Identity Politics in the Middle East: Liberal Thought and Islamic Challenge in Egypt (Library of Modern Middle East Studies)

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Identity Politics in the Middle East

Meir Hatina

I.B.Tauris


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Identity Politics in the Middle East Liberal Thought and Islamic Challenge in Egypt Meir Hatina

Tauris Academic Studies LONDON • NEW YORK

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Published in 2007 by Tauris Academic Studies. An imprint of I.B. Tauris & Co Ltd 6 Salem Road, London W2 4BU 175 Fifth Avenue, New York NY 10010 www.ibtauris.com In the United States of America and Canada distributed by Palgrave Macmillan a division of St. Martin’s Press 175 Fifth Avenue, New York NY 10010 Copyright © Meir Hatina The right of Meir Hatina to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patent Act 1988. All rights reserved. Except for brief quotations in a review, this book, or any part thereof, may not be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher. Library of Modern Middle East Studies 62 ISBN 978 1 84511 135 9 A full CIP record for this book is available from the British Library A full CIP record is available from the Library of Congress Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: available Printed and bound in India by Replika Press Pvt. Ltd From camera-ready copy edited and supplied by the author

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To my mother

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Contents

Acknowledgments

ix

A Note on the Transliteration

xi

List of Abbreviations

xii

Introduction

1

Part I: Historical Framework 1. Egyptian Liberalism: Euphoria and Distress 2. The Religious Revival in Post-Nasserist Egypt

13 30

Part II: Religion and State in Faraj Fuda’s Thought 3. A Political-Intellectual Portrait 4. The Shari‘a: Myth and Reality 5. Countering the Islamic Challenge 6. Summary: Fuda’s Liberal Vision

47 71 97 113

Part III: Competing Truths 7. The Liberal Discourse: A Comparative Analysis 8. The Centrist Islamic Discourse: Openness and its Limitations 9. The Wasat Party: Toward Inclusive Islamic Politics

119 138 158

Conclusion

173

Notes

183

Appendix: The Mustaqbal Party Platform

225

Bibliography

241

Index

259

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Acknowledgments

This study delves into the intellectual and political climate of Egypt in the post-revolutionary period, a time that witnessed a resanctification of the public sphere and an amplification of the issue of the role of Islam in the state under Sadat and Mubarak. The analysis of these events highllights Egypt’s quest for cultural orientation, an unresolved issue since the country’s encounter with Western modernity in the early nineteenth century. In preparing this study I had the privilege and pleasure of consultiing with colleagues and friends. First and foremost, Professors Michael Winter of Tel Aviv University and Emmanuel Sivan of the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, who were kind enough to share with me their vast knowledge of Islamic culture and history. I am also grateful to Proffessors James Jankowski of the University of Colorado and Fred Hallliday of the School of Oriental and African Studies in London for their learned insights and comments on the manuscript. Other colleagues who offered valuable advice are Meir Litvak, Martin Kramer, Israel Gersshoni, Ami Ayalon, Ofra Bengio and Nasir Basal. My thanks are due to the Rotenstreich Fellowship, whose grant enabled me to dedicate myself to the research involved. The completion of the book was also facilitated by the support of the following bodies at Tel Aviv University: The Kaplan Chair in the History of Egypt and Israel; The Moshe Dayan Center for Middle Eastern and African Studiies; The Department of Middle East and African History; The Dr. Irene Halmos Chair for Arabic Literature. I was also assisted by the Parviz and Pouran Nazarian Chair in Modern Iranian Studies. I wish to thank Professor Eric Hooglund, Editor of Critique for consenting to the publication of chapter 9, "The Wasat Party: Toward Inclusive Islamic Politics," which first appeared as an article in the abovementioned journal.

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Special commendations are due to Avi Mor, my research assistant, and Judy Krausz, who helped prepare the manuscript with skill and devotion. Last but not least, I thank my family for encouraging me to pursue my interest in the history of the Middle East. Jerusalem

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M. H.

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A Note on the Transliteration

The English transliteration of Arabic names and terms follows the standdard academic rules, with the exception of names that appear frequently in the English-language literature in a different style. Quotations from the Qur’an follow the English translation by Arthur J. Arberry, The Qur’an Interpreted (London: George Allen and Unwin Ltd., 1964), 2 vols.

