1. Tradition in Kant

Kant explicitly refers to “tradition” in two spheres: the legal context and the religious-historical one.

More specifically, in the legal domain, tradition (traditio) means the transfer of the contractually promised thing to the contracting party (6:275),¹ while in a second sense² it refers to oral transmission concerning history and revelation (6:104, 156 & 167). I will not focus here on these explicit occurrences of the term in Kant’s works, but rather on tradition as a material, cultural, linguistic, social, and psychological legacy-including philosophical notions-inherited from our ancestors. More specifically, I will focus on Kant’s methodology when confronted with inherited philosophical terms and problematics, including, in the first place, the question of God. Kant aims to consider each notion inherited from the metaphysical tradition in a critical way, that is, to inquire into its origin, use, and limits (KrV:A12/B26). Mohammad al-Jabri will adopt a similar attitude, although in a very different context.

I will now give an example of Kant’s critical relation to his philosophical tradition, showing how he applies this reflection to the notion of God.³

1.1 Reflection as a condition for cognition

The appendix On the Amphiboly of the Concepts of Reflection Through the Confusion of the Empirical Use of the Understanding with the Transcendental concerns refection, i.e. being conscious of the type of relation connecting our representations to our faculties (KrV:B316/A260). When we judge, we must reflect on the concepts we use, recognising to what kind of cognitive faculty they belong.

Kant distinguishes between mere logical reflection-a comparison of concepts without regard to which faculty the representations to which they relate belong to-and transcendental reflection, which is a duty for anyone who wants to judge correctly:

The action through which I make the comparison of representations in general with the cognitive power in which they are situated, and through which I distinguish whether they are to be compared to one another as belonging to the pure understanding or to pure intuition, I call transcendental reflection. The relation, however, in which the concepts in a state of mind can belong to each other are those of identity and difference, of agreement and opposition, of the inner and the outer, and finally of the determinable and the determination (matter and form). The correct determination of this relation depends on the cognitive power in which they subjectively belong to each other, whether in sensibility or in understanding. For the difference in the latter makes a great difference in the way in which one ought to think of the former (KrV:A261/B317).

There is a fundamental difference-both ontologically and epistemically-depending on whether or not one reflects on the origin of representations. If, for example, the world is considered to be exclusively noumenal (realitas noumenon), then it is impossible for there to be an opposition between realities, i.e. a relation in which two realities cancel out their consequences, whereas this can happen in the phenomenal world: for example, if we consider forces or even an enjoyment that balances pain (KrV:A265/B321). Another example provided by Kant, opposing Leibniz, concerns the consideration of two drops of water: they could be indiscernible if they are not considered as appearances given at different moments of time or positions in space, i.e. as objects of the empirical use of the understanding, which is only meaningful in space and time (KrV:A263f/B319f).

This recognition and critical awareness of the origin, limits, and validity of the use of those concepts is the kern of Kant’s theoretical relation to his tradition: he does not abandon the philosophical notions and contents of the past, but illuminates them from a new perspective, which allows him to do metaphysics without falling into amphiboly-the confusion of the pure objects of the understanding with appearances (KrV:A270/B326)-or into the misunderstandings caused by a lack of reflection. An example of this lack of reflection is provided by the metaphysicians’ traditional use of the notion of God.

1.2. On God: between reason and history

Kant rejects the possibility of developing metaphysics as a science; what he establishes, however, is not the irrationality of belief in God in toto, but the irrationality of approaching the question of God as if it were an object of possible experience demonstrable by theoretical arguments, such as ontological, cosmological, and physico-theological proofs.

More specifically, according to the ontological argument-which also appears, “disguised”, in the other arguments-God as the most real being must exist because, according to its definition, it must include all the predicates that contribute to its greatness; real existence is (supposedly) one of these predicates and, therefore, God must exist.⁴ Kant’s most famous objection to this argument⁵ stresses that it is not legitimate to move from the definition of the idea of God-ens realissimum-to the demonstration of his existence. There is a semantic distinction between logical predicates and real (i.e. relative to experience) predicates: as seen in the amphiboly, they involve two different ontological levels or classes, and it is therefore illegitimate to derive the latter from the former. That is why the verb “to be” is not to be considered as a predicate contained in a concept and made explicit, but as a position within a judgement (KrV:A598/B626).⁶

Now, the impossibility to demonstrate God as an object of possible experience (KrV:A641/B669-A642/B670) does not imply that this notion is useless, as it can already be seen in the first Critique in the physico-theological argument-“the oldest, clearest and the most appropriate to common human reason” (KrV:A623/B652). This version of such a “design argument” establishes the usefulness of thinking of the architect of the world (KrV:A624/B652): thinking of an author of nature is useful for cognition insofar as it is intended to be a regulative idea and prepares the ground for a possible moral teleology, which will be further developed in the third Critique (5:443).

