Ibn Taymiyyaâs massive effort to refute the universal rule and his exhaustive deconstruction and reconstruction of reason in his colossal work, Darʾ taÊ¿ÄruḠal-Ê¿aql wa-l-naql, were not just a spur-of-the-moment intellectual exercise. Rather, his efforts were occasioned by centuries of intense theological and intellectual debate that involved scholars of law, theology, and philosophy, as well as Sufis, and expressed a fundamental clash between distinct epistemological approaches. This debate did not simply result from the absorption of Greek philosophy into Muslim thought, as has often been assumed, but manifested itself in nascent form from the earliest days of the Islamic community. The following sections provide an overview of the multi-layered development and interaction between reason and revelation in the QurʾÄn and the major Islamic disciplines, with a particular emphasis on theology, up to the time of Ibn Taymiyya in the seventh/thirteenth and eighth/fourteenth centuries.
1 Reason and Revelation, Reason in Revelation
The QurʾÄn is a book intensely concerned with knowledge.1 In addition to making various declarative and imperative statements, it repeatedly invites those it addresses to reflectâespecially to reflect upon the created order, including man, as a sign of God. In addition, it makes abundant use of arguments to persuade its audience of the truth of its teachings, thus inviting believers, from the very inception of revelation, to an integrated paradigm of reason and revelation. The QurʾÄn, moreover, does not present itself as the least bit self-conscious or defensive in the face of a questioning human reason. Indeed, it boldly challenges its readers to find within it any fundamental contradiction2 and to inspect the created order with careful scrutiny for any gaps or incongruences.3
The QurʾÄn identifies the locus of rational reflection variously as the âÊ¿aql,â âqalb,â âlubb,â and âfuʾÄd,â among other, related terms.4 It also makes frequent use of terms connoting mental cognition and reflection, describes itself as bringing knowledge to a humanity that has âbeen given of knowledge but little,â5 draws stark distinctions between âthose who know and those who know not,â6 repeatedly exhorts mankind to ponder and to reflect,7 and, significantly, insists that belief in God and the acceptance of the truth of revelation arise as the natural result of a healthy, properly functioning intellect. It is a remarkable fact that nowhere in the QurʾÄn is knowledge (Ê¿ilm) contrasted with faith (Ä«mÄn), as is typical in modern parlance, but only with lack of knowledge, or ignorance (jahl, jahÄla).8 Knowledge and faith, rather, are presented as being fully concomitant and mutually entailing. The distinctly Enlightenment notion that one has âfaithâ in something of which one does not have, and in principle cannot have, bona fide knowledge, or the related notion that knowing something precludes having âfaithâ in it, is entirely alien to the QurʾÄnic worldview and epistemology.9 At the same time, the QurʾÄn squarely admits that human reason, being a faculty of a limited and finite being, is of necessity not boundlessâfor âyou have been given of knowledge but little,â10 and indeed, more soberingly, âGod knows and you know not.â11 The QurʾÄnic revelation, therefore, actively directs human beings to think and to reflect with their minds, the full and earnest use of which will inexorably bring them not only to God and the truth of religion but also, simultaneously, to the understanding that ultimately God alone is absolute and that all else, including man and his formidable powers of intellect, is relative and limited.
Complementing its insistence on the centrality of knowledge and its persistent encouragement to reflect, the QurʾÄn also describes itself variously as an âevincive proofâ (burhÄn),12 a âcriterion of judgementâ (furqÄn),13 an âelucidationâ (bayÄn),14 a âclarification of all thingsâ (tibyÄnan li-kulli shayʾ),15 and as âconsummate wisdomâ (ḥikma bÄligha).16 Indeed, it frequently challenges its readers with a variety of arguments, inferences that are to be drawn, step by step, by the person who reflects with consideration.17 The notable fact that the QurʾÄn grounds its teachings not only in raw assertion but also through argumentation and persuasion is often overlooked. Yet this fact is of key importance because it establishes, or at least opens the door to, a complementary and harmonious paradigm of the relationship between reason and revelation in and through the text of revelation itself.18
Further evidence of the argumentative nature of the initial revelatory moment can be found in classical sources of ḥadÄ«th19 and sÄ«ra.20 These sources record echoes of discussions during the lifetime of the Prophet, discussions that can comfortably be termed proto-theological by virtue of their subject matter rather than because of any conscious effort to engage in the deliberate, methodical speculation implied in the common use of the term âtheological.â The Prophet was naturally questioned by his Companions on numerous occasions regarding matters of the hereafter, God, angels, and a host of other topics directly connected to the creedal content of the new faith. Some ḥadÄ«th reports portray the Prophet as instructing his followersâin a manner similar to that of the QurʾÄnâby inviting them to reflect and to draw certain conclusions on their own.21 Other narrations show the Prophet warning his community against the inherent futility of pursuing certain lines of rational inquiry that are necessarily without issue, such as the ḥadÄ«th that states: âSatan shall come to you and say, âWho created this?â and âWho created that?â until he says, âWho created your Lord?â So if anyone of you should reach this point, let him seek refuge in God and desistâ22âas if to alert his Companions that the argument of an infinite causal regress cannot, with proper rational justification, be extended to God, the Necessarily and Beginninglessly Existent. Finally, a few ḥadÄ«th reports depict the Companions as occasionally becoming embroiled in controversy over theological topics. In one instance, a group of them were arguing over the divine decree (qadar), whereupon the Prophet, overhearing their altercation, became vexed and obliged them to remain silent concerning such matters that are âbut known unto God.â23 The main theme of these instances appears to be that the use of reason is reliable and legitimate in some domains, that it is invalid if based on false or absurd premises, and, finally, that certain matters lie inherently beyond the ken of rational apprehension altogether. The implication would therefore seem to be that we should (1) employ reason to its full extent in areas that are amenable to rational scrutiny, (2) use reason for such matters in a correct and valid manner, and (3) accept that some matters, by their very nature and that of reason itself, are simply not subject to rational apprehension such that trying to ârationalizeâ them can lead, of necessity, only to their distortion. The QurʾÄn and the prophetic Sunna, therefore, appear to urge man to deploy his rational faculties within their proper scope and domain, yet we are ever reminded that, as great as these powers may be, in the larger scheme of reality and from the perspective of divine omniscience, we have indeed âbeen given of knowledge but little.â24
2 The Early Emergence of Rationalist and Textualist Tendencies: The Case of the Law
In addition to its numerous exhortations to think, reflect, and ponder and its own frequent deployment of rational argumentation in support of its fundamental doctrines, the QurʾÄn also contains the germ of theological speculation by virtue of its engagement with questions of ultimate truth and the interpretation of reality. Though the utterances of the QurʾÄn were accepted by all Muslims as the authentically preserved and transmitted articulations of divine revelation, such utterances could nevertheless lend themselves to more than one understandingâa fact that was bound to create rifts not only in questions of theology but also in the daily tumble of social and political affairs. Indeed, the first schisms that arose in the early community were expressed, to some degree, in theological terms, though they were unmistakably political in origin.25 This is hardly surprising given that the QurʾÄn both specifically addressed and intimately interacted with the socio-political milieu of its original recipients, even as it presented its message in universal ethical and spiritual terms. Concurrent with early political developments and the inchoate proto-theological discussions they engendered, other disciplines were starting to be developed more systematically and deliberately; these were, primarily, QurʾÄnic exegesis (tafsÄ«r),26 grammar,27 ḥadÄ«th,28 and law (fiqh). These disciplines represent fully indigenous Islamic sciences pursued (originally) with the tools and methods of reasoning and analysis that came intuitively to the earliest generations of Muslims. These tools and methods, in turn, directly influenced the earliest systematic theological reflections that arose in the first Islamic century. We focus here on the domain of law.
Whereas the enterprise of speculative theology, as we shall see, lays claim by its very nature to being a rational (Ê¿aqlÄ«) science, the subject matter of the legal sciences was seen to be squarely revelational/transmitted (naqlÄ«). Be that as it may, revealed texts must be understood and interpreted in order to determine their relevance and applicability to a given situation. It is significant that the very term usually translated as âlawâ is fiqh, the primary meaning of which is simply âto understand.â29 The methodological and hermeneutical principles involved in deriving the law are, therefore, without question based on disciplined and methodical reasoningâreasoning that began as informal raʾy, or reasoned opinion, and became ever more sophisticated and refined as the science of jurisprudence developed. The use of reasoning in legal matters was, however, regarded with suspicion by some, who preferred to resolve legal questions, to the extent possible, solely on the basis of the revealed texts.30 Similar to trends taking place in the emerging sciences of QurʾÄnic exegesis and grammar, this methodological bifurcation resulted in two distinct approaches to questions of law. One trend was self-consciously based on a strict adherence to ḥadÄ«th (with as little interpretation of them as possible), while the second accorded freer rein to reasoned opinion (raʾy) when applying revelation to the social and legal realities at hand.31 The opposing methodological tendencies of ahl al-raʾy (the people of reasoned opinion) and ahl al-ḥadÄ«th (the people of ḥadÄ«th) resulted in a tension that was not resolved until the third/ninth century.
It fell to Muḥammad b. IdrÄ«s al-ShÄfiÊ¿Ä« (d. 204/820) to sketch what eventually became the outlines of a reconciliation between these opposing tendencies. In his famous treatise al-RisÄla, al-ShÄfiÊ¿Ä« argued for restricting the notion of sunna exclusively to the Sunna of the Prophet and further mandated that this prophetic Sunna be supported by properly attested ḥadÄ«th reports.32 At the same time, he articulated a theory of legal methodology that reduced the kinds of rational arguments that could be used, but simultaneously confirmed and consecrated those kinds of rational arguments accepted in the theory (primarily analogical reasoning, known as qiyÄs). The result of al-ShÄfiÊ¿Ä«âs effort was thus to defend and normalize the use of qiyÄs against those who were opposed to itâmaking it a permanent part of Islamic juristic thoughtâand to reduce other, less controlled methods of legal reasoning.
Al-ShÄfiÊ¿Ä«âs thesis should not be seen as a one-sided triumph of âtextualistsâ33 over ârationalists.â While much of the RisÄla is squarely aimed at justifying the preeminence of scriptural sources for the lawâespecially the prophetic Sunna as expressed in ḥadÄ«thâover âfreeâ rational methods, al-ShÄfiÊ¿Ä«âs incorporation of the rational processes of analogical reasoning into legal theory was apparently enough for hard-core textualists to associate him with the (legal) rationalists, and even with the MuÊ¿tazila.34 In tracing a middle path between textualism and rationalism, however, the RisÄla aptly represents âthe first attempt at synthesizing the disciplined exercise of human reasoning and the complete assimilation of revelation as the basis of the lawâ35âa synthesis that came to form the foundation of Islamic legal theory as a whole after the late third/ninth century. The tension that al-ShÄfiÊ¿Ä« sought to alleviate between rational modes of reasoning and the revealed textsâthat is, between reason and revelationâconstitutes a reflection on the legal plane of a much broader tension that was occurring in Islamic thought as a whole, including theology, and that would eventually require a synthesis analogous to that of al-ShÄfiÊ¿Ä« in law.
3 Early Theological Reflection and Contention
The methodology of early theological reflection initially reflected patterns of thought and methods of reasoning worked out in the indigenous disciplines of QurʾÄnic exegesis, grammar, ḥadÄ«th, and law. This was because the men engaged in these early theological ruminations were, first and foremost, jurists who were required to know grammar and tafsÄ«r in order to engage in fiqh.36 But the early Muslims who first developed the new Islamic sciences were by no means living in comfortable isolation in the Arabian Peninsula. Just thirty years after the Prophetâs death, the Muslims found themselves at the helm of a vast cosmopolitan empire that stretched from western Libya to the eastern borders of Persia and, less than one hundred years later, from northern Spain in the west to the Indus River in the east. In the year 40/661, following the assassination of the fourth caliph, Ê¿AlÄ« b. AbÄ« ṬÄlib, the capital of the new empire was relocated from Medina (and briefly Kufa) to Damascus, an ancient seat of culture most recently heir to a fecund overlay of Hellenistic high culture deposited onto the Syro-Aramaic backdrop of an age-old Near Eastern civilization. The earliest influences of Greek thought came about through contact with the Hellenistic tradition that was still being cultivated in the Christian schools established by the Sassanians in Iraq and Persia and continued by the Muslims who took possession of these territories.37 Most noteworthy of these was the school of Jundishapur in addition to non-Christian schools, particularly that of the Sabians of Harran (Ibn Taymiyyaâs hometown, incidentally). The intellectual languages used throughout the region were predominantly Syriac and Greek.38 Thus, the dominant intellectual strand in the area ruled by the early Muslim state was Hellenism in its Syriac expression, admixed with Indic elements transmitted through Old Persian, or Pahlavi.39
The Muslims thus came to rule a vast conglomeration of peoples and cultures teeming with Persian, Indian, Greek, and other philosophies and beliefs that were often radically at odds with Islamic teachings. Such doctrines included Mazdaism, Manichaeism, materialism (dahriyya),40 the doctrines of the Sumaniyya of Central Asia,41 and others. In this early period, as Muslims came into contact with educated non-Muslims who often argued against Islamic teachings, Muslims found themselves in need of tools to defendâin universally acceptable termsâthe underlying reasonability and plausibility of their creed. This was true especially with respect to the Christians, who not only formed the majority of the populace, particularly in the region of Greater Syria, but who also represented a rival monotheism with a similarly universalist outlook. Moreover, competing Christian theological claims were couched in a sophisticated intellectual idiom that had resulted from over six hundred years during which Christian thought had been infused with Greek philosophy, particularly in the form of a late Hellenic Neoplatonism combined with certain Aristotelian and Stoic elements as well.42 The early Muslims were primed to engage in such debates by virtue of the âdialectical way of thinkingâ43 that they had learned not only from the QurʾÄn and prophetic practice but also from the early, indigenous Islamic disciplines of tafsÄ«r, grammar, ḥadÄ«th, and law mentioned above.44 But these tendencies were now reinforced and supplemented by the new cultural milieu of the lands that the Arabs had come to control (and from which the non-Arab converts originally hailed). The immediate effect of this cultural and intellectual interaction was the adoption by Muslim theologians of certain concepts and methods they deemed necessary to answer their rivals and to present Islam in what was taken to be the neutral canons of a universally shared rational discourse. Greek concepts in particular, as well as Greek methods of argumentation such as formal disputation,45 were powerful tools that could be deployed for the defense of Islam in the context of strident inter-confessional debate. The overall result of this polemical rencontre was that both the methods and, to a considerable extent, even the content and problems of kalÄm theology as developed by the late second/eighth century bear the distinct imprint of these early exchanges in which Muslim debaters were compelled to adapt themselves to the categories of their opponents.46
It is in the context of this intellectual backdrop that the first full-fledged, properly speculative theological discussions in Islam took place.47 The first such debate revolved around the question of free will and determinism and influenced the manner in which various other questions of dogma were conceived and debated.48 The debate over free will concerned the issue of whether human beings have free choice in their moral action or whether their deeds are inexorably predetermined by God. Advocating for the first position were the QadarÄ«s (or Qadariyya),49 a group purportedly started by MaÊ¿bad al-JuhanÄ« (executed 80/699), a well-regarded ḥadÄ«th transmitter whose father was a Companion of the Prophet. The single common point of doctrine unifying the Qadariyya seems to have been their assertion of human volition in moral acts (particularly sinful ones). The famous al-Ḥasan al-Baá¹£rÄ« (d. 110/728)âa figure universally revered by later schools of law, theology, and Sufism50âlikewise spoke forcefully in favor of a personâs ability to choose to sin (or not) and his consequent responsibility for his sin, arguing that God creates only good, while evil stems either from man himself or from Satan.51 The early MuÊ¿tazila subsequently developed the QadarÄ« stress on human volition into a more robust doctrine of free will, one in which human moral responsibility was held to depend on the fact that men not only chose and performed (faÊ¿ala) their actions but positively âcreatedâ (khalaqa) them as well. This view was widely denounced as compromising the unique status of God as the only Creator (khÄliq) and instantiator of all that exists. The QadarÄ«s, whose doctrine was less formally developed, became embroiled in politics, and their cause was taken up for a brief time on the occasion of a political revolt against the Umayyad caliph al-WalÄ«d b. YazÄ«d (al-WalÄ«d II) in the year 126/744.52 The QadarÄ« cause was eclipsed, however, with the eventual political failure of the movement. The opposite, âjabrÄ«â impulse tended towards a strict determinism and categorical denial of human free will. This side of the debate was represented in its most extreme form by Jahm b. á¹¢afwÄn (d. 128/746), whose views on the issue seem to have been supported by the ruling Umayyads. Some have speculated that the Umayyads favored the jabrÄ« doctrine as a way of excusing their actions as simply the result of Godâs determinative will and for which they could not be held morally (or politically) accountable.53
The second major debate was the abstruse and perplexing question of Godâs relationship to the QurʾÄn as His word. Specifically, this question concerned whether the QurʾÄn, as Godâs speech, was to be considered an âattributeâ of the divine essence and therefore eternal (qadÄ«m) or, rather, separate from Godâs essence and thus contingent and temporally originated (muḥdath)âor, as it was eventually described, âcreatedâ (makhlÅ«q).54 First formulated by al-JaÊ¿d b. Dirham55 and subsequently propagated by his student, Jahm b. á¹¢afwÄn,56 the notion that the QurʾÄn was not eternal but created may have been an attempt to safeguard the notion of Godâs exclusive eternity in the face of Christian claims of Jesusâs divinity on the basis of his status as Godâs word (kalimat AllÄh), or logos.57 Yet the notion of a âcreated QurʾÄnâ appears, by all accounts, to have stoked the ire of almost all contemporary Muslim scholars and, in fact, was deemed so pernicious a doctrine that it served to justify the execution of both al-JaÊ¿d b. Dirham and Jahm b. á¹¢afwÄn. The debate on the nature of the QurʾÄn became one of the most pivotal and divisive issues in early Muslim theology, and it formed the crux of a major showdown between theological ârationalistsâ and âtextualistsâ in the mid-third/ninth century. The question of the QurʾÄn is also central to the concerns of this study because it relates directly to the question of the divine attributesâa question that forms the spine of Islamic theology and that lies at the very heart of Ibn Taymiyyaâs main preoccupation in the Darʾ taÊ¿Äruá¸.
Several comments of a conceptual character are in order here regarding the nature and implications of these early debates, which manifest a distinct progression in terms of their abstraction, their use of a formal philosophical nomenclature, and the degree to which their protagonists explicitly appealed to reason as the arbiter of competing theological claims. The first of these debates, the debate over free will and predestination, involved a crucial aspect of the relationship between man and God and directly implicated revelation inasmuch as it was related to different ways of interpreting scriptural assertions about God. This debate, though initially motivated by political events, involved the nature of God and turned on what was implied by certain discrete statements in revelation concerning that nature. The proponents of free will (QadarÄ«s) reasoned that since God is just,58 human beings must be acting freely as the authors and creators of their own deeds; this is necessary for their reward or punishment in the hereafter to be just. By contrast, the proponents of determinism (JabrÄ«s) reasoned that if God is all-powerful,59 then His power must extendâas the QurʾÄn so clearly seems to stateâto all things, including the actions of human beings. Were it not so, we might reason, then God would not be âpowerful over all things.â
The debate over free will is conceptually foundational for two reasons. First, it illustrates the manner in which early theological debate grew out of differing interpretations of the QurʾÄn that emerged once questions were raised that had not been posed in the time of the Prophet or addressed explicitly by revelation. These questions left later protagonists to search for answers to new quandaries in the verses of the QurʾÄn.60 The second reason for the importance of the debate over free will is largely historical insofar as it disclosesânow in the realm of theologyâthe same emerging fault line between two distinct epistemological approaches to revelation that had appeared earlier in the domains of QurʾÄnic exegesis, grammar, ḥadÄ«th, and law and that soon pitted faction against faction in a bitter ideological tussle that raged throughout the second/eighth and third/ninth centuries. The question of free will is thus foundational because it is the first instance of debate that clearly shows a transposition onto the theological plane of the nascent rationalistâtextualist cleavage already operative in the other Islamic disciplines.
The question of freedom and determinism, then, is essentially an exegetical debate cast in moral-ethical terms, both in the sense that it carries implications for human moral responsibility and in the sense that it attempts to account rationally, in human ethical terms, for Godâs justice in the face of His unbounded might. This question stands in contrast to the debate concerning the nature of the QurʾÄn as the word of God, which involves more abstract considerations of an explicitly metaphysical and ontological order. That is, what was at stake in this debate was not whether God had spoken the QurʾÄn and what this might entail for human ethical, moral, and spiritual life but rather the very nature of Godâs being, His relationship to His word, and the nuanced ontological questions pertaining to Godâs essence, His attributes, and so forth. Furthermore, the terms in which this latter debate was conceived and the conceptual framework on the basis of which the problem itself was defined and discussedââessence,â âattributes,â and so onâare a direct result of the influence of Greek philosophy and the discussions with Hellenized Christian theologians in Syria and elsewhere. In such discussions, proto-MuÊ¿tazilÄ«, rationalistically inclined theologians appealed directly and explicitly to reason (Ê¿aql) and sought to adopt a consistent methodological rationalism as their choice method of inquiry. This rationalism was meant not merely to serve the hermeneutic objective of interpreting scriptural passages related to the nature of God but also to further the quasi-philosophical goal of delineating a conception of Godâs nature in entirely rational terms and independently of the âconstraintsâ of revelation.