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List of Abbreviations

EI¹, EI² Encyclopaedia of Islam, 1st and 2nd editions IJMES

International Journal of Middle East Studies

MECS

Middle East Contemporary Survey

MEJ

Middle East Journal

MES

Middle Eastern Studies

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Introduction

The role of Islam in the state has become one of the most contentious issues in modern Middle Eastern society. It holds a central position in every public debate about constitution, law and civil rights, as well as in any serious discussion about the very essence of cultural identity. The issue is also ever present in bilateral and regional relations. In this sense, "the state and Islam are always with us, just as are the poor," to quote Charles Butterworth.1 On a philosophical level, both religion and polity strive to regulate human conduct and claim total allegiance from their adherents and subjjects. The polity, through its agencies, seeks to entrench and expand its sovereignty, while religion seeks to imbue this domination with metapphysical injunctions. The inherent tension in the monotheistic religions between the sacred and profane, or between prophesy and kingdom, is an abiding one. It is, however, less pronounced in Christianity, where the distinction between God and caesar was well anchored in the scripttures and was reinforced by the historical fact that the new religion was born into a given civilization with established sociopolitical institutions, namely, the Roman Empire. Christianity demanded a place for itself within that existing reality rather than a total reshaping of it. It establlished a spiritual empire within a secular one, with church law alongside secular law. While power struggles over resources and prestige between the two entities intensified during the medieval era, the basic acceptance of mutual coexistence was not questioned. It was only during the sixtteenth to eighteenth centuries that this coexistence gradually gave way to the supremacy of the secular entity in light of key historical events: the Protestant Reformation in the religious sphere, the Enlightenment in the intellectual sphere, and the rise of nationalism in the political sphere. These developments challenged, altered and indeed superseded sacred values, enhancing an awareness of human potential and the right to self-

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determination. The ideal became Prometheus, who stole the celestial fire and brought it to mankind. The Christian monopoly over salvation disssipated, while politics evolved into an independent science engaged in the pursuit of power and utilitarian goals. The evolution of Judaism and Islam was more complex and contenttious. Both religions emerged in a physical and cultural desert and both regarded the surrounding world as pagan – to be removed rather than respected or valued. Subjecting all human actions to transcendental provvision, and sanctifying a unified revealed law, both Judaism and Islam were established as holistic systems that perceived politics as a purely functional element in the service of God’s cause. In their terminology, sacred was the opposite of impure or defiled, rather than of profane, as in Christian doctrine. Laws of personal and dietary purity provided holiness with physical manifestations in daily human affairs and were integral in projecting a rightful and unified order, as against deviation and disorder.2 The organic model in Judaism and Islam, however, was not always preserved. In face of political conflict and strife, alternative notions to classical and medieval thought on the relationship between religion and state emerged. While the organic model continued to prevail in the religgious literature, historically it evolved into an ethos and was not actualiized.3 In the Muslim context, this process was evident as early as in the first century of Islam in the wake of the rise of secular authority – namely, dynastic leadership – in the Arabian Peninsula, which overrode religion and its exponents and formulated governmental policy in response to pragmatic conditions. The establishment of dynastic rule also brought about a decline in the personal qualifications and the level of morality of the ruler or caliph. In dealing with these theological dilemmas, the ‘ulama’ (religious scholars) chose to sanctify the prevailing order, definiing obedience to the ruler as a religious duty. Similar to the Hobbesian argument at a later date, they claimed that chaos and civil strife (fitna) should be avoided at all costs, as the erosion of central authority would jeopardize the observance of Islam. Typically, this deeply entrenched aversion to chaos led the renowned medieval scholar Ibn Taymiyya (d. 1328) to endorse allegiance to local rulers within the Islamic community, provided that religious law is applied.4 Ibn Taymiyya’s ruling reflected an admission by the ‘ulama’ generally that the survival of Islam depended on secular authority.