Kant confronts the traditional philosophical notion of God from a novel and critical perspective by considering God not as an object of thought that must have some correspondence in experience, but rather as an idea. Ideas, for Kant, are inevitable: like optical illusion, we have a natural tendency to think of them even when we recognise their groundlessness and deceptive character. But if this tendency is natural, there must be a right use of ideas:

Everything grounded in the nature of our powers must be purposive and consistent with their correct use if only we can guard against a certain misunderstanding and find out their proper direction. Thus the transcendental ideas too will presumably have a good and consequently immanent use, even though, if their significance is misunderstood and they are taken for concepts of real things, they can be transcendent in their application and for that very reason deceptive (KrV:A642/B670-A643/B671).

For Kant, the object of reason is the understanding; while the understanding unites empirical multiplicity through concepts, reason unites the multiplicity of concepts through ideas by positing unity as the end of the understanding (KrV:A644/B672). Consequently, ideas are not constitutive⁷ of objects, but they are useful for directing understanding towards the greatest unity:

[…] they have an excellent and indispensably necessary regulative use, namely that of directing the understanding to a certain goal respecting which the lines of direction of all its rules converge at one point, which, although it is only an idea (focus imaginarius)-i.e., a point from which the concepts of the understanding do not really proceed, since it lies entirely outside the bounds of possible experience-nonetheless still serves to obtain for these concepts the greatest unity alongside the greatest extension (KrV:A644/B673).

Thus, the idea of God has the heuristic function of orienting empirical research as if there existed unity in nature (KrV:A670/B698-A671/B699). As the object of an idea, God is assumed not absolutely (suppositio absoluta) but rather relatively and in relation to the sensible world-as a way for the understanding to systematise its contents:

Now I can nevertheless assume such an incomprehensible being, the object of a mere idea, relative to the world of sense, though not in itself. For if the greatest possible empirical use of my reason is grounded on an idea (that of systematic complete unity, about which I will have more to say presently), which in itself can never be presented adequately in experience, even though it is unavoidably necessary for approximating to the highest possible degree of empirical unity, then I am not only warranted but even compelled to realize this idea, i.e., to posit for it an actual object but only as a Something in general with which I am not acquainted at all and to which, as a ground of that systematic unity and in relation to that, I give such properties as are analogous to the concepts of the understanding in their empirical use (KrV:A677/B705).

Besides, God is also introduced by Kant as a postulate of practical reason. In the “Canon” of the first Critique, Kant asserts that for the highest good to be obtained, we must think about a being capable of arranging reality in such a way that there exists a perfect balance between ethical worth and happiness (KrV:A816/B845-A819/B847). As it is further detailed in the Critique of Practical Reason, to be consistent with the assumptions of practical reason (5:124), God has to be conceived as a postulate to think coherently about the realizability of the highest good (the proportionate distribution of happiness according to morality).

Now, there is a tension⁸ between, on the one hand, the autonomy of ethics from faith, and, on the other hand, the claim-present in the Religion within the Boundaries of Mere Reason (6:6)-that ethics inevitably leads to religion. Kant is aware of this and begins the Religion with a defence of the highest good, which stresses an aspect of the argument in favour of regarding God as a postulate (less prominent in the second Critique), namely, the reference to an end: “in the absence of all reference to an end no determination of the will can take place in human beings at all” (6:4). Even if the determination of the will must be grounded solely in the moral Law,⁹ ends need to be represented because human decision-making is end oriented. It is “one of the inescapable limitations of human beings and of their practical faculty of reason […] to be concerned in every action with its results” (6:7n). The commitment to pursue an end-which must be regarded as realisable and as part of a system of ends ordered by the reference to a supreme end (the highest good)-implies the commitment to the realisability of the supreme end. This argument explains Kant’s claim that morality inevitably leads to religion (6:6): we need to believe that our actions will somehow have a good impact on the world, i.e. we need a source of hope.¹⁰

But what does this idea of God have in common with the biblical one? What is Kant’s stand regrding the traditional conceptions of God?