Thus, the debate over the ontological status of the QurʾÄn introduced into theological discussion, for the first time, a level of speculative abstraction (supplied by outside sources) that came to form a particular rational optic through which revelation was henceforth to be refracted. With the debate on the status of the QurʾÄn, we are no longer grappling with an intertextual, purely hermeneutical enterprise that is fully contained within the textual bounds of revelation. Rather, for the first time, we are witness to a speculative theological venture that makes claims in its own right, and independently of revelation, about how the nature of God âmust beâ according to the dictates of reason. This venture represented a systematic attempt to mold the understanding of revelation to the contours of a rational framework that would henceforth dictate, on its own authority, the essential terms of analysis.
3.1 The Translation Movement and the Impact of Greek Philosophy
Despite the centrality of personal contact with a living philosophical tradition and with Hellenized Christian theologians in the early Islamic period, the influence of Greek ideas on Muslim thought eventually came primarilyâand profuselyâin the form of Arabic translations of the Greek philosophical corpus, made directly from Greek originals or from intermediate Syriac translations.61 Although some Greek worksâparticularly medical and scientific treatisesâwere translated in late Umayyad times (that is, in the first half of the second/eighth century, before the Abbasid revolution of 132/750), it was not until well after the consolidation of Abbasid rule that the large-scale project of translation came into full swing. The Abbasid revolution brought about far-reaching changes on a number of levels, spelling a new era for kalÄm as well as for a host of other intellectual disciplines and cultural pursuits. Politically, the capital of the Muslim umma moved from Damascus to Baghdad, whereafter Syria and the Hijaz were no longer centers of innovative theological development.62 Under the new order, religious knowledge and its cultivators received new prominence as the Abbasids explicitly promoted themselves as the defenders of a multiethnic and specifically Islamic order meant to supersede the Umayyad order, which was based on the ethnic favoritism of Arabs.63 Such circumstances inaugurated an unprecedented efflorescence of kalÄm, the technique of which was developed primarily in Iraq in an atmosphere favorable to theological debate and with the patronage of the Abbasid authorities.64 Indeed, it was primarily at the caliphal court, where thinkers from various regions and intellectual proclivities regularly comingled, that the new theology was most highly refined and developed into a sophisticated arm of intellectual disputation.65
Although kalÄm as a discrete discipline was already firmly established by the time of the illustrious HÄrÅ«n al-RashÄ«d (r. 170â193/786â809) and although the term mutakallim is applied in the literature to some figures even before this period, information about the views of these early theologians is so scant that we cannot draw firm conclusions regarding their individual doctrines. In any case, it was the translation movementâparticularly after the founding of the Bayt al-Ḥikma, or âHouse of Wisdom,â as a public institution in Baghdad by the Abbasid caliph AbÅ« al-Ê¿AbbÄs al-MaʾmÅ«n (r. 198â218/813â833)âthat seems to have constituted the major impetus for the dramatic political rise of the first theological school proper, that of the MuÊ¿tazila.
Table 1
Timeline of the development of the reasonârevelation dichotomy in Islam before Ibn Taymiyya
|
610â¯CEâAHâ¯11/632â¯CE |
The QurʾÄn encourages use of reason to arrive at faith; simultaneously declares reason limited. |
|
mid-first/seventh c. |
Beginnings of the sciences of QurʾÄnic exegesis, Arabic grammar, law, and ḥadÄ«th. |
|
41/661 and after |
Capital of emerging Islamic empire moved to the cosmopolitan environment of Damascus. Muslims increasingly exposed to Hellenistic, Christian, Persian, and other influences, causing early theologians to adopt some Greek methods and vocabulary to defend Islamic belief. |
|
late first/seventh c. |
Rise of the debate over free will and predestination. |
|
early second/eighth c. |
Rise of the debate over the createdness of the QurʾÄn. |
|
early to mid-second/eighth c. |
Some Greek texts, primarily medical and scientific, translated into Arabic. Emergence of methodological division in law between ahl al-raʾy and ahl al-ḥadÄ«th. Beginnings of MuÊ¿tazilÄ« school at the hands of WÄá¹£il b. Ê¿Aá¹Äʾ and Ê¿Amr b. Ê¿Ubayd. |
|
132/750 |
Abbasid revolution. Capital of empire moved from Damascus to Baghdad. Theological speculation given new impetus under Abbasid rule. |
|
early third/ninth c. |
Bayt al-Ḥikma (âHouse of Wisdomâ) founded in Baghdad by the caliph al-MaʾmÅ«n (r. 198â218/813â833). Massive translation of Greek philosophical texts begins. Al-ShÄfiÊ¿Ä« synthesizes methodologies of ahl al-raʾy and ahl al-ḥadÄ«th by consecrating rational qiyÄs, along with firm adherence to ḥadÄ«th, as basis of the law. |
|
ca. 205â235/820â850 |
Flourishing of the major architects of Muʿtazilī theology. Assimilation of numerous Greek concepts and methods of argumentation. |
|
218â232/833â847 |
Miḥna instituted by three consecutive Abbasid caliphs in an attempt to impose the MuÊ¿tazilÄ« doctrine of the createdness of the QurʾÄn as official doctrine. |
|
early to mid-third/ninth c. |
Al-KindÄ«, first Muslim philosopher, flourishes. Shows clear Islamic doctrinal commitments, especially on the question of the non-eternality of the world, but his method is that of falsafa. Al-MuḥÄsibÄ« and Ibn KullÄb active, both of whom shun MuÊ¿tazilÄ« doctrine but begin using systematic rational methods to defend transmitted SunnÄ« orthodoxy. |
|
ca. 233â237/848â851 |
The caliph al-WÄthiq turns on the MuÊ¿tazila, ends the miḥna, and reinstates SunnÄ« orthodoxy. Aḥmad b. Ḥanbal emerges as a hero for his refusal to capitulate to the inquisition. |
|
second half of third/ninth c. |
Influence of the theological style of al-MuḥÄsibÄ« and Ibn KullÄb spreads, complemented by the similar work of figures like Ibn Qutayba and al-QalÄnisÄ«. |
|
first half of fourth/tenth c. |
Emergence of the traditionalist creed of al-ṬaḥÄwÄ«. Active period of other traditionalist voices, such as al-ṬabarÄ« and ḤanbalÄ«s like al-KhallÄl, al-BarbahÄrÄ«, and Ibn Khuzayma. Al-AshÊ¿arÄ« breaks from the MuÊ¿tazila at age forty but uses their rational method to launch a full-fledged defense of inherited orthodox creed. Al-FÄrÄbÄ« flourishes. Explicitly theorizes the outward sense of revelation as being for the masses only. |
|
late fourth/tenth to early fifth/eleventh c. |
Al-BÄqillÄnÄ« flourishes in the second generation after al-AshÊ¿arÄ«, strongly reinforcing the foundations of AshÊ¿arÄ« thought and bringing the âold doctrineâ of the school to its highest point. |
|
early to mid-fifth/eleventh c. |
Active period of Ibn SÄ«nÄ, whose philosophical system exercises a major impact on kalÄm and practically all subsequent Islamic thought. |
|
mid- to late fifth/eleventh c. |
Flourishing of al-JuwaynÄ«, first AshÊ¿arÄ« theologian to feel the full force of Ibn SÄ«nÄâs influence. Considered a crossover figure between early and later AshÊ¿arÄ« school. |
|
late fifth/eleventh to early sixth/twelfth c. |
Al-GhazÄlÄ« pens scathing attack on the philosophers but incorporates logical methods of falsafa into theology and legal theory. Explicitly endorses taʾwÄ«l. Adopts certain esotericist doctrines as well. |
|
second half of sixth/twelfth c. |
Ibn Rushd flourishes. Defends Aristotelianism and responds to al-GhazÄlÄ« point for point. Writes Faá¹£l al-maqÄl on the necessity of upholding the literal sense of revelation for the common people while reserving the real truth, gained through reason, for the philosophical elite. Flourishing of Fakhr al-DÄ«n al-RÄzÄ«, seminal figure of the later AshÊ¿arÄ« school whose work represents a sophisticated philosophical theology. Al-RÄzÄ« further elaborates the universal rule of interpretation articulated by al-GhazÄlÄ« and targeted by Ibn Taymiyya in the Darʾ taÊ¿Äruá¸. Active period of ShihÄb al-DÄ«n al-SuhrawardÄ« and rise of the IshrÄqÄ«, or âIlluminationist,â school of philosophy. |
|
first half of seventh/thirteenth c. |
Flourishing of Ibn ʿArabī, seminal figure in later Sufi thought, strongly criticized by Ibn Taymiyya for his monistic ontology. |
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661â728/1263â1328 |
Life and work of Ibn Taymiyya. |
4 The Muʿtazila
The first speculations of the MuÊ¿tazila can be traced back to the last decade of the Umayyad dynasty, just prior to the Abbasid revolution.66 The origin of MuÊ¿tazilÄ« thought is normally attributed to WÄá¹£il b. Ê¿Aá¹Äʾ (d. 131/748 or 749)âwho is said to have separated from (iÊ¿tazala) the circle of al-Ḥasan al-Baá¹£rÄ« over the question of the status of the grave sinner67âand to WÄá¹£ilâs contemporary Ê¿Amr b. Ê¿Ubayd (d. 144/761), though the main architects of the school died several generations later, between 204/820 and 224/840. In terms of methodology, the early MuÊ¿tazila seem to have relied principally on the styles of reasoning and argumentation that had been developed in the indigenous Islamic sciences of Arabic grammar and law,68 as well as QurʾÄnic exegesis and ḥadÄ«th.69 Eventually, however, the mature MuÊ¿tazilÄ« school reinforced its intellectual armature by adopting numerous aspects of Greek reasoning and methods of argumentation over the course of early Abbasid rule.70
Of the famous so-called five principles (al-uṣūl al-khamsa) of the MuÊ¿tazila71âfirst articulated, most likely, by AbÅ« al-Hudhayl al-Ê¿AllÄf (d. between 226/840 and 235/850)72âthe most important for our topic is the first principle, involving the notion of tawḥīd, since it touches directly on the question of the divine attributes, one of Ibn Taymiyyaâs overriding preoccupations in the Darʾ. The three main aspects of the MuÊ¿tazilÄ« notion of tawḥīd are (1) the denial of the distinctiveness of the essential attributes of God, such as knowledge, power, and speech; (2) the denial of the eternality (qidam), or âuncreatedness,â of the QurʾÄn; and (3) the radical denial of resemblance between God and any created thing (tanzÄ«h).73 Indeed, the doctrines the MuÊ¿tazila most vehemently opposed were predestination and anthropomorphism,74 the latter of which they regularly sought to neutralize through figurative interpretation, or taʾwÄ«l.
In addition to these five principles, MuÊ¿tazilÄ« thinkers were also united by an apologetic program that was motivated by a common zeal to defend the core doctrines of Islam against the arguments put forth by the adherents of other religions, as well as against groups of their Muslim co-religionists whom they deemed to have compromised Godâs unique and incomparable nature by clinging to what they (the MuÊ¿tazila) considered an overly literal and, therefore, overtly anthropomorphic understanding of scripture. Most important to our topic is the way in which MuÊ¿tazilÄ« thinkers sought to realize this defensive project through a shared interpretive methodology that consisted in applying reason (as they conceived of it) as rigorously and consistently as possible to all questions of a theological nature, even ifâcriticallyâthe conclusions they reached ended up contradicting the plain sense of the QurʾÄnic text.
The MuÊ¿tazila, through their theological and polemical engagements, adopted a large number of Greek concepts and methods of reasoning and argumentation, leaving it to later scholars to sift through the spoils to determine which of these were truly assimilable to Islamic thought. As a result of this process, many ideas were retained and absorbed into SunnÄ« kalÄm, such that Greek ideas âcame to dominate one great wing of Islamic theology, namely, rational or philosophical theology.â75 Yet since the majority of SunnÄ« scholars generally regarded the MuÊ¿tazila as heretics, MuÊ¿tazilÄ« doctrines and theses could not simply be taken over by mainstream thought, at least not in the same form in which the MuÊ¿tazila had presented them. The result was that such ideas often exercised only an indirect influenceâa reality that Ibn Taymiyya sensed acutely and that, in fact, he held responsible for a great deal of what had âgone wrongâ in later Islamic theology.76 Thus, although the MuÊ¿tazilÄ« school was eventually defeated, it nevertheless influenced permanently not only the form of but also the problems dealt with in all subsequent kalÄm.
5 Non-speculative Theology and the Legacy of Aḥmad b. Ḥanbal
Throughout the third/ninth century, there were a number of figures who upheld conservative doctrinal positions but who nevertheless engaged to some extent, even if by way of refutation and disavowal, with the newly developing science of (MuÊ¿tazilÄ«) kalÄm. Indeed, the fifth-/eleventh-century AshÊ¿arÄ« theologian Ê¿Abd al-QÄhir al-BaghdÄdÄ« (d. 429/1037 or 1038) includes in his KitÄb Uṣūl al-dÄ«n a section on the âmutakallimÅ«n of ahl al-sunna,â among whom some were prominent in the science of ḥadÄ«th.77 For our purposes, then, a âtheologianâ is not strictly a rationalist theologian in the way of the MuÊ¿tazila but anyone who explicitly and consciously articulated views on the pressing theological matters of the day, regardless of the extent to which he may or may not have relied on or articulated his views in terms of the rationalistic framework of the emerging science of kalÄm. It is precisely such men who took explicit stands on theological issues, albeit while consciously avoiding or openly opposing the rationalistic program of the MuÊ¿tazila, that I refer to as ânon-speculative theologiansâ and whose style of engagement in theological debates I have labeled ânon-speculative theology.â78
The non-speculative approach to theology, which eventually came to be most closely associated with the ḤanbalÄ« school,79 was, in fact, favoredâespecially before the triumphant rise of the AshÊ¿arÄ« and MÄturÄ«dÄ« style of kalÄm in the fifth/eleventh centuryâby a substantial number of scholars from all the major legal schools. This was particularly true of early MÄlikÄ« and ShÄfiÊ¿Ä« scholars, but it also holds for a number of prominent early ḤanafÄ«s, who, in legal matters, tended to accord a greater role to reasoned opinion (raʾy) and other extra-textual methods, such as istiḥsÄn (juristic preference), that were often disapproved of by other schools. So although a certain strand of ḤanafÄ«s accepted kalÄm and the conclusions to which it led and although a number of prominent MuÊ¿tazilÄ«s were also ḤanafÄ« in legal madhhab (pl. madhÄhib), it is by no means the case that the early ḤanafÄ«s were, as a group, automatically or immediately inclined to theological rationalism.80 Indeed, there is a contrasting, more cautious ḤanafÄ« attitude that was apprehensive of rationalistic kalÄm, as evidenced by the famous creed of AbÅ« JaÊ¿far al-ṬaḥÄwÄ« (d. 321/933), a prominent ḤanafÄ« authority and leading scholar of ḥadÄ«th who, in general, insisted on hewing closely to the terms of the QurʾÄn and Sunna.81
The final piece of the puzzle on the third-/ninth-century Islamic theological scene is represented by those who opposed the methods and conclusions of (MuÊ¿tazilÄ«) kalÄm outright but who nevertheless put forward explicit doctrines on controversial issues of theology. In general, such men belonged to the group that the sources designate as ahl al-ḥadÄ«th, the most influential of whom was Aḥmad b. Ḥanbal (d. 241/855),82 founder of the fourth SunnÄ« legal school, of which Ibn Taymiyya was a loyal adherent.83 Ibn Taymiyya, as we shall see, has much praise for Ibn Ḥanbalâs keen intellect, a judgement shared by contemporary Western scholars such as Watt, who says of Ibn Ḥanbal that âhe was clearly a man of powerful intellect capable of adopting a coherent view in matters of great complexity.â84 On the other hand, Wattâs claimâtypical of an earlier generation of Western scholarshipâthat Ibn Ḥanbal ârejected [altogether] the rational methods of the MutakallimÅ«n and insisted on deriving religious doctrines and legal rules solely from the QurʾÄn and the Traditionsâ85 must be nuanced in light of more recent studies. Binyamin Abrahamov, for instance, has shown that many in the traditionalist camp indeed used rational argumentsâsometimes even kalÄm-style proofsâin addition to direct appeals to the QurʾÄn and ḥadÄ«th in order to establish a given point of theology.86 Ibn Taymiyya, incidentally, makes a very similar point, as we explore further in chapter 2.87
Prominent ḤanbalÄ«s of this period include AbÅ« Bakr al-KhallÄl (d. 311/923), al-Ḥasan b. Ê¿AlÄ« al-BarbahÄrÄ« (d. 329/941), and Ibn Khuzayma (d. 311/924). Yet not all ḥadÄ«th scholars who took public positions on theological matters were followers of Ibn Ḥanbal. Ibn Qutayba (d. 276/889), for instance, who lived about one generation after Ibn Ḥanbal, deemed himself a member of the ahl al-ḥadÄ«th but not necessarily a follower of Ibn Ḥanbal, whom he considered âonly one of at least a dozen distinguished scholars of this party.â88 The famous Muḥammad b. JarÄ«r al-ṬabarÄ« (d. 310/923), known primarily for his forty-volume historical chronicle89 but who also founded a legal school (which, however, did not survive in the long run), also held theological views that were, by and large, very close to those held by this group of scholars. Nevertheless, al-ṬabarÄ« is not usually thought of as a ḤanbalÄ«, and, in fact, he drew the ire of the ḤanbalÄ«s in the last year or so of his life, apparently for conceding certain MuÊ¿tazilÄ« theses regarding some of the seemingly anthropomorphic passages of the QurʾÄn.90 These various names and tendencies serve to demonstrate the extent to which there existed âorthodox,â primarily non-speculative SunnÄ« (as opposed to MuÊ¿tazilÄ«) theologians even before the time of AbÅ« al-Ḥasan al-AshÊ¿arÄ« in the early fourth/tenth century.