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Introduction

These same ‘ulama’, however, praised the Gordian knot between religgion and politics in a vast body of literature, entrenching it as an ethos in the Muslim collective memory to be drawn upon in times of politiccal upheaval and social turmoil. The resort to this ideal became more pronounced with the regression of Islam in the face of growing Westeern encroachment on the Muslim world in the nineteenth century. This ethos of religio-political unity became the ideological raison d’être of the twentieth-century Islamic movements, which transformed faith into an assertive force aimed at bringing about sociopolitical change by evoluttion, or if necessary, by revolution. These movements benefited from the focus of secularization in the Middle East on extending the jurisdicttion of the polity to areas formerly regulated by the religious system, such as law and education, while deflecting attention from secularizing the political culture itself. Arab politics fell between two poles regardiing religion: complete institutional separation, as in the United States, France and Turkey; and coalescence, as in Khomeini’s Iran.5 The result was a blurred distinction between public and private spheres, and modus vivendi in state-religion relations based on intermittent arrangements generally reflecting the relative power of each side. The present work sheds light on the issue of Islam in the state through the Egyptian prism during the twentieth century. Egypt’s time-honored role as cultural trendsetter in the Arab world makes it a valuable case study with broad applications in following the Middle Eastern discourse on religion and state. A part of the book is devoted to an analysis of the work of Faraj Fuda, one of the outstanding liberals in post-revolutionary Egypt. More broadly, the discussion traces the continuity of Egyptian liberalism, which emerged during the first half of the twentieth century but was repressed following the July 1952 revolution. Concurrently, the study also reveals the assertive Islamic struggle over remaking the state by fostering a close affinity between faith and power, worship and politics. While the effective entrenchment of the Egyptian state guaranteed stabbility, it did not free the political elite from the constant need to exercise caution in its treatment of the Islamic element in a society deeply tied to tradition. Significantly, the government increasingly enlisted sacred values to promote the national agenda. This study frequently use two central terms which merit clarification – Islamism and liberalism. The term Islamism, or political Islam, refers to sociopolitical movements that utilize religious values and symbols to acquire political power and institute an Islamic system of governance,

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whether by peaceful or violent means. In essence, Islamism represents a reactive force prompted by a perceived threat to an indigenous core identity. This threat is exemplified by such modern notions as secular rationalism or religious ecumenicalism. In response, the Islamists reach back to the past selectively, highlighting idealized concepts, symbols and epical episodes mostly derived from early Islam, to reinforce group cohesion and mobilize followers. Their strong reliance on the "hard-core religion" of the Qur’an and the Sunna reflects a yearning for ancient purity and a golden age worthy of emulation. It also aims to effectively protect the Islamic cause while minimizing the possibilities of dissent in face of the temptations of modern life. This quest for purity echoes earlier efforts by revivalist movements in the late eighteenth and the nineteenth centuries, and even more insistent efforts by radical Salafis (who preached a return to the righteous ancestors) in the early twentieth century, all in an attempt to fortify the Muslim faith against Western encroachment.6 The Islamists’ political rhetoric is laden with pejorative images of Islam’s adversaries – infidels, atheists, wanton Westernized Muslims – which serve the purpose of demarcating the boundaries of the commmunity of believers. Notably, as pointed out by Fred Halliday, this Islamist discourse of discrediting others – rulers and intellectuals alike – is not based entirely on religious sources. It is also affected by the modern vocabulary of nationalist and anti-imperialist movements that sprang up in the Middle Eastern context, defaming political rivals as "agents," "clients," or "stooges" of foreign powers.7 This is evidence of the essentially modern nature of the Islamic movements. The profile of their followers, who in the Sunni milieu come from outside the religious establishment, mostly from academic campuses where they had gained expertise in political organization and recruitment, also indicates this modern nature. The modern character of Islamism is also evident when surveying the geographic areas of its growth – primarily urban centers that underwent intensive modernization, as in Egypt, Syria, Algeria, and, in this conttext, Shi‘ite Iran as well. The greater the expectation of prosperity, the greater the disillusionment and protest in the name of Islam.8 Furthermmore, despite its assertive politics, the Islamist vision is not universal but territorial, reflecting de facto recognition of the modern boundaries of the Middle Eastern state, which were largely drawn by colonial brushsstrokes. Significantly, two ideological movements that ran counter to the