Looking at the division of the Religion and its content, it is clear that Kant ascribes a new meaning to traditional doctrines and notions. The book is divided into four parts, each dealing with fundamental questions of Christian doctrine. In the first part, Kant examines the doctrine of original sin to determine whether there is any overlap between this historical doctrine and pure rational religion. Interestingly, Kant’s notion of evil concerns not only the individual dimension as the religious tradition has it, but also the social dimension: we “mutually corrupt each other’s moral dispositions and make one another evil” (6:94). To avoid such mutual “social” corruption, there is a need for a universal Church conceived as an ethical community. The second part of the work deals with Christology with special reference to the doctrines of grace and incarnation (6:60-66). The third part looks at religion from a historical point of view, emphasizing the need for the establishment of a universal church aimed at fostering social relationships among people cooperating towards “a common end, namely the promotion of the highest good” (6:97). This community-a “cosmopolitan moral community” (6:194-200)-can be seen as an ideal situation that reflects the realization of the highest good. The last part of the work focuses on ecclesiology and determines the distinction between natural Christian religion and a learned one in Kant’s own terms: the former is rooted in reason and therefore “comprehensibly and convincingly” communicable to all human beings “through their own reason” (6:162) without the need for revelation, whilst the latter, represents “dogmas of faith” (6:163) and regards God’s judgment as dependent on the external commitment to liturgical observances rather than on the disposition of the believer’s heart.

Kant, confronted with his Christian tradition, distinguishes between two levels: one based on account of reason and its pure rational religion, and one embedded in a particular tradition. Starting from this separation (which he did not think was understandable for the general public),¹¹ he explores the possible relationship between historical faith and pure rational religion (6:9). On the one hand, he explains that Religion makes “no appraisal of Christianity” (7:8) and that natural or rational religion must distance itself from revealed religion. Indeed, the rational core of religion must be accessible to everyone through reason alone: “The only faith that can found a universal church is pure religious faith, for it is a plain rational faith which can be convincingly communicated to everyone, whereas a historical faith, merely based on facts, can extend its influence no further than the tidings relevant to a judgment on its credibility can reach” (6:103).

On the other hand, Kant rejects some dogmas insofar as they are contrary to the rational core of religion-for instance, the fall of man is only symbolic (6:49)-and thus suggests that historical faith should be judged on behalf of the authority of reason. One of the tasks of the Religion is to develop an experiment¹² to identify the overlap between the two spheres: the “wider sphere of faith” and the “narrower” sphere of the “pure religion of reason” (6:12). The parts of the historical teachings that do not coincide with their rational core are to be regarded as contingent. However, this does not mean that they are completely irrelevant. As Kant puts it: “what we have cause to believe on historical grounds […] that is, revelation, as contingent tenets of faith-it [reason] regards as nonessential. But this does not mean that reason considers it idle and superfluous” (7:9). Historical doctrines can still help “depending on the times and the person concerned-to satisfy a rational need” (7:9).¹³ Thus, the contents of the outer sphere remain important-within their historical context-and can be accepted as part of religious practices; at this level, then, there seems to be room for pluralism, that is, for a plurality of culturally specific doctrines that can engage in dialogue with one another, provided they recognise their limited, context-specific character.

Kant’s critical approach to tradition-in its various meanings-can be summarized as follows: first, the transmitted content of oral tradition must be regarded as unreliable and need to be subjected to further critical analysis; second, philosophical notions require reflection in order to avoid amphibolies and historical religion should be distinguished from its purely rational content, on the basis of which a dialogue between culture-specific doctrines seems possible. This enlightened, critical approach influenced Al-Jabri’s relationship with Turāth.

2. Turāth and the Critique of Arab Reason

The title of al-Jabri’s main work, Critique of Arab Reason (Naqd al-ʿAql alʿArabī)¹⁴ echoes not only the title of Kant’s masterpiece, but also resembles it in its aim to analyse reason and its legitimate boundaries.¹⁵ Al-Jabri’s perspective, however, can be regarded as more “local”, in that it does not aim at reason in general, conceived as a transcendental faculty, but rather focuses on the Arab historical specificity of the use of reason (or mind: ʿaql in Arabic) to understand Islamic thought from within and only then, eventually, identify a general, normative dimension of reason. Whereas Kant seeks to determine the limits of the possibility of cognition by distinguishing different domains and uses of reason, al-Jabri examines Arab reason (not pure reason):

Yet, reason is universal and its principles are universal and necessary. This is true, however, only within a particular culture or within cultures of a similar pattern. As Lalande asserts, constituted reason “is in the category of the absolute for those who have not acquired, in the discipline of historians or the discipline of philosophers, the critical spirit”, those restrained by the prevailing reason produced by the efficient reason of their ancestors, the reason of their culture that they consider to be the only unique and viable culture, or at least their own particular world of culture (al-Jabri, 2011, p. 9).

