The
Spirit of Muslim Culture
‘Muhammad
of Arabia ascended the highest Heaven and returned. I swear by God that if I
had reached that point, I should never have returned.’1 These are
the words of a great Muslim saint, ‘AbdulQuddës of Gangoh. In the whole range
of Sufi literature it will be probably difficult to find words which, in a
single sentence, disclose such an acute perception of the psychological
difference between the prophetic and the mystic types of consciousness. The
mystic does not wish to return from the repose of ‘unitary experience’; and
even when he does return, as he must, his return does not mean much for mankind
at large. The prophet’s return is creative. He returns to insert himself into
the sweep of time with a view to control the forces of history, and thereby to
create a fresh world of ideals.
For the
mystic the repose of ‘unitary experience’ is something final; for the prophet
it is the awakening, within him, of world-shaking psychological forces,
calculated to completely transform the human world. The desire to see his
religious experience transformed into a living world-force is supreme in the
prophet. Thus his return amounts to a kind of pragmatic test of the value of
his religious experience. In its creative act the prophet’s will judges both
itself and the world of concrete fact in which it endeavours to objectify
itself. In penetrating the impervious material before him the prophet discovers
himself for himself, and unveils himself to the eye of history. Another way of
judging the value of a prophet’s religious experience, therefore, would be to
examine the type of manhood that he has created, and the cultural world that
has sprung out of the spirit of his message. In this lecture I want to confine
myself to the latter alone. The idea is not to give you a description of the
achievements of Islam in the domain of knowledge. I want rather to fix your
gaze on some of the ruling concepts of the culture of Islam in order to gain an
insight into the process of ideation that underlies them, and thus to catch a
glimpse of the soul that found expression through them. Before, however, I
proceed to do so it is necessary to understand the cultural value of a great
idea in Islam - I mean the finality of the institution of prophethood.2
A
prophet may be defined as a type of mystic consciousness in which ‘unitary
experience’ tends to overflow its boundaries, and seeks opportunities of
redirecting or refashioning the forces of collective life. In his personality
the finite centre of life sinks into his own infinite depths only to spring up
again, with fresh vigour, to destroy the old, and to disclose the new
directions of life. This contact with the root of his own being is by no means
peculiar to man. Indeed the way in which the word WaÁâ (inspiration) is used in
the Qur’«n shows that the Qur’«n regards it as a universal property of life;3
though its nature and character are different at different stages of the
evolution of life. The plant growing freely in space, the animal developing a
new organ to suit a new environment, and a human being receiving light from the
inner depths of life, are all cases of inspiration varying in character
according to the needs of the recipient, or the needs of the species to which
the recipient belongs.
Now
during the minority of mankind psychic energy develops what I call prophetic
consciousness - a mode of economizing individual thought and choice by
providing ready-made judgements, choices, and ways of action. With the birth of
reason and critical faculty, however, life, in its own interest, inhibits the
formation and growth of non-rational modes of consciousness through which
psychic energy flowed at an earlier stage of human evolution. Man is primarily
governed by passion and instinct. Inductive reason, which alone makes man
master of his environment, is an achievement; and when once born it must be
reinforced by inhibiting the growth of other modes of knowledge. There is no
doubt that the ancient world produced some great systems of philosophy at a
time when man was comparatively primitive and governed more or less by
suggestion. But we must not forget that this system-building in the ancient
world was the work of abstract thought which cannot go beyond the
systematization of vague religious beliefs and traditions, and gives us no hold
on the concrete situations of life.
Looking
at the matter from this point of view, then, the Prophet of Islam seems to
stand between the ancient and the modern world. In so far as the source of his
revelation is concerned he belongs to the ancient world; in so far as the
spirit of his revelation is concerned he belongs to the modern world. In him
life discovers other sources of knowledge suitable to its new direction. The
birth of Islam, as I hope to be able presently to prove to your satisfaction,
is the birth of inductive intellect. In Islam prophecy reaches its perfection
in discovering the need of its own abolition.4 This involves the
keen perception that life cannot for ever be kept in leading strings; that, in
order to achieve full self-consciousness, man must finally be thrown back on
his own resources.
The
abolition of priesthood and hereditary kingship in Islam, the constant appeal
to reason and experience in the Qur’«n, and the emphasis that it lays on Nature
and History as sources of human knowledge, are all different aspects of the
same idea of finality. The idea, however, does not mean that mystic experience,
which qualitatively does not differ from the experience of the prophet, has now
ceased to exist as a vital fact. Indeed the Qur’«n regards both Anfus
(self) and ÿf«q (world) as sources of knowledge.5 God reveals
His signs in inner as well as outer experience, and it is the duty of man to
judge the knowledge-yielding capacity of all aspects of experience. The idea of
finality, therefore, should not be taken to suggest that the ultimate fate of
life is complete displacement of emotion by reason. Such a thing is neither
possible nor desirable. The intellectual value of the idea is that it tends to
create an independent critical attitude towards mystic experience by generating
the belief that all personal authority, claiming a supernatural origin, has
come to an end in the history of man.
This
kind of belief is a psychological force which inhibits the growth of such
authority. The function of the idea is to open up fresh vistas of knowledge in
the domain of man’s inner experience. Just as the first half of the formula of
Islam6 has created and fostered the spirit of a critical observation
of man’s outer experience by divesting the forces of nature of that Divine
character with which earlier cultures had clothed them. Mystic experience,
then, however unusual and abnormal, must now be regarded by a Muslim as a
perfectly natural experience, open to critical scrutiny like other aspects of
human experience. This is clear from the Prophet’s own attitude towards Ibn
Âayy«d’s psychic experiences.7 The function of Sufism in Islam has
been to systematize mystic experience; though it must be admitted that Ibn
Khaldën was the only Muslim who approached it in a thoroughly scientific
spirit.8
But
inner experience is only one source of human knowledge. According to the
Qur’«n, there are two other sources of knowledge - Nature and History; and it
is in tapping these sources of knowledge that the spirit of Islam is seen at
its best. The Qur’«n sees signs of the Ultimate Reality in the ‘sun’, the
‘moon’, ‘the lengthening out of shadows’, ‘the alternation of day and night’,
‘the variety of human colours and tongues’,10 ‘the alternation of the days of
success and reverse among peoples’ - in fact in the whole of Nature as revealed
to the sense-perception of man. And the Muslim’s duty is to reflect on these
signs and not to pass by them ‘as if he is dead and blind’, for he ‘who does
not see these signs in this life will remain blind to the realities of the life
to come’.9 This appeal to the concrete combined with the slow
realization that, according to the teachings of the Qur’«n, the universe is
dynamic in its origin, finite and capable of increase, eventually brought
Muslim thinkers into conflict with Greek thought which, in the beginning of
their intellectual career, they had studied with so much enthusiasm. Not
realizing that the spirit of the Qur’«n was essentially anti-classical, and
putting full confidence in Greek thinkers, their first impulse was to
understand the Qur’«n in the light of Greek philosophy. In view of the concrete
spirit of the Qur’«n, and the speculative nature of Greek philosophy which
enjoyed theory and was neglectful of fact, this attempt was foredoomed to
failure. And it is what follows their failure that brings out the real spirit
of the culture of Islam, and lays the foundation of modern culture in some of
its most important aspects.
This
intellectual revolt against Greek philosophy manifests itself in all
departments of thought. I am afraid I am not competent enough to deal with it
as it discloses itself in Mathematics, Astronomy, and Medicine. It is clearly
visible in the metaphysical thought of the Ash‘arite, but appears as a most well-defined
phenomenon in the Muslim criticism of Greek Logic. This was only natural; for
dissatisfaction with purely speculative philosophy means the search for a surer
method of knowledge. It was, I think, Naïï«m who first formulated the principle
of ‘doubt’ as the beginning of all knowledge. Ghazz«lâ further amplified it in
his ‘Revivification of the Sciences of Religion’,10 and prepared the
way for ‘Descartes’ Method’. But Ghazz«lâ remained on the whole a follower of
Aristotle in Logic. In his Qist«s he puts some of the Quranic arguments
in the form of Aristotelian figures,11 but forgets the Quranic Sërah
known as Shu’ar«’ where the proposition that retribution follows the
gainsaying of prophets is established by the method of simple enumeration of
historical instances. It was Ishr«qâand Ibn Taimâyyah who undertook a
systematic refutation of Greek Logic.12
Abë Bakr
R«zâ was perhaps the first to criticize Aristotle’s first figure,13
and in our own times his objection, conceived in a thoroughly inductive spirit,
has been reformulated by John Stuart Mill. Ibn Àazm, in his ‘Scope of Logic’,14
emphasizes sense-perception as a source of knowledge; and Ibn Taimâyyah in his
‘Refutation of Logic’, shows that induction is the only form of reliable
argument. Thus arose the method of observation and experiment. It was not a
merely theoretical affair. Al-Bârënâ’s discovery of what we call reaction-time
and al-Kindâ’s discovery that sensation is proportionate to the stimulus, are
instances of its application in psychology.15 It is a mistake to
suppose that the experimental method is a European discovery. Dü hring tells us
that Roger Bacon’s conceptions of science are more just and clear than those of
his celebrated namesake. And where did Roger Bacon receive his scientific
training? - In the Muslim universities of Spain. Indeed Part V of his Opus
Majus which is devoted to ‘Perspective’ is practically a copy of Ibn
Haitham’s Optics.16 Nor is the book, as a whole, lacking in
evidences of Ibn Hazm’s influence on its author.17 Europe has been
rather slow to recognize the Islamic origin of her scientific method. But full
recognition of the fact has at last come. Let me quote one or two passages from
Briffault’s Making of Humanity,
‘. . .
it was under their successors at that Oxford school that Roger Bacon learned
Arabic and Arabic science. Neither Roger Bacon nor his later namesake has any
title to be credited with having introduced the experimental method. Roger
Bacon was no more than one of the apostles of Muslim science and method to
Christian Europe; and he never wearied of declaring that a knowledge of Arabic
and Arabian science was for his contemporaries the only way to true knowledge.
Discussions as to who was the originator of the experimental method . . . are
part of the colossal misrepresentation of the origins of European civilization.
The experimental method of the Arabs was by Bacon’s time widespread and eagerly
cultivated throughout Europe’ (pp. 200-01). . . .
‘Science
is the most momentous contribution of Arab civilization to the modern world,
but its fruits were slow in ripening. Not until long after Moorish culture had
sunk back into darkness did the giant to which it had given birth rise in his
might. It was not science which brought Europe back to life. Other and manifold
influences from the civilization of Islam communicated its first glow to
European life’ (p. 202).
‘For
although there is not a single aspect of European growth in which the decisive
influence of Islamic culture is not traceable, nowhere is it so clear and
momentous as in the genesis of that power which constitutes the paramount
distinctive force of the modern world, and the supreme source of its victory -
natural science and the scientific spirit’ (p. 190).
‘The
debt of our science to that of the Arabs does not consist in startling
discoveries or revolutionary theories; science owes a great deal more to Arab
culture, it owes its existence. The ancient world was, as we saw,
pre-scientific. The astronomy and mathematics of the Greek were a foreign importation
never thoroughly acclimatized in Greek culture. The Greeks systematized,
generalized, and theorized, but the patient ways of investigation, the
accumulation of positive knowledge, the minute methods of science, detailed and
prolonged observation, experimental inquiry, were altogether alien to the Greek
temperament. Only in Hellenistic Alexandria was any approach to scientific work
conducted in the ancient classical world. What we call science arose in Europe
as a result of a new spirit of inquiry, of new methods of investigation, of the
method of experiment, observation, measurement, of the development of
mathematics in a form unknown to the Greeks. That spirit and those methods were
introduced into the European world by the Arabs’ (p. 191).
The first
important point to note about the spirit of Muslim culture then is that, for
purposes of knowledge, it fixes its gaze on the concrete, the finite. It is
further clear that the birth of the method of observation and experiment in
Islam was due not to a compromise with Greek thought but to a prolonged
intellectual warfare with it. In fact, the influence of the Greeks who, as
Briffault says, were interested chiefly in theory, not in fact, tended rather
to obscure the Muslims’ vision of the Qur’«n, and for at least two centuries
kept the practical Arab temperament from asserting itself and coming to its
own. I want, therefore, definitely to eradicate the misunderstanding that Greek
thought, in any way, determined the character of Muslim culture. Part of my argument
you have seen; part you will see presently.
Knowledge
must begin with the concrete. It is the intellectual capture of and power over
the concrete that makes it possible for the intellect of man to pass beyond the
concrete. As the Qur’«n says:
‘O company
of djinn and men, if you can overpass the bounds of the heaven and the earth,
then overpass them. But by power alone shall ye overpass them’ (55:33).
But the
universe, as a collection of finite things, presents itself as a kind of island
situated in a pure vacuity to which time, regarded as a series of mutually
exclusive moments, is nothing and does nothing. Such a vision of the universe
leads the reflecting mind nowhere. The thought of a limit to perceptual space
and time staggers the mind. The finite, as such, is an idol obstructing the
movement of the mind; or, in order to overpass its bounds, the mind must
overcome serial time and the pure vacuity of perceptual space. ‘And verily
towards thy God is the limit’, says the Qur’«n.18 This verse
embodies one of the deepest thoughts in the Qur’«n; for it definitely suggests
that the ultimate limit is to be sought not in the direction of stars, but in
an infinite cosmic life and spirituality. Now the intellectual journey towards
this ultimate limit is long and arduous; and in this effort, too, the thought
of Islam appears to have moved in a direction entirely different to the Greeks.
The
ideal of the Greeks, as Spengler tells us, was proportion, not infinity. The
physical presentness of the finite with its well-defined limits alone absorbed
the mind of the Greeks. In the history of Muslim culture, on the other hand, we
find that both in the realms of pure intellect and religious psychology, by
which term I mean higher Sufism, the ideal revealed is the possession and
enjoyment of the Infinite. In a culture, with such an attitude, the problem of
space and time becomes a question of life and death. In one of these lectures I
have already given you some idea of the way in which the problem of time and
space presented itself to Muslim thinkers, especially the Ash‘arite. One reason
why the atomism of Democritus never became popular in the world of Islam is
that it involves the assumption of an absolute space. The Ash‘arite were,
therefore, driven to develop a different kind of atomism, and tried to overcome
the difficulties of perceptual space in a manner similar to modern atomism. On
the side of Mathematics it must be remembered that since the days of Ptolemy
(A.D. 87-165) till the time of NaÄâr ñësâ (A.D. 120-74)nobody gave serious
thought to the difficulties of demonstrating the certitude of Euclid’s parallel
postulate on the basis of perceptual space.19
It was
ñësâ who first disturbed the calm which had prevailed in the world of
Mathematics for a thousand years; and in his effort to improve the postulate
realized the necessity of abandoning perceptual space. He thus furnished a
basis, however slight, for the hyperspace movement of our time.20 It
was, however, al-Bârënâ who, in his approach to the modern mathematical idea of
function saw, from a purely scientific point of view, the insufficiency of a
static view of the universe. This again is a clear departure from the Greek
view. The function-idea introduces the element of time in our world-picture. It
turns the fixed into the variable, and sees the universe not as being but as
becoming. Spengler thinks that the mathematical idea of function is the symbol
of the West of which ‘no other culture gives even a hint’.21 In view
of al-Bârënâ, generalizing Newton’s formula of interpolation from
trignometrical function to any function whatever.22 Spengler’s claim
has no foundation in fact. The transformation of the Greek concept of number
from pure magnitude to pure relation really began with Khw«rizmâs movement from
Arithmetic to Algebra.23 al-Bârënâ took a definite step forward
towards what Spengler describes as chronological number which signifies the
mind’s passage from being to becoming. Indeed, more recent developments in
European mathematics tend rather to deprive time of its living historical
character, and to reduce it to a mere representation of space. That is why
Whitehead’s view of Relativity is likely to appeal to Muslim students more than
that of Einstein in whose theory time loses its character of passage and mysteriously
translates itself into utter space.24a
Side by
side with the progress of mathematical thought in Islam we find the idea of
evolution gradually shaping itself. It was Ja`hiz who was the first to note the
changes in bird-life caused by migrations. Later Ibn Maskawaih who was a
contemporary of al-Bârënâ gave it the shape of a more definite theory, and
adopted it in his theological work - al-Fauz al-Asghar. I reproduce here
the substance of his evolutionary hypothesis, not because of its scientific value,
but because of the light which it throws on the direction in which Muslim
thought was moving.
According
to Ibn Maskawaih plant-life at the lowest stage of evolution does not need any
seed for its birth and growth. Nor does it perpetuate its species by means of
the seed. This kind of plant-life differs from minerals only in some little
power of movement which grows in higher forms, and reveals itself further in
that the plant spreads out its branches, and perpetuates its species by means
of the seed. The power of movement gradually grows farther until we reach trees
which possess a trunk, leaves, and fruit. At a higher stage of evolution stand
forms of plant-life which need better soil and climate for their growth. The
last stage of development is reached in vine and date-palm which stand, as it
were, on the threshold of animal life. In the date-palm a clear sex-distinction
appears. Besides roots and fibres it develops something which functions like
the animal brain, on the integrity of which depends the life of the date-palm.
This is the highest stage in the development of plant-life, and a prelude to
animal life.
The
first forward step towards animal life is freedom from earth-rootedness which
is the germ of conscious movement. This is the initial state of animality in
which the sense of touch is the first, and the sense of sight is the last to
appear. With the development of the senses of animal acquires freedom of
movement, as in the case of worms, reptiles, ants, and bees. Animality reaches
its perfection in the horse among quadrupeds and the falcon among birds, and
finally arrives at the frontier of humanity in the ape which is just a degree
below man in the scale of evolution. Further evolution brings physiological
changes with a growing power of discrimination and spirituality until humanity
passes from barbarism to civilization.24b
But it
is really religious psychology, as in ‘Ir«qâand Khw«jah Muhammad P«rs«,25
which brings us much nearer to our modern ways of looking at the problem of
space and time. ‘Ir«qâ’s view of time-stratifications I have given you before.26
I will now give you the substance of his view of space.
According
to ‘Ir«qâ the existence of some kind of space in relation to God is clear from
the following verses of the Qur’«n:
‘Dost
thou not see that God knoweth all that is in the heavens and all that is in the
earth? Three persons speak not privately together, but He is their fourth; nor
five, but He is their sixth; nor fewer nor more, but wherever they be He is
with them’ (58:7).
‘Ye shall
not be employed in affairs, nor shall ye read a text out of the Qur’«n, nor
shall ye do any work, but We will be witness over you when you are engaged
therein; and the weight of an atom on earth or in heaven escapeth not thy Lord;
nor is there aught27 that is less than this or greater, but it is in
the Perspicuous Book’ (10:61).
‘We
created man, and We know what his soul whispereth to him, and We are closer to
him than his neck-vein’ (50:16).
But we
must not forget that the words proximity, contact, and mutual separation which
apply to material bodies do not apply to God. Divine life is in touch with the
whole universe on the analogy of the soul’s contact with the body.28
The soul is neither inside nor outside the body; neither proximate to nor
separate from it. Yet its contact with every atom of the body is real, and it
is impossible to conceive this contact except by positing some kind of space
which befits the subtleness of the soul. The existence of space in relation to
the life of God, therefore, cannot be denied;29 only we should
carefully define the kind of space which may be predicated of the Absoluteness
of God. Now, there are three kinds of space - the space of material bodies, the
space of immaterial beings, and the space of God.30 The space of
material bodies is further divided into three kinds. First, the space of gross
bodies of which we predicate roominess. In this space movement takes time,
bodies occupy their respective places and resist displacement. Secondly, the
space of subtle bodies, e.g. air and sound. In this space too bodies resist
each other, and their movement is measurable in terms of time which, however,
appears to be different to the time of gross bodies.
The air
in a tube must be displaced before other air can enter into it; and the time of
sound-waves is practically nothing compared to the time of gross bodies.
Thirdly, we have the space of light. The light of the sun instantly reaches the
remotest limits of the earth. Thus in the velocity of light and sound time is
reduced almost to zero. It is, therefore, clear that the space of light is
different to the space of air and sound. There is, however, a more effective
argument than this. The light of a candle spreads in all directions in a room
without displacing the air in the room; and this shows that the space of light
is more subtle than the space of air which has no entry into the space of
light.31 In view of the close proximity of these spaces, however, it
is not possible to distinguish the one from the other except by purely
intellectual analysis and spiritual experience. Again, in the hot water the two
opposites - fire and water - which appear to interpenetrate each other cannot,
in view of their respective natures, exist in the same space.32 The
fact cannot be explained except on the supposition that the spaces of the two
substances, though closely proximate to each other, are nevertheless distinct.
But while the element of distance is not entirely absent, there is no
possibility of mutual resistance in the space of light. The light of a candle
reaches up to a certain point only, and the lights of a hundred candles
intermingle in the same room without displacing one another.
Having
thus described the spaces of physical bodies possessing various degrees of
subtleness ‘Ir«qâ proceeds briefly to describe the main varieties of space
operated upon by the various classes of immaterial beings, e.g. angels. The
element of distance is not entirely absent from these spaces; for immaterial
beings, while they can easily pass through stone walls, cannot altogether
dispense with motion which, according to ‘Ir«qâ, is evidence of imperfection in
spirituality.33 The highest point in the scale of spatial freedom is
reached by the human soul which, in its unique essence, is neither at rest nor
in motion.34 Thus passing through the infinite varieties of space we
reach the Divine space which is absolutely free from all dimensions and
constitutes the meeting point of all infinities.35
From
this summary of ‘Ir«qâ’s view you will see how a cultured Muslim
Sufi`intellectually interpreted his spiritual experience of time and space in
an age which had no idea of the theories and concepts of modern Mathematics and
Physics. ‘Ir«qâ is really trying to reach the concept of space as a dynamic
appearance. His mind seems to be vaguely struggling with the concept of space
as an infinite continuum; yet he was unable to see the full implications of his
thought partly because he was not a mathematician and partly because of his
natural prejudice in favour of the traditional Aristotelian idea of a fixed
universe. Again, the interpenetration of the super-spatial ‘here’ and
super-eternal ‘now’ in the Ultimate Reality suggests the modern notion of
space-time which Professor Alexander, in his lectures on ‘Space, Time, and Deity’,
regards as the matrix of all things.36 A keener insight into the
nature of time would have led ‘Ir«qâ to see that time is more fundamental of
the two; and that it is not a mere metaphor to say, as Professor Alexander does
say, that time is the mind of space.37
‘Ir«qâ
conceives God’s relation to the universe on the analogy of the relation of the
human soul to the body;38 but, instead of philosophically reaching
this position through a criticism of the spatial and temporal aspects of
experience, he simply postulates it on the basis of his spiritual experience.
It is not sufficient merely to reduce space and time to a vanishing
point-instant. The philosophical path that leads to God as the omnipsyche of
the universe lies through the discovery of living thought as the ultimate
principle of space-time. ‘Ir«qâ’s mind, no doubt, moved in the right direction,
but his Aristotelian prejudices, coupled with a lack of psychological analysis,
blocked his progress. With his view that Divine Time is utterly devoid of
change39 - a view obviously based on an inadequate analysis of
conscious experience - it was not possible for him to discover the relation
between Divine Time and serial time, and to reach, through this discovery, the
essentially Islamic idea of continuous creation which means a growing universe.
Thus all
lines of Muslim thought converge on a dynamic conception of the universe. This
view is further reinforced by Ibn Maskawaih’s theory of life as an evolutionary
movement, and Ibn Khaldën’s view of history. History or, in the language of the
Qur’«n, ‘the days of God’, is the third source of human knowledge according to
the Qur’«n. It is one of the most essential teachings of the Qur’«n that
nations are collectively judged, and suffer for their misdeeds here and now.40
In order to establish this proposition, the Qur’«n constantly cites historical
instances, and urges upon the reader to reflect on the past and present
experience of mankind.
"Of
old did We send Moses with Our signs, and said to him: ‘Bring forth thy people
from the darkness into the light, and remind them of the days of God."
Verily, in this are signs for every patient, grateful person’ (14:5).
‘And
among those whom We had created are a people who guide others with truth, and
in accordance therewith act justly. But as for those who treat Our signs as
lies, We gradually ring them down by means of which they know not; and though I
lengthen their days, verily, My stratagem is effectual’ (7:181-83).
‘Already,
before your time, have precedents been made. Traverse the Earth then, and see
what hath been the end of those who falsify the signs of God!’ (3:137).
‘If a
wound hath befallen you, a wound like it hath already befallen others; We
alternate the days of successes and reverses among peoples’ (3:140).
‘Every
nation hath its fixed period’ (7:34).41
The last
verse is rather an instance of a more specific historical generalization which,
in its epigrammatic formulation, suggests the possibility of a scientific
treatment of the life of human societies regarded as organisms. It is,
therefore, a gross error to think that the Qur’«n has no germs of a historical
doctrine. The truth is that the whole spirit of the ‘Prolegomena’ of Ibn
Khaldën appears to have been mainly due to the inspiration which the author must
have received from the Qur’«n. Even in his judgements of character he is, in no
small degree, indebted to the Qur’«n. An instance in point is his long
paragraph devoted to an estimate of the character of the Arabs as a people. The
whole paragraph is a mere amplification of the following verses of the Qur’«n:
‘The
Arabs of the desert are most stout in unbelief and dissimulation; and likelier
it is that they should be unaware of the laws which God hath sent down to His
Apostle; and God is Knowing, Wise.
‘Of the
Arabs of the desert there are some who reckon what they expend in the cause of
God as tribute, and wait for some change of fortune to befall you: a change for
evil shall befall them! God is the Hearer, the Knower’ (9:97-98).
However,
the interest of the Qur’«n in history, regarded as a source of human knowledge,
extends farther than mere indications of historical generalizations. It has
given us one of the most fundamental principles of historical criticism: Since
accuracy in recording facts which constitute the material of history is an
indispensable condition of history as a science, and an accurate knowledge of
facts ultimately depends on those who report them, the very first principle of
historical criticism is that the reporter’s personal character is an important
factor in judging his testimony. The Qur’«n says:
‘O
believers! if any bad man comes to you with a report, clear it up at once’
(49:6).
It is
the application of the principle embodied in this verse to the reporters of the
Prophet’s traditions out of which were gradually evolved the canons of
historical criticism. The growth of historical sense in Islam is a fascinating
subject.42 The Quranic appeal to experience, the necessity to
ascertain the exact sayings of the Prophet, and the desire to furnish permanent
sources of inspiration to posterity - all these forces contributed to produce
such men as Ibn Ish«q,43 ñabarâ,44 and Mas‘ëdâ.45
But history, as an art of firing the reader’s imagination, is only a stage in
the development of history as a genuine science. The possibility of a
scientific treatment of history means a wider experience, a greater maturity of
practical reason, and finally a fuller realization of certain basic ideas
regarding the nature of life and time. These ideas are in the main two; and
both form the foundation of the Quranic teaching.
1. The
Unity of Human Origin. ‘And We have created you all from one breath of life’,
says the Qur’«n.46 But the perception of life as an organic unity is
a slow achievement, and depends for its growth on a people’s entry into the
main current of world-events. This opportunity was brought to Islam by the
rapid development of a vast empire. No doubt, Christianity, long before Islam,
brought the message of equality to mankind; but Christian Rome did not rise to
the full apprehension of the idea of humanity as a single organism. As Flint
rightly says, ‘No Christian writer and still less, of course, any other in the
Roman Empire, can be credited with having had more than a general and abstract
conception of human unity.’ And since the days of Rome the idea does not seem
to have gained much in depth and rootage in Europe. On the other hand, the
growth of territorial nationalism, with its emphasis on what is called national
characteristics, has tended rather to kill the broad human element in the art
and literature of Europe. It was quite otherwise with Islam. Here the idea was
neither a concept of philosophy nor a dream of poetry. As a social movement the
aim of Islam was to make the idea a living factor in the Muslim’s daily life,
and thus silently and imperceptibly to carry it towards fuller fruition.
2. A
Keen Sense of the Reality of Time, and the Concept of Life as a Continuous
Movement in Time. It is this conception of life and time which is the main
point of interest in Ibn Khaldën’s view of history, and which justifies Flint’s
eulogy that ‘Plato, Aristotle, and Augustine were not his peers, and all others
were unworthy of being even mentioned along with him’.47 From the
remarks that I have made above I do not mean to throw doubt on the originality
of Ibn Khaldën. All that I mean to say is that, considering the direction in
which the culture of Islam had unfolded itself, only a Muslim could have viewed
history as a continuous, collective movement, a real inevitable development in
time. The point of interest in this view of history is the way in which Ibn
Khaldën conceives the process of change. His conception is of infinite
importance because of the implication that history, as a continuous movement in
time, is a genuinely creative movement and not a movement whose path is already
determined. Ibn Khaldën was not a metaphysician. Indeed he was hostile to
Metaphysics.48
But in
view of the nature of his conception of time he may fairly be regarded as a forerunner
of Bergson. I have already discussed the intellectual antecedents of this
conception in the cultural history of Islam. The Quranic view of the
‘alternation of day and night’49 as a symbol of the Ultimate Reality
which ‘appears in a fresh glory every moment’,50 the tendency in
Muslim Metaphysics to regard time as objective, Ibn Maskawaih’s view of life as
an evolutionary movement,51 and lastly al-Bârënâ’s definite approach
to the conception of Nature as a process of becoming52 - all this
constituted the intellectual inheritance of Ibn Khaldën. His chief merit lies
in his acute perception of, and systematic expression to, the spirit of the
cultural movement of which he was a most brilliant product. In the work of this
genius the anti-classical spirit of the Qur’«n scores its final victory over
Greek thought; for with the Greeks time was either unreal, as in Plato and
Zeno, or moved in a circle, as in Heraclitus and the Stoics.53
Whatever may be the criterion by which to judge the forward steps of a creative
movement, the movement itself, if conceived as cyclic, ceases to be creative.
Eternal recurrence is not eternal creation; it is eternal repetition.
We are
now in a position to see the true significance of the intellectual revolt of
Islam against Greek philosophy. The fact that this revolt originated in a
purely theological interest shows that the anti-classical spirit of the Qur’«n
asserted itself in spite of those who began with a desire to interpret Islam in
the light of Greek thought.
It now
remains to eradicate a grave misunderstanding created by Spengler’s widely read
book, The Decline of the West. His two chapters devoted to the problem
of Arabian culture54 constitute a most important contribution to the
cultural history of Asia. They are, however, based on a complete misconception
of the nature of Islam as a religious movement, and of the cultural activity
which it initiated. Spengler’s main thesis is that each culture is a specific
organism, having no point of contact with cultures that historically precede or
follow it. Indeed, according to him, each culture has its own peculiar way of
looking at things which is entirely inaccessible to men belonging to a
different culture. In his anxiety to prove this thesis he marshals an
overwhelming array of facts and interpretations to show that the spirit of
European culture is through and through anti-classical. And this anti-classical
spirit of European culture is entirely due to the specific genius of Europe,
and not to any inspiration she may have received from the culture of Islam
which, according to Spengler, is thoroughly ‘Magian’ in spirit and character.
Spengler’s view of the spirit of modern culture is, in my opinion, perfectly
correct. I have, however, tried to show in these lectures that the anti-classical
spirit of the modern world has really arisen out of the revolt of Islam against
Greek thought.55 It is obvious that such a view cannot be acceptable
to Spengler; for, if it is possible to show that the anti-classical spirit of
modern culture is due to the inspiration which it received from the culture
immediately preceding it, the whole argument of Spengler regarding the complete
mutual independence of cultural growths would collapse. I am afraid Spengler’s
anxiety to establish this thesis has completely perverted his vision of Islam
as a cultural movement.
By the
expression ‘Magian culture’ Spengler means the common culture associated with
what he calls ‘Magian group of religions’,56 i.e. Judaism, ancient
Chaldean religion, early Christianity, Zoroastrianism, and Islam. That a Magian
crust has grown over Islam, I do not deny. Indeed my main purpose in these
lectures has been to secure a vision of the spirit of Islam as emancipated from
its Magian overlayings which, in my opinion, have misled Spengler. His
ignorance of Muslim thought on the problem of time, as well as of the way in
which the ‘I’, as a free centre of experience, has found expression in the
religious experience of Islam, is simply appalling.57 Instead of
seeking light from the history of Muslim thought and experience, he prefers to
base his judgement on vulgar beliefs as to the beginning and end of time. Just
imagine a man of overwhelming learning finding support for the supposed
fatalism of Islam in such Eastern expressions and proverbs as the ‘vault of
time’,58 and ‘everything has a time!’59 However, on the
origin and growth of the concept of time in Islam, and on the human ego as a
free power, I have said enough in these lectures. It is obvious that a full
examination of Spengler’s view of Islam, and of the culture that grew out of
it, will require a whole volume. In addition to what I have said before, I
shall offer here one more observation of a general nature.
‘The
kernel of the prophetic teaching,’ says Spengler, ‘is already Magian. There is
one God - be He called Yahweh,60 Ahuramazda, or Marduk-Baal
- who is the principle of good, and all other deities are either impotent or
evil. To this doctrine there attached itself the hope of a Messiah, very clear
in Isaiah, but also bursting out everywhere during the next centuries, under
pressure of an inner necessity. It is the basic idea of Magian religion, for it
contains implicitly the conception of the world-historical struggle between
Good and Evil, with the power of Evil prevailing in the middle period, and the
Good finally triumphant on the Day of Judgement.’60 If this view of the
prophetic teaching is meant to apply to Islam it is obviously a
misrepresentation. The point to note is that the Magian admitted the existence
of false gods; only they did not turn to worship them. Islam denies the very
existence of false gods. In this connexion Spengler fails to appreciate the
cultural value of the idea of the finality of prophethood in Islam. No doubt,
one important feature of Magian culture is a perpetual attitude of expectation,
a constant looking forward to the coming of Zoroaster’s unborn sons, the
Messiah, or the Paraclete of the fourth gospel. I have already indicated the
direction in which the student of Islam should seek the cultural meaning of the
doctrine of finality in Islam. It may further be regarded as a psychological
cure for the Magian attitude of constant expectation which tends to give a
false view of history. Ibn Khaldën, seeing the spirit of his own view of
history, has fully criticized and, I believe, finally demolished the alleged
revelational basis in Islam of an idea similar, at least in its psychological
effects, to the original Magian idea which had reappeared in Islam under the
pressure of Magian thought.61
Tidak ada komentar:
Posting Komentar