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Introduction

localization of the Islamic cause were unsuccessful. One was the Islamic Liberation Party that emerged in Jordan in the 1950s and called for the restoration of the pan-Islamic caliphate. This movement remained marginal in Islamic politics.9 The second was the pan-Islamic ideology advocated by Khomeini in the early 1980s, which evoked indifference and even hostility on the part of Sunni radicals, who were anxious to preserve their independent status in their respective countries.10 A third, updated version of pan-Islamism, may be added – that of al-Qa‘ida, which has also been marginalized in Islamic discourse.11 Seen as a modern phenomenon, nonetheless, Islamist politics seeks to construct a moral order that differs distinctly from the perceived corrruptive order, symbolized by a differentiation between purity and conttamination, holiness and abomination. As with terminology used in the research of Islamic movements, such as fundamentalism or radical Islam, the term Islamism is implicitly judgmental. It insinuates a flaw stemming primarily from the Western ethnocentric approach, which tends to blur the distinctiveness of the phenomenon under review.12 Yet the term focuses on the study of those voices in the Islamic spectrum that question the legitimate existence of governments while positing politics as a determining agent in transformiing the value system of society. In seeking a political agenda, the Islamists set themselves apart from other spokesmen of Islam – the establishment ‘ulama’ and the Sufi (mystical) orders. The term liberalism also evokes a methodological difficulty. In the Middle Eastern context it does not convey the full significance attribuuted to it in the West, whence it originated. It lacks the implied ideologiccal foundations and the economic roots that nurtured Western liberal tradition, e.g., Hellenistic philosophy, the Protestant Reformation, the industrial revolution and the development of laissez-faire commerce. Even in the West, the concept of liberalism is not a delimited concept and may range from classical individual liberty to a more corporate economic and social framework. Moreover, the realization of liberalism historically largely remains abstract. As late as the nineteenth century, various rights in Britain, including the right to vote, were reserved for a small elite. Segregation between whites and blacks in the United States was only annulled fully in the 1960s. Furthermore, with the appearaance of the welfare state following WWII, the notion of liberalism itself underwent erosion.13

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The methodological difficulty evoked by this term in its Middle Easteern context is reflected in Albert Hourani’s noted work, Arabic Thought in the Liberal Age (3rd ed., 1983), in which the author questions his own former use of the term liberalism to describe ideas imported from the West to the Middle East. These ideas, he argued, encompassed not only democratic institutions and individual rights, but also included notions of national strength and unity and the overriding power of national goveernments.14 Similarly, Israel Gershoni explored the variety of aspects of the "liberal paradigm" in Egypt of the late 1920s in his book, Light in Shadow – Egypt and Fascism 1922-1937 (1999; Hebrew), from the conservative liberalism of the Liberal Constitutionalist Party, which fosttered elitist democracy under the leadership of the landowning class, to the constitutional liberalism of the Wafd Party, which espoused a more universal democracy.15 Clearly, the liberal idea must be examined in the specific historic context in which it is molded. As sociologist S.N. Eisensstadt noted: "We cannot avoid Western concepts, but we can make them more flexible, so to speak, through differentiation and contextualizattion."16 Despite these reservations and varied interpretations, Egyptian libeeralism throughout the twentieth century adhered to a corpus of basic normative values centering on loyalty to the state, the rights of the indivvidual, and a reliance on human reasoning as the final authority in all areas of life, in religious and other matters. It embodied a general commmitment to remolding society based on an essentially secular conception of the state and rational-humanitarian values.17 The present work does not seek to outline the full range of the Egypttian liberal discourse, but rather focuses on its ideological confrontation with the issue of Islam in the state, a contentious and highly charged issue in the history of modern Egypt. Methodologically, the narrative adheres to the premise of the reciproccal affinity between sociopolitical context and cultural materials written within that context. The integration of both these research components prevents a neutralization of the historical process while simultaneously allocating a role to the intellectual dimension in guiding and shaping reality. Thus, adopting a sociological approach enables us to examine an idea or ideology as dynamic and palpable, reflecting contemporary needs and interests and often incorporated in political, social or ethnic struggles.18