Intentionally or unintentionally, every human being carries the imprints of a cultural reality; therefore, al-Jabri (2011, pp. 8-9) distinguishes between constituent reason-the ability to speak (al-quwwah al-nat iqah)-which distinguishes humans from animals, and constituted reason, which is culture-specific. For al-Jabri, Arab reason:

[…] is nothing other than this ‘thought’ (fikr) […] created by a particular culture that has its own specificities, in this case, Arab culture itself, a common culture that carries with it the history of Arab civilisation and reflects Arabs’ reality or conveys it as well as their aspirations for the future just as it carries, reflects and expresses, at the same time, impediments to their progress and causes of their current state of underdevelopment (takhallufihim) (2011, p. 6).

In addition to Arab reason, al-Jabri refers to two other kinds of reason-Greek and European-because only they, along with the Arabs, were able to ground knowledge on reason itself and not on myths: “three civilisations-Greek, Arab and modern European-have, exclusively, produced not only knowledge, but also theories of knowledge, and they alone-as far as we know-not only engaged in thinking by means of reason but also engaged in thinking about reason” (al-Jabri, 2011, p. 11).

More precisely, the Greco-Roman paradigm considered reason sufficient to interpret nature, with which it was directly connected. As for European reason, in the Middle Ages, God is considered as a force connected to nature or as a power that guarantees the correspondence between the principles of mind and nature; in modern times, on the other hand, the concept of God is set aside (which does not mean that it is rejected) and gives way to a kind of epistemological faith and trust in reason as sufficient to interpret nature (cfr. al-Jabri, 2011, p. 23). Moreover, for al-Jabri (2011, pp. 24ff), the primary object of European reason is nature, whereas in the Arab system of rationality the main object is God. Arab reason does not primarily seek the means to inquire about nature itself but rather about its ethical order:

Arab reason is governed by the normative evaluative perception of things. What we mean by the normative evaluative perception is this orientation of the thinking, to tend to seek a place for things, and their position in the order of ethical values which is considered a referential criterion and basis for this thinking (al-Jabri, 2011, p. 28).

Unlike Kant’s, the aim of al-Jabri’s inquiry into the genealogy of Arab reason and its main categories (Bayan, Irfan, Burhan) is to provide an answer to a specific social, political, and historical question: “How can contemporary Arab thought retrieve and absorb the most rational and critical dimensions of its tradition and employ them in the same rationalist direction as before-the direction of fighting against feudalism, Gnosticism, and dependency?” (al-Jabri, 1993, p. 53). His answer consists in attaining a new Naḥda (enlightenment, awakening) by shedding light upon the roots of Arab intellectual history through a critical approach freed from the alienation and idealisation of an absolute perfect past (see Hegasy, 2018, p. 187). Differently from intellectuals such as Abdallah Laroui (1978), al-Jabri neither rejects Islam nor does he propose to imitate the European value system; rather, he argues for a scientific reading (al-Jabri, 1994, p. 40) to reconstruct the foundations of Arab reason and asks about Turāth, i.e. the Arab Weltanschauung that encompasses the main religious, legal, and social values that constitute Arab self-consciousness. Within his perspective, Turāth¹⁶ contains concepts borrowed from Persian and Sufi traditions and of which one must be aware in order to prepare for the path of Naḥda (I will discuss this later in the text). This project of awareness of one’s tradition, then, had a clear emancipatory vocation aimed at transforming postcolonial Morocco, where the cultural currents of Arab thought were flourishing.¹⁷

From a methodological point of view, the reader should adopt a method of separation and reconnection when approaching texts of the Turāth (al-Jabri, 1994, p. 47), that is, she should separate herself from her own beliefs and prejudices when approaching the text and reflect on it by placing it in its context and developing an autonomous critical judgement (al-ijtihād). In this way Arabs might succeed in regaining their autonomy:

If the Arabs-set free by Kant-want to find the exit from their self-inflicted historical immaturity and take “their own history” into their own hands again, then they must grant the readers of sacred and profane texts their own political power of judgement and encourage the students to make use of it (Grünenberg & Hegasy, 2009, p. 19; my translation).