6 The Miḥna and Its Aftermath
The clash between MuÊ¿tazilÄ« rationalistic theology, on the one hand, and the non-speculative, or minimally speculative, amodal adherence to the overt meaning of scripture (as propounded by the founders of the main SunnÄ« legal schools, master ḥadÄ«th critics, and figures like al-BaghdÄdÄ«âs mutakallimÅ«n of ahl al-sunna), on the other hand, came to a head in the first half of the third/ninth century with the infamous miḥna, or âinquisition.â91 At issue in the miḥna was the highly contentious question encountered above concerning the âcreatednessâ of the QurʾÄn. Though remembered primarily as a theological dispute, the miḥna had important political ramifications and was symptomatic of a wider struggle for legitimacy and religious authority between the office of the caliph and the collective body of religious scholars, or Ê¿ulamÄʾ.92 During the reign of three successive Abbasid caliphs,93 all religious scholars, judges, and other notables, particularly in Baghdad and its immediate environs, were forced publicly to endorse the MuÊ¿tazilÄ« doctrine that the QurʾÄn was âcreatedâ (makhlÅ«q) rather than eternal (qadÄ«m).94 Those who refused were imprisoned, beaten, and, in some cases, killed. While the vast majority of Ê¿ulamÄʾ relented under such pressing duress, a few stalwart souls held out, braving torment and humiliation to uphold what was widely considered the orthodox position of the early community (salaf) and authoritative scholars (aʾimma) of the first two centuries of Islam: namely, that the QurʾÄn was the eternal and uncreated word of God, an intrinsic and inseparable part of His essence and not a creation extrinsic to the divine being and originated in time like the created universe and all that it contains. Among those few who defied the inquisition authorities and refused to flinch under any circumstances was, most prominently, Aḥmad b. Ḥanbal.95
In the year 232/847, the tables were turned on the MuÊ¿tazila when the caliph JaÊ¿far b. al-MuÊ¿taá¹£im al-Mutawakkil (r. 232â247/847â861) succeeded his brother, AbÅ« JaÊ¿far al-WÄthiq (r. 227â232/842â847), and deposed the MuÊ¿tazila,96 removing them from their posts and initiating a downhill spiral from which they never fully recovered. Though the MuÊ¿tazila remained a strong theological (and sometimes political) voice in pockets beyond the central Abbasid lands for several centuries, they became increasingly marginalized from mainstream scholarly discourse.97
In the wake of the miḥna, a group of theologians emerged in Baghdad whose doctrinal positions were close to the views of Ibn Ḥanbal and of those ḤanafÄ«s and others who had remained aloof from MuÊ¿tazilÄ« methods and had refused to debate theological issues on the terms set by kalÄm.98 One figure in this emerging group was the famous early Sufi al-ḤÄrith al-MuḥÄsibÄ« (d. 243/857),99 a contemporary of Aḥmad b. Ḥanbal who, in spite of his essentially traditionalist orientation, nevertheless incurred Ibn Ḥanbalâs wrath merely for engaging with the discourse of kalÄm in order to refute it. Ibn Ḥanbal seems to have deemed this engagement in and of itself a dangerous endorsement of the legitimacy of the methods and assumptions of kalÄm.100 Other figures who engaged in kalÄm discourse at this time include AbÅ« al-Ê¿AbbÄs al-QalÄnisÄ«101 and the aforementioned Ibn Qutayba.102 Ibn Qutayba and al-MuḥÄsibÄ« can be understood as treading a middle path between the practitioners of kalÄm as it had developed up to their day and those who refused even to engage with its discourse.103
Another theologian of great influence in the period immediately following the miḥna was Ê¿Abd AllÄh b. KullÄb (d. ca. 241/855),104 who played a central role in the movement for the acceptance of kalÄm and its methods among mainstream SunnÄ«s.105 Though Ibn KullÄb largely inclined towards the substantive doctrines of the ḤanbalÄ«-style traditionalists,106 he is famous for the view, which became standard in subsequent AshÊ¿arÄ« doctrine, that the divine attributes are neither identical to God nor other than God.107 In sum, al-MuḥÄsibÄ«, Ibn KullÄb, and al-QalÄnisÄ« can be seen as the immediate forerunners of al-AshÊ¿arÄ«; they were âsemi-rationalistsâ108 who used some measure of kalÄm argumentation in defending (more or less) traditionalist theological positions.109
7 Nascent AshÊ¿arÄ« Thought and the Early KalÄm
7.1 al-Ashʿarī
AbÅ« al-Ḥasan al-AshÊ¿arÄ« (d. 324/935 or 936),110 a descendent of the famous Companion of the Prophet AbÅ« MÅ«sÄ al-AshÊ¿arÄ« (d. ca. 42/662),111 hailed from the city of Basra but spent most of his life in Baghdad, the capital of the Abbasid empire. In Baghdad, he dedicated himself to the religious sciences, eventually emerging as the top student of the leading MuÊ¿tazilÄ« authority of his day, AbÅ« Ê¿AlÄ« al-JubbÄʾī (d. 303/915 or 916). Around the age of forty, al-AshÊ¿arÄ« experienced an abrupt change of heart after a dream in which the Prophet visited him and urged him to defend the Sunna (as transmitted through ḥadÄ«th). Al-AshÊ¿arÄ« thereupon publicly recanted MuÊ¿tazilÄ« doctrine,112 completely abandoned the pursuit of kalÄm, and devoted himself exclusively to the study of the QurʾÄn and ḥadÄ«th. In a subsequent vision, however, the Prophet reproved al-AshÊ¿arÄ«, clarifying that while he had commanded him to defend the doctrines reported on his authority, he had not commanded him to give up rational methods of argumentation. Al-AshÊ¿arÄ« thus dedicated the remainder of his life to working out a methodology for systematically defending revealed doctrines on the basis of rational argumentation.113
Al-AshÊ¿arÄ« adopted theological positions close to those of Aḥmad b. Ḥanbal but sought to support these positions on the basis of reasoned argument.114 The novelty in al-AshÊ¿arÄ«âs approach can be discerned in the fact that even when, in the course of an argument, he quotes from the QurʾÄn, it can be seen that he is building up a âconsiderable structure of rational argumentâ around the verses.115 And while it is true that Aḥmad b. Ḥanbal had made some cautious use of rational argumentation, al-AshÊ¿arÄ« went farther by arguing unapologetically for the legitimacy of defending theological doctrines by means of formal rational argumentation based on the very methods developed and employed by the MuÊ¿tazila, whose substantive theological doctrine he had so resolutely rejected. Al-AshÊ¿arÄ« even sought to justify this approach by arguing that the QurʾÄn itself contained the germ of certain rational methods the MuÊ¿tazila had employed.116 For this reason, most ḤanbalÄ«s of al-AshÊ¿arÄ«âs day rejected him and his followers since they, like their leader, Aḥmad b. Ḥanbal, considered the very use of formalized kalÄm a dangerous capitulation to methods and assumptions that, in and of themselves, were invalid and without foundation.117
In terms of substantive doctrine, al-AshÊ¿arÄ« differed from the ḤanbalÄ«s in that he took an explicit position on the question of the divine attributes initially raised by the MuÊ¿tazila,118 in contrast to the ḤanbalÄ«sâ strict amodal (bi-lÄ kayf) approach. Al-AshÊ¿arÄ«âs position allows some measure of analogy between the attributes of God and those human attributes designated by the same name, in accordance with an attenuated form of the MuÊ¿tazilÄ« principle of qiyÄs al-ghÄʾib Ê¿alÄ al-shÄhid (or al-qiyÄs bi-l-shÄhid Ê¿alÄ al-ghÄʾib), that is, drawing an analogical inference from the âvisibleâ (shÄhid) world of our empirical experience to the âinvisibleâ (ghÄʾib) world of unseen realities that lie beyond our sense perception.119 By cautiously adopting this principle in a moderated form, al-AshÊ¿arÄ« tried to steer a middle course between the radical views of the MuÊ¿tazila120 and those of the strictest ḤanbalÄ«s.121 Thomas Nagel sums up al-AshÊ¿arÄ«âs position on the divine attributes by explaining that
they [the attributes] were not merely some phantom of the necessarily human language of revelation. To be sure, when the Koran spoke of Godâs hands, it meant something that exclusively referred to Godâs reality, but it also had a comparable reference point in the realm of human experience. . . . Expressions in the revelation such as hand, face, etc., which God Himself chose, were by no means metaphors! But neither must they be understood in purely human-physical terms. Rather, they were real attributes whose true nature man was not able to recognize.122
Al-AshÊ¿arÄ«âs theological treatise al-IbÄna Ê¿an uṣūl al-diyÄna123 has been described as a turning point in Islamic theology, a kind of bridge work between the earlier credos (like that of al-ṬaḥÄwÄ«) and the later dogmatic treatises, such as those of al-GhazÄlÄ«, al-Bayá¸ÄwÄ« (d. 685/1286 or 691/1292), al-ĪjÄ« (d. 756/1355), or al-SanÅ«sÄ« (d. 895/1490).124 In the IbÄna, which may be his first work after embracing Sunnism,125 al-AshÊ¿arÄ« shows no compromise with MuÊ¿tazilÄ« doctrines or methods whatsoever. In a later work, MaqÄlÄt al-IslÄmiyyÄ«n (Theological doctrines of the Muslims), however, his tone is calmer and his positions are less black and white, as he is freer to âtake the spoils from defeated MuÊ¿tazilism and enrich therewith a henceforth orthodox kalÄmâ126 (which, for Ibn Taymiyya, it might be added, is precisely where al-AshÊ¿arÄ« went wrong).127
When AbÅ« al-Ḥasan al-AshÊ¿arÄ« died in 324/935 (or 936), he left behind only three pupils, none of whom are particularly well known to posterity.128 It is not until the second generation after al-AshÊ¿arÄ« that we encounter three other, prominent figures who took up al-AshÊ¿arÄ«âs torch and who further developed the thought and formalized the method of their esteemed master. The most important of these figures is AbÅ« Bakr al-BÄqillÄnÄ«.129
7.2 al-BÄqillÄnÄ«
AbÅ« Bakr Muḥammad b. al-Ṭayyib al-BÄqillÄnÄ« (d. 403/1013), like al-AshÊ¿arÄ«, hailed from the city of Basra, where he is reported to have studied kalÄm under two of al-AshÊ¿arÄ«âs direct students.130 A MÄlikÄ« in legal rite,131 al-BÄqillÄnÄ« spent much of his life in Baghdad with the exception of a period during which he held the office of judge (qÄá¸Ä«) somewhere outside the capital city.132 Ibn KhaldÅ«n credits al-BÄqillÄnÄ« with perfecting the early methodology of AshÊ¿arÄ« kalÄm,133 and modern scholars have agreed on the pivotal role al-BÄqillÄnÄ« played in consolidating the school.134 Al-BÄqillÄnÄ« drew out al-AshÊ¿arÄ«âs initial insights and positions more fully and refined his method in order to provide the most robust defense of al-AshÊ¿arÄ«âs original doctrine possible.135 We recall that al-AshÊ¿arÄ«âs views were, on the whole, rather conservative and close to those of Aḥmad b. Ḥanbal (though on some issues they tended more towards a middle path between strict ḤanbalÄ« traditionalism and MuÊ¿tazilÄ«-inspired rationalism). Whereas al-AshÊ¿arÄ« had set stringent conditions for proofs, al-BÄqillÄnÄ« laid down even more exacting standards, namely, through his principle of reversibility, which requires that proofs be fully reversible, meaning that the invalidity of a proof necessarily entails the falsity of that which it was meant to prove.136
On the whole, al-BÄqillÄnÄ« can be considered the greatest systematizer of early AshÊ¿arÄ« theology (the way of the âmutaqaddimÅ«nâ) and, in a sense, the last one since, starting with al-JuwaynÄ« (d. 478/1085) in the next generation, fundamental changes began to occur that paved the way for a ânew kalÄmâ (that of the âmutaʾakhkhirÅ«nâ)âchanges that involved a number of conceptual reformulations and methodological renovations of earlier AshÊ¿arÄ« doctrine. But to gain an adequate understanding of exactly what happened and why, we must divert our attention briefly to the rise and development of an entirely separate discourse that had a major impact on AshÊ¿arÄ« kalÄm as of the middle of the fifth/eleventh century: namely, philosophy (falsafa).
8 Philosophy
Philosophical reflection began early in the intellectual career of Islam.137 As we have seen above, some Greek materials were already in circulation and being used in the Syriac tradition before the rise of Islam in the first/seventh century. Greek logic, along with other categories of Greek philosophy, had been incorporated into Christian theological discourse for several centuries, and elements of it had already begun to appear in early Muslim theological debates.138 But it was the massive movement to translate Greek philosophical and scientific texts, an effort that lasted from the second/eighth to the fourth/tenth century and known simply as the translation movement, that was the major catalyst for the rise of a rationalist Muʿtazilī theology. This movement also catalyzed the development of an independent tradition of philosophical reflection in Arabic, one whose formative and classical stages stretch from early third-/ninth-century Baghdad to late sixth-/twelfth-century Andalusia.139
The genealogy of the Arabic-Islamic philosophical tradition (also known by its Arabic name falsafa) that arose in the Muslim world as a result of the Greco-Arabic translation movement includes Aristotle and the main Hellenistic commentators on his workâall of whom, with the exception of the Aristotelian Alexander of Aphrodisias (fl. ca. 200â¯CE), were Neoplatonistsâin addition to original Neoplatonic texts.140 Since even Aristotleâs works were transmitted into Arabic through a distinctly Neoplatonic lens, Neoplatonism was central in setting the tenor of the Muslim philosophical tradition, and many of the ideas that Ibn Taymiyya found most objectionable in the philosophical and theological traditions he inherited were of Neoplatonic inspiration. The most outstanding (earlier) figures of the Arabic-Islamic philosophical tradition are al-KindÄ« (d. ca. 252/866), al-FÄrÄbÄ« (d. ca. 339/950), and, especially, their preeminent successor Ibn SÄ«nÄ, an independent and original thinker widely hailed as the greatest figure in the Muslim Peripatetic tradition. Ibn SÄ«nÄ, in fact, took up many of the questions that had been put forth in kalÄm, such that philosophy after the classical period had to contend with both Ibn SÄ«nÄ and the tradition of kalÄm.141 As a result, philosophers post-Ibn SÄ«nÄ became more consistently concerned with providing solutions anchored in philosophy to the problems set forth by kalÄm.142 At the same time, and far more significantly for our inquiry, kalÄm itself was enormously influenced by the thought of Ibn SÄ«nÄ, whose categories, ideas, and terminology left a lasting imprint on the works of the later mutakallimÅ«n.143 To gain a just appreciation of al-GhazÄlÄ«âs synthesis at the turn of the sixth/twelfth centuryâand, ultimately, of the nature of the intellectual tradition that Ibn Taymiyya inherited and to which he responded with such vigor two centuries laterâwe must first understand the challenge philosophy posed to kalÄm and to Islamic religious belief more generally, as well as the imprint the philosophical tradition left on kalÄm and its practitioners.
8.1 al-Kindī
The Kufan-educated AbÅ« YÅ«suf YaÊ¿qÅ«b b. IsḥÄq al-KindÄ« (d. ca. 252/866), known as the âphilosopher of the Arabsâ (faylasÅ«f al-Ê¿Arab), flourished in Baghdad under the patronage of the same three Abbasid caliphs who had executed the miḥna. Al-KindÄ« endeavored to make philosophy acceptable to his fellow Muslims through a âpolicy of reconciliation,â144 in part by designating philosophy by the QurʾÄnic term ḥikma (wisdom) and in part by attempting to demonstrate that the rational sciences were consistent with true belief, specifically tawḥīd.145 Classical biographers, both supporters and detractors, agree that al-KindÄ« sought to bridge the gap between philosophy and religion,146 holding that the two could not be truly contradictory since they both served the common end of making accessible to men the knowledge of the True One (al-Ḥaqq), God.147 Indeed, while al-KindÄ« privileged prophetic over philosophical knowledge with respect to the immediacy of the former (in contrast to the latter, which can be acquired only after years of arduous learning), he did not seem to believe that prophets had access to a categorically different kind of knowledge than what was available to the best philosophers.148
As a philosopher, al-KindÄ« advocated the application of rational philosophical methods to the texts of revelation. Not surprisingly, his overall positions on theological issues were close to those of the MuÊ¿tazilaâalthough there appears to be no evidence in his writings that he considered himself either a theologian or a MuÊ¿tazilÄ« proper149âand, as a methodological principle, he placed the tools and techniques of philosophy above those of kalÄm.150 Thus, while the titles of a number of al-KindÄ«âs works reveal his clear affinities with MuÊ¿tazilÄ« preoccupations, the titles of other treatises show that he also undertook detailed refutations of certain MuÊ¿tazilÄ« theses, such as atomism.151 Significantly, however, al-KindÄ«âalmost uniquely among the philosophersâparted ways with Aristotle on a number of fundamental issues in favor of positions that were in line with Islamic theological postulates. He joined with MuÊ¿tazilÄ« theologians in defending Islamic beliefs against various groups (materialists, Manichaeans, atheists, and rival philosophers), breaking ranks with both Aristotle and the Neoplatonists on touchstone issues like the creation of the world ex nihilo,152 the resurrection of the body, the possibility of miracles and prophetic revelation, and the ultimate destruction of the worldâall of which he upheld, in conformity with Islamic teachings but in opposition to the Greek philosophical tradition and to later falsafa.153 Finally, it has been suggested that al-KindÄ«âs conception of God as the efficient cause of the universe can, in a sense, be seen as an adaptation of the Neoplatonic conception of the One to the theistic concept of God as Creator.154
We can likewise discern the impact of kalÄm on some of the topics taken up by philosophy even as early as al-KindÄ«, insofar as he attempted to provide solutions from within philosophy to some of the issues being debated in kalÄm. In his most important treatise, FÄ« al-falsafa al-Å«lÄ (On first philosophy, of which only the first of four parts has been preserved),155 al-KindÄ« discusses the notion of oneness, the crux of which is that nothing about which something can be predicated can be said to be âone.â Since God is the ultimate One and since the ascription of any predicate or concept to an entity automatically entails its multiplicity, it follows that nothing whatsoever can be predicated of God. The radical negative theology that results from this conception of oneness is a standard feature of later falsafa and, as we have seen, a central tenet (albeit in a mitigated form) of the MuÊ¿tazila, self-styled âpeople of (divine) justice and unicityâ (ahl al-Ê¿adl wa-l-tawḥīd). Even in the case of al-KindÄ« the philosopher, however, some argue against interpreting his theology as purely negative, contending that the faylasÅ«f al-Ê¿Arab was primarily concerned with âpreserving a doctrine of positive divine attribution that can withstand the requirements of simplicity and transcendence.â156 In particular, at the end of FÄ« al-falsafa al-Å«lÄ, al-KindÄ« refers to the True One, God, as ââ¯âthe Giver and Originator, the Powerful, the Supporter,ââ¯â from which Peter Adamson concludes that, for al-KindÄ«, âGod is not just a principle of oneness; He is an agent.â157 Be that as it may, the philosophersâ starkly abstract conception of divine oneness, with the attendant radical denial of most or all of the divine attributes this conception entails, is one of the targets Ibn Taymiyya attacks most consistently and relentlessly in the Darʾ taÊ¿Äruá¸.
8.2 al-FÄrÄbÄ«
Born in Farab (located in current-day Turkmenistan), AbÅ« Naá¹£r Muḥammad al-FÄrÄbÄ« (d. ca. 339/950) spent most of his life in Baghdad, where he studied logic under the Nestorian Christian scholars YūḥannÄ b. ḤaylÄn (fl. early fourth/tenth century)158 and AbÅ« Bishr MattÄ b. YÅ«nus (d. 328/940) and where he taught the Syriac Jacobite Christian translator and logician YaḥyÄ b. Ê¿AdÄ« (d. 363/974).159 Al-FÄrÄbÄ« was universally venerated as an unparalleled master of logic and was also considered the leading expositor of Plato and Aristotle in his day.160 It is primarily his work on logic, however, that earned him the epithet âthe Second Teacherâ (al-muÊ¿allim al-thÄnÄ«)161âsecond only to the First Teacher, Aristotle. Ibn Rushd and Maimonides (d. 601/1204) pay tribute to him for his work on logic,162 and Ibn SÄ«nÄ records his debt to al-FÄrÄbÄ« for his understanding of Aristotleâs Metaphysics.163
Al-FÄrÄbÄ« is credited not only with writing the âfirst systematic exposition of Neo-Platonism in Arabicâ164 but also, indeed, with laying the foundations of the mainstream tradition of Islamic philosophy.165 Like al-KindÄ«, only a small portion of his many works has survived.166 The majority of al-FÄrÄbÄ«âs writings are dedicated to logic and the philosophy of language, specifically the relationship between abstract logic and the philosophical terminology used to express logical relations, on the one hand, and ordinary language and grammar, on the other.167 The issue of logic and language represents a cardinal point of contention in the debate between reason and revelation168 and, in fact, constitutes a major element of Ibn Taymiyyaâs attack on abstract philosophical reasoning and of his attempt to reconstitute rationality on more intuitive principles of everyday reasoning.169
Also relevant to the topic of reason and revelation is the fact that al-FÄrÄbÄ«, like al-KindÄ« before him, dealt explicitly with the relationship between philosophy and religion,170 casting this vital discussion in terms that were later closely echoed by Ibn SÄ«nÄ and, especially, Ibn Rushd. Al-FÄrÄbÄ« saw the language of revelation as a popular expression of philosophical truth, employing the tools of rhetoric (khiá¹Äb) and poetics (shiÊ¿r) to indicate, in figurative terms, truths that the unphilosophical masses are incapable of grasping rationally.171 Though based on Platonic and Hellenistic antecedents, this notion of revelation as a (mere) representation of reality encoded in literary form was fully worked out, it seems, only in the context of the Arabic-Islamic philosophical tradition.172 In his writings, al-FÄrÄbÄ« articulates a hierarchy of syllogistic arts in which, following Aristotle, demonstration (burhÄn) is the only apodictic method available in philosophy,173 while other modes of discourse, particularly rhetoric and poetics, serve the purposes of non-philosophical communication. As for dialectic (jadal), although it falls short of apodictic demonstration, al-FÄrÄbÄ« nevertheless assigns it a number of important ancillary functions that, taken together, âelevate [it] from the status of a mere handmaiden to a de facto partner with demonstration in philosophical pursuits.â174 Like al-KindÄ« before him, al-FÄrÄbÄ« explicitly called for the allegorical reinterpretation of scripture in instances in which the literal meaning conflicts with reason.175 In this vein, he outlined a theory in which Aristotleâs poetics is identified as the means of communication employed by revelation, the truths of which are thus communicated to the masses through takhyÄ«l, a kind of âimaginalizationâ or imaginative evocation meant to stand in as a surrogate for the benefit of those incapable of philosophical reasoning.176 This notion of revelationâs reliance on poetic language and on the imaginative evocation such language is said to enable went on to become standard doctrines of the philosophers; both ideas were forcefully reasserted two and a half centuries later by Ibn Rushd and come under massive and sustained attack by Ibn Taymiyya in the Darʾ taÊ¿Äruá¸. Al-FÄrÄbÄ«âs central relevance to the debate on reason and revelation in Islam thus lies principally in his âinterest in types of rationality, in modes of discourse and argumentation, and in the relations between ordinary and philosophical language,â all of which form an âintegral part of his answer to [the] historical challenge [of the] need to address seriously the sometimes competing claims between philosophy and religion.â177
8.3 Ibn SÄ«nÄ
Born near Bukhara (in current-day Uzbekistan), AbÅ« Ê¿AlÄ« al-Ḥusayn b. SÄ«nÄ (d. 428/1037), known in the medieval and modern West under the Latinized name Avicenna, is without a doubt the central figure in the Arabic-Islamic philosophical tradition. Before Ibn SÄ«nÄ, philosophy and kalÄm, despite cross-fertilizations, represented two distinct strands of thought. With Ibn SÄ«nÄ, the two strands became intertwined to such an extent that post-Avicennian kalÄm came to represent a synthesis of Ibn SÄ«nÄâs metaphysics and Islamic theological doctrine.178 Ibn SÄ«nÄâs metaphysical theses were taken up and debated by kalÄm theologians right up to the dawn of the modern era.179 In short, Ibn SÄ«nÄ âstraddled two worlds: the world of falsafa and the world of kalÄm.â180
Ibn SÄ«nÄâs influence, like that of al-FÄrÄbÄ«, was felt most profoundly in the fields of logic and, especially, metaphysics. Our concern here is strictly limited to those aspects of Ibn SÄ«nÄâs thought that were eventually adopted by mainstream mutakallimÅ«n and naturalized into later kalÄm. One of the most important of these ideas is Ibn SÄ«nÄâs distinction between essence and existence, as well as his distinction (which attracted a considerable amount of criticism) between that which is necessary by virtue of itself (al-wÄjib bi-dhÄtihi), namely, God, and that which is necessary but by virtue of another (al-wÄjib bi-ghayrihi), namely, everything other than God (which is deemed to exist necessarily, albeit by virtue of God and not by virtue of itself). These twin theses exercised an enormous influence in post-classical Islamic intellectual history, both in various strains of later philosophy and in mainstream SunnÄ«, as well as ShÄ«Ê¿Ä«, kalÄm.181
Ibn SÄ«nÄ viewed logic as the key to philosophy, an indispensable tool that leads to knowledge of the essential natures of things182âa conception of logic that Ibn Taymiyya attacks emphatically.183 Ibn SÄ«nÄ is credited with articulating the original notion of God as being ânecessarily existent by virtue of Himselfâ (wÄjib al-wujÅ«d bi-dhÄtihi)âthe Necessarily Existent from whom the rest of existent things then overflow by necessity (which is why they are classified as necessarily existent, though by virtue not of themselves but of God) in typical Neoplatonic emanationist fashion. Ibn SÄ«nÄâs particular notion of God precluded that He could have any intentional relation to the world184âa major point of variance with Islamic theological doctrine, which insists on Godâs fully free and volitional creation of the cosmos. Furthermore, according to Ibn SÄ«nÄ, divine providence cannot be understood in terms of Godâs direct superintendence of or concern for the world, but only in the far more remote sense of Godâs (mere) knowledge of the order of all existence and the manner of its goodness.185
Later critics of Ibn SÄ«nÄ, such as the AshÊ¿arÄ« theologians al-GhazÄlÄ« and al-ShahrastÄnÄ« (d. 548/1153), mostly took issue with Ibn SÄ«nÄâs conception of God and His relationship to the world, his denial of Godâs knowledge of particulars as particulars, the doctrine of the eternity of the universe, and his purely spiritualist, non-corporeal conception of the afterlife. Al-GhazÄlÄ«, as we shall see, dedicated one of his most famous and influential works, TahÄfut al-falÄsifa (The Incoherence of the Philosophers), to launching a devastating attack on major elements of the Muslim philosophical tradition, primarily as incarnated in Ibn SÄ«nÄâs unique synthesis of Aristotelian, Neoplatonic, and original Avicennian elements. In his attack on philosophy, al-GhazÄlÄ« singled out the last three doctrines enumerated above (the eternity of the world, the denial of Godâs knowledge of particulars, and the denial of a physical resurrection) as fundamentally irreconcilable with the tenets of Islam, such that anyone who held these views was beyond the pale of the faith. Ibn Taymiyya, too, had many criticisms of Ibn SÄ«nÄ, for he âvery perspicaciously saw what Avicenna had done: he had incorporated into, and discussed in terms of his own philosophical system, all the intellectual concerns of Islamic society, such as the nature of prophecy, eschatology (maÊ¿Äd), etc.â186 It was precisely Ibn SÄ«nÄâs discussion and reinterpretation of central Islamic doctrines on the terms of an independent (and, in his eyes, rationally inadequate) philosophical system that Ibn Taymiyya objected to so strongly and that he sought to remedy.
