisement is an idealistic assumption that the husband will not abuse his rights, or at least that any individual cases of abuse are outweighed by the perceived advantages to the majority of the umma. He even states that in the case of the wife who is morally upright (ṣāliḥa) and pious, the husband has no authority to chastise her.22 Certain of Shaltūt’s actions and public statements suggest a concern for women’s welfare and a desire to end abuses practised against them. One example is provided by a widely reported statement which appeared even in the English press to the effect that men who repudiate their wives without good cause are guilty of deviation or immoral behaviour (fisq), and should be punished accordingly.23 In another Press interview he commended the recent Egyptian legislation setting a minimum age for marriage as ‘aiming at the protection of rights’; in the same interview he expressed the opinion that a woman could work in any occupation, including that of preacher, so long as she was able to ‘preserve her honour and dignity’.24 He also spoke against female circumcision, denying that there were any religious or moral grounds to justify it.25

Islam and Non-Muslims Traditionally, non-Muslims are divided into two categories: kāfirūn (unbelievers), which includes polytheists (mushrikūn), and ahl al-kitāb, those who have their own revealed scriptures, and who therefore have a status superior to that of the kāfirūn. Theoretically the kāfirūn were not tolerated at all in classical Islamic (p. 68) jurisprudence, which was formulated at a time when disbelief was considered to be sufficient justification for waging war.26 Shaltūt displays lenience both in his definition of a kāfir and in his attitude towards those who are accepted to be kāfirūn or mushrikūn. He maintains that even those who have no religion cannot be labelled ‘kāfir’ unless they have had the message of Islam presented to them in a sympathetic and clearly understandable manner, i.e. unless they have actively turned away from guidance.27 Moreover, he insists that ‘unbelief alone does not render the shedding of blood lawful’ in the absence of aggression,28 and points out that the freedom from obligation (barā’ā) towards the mushrikūn announced in Qur’ān 9: 1 does not imply that God has completely abandoned them and cut off His mercy from them.29

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Religion in Society: Social Issues Addressed Shaltūt maintains that peace is the norm in human relationships in Islam, which stresses the unity of all mankind; all that is asked of non-Muslims (here he does not differentiate between ahl al-kitāb and kāfirūn) is that they refrain from harming Islam or the Muslims. In this case, they can be considered ‘brothers in humanity’, and all can work together for the general good, each propagating his own religion non-aggressively. Shaltūt stresses that there can be no compulsion in religion, and that Islam sanctions only defensive wars, i.e. those fought in response to some provocation, whether it be direct aggression, oppression of Muslims, or violation of a treaty.30 Without going into details, he envisages a scenario of peaceful coexistence in which there will be ‘equality of general rights and duties’ between Muslims and non-Muslims.31 He warns of the dangers of communal one-upmanship, and castigates Muslims who say: ‘“We are better than you, our Prophet is the seal of the prophets, and the general intercessor on the day of Gathering and Assembly, and our Book puts paid to (yaqḍī ‛alā) all the books before it.’” He further asserts that the mere fact of belonging to a particular religion does not justify an assumption of superiority; Muslims, like everyone else, must be judged according to their actions.32 On a more prosaic level, treaties and alliances can be concluded with ahl alkitāb, and the Qur’ān explicitly enjoins or permits justice and kindness (birr) towards them.33 Moreover the permission for marriage with the womenfolk of ahl al-kitāb, or ‘kitābiyyāt’, is seen as highly significant in view of the closeness and sacredness of the marriage relationship. (p.69) On the latter subject, Shaltūt refutes the idea that the Qur’ānic permission to marry kitābiyyāt (5: 5) was in the nature of a temporary licence, either because there was a temporary shortage of women in Muḥammad’s age, or because the Christians in particular (for practical purposes the most important group among ahl al-kitāb, on this issue at least) have since that time degenerated into mushrikūn, worshipping Christ instead of God. Shaltūt further maintains that even those Christians who hold aberrant beliefs, such as that God is the ‘third of three’, or that Jesus is his son, or that Muḥammad is not God’s messenger, retain their status of ahl al-kitab and cannot be considered mushrikūn, since they have a basic belief in God, prophethood, and revelation.34

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Religion in Society: Social Issues Addressed However, having thus defended the continued validity of the Qur’ānic permission to marry kitābiyyāt, Shaltūt proceeds to register a strong objection to what he perceives as the widespread abuse of that permission. He points out that intermarriage between Muslim men and kitābiyyāt was expressly permitted in the Qur’ān in order that members of other faiths should have a chance to learn about Islam at first hand in an atmosphere of love and friendship.35 Therefore when such marriages become a means for the contrary to take place, with men becoming Europeanized and allowing their children to be brought up as Christians, he believes that Governments should, if necessary, outlaw them altogether, even though this would mean suspending the Qur’ānic permission, which Shaltūt himself admits to be of potential benefit. This is clearly an issue in which various environmental factors (foremost among them the infatuation on the part of some Muslims with a seemingly superior West) cause him to express an uncharacteristically illiberal opinion. He feels that restricting the permission to marry Christian and Jewish women is more urgent than that which some Islamic Governments are doing, or attempting to do, in the way of setting a lower age-limit for the marriage of girls, or restricting polygamy, or placing checks upon divorce and other similar legislation which many of the politicians are actively promoting in their attempt to catch up with the dismal civilization of the West.36 Shaltūt is far from unique in his reservations on this subject. There is little doubt that his anxiety arises from a genuine social phenomenon, since Muslim scholars and reformers writing on the subject of mixed marriage almost invariably strike a cautionary (p.70) note, laying down conditions such as the intellectual superiority of the husband, or that the children should be brought up as Muslims. It is a subject on which it is easy to descend into bigotry, maintaining that Christian women are morally inferior to Muslim women, or indeed that they are kāftrāt.37 Therefore Shaltūt is to be commended for defending the status of ahl al-kitāb; his criticism here is directed more at weak Muslims than at the ahl al-kitāb themselves. In his legal rulings, Shaltūt gives an indication that when he speaks of ‘equality of rights and duties’ for ahl al-kitāb, he is not just paying lip-service to the idea. He goes against traditional opinion concerning their status in two specific areas. First, he disagrees with the view that qiṣāṣ (talion) cannot be exacted when a Muslim kills a dhimmī (person of protected status, i.e. from the ahl al-kitāb), the implication being that the two are not of equal worth,38 and secondly, he maintains that the testimony of a non-Muslim is valid in a Sharī‛a court.39 These opinions are in accordance with current realities inasmuch as it is usually the case that all citizens are theoretically equal in the modern nation-state; yet Shaltūt’s opinions on these subjects are accompanied by such a detailed scholarly exposition and textual analysis of the Qur’ān that they carry genuine conviction. Page 9 of 20

Religion in Society: Social Issues Addressed Although Shaltūt’s writings on the subject of non-Muslims reveal a genuine desire for social harmony and justice, there is also a contentious element, and in this he is merely echoing what is contained in the Qur’ān. Indeed, basing himself closely on the Qur’ānic text, he lists the various ruses which ahl al-kitāb are capable of employing in order to lead the Muslims astray.40 The reverse side of the coin of Muslim unity may be a cautious attitude towards inter-faith relationships; the Qur’ān warns of the dangers of following some of the Jews and Christians (3: 100). The Qur’ānic verse which states that whoever takes the Jews and Christians as close friends or allies (awliyā’) becomes one of them (5: 51) is quoted in a list of Qur’ānic warnings against ‘enemies of Islam’; possibly Shaltūt takes it to refer specifically to those Jews and Christians who are hostile to Islam.41 As a man who was mentally and spiritually immersed in the Qur’ān, Shaltūt could neither disregard the polemical content of the Qur’ān nor maintain that its warnings were only relevant to the time of the Prophet, for that would go against the idea of the Qur’ān’s eternal validity. (p.71) On two occasions Shaltūt actually attacks ‘Christians’, talking of ‘the liars and slanderers who claim to follow the messenger of peace [i.e. Jesus]’. This bitter invective is directed against the hypocrisy of certain ostensibly Christian powers, who, according to Shaltūt, assert that their religion is the peace-loving religion par excellence, while claiming that Islam was spread by the sword. Shaltūt states that their actions belie their words, for it is in fact they who are propagating wars in the modern age.42 It is clear that this is an attack on the European imperialist powers rajher than on Christians per se.

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Religion in Society: Social Issues Addressed Apart from the aforementioned rather vague reference to equality of rights and duties, Shaltūt gives no detailed exposition of the status of ahl al-kitab or mushrikūn in a Muslim society. This issue highlights the difficulty of knowing how to construe some of Shaltūt’s writings. Just as he uses the term ‘Caliph’ when writing of the Islamic State, even though he must have been aware that there was no real prospect of achieving a unified Caliphate in the foreseeable future, so he expresses approval of the historical system of the payment of tribute (jizya) by dhimmis, observing that this was a sign of acknowledgement of the ruling power and a means of sharing the (financial) burdens of the State.43 He does not specifically call for its implementation in modern-day Egypt, but it may be inferred that he accepts the principle of a differentiated status for ahl alkitab, of which jizya is a conspicuous symbol, even if it is regarded as being in lieu of military service. Similarly, the statement that Muslims must be in control of their own affairs in order to fulfil God’s commands in an Islamic society44 implies some institutionalization of Muslim dominance in Government, although he does not address the question of the role of ahl al-kitab in the running of the State, if any. This ambivalence may be partly attributable to Shaltūt’s personal gallantry; he would be reluctant to explicitly categorize members of other religions as second-class citizens, especially as he often met with dignitaries from various religious denominations in the course of his work. In this he differs from more radical Islamists, such as Abul A’la Maududi, who asserts plainly that since the Islamic State is based on a specific ideology, only those who adhere to that ideology can be entrusted with the running of the State and its defence.45 Shaltūt’s prevailing attitude appears to be one of benevolent paternalism; he expresses the belief that the model of the Islamic (p.72) State provides not only for the well-being of Muslims, but for that of the whole of mankind.46 Citing the example of an incident in which the Prophet gave judgment (prompted by a revelation) against a Muslim and in favour of a Jew, he concludes that ‘the black and the white, the strong and the weak, the Muslim and the non-Muslim, the ruler and the ruled are all equal before God’s law and His justice’.47

Birth Control and Family Planning The issues of birth-control and family planning touch on Governmental policymaking, therefore in some cases political pressure has been brought to bear on ‛ulamā’ to give a lenient opinion on the subject. A fairly blatant example is provided by a fatwā obtained by the Jordanian Government in 1964 from the Grand Mufti of that country, Shaykh ‛Abdullah al-Qalqīlī.48 This fatwā manipulates the sources and employs specious reasoning to demonstrate that there is absolutely nothing in Islam against the use of contraception or even total abstinence from procreation (for the latter point a ḥaḍīth in which the Prophet advises a man to remain celibate until he is financially able to to marry is adduced). Aḥāḍīth are used selectively, i.e. those in favour of contraception are quoted while those against it are not.49

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Religion in Society: Social Issues Addressed While Shaltūt expresses a moderate opinion on this issue, he at no point acknowledges the economic desirability of population control; on the contrary, there is an underlying assumption that proliferation can only strengthen the Muslim community.50 It is likely therefore that Shaltūt responded to Government pressure on this issue only slightly, if at all. There appears to be a consensus among contemporary ‛ulamā’ (Shaykh Qalqīlī excepted) that total abstinence from procreation on the part of a married couple is not permitted, nor are national policies which impose population control measures from above. The latter is referred to as taḥdīd al-nasl (as opposed to tanẓīm al-nasl, family planning), and arouses strong reactions among Muslims, many of whom see it as a Western conspiracy to weaken the Muslim nations.51 Shaltūt felt that the Qur’ānic verses and aḥāḍith which encourage marriage and procreation were sufficient to establish the un-Islamic nature of any such Governmental (p.73) programmes.52 Any disagreement among scholars generally centres on the circumstances which justify temporary abstinence from procreation. If on rare occasions it is asserted that contraception is totally prohibited except in cases of danger to the life of the mother, this is generally due to an assumption that there is a connection between contraception and Western-inspired moral laxity.53 As Shaltūt points out, the traditional Muslim scholars were surprisingly lenient on this issue; al-Ghazālī (d. 1111 ad), for instance, saw the preservation of the woman’s beauty as sufficient justification for recourse to contraception.54 Having established that the views of the classical scholars depended in some measure on the extent to which they believed the child to be ‘the right of the parents’ (ḥaqq al-wālidayn) or ‘the right of society’ (ḥaqq al-umma), Shaltūt advances an unusual argument to the effect that they neglected society’s right because on the one hand marriage was universally practised in those days, and people took pleasure in having many children, and on the other hand the umma was then so vigorous and powerful that no danger was anticipated to it from this quarter. He goes on to say that if they could have witnessed the present weakened and diminished state of the Muslim umma, and the way in which people are abstaining from marriage and procreation for frivolous and selfish reasons, they would have declared contraception to be ḥarām except in cases of extreme necessity.55

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Religion in Society: Social Issues Addressed In practice, however, Shaltūt does not advocate such a stringent approach. Maintaining his societal emphasis, he lays stress on the importance of the health and strength of the population, and dwells on the implications of this for family planning. There is a need both to obtain a healthy offspring (a need already acknowledged by the accepted ruling that parents carrying hereditary diseases may be prevented from conceiving) and to preserve the health and sanity of the parents, in order that they can provide their children with a suitable upbringing. The spacing of births so that the mother can complete the suckling of one infant (ideally two years) before conceiving the next fulfils both these needs, for on the one hand it gives the mother some respite, and on the other hand it is considered beneficial to the unborn child, in the light of the ḥadīth warning that the milk of the pregnant woman is unwholesome.56 (p.74) Shaltūt acknowledges that the anticipation of difficulty or hardship in raising children, whether for financial or health reasons (he even cites ‘weakness of nerves’), could be a possible reason for some couples to resort to contraception. Just as society has certain rights with regard to the procreation of children, it also has corresponding responsibilities, and these include the provision of a reasonable standard of living to its members. Therefore, if material help is not forthcoming to those living in impoverished conditions, contraception is fully justified if not positively recommended, according to the principle ‘harm is to be averted to the greatest extent possible’ (al-ḍarar madfū‛ bi-qadr al-imkān).57 However, Shaltūt does not regard this situation with complacency, but admonishes the Government and the well-off to help the poor, and warns that it would be to the nation’s detriment if as a result of poverty contraception were to be widely practised among certain sections of society.58 Ultimately, then, the issue is one for the individual conscience. The criteria suggested by Shaltūt could no doubt be interpreted to apply to a considerable proportion of the Muslim population, especially those in the Third World, but that would be a misconstrual of his intentions, for he envisages that the need for contraception should apply only to a small minority of the population.59

Financial Transactions As in the case of family planning, this area is obviously one of vital practical concern to Muslim Governments, which have not been able to avoid transactions involving interest (the modern Islamic banking movement notwithstanding). There has been much debate, therefore, on such issues as the precise definition of ribā (usurious interest), whether specific financial transactions are in fact ribawī, and whether it is permitted to resort to ribā in cases of necessity (ḍarūra). The controversial nature of the issue also gives rise to a fair amount of equivocation, not to say inconsistency, and in fact it is the only issue on which Shaltūt radically changes his position over the course of time.

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Religion in Society: Social Issues Addressed His earlier opinion was published in 1951, in the course of his interpretation of Qur’ān 3: 130: ‘O you who believe! Devour not usury, doubling and quadrupling [my italics] (aḍ‛āfan (p.75) muḍā‛afatan)’.60 Here he takes issue with those who use this phrase to constrict the definition of prohibited ribā to ‘exorbitant [i.e. compound] interest’ (al-ribā al-fāḥisha); he believes the phrase to be merely descriptive and emphatic, not qualificative, especially as other references to ribā in the Qur’ān and Sunna are unqualified. Shaltūt expounds the reasons for the prohibition of ribā on both ethical and economic grounds. Ethically, it is a humanitarian provision designed to prevent exploitation of the poor and accumulation of capital in the hands of the wealthy. Economically, ribā discourages productivity since the person who has capital is able to accumulate money without working. The original and legitimate purpose of money was to be a means of facilitating the exchange of goods, not to become an object of intrinsic value. On a practical level, he does not agree that interest is an inescapable feature of modern life, nor does he feel that its prohibition has been responsible for the economic backwardness of the Muslims. Indeed, he sees such beliefs as a symptom of disillusionment with the Sharī‛a as a whole and of infatuation with Western civilization. He optimistically asserts that if Egypt were to implement the Sharī‛a immediately and prohibit all transactions involving interest, substituting an interest-free financial system, then it would not suffer as a result; as for individuals, they would seek other means of investment and grow accustomed to them. Two specific points worthy of note here in view of his later position are his rejection of the use of the juristic principle ‘necessity makes forbidden things permissible’ to justify ribā (presumably because he does not acknowledge the necessity), and his inclusion of Post Office savings accounts in a list of ribawī transactions. Due to the proximity in time, one cannot be entirely sure if Shaltūt was aware when he expressed these ideas of the provisions contained in the 1949 Egyptian Civil Code, engineered by ‛Abd al-Razzāq al-Sanhūrī. It seems highly probable, in which case his words would have a ring of defiance about them. This Code, which declares interest to be legitimate up to a ceiling of 7 per cent, and forbids only compound interest, has had an inhibiting effect on subsequent debate on ribā among Egyptian ‛ulamā’ who have been reluctant to condemn the law of their country outright.61

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Religion in Society: Social Issues Addressed Some years later, in a series of fatwās issued on various types (p.76) of financial transactions, Shaltūt was to display less idealism and more concern for the immediate economic problems faced by Muslims in general and Egypt in particular.62 In one of these fatwās, he declares Post Office savings accounts, previously considered by him as ribawī, to be lawful, and the reasons adduced are overwhelmingly practical. The primary determinative factor appears to be the fact that both parties enter into the agreement willingly, so that there is no hint of exploitation or injustice.63 Moreover, the man who invests his savings in the Post Office is on the one hand displaying a laudable frugality and on the other hand contributing to the overall national prosperity by providing employment for Post Office workers and supporting Government investment. A further practical consideration is that the Post Office achieves a high degree of financial stability, so that the risk of loss is almost negligible.64 Answering the objection that a fixed rate of return does not reflect profit and loss, Shaltūt does make an attempt to provide a theoretical justification for his stand when he claims that since these institutions are entirely new and do not come under any of the classical categories of financial transaction such as muḍāraba (sleeping partnership), the stipulations laid down concerning those transactions do not apply here. It is interesting that Shaltūt does not attempt to demonstrate with reference to the Qur’ān or the Sunna that interest does not constitute ribā, but rather avoids an exact definition at this point. There appears to be a general reluctance to explicitly exclude fixed interest from the definition of ribā. An eminent jurist and contemporary of Shaltūt’s, ‛Abd al-Karīm al-Khaṭīb, attempts to have it both ways by arguing ingeniously that although it must be conceded that any transaction involving interest is ribawī, yet in certain cases the harmful effects of ribā have been removed. This means that the ribā in question is no longer ḥarām, in the same way that if a new type of wine were to be manufactured with all the attributes of wine except that of iskār (capacity to intoxicate), it would be ḥalāl (permitted).65 Less easy to defend than individual savings accounts are bank loans where interest is charged; however, such loans are, of course, vital to the economies of developing countries like Egypt. Religious scholars of this century have shown themselves to be acutely aware of this dilemma; many of them have conceded that if a Muslim country is faced with a choice between economic (p.77) isolation and regression, and borrowing on interest in order to develop her economy, then the latter is the lesser of the two evils. This is generally seen as a concession to a particular set of circumstances and not as an acceptance of interest as an unavoidable feature of the world economy.66

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Religion in Society: Social Issues Addressed In direct contrast to his earlier opinion, Shaltūt states in one of his fatwās that the one who borrows on interest out of necessity does not share in the guilt of the usurious transaction, since he is in effect constrained to do so, and is thus covered by the Qur’ānic pronouncement: ‘God has made plain to you what is forbidden, except when you are constrained’ (6: 119). The way in which he goes on to reason that this can apply to nations as well as individuals, enumerating the various essential heads of expenditure such as agriculture, defence, trade, and industry, indicates that it is principally the interests of the national economy that he has in mind. It is hard to pinpoint the factors which influenced Shaltūt’s change of heart, but it can be conceded that the difference is one of detail rather than principle. The passage in his Tafsīr was no doubt written with the primary aim of urging Muslims not to be cynical or defeatist about the viability of an Islamic, interestfree economy. In his fatwās, however, there is a more practical bias and an emphasis on helping individuals—as indeed one would expect in this medium. Taken together the two passages provide an illustration of Shaltūt’s two, sometimes conflicting, sides: the idealist and the pragmatist.

Notes:

(1.) See e.g. ‛Aqīda wa-Sharī‛a, 230–4, Tafsīr, 162–7, and Min Tawjīhāt al-Islām, 204–18. (2.) ‛Aqīda wa-Sharī‛a, 156. (3.) Ibid. 154–9, 147. (4.) Ibid. 156–7. (5.) F. Rahman, Major Themes of the Qur’ān (Chicago, 1980), 49. Another modernist denies that the phrase ba‛dahum ‛ala ba‛d necessarily refers to an excellence or superiority granted to men over women, on both grammatical and contextual grounds. He sees it rather as a general reference to the way in which God has conferred different types of excellence on different people, whether they be male or female—see ‛Abd al-‛Aṭī, The Family Structure in Islam (Indianapolis, 1977), 178–81. (6.) ‛Aqīda wa-Sharī‛a, 157.

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Religion in Society: Social Issues Addressed (7.) Ibid. 164–6. (8.) Ibid. 240. (9.) Tafsīr al-Manār, iv: 354. (10.) Muḥammad Quṭb (brother of Sayyid Quṭb), Islam: The Misunderstood Religion (7th edn.; Lahore, 1984), 105. He elaborates: ‘for it is quite possible that the accused, against or for whom a woman appears as a witness, may be an attractive woman which may make the witness jealous and hostile towards her and so give a wrong evidence; again maybe that the accused is a young man whose sight may so arouse the mother in the witness that knowingly or unknowingly she proffers evidence that is false.’ (11.) Fatāwā al-Imām, i: 196. (12.) See J. N. D. Anderson, Law Reform in the Muslim World (London, 1976), 61– 4. (13.) ‛Aqīda wa-Sharī‛a, 178. (14.) For examples of this argument see Qāsim Amīn, Taḥrīr al-Mar’a (Cairo, 1899), 128, and ‛Abd al-‛Azīz Fahmī, Hādhihi Ḥayātī (Cairo, n.d.), 166ff. The more traditional interpretation of the relationship between the two verses is that the first refers to equal treatment in material things, while the second speaks of equal treatment in matters of the heart (i.e. the degree of affection felt for each wife), which a man cannot be expected to control. (15.) ‛Aqīda wa-Sharī‛a, 182. He furthermore (p. 186) dismisses the commonly held view that the permission for polygyny is conditional upon such circumstances as the illness or sterility of the wife, since there is no Qur’ānic support for this. (16.) Tafsīr al-Manār, iv: 349. (17.) Rahman, Major Themes, 48. (18.) ‛Aqīda wa-Sharī‛a, 193–4; cf. also Tafsīr, 296. (19.) Anderson, Law Reform, 63. (20.) ‛Aqīda wa-Sharī‛a, 195. (21.) Ibid. 189. (22.) Tafsīr, 174. (23.) Bagley, ‘The Azhar and Shi‛ism’, 122; he states that the report was carried in the Daily Telegraph, 26 Oct. 1959. Page 17 of 20

Religion in Society: Social Issues Addressed (24.) This interview with a female journalist from Akhbār al-Yawm is reported in Majallat al-Azhar, 30 (1958–9), pp. 783–8. The journalist prefaces the interview with an amusing anecdote: when she was unable to obtain an interview with the Shaykh al-Azhar after 3 months of trying, she sent him a note, asking if this reticence was on account of the fact that she was female. The following day she received a reply: ‘His eminence (faḍīlat al-ustādh al-akbar) has decided to meet with you, in order to prove to you that he does not discriminate in his treatment of males and females.’ (25.) Al-Fatāwā, 330–4. (26.) In practice, however, it tended to be the case that communities like the Berbers who had no revealed scripture were treated as ahl al-kitāb, the payment of jizya (tribute) being accepted from them. (27.) Tafsīr, 229, 230. (28.) Ibid. 426–7. (29.) Ibid. 612. (30.) ‛Aqīda wa-Sharī‛a, 452–3. (31.) Min Tawjīhāt al-Islām, 93. (32.) Ibid. 54. Against the background of modern Islamic writings generally the lack of complacency and capacity for self-criticism revealed in these remarks are like a breath of fresh air. (33.) ‛Aqīda wa-Sharī‛a, 456, and Tafsīr, 530. (34.) Tafsīr, 294–5, 94–5. (35.) Ibid. 295–6. (36.) Ibid. 296; see also Al-Fatāwā, 279–80. (37.) See e.g. Shaykh ‛Abd Allah ibn Zayd Āl Maḥmūd (who was President of the Sharī‘a Courts and Religious Affairs in Qatar), Majmū‛at Rasā’il (Qatar, 1979), 420–2, where he supplies a farcical description of the behaviour characteristic of Christian women (‘when her husband knocks on the door and she is with her boyfriend, she tells him to go away until they have finished’), and uses the term kāfira when referring to them. (38.) ‛Aqīda wa-Sharī‛a, 373–5. (39.) Shaltūt and Muḥammad ‛Alī Sāyis, Muqāranat al-Madhāhib fi’l-Fiqh, (Cairo, 1953), 136–7. Page 18 of 20

Religion in Society: Social Issues Addressed (40.) Tafsīr, 97–9. (41.) Min Tawjīhat al-Islam, 540, 262. (42.) Ibid. 238, and Min Huda’l-Qur’ān, 325. (43.) Min Huda’l-Qur’ān, 340. (44.) Min Tawjīhāt al-Isldm, 557. (45.) Abul A‛la Maududi, Rights of Non-Muslims in an Islamic State (transl. K. Ahmad; Lahore, 1961), 1–2. Shaltūt’s erstwhile pupil Yūsuf al-Qaraḍāwī expresses a similar view in Ghayr al-Muslimīn fi’l-Mujtama‛ al-Islāmī (Cairo, 1977), 33. (46.) Min Tawjīhāt al-Isldm, 555. (47.) ‛Aqīda wa-Sharī‛a, 449–50. (48.) The text of this fatwā is reproduced in English translation in Donahue and Esposito (eds.), Islam in Transition, 194–6. (49.) Similarly the Grand Mufti conveys the false impression that all the classical jurists allowed abortion during the first 120 days of pregnancy, in view of the fact that the foetus was not yet considered to be a human being. (50.) Interestingly, his successor to the Rectorship of the Azhar, Shaykh Ḥasan Ma’mūn, in a fatwā on the same subject, presents a startling contrast: ‘We find that the density of population in the world threatens a serious reduction in the living standards of mankind’, (etc.). Is this a sign of increased Government control over the Azhar hierarchy? See Islam and Family Planning, published under the auspices of the International Planned Parenthood Federation (Beirut, 1974), ii: 515–16. (51.) See e.g. an article by Muḥammad al-Qubbānī entitled; ‘Birth Control: A Zionist Imperialist Idea against Egypt and the Peoples of the Middle East’ (‘Tahdīd al-nasl: fikra ṣiḥyūniyya isti‛māriyya ḍidda miṣr wa shu‛ūb al-sharq al-awsaṭ’), Majallat al-Azhar, 29 (1957–8), 550–2. (52.) Al-Fatāwā, 296. (53.) This is an extremist position, which as far as I know has not been held by any ‛ālim. While not going so far, Maududi articulates the same fear: ‘In whatever country birth control [i.e. contraception] has been practised on a large scale illicit sexual relationships have become rampant’, in Birth Control: Its Social, Political, Economic, Moral and Religious Aspects (7th edn.; Lahore, 1987), 176.

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Religion in Society: Social Issues Addressed (54.) ‛Aqīda wa-Sharī‛a, 200. (55.) Ibid. 205–6. Paradoxically, other scholars argue that changing social conditions are a reason for relaxing the rules on contraception rather than vice versa, in that the need for procreation was stressed in the Prophet’s age when the Muslim community was small and weak, whereas now Muslims are so numerous that this is no longer a concern. See e.g. Shaykh Hasan Ma’mūn’s fatwā in Islam and Family Planning, 515. (56.) ‛Aqīda wa-Sharī‛a, 211–12. (57.) Ibid. 213, and Al-Fatāwā, 296–7. (58.) ‛Aqīda wa-Sharī‛a, 214. (59.) Al-Fatāwā, 297. (60.) This opinion is recorded in his Tafsīr, 139–52, and was first published in the periodical Risālat al-Islām, 3 (1951), 117–27. (61.) For further details see C. Mallat, ‘The Debate on Riba and Interest in Twentieth-Century Jurisprudence’, in C. Mallat and R. Wilson (eds.), Islamic Law and Finance (London, 1988). (62.) The fatwās in question are contained in Al-Fatāwā, 348–55. (63.) Others have expressly rejected the ‘willingness’ of the two parties as a legitimizing principle, since even two gamblers or two adulterers could be described as willing participants—see e.g. Yūsuf al-Qaraḍāwī, Al-Ḥalāl wa’lḤarām fi’l-Islām (12th edn.; Beirut, 1978), 264, on the subject of life insurance. (64.) When Shaltūt inconsistently objects to Government bonds (sanadāt) on the grounds that the interest on them bears no relation to profit and loss, it appears that this, too, is for practical considerations, as he mentions without specifying them ‘the evils of bonds, which are well known to people and confirmed by economists’—Al-Fatāwā, 355. (65.) ‛Abd al-Karīm al-Khaṭīb, Al-Siyāsat al-Māliyya fi’l-Islām wa-Ṣilatuhā bi’lMu‛āmalāt al-Mu‛āṣira (2nd edn.; Cairo, 1976), 198. (66.) See e.g. ibid., 167–8, and Tafsīr al-Manār, iv: 128–30.

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Fiqh in the Twentieth Century: A Comparative Approach

Maḥmūd Shalt=ut and Islamic Modernism Kate Zebiri

Print publication date: 1993 Print ISBN-13: 9780198263302 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: October 2011 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198263302.001.0001

Fiqh in the Twentieth Century: A Comparative Approach KATE ZEBIRI

DOI:10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198263302.003.0005

Abstract and Keywords This chapter examines the works of Maḥmūd Shaltūt relevant to the Islamic fiqh. During the 19th and 20th centuries, the development of fiqh was overtaken by the rapid pace of legal reforms and in many cases the Shari'a was displaced by Western-style codes of law. Despite this, Shaltūt did not confine his works on acts of worship and family laws and expanded his scope to cover the subjects of civil, criminal liability, and penal law. His legal works were always based on the framework of traditional Islamic jurisprudence. Keywords:   Maḥmūd Shaltūt, fiqh, Shari'a, codes of law, Islamic jurisprudence, penal law, criminal liability, civil law

THE hiatus between theory and practice is more marked in this area of Islamic scholarship than any other, the development of fiqh having been overtaken by the rapid pace of legal reforms over the course of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, with the Sharī‘a in many cases being displaced by Western-style codes of law. In spite of this, Shaltūt does not confine himself to writing on acts of worship and family law, but broaches subjects such as civil and criminal liability and penal law.

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Fiqh in the Twentieth Century: A Comparative Approach Jurisprudence is an area in which Shaltūt specialized. In this discipline he had an advantage over ‛Abduh and Riḍā and most of the Shaykhs of the Azhar. Generally speaking, his familiarity with the work of the classical fuqahā’ (jurists) meant that he discussed legal issues within the framework of traditional Islamic jurisprudence, frequently referring to the opinions of the madhāhib or of particular individuals. However, at the same time he claimed the right to compare and criticise those opinions, taking a particular interest in ikhtilāf (difference of juristic opinion) and comparative jurisprudence (al-fiqh almuqārin). He treats Islamic law from several different perspectives; he writes on the theoretical underpinnings of Islamic jurisprudence—uṣūl al-fiqh (the study of the sources and the way in which they relate to each other), as well as selecting specific areas of positive law for detailed comparative treatment.