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Introduction

In this process, the intellectual can play an important role. The sociological literature identifies the intellectual as an ideologist, i.e., as someone who devotes his/her intellect to dealing with the problems of society by providing content for it and introducing change and reform. The impetus to change the environment imbues the intellectual with a sense that he is destined to play a leadership role in society,19 albeit hardly in the radical sense claimed by Paul Johnson, who holds that the intellectual is not the interpreter of the gods but a substitute for them.20 The resource available to the intellectual in order to exert influeence is more conceptual than economic or political, i.e., an analytic abiliity to consider alternatives, using a historic and universal perspective.21 However, the intellectual ought not be regarded only as a critic of the existing order (a dissident, in J.P. Nettl’s parlance),22 skeptical of all norms or forms of authority; or only as the watchdog or conscience of society, warning against evil. He should be viewed first and foremost as shaping the expressive dimension of society by developing traditions and symbols that serve as a focus for collective identity and for participation in what Eisenstadt termed a "meaningful environment." The materials available to the intellectual are universal ideas alongside local cultural monuments that have survived from the past, whether physically or through inculcation and transmission, and which require reinterpretattion.23 In this sense, the intent is not necessarily a total break with past tradition, which has been aptly defined as society’s central repository of social structures, beliefs and cultural symbols.24 Every ideology develops under the influence of a dominant value system, and aims to project one or more neglected elements within this system into a more central position. Moreover, the total repression of tradition is impractical, as the majority of the population harbors an affinity with.25 The character of the intellectual and the scope of his/her role are determmined by the extent of the structural differentiation in society as well as the extent of pluralism in its symbolic systems. In Western democracies, the pluralistic principle, which enables the people to replace the ruliing elites, created a large degree of dependence on the publicly debated sphere, encompassing the print and electronic media, and cultural and academic institutions. The presence and the autonomy of intellectuals in this sphere are significant.26 In contrast, a glance at the intellectual disccourse in the developing countries, whose governmental systems range from authoritarian oligarchies to partial democracies, shows that the importance of the intellectual in society and in the processes of mode-

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ernization is generally marginal.27 Few intellectuals emerge, and their education links them to Western centers of civilization. Their dependdence on the West for intellectual stimulus creates a sense of alienation from their environment, while their reliance on the local government for patronage exposes them to political manipulation. Furthermore, the historic association of their world view with the European colonization of their countries weakens their impact on society and reveals the relattively stronger influence of the indigenous culture.28 This is particularly true for Islamic heritage, which for centuries has served as a source of legitimation for the political and social order in the Middle East. Although belief in the supremacy of Islam as a system of governance was weakened in the nineteenth century, the confrontation between traddition and change continued. In fact, it intensified with the progress of state-formation, a consequence of the growing gap between expecttations and reality, reflected in the rising tide of pan-Arabism during the 1940s and 1950s and in the Islamic revival in the 1970s.29 During this period of rapid modernization, these competing identities placed Egypt and other Arab countries at a crossroads between the old and the new worlds, unable or unwilling to undermine the traditional system. The strong ethnic/religious base underlying the persistence of traditional parochial loyalties required Arab politics to adopt a course of reconciliattion, negotiation and conflict management.30 The struggle over Egypt’s cultural identity was reflected in a large corpus of ideological writing, quintessentially represented in the works of neo-liberals and their Islamist adversaries. Other groups eventually disappeared or became ideologically marginalized. The Nasserist nationaalists declined with the fading of pan-Arabism, especially in the wake of the military defeat to Israel in the 1967 war. The Left and the Commmunists, who emerged at the beginning of the twentieth century, were fated to marginalization by virtue of their detachment from religion in a society intrinsically bound to tradition. The collapse of Communism in the Eastern Bloc at the end of the 1980s further reduced the relevance of its Arab adherents in the public discourse. Both the liberal and the Islamist trends sprang from a single experrience – exposure to modernization and Western culture – and both perceived a crisis and a sense of confusion in Muslim society. Each responded differently to this challenge and enlisted different images of the past to promote alternative political visions. The neo-liberals set out to create a reformed, cosmopolitan community by whittling away at the