Ultimately, however, the criticisms of al-GhazÄlÄ« and others failed to prevent Ibn SÄ«nÄâs thought not only from profoundly affecting the post-Avicennian philosophical tradition (which is to be expected) but also from penetrating the very conceptual core of kalÄm, leading to a distinction between the early kalÄm tradition (that of the so-called mutaqaddimÅ«n) and a later, distinctly âpost-Avicennianâ kalÄm (that of the so-called mutaʾakhkhirÅ«n) that unmistakably bears the imprint of Ibn SÄ«nÄâs philosophy.187 Even al-GhazÄlÄ« himself, who was initially perceived by Western scholars to be categorically opposed to philosophy on all levels, is now understood to have been rather deeply influenced by his arch-rival Persian compatriot.188
9 The New KalÄm and Subsequent Developments
Theology in the fifth/eleventh century underwent a fundamental change as it came under the direct influence of the imposing philosophical system of Ibn SÄ«nÄ. We recall that philosophy until the middle of the fourth/tenth century was, both methodologically and institutionally, separate from kalÄm to a considerable degree and that the philosophers as a group, from al-KindÄ« through al-FÄrÄbÄ«, had a relatively minor impact on theological discourse.189 Indeed, although the theologians had absorbed a number of methodological tools from the philosophers,190 the problems treated in kalÄm remained essentially the same throughout this nearly three-century period. This remained true until a seismic shift took place with the rise, post-Ibn SÄ«nÄ, of the new kalÄm reflected in the work of al-JuwaynÄ« and, especially, of his famous student, al-GhazÄlÄ«. Given the relative isolation in which philosophy had incubated during its initial development and subsequent consolidationâthat is, during the period of some two hundred years from al-KindÄ« through Ibn SÄ«nÄâit must have seemed as if philosophy had come from nowhere to shake the very foundations of theology itself. This shock may well have led to a sense that AshÊ¿arÄ« kalÄm, as originally developed by al-AshÊ¿arÄ« in response to the MuÊ¿tazila, was relatively ill-equipped to deal with philosophy proper and that even after the introduction of what were hoped to be the requisite methodological renovations, such as those of al-BÄqillÄnÄ«, rational certainty in matters of theology continued to prove elusive, particularly in the face of philosophyâs supreme confidence in its ability to engender certitude.
9.1 al-Juwaynī
The first major AshÊ¿arÄ« theologian to have come under the direct influence of philosophy via Ibn SÄ«nÄ seems to be AbÅ« al-MaÊ¿ÄlÄ« (âImÄm al-Ḥaramaynâ) al-JuwaynÄ« (d. 478/1085). Al-JuwaynÄ« sought to rectify the inadequacies that had become apparent when kalÄm was confronted with philosophy. He did this by adopting certain aspects of the philosophical tradition that he deemed not only compatible with kalÄm but also, indeed, vital for shoring up the worldview of kalÄm in the face of Ibn SÄ«nÄâs imposing philosophy. Al-JuwaynÄ«âs changing attitude towards the place of the rational sciences in the overall hierarchy of Islamic religious disciplines is apparent from his view that naáºar (that is, engaging in a deliberate process of rational inquiry regarding the foundations of faith) is an obligation for all Muslims who have reached the age of maturity and must be undertaken in order for their faith to be considered valid.191
Though al-BÄqillÄnÄ« had harbored reservations about the analogical inference from the seen to the unseen (al-qiyÄs bi-l-shÄhid Ê¿alÄ al-ghÄʾib) and had tried to reinforce the defensive arsenal of kalÄm by adding to it his principle of reversibility, with al-JuwaynÄ« this inference from the seen was abandoned altogether.192 But al-JuwaynÄ« went farther and dropped al-BÄqillÄnÄ«âs reversibility principle as well, replacing it with certain elements selectively incorporated from the new logic, which was becoming more widespread via the work of Ibn SÄ«nÄ. Al-JuwaynÄ« incorporated into the logical armor of kalÄm a number of techniques such as enumeration and division (al-sabr wa-l-taqsÄ«m) and the disjunction between affirmation and negation. Such methods supplemented the two main procedures previously in use, the indirect syllogism (qiyÄs al-khalf) and the direct, or standard, syllogism (al-qiyÄs al-mustaqÄ«m).193
In his final theological work, al-Ê¿AqÄ«da al-NiáºÄmiyya,194 al-JuwaynÄ« abandons the earlier kalÄmâs method of proving the existence of God from the createdness of the world (specifically the argument from the temporal origination of bodies, or ḥudÅ«th al-ajsÄm) in favor of Ibn SÄ«nÄâs proof, which was based on the dichotomy of ontological necessity (wujÅ«b) and contingency (imkÄn).195 This change in the argument used for proving the existence of God and the increasing appropriation of logic as a tool for theology represent two fundamental distinctions on the basis of which practically all later thinkers196 differentiate between the âearly kalÄmâ of the mutaqaddimÅ«n and the âlater kalÄmâ of the mutaʾakhkhirÅ«n. Furthermore, al-JuwaynÄ« seems to have been the first to incorporate the MuÊ¿tazilÄ« doctrine of atomism into AshÊ¿arÄ« kalÄm as a normative teaching that, in combination with the argument from contingency, was used to prove the existence of God, His attributes, and the temporality, or âtemporal originationâ (ḥudÅ«th), of the world.197
Another crucial departure from al-AshÊ¿arÄ«âs methodology in the work of al-JuwaynÄ«âand one that is of central concern to Ibn Taymiyyaârelates to al-JuwaynÄ«âs position on the divine attributes. Both al-AshÊ¿arÄ« and al-BÄqillÄnÄ«, as we have seen, upheld a modified version of the bi-lÄ kayf doctrine of the early Muslim community as a means of preserving both divine transcendence and the literal integrity of the QurʾÄnâs assertions regarding the attributes of God. Al-JuwaynÄ«, however, went farther by separating attributes into essential (nafsÄ«) and qualitative (maÊ¿nawÄ«), a move that has been described as a shift towards a more âliberalâ AshÊ¿arÄ« theology, one less attached to a literal understanding of QurʾÄnic statements regarding the divine attributes.198 In this, al-JuwaynÄ« was one of the first AshÊ¿arÄ« theologians to make taʾwÄ«l ofâin the sense of explicitly interpreting in a figurative mannerâthe so-called revealed attributes (al-á¹£ifÄt al-khabariyya), such as Godâs hands, face, and other such attributes that cannot be known through independent reason and are denoted in revelation by terms that could seem to imply corporeality.199
Similarly, al-JuwaynÄ« was the first theologian to elaborate a juridical methodology on the basis of the principles of the new kalÄm, an initiative brought to full fruition by his student, al-GhazÄlÄ«,200 who oversaw the firm and complete incorporation of logic into theology as well. Al-JuwaynÄ« nonetheless represents a critical juncture in the transition from the earlier style of reasoning in kalÄm to the new, philosophically oriented kalÄm, being as he was âold-school by virtue of his dialectical method, but an old-schooler who portends the triumph of the new method.â201 According to Ibn KhaldÅ«n, the old way is exemplified by al-BÄqillÄnÄ«âs reversibility principle (which states that the invalidity of the proof entails the falsity of what is being proved), while the new way, informed by Aristotelian logic, is not bound by this principle. The principle itself seems to be drawn primarily from legal analogy (qiyÄs) as it was originally used in the domain of fiqh, in which the Aristotelian syllogism had not yet made its appearance.202 In the new logic, on the basis of which al-BÄqillÄnÄ«âs reversibility principle is rejected, however, the Aristotelian syllogism becomes predominant. This ânew methodââwhich incorporates the new logic as well as the new argument for the existence of God, both compliments of Ibn SÄ«nÄâcomes fully into its own with al-GhazÄlÄ«, after whom the method and terminology of kalÄm come to resemble that of philosophy more and more with each succeeding generation of AshÊ¿arÄ«s.203
9.2 al-GhazÄlÄ«
The âProof of Islamâ (Ḥujjat al-IslÄm) AbÅ« ḤÄmid al-GhazÄlÄ« (d. 505/1111) is a watershed figure in Islamic intellectual history whose thought represents a confluence of jurisprudence, theology, philosophy, and Sufism and who rightfully deserves a separate discussion in relation to each of these fields.204 We treat him here not only because of his superb philosophical education and sharply analytical mind but also because it is his engagement with the Muslim philosophical tradition that is most relevant to the concerns of this study. This relevance stems not only from al-GhazÄlÄ«âs refutation of certain central theses of the philosophers on purely philosophical grounds (similar to Ibn Taymiyyaâs refutations) but also from his adoption of certain elements of philosophy that he made part and parcel of Islamic orthodoxy (legal and theological, as well as spiritual and mystical). In the pivotal figure of al-GhazÄlÄ«, who developed an early interest in the epistemological foundations of knowledge,205 we witness the full crossover in Islamic theology from the way of the early school (á¹arÄ«q al-mutaqaddimÄ«n) to the way of the later school (á¹arÄ«q al-mutaʾakhkhirÄ«n) foreshadowed by al-JuwaynÄ«.206
Born in 450/1058 in the northeastern Iranian city of Tus, al-GhazÄlÄ« studied in Nishapur under the eminent ImÄm al-Ḥaramayn al-JuwaynÄ«. He then taught at the prestigious NiáºÄmiyya madrasa in Baghdad for four years. During this period, al-GhazÄlÄ«âs intense philosophical studies led him to produce a number of important works,207 including an exposition of logic, MiÊ¿yÄr al-Ê¿ilm fÄ« fann al-maná¹iq (The standard of knowledge in the art of logic),208 and an important work of AshÊ¿arÄ« theology, al-Iqtiá¹£Äd fÄ« al-iÊ¿tiqÄd (The just mean in belief). He wrote his most celebrated work, IḥyÄʾ Ê¿ulÅ«m al-dÄ«n (The Revival of the Religious Sciences), after a lengthy period of solitary travel dedicated to treading the Sufi path of spiritual purification and mystical realization. Upon returning home from this extended hiatus,209 al-GhazÄlÄ« resumed his teaching and other scholarly activities, producing, inter alia, a major work on uṣūl al-fiqh (the aforementioned al-Mustaá¹£fÄ),210 an intellectual and spiritual autobiography, two mystical treatises, and, shortly before his death, a small work warning against the pursuit of kalÄm theology by the common people.
In one of his most famous and influential works, TahÄfut al-falÄsifa (The Incoherence of the Philosophers),211 al-GhazÄlÄ« sharply critiques the philosophical traditionâparticularly Ibn SÄ«nÄâs metaphysics and psychology,212 but also aspects of al-FÄrÄbÄ«âs philosophy.213 This attack elicited a strident, line-by-line response by the staunchly Aristotelian philosopher Ibn Rushd, born in the Andalusian city of Cordoba only fifteen years after al-GhazÄlÄ«âs death in northeastern Iran. In the TahÄfut, al-GhazÄlÄ« charges the philosophers with relying on inherited assumptions that cannot be deduced apodictically214 and sets out to refute twenty of their discrete doctrines, three of which he considered irreconcilable with Islamic belief.215 These three doctrines are (1) the eternity of the world, (2) the idea that God knows only universal concepts and not particular instantiations thereof, and (3) the impossibility of a physical resurrection after death.216
Al-GhazÄlÄ«âs was the first, though not the last, attempt in Islam to respond to philosophy on its own grounds, using purely philosophical arguments rather than merely vilifying philosophy as a foreign science, accusing its practitioners of impiety, or arguing against it based solely on the authority of scripture. Yet despite the mordancy of al-GhazÄlÄ«âs attack against the philosophers and the longstanding view that his offensive sounded the death knell of (at least a particular brand of) philosophy in the Muslim world, more recent scholarship has revealed the extent to which al-GhazÄlÄ«âs own thought was indebted to that of his ideological foes, in particular Ibn SÄ«nÄ.217 Indeed, it is well known that while al-GhazÄlÄ« rejected many aspects of philosophy entirely, most notably its precarious metaphysics, he nonetheless enthusiastically embraced the Aristotelian logic built on definition and syllogism that forms the core of the entire system.218 Perhaps sensing the vulnerability of kalÄm arguments supported by earlier forms of logic in the face of Ibn SÄ«nÄâs imposing philosophical edifice, al-GhazÄlÄ« made Ibn SÄ«nÄâs logic his own and henceforth incorporated it into kalÄm (just as he made it part and parcel of legal theory as well). In his enthusiasm for this powerful new tool of logic, al-GhazÄlÄ« even believed he could identify in the QurʾÄn a prefiguring of the five forms of the Aristotelian syllogism.219 We saw above how, starting with al-JuwaynÄ«, the dialectical and syllogistic methods of argumentation were combined. Al-GhazÄlÄ« now fully accepts formal deductive reasoning based on the search for a universal middle term and makes it part and parcel of Islamic theological reasoning.220 Al-GhazÄlÄ« thus made important innovations in terms of method, mode of exposition, and style of reasoning,221 and it is this new method of reasoning and arguing that was identified as the âway of the later [school]â (á¹arÄ«q al-mutaʾakhkhirÄ«n) by Ibn KhaldÅ«n and others.222
Regarding the metaphorical interpretation of texts, al-GhazÄlÄ« accepted the use of taʾwÄ«l, in the manner of al-JuwaynÄ«, to obviate overtly anthropomorphic readings of the á¹£ifÄt khabariyya, or ârevealed attributesâ (hands, face, etc.),223 but he insisted that such taʾwÄ«lÄt should remain the province of the elite and not be discussed among the general populace for fear of inducing confusion in their minds.224 Yet al-GhazÄlÄ« seems willingâat least in some of his writingsâto go a step farther than al-JuwaynÄ«. We see an example of this tendency in his MishkÄt al-anwÄr (Niche of Lights),225 which contains a complete theory of symbolism (in the sense of allegory, or tamthÄ«l) with respect to the sensible and intelligible worlds, as well as multiple examples of symbolic exegesis of the QurʾÄn.226
Al-GhazÄlÄ«âs attitude towards kalÄmâand, by extension, the status of discursive knowledge more generallyâis critical for an understanding of his potent legacy and the development of Islamic thought that Ibn Taymiyya inherited one and a half centuries later. In the IḥyÄʾ Ê¿ulÅ«m al-dÄ«n, al-GhazÄlÄ« exhibits a guarded attitude towards kalÄm, admitting that it was not practiced by the earliest generations of Muslims but nevertheless conceding a limited use of it as indispensable for combatting heretical innovations (bidaÊ¿) that risked leading believers away from the path of the QurʾÄn and Sunna. Given that such innovations were often put forth in the name of reason, they could only be effectively countered on their ownâthat is, on rationalâterms. Notwithstanding this remedial function of kalÄm, al-GhazÄlÄ« does not seem to accept it as a fully legitimate (or at least not a fully adequate, much less necessary) path for reaching truth.227 The inherent limitations of kalÄm, as al-GhazÄlÄ« instructs us in his work al-Munqidh min al-á¸alÄl (Deliverance from Error), lie in the fact that it proceeds on the basis of premises that are not rationally certain in and of themselves since they must be accepted on the basis of revelation or the consensus (ijmÄÊ¿) of the community; for this reason, they are incapable of yielding apodictic certitude (on a purely rational level) as the would-be result of a syllogistic process of inference.228 Yet just as we saw in the case of al-AshÊ¿arÄ« after his abandonment of the MuÊ¿tazila, al-GhazÄlÄ«âs initially critical, if not deprecatory, assessment of kalÄm yielded, in his later writings, to a more moderate and nuanced tone that accords kalÄm a legitimate, if duly circumscribed, place in the overall hierarchy of sciences. Thus, in his al-RisÄla al-Laduniyya, for instance, al-GhazÄlÄ« classifies Ê¿ilm al-tawḥīdâthe science of the oneness of God, âalso known as kalÄmâ229âas occupying a position of prime importance. And while the sources of the knowledge of tawḥīd, according to the RisÄla, are primarily the QurʾÄn and the Sunna, he also specifically acknowledges that these sources contain ârational proofs and syllogistic demonstrationsâ (al-dalÄʾil al-Ê¿aqliyya wa-l-barÄhÄ«n al-qiyÄsiyya).230
Al-GhazÄlÄ«âs guarded acceptance of kalÄm in some of his writings should not, however, obscure his abiding insistence on the limited nature of all purely discursive thought and related rational discourse, kalÄm being no exception. For al-GhazÄlÄ«, true certainty (yaqÄ«n) can ultimately be gained only through the âwitnessing of realitiesâ (mushÄhada, or mushÄhadat al-ḥaqÄʾiq)231 by way of spiritual unveiling (kashf). While kalÄm may be of initial assistance in helping one move towards this goal, it can also act as a veil insofar as one may unwittingly mistake the means for the end.