2.1. Ethical traditions

Al-Jabri claims that the cause of the lack of enlightenment in the modern Arab world are epistemological and ethical reasons that lie in the prevailing values of Turāth. During the 7th century A.D., internal wars shook the Arabic world and its five main traditions, each of which promoted different central values: the Greek, the Persian, the pre-Islamic Arab, the Islamic, and the Sufi.

Greek ethics had happiness as its central value: al-Jabri considered Galen as a pioneer of the so-called “medical trend”, which emerged in Arabic philosophy after the 9th century and the main representatives of which were Ibn al-Haytham and Abū Bakr al-Rāzī. According to Ibn al-Haytham, there are no differences among ethical subjects, all of whom strive for human perfection. The ruler- unlike the Persian paradigm, as we will see-must fulfil their responsibilities with care and affection, not authoritarianism (al-Jabri, 2006, p. 344). In addition, Rāzī, considered one of the greatest Platonists in Islam, proposed six ethical principles to heal the soul.¹⁸

Regarding pre-Islamic Arab traditions (jahilyya), al-Jabri notes that while it is difficult to draw a clear cut between pre-Islamic values and Islamic ones-because many values and practices have been adopted and incorporated by Islam-one of the values that can be traced back to pre-Islamic times¹⁹ is Murū’a, defined as “an intersection of high morals that one achieves through making efforts and standing the hardships. It gives one respect and high esteem among his kinds and makes of one an idol whose word is heard which in turn provides him a moral power or Su’adad” (al-Jabri, 2006, p. 531). Su’adad can be achieved, for instance, by being an honourable tribal leader: it is not a social or political value per se but a moral one, needed in stateless societies. Murū’a-which derives from mar’, “man”- can be understood as a synonym for responsibility and describes the ethical state of someone who aims to benefit the community without demanding anything in return.²⁰

Unlike the Greek and pre-Islamic traditions, the Persian one focused on obedience: this influence harmed the modernisation process of most Arab-Islamic states by justifying authoritarianism. Indeed, the Umayyad rulers, disseminated values imported from the Persian ethical system through the use of Khataba (“eloquent speech”) and Tarassul-public letters read out in mosques to convey obedience to the new class system (see al-Jabri, 2006, p. 249). These values included the idea of predestination and Khilafa, which means viceregency and was understood as the responsibility God gave to mankind: the ability to carry out God‘s commandments (Khirallah, 2020, pp. 75f). The Jabryya creed, for instance, regarded the head of the state as the only one who possesses Khilafa, thus claiming that he alone represents God on earth, which is another justification for the establishment of authoritarianism.

The strictly Islamic tradition is concerned with the ethical code derived from the Qur’ān and focuses on good deeds. After the prophet’s death, his followers faced a political and moral crisis; in this context, theological schools emerged to deal with the crisis. One such school was the Muʿtazila, which focused on human action and employed metaphysics and Kalām to solve ethical dilemmas. Unlike other schools-such as the Murji’ah, which believed that God alone can judge who is in the wrong and who is in the right and that actions are not decisive in that judgement-they regarded people engaged in internal wars as venial sinners²¹ who must dwell in fire in the afterlife. Moreover, the Muʿtazila differed from Jabriyya: while Jabriyya regarded the belief in predestination²² as a way of asserting that the Imam is not responsible for his actions, the Muʿtazila rejected predestination and emphasized the capacity to choose freely. They supported their claims through verses from the Qu’ran on free will, such as: “So, whoever does an atom’s weight of good will see it, and whoever does an atom’s weight of evil will see it” (Surah Az-zalzalah) and “Certainly, you are countable for what you do” (Surah An-nahl 93). An intermediate position between Jabriyya and Muʿtazila is the one of the Ashʿaryya, who use the theory of Kasb (“to perform”) to solve the dilemma of the contrast between predestination and free will. According to this theory, agents are responsible for the actions they perform even if those actions have been created for the agents by God. Al-Baqalani tried to explain this theory by stating that God created possibilities (e.g. killing) and Kasb takes place when these possibilities are performed. Humans, therefore, are not responsible for the existence of these possibilities but will be judged for the Kasb. However, for al-Jabri, this position makes it difficult to justify free choice, since, given God’s omnipotence, one would have to admit that God also determines Kasb.