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Introduction

transcendental elements of Islamic doctrine and replacing them with ethical principles as the central core of the true religion. They mainly employed historical relativism to project a flexible Islam by interpreting its holy texts in a socioeconomic, political and cultural context. They also eschewed the a priori rejection of Western culture as colonialist and prejudiced, viewing it rather as a source of inspiration and imitation. The Islamists, for their part, were preoccupied with arresting the erossion of Islamic identity and reinforcing the exclusionist boundaries of the sacred community. Both sides were fighting for public representattion and for a changed civil polity. However, the liberal narrative proved unable to influence either the masses or the molders of public discourse. Its language was too sophisticated for the common ear, while its presscription for the malaise of Muslim society suffered from ambiguity and offered only long-term solutions. By contrast, the Islamist narrative was more emotional, exalting historical myths of glory, conviction and selfsacrifice. An illuminating exemplar of the liberal-Islamist encounter was Faraj Fuda (1945-92), a prominent Egyptian liberal writer who transcended the parameters of his profession as an agronomist to devote himself to a broad array of public activities in response to the Islamic challenge. His writing placed him at the heart of the controversy over the role of religion in Egypt.31 Fuda’s thinking was based on a rationalistic interprettation of Islam, impelling him toward two goals: refuting the demand to implement the shari‘a (Islamic law), which in his opinion would destroy Muslim-Coptic national unity; and legitimizing the existence of a civil government based on the separation of religion and state, guaranteeing universal human rights. Positing a conceptual alternative to the accepted model of Muslim doctrine which perceived politics in pronounced monotheistic terms dictated by theology, Fuda presented a model that minimized the role of religion, redefining it as a cultural component in a democratic civil system. Moreover, he boldly sought to impart an operative dimension to his views by public and political activism. His astute argumentation positioned him as the severest critic of the Islamic trend of his time, disttancing him from a cautious government. He was murdered by extremiists in June 1992 at the age of 46. The present volume focuses on the 1970s and 1980s in Egypt within a historical context going back to the turn of the twentieth century. The two decades under discussion witnessed a revival of the liberal discourse

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10


but also the strengthening of the Islamic challenge. Fuda’s views of state and society were shaped during this period. The book comparatively examines these views within a historic as well as contemporary context. It presents a multi-faceted picture of the liberal-Islamist encounter in which various voices, assertive and less assertive, contended over definiing the proper status of Islam within the polity, and its boundaries vis-àvis other cultures. Both primary and secondary sources are used to illuminate the intense rivalry over Egypt’s collective memory. These sources include archival documents, ideological manifestos, memoirs and journals, as well as personal interviews with Fuda’s family and intellectual figures in Cairo.

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Part I Historical Framework

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Chapter 1 Egyptian Liberalism: Euphoria and Distress

The end of the WWI and the collapse of the Ottoman Empire (1918) heralded the shift of the Middle East from an imperialist domain to a series of modern nation states. In Egypt, these events also ushered in a change in the nature of local nationalism which evolved from a movemment of intellectuals intimately connected with the landed elite1 to a more populist fighting movement under the leadership of Sa‘d Zaghlul (1857-1927). Zaghlul, more of an activist than an ideologue, was given the task of liberating Egypt from British rule. The 1919 revolt, which he led together with the Wafd Party, was perceived by the Egyptians, especially the intellectuals, as a true revolution.2 For the British, the revolt shattered their illusion that proclamation of the protectorate in 1914 setttled the Egyptian question. The uprising evoked British awareness that any agreement with the nationalists which did not recognize the princciple of Egyptian independence could only be implemented by force. Additionally, the revolt tested Britain’s endurance vis-à-vis nationalist movements in other areas under its control, especially in India.3 The revolt played a key role in the political dynamic that propelled territorial nationalism to predominance in Egypt, supported by assets such as geographic distinctiveness (the Nile Valley), an illustrious cultural heritage (the pharaonic), and a century of de facto autonomy granted by Istanbul.4 The milestones achieved by the nationalist movement were evident in the unilateral British declaration of Egyptian independence in 1922 and by the establishment of a constitutional monarchy in 1923. However, the question of the status of religion was left open.5 Despite the national-liberal values they had absorbed, the political elite did not fronttally attack religion or its institutions, as did Mustafa Kemal (Ataturk) in

