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Academic Integrity

“Why can’t we just be honest as scholars?”: an ironic but excellent question posed by Nahiem Ajmal (Abu Layth al-Maliki). Regardless of where one aligns themselves in terms of beliefs and viewpoints, everyone appreciates academic integrity. Inadvertently misquoting or misrepresenting others may reflect poor scholarship at the most, but ultimately falls under the scope of human error we are all prone to.

On the other hand, contextomy, the deceptive art of shortening quotations or missing out surrounding words or sentences vital to the context, raises this to a level of academic misconduct, and is tantamount to insulting the intelligence of the audience or readership. The underlying motive is usually a vain attempt to pull wool over people’s eyes and to bolster an otherwise whimsical argument. In simpler terms, it is nothing more than throwing in a few reputable names and, fingers crossed, hoping nobody will bother to check what they actually said.

In the course of contesting the decisively-established miracle of Prophet Isa (alayhis salam) speaking in the cradle, Nahiem Ajmal cited the exegete Mahmud al-Alusi al-Baghdadi (d. 1270 ah) and “all these mufassireen” to support his denial of this miracle. In a subsequent response to claims he had misquoted Alusi, he decided to summarise what Alusi said with particular focus on what Alusi had quoted from Zamakshari (d. 538 ah). Unfortunately for the Birmingham-based graduate of Jamia Binoria, the net result was a glaring example of contextomy at its best.

What Nahiem Ajmal should have ideally realised by now is that not everyone will lap up whatever he presents without verifying. George W. Bush was once advised: “You can fool some of the people all the time, and those are the ones you need to concentrate on”; the same advice, ironically, is being extended here to Nahiem Ajmal.

This article will look at Nahiem Ajmal’s denial of Prophet Isa (alayhis salam) speaking in the cradle, with particular focus on how truthfully or otherwise he has presented Alusi’s and Zamakshari’s views.

It is unrealistic, going by Nahiem Ajmal’s previous responses, to expect anything significant from him or any of his fans in response to this article. Bouts of hysterical laughter, mockery and ridicule, personal attacks, and further episodes of contextomy, may serve as a convenient smokescreen to shift attention from the real issues, but they only seem to work with Nahiem Ajmal’s circle of infatuates, not with people who can see arguments for their actual worth.

May Allah guide us all to the truth, grant us confidence in His words and the words of His Messenger, and protect us from deceit in all its various forms. Amin.

Speaking in the Cradle – A Qur’anic Perspective

Nahiem Ajmal says:
The surah and verse Nahiem Ajmal is referring to is verse 29 of Surah Maryam (19):
First and foremost, Nahiem Ajmal stating there is nothing in the Quran which says Prophet Isa (alayhis salam) spoke in the cradle as a little baby is a terrible blunder, by any standard. Nahiem Ajmal quoted just this one verse of Surah Maryam, but he failed to acknowledge that there are two other verses stating Prophet Isa (alayhis salam) speaking in the cradle.

Allah says:
It is unequivocal, dare I use the word, that it is the angels, and not the Jews, who are relating this glad tiding to Sayyida Maryam (alayhas salam) and informing her that her child will speak in the cradle. Consider that the angels are informing her of what is to happen in the future; there is no reference to here to what the Jews had said regarding Prophet Isa (alayhis salam).

Allah says:
Here, it is Allah Himself who will remind Prophet Isa (alayhis salam) of this special favour, i.e., speaking in the cradle, on the Day of Judgment. Again, note how Allah is clearly saying Prophet Isa (alayhis salam) was speaking to the people whilst in the cradle; there is no reference here to what the Jews said to Prophet Isa (alayhis salam) or his mother.

Interestingly, out of the three Quranic verses on this issue, Nahiem Ajmal quoted 19:29, but had a very timely memory lapse, causing him to forget the other two verses. Why this was so conducive to Nahiem Ajmal’s interpretation will become clear further in the discussion.

Did Alusi and others say the Jews were referring to Prophet Isa (alayhis salam) being a child in the past?

Nahiem Ajmal goes on to say, after reading 19:29 in Arabic (albeit with an extra letter not in the ayah):
Even a cursory look at what Alusi says proves Nahiem Ajmal to be seriously mistaken in his representation. Alusi explained from a linguistic perspective, on the authority of Zamakshari and others, why the past participle kāna (was) has been used when referring to Prophet Isa (alayhis salam). But at no point does he entertain the notion, even momentarily, that the Jews were addressing Sayyida Maryam (alayhas salam) when Prophet Isa (alayhis salam) had passed the age of being in the cradle[1], or when he was an adult, as Nahiem Ajmal ludicrously suggests later on.

In fact, Alusi quotes quite categorically that he was still a child in the cradle. He says:
Alusi continues by saying this is more emphatic than saying “he who is in the cradle (man huwa fi ‘l-mahd)”.

So did Alusi actually say the Jews, when addressing Sayyida Maryam (alayhas salam), were referring to Prophet Isa (alayhis salam) being a child in the past, as Nahiem Ajmal would have us believe? A resounding no is the answer.

Alusi also states on the authority of Sayyiduna Ibn ‘Abbas (radhiallahu anhuma), as one of two opinions, that the miracle of speaking in the cradle was only for that short period in which he spoke what Allah has related to us. Thereafter, he did not speak until he reached the age in which children usually speak.[3] He also refutes the Christian claim that Prophet Isa (alayhis salam) did not speak in the cradle, as we will discuss later.

Nahiem Ajmal’s Response

Nahiem Ajmal, in an attempt to exonerate himself from misquoting, “summarised” what Alusi said, in his most recent live Facebook session. Quite typically, the former school teacher underestimated people’s basic comprehension skills and decided to skip a pivotal sentence or two, fancifully hoping nobody will realise the game at play. This is the contextomy or “quote mining” we previously alluded to.

Nahiem Ajmal says:
Nahiem’s headstrong response would have been of some merit had he not misquoted Zamakshari and omitted his very critical statement, which states the usage of the past tense, from an Arabic rhetoric (balāgha) perspective, to show Prophet Isa (alayhis salam) is still a child in the cradle. But the poor soul had no choice but to skip that part and misquote Zamakshari and Alusi, as citing it would have struck his eisegesis sandcastle like a Tsunami.

To allow himself some space to wriggle out of his predicament, Nahiem Ajmal desperately insists his critics should concede that Alusi did take Zamakshari’s explanation as his primary view.

The truth, however, is that regardless of what Alusi took “a more inclination to” – of which there is no real indication, except that he considered Zajjaj’s interpretation far-fetched – Zamakshari did not say it was possibly a reference to the near past: he clearly said it is specifically for the near past but to show continuance (istimrār) of childhood. The second answer given by Zamakshari, which Nahiem Ajmal did not mention, also reiterates the same point: Prophet Isa (alayhis salam) was still an infant in the cradle when he spoke.

And after all this, Nahiem Ajmal still expects people to see his blatant misrepresentation and contextomy as an alternative take or reading of Alusi’s text? A delusional expectation indeed. As someone once said, “Half a truth is often a great lie”.

In conclusion, there is no denying that the past participle kāna was used, but never did Alusi or Zamakshari say it was referring to Prophet Isa (alayhis salam) after he had grown out of childhood and beyond the age of the cradle, the view which Nahiem Ajmal is so desperately trying to prop up and present as the Qur’anic view.

Also, the fact that Alusi acknowledged the objection and answered it does not mean he accepted its premise. He clarified, in very clear terms, that usage of the past participle does not mean Prophet Isa (alayhis salam) was no longer a child.

Furthermore, it is evident how 3:46 and 5:110 would have allowed no room for Nahiem Ajmal to get even this far into his argument, which is why they were brushed under the carpet and viewers were told there is nothing like Prophet Isa (alayhis salam) speaking in the cradle mentioned in the Qur’an, after which he embarked on his misquote mayhem.

Nahiem Ajmal suggested “all these mufassireen” also said the same as what Alusi supposedly said. However, not surprisingly, acclaimed masters in Qur’anic tafsir (exegesis) echo the same opinions as Alusi, and none of them said kāna is being used to denote that Prophet Isa (alayhis salam) was no longer a baby when his mother was being addressed.

Abu Ja’far al-Tabari (d. 310 ah) says:
Al-Qurtubi (d. 671 ah) says:
Al-Razi (d. 606 ah) says:
Al-Samarqandi (d. 375), Baghawi (d. 516), Ibn ‘Atiyya (d. 546), Abu Hayyan (d. 745), Ibn ‘Adil (d. 880), and Ibn ‘Ashur (d. 1393) are just a few amongst the commentators who have contextualised the usage of kāna, in different ways, to establish that Prophet Isa (alayhis salam) was a baby when he spoke. Who exactly are “all these mufassireen” who said the Jews were referring to Prophet Isa (alayhis salam) as being a child in the past? We’ll let Nahiem Ajmal answer.

Sabiyy and Tifl

Continuing any further into this analysis of Nahiem Ajmal’s “Tafsir” may seem like flogging a dead horse by now, but there is still more to highlight.

Nahiem Ajmal says:
Coincidentally, Alusi points out why the word mahd (cradle) has been used, as opposed to the word tifl, in his explanation of 5:110:
Al-Raghib al-Isfahani (d. 399 ah) says sabiyy is one who has not reached the age of puberty.[9] However, Ibn al-Manzur (d. 711) more specifically says in Lisan al-‘Arab that sabiyy is from the time of birth until the child is weaned.[10] Al-Fayruzabadi (d. 817 ah) says sabiyy is one who has not yet been weaned.[11] Murtadha al-Zabidi (d. 1205 ah) cites both definitions in his Taj al-‘Arus.[12]

The pressing question for Nahiem Ajmal is where did he get his definition of sabiyy and tifl from? Perhaps the voice of reason will shed some light.

And he has enjoined upon me salah and zakah…

To explain the rationale behind the idea that Prophet Isa (alayhis salam) was an adult when he spoke what Allah has related in the Qur’an, Nahiem Ajmal says:
Nahiem Ajmal’s voice of reason has turned into a horrible shriek at this point: Why is a little baby being ordered to perform salah understandable but not zakah? Has Ajmal witnessed little babies performing salah before? More importantly, why did he not read ahead and complete the verse: “as long as I am alive”, which clearly contextualises the obligation of salah and zakah to when he reaches the age of accountability?

‘Abd al-Rahman ibn al-Qasim (rahmatullahi alayh) narrates from Imam Malik ibn Anas (rahmatullahi alayh) under this verse: “He informed him of what is to be of his affair until He dies.”[13] Qurtubi narrates similar wording from him: “How severe this verse is against the Qadariyya (those who deny predestination). Isa (alayhis salam) informed of what had been decreed of his affair, and of what is going to happen until he dies.”[14] Does this statement of Imam Malik (rahmatullahi alayhi) hold any weight if Prophet Isa (alayhis salam) said this at the age of thirty, and as Nahiem Ajmal and others assert, died a few years later?

Let the Gospels Speak

Nahiem Ajmal goes on to make a number of disastrous points:
The first and foremost question here is where exactly in the Gospels is this incident related? And we don’t mean something that sounds remotely similar, but rather with the particulars mentioned by Nahiem Ajmal: Prophet Isa (alayhis salam) was thirty years old, was led into Jerusalem on a donkey by his mother and was put forward to advocate for her in the absence of any other witness.

If Nahiem Ajmal is, against our realistic expectations, able to provide us with a credible reference, the big question then is how does this fit in with what he alleged to be Zamakshari’s viewpoint, i.e., reference being made to the near past? Is thirty years “not so long ago, like maybe within months”? Why go to the trouble of misquoting Alusi and Zamakshari in the first place if their alleged view does not even conform to his “take” on the whole issue? Nahiem Ajmal clearly believes Prophet Isa (alayhis salam) was an adult when the Jews questioned his mother and he responded; that is incompatible with what Zamakshari was supposed to have said.

To jog his memory: “Zamakshari answers this can mean the near past so OK, it’s a past tense verse but maybe it means like he was as in not so long ago, like maybe within months, you know, like within the near past tense as opposed to the distant past.”

Also, while we’re here, according to Nahiem Ajmal, Sayyida Maryam (alayhas salam) was told: “Then, if you see any human being, say (to him), ‘I have vowed a fast (of silence) for the All-Merciful (Allah); and therefore, I shall never speak to any human today.’” (Qur’an, 19:26), and thirty years later: “Then, she came to her people carrying him.” Perhaps Nahiem Ajmal can unearth something from Alusi or Zamakshari to explain the three decades delay. And please don’t repeat the mistake of suggesting he went and joined some Buddhist monks!

The most disturbing point in all of Nahiem Ajmal’s discourse is that the pristine, consentient understanding of the Quran in this regard is so easily subjected to such wild and cheap contortions. No academic rigor, a proven lack of conscientiousness when quoting, and squeezing the clear Qur’anic narrative into a supposed Christian outfit, because “they are the people who at the end of the day are more occupied about Jesus”, all contribute towards this newfangled idea of Nahiem Ajmal.

It will not be misplaced here to quote what Alusi said in response to the Christian denial of this miracle, as it puts to rest the idea of superimposing a Christian perspective on the Qur’an and its meanings, what Nahiem Ajmal is openly entertaining as a route to understanding the Book of Allah.

Alusi says:
He further says:

Why the Jews did not stone Sayyida Maryam (alayhas salam)

Nahiem Ajmal fumbles a last attempt in his unavailing endeavour by saying that Sayyida Maryam (alayhas salam) was not accused of adultery, because the Quran is not clear on this; at most it can be alluded too.

He then says:
To expect the Qur’an to always spell things out in blunt terms stems from a disregard or ignorance of Arabic rhetoric (balagha), and of the Qur’an’s style in general.

What exactly did her people say to her?

Allah says:
Ibn ‘Ashur says:
Alusi says:
Again, other commentators of the Qur’an have given similar answers in their works.

As for Nahiem Ajmal saying the Jews would not have wasted an opportunity to stone Sayyida Maryam (alayhas salam) because of their lack of compassion for her, the very simple, effortless answer to that is that Prophet Isa (alayhis salam) miraculously spoke in defence of his mother, after which they had no valid reason to doubt her.

Alusi said:
According to Nahiem Ajmal’s understanding, Sayyida Maryam (alayhas salam) is being questioned in Jerusalem, her thirty-year old son is sat on a donkey she led him into the city on, she is not speaking but pointing to Prophet Isa (alayhis salam), and the Jews say we don’t want to talk to him because he was just a kid yesterday, meaning thirty years ago, which Zamakshari said is the near past! Makes a lot of sense!

Conclusion

Nahiem Ajmal’s being economical with the truth has been demonstrated quite evidently: focusing just on 19:29 and excluding two clear verses from the discussion, misquoting Alusi, subsequently half-quoting Zamakshari, falsely attributing his distortion to other exegetes, coining his own unprecedented definition of sabiyy, alleging an incident to be in the Gospels, and as an added bonus, some insubstantial objections that droop as soon as the wider context is brought in.

It beggars belief that a person would go to such lengths to manufacture a view in the manner Nahiem Ajmal did, but in a materialistic, egocentric era where the whole concept of faith in eschatological realities, miracles and matters of the unseen is perceived as a blight to the “voice of reason”, it is no surprise to see such voices received with enthusiasm. But ultimately, Allah will protect His religion.

The Prophet (sallallahu alayhi wasallam) said, “This sacred knowledge will be borne by the reliable authorities of each successive generation, who will remove from it the alterations of those guilty of exaggeration, the plagiarism of the corrupt, and the false interpretations of the ignorant.” [20]

Be it as it may, after realising the sheer incompetence of an individual to speak honestly in God’s name – anyone’s name in fact – it is nothing short of spiritual suicide to then trust such people with one’s religion. May Allah safeguard our faith.

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[1] Cradle has been taken in its literal meaning by some commentators and to mean his mother’s lap by others. In any case, the age of infancy is intended.
[2] Ruh al-Ma’ani, 16:77
[3] Ibid, 4:199
[4] Jami’ al-Bayan, 5:154
[5] This answers Nahiem Ajmal’s view: “They’re kind of looking down on Jesus, saying you know we don’t wanna talk to him, he was just a little boy yesterday.”
[6] Al-Jami’ li Ahkam al-Qur’an, 13:445
[7] Mafatih al-Ghayb, 21:201
[8] Ruh al-Ma’ani, 6:477
[9] Mufradat Alfaz al-Qur’an, 475. With this definition, the word mahd sets the context to childhood.
[10] Lisan al-‘ Arab, 20:181
[11] Al-Qamus al-Muhit, 1302
[12] Taj al-‘Arus, 38:406
[13] Tafsir Ibn Kathir, 1186
[14] Al-Jami’ li Ahkam al-Qur’an, 13:447
[15] Ruh al-Ma’ani, 4:199
[16] Ibid, 4:199-200
[17] Al-Tahrir wa’l-Tanwir, 16:96
[18] Ruh al-Ma’ani, 16:77
[19] Ibid, 16:74
[20] Al-Baghdadi, Sharaf Ashab al-Hadith

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Taken from HERE

Dr Jonathan Brown has written a paper on the Islāmic ruling on apostasy. [1] The basic thesis he argues is summarised in the abstract:
It appears from this abstract and Brown’s subsequent discussion that he makes a distinction between fixed ḥudūd penalties (like the punishment for theft and adultery) and the punishment for apostasy. The first falls under his “second set of laws”, those that are for the state to implement but are not at the state’s discretion: once these crimes are proven, the state is bound by the fixed punishments stipulated in the Sharī‘ah. The second, i.e. apostasy, falls under the “third set of laws”: it is up to the state whether to implement the death penalty or to choose some other alternative, depending on what is in the interests of the Muslim community.

The principal juristic source Brown uses for arguing this thesis is a discussion by the early Ḥanafī jurist, al-Sarakhsī. Brown does not merely argue his position using al-Sarakhsī’s text, but claims al-Sarakhsī actually held the position he is defending, i.e. that the Sharī‘ah does not stipulate a fixed punishment for leaving Islām, but leaves it up to the ruler to implement it on a discretionary, administrative, basis.

Here we will address this claim, and show that had Brown quoted one of the sentences he translated from al-Sarakhsī fully, it would have been clear that his reading of al-Sarakhsī was incorrect. We will also look at al-Sarakhsī’s other writings as well as that of the jurists of his school to establish that their legal philosophy for punishing apostasy is of a more fundamental nature than Brown makes out.

There are other problems with Brown’s arguments against a fixed, unchanging, capital punishment for apostasy in Sharī‘ah [2], but it is not the purpose of this piece to address these.

Here is the relevant discussion from Brown’s article:
As evident from this discussion, Dr Brown imputes to al-Sarakhsī the view that, unlike theft, drinking wine, and adultery, there is no fixed legal punishment for apostasy, and it is left to the judgement of the ruler to decide what to do with the apostate. That is, any punishment is carried out on a discretionary (ta‘zīr) or political (siyāsah) basis, and not as a fixed Islāmic punishment (ḥadd). In doing so, not only has Dr Brown overlooked al-Sarakhsī’s broader discussion, but has misconstrued what al-Sarakhsī states in the very place he is quoting him. [3]

Introductory Comments

Al-Sarakhsī was a prominent Ḥanafī jurist. His Mabsūṭ is a detailed commentary on a condensation of an earlier work also called al-Mabsūṭ or al-Aṣl. This latter work was authored by Imām Muḥammad ibn al-Ḥasan al-Shaybānī, a prominent disciple of Imām Abū Ḥanīfah, and the Ḥanafī madhhab’s codifier. Al-Sarakhsī’s discussion on apostates begins on page 98 and ends on page 124 of the 10th volume of al-Mabsūṭ. Brown focuses only on a small section of this discussion (from pages 109-10) which results in bypassing a fundamental underlying legal philosophy that al-Sarakhsī outlines here as well as elsewhere.

A basic outline of this legal philosophy is as follows. Only the lives of Muslims and of Dhimmīs [permanent non-Muslim residents of an Islamically governed territory (Dārul Islām)] are sacred. Lives of non-Muslim adult males that do not belong to Dārul Islām are not intrinsically sacred, although they can temporarily become impermissible for the taking by treaties and agreements. [4] Hence, when a Muslim apostatises, he is not a Muslim or a Dhimmī, but what is called a “Ḥarbī” – he now no longer fits within the Muslim social structure.

A normal male Ḥarbī without amān (amnesty) that has been subjected to Muslim control will either be executed, enslaved or freed. An apostate-Ḥarbī, however, can only be executed or made to return to Islām. With regards to a female, an original female Ḥarbī is not killed, even in a battle, unless she actually engages in combat. The Ḥanafī reasoning is that just as an original female Ḥarbī is not killed, a female apostate is similarly not killed. It is this latter point that al-Sarakhsī articulates in the section of the Mabsūṭ Brown referred to.

This overall understanding will become clear as we look further into the writings of al-Sarakhsī and that of other earlier and later Ḥanafī jurists. Isolating one part of this narrative and overlooking the rest would of course result in a misconstrual of al-Sarakhsī’s underlying philosophy.

Definition of the Crime of Apostasy

Brown claims “ridda” or apostasy is defined Islāmically as the “public act of political secession from the Muslim community.” However, this is not how it was defined historically.

Towards the beginning of his discussion on apostasy, while explaining why an apostate is executed, al-Sarakhsī states: “This apostate was from the followers of the religion of Allāh’s Messenger (peace and blessings be upon him), and he recognised the wonders of his religion, but then became unobservant of it when he apostatised, so just as nothing besides the sword or Islām is accepted from the Arab idolaters, likewise the apostates – although if he seeks respite, he will be given respite for three days.” [5] Here apostasy is clearly defined as leaving Islām after having embraced it.

The great earlier Ḥanafī jurist, Abū Ja‘far al-Ṭaḥāwī, defines apostasy as “disbelieving after having īmān.” [6] Apostasy is defined explicitly in ḥadīths narrated by Ibn ‘Abbās, ‘Ᾱ’ishah and ‘Uthmān as “leaving Islām after accepting it.” [7] Of course, a person can only be described as having left Islām by openly rejecting it. If he privately rejects it, he will still publicly be regarded as a Muslim. This is based on the well-known fact that the Sharī‘ah only works on what is apparent and leaves the inward reality to Allāh.

It is important to note, however, as have the Ḥanafī jurists, that the crime of apostasy is only truly realised with insistence (iqāmah, iṣrār) on disbelief – i.e. when the individual refuses to turn back to Islām. This is when it becomes binding on the state to carry out the death penalty. If the individual turns back, the punishment is not carried out on him. This is explained by jurists such as al-Taḥāwī, Abū Bakr al-Jaṣṣāṣ, al-Sarakhsī and Ibn ‘Ᾱbidīn. [8]

Of course, the act of apostasy entails the person automatically becomes a “Muḥārib” or “Ḥarbī”, effectively a persona non grata within the social fabric of the Islāmic system of governance. However, this is merely definitional, and does not add anything practically to the definition of “ridda” beyond the act of leaving Islām. For apostasy to be realised, the person does not have to do anything beyond leaving Islām and refusing to turn back to it.

Fixed Punishment

In the original work called al-Mabsūt or al-Aṣl, Imām Muḥammad mentions the punishment for apostasy – that the person is executed unless he recants within a three-day period – and cites narrations from the Prophet and Companions to support this. Then he says: “This is the decree (ḥukm) [of Sharī‘ah] and the established practice (sunnah).” [9] In other words, he is affirming it as a fixed Islāmic ruling.

Similarly, in a narration of Ṣaḥīḥ al-Bukhārī that Brown refers to, in which the Companions Mu‘ādh and Abū Mūsā execute an apostate, Mu‘ādh thrice describes it as “the decree (qaḍā’) of Allāh and his Messenger.” He did not describe it as a judgement that they as rulers or governors decided upon. In fact, Abū Mūsā had this individual tied up, and Mu‘ādh insisted that he will not dismount to greet Abū Mūsā until he carried out Allāh’s judgement on him. [10] It is clear from this narration that the punishment is one of religious necessity, not merely of political expediency. Also noteworthy is that the narration does not mention the individual was a “political threat”. It only states he was a “Jew who became a Muslim and then went back to Judaism.” [11]

In al-Sarakhsī’s other major juristic work, Sharḥ al-Siyar al-Kabīr, he quotes Imām Muḥammad saying: “The [male] apostate is executed if he does not accept Islām, whether a freeman or a slave, because of his (peace and blessings upon him) saying: ‘One who changes his religion, execute him,’ and this includes freemen and slaves. The master of the slave may execute him himself if he so wishes. Ibn ‘Umar did that to a slave of his that converted to Christianity. [This is also] because by apostatising, he has become a Ḥarbī in respect to the ruling of execution, and every Muslim may execute a Ḥarbī who has no protection; although it is best for him to take it to the ruler so that he executes him.” In commenting on why it is best to take the apostate to the ruler, al-Sarakhsī says:
It is clear from this passage that al-Sarakhsī regards the execution of an apostate to be a fixed Islāmic punishment. However, he does not regard it to be a “ḥadd” in the strict sense, probably because this person is no longer a Muslim and falls outside of the fabric of the Islāmic social order, while ḥudūd are only carried out on Muslims or Dhimmīs. Hence, he says the punishment for apostasy carries “the meaning of ḥadd” (i.e. in being a fixed Islāmic punishment owed to Allāh), but he does not say outright that it is a ḥadd. Note also from this passage that Ḥanafīs believe the punishment is carried out on the male slave also – this is despite the fact that a slave would realistically pose no political threat.

The great late Ḥanafī jurist, Ibn ‘Ᾱbidīn, however, argued the punishment for apostasy is in fact a ḥadd and not just “in the meaning of ḥadd”. He argues that even though Ḥanafī jurists did not include it in the section on “ḥudūd”, it falls under the definition of ḥadd as a fixed Islāmic punishment legislated as a right of God. He states:
After quoting Ibn Nujaym who mentioned the various benefits for the fixed punishments of adultery (i.e. protecting lineage), theft (i.e. protecting property), slander (i.e. protecting honour) and drinking wine (i.e. protecting the intellect), Ibn ‘Ᾱbidīn says:
In brief, regardless of the semantic difference over whether the death penalty for an apostate is called “ḥadd” or not, Ḥanafī jurists including al-Sarakhsī all agree that it is a fixed punishment owed to Allāh that cannot be waived.

Legal Philosophy of Apostasy Law

A hundred years before al-Sarakhsī, the great Ḥanafī imām, Abū Bakr al-Jaṣṣāṣ, explains why the punishment for male and female apostates differ, and in doing so provides a framework for understanding the legal philosophy of capital punishment for apostasy.

He explains that what causes a person to be entitled to execution for apostasy is a combination of two things: leaving Islām and remaining firmly on disbelief (i.e. refusing to turn back to Islām). However, there is an underlying basis to this, which is that the apostate becomes a Ḥarbī (i.e. neither a Muslim nor a permanent resident of Dārul Islām) by apostatising, and thus the rules pertaining to a Ḥarbī apply (to some extent) to an apostate-Ḥarbī. Thus, there are two types of Ḥarbīs: an original Ḥarbī and an apostate-Ḥarbī. An original male Ḥarbī who remains firmly on his disbelief may be killed when he comes under the control of Muslims, whereas an original female Ḥarbī who remains on disbelief may not be killed. Al-Jaṣṣāṣ thus explains that in the same way that an original female Ḥarbī who remains firmly on disbelief cannot be executed, a female apostate-Ḥarbī can likewise not be executed, as the principal cause in both cases for execution is the same: not being on the religion and remaining firmly on disbelief. He further states that a male Ḥarbī’s blood only becomes “protected” by accepting Islām. However, a female’s blood is always “protected” whether Ḥarbī or not. This explains the difference between the ruling of a male and female apostate. [15]

Note, there are of course more basic reasons why Ḥanafīs do not accept the death penalty for a female apostate, namely a clear narration on the subject from Ibn ‘Abbās and ḥadīths stating women are not to be killed. However, al-Jaṣṣāṣ is here explaining the underlying legal philosophy behind this distinction, not the more fundamental scriptural basis.

This discussion clearly illustrates the reasoning the jurists employed in explaining the punishment for apostasy. Al-Sarakhsī’s discussion in the section Brown quotes is effectively a restatement of the above explanation of al-Jaṣṣāṣ, as we will demonstrate in the next section.

The same underlying philosophy can be found in other parts of al-Sarakhsī’s discussion on apostasy. For example, while explaining why according to Ḥanafīs the Muslim relatives of an apostate inherit his wealth even though a Muslim does not inherit from a non-Muslim, al-Sarakhsī says: “Apostasy is death, as by it he becomes a Ḥarbī, and the people of Ḥarb in respect to Muslims are like the dead…” [16] In other words, the Muslim relatives can be considered his heirs because his death is legally considered to have occurred at the moment he apostatised not when the actual punishment is carried out.

In explaining further, he says: “Just as apostasy eliminates his ownership [of what he had in his possession], it eliminates the sanctity [of his blood].” [17] He further says: “By his apostasy, he [automatically] becomes a Ḥarbī, and this is why he is killed. The Ḥarbī compelled under our control, like prisoners, his treatment is suspended. [In the case of the prisoner], his fate is suspended between putting into slavery, execution or freeing; while [in the case of the apostate] it is [suspended] between execution and accepting Islām.” [18] He further states: “We treat the apostate like a Ḥarbī who has no amān (amnesty).” [19] From these statements, there can be no doubt as to what al-Sarakhsī’s underlying philosophy was for fixing the death penalty for apostasy.

This understanding also explains why an apostate who turns to another religion is not considered to be a member of that religion. In al-Aṣl, the question of whether an apostate’s slaughtered meat is ḥalāl is entertained. The answer is “no” even if the apostate identifies as a “Christian”, “because he is not equal to a Jew or Christian – don’t you see that that he is not left to remain on his religion until he accepts Islām or is executed?” [20] Al-Jaṣṣāṣ explains: “[The apostate] is a disbeliever that is not a Kitābī (Jew or Christian), as he is not accepted to [have turned to] the religion to which he turned.” [21] And al-Sarakhsī says: “After apostasy, [the individual] is not accepted as being on [the faith] that he believes.” [22] An apostate, therefore, holds a particular legal standing in the Islāmic society. This fundamental characterisation of the apostate is largely overlooked in Brown’s selective reading of al-Sarakhsī.

Al-Sarakhsī’s Explanation of why Female Apostates are not Executed

Now we turn to the section of al-Sarakhsī’s Mabsūṭ Brown referred to. It is important to realise that in this section, al-Sarakhsī is discussing, much like al-Jaṣṣāṣ above, why female apostates are not killed in the Ḥanafī madhhab but male apostates are. He is engaging in a polemic with al-Shāfi‘ī who states both the male and female apostates are executed. Let us first look at what al-Sarakhsī says in this passage before turning to Brown’s construal of it.
“Persisting on disbelief” is defined as the refusal to turn back to Islām after having left it. As al-Sarakhsī states, what necessitates execution is “persistence on disbelief”, but because this is by consideration of the individual being a Ḥarbī, and a female Ḥarbī is not killed, this also explains why a female apostate is not killed unlike a male apostate. He further clarifies why it is that a female Ḥarbī is not killed unlike a male Ḥarbī: a female’s constitution is different to a man’s – hence male Ḥarbīs are always regarded as combatants while female Ḥarbīs are only regarded as combatants when they actually engage in combat. As one can see, this is a restatement of the reasoning given by al-Jaṣṣāṣ earlier.

Al-Sarakhsī describes the punishment for all religious offences as being postponed to the afterlife, although some are accounted for in this world as it provides general benefits. Here he is referring to a general philosophy for all Islāmic punishments, and not just apostasy (as Brown asserts). Only after talking about the general philosophy of all Islāmic punishments does al-Sarakhsī narrow down on apostasy specifically.

It is also important to understand the nature of al-Sarakhsī’s discourse in this passage. He is not discussing the Islāmic ruling for punishing apostates, whether it is a fixed or a discretionary punishment, but is rather looking at the underlying philosophy of rulings that have already been established (i.e. that male apostates who insist on disbelief are executed while female apostates are not). The purpose of this exercise in this case is to provide a juristic framework in which to understand why Ḥanafīs make a distinction between a male and female apostate. Philosophical discussions such as these are not normally meant to inform how or when the ruling is carried out. Just as al-Sarakhsī’s description of all ḥudūd as “policies set down in Sharī‘ah for the common good” does not in any way change the nature of ḥudūd rulings, his philosophical discussion here on apostasy does not in any way impact on the nature of the ruling itself.

Let us now turn to Dr Brown’s explanation to demonstrate why his analysis falls short based on the detailed explanation above.

Brown states:
As explained earlier, the crime of apostasy is only fully realised if it is accompanied by persistence (iṣrār) and firmly remaining (iqāmah) on disbelief (i.e. refusing to turn back to Islām), as explained by a number of Ḥanafī jurists, including al-Taḥāwī, al-Jaṣṣāṣ and Ibn ‘Ᾱbidīn. Based on this understanding, the distinction between this crime and others does not arise.

Brown continues:
When al-Sarakhsī mentions “they” are between the human being and his Lord, he is referring to offences in general, not specifically to apostasy as Dr Brown claims. This is clear from the fact that the word used for “they” (hā) in this passage can only be referring to “jināyāt” (offences). This also becomes clear from the subsequent discussion. In other words, al-Sarakhsī is saying that, as a rule, all religious offences, i.e. sins and acts of disobedience, are not accounted for by human beings in this world but are left to the afterlife.

Brown continues:
This is where Brown makes a critical error. It is a mistake to add “for apostasy” in parentheses as al-Sarakhsī’s discussion is not limited to apostasy. This would have been obvious if Dr Brown had only continued the translation of the latter sentence. Explaining the philosophy of all Islāmic punishments, al-Sarakhsī says:
As one can see, al-Sarakhsī explicitly mentions other well-known and fixed punishments of Sharī‘ah to explain the principle that these punishments executed in this world are “policies set down for the common good of human beings”. Hence, based on Dr Brown’s reading, he would have to conclude that al-Sarakhsī is saying all of these punishments are discretional, which would of course be absurd.

Brown continues:
Al-Sarakhsī is not speaking about “repeatedly and insistently proclaiming their apostasy”. The “persistence on apostasy” he speaks of merely refers to the refusal to turn back to Islām after openly rejecting it. As explained earlier, such persistence on disbelief after apostatising makes one a Muḥārib/Ḥarbī by definition. This is what al-Sarakhsī is referring to.

Brown continues:
Again, this is mistaken. These refer to the common good that results from other Islāmic punishments, not that of apostasy. Al-Sarakhsī explains that the common good for executing apostates is warding off the state of a person being a Ḥarbī. Ibn ‘Ᾱbidin refers to another common good for this legislation. He was quoted earlier, stating: “[Capital punishment for apostasy] is of the greatest interest that applies to all people, as in this is preservation of religion, which is greater than the preservation of the four aforementioned. If an apostate was to be left without execution, apostasy of many of the weak in faith would follow one after another.”

Brown continues:
It is true that when the term “siyāsa” is used in some contexts, it refers to discretional administrative acts. In the context that al-Sarakhsī uses it, however, “siyāsāt” (policies) refers to administrative and governmental enactments that are fixed and legislated in Sharī‘ah, and are not discretional. This is why he says “siyāsāt mashrū‘ah” (policies legislated in Sharī‘ah) and not just “siyāsāt”. It would be a fallacy of equivocation to say that the meaning of siyāsah here is a discretional policy.

Final Remarks

We do not have to bend over backwards to try to accommodate western liberal standards of morality. The simple fact is that Islām accepts “freedom of religion” before a person converts to Islām. This is what the verse, “There is no compulsion in religion,” refers to. A disbeliever who has never been a Muslim cannot be forced into Islām. But once a sane adult of their own volition and choice becomes a Muslim, the Islāmic judicial system will force them to remain Muslim – they no longer have the freedom to (openly) leave the religion within the jurisdiction of Islam. For a Muslim who believes in God’s word and His final guidance to Muḥammad, the fact that this is well-supported in the Prophet’s ḥadīths and the example of his companions is sufficient a reason to accept it. A person with insight and faith, who probes a little, will also be able to see the rationality, justice and mercy in this ruling.

There is little doubt that modernist and deformist ideas that originated primarily in colonial India and Egypt in the latter half of the nineteenth century have heavily influenced Muslim thought in recent times. The fact that some scholarly individuals in the recent past have opposed the punishment for apostasy does not overturn the earlier consensus, nor the clear evidence for it in the example and words of the Prophet and his companions.

In the end, we hope that at the minimum, Dr Brown will correct the misuse of al-Sarakhsī. It is clear that al-Sarakhsī did not believe the punishment for apostasy was a discretionary one that is left to the judgement of the ruler. Al-Sarakhsī believed the death penalty was a fixed legal punishment that applied to adult male apostates who refused to turn back to the religion. It would be a misconstrual of what he said to say otherwise.

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For a previous article discussing classical views on apostasy and a comparison of the nation state model, please click here.

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Endnotes:

[1] yaqeeninstitute.org/en/jonathan-brown/apostasy

[2] For example, his use of the case of ‘Ubaydullāh ibn Jaḥsh. Assuming Ibn Jaḥsh’s story (that he converted to Christianity from Islām) is true, Ibn Jaḥsh was in Abyssinia and out of the jurisdiction of the Prophet in Madīnah. How was the Prophet to enforce punishment on him? Punishments are not enforceable outside of the jurisdiction of Islām.

The ḥadīth from al-Bukhārī that Brown refers to, regarding the man who broke his pledge, does not explicitly state that he left Islām. It may be that he broke the part of the pledge that meant he had to remain in Madīnah. Even if he did leave Islām, once he left Madīnah, he was no longer under the jurisdiction of the Muslims and Islām and hence punishment could not be enforced on him.

On Brown’s mistaken use of ‘Umar ibn al-Khaṭṭāb and ‘Umar ibn ‘Abd al-‘Azīz – who both believed and practised the death penalty for apostasy – see our previous piece here: theislamiclens.wordpress.com/2015/12/10/comments-on-classical-islamic-views-on-the-punishment-for-apostasy/.

[3] We realise that Brown adapts his discussion on Sarakhsī from Ramon Harvey. To some extent, therefore, this piece can also be viewed as a critique of the latter’s construal of al-Sarakhsī’s position also.

[4] Note, a Muslim who enters into land governed by Ḥarbīs, and they perceive him to be non-threatening, a state of “amān” (amnesty) is automatically contracted, and it becomes impermissible for the Muslim to take their lives or wealth (without permission). This is agreed upon by all classical jurists.

[5] al-Mabsūṭ, 10:98

[6] Sharḥ Mukhtaṣar al-Taḥāwī, 6:113

[7] Fatḥ al-Bārī, Dārus Salām, 12:251

[8] Sharḥ Mushkil al-Ᾱthār, 7:306, Sharḥ Mukhtaṣar al-Taḥāwī, 6:122, al-Mabsūṭ, 10:110, Majmū‘ah Rasā’il Ibn ‘Ᾱbidīn, 1: 319

[9] al-Aṣl, Dār Ibn Ḥazm, 7:492

[10] Ṣaḥīḥ al-Bukhārī , 6923

[11] ibid.

[12] Sharḥ al-Siyar al-Kabīr, Dārul Kutub al-‘Ilmiyyah, 5:166

[13] Majmū‘ah Rasā’il Ibn ‘Ᾱbidīn, 1:318

[14] Majmū‘ah Rasā’il Ibn ‘Ᾱbidīn, 1:319

[15] Sharḥ Mukhtaṣar al-Ṭaḥāwī, 6:122

[16] al-Mabsūṭ, 10:100

[17] ibid. 10:101

[18] ibid. 10:106

[19] ibid. 10:111

[20] al-Aṣl, 7:495

[21] Sharḥ Mukhtaṣar al-Ṭaḥāwī, 6:116

[22] al-Mabsūṭ, 10:110

[23] al-Mabsūṭ, 10:110

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Taken from HERE

Muhammad Nizami’s essay Misunderstanding Traditionalism [1] is apparently written in an effort to provide an alternative understanding of traditionalism to counter what he perceives as an unjustified commitment to the past. The result, however, is a clear attack on traditionalist beliefs, values and attitudes. Misunderstanding Traditionalism is not an innocent attempt to rebrand traditionalism, but to do away with it entirely – and Nizami says as much in the final paragraph of his essay.

In the following comments on his piece, we hope to highlight that Nizami is effectively attempting to substitute a thousand-year-old tradition of relegating authority in legal matters to past authorities with an entirely different way of “doing religion”. His essay amounts to a metanarrative of religion in which modernist, deformist, “progressive” and “free-thinking” attitudes can flourish.

Contextualisation Vs Reinterpretation

Nizami advocates the belief that learned individuals of each generation need to go back to the sources of Shari‘ah, the Qur’an and Sunnah, to discover new understandings applicable to their era. He also claims that this is how it has always been done.

His advocacy of “reinterpretation” is a push towards renewed ijtihād – the act of coming up with interpretations of law directly from the texts of Qur’an and Sunnah. While his advocacy of such reinterpretation is not historically new, it is certainly a mistake to characterise most of Islamic scholarly activity in the last thousand odd years in this manner. New ijtihād, or reinterpretation, after the first four centuries of Islam, was promoted by only a few individuals. The pervasive scholarly activity was in fact what Nizami derisively calls “glorified translation.”

Following the early era of Islam, authority in law was not derived from renewed understandings of Qur’an and Sunnah, but from the precedents found in codified schools of law called “madhhabs”. The job of a legal scholar after this period was not ijtihād, but taqlīd, or an effort to integrate these precedents into the reality of the time in which he operated. This certainly calls for “contextualisation”, which was an important scholarly activity of the later period. Many of the precedents left by the founding authorities (mujtahids) of the law-schools were premised on conditions and circumstances found in their time, and these founding authorities would often make this clear. If these conditions and circumstances change, the subsequent rulings will also change. Scholars engaged in taqlīd would provide such contextualisation. It should be obvious that this is not moving away from the recorded verdicts of the founders of the law-schools. To the contrary, it is an effort to appreciate them fully so they can be actualised in any said context.
Muhammad Nizami confuses this activity, which is a part and parcel of what he calls “glorified translation”, with reinterpretation or renewed ijtihād. It is obvious that the two activities are not the same. Nizami is not merely calling to contextualise the authoritative legal precedents of the past imāms or to apply their insights to new areas that were not addressed by them, but to revise and reinterpret those very legal precedents in light of renewed analyses of Qur’an and Sunnah.

To prove his point that renewed interpretation was always a part of scholarly activity, Nizami draws our attention to one particular example from the Ḥanbalī school. As we will show below, his rendering of the issue is misleading and made to fit his overarching deconstructionist thesis.

Defining Who is Rich in the Ḥanbalī School

Nizami says:
To begin with a minor correction, his opening words should read: “based on a hadith related by Ibn Mas‘ud” not “Ibn Abbas”. That aside, this paragraph is a very misleading presentation of the development of this issue in the Ḥanbalī school. Nizami gives the impression that the founding authority of the school, Imām Aḥmad, held a particular opinion which was then opposed by later scholars of his school. The reality however is that there were two conflicting transmissions from Imām Aḥmad, and later scholars differed over which is the more reliable.

It is not permissible in the Ḥanbalī school to pay zakāt to a poor person (faqīr) more than the amount by which he will become rich (ghanī). On the question of at which point a person is considered “rich”, however, there are two transmissions (riwāyats) from Imām Aḥmad. According to a widely transmitted view from him, a person is considered “rich” when he owns fifty dirhams (silver coins) or its equivalent in gold, and hence one cannot give more than this amount to a poor person. According to another transmission – that of the long-time authoritative companion of Imām Aḥmad, Muhanna’ ibn Yaḥyā al-Shāmī (d. 248 AH) – a person is considered “rich” when he has enough wealth to sustain himself. [2] According to this transmission, if he does not have enough wealth to sustain himself, he is considered “poor” (faqīr), even if he owns more than fifty dirhams. Both transmissions are based on ḥadīths. [3]

Ḥanbalī scholars differed over which transmission to give preference to. There were some that gave preference to the view of fifty dirhams, and there were others that gave preference to the view of sufficiency (kifāya). The latter include Ibn Shihāb al-‘Ukbarī (335 – 428 AH) [4], Abu l-Khaṭṭāb (432 – 510 AH) author of al-Hidāyah [5], and Abu l-Barakāt al-Majd ibn Taymiyyah (590 – 652 AH). [6] Mardāwī explains that according to the principles of fatwā, the latter is the correct position of the school. [7] Naturally, those who argued for the transmission of “sufficiency” gave explanations for the other transmission: it may be that Imām Aḥmad initially held that position and then retracted because he found Ibn Masūd’s ḥadīth on the subject to be weak; or he may have understood it as applying to a particular people, period or place, and not universally.

Whatever the case, it should be clear that this is not an example of introducing a new opinion into the Ḥanbalī school based on a renewed interpretation of Qur’an and Sunnah as Nizami would have us believe. Rather, it is merely an example of a common activity that occurred in the immediate aftermath of the founding of the law-schools: that is, to determine which is the final and strongest transmission from the founding imāms when conflicting views are narrated from them.

Is Taqlīd Merely “Glorified Translation”?

Reflecting orientalist clichés about taqlīd favoured by those propounding “reform”, Nizami says:
Contrary to such negative perceptions about traditionalist jurisprudence that Nizami refers to and defends, according to American academic Sherman Jackson, taqlīd represents a more advanced stage of legal thinking, where earlier legal precedents set down by authorities from the formative period undergo “legal scaffolding” [8]. A position that is handed down to us from the imāms of ijtihād must be understood in the correct way and applied accordingly. What Nizami calls “glorified translation” is in fact a meticulous engagement with the writings of the founding imāms of a law-school, ensuring they are passed down accurately, authentic transmissions are sifted from spurious ones, and their judgements are applied in the correct way. This however does not amount to what Nizami calls reinterpretation or renewed ijtihād designed to move away from the authoritative precedents of the early imāms.

Moreover, “taqlīd” is an expected part of any advanced legal system. Adherence to transmitted legal precedents is crucial to the survival and preservation of jurisprudential orthodoxy. Thus, the non-Muslim “secular” scholar, Wael Hallaq, writes on taqlīd: “For no school, in the first place, could have come into existence and survived without this doctrinal loyalty. This loyalty, popularly summed up in Western legal systems by the expression “law is conservative,” is nothing if not the lynchpin of all legal systems in complex societies.” [9]

Ijtihād in the Later Period

Nizami puts a caveat to his advocacy of renewed ijtihād, stating that it “is not to say that suspicion towards reinterpretation is always unreasonable.” In other words, he is arguing we should generally be welcoming of renewed interpretations, but suspicious towards it in some cases – like when it is practised by those who have overtly sinister motives or who are not learned.

However, given the general way in which earlier scholars viewed such claims of renewed ijtihād after the formative period, it would be safe to say that suspicion towards such reinterpretation is always reasonable, not only sometimes – while suspicion is only to be amplified where there are indications of external pressures to deconstruct Islam or where such calls happen to coincide with political agendas.

Scholars from the fifth century onwards state that the capacity for ijtihād was rare or non-existent. Al-Juwaynī (419 – 478 AH) said that his time “almost matches” the situation that “the age is devoid of jurisconsults of the calibre of mujtahids, but not devoid of those who relay the correct positions of the previous imāms.” [10] Similarly, his famous student, Imām al-Ghazālī (450 – 505 H), said that all jurisconsults have not reached the rank of ijtihād, and were thus to merely relay the position of the mujtahid imāms whose madhhabs they adhere to. [11] His famous Mālikī contemporary, Qāḍī ‘Iyāḍ (476 – 544 AH), explicitly states that “after the first era and the righteous predecessors and the praiseworthy three generations”, “those who have reached the path of ijtihād” are “few” and, in fact, “less than few”! [12]

The Best of Generations

Attacking a key foundation of traditionalist thought – commitment to the way of the pious early generations (Salaf) – Nizami states:
The first thing to note is that if the idea of committing oneself to the past is based on the famous ḥadīth to which Nizami refers, how is it then considered an “irrational” commitment? Khayr – being better and superior – refers to religious superiority in terms of virtue and piety. Hence, the ḥadīth goes on to mention that unethical behaviour will become more common following the first three generations. The Prophet (peace and blessings be upon him) stated somewhat more explicitly that “no era will come, but the era following it will be worse than it.” (Ṣaḥīḥ al-Bukhārī) As Ibn Ḥajar points out, referring to a variant of this narration from Ibn Mas‘ūd (may Allah be pleased with him), part of the meaning of this ḥadīth is that true prophetic knowledge will deteriorate over time, and people will begin to prioritise their personal opinions over truth. [13] Hence, the commitment to the past is based on very sound faith-based principles, and is not “irrational”.

As explained earlier, authority, in terms of valid ijtihād, was generally limited to the mujtahids of the first few centuries not merely because they are from the past, but because the capacity for ijtihād after them became extremely rare. This would be owing to a number of factors, primary amongst them the fact that Islam as a lived reality that closely resembled the Prophetic model became less accessible following the first three generations; subsequent jurists therefore were limited to written narrations and accounts, rather than a visible and tangible model, on which to base their ijtihād – this would naturally be a major hindrance to ijtihād.

The ḥadīth that Nizami refers to gives us a clue as to why there is a need to be particularly suspicious of claims to ijtihād after the early period. Piety and scrupulousness are important in assessing the credibility of claims to ijtihād as they rule out ulterior motives. True ijtihād can only be realised when one’s sole motive is search for truth. What the ḥadīth shows is that after the first few generations, piety and scrupulousness waned, so the possibility of people abusing ijtihād for their ulterior purposes became much more likely.

Emphasising this crucial point, Ibn Rajab al-Ḥanbalī (736 – 795 AH) states regarding the period after that of the early generations: “Thereafter, piety and scrupulousness become less and those who spoke about religion without knowledge increased, as did those who set themselves up for this position while unworthy of it. If the condition in these latter times were to continue as it was in the first period, whereby each individual issues legal verdicts according to what he asserts is the truth that became manifest to him, the structure of religion would undoubtedly crumble, halal will become haram and haram halal, and whoever wants would say what he wants, and our religion, because of that, would become like the religion of the people of the two scriptures before us.” [14] He states it was from the wisdom of Allah that He erected imāms on whose knowledge, piety and scrupulousness there is agreement, and “on whom all people depend for their legal verdicts, and refer to for knowledge of rulings.” [15] Ibn Rajab does however concede that on the rare occasion there were those who claimed to reach the position of ijtihād, “and amongst them were some for whom this was legitimate, because it was clear that his claim was true, and there were those whose assertion was rejected and his claim denounced.” [16]

Is a Commitment to the Past Contrary to a Commitment to the Truth?

Nizami supports his contention that authority should not be relegated to the past, and renewed interpretation should be welcomed, with three arguments:
The first point – that the Prophet (peace and blessings be upon him) encouraged conveying his words because there may be some who have better comprehension of them than those who directly heard them – may support Nizami’s contention in the narrow sense that merely because someone came earlier, it does not necessarily mean he will have better understanding than one who came after. It would however be a non sequitur to assert that because sometimes someone that is later may have a better understanding than someone earlier we can infer a general rule that we are to therefore set aside the superior virtue and knowledge of those in the past. Moreover, no one argues that we adhere to the ijtihād of the early authorities only on the basis that they are from the past. Being earlier in time, however, did offer them the advantage of being at a better vantage point, which together with the general piety of that era, makes sense of why in the early period ijtihād was a more acceptable activity than in later periods.

On Nizami’s second point, it is accepted by general agreement of the Ahl al-Sunnah that three divorces given together amount to three. The famous Ḥanafī jurist, Abū Bakr al-Jaṣṣāṣ (305 – 370 AH), states: “As for three divorces occurring together upon with whom marriage was consummated, it is by agreement of the Salaf (predecessors) from the first period, from those after them from the successors and the jurists of the towns. Our scholars do not view the opinion of those who negate the occurrence of three together as a valid disagreement.” [17] Similarly, Imām Muḥammad in his transmission of the Ᾱthār of Imām Abū Ḥanīfah narrates that Ibn ‘Abbās (may Allah be pleased with him) rebuked an individual for issuing three divorces, stating, “Your wife is now forbidden for you, and she will not be permissible for you until she marries someone else.” Imām Muḥammad then explains: “We adhere to this, it is the view of Abū Ḥanīfah, and the view of everyone – there is no disagreement on it.” [18]

If someone issues a statement implying three divorces, but claims he meant only one, will this be accepted in court? ‘Umar ibn al-Khaṭṭāb (may Allah be pleased with him) announced that since such claims were in his time viewed with suspicion, the courts will rule that it amounts to three divorces in all cases. If, however, a person issues three divorces with the express intent of three, it will amount to three by general agreement, and there is no valid disagreement in this situation. The only individual of note that clearly differed on this issue is Ibn Taymiyya, whose dissent was thus not in general viewed positively; his contemporary, Taqī al-Dīn al-Subkī, called him to question on this and other issues. [19]

It is telling that Nizami resorts to the anomalous example of Ibn Taymiyya for historical precedence of the “reinterpretation” he calls to. It underscores the reality that the normal pattern historically was not “reinterpretation” or renewed ijtihād, but was to relegate authority to the imāms of the past. Nizami also refers to al-Ṭaḥāwī (239 – 321 AH) as another historical precedent, but al-Ṭaḥāwī was from an early period, and was undoubtedly capable of ijtihād; he thus differed from his preferred law-school (the Ḥanafī madhhab) in several issues.

Nizami’s third point that “the Quran infers the problems of remaining committed to traditionalism for the sake of it, and demands some nuance and cerebral evaluation” is a restatement of a classic anti-taqlīd argument found amongst literalists (ẓāhirīs) and affiliated groups. These verses condemn adhering to the opinion of one’s predecessors when not in the service of truth, but in defiance of truth. If adherence, however, is made in service of truth, such adherence is praiseworthy and not condemned.

An analogous situation would be a person who stubbornly adheres to what his parents told him on a medical issue in defiance of a widely accepted medical truth. Such a person would rightly be scorned at. But if someone adhered to a group of medical experts on an issue of medicine, it would be silly to equate this situation with the first. This is effectively what those who use such verses to argue against taqlīd are doing. In refuting a similar anti-taqlīd argument, Ḥabīb Aḥmad al-Kīrānawī states: “Allah, Most Exalted, condemned imitation in defiance of established truth and did not condemn it when in service of the truth, but in fact has made it obligatory, since He has made it necessary to follow the prophets and ‘those of authority’ amongst them, and ‘those of authority’ include rulers and scholars.” [20]

Reinterpretation: A Call to Deform Religion

Nizami mentions that “a common retort is that this would make our religion considerably different to what has been practised for more than 1400 years” but then says “such a retort is unfounded.”

To the contrary, such a retort is quite valid given the situation that we find ourselves in today. Against the backdrop of colonialism that has leveraged prestigious Islamic institutions to deform Islam, claims of renewed ijtihād have increased massively in the last century or so, and the results are striking. Outrageous “liberal” opinions and egregious violent opinions have emerged as a direct result of such “reinterpretation.” There are those who claim women may lead men in prayer, that it is permissible for one to combine prayers in normal circumstances, and that it is permissible for women to uncover their hair in front of strange men; and on the other end of the spectrum, there are those who claim it is legitimate to kill women and children as a form of retaliation. These are views at odds with the authoritative rulings of all law-schools, and with such opinions on the rise, religion is gradually being deformed almost beyond recognition.

Such a process of deformation can only be curbed by re-establishing the thousand-year-old tradition of rigid adherence to the authority of mujtahid imāms of the past. Nizami rebukes “misinformed reformers” for their “hollow argument”, and insists that he is not advocating a “free-for-all”, but by giving such “reformers”, misinformed or otherwise, an equal license to engage in reinterpretation, there is no objective way he can argue their views are not just as legitimate as any other, no matter how distasteful he finds them. This is precisely the fear that Ibn Rajab and others had articulated many centuries ago.

Adherence to the Way of the People of the Past

Nizami laments that “much religious rhetoric has been premised on staying true to ‘the past’” and that this “is actually a very new way of doing religion”. He argues: “Classical scholars didn’t simply do with those before them, as we do to them, but fully embraced the revealed word to make it as applicable to their context as possible.”

To the contrary, we find amongst the qualities admired of the people of learning and piety was their adherence to the way of the people of the past. One of the major students of Imām Abū Ḥanīfah characterised his endeavours, as well as those of his disciples, as nothing besides: “fiqh and copying those who came before them.” [21] Ibrāhīm al-Nakha‘ī (39 – 96 AH), a famous early jurist of Kufa, states while praising his uncle ‘Alqamah ibn Qays, another major early scholar from Kufa: “‘Abdullāh [ibn Mas‘ūd] would be likened in conduct, behaviour and mannerism to the Messenger of Allāh, while ‘Alqamah would be likened to ‘Abdullāh in conduct and behaviour.” [22] Abū Isḥāq al-Sabī‘ī (33 – 127 AH), a prominent transmitter of ḥadīth from the early period, would be likened to the famous companion, ‘Alī (may Allah be pleased with him). They were so alike, it would in fact be said: “Whoever sat with Abū Isḥāq has sat with ‘Alī!” [23]

One who peruses the hagiographical literature will likely find many more examples of those who made it their life’s purpose to be as alike to their predecessors as they could be; and this was a quality of theirs that was admired, not looked down upon. Being like the Salaf (pious predecessors) was not viewed as practising a “dead faith” as Nizami implies, but as embracing the ideal mode of behaviour in all aspects of life – since the Salaf represented for them the pinnacle of piety and religious excellence.

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Endnotes:

[1] [/a]islamicate.co.uk/misunderstanding-traditionalism/

[2] Masā’il al-Imām Aḥmad ibn Ḥanbal al-Fiqhiyyah Riwāyah Muhannā ibn Yaḥyā al-Shāmī, Maktaba al-Ma‘ārif, 271

[3] ibid.

[4] Al-Inṣāf, Bayt al-Afkār, 497

[5] ibid., al-Hidāyah, Gheras, 152

[6] Al-Inṣāf, 497

[7] ibid.

[8] Taqlid, Legal Scaffolding and the Scope of Legal Injunctions in Post-Formative Theory in Islamic Law and Society 3 (1996), 165-173

[9] Hallaq, Sharīah, 112-113

[10] Ghiyāth al-Umam, 300

[11] Iḥyā’ ‘Ulūm al-Dīn, Dār al-Minhāj, 1:162

[12] Tartīb al-Madārik, 1:60

[13] Fatḥ al-Bārī, Dār Ṭayba, 16:461-2

[14] Majmū‘ah Rasā’il Ibn Rajab, 2:623

[15] ibid. 2:624

[16] ibid. 2:624

[17] Sharḥ Mukhtaṣar al-Ṭaḥāwī, 5:61

[18] Kitāb al-Ᾱthār, Dār al-Nawādir, 442

[19] al-Durrat al-Muḍiyyah, 7

[20] I‘lā’ al-Sunan, Idārat al-Qur’ān, 20:13

[21] Faḍā’il Abī Ḥanīfah, al-Maktaba al-Imdādiyyah, 118

[22] Tārīkh Baghdād, Dār al-Gharb al-Islāmī, 14:242

[23] Siyar A‘lām al-Nubalā’, Mu’assasat al-Risālah, 5:398

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Taken from HERE