The Sources of Law It is noteworthy that in his exposition on the sources of law, Shaltūt departs from the traditional classification of the sources of law under the four headings of Qur’ān, Sunna, qiyās (analogical (p.83) reasoning), and ijmā‛ (consensus of opinion), and enumerates only three: Qur’ān, Sunna, and ra’y (opinion).1 For practical purposes, qiyās and ijmā‛ appear to be subsumed under the heading of ra’y, but the departure from the classical system is not just a nominal one. While he does not depart from the traditional view which gives pride of place to the Qur’ān among the sources of law, Shaltūt interestingly draws attention to the nature of the Qur’ānic legislation in a description which actually highlights its limitations in this regard. The points he makes are that the legislative verses in the Qur’ān are relatively few, legislation being only one element of the revelation; the Qur’ān did not introduce a new system of legislation but built upon the social environment in which it appeared, confirming what was beneficial, forbidding what was harmful, and modifying certain other things; the Qur’ān is not intended to be a legal manual, therefore the legislative verses are not laid out systematically but are scattered throughout the Qur’ān, fulfilling the didactic aim of avoiding the reader’s preoccupation with one topic to the exclusion of others; and finally, the Qur’ānic legislation is usually of a general nature, rarely going into specific details—for example it enjoins justice on those who pass judgment, but does not give details of judicial procedure.2

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Fiqh in the Twentieth Century: A Comparative Approach All of these characteristics underline the need for the Sunna as a second, complementary, source of law, which throws light on the Qur’ānic legislation in various ways which are described by Shaltūt as in the standard sources.3 Essentially, the superiority of the Qur’ān over the Sunna for legislative purposes lies in its superior authenticity. A critical distinction is drawn by Shaltūt within the Sunna, between that which has legislative relevance and that which has not. Into the latter category fall the Prophet’s purely human actions, such as eating and drinking, things which depend on human experience or social usage such as agriculture and medicine, and things which depend on human initiative and organization, such as military tactics.4 As for those aḥādīth which are of legal relevance, these too must be divided into those which are of universal relevance (tashrī‛ ‛āmm) and those which apply to specific categories of humans (tashrī‛ khāṣṣ). Into the first category fall those things Muḥammad did in his capacity of Prophet and messenger of God, such as his explanations concerning the Qur’ān and acts of worship, the ḥalāl (p.84) and the ḥarām, and morals. However, his actions and decisions in his capacity of imām (i.e. leader of the Muslims), such as administering the Treasury, appointing governers, and giving judgment, cannot normally be executed by an individual without the sanction of an appropriate authority.5 Shaltūt’s concern here as a jurist is with the confusion and contradictions that arise from the failure to distinguish sufficiently between the different types of action of the Prophet in order to determine their legislative status. These contradictions are illustrated by specific cases. For example, scholars have differed concerning Muḥammad’s pronouncement that anyone who cultivates barren land thereby becomes its owner. If this is understood as a general communication to all Muslims, then this means that any individual can appropriate land at his own discretion; however, if it is understood as a decision taken in his capacity of imām, then such appropriation will depend on the consent of the imām or authority in the Muslim land concerned.6 Although Shaltūt was not the first to recommend such a distinction, he did offend certain sensibilities by placing such emphasis on it.7 Swayed by a strong devotion to and veneration of the Prophet, some Muslims may flinch at such a seemingly ‘rational’ approach towards the actions of the Prophet, or feel that it detracts from the sanctity and/or importance of his actions.8 The third ‘source’ of law, ra’y, is in fact concerned with methodology, unlike the other two which consist of finite textual sources. This point highlights the way in which Shaltūt departs from the classical position, since in the Middle Ages ijmā‛, which he discusses under this heading, was in fact regarded as a collection of decisions which had been taken irrevocably by the Muslim community.

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Fiqh in the Twentieth Century: A Comparative Approach Shaltūt feels that the only true illustration of the effective interaction of the sources of law, particularly as regards the operation of ra’y both individually and collectively, is provided by the early Islamic period, specifically in the Caliphates of Abū Bakr and ‘Umar (i.e. prior to the first sectarian split). This was due to the fact that the differences between the mujtahids of this time tended to concern relatively minor details, and there was frequent (albeit informal) consultation among them, since they were mostly still resident in the area of Medina.9 Shaltūt’s view here is not so much a case of nostalgic idealism as a negation of the classical (p.85) model, which is implied by the apparent absence of any satisfactory alternative models from the rest of Islamic history. Moreover the fact that the conditions prevailing in the early period as he describes them could, in the nature of things, never be reproduced, implies that there is a need to search for new models. As far as the individual use of ra’y is concerned, Shaltūt takes a liberal view; any individual who feels himself suitably qualified may exercise ijtihād, and its findings are binding only on the mujtahid himself, no matter how eminent he may be; moreover it is inadvisable for anyone to accept a mujtahid’s opinion without understanding the underlying reasoning.10 Difference of opinion can be a healthy sign of intellectual activity; the different schools of law grew up as a result of the natural differences in the methods of the mujtahids, for example in the relative weight attached to such things as aḥādīth aḥād, qiyās, the opinions of the Companions, etc. These differences must, in Shaltūt’s opinion, be regarded as a blessing, since they represent the intellectual freedom granted to Muslims of all ages, which is ultimately a means of preserving the Sharī‛a.11 The case of collective ijtihād, or ijmā‛, is less straightforward. In fact, it will become apparent that Shaltūt effectively invalidates the traditional concept of ijmā‛ by demonstrating its impracticability and inherent illogicality. He points out that if ijmā‛ is to be taken as the unanimous agreement of those ‘ulamā’ who are suitably qualified to exercise ijtihād, then in order to obtain it one must first define and identify those people, and then register them so that they can all be consulted on a given matter. In order for ijmā‛ to obtain, all these people must be unanimously agreed on the matter. However, given the fact that this matter must be one which is subject to ijtihād in the first place, i.e. differences of opinion concerning it are permissible, the likelihood of their all agreeing on one point of view is negligible. Thus ijmā‛ in this sense is in fact no more than an unrealizable theoretical concept.12 In fact complete unanimity is only possible on matters about which doubt is inconceivable, such as the fact that there are four rak‛as in the ẓuhr (noon) prayer, in other words on matters which are already established in the Qur’ān or the Sunna. Therefore the ruling would be based not on ijmā‛ but on one of those two sources.13

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Fiqh in the Twentieth Century: A Comparative Approach Shaltūt states that in any case the concept of ijmā‛ has never been satisfactorily formulated in its details, and there has been a (p.86) distinct lack of ijmā‛ on the subject of ijmā‛ in all its aspects, from the criteria to be applied in deciding whose opinion counts, to whether it is practically applicable, and its legal status if in fact it is accepted and applied.14 Moreover historically it has been used as a weapon to support sectarian views or indeed the established schools of law, and to intimidate potential dissidents who were consequently reluctant to reveal their own opinions even on matters where differences of opinion are legitimate, for fear of going against ‘ijmā‛’ and jeopardizing their religious reputations. Thus ijmā‛ was used both to reinforce sectarianism and to close the gate of ijtihād, stifling independent initiative and the spirit of free enquiry.15 Giving an indication of how the concept of ijmā‛ could be modified to suit modern conditions, Shaltūt states that even if one accepts a majority rather than a unanimous ijmā‛, this would necessarily be based on considerations of maṣlaḥa (the public interest), which changes according to circumstances, and so any decision based on ijmā‛ would be subject to repeal by a later decision, and ijmā‛ would be an agent for change in the law rather than the contrary.16 Indeed, in one place Shaltūt equates ‘ahl al-ijmā‛ with those in authority generally (‘ūlū1amr’), reinforcing the impression that he envisages something along the lines of modern decision-making bodies.17 Shaltūt was not the first thinker to express doubts about the historical conception of ijmā‛; even in the Middle Ages there were scholars who did not accept ijmā‛ as a source of law. Among them were the Mu‛tazilī scholar alNaẓẓām (d. c.840 AD), who believed that it was impossible to actually ascertain a ruling by ijmā‛ for various reasons such as the difficulty of defining a mujtahid and of communications over a wide geographical area.18 Ibn Ḥanbal is said to have expressed a similar view,19 and some scholars, including Ibn Taymiyya and Ibn Ḥazm, believed it to be restricted to the generation of the Companions.20 Some of these scholars also believed that it must in any case be based on textual evidence, in which case Shaltūt’s objection that the real source would then be the Qur’ān or the Sunna holds good.21

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Fiqh in the Twentieth Century: A Comparative Approach The questioning of the validity of the classical concept of ijmā‛ has been more widespread in recent times, however.22 Muḥammad ‘Abduh recognized that it had never been properly systematized. He did not see ijmā‛ as a rigid and static phenomenon, for this (p.87) would threaten Islam’s adaptability to changing circumstances; he pointed out that some classical authorities like al-Shafi‛ī in his ‘Risāla’ Ibn Ḥanbal, and others conceived it as revocable, i.e. subject to repeal by a later ijmā‛.23 ‛‘Abduh denied the traditional view that the authority for ijmā‛ was based upon the ḥadīth: ‘My community shall never agree upon an error’ or upon the Qur’ānic verse which talks about the ‘way of the believers’ (4: 115),24 but instead identified it as the consensus of ‘ūlū’l-amr’ mentioned in Qur’ān 4: 59 and 4: 83. These were identified as those in authority in all areas of life, including the political, military, commercial, industrial, agricultural, financial, etc.—in fact anyone upon whose expertise the interests of the nation depend.25 While Rashīd Riḍā is generally in sympathy with ‘Abduh’s views on ijmā‛, he accords a special place to the ijmā‛ of the Companions, which he believes is not subject to modification or repeal.26 The Pakistani scholar Kemal Faruki arrives at not dissimilar conclusions, with perhaps more carefully reasoned arguments; he feels that the concept of ‘protection from error’ (‘iṣma) upon which the justification for ijmā‛ is normally based, if left unrestricted, comes dangerously close to shirk (polytheism) by attributing infallibility to other than God.27 He therefore suggests that the ‘presence’ of the community as regards both time and space should be a prerequisite for the authority of ijmā‛, i.e. it should be binding only on the community which agreed upon it.28 However, this does not mean denying all the previous findings of ijmā‛, which would in fact be tantamount to destroying the entire edifice of Islamic jurisprudence.29 This can be avoided by acknowledging that each generation has a special authority as regards its own age, being more familiar with its circumstances, and therefore the early communities were better able to judge in matters such as the authenticity of the Qur’ānic text and aḥādīth. (He does not, however, preclude the possibility of modern historical research bringing to light new evidence and modifying previous findings.)30

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Fiqh in the Twentieth Century: A Comparative Approach It appears that there are two distinct phenomena which are discussed under the rubric of ijmā‛; first, there is the informal inarticulate accumulation of conscience which formed the effective sanctioning base for the whole structure of fiqh, and which of course cannot be dismissed by any Islamic scholar without dire consequences. Secondly, there is the attempt to adapt the concept of ijmā‛ to meet the needs of the twentieth century; anyone who (p.88) wishes to interpret it as a forward-looking source of legislation for the modern age must necessarily have in mind an ijmā‛ that is subject to repeal by a later ijmā‛, and moreover a majority rather than a unanimous ijmā‛. Bearing this in mind, there is more agreement among the scholars on this subject than may at first appear to be the case. Those who acknowledge the classical ijmā‛ as a valuable source must be aware that there was no formal mechanism for obtaining absolute unanimity, and that it was only during the age of the Companions and prior to sectarian division that unanimity was conceivable. Scholars like ‘Abduh, Faruki, and Shaltūt are aware of the distinction and recognize the need to look forward and evolve a practical formulation for the exercise of collective ijtihād. Thus ijmā‛ may now properly be subsumed under the heading of ra’y, as Shaltūt has done. Apart from those matters upon which the very early generations agreed and which nobody would presume to question,31 classical‘ is no longer regarded as an absolute authority in legislation, although in practice many of its findings may be endorsed by modern scholars.

Unlawful Homicide and Qisās: A Case Study Although penal law is an area of the Sharī‛a which is scarcely implemented in the modern age,32 Shaltūt discusses the subject at some length.33 He does so within an essentially traditional framework, addressing classical textbook points such as the case of the man who is killed by two separate assailants, the first dealing a potentially deadly blow and the second finishing him off. However, although he relates the opinions contained in many of the classical works of fiqh, he also scrutinizes the relevant texts from the Qur’ān and the Sunna, using his own ijtihād to evaluate those opinions.

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Fiqh in the Twentieth Century: A Comparative Approach Shaltūt treats two Qur’ānic verses on the subject of qiṣāṣ in some detail, in order to analyze their exact significance. Of the two verses, one is Meccan and the other Medinan. They read respectively: ‘Slay not the life which God has made sacred, unless by right (iliā bi-ḥaqq). Whoever is wrongfully slain, We have given authority to his heir, but let him not commit excess in slaying’ (17: 33); ‘O you who believe! Qiṣāṣ is prescribed for you when someone is murdered; the free man for the free man, the slave for (p.89) the slave, and the female for the female. He who is pardoned by his [aggrieved] brother should be prosecuted according to custom and should make a liberal payment to him’ (2: 178). In order to ascertain the relationship between these two verses, Shaltūt discusses the general differences between the Meccan and Medinan sections of the Quran; while the Meccan passages are more concerned with general truths and individual salvation, the Medinan parts supply detailed legislation which is addressed to the Muslims as a community. In the light of these facts, the two passages concerned need not be taken in isolation from each other, or as one abrogating the other, but can be seen to be complementary, the second building on the first. While the Meccan verse confirms that the walī al-dam (next of kin) has the right to demand qiṣāṣ but should not exceed this right, the Medinan verse adds certain details, including the encouragement to pardon the offender and the entrusting of the actual execution of qiṣāṣ to the whole community, i.e. to its representative authorities, rather than simply to the walī al-dam; this is implied by the opening address of the passage with the words: ‘O you [plural] who believe’. The primary aim of the Meccan passage is simply to inspire a spirit of justice in the individual and to pave the way for later modifications, while the Medinan passage actually provides the legislation in its final form.34 The phrase which speaks of ‘the free man for the free man, the slave for the slave, and the female for the female’ leads Shaltūt to discuss the concept of equivalence (mumāthala) in qiṣāṣ. Like most mufassirūn (Qur’ānic exegetes), Shaltūt understands this phrase to be a repudiation of the pre-Islamic practice whereby relatives of a murder victim would demand excessive retribution; not content just to take the life of the murderer, they would often demand to take the life of a higher-ranking member of the murderer’s tribe instead, even though that person was innocent of the crime. Here Shaltūt quotes al-Bayḍāwī approvingly, in refutation of those who maintain that this verse is an elaboration of the concept of equivalence, and therefore in certain murders, such as the murder of a slave by a free man or a female by a male, qiṣāṣ may not be implemented.35 Shaltūt maintains that the only characteristic that is relevant here is that of life, for all lives are equally sacred.36

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Fiqh in the Twentieth Century: A Comparative Approach Shaltūt then proceeds to deal with three specific cases which (p.90) have been causes of disagreement in the past: where a father kills his son (or daughter), where several assailants kill a single victim, and where a Muslim kills a dhimmī In the first case, he disagrees with the majority view that since the father is the cause of the son’s existence, it is inappropriate that the son should then become the cause of his father’s non-existence, i.e. by the father being subject to qiṣāṣ for the murder of his son. He argues by analogy that a man can be subject to the penalty of death by stoning for the crime of committing zinā (adultery/ fornication) with his daughter, even though he is the cause of her existence. Only the Mālikīs permit qiṣāṣ in this case, but they stipulate that extra caution should be exercised in ascertaining deliberate intent, in view of the fact that the father may only have intended to punish or discipline his son. Shaltūt, however, feels that there should be no special conditions even in this case, in accordance with the ‘umūm (generality) of the Qur’ānic verses.37 Similarly in the case where there is more than one assailant, Shaltūt points out that the Qur’ān places no restriction on number; the crux upon which the ruling hangs is the act of murder itself. Failure to apply qiṣāṣ here would provide a loophole for potential murderers and would deprive the walī al-dam of his right. Here Shaltūt is in accordance with the majority view.38 Again, in the case of a dhimmī being murdered by a Muslim, Shaltūt remains consistent with his view that there should be no exceptions to the rule, disagreeing with the majority view that qiṣāṣ cannot be exacted in these circumstances. He believes that a Muslim and a dhimmī are equal as regards ḥurmat al-dam (the sanctity of their blood), for it is not lawful to kill either of them. Shaltūt disagrees with those who interpret the word ‘brother’ in the verse (2: 178) to imply that only Muslims are involved, maintaining that this could refer not to the brotherhood of Islam but the most basic brotherhood of all—that of humanity.39 In his opinions on the concept of equivalence, Shaltūt’s prime concern is obviously for natural justice. While traditionally of the four Sunni schools of law only the Ḥanafīs approximated this position, allowing qiṣāṣ to be inflicted on Muslims in return for the slaying of both slaves and non-Muslims,40 the present climate of opinion tends towards a more egalitarian outlook, in accordance with current social ideals of equal citizenship, the protection of human rights, etc.41

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Fiqh in the Twentieth Century: A Comparative Approach (p.91) In selecting issues related to the subject of murder for discussion, Shaltūt is influenced by the preoccupations of the classical authorities. This is to be expected, given his desire to use the comparative method, surveying and evaluating the opinions of the madhāhib. Issues which were commonly addressed under the heading of qiṣāṣ included the definition of both justifiable and unjustifiable homicide, and customarily addressed specific controversial questions such as the case of the person who kills another who has incurred the death-penalty either by qiṣāṣ or as a ḥadd penalty (i.e. a fixed penalty for certain crimes mentioned in the Qur’ān), but without due process of law, or the case of one who kills in self-defence. Shaltūt deals with the question of justifiable homicide in connection with the Qur’ānic phrase quoted above, ‘Do not take the life which God has made sacred, unless by right’ (17: 33). Neither of the four schools of law consider it lawful for an ordinary member of the community (being neither the walī al-dam nor the executive authority) to kill someone who has incurred the penalty of qiṣāṣ for murder; if this should happen, they maintain that the killer of the culprit then becomes subject to qiṣāṣ in his turn. Only two early authorities, Qatāda and Abū Hāshim, believe that no qiṣāṣ is due because they consider that the lawfulness (ibāḥa) of the culprit’s blood is absolute—i.e. he may be lawfully killed by anyone.42 Related to this is the question of whether the death penalty for a ḥadd crime can be executed by an unauthorized person; in the case of an adulterer, for example, the majority view is that he or she is mubāḥ al-dam (i.e. it is lawful to shed their blood), since, unlike in the case of qiṣāṣ, there is no possibility of pardon. Only some Shāf‘ī’s feel that qiṣāṣ becomes due as a result of such a killing. This accords with Shaltūt’s view, which is that only the representative authority (walī al-amr) has the right to demand the execution of the ḥadd penalty, just as only the walī al-dam has the right to demand qiṣāṣ. He rejects the argument of those who believe in the permissibility of killing the adulterer, that an analogy can be drawn between the adulterer and the muḥārib (one who is at war with the Muslims), who can lawfully be killed by any member of the Muslim community.43

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Fiqh in the Twentieth Century: A Comparative Approach The case of an adulterer being caught in the act is slightly different. Shaltūt reports rather obscurely that the fuqahā’ (p.92) (jurists) believe that it is justifiable to kill someone ‘if there is no other way to defend one’s honour’. This is borne out by a well-known report that ‘Umar approved of a man who killed his wife and a man upon finding them in bed together.44 Shaltūt sees such a killing as a kind of crime of passion, due to ‘al-ghayrat allatī tushbihu’l-junūn’ (jealousy verging on insanity), and while this may be presumed to have some mitigating effect, the killing is nevertheless seen as a crime. Some scholars have justified even the killing of an unknown person indulging in illicit sexual relations, seeing such an action as the practical aspect of ‘al-nahy ‘an al-munkar’ (forbidding that which is evil). Shaltūt however agrees with those who object that it is only for the imām to go to the lengths of killing someone in this case; other people should restrict themselves to less drastic measures in order to avoid an escalation of the affair, in accordance with the principle of ‘committing the lesser of two evils’.45 On the question of killing in self-defence or in defence of one’s property, Shaltūt does not agree with those who apply the ḥadīth: ‘Whomsoever draws a sword on the Muslims may be killed with impunity’ to cases of self-defence, since he believes that this ḥadīth applies only to bughāt (Muslims who collectively wage war on the rest of the Muslim community).46 In defence of one’s property, one should apply only so much force as is necessary, killing being only a last resort. Moreover, most scholars agree that the thief must be caught red-handed; if he reaches a place of safety with his loot it is too late to attack him.47 Having thus excluded many of the categories which have been traditionally regarded by some as ‘justifiable homicide’, and having characteristically drawn attention to the need for extreme caution in establishing ibāḥat al-dam (i.e. that someone’s blood may be lawfully shed),48 Shaltūt addresses the legal definition of murder. The killing must be both wrongful and intentional, and the act may be defined as ‘the taking of the life of a human being (it having been established that the person was indeed alive) who was not already dying, by an action which would normally kill, committed by a person who is responsible for his acts’.49

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Fiqh in the Twentieth Century: A Comparative Approach Certain questions arise from this definition, for example, in the case of someone killing a person who was already dying from a previous fatal wound, should the first or the second assailant be held responsible? The majority view is that only the first assailant (p.93) is subject to qiṣāṣ, since his action actually destroyed the victim’s life (even if the process of dying was not subsequently allowed to take its natural course), and therefore the life could not be taken a second time, as it were. The Ẓāhirīs, on the other hand, believe that the second assailant is to be held responsible, and they base this on their belief (wherein they differ from the other schools) that a dying man can still inherit or convert to Islam, therefore he is definitely alive and can be killed.50 Shaltūt does not concede the logical connection between the imposition of qiṣāṣ and the ability to inherit or convert to Islam, nor does he see why such reasoning should absolve the first assailant of his crime. As for the majority, who wish to absolve the second assailant, he refutes their argument that there is a parellel here with the case of one who strikes a fatal blow, and the victim then takes to his bed and dies later. Such a comparison, which is supposed to establish the fact that the first assailant can be held guilty of murder even though death does not occur immediately, ignores the role of the second assailant and so exempts him from punishment. Shaltūt is clearly in sympathy with the Mālikī view that when both assailants inflict fatal wounds, both are subject to qiṣāṣ, an opinion which accords with his views on the execution of justice both as retribution for the crime and as a deterrent to criminals.51 As regards the actual method of murder, scholars have discussed this from the point of view of the weapon used and whether the culprit was the direct or indirect cause of death. Most scholars do not define the type of weapon which may constitute proof of murderous intent, since even a small stone can be lethal if aimed at the right spot.52 Abū Ḥanīfa, on the other hand, stipulates that the weapon must be one which is capable of cutting or piercing (tufarriqu al-ajzā’— the definition is sometimes extended to include fire), otherwise deliberate intent cannot be definitely established. Shaltūt points out that although this definition is in accordance with the principle of exercising caution in establishing ibāḥat aldam (i.e. of the accused), it has the effect of enabling criminals to act with impunity. Moreover there is no restriction placed on the murder method in the sources, where, in Shaltūt’s view, details as to method are omitted due to the fact that means of causing death vary according to time and place, and new methods are constantly being devised by criminals.53

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Fiqh in the Twentieth Century: A Comparative Approach Similarly most scholars acknowledge murder by ‘indirect (p.94) causation’ (tasabbub), such as throwing someone to wild beasts, depriving them of food and drink for a length of time which would normally be fatal, or even pushing them off a cliff. The Ḥanafī scholars Abū Yūsuf and al-Shaybānī, although taking a more logical view than their master in accepting as proof of murderous intent any weapon which is intrinsically likely to kill, do not acknowledge tasabbub as a category of deliberate homicide. Shaltūt, however, prefers the view which is essentially that of the majority, that where causation can be clearly established, i.e. any action which would normally be expected to lead to death, the case should be treated as murder, for otherwise criminals will take advantage of loopholes in the law.54 Related to these issues is the category of shibh al-‘amd (quasi-deliberate intent), a type of homicide which is recognized by all of the schools except the Mālikī and the Ẓāhirī. Those who do recognize it see it as an intermediate category between deliberate intent and excusable homicide, i.e. it is an action committed deliberately but which would not normally be expected to lead to death. Shaltūt points out that the scholars’ definitions of shibh al-‘amd complement their definitions of murder as regards the weapon or method used; thus Abū Ḥanīfa describes it as homicide involving weapons which do not fulfil his strict criteria, Abū Yūsuf and al-Shaybānī regard it as murder by tasabbub, and the majority define it as death caused by any instrument or action which would not normally be lethal, such as a blow delivered to one of the less vulnerable areas of the body (‘fī ghayri maqtal’).55 Generally speaking, in his opinions on Islamic penal law Shaltūt has moved closer to modern conceptions of criminal justice. In the early period of the development of Islamic law there is little doubt that the crime of murder was seen as a tort rather than a crime.56 In Shaltūt’s writings there is an emphasis on the concepts of justice, deterrence, and the public interest. Although he acknowledges the value of granting the right to demand qiṣāṣ to the heirs of the victim,57 he departs from the classical scholars in not allowing those heirs to inflict the punishment personally;58 this increases the role of the central authority and slightly reduces the element of personal vengeance. Moreover he maintains that even in cases where the heirs choose to pardon the culprit, the ruler may still inflict a discretionary punishment (ta‘zīr), for example if the crime is particularly heinous or the culprit represents a danger to society.59

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Fiqh in the Twentieth Century: A Comparative Approach (p.95) It is remarkable that although he was trained in the Ḥanafī school of law, Shaltūt evaluates the opinions of the madhāhib in an impartial manner. Given the format of his monograph on qiṣāṣ, which does not represent an exhaustive study in fiqh but addresses selected issues, there is little doubt that he wished to place more emphasis on his methodology than on the issues per se. In view of his influential position and eminence as a faqīh (jurist), it is highly likely that he has been instrumental in encouraging a comparative approach among modern scholars.60

Ikhtilāf and Comparative Jurisprudence The science of ikhtilāf (the study of the differences between the schools of law) dates back to the formative period of the madhāhib. One modern scholar traces three main stages in its historical development.61 First came the polemical stage, where the main aim was to defend one’s own school; Abū Yūsuf, alShaybānī, and al-Shāfi‘ī are cited as examples of such writers. Later on more impartial works emerged, such as al-Ṭabarī’s Kitāb Ikhtilāf al-Fuqahā’ and Ibn Rushd’s Bidāy at al-Mujtahid. This type of work, which was the most common up until recent times, contained a simple juxtaposition of the various opinions, usually without giving the reasons for the differences. The third method, which is the most common in the modern age although having precedents in the classical period, usually bases itself on a particular school, and thus avoids much of the cumbersome repetition involved in an exhaustive comparison of all four schools on all points; attention is drawn to points of divergence and convergence in a style approximating to modern comparative methods. An outstanding example in the classical age is the Ḥanbalī scholar Ibn Qudāma’s Al-Mughnī. While there was a scarcity of such works from the sixteenth to the beginning of the present century, interest in this area has greatly increased during this century.62 One could advance many reasons for this renewed interest: the schools became less geographically self-contained due to improved communications; it was part of the Arab-Islamic revival which pervaded all areas of scholarship; and the idea that one must confine oneself to a particular madhhab was losing ground as Muḥammad ‘Abduh and others claimed the right to practice (p.96) takhayyur (‘selecting’ a juristic opinion from any of the madhāhib) or talfīq (‘patching together’ a ruling by combining different juristic opinions), and rebelled against all manifestations of the spirit of sectarianism.

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Fiqh in the Twentieth Century: A Comparative Approach Shaltūt’s interest in the study of comparative jurisprudence is related to his work in the area of taqrīb; in the introduction to his scholastic work, Muqāranat al-Madhāhib fi’l-Fiqh, he states that one of the aims of pointing out the areas of difference is so that one may choose between them with complete impartiality, ‘having stripped oneself of the madhhabiyya to which one has become accustomed’. If the student is unable to do this, Shaltūt advises against his embarking on comparative jurisprudence, for in that case he would be like a judge who is giving judgment between a friend and an enemy.63 Shaltūt mentions some of the objections to the study of comparative jurisprudence which arise from the rigid adherence to taqlīd, and the unwillingness to criticize any classical authority. Common objections are along the lines that if one were to perform the different parts of wuḍū’ according to the teachings of different schools, one’s wuḍū’ would not in fact be valid (ṣaḥīḥ) according to any of them, and that a qāḍī is in any case bound to give judgment according to his own madhhab. Therefore it is argued that ‘comparison’ is a mere theoretical exercise of no practical value. Shaltūt attributes these opinions to the spirit of sectarianism, and regrets that this attitude has deprived people of ‘malakat al-fiqh’ (the aptitude for jurisprudence/understanding). Those people who advocate strict adherence to a single madhhab are obliged to defend the opinions of their imāms even when they are weak or contradict the Qur’ān or the Sunna; he remarks drily that neither God nor the Prophet ordered Muslims to follow a particular madhhab. Shaltūt does not admit the objection that Muslims might exploit the permission to consult different madhāhib in order to choose the easiest ruling (a practice known as tatabbu‘ al-rukhaṣ); he cites the approval of the classical scholar alKāmil, and expresses the opinion that it is perfectly reasonable and permissible for people to choose the easier course.64 In a treatise on the subject of ‘the reasons for differences of opinion among scholars concerning the Qur’ān and the Sunna’,65 Shaltūt gives a detailed description of the various causes of (p.97) ikhtilāf. Although this section is necessarily quite technical and theoretical in parts, as usual he clarifies the didactic aim of such a study, expressing the hope that identifying these causes of difference will be a source of guidance to those who wish to understand the legal content of the Qur’ān and the Sunna, both with regard to the actual opinions of the fuqahā’ and the methods used.66 He divides the causes of ikhtilāf into those which can arise concerning both the Qur’ān and Sunna, and those which are peculiar to the Sunna. The various types of difference are classified according to whether they arise from linguistic considerations, from points of juristic principle (qawā‘id uṣūliyya) or from differing legal principles (qawā‘id fiqhiyya).

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Fiqh in the Twentieth Century: A Comparative Approach On the linguistic level, the problems may be lexical or grammatical. A word may have two different literal meanings, or a literal and a figurative meaning, or even a linguistic and a legal meaning. Shaltūt gives specific examples to illustrate each possibility, indicating the practical consequences of differences of opinion. In the first case, for example, the Qur’ānic word ‘qur’’ can be understood to mean either the menstruation itself or the period of purity between menstruations, and the choice of meaning will materially affect the length of the ‘idda (waiting period) for a divorced or widowed woman. In the second, the Qur’ānic stipulation that those who wage war on God and the Prophet should be ‘banished from the land’ (5: 33) can be taken to mean literal exile or understood metaphorically as imprisonment. In the third case, the description of ‘daughters’ as one of the categories of muḥarramāt (female relations whom it is prohibited to marry) could be taken to apply only to one’s legally recognized daughters, or it could apply also to illegitimate daughters who are daughters in the literal sense although not in the legal sense.67 Less straightforward are the cases which involve compound sentences. Certain particles in the Arabic language are particularly conducive to ambiguity. Shaltūt singles out the particles aw (or), iliā (except), and fa (and) in addition to the relative pronoun. The exceptive particle iliā, for example, may apply only to the clause immediately preceding it, or it may apply to any additional clauses preceding that one; in the case of the Qur’ānic passage which describes the sanctions against those who are guilty of qadhf: ‘give them eighty lashes, and do not accept their testimony forthwith; they are indeed the evil-doers, except those who repent (24: 4–5), (p.98) the exception could be taken to apply only to the immediately preceding description of them as evil-doers, or it could additionally apply to the stipulation that their testimony should never be accepted. The same kind of ambiguity can arise with relative clauses.68 The differences which can arise from the application of different juristic principles include the whole area covered by the science of uṣūl, such as the relationship between a text which is ‘ārnrn (general) and one which is khāṣṣ (particular), or between one which is muṭlaq (unrestricted) and one which is muqayyad (restricted), and the status of, for example, aḥādīth āḥād or qiyās visà-vis other sources.69 In the case of the quantity of riḍā‘ (suckling) which entails taḥrīm (marriage prohibition), for example, the riḍā‘ is mentioned in the Qur’ān without qualification, but various aḥādīth specify different numbers of raḍa‘āt (occasions on which the infant is nursed). Apart from the process of tarjīḥ, whereby the relevant aḥādīth are evaluated according to their isnāds and one is ‘preferred’ over the others, a jurist’s opinion will depend on whether or not he accepts the possibility of a hādīth āḥād ‘restricting’ (yuqayyid) the Qur’ān.70

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Fiqh in the Twentieth Century: A Comparative Approach In the case of the Qur’ānic permission to marry believing (i.e. Muslim; the word mu’min in the Qur’ān is often understood to mean specifically Muslim) slave girls (4: 25), whether or not one acknowledges the mafhūm (that which is implied)71 of the verse, will determine whether or not (1) one allows marriage to a slave girl when a free girl is available and (2) one allows marriage to a slave girl from ahl al-kitāb. The phraseology of the verse: ‘If any one of you cannot afford to marry free believing women, let him marry from among the believing women who are slaves’, may be taken to imply that the permission to marry slave girls is conditional upon not being able to afford to marry free women, and furthermore that the slave must be a Muslim.72 Differences may also arise from the legal principles which were formulated by the classical fuqahā’. For example, there is a ḥadīth which states that he who has been sold an animal which is muṣarrāh (i.e. one which has been left unmilked for a period preceding the sale in order to make its milk appear more abundant than it really is), having milked the animal, has a choice of retaining it or returning it with a sā‘ (a measure equal to 2⅓ cups) (p.99) of dates by way of compensation for the milk taken. The Ḥanafīs do not take the ḥadīth at its face value because of the legal principle that fungibles must be indemnified by their exact equivalent—one type of fungible cannot be considered compensation for another, since it is not possible to ascertain that they are of exactly the same value. Adherents to this principle will find some way to reject the ḥadīth or its significance. However, Shaltūt deplores the way in which these scholars interpret the ḥadīth, which is the source (aṣl), on the basis of legal principles which are derived from the sources themselves. He adds on a practical note that the underlying aim of the ḥadīth is to protect people from deception, and to reject it would be to withdraw this protection, and the specification of the quantity, i.e. a sā‛ avoids wrangling over the exact quantity of the compensation, and provides a reasonable solution for all concerned.73

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Fiqh in the Twentieth Century: A Comparative Approach When Shaltūt deals with differences which arise concerning the Sunna alone, it becomes clear that there are many more possible areas of difference concerning the Sunna than there are concerning the Qur’ān. A primary reason for this is the many differences which can arise concerning the status of the isnād(s) of a particular ḥadīth.74 Secondly, differences can arise concerning the legislative status of a particular action of the Prophet, for example it could apply to him alone or to the Muslims in general, and an action performed by him could be wājib (obligatory), mandūb (recommended), or mubīḥ (permissible/indifferent).75 Thirdly, the Prophet’s ‘silent approval’ (taqrīr), can sometimes be ambiguous. For example, if accompanied by signs of pleasure, it is generally taken to indicate permissibility. However, the expression of pleasure may be in response to something else. A case in point is that of qiyāfa (determining someone’s lineage by their facial characteristics). In a well-known ḥadīth, the Prophet expresses pleasure at the qā’if’s (the one who practises qiyāfa) confirmation that Usāma ibn Zayd is in fact the son of Zayd ibn Hāritha. While some may take this as confirmation of the legal validity of qiyāfa in establishing lineage, others argue that the Prophet was merely pleased at the rebuttal of the charges of the unbelievers, who alleged on the basis of the difference in skin colour between the two men that they were not related; in that case, his reaction could not be taken as having a bearing on the legal status of qiyāfa.76

(p.100) Shaltūt’s Methods of Conciliation and Tarjīh Shaltūt sees the comparison of divergent opinions not as the prerogative of the religiously educated elite but as a natural process dictated by common sense, which can benefit ordinary Muslims. He therefore includes some discussion of variant opinions in his fatwā collection, and even in his Tafsīr.77 Many of the disagreements cited involve circumstantial or environmental factors rather than real juristic differences. When discussing the various definitions of unlawful homicide, it was observed that Shaltūt rationalized Abū Ḥanīfa’s divergent opinion concerning the murder weapon on the basis of the environment in which he lived (i.e. he could not have foreseen the diversity of murder weapons and ingenious methods which were to be later invented).78 Similarly, on the question of birth-control, Shaltūt attributes certain differences of opinion among fuqahā’ to their different environments; he argues that the classical scholars like al-Ghazālī, who were lenient on the subject, did not foresee an age when people would be less eager to marry and procreate.79

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Fiqh in the Twentieth Century: A Comparative Approach Sometimes Shaltūt seeks to demonstrate that a difference of opinion arises from a lack of empirical knowledge. On the subject of the disagreement concerning the lawfulness of abortion before the quickening, Shaltūt maintains that those who consider it lawful do so only because they restrict their definition of ‘life’ to external manifestations such as movement and perceptibility. However, if those jurists were aware of the medical evidence which shows that the semen itself has the intrinsic quality of life, he argues that there would be no difference of opinion concerning abortion in the early stages, for no one can condone the destroying of life.80 In the case of the employee who causes damage by his own direct action, Abū Ḥanīfa holds him liable while the others do not, since he believes that the contract requires ‘al ‘amal al-salīm’ (i.e. that the work should not be faulty), while the others argue that it may be a question of unforeseeable damage caused by faulty equipment or goods. Here, Shaltūt sees the solution as being to consult the appropriate experts who are qualified to judge whether it was a case of negligence or of faulty equipment in each individual case, and thus distinguish between foreseeable and unforeseeable damage. In the light of such an objective assessment, there would be (p.101) no need for disagreement between the jurists, for it would be clear where the responsibility lay.81 Difference of opinion is not always seen in a negative light, for it illustrates the potential of the Sharī‘a to adapt to changing circumstances; many questions have no single correct answer, but need to be reviewed in the light of the prevailing circumstances or maṣlaḥa.82 In two cases he cites the fact that later Ḥanafī scholars departed from the opinion of their imām, preferring instead the opinions of some of the other schools, as evidence of a commendable lack of sectarian fanaticism.83 His main aim seems to be to show that in general these differences of opinion do not represent serious disagreements on essential matters of principle, and that opposing viewpoints can be equally valid in different circumstances. In his textbook on comparative jurisprudence, the aim of the comparative studies is not so much to conciliate the differences of opinion as to select the preferable one, or indeed to discard them all in favour of a new opinion. It is intended not as an exhaustive comparative study but an exemplary selection which aims to provoke the student to further study, as is evident from Shaltūt’s introduction and some of his concluding comments.84 Notwithstanding the often complex nature of the arguments and counterarguments presented, Shaltūt’s conclusions often base themselves primarily on simple considerations of public interest.