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Turkey. On the contrary, traditional education in the kuttab (Qur’anic elementary school) and in al-Azhar, the bastion of religious scholarship, led many of the elite, as exemplified by Zaghlul, to support the preservattion of Islamic principles as the guiding code of society. Moreover, the ruling elite under British occupation needed political legitimation in an essentially traditional society. This circumstance prompted a reliance on the official ‘ulama’, who in turn exploited it in their determined opposittion to any reformation of their institutions.6 As a result, Egypt’s cultural reality evolved in conflicted coexistence between tradition and change, a situation formalized in the constitution of 1923. Most strikingly, Articles 3 and 12 of the constitution promised full equality and unconditional freedom of belief. However, according to shari‘a, there can be no equality between Muslims and the "protected" followers of Judaism and Christianity (ahl al-dhimma), and no freedom of belief, since the shari‘a calls for the death penalty for Muslims who convert. Significantly, Article 13 stipulated that freedom of religion for all religious minorities is guaranteed only if the public order and existiing customs are not endangered. Moreover, while Articles 23 and 24 declared that the people are the source of governmental authority, and that the legislative process is subject to parliament, Article 149 defined Islam as the state religion, with no further articulation of the connotattions of this statement. In a state ruled by shari‘a law, Allah, and not the people or their representatives, is the source of authority and the legislative process.7 Although Article 149 appears near the end of the constitutional text, this does not indicate the marginalization of Islam in the Egyptian agenda or an end to the contentious public debate over the status of religion in the new political order. Article 149 repeatedly served as a tool for al-Azhar to oppose any infringement on Islam or its instituttions. Additionally, while a written constitution serves as an important normative source in guiding the behavior of society, implementation of its principles lies in the hands of the decision makers and judges. These, in Egypt, tended towards caution and pragmatism where religious law was concerned, especially during the 1920s and 1930s, reflecting an awareness of the rootedness of religion in the society. Article 153 was similarly problematic. It allowed the king to retain his appointive and supervisory authority regarding all religious instituttions, thereby endowing him with political power (along with other types of authority) to be wielded against political rivals. As Jacques Berque

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Egyptian Liberalism: Euphoria and Distress

15

pointed out, "[the constitution] did not confine him to merely reigning; it allowed him opportunities for action."8 The built-in conflict in the religious articles stemmed to a consideraable extent from the participation of public personalities with a consservative world view in the constitutional committee discussions, most prominently Shaykh Muhammad Bakhit, the former mufti of Egypt.9 Notably, he tenaciously opposed constitutional recognition of freedom of religion, arguing that anarchy and views harmful to the status of all monotheistic religions would be the sure result. His position was suppported by Coptic Patriarch Johannes and was approved unanimously by the committee.10 The contradictions in the constitution regarding the status of Islam and the reciprocal relationship between the monarchy and the governmment, both reflected the problem inherent in the source of the documment: it was more a product of governmental decree than evolutionary process. Liberal Egyptian commentators such as Muhammad Husayn Haykal indeed noticed this, and pointed out that the constitution was too progressive for the current stage of Egyptian political development.11 Moreover, in contrast to British expectations, adopting the constitution did not evoke a more sympathetic attitude toward them, nor did it consstrict the power of King Fu’ad. British disappointment with the parliammentary government was expressed in a series of proposed modifications of the constitution and in a pessimistic outlook regarding the prosppects of a strong government free of animosity toward them.12 Indeed, although Egyptian territorial nationalism achieved political gains in the struggle for self-determination vis-à-vis the British, it failed in its efforts to unify local society around Western social and political values. This development also affected the ideological discourse in Egypt between the two world wars regarding religion. The central figures in this intellectual discourse, such as Taha Husayn, Muhammad Husayn Haykal, Ibrahim ‘Abd al-Qadir al-Mazini and Tawfiq al-Hakim, came from varied social backgrounds. All, howeever, belonged to a generation that was exposed to the profound changes which occurred in Egypt in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centturies. Central elements of their thinking were loyalty to the Egyptian entity and a belief in human rationality, the sovereignty of the nation and civic liberties – ideas that some of them sought to promote through prolific civic activity and political involvement. They were determined to expropriate al-Azhar’s role as guardian of faith, education and law,

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and they devoted great effort to reconstructing Egypt’s historic pharaoonic past while minimizing its Islamic heritage.13 Nevertheless, these writers did not seek a total or explicit break from this heritage, viewing the notion of the complete secularization of tradition as neither possible nor desirable in the process of national coalescence. Their concerted effort to forge a new vision of public life in Egypt has positioned this group of writers in the research literature as the founders of the "progressive era" in Egypt during the 1920s.14 Howeever, their efforts also exposed them to attack by the religious establishmment, reflected most markedly in the highly publicized deligitimation of Ahmad Lutfi al-Sayyid and Taha Husayn.15 A group of intellectuals more radical than these mainstream writers16 called for pure secularism, advocating the removal of religion from the public sphere. Most were non-Muslims, as Salama Musa and Ibrahim al-Misri, who viewed Islam as an obstruction to the integration of minorities as equal citizens in the Egyptian political community. A prominent and highly controversial Muslim spokesman for this cause was Shaykh ‘Ali ‘Abd al-Raziq.