The last tradition that influenced Arab culture is Persian Sufism, which advocates fanā’-the annihilation of the self-as its main value. Al-Jabri considers that the concept of fanā’ contrasts with monotheism insofar as, by achieving it through ascetic practices, the apprentice (Mureed, “the seeker”) is led to unity with God, thus contradicting Islam (al-Jabri, 2001, p. 429). Moreover, for al-Jabri, Sufism harmed Islamic society not only because it induced its followers to isolate themselves-not to participate in social practices (work, raising children), thus weakening the state-but also because it promoted blind obedience to the Master (Sheikh). As the 12th century Sufi al-Suhawardi stated, the disciple must renounce his own will and submit himself to the master (see Keller, 1996, pp. 88f).

For al-Jabri, the main reason why Arab political and ethical systems could not advance is due to the crisis of values that occurred during the internal wars (Fitna) after Mohammad’s death, which led to the adoption of the Persian ethical system and Sufism, which considered obedience as their main value. Obedience seemed to provide a solution to avoid future wars, which lead, however, not only to the abandonment of ethical theories based on responsibility-such as that of Muʿtazila-but also, on a political level, to the establishment of tyranny and the breakdown of a pure tribal system based on egalitarianism.

2.2. Traditional epistemic paradigms

Al-Jabri made a critique of Turāth not only in ethics but also in epistemology, identifying three main intellectual paradigms characterising Arab reason: Bayan (“indication”), Irfān (“illumination”) and Burhān (“demonstration”).

Bayan means discernment in Fiqh (“jurisprudence”), Kalam (“theological discourse”), and Nahw (“grammar”): widely used in works of Sufism and Batinism, it is characterised by the use of analogies and arises as a dialectical result of rational and irrational elements. The rational elements are those which concern Qur’anic theological discourse (al-Jabri, 2011, p. 161) and defend monotheism, which, uniquely, respects the principle of non-contradiction (al-Jabri, 2011, p. 162). In contrast, irrational tendencies can be identified with all those beliefs that challenge the monotheistic content of the Qur’ān, for instance, Manichaeism, Sabianism-which holds Hermetic views on indescribable divinity and its “intermediaries,” to which creation belongs-and the Neoplatonist and Hermetic theologies (spuriously attributed to the Seven Sages).

Irfān is the mystical and a-rational moment, exemplified by Sufism and Isma’ili philosophy (al-Jabri 2011, p. 260): it characterises the attitude called “resigned reason” (al-ʿaql al-mustaqil), which is incapable of attaining the knowledge of God through contemplation of the universe and can only know nature through direct communion with God (al-Jabri, 2011, p. 192).

Unlike Irfān, Burhān makes use of demonstrative and critical reasoning and is typical of the works of al-Fārābī and Ibn Sinā. According to al-Jabri, it first emerged in al-Maʾmūn’s political dream²³ (7th caliph of the Abbasid Caliphate) and was developed as a political weapon by al-Kindī and al-Fārābī. At that time, in which there was an indissoluble connection between politics, religion, and philosophy, al-Maʾmūn wanted to use Aristotle’s logic to confront Gnostic Manicheism and Shiite illuminationists, who opposed his Abbaside state. Al-Kindī followed the same path: he opposed Manicheism and Hermetism and spread scientific knowledge through rational arguments under the influence of Greek philosophy. At the time of the disintegration of the Islamic Empire, al-Fārābī developed a philosophical system of demonstration combining religion, metaphysics, and politics. He was guided by his confidence in the power of reason, which “cannot err […] [;] it is trustworthy and certain” (al-Fārābī, 1971, pp. 50f). According to al-Fārābī, reason does not require an origin to be conferred on it from “the outside”; rather, it is self-sufficient,²⁴ because the “primary axioms”-the conceptual principles of reasoning (such as causality and identity)-can be acquired naturally.

But it is in Ibn Rushd that al-Jabri finds the best example of a critical, enlightened philosopher. Commissioned by the Almohad caliph al-Mansur²⁵ to interpret and paraphrase Aristotle, Ibn Rushd decided to inquire into the problematic relationship between philosophy and religion. He came to the conclusion that each has its own principles and methods, although both aspire to inspire virtue:

The discourse of Ibn Rushd is entirely based on regarding religion and philosophy as independent structures where one must seek the truthfulness in them intrinsically and not extrinsically. And the required truthfulness is the truthfulness of demonstration, inference through evidence, and not the truthfulness of premises. As the premises in religious matters, as well as in philosophy, are positivist fundamentals which ought to be adopted without evidence. Consequently Averroes asks: ‘If the arts of deriving inferential evidence contain in their principles restrictions and positivist fundamentals, so how proper would it be if such exist in the laws derived from the Revelation and reason?’ And, therefore ‘the sage philosophers ought not debate and engage in discourse on the principles of the laws. This is because every art has its own principles, and it is a duty for he who is concerned with any given art to recognize its principles and not contradict them through denial or invalidation; thus, the art of legal practice ought to be as such.’ (Averroes, JM) As the philosopher ought not [to] contradict the fundamentals and principles upon which religion is based because they are fixed already, similarly the cleric ought not [to] contradict philosophical issues unless acquiring their fundamentals and principles (al-Jabri, 2011, p. 397).

Here we can see the main difference between Ibn Rushd and Kant with respect to revelation: even if Ibn Rushd wants to include reason in religion, this inclusion cannot violate the laws of shari‘ah, which are deduced from revelation, while, in Kant, it is the rational core that must judge the validity of revelation. In the Definitive Statement: Determining the Relationship between Divine Law and Human Wisdom (1999), Ibn Rushd distinguishes between anti-Islamic philosophy, which he did not recognize as licit, and legitimate philosophy, which increases our knowledge of God. Philosophy and law cannot be opposed to each other: any clash between them is apparent and will disappear after a proper analysis of the cause of the problem. Interpretation is Ibn Rushd’s way of resolving the contrast between revelation and reason, and for him, the mistake made by many of his predecessors-including Avicenna-was that they failed to distinguish between the different uses of reason and domains of knowledge: they misused analogy and equated two heterogeneous worlds (the visible and the invisible) instead of limiting its use to cases in which the nature of the known term and that of the unknown term are of the same kind. The science of God is beyond human reason, a-rational from a philosophical human perspective (al-Jabri, 1999, p. 99).

Although their principles are different, religion and philosophy share an ethical task, which-as in Kant-is recognised as the primary, universal interest of reason. For al-Jabri (interpreting Ibn Rushd), it is possible to identify a rational, universal core in every historical product of a scientific effort:

Well aware of the universality and historicity of knowledge, Averroes set out to define the way to act when addressing the “sciences of the ancient ones”, which at that time represented science per excellence. This method is worthy of serving as a model. We can reinvest it to define our relationship to tradition and to universal contemporary thought, knowing how to recognize what is universal in both-and that it is possible for us to reinvest in order to re-establish our specificity-and what is particular, what is circumstantial to an era or to a people, which we must know to enrich our experience and our vision of the world (al-Jabri, 1999, p. 128).

A scientific, distanced reading of the tradition (al-Jabri, 1994, p. 40) and an autonomous exercise of judgement in line with Ibn Rushd’s thought are the tools of Arab reason to overcome hermetic and irrational views: this line represents an epistemological break with the Arab mystical thought, thus embodying a revolutionary phase in the history of Arab reason.

Conclusion: tradition, identity and modernity

A reflection on the relevance of tradition in Kant and al-Jabri cannot but involve considerations of the role of philosophy in debates about the modernisation of Islam (but not only) and questions such as: what is the relationship between modernity and tradition? Does modernisation imply the adoption of an external norm which threatens cultural identity? Are modernity and democracy compatible with Islam? Is modernity necessarily secular?

Traditionally, Muslims understand Islam as a human condition contrary to ignorance: Islam rescues humanity from ignorance, thus bringing a kind of enlightenment. The Qur’ān is described as the bearer of truth and as Furqan: “Blessed is He Who hath revealed unto His slave the Criterion [Furqan] (of right and wrong), that he may be a warner to the peoples” (25.1). If this is so, then to understand the Qur’ān means having the capacity to distinguish right from wrong. However, independent thinking and comparison between Islamic and modern European cultures is often seen as dangerous to the tradition. Nevertheless, there are instances in which Muslims looked at other, non-Muslim societies with some admiration:

The great Islamic scholar of the 19th century, Muhammad Abdo wrote, after his return from France in 1888, that “I went to the West and saw Islam, but no Muslims; I got back to the East and saw Muslims, but not Islam.” Most of the core values of Western countries, such as freedom, human rights, and justice, are universal and does [sic] not conflict with Islam or any religion, even yet they are important constituents of Islamic teachings (Hasan, 2011, p. 2).

The late 19th and early 20th centuries saw several impulses towards modernisation; one of the leading figures was Rifa’a Rafi’ al-Tahtawi (1801-1873), who, after spending five years in Paris, played an important role in the effort to modernise Egypt, insisting that Western modernity was not incompatible with the values of Islam. He is considered the pioneering figure of the Nahda cultural movement-the Arab Renaissance or Enlightenment-which flourished mainly in Egypt, Lebanon, and Syria. But not everyone was in favour of the compatibility of Islam and modernity. The main positions in this debate were: 1) the Westernised discourse, according to which the only way to realise modernity is to replace traditional ways with Western ones, and 2) authentic discourse, which can be divided into 2.1) authentic Islamic discourse, which proposes a strong commitment to traditional values, and b) authentic modernised discourse, which rejects the intellectual authority of the West and, at the same time, any religious dogma, focusing on a re-evaluation of elements already present in Arab-Islamic culture (al-Tamamy, 2014, p. 6). The latter approach is well exemplified by al-Jabri’s Averroism and Abdolkarim Soroush’s Neo-Mutazilsm.²⁶ For al-Jabri, as mentioned, Arab thought must free itself from the elements-mostly inherited from Persian thought-that brought passivity, docility, and irrationality to Islamic culture. To this end, he aspires to achieve a new rationalism, capable of laying the foundations for a state of justice, democracy, and rights-a state aware that a modern Arab “utopia” can only be realised through the recognition that divine law is a law for human beings and must be interpreted and adapted to circumstances. Only through this awareness can Islam open a path towards modernity:

Since the modern Arab Awakening, which soon swept across the entire Muslim world, with the efforts of Jamal al-Din al-Afghani (d. 1897CE) and Muhammad ‘Abduh (d. 1905CE), the Muslim masses have used the slogan of ‘application of Islamic shariah’ to propound to the masses, the alternative which they hoped would take them to the enjoyment of a free and honourable life. Every member of the Muslim masses, all over the world, aspires to the day when Islamic shariah will be applied in a manner that can remove political and social injustice, realize freedom and dignity for the human being […]. The Muslim ummah, and many Muslim intellectuals, have consciously realized that the ideal Islamic life cannot be achieved except under exceptional situations, and probably not before the end of human life on earth […] [;] the realization of the Islamic Utopia, will remain relative in worldly time […]. I believe this is the idea which guided the people of authority in Islam, since the time of the Prophet, whether they were caliphs, kings, jurisprudents or any other personage who had a say in the application of al-shariah. I am also of the opinion that they all believed that applying the divine shariah by humans over humans, who are inherently imperfect, cannot be done except in a relative manner (al-Jabri, 2009, p. 94).

This approach to modernity is heir to Kant’s critical methods in several respects, such as: the awareness that the realization of a utopia is a task yet to be accomplished, a kind of regulative idea guiding political and social practices; the relativity of the application of the law: even if al-shariah is considered to be of divine origin, its application is human, i.e. imperfect, and must be adapted to the circumstances. Al-Jabri’s approach is undoubtedly more historic-political in orientation than Kant’s, as he reflects on the historical emergence and success of certain rational paradigms and ethical values that influenced the Arab Weltanschauung rather than focusing on theoretical questions concerning, for instance, the validity of metaphysics. But even so, al-Jabri’s deepest yearning is very close to Kant’s: both are dissatisfied with the inheritance of terms and theories in which the legitimate use of reason is often not inquired into at all. Tradition must be confronted and freed from prejudices, seeking reasons and investigating the origin and uses of its concepts: a novel reading of tradition “will help transform Arabs from humans who belong to heritage to humans who have heritage” (al-Jabri, 2006, pp. 24-25). But critically analysing tradition does not imply that the past cannot help chart the path to the future. As mentioned above, Jabri considered Ibn Rushd as the best example of an intellectual capable of developing a philosophical thought independent of the state and critical of his society, in particular the situation of women and the political regime-he is perhaps the first philosopher in Islam to criticise tyranny in clear words (al-Jabri, 2001, p. 292). For al-Jabri, Averroes’ thought is the premise for the revival and modernisation of Islamic culture and society through its own internal resources,²⁷ which implies that a modernisation of Islam can occur without having to adopt external standards. This undoubtedly means having to confront and eventually criticise a cultural heritage that must be seen as such, i.e. as an inheritance and not as an eternal law that cannot be changed. But the condition for moving on, for al-Jabri, is the critical analysis of the history of Arab reason: just as Kant, well aware of his philosophical heritage, could criticise it, so can al-Jabri, in writing a history of Arab reason, identify the errors and virtues of past uses of reason. This self-awareness of the tradition can allow us to move forward from within without losing our heritage, but rather illuminating it.

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Notes