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Fiqh in the Twentieth Century: A Comparative Approach In the case of the status of the wife of the missing man,85 for example, he relates in detail the opinions of the madhāhib with regard to the length of time which should be allowed to elapse before she can be considered a widow, together with the aḥādīth and legal principles relied on in each case. The opinions vary between four years, based on a report from ‘Umar ibn al-Khaṭṭāb, and the natural lifespan of the missing man. Shaltūt himself, however, prefers the opinion that the matter should be referred to the qāḍī in view of the fact that different circumstances give rise to different probabilities. He points out that it is in accordance with maṣlaḥa that a flexible attitude should be taken, for if a woman were asked to wait indefinitely she might fall into temptation. Moreover in the modern age improved communications should be taken into account. ‘Umar’s specification of four years is in any case seen as a piece of ijtihād based on the particular circumstances which then obtained.86 On the question of ‘giving judgment on the basis of circumstantial (p.102) evidence’87 Shaltūt relates in detail the various degrees to which each madhhab acknowledges the validity of such evidence. In his conclusion he argues that many types of circumstantial evidence are extremely reliable, and that even those types of evidence which are universally recognized, such as confession or testimony, do not provide absolute certainty. Ibn Qutayba is quoted in support of the view that the judge should seek to establish the truth by whatever means are available to him, including circumstantial evidence. Shaltūt argues that it is a natural principle which has been applied thoughout history, and is in accordance with the spirit of the Sharī‘a which seeks to establish justice by all possible means. Concluding on a slightly less academic note he comments that the Sharī‘a acknowledged circumstantial evidence long before modern Western law did so, and that those who accuse the Sharī‘a of being lacking or inflexible in this regard do so out of ignorance, for the books of Islamic jurisprudence lack only the names’.88

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Fiqh in the Twentieth Century: A Comparative Approach The issue of the validity of non-Muslims’ testimony against Muslims provides an example of Shaltūt’s departure from the opinions of the madhāhib, none of whom acknowledges such testimony, with the sole exception of the Mālikīs who acknowledge the testimony of a non-Muslim doctor in certain circumstances. Shaltūt refutes the attempts of jurists to restrict the application of Qur’ān 5: 106 which allows non-Muslims to be witnesses to a dying man’s testimony when Muslims are on a journey. He believes that this verse simply provides evidence of the permissibility of accepting the testimony of non-Muslims. He agrees with Ibn Qutayba, whom he quotes as saying that the testimony of non-Muslims can be accepted where necessary, whether or not one is on a journey. Shaltūt believes that the only stipulation for the acceptance of such testimony is that the witness should be of truthful and reliable character; he does not acknowledge any dalīl (evidence or authority) which prevents the acceptance of the testimony of nonMuslims, and believes the jurists have been influenced by considerations (presumably hostile relations between Muslims and non-Muslims) arising from their own environments rather than from any firm evidence or logical argument.89 Shaltūt’s work in the area of comparative law illustrates his desire to encourage people to think for themselves rather than to take things on trust or accept them without fully understanding (p.103) the reasons behind them. While he amply demonstrates his familiarity with the classical sources, he generally refrains from becoming enmeshed in the arguments on minute details which are to be found therein, sometimes dismissing such details almost cavalierly, but rarely if ever losing sight of his practical goal of finding workable solutions for Muslims and demonstrating that the Sharī‘a can be adapted to provide for their needs in the twentieth century.

Notes:

(1.) This exposition is to be found in ‘Aqīda wa-Sharī‘a, 9468–550. (2.) Ibid. 484–89. (3.) These ways come under three headings: takhṣīṣ al-‘āmm (excluding a particular section from a comprehensive category), taqyīd al-muṭlaq (qualifying that which is unqualified, thus restricting its application), and tabyīn al-mujmal (clarifying that which is unclarified e.g. by supplying details). (4.) ‘Aqīda wa-Sharī‘a, 499.

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Fiqh in the Twentieth Century: A Comparative Approach (5.) Ibid. 500–1. (6.) Ibid. 501–3. (7.) Muḥammad al-Khiḍr Ḥusayn (Shaykh al-Azhar, 1952–4), strongly disagreed with Shaltūt’s classification of the Sunna in this way—see al-Bayyūmī, ‘Ṣadāqat’, 153–4. Orthodox opinion has often been somewhat equivocal about the status of the Prophet. On the one hand, great emphasis is placed on the idea that he is only human; on the other, his religious and moral teachings are believed to be protected from error since he was acting under divine guidance in these matters. (8.) Annemarie Schimmel states: ‘The devotion to him was, and in most cases still is, the strongest binding power among Muslims’—‘Muḥammad’ in EI2, fascicule 120 (1991), 377. For a detailed description of the veneration of the Prophet in Islamic history see her book…And Muhammad is His Messenger (Chapel Hill, NC, 1985). (9.) ‘Aqīda wa-Sharī‘a, 543–4. (10.) Ibid. 546–8. (11.) Ibid. 459–50. The underlying assumption is of course that such differences do not touch on central points of religious belief and practice. Shaltūt does not go further than other Muslim scholars in denning the limits of this area, other than referring in broad terms to a distinction between ’ibādāt (acts of worship) and mu‘āmalāt (human transactions), or between uṣūl (‘roots’—i.e. basic principles) and furū‘ (‘branches’—i.e. subsidiary details). (12.) Ibid. 544–5. (13.) Ibid. 68–9. (14.) Ibid. 65–6. (15.) Ibid. 67, 69. (16.) Ibid. 546. (17.) Ibid. 443. (18.) ‘Abd al-Wahhāb Khallāf, ‘Ilm Uṣūl al-Fiqh (11th edn.; Kuwait, 1977), 48. (19.) Ibid. 49. (20.) Ahmad Hasan, The Doctrine of Ijma‘ in Islam (Islamabad, 1976), 226. (21.) See ibid. 226, Khallāf, ‘Ilm Usūl al-Fiqh, 49, and D. M. H. Hītū, Al-Wajīz fī Uṣūl al-Tashrī‘ al-lslāmī (Beirut, 1983), 333. Page 22 of 26

Fiqh in the Twentieth Century: A Comparative Approach (22.) Hasan gives a survey of opinions of selected modern Muslim thinkers in Doctrine, 226–56. (23.) Tafsīr al-Manār, v: 208–9. (24.) Ibid. 209, 201. (25.) Ibid. 205, 187. (26.) Ibid, vvii: 198. (27.) Kemal A. Faruki, Ijma‘ and the Gate of Ijtihad (Karachi, 1954), 14–15. (28.) Ibid. 16, 30, and passim. (29.) Ibid. 21–3. (30.) Ibid. 31. (31.) See ‘Alī Ḥasab Allah, Uṣūl al-Tashrī‘ (5th edn.; Cairo, 1976), 116 for some examples. (32.) Dr Muḥammad al-‘Awwā comments that after Kuwait suspended Islamic criminal law in 1960, only Saudi Arabia and North Yemen were still implementing it—Fī Uṣūl al-Niẓām al-Jinā’ī al-Islāmī (2nd edn.; Cairo, 1983), 17. He was writing prior to more recent attempts to implement Islamic penal law in Pakistan and Iran. (33.) See ‘Aqīda wa-Sharī‘a, 279–387. (34.) Ibid. 334–6. (35.) In fact the view that a male could not be killed in exchange for a female was held only by a few isolated and very early authorities, and is not held by any of the madhāhib—J. Schacht, ‘Ḳisās’, EI2, v: 178. (36.) ‘Aqīda wa-Sharī‘a, 369–71. (37.) Ibid. 372. (38.) Ibid. 373. (39.) Ibid. 373–5. (40.) See J. N. D. Anderson, ‘Homicide in Islamic Law’, BSOAS 13 (1949–51), 815, and J. Schacht, ‘Ḳisās’ in EI2 v: 179.

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Fiqh in the Twentieth Century: A Comparative Approach (41.) Muḥammad al-‘Awwā states that most modern scholars do not consider either difference in religion or paternity as a bar to talion, and gives references to support this—Ft Uṣūl, 232 and 234; the eminent Egyptian jurist Muḥammad Abū Zahra, on the subject of diyāt (blood money), also expresses the opinion that all human lives are of equal worth—Falsafat al-‘Uqūba fi’l-Fiqh al-Islāmī (Cairo, 1966) 437. (42.) ‘Aqīda wa-Sharī‘a, 340–2. (43.) Ibid. 341–2. (44.) Ibid. 344; Anderson puts it more strongly, maintaining that the classical jurists were unanimous in regarding the husband, father, or brother who surprised his wife, daughter, or sister in an act of adultery as exempt from punishment if he killed her—‘Homicide’, 824. On the other hand, Shaltūt reports that many fuqahā’ considered such a killing (in the absence of four witnesses!) to constitute qadhf (an unsubstantiated accusation of illicit sexual relations) ‘Aqīda wa-Sharī‘a, 345. (45.) ‘Aqīda wa-Sharī‘a, 345–6. (46.) Ibid. 342–3. (47.) Ibid. 343–4. (48.) Ibid. 346. (49.) Ibid. 347–8. (50.) Ibid. 349. (51.) Ibid. 350. (52.) Ibid. 351–2. (53.) Ibid. 352–3. Shaltūt goes to some lengths to defend Abū Ḥanīfa against criticism on this subject, on the grounds that he was influenced in his definition by the methods most common in his own age, and could not foresee the ingenious methods which were later to be invented—see pp. 353–4. (54.) Ibid. 354–5. (55.) Ibid. 355–6. (56.) See Anderson, ‘Homicide’, 811–18, for a description of the way in which the classical scholars, with the passage of time, increasingly emphasized the criminal aspect of murder. (57.) ‘Aqīda wa-Sharī‘a, 316–17. Page 24 of 26

Fiqh in the Twentieth Century: A Comparative Approach (58.) See Anderson, ‘Homicide’, 817–18. (59.) ‘Aqīda wa-Sharī‘a, 316. (60.) Both al-‘Awwā and Abū Zahra approach penal law from a comparative standpoint, and al-‘Awwā makes frequent references to Shaltūt’s work in his book. (61.) Y. Linant de Bellefonds, ‘La Méthode comparative en droit Musulman’, in Revue Internationale de Droit Comparé (22ième année), 465–75. See also on this subject J. Schacht’s brief article ‘Ikhtilāf’, EI2, iii: 1061–2. (62.) Bellefonds, ‘La Méthode’, 470. (63.) Muqāranat al-Madhāhih fi’l-Fiqh, 2. (64.) Ibid. 2–4. (65.) ‘Aqīda wa-Sharī‘a, 506–41. (66.) Ibid. 506. (67.) Ibid. 507–12. (68.) Ibid. 515–17, 518–19. (69.) Ibid. 519–20. (70.) Ibid. 520–1. (71.) See Khallāf, ‘Ilm Uṣūl al-Fiqh, 153–61 for a detailed definition of the concept of ‘mafhūm’. (72.) ‘Aqīda wa-Sharī‘a, 531–2. (73.) Ibid. 532–4. (74.) Ibid. 535. (75.) See ibid. 535–7 for examples. (76.) Ibid. 538–40. (77.) See e.g. Al-Fatāwā, 80–1, 92–5, 161–3, 344–7, and Tafsīr, 305–30. (78.) See also the case of the liability of the employee for goods in his care which are damaged by some external factor (bi-ghayri fi’lihi), where the difference is again attributed to circumstantial factors—‘Aqīda wa-Sharī‘a, 399–400. (79.) ‘Aqīda wa-Sharī‘a, 205–6. Page 25 of 26

Fiqh in the Twentieth Century: A Comparative Approach (80.) Ibid. 203–4, and Al-Fatāwā, 289–92. (81.) ‘Aqīda wa- Sharī‘a, 400. (82.) See e.g. ibid. 391, 397, 401. (83.) Ibid. 398, 400. (84.) See e.g. Muqāranat al-Madhāhib, 2, 38, 80. (85.) Ibid. 117–24. (86.) Ibid. 123. (87.) Ibid. 137–41. (88.) Ibid. 141. (89.) Ibid. 135–7.

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Fatwās: The Intersection of Islamic Scholarship and Religious Guidance

Maḥmūd Shalt=ut and Islamic Modernism Kate Zebiri

Print publication date: 1993 Print ISBN-13: 9780198263302 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: October 2011 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198263302.001.0001

Fatwās: The Intersection of Islamic Scholarship and Religious Guidance KATE ZEBIRI

DOI:10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198263302.003.0006

Abstract and Keywords This chapter examines the methodology of Maḥmūd Shaltūt in issuing fatwās. It identifies Shaltūt's sources for his fatwās and his interpretation of those sources. An analysis of the style of presentation of Shaltūt's fatwās reveals that they are not intended for Islamic scholarship, but rather for religious guidance of ordinary literate Muslims. He avoided the use of specialized technical terminology, but provided evidence for the opinions advanced in his fatwās. Keywords:   Maḥmūd Shaltūt, fatwās, Islamic scholarship, religious guidance, Muslims

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Fatwās: The Intersection of Islamic Scholarship and Religious Guidance A BRIEF look at modern collections of fatwās in general reveals that their scholarly content varies markedly from simple answers which do not provide underlying reasons or refer to specific sources,1 to those which weigh up the evidence and enable the lay-Muslim to observe the processes by which the opinion is arrived at. While it is true that the genre of fatwās is by definition aimed at the ordinary Muslim rather than the scholar, the more detailed exposition of fatwās would appear to be in accordance with the modern desire to enlighten Muslims as to the underlying reasons for religious beliefs and practices rather than expecting unquestioning conformity. Shaltūt’s ‘Al-Fatāwā’ answers this need rather better than most other available fatwā collections, since it is usually possible to see the use which has been made of the sources, and therefore the stages via which a particular ruling is reached. The observation of the practical use which he makes of the sources in his legal opinions should complement his theoretical exposition on the sources of law in Chapter 5. This work, which bears the subtitle: ‘A study of the problems which the contemporary Muslim faces in his everyday life’, is a collection of fatwās given by Shaltūt both before and during his period of office as Shaykh al-Azhar; they had previously been published in newspapers and magazines or broadcast on radio.2 The continuing demand for this type of guidance may be inferred from the popularity of the book, which by 1991 had reached its sixteenth edition. The headings under which the fatwās have been subsumed for ease of reference are indicative of the wide range of subject-matter dealt with: creed and the unseen; acts of worship; customs and innovations (mubtada‛āt); oaths and pledges; family and personal status law; financial transactions; food, drink and adornment; and two final sections, entitled respectively (p.108) ‘ijtimā‛iyyāt’, which contains miscellaneous items such as the possibility of man going to the moon and the theory of evolution, and ‘mutafarriqāt’ which discusses the interpretation of various Qur’ānic words and verses. As the subtitle of the work suggests, some of the issues dealt with are specific to the modern age, such as artificial insemination by donor, Post Office savings, stocks and shares, and communism, while others have always formed a part of fiqh, although even in this case they may have become more significant in recent times, as is the case for example with family planning. The emphasis here will be on Shaltūt’s methodology in issuing fatwās, rather than on his opinions per se; therefore a primary concern is to enumerate the sources upon which he depends and to describe his use and interpretation of those sources. A brief description of the style and presentation of these fatwās will also help to clarify Shaltūt’s particular contribution to this genre.

Style and Presentation

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Fatwās: The Intersection of Islamic Scholarship and Religious Guidance This collection of fatwās is clearly aimed at the ordinary literate Muslim, avoiding for the most part specialized technical terminology,3 but not unscholarly in that evidence is always given for the opinions advanced. The style is appealing, eloquent, and didactic, and, as in his other works, there is a strong hortatory element. Apart from illustrating Shaltūt’s own natural inclination, this also reflects the organic relationship between law and morality in the Sharī‛a. For Shaltūt, one of the essential characteristics that distinguishes it from manmade laws is the reliance on the human conscience. The legality of a given action may depend on the intention behind it: a woman’s jewellery is subject to zakāh if it represents an investment, and this is the case even if she wears it to avoid losing it, whereas if she wears it as an adornment it is not subject to zakāh; the visiting of graves, normally ḥalāl, becomes ḥarām if the intention is to indulge or increase one’s sorrow; and the legality of kissing the hands of religious dignitaries depends on the motive behind it.4 The element of sermonizing, or wa‛ẓ, is most in evidence when Shaltūt discusses matters about which he feels strongly, such as superstitions and bida‛ This can be seen on the subjects of (p.109) tashā’um (taking things as evil omens), the saints’ birthdays, the belief in corpses that fly with their biers, certain funereal traditions, and the superstition about marriage in the month of Muharram.5 Another area which provokes this tendency is the abuse of the law, as in the questions of taḥlīl (a legal fiction invented to remove the impediment of a triple repudiation to remarriage) and fathers’ abuse of the inheritance laws.6 These passages provide illustrations of the use of emotive language, vivid description, and rhetorical devices to achieve greater effect. On the subject of the birthdays of the saints, Shaltūt supplies a graphic description of the undignified hustle and bustle surrounding the departure for these celebrations,7 and of the characters one might find at such festive gatherings: ‘You may even see parties of gamblers next to parties of alcoholics and drug addicts, and next to these might be those performing the dhikr, and various dissolute characters, and dancers male and female, and among all these will rove beggars and pickpockets.’8 It seems that Shaltūt occasionally allows himself to be carried away by the strength of his feelings into the realm of exaggeration, as where he laments the abuse of the Qur’ānic permission to marry the women from ahl al-kitāb: Often has a Christian or Jewish wife, living in a Muslim country and enjoying the benefits of life there under the auspices of a naive Muslim husband, served her own country or Government, deceiving her husband and using him as a means to inflict disaster on his country and to give her own country a foothold in it.9

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Fatwās: The Intersection of Islamic Scholarship and Religious Guidance While Shaltūt no doubt had real cause for concern on this issue, this provides an illustration of the way in which his feelings appear to have some influence on his legal opinion, leading him to advocate that the Qur’ānic ruling that Muslim men may marry women from ahl-al-kitāb (5: 5) should be suspended in cases of widespread abuse of the permission. Other sermon-like elements in Shaltūt’s fatwās include the direct appeals to Muslims in general or those in authority to take action on certain matters,10 digressions on general aspects of the Sharī‛a,11 and the concluding sections which often contain a pious hope or admonition.12 These features may arise in part from the fact that some of the fatwās were originally broadcast on radio. In his rulings Shaltūt is generally inclined to lenience, and to (p.110) the observance of intentions and underlying reasons rather than mere outer forms. Where he uncharacteristically departs from this tendency, it is generally due to his strong desire to put an end to abuses he witnesses in his own environment; this has already been observed in the case of marriage to the women of ahl alkitāb. Another instance occurs when he discusses the causes to which zakāh and ṣadaqa should be devoted, and maintains that the Qur’ānic category of ‘ghārimīn’ (debtors) is no longer applicable, because in his opinion the only debtors which exist nowadays are those who have incurred debts as a result of immorality or reprehensible behaviour, such as drinking and gambling.13 It may be assumed that under normal circumstances Shaltūt would be extremely reluctant to consider any of the Qur’ānic injunctions to have lapsed due to evolving circumstances, since this could detract from the Qur’ān’s ‘universality’ and ‘eternality’, characteristics to which he often alludes.

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Fatwās: The Intersection of Islamic Scholarship and Religious Guidance The section on the subject of fasting illustrates the potentially conflicting tendencies between the muftī, who must provide information on details of religious observance, and the religious guide, who feels that the general spiritual attitude of the believer is more important than these details. Here Shaltūt attends to such questions as whether the one who breaks his fast too early (or begins it too late) in the mistaken belief that the sun has set (or has not yet risen), must repeat the fast on another day, in spite of the ruling that he who eats or drinks forgetfully does not break the fast. He maintains that in this case the faster actually ate or drank intentionally during the time of fasting, thereby invalidating his fast.14 If anything this ruling would appear to be overformalistic, since the faster evidently did not intend to break his fast during the hours of daylight. On the question of injections during fasting, he maintains that no type of injection breaks the fast, even if it reaches the intestines, since the substance does not enter the body by the normal channels or pass through the stomach.15 Again, although this is the more lenient view, it is also formalistic. An alternative opinion expressed by, among others, Rashīd Riḍā and Ḥasanayn Muḥammad Makhlūf (former muftī of al-Diyār al-Miṣriyya, the official Egyptian fatwā office) appears to observe more closely the underlying reality; they point out that some types of injection may have the effect of nourishing and invigorating the body, thus fulfilling the function of food and drink, and should therefore be considered to break the fast.16 (p.111) Having thus responded to specific questions, however, Shaltūt concludes the section on fasting by admonishing Muslims not to become preoccupied with such details, for the observance of the spirit of the fast raises the soul above such preoccupations as to whether things like this break the fast or do not break it, and protects the faster from having doubts as to the validity of his fast, for the fasting which God desires, and upon which, according to the Qur’ān, true piety depends, is not a subject of doubt and obscurity as one would imagine from the behaviour of fasters and muftīs.17 This section clearly illustrates the tension between the faqīh and the preacher in Shaltūt.

The Sources The Qur’ān

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Fatwās: The Intersection of Islamic Scholarship and Religious Guidance For Shaltūt, who internalized the Qur’ān at an early age, the Qur’ān is much more than just a source of law; it is a constant source of inspiration. Although the Qur’ān does not cover all legal areas and its strictly legislative verses are relatively few, it is very rare that Shaltūt cannot produce a Qur’ānic quote which is pertinent in some way to the subject in hand. It is natural that the Qur’ān should be quoted and referred to extensively in matters of creed, worship, and subjects like marriage and divorce which are dealt with at some length in the Qur’ān; but even with regard to topics which are not mentioned in the Qur’ān, such as music or communism, the Qur’ān is quoted to illustrate the general principles at stake. In certain respects the Qur’ān has achieved a new paramountcy among Muslim thinkers in this century. In the sphere of Qur’ānic studies and tafsīr there is a new desire to allow the Qur’ān to speak for itself (witness the current popularity of the hermeneutical method known as ‘tafsīr al-Qur’ān bi’l-Qur’ān’— interpreting some parts of the Qur’ān by means of others), and an increased reluctance to interpret it according to external criteria. This may have consequences for legal thought, too, for in cases where the opinions of the classical fuqahā’ appear to contradict the most (p.112) obvious and clear meaning of the Qur’ānic text, the latter may now be given preference. An example is provided by the question of the precise circumstances which justify the performance of tayammum in place of wuḍū’. The traditional opinion is that the licence for the traveller to perform tayammum is conditional upon the unavailability of water. On this subject Shaltūt quotes with approval Muḥammad ‛Abduh’s interpretation of the relevant Qur’ānic verse (4: 43). ‛Abduh feels (and Shaltūt agrees with him) that the conditions laid down—sickness, travelling, and lack of water—are three separate and independent eventualities, neither dependent on the other. Therefore any traveller may resort to tayammum regardless of whether or not water is in fact available. ‘Abduh is quoted at length by Shaltūt, who is obviously in sympathy with his direct approach to the Qur’ān: This is what the reader understands from the verse itself, if he doesn’t burden himself with going beyond the Qur’ān and interpreting it according to a particular madhhab…I have consulted fifteen commentaries on this verse…and did not find any statement which was free from artificiality (takalluf), then I consulted the Qur’ān in isolation, and found that the meaning was clear and obvious.18

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Fatwās: The Intersection of Islamic Scholarship and Religious Guidance Shaltūt’s treatment of the question of polygyny provides another illustration of the reluctance to compromise on any explicit Qur’ānic rulings or provisions. As mentioned in Chapter 4, he criticises those who take the Qur’ānic verse which asks men to confine themselves to one wife if they fear they cannot observe justice between their wives (4: 3) in conjunction with the verse which states that they will not be able to deal equally with their wives (4: 129) and thereby deduce that polygyny is effectively prohibited since the Qur’ān itself confirms that its conditions are impossible to fulfil. Shaltūt feels that this approach is tantamount to ‘tampering with God’s verses’, which give explicit permission to marry two, three, or four wives (4: 3).19 In order to determine the relationship between the two verses in question, Shaltūt observes the context of the latter verse, which occurs in a passage beginning: ‘They consult you concerning women’. This indicates that the question of justice between wives was one of the issues which was worrying the Companions, and that this verse was revealed in response to this anxiety, as a reassurance that complete impartiality is impossible and therefore not to be expected.20 Arguing (p.113) against those who believe that polygyny is conditional upon such contingencies as the wife’s sterility or illness, Shaltūt points out that the Qur’ānic phrase which permits polygyny gives no hint of conditionality, and contrasts its style here with its style when it permits things which are generally disapproved of or forbidden, or only permitted under duress.21 In matters relating to creed or to ghaybiyyāt (unseen phenomena) the Qur’ān is considered to be the sole authority; Shaltūt repeatedly affirms the belief that ‘as regards matters of the unseen, [one should] confine oneself to the texts’, and this should be without any forced interpretations of those texts (‘dūna ṣarf al-lafẓ ‛an ma‛nāhā’).22 There are several reasons for this: on a scholarly level, the majority of material related concerning these matters comes under the category of isrā’īliyyāt, reports of dubious origin from Jewish or Christian converts to Islam, whose use in the classical sources is generally deplored by modern scholars; socially, the superstitions which have grown up around these ghaybiyyāt have laid people open to exploitation by so-called holy men; and theologically, this attitude helps to keep matters of essential creed to an absolute minimum, thereby avoiding as far as possible sectarian or dogmatic disputes, which threaten the unity of the umma.23 This precludes any speculation on such matters as the nature of the beast who will be brought forth from the earth to speak to people on the Last Day (Qur’ān 27: 82).24 Answering a question about the theory of evolution, Shaltūt opines that the way in which man was created is one of the ghaybiyyāt in which only the Qur’ān is authoritative. The Qur’ān’s explicit reference to the creation of Adam from raw materials is to be taken at face value, leaving no room for human investigation.25

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Fatwās: The Intersection of Islamic Scholarship and Religious Guidance Shaltūt, as an accomplished mufassir, sometimes uses the techniques of tafsīr in his fatwās, taking into account the Qur’ānic style and language in his rulings. For example, in the question of whether or not touching a woman breaks a man’s wuḍū’, the key issue is the interpretation of the Arabic verb ‘lāmasa’ as used in Qur’ān 5: 6, which, although having the primary meaning of ‘to touch’, has been understood by some to denote sexual relations.26 The verse deals with wuḍū’ and tayammum, and the relevant section reads: ‘If you are sick or on a journey, or if one of you comes from the toilet, or you have had contact with [my italics] women (‘aw lāmastum al-nisā’’), and you cannot find water, then (p.114) resort to (tayarnmamū) clean earth and rub your faces and hands with some of it.’ Shaltūt draws attention to the Qur’ān’s metaphorical usage of comparable verbs such as ‘massa’ and ‘bāshara’ (both of which normally mean to touch) to denote sexual relations. He then looks at the context in which the phrase ‘aw lāmastum al-nisā’’ occurs within the verse, and concludes that the interpretation of lāmasa as sexual relations makes the verse more comprehensive in its legislation since the phrase ‘or if one of you comes from the toilet’ would refer to the use of tayammum in place of wuḍū’ while ‘aw lāmastum al-nisā’’ would refer to its use in place of ghusl (ritual bathing, necessary after sexual intercourse to attain ritual purity). Moreover, the ending of the verse with the phrase: ‘Allah does not wish to burden you; He seeks only to purify you and to perfect His favour to you, so that you may give thanks’, reinforces the choice of the least onerous of the two possibilities. In the controversial question of ‘the raising up of Jesus’ (raf‛ ‛Īsā—as described in Qur’ān 3: 55 and 4: 158), a careful examination of the Qur’ānic text leads Shaltūt to disagree with the traditional view.27 He strongly objects to making this matter one of essential creed, i.e. accusing of kufr (unbelief) those who do not believe that Jesus has been physically raised up to be with God and is still alive, waiting to return to earth to herald the Last Hour. According to Shaltūt, the Qur’ānic verses in question are mutashābih (open to interpretation), in which case they could not be the basis for a matter of essential doctrine.28 Examples are cited for the Qur’ānic usage of the verb rafa‛a in the figurative sense of raising in rank and dignity (although there is no mention of the fact that in other places it is not followed by ilayya or ilayhi, i.e. ‘to God’). Contextually, reference to the raf‛ is followed in 3: 55 by the phrase: ‘and We will purify you from those who disbelieve’, which Shaltūt feels strengthens the case for an increase in rank and dignity.29 General Qur’ānic usage is again referred to in the case of the verb tawaffā (used of Jesus in 5: 117) which is normally used to denote death in the ordinary sense of the word.30 It emerges from the foregoing that Qur’ānic interpretation is sometimes crucial in Shaltūt’s fatwās, some of which are quite sophisticated in this respect. The Sunna

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Fatwās: The Intersection of Islamic Scholarship and Religious Guidance The Sunna is second only to the Qur’ān as a source of authority in Shaltūt’s fatwās. It is used in all three of its traditionally defined (p.115) functions in relation to the Qur’ān: mu’akkida (confirming what is in the Qur’ān), mubayyina (clarifying or elaborating on what is in the Qur’ān), and munshi’a (as an independent source, establishing legislation in matters concerning which the Qur’ān is silent). An example of the first is where Shaltūt cites the fact that there are genuine aḥādīth which show that touching women does not break the wuḍū’ this conclusion having already been drawn from the Qur’ān itself.31 Secondly, as a sunna mubayyina, he quotes the ḥadīth: ‘That which is forbidden [for the purposes of marriage] as regards blood relationship is also forbidden as regards riḍā (suckling)’. This means that in the Qur’ānic verse which lists the categories of female with whom marriage is forbidden (4: 23), the phrase ‘and your fostermothers and your foster-sisters’ is not to be taken to mean exclusively mothers and sisters by suckling, but to implicitly comprise all the blood relationships previously mentioned in the same verse.32 Thirdly, as a sunna munshi’a, the illegality of taḥlīl, which is not specifically mentioned in the Qur’ān, is based on aḥādīth in which the Prophet condemns those who participate in it.33 Given that modern scholars are generally agreed that the aḥādīth contained in the canonical collections may be viewed critically, many scholars are guilty of a degree of arbitrariness in the acceptance or rejection of particular aḥādīth in order to support a given viewpoint.34 It is to Shaltūt’s credit that he squarely addresses aḥādīth which are genuine according to his criteria, even where they appear to be in contradiction with his own opinion. In the case of two ḥadīths to the effect that the omission of prayer entails kufr, Shaltūt feels obliged to take these into consideration despite his reluctance to brand men as kāfirūn for matters other than those of essential creed (a distinction is drawn between he who denies the obligation to pray and he who omits the prayer while acknowledging its obligatory nature). The ḥadīths in question are neutralized by being interpreted as merely a strong reprimand, intended to act as a deterrent rather than being literally true.35 Ijmā‛

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Fatwās: The Intersection of Islamic Scholarship and Religious Guidance Shaltūt uses the term ijmā‛ in its nominal and verbal forms in several places in his fatwās, and even describes it in one place as (p.116) the ‘third source of law’,36 This appears to be in contradiction with the view that Shaltūt puts forward in his treatise on the sources of law, i.e. that the ijmā‛ of the classical sources was illusory, the actual source for any given ruling being in reality the Qur’ān or the Sunna (for how could there be absolute unanimity among scholars on an issue unless it was laid down therein?).37 In view of this, it is not surprising that ijmā‛ is virtually never cited by Shaltūt as an independent source of authority; in nearly every instance where it is referred to, the principle in question is in fact directly based on the Qur’ān or the Sunna.38 This is the case with the ban on selling wine, the fact that the wine drinker should receive worldly punishment, and the fact that women are not obliged to attend the Friday prayers, all of which are based primarily on the Sunna.39 Similarly, the fact that a secret marriage performed without witnesses is null and void, and that a Muslim woman is not permitted to marry a non-Muslim man, while ostensibly based on ijmā‛ may, according to Shaltūt, be inferred from the Qur’ān.40 In the passage where ijmā‛ is named as the third source of law, it would appear from the wording that Shaltūt does not have in mind the classical embodiment of ijmā‛: If the ruling is found in the Qur’ān, then that alone is its source, and if it is found in the Sunna, then that alone is its source, and if it is not found in either the Qur’ān or the Sunna, then the fuqahā’, who are cognizant of the general principles of legislation and of the public interest, must apply their mental faculties [to the problem], and whatever they agree upon, then that and only that is the ruling…41 The use of the present tense suggests that he is talking of ijmā‛ as a dynamic phenomenon, and it is probable that he envisages broad agreement rather than absolute unanimity, this being virtually impossible by his own admission.42 When Shaltūt states that there is ijmā‛ to the effect that tahlīl is ḥarām,43 it could be argued that this is technically untrue, since tahlīl as a legal fiction has been sanctioned by ‛ulamā’ from the ḥanafī’, Mālikī, and Shāfi‛ī schools down the ages.44 It may be that Shaltūt feels so strongly about the serious nature of the marriage contract and the divorce laws as laid down in the Qur’ān, that any faqīh who would treat such things lightly does not deserve the name, and therefore his opinion does not count—but it would be a dangerous precedent to claim ijmā‛ on the grounds that anyone (p.117) who disagreed must be misguided. On the other hand, Shaltūt may have in mind here an informal consensus of modern scholars, among whom it is widely acknowledged that the ḥiyal represent abuses of the Sharī‛a, contradicting the spirit if not the letter of the law. Page 10 of 21

Fatwās: The Intersection of Islamic Scholarship and Religious Guidance Ra’y

While the classical scholars attempted to confine the sphere of operation of ra’y in Islamic law to analogical reasoning based directly on the sources, modern reformers, Shaltūt included, are generally less reticent about admitting the importance of human value judgments in the process of legal deduction, as embodied for example in the principle of maṣlaḥa. In cases where Shaltūt does resort to analogy, the rules of qiyās are relaxed so that the analogy can be based on the general principles of the Sharī‛a rather than a specific effective cause (‛ilia). As became clear in Chapter 5, Shaltūt regards the concept of analogy as a subcategory of ra’y. In practice, he often has recourse to analogy without using the technical term ‘qiyās’ For example, he states that from the unlawfulness of wine (khamr) it can be assumed that drugs such as hashish, opium, and cocaine are also unlawful. It is stated that the reason behind the forbidding of wine (the phrase ‘manāṭ al-taḥrīm’ is used here rather than ‘‛ilia’) is its harmful effects, which are mental, physical, spiritual, cultural, economic, and social. Since these drugs have similar harmful effects, they are also forbidden. He continues: This is one of the natural methods of legislation, which has been known to man ever since he has comprehended the characteristics of things and compared them to each other; Islam confirmed this as a method of legislation, and thus was able to use the status (ḥukm) of things which were known to establish the status of other things which were not [previously] known, by virtue of the fact that they possessed the same characteristics.45 Shaltūt’s method of analogy here differs slightly from the classical one; there, the analogy was normally based on the ‛ilia, which in the case of the prohibition of wine is the intoxication itself rather than the harmful effects of that intoxication, since, strictly speaking, the latter constitute the ḥikma (the underlying reason or (p.118) wisdom behind the ruling). In this case the distinction is of no practical import, but this is not always the case. In the case of the licence to shorten the prayer or break the fast when travelling, for example, Shaltūt does not take the act of travelling itself, or the length of the journey, to be the point at issue. He feels that in the light of the availability of less arduous methods of travel in the modern age, it is inappropriate to decide the matter according to distance. The essential point is whether or not the journey involves hardship (mashaqqa).46 Thus he is observing the ḥikma rather than the ‛ilia, which is strictly speaking the journey itself. This blurring of the distinction between the ‛illa and the ḥikma is in accordance with the modern emphasis on making Islamic legal precepts and the reasons behind them clear and understandable to lay Muslims.