‘Ali ‘Abd al-Raziq and the Caliphate ‘Ali ‘Abd al-Raziq (1888-1966), born into a landed family, was the son of the first president of the Umma Party, forerunner of the Liberal Consstitutionalist Party. He was educated at al-Azhar, and later at Oxford University, where he studied economics and political science (1912-13). Returning to Egypt, ‘Abd al-Raziq was appointed a qadi (judge) in the shari‘a court in Mansura. In 1925 he published a book titled al-Islam wa-Usul al-Hukm ("Islam and the Sources of Political Authority"), advoccating the separation of religion and state. The book evoked a sharp response from the citadel of orthodoxy, al-Azhar, which stripped ‘Abd al-Raziq of his ‘alim (religious scholar) status, forced him to resign from his post as qadi, and declared him unfit to serve in any public office. The context of the publication was twofold: the broad national liberal aim to divest politics of its theological mantle and create an autonomous field of action as the basis for a new Egyptian state; and the immediate issue of the restoration of the caliphate and its urgency to Muslims. The latter became a compelling issue of public debate in Egypt and beyond after Ataturk nullified the institution of the caliphate in 1924. Various political elements, led by the Egyptian king and backed by al-Azhar, demanded its restoration.17 The impact of these two contexts is evident

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in ‘Abd al-Raziq’s book. Its main thesis is twofold: first, the Prophet was a spiritual and not a political leader, his role confined to conveying the divine message and achieving religious unification; second, the caliphate is unessential for Muslims, as it is not part of Islamic doctrine. On the contrary, ‘Abd al-Raziq noted, it only harmed Muslims. He perceived Islam as a spiritual religion with no defined or obligatory political systtem. Muslims are free to express political loyalty to a variety of states and to determine their national affairs as they choose and in accordance with what is customary in the modern world, namely, Western democracy.18 "Islam and the Sources of Political Authority" evoked a broad response in the political, religious and intellectual communities at the time.19 Yet it did not take root in the liberal discourse and was rejected by the Egyptian political elite. Significantly, ‘Abd al-Raziq’s supporteers (primarily the Liberal Constitutionalists, whose ministers resigned from the government in the wake of his trial), backed him purely on the issue of the constitutional protection of freedom of expression. In fact, they pointedly emphasized their loyalty to Islam, rebutting attempts by political rivals to portray the affair as a religious issue and thereby incite the public against them.20 The Liberal Constitutionalists pointed an accusing finger at the Wafd Party in particular, whose leader, Sa‘d Zaghlul, questioned ‘Abd al-Raziq’s religious qualifications and justified his expulsion from the ranks of al-Azhar. That institution, he said, acted fully within its legal authority in denouncing a denier of "the principles of his faith." Later, however, fearing the undermining of the foundattions of the constitutional system, the Wafd Party also defended freedom of opinion.21 This move did not dispel ‘Abd al-Raziq’s frustration with the liberal camp. Only a determined and just regime, he argued, would assure religious reform and freedom of thought for every Egyptian.22 Al-Azhar, for its part, satisfied with the results of the show of power it had engineered, hastened to confirm Islam’s affinity to the state by expressing gratitude to the king as defender of the faith and its spokesmmen.23 Ultimately, the religious establishment, backed by the court, failed to restore the institution of the caliphate and entrust it in Egyptian hands. This was a result of the weak performance of the Islamic Congress of 1926.24 The caliphate, a key institution symbolizing the classical ethos of the Islamic polity, was now truly dead, a reflection of the divided Musllim world.25 ‘Abd al-Raziq, the central figure in the caliphate saga, conttinued writing in defense of the democratic values of openness, tolerance

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and liberty. He also participated in political life, vigorously supported by the Liberal Constitutionