Further Reflection on Towards Sacred Activism

8/5/2021

Ustadh Ubaydullah Evans

`ILM AL-KALĀM, the term applied to theology in classical Islam, occupies an interesting place in our history. Much more than law (fiqh), its intellectual counterpart, theology became the locus of the nascent Islamic civilization’s conversation with the world around it. The term itself, which literally translates as “talk-ology,” carried with it mild sarcasm owing to the fact that it tended to produce tedious dialectic and excessive amounts of technical jargon. Although it’s difficult to imagine, the terms “tawḥīd” (Divine Oneness) or “`aqīdah” (creed) – so absolutely fundamental to our own articulation of belief – would have drawn nothing but blank stares from the Companions of the Prophet (upon him be peace) themselves. As a community which pre-dated the development of discursive theology and its distinct vernacular, their religious experience simply did not encompass these terms or the discourse which gave them meaning.

At the risk of limiting a rich and nuanced history to a single phenomenon, it can be said that the development of Kalām, Islamic theology, paralleled the emergence of Islam as the cornerstone of a world civilization. That being the case, much of the shape and texture of its discourse were derived from the pre-existing theological and philosophical environment of the newly annexed lands of Islam. In the insightful introduction to his annotated translation of Imam al-Ghazālī’s Fayṣal al-Tafriqa bayn al-Islam wa al-Zandaqa, On the Boundaries of Theological Tolerance in Islam, Dr. Sherman Jackson writes:

The real impetus behind theology emerges out of the concrete historical experience of a community. In the case of Islam, history informed the development of theology in at least three ways: 1) it provided the initial impetus; 2) it defined the issues; and 3) it bequeathed the method.

In spite of its enticing simplicity, the thesis that early Muslims consciously adopted philosophical and theological ideas from older, more established traditions and fused them with a normative Islam is misleading. There was no project of deliberate religious/theological syncretism. In describing the organic way in which the intellectual climate of the new Islamic territories influenced the development of theology, Jackson continues:

Rather than a conscious borrowing, this influence would be more aptly viewed as an unconscious (or in some instances, conscious) retention of ideas and concepts that were assumed to be just as valid under Islam as they were under the old order.
As the Islamic intellectual tradition matured, some of these ideas and concepts would acquit themselves as legitimate and even indispensable while others would fall by the wayside, rejected as incompatible with Islam.

This historical setting served as the backdrop for some of the most rigorous and in-depth public conversations about God ever known to humanity: The “created-ness” or eternality of the Qur’ān; immanence and transcendence as they relate to the Names and Attributes of God; the plausibility of ex nihilo creation by an unchanging, eternal Creator, etc. Engagement with these and other theological issues had many demonstrable effects on the religious culture of the time, but for the purpose of this short editorial I shall highlight three:

Like the pressure that makes diamonds out of coal, the intense debate amongst the various schools of thought produced profound insights, from the initial forays of the philosophers in the Hellenistic mold such as Ibn Sīna and al-Farābī to the rebuttals of the arch-rationalist Mu’tazilites by the likes of Qāḍī Abd al-Jabbār and al-Jubbā’ī, to the celebrated blending of rationalism and traditionalism by prominent Ash’arites and Māturidites such as al-Bāqillānī, al-Juwaynī, al-Ghazālī, al-Nasafī, and at-Taftazānī, to the counter Traditionalist critique of Ibn Ḥanbal and Ibn Taymīyya.
Kalām became established as the domain of specialists. Even if, practically speaking, the absence of mass-literacy was perhaps the determining factor here, these theological discussions took place in the medieval equivalent to the “ivory tower.” At the risk of over-generalizing, it would not be too bold to assume that the Andalusian “man in the street” wasn’t weighing in on these issues.
The near-exclusive focus of these issues on “ilāhīyyāt” – or questions concerning God –anchored theologians in conversations of metaphysical and cosmological significance. For whatever we find of the range of topics and great diversity of opinion within the discourse, these scholars were offering big answers to big questions. Theirs’ was an unapologetic holism.

In our own times, it is striking how non-doctrinaire the American Muslim community is, despite a full literacy that would allow them to engage the nuances of these debates. The occasional disputes that erupt between Salafists and ‘Asha’rites over the Names and Attributes of God notwithstanding, the traditional ilāhīyyāt debates appear to have a marginal influence on the day-to-day lives of American Muslims. In fact, when compared with the religious landscape we find described in premodern works such as Abū al-Ḥasan al-`Ash’ari’s Maqālāt al-Islāmīyyīn or Shahrastānī’s al-Milal wa an-Niḥal, our community may enjoy an unprecedented level of harmony when it comes to our beliefs about God. For the most part, we tend to avoid any disagreements over the first declaration – There is nothing worthy of worship besides God – of the Islamic testimony of faith (shahādah). Interestingly enough, the kalām debates within our community have been focused more on the second part of the shahādah, Muhammad is the Messenger of God (upon him be peace).

In the old kalām of the premodern period, the role of the Prophet Muhammad (upon him be peace) as an exemplar of a Sharī`ah (Way) which expressed Divine wisdom was taken for granted, excepting a few heterodox claims which contested the substance or finality of his prophethood. Under the new kalām of modernity – namely, liberalism – which struggles to fit aspects of the Sunnah within its framework of values, the nubūwāt (prophetic actions) have replaced the ilāhiyyāt as the center of public discourse about Islam.

Unsurprisingly, within the context of a modern state which guarantees religious institutions protection from governmental encroachment but expects an absolute monopoly on legislation and law, what one believes about the Names and Attributes of God is considered far less important than what one believes concerning social issues such as gay marriage. Whereas the old kalām found Islam the “new kid on the block” stumbling’’ upon preexisting ancient debates of the cosmos, the new kalām finds Islam an “old hat,” a source of confidence on account of its former glory but perceiving it as increasingly dislocated by a changing cultural landscape. These two factors in tandem shape the contours of our public conversation about Islam: Suspicion from the dominant culture about how God is worshipped by Muslims (as opposed to which God is worshipped) and the feeling of displacement many modern Muslims feel within contemporary culture. Convincing our neighbors that Islam is not hostile; our daughters that Islam is not oppressive; our sons that Islam is relevant; and ourselves that Islam is a spiritually nourishing way of life – this is quite the task, to say the least!
Although debating the intricacies of pre-modern slavery and concubinage or gender and sexual identity within the Sacred Law may not come off as sublime as discussing the nature of God, we would be mistaken if we failed to recognize that the modern kalām debate has just as much impact on our religious culture. Of course, there are many observations that can be noted, but I would again like to highlight three:

Pre-modern Islamic theological disputation was no portrait of amity, with its frequent resort to biting sarcasm, accusations of heresy, and – on occasion – corporeal punishment. Nevertheless, a culture of serious inquiry and intellectual integrity was maintained. Perusing that literature, it becomes clear that Ghazālī had deeply read and comprehended the Falāsifa (Islamic Neo-Platonist philosophers) he was critiquing. Ibn Taymīyya was thoroughly familiar with the `Ash’arite theologians against whom he wrote so passionately. With social media as the mise-en-scène, our disputes appear more about the use of coded language than formulating cogent arguments. “Sell-out,” “west-toxicated,” “sexist,” “racist,” and “homophobe” all play better within the truncated dialogue space of social media than serious conversations. We have unprecedented ability to access a multiplicity of opinions and yet we seem more confined to our individual echo chambers than ever. Consequently, very little of our commentary opens psychological space among those with whom we differ. Quite the reverse, much of our commentary is drowned out by the “harmony” of our supporters’ voices.
Whereas classical theology was the domain of Islamic specialists, our modern kalām discourse is more democratic and inclusive. Literacy and an accessible media culture have given everyone a platform. This is a cause for both celebration and caution. The Prophet (upon him be peace) listened to the objections of children against their parents and bondsmen against their owners; designated special sessions to teach the women of the Companions and answer their questions; refused to allow the newly converted Africans of Banu `Arfidah to be silenced when their celebratory performance inside his mosque became enthusiastically loud; and took the Pledge of `Aqabah from women independent of their husbands and families. Making sure everyone’s voice is heard is thus an established aspect of the prophetic Sunnah. However, every voice being heard is not the same as affording every voice equal priority. We are a community rich in experience and expertise –much of which lies beyond either scholarship or activism – and I’m not suggesting that people completely relinquish their voices in favor of the voices of Islamic scholars. In fact, I submit that on a number of issues I’ve heard far more creative and thoughtful perspectives from activists and scholars of other disciplines than from scholars trained in the Islamic tradition. The voices of Islamic scholars are not important because of their inerrancy or in-depth understanding of every issue. Rather, scholars of the Islamic tradition serve the function of analyzing various issues through the lens of how the trans-historic community of believers has understood His Will. The answers and approaches to various issues that are settled upon in our community should be the outcome of conversations among people of different backgrounds and interests. Scholars trained within the Islamic tradition aren’t entitled to give definitive answers for every question but rather should be honored to steer the conversation in the direction of the Will of God.
Our modern kalām discourse is small. I appreciate how political astuteness and impassioned activism corresponds with a discourse more focused on questions of identity and human suffering than divine nature. However, we must remember our faith contains a profound system of beliefs regarding God, the nature of the universe, and of human life. We should distinguish ourselves from a culture that bases itself on politicized visions of sexuality, race, and gender – as if this represented the totality of the human condition. Undoubtedly, these categories are relevant to society. However, we Muslims believe there is so much more to existence than human society. There is a metaphysical realm of angels and devils, unveilings and spiritual darkness, friendship with God, and harmony with nature that is not bound by the way identity is being negotiated in society.

Ubaydullah Evans
Chicago 2021

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