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Fatwās: The Intersection of Islamic Scholarship and Religious Guidance A loose analogy is drawn when Shaltūt expresses the hope that, since the Prophet permitted someone to perform the ḥajj on behalf of their deceased father without the express request of the latter, then perhaps it would be acceptable for a man’s heirs to pay his outstanding zakāh, kaffārāt (expiation) etc., and thereby eliminate any other-worldly punishment he may have incurred.47 Elsewhere he draws a parallel between oaths and the engagement agreement, maintaining that if one may even break an oath, which is normally considered binding, for a valid reason, then it is even more appropriate that an engagement, which is not a binding contract, should be broken for a valid reason.48 He draws a partial analogy between adultery and artificial insemination where the donor is not the husband, maintaining that their essence and result are the same, but he refrains from making the analogy complete (i.e. according them the same status) because of ‛a deficiency (quṣūr) in the actual form of the [latter] crime’.49 An even broader type of analogy is to be found in Shaltūt’s fatwās where the analogy is based on a ḥikma which may not be so obvious as that of the prohibition of drinking alcohol. For example, he maintains that since the reason why Muslim women are not allowed to marry non-Muslim men is because the man and therefore his culture is usually dominant, this prohibition may be extended to Muslim men also in cases where the non-Muslim woman’s culture is allowed to prevail.50 Again, just as debtors are deprived of the right of disposal of their property in order to protect the rights of their creditors, so should fathers who attempt (p.119) to abuse the inheritance laws to the detriment of certain of their offspring lose the right of disposal of their property, in order to protect the rights of the Qur’ānic heirs.51 It is only a short step from here to using the general principles of the Sharī‛a as a criterion. In fact Shaltūt places the two criteria together—the effective causes of rulings and the principles of legislation—as the two factors which have enabled Islam to adapt to new circumstances and evaluate the legal status of any new situations or innovations with which Muslims may be faced. He says this when discussing the subject of smoking, which he regards as ḥarām on the grounds that Islam forbids anything which dissipates wealth or is detrimental to one’s health.52 All of the principles cited revolve around the prevention of harm and the promotion of benefit. These may be only of very general import, such as the principle of yusr, which often influences Shaltūt in his legal decisions, sometimes leading to surprising compromises. For example, it is specifically cited as one of the reasons why the burden of guilt or sin is lifted from the one who borrows on interest because of his need,53 and why men whose work entails loading wine off and on to ships do not come under the prophetic curse which embraces the carrier of wine, because of the fact that their intention is not to abet anyone in sin but to earn their living.54 Page 12 of 21

Fatwās: The Intersection of Islamic Scholarship and Religious Guidance Other principles referred to include the principle of safeguarding bodily health,55 and the principles of ‘the preservation of interests’ (ḥifẓ al-maṣāliḥ), ‘averting harm’ (daf‛ al-maḍārr), ‘closing the avenues which lead to evil’ (ṣadd dharā’i‛ al-fasād), and ‘harm is to be averted to the greatest extent possible’ (alḍarar madfū‛ bi-qadr al-imkān),56 On the subject of the permissibility of taking medicine containing forbidden substances, Shaltūt refers to the principle ‘duress renders forbidden things permissible’ (al-ḍarūrāt tubīḥu al-maḥẓūrāt);57 and on the subject of circumcision he refers to the principle that one may inflict injury if it brings a greater good, using this as the main evidence that circumcision is religiously recommended, possibly even wājib (obligatory), since there is no ḥadith which he recognizes that refers to the legal status of circumcision.58 Although these principles were articulated and used by the classical fuqahā’, they have attained a new juridical importance in recent times. The principle of maṣlaḥa has attracted particular attention in (p.120) the modern age, although it was recognized by many medieval jurists, some of whom, such as al-Ghazālī, Ibn Taymiyya (d. 1328 AD) and Najm al-Dīn al-Ṭūfī (d. 1316 AD), laid particular stress on it. Shaltūt considers it to be an important factor in Islamic law, which any ijmā‛ or ijtihād must take into account,59 and a natural principle arising from the need for the law to adapt to changing conditions. While the medieval jurists felt the need to strictly define the application of the principle of the public interest (cf. the Mālikīs’ istiṣlāḥ or the Ḥanafīs’ istiḥsān), the tendency in the modern age is increasingly towards a less restricted interpretation of maṣlaḥa. In Shaltūt’s usage, maṣlaḥa corresponds to the general concept of benefit, and is indistinguishable in its practical ramifications from the legal principles mentioned above; in fact the term ‘maṣlaḥa’ occurs in some of the passages referred to there.60 That maṣlaḥa is taken as a general principle rather than a technical concept is illustrated in cases where it is used implicitly rather than explicitly, for example where brokerage is considered licit because it provides a useful service, i.e. it is in the public interest.61 It would appear that the main difference between maṣlaḥa and the legal principles for the prevention of harm and the promotion of benefit is simply one of scale, in that maṣlaḥa usually concerns the interests of the umma or society,62 whereas the principles may be invoked for the interests of individuals. Empirical evidence

While it may be regarded as no more than common sense that scientific findings may be of value as evidence or authority in any system of law, the question of the relationship between reason (including scientific knowledge) and revelation has been a sensitive one for Muslim scholars of this century. While the need is generally felt to guard against the possibility of the former taking precedence over the latter, this may be offset by the desire to demonstrate that the tenets of Islam are not in contradiction with modern scientific findings. Page 13 of 21

Fatwās: The Intersection of Islamic Scholarship and Religious Guidance Like most other religious scholars, Shaltūt has no profound knowledge of scientific matters, and his references to them are relatively infrequent. He generally cites scientific evidence in a corroborative capacity rather than as sole evidence for a ruling. (p.121) Medical evidence tends to be cited in very general terms on matters which are widely accepted, such as the dangers of alcoholism, or the fact that the man’s sperm possesses the attributes of life.63 In such cases it may not be deemed necessary to give an authority. However, Shaltūt is occasionally tempted to include certain unfounded scientific or medical ‘facts’, which serve to reinforce the underlying wisdom of certain Islamic practices, but for which no authority or evidence is given. Examples of such assertions are that the uncircumcised man is more liable to cancer and ‘other fatal diseases’, or that it has been ‘medically proven’ that carrion, blood, and pork are harmful to one’s health.64 Other muftīs, particularly in more recent times, are on the whole less inhibited than Shaltūt in pronouncing on medical topics: the fatwās of Muḥammad Mutawallī al-Sha‛rāwī contain answers to questions such as why cancer causes no pain in its early stages, but acute pain in its later stages.65 Shaltūt recognizes the efficacy of natural laws when he maintains that those who use the Qur’ān as a charm or a cure for ills are ignoring the laws of cause and effect, and thereby abusing the Book (which was sent down to heal spiritual ailments rather than physical ones), and neglecting the true means to bodily health.66 On a more abstract level, Shaltūt feels that since it is God who has ordained the natural order of things, this should not be disturbed without good reason; since it is in the nature of life to continually grow and expand, and humans have been given the ability to procreate, birth-control on a national scale imposed by Governments goes against that nature and is therefore unacceptable.67 Even on the individual level, the natural processes of fertility and procreation should not be disturbed without good reason.68 Shaltūt believes that human nature is essentially good and that men have an instinctive knowledge of what is right, and even this may be cited as evidence. For example, he hints that the very fact that an action is surrounded by secrecy or feelings of shame, as in the case of tahlīl, indicates that it is ḥarām; similarly with secret marriage, which is a source of anxiety and fear for the couple rather than of mercy and peace as marriage was intended to be.69 The pleasure which man takes in listening to music can only be an innocent one, since it is part of human nature to be attracted to pleasant things; therefore, music cannot be intrinsically ḥarām.70 (p.122) Previous authorities

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Fatwās: The Intersection of Islamic Scholarship and Religious Guidance Shaltūt’s attitude to previous authorities is one of detached respect; while acknowledging the value of the fatwās of the classical fuqahā’ as a source of reference, he categorically reserves the right to exercise ijtihād: ‘I have not adhered to any particular madhhab in them [i.e. his fatwās], nor have I restricted myself to the opinion of any one faqīh; [I have relied] only upon the beloved Book and the true Sunna and the basic and eternal principles of Islam.’71 He does not hesitate, however, to cite the opinions of former authorities or of particular schools of law where these are deemed relevant. These authorities are used critically, and may be refuted by Shaltūt, or juxtaposed with other authorities of a contrasting opinion, or simply quoted in support of Shaltūt’s own opinion. However, such authorities are normally cited only in controversial or complex topics such as ‘the raising up of Jesus’, where the opinions of al-Ṭabarī, Ibn Ḥazm, al-Qāḍī ‛Iyāḍ, al-Sa‛d, Muḥammad ‛Abduh, Rashīd Riḍā, and Muḥammad Muṣṭafā al-Marāghī are cited;72 the majority of his fatwās do not have reference to the opinions of other ‛ulamā’ Despite this avowed independence, there are cases where Shaltūt does not feel it appropriate to enforce his own personal view where the weight of authority seems to support a different opinion, so he resorts to takhayyur rather than suggesting a complete departure from the madhāhib. In the aforementioned discussion of the amount of riḍā‛ which entails taḥrīm, Shaltūt makes it clear that he does not believe it is a question of any particular number of occasions, but laying stress on the Qur’ānic use of the word ‘mothers’ in the phrase ‘and your mothers who have suckled you’ (4: 23), he maintains that the riḍā‛ should continue for such a time as is sufficient for the foster-mother to have maternal feelings for the infant.73 In his final summing up, however, he compromises by choosing the most lenient opinion from among the schools of law, in this case the Shāfi‛ī opinion that five or more raḍa‛āt (occasions on which the infant is nursed) entail taḥrīm.74 This may be partly due to the difficulty of legislating on the basis of such an intangible thing as maternal feelings, but probably also represents a reluctance to go against widely held opinions and thus contribute to the confusion which may be caused by contradictory rulings. Similarly on the question of conditional repudiation (ṭalāq mu‛allaq), Shaltūt expresses the (p. 123) opinion that it should be invalid regardless of the intention behind it,75 but under the heading The Legal Opinion We Choose to Give as a Fatwā’ he compromises by saying that conditional repudiation is invalid ‘so long as the intention is to frighten or threaten, and not to actually repudiate’,76 thus avoiding direct disagreement with the current Egyptian law, and with ‘many scholars of all ages’.77

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Fatwās: The Intersection of Islamic Scholarship and Religious Guidance Like the majority of Muslim scholars, Shaltūt believes that the practice of the Companions, the generation closest to the Prophet, has a special value, and he sometimes cites it as evidence for or against particular practices. The Muslim ruler’s right to impose zakāh by force if necessary is witnessed by the wars of the ridda under Abu Bakr;78 the fact that the Companions built a high wall around the Prophet’s grave, in order that the Muslims should not be able to see it from the mosque while praying, demonstrates the illegality of praying in or to saints’ tombs;79 and since the Companions and later generations (and of course the Prophet himself) freely practised polygyny, the view that it is prohibited or only permitted on certain conditions is indefensible.80 In his fatwās Shaltūt strikes a balance, having due regard for the accumulated scholarly tradition while reserving the right to depart from the majority viewpoint; the overall tone is cautious and sober. The particular value of these fatwās lies in their detailed exposition of the sources relied upon, thereby empowering the mustaftī (the one who seeks the fatwā) with a greater understanding of the workings of the law and an enhanced ability to choose between conflicting fatwās. One of Shaltūt’s paramount aims is to educate people in the general principles of the Sharī‛a and render them as far as possible independent of muftīs. Looking through the pages of typical fatwā collections of more recent provenance than Shaltūt’s, one is struck by the superficiality of many of the subjects discussed,81 and it comes to mind that maybe some of the questioners (and perhaps the muftīs as well) should take heed of the following words of Shaltūt: In weighing up ease and hardship the believer has recourse to his faith and that which he feels in his soul, and in this his conscience is his muftī. Once the general principles are known, there is no need for the fatwās of muftīs, which often cause perplexity and confusion among people. ‘Righteousness is that with which the soul feels comfortable, and wrongdoing is that which wavers in the breast’.82 Notes:

(1.) A collection of fatwās issued by the well-known preacher and religious scholar Muḥammad Mutawallī al-Sha‛rāwī contains many fatwās which do not refer to any source or authority. For example, the question: ‘Is it true that when a woman gives birth her sins fall away from her?’ is answered simply: The childbirth which causes sins to be cancelled out is the difficult childbirth where the woman suffers more pain than is usual, bearing it with steadfast faith and trusting in the Hereafter.’ See M. M. al-Sha‛rāwī, Al-Fatāwā (Beirut, 1987) iii: 25. (2.) Shaltūt, Al-Fatāwā, 15.

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Fatwās: The Intersection of Islamic Scholarship and Religious Guidance (3.) There are exceptional passages where Shaltūt is tempted by the controversial nature of the topic to indulge in close textual analysis of the Qur’ān and refer to technical linguistic or juristic concepts which would be unfamiliar to ordinary Muslims. See in particular his treatment of the question of ‘the raising up of Jesus’ (raf‛ Īsā), in Al-Fatāwa, 59–82. (4.) See ibid. 120, 221, 224–6. (5.) See ibid. 29–32, 193–4, 200–1, 214, 262ff. respectively. (6.) Ibid. 301–3, 336–41 respectively. (7.) Ibid. 193. (8.) Ibid. 194; it is impossible to fully convey the style of the original Arabic, where emphasis is adding by the naming of each category in both the masculine and the feminine genders. (9.) Ibid. 280. (10.) See e.g. ibid. 340–1, 194, 155. (11.) E.g. where the general importance and underlying wisdom of particular acts of worship are discussed. These include the Friday congregational prayer, prostration, expiation, and ṣadaqat al-fiṭr (charity given at the end of Ramaḍān) —see Al-Fatāwā, 96, no, 151, 155 respectively. (12.) E.g. ibid. 27, 186–7, 201, 434. (13.) Ibid. 118; he does not insist on this point elsewhere, however—see ‘Aqīda wa-Sharī‘a, 100, where he appears to accept this category. (14.) Al-Fatāwā, 136. (15.) Ibid. 136–7. (16.) Rashīd Riḍā, Fatāwā (Beirut, 1970–1), v: 2123–4, and Ḥasanayn Muḥammad Makhlūf, Fatāwā Shar‛iyya, (2nd edn.; Cairo, 1965) i: 311–12. (17.) Al-Fatāwā, 137. (18.) Tafsīr, 325. (19.) ‛Aqīda wa-Sharī‛a, 182. (20.) Ibid. 183.

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Fatwās: The Intersection of Islamic Scholarship and Religious Guidance (21.) ‛Aqīda wa-Sharī‛a, 186; the Qur’ānic mode of expression is again adduced as evidence in the question of conditional repudiation (al-ṭalāq al-mu‛allaq), see Al-Fatāwā, 300. (22.) Al-Fatāwā, 56; see also 39, 20. (23.) See ibid. 55–6, 27, 30–1. (24.) Ibid. 54–58. (25.) Ibid. 402–3. There have, of course, been attempts to reconcile the Qur’ānic verses in question with the Darwinian theory of evolution, by asserting that the verses are to be taken symbolically or metaphorically—see e.g. al-‛Aqqād, AlFalsafat al-Qur’āniyya, 208–9. (26.) Al-Fatāwā, 84–5. (27.) This fatwā was first published in the periodical Al-Risāla, 10 (1942), No. 462; due to the storm of protest with which it was greeted, Shaltūt published further articles in its defence in Al-Risāla, 11 (1943), Nos. 514, 517, 518, 519. (28.) Al-Fatāwā, 67. (29.) Ibid. 63. (30.) Ibid. 60–1. (31.) Ibid. 85. (32.) Ibid. 282–3. (33.) Ibid. 316–17. (34.) Cf. the description of the fatwā of the Grand Mufti of Jordan on the subject of family planning in Ch. 4. (35.) Al-Fatāwā, 162; the same interpretation is given of a hadīth which says: ‘Whoever swears by anything other than God is an unbeliever’, 305. (36.) Ibid. 361. (37.) See Shaltūt’s ‛Aqīda wa-Sharī‛a, 65–9, 544–6, and discussion in Ch. 5 above. (38.) An exception to this rule is to be found in ‛Aqīda wa-Sharī‛a, 386, where ijmā‛ is cited as the sole authority for talion in cases of injury. (39.) See Al-Fatāwā, 365, 366, 93 respectively. (40.) Ibid. 268, 276–7 respectively. Page 18 of 21

Fatwās: The Intersection of Islamic Scholarship and Religious Guidance (41.) Ibid. 361. (42.) ‛Aqīda wa-Sharī‛a, 545. (43.) Al-Fatāwā, 316; the primary source here is the Sunna. (44.) Joseph Schacht, An Introduction to Islamic Law (Repr.; Oxford, 1984), 82. (45.) Al-Fatāwā, 373. (46.) Tafsīr, 551–2. (47.) Al-Fatāwā, 342. (48.) Ibid. 260. (49.) Ibid. 328. (50.) Al-Fatāwā, 279–80. (51.) Ibid. 340. (52.) Ibid. 384–5; Shaltūt’s severity here is mitigated by placing the onus on governments to ban the sale of tobacco. (53.) Ibid. 354. (54.) Ibid. 378–9; for other examples where the principle of yusr is referred to, see 85, 105, 355, 379. (55.) Ibid. 166, 384, and ‛Aqīda wa-Sharī‛a, 209. (56.) Al-Fatāwā, 372–3, 297. (57.) Ibid. 382. (58.) Ibid. 332–3 (59.) See Min Tawjīhāt al-Islām, 74, ‛Aqīda wa-Sharī‛a, 546, Min Huda’l-Qur’ān, 249, and Al-Fatāwā, 44–5. (60.) See e.g. Al-Fatāwā, 355, 297. (61.) Ibid. 356. (62.) In addition to the above examples see his Min Tawjīhāt al-Islām, 74, 563, 565. (63.) Al-Fatāwā, 371–2, 291 respectively. (64.) Ibid. 333, 386 respectively. Page 19 of 21

Fatwās: The Intersection of Islamic Scholarship and Religious Guidance (65.) See his Al-Fatāwā, i: 15. Another example is provided by Mūsa Ṣāliḥ Sharaf, who answers a question on the precise movements of the female ovum at various stages of the menstrual cycle—see his Fatāwā al-Nisā’ al-‛Aṣriyya (4th edn.; Cairo, 1988) 21–3. These examples, which are by no means unusual, illustrate the way in which some recent fatwā collections seem to be taking on more and more the semblance of a ‘problem page’, since nothing is deemed to be outside the realm of religion. (66.) Shaltūt, Al-Fatāwā, 207–8. (67.) Ibid. 295. (68.) ‛Aqīda wa-Sharī‛a, 207. (69.) Al-Fatāwā, 317 and 269–70 respectively. (70.) Ibid. 410. (71.) Ibid. 15. (72.) Ibid. 71–81. (73.) Ibid. 284. (74.) Ibid. 285–6. (75.) Ibid. 300. (76.) Ibid. 306. (77.) Ibid. 300. (78.) Ibid. 116. The wars of the ridda (apostasy) were so called because the tribes which rebelled and withheld payment of zakāh after Muḥammad’s death were thereby deemed to have apostasized. (79.) Ibid. 104–5. (80.) ‛Aqīda wa-Sharī‛a, 183–4; for other examples see Al-Fatāwā, 200, 204, 216, 391. (81.) Specific questions I have come across include whether the wearing of nail varnish renders wuḍū’ invalid (because the water does not actually reach the fingernail), whether it is permitted for a man to listen to an unrelated woman’s voice on the phone, and whether women may pluck their eyebrows, perm their hair, shake men’s hands, etc. (82.) Al-Fatāwā, 143. The quote is from a well-known ḥadīth.

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The Emergence of Modern Tafsīr

Maḥmūd Shalt=ut and Islamic Modernism Kate Zebiri

Print publication date: 1993 Print ISBN-13: 9780198263302 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: October 2011 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198263302.001.0001

The Emergence of Modern Tafsīr KATE ZEBIRI

DOI:10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198263302.003.0007

Abstract and Keywords This chapter traces the historical evolution of Quar'anic exegesis or tafsīr, particularly the Sunni tafsīr where Maḥmūd Shaltūt's work has focused. The earliest tafsīr was characterized by brevity and simplicity and its evolution was influenced by the works of Muhammad Abduh. His work was continued by Muhammad Mustafa al-Maraghi and Rashid Rida. There are now different styles of tafsīr in contemporary Islam. These include the thematic approach pioneered by Abduh, the aesthetic approach that involves a greater degree of subjectivity, and the psychological approach, which refers to the effect of certain rhetorical features of the Qur'ān. Keywords:   tafsīr, Quar'anic exegesis, Maḥmūd Shaltūt, Muhammad Abduh, Muhammad Mustafa alMaraghi, Rashid Rida

MORE than any other branch of Islamic scholarship, the genre of Qur’ānic commentary is one which has undergone significant change in recent times. While some Islamic sciences such as kalām (theology) and falsafa (philosophy) have declined in importance, tafsīr has enjoyed something of a renaissance; in time-honoured fashion it has acted as a vehicle for response to internal and external challenges.

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The Emergence of Modern Tafsīr The science of Qur’ānic exegesis has a rich and varied scholarly tradition, coextensive with the religion of Islam itself. Over the centuries it has been enriched by scholars from diverse backgrounds, not only Sunni Muslims but also Sūfīs and Shī‘īs. The brief overview of the historical evolution of tafsīr that follows will be largely confined to Sunni tafsīr, since this is the tradition within which Shaltūt himself worked, and will focus on the aspects that throw light on the innovations that have occurred within that discipline in the modern period.

The Historical Evolution of Tafsīr The earliest tafsīr, that of the Companions, was characterized by brevity and simplicity. It was not written down, and tended to consist of brief lexical explanations of individual words, or reports from the Prophet concerning a particular passage from the Qur’ān. Since they were in living contact with the language of the Qur’ān, and since under the first four Caliphs circumstances changed relatively little, a large proportion of the Qur ān was easily understood by the Companions. Their mentality was neither sophisticated nor pedantic, and they were concerned with practical rather than theoretical questions. Furthermore they had a natural inhibition which prevented them from speculating about the meanings of the Qur’ān, for fear of ‘telling a lie against God’.1 (p.129) Probably the most sophisticated type of tafsīr was Ibn ‛Abbas’s references to pre-Islamic poetry in order to explain the meanings of Qur’ānic words.2 In its early stages tafsīr was treated as a branch of ḥadīth rather than a science in its own right, and therefore it consisted for the most part of reports of what Muḥammad had said regarding particular verses or sūras of the Qur’ān. Various factors which emerged after the age of the Companions served to increase the importance of tafsīr, and to change its nature. With the beginnings of sectarian strife from 40 AH onwards, the various factions sought authority for their own beliefs in the Qur’ān. As the domain of Islam spread, the large numbers of new, non-Arab-speaking converts in the conquered lands could not easily understand the Qur’ān, and a more thorough explanation of its contents was required. Simultaneously, the rapid expansion of the area under Islamic rule brought practical problems of a more complex nature for which solutions were sought in the Qur’ān. In the latter part of the Umayyad period, after the first waves of expansion had subsided, there grew up a new class of Muslim scholars with leisure to study, who were interested in all aspects of the Qur’ān, and thence developed the Qur’ānic sciences such as qirā’āt, asbāb al-nuzūl, and al-nāsikh wa’l-mansūkh (Qur’ānic readings, occasions of revelation, and the science of abrogation). As one modern Egyptian scholar observes: ‘At that point the Qur’ān was transformed into an object of study, whereas previously it had been a charter for life.’3

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The Emergence of Modern Tafsīr Commentators on traditional Islamic scholarship identify two main trends within classical tafsīr: ‘tafsīr bi’l-ma’thūr’ relying predominantly on transmitted material, and ‘tafsīr bi’l-ra’y’ relying on independent thought and the application of rational disciplines. Al-Ṭabarī’s ‘Jāmi‛ al-Bayān fī Tafsīr al-Qur’ān’ composed towards the end of the third century of the Hijra, represents a transitional phase: while it is considered to be the culmination of the former type of tafsīr, it also contains a certain amount of tafsīr bi’l-ra’y, for example, the critical evaluation of aḥādīth, grammatical comment, and the derivation of legal principles. Although one or two important tafāsīr bi’l-ma’thūr, such as that of Ibn Kathīr (d. 1373 AD) were written in later centuries, the transmitted material was finite in nature. Nor did it cover the whole of the Qur’ānic text; the aḥādīth contained in the tafsīr (p.130) sections of the ḥadīth collections cover only about one eighth of the Qur’ān. This, together with the momentous external changes described above, meant that the place of ra’y within tafsīr steadily gained ground, and tafsīr became a discipline in its own right which dealt with the whole of the Qur’ān in a systematic verse-by-verse fashion (tafsīr musalsal). If tafsīr was in some senses enriched by these developments, at the same time there were some undesirable side-effects which modern scholars have not been slow to criticize. A primary target for modern mufassirūn is the growth of sectarianism in tafsīr, ‘each man seeking in the Qur’ān that which would strengthen his view and support his madhhab, and each finding what he sought even if it meant subjugating the Qur’ānic verses to his madhhab’.4 Another undesirable development, not unrelated to the growth of sectarianism, was the proliferation of aḥādīth of dubious authenticity which found their way into tafsīrs. These aḥādīth were not vetted to the same extent as those in the ḥadīth collections proper. Even al-Ṭabarī, recognized as a scholar of ḥadīth, included many unreliable aḥādīth; subsequently the situation deteriorated and isnāds were shortened or omitted altogether.5 Tafsīr bi’l-ma’thūr has also been criticized for its inclusion of isrā’iliyyāt. Stories which were dealt with briefly in the Qur’ān, which concentrates on the moral aspect of stories rather than historical detail, were told at length in the Jewish and Christian sources, therefore the temptation was great; but while the Companions asked only about generalities, subsequent generations grew more curious and were interested in such things as the exact details of the food which was on the table requested by Jesus’s disciples as proof of his divine mission (and which may or may not have been sent down—see Qur’ān 5: 112). Al-Ṭabarī lists the various conflicting versions at great length, and even al-Zamakhsharī, a Mu‛tazilī scholar well-versed in the rational sciences, does not refrain from supplying such details in his tafsīr.6

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The Emergence of Modern Tafsīr As a result of the development of Muslim scholarship in areas such as fiqh and kalām, as well as the Greek-influenced branches of learning such as philosophy and the natural sciences, tafsīr became increasingly sophisticated and specialized, written exclusively for an audience of religious scholars. The tendency to pack tafsīr with many different sciences culminated in the encyclopaedic (p.131) work of Fakhr al-Dīn al-Rāzī (d. 1209 AD), of whose tafsīr it has been said: ‘it contains everything but tafsīr’.7 For obvious reasons the linguistic element in tafsīr always remained prominent. With the elaboration of the linguistic sciences of naḥw (grammar) and balāgha (rhetoric) a new dimension was added, and lexical explanations were supplemented by discussion of stylistic usage and the literary merits of the Qur’ān. The doctrine of i‛jāz (the inimitability, and hence miraculous nature, of the Qur’ān), gave a new impetus to these studies. The pioneers of this idea were al-Bāqillānī (d. 1013 AD) and ‛Abd al-Qāhir al-Jurjānī (d. 1078 AD). It was the latter who first wrote extensively on the i‛jāz bayānī (stylistic or rhetorical i‛jāz) of the Qur’ān, but it was al-Zamakhsharī (d. 1144 AD) who most effectively brought the science of balāgha to bear on the Qur’ān, building on the work of alJurjānī in his tafsīr, Al-Kashshāf ‛an Ḥaqā’iq Ghawāmiḍ al-Tanzīl. In this work and others, the concept that there is a correct or best way of saying a thing in a given situation (‘li-kulli maqām maqāl’) meant that the Qur’ānic text was analysed in minute detail to discover the exact effect of or reason for a particular grammatical construction, word order, etc., especially where the text deviated in some way from normal usage. However, language and style were not the only criteria by which the Qur’ān was considered miraculous. Al-Rāzī’s tafsīr, Mafātīḥ al-Ghayb, notwithstanding its substantial balāgha content, concentrates on the miraculous nature of the Qur’ān with regard to the scientific knowledge it contains (i‛jāz ‛ilmī). To hazard a generalization, one may say that from al-Rāzī’s time up until fairly recent times (and notwithstanding the inevitable notable exceptions), tafsīr activity was largely confined to unoriginal works based on previous authorities or commenting and elaborating on earlier tafsīrs. This corresponds with the ‘age of stagnation’ widely cited by historians of Islamic civilization. The modern-day revival within tafsīr has been one facet of the revival in the Arab world as a whole (the ‘naḥda’) beginning in the latter half of the nineteenth century. The popularization and increased accessibility of tafsīr, and its growing importance as a means of disseminating religious or social ideas, coincided with the spread of literacy and the proliferation of new means of communication such as the Press and the broadcasting media, new literary forms such as the novel and the short story, and the spread (p.132) of a new type of education based on the European model rather than on the traditional Islamic model.

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The Emergence of Modern Tafsīr Despite the clear differences which distinguish modern tafsīrs from classical tafsīrs, the classical commentaries have not been entirely displaced. It would be more accurate to say that the new tafsīrs on the whole perform a different function. The old tafsīrs such as those of al-Ṭabarī, Ibn Kathīr, al-Bayḍāwī, and alSuyūṭī are still widely available and consulted regularly by Muslims with a certain background of religious knowledge. They are still useful reference works for those wishing to know the circumstances of revelation (asbāb al-nuzūl) of a Qur’ānic verse, or the grammatical construction of a Qur’ānic phrase. Yet even the simplest of them, the popular Tafsīr al-Jalālayn, addresses a specialist audience, i.e. those who have a working knowledge of the principles and terminology of Arabic grammar. Many of the modern commentaries, on the other hand, can speak directly to any literate Muslim. A Muslim picking up a volume of Sayyid Quṭb’s Fī Ẓilāl al-Qur’ān is likely to encounter an eloquent and impassioned piece of sermonizing on a subject closely related to his own moral situation or practical life. Like the Qur’ān itself, this type of tafsīr is designed to act as a catalyst in the Muslim’s life, conveying a sense of urgency and motivating him to be a better Muslim. It is a far cry from the sober tones of al-Ṭabarī or Ibn Kathir.

Muhammad ‛Abduh’s Tafsīr There can be no doubt that Muḥammad ‛Abduh (1849–1905) was a pivotal figure in the transformation of tafsīr. The subject of numerous studies by both Muslim and Western scholars, he is better known as a reformer and modernist in Islamic thought generally than as an innovator in the sphere of tafsīr, although there exists a substantial monograph on his main exegetical work, Tafsīr al-Manār.8 This tafsīr was actually written down by his Syrian pupil, Rashīd Riḍā (1865– 1935). Up until Sūra 4 v. 125 this tafsīr was directly based on Muḥammad ‛Abduh’s lectures and the manuscript was approved by him. After his death, Rashīd Riḍā continued the tafsīr up to Sūra 12 v. 107;9 it fills twelve volumes of about five (p.133) hundred pages each. This work is seminal to modern tafsīr, and many mufassirūn of this century, including Shaltūt, have been described as belonging to the Muḥammad ‛Abduh ‘school’ of tafsīr.

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The Emergence of Modern Tafsīr In the Preface and Introduction to Tafsīr al-Manār,10 the authors express their views on tafsīr, and of what it should or should not consist. Their practical approach to the Qur’ān is much in evidence: ‘The tafsīr at which we aim is to understand the Book as a path which guides people to that which will give them happiness in this life and the next, for this is its highest aim, and all other endeavours are subordinate to this or a means of attaining it.’11 The emphasis on bringing out the guidance contained in the Qur’ān entails a disapproval of anything that diverts attention to less vital concerns. While acknowledging that a knowledge of grammar, rhetorics, jurisprudence, etc. helps in understanding the Qur’ān, Rashīd Riḍā deplores the fact that in many tafsīrs, the reader’s attention is distracted from the divine guidance of the Qur’ān by discussions on the finer points of grammatical and rhetorical usage, theological controversies, the reasonings of the scholars of uṣūl and the jurists who practise taqlīd, the interpretations (ta’wīlāt) of the Ṣūfīs, sectarian polemics, and scientific data of various kinds.12 Such studies ‘should not be called tafsīr, but are simply an exercise in various sciences such as grammar, ma‛ānī etc.’13 Similarly, while there is a small proportion of aḥādīth which are genuine and essential for understanding the Qur’ān, the greater part of tafsīr bi’l-ma’thūr consists of unreliable reports and isrā’īliyyāt; 14 moreover, ‘much of what has been related in tafsīr bi’l-ma’thūr draws a veil over the Qur’ān and diverts the reader’s attention from its higher aims’.15 On the positive side, tafsīr should be written ‘in a manner which attracts people and draws them towards [right] action and guidance’.16 Muḥammad ‛Abduh aimed to ‘observe the requirements of the age as regards simplicity of expression, bearing in mind the varied levels of understanding of the readers’.17 These stated aims and beliefs are generally borne out in the actual text of Tafsīr al-Manār. The belief that tafsīr is first and foremost an instrument of guidance entails an emphasis on the practical and social aspects of moral teachings. For example, ‘ṣabr’ is taken to be an active quality of steadfastness and perseverance, not the passive quality of mere patience, which suggests resignation.18 (p.134) Muḥammad ‛Abduh emphasizes its importance for society as a whole, opining that ‘a nation whose members are lacking in ṣabr will be weak in every way’. Ṣabr is also apparently equated with steadfastness in seeking knowledge, since without it the society as a whole suffers from ignorance or educational backwardness, and the individual ‘sleeps on a nice soft bed of taqlīd’.19 The Qur’ānic precept of ‘commanding the good and prohibiting the evil’ (al-amr bi’l-ma‛rūf wa’l-nahy ‛an al-munkar) and its implications for corporate responsibility for the maintenance of moral standards is given much weight.20 This concern for social issues is a prominent feature throughout the tafsīr, and in many places specific topics are discussed at length.21

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The Emergence of Modern Tafsīr The authors’ cautious attitude with regard to aḥādīth is particularly evident when they are dealing with mubhamāt (those things in the Qur’ān which are obscure or ambiguous). Where there is no reliable authority, unlike most earlier mufassirūn they prefer to leave the question open, resisting the temptation to supply even a weak ḥadīth rather than nothing—particularly where the question is of no practical import.22 One major concern which emerges in the tafsīr is the defence of Islam, and the desire to demonstrate its compatibility with modern civilization. To this end, Muḥammad ‘Abduh and Rashīd Riḍā stress the rational character of Islam, and this is done in various ways: first, by showing that there is no essential incompatibility between reason and revelation and by attempting to define their complementary roles;23 secondly, by emphasizing Islam’s enlightened attitude with regard to knowledge (for example, the way in which the Qur’ān encourages people to think and reflect and acquire knowledge), and by bringing out the implications of this with regard to ijtihād and taqlīd;24 and thirdly, by attempting to purge the religion of irrational or superstitious elements, such as magic, miracles, the cult of saint-worship, etc.25 Another way of demonstrating Islam’s compatibility with the modern world is to show how some widely accepted scientific theories, such as the theory of causality, are in keeping with the teachings of Islam;26 such phenomena are often described in Tafsīr al-Manār as ‘God’s laws’ (‘sunan Allah’—from the Qur’ānic references to ‘sunnat Allah’). Thus Islam is seen as the religion of nature (fiṭra), i.e. it is both fully in accordance with natural laws, and perfectly suited to man’s nature.27 (p.135) Although Muḥammad ‛Abduh and Rashīd Riḍā criticized those who took the concept of ‘scientific tafsīr’ (tafsīr ‘ilmī) to extremes,28 they considered it important that the Qur’ānic text should not contradict the findings of modern science, and were attracted to the idea that references in the Qur’ān to scientific knowledge which was not available at the time of revelation were a proof of its miraculous nature.29 It seems, moreover, that they could not resist some allusions to specific modern scientific theories, such as Darwin’s theory of evolution, in relation to certain Qur’ānic verses.30 This has exposed them in their turn to criticism by later scholars.31 Not unrelated to the defence of Islam is the desire to highlight the unique literary qualities of the Qur’ān, and thus confirm its miraculous nature. Apart from the comments on points of balāgha throughout the text,32 there is a discourse on the miraculous qualities of the Qur’ānic stories, with regard to both their language and content.33 This is one of the characteristics of Muḥammad ‛Abduh’s school of tafsīr, which is sometimes called the ‘socio-literary’ school of tafsīr.

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The Emergence of Modern Tafsīr ‛Abduh and Riḍā largely succeed in their aim to produce a more simple, direct form of tafsīr, uncluttered by unnecessary technical terms. The language is eloquent and appealing, and relatively easy for the layman to understand—a suitable vehicle for the exhortation of the Muslims in general. However, there are long passages where scholarly issues are discussed, as where fifty-four pages are devoted almost entirely to a discussion of the sources of law.34 Rashīd Riḍā in particular is prone to lengthy digressions,35 which in some cases at least may be said to divert attention from the central aim of guidance. Muḥammad ‛Abduh’s contribution to tafsīr may fall into clearer perspective if one attempts to identify the extent of his original contribution, as well as the strands of continuity with the past. To say that the Qur’ān is a source of guidance is of course nothing new, and the Qur’ān itself states this repeatedly; but ‘Abduh was the first mufassir specifically to state this as his main aim in tafsīr, to which all else was subordinate. This may be seen as a turning-point in tafsīr. His tafsīr also represents one of the first conscious attempts to popularize tafsīr and appeal to a wider audience. It must be said that the time was ripe for such a development; literacy was now no longer the prerogative of the religiously (p.136) trained scholars—a new audience with a Western-style education was emerging, and the age of journalism was dawning (much modern tafsīr, including Tafsīr al-Manār and Shaltūt’s, was first published in instalments in periodicals). Muḥammad ‛Abduh and Rashīd Riḍā were not, of course, alone in calling for ‘the re-opening of the gate of ijtihād’; as one modern writer points out, it was more to do with the ‘spirit of the age’ than any single mufassir, and was not confined to any particular geographical area.36 Moreover, throughout Islamic history there had always been individual scholars who rejected taqlīd and claimed the right of ijtihād, and ‘Abduh and Riḍā were influenced by classical authorities like Ibn Taymiyya and Ibn Qayyim al-Jawziyya (d. 1350 AD) in this regard as in others.37 Precedents can also be found for the attitude towards rnubhamāt and the unseen or supernatural phenomena (ghaybiyyāt) in the pious and reserved attitude of the Companions, or for example Ahmad ibn Ḥanbal (d. 855 AH), who simply believed in the Qur’ānic tenets ‘bilā kayf’ (without asking how). Since early times certain Muslim scholars have expressed their doubts about the general validity of the aḥādīth contained in tafsīr;38 it was only in the modern age, however, that this attitude became widespread, representing a further stage in the trend away from tafsīr bi’l-ma’thur. Similarly, the objections to sectarianism within tafsīr, which had always existed, became more conscious and articulate from Muḥammad ‛Abduh’s time on, and he was instrumental in this.

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The Emergence of Modern Tafsīr It thus emerges that several elements in the thought of ‛Abduh and Riḍā have precedents in Islamic intellectual history, and that their original contribution often consists of giving new emphasis to those matters. This combination of the old and the new would appear to be in keeping with the reformers’ claim to occupy the ‘middle ground’, avoiding the two extremes of rigid conservatism and blameworthy innovation. When talking about Muḥammad ‛Abduh’s ‘school’ of tafsīr it should be borne in mind that this does not denote a specific and clearly defined group of people so much as a set of characteristics largely common to those scholars who, like Shaltūt, have been strongly influenced by ‛Abduh’s ideas in their exegetical work. These characteristics include a common attitude towards such things as sectarianism, isrā’iliyyāt, weak aḥādīth, and rnubhamāt, (p.137) as well as the desire to rid tafsīr of unnecessary technical terms and to achieve a flowing, eloquent style. Most important of all is the concern to provide guidance to Muslims in the context of the modern age, which dictates a practical rather than a theoretical bias.

Between Muḥammad ‛Abduh and Shaltūt There are many mufassirūn who could be described as belonging to ‛Abduh’s school,39 but it will be more pertinent here to concentrate on a few individuals whose work or whose ideas form a significant contribution to the general developments which took place within tafsīr up until the time that Shaltūt wrote his tafsīr. Many believe that Muḥammad Muṣṭafā al-Marāghī (1881–1945) continued the work of Muḥammad ‛Abduh even more faithfully than did Rashīd Riḍā, despite the brevity of his acquaintance with ‛Abduh. This was due to his closer involvement in social and religious reform and his holding of senior religious posts including that of Shaykh al-Azhar.40 Like Shaltūt, he did not embark on a verse-by-verse tafsīr of the Qur’ān, in fact the number of verses he commented on is relatively small.41 They were chosen as the subjects of lectures to be delivered in mosques during Ramadan, between 1937 and 1943, hence their predominantly sermon-like quality. Al-Marāghī’s lectures, like Shaltut’s later on, were very popular and were broadcast by radio. The aim of guidance may be said to be even more paramount in al-Marāghī’s work than in Tafsīr al-Manār; there are no scholarly digressions to bewilder the layman. The style is fluent, persuasive, emotive:

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The Emergence of Modern Tafsīr If it wasn’t for religion, man could not endure this life, for despite its brevity it is full of trials and tribulations; there is crushing poverty, chronic illness, the loss of one’s family and kinsfolk, as well as of rank and prestige, for one may go from eminence and distinction to humiliation and degradation…it is not possible for a man to bear all this unless he can look forward to an eternal life and eternal happiness; for belief in the after-life mitigates life’s harshness and gives the believer peace of mind and the strength to bear hardships and to live peaceably with his fellow men.42 (p.138) One modern writer makes the point that, being of such a general nature, much of the content of these sermons could have come from a Christian preacher.43 This comment highlights the way in which the definition of tafsīr has expanded in recent times so that there is an overlap between tafsīr and general religious writings. The above passage is part of a commentary on Qur’ān 42: 13: ‘He has ordained for you the religion which He commended to Noah’; it is easy to see how this verse may lead one to talk about religion in general, but one scholar raises the question as to whether this kind of expose of the author’s views, brought about by an ‘association of ideas’, can really be called ‘tafsīr’.44 It is significant in this regard that, notwithstanding the fact that he occasionally commented on entire short sūras, al-Marāghī selected the verses presumably to some extent on the basis of the subjects he wished to talk about in his lectures. Therefore the main aim was clearly not to analyse and dissect the Qur’ānic text but to draw lessons from it. However, no one has suggested that such works should be considered beyond the pale of tafsīr, indeed they would conform to the most basic definition of tafsīr given by al-Dhahabī: ‘the science of tafsīr seeks to understand the meaning which God Almighty intended, to the limits of human capabilities.’45 Moreover the ordinary meaning of the word ‘tafsīr’ is sufficiently broad to accommodate a great variety of possibilities.46 It is observed that al-Marāghī had a more respectful attitude towards his forebears than did Muḥammad ‘Abduh and Rashīd Riḍā; of his tafsīr he wrote: ‘It is nothing more than the fruits of that which was planted by our ancient forebears, and flowers from their gardens.’47 He was therefore unwilling to reject aḥādīth which were generally accepted by the classical scholars as saḥīḥ (genuine), whereas ‛Abduh did sometimes reject such aḥādīth, particularly with regard to sensitive subjects like magic.48 Sunnī Muslims with a traditional religious background tend to feel more comfortable in such matters with a man like al-Marāghī; al-Dhahabī commends him for not attacking other mufassirūn, as other scholars have done, and comments: ‘this conduct (adab) is most fitting for scholars.’49 The return to a more conservative attitude vis-à-vis the Sunna may be symptomatic of a less defensive attitude towards the West, and a correspondingly greater confidence in the Islamic heritage.

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The Emergence of Modern Tafsīr One of the major factors which prompted a greater freedom of (p.139) form in tafsīr in the modern period was the new emphasis on topics or themes which occur in the Qur’ān. Amīn al-Khūlī (d. 1967), who did not write a commentary himself,50 but whose views on tafsīr have been highly influential, lays great stress on the importance of thematic tafsīr (tafsīr mawḍū‘ī). He points out that because the Qur’ān often deals with the same subject in many different places, the mufassir who is commenting on a particular text or subject-matter must collect all the relevant verses for comparison; moreover he should know in which order they were revealed, as well as their circumstances of revelation, so that his understanding of the subject is as thorough as possible.51 This idea is not wholly new; the idea that some parts of the Qur’ān explain other parts (‘al-qur’ān yufassiru ba ‛ḍuhu ba ‛ḍ’) dates back to the Companions.52 Moreover the Qur’ānic science of abrogation (al-nāsikh wa’l-mansūkh) as well as the branch of fiqh called ta‛āruḍ al-adilla (the comparison of legal proofs) required a comparison of different Qur’ānic texts relating to the same subject. However, there was no systematic treatment of topics in tafsīr until the modern period; the nearest thing to tafsīr mawḍū‛ī would be the specialist works which dealt with a single topic or aspect of the Qur’ān, such as the works on aḥkām alQur’ān (which dealt exclusively with the legal verses of the Qur’ān)53 or the work on oaths in the Qur’ān by Ibn Qayyim (‘Al-Tibyān fī Aqsām al-Qur’ān’). However, Amīn al-Khūlī maintains that even such a work as this was not sufficiently thorough in following up the parallel occurrences (naẓā’ir) in the Qur’ān and comparing them with each other.54 In Tafsīr al-Manār one can discern some attempt to deal with individual topics in an integral manner. There are fairly frequent cross-references to other parts of the Qur’ān which deal with the topic under discussion, and there is a detailed index preceding each volume which lists the main subject-matters in alphabetical order for easy reference. Moreover the text is divided into pericopes which, as far as possible, are chosen to form a natural unit dealing with a particular subject-matter or aim. However this would not satisfy Amīn alKhūlī, who maintains that dealing with the Qur’ān in its tartīb maṣḥafī (i.e. in the order of its present format, which was authoritatively established in the ‘Uthmanic recension), means either repeating oneself where the same topic occurs in different places, or else digressing at various points of (p.140) the text to deal at length with a topic, thus interrupting the flow of one’s tafsīr of the sūra.55

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The Emergence of Modern Tafsīr Amīn al-Khūlī’s views on tafsīr mawḍū‛ī form part of his overall approach to the Qur’ān, which is primarily literary and philological. He believes that the Qur’ān should be treated like any great work of literature, and be studied as such regardless of whether or not the student believes in it or seeks guidance from it.56 He takes issue with Muḥammad ‛Abduh’s view that guidance is the first aim of tafsīr, even to the point of describing this emphasis on guidance as a kind of bias (talwīn).57 According to al- Khūlī, the first priority is to study the Qur’ān ‘in so far as it is the greatest book of the Arabic language’, and to fully understand the Arabic text.58 Under the heading: ‘The Literary Approach to Tafsīr’59 Amīn al-Khūlī describes two types of study which are essential to a proper understanding of the Qur’ān, just as with any literary text. The first of these is background studies, which would include the Qur’ānic sciences such as the circumstances of revelation, the collection of the Qur’ān, and qirā’āt, as well as studies on the environment in which the Qur’ān first appeared, including history, sociology, religion, and even down to such details as the geography, meteorology, geology, vegetation, etc. of seventh-century Arabia, all of which go to make up the ‘Arabdom’ (‛urūba) of the Qur’ān. The second is the study of the Qur’ānic text itself on various levels, beginning with individual words, whose evolution must be carefully traced in order to establish their meaning at the time of the revelation (he points out the inadequacy of the available lexicons in this respect); in addition to this their Qur’ānic usage should be closely observed. After this one may deal with compound phrases and sentences, which involves the use of grammar and balāgha, but these must be used only as tools to bring out the beauty of the Qur’ānic text (this is the nearest Amīn al-Khūlī comes to referring to i‘jāz). Apart from an extensive knowledge of Arabic and of the Qur’ānic style, this requires outstanding aesthetic judgement (dhawq bāri‘). He goes on to describe the psychological approach to tafsīr (al-tafsīr al-nafsī), which is closely linked with rhetorical studies, which analyse how language achieves its effect. Such psychological studies would show how the Qur’ān caused men to abandon the way of their forefathers and how it eventually brought about the (p.141) triumph of the Islamic religion. He is evidently not claiming this as a totally new form of tafsīr, since he gives an example of this psychological approach from alZamakhsharī. Finally, at the broadest level, sociology (‘ilm al-ijtimā’) helps us to understand the Qur’ān, which often deals with communities rather than individuals.

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The Emergence of Modern Tafsīr There are marked similarities between Amīn al-Khūlī’s proposals and Muḥammad ‛Abduh’s comments in the Introduction to Tafsīr al-Manār, where he describes the prerequisites for a tafsīr which rises above the simplest level.60 These include ‘an understanding of the true meanings of the words’, for ‘the thorough scholar must interpret the Qur’ān according to the linguistic usage at the time of the revelation’, as well as observing the usage of a given word in the Qur’ān itself. Second on the list is style or rhetorical usage (‘asālīb’), which involves a knowledge of grammar and balāgha, third comes a category called ‘the science/knowledge of human conditions (‛ilm aḥwāl al-bashar’), which corresponds to Amīn al-Khūlī’s sociology, and fourth, the way in which men have been guided by the Qur’ān (‘al-‛ilm bi-wajh hidāyat al-bashar kullihim bi’l-Qur’ān’), which involves a knowledge of life at the time of the Prophet. Elsewhere he mentions the importance for tafsīr of a true appreciation and feel for the Arabic language (‘malakat al-dhawq al-‘arabī’), and laments the fact that this is much rarer now than it was in the first ages of Islam. It appears then that Muḥammad ‛Abduh had already mentioned, albeit less systematically, many of the points which Amīn al-Khūlī talks about in his work. However, we do not find in Tafsīr alManār evidence of the degree of philological analysis or background studies which Amīn al-Khūlī would like, and it is unlikely that Muḥammad ‘Abduh would agree with al-Khūlī that a background knowledge of places like Madyan and the dwellings of ‛Ad and Thamūd is a prerequisite for a full understanding of the lessons contained in the Qur’ānic stories about them;61 on the contrary, he would probably have considered such information to be a diversion from the true aims of the story. While there has been no systematic undertaking of Amīn al-Khūlī’s proposals, some areas of study which he recommended have received more attention than others. The strictly literary approach is not characteristic of Muḥammad ‛Abduh’s school of tafsīr, but the importance of thematic tafsīr has been widely (p.142) recognized. This idea has been influential both within tafsīrs and in encouraging the proliferation of monographs on Qur’ānic subjects, which, although they do not necessarily call themselves ‘tafsīr’ would appear to be the logical response to Amīn al-Khūlī’s call for tafsīr mawḍū‛ī as opposed to tafsīr musalsal. Works which call themselves ‘tafsīr’ have perhaps inevitably remained more tied to the tartīb maṣḥafī of the Qur’ān. However, Shaltūt’s tafsīr will provide an interesting example of a tafsīr which deals with the Qur’ān sūra by sūra but which is sufficiently free in form to accommodate the requirements of tafsīr mawḍū‛i.

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The Emergence of Modern Tafsīr There has been much interest in the literary qualities of the Qur’ān as an organic entity. Amīn al-Khūlī briefly referred to this area of interest, with his usual tendency to place things in a strict order of priority: ‘if the mufassir wishes to reflect on the unity of the sūra and the relationship between its verses, and its smooth progression, that would probably be only after a thorough tafsīr of the various topics contained in it.’62 This approach, which also deals with the relationship between the sūras, presupposes that the order of the sūras within the muṣḥaf is divinely inspired—a belief that is now almost universal among Muslims but which has been disputed in the past.63 Such studies are often closely associated with the theme of i‘jāz, as in ‘Al-Naba’ al-‘Aẓīm’ by Muḥammad ‘Abd Allah Dirāz (1894–1958). This work goes to some lengths to establish the divine origin of the Qur’ān before going on to analyse its outstanding literary qualities, the structure of its sūras, etc.64 Dirāz lists four levels on which the Qur’ānic text may be studied: (1) section (qiṭ‘a) by section (a section would usually be a few verses which form a natural unit, although it could equally be one long verse or a short sūra); (2) sūra by sūra; (3) the links between sūras; and (4) the Qur’ān as a whole.65 Of these four levels, Dirāz pays most attention to the sūra, and the book ends with a fortyeight page structural analysis of Sūrat al-Baqara. He compares the sūra to a well-constructed building containing rooms and courtyards; since there are no incongruities or irregularities, there must have been an overall plan, despite the fact that the Qur’ān was revealed apparently haphazardly, in irregular instalments which were not even placed chronologically in the Qur’ān. Furthermore, the sūra as a whole has a particular aim; just as the parts of the body all co-operate to perform a single function, so do the parts of the sūra.66 (p.143) The idea of viewing the sūra as an organic unity is not entirely new. AlSuyūṭī in his Al-Itqān fī ‛Ulūm al-Qur’ān and al-Zarkashī in his Al-Burhān fī ‛Ulūm al-Qur’ān both devote chapters to the relationship between the verses and/or sūras.67 Dirāz quotes Abu Isḥāq al-Shāṭibī (d. 1388 AD): No matter how many subjects the sūra deals with, it is a single discourse; the end is linked to the beginning, and the beginning is linked to the end, and the whole is devoted to a single aim. Moreover the sentences appertaining to a particular subject are related to each other. If one wishes to understand the arrangement (naẓm) of the sūra, it is essential to look at the whole in some depth, and the same goes for the sections which deal with a particular subject.68

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The Emergence of Modern Tafsīr Tafsīr al-Manār also pays some attention to the sūra as a unity; from Sūrat alNisā’ onwards, Rashīd Riḍā follows each sūra with a summary of its subjectmatter which is often quite detailed, and there is often a brief section preceding the sūra entitled: ‘The way in which this sūra is related to the previous one.’69 There is also occasional reference to the way in which the verses are linked to each other (‘tanāsuq al-āyāt’)70 However, the idea of the natural progression of verses and sūras is not so consistently applied as with more recent scholars. Dirāz identifies various unique characteristics of the Qur’ānic style, such as its conciseness: there are no superfluous words in the Qur’ān, and there is a unique balance between economy of expression (al-qaṣd fi’l-lafẓ) and conveying the required sense as fully and faithfully as possible (al-wafā’ bi-ḥaqq al-ma‛nā).71 Another of its unique qualities is that of being suited to all mentalities; its simplicity is such that it is meaningful to all, while it has depths of meaning to satisfy the more intellectually or meditatively inclined. Likewise it satisfies both the intellect and the emotions, sustaining a perfect balance between them.72 Laying aside the question of their objective validity, these observations are significant in that they are symptomatic of a broader approach to the Qur’ānic style, as well as a new emphasis on the aesthetic aspects of the Qur’ān; Dirāz states that the Qur’ānic harmony has an effect like that of music or poetry, but unlike them is always varied, and never repetitive in its rhythms, so that one never tires of listening to it.73 This beauty of form, however, is only the wrapping on the parcel; the meanings conveyed (p.144) by these words are even more wonderful and harmonious.74 Thus the area of aesthetics encompasses not just the forms of expression in the Qur’ān but also the substance of its message. Dirāz points out the difficulty of describing the stylistic techniques of the Qur’ān, which he believes are often so subtle as to defy analysis, and which cannot always be classified according to the rules of balāgha; discussing the links between sections of a sūra he writes: If one were to forget about technical terms and superfluous questions, and give free rein to one’s mind and one’s emotions, then recite or listen to those places, one would not be aware of any incongruity or any transition which offends the taste or jars upon the ears.75

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The Emergence of Modern Tafsīr This aesthetic approach inevitably involves a greater degree of subjectivity, but ‘taste’ or ‘aesthetic judgment’ has never been denied as an aid to understanding the Qur’ān simply because it cannot be objectively measured or precisely quantified. Dirāz is not guilty of unwarranted or unrestrained subjectivity, since his arguments are backed up by concrete examples from the Qur’ān; his structural analysis of Sūrat al-Baqara, for example, adheres closely to the text, and identifies the connecting links between the different sections.76 Before embarking on this analysis he refers to various empirical facts, for example, that Sūrat al-Baqara is not only the longest sūra but the most diverse as regards subject-matter, as well as the sūra which was revealed over the longest period of time (nine years) in the greatest number of instalments (over eighty). Dirāz believes that these factors render the consistent progression of ideas within the sūra and its harmonious unity even more impressive than would otherwise be the case.77 While Dirāz’s approach may be described as a literary one, he has constant reference to the moral lessons of the Qur’ān. For example, he divides Sūrat alBaqara into structural parts on the basis of its four main aims, which include the promotion of Islam and the promulgation of its laws, as well as ‘the Promise and the Threat’ (al wa‛d wa’l-wa‛īd). The close link between aims and literary form is to be expected in a document which, unlike most literary works, is deliberately and consistently intended to act as a catalyst on people’s souls. With Dirāz, a synthesis between the literary approach and the practical didactic approach begins to emerge. (p.145) The ‘psychological’ approach is an integral part of this type of tafsīr, which has reference to the effect of certain rhetorical features of the Qur’ān, for only then does the full extent of its literary i‛jāz become apparent.78 The aesthetic/psychological approach, which seeks to uncover new subtleties in the Qur’ān, leaves room for a more instinctive, intuitive approach, and in this respect resembles some Ṣūfī tafsīr, except that here the intuition operates in less controversial and more clearly-defined areas, and is firmly based on an understanding of the Qur’ānic text in the light of the accepted principles of Arabic grammar and rhetorics. Muḥammad ‛Izza Darwaza (1888–1984), a Palestinian who spent most of his life in Syria, did much of his writing in the 1930s and 1940s, but did not have it published until the 1960s. It is probable that he prepared his tafsīr (entitled AlTafsīr al-Ḥadīth) and his work on Qur’ānic studies, Al-Qur’ān al-Majīd, at about the same time as Shaltūt was writing his own tafsīr, therefore it is unlikely that there was any direct influence between the two men.

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The Emergence of Modern Tafsīr Darwaza set out to write a tafsīr which was ‘in keeping with the spirit of the age, in a style which is easy to understand’, aimed particularly at the Muslim youth who had been alienated by the traditional style of tafsīr.79 In the Introduction to his Tafsīr, Darwaza states that in the course of interpreting a particular verse or passage of the Qur’ān, he will wherever possible have reference to any other Qur’ānic words and phrases which throw light on the passage in question. He aims to make use of context and to observe the links between the verses and sections of a sūra, for there are those who imagine that the verses and sections of the sūras are simply grouped together without any connection or harmony, whereas our examination of them has made us certain that most of them are related to each other in an orderly and harmonious way.80 The commentary for each sūra is preceded by a short section which gives a general description of the sūra, including a brief reference to its contents and main characteristics. Unusually, this tafsīr deals with the sūras in the order of their revelation, so that ‘the reader is immersed in the atmosphere in which the revelation took place (jaww nuzūl al-Qur’ān), and appreciates the progressive stages of the prophetic mission’.81 Indeed, Darwaza places much emphasis on the close relationship between the Qur’ānic text and the environment in which it was (p.146) revealed, and rejects the ḥadīth which states that the Qur’ān was originally preserved on a tablet in the seventh heaven, whence it was sent down in its entirety to the lowest heaven and from there revealed gradually to Muḥammad.82 Thus while on the one hand Darwaza’s beliefs on the harmonious arrangement of the Qur’ān support the idea of its literary i‛jāz, on the other hand his rejection of the traditional belief in the ‘uncreated’ and eternal Qur’ān would appear to detract from its sanctity and i‛jāz. The implications of believing that the Qur’ān is closely related to its original environment are not brought out by Darwaza, but will be discussed at the end of Chapter 8. It is clear from the above that a considerable evolution had already taken place within tafsīr by Shaltūt’s time. While all mufassirūn agreed that the clarification of the Qur’ānic message for ordinary Muslims was a priority, they differed in their emphases and methods. The most significant developments were probably the idea of thematic tafsīr, and the new emphasis on the organic unity of the Qur’ān, both of which have continued to gain in prominence down to the present. Notes:

(1.) Amīn al-Khūlī, Manāhij Tajdīd fi’l-Naḥw wa’l-Balāgha wa’l-Tafsīr wa’l-Adab (Cairo, 1961), 273.

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The Emergence of Modern Tafsīr (2.) A detailed description of the Companions’ tafsīr is contained in Muḥammad Ḥusayn al-Dhahabī, Al-Tafsīr wa’l-Mufassirūn (3rd edn.; Cairo, 1985), i: 35–98. (3.) ‛Abd Allah Mahmūd Shiḥāta, Tārīkh al-Qur’ān wa’l-Tafsīr (Cairo, 1972), 115. (4.) Al-Dhahabī, Al-Tafsīr, i: 343. (5.) Ibid. 156, 198–200. (6.) Muḥammad ibn Jarīr al-Ṭabarī, Jāmi‛ al-Bayān fī Tafsīr al-Qur’ān (Cairo, 1905–12), vii: 86–7, and Mahmūd ibn ‘Umar al-Zamakhsharī, Al-Kashshāf ‘an Ḥaqā’iq Ghawāmi1E0D al-Tanzīl (Cairo, 1343–4 AH), i: 281. (7.) Al-Dhahabī, Al-Tafsīr, i: 281. (8.) J. Jomier, Le Commentaire Coranique du Manar (Paris, 1954). Muḥammad ‛Abduh has also written 3 other short works on tafsīr: Tafsīr Juz’ ‛Ammā (Cairo, 1322 AH), Tafsīr Sūrat al-‛Aṣr (Cairo, 1903), and Fātiḥat al-Kitāb (Cairo, 1382 AH). (9.) Adams, Islam and Modernism in Egypt, p. 199. (10.) The Preface (‘Fātiḥat al-Tafsīr’) is by Rashīd Riḍā, and the Introduction (‘Muqaddimat al-Tafsīr’) is based on Muḥammad ‛Abduh’s lectures; the aims set out in them are essentially the same. (11.) Tafsīr al-Manār, i: 17. (12.) Ibid. 7. (13.) Ibid. 24. In his article entitled ‘Al-Ma‛ānī wa’l-Bayān’ in the new edition of the Encyclopaedia of Islam, B. Reinart suggests a translation of ‘semantics of syntax’ for the term ‘ma‛ānī’—EI2, v: 899. (14.) Tafsīr al-Manār, i: 7–8. (15.) Ibid. 10. (16.) Ibid. 25. (17.) Ibid. 10. (18.) Ibid, ii: 35–6. (19.) Al-Dhahabī, Al-Tafsīr, ii: 537–8. (20.) See e.g. Tafsīr al-Manār, iv: 25–9.

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The Emergence of Modern Tafsīr (21.) E.g. ibid., iv: 364–70 (polygamy), iv: 122–31 (ribā), viii: 508–22 (homosexuality). (22.) See ‘Abd Allah Mahmūd Shiḥāta, Manhaj Muḥammad ‘Abduh fī Tafsīr alQur’ān al-Karīm (Cairo, 1963), 137ff., and al-Dhahabī, Al-Tafsīr, ii: 534–7 for examples. (23.) See Jomier, Commentaire, 79ff. for examples. (24.) Shiḥāta, Manhaj Muḥammad ‛Abduh, 71 ff.; for the attitude to taqlīd, see Tafsīr al-Manār, xi: 252–3, under the heading: ‘Taqlīd and the rigid adherence to the practice of one’s forefathers is prohibited.’ (25.) Shiḥāta, Manhaj Muḥammad ‛Abduh, 105 ff. (26.) Tafsīr al-Manār, v: 269. (27.) See e.g. ibid., xi: 244–6. (28.) Ibid, i: 7. (29.) Ibid. 210–12. (30.) See for examples Ignaz Goldziher, Madhāhib al-Tafsīr al-Islāmī (transl. ‛Abd al-Ḥalīm al-Najjār; 2nd edn.; Beirut, 1983), 382–3, and al-Dhahabī, Al-Tafsīr, ii: 541–3. (31.) Al-Dhahabī expresses the opinion that ‘Abduh has allowed free thought to go a little too far in this regard—Al-Tafsīr, ii: 543. (32.) See Jomier, Commentaire, 56–7 for some examples. (33.) Tafsīr al-Manār, xii: 40–6. (34.) Ibid, v: 168–222. (35.) By his own admission—see Tafsīr al-Manār, i: 16, where he justifies this by the Muslims’ great need for knowledge of certain matters. (36.) ‛Iffat Muḥammad al-Sharqāwi, Al-Fikr al-Dīnī fī Muwājahat al-‛Aṣr (2nd edn.; Beirut, 1979), 123. (37.) Shiḥāta, Manhaj Muḥammad ‘Abduh, 57. Rashīd Riḍā in particular quoted Ibn Taymiyya and Ibn Qayyim at length, and indeed had much in common with the Wahhābiyya (who base many of their tenets on the work of Ibn Taymiyya), particularly as regards the vehement opposition to bida‛ in Islam such as saintworship, and the desire for a return to the true Sunna. See Shiḥāta, Manhaj Muḥammad Abduh, 226–8 and Goldziher, Madhābib al-Tafsīr, 363 ff.

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The Emergence of Modern Tafsīr (38.) Amīn al-Khūlī, Manāhij Tajdīd, 276. (39.) ‛Abd al-Ghaffār ‛Abd al-Raḥīm, in his book Al-Imām Muḥammad ‛Abduh wa Manhajuhu fi’l-Tafsīr (Cairo, n.d.), describes the work of several mufassirūn belonging to Muḥammad ‘Abduh’s school, such as ‛Abd al-Qādir al-Maghribī, Jamal al-Dīn al-Qāsimī, ‛Abd al-Ḥamīd ibn Bādīs, and Muḥammad al-Ṭāhir ibn ‘Āshūr. (40.) Al-Dhahabī, Al-Tafsīr, ii: 563–4, and J. J. G. Jansen, The Interpretation of the Koran in Modern Egypt (Leiden, 1980), 77. (41.) See Al-Dhahabī, Al-Tafsīr, ii: 565–7 for a bibliography of his exegetical lectures. (42.) Ibid. 572–3, taken from Al-Durūs al-Dīniyya, 1365 AH, 34–6; needless to say this translation does not do justice to the style of the original Arabic. (43.) Jansen, Interpretation, 79. (44.) Jomier, Commentaire, 69; he is talking about Tafsīr al-Manār, but this tendency is even more apparent in al-Marāghī’s work. (45.) Al-Dhahabī, Al-Tafsīr, i: 17. (46.) Lane’s Arabic–English lexicon gives the meaning of the verb fassara as: ‘He discovered, detected, revealed, developed, or disclosed, a thing that was concealed or obscured…he rendered a thing apparent, plain or clear; explained, expounded, or interpreted it.’ (47.) Al-Dhahabī, Al-Tafsīr, ii: 568. (48.) Ibid. 547–9. (49.) Ibid. 569. (50.) He did, however, write a short series of works entitled ‘Min Huda ‘lQur’ān…’, dealing with Qur’ānic themes such as financial legislation and Ramadan. (51.) Amīn al-Khūlī, Manāhij Tajdīd, 305–6. (52.) See al-Dhahabī, Al-Tafsīr, i: 40–7. (53.) See ibid., ii: 420–53 for a description of several such works. (54.) Amīn al-Khūlī, Manāhij Tajdīd, 301. (55.) Ibid. 306–7.

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The Emergence of Modern Tafsīr (56.) Ibid. 303–4. (57.) Ibid. 296–9. (58.) Ibid. 302–3. (59.) Ibid. 307–17. (60.) Tafsīr al-Manār, i: 21 ff. (61.) Amīn al-Khūlī, Manāhij Tajdīd, 311. (62.) Ibid. 307. (63.) See Jalāl al-Dīn al-Suyūṭī, Al-Itqān fi ‛Ulūm al-Qur’ān (Beirut, 1987), i: 135 ff. (64.) The author spent 12 years studying in France (see Al-Naba’ al-‘Aẓīm (naẓara jadīda fi’l-Qur’ān) (4th edn.; Kuwait, 1977), 7, which may explain his preoccupation with establishing the divine origin of the Qur’ān; it also enabled him to become acquainted with some of the techniques of modern literary criticism. (65.) Ibid. 107. (66.) Ibid. 155. (67.) See al-Suyūṭī, Al-Itqān, ii: 234–47, and Badr al-Dīn al-Zarkashī, Al-Burhān fi ‛Ulūm al-Qur’ān (Cairo, 1972), i: 35 ff. Al-Suyūṭī’s chapter is entitled ‘Fī Munāsabat al-Āyāt wa’1-Suwar’, and al-Zarkashī’s is entitled ‛Ma‘rifat alMunāsabāt bayna al-Āyāt’. (68.) Dirāz, Al-Naba’ 159; in the endnote to this page Dirāz gives the names of other scholars who have held to this concept: Abū Bakr al-Nīsābūrī, Fakhr al-Dīn al-Rāzī, Abū Bakr ibn ‘Arabī, Burhān al-Dīn al Baqā‛ī, ‘and others’. (69.) E.g. Tafsīr al-Manār, vii: 287 ff. (on Sūrat al-An‛ām). (70.) E.g. ibid, viii: 293–5, which discusses Qur’ān iii: 37 and shows how this verse represents a natural progression of what has gone before, with regard to its essential aim. (71.) Dirāz, Al-Naba’ 109–112; here and elsewhere Dirāz illustrates his points with examples from the Qur’ān. (72.) Ibid. 113–16. (73.) Ibid. 102.

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The Emergence of Modern Tafsīr (74.) Ibid. 106. (75.) Ibid. 162, fn. (76.) See e.g. ibid. 180, under the heading: ‘The connecting link between the first and second sections’, where Dirāz describes how 2: 74 effects a transition from the description of the Jews in biblical times to a description of the Jews of Muhammad’s time. (77.) Ibid. 157–8. (78.) E.g. ibid. 186: ‘wa kāna hādha al-tardīd waḥdahu kāfiyan li-ifḥāmihim’ (‘this repetition alone is sufficient to dumbfound them’). (79.) See his Al-Qur’ān al-Majīd (Beirut, n.d.), 305, and Al-Tafsīr al-Ḥadīth (Cairo, 1962), i: 5. (80.) Al-Tafsīr al-ḥadīth, i: 7–8. (81.) Ibid. 8. (82.) See Al-Qur’ān al-Majīd, 14, 281–8.

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Shaltūt and Tafsīr Mawḍū‘ī

Maḥmūd Shalt=ut and Islamic Modernism Kate Zebiri

Print publication date: 1993 Print ISBN-13: 9780198263302 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: October 2011 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198263302.001.0001

Shaltūt and Tafsīr Mawḍū‘ī KATE ZEBIRI

DOI:10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198263302.003.0008

Abstract and Keywords This chapter examines the tafsīr of Maḥmūd Shaltūt. The prominent elements of his tafsīr are the emphasis of the thematic approach and the organic unity of the Qur'ān. Shaltūt's tafsīr deals with the Qur'ān sūra by sūra and not verse by verse. He believed that the tafsīr mawduū'ī is the ideal form of the tafsīr and that the verse-by-verse style has contributed to the areas of conflict within tafsīr and has made it easy for those with a particular bias to interpret the verse in their own way. Keywords:   tafsīr, Maḥmūd Shaltūt, Quar'anic exegesis, sūra, tafsīr mawduū'ī

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Shaltūt and Tafsīr Mawḍū‘ī THE two major developments in modern tafsīr which were identified in Chapter 7, namely the new emphasis on thematic tafsīr and the organic unity of the Qur’ān, are both prominent elements in Shaltūt’s tafsīr. As can be seen from the full title, Tafsīr al-Qur’ān al-Karīm: al-ajzā’ al-‘asharat al-ūlā deals with the first third of the Qur’ān. It was first published from 1949 onwards in the periodical Risālat al-Islām issued by Jamā‘ at al-Taqrīb bayna al-Madhāhib.1 In 1959 it was first published in book form. It was republished within a few weeks,2 and by 1988 had reached its eleventh edition. It is about six hundred and fifty pages long, devoting between sixty and a hundred pages to each of the first nine sūras except the first two, which receive less attention. In addition to his tafsīr Shaltūt has written a less substantial book entitled Ila’l-Qur’ān al-Karīm, which gives a résumé of the general topics of selected sūras, or parts of them, section (rub‘)3 by section. This, together with three monographs on Qur’ānic topics (‘The Formation of Society According to the Qur’ān’, ‘The Qur’ān and Women’, and ‘Islam and International Relations in War and Peace’), is included in his book Min Hudā’l-Qur’ān. Shaltūt commended Muḥammad ‘Abduh’s initiatives in the field of tafsīr, and made particular mention of his emphasis on practical issues, the way in which the Qur’ān was taken as the primary source in all matters and not subordinated to anything else, the rejection of isrā’īliyyāt and unreliable reports, and the eradication of sectarianism.4 Shaltūt expounds his ideas on tafsīr only briefly, in the Introduction to his tafsīr and in a short article entitled The Ideal Method of tafsīr’.5 Like Muḥammad ‘Abduh and al-Marāghī, his orientation was predominantly a practical, reforming one, and he was not generally given to theorizing.

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Shaltūt and Tafsīr Mawḍū‘ī In the Introduction to his tafsīr, he mentions the many different types of tafsīr— those that concentrate on grammar, balāgha, fiqh, etc.—not in order to criticize them, but, characteristically, in order (p.151) to praise the great efforts which have been devoted to the Qur’ān over the centuries.6 He does, however, single out two things which should be avoided—sectarianism in tafsīr and tafsīr ‘ilmī. It is significant in this regard that his tafsīr was first published in Risālat al-Islām, which devoted itself to the eradication of sectarianism. Shaltūt felt that these two types of tafsīr detract from the sanctity of the Qur’ān. In the first case, the mufassir subordinates the Qur’ān to his own beliefs instead of vice versa, and in order to do so has recourse to undesirable elements such as isrā’īliyyāt and weak or forged aḥādīth; sectarianism has also led to the prevalence of taqlīd in tafsīr.7 In the second case, he remarks drily of those who interpret the Qur’ān according to scientific theories: ‘if they come to a verse which mentions the rain, or describes the clouds, or talks about thunder or lightning, they rejoice and say: “See! The Qur’ān is addressing the scientists’”.8 Shaltūt observes that such people may think they are serving the Qur’ān, but on the contrary, they may do much harm by associating the text of the Qur’ān with specific theories; if and when those theories are invalidated in the light of further scientific discovery, the Qur’ān would be open to the charge of containing errors. Moreover the Qur’ān was not revealed as a handbook on scientific theory—its references to natural phenomena are only intended to provoke thought and reflection, and to increase people’s faith. One should be content that it does not contain anything which contradicts established scientific truths.9 Thus he is more cautious with regard to tafsīr ‘ilmī than Muḥammad ‘Abduh and Rashīd Riḍā, who, as we have observed, occasionally referred to scientific theories in connection with certain verses of the Qur’ān. This caution is partly due to the later recognition of the fact that science was an evolving rather than a static body of knowledge. In his article on ‘The Ideal Method of Tafsīr’ Shaltūt describes the advantages of tafsīr mawḍū‛ī. He believes that the traditional verse-by-verse (musalsal) form of tafsīr, has contributed to the areas of conflict within tafsīr and has made it easy for those with a particular bias to interpret the verses in their own way. This has rendered the guidance contained in the Qur’ān less accessible, and has resulted in an ‘intellectual chaos’ which has turned people away from the Qur’ān and tafsīr.10 By gathering together all the verses on a particular subject and comparing them, on the other hand, the mufassir can see their true aim and significance, without (p.152) forcing any meanings onto the verses. Shaltūt feels that this type of tafsīr shows people how the Qur’ān is connected to all spheres of their daily lives, and gives them the practical guidance that they need; this will combat the attitude of some Muslims who see the Qur’ān as ‘just a spiritual book’, to be used only for recitation and meditation, or as a kind of charm to ward off the devil or to cure ills.11

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Shaltūt and Tafsīr Mawḍū‘ī Shaltūt’s tafsīr deals with the Qur’ān sūra by sūra but not verse by verse. The sūra is normally introduced by a passage giving general details such as the reason for its name, its muqaṭṭa‛āt (the truncated letter-symbols which preface some sūras of the Qur’ān), whether it is Meccan or Medinan, its position within the muṣḥaf, etc. Often there is a passage describing the general circumstances of the Muslim community at the time of its revelation.12 All the chapters (except that on Sūrat al-Fātiḥa, due to its brevity) contain a section outlining the main aims and topics of the sūra.

The Literary I‘jāz of the Qur’ān The belief that the Qur’ān is inimitable in its literary style is almost universally accepted among Muslims today. This, together with the widespread belief that the order of the verses within the sūra as well as the order of the sūras within the muṣḥaf is divinely inspired entails that: 1. each word and phrase of the Qur’ān has been carefully chosen, and represents the best possible mode of expression for the meaning intended, 2. each sūra represents an integral whole, possessing an ordered structure and organic unity, and 3. each sūra is related in some way to the sūras which precede and follow it. In classical works of tafsīr, the first of these three levels received most attention. As was noted in Chapter 7, al-Zamakhsharī analysed the Qur’ānic expression in some detail in the light of the principle ‘li-kulli maqām maqāl’ (i.e. there is a correct or best way of saying a thing in a given situation). While the other two aspects were not entirely neglected, they were not consistently applied by any scholar until the modern age. Shaltūt concerns himself with (p.153) all three levels of analysis—the basic stylistic level (balāgha), as well as the sūra as an organic unity, and the relationship between the sūras.

Balāgha On this level, Shaltūt applies some of the traditional methods of rhetorical analysis of particles or words, but he differs from the classical scholars in at least two respects; he tends to take a broader perspective, analysing not just particles and words but general features and characteristics of the Qur’ānic style, and he generally goes further than the classical scholars in deducing the reasons for and psychological impact of particular forms of expression in the Qur’ān.

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Shaltūt and Tafsīr Mawḍū‘ī In a comparative study of the Qur’ānic treatment of the questions asked of Muḥammad by his contemporaries, Shaltūt observes that only in one case is the word ‘qul’ (‘say’) omitted in the reply. This is the question about God (‘If my servants ask about me, I am near’—2: 186); he concludes that this omission is in order to convey immediacy, and to emphasize the fact that there is no intermediary between God and man.13 The close relationship between balāgha and psychological tafsīr was observed by Amīn al-Khūlī (see Chapter 7), and is illustrated in Shaltūt’s tafsīr when he talks about the effect of certain rhetorical features in the Qur’ān, such as the way in which the Qur’ān sometimes has an abrupt change of topic and ‘takes one by surprise when it is talking about particular subjects, in such a way as to revivify the heart so that it is in continual contact with God, from Whom it draws strength and help’.14 There are many examples of this type of analysis or observation in his work, both within and outside his tafsīr, as can be seen from headings such as: ‘Styles of the Qur’ān in Enjoining Piety’, ‘The Ways in which the Qur’ān Demonstrates the Case for the Resurrection’, or ‘Styles of the Qur’ān in Calling People to Profitable Thought’.15 In addition to this he deals with such things as the effect of the comparison of the fates of the believers and the unbelievers in Sūrat alA‛rāf, the effect of the muqaṭṭa‛āt at the beginnings of sūras, and the effect of opening a sūra with mention of good things (‘barā‛at maṭla‛’), such as the Prophet or (p.154) the believers.16 This comprehensive overview of Qur’ānic style and usage represents a new departure within tafsīr.

The Sūra as an Organic Unity Shaltūt regards the sūra as a perfectly balanced whole, and, like Dirāz, he feels it is important to get an overall view of the sūra before embarking on its individual topics. While he does not give a systematic structural analysis of each sūra, he does take it for granted that the sūra has a coherent and well-ordered structure. He feels that after the introductory passage in vv. 1–39, Sūrat alBaqara may be divided into two parts on the basis of its two main aims or concerns. The first section (vv. 40–177) appeals to the Jews, reminding them of their past misdeeds and God’s favours to them, and refuting their doubts about Muḥammad’s prophethood. The second section (vv. 178-end) is concerned with laying down new legislation in order to regulate the affairs of the Medinan community. Shaltūt then states: it [the sūra] then ends with an affirmation of the creed of the believers, just as it began with an affirmation of the characteristics of the believers…thus the end endorses the beginning, and the beginning anticipates the end, and the sūra forms a single entity.17 After a detailed description of the individual topics contained in the two parts of Sūrat al-Baqara, Shaltūt remarks: Page 5 of 30

Shaltūt and Tafsīr Mawḍū‘ī These are the beads of the two sides of the necklace upon which are threaded the topics of Sūrat al-Baqara, and of which āyat al-birr (the verse of piety) [v. 177] is the centre-piece… We have used this method, which is unusual in tafsīr, in order to place the topics with which the sūra deals before this verse, as well as those which come after it, in front of the reader on a single thread which links the beads of each side, and gives the onlooker a comprehensive view of all that that noble sūra contains, and helps him to identify the aims and the nature of each topic, and the way in which it is related to the other topics.18 Shaltūt indicates the importance of the nidā’āt (those places where God directly addresses people in the Qur’ān, beginning with ‘yā ayyuha…’) to the structure of many of the sūras, and often pays special attention to them. His chapter on Sūrat al-Mā’ida is (p.155) structured on the basis of the nidā’āt, reflecting the fact that these define the sequence of subject-matters within the sūra.19 He also refers to the way in which verses relate to one another within a sūra. For instance, he points out that the long section in Sūrat al-A‛rāf which relates the stories of past nations who disbelieved in their prophets (vv. 59–177), begins and ends with a verse which compares the disbelievers to natural phenomena (vv. 58 and 176 respectively)—in the first instance to bad soil which yields only poor and scanty vegetation, and in the second to a dog who does nothing but pant whether you chase it or leave it alone. Shaltūt describes this under the heading: The End of this Passage is Connected to the Beginning’.20

The Relationship between the Sūras Shaltūt not only likes to give the reader an overall view of the sūra, but he also wishes him to bear in mind the general contents of each of the sūras in succession, and to this end he gives periodic reminders of the subject-matters of previous sūras. Before commenting on Sūrat al-An‛ām, for example, he reviews the main aims and characteristics of all the previous sūras.21 He points out that the four long Medinan sūras preceding this sūra, although they differ in their details, all have the same common aim, i.e. to regulate the legal affairs of the Muslims as an independent community, and to provide guidance on how they should deal with their new neighbours—in particular the Jews—both on the level of verbal polemics and practicalities, in peace and in war.22 Having stated what they have in common, he then highlights the differences between them by giving a fairly detailed resume of each sūra. He points out the uniqueness of Sūrat alFātiḥa in its relationship to all the other sūras of the Qur’ān, inasmuch as it alludes, despite its brevity, to all the main aims of the Qur’ān, referring to faith and works, to this world and the next, to the Promise and the Threat.23

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Shaltūt and Tafsīr Mawḍū‘ī Having thus given the reader a picture of the way in which these four sūras agree in their aims and complement each other in their details, Shaltūt goes on to show how Sūrat al-An‛ām, being Meccan, differs from them in several respects. For example, it does not contain legislative material, or reference to ahl al-kitāb, (p.156) hypocrites, or war, nor are there any nidā’āt addressed to the believers as a group.24 A summary of the contents of this sūra shows in greater detail how it differs from the previous sūras: We find that this sūra concentrates on the first elements of the da‛wa (Islamic mission), and its weapons in this are repeated arguments, clearly expounded verses, and an amazing variety of methods of persuasion and compelling proofs. It mentions God’s unity…as well as the attitude of the disbelievers, and it tells them what befell their forefathers of like mind, and relates their objections to the prophethood. It mentions the Day of Resurrection and Retribution, and with regard to all these things refers us to the evidence in our souls and in the world (fi’l-anfus wa-fi’l-āfāq)… 25 Following this summary, Shaltūt goes on to compare this sūra with the four other ‘suwar al-ḥamd’ (those sūras which begin with ‘al-ḥamdu li’llāh’): al-Fātiḥa, alKahf, Saba’ and Fāṭir (more commonly known as al-Malā’ika), showing how they all concentrate on aspects of God’s rubūbiyya (Lordship), whether it be in relation to creation or with regard to His guidance.26 Shaltūt feels that far from being an isolated phrase at the beginning of the sūra, the opening of a sūra with the words ‘al-ḥamdu li’llah’ influences its nature and content in a particular way, and that the five sūras which begin in this fashion have a special relationship with each other by virtue of it. He shows that the opening phrases of these sūras give a clear indication of which aspect or aspects of the rubūbiyya will be prominent in the sūra. For example, Sūrat al-An‘ām, which concentrates on the wonders of creation and natural phenomena, begins: ‘Praise be to God Who created the heavens and the earth and made the darkness and the light’, while Sūrat al-Kahf, which concentrates on prophethood and revelation, begins: ‘Praise be to God Who revealed to His servant the Book, and did not make any crookedness in it’. Sūrat Fāṭir, which deals with both of these aspects, begins: ‘Praise be to God, Creator of the heavens and the earth, Who made the angels messengers’, and Sūrat al-Fātiḥa, which begins with: ‘Praise be to God, Lord of all worlds’, contains in essence all the aspects of the rubūbiyya which are contained in the other four sūras.27

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Shaltūt and Tafsīr Mawḍū‘ī A comparison between Sūras al-An‛ām and al-A‛rāf, which stand together as two long Meccan sūras in a succession of Medinan sūras, illustrates how they differ in several respects.28 Shaltūt lists nine ways in which they differ, indicating for example (p.157) those aspects which are dealt with in detail in one sūra but only briefly or generally in the other, such as the stories of past prophets, and the customs of men with regard to taḥlīl and taḥrīm (declaring things to be lawful or unlawful). He also brings out the difference in the overall emphasis of each sūra: while Sūrat al-An‛ām concentrates on the Meccans’ objections to the da‘wa, and relates the proofs which establish its validity, Sūrat al-A‛rāf concentrates on the threat of the punishment in the Hereafter, as well as the punishment in this world of former nations who disbelieved in their prophets. He also shows how each was more suited to the time when it was revealed, al-A‛rāf being revealed in the first stages of the da‛wa before the opposition had had time to formulate arguments against it, while al-An‘nām, revealed later, responds to the growing opposition and replies to their objections. Again, when dealing with Sūrat al-Tawba, Shaltūt describes its relationship to Sūrat al-Anfāl and suggests a possible reason for their being linked together without the phrase ‘In the name of God, the Compassionate, the Merciful’ in between: Together with Sūrat al-Anfāl, it gives us a general historical picture of Muḥammad’s (peace be upon him) mission and jihād (struggle for God’s sake) up until the time when God blessed him with the fruits of that jihād and the completion of that mission… Perhaps it is because these two sūras describe those stages that they come together in the muṣḥaf.29

Methodology Having given an overall picture of the sūra, Shaltūt feels free to dwell on particular topics dealt with or features occurring in the sūra. For instance, his chapter on Sūrat al-Baqara deals with the following subjects: the story of the cow and Qur’ānic stories in general, the muqaṭṭa‛āt and the mutashābih in the Qur’ān in general, the three types of people vis à vis the Qur’ānic guidance (muttaqūn, kāfirūn, munāfiqūn—the righteous, the unbelievers, and the hypocrites), and the position of ‘āyat al-birr within the sūra and the theme of birr (piety, righteousness) in general. While he does not discuss the many legal matters contained in this sūra, elsewhere he dwells at length on the legislation which helped to (p.158) consolidate the Medinan community.30 His selectiveness is more apparent here than in any other chapter, since despite the fact that Sūrat al-Baqara is the longest sūra of the Qur’ān, Shaltūt’s chapter on it is only forty-eight pages long, while most of the other sūras dealt with receive nearly a hundred pages.

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Shaltūt and Tafsīr Mawḍū‘ī The list of topics he deals with in the chapter on Sūrat al-Baqara show clearly his tendency to go from the particular to the general; just as he likes to have an overall view of the sūra, so he likes to deal with particular themes which occur in the sūra in a comprehensive manner. This provides an interesting combination of tafsīr proper, tying itself to the text of a particular sūra, and writings on general aspects or topics of the Qur’ān, these being, in the case of his chapter on Sūrat al-Baqara, the Qur’ānic stories, the muqaṭṭa‛āt and the mutashābih in the Qur’ān, and the theme of birr. In other chapters Shaltūt deals with a greater variety of social and legal subjectmatters. In Sūrat al-Nisā’ for example, he talks about various social issues with which the sūra deals, such as the family, marriage, man’s authority over woman, polygyny, orphans, financial legislation, inheritance, adoption, the sources of law, judges and their responsibilities, and war. In addition, miscellaneous moral or theological issues are dealt with more briefly. Notwithstanding the great variety of topics, which cover most of the contents of Sūrat al-Nisā’ Shaltūt is nevertheless selective in deciding which aspects to concentrate on. The tendency to progress from particular subjects to general ones is evident here as in other sūras. In this sūra, for example, in view of the title and main subject-matter of the sūra he discusses the Qur’ān’s concern with women in general.31 In Sūrat Āl ‛Imrān, when dealing with the nidā’āt contained in the sūra, he talks about the general significance of the call from God.32 Again, in Sūrat al-Mā’ida, on the subject of tayammum, he discusses the phenomenon of tashrī‛ al-badal (legislation which allows certain acts of worship to be replaced with a substitute in certain circumstances) in general;33 and when discussing Qur’ān 5: 7, ‘And remember God’s favour to you and the Covenant He made with you when you said: “We hear and obey…”’, he goes on to talk about the different types of covenant (mīthāq) which are referred to in the Qur’ān, such as the covenants God made with the prophets, with mankind in general, and with Banū Isrā’īl (the Israelites).34

(p.159) The Qur’ān as the First Source of Tafsīr

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Shaltūt and Tafsīr Mawḍū‘ī The importance of the Qur’ān itself as a source of tafsīr, or indeed as a source of legislation, is greatly enhanced if one takes the precepts contained in it as of universal application, not restricted by time or place. The ‘universality’ (‛umūm) of the Qur’ān is a principle widely accepted by Muslim thinkers in the modern age. This has resulted in less importance being attached to the occasions of revelation (asbāb al-nuzūl); modern scholars are generally more reserved in their attitude towards the asbāb than were the classical scholars, noting the many conflicting versions which are contained in the classical works. More fundamentally, it is believed that even where the revelation of a verse was prompted by a specific event, its import continues to be of relevance in all ages. This belief is formulated in the principle: ‘al-‛ibra bi-‛umūm al-lafẓ lā bi-khuṣūṣ al-sabab’ (the significance [of a Qur’ānic verse] lies in the generality of the words, not the specificity of the occasion). The cause of revelation may, however, be useful in clarifying the original intention behind a particular precept or piece of legislation. Discussing the phrase: ‘Oh believers, remember the favour which God bestowed on you when certain people were about to stretch out their hands towards you, but He restrained them’ (5: 11), Shaltūt comments: ‘as usual the mufassirūn try to make this verse refer to a particular event’, and he goes on to give two of the well-known versions of the events which prompted this verse, concluding: In our understanding, the verse is a general reminder of the acts of aggression against Muslims and their enemies’ attempts to plot against them and to kill them, right from the beginning of the da‛wa up to its end. There is no doubt that it is also a reminder of their good fortune in escaping from danger, and of the fact that they had sufficient strength to ward off their enemies. Furthermore, it draws attention to the fact that the reason for it [i.e. the escape] was their truthfulness, the sincerity of their intentions and their spirit of solidarity in repelling the ruses of those who sought to deceive them.35 Under the heading: ‘In its Universality, this Verse Applies to all Muslims up until the Day of Judgment’, Shaltūt goes on to state that Muslims will always find themselves in situations like these, and God’s ni‛ma (blessing, comfort, etc.) will always be there to (p.160) help those Muslims who are sincere believers; it is one of the characteristics of the Qur’ān to remind the Muslims of God’s help to them in times of adversity, thus giving encouragement to Muslims of all generations.36

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Shaltūt and Tafsīr Mawḍū‘ī Commenting on the verse: ‘When the Qur’ān is recited, listen to it in silence so that God may show you mercy’ (7: 204), Shaltūt mentions that some scholars take this verse to apply to a specific situation, for example talking during ṣalāh or during the khutba (sermon), or reading Sūrat al-Fātiḥa behind the imām silently or out loud.37 Apart from the fact that these interpretations are not in keeping with the context of the verse, or with the time of revelation, Shaltūt refutes them on the simple grounds that if the Qur’ān does not even give precise directions as to such basic things as the number of rak‛as in each prayer or the number of prayers in a day, then how can it be expected to refer to such minor details as these? He prefers to dwell on the significance of the verse as regards the general spirit in which one should listen to the Qur’ān.38 In accordance with the aims of tafsīr mawḍū‛ī, when Shaltūt is dealing with a particular topic in a particular sūra, he does not confine himself to that sūra but refers to other parts of the Qur’ān. For example, he follows a discussion on the principles of inheritance contained in Sūrat al-Nisā’ with the heading: ‘The Qur’ān’s Concern with the Subject of Wealth in this Sūra and Others’.39 When in the chapter on Sūrat al-Anfāl he wishes to define the legitimate causes or reasons for war, he refers to Qur’ānic verses in other sūras which throw light on the subject,40 and when discussing the concept of justice in the chapter on Sūrat al-An‛ām, he refers to the many different instances in which the Qur’ān enjoins justice.41 This method is also used for particular features of the Qur’ān, several examples of which have been cited in the section on balāgha. As a hermeneutical tool, this enables him to distinguish subtle shades of meaning in individual words. For example, a survey of the questions people address to Muḥammad in the Qur’ānic phrases beginning: ‘yas’alūnaka’ or ‘yastaftūnaka’ (both of which mean ‘they ask you’, the latter having a more formal denotation of asking for an opinion, legal ruling, etc.), taking examples from the whole Qur’ān, enables him to make some general observations on these questions, and the reasons for (p.161) particular nuances of expression contained in some of them.42 These observations include the distinction between the two verbs used for ‘asking’ (‘sa’ala and ‘istaftā’); the latter is not simply used, as one might expect, in requesting formal legal opinions, but is used in matters which are either complex or obscure. This general observation may then be used as an aid to interpreting the nature and implications of a particular question contained in the Qur’ān. Shaltūt employs this method of following up parallel occurrences in order to clarify the meanings of several key Qur’ānic terms, including al-Raḥmān (the Compassionate) and alRaḥīm (the Merciful), al-birr (piety), fāḥisha (sin or indecent act), wazn/mīzān (weighing/scales), al-rūḥ (the spirit), and al-sakīna (tranquillity).43

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Shaltūt and Tafsīr Mawḍū‘ī This frequent cross-referencing within the Qur’ān reflects a reluctance to evaluate the Qur’ān by any criterion except itself. When Shaltūt is discussing Qur’ān 4: 115, ‘He that opposes the Prophet after guidance has been made clear to him, and follows a path other than that of the believers, shall be given what he has chosen. We will cast him into Hell, a miserable abode’, he maintains that the inclusion of the phrase ‘after guidance has been made clear to him’ in this verse shows that those who either have not heard about Islam or have not had it presented to them in a favourable light, cannot be called ‘kāfirūn’, nor can anyone be sure that they will go to Hell. He goes on to describe the objections which some scholars would have to his interpretation, namely that it relies on the connotations (dalālat al-mafhūm) of the verse rather than on an explicit statement, and he refutes their view, saying: ‘in our opinion this amounts to understanding God’s word in the light of technical rules (qawā‘id iṣṭilāḥiyya), whereas God’s word is independent of any rules.’44 For Shaltūt the Qur’ānic text often takes precedence over classical authorities as a source of tafsīr. For example, having remarked on the fact that there is a difference of opinion as to whether the ‘‛Imrān’ in the title of the third sūra is the father of Moses and Aaron or the father of Mary (mother of Jesus), he goes on to give his own opinion, basing it not on any previous authorities or reports, but on the evidence contained in the Qur’ān itself. He points out that in the Qur’ān, the names of the sūras generally refer either to the most important subject-matter of the sūra, as with Sūrat al-Nisā’ or to the strangest event contained in (p.162) the sūra, as with Sūrat al-Mā’ida or Sūrat al-Baqara. In Sūrat Al ‛Imrān, there are no strange or wonderful stories appertaining to Moses or Aaron, but there is one about Jesus and Mary, therefore Shaltūt believes the ‘Imrān in question to be Mary’s father.45 Whether or not the argument is regarded as conclusive or convincing, it is indicative of the changing priorities of mufassirūn in the modern age. Another important way in which the Qur’ān itself is a main source of tafsīr is where there is reference to the context (siyāq) of a verse or phrase. For example, in the discussion of the classical difference of opinion as to whether or not Jesus’s disciples were true believers, Shaltūt cites the phrase: ‘When I inspired (awḥaytu) the disciples [saying]: “Believe in Me and My messenger’” (5: in). Those scholars who denied the disciples’ faith would deny that faith actually entered their hearts as a result of the inspiration’ mentioned in this verse. Shaltūt mentions that this phrase occurs in the context of a list of God’s favours bestowed on Jesus and Mary, and this supports the view that God actually caused the disciples to have faith in their hearts, since otherwise it could hardly be counted as a favour.46 Frequent reference to contextual factors is another aspect of the reaction against the medieval atomistic approach to the Qur’ān where verses were generally taken in isolation.