10 KalÄm and Falsafa in the Wake of al-GhazÄlÄ«
10.1 Ashʿarī Theology and the Struggle to Orthodoxy
The immediate reception of the new AshÊ¿arÄ« kalÄm in the sixth/twelfth century is illustrative of the larger intellectual mood of the period. While the AshÊ¿arÄ« method undoubtedly had its enthusiastic supporters, it had many implacable opponents as well. As we may expect, the most vociferous opposition came from ḤanbalÄ« quartersâan example being Ê¿Abd AllÄh al-Aná¹£ÄrÄ« al-HarawÄ« (d. 481/1089), a ḤanbalÄ« and well-known Sufi who attacked the AshÊ¿arÄ«s vigorously232âbut opposition during this period went considerably beyond strictly ḤanbalÄ« circles. Yet in spite of ongoing polemics against rationalist kalÄm by ḤanbalÄ«s and others, the AshÊ¿arÄ« school boasted a number of enthusiastic and vocal supporters as well, such as the ShÄfiÊ¿Ä« ḥadÄ«th master and historian Ibn Ê¿AsÄkir (d. 571/1176), who forcefully defended the legitimacy of a rational theological dialectic,233 and even the ḤanbalÄ« jurist and theologian Ibn Ê¿AqÄ«l (d. 513/1119).234 In time, AshÊ¿arÄ« kalÄm established itself as the dominant theological school in the central regions of the Islamic world, but not without a struggle.235 It was not until the famous Seljuq vizier NiáºÄm al-Mulk (active 455â485/1063â1092) established positions in the major madrasas of the empire specifically to teach the new theology that the AshÊ¿arÄ« school was finally able to triumph over its two rivals: the MuÊ¿tazila, on the one hand, and the strictest of the ḤanbalÄ«s, on the other.236
By the time Ibn Taymiyya was born some two hundred years later,237 any significant opposition to kalÄm theology had all but dissipated in most quarters. AshÊ¿arÄ« kalÄm had long since been accepted by much of the SunnÄ« world as the normative, orthodox expression of Islamic belief in rational-theological terms. At the same time, the Mamluk rulers of Syria and Egypt (the two countries where Ibn Taymiyya spent his life) had proved themselves enthusiastic patrons of the now dominant AshÊ¿arÄ« theology, and also of the many eclectic brands of Sufismâsome quite orthodox, others decidedly less soâthat had also become widespread. Their patronage meant that conflicts with those who abjured theological speculation and advocated a stricter adherence to the literal text would be unavoidable.238
10.2 Philosophical Theology and the Fate of Falsafa Proper
While al-GhazÄlÄ«âs attack on the Muslim Peripatetic tradition was long understood in Western scholarship to have spelled the death of philosophy in the Muslim world, this is only true in one limited sense, namely, that there was no continuation of an independent philosophical tradition pursued along the largely Aristotelian lines of classical falsafa. One notable exception to this was Ibn Rushd, whose work, however consequential it may have been for medieval Europe, had virtually no impact on the Muslim world itself.239 On the one hand, alternative schools of philosophy arose and flourished, most notably the IshrÄqÄ«, or âIlluminationist,â tradition founded by ShihÄb al-DÄ«n al-SuhrawardÄ« âal-MaqtÅ«lâ (executed 587/1191). This tradition reached its culmination in the eleventh-/seventeenth-century synthesis represented by the âtranscendent theosophy,â or ḥikma mutaÊ¿Äliya, of the Persian ShÄ«Ê¿Ä« philosopher, theologian, and mystic á¹¢adr al-DÄ«n al-ShÄ«rÄzÄ« (MullÄ á¹¢adrÄ) (d. 1050/1640)240 and has survived in Iran up to the present day.241 On the other hand, a perusal of later kalÄm works makes it abundantly clear that mainstream Islamic discourse in a sense co-opted, rather than banished, philosophy, absorbing it into the body of kalÄm while bending it to the outlook, purposes, and needs of the discipline.242
Contemporary scholars have offered contrasting pictures of the precise nature of the intertwinement of philosophy and theology that took place in the post-Ibn SÄ«nÄ / post-GhazÄlÄ« period. Earlier scholarship stressed that the philosophers (with the sole exception of al-KindÄ«) had retained full autonomy in the face of Islamic doctrine,243 underscoring their reluctance to âsurrender any aspect of [philosophy], or to attribute any mark of privilege or distinction to [Islamic belief] by virtue of its supernatural or divine origin.â244 More recent studies, however, have brought to light the (formerly unappreciated) extent to which falsafa itself and its practitioners were influenced by kalÄm, not merely in terms of the topics with which they dealt but also in terms of their conceptual vocabulary, discrete arguments, the examples they used, and sometimes even the substantive positions they adopted.245 Building on the argument that Ibn SÄ«nÄ himself had been influenced by kalÄm in developing certain fundamental notions, including the key distinction between essence and existence so central to his thought,246 it has been suggested that this âtheologizationâ of the philosophical tradition may even help explain why Ibn SÄ«nÄâs thought spread so rapidly among the mutakallimÅ«n and was eventually taken up in so many quarters with such enthusiasm.247 On the ultimate fate of philosophy as an independent pursuit in the Islamic world, Tim Winter concludes that
falsafa as a discipline was progressively overtaken, or perhaps swallowed up, by SunnÄ« kalÄm at some point after the twelfth century. Perhaps the reason for this was the same factor which had caused the translation movement to wind down two centuries earlier: the ideas had been successfully transmitted. Falsafa functioned as an intermediary school, a module provisionally and imperfectly integrated into Muslim culture which allowed Muslim thinkers to entertain Greek ideas and choose those which seemed to them persuasive and true. As a system, however, it did not possess the resources to survive indefinitely. Once Muslims found that their need for a sophisticated philosophical theology was satisfied by the kalÄm, falsafa as an independent discipline naturally withered.248
10.3 Fakhr al-DÄ«n al-RÄzÄ«
One of the main architects of this new âphilosophical theologyâ in the century immediately after al-GhazÄlÄ« was the Persian ShÄfiÊ¿Ä« theologian and polymath Fakhr al-DÄ«n al-RÄzÄ« (d. 606/1209),249 who has been referred to as âthe most outstanding phenomenon in speculative theology in the post-GhazÄlÄ« period.â250 He has also been characterized as a âsubtle dialectician, possessor of a vast philosophical and theological culture as well as of an intellectual courage rare in his time, [who] is among the leading representatives of Sunnite Islam.â251 More recently, the âbreadth of RÄzÄ«âs intellectual ambitionâ has been described as âunprecedented in the history of Islamic civilization.â252 Born in the city of Rayy (near present-day Tehran) in 543/1149, it is al-RÄzÄ« who, coupled with al-GhazÄlÄ«, did the most to incorporate the new philosophical approach into the body of kalÄm.253 In addition to his studies in history, literature, law, theology, medicine, and the natural sciences,254 al-RÄzÄ« immersed himself in the study of philosophy and was a master of the art of disputation. His thought was profoundly influenced by Ibn SÄ«nÄ, but mostly in the way of the philosopher AbÅ« al-BarakÄt al-BaghdÄdÄ« (d. 560/1164 or 1165), a convert from Judaism to Islam whose thought, while steeped in that of Ibn SÄ«nÄ, was nevertheless critical of the latter and whose views, on the whole, were closer to orthodox Muslim (and Jewish) theological positions.255 Al-RÄzÄ« wrote an important work on metaphysics, al-MabÄḥith al-mashriqiyya (Oriental investigations), that manifests his clear debt to Ibn SÄ«nÄ but also his rejection of certain central aspects of Ibn SÄ«nÄâs system, such as the doctrine of emanation.256 Nevertheless, al-RÄzÄ«âs most important work on theology, Muḥaṣṣal afkÄr al-mutaqaddimÄ«n wa-l-mutaʾakhkhirÄ«n min al-Ê¿ulamÄʾ wa-l-ḥukamÄʾ wa-l-mutakallimÄ«n (The harvest of the thought of the ancients and moderns among scholars, philosophers, and theologians), which begins with an extended disquisition on metaphysics, epistemology, and logic, clearly shows the increasing influence of the terms and categories of philosophy in the discourse of kalÄm. Indeed, al-RÄzÄ«âs inclusion of a metaphysical preamble to the Muḥaṣṣal became standard in subsequent works of AshÊ¿arÄ« theology.
Contemporary scholars have brought considerable nuance to our understanding of al-RÄzÄ«âs thought. Ayman Shihadeh traces the crucial developments in sixth-/twelfth-century philosophical theology that led from al-GhazÄlÄ«, who died at the beginning of that century, to al-RÄzÄ«, who died almost exactly one hundred years later.257 He elucidates al-RÄzÄ«âs ethical theory, taking up age-old theological questions concerning the ethical nature as well as the ontological instantiation of human acts.258 More relevant to our concerns, Shihadeh deals in depth with al-RÄzÄ«âs apparent late-life skepticism concerning the ability of reason to yield certain knowledge,259 a theme to which we shall return at several junctures in the course of subsequent investigations.
In a volume on the medieval reception of Ibn SÄ«nÄâs metaphysics,260 Heidrun Eichner traces the major role al-RÄzÄ« played in âshaping the reception and interpretation of Avicennian ontologyâ and identifies his compendium al-Mulakhkhaá¹£ fÄ« al-ḥikma wa-l-maná¹iq (The epitome on philosophy and logic) as âone of the most influential works in the Arabic reception of Avicennian philosophy from the late thirteenth century onwards.â261 Al-RÄzÄ«âs influential presentation of Ibn SÄ«nÄâs positions does not necessarily mean that he always agreed with them. In fact, he often explicates them only to argue an alternative position against them. On some occasions, al-RÄzÄ« does not faithfully represent Ibn SÄ«nÄâs views; furthermore, he uses a vocabulary that is not always adequate to render Ibn SÄ«nÄâs thought.262 On another note, al-RÄzÄ« has been identified as âthe most prominent exponent of the thesis that existence is superadded to quiddity,â263 a view that Ibn Taymiyya ascribes to the Muslim Peripatetic philosophers and that forms a main crux in his attack on their ontology. It is of note that al-RÄzÄ« maintained this view in opposition to al-AshÊ¿arÄ« himself, albeit with the (from an AshÊ¿arÄ« perspective) very commendable goal of maintaining Godâs willful creation of the world as opposed to His mere, as it were automatic, necessitation of it as conceptualized by Ibn SÄ«nÄ.264
Finally, Tariq Jaffer has dedicated a full monograph to al-RÄzÄ«265 in which he elaborates in depth on al-RÄzÄ«âs endeavor to establish Islamic (specifically AshÊ¿arÄ«) theology on the most solid rational foundations possible. Significantly, al-RÄzÄ« undertakes this ambitious project not merely by means of the received medium of the formal theological or philosophical treatise but even more so through his massive, 32-volume QurʾÄnic commentary, MafÄtīḥ al-ghayb (Keys of the unseen), also known simply as al-TafsÄ«r al-kabÄ«r (The grand tafsÄ«r).266 Jaffer argues that âby using the QurʾÄn to express his philosophical theology, RÄzÄ« gave his revolutionary agenda an undisputed authority in SunnÄ« Islam.â267 By bringing about a âgrand synthesis of ideasâ through his tafsÄ«r, al-RÄzÄ« sought to achieve three overriding objectives,268 one of which was to synthesize Islamic revelation with the rich Aristotelian-Avicennian philosophical tradition that had gained such prominence in the century before al-RÄzÄ«, thereby extending to this tradition the sanctioning mantle of the QurʾÄn.
Al-RÄzÄ«âs other two main objectives are, in fact, also central to Ibn Taymiyyaâs project in the Darʾ taÊ¿Äruá¸. The first of these was to put the science of tafsÄ«râand thereby of theology more generallyâon a firm epistemological footing by grounding it in rigorous rational and logical principles that would act as a control on the possible meanings that could be derived from the revealed texts. It is partly in pursuit of this goal that al-RÄzÄ« (following al-GhazÄlÄ« and others) articulated the universal rule of interpretation,269 which explicitly prioritizes reason over revelation when adjudicating any possible conflicts between the two. Ibn Taymiyya cites this rule of interpretation on the first page of the Darʾ taÊ¿Äruá¸, then declares that he has dedicated the entirety of the work to refuting it. (We examine this universal rule, and Ibn Taymiyyaâs response to it, in detail in chapter 3.)270 After establishing reason as the arbiter in interpreting revelation, al-RÄzÄ«âs final goal is to âdemonstrate the QurʾÄnâs pre-eminence by disclosing that its method of reasoning coincides with the human intellectâs procedure of discursive reasoning and the conclusions reached by it.â271
These lines could just as easily have been written about Ibn Taymiyya, for whom the natural concord between the deliverances of human reason and the declarations of revelation is, in fact, the principal thesis of the Darʾ taÊ¿Äruá¸. But before delving into Ibn Taymiyyaâs work, we would do well first to acquaint ourselves with the man himself.
The word Ê¿ilm (knowledge) and other verbal and nominal derivatives of the root Ê¿-l-m (to know) appear in the QurʾÄn in a staggering 811 verses, or roughly thirteen percent of all verses of the QurʾÄn.
âDo they not consider the QurʾÄn (with care)? Had it been from other than God, they would surely have found therein much discrepancy.â (Q. al-NisÄʾ 4:82); trans. Yusuf Ali.
â(3) ... No want of proportion will you see in the creation of the Most Merciful. So turn your sight again: do you see any flaw? (4) Then turn your sight twice more; (your) sight will come back to you feeble and weary.â (Q. al-Mulk 67:3â4).
For a discussion, with QurʾÄnic references, of various terms used in the QurʾÄn to signify reason, reflection, and related meaningsâparticularly the words yaÊ¿qilÅ«n/taÊ¿qilÅ«n, ulÅ« al-albÄb, yatafakkarÅ«n, yubá¹£irÅ«n, yafqahÅ«n, ulÅ« al-abá¹£Är, and yaÊ¿lamÅ«nâsee al-KattÄnÄ«, Jadal, 1:281â285. See also Kalin, Reason and Rationality in the Qurʾan.
See, for example, Q. al-IsrÄʾ 17:85.
As in the verse âSay, âAre those who know equal to those who know not?ââ¯â (Q. al-Zumar 39:9).
For example, âThus do We explain the signs in detail for a people who reflect (yatafakkarÅ«n)â (Q. YÅ«nus 10:24) and similar at Q. al-RaÊ¿d 13:3; al-Naḥl 16:11, 16:69; al-RÅ«m 30:21; al-Zumar 39:42; and al-JÄthiya 45:13. Also, âperchance they may reflectâ (laÊ¿allahum yatafakkarÅ«n) at Q. al-AÊ¿rÄf 7:176 and similar at Q. al-Naḥl 16:44 and al-Ḥashr 59:21.
See, e.g., Q. al-Baqara 2:30, 2:216, 2:232; Äl Ê¿ImrÄn 3:66; al-Naḥl 16:74, 16:78; and al-NÅ«r 24:19 for lack of knowledge (especially in comparison to Godâs omniscience) and, e.g., Q. al-NisÄʾ 4:17; al-MÄʾida 5:50; HÅ«d 11:29; al-FurqÄn 25:63; al-Naml 27:55; al-Zumar 39:64; and al-ḤujurÄt 49:6 for references to ignorance.
Josef van Ess has observed that âChristianity speaks of âmysteriesâ of faith; Islam has nothing like that. For Saint Paul, reason belongs to the realm of the âfleshâ; for Muslims, reason, Ê¿aql, has always been the chief faculty granted human beings by God.â Van Ess, Flowering, 153â154. Similarly, Eric Ormsby begins a chapter on Arabic philosophy with the statement, âReason is central to Islam,â then goes on to elaborate that âan intense preoccupation with reason is one of the most enduring and characteristic aspects of Islam and of Islamic culture.â Ormsby, âArabic Philosophy,â 125.
âwa-mÄ Å«tÄ«tum min al-Ê¿ilmi illÄ qalÄ«lanâ (Q. al-IsrÄʾ 17:85).
Q. al-Baqara 2:216. Also Q. al-Baqara 2:232, Äl Ê¿ImrÄn 3:66, al-Naḥl 16:74, and al-NÅ«r 24:19.
Q. al-NisÄʾ 4:174.
Q. al-Baqara 2:185. See also Q. Äl Ê¿ImrÄn 3:4 and al-FurqÄn 25:1.
Q. Äl Ê¿ImrÄn 3:138.
Q. al-Naḥl 16:89.
Q. al-Qamar 54:5.
See Blankinship, âEarly Creed,â 34, where the author remarks that the QurʾÄn âdevelops its own themes argumentatively, sometimes at considerable length, to explain its teachings, and to rebut the established anti-monotheistic arguments of its initial target audience.â Rosalind Ward Gwynne has dedicated an entire monograph, based on al-GhazÄlÄ«âs treatise al-Qisá¹Äs al-mustaqÄ«m, to identifying and categorizing all instances of rational argumentation used in the QurʾÄn. She remarks in the introduction to this study that âI believe that the reader will be surprised at how thick with argument the QurʾÄn actually is.â Gwynne, Logic, Rhetoric, and Legal Reasoning, xiii. See also van Ess, Theologie und Gesellschaft, 1:48, where he likewise makes note of the QurʾÄnâs frequent use of dialectical argumentation as it engages with the Prophetâs opponents directly in an argumentative and reasoned manner.
The view that the QurʾÄn makes abundant use of various kinds of argumentation is echoed by the famous ninth-/fifteenth-century polymath JalÄl al-DÄ«n al-SuyÅ«á¹Ä« (d. 911/1505) in his al-ItqÄn fÄ« Ê¿ulÅ«m al-QurʾÄn, where he states: âScholars have held that the QurʾÄn contains all kinds of [rational] proofs (barÄhÄ«n, adilla) and that there exists no [type of] indication (dalÄla), disjunction (taqsÄ«m), or admonition (taḥdhÄ«r) built upon the general categories of knowledge afforded by reason and revelation (tubnÄ min kulliyyÄt al-maÊ¿lÅ«mÄt al-Ê¿aqliyya wa-l-samÊ¿iyya) that the Book of God has failed to mention, except that it has mentioned them according to the customary [speech] habits of the Arabs and not in accordance with the detailed [discursive] methods of the theologians.â See al-SuyÅ«á¹Ä«, ItqÄn, 4:60. Earlier protagonists in the debate on reason and revelation in Islam also based their claims for the legitimacy of certain forms of ratiocination on particular verses of the QurʾÄn. Al-GhazÄlÄ«, for example, believed he had located the five classical figures of the Aristotelian syllogism in the QurʾÄn in implicit form, while Ibn Rushd identified the three levels of argumentation as defined by Aristotle, namely, rhetorical, dialectical, and demonstrative. On al-GhazÄlÄ«, see Chelhot, â«al-Qisá¹Äs al-MustaqÄ«m»,â esp. 6â8 and Marmura, âGhazaliâs Attitude to the Secular Sciences and Logic,â esp. 102â103. On Ibn Rushd, see Hourani, Averroes on the Harmony of Religion and Philosophy, esp. 32â37.
For a précis on the Western scholarly debate concerning the authenticity of ḥadÄ«th material, see Harald Motzkiâs introduction in Motzki, ed., Hadith: Origins and Developments and Brown, Hadith, 226â276, both of whom discuss the recent scholarship that casts doubt on the radical skepticism of earlier generations of Islamicists (such as, most famously, Ignaz Goldziher and Joseph Schacht). Furthermore, the types of questions raised in the ḥadÄ«th cited here are not so formally developed or theoretical as to appear anachronistic for this early period. In fact, it would be extraordinary if the Companions had never asked the Prophet any questions related to theological issues.
See van Ess, Flowering, 45â¯ff. for a discussion of the sÄ«ra literature as containing formal argumentation.
See al-KattÄnÄ«âs discussion of the use of rational methods of inference by the Prophet and his Companions. Al-KattÄnÄ«, Jadal, 1:614â627, 642â643.
See, e.g., al-BukhÄrÄ«, á¹¢aḥīḥ, 807; Muslim, á¹¢aḥīḥ, 69â70. An alternative version of the ḥadÄ«th says, â⦠let him say, âI have believed in God and His messengersââ¯â (Muslim, 69), and a third version contains the wording âPeople will continue to pose questions until they ask, âWho created God?ââ¯â (Muslim, 69).
A more extensive discussion of such instances can be found in Abdel Haleem, âEarly KalÄm,â 71â88.
It is significant that the QurʾÄnâs emphasis on the validity of reason, on what reasoned reflection ultimately leads to (namely, knowledge of and faith in God), and on the inherent limits of reason (namely, the fact that certain existent realities escape the grasp of reason altogether) parallels the QurʾÄnic depiction of the empirical realm that it so urgently encourages us to ponder. Our senses mediate to us a picture of reality that reveals an underlying unity and perfection of structure that rational reflection (Ê¿aql) finds can only be the result of an intelligent, omniscient will backed by boundless powers of instantiation; yet reason also discerns that not all that exists necessarily lies within the realm of our empirical perception. In this vein, the very beginning of the second chapter of the QurʾÄn makes mention of âthose who believe in the unseenâ (Q. al-Baqara 2:3), enunciating thereby the existence of two fundamental orders of reality: the visible, or seen (shahÄda), and the invisible, or unseen (ghayb). In the QurʾÄnic worldview, a thing is no less real for its being imperceptible to our senses.
