Ṭāhā ʿAbd al-Raḥmān, al-Taʾsīs al-Iʾtimānī li-ʿIlm al-Maqāṣid. Beirut: Markaz Nuhūḍ, 2022.

Ṭāhā ʿAbd al-Raḥmān’s critical engagement with the genre of maqāṣid can be traced back to 1990s, embodied in several articles and dispersed insights throughout his oeuvre (see for instance ʿAbd al-Raḥmān 2002, 41–64). In this book, al-Taʾsīs al-Iʾtimānī li-ʿIlm al-Maqāṣid (“Fiduciarist Foundation of the Discipline of the Higher Objectives”), ʿAbd al-Raḥmān pulls together these various threads, with a view to reproducing a full-fledged theory of maqāṣid. Here he does not only aim at deepening the genre of maqāṣid, but also at broadening it to include theology, morality, and spirituality. In a lengthy book composed of three parts, divided into 12 chapters (512 pages), he moves back and forth between description and prescription. With the descriptive task, he begins by interrogating the chief architects of maqāṣid, most notably Abū Isḥāq al-Shāṭibī (d. 790/1388), ʿAllāl al-Fāsī (d. 1394/1974), and al-Ṭāhir Ibn ʿĀshūr (d. 1393/1973), demonstrating that while they struggled with the question of what God’s intentions are behind His pronouncements, they did not struggle with the question of whether this very exercise per se is valid. Namely, are we allowed to verify God’s intentions (14–15). ʿAbd al-Raḥmān contended that the scholars of maqāṣid took the latter for granted, thinking that if the scriptural texts provide rationale for some divine prescriptions and proscriptions, which is tantamount to giving legitimacy to the second question (19).

Struggling with this question, ʿAbd al-Raḥmān answers in the affirmative. He distinguishes between two levels of discourse: the divine addressing of the human without intermediary (al-khiṭāb al-ilāhī) and the Prophet’s conveying of the divine message (al-balāgh al-nabawī). It is the first level of discourse that permits the human to practice taqṣīd (pursuit of divine intentions), as it was granted to humans before they existed on earth through three Covenants (mawāthīq) or three direct encounters between the divine and the human. It is through those covenants that the human became entrusted (muʾtaman) not only with the universe but also with revelation when it was conveyed to them by prophets. Those three covenants are mīthāq al-ishhād (Covenant of Attestation), mīthāq al-iʾtimān (Covenant of the Trusteeship), and mīthāq al-irsāl (Covenant of Messengership). Those three covenants constitute ʿAbd al-Raḥmān’s theory of al-fiqh al-iʾtimānī (Trusteeship Paradigm), as opposed to al-fiqh al-iʾtimārī, which refers to the formalistic and literalistic execution of Islamic law. While the latter is limited to the outward formalities of the religious commandments and is primarily concerned with their proper implementation, the former is focused on the moral virtues and the spiritual meanings inherent in the Islamic tradition (23–24).

With mīthāq al-ishhād, humans attested or bore witness to the lordship of God at the time when God manifested (tajallā) Himself with His most beautiful names, in accordance with Q 7:172–173. The verses translate as follows: “[Prophet], when your Lord took out the offspring from the loins of the Children of Adam and made them bear witness about themselves, He said, ‘Am I not your Lord?’ and they replied, ‘Yes, we bear witness.’ So, you cannot say on the Day of Resurrection, ‘We were not aware of this,’ or, ‘It was our forefathers who, before us, ascribed partners to God, and we are only the descendants who came after them: will you destroy us because of falsehoods they invented?’” (112). The mīthāq al-iʾtimān took place when humans entrusted themselves to preserve the moral and spiritual virtues embodied in the aforementioned names of God, in accordance with Q 33:72–73. The verses read: “We offered the Trust to the heavens, the earth, and the mountains, yet they refused to undertake it and were afraid of it; mankind undertook it – they have always been inept and foolish. God will punish the hypocrites and the idolaters, both men and women, and turn with mercy to the believers, both men and women: God is most forgiving, most merciful.” As for mīthāq al-irsāl, it happened after humans entered the physical world and they started to deviate from the first and the second covenants by drifting from their perfect natural state and by persistently betraying the Trust they accepted to carry. As a result, they moved from a state of Trusteeship to a state of tamalluk (Ownership) (302). Thereupon, the third covenant came to bring humans back to those two covenants (tazkiya) through the prophets and messengers who are sent at various intervals to address those deviations. This third covenant is based on Q 33:7–8: “We took a solemn pledge from the Prophets – from you [Muḥammad], from Noah, from Abraham, from Moses, from Jesus, son of Mary – We took a solemn pledge from all of them: God will question [even] the truthful about their sincerity, and for those who reject the truth He has prepared a painful torment” (341–345).