Social and Legal Issues Page 12 of 30

Shaltūt and Tafsīr Mawḍū‘ī Perhaps the most striking characteristic of Shaltūt’s tafsīr is the emphasis on practical matters. As with Muḥammad ‛Abduh, the paramount aim is to provide guidance; accordingly, social and legal issues form a significant part of his tafsīr. Individual social questions which arise in a particular sūra are frequently discussed in Shaltūt’s tafsīr, it has already been observed that the chapter on Sūrat al-Nisā’ deals with many such issues. The nature of Shaltūt’s views on specific social issues has already been discussed in Chapter 4; here the concern is with exegetical style and methodology, and the extent to which such issues may be considered a legitimate element of tafsīr. Issues which affect Muslims collectively, and particularly the (p.163) issue of Muslim unity, are of the utmost concern to Shaltūt. It is when he is dealing with such matters that he is most likely to indulge in a train of thought which is only loosely related to the text at hand, and that his style is at its most rhetorical and hortatory. On the subject of the nidā’āt which God addresses to mankind in Sūrat Al ‛Imrān, Shaltūt says: How important it is for us—Oh Muslims—especially in this age when the bonds of Islamic unity have been loosened, and the Muslims are being undermined both internally and in their external relations—how important it is that we should listen to these calls from God, and reflect upon them and understand them properly…and make them our guiding light in life, so that we will again be a strong community (umma) with upright morals, and occupy the place which God intended for us.’47 These passages are often highly idealistic. The subject of ribā leads Shaltūt to talk about the ideal ribā-free society where love and co-operation prevail: Experience has shown that the society in which there is mutual help and compassion between people, and in which each individual feels the pains of others, and where the worship of money, putting it before all noble human values, is dead—experience has shown us that such a society is a happy and contented society, where the rich and the poor regard each other with mutual affection and live in close co-operation.48 However, there is also some emphasis on the practical means of achieving a truly Islamic society. On the subject of the importance of setting a practical example in following Islamic legislation rather than simply announcing it, Shaltūt says: If only those in authority in Islam [sic]…would take the lead in the umma in performing that which is legally desirable, and avoiding that which is legally undesirable…but the Muslims have been afflicted with the type of people [i.e. rulers] who legislate in one way for the people but in another way for themselves’.49 Page 13 of 30

Shaltūt and Tafsīr Mawḍū‘ī Sometimes a direct or indirect appeal is made to those in authority, as where on the subject of ribā Shaltūt asks with irony: Do you think if the Arab Republic of Egypt, for example, were able to implement Islamic legislation and impose a prohibition of ribā on all its inhabitants, and implement a system which was in accordance with its religion—would that harm it or jeopardize its interests?50 (p.164) On several occasions when Shaltūt is considering essentially individual moral issues, his primary concern is the effect certain types of behaviour have upon society as a whole. With regard to the Qur’ānic injunction to treat parents well, he opines: We may realize that this great concern with parents is not just for their own sake and for the upbringing they gave their children, but because they are the pillars of the family, and in order for society to be strong and healthy, the family must be strong and healthy, its members enjoying an atmosphere of happiness and dignity, so that this spreads to other relatives and friends and neighbours and to other areas of society, and virtue extends to the whole nation (umma), for the nation is nothing but a collection of families, and is affected by that which befalls the families, whether it be evil or good.51 Similarly his main objection to ‘al-tanājī bi’l-ithm wa’l-‛udwān’ (talking in secret with evil intent—mentioned in Qur’ān 58: 9), is its detrimental effect upon society as a whole, and he cites the example of the way in which political parties slander and malign each other in underhand ways, and spread false rumours about each other, etc.;52 again, orphans should be carefully brought up so that they should not grow up to be a menace to society.53 Such passages appear to have a utilitarian approach to moral issues, but in fairness to Shaltūt it should be observed that he is not suggesting that these are the only reasons for such conduct; he simply considers the advantages to society to be an important factor. He often refers to compassion, mercy, etc., and would certainly not deny, for example, that gratitude to one’s parents is a reason for treating them well in their old age;54 indeed the Qur’ān itself refers to this (17: 24).

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Shaltūt and Tafsīr Mawḍū‘ī No tafsīr which purports to be closely related to practical matters can entirely avoid discussing Islamic legislation. Tafsīr al-Manār pays some attention to legal matters and to the sources of law,55 but the authors evidently felt that a tafsīr was not the place for an elaborate discussion of legal questions, since this would then become one of the factors which divert attention from the Qur’ānic guidance. Shaltūt’s training as a faqīh and experience as a lawyer becomes apparent in his tafsīr at times. On occasion he rejects arguments because they lack evidence (dalīl or mustanad), employs an adversarial style where he takes his opponents’ arguments to their logical conclusions in order to refute them, and includes detailed discussions, mentioning several alternative (p.165) opinions and weighing up the available evidence before giving his own view.56 Several legal questions are addressed within the tafsīr. The most detailed and technical legal discussion is contained in Shaltūt’s interpretation of āyat alṭahāra (‘the verse of ritual purity’—5: 6), and runs to twenty-six pages.57 This passage includes a detailed discussion of the various components of wuḍū’ which cites different scholarly opinions, and a discussion of the degrees of sexual intimacy which incur major ritual impurity (janāba). These sections include some technical language which the lay Muslim would be unlikely to understand. Some justification might be found for the inclusion of such matters on the grounds that they are practical issues which affect the lives of ordinary Muslims; but this is followed by a purely theoretical discussion as to whether or not the obligation of a woman to perform ghusl after her menstruation is based on the verse in question. Shaltūt concludes that it is not based on this or any other verse from the Qur’ān, but is in fact based on the Sunna. There can be little doubt that here he is addressing his fellow fuqahā’ rather than ordinary Muslims. It would perhaps have been more appropriate for Shaltūt to have included a footnote reference to some legal sources for the benefit of the interested reader, as indeed he does on some occasions. No doubt he was tempted to include this amount of detail in what is after all a tafsīr and not a legal manual (and moreover a tafsīr which purports to address itself to ordinary Muslims), by the fact that he had made comparative Islamic law a special area of study.58

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Shaltūt and Tafsīr Mawḍū‘ī Notwithstanding this, most of the legal material contained in the tafsīr is couched in relatively straightforward and non-technical language. The second half of the section described above, for example, is more in keeping with the spirit of the rest of his tafsīr.59 Here Shaltūt brings out the general significance of tayammum, namely that it represents the symbolic, rather than, for example, the purely hygienic, nature of ṭahāra (ritual purity). He also gives the reasons for substitutive legislation (tashrī‘ al-badal—for example, feeding the poor instead of fasting, praying by gestures when one cannot perform the full movements, etc.) in general, namely that these things give the Muslim a sense of continuity and enable him to maintain the observance of his religion in an active sense, rather than completely omitting these (p.166) duties, which might lead to being neglectful of them even when the original reason (‛udhr) for not performing them was no longer present.

Theological Issues This section is concerned not only with theological issues in the narrow sense of the word, but with the general attitude towards the supernatural or mysterious elements in the Qur’ān. Indeed, very little space is devoted to the treatment of the theoretical theological issues with which the classical theologians were concerned; preoccupation with such matters is widely regarded by modern reformers as being at best fruitless, at worst harmful and divisive. Shaltūt, who had little or no training in philosophy, was less inclined to deal with such matters than was Muḥammad ‛Abduh, who did in fact write a theological treatise. There is a brief discussion of the question of al-qaḍā’ wa’l-qadar (the issue of God’s omnipotence versus man’s freewill).60 In essence, Shaltūt simply argues that the whole concept of reward and punishment in the Hereafter is predicated upon man’s ability to choose between good and evil; the Qur’ānic exhortations to do good and avoid evil would be meaningless if man were not able to respond freely to them. Those verses which some take as an indication that God causes people to be misled, etc., should be taken as meaning that He allows them to be misled, and does not prevent it if that is what they themselves choose. Similarly God’s knowledge of future events has no coercive element to it, and does not negate man’s freedom of choice. Shaltūt emphasizes the essential difference between God and man; there is no reason to suppose that the concept of man’s free will detracts in any way from God’s omnipotence, for God’s Will is unbounded, and operates on a different plane from that of man. A similar argument is employed in the question of God’s bounty versus good works (al-faḍl wa’l-a‛māl), where Shaltūt denies any contradiction between the two; while not denying that there is a causative link between man’s good works and the reward he receives, he stresses the fact that God’s bounty is unlimited, so that this cannot be regarded as a straightforward business transaction, the reward being exactly equivalent to the believer’s good (p.167) works.61 Thus he again stresses the difference between man, who is limited, and God, Who is Infinite. Page 16 of 30

Shaltūt and Tafsīr Mawḍū‘ī One of the mysterious aspects of the Qur’ān which has given rise to much conjecture is the muqaṭṭa‛āt. Shaltūt’s treatment of this subject is illustrative of his attitude towards the unseen in general.62 He is prepared to comment on the effect that these letters might have on listeners, namely that of attracting their attention and making them listen to what follows, but disagrees with those who believe that there is nothing in the Qur’ān which cannot be understood by man, and who therefore attempt to give specific meanings to everything contained in it. Such people have produced various unsubstantiated theories as to the meanings of these letters, for example, the idea that they represent particular names of God. Shaltūt believes that it is God’s privilege to have some secrets of His own, both in His creation and in His commands to men, ‘this being an indication of His omnipotence as opposed to man’s weakness’.63 He points out that the knowledge which scientists achieve from day to day is but a drop in the ocean of God’s knowledge, and there are some things Muslims must accept without fully understanding, just as they accept the religious duties like prayer without understanding the reason for such details as the precise numbers of rak‛as. When commenting on these letters, Shaltūt confines himself to empirical observations, such as the fact that they are almost all followed by reference to the process of revelation and to the Qur’ān and its attributes, drawing attention to its marvellous nature, and the fact that almost all are Meccan sūras, i.e. revealed at a time when there was much controversy surrounding the Qur’ān. In his commentary on the apocalyptic scene in Sūrat al-A‛rāf where three groups of people, the inmates of Hell, those of Heaven, and the ‘people of the high ground’ (aṣḥāb al-a‛rāf) converse with each other, Shaltūt lists some of the questions which people ask of religious authorities, such as ‘how can the people or Heaven and Hell hear each other when they are so far apart?’, or ‘how can they see each other when there is a curtain (hijāb) between them?’ He observes that some scholars have not hesitated to answer such questions by conjecturing that God could amplify their voices or intensify their hearing, etc., and remarks: Thus have some mufassirūn distracted people from the lessons of the Qur’ān, and from the warnings contained therein, and have described for (p.168) them the unseen things about which only God knows, in accordance with that which they can see and with which they are familiar; if radio and television had been invented a long time ago, we would have seen people using these in their replies to these questions! The correct way, however, is to believe in the unseen just as it is mentioned, and within the confines of the Qur’ānic text, without any additions and without trying to use the ‘seen’ as an analogy for the unseen, and in these matters one is only obliged to believe in that which is supported by an appropriate and genuine text from the Qur’ān or the Sunna.64

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Shaltūt and Tafsīr Mawḍū‘ī If there is no valid authority to support a particular point of view, Shaltūt prefers, like ‛Abduh and Riḍā, to leave the question open. When discussing the table which the disciples asked to be sent down,65 he deplores the wealth of isrā’īliyyāt which are contained in most of the classical tafsīrs describing in detail the contents of the table. Similarly he observes that the question of whether or not it was actually sent down has consumed much time and energy among scholars in the past; he obviates the need for such a dispute by saying that whether or not we believe it was sent down, ‘God has not commanded us to believe in either of these two things, and there is nothing in the Qur’ān which makes any one of them certain’.66 Thus while on the one hand it is essential to believe in whatever is contained in the Qur’ān, no matter how unusual it appears, without trying to interpret it in such a way as to agree with what is more rational or easily understood, on the other hand it is equally important not to add anything to these essential beliefs without a valid authority, thereby causing unnecessary dissension among Muslims. One aspect of the unseen is the Qur’ānic stories (qiṣaṣ) of events that happened long before the time of the revelation. Shaltūt disapproves of any obscure or forced interpretations of these stories which do not take the words at their face value, whether it be metaphorical interpretations to avoid the seemingly miraculous,67 or whether it be the even more obscure symbolism of the Sufis.68 Even worse than these in Shaltūt’s opinion are those who adhere to the theory of ‘takhyīl’ believing that the stories are fictional, perhaps at most general historical truths, related purely for their effect.69 While Shaltūt believes that the lessons to be drawn from the stories are the most important consideration,70 for him this does not detract from their literal, historical truth. (p.169) Indeed, to doubt this would violate the sanctity of the Qur’ān, detracting from its whole aura of truth; if people doubt the veracity of these stories then they are likely to doubt the veracity of other aspects of the Qur’ān.71 In theological matters, Shaltūt’s attitude is conservative inasmuch as it is reminiscent of those who were regarded as being among the pious forefathers (al-salafal-ṣāliḥ), bearers of the pure tradition of Islam; those who, like Aḥmad ibn al-Ḥanbal, preferred not to indulge in polemics or conjecture on the meanings of the mutashābih in the Qur’ān, and those Companions who, like Abu Bakr, were afraid of ‘telling a lie against God’. Yet at the same time it is also liberating, in that it circumvents much of the classical Islamic scholarship in the fields of theology and philosophy.

Tafsīr after Shaltūt

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Shaltūt and Tafsīr Mawḍū‘ī There is no doubt that Shaltūt’s tafsīr has been influential both among ordinary Muslims and among Islamic scholars. It received a wide distribution and is familiar to educated Muslims all over the Islamic world. Entirely by chance I have come across two instances where prominent Islamic scholars quoted more or less verbatim from Shaltūt’s tafsīr (without acknowledgement) in their own tafsīrs.72 Although the form of Shaltūt’s tafsīr may have been innovative, he did not initiate a new method perse; however, there is no doubt that his work was influential in popularizing both the thematic method of tafsīr and the idea of the organic unity of the Qur’ān and the sūra. The two concepts are not unrelated; both arise from the modern tendency to take a comprehensive view of the Qur’ān. To some extent the two are complementary, for the analysis of the unity of the sūra generally involves dividing it into sections, usually along thematic lines. Conversely, the thematic approach involves an overview of the sūras and of the whole Qur’ān, and this enables the scholar to make observations on its structural composition. These new departures have prompted new formats, not all of which are necessarily considered to be tafsīr. Monographs on Qur’ānic topics now represent a highly popular format; any Islamic bookshop is likely to stock a range of thematic titles such (p.170) as: ‘Women in the Qur’ān’, The Qur’ān and Wealth’, etc., which vary in quality from pamphlets for popular consumption to academic studies. Also popular are studies on individual sūras of the Qur’ān, which provide an opportunity for thorough thematic analysis of a manageable proportion of the Qur’ān.73 Another new format is represented by compilations which contain an overview of each sūra of the Qur’ān, outlining its distinctive features and main aims, etc.74 Indicative of the importance now attached to the thematic approach to the Qur’ān is the fact that even in tafsīrs with an essentially traditional format of pericopes followed by commentary there is a tendency to preface each pericope with a general subject heading.75 Several scholars have made important contributions in these areas since Shaltūt’s time. Some have written specifically on the concept of organic or thematic unity within the Qur’ān,76 while others have incorporated those ideas into their tafsīrs. Amīn al-Khūlī’s pupil and wife, ‛Ā’ishah ‛Abd al-Raḥmān, also known as ‘Bint al-Shāṭi’’, undertook a tafsīr of fourteen short sūras, entitled: ‘AlTafsīr al-Bayāni li’l-Qur’ān al-Karīm’ concentrating on the literary and philological aspects of tafsīr.77 She chose sūras ‘in which the topical unity is conspicuous’.78 Her attitude towards scientific tafsīr, isrā’īliyyāt, and asbāb alnuzūl is in keeping with that of Shaltūt and other modernists79; like them, she is keen to eliminate all extraneous material and allow the Qur’ān to speak for itself.

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Shaltūt and Tafsīr Mawḍū‘ī For Bint al-Shāṭi’, the level on which the interpretation of the Qur’ān by the Qur’ān is most significant is that of lexicology. Like Shaltūt, she observes the general Qur’ānic usage of individual words in order to define their meanings, but she applies this method more systematically than he does. For example, by observing the usage of the two terms, ḥalafa and aqsama in the Qur’ān (which may both be translated: ‘to swear’ or ‘take an oath’), she concludes that they are not used interchangeably. The former is used of a false oath that is broken, while the latter is used of a genuine, sincere oath.80 The implications of this and other similar analyses are that there are no synonyms in the Qur’ān, and that each word in the Qur’ān has been chosen with great care to convey a specific meaning. This idea is in keeping with the idea that the Qur’ān’s literary composition is miraculous, for it is unlikely that a human being could use language with such perfect precision. (p.171) Bint al-Shāṭi’’s method is scholarly and disciplined, and often yields interesting results. There is close observation not only of individual words but of general stylistic usage and the way in which the Qur’ān achieves its effect. The analysis is not purely literary/philological, but often has implications for moral and theological issues also.81 Her work undoubtedly represents an important contribution to modern tafsīr. The tafsīr of Sayyid Quṭb (d. 1966), Fī Ẓilāl al-Qur’ān, deals with the Qur’ānic text in full. This work is voluminous, filling thirty volumes; it consists of fairly long pericopes of the Qur’ān followed by commentary. Quṭb was a religious leader and a pedagogue, and therefore his tone is often hortatory; his work has been described by one Western scholar as ‘an enormous collection of sermons’.82 However, he is also interested in the literary aspects of the Qur’ān, particularly those which support the idea of i‘jāz.83 In his tafsīr, he identifies various aspects of the Qur’ān’s miraculous nature: the invariable perfection of its mode of expression and its literary arrangement, which display an integrity and consistency not to be found in the works of men; the way in which the concepts and ideas are knitted together into an integrated whole, in a perfectly harmonious fashion; and the way in which it appeals to the hearts and minds of men, and knows their inner workings in such a way that it can solve men’s problems with ease.84

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Shaltūt and Tafsīr Mawḍū‘ī In Quṭb’s tafsīr, the concept of the unity of the sūra is prominent. There is frequent reference to a sūra’s ‘atmosphere’ (‘jaww’ ‘ẓill’ or ‘ẓilāl’); more specifically, a sūra may be divided into sections on the basis of their immediate subject-matter or aims, and a central, overriding aim identified which unites all sections into a harmonious whole with a single purpose. This central aim is often described as the ‘axis’ (miḥwar) of the sūra. After a general description of the contents of Sūrat al-Furqān and its central aim of consoling and strengthening the Prophet in his mission to the Meccans, Quṭb writes: ‘This is the overall character (ẓilāl) of the sūra, and that is the axis around which it revolves, and the subject-matter with which it deals. It is an unbroken unity, in which it is difficult to separate one section from another.’85 He does, however, proceed to divide the sūra into four sections, demonstrating how each section is related to the central aim and to the preceding and following sections. (p.172) The exegetical work of Muḥammad Muḥammad al-Madanī (d. 1968), closely resembles that of Shaltūt in its methodology and general characteristics. An erstwhile pupil of Shaltūt, al-Madanī admired his work and reform ideas, and worked alongside him in Jamā‘at al-Taqrīb bayna al-Madhāhib; in this case some direct influence can therefore be assumed. Al-Madanī has written two books on particular sūras, concentrating, as the titles show, on the primary orientations of those sūras: ‘Al-Mujtama‛ al-Islāmī kamā tunaẓẓimuhu Sūrat al-Nisā’’ (The Regulation of Islamic Society in Sūrat al-Nisā’) and ‘Al-Qaṣaṣ al-Hādif fī Sūrat alKahf’ (The Purposeful Narrative in Sūrat al-Kahf’). In the introduction to the former, he puts forward some of his views on tafsīr and Qur’ānic studies: ‘Each sūra of the Qur’ān has a spirit which flows through its verses, and which has a direct influence on its style and what it contains of principles, rulings, and directives.’86 He compares the traditional scholars, with their fragmentary approach to the Qur’ān, to one who, confronted with a magnificent and lofty building, is so preoccupied with its stones and individual features that he is unable to appreciate its true magnificence, which can only be brought out by a comprehensive, overall view.87 Al-Madanī extols the virtues of diversity and individuality in tafsīr, which has in the past been all too homogeneous. He compares the sphere of Qur’ānic studies to the tradition of Sufism in its richness and endless possibilities.88

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Shaltūt and Tafsīr Mawḍū‘ī As with Shaltūt, al-Madanī’s tafsīr is arranged not according to the order of the text but according to the topics contained in the sūra. In his work on Sūrat alNisā’ after an introductory section in which he gives a general summary of the sūra’s contents and discusses such things as the position of the sūra in relation to other sūras as regards the order of revelation, and the Qur’ān’s concern with women in general, he divides the book into two sections. The first discusses at length the general principles on which the Islamic community should be founded, such as equality, faith in God, social solidarity, and justice, then discusses al-āyāt al-muwajjiha (the verses which contain general directives to the Muslims) and al-āyāt al-mubashshira (the verses which give encouragement or good news to the Muslim community). In the middle of this first section he discusses two of the literary characteristics of the Qur’ān—that of ending verses with God’s attributes, and that of constant variation of themes (al-tanaqqul wa’ltawzī‘). In the (p.173) second section he deals with the legislation contained in the sūra on topics such as the care of orphans, polygyny, inheritance, family life, and financial dealings. Although this book does not bear the title of ‘Tafsīr’ it could easily be regarded as such, its contents being very similar in some respects to Shaltūt’s tafsīr. Apart from dealing with many of the same topics, he selects aspects of the sūra which he deems worthy of study, like the āyāt muwajjiha wa-mubashshira, just as Shaltūt chooses to study, for example, the nidā’āt contained in particular sūras; commenting on particular stylistic qualities of the Qur’ān is a further similarity. A brief look at any part of the texts of the two works reveals that they are not dissimilar in their general style. The concepts of tafsīr mawḍū‘ī and organic unity have gained prominence throughout the Muslim world, and are by no means confined to Sunnī scholars in the Arab-speaking world. Among Shī‘ī scholars, one could mention Muḥammad Bāqir al-Ṣadr and Muḥammad Ḥusayn al-Ṭabātabā‘ī as exponents of the importance of thematic tafsīr 89 One of the first scholars to place emphasis on organic unity in the modern age was the Indian scholar Ashraf ‘Alī Thānavī (1863–1943), whose tafsīr was first published in 1908.90 It is unlikely, however, that he had any direct influence on writers in the Arab speaking world such as Dirāz and Shaltūt. In the case of organic unity, one writer has observed: ‘It is remarkable that there is hardly any evidence that…some of the exegetes have been influenced by others.’91 Certainly, as the same writer suggests, the change of perspective which gave rise to such developments arose partly from a reaction against the classical tafsīrs, with their excessive reliance on extraneous material. It may also be that some scholars were aware of the Orientalist criticisms of the Qur’ān as disjointed, repetitive, inconsistent, etc.92

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Shaltūt and Tafsīr Mawḍū‘ī Interest in organic unity has arisen also from an increased interest in the miraculous nature of the Qur’ān. This is almost certainly related to the fact that in the present age of advanced communications contact between Muslims and non-Muslims is an unavoidable reality, and therefore a greater need is felt to establish the divine origins of the Qur’ān by objective means. This is especially plausible in the light of the corresponding upsurge, albeit on a less scholarly level, of other attempts to establish the miraculous nature of the Qur’ān. Although emphasis on the scientific i‘jāz of the Qur’ān is frowned upon within tafsīr, Islamic (p.174) centres and movements distribute publications and videos which seek to demonstrate this i‛jāz, dwelling on subjects which range from astronomical phenomena to the development of the foetus in the womb. There are also computer studies which analyse the occurrence of individual letters of the Arabic alphabet in the Qur’ān or within certain sūras, demonstrating that the occurrence of multiples of nineteen defy the laws of probability. Such material is extremely popular among members of Islamic movements or Muslims with a renewed consciousness of their religiosity, and has no doubt played a part in strengthening the faith of some. Finally, one could mention as a contributing factor developments in modern Arabic literature; the idea of organic unity within literary genres is one which did not reach the Arab world until this century. The progression from an atomistic to an organic approach runs parellel in literature and in tafsīr, with a slightly delayed reaction in the latter; many writers on the Qur’ān have also been prominent litterateurs. Whatever the initial impetus for these studies, they are important for their own sake. Whether or not one believes in the organic unity of the sūra, at the very least a unity of purpose throughout the Qur’ān can be assumed; the holistic view of the Qur’ān is to be welcomed, and has definite hermeneutic implications. To cite a practical example, Qur’ān 2: 191, on the subject of war with the unbelievers states: ‘Slay them wherever you find them.’ Taken in isolation, this could be understood as a general licence to kill unbelievers at any time. However, other Qur’ānic verses make it clear that permission to fight is conditional upon certain contingencies: when Muslims have been attacked, driven out of their homes, prevented from following their religion, etc. A review of other relevant verses in the Qur’ān reveals that an almost identical phrase is preceded by a conditional: Tf they do not leave you alone or offer you peace, or withhold their hands, then take them and slay them wherever you find them’ (4: 91). The verse in question (2: 191) also demonstrates the hermeneutic importance of contextual analysis, for the preceding verse states: ‘Fight in the way of God against those who fight against you’

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Shaltūt and Tafsīr Mawḍū‘ī Undoubtedly there is an element of subjectivity in studies on the unity of the sūra. Analyses of the same sūra by different scholars do not necessarily divide up the sūra in the same way; a passage which is regarded as parenthetical by one analyst may be (p.175) viewed as an integral part of the sūra’s structure by another. There is no doubt that the Qur’ān by its very nature will continue to defy any attempts to classify its components with any measure of scientific precision; nor is that the primary aim of writers on Qur’ānic unity. Indeed, some scholars believe, in direct opposition to Amīn al-Khūlī’s call for the Qur’ān to be studied objectively on purely literary criteria, that the Qur’ān must be studied from a religious standpoint, and that faith is a prerequisite for the full appreciation of the Qur’ān’s unique qualities.93 There are other underlying tensions between the methods and ideas of different mufassirūn which are not always made explicit. For example, there is a potential contradiction between the practice of assigning a specific single meaning to individual Qur’ānic terms, (as for example Amīn al-Khūlī and Bint al-Shāṭi’), and the idea that the Qur’ān is infinitely rich in its layers of meanings, and hence may be understood afresh by each new generation (as, for example, al-Madanī). The latter view enhances the prestige and immediacy of the Qur’ān, and makes the former attitude appear reductionist. Another tension may be observed between those who, like al-Khūlī and Darwaza, stress the relation of the Qur’ān to its original environment, and those who stress its universal applicability to all times and places. This tension is rarely addressed by Islamic scholars, who, like Muḥammad ‛Abduh, acknowledge the importance of background studies which aim at understanding the original meaning of the Qur’ān for the Companions, while at the same time insisting on the principle of the universality of the Qur’ānic edicts. The issue is problematic: if the Qur’ān is closely related to the socio-economic environment of seventhcentury Arabia (a reasonable assumption given the fact that individual verses were revealed in response to specific situations), then some of its edicts may not be suitable for or applicable to a different environment. Modernists have argued that the solution lies in interpreting the intention or the underlying principles of Qur’ānic rulings, and then applying those principles to different circumstances.94 It has been tentatively proposed that a practical approach to this problem could lie in a hierarchization of Qur’ānic values and edicts, depending on whether they are ethico-religious or socio-economic.95 More conservative thinkers are likely to be alarmed at the seemingly limitless possibilities of such a method, (p.176) even given the assurance that matters relating to basic religious belief and practice are inviolable. These tensions are unlikely to be resolved, for they represent radically different ways of viewing the Qur’ān. Perhaps they are among those differences of opinion which are to be regarded as a mercy for the Muslims, for so long as they persist a measure of vitality and healthy debate within tafsīr is assured. Page 24 of 30

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Notes:

(1.) Muḥammad al-Bahī, ‘Tafsīr al-Qur’ān li’1-Ustādh al-Akbar al-Shaykh Maḥmūd Shaltūt’, Majallat al-Azhar, 31 (1959–60), 1017. (2.) Muḥammad ‘Abd Allah al-Sammān, ‘Tafsīr al-Qur’ān al-Karīm li’l-Ustādh alAkbar al-Shaykh Maḥmūd Shaltūt’, Majallat al-Azhar, 32 (1960–61), 115. (3.) A ‘rub‘’ is a quarter of a ‘ḥizb’ which is one half of a ‘juz’’, which is one thirtieth of the Qur’ān. (4.) Shaltūt, ‘Al-Shaykh ‘Abduh wa-Ṭarīqatuhu fi’1-Tafsīr’, Al-Risāla 12, No. 576 (17 July 1944), 582. (5.) Min Huda’l-Qur’ān, 322–5. (6.) Tafsīr, 7–8. (7.) Ibid. 9–10. (8.) Ibid. 11. (9.) Ibid. 13–14. (10.) Min Huda’l- Qur’ān, 322–3. (11.) Ibid. 324. (12.) E.g. Tafsīr, 275–7 and 516. There is also frequent reference to such background information in the text, for example, 373, and 589 ff. (13.) Ibid. 543–4; his opinion here coincides with that of Fakhr al-Dīn Rāzi whom he quotes. He also comments on such things as the use of the preposition ‘bi’ rather than ‘ilā’ with the verb ‘aḥsana’ in the phrase: ‘wa bi’l-wālidayni iḥsānan’ (Qur’ān 6: 151)—pp. 405–6; the reason for the phrase in Sūrat al-An‘ām: ‘naḥnu narzuqukum wa-iyyāhum’ (6: 151) being reversed in Sūrat al-Isrā’ (‘nah’nu narzuqukum wa-iyyākum’ (17: 31)—pp. 412–13; and the reason why the answer to the question about the mountains (Qur’ān 20: 105), unlike any of the other answers given to questions addressed to Muḥammad, is introduced by the particle ‘fa’ although it is not a conditional, p. 545.

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Shaltūt and Tafsīr Mawḍū‘ī (14.) ila’l-Qur’ān al-Karīm, 91–2, where he gives examples of this in the Qur’ān. Elsewhere he gives reasons for the wording of the phrase: ‘Faḍḍala Allah ba‘ḍahum ‘ala ba‘ḍ’ (4: 34) rather than a phrase such as ‘bi-mā faḍḍalahum ‘alayhinna’ where the Qur’ān is describing men’s authority over women, and the reason for the use of the verb ‘qaraba’ in the phrase: ‘wa-lā taqribū al-fawāhish’ (6: 151)—see Min Huda’l-Qur’ān, 313, and Tafsīr, 430–3. In the latter case the argument is less convincing and the examples of Qur’ānic usage given are less appropriate. (15.) See Tafsīr, 562–3, 382–4, and Min Tawjihāt al-Islām, 135–6, respectively. For other examples see Tafsīr, 344–45, 455–62, Ila’l-Qur’ān al-Karīm, 129–30, and ‘Aqīda wa-Sharī‘a, 261–5. (16.) See Tafsīr, 481–2, 61 ff., and 536 and 166 respectively. For other examples of ‘psychological’ tafsīr see e.g. headings: The reason why the opprobrium is directed at the generality [of Muslims], including those who are pious and who hasten [to respond to the call for jihād]’, and ‘Addressing the Call (da‘wa) in the name of the Lord (rabb) is one of the factors which urge people to accept it’, in Tafsīr, 637–8, 397–9 respectively. (17.) Ibid. 52. (18.) Ibid. 78–9. (19.) Ibid. 278–348. (20.) Ibid. 501. On pp. 395–6 there is a description of the natural progression, both logically and stylistically, in Sūrat al-An‘ām, culminating in the ‘ten commandments’. (21.) Tafsīr, 350–60. He does this again more briefly on 584–5 and 514–15. (22.) Ibid. 352. (23.) Ibid. 350–2. (24.) Ibid. 361. (25.) Ibid. 361–2. (26.) Ibid. 363–8. (27.) See also ibid. 23–5. Cf. 167–8, where he compares Sūrat al-Nisā’ and Sūrat al-Ḥajj, which both begin with the phrase: ‘Ya ayyuha al-nās ittaqū rabbakum.’ (28.) Ibid. 369–74. (29.) Ibid. 588–9. Page 26 of 30

Shaltūt and Tafsīr Mawḍū‘ī (30.) See e.g. the index to Sūrat al-Nisā’. (31.) Tafsīr, 165–7. (32.) Ibid. 113. (33.) Ibid. 320. (34.) Ibid. 332–5. (35.) Ibid. 340. (36.) Ibid. 341. (37.) Ibid. 506–7 (38.) Ibid. 507–9; other places where he refers to the universality of certain verses or Qur’ānic precepts include pp. 107ff., 151, 637. (39.) Tafsīr, 197–9. (40.) Ibid. 529–30. (41.) Ibid. 438–41. (42.) Ibid. 537 ff. (43.) See ibid. 26, 79ff., 420, 465ff., 549, 643. (44.) Ibid. 229. (45.) Ibid. 90–1. (46.) Ibid. 264–5. I feel that Shaltūt is on rather shaky ground theologically here, since, as he himself maintains elsewhere, it is for man to choose faith or unbelief; nevertheless the point still illustrates his use of context. Other examples of the use of context as an aid to interpretation may be found on pp. 44, 507, and 555 ff. (47.) Ibid. 122–3. (48.) Ibid. 144. (49.) Ibid. 189. (50.) Ibid. 149. (51.) Ibid. 205. (52.) Ibid. 219–20. Page 27 of 30

Shaltūt and Tafsīr Mawḍū‘ī (53.) Ibid. 184. (54.) Of course, even this may be seen as reflecting a certain unashamed utilitarian bias in ‘orthodox’ (non-Ṣūfī) Islamic ethical thought. (55.) See Jomier, Commentaire, ch. 6: ‘Le Commentaire du Manar et le droit Musulman.’ (56.) For examples see Tafsīr, 26 and 55, 229–30, and 53–64 and 555–8 respectively. (57.) Ibid. 304–30 (58.) Cf. Shaltūt and Sāyis, Muqāranat al-Madhāhib fi’l-Fiqh, in which the authors select the procedure for wuḍū’ as an area of study (pp. 7–24). (59.) Tafsīr, 318–30. (60.) Ibid. 230–4. (61.) Ibid. 485–6. (62.) Ibid. 53–64. (63.) Ibid. 56. (64.) Ibid. 495. (65.) Ibid. 269–72. (66.) Ibid. 272. (67.) See Shaltūt’s refutation of ‘Abduh and Riḍā’s interpretation of the story of the cow (Qur’ān 2: 72–3)—ibid. 41–4. (68.) Ibid. 45–6. (69.) See ibid. 46–7, and 273 under the heading: ‘The opinion of some contemporary pseudo-philosophers concerning the Qur’ānic stories’; Shaltūt almost certainly has in mind Muḥammad Khalafallah among others. (70.) Tafsīr, 537. (71.) Ibid. 273.

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Shaltūt and Tafsīr Mawḍū‘ī (72.) See Muḥammad ‘Abd Allah al-Ṣābūnī, Ṣafwat al-Tafāsīr (4th edn.; Beirut, 1981), i: 376–7, which strongly resembles Shaltūt’s Tafsīr, 376–7, and ‘Abd Allah Maḥmūd Shiḥāta, Ahdāf Kulli Sūra wa-Maqāṣiduhā min al-Qur’ān al-Karīm (Cairo, 1976–8), whose general descriptions of sūras 2–9 are heavily dependent on Shaltūt’s introductory observations on those sūras in his Tafsīr. (73.) Noteworthy examples are Muḥammad al-Bahī’s series entitled Al-Tafsīr alMawḍū‘ī li’l-Qur’ān al-Karīm, and Muḥammad al-Madanī’s two works: AlMujtama al-Islāmī kamā tunaẓẓimuhu Sūrat al-Nisā’ (Cairo, 1973), and Al-Qaṣaṣ al-Hādif fī Sūrat al-Kahf (Cairo, 1964). (74.) E.g. Shiḥāta, Adhdf Kulli Sūra, and Muḥammad ‘Alī al-Ṣābūnī, Ījāz al-Bayān fī Suwar al-Qur’ān (Damascus, 1978). (75.) E.g. ‘Abd Allah Maḥmūd Shiḥāta, Tafsīr al-Qur’ān al-Karīm (Cairo, 1980), and Muḥammad Ḥusayn Faḍl Allah, Min Waḥy al-Qur’ān (Beirut, 1979). (76.) E.g. Muḥammad Maḥmūd Ḥijāzī, Al-Waḥdat al-Mawḍū‘iyya fi’l-Qur’ān alKarīm (Cairo, 1970), and Ḥusayn Muḥammad Bājūda, Al-Waḥdat al-Mawḍū‘iyya fī Sūrat Yūsuf (Cairo, 1974). (77.) For a succinct description of the main characteristics of this tafsīr, see Issa J. Boullata, ‘Modern Qur’ān Exegesis: A Study of Bint al-Shāṭi’s Method’, Muslim World, 64 (1974), 103–113. (78.) ‘A’isha ‘Abd al-Raḥmān, Al-Tafsīr al-Bayāni li’l-Qur’ān al-Karīm (Cairo, 1966, 1969), i: 14. (79.) She has a collection of articles written in refutation of scientific tafsīr, which she refers to as ‘tafsīr ‘aṣrī’: Al-Qur’ān wa’l-Tafsīr al-‘Aṣrī (Cairo, 1970). (80.) Al-Tafsīr al-Bayānī li’l-Qur’ān al-Karīm, i: 172–4; Boullata gives other examples in ‘Modern Qur’ān Exegesis’, 109–110. (81.) In ‘Modern Qur’ān Exegesis’, Boullata lists instances in her Tafsīr and in her Maqāl fi’l-Insān, Dirāsa Qur’āniyya (Cairo, 1969). (82.) Jansen, Interpretation, 79 n. 15. (83.) See e.g. his work entitled Al-Taṣwīr al-Fannī fi’l-Qur’ān al-Karīm (Cairo, 1959). (84.) Fī Ẓilāl al-Qur’ān (5th edn.; Beirut, 1967), xix: 65–6. (85.) Ibid. 9. (86.) M. M. al-Madanī, Al-Mujtama‘ al-Islāmī, 5.

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Shaltūt and Tafsīr Mawḍū‘ī (87.) Ibid. 6; this is of course reminiscent of Dirāz’s view. (88.) Ibid. 9. (89.) See Baqir al-Ṣadr’s book: Muqaddimāt fi’l-Tafsīr al-Mawḍū‘ī li’l-Qur’ān (Beirut, 1980), and the Introduction to Muḥammad Ḥusayn al-Ṭabāṭabā‘ī’s exegesis, Al-Mīzān fī Tafsīr al-Qur’ān (Beirut, 1973–4),where he points out the importance of comparing different verses on the same topic. (90.) Mustansir Mir, ‘The Sūrah as a Unity: A 20th-century Development in Qur’ān Exegesis’, in G. Hawting (ed.), Approaches to the Qur’ān (forthcoming). Mir feels that the approach of Amīn Aḥsan Iṣlāḥī (b. 1906), in his Tadabbur-i Qur’ān, is more organic and holistic than that of most. (91.) Ibid. (92.) Ḥijāzī, in his work Al-Waḥdat al-Mawḍū‘iyya, p. 25, cites such accusations as a prime motivating factor for studies on the organic and thematic unity of the Qur’ān. (93.) Ḥijāzī, in Al Wahdat al-Mawḍū‘iyya, 114, compares the Qur’ān to a firmament full of bright stars: ‘If you clean your soul, and wash from it the dross of materialism, you will see that every star is unique.’ (94.) Fazlur Rahman is one of the most systematic exponents of this method. He describes a ‘double movement, from the present situation to Qur’ānic times, then back to the present’; moral-social objectives are to be ‘distilled from specific texts in the light of the sociohistorical background and the often-stated rationes legis’ See his Islam and Modernity (Chicago, 1982), 5–6. (95.) J. Esposito, Muslim Family Law in Egypt and Pakistan: A Critical Analysis of Legal Reform, Its Sources and Methodological Problems (Ann Arbor, Mich., 1980), 268–9; Fazlur Rahman sees a possible division between legal enactments’ and ‘moral injunctions’—Major Themes, 47.

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Epilogue

Maḥmūd Shalt=ut and Islamic Modernism Kate Zebiri

Print publication date: 1993 Print ISBN-13: 9780198263302 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: October 2011 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198263302.001.0001

Epilogue KATE ZEBIRI

DOI:10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198263302.003.0009

Abstract and Keywords This concluding chapter sums up the key findings of this study on the contribution of Shaykh Maḥmūd Shaltūt to Islamic modernism. It suggests that the importance of Shaltūt's work lies not only in his contribution as an Islamic scholar, but in the example he set as a Muslim religious leader. As a religious leader he was a force for moderation, tolerance, and Muslim unity and he always sought to raise the religious consciousness of ordinary Muslims. As a scholar he demystified the Islamic disciplines of fiqh and tafsīr to make them accessible to lay Muslims. Keywords:   Maḥmūd Shaltūt, Islamic modernism, Muslims, religious leader, Islamic scholar, tafsīr, fiqh

THE importance of Shaltūt’s work lies not just in his contribution as an Islamic scholar but in the example he set as a Muslim religious leader. Indeed the two aspects are inextricably linked in his writings, and only rarely did he allow one aspect to entirely predominate over the other so that he became the scholar preoccupied with theoretical matters or the preacher who allows his judgment to be clouded by his emotions. As a religious leader he was a force for moderation, tolerance, and Muslim unity. He sought to raise the religious consciousness of ordinary Muslims, gently reprimanding them when they became too preoccupied with petty details of ritual or dogma. As a scholar he sought to demystify the Islamic disciplines of fiqh and tafsīr, and to make them accessible to lay Muslims.

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Epilogue His roots were firmly planted in the soil of Islamic tradition, and no doubt his popular appeal lay partly in his ability to preserve an element of continuity with the past and thus to safeguard the distinctive identity of Muslims. Yet his branches reached upwards; his basic impulses were towards openness, flexibility, and tolerance. The Islam which is presented in Shaltūt’s writings is on the whole a positive one, a source of happiness and well-being; this contrasts with the increasing tendency for Muslim orators to concentrate on the negative aspects, portraying Islam primarily as a life-denying phenomenon, and placing emphasis on its limitations on human freedom of action. The inclination towards lenience and flexibility which is apparent in Shaltūt’s treatment of several social and religious issues would appear to arise more from an instinctive desire to facilitate for Muslims the practice of their religion than from any stated methodology, but perhaps it is no less commendable for that. The qualities he brought to his work are those which are often underestimated in the age of mass-media: caution, sobriety, discrimination, and of course moderation, and in some of his writings and interviews one notices a (p.182) certain quality of dignity and forbearance which appears almost old-fashioned to the modern reader.1 One should not approach Shaltūt’s works in the hope of finding a striking originality of thought or a new intellectual framework. He was not a man to discuss ideas for their own sake; his whole intellectual endeavour was subordinated to his religious faith and his vocation as a Muslim leader. His approach even to specifically modern problems was sometimes conditioned by inherited categories of thought which may seem inappropriate in certain contexts, such as the division of humanity into Muslims and ahl al-kitāb when discussing political theory. But this only serves to illustrate something which permeates all of Shaltūt’s work: the centrality of the Qur’ān to his consciousness. He did not have any integrated vision of how the Qur’ānic provisions for seventh-century Arabia could be adapted to the needs of the present age, but nor did he rigidly insist on adhering strictly to the letter of the Qur’ān in all cases, as his opinion on the subject of female testimony (see Chapter 3) amply demonstrates. He did not allow dogmatism to obscure his genuine concern for his fellow human beings.

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Epilogue It is hard to avoid coming to the conclusion that Shaltūt was one of the last of a dying race. Almost thirty years after his death there have emerged almost no religious thinkers in Egypt of a comparable stature. The reformed Azhar does not seem to have succeeded in producing religious scholars of a higher calibre, knowledgeable of both modern affairs and traditional religious scholarship. One writer observes this qualitative decline, which he believes is illustrated by the fact that the prominent religious figures in Egypt today are popular preachers like Muḥammad Mutawallī al-Sha‛rāwī, who does not have the thorough grounding in Islamic scholarship of an ‛Abduh or a Shaltūt, and who panders to popular feelings and superstitions with literalist interpretations of things such as the jinn and miracles, appealing to ‘a very low religious common denominator’.2 No doubt one can identify many reasons why such a figure should be popular at this time, and they are the same reasons which lie behind the recent so-called Islamic ‘resurgence’ generally: social dislocation and anomie resulting from unbalanced modernization programmes, disillusionment with indigenous regimes which have failed to meet expectations, and continuing resentment (p. 183) against the West. In the face of such widespread frustration, the measured tones of a scholar such as Shaltūt cannot compete on the same level as the powerful sloganism of radical Islamists or the stirring rhetoric of the popular preacher. Unfortunately the politicization of Islamic discourse appears to have been detrimental to the quality of thought which is expressed. If one tries to trace the legacy of Muḥammad ‛Abduh, one is struck by the tendency for Muslims to become divided into two opposing camps, which may be roughly identified as modernist/secularizing/Western-oriented on the one hand, and conservative/traditionalist/fundamentalist on the other. This tendency clearly arises from circumstances: the seemingly endless chain of action and reaction which is the continuing legacy of imperialism, including the partial identification of modernization with Westernization, Muslims apparently being forced to choose between their material well-being and their religious identity. The pressures on Muslims have not lessened since then, and this polarity is still apparent; perhaps now more than ever the moderate stand is the most difficult one to maintain. It remains to be seen whether al-Sha‛rāwī is in fact a ‘symbol of the final collapse of the so-called modernist movement’,3 or whether creative and synthetic thought, of which there are so many examples in Islamic intellectual history, may once again be given a chance to flower among Muslims. Notes:

(1.) This is especially so in the case of an interview he gave to a female journalist from Akhbār al-Yawm—see Majallat al-Azhar, 30 (1958–9), 783–8. (2.) Lazarus-Yafeh, ‘Muhammad Mutawalli al-Sha‛rawi’, quote from p. 289. The author mentions in this connection a court case in 1980 involving a marriage between a human and a jinn—p. 286. Page 3 of 4

Epilogue (3.) Ibid. 294.

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Glossary of Arabic Terms

Maḥmūd Shalt=ut and Islamic Modernism Kate Zebiri

Print publication date: 1993 Print ISBN-13: 9780198263302 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: October 2011 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198263302.001.0001

(p.184) Glossary of Arabic Terms ahl al-ijmā‛ those whose opinion is to be taken into consideration in arriving at a consensus (ijmā‛) ahl al-kitāb ‘people of the book’—non-Muslims who have their own scriptures ‛ālim/‛ulamā’ Islamic scholar(s) asbāb al-nuzūl occasions of revelation balāgha the science of rhetoric bid‛ a/bida‛ (blameworthy) innovation(s) in religious belief or practice dalīl evidence or authority darūra necessity ḍa‛wa (religious) mission or call dawla state dhimmī a non-Muslim with protected status, usually a Jew or a Christian dīn religion faqīh/fuqahā’ jurist(s) fatwā Page 1 of 6

Glossary of Arabic Terms a formal legal opinion issued by a muftī fiqh jurisprudence fiṭra/fiṭriyya nature/naturalness al-ghayb the unseen ghaybiyyāt unseen phenomena ghusl ritual bathing, necessary to remove major impurity, e.g. after sexual intercourse or menstruation ḥadd/ḥudūd fixed penalty(s) for certain crimes mentioned in the Qur’ān or Sunna ḥadīth/āḥādīth report of a saying or action of the Prophet ḥadīth āḥād a ḥadīth which does not have a sufficiently large number of narrators in each link of the isnād to guarantee its authenticity ḥadīth mutawātir a hadīth which does have the requisite number of narrators to guarantee its authenticity ḥalāl permitted ḥarām prohibited ḥikma wisdom, or underlying reason for a ruling, etc. (p.185) ḥīla/ḥiyal legal fiction(s) or stratagem(s) ibāhat al-dam lawfulness of (shedding) blood ‛idda the waiting period for a divorced or widowed woman i‛jāz the inimitability of the Qur’ān ijmā‛ consensus of opinion ijtihād the use of human reasoning in legal thought ikhtilāf divergence of opinion among jurists ‛illa effective cause Page 2 of 6

Glossary of Arabic Terms imām leader; variously used to mean temporal/religious/prayer leader isnād the chain of transmitters attached to a hadīth isrā’īliyyāt hadīths related by former Jews or Christians drawing on their own scriptures or traditions jihād struggle for God’s sake, whether spiritual or military kāfir(ūn) unbeliever(s) kalām theology kufr unbelief madhhab/madhāhib school(s) of law madhhabiyya spirit of sectarian fanaticism or exaggerated attachment to a particular madhhab makrūh reprehensible maṣlaḥa the public interest mubhamāt the obscure or partly unknowable things in the Qur’ān mufassir(ūn) Qur’ānic exegete(s) muftī jurisconsult muḥkamāt those verses of the Qur’ān which are clear and unambiguous mujtahid one who practises ijtihād muqallid one who practises taqlīd muqaṭṭa‛āt the truncated letters found at the beginning of some sūras of the Qur’ān muṣḥaf a recension or copy of the Qur’ān, most often the definitive recension as it stands today mushrik(ūn) polytheist(s) Page 3 of 6

Glossary of Arabic Terms mutashābihāt those verses of the Qur’ān which are ambiguous or open to interpretation mu ṭlaq unqualified or unrestricted naḥw grammar nidā’āt ‘calls’—i.e. those places in the Qur’ān where God calls upon people directly (p.186) niyya intention, especially to perform a religious duty qadhf an unsubstantiated accusation of illicit sexual relations qāḍī Islamic judge qirā’āt the variant readings of the Qur’ān qiṣāṣ talion/retaliation qiyās the use of analogical reasoning in jurisprudence rak‛a lit: bowing. Used to refer to a sequence of movements which is repeated varying numbers of times for the ritual prayer ra’y opinion, or individual reasoning in jurisprudence ribā (adj. ribawī) usurious interest riḍā‛ suckling ṣabr steadfastness or patience ṣadaqa charity ṣalāh ritual prayer samāḥa tolerance or lenience ṣawm fasting shirk polytheism; the act of associating partners with God shūrā Page 4 of 6

Glossary of Arabic Terms consultation, especially in Government sunna normative custom; used technically to denote the model behaviour of the Prophet. Alternatively when used to describe an action it denotes the legal category of ‘religiously recommended’ sūra/suwar a chapter of the Qur’ān tafsīr/tafāsīr Qur’ānic exegesis tafsīr bi’l-ma’thūr tafsīr which relies predominantly on transmitted material tafsīr bi’l-ra’y tafsīr which relies predominantly on independent thought and the application of rational disciplines tafsīr ‛ilmī scientific tafsīr tafsīr mawḍū‛ī topical or thematic tafsīr tafsīr musalsal a tafsīr which deals with the Qur’ān verse by verse, in order of the muṣḥaf ṭahāra ritual purity taḥlīl a legal device (ḥīla) to remove the impediment of triple repudiation to re-marriage taḥrīm marriage prohibition, or prohibition generally takhayyur ‘selecting’ a juristic opinion from any of the madhāhib ṭalāq mu‛allaq conditional repudiation talfīq ‘patching together’ a ruling by combining different juristic opinions (p.187) taqlīd reliance on the opinions of former jurists taqrīb conciliation (between the schools of law) tarjīḥ lit: ‘preferring’, i.e. the process of choosing between variant opinions tartīb maṣḥafī the present order of the Qur’ān, which was established in the ‛Uthmanic recension tayammum Page 5 of 6

Glossary of Arabic Terms resorting to earth or dust instead of water in ablutions ‛ulamā’ See ‛ālīm ūlū’l-amr ‘those in authority’ umma the Muslim community as a whole uṣūl al-flqh the science of the principles of jurisprudence (often shortened to ‘uṣul’) walī al-dam the next of kin, who has the right to demand qi ṣās waqf/awqāf charitable endowment(s) wuḍū’ ritual ablutions yusr lenience or ease zakāh alms-tax

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Bibliography

Maḥmūd Shalt=ut and Islamic Modernism Kate Zebiri

Print publication date: 1993 Print ISBN-13: 9780198263302 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: October 2011 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198263302.001.0001

(p.188) Bibliography Works by Shaltūt

Books Al-Fatawā: dirāsa li mushkilāt al-muslim al-mu‘āṣir fī ḥayātihi al-yawmiyya al-‘āmma (16th edn.; Cairo, 1991). Ila-‘l-Qu’ān al-Karīm (Cairo, n.d.) Al-Islām: ‘Aqīda wa-Sharī‘a (17th edn.; Cairo, 1991). Min Huda’l-Qu’ān (2nd edn.; Cairo, 1968). Min Tawjīhāt al-Islām (8th edn.; Cairo, 1987). (with Muḥammad ‘Alī Sāyis) Muqāranat al-Madhāhib fi’l Fiqh (Cairo, 1953). Tafsīr al-Qu’ān al-Karīm: al-ajzā’ al-‘asharat al-ūlā (11th edn.; Cairo, 1988). Articles ‘Amānat al-Qawmiyyat al-‘Arabiyya fī Dhimmat al-Azhar’, Majallat al-Azhar, 33 (1961/2), 655–7. ‘Ārā’ wa-Aḥādīth: Kalimat al-Ustādh al-Akbar fī Hay’at al-Takhṭīṭ’, Majallat alAzhar, 33 (1961/2), 505–10. ‘Iqtirāḥ marfū‘ ilā Jamā‘at Kibār al-‘Ulamā’’, al-Risāla 9, No. 437 (17 Nov. 1941), 1415–16. ‘Mawqif al-Islām min al-Mustaghillīn’, Majallat al-Azhar, 34 (Jan.–Apr. 1962), 1168–73. Page 1 of 10

Bibliography ‘The Message of Al-Azhar After its Reorganisation’, Majallat al-Azhar, 34 (Jan.– Apr. 1962), English supplement, 16–20. ‘Risālat al-Azhar fī ḍaw’ Qānūnihi’l-Jadīd’, Majallat al-Azhar, 33 (1961/2), 779– 82. ‘Al-Shaykh ‘Abduh wa-Ṭarīqatuhu fi’l-Tafsīr’, Al-Risāla 12, No. 576 (17 July 1944), 581–3. ‘Le Socialisme de l’lslam’, Orient, 5 (1961), No. 20, 163–74. (p.189) Works in European Languages

’ABD AL-‘AṬĪ, HAMMŪDAH , The Family Structure in Islam (Indianapolis, 1977). ABU RABI, IBRAHIM , ‘Sayyid Qutb: From Religious Realism to Radical Social Criticism’, Islamic Quarterly, 28 (1984), 103–26. ADAMS, CHARLES C. , Islam and Modernism in Egypt: A Study of the Reform Movement Inaugurated by Muhammad ‘Abduh (London, 1933). ——‘Mawdudi and the Islamic State’, in J. Esposito (ed.), Voices of a Resurgent Islam (New York, 1983). AHMAD, AZIZ , ‘Mawdudi and Orthodox Fundamentalism in Pakistan’, MEJ 21 (1967), 369–80. ANDERSON, J. N. D., ‘Homicide in Islamic Law’, BSOAS 13 (1949–51), 811–28. ——Law Reform in the Muslim World (London, 1976). ANTOUN, RICHARD T. , Muslim Preacher in the Modern World (Princeton, NJ, 1989). BADAWI, ZAKI , The Reformers of Egypt (London, 1978). BAGLEY, F. ‘The Azhar and Shi‘ism’, Muslim World, 50 (1960), 122–9. BELLEFONDS, YVES LINANT DE , ‘A propos d’un livre récent du recteur d’alAzhar’, Orient, 5 (1961), No. 19, 27–42. ——‘La Méthode comparative en droit Musulman’, Revue Internationale de Droit Compare (22iéme année), 465–75. BINDER, LEONARD , Ideological Revolution in the Middle East (New York, 1984). BLIGH, A. , ‘The Saudi Religious Elite as Participant in the Political System’, IJMES 17 (1985), 37–50.

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Index

Maḥmūd Shalt=ut and Islamic Modernism Kate Zebiri

Print publication date: 1993 Print ISBN-13: 9780198263302 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: October 2011 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198263302.001.0001

(p.197) Index ‘Abd al-Nāṣir, Jamāl 17, 18, 28, 29, 30, 42, 56, 57 ‘Abd al-Raḥmān, ‘Ā’isha 170–1, 175 ‘Abd al-Rāziq, ‘Alī 12, 16 ‘Abd al-Rāziq, Muṣṭafā 5, 24 ‘Abduh, Muḥammad: Azhar reform 16, 20, 23 defence of Islam 43, 44 evolution of religions 46 on ijmā‛ 86–7, 88 legacy of 183 on polygyny 65–6 on science 47 and tafsīr 132–7, 138, 141, 150, 151, 162, 166, 168, 175 on takhayyur 95–6 on ṭayammum 112 Abū Bakr 84, 123, 169 Abū Ḥanīfa 93, 100 see also Ḥanafīs adultery 91–2 see also zinā al-Afghānī, Jamāl al-Dīn 43 ahl al-kitāb 67–72, 182 jizya 71 in Islamic State 71 marriage with 68–70, 98, 109 relations with 61 testimony of 70 see also dhimmīs; Jesus; Jews; non-Muslims Āl Kāshif al-Ghiṭā’, Muḥammad 25 alcohol 118 see also wine Page 1 of 7

Index Alexandrian Religious Institute 11, 16 Arab nationalism 55 Arabism 54–5 artificial insemination 118 asbāb al-nuzūl 129, 132, 159, 170 Azhar 4–5 Director of Azhar affairs 27, 29 Islamic Research Academy 26, 27–8 Kulliyyat al-Sharī‛a 13, 22, 25 Majallat al-Azhar 13, 21, 22, 56 reform of 16–24; 1961 Reform Law 16, 26–31 al-Bahī, Muḥammad 29 Bakhīt, Shaykh ‘Abd al-Ḥamīd 16 balāgha (in tafsīr) 131, 135, 144, 153–4, 160–1 al-Bāqillānī 131 Bāqir al-Ṣadr, Muḥammad 173 al-Bayḍāwī 89, 132 bid‘a/bida‘ 21, 108 Bint al-Shāṭi’, see Abd al-Raḥmān, ‘A’isha birth control 121 see also family planning Caliph 71; see also khalīfa Christians, see ahl al-kitāb circumstantial evidence 101–2 Companions 85 attitude to the unseen 136 as authority in fatwās 123 and ijmā‛ 87 and tafsīr 128–9, 130, 139 comparative law, see ikhtilāf Darwaza, Muḥammad ‘Izza 145–6, 175 al-Dhahabī, Muḥammad Ḥusayn 138 Dirāz, Muḥammad ‘Abd Allah 142–4 Egypt 17, 42, 54, 57, 76 Egyptian law 75, 123 (p.198) Egyptian ‘ulamā’ 17, 75 and financial transactions 61, 163 and jizya 71 evolution: Darwin’s theory of 47, 113, 135 of religions 46 family planning 72–4 see also birth control Faruki, Kemal 87, 88 fasting 46, 110 fatwās 14, 21, 22, 25, 61, 72, 75–7, 100, 107–27 financial transactions: Post Office savings 75–6 Page 2 of 7

Index ribā 74–7, 163 fiqh 26, 82–106 in tafsīr 164–6 al-fiṭra/fiṭriyya 45, 134 see also nature/natural laws ghaybiyyāt 113, 136 see also the unseen al-Ghazālī, Muḥammad 73, 100, 120 ghusl 114, 165 see also wuḍū’ ḥadd/ḥudūd 91 ḥajj 41, 118 Ḥanafīs 90, 99, 101, 116, 120 Abū Yūsuf and al-Shaybānī 94, 95 see also Abū Ḥanīfa ḥiyal 23, 117 Ḥusayn, Muḥammad al-Khiḍr 14 Ḥusayn, Ṭahā 16 Ibn Abbās 129 Ibn Ḥanbal, Aḥmad 86, 87, 136, 169 Ibn Ḥazm 86, 112, 122 see also Ẓāhirīs Ibn Kathīr 129, 132 Ibn Qayyim al-Jawziyya 136, 139 Ibn Qudāma 95 Ibn Qutayba 102 Ibn Rushd 95 Ibn Taymiyya 86, 120, 136 idda 97 i‘jāz 131, 140, 171 literary 135, 142–6, 152–7 scientific 131, 173–4 ijmā‛ 83, 84, 85–8, 120 ahl al-ijmā‛ 53 in fatwās 115–17 ijtihād 19, 26, 47, 48, 85–6, 122, 136 ikhtilāf 95–103 Iraq 13, 66 ‘Īsā, see Jesus Islamic State 54, 71–2 isrā’īliyyāt 21, 113, 130, 133, 151, 168 ‛Iyāḍ, al-Qāḍī 122 Jamā‛ at Kibār al-‛Ulamā’ see ‛ulamā’ Jamā‛at al-Taqrīb bayna al-Madhāhib, see Taqrīb Jesus 69, 71, 130 and disciples 162, 168 raising up of 14, 114 Jews 155 see also ahl al-kitāb Page 3 of 7

Index Jordan 72 al-Jurjānī, ‛Abd al-Qāhir 131 kāfir(ūn/āt) 67–8, 70, 115, 157, 161 al-Khafājī, Muḥammad ‘Abd al-Mun‛im 15, 22, 23 Khalafallah, Muḥammad 16 khalīfa 53 see also Caliph al-Khatīb, ‛Abd al-Karīm 76 al-Khūlī, Amīn 139–42, 153, 175 al-Madanī, Muḥammad 22, 24, 172–3, 175 madhhabiyya 19, 28, 96 Maḥmūd, ‛Abd al-Halīm 36 n. 96, 65 Makhlūf, Ḥasanayn Muḥammad 110 Mālikīs 90, 93, 94, 102, 116, 120 Ma‘mūn, Shaykh Ḥasan 80 nn. 50 & 55 al-Marāghī, Muḥammad Muṣṭafā 11, 122 and Azhar reform 16, 18–20, 22, 23, 24, 28 and tafsīr 137–8, 150 and taqrīb 24 maṣlaḥa 86, 101, 117, 119–20 Maududi, Abul A la 71, 80 n. 53 (p.199) mubhamāt 134, 136 muqaṭṭ‛āt 152, 158, 167 mushrikūn 67–8, 69, 71 shirk 87 music 121 Muslim Brothers 17 nature/natural laws 48, 121 see also fiṭra/fiṭriyya al-Naẓẓām 86 nidā’āt 154–5, 156, 158, 163 non-Muslims 67–72 marriage with 118 relations with 61 testimony of 70, 102 see also ahl al-kitāb Orientalism 43, 173 political theory 51–7 polygyny 45, 65–7, 112–18, 123 Post Office savings, see financial transactions al-Qalqīlī, Shaykh ‛Abd Allah 72 al-Qaraḍāwī, Yūsuf 79 n. 45, 81 n. 63 qiṣāṣ 70, 88–95 qiyās 82–3, 117 al-Qummī, Muḥammad Taqī 24, 25 Qur’ān: as first source of tafsīr 159–62 infatwās 111–14, 116 Qur’ānic stories 168 Page 4 of 7

Index as a source of law 85, 86, 96–9 see also tafsīr Quṭb, Sayyid 132, 171 ra’y 83, 84–5, 88 in fatwās 117–20 al-Rāzī, Fakhr al-Dīn 131 reason, vis à vis revelation 46–7, 120 ribā, see financial transactions ridā‛ 98, 115, 122 Riḍā, Muḥammad Rashīd defence of Islam 43, 44 on ijmā‛ 87 on injections during fasting no on political theory 52, 53 on science 47 on status of women 64 and tafsīr 132–7, 138, 143, 151, 168 al-Risāla 14, 23 Risālat al-Islam 24, 150 ṣabr 39, 133–4 ṣadaqa 55, no ṣalāh 39 Salīm, ‛Abd al-Majīd 14, 16, 22, 24 Sāyis, Muḥammad ‘Alī 13 al-Shāfi‘ī 87, 95 Shāfi‘īs 91, 116, 122 al-Sha‘rāwī, Muḥammad Mutawallī 121, 124 n. 1, 182 al-Shaṭibī, Abū Isḥāq 143 Shi‘īs 24–6, 27, 36 n. 96 see also taqrīb shūrā 52–3 smoking 119 socialism 54, 55–7 Ṣūfīs 133 praying in saints’ tombs 123 saints’ birthdays 109 tafsīr 145 Sunna 138, 165 in fatwās 114–15 ikhtilāf concerning 97–9 as a source of law 82–4, 86 sūra: organic unity of 142–6, 152–3, 154–5, 169, 171, 173–5 relationship between sūras 155–7 al-Suyūṭī, Jalāl al-Dīn 132, 143 Syria 66 al-Ṭabarī 95, 122, 129, 130, 132 al-Ṭabāṭabā‛ī, Muḥammad Ḥusayn 173 tafsīr 128–80 Page 5 of 7

Index in fatwās 113 tafsīr bi’l-ma’thur 133, 136 tafsīr bi’l-ra’y 129 tafsīr mawḍū‛ī 151–2, 160, 169–70, 173 Tāj, ‘Abd al-Raḥmān 5, 12 takhayyur 96, 122 ṭalāq mu‛allaq 25, 122–3 talfīq 96 (p.200) taqlīd 23, 47, 96, 134, 151 tagrīb 21, 24, 96 Jamā‛at al-Taqrīb bayna al-Madhāhib 13, 24–6, 150, 172 tarjīḥ 98, 100 tayammum 46, 112, 113–14, 158, 165 see also wuḍū’ Thānavī, Ashraf ‛Alī 173 theology (in tafsīr) 166–9 al-Ṭūfī, Najm al-Dīn 120 Tunisia 65 ‘ulamā’ 1–4, 27, 28, 31, 72 Egyptian 17, 75 Jamā‛at Kibār al-‛Ulamā’ 12, 20–2, 27 ‘Ulūba Pasha, Muḥammad ‘Alī 24 ūlū’l-amr 53, 86, 87 ‘Umar ibn al-Khaṭṭāb 84, 92, 101 umma 49, 52, 54, 67, 73, 163, 164 unseen, the 167–8 see also ghaybiyyāt Wafd, the 17 Wagdī, Muḥammad Farīd 22, 58 n. 24 waqfs 17 Ministry of 18, 27, 30, 31 wine 46, 76, 116, 117 see also alcohol women in Islam 61, 62–7 female testimony 64–5 ta’dīb 63–4 men’s ‘degree’ above 62–3 see also polygyny wuḍū’ 40, 46, 96, 113–14, 115, 165 see also ghusl; tayammum Ẓāhirīs 93, 94 see also Ibn Ḥazm zakāh 41, 108, 110, 118, 123 al-Zamakhsharī 130, 131, 141, 152 al-Zarkashī 143 al-Zawāhirī, Muḥammad al-Aḥmadī 11, 18 al-Zayyāt, Aḥmad Ḥasan 14 zinā 90 see also adultery Page 6 of 7