In their careful, historically and theologically informed study of Islamic theology, Louis Gardet and M.-M. Anawati speak of the â«ferment» déposé par les dissensions politiques au sein de la pensée religieuse.â See Gardet and Anawati, Introduction, 35.
On the earliest attitudes towards tafsÄ«r, see ibid., 26â31, as well as Gilliot, âKontinuität und Wandel,â 5â17 and Gilliot, âExegesis of the QurʾÄn.â For a general overview of tafsÄ«r as a genre, see Saleh, âQuranic Commentaries.â On the nascent ârationalistâ versus more âtextualistâ trends in early tafsÄ«r, see al-KattÄnÄ«, Jadal, 1:504â529â¯ff.
On the rise and significance of the science of Arabic grammar, see Versteegh, Arabic Language, 60â84. On the introduction of grammar and the nascent linguistic sciences into early tafsÄ«r, see Gilliot, âKontinuität und Wandel,â 18â25. For a detailed study of the relationship between grammar and the development of tafsÄ«r, see Versteegh, Arabic Grammar. For a discussion of the contrasting methodologies, and particularly the variant terminology, of the Kufan and the (more rationalistically inclined) Basran schools of grammar, see Versteegh, Arabic Grammar, 9â16.
On the vitally important notion of âsunnaâ for traditional Arab society and, hence, for the Prophet Muḥammadâs contemporaries, who received him as no less than the Messenger of God, see Bravmann, Spiritual Background, 123â198 (esp. 123â177). See also Ansari, âIslamic Juristic Terminology,â 259â282.
Derivatives of the root f-q-h occur twenty times in the QurʾÄn, invariably with the meaning of âto understand,â âfathom,â âcomprehend.â In a well-known ḥadÄ«th, the causative form âfaqqahaâ (to cause to understand or comprehend) is used in an analogous sense: âman yurid AllÄh bihi khayran yufaqqihhu fÄ« al-dÄ«nâ (For whomever God desires good, He grants him understanding in religion). See, e.g., al-BukhÄrÄ«, á¹¢aḥīḥ, 30 (and elsewhere); Muslim, á¹¢aḥīḥ, 417 (and elsewhere); al-TirmidhÄ«, JÄmiÊ¿, 4:385; Ibn MÄjah, Sunan, 80.
Watt, Formative Period, 181.
Concerning the relationship between the availability of ḥadÄ«th and the use of reason in legal matters, some have speculated that early Iraqi jurists relied more heavily on raʾy because they had access to fewer ḥadÄ«th reportsâand, by consequence, less knowledge regarding the details of the prophetic Sunnaâthan their counterparts in the Hijaz. This point is made, for example, by al-KattÄnÄ« (Jadal, 1:307â309, 631), but also by no less authoritative an interpreter of early Muslim history than Ibn KhaldÅ«n (d. 808/1406), who, in his discussion of the rise of a ḥadÄ«th- versus a raʾy-based jurisprudence in the early period, identifies the latter with the jurists of Iraq, explaining that âthe people of Iraq had little in the way of ḥadÄ«th (kÄna al-ḥadÄ«th qalÄ«lan fÄ« ahl al-Ê¿IrÄq) for the reasons we have previously stated; thus, they made much use of qiyÄs (fa-istaktharÅ« min al-qiyÄs) and became skilled in it (wa-maharÅ« fÄ«hi).â Ibn KhaldÅ«n, al-Muqaddima, 446, lines 9â12.
For a concise presentation and discussion of the contents of al-ShÄfiÊ¿Ä«âs RisÄla, see Hallaq, History, 21â29. For an extended study and reinterpretation of this foundational text, see Lowry, Early Islamic Legal Theory. For a complete English translation of the RisÄla with parallel Arabic text, see Lowry, Epistle on Legal Theory.
Most contemporary scholars speak reflexively of a ârationalistâ versus a âliteralistâ tendency. I consider the term âliteralistâ to be problematic, as it carries with it implicit assumptions regarding reason, the use of language, and the relationship of language to rationality that prejudge a number of issues central to Ibn Taymiyyaâs critique. I have therefore opted for âtextualistâ as a more neutral, descriptive term. My usage follows that of Bernard Weiss in The Spirit of Islamic Law, particularly chap. 3, where he defines and uses the term âtextualistâ in the same manner as described here, and primarily for the same reasons.
Hallaq, History, 31.
Ibid., 34. As we shall see below, the AshÊ¿arÄ« theological school attempted, one century later, to effect a similar reconciliation between reason and revelation by synthesizing the disciplined exercise of human reason and the complete assimilation of revelation as the basis of theology. And this is precisely Ibn Taymiyyaâs project as well, as we shall discover in the course of this study, albeit on the basis of a radically different notion of reasonâreason returned, as Ibn Taymiyya contends, to its original, intuitive (fiá¹rÄ«), pre-kalÄm/pre-falsafa synthetic state. For a discussion of the synthesis of reason and revelation and the lack of dichotomy between the two in the early Muslim community, see Winter, âReason as Balance.â
Watt observes that the âdiscussion of the roots of jurisprudence affected the whole future course of Islamic thought, for jurisprudence was the central intellectual discipline in the Islamic world.â Watt, Formative Period, 181. It has likewise been suggested that the formative legal training of most early theologians naturally predisposed them to apply to their theological reflections the habits of mind they had acquired in their study of fiqh. Gardet and Anawati, Introduction, 44. For the most recent treatment of the origins of the style of argumentation used in kalÄm theology, see Treiger, âOrigins of KalÄm,â 29â34.
Watt, Islamic Philosophy and Theology, 37.
On the linguistic situation of the Near East in the early Islamic period, see Versteegh, Greek Elements, 1â4.
The influence of Hellenism was found chiefly in Iraq, first Basra and Kufa, then Baghdad. The regions farther to the east had also long been exposed to Hellenistic culture, but not much is known about the rationalizing theological activity there prior to the theologian AbÅ« Manṣūr al-MÄturÄ«dÄ« (d. ca. 333/944). See Watt, Formative Period, 184. On the rise of MÄturÄ«dÄ« theology, see Rudolph, âDas Entstehen der MÄturÄ«dÄ«yaâ; Rudolph, âḤanafÄ« Theological Tradition and MÄturÄ«dism,â 285â293; and, more extensively, Rudolph, Al-MÄturÄ«dÄ« und die sunnitische Theologie in Samarkand (trans. Adem, Al-MÄturÄ«dÄ« and the Development of SunnÄ« Theology in Samarqand). Alternative death dates for al-MÄturÄ«dÄ« have been given as 332/943 or 336/947. See Madelung, âal-MÄturÄ«dÄ«,â EI2, 6:846a.
On the Dahriyya, see Crone, âExcursus II: Ungodly Cosmologies,â 115â123.
Primarily in Tirmidh and Samarqand. The early figure Jahm b. á¹¢afwÄn (see p. 34 below) may have taken certain extreme positions in theology primarily in response to this group, who may have been Buddhists of some sort.
For an analysis of the Stoic influences on early Islamic theological thought, see van Ess, âThe Logical Structure of Islamic Theology,â esp. 26â42.
âdialektische[r] Denkstil,â van Ess, Theologie und Gesellschaft, 1:48â49. See also van Ess, 1:55 for the observation that not only in the QurʾÄn but also in the SÄ«ra of Ibn IsḥÄq (d. ca. 150/767) can we begin to detect a kalÄm style of argumentation. For a critique of van Ess and a different perspective on the sources and dates of kalÄm, see Cook, âOrigins of Kalamâ (also discussed in Treiger, âOrigins of KalÄmâ 30â31).
Watt suggests that the receptivity of Muslim scholars to the use of Greek rational methods once these became available may have been a result of their training in Islamic jurisprudence, through which they had already become familiar with various forms of rational argumentation. Watt, Formative Period, 180.
Cook, âOrigins of Kalamâ and Tannous, âBetween Christology and KalÄm?â trace the dialectical method of early kalÄm specifically to Syriac Christological disputations that took place in the second half of the seventh century. Tannous suggests that this methodology may have been transmitted to the early Muslim community via Arab Christian communities in Iraq and Syria. (See Treiger, âOrigins of KalÄm,â 30â32.)
Van Ess, Theologie und Gesellschaft, 1:52â53. For a detailed discussion of these exchanges, see Wolfson, Philosophy of the Kalam, 1â43, 64â66.
Blankinship, âEarly Creed,â 38.
The extent to which early Muslim theological debates may have been due to Christian or other outside influences is a matter of debate. For a fairly extensive discussion of Western scholarsâ (highly variable) views on this issue, see Wolfson, Philosophy of the Kalam, 58â64 and, more recently, Treiger, âOrigins of KalÄm,â 29â34. (On the origins of the debate over free will in particular, see Treiger, 34â38.) Steven Judd (âEarly Qadariyya,â 46) remarks that modern scholars who attribute Christian origins to the debate on free will do so, to some extent, in keeping with medieval Arabic sources but suggests that these sourcesâ own ascription of a Christian origin to the debate was likely âmore polemical than theological.â See also Judd, 48, 50, 53.
The name âQadarÄ«â for this movement may seem counterintuitive, since qadar is almost always used with reference to Godâs divine decree. Judd suggests that qadar here, however, may have been meant as a reference to human beingsâ ability (qadar) to determine and choose their own actions. Judd, âEarly Qadariyya,â 45.
On al-Ḥasan al-Baṣrī and the multifaceted (and often contradictory) ways in which he is presented in early and medieval Islamic sources, see Mourad, Early Islam between Myth and History.
Blankinship, âEarly Creed,â 39.
Al-Walīd II was killed during this turmoil in April 126/744, bringing an end to his brief, one-year reign (which had begun only in February of the preceding year, 125/743).
See, e.g., Blankinship, âEarly Creed,â 38â39; Judd, âEarly Qadariyya,â 51.
For an in-depth account of the issue of the createdness of the QurʾÄn, see the classic article by Wilferd Madelung, âThe Origins of the Controversy Concerning the Creation of the Koran.â A useful shorter survey can be found in El-Bizri, âGod: Essence and Attributes,â 122â131. In addition to the view that the QurʾÄn must be either âcreatedâ (makhlÅ«q) or else eternal (qadÄ«m), there is an important intermediate position, critical to Ibn Taymiyyaâs view on the issue, namely, that the QurʾÄn is ânon-createdâ (ghayr makhlÅ«q). See Hoover, âPerpetual Creativity,â 296.
Executed by KhÄlid al-QasrÄ« sometime during his reign as governor of Iraq (105â120/724â738). See Judd, âJaÊ¿d b. Dirham,â Encyclopaedia of IslamâThree [hereafter EI3] (2016-5), 150.
On whom see Schöck, âJahm b. á¹¢afwÄn.â
See Gardet and Anawati, Introduction, 38 on the probable origin of this discussion in the Christian challenge of the logos. It is of note that not only Christian theology but also the QurʾÄn itself describes Jesus as âa word from Him [God]â (Q. Äl Ê¿ImrÄn 3:45). The early Muslims must have felt a pressing need to explain such verses in a manner consistent with Islamic monotheism in the face of Christian trinitarianism, particularly since it was the Christian understanding of the concept of the logosâostensibly (in Christian eyes) embraced by the QurʾÄn as wellâthat underpinned the Christian doctrine of the divinity of Jesus. For the challenge of the âSumaniyyaâ of Tirmidh, who may have been Buddhists, and their possible influence on the highly abstract and transcendentalizing theology of Jahm b. á¹¢afwÄn, see Nagel, History, 101â102.
Numerous QurʾÄnic verses affirm, for instance, that God never does any injustice unto His servants. See, for instance, Q. Äl Ê¿ImrÄn 3:108 (âAnd God wills no wrong for the worlds [i.e., His creation]â), al-Kahf 18:49 (âAnd your Lord does wrong unto noneâ), and Fuṣṣilat 41:46 (âAnd your Lord is in no wise unjust to [His] slavesâ). Numerous other passages affirm that God does not wrong His servants, but rather they do wrong unto themselves. See, e.g., Q. Äl Ê¿ImrÄn 3:117; al-Tawba 9:70; HÅ«d 11:101; al-Naḥl 16:33, 16:118; al-Ê¿AnkabÅ«t 29:40; al-RÅ«m 30:9; and al-Zukhruf 43:76.
As per numerous verses of the QurʾÄn, such as al-Kahf 18:45: âAnd God has power over all things.â See also Q. al-AḥzÄb 33:27, FÄá¹ir 35:44, and al-Zukhruf 43:42.
It is important, however, to underscore that the difference of opinion in this instance reflects not so much a ârationalâ exegesis of the text in contrast to an unreflective âliteralismâ but rather a differential emphasis placed on contradistinctive descriptions of God found in revelation. The QurʾÄn asserts that God is just; it likewise asserts that He is all-powerful. Revelation affirms both statements unequivocally, yet the implications of this twin affirmation for the question of the freedom or determinism of human action, once posed in this manner, are not elaborated, or even adumbrated, in the QurʾÄn. It is the challenge of the theologian somehow to articulate an understanding of God that coherently and judiciously accounts for all the various contradistinct attributes and qualities predicated of Him in revelation.
For a comprehensive treatment of the translation movement and the transmission of Greek learning into early Arab-Islamic society, see Gutas, Greek Thought. Also informative is EndreÃ, âAthen, Alexandria, Bagdad, Samarkand.â
Van Ess, Theologie und Gesellschaft, 1:56.
See the discussion in Gardet and Anawati, Introduction, 39â41.
Van Ess, Theologie und Gesellschaft, 1:55.
Ibid., 1:56.
Van Ess, Flowering, 123. For an overview of the scholarship on the origins and rise of the MuÊ¿tazila, see el-Omari, âThe MuÊ¿tazilite Movement (I),â 152â154.
Sarah Stroumsa, however, makes a plausible argument in support of Goldziherâs thesis that the name âMuÊ¿tazila,â derived from the verb iÊ¿tazala, is in reference to the asceticism of the movementâs founders (and, hence, their iÊ¿tizÄl ofâor separation from and renunciation ofâthe world). See Stroumsa, âThe Beginnings of the MuÊ¿tazila Reconsidered.â
Blankinship, âEarly Creed,â 50â51.
Daiber, Islamic Thought in the Dialogue of Cultures, 19.
See Blankinship, âEarly Creed,â 50â51.
On which see Watt, Islamic Philosophy and Theology, 48â53, as well as Bennett, âMuÊ¿tazilite Movement (II),â 146â147 and 152â156.
Blankinship, âEarly Creed,â 47.
Watt, Formative Period, 242. On the MuÊ¿tazilÄ« conception of the divine attributes, see also Bennett, âMuÊ¿tazilite Movement (II),â 152â154.
Van Ess, Flowering, 31.
Watt, Formative Period, 249.
See below, p. 102â¯ff. on Ibn Taymiyyaâs understanding and assessment of the intellectual tradition he inherited.
Watt, Formative Period, 279. See Ê¿Abd al-QÄhir al-BaghdÄdÄ«, KitÄb Uṣūl al-dÄ«n, 333â334. Al-BaghdÄdÄ« identifies two figures as the âfirst mutakallimÅ«n of ahl al-sunnaâ among the Companions: Ê¿AlÄ« b. AbÄ« ṬÄlib, on account of his theological disputations with the KhawÄrij and the Qadariyya, and Ê¿Abd AllÄh b. Ê¿Umar (d. 73/693), also for his debates with the Qadariyya. Among the first mutakallimÅ«n of ahl al-sunna in the generation of the Successors al-BaghdÄdÄ« identifies Ê¿Umar b. Ê¿Abd al-Ê¿AzÄ«z (d. 101/720), Zayd b. Ê¿AlÄ« b. al-Ḥusayn (d. 122/740; the great-grandson of Ê¿AlÄ« b. AbÄ« ṬÄlib), al-Ḥasan al-Baá¹£rÄ«, al-ShaÊ¿bÄ« (d. between 104/722 or 723 and 106/724 or 725), and al-ZuhrÄ« (d. 124/742), followed by JaÊ¿far al-á¹¢Ädiq (d. 148/765) in the following generation. Finally, as the first mutakallimÅ«n among the jurists and authorities (arbÄb) of the legal schools he names AbÅ« ḤanÄ«fa (d. 150/767) and al-ShÄfiÊ¿Ä«, followed by the students of al-ShÄfiÊ¿Ä« âwho combined knowledge of law (fiqh) and theology (kalÄm).â These students of al-ShÄfiÊ¿Ä« include specifically al-ḤÄrith al-MuḥÄsibÄ« (d. 243/857), AbÅ« Ê¿AlÄ« al-KarÄbÄ«sÄ« (d. 245/859 or 248/862), AbÅ« YaÊ¿qÅ«b al-Buwayá¹Ä« (d. 231/846), Ḥarmala b. YaḥyÄ (d. 243/858), and DÄwÅ«d al-Aá¹£bahÄnÄ« (al-áºÄhirÄ«) (d. 270/884). [N.B.: Al-BaghdÄdÄ« lists âḤarmala al-Buwayá¹Ä«,â but âḤarmalaâ and âal-Buwayá¹Ä«â are, in fact, two separate figures. I have listed them both here, though it is not altogether clear whether al-BaghdÄdÄ« meant to list both or just one of them.]
The term ânon-speculative theologyâ I employ here is roughly equivalent in scope and implication to the Arabic term uṣūl al-dÄ«n, which refers in a general sense to Islamic creedal commitments and their foundations (uṣūl)âboth scriptural and rationalâwithout, however, implying a commitment to or an endorsement of the particular rationalistic approach and dialectical style normally implied by the term kalÄm.
On the formation and development of ḤanbalÄ« thought, especially as a theological orientation, see Hoover, âḤanbalÄ« Theology,â esp. 627â630.
On the âtraditionalizationâ of the ḤanafÄ« school in the third/ninth century, see Melchert, Formation, 54â60.
Watt, Formative Period, 284. Watt mentions this specifically with regard to whether the verbalization (lafáº) of the QurʾÄn during recitation is âcreatedâ or âuncreated,â though al-ṬaḥÄwÄ«âs circumspection on this issue can be generalized to his approach as a whole. For a translation of al-ṬaḥÄwÄ«âs creed with an extensive introduction and notes, see Hamza Yusuf, The Creed of Imam al-ṬaḥÄwÄ«. On the development of theology among ḤanafÄ«s from the time of AbÅ« ḤanÄ«fa through the founding of the MÄturÄ«dÄ« school in the fourth/tenth century, see Rudolph, âḤanafÄ« Theological Tradition and MÄturÄ«dism.â
On whom see especially Melchert, Ahmad ibn Hanbal.
With some qualifications, as discussed in chapter 2.
Watt, Formative Period, 291.
Ibid.
See Abrahamov, âScripturalist and Traditionalist Theology,â 273â274, where he details Ibn Ḥanbalâs use of the kalÄm argument from disjunction (taqsÄ«m) to prove the impossibility of Godâs being present (i.e., in His essence, as opposed to with His knowledge) in each and every place.
See, e.g., Darʾ, 7:154, lines 7â8 in reference to Aḥmad b. Ḥanbalâs use of definitive proofs (adilla qaá¹Ê¿iyya) based in both reason (Ê¿aql) and revelation (naql).
Watt, Formative Period, 296.
Entitled TÄrÄ«kh al-rusul wa-l-mulÅ«k (History of prophets and kings).
See van Ess, Flowering, 60â61.
For a summary of these events, see Hurvitz, âal-MaʾmÅ«n (r. 198/813â218/833) and the Miḥna.â
For a discussion of the political dimensions of the miḥna and its connection to the struggle over ultimate religious authority, see Zaman, Religion and Politics. For a different perspective on the possible causes of the miḥna, see Nawas, âReexaminationâ and Nawas, âMiḥna.â
The first of whom was the caliph al-MaʾmÅ«n (d. 218/833), son of the famed HÄrÅ«n al-RashÄ«d (d. 193/809). On al-MaʾmÅ«n, see Cooperson, Al-Maʾmun.
This doctrine was held by a number of ḤanafÄ«s as well, and it has been argued that the miḥna was largely aimed at supporting rationalist and semi-rationalist trends more generally against an âincreasingly assertive traditionalism.â Hoover, âḤanbalÄ« Theology,â 628.
The one other person who held out indefinitelyâuntil he finally died in chains while being transported back to Baghdad from the Byzantine border, where he and Ibn Ḥanbal had been interrogated under the caliphâs personal supervisionâwas a scholar by the name of Muḥammad b. Nūḥ al-Ê¿IjlÄ« (d. 218/833). Melchert, Ahmad ibn Hanbal, 11.
On the reversal of the miḥna and the period immediately succeeding it, see Melchert, âReligious Policies.â
Watt, Islamic Philosophy and Theology, 53.
It is important to remember that kalÄm at this time was more or less an entirely MuÊ¿tazilÄ« affair, which explains why some were so adamantly opposed to it; it had not yet been integrated into mainstream discourse or rendered âsafeâ in the eyes of more circumspect, traditionally-minded individuals.
Major studies on al-MuḥÄsibÄ« include van Ess, Die Gedankenwelt des ḤÄriṯ al-MuḥÄsibÄ«; de Crussol, Le rôle de la raison dans la réflexion éthique dââ¯Al-MuḥÄsibÄ«; and, more recently, Picken, Spiritual Purification in Islam. See summary treatment in Bin Ramli, âPredecessors of AshÊ¿arism,â 219â221.
Bin Ramli, âPredecessors of AshÊ¿arism,â 219. On the relationship between al-ḤÄrith al-MuḥÄsibÄ« and Aḥmad b. Ḥanbal, see Picken, âIbn Ḥanbal and al-MuḥÄsibÄ«.â
The place and dates of al-QalÄnisÄ«âs birth and death are not known with precision. Ibn Ê¿AsÄkir (d. 571/1176) describes him as âa contemporary, though not a pupil, of AbÅ« al-Ḥasan al-AshÊ¿arÄ«â (min muÊ¿Äá¹£irÄ« AbÄ« al-Ḥasan, raḥimahu AllÄh, lÄ min talÄmidhatihi). See Ibn Ê¿AsÄkir, TabyÄ«n kadhib al-muftarÄ«, 398. On al-QalÄnisÄ« more generally, see al-SalÄlÄ«, ÄrÄʾ al-KullÄbiyya, 73â78, as well as Gimaret, âCet autre théologien sunniteâ (summarized in Bin Ramli, âPredecessors of AshÊ¿arism,â 221â223).
Regarding the divine attributes, for instance, Ibn Qutayba took the position that Godâs essence and acts could not be fully comprehended by reason. Rather, the essential reality of such matters lay inherently and irremediably beyond full human comprehension, such that attempting to confine any such truths within perfectly transparent rational categories could only lead to their distortion. Nagel, History, 135.
Al-MuḥÄsibÄ«, for instance, attempted to respond to the MuÊ¿tazila by âdevelop[ing] the concept of a certain alignment of Godâs actions and those of His creatures,â that is, by ârationalizingâ the divine attributes to some degreeâeven if slightâin order to bring them more within the range of human rational apprehension. Ibid., 140.
On Ibn KullÄb, see van Ess, âIbn KullÄb and His School,â 263â267. For a more specific discussion of Ibn KullÄbâs role in the miḥna, see van Ess, âIbn KullÄb und die Miḥnaâ (subsequently published in French as âIbn KullÄb et la Miḥnaâ).
Watt, Formative Period, 288.
Bin Ramli, âPredecessors of AshÊ¿arism,â 218.
Ibid., 217.
Ibid., 223â224.
Watt, Formative Period, 288; Bin Ramli, âPredecessors of AshÊ¿arism,â 217.
There is some uncertainty concerning al-AshÊ¿arÄ«âs death date. Al-Khaá¹Ä«b al-BaghdÄdÄ« (d. 463/1071) reports three possible dates: (1) the 330s/940s; (2) between 320/932 and 330/941; and (3) the precise year 324/935 or 936, which he reports on the authority of Ibn Ḥazm. See al-Khaá¹Ä«b al-BaghdÄdÄ«, TÄrÄ«kh BaghdÄd, 13:260. KaḥḥÄla reports the same three dates (the second on the authority of the Ottoman historian and chronicler TaÅköprüzade [d. 968/1561]) and concludes that the most likely date is 324/935 or 936. See KaḥḥÄla, MuÊ¿jam al-muʾallifÄ«n, 7:35.
The death date of AbÅ« MÅ«sÄ al-AshÊ¿arÄ« is also a matter of considerable uncertainty, with various dates given in the sources as AH 41, 42, 50, 52, or 53. The most likely date seems to be 42/662. Vaglieri, âal-AshÊ¿arÄ«, AbÅ« MÅ«sÄ,â EI2, 1:694â696.
For an account of al-AshÊ¿arÄ«âs public dispute with his master, al-JubbÄʾī, that occurred around the same time and that also contributed to his loss of faith in the MuÊ¿tazilÄ« creed, see Fakhry, History, 204â205. On the rise of AshÊ¿arÄ« kalÄm more generally, see Thiele, âBetween Cordoba and NÄ«sÄbÅ«r.â
Watt, Islamic Philosophy and Theology, 64â65. For the main differences between MuÊ¿tazilÄ« theology and the theology eventually developed by al-AshÊ¿arÄ«, see Thiele, âBetween Cordoba and NÄ«sÄbÅ«r,â 226â229.
On al-AshÊ¿arÄ«âs view of the nature and function of reason in theological matters, see Frank, âAl-AÅ¡Ê¿ariâs Conception.â
Watt, Formative Period, 307. See also Watt, Islamic Philosophy and Theology, 66: âWhen he [al-AshÊ¿arÄ«] quotes a verse and argues from it, he is not simply quoting (as some other writers did) but is placing the verse within a setting of rational conceptions, and he has other arguments which do not depend on quotationsââa description that is equally apt for Ibn Taymiyyaâs methodology.
Nagel, History, 152. This is a critical point since Ibn Taymiyya also stresses the QurʾÄnâs use of rational argumentation and consciously tries to develop a notion of reason that grows out of and is congruent with the QurʾÄn.
See, e.g., ibid., 178.
For an extended discussion of al-AshÊ¿arÄ«âs position on the divine attributes in his various works, see Allard, Le problème, 173â285.
Nagel, History, 153. We deal with the question of qiyÄs al-ghÄʾib Ê¿alÄ al-shÄhid, which is central to Ibn Taymiyyaâs methodology and approach to the divine attributes, in detail in chapter 6.
This inference from the seen to the unseen was one of the MuÊ¿tazilÄ« principles that al-AshÊ¿arÄ« initially adopted but attempted to bend to his own purposes. He seems to have concluded that the MuÊ¿tazila were not wrong in principle to draw such inferences with regard to the divine attributes (otherwise we would have no way of relating to the attributes at all); however, in their attempt to achieve maximum rational consistency, the MuÊ¿tazila had pushed the principle so far that they committed precisely that kind of tashbÄ«h from which they had originally fled. Thus, they essentially came to conceive of the divine attributes as being subject to the very same sorts of limitations that apply to human attributes denoted by the same name. It is for this reason that, in an effort to avoid likening God to created things, they ultimately denied the divine attributes altogether. Because they had essentially assimilated (shabbahÅ«) Godâs attributes to manâs, the MuÊ¿tazila drew the inexorable conclusion that affirming any of the divine attributes necessarily involved likening God to creation (tashbÄ«h).
See Nagel, History, 154; also Thiele, âBetween Cordoba and NÄ«sÄbÅ«r,â 227â228.
Nagel, History, 154.
For the Arabic text of this work with an English translation, see Klein, Abuâl-Ḥasan Ê¿AlÄ« ibn IsmÄÊ¿Ä«l al-AÅ¡Ê¿arÄ«âs al-IbÄnah Ê¿an uṣūl ad-diyÄnah.
Gardet and Anawati, Introduction, 60.
The chronology of the IbÄna is disputed. Gardet and Anawati (Introduction, 60) follow Wensinck (Muslim Creed, 93) in suggesting that the IbÄna was al-AshÊ¿arÄ«âs first post-conversion work. Allard (Le problème, 250â251), by contrast, dates it to around the year 315/927 or 928, placing it after al-AshÊ¿arÄ«âs other major works, including RisÄla ilÄ ahl al-thaghr, KitÄb al-LumaÊ¿, and IstiḥsÄn al-khawḠfÄ« Ê¿ilm al-kalÄm [also known by the title KitÄb al-Ḥathth Ê¿alÄ al-baḥthâon which see Frank, âAl-AshÊ¿arÄ«âs KitÄb al-ḥathth Ê¿alÄ l-Baḥthâ]. Note that Ibn Taymiyya also considered the IbÄna to be al-AshÊ¿arÄ«âs last work on theology, one that represented his final view on theological matters. On various views concerning the authenticity of and the relationship among al-AshÊ¿arÄ«âs various works, see Thiele, âBetween Cordoba and NÄ«sÄbÅ«r,â 227, n. 2.
Gardet and Anawati, Introduction, 60. The difference in the tone of al-AshÊ¿arÄ«âs various treatises has also been interpreted as a function of each workâs respective audience. Watt (Formative Period, 306â307), for instance, follows Allardâs view that al-AshÊ¿arÄ«âs al-LumaÊ¿ was directed to the MuÊ¿tazila and other mutakallimÅ«n, whereas the IbÄna contains arguments specifically addressed to the ḤanbalÄ«sâa point that perhaps explains its more strident, less compromising tone. See Allard, Le problème, esp. 215â285. Yet we must bear in mind that al-AshÊ¿arÄ« also seems to have written the work IstiḥsÄn al-khawḠfÄ« Ê¿ilm al-kalÄm (The vindication of the use of the science of kalÄm) with a ḤanbalÄ« audience in mind, in this case to convince them of the legitimacy and appropriateness, or âpermissibilityâ (âistiḥsÄnâ here presumably being used in its legal sense), of engaging in kalÄm. These positions are perhaps not incompatible since a strict ḤanbalÄ« (recall Aḥmad b. Ḥanbal) would have objected to any rationalistic (understood here in the pejorative sense of pseudo-rational) defense of theological doctrines, regardless how conservative and traditionalist the positions defended. For the Arabic text of al-AshÊ¿arÄ«âs IstiḥsÄn with an English translation, see McCarthy, The Theology of al-AshÊ¿arÄ«.
For a summary of the achievement of al-AshÊ¿arÄ«, see Watt, Formative Period, 303â¯ff. For a more detailed study of the development of al-AshÊ¿arÄ«âs doctrine, see Frank, âElements in the Development of the Teaching of al-AÅ¡Ê¿arÄ«.â For an extended study of the life and thought of al-AshÊ¿arÄ«, see McCarthy, Theology, passim and Allard, Le problème, 25â72.
These are AbÅ« Sahl al-á¹¢uÊ¿lÅ«kÄ« (d. 369/980) of Nishapur, AbÅ« al-Ḥasan al-BÄhilÄ« (d. ca. 370/980) of Basra, and AbÅ« Ê¿Abd AllÄh b. MujÄhid al-ṬÄʾī (d. 360s/970s or 370s/980s) of Basra. Watt, Formative Period, 312. For a discussion of the major AshÊ¿arÄ« figures up until al-GhazÄlÄ«, see Watt, Islamic Philosophy and Theology, 75â84.
The other two being Ibn FÅ«rak (d. 406/1015) and AbÅ« IsḥÄq al-IsfarÄyÄ«nÄ« (d. 418/1027). Thiele, âBetween Cordoba and NÄ«sÄbÅ«r,â 229.
Namely, al-BÄhilÄ« and Ibn MujÄhid. Watt, Formative Period, 312.
Al-BÄqillÄnÄ«âs MÄlikÄ« affiliation seems to have contributed to the spread and acceptance of AshÊ¿arÄ« theology in North Africa, a region uniformly MÄlikÄ« in legal rite. Before this time, most adherents of AshÊ¿arÄ« kalÄm were ShÄfiÊ¿Ä« (like al-AshÊ¿arÄ« himself), though there were some ḤanafÄ«s among them as well. Watt, Islamic Philosophy and Theology, 76.
Ibid.
See Ibn KhaldÅ«n, al-Muqaddima, 465, lines 12â13 for the remark that al-BÄqillÄnÄ« âtook a leading role in [developing] their [the AshÊ¿arÄ«sâ] method,â specifically by making explicit the rational premises on which the key positions of the school rested.
Thiele, âBetween Cordoba and NÄ«sÄbÅ«r,â 231. Majid Fakhry, for instance, speaks of the âpioneering role [al-BÄqillÄnÄ« played] in elaborating the metaphysical groundwork of AshÊ¿arism.â Fakhry, History, 213.
Al-BÄqillÄnÄ«âs ingenuity in this regard can be seen in his remodeling of al-JubbÄʾīâs theory of the aḥwÄl, or âstates,â a theory that he adapted to the needs of AshÊ¿arÄ« theology by using it to prove what the MuÊ¿tazila had intended it to disprove (namely, the subsistence in God of qualities such as knowledge, power, and will as distinct, existing entities, or maÊ¿ÄnÄ«). See Thiele, âAbÅ« HÄshim al-JubbÄʾīâs (d. 321/933) Theory of âStatesâ (aḥwÄl),â 377â380.
Nagel, History, 160.
For a useful list of selected readings on all aspects of the Islamic philosophical tradition, see Adamson and Taylor, eds., Cambridge Companion to Arabic Philosophy, 426â441 (âSelect Bibliography and Further Readingâ).
See section 3 of the current chapter, p. 31â¯ff.
For a detailed presentation of the various stages of the translation movement and the actors involved, see Fakhry, History, 4â19 and, more extensively, Gutas, Greek Thought, passim.
For a table of the numerous Neoplatonic writings translated into Arabic (or Syriac) presented in convenient table form, see dâAncona, âGreek into Arabic,â 22â23.
See comments at Wisnovsky, âAvicenna,â 92.
Falsafa has traditionally been seen as primarily, and perhaps exclusively, influenced by Islamic theological discourse not in its method or basic philosophical precommitments but only in the sense that it ultimately took up some of the issues discussed in kalÄm and âphilosophizedâ them, so to speak, by assimilating them to the larger philosophical Weltanschauung and recasting them in light of a purely philosophical interpretation. (See, e.g., Gardet and Anawati, Introduction, 322, n. 3.) More recent scholarship, however, has contended that the boundaries between theology and philosophy were not as clearly demarcated, whether in terms of methodology or in terms of subject matter. See, for instance, Wisnovsky, âNotes,â as well as Wisnovsky, âNature and Scope.â
See, for example, Wisnovsky, âOne Aspect.â
Endress, âDefense of Reason,â 15.
Ibid., 4â5. See also Adamson, Al-KindÄ«, 43 on his âbelief in the harmony, even the identity, of the truths of philosophy and the truths of Islam.â
Fakhry, History, 68.
Klein-Franke, âAl-KindÄ«,â 171.
Adamson, Al-Kindī, 43.
Mahdi, Alfarabi and the Foundation, 5.
Endress, âDefense of Reason,â 6, 8. See also Watt, Formative Period, 206â208.
Adamson, âAl-KindÄ« and the Reception,â 48. For a detailed discussion of the philosophical convergences and divergences between al-KindÄ« and the MuÊ¿tazila, see Adamson, âAl-KindÄ« and the MuÊ¿tazila,â 45â77. For the theory of atomism as first introduced by the MuÊ¿tazilÄ« theologian AbÅ« al-Hudhayl al-Ê¿AllÄf, see Frank, Metaphysics of Created Being.
Though he seems to have embraced a composite doctrine that combined the Neoplatonic emanationist notion of the One, Aristotleâs Unmoved Mover, and the theistic conception of God as Creator, thus simultaneously combining Neoplatonic, Aristotelian, and Islamic doctrines on God. See Adamson, âAl-KindÄ« and the Reception,â 38â39; also EndreÃ, âAthen, Alexandria, Bagdad, Samarkand,â 49.
Fakhry, History, 69. Fakhry stresses how orthodox al-KindÄ« was for a philosopher (see, for instance, Fakhry, 93â94). Muhsin Mahdi, by contrast, remarks that while al-KindÄ«âs views in some respects resemble those of MuÊ¿tazilÄ« theologians, nevertheless âas one looks more closely at what al-KindÄ« writes, he sees that the spirit, intention, and substance of his thought are quite different from those of the MuÊ¿tazila.â See Mahdi, Alfarabi and the Foundation, 5.
Endress, âDefense of Reason,â 10â11. See also Ivry, âAl-KindÄ« as Philosopher,â 118â124 and passim for al-KindÄ«âs eclectic blending of Neoplatonic and Islamic monotheistic elements within a larger framework of primarily Aristotelian inspiration.
Klein-Franke, âAl-KindÄ«,â 168.
Adamson, Al-Kindī, 55.
Ibid., 57.
We do not have precise information about the date of YūḥannÄ b. ḤaylÄnâs death; we know only that he died during the reign of the Abbasid caliph al-Muqtadir bi-LlÄh, that is, sometime between the years 295/908 and 320/932. See Ibn AbÄ« Uá¹£aybiÊ¿a, Ê¿UyÅ«n al-anbÄʾ, 605; Ibn al-AthÄ«r, al-KÄmil, 7:237.
Black, âAl-FÄrÄbÄ«,â 178.
Fakhry, History, 107. For a list of al-FÄrÄbÄ«âs chief logical writings, see Fakhry, 109. For a study of the pre-FÄrÄbian logical tradition in Arabic, with a concentration on early terminology as an indication of the primarily Syriac roots thereof, see Zimmermann, âSome Observations on al-Farabi and Logical Tradition.â
For one interpretation of how al-FÄrÄbÄ« came to merit this appellation, see S.H. Nasr, âWhy Was Al-FÄrÄbÄ« Called the Second Teacher?â
Black, âAl-FÄrÄbÄ«,â 192.
Ibid., 188.
Fakhry, History, 107.
Mahdi, Alfarabi and the Foundation, 3. This work provides an informative and interesting treatment of the background to and the various aspects of al-FÄrÄbÄ«âs philosophical work.
Black, âAl-FÄrÄbÄ«,â 179.
Ibid. For a full treatment, see Abed, Aristotelian Logic and the Arabic Language in AlfÄrÄbÄ«. Al-FÄrÄbÄ« is also well known for his various writings on political science and philosophy. (See, for instance, the discussion in Mahdi, Alfarabi and the Foundation, 14â15â¯ff.)
Epitomized by the famous debate between MattÄ b. YÅ«nus, the logician, and AbÅ« SaÊ¿Ä«d al-ṢīrÄfÄ« (d. 368/979), the theologian, jurist, and philologist. For a presentation and English paraphrase of this debate, see Mahdi, âLanguage and Logic,â 51â84. A full German translation of the debate by Gerhard Endreà is available as an appendix to his detailed study on the contentious relationship between Greek logic and Arabic grammar and philology from the beginning of Islam through al-GhazÄlÄ«. See EndreÃ, âGrammatik und Logik,â 235â270. This appendix also includes a presentation and translation of a text by YaḥyÄ b. Ê¿AdÄ«, MattÄ b. YÅ«nusâs most important Christian disciple (al-FÄrÄbÄ«, of course, was his most important Muslim disciple), on the difference between logic and grammar. (See EndreÃ, 271â296.) For an extensive study of al-ṢīrÄfÄ« and a systematic interpretation of his debate with MattÄ b. YÅ«nus, see, in the same volume, Kühn, âDie Rehabilitierung der Sprache.â
We return to the issue of language and terminology, a crucial component of Ibn Taymiyyaâs critique, in greater detail in chapter 4, then take up the question of the status of reason and rationality proper in chapter 5.
See Mahdi, âAlfarabi on Philosophy and Religion.â
Black, âAl-FÄrÄbÄ«,â 181.
Griffel, Apostasie und Toleranz, 246.
Black, âAl-FÄrÄbÄ«,â 181. For a discussion of al-FÄrÄbÄ«âs theory of demonstration, including those aspects in which he differs from Aristotleâparticularly al-FÄrÄbÄ«âs âemphasis on the ascent toward primary truths at the expense of the subsequent deductive reasoning from them and his concomitant elevation of dialectic at the expense of demonstration in its usual meaningââsee Galston, âAl-FÄrÄbÄ« on Aristotleâs Theory of Demonstrationâ (cited quotation at p. 30). Relevant to our concerns farther on, Galston raises the possibility that al-FÄrÄbÄ« may have viewed Aristotleâs apodictic demonstration as merely âa guide for reasoning while itself an unattainable goalâ (Galston, 32). Furthermore, al-FÄrÄbÄ« seems to have deemed it very difficult to construct full-fledged demonstrations from scratch and, consequently, to have given considerable weight to the practical necessity of beginning oneâs pursuit of truth by reasoning from dialectical syllogisms based on generally accepted premises, then refining these by a subsequent application of the rules of demonstration in order to distinguish true premises from false. Al-FÄrÄbÄ« therefore seems to stand in agreement with Ibn Taymiyya that true apodictic demonstration (as per the doctrine of the philosophers) is hard to come by, particularly when it comes to âacquiring premises of the requisite kindâ (Galston, 31). Galston states the matter aptly when she asks if, for al-FÄrÄbÄ«, âthe upward movement [i.e., from particular sense experiences] toward primary principles can ever provide the necessary certainty that demonstrations require of their starting-pointsâ (Galston, 31).
Black, âAl-FÄrÄbÄ«,â 182. At the beginning of his KitÄb al-Jadal (Book of dialectic), al-FÄrÄbÄ« enumerates five ways in which dialectic contributes substantively to the philosophical pursuit, namely, (as paraphrased in Black, 182) â(1) by offering training in the skills of argumentation; (2) by providing an initial exposure to the principles of the individual demonstrative sciences; (3) by awakening awareness of the innate self-evident principles of demonstration, in particular for the physical sciences; (4) by developing the skills useful for communicating with the masses; and (5) for refuting sophistry.â
Fakhry, History, 116.
Black, âAl-FÄrÄbÄ«,â 182.
Ibid., 192.
See Wisnovsky, âAvicenna,â 92. See also Ayman Shihadeh, âFrom al-GhazÄlÄ« to al-RÄzÄ«,â 175 for the observation that philosophy (falsafa) and theology (kalÄm) âcame to be as if one and the same discipline.â See also Endress, âDefense of Reason,â 30 for the point that âit was through him [Ibn SÄ«nÄ] that the falsafa came to be and to stay an integral and living part of Islamic thoughtâ (and further remarks at Endress, 37).
Wisnovsky, âAvicenna,â 93. For an overview of Ibn SÄ«nÄâs metaphysics, see Marmura, âAvicennaâs Metaphysicsâ; also Hallaq, Greek Logicians, xivâxxiv and passim. For a more in-depth treatment, see Menn, âAvicennaâs Metaphysicsâ and McGinnis, Avicenna, 149â208. For an exhaustive exploration, see Wisnovsky, Avicennaâs Metaphysics in Context.
Wisnovsky, âAvicenna,â 109.
Ibid., 93.
Inati, âIbn SÄ«nÄ,â 234â235. See also McGinnis, Avicenna, 28â35.
On Ibn Taymiyyaâs critique of logic, see Hallaq, Greek Logicians, as well as von Kügelgen, âIbn TaymÄ«yas Kritikâ and von Kügelgen, âPoison of Philosophy.â For a recent reassessment of Hallaqâs interpretation of Ibn Taymiyya and a critical review of Ibn Taymiyyaâs critique of logic and the logicians, see El-Rouayheb, âTheology and Logic,â 416â422.
Inati, âIbn SÄ«nÄ,â 242.
Ibid.
Gutas, âHeritage of Avicenna,â 85.
Wisnovsky, âAvicenna,â 92. See further at p. 133, where Wisnovsky goes so far as to characterize the post-Avicennian mutakallimÅ«n as âthe torchbearers of the Avicennian tradition in Islamic intellectual history.â
And, in fact, this post-Avicennian âkalÄm of the mutaʾakhkhirÅ«nâ may just as well be described as a âpost-GhazÄlian kalÄmâ since it was primarily al-GhazÄlÄ« who, in refuting Ibn SÄ«nÄ, simultaneously opened the door to his philosophy and (unwittingly?) adopted and domesticated within both kalÄm and Sufism a number of important tenets of his rivalâs teaching. For a study of the affinities between al-GhazÄlÄ«âs thought and that of Ibn SÄ«nÄ, see Janssens, âAl-GhazzÄlÄ«âs TahÄfut.â See also Tim Winterâs remarks in his introduction to The Cambridge Companion to Classical Islamic Theology, 12â14.
Watt, Formative Period, 204â208.
On the nature of this process, see especially Wisnovsky, âNature and Scope,â as well as Wisnovsky, âEssence and Existence.â
See Gardet and Anawati, Introduction, 66 (citing the opening of al-JuwaynÄ«âs KitÄb al-IrshÄd). As we shall discover, Ibn Taymiyya would not reject this in principle since the QurʾÄn is full of exhortations to âlookâ (faʾnáºurÅ«, etc.) and to ponder. Rational reflection (in the sense of looking and pondering) is therefore fundamental, in Ibn Taymiyyaâs view, to reaching and maintaining authentic conviction in the truth of Islam. His main goal in the Darʾ, however, is to refute the validity of the methods and content of what passed for naáºar among later kalÄm theologians, such as al-JuwaynÄ«, and to replace this with a reconfigured âsound reasoningâ (ḥusn al-naáºar) that he identifies with that of the early community of the pre-kalÄm/pre-philosophy stage, in which ââ¯âreason and revelationâ ⦠were not experienced as dichotomousâ (Winter, âReason as Balance,â 8).
Nagel, History, 165.
Gardet and Anawati, Introduction, 73.
On the chronology of al-JuwaynÄ«âs works, see Allard, Le problème, 379â380.
Nagel, History, 173. See also Wisnovsky, âOne Aspect.â On al-JuwaynÄ«âs reforms of the earlier kalÄm argument for the existence of God, see Thiele, âBetween Cordoba and NÄ«sÄbÅ«r,â 236. Antecedents to al-JuwaynÄ«âs reform can be found even before Ibn SÄ«nÄ in the work of the MuÊ¿tazilÄ« AbÅ« al-Ḥusayn al-Baá¹£rÄ« (d. 436/1044); see Madelung, âAbÅ« l-Ḥusayn al-Baá¹£rÄ«âs Proof.â On the relationship between Ibn SÄ«nÄâs proof for the existence of God and kalÄm theology more generally, see Rudolph, âLa preuve de lââ¯existence de Dieu.â
Such as Fakhr al-DÄ«n al-RÄzÄ« (Nagel, History, 207). See Ibn KhaldÅ«n, al-Muqaddima, 465, line 22 to 466, line 4 for the incorporation of logic into kalÄm and its centrality in the demarcation of âold-style kalÄmâ (á¹arÄ«qat al-mutaqaddimÄ«n) from ânew-style kalÄmâ (á¹arÄ«qat al-mutaʾakhkhirÄ«n).
Gardet and Anawati, Introduction, 73.
Ibid., 66. In the generation before al-JuwaynÄ«, Ibn FÅ«rak made taʾwÄ«l of certain ḥadÄ«th, while Ê¿Abd al-QÄhir al-BaghdÄdÄ« had previously endorsed a more thorough-going taʾwÄ«l than Ibn FÅ«rak. See Allard, Le problème, 326â329 on Ibn FÅ«rak and Allard, 334â342 on al-BaghdÄdÄ«.
Gardet and Anawati, Introduction, 73.
Primarily through al-GhazÄlÄ«âs systematic incorporation of logic into his famous work on jurisprudence, al-Mustaá¹£fÄ min Ê¿ilm al-uṣūl.
Gardet and Anawati, Introduction, 154. For an analysis of the main differences between old-style and new-style kalÄm, see the discussion at Gardet and Anawati, 72â76.
Ibid., 72â73.
Ibid., 154.
On al-GhazÄlÄ«âs life and works, see Griffel, Al-GhazÄlÄ«âs Philosophical Theology, 19â59.
Griffel, Apostasie und Toleranz, 264.
Gardet and Anawati, Introduction, 72. For a more detailed discussion of the progressive crossover from the âold wayâ to the ânew wayâ through an analysis of al-BÄqillÄnÄ«âs TamhÄ«d, al-JuwaynÄ«âs IrshÄd, and al-GhazÄlÄ«âs Iqtiá¹£Äd, see Gardet and Anawati, 153â160. In sum, the authors remark that the new way, whose eventual triumph one can already sense in the work of al-JuwaynÄ«, becomes fully actualized in the work of al-GhazÄlÄ«, with AshÊ¿arÄ« theologians thereafter incorporating an ever greater portion of the terms and categories of philosophy into kalÄm proper (Gardet and Anawati, 154).
For a chronological presentation and discussion of al-GhazÄlÄ«âs main works, see Madelung, âAl-GhazÄlÄ«âs Changing Attitude.â
Michael Marmura speaks of al-GhazÄlÄ«âs work as being an exposition of âAvicennaâs logic.â Marmura, âAl-GhazÄlÄ«,â 139. Fakhry specifies this notion of an Avicennian logic as one in which âAristotelian, Neo-Platonic, and Stoic elements are intermingled.â Fakhry, History, 133. For a discussion of Ibn SÄ«nÄâs presentation of logic in his famous ShifÄʾ, see Fakhry, 133â135.
For a reinterpretation of al-GhazÄlÄ«âs âcrisisâ as traditionally depicted on the basis of his al-Munqidh min al-á¸alÄl (Deliverance from Error), see Garden, âRevisiting al-GhazÄlÄ«âs Crisisâ and, more extensively, Garden, First Islamic Reviver, 1â60.
See p. 65, n. 200 above.
On which see Griffel, âTheology Engages with Avicennan Philosophy,â 437â446.
Marmura, âAl-GhazÄlÄ«,â 137. For al-GhazÄlÄ«âs debt, on the other hand, to philosophyâand particularly to Ibn SÄ«nÄâin his theory of mystical cognition, see Treiger, Inspired Knowledge. For a concise and pointed account of al-GhazÄlÄ«âs complex relationship to philosophy, see Madelung, âAl-GhazÄlÄ«âs Changing Attitude.â
Marmura, âAl-GhazÄlÄ«,â 144.
Griffel, Apostasie und Toleranz, 274â275.
For a concise and lucid summary of all twenty issues dealt with in the TahÄfut, see Fakhry, History, 222â233.
On al-GhazÄlÄ«âs treatment of these three doctrines and his fatwÄ against them, see Griffel, âTheology Engages with Avicennan Philosophy,â 442â446 and, more exhaustively, Griffel, Apostasie und Toleranz, 260â281. For a succinct discussion of al-GhazÄlÄ«âs views on defining the proper boundaries of faith in his Fayá¹£al al-tafriqa bayna al-IslÄm wa-l-zandaqa (Criterion for discernment between Islam and disbelief), see Jackson, On the Boundaries. For an extended analysis, see Griffel, Apostasie und Toleranz, 304â335, esp. sections 3 and 4.
See, e.g., Janssens, âAl-GhazzÄlÄ«âs TahÄfut.â See also Landolt, âGhazÄlÄ« and âReligionswissenschaftââ¯â; Griffel, Al-GhazÄlÄ«âs Philosophical Theology, 97â109; Wisnovsky, âOne Aspect,â passim; Madelung, âAl-GhazÄlÄ«âs Changing Attitude,â esp. 29â31; Rudolph, âAl-GhazÄlÄ«âs Concept of Philosophy,â passim; and Treiger, Inspired Knowledge, 81â101.
See introduction to Hallaq, Greek Logicians, xiiâxiv.
See Chelhot, â«al-Qisá¹Äs al-MustaqÄ«m»,â 12â15 for a discussion of al-GhazÄlÄ«âs identification of the âfive rules of thoughtâ (namely, five different syllogistic figures) that he contends are revealed in the QurʾÄn. See also Kleinknecht, âAl-Qisá¹Äs al-MustaqÄ«m,â where the author emphasizes, in particular, al-GhazÄlÄ«âs attempt to wrest logic from the exclusive province of the philosophers and to win it over for more general use by the educated, as well as his use of tangible metaphors to make logical reasoning acceptable to those suspicious of abstractions. For a nuanced study of al-GhazÄlÄ«âs role in the reassessment and appropriation of logic, see Rudolph, âDie Neubewertung der Logik durch al-Ä azÄlÄ«.â On knowledge and certainty in al-GhazÄlÄ« more generally, see Luis Xavier López-Farjeat, âAl-GhazÄlÄ« on Knowledge (Ê¿ilm) and Certainty (yaqÄ«n).â
Gardet and Anawati, Introduction, 360â361.
Ibid., 71â72.
See Ibn KhaldÅ«nâs discussion in al-Muqaddima, 466, esp. lines 3â7â¯ff.
For a detailed discussion of al-GhazÄlÄ«âs position on the use of taʾwÄ«l, see Aydin, âAl-Ghazâlî on Metaphorical Interpretation.â
Griffel, Apostasie und Toleranz, 273â274, 317â319. See also Griffel, Al-GhazÄlÄ«âs Philosophical Theology, 111â122 and, for a much more extensive treatment, Griffel, âAl-GhazÄlÄ« at His Most Rationalist.â The latter two studies provide a thorough analysis of al-GhazÄlÄ«âs iteration of the qÄnÅ«n al-taʾwÄ«l, Ibn Taymiyyaâs response to which forms the subject of chapter 3 of the present study.
On this text, see Landolt, âGhazÄlÄ« and âReligionswissenschaft.ââ¯â
For al-GhazÄlÄ«âs use of allegory and his development of a symbolic vocabulary in the MishkÄt, see ibid. On the MishkÄt, see also Girdner, âGhazÄlÄ«âs Hermeneutics.â
Gardet and Anawati, Introduction, 70â71. Breaking with his teacher, al-JuwaynÄ«, al-GhazÄlÄ« explicitly distanced himself from the AshÊ¿arÄ« view that makes some measure of rational inquiry (naáºar) into theological questions a requirement for salvation. Griffel, Apostasie und Toleranz, 273.
Fakhry, History, 220.
Gardet and Anawati, Introduction, 119.
Ibid.
Marmura, âAl-GhazÄlÄ«,â 152.
Nagel, History, 242. Al-HarawÄ«âs opposition to kalÄm seems to have stemmed as much from his mystical orientation as from his ḤanbalÄ« commitments. With respect to the view that kalÄm is unnecessary at best and that scripture alone suffices, Tim Winter remarks that âal-HarawÄ« (d. 1089) agrees, suggesting that kalÄm is an unreliable substitute for the true gift of mystical illumination.â Winter, Cambridge Companion, 5.
Gardet and Anawati, Introduction, 57.
On whom see Makdisi, Ibn Ê¿Aqil.
See Makdisi, âAshÊ¿arÄ« and the AshÊ¿aritesâ (to be qualified, however, by Khaled El-Rouayhebâs remarks in âFrom Ibn Ḥajar al-HaytamÄ«,â 295â296â¯ff.).
Gardet and Anawati, Introduction, 61â62. Major representatives of new AshÊ¿arÄ« kalÄm in the post-GhazÄlÄ« period include Muḥammad b. Ê¿Abd al-KarÄ«m al-ShahrastÄnÄ« (d. 548/1153), Fakhr al-DÄ«n al-RÄzÄ« (d. 606/1209), ḤÄfiẠal-DÄ«n al-NasafÄ« (d. 701/1301 or 710/1310), Ê¿Aá¸ud al-DÄ«n al-ĪjÄ« (d. 756/1355), SaÊ¿d al-DÄ«n al-TaftÄzÄnÄ« (d. 793/1390), al-SharÄ«f al-JurjÄnÄ« (d. 816/1413), Muḥammad b. YÅ«suf al-SanÅ«sÄ« (d. 895/1490), and JalÄl al-DÄ«n al-DawÄnÄ« (d. 908/1502). On the appropriation of Avicennian thought by the new kalÄm, see Wisnovsky, âNature and Scope.â
That is, in the year 661/1263.
Nagel, History, 243.
Ibn Rushdâs views on the relationship between reason and revelation are discussed in more detail at the end of the following chapter. For a lucid overview, see Fakhry, History, 270â292.
On whom see Rustom, Triumph of Mercy.
Fakhry refers to MullÄ á¹¢adrÄ as âthe last great encyclopedic writer in Islamâ and remarks that âhis voluminous output is an eloquent disproof of the view expressed by many historians of Islamic medieval philosophy that by the end of the eleventh century al-GhazÄlÄ« had dealt philosophy a crippling blow from which it never recoveredâ (Fakhry, History, 311). For a detailed recent study on the influence of Ibn SÄ«nÄ and how it manifests in the work of MullÄ á¹¢adrÄ, see Eichner, âDie iranische Philosophie von Ibn SÄ«nÄ bis MullÄ á¹¢adrÄ.â
See Gardet and Anawati, Introduction, 325â¯ff. See also Winterâs remarks in his introduction to Cambridge Companion, esp. 11â14 (âThe fate of falsafaâ), where he observes that âeven the most superficial perusal of a late kalÄm work will reveal the immense influence which Avicenna exerted on the framing of Muslim orthodoxyâ (Winter, 12). He goes on to remark, following Khaled El-Rouayheb, that âMuslim orthodoxy did not shed Hellenism, but steadily accumulated it, and continued to extol the core Aristotelian discipline of logic, not only in kalÄm, but in lawâ (Winter, 14). Further, he cites al-TaftÄzÄnÄ«, âauthor of perhaps the most widely used text of later Muslim theology,â to the effect that âthe kalÄm folk had âincorporated most of the physics and metaphysics, and delved deeply into the mathematics, so that but for the samÊ¿iyyÄt, kalÄm was hardly distinguishable from falsafaââ¯â (Winter, 12).
Gardet and Anawati, for instance, argued that although the Muslim philosophers tried hard to maintain the letter of the QurʾÄn, they never accepted anything from revelation that went beyond the domain of philosophy proper. See Gardet and Anawati, Introduction, 321â323.
Fakhry, History, 91.
See, e.g., Wisnovsky, âNotesâ and Wisnovsky, âEssence and Existence.â See also Wisnovsky, Avicennaâs Metaphysics, 145â160, 227â244.
See Wisnovsky, Avicennaâs Metaphysics, 16, 145â180.
See, e.g., Winterâs remarks at Cambridge Companion, 11.
Ibid., 13.
For background on al-RÄzÄ«âs life and works, see Street, âConcerning the Life and Works,â as well as Griffel, âOn Fakhr al-DÄ«n al-RÄzÄ«âs Life.â For immediate intellectual antecedents, see Shihadeh, âFrom al-GhazÄlÄ« to al-RÄzÄ«.â For al-RÄzÄ«âs thought in general, and his theological and philosophical views in particular, see al-ZarkÄn, Fakhr al-DÄ«n al-RÄzÄ«; Arnaldez, âLââ¯Åuvreâ; and Jaffer, RÄzÄ«. On al-RÄzÄ«âs polemical entanglements with MuÊ¿tazilÄ«s, KarrÄmÄ«s, and others, see Kraus, ââ¯âControversies.ââ¯â
âdie hervorragendste Erscheinung der spekulativen Theologie der nach-Ä¡azÄlischen Zeit.â Goldziher, âAus der Theologie,â 223.
Kraus, ââ¯âControversies,ââ¯â 131.
Jaffer, RÄzÄ«, 10.
Watt, Islamic Philosophy and Theology, 94.
For a list of seventy-six treatises ascribed to al-RÄzÄ« across a wide range of disciplines, see Muhibbu-Din, âImÄm Fakhr al-DÄ«n al-RÄzÄ«: Philosophical Theology in al-TafsÄ«r al-KabÄ«r,â 58â62.
Watt, Islamic Philosophy and Theology, 94. On the philosophical and theological developments that occurred between al-GhazÄlÄ« and AbÅ« al-BarakÄt al-BaghdÄdÄ«, see Griffel, âBetween al-GhazÄlÄ« and AbÅ« l-BarakÄt al-BaghdÄdÄ«.â
Fakhry, History, 319â321.
See Shihadeh, âFrom al-GhazÄlÄ« to al-RÄzÄ«.â On these developments, see also Griffel, âTheology Engages with Avicennan Philosophy.â
See Ayman Shihadeh, Teleological Ethics.
On al-RÄzÄ«âs eventual skepticism and epistemological pessimism, see Shihadeh, Teleological Ethics, 181â203. Al-RÄzÄ«âs pessimism stands in marked contrast to Ibn Taymiyyaâs overall confidence in sound human reason (Ê¿aql á¹£arīḥ) and his concomitant optimism, in both the epistemological and the ethical realms. See Hoover, Ibn Taymiyyaâs Theodicy, 1â6, 224â237.
Hasse and Bertolacci, eds., The Arabic, Hebrew and Latin Reception of Avicennaâs Metaphysics.
See Eichner, âEssence and Existence,â 123.
Ibid., 124.
Wisnovsky, âEssence and Existence,â 29, 42â43.
For details, see ibid., 40â44; also, on a somewhat related question, Abrahamov, âFaḫr al-DÄ«n al-RÄzÄ«.â
Jaffer, RÄzÄ«.
Ibn Taymiyya is reported to have quipped that this massive work âcontains everything but tafsÄ«r,â to which the AshÊ¿arÄ« jurist á¸iyÄʾ al-DÄ«n al-SubkÄ« (d. 725/1325) retorted that, in fact, it âcontains everything along with tafsÄ«r.â See MaʿṣūmÄ«, âImÄm Fakhr al-DÄ«n al-RÄzÄ« and His Critics,â 357.
Jaffer, RÄzÄ«, 14. See also, on the epistemological aspects of al-RÄzÄ«âs grand tafsÄ«r, Oulddali, Raison et révélation en Islam.
Jaffer, RÄzÄ«, 14.
Known variously as âal-qÄnÅ«n al-kullÄ«â (the universal rule), âqÄnÅ«n al-taʾwÄ«lâ (the rule of interpretation), or âal-qÄnÅ«n al-kullÄ« fÄ« al-taʾwÄ«lâ (the universal rule of interpretation). Chapter 3 of the present work is dedicated to a detailed examination of this universal rule and Ibn Taymiyyaâs numerous arguments against it.
Jaffer deals with al-RÄzÄ«âs principles of interpretation in detail at Jaffer, RÄzÄ«, 54â83 and with al-RÄzÄ«âs proposed reconciliation of reason and revelation on the basis of these principles at Jaffer, 84â130. The last section of Jafferâs treatment (pp. 117â130) consists, in fact, of a summary of Ibn Taymiyyaâs response in the Darʾ taÊ¿ÄruḠto al-RÄzÄ«âs version of the qÄnÅ«n.
Jaffer, RÄzÄ«, 14.