At the heart of ʿAbd al-Raḥmān’s definition of the Human lies akhlāq “moral virtues,” as opposed to the Greek definition which prioritizes “reasoning.” This is not to say that ʿAbd al-Raḥmān disregards reasoning, but that morality is inherent in any rational act, formulating this in a near mathematical equation: a rational act is an act of the heart, and the heart is the locus of not only morality but also spirituality; the three are intertwined. In linking reasoning to morality and spirituality, he contrasts it to the Greek idea of reasoning, which reduces reasoning to mere “theoretical knowledge” irrespective of practice. This view led ʿAbd al-Raḥmān to a hierarchical taxonomy of reasoning. First, al-ʿaql al-mujarrad (Abstract/Denuded Reasoning), an example of which is Greek reasoning which delinks reasoning from practice (198–199). Second, al-ʿaql al-musaddad (Guided Reasoning) which is guided by revelation and is superior to abstract reasoning in that it requires practice, but it is limited in that it does not go beyond the outward formalities of revelation (60). Third, al-ʿaql al-muʾayyad (Aided Reasoning), is even superior to the previous two in that it is aided by revelation in its grasp of the higher purposes of revelation. It reaches this level through its practice of self-purification (tazkiya). While the first and second types of reasoning are also committed to self-purification, what distinguishes Aided Reasoning is that it ascribes this purification to God alone, as opposed to Abstract Reasoning which ascribes it to the individual and Guided Reasoning which ascribes it to Prophet Muḥammad (see ʿAbd al-Raḥmān 2012a, 270, fn. 49; Suleiman 2021, 49–50). Based on their understanding of the concepts of fiṭra (inborn nature) and amāna, ʿAbd al-Raḥmān contends that Ibn ʿĀshūr’s maqāṣid is anchored upon Abstract Reasoning and al-Fāsī’s maqāṣid is based upon Guided Reasoning.

Concerning fiṭra, while Ibn ʿĀshūr focused on its material dimension (32– 33), al-Fāsī focused on its moral dimension (44–50). However, they both side-lined its spiritual dimension which is intertwined with its moral dimension (66). Therefore, he embarked on a journey of “moralizing” the concept of fiṭra by linking it to the concept of qīma (virtue). While he recognizes that scholars of maqāṣid have struggled with the concept of qīma, they emptied it of its moral and spiritual meanings and instead focused on its material aspects (66–67). Then he goes on to explain how this material understanding of qīma is alien to the Qurʾān (67) and how the term carries primarily spiritual and moral connotations (68). In doing so, he draws on Q 30:30, arguing that Qurʾān exegetes did not think of the word “aqim” in the verse as giving qīma (virtue) to the individual (82). This fiṭra derives its meanings from asmāʾ Allāh al-ḥusnā (the Divine Names), which are intrinsic to its essence and not acquired by humans (132–133), otherwise humans would not have been able to talk to God in the metaphysical realm, as mentioned in mīthāq al-ishhād (133–134). What is more is that he argues that this fiṭra is not a static locus or a passive recipient of the Divine Names, but rather dynamic and active in how it produces virtues out of those names and gets them to engage and interact with one another (166). This fiṭra is essentially what distinguishes humans from other beings, and not “reasoning” in the way the Greek and many Muslim scholars understand it (167).

As for the concept of amāna, Muslim jurists reduced its potential when they associated it mainly with the religious obligations that come with the hardships that the heavens, the earth, and the mountains were incapable of bearing. Additionally, given that they linked fiṭra with reasoning, they also connected the concept of religious accountability (taklīf) to reasoning, as reasoning was deemed a precondition for accountability. In doing so, they have mistakenly highlighted hardship (mashaqqa) as the key element of the rituals that accompany taklīf. ʿAbd al-Raḥmān rejects this, arguing that the term amāna refers not to ritual obligations but to the responsibility (masʾūliyya), which presupposes freedom. Thus, instead of focusing on “hardship,” Muslim jurists should have focused on responsibility and freedom as the key constituents of taklīf (ʿAbd al-Raḥmān 2012b, 84).

Hence, ʿAbd al-Raḥmān criticizes the scholars of maqāṣid on two levels: the methodological and the conceptual. Regarding the methodology, he reproaches them for their reliance on istiqrāʾ (inductive reasoning) to deduce the higher objectives of Islamic law. He argues that apart from the ambiguous character of istiqrāʾ (381), maqāṣid al-Sharīʿa should belong to the realm of non-inferential knowledge (al-ʿilm al-ḍarūrī), which happens in the mind spontaneously and simultaneously, as opposed to inferential knowledge (al-ʿilm al-naẓarī), which requires methods like istiqrāʾ (386). Additionally, istiqrāʾ has the capacity to distort the texts of the Qurʾān in that it treats the Qurʾān as an empirical object, which does not suit its scriptural nature for various reasons. First, it deals with the verses of the Qurʾān in a quantitative manner, which defeats our purpose of reading the Qurʾān as a virtue-based book (382–383). Second, it commodifies the sacred texts in a way that disconnects the reader from it, when the reader is expected to “believe” in the guidance contained in such a text. While some think this is the sense of “objectivity” that we should pursue, ʿAbd al-Raḥmān thinks that having such a connection with the Qurʾān does not disturb one’s objectivity in as much as one’s retrieval of old information is not tantamount to “subjectivity” (383). Third, it deals with the scriptural texts in a mathematical manner, i.e., whatever is inferable from such texts is naturally Islamic and whatever is not inferable is un-Islamic. While this may be true of empirical entities, it does not work with scriptural texts, for they are concerned primarily with “virtues,” and “virtues,” by definition, baffle such mathematical treatments, as they are infinite. In fact, each individual virtue is infinite (384). Fourth, it does not respect the scriptural references in that it does not practice tadaburr (reflection) on every single text on its own merit, which defeats the purpose of deepening our understanding of the scriptural texts (394). Finally, istiqrāʾ is the primary tool of al-ʿaql al-mujarrad, when it is now established that this type of reasoning does not particularly suit the Islamic tradition (403).

Having disqualified istiqrāʾ as a legitimate tool in the context of maqāṣid, ʿAbd al-Raḥmān replaced it with al-istidlāl al-fiṭrī (non-inferential knowledge). He argues that it is better than istiqrāʾ for various reasons. Firstly, it avoids the sense of “essentialism” and “quantification” which have been critiqued in the implementation of istiqrāʾ (401–402). Secondly, this mode of knowledge draws a connection between the reader and the fiṭra with which the human was created which contains the knowledge of the Divine Names (402–403). Thirdly, this mode does not use al-ʿaql al-mujarrad but rather al-ʿaql al-muʾayyad, which is connected to the rūḥ (soul), which, in turn, is the primary locus of mīthāq al-ishhād and mīthāq al-iʾtimān (403).

As for the conceptual critique, it is twofold. First, ʿAbd al-Raḥmān spotted a sense of incongruency in the classical fivefold typology of maqāṣid – i.e., the preservation of 1) nafs (life), 2) dīn (religion), 3) nasl (family or lineage), 4) māl (property or wealth), 5) ʿaql (mind). This incongruency lies in that those elements are not of one category. For example, dīn is an independent category in that it is broader than the rest and also in that the others are meant to be subjected to it. To get this corrected, we should either replace dīn with creed/theology (ʿaqīda) or cancel the rest as they are already included in the dīn (406). Second, the preservation of māl (property or wealth) cannot be taken as a higher end to the Sharīʿa, for, at its best, it acts as “a means” to the preservation of the other four objectives (410–411). As an alternative to māl, ʿAbd al-Raḥmān proposes ʿamal (practice), for Islam considers illicit any māl that is accrued without practice. Additionally, “practice” is also a significant means to the perseveration of the other four maqāṣid in that without practice one’s faith is incomplete, the wellbeing of one’s nasl, nafs, and ʿaql is also jeopardized (413–414). Due to the centrality of “practice,” ʿAbd al-Raḥmān contends that those five can actually be reduced to two objectives: the perseveration of ʿaqīda and the preservation of ʿamal, as the other three can go under either of those two (415–416).

ʿAbd al-Raḥmān’s al-Taʾsīs al-Iʾtimānī is undoubtedly a very welcome contribution to the genre of maqāṣid. It skilfully accomplished what it endeavoured to achieve. Namely, providing a foundational basis to maqāṣid and centralizing the place of morality, ethics, and spirituality in this genre. Many of the critiques he levelled against classical and modern scholars of maqāṣid are significantly compelling and should be taken seriously.

However, two key claims that ʿAbd al-Raḥmān makes can be challenged. First, despite their sophistication, his critiques of istiqrāʾ are somewhat debatable. This is because the scholars of maqāṣid did not use this method arbitrarily or without any qualifications. In this context, the four principles identified by Ibn ʿĀshūr can offset the legitimate risks that ʿAbd al-Raḥmān raises. These four principles are certitude (thubūt), evidence (ẓuhūr), consistency (inḍibāṭ), and regularity (iṭṭirād). First, he argued that a maqṣad is certain when it engenders decisive knowledge or high probability bordering on certainty. Second, a maqṣad is evident when it is so obvious that scholars would neither dispute its meaning nor, most of them, confuse it with anything else. Third, a maqṣad is consistent when its interpretation is decisive and has precise limits that it does not exceed or fail to meet. Fourth, a maqṣad is regular when its interpretation does not change according to circumstances of place, people, or age (Ibn ʿĀshūr 2006, 73; Abdelnour 2022, 58–59).

Second, while ʿAbd al-Raḥmān’s reduction of the fivefold typology into a twofold typology that is comprised of ʿaqīda and ʿamal is compelling, it somewhat defeats its own purpose. That is, it does not link those two concepts/ objectives to higher “virtues.” Thus, we are left wondering: What does the Islamic ʿaqīda aim to achieve in terms of “virtues”? What are the higher virtues that guide ʿamal? ʿAbd al-Raḥmān may well say that those virtues are contained in the Divine Names (154–160), but this does not help much, for varied, if not contradictory, conclusions can be drawn from the Divine Names when it applies to humans (consider names that connote mercy as opposed to justice, accountability as opposed to toleration, wealth as compared to poverty). ʿAbd al-Raḥmān might be reluctant to name or identify certain “mother virtues,” given that he argued that such “virtues” are “infinite” by nature (384), but how does his proposal then translate into concrete and practical terms?

What is more is that ʿAbd al-Raḥmān does not identify how Muslims are meant to relate to ʿaqīda and ʿamal in this novel frame. That is, classical and modern scholars of maqāṣid have identified the function of ḥifẓ (preservation) as the key function in relation to the fivefold typology of dīn, nafs, nasl, ʿaql, and māl. However, ʿAbd al-Raḥmān is almost silent on how we might relate to this twofold taxonomy of ʿaqīda and ʿamal. Namely, in what ways can ʿaqīda and ʿamal be preserved? Or, more fundamentally, is it mere ḥifẓ what Sharīʿa came to achieve? (see Abdelnour 2022, 55).

To conclude, while one can hardly resist the admiration of ʿAbd al-Raḥmān’s problematization of the classical frame of maqāṣid, one has to say that his alternative, despite its sophistication, is somewhat fluid and speculative. Ironically, it could be argued that demonstrative methods like istiqrāʾ could help add some concrete and cement to ʿAbd al-Raḥmān’s ground-breaking proposal.