The “traditionalist” Ulema and the “modern” Orientalists hold an essentially static view of Islam and interpret change and innovations produced by social and economic forces as impingements on established, therefore ordained, religious standards.
The Islamic civilization is the only one with which the territorial, religious, and cultural boundaries of the West have fluctuated for fourteen centuries. Islam’s relationship with the West has been continuous, frequently intimate, marked by protracted and violent confrontations and fruitful, though often forgotten, collaboration.
This unique history of the West’s encounter with a non-Western civilization undoubtedly left on both sides a heritage of prejudice and resentment. Yet, in this pattern of hostility, there were periods of accommodation. While our cultures were traditional, agrarian, and medieval, there existed a structural symmetry between them which accounted for a degree of equality in the exchange of ideas as well as products. Winners and losers manufactured and used the same weapons, traded in comparable goods, debated on familiar intellectual premises. There was a certain congruence of class interests and shared attitudes among the aristocrats, craftsmen, traders, and scholars.
A historically rigged intellectual tradition, then, continues to dominate Western perspectives on Islam. Its impact on Muslims too has been considerable. It has made the traditionalist Ulema more obdurate and closed to new methods of critical inquiry. It has led educated Muslims to neglect substantive contributions of Western scholarship to theological ideas and historical interpretation. Above all, it has stunted the creative and critical impulses of modernist Muslims by activating their defensive instincts.
In writing about Islam for a largely Western audience, a Muslim faces hard choices between explanation and exploration. One’s instinct is to explain the errors, deny the allegations, and challenge the overwhelmingly malevolent representations of Muslim history, ideals, and aspirations.
It is commonly asserted that in Islam, unlike in Christianity and other religions, there is no separation of religion and politics. In strict textual and formal legal terms, this may be true. But this standard generalization is not helpful in comprehending Muslim political praxis either historically or contemporaneously. In its most fundamental sense, politics involves a set of active links, both positive and negative, between civil society and institutions of power. In this sense, there has been little separation, certainly none in our time, between religion and politics anywhere. For example, Hinduism played an important role in the ideological and organizational development of the Indian national movement. Mahatma Gandhi’s humanitarian and idealistic principles of passive resistance and non-violence drew on Hindu precepts like Ahimsa. The Mahatma was challenged by fundamentalist religious parties like the Arya Samaj and the Hindu Mahasabha, and died at the bands of a Hindu fundamentalist political assassin. In Southeast Asia, including Vietnam, Buddhism and Buddhist institutions have been a potent force on both sides of the political divide.
In the United States, where the two major political parties have become increasingly indistinguishable on the basic issues of war and peace, the Christian churches have emerged as the primary platforms of political discourse, disputations, and even militancy. In a narrower perspective, the relationship of politics and religion may be discussed in terms of the links between religion and state power.
The political quietism of the Ulema has not been shared by all sections of the Muslim intelligentsia, and by no means by the majority of the Islamic community. There has, in fact, been a perennial tension between the moral imperatives of Muslim culture and the holders of power. It is difficult to recall a widely-known Muslim saint who did not collide with state power. Popular belief may have exaggerated the actual confrontations with contemporary rulers of men like the Persian saint, Mevlana Jalaluddin Rumi (1207-1273)-best known to the West as the founder of the mystic order of “whirling dervishes” the Indian Khwaja Muinuddin Chishti (l 142-1236), and the Moroccan saint, Sidi Lahsen Lyusi (1631-1691). But in this case, popular belief is the more significant indicator of political culture. It is equally important to emphasize that in each instance the collision was not incidental, a mere adding of lustre to the growth of a legend. Rather, it was a principal landmark in the making of a saint, in distinguishing the exceptional Muslim from the ordinary. In this conception of sainthood there is an admission, on the one hand, of the difficulty of achieving an alignment of piety to power and an affirmation, on the other hand, of a Muslim’s obligation to confront the excesses of political authority.
Historically, then, the Islamic community has lived in separate polities ruled by a wide variety of temporal authorities ranging from tribal chieftains to modern republics. These secular political entities have been ethnically, linguistically, and often religiously diverse. They have been subject to constant change brought about by dynastic challengers and popular insurrections and, occasionally, by somewhat religiously motivated reformist movements. Given its heterogeneity, observers of the Muslim world are impressed by the evidence of unity in Islamic peoples’ cultural, social, and political life. There is evidence also of a strong Islamic affinity across territorial and linguistic divides. This sense of solidarity has been based not merely on religious beliefs and practices but on a shared consciousness of history, and a commonality of values. In this respect, the Islamic civilization was, and to a lesser extent, remains inherently political. The values and linkages that defined the unity of the historically diverse Muslim community have been political in the deepest sense of the word. It should suffice here to mention only a few factors that produced, over the centuries, the patterns of unity – in – diversity – what scholars have called the “mosaic” of Muslim cultures.
In discussing the role of religion in contemporary Muslim politics, four points should be emphasized. First, the contemporary crisis of Muslim societies is without a parallel in Islamic history. Second, throughout the nineteenth and twentieth centuries the role of Islam in politics has varied in time and place. Third, the evidence of continuity with the patterns of the past has been striking. Fourth, in the 1980s, the trend is toward the growth of fundamentalist, neo-totalitarian Muslim movements. The phenomenon is contrary to the political culture and historical traditions of the Muslim majority. The still limited but growing appeal of the fundamentalist parties is associated with the traumas of Muslim political life, and the absence of viable alternatives to the existing state of affairs. A brief discussion of these points follows.
When a civilization reaches a point of fundamental crisis and perceptible decline, we see three responses. One may identify these as: (a) restorationist, (b) reconstructionist, and (c) pragmatist.
The restorationist is one that seeks the restoration of the past in its idealized form. This is the thrust of fundamentalism, of such movements as the Muslim Brotherhood in the Arab world, the Jamaat-i-Islami in Pakistan, the Sharekat Islam in Indonesia, and the Islamic government of post-revolution Iran. So far, these have been minority movements in the Muslim world. Without an exception, they have failed to attract the large majority of workers, peasants, and the intelligentsia. This was true even in Iran where the shift toward the current fundamentalist ideology began after the seizure of power.
The reconstructionist is one that seeks to blend tradition with modernity in an effort to reform society. This is the thrust of the modernist schools which have, intellectually and ideologically, dominated the Muslim world since the middle of the nineteenth century. The most influential writers and thinkers of modern Islam – Jamaluddin Afghani, Shibli Nomani, Syed Ameer Ali, Muhammad Abduh, Muhammad lqbal, Tahir Haddad, among others – have belonged to this school of thought; in political life their influence had been considerable until the rise of military regimes in many Muslim countries. This was true also in Iran where until after the Shah’s fall no significant group of Ulema had openly challenged the eminent Ayatullah Naini’s formulation in support of the democratic and constitutionalist movement (1904-1905), a position that was endorsed by the leading theologians of the Shia sect of Islam. For five decades, successive generations of Iranian religious leaders had reaffirmed this position. During the 1977-78 uprising against the Shah, all the politically prominent clerics of Iran, including Ayatullah Khomeini, had claimed to favor a pluralistic polity and parliamentary government. The first appointment by Khomeini of a social democratic government with Dr. Mehdi Bazargan as Prime Minister had seemed to confirm this claim. Above all, it should be noted that the mobilization of the Iranian revolution toward Islam had been the work of such lay Muslim intellectuals as Dr. Mehdi Bazargan, Jalal Ale- Ahmad and Abul Hasan Bani Sadr. The most important populizers of Islamic idealism were Ali Shariati, a progressive layman, and the Ayatullah Mahmud Taleghani, a radical religious leader. Although the Ayatullah Khomeini had been an important opposition figure since 1963, he was far from being the central figure he became in 1978. In January 1978, as the revolution began to gather momentum, the Shah’s regime did Khomeini the honor of singling him out for its most publicized and personal attack. From this point on, he became the counterpoint to the hated but central figure of the Shah. An explanation of his meteroic rise to charismatic power lies in the complex character of Iran’s disorganic development, which lent one of the objectively most advanced revolutions of history a millenarian dimension.
The pragmatist denotes an attitude of viewing religious requirements as being largely unrelated to the direct concerns of states and governments and of dealing with the affairs of the state in terms of the political and economic imperatives of contemporary life. The regulation of religious life is left to the civil society and to private initiatives. This approach has not been opposed by the reconstructionist school of intellectuals. As discussed earlier, it parallels the historical Muslim experience; as such, it is accepted both by the masses and the majority of the Ulema. Thus, wherever popular attitudes have been tested in open and free elections, pragmatist political parties and secular programs have gained overwhelming victories over their fundamentalist adversaries. In this realm of real politics one finds the resonances of the historical patterns discussed earlier. A few examples follow.
The trauma of Muslim life today is augmented by the fact that the resource-rich, strategically important heartlands of Islam are still subject to conquest and colonization. For the Palestinians, the era of decolonization opened in 1948 with the loss of the greater part of their ancient homeland. Now, they are being systematically dispossessed from its remnant, the West Bank and Gaza. In Lebanon, the refugees who fled in 1948, mostly from the Galilee, are being terrorized in Israel’s pursuit of its policy of “dispersion.” Jerusalem, a holy city and touchstone of Arab cultural achievements, has been unilaterally annexed, as has been the Golan Heights. Since the creation of the United Nations, only three of its members lost territories without being able to regain them. All three were Arab states. Only at the cost of betraying others and of isolating itself from its Arab/Islamic milieu did Egypt reclaim in 1982 the territories lost in 1967. Now Lebanon has joined the list of occupied countries; its ancient cities – Tyre, Sidon, Nabatiyyeh – are ruins. Beirut, the cultural capital of the Arab world, became the first capital city in the world whose televised destruction was watched by the world week after week. No Arab, no Muslim government budged except to suppress popular support at home. Their lucrative business with the United States the sole sustainer of Israel continued as usual. Never before had been so tragic the links between wealth and weakness, material resources and moral bankruptcy. Never before in the history of Islamic peoples had there been so total a separation or political power and civil society.
In the breach there is a time bomb. When the moral explosion of the masses occurs, it will undoubtedly have a reference to the past. But its objective shall be the future. The past is very present in the post-colonial Muslim societies. That it is a fractured past invaded by a new world of free markets, shorn of its substance and strength, incapable of assuring the continuity of communal life does not make it less forceful. Its power derives from the tyranny of contemporary realities, and the seeming absence of viable alternatives. For the majority of Muslim peoples, the experienced alternative to the past is a limbo of foreign occupation and dispossession, of alienation from the land, of life in shanty-towns and refugee camps, of migration into foreign lands, and, at best, of permanent expectancy. Leaning on and yearning for the restoration of an emasculated, often idealized past is one escape from the limbo; striking out, in protest and anger, for a new revolutionary order is another. Occasionally, as in Iran, the two responses are merged. More frequently, they are separated in time but historically, organically, linked. Hence, in our time, religiously-oriented millenarian movements have tended to be harbingers of revolution.
The “hopes” that underlie popular support of religious movements in our time, Islamic or otherwise, are not really of the “past.” The slogans and images of religio-political movements are invariably those of the past, but the hopes that are stimulated by them are intrinsically existential hopes, induced and augmented by the contemporary crisis, in this case, of the Muslim world. The often publicized ideological resurgence of Islam (social scientists and the American media spoke as much of “resurgent” Buddhism in the 1960s) is a product of excessive, uneven modernization and the failure of governments to safeguard national sovereignty or to satisfy basic needs. In the “transitional” Third World societies, one judges the present morally, with reference to the past, to inherited values, but materially in relation to the future. Therein lies a new dualism in our social and political life; the inability or unwillingness to deal with it entails disillusionment, terrible costs, and possible tragedy. One mourns Iran, laments Pakistan, fears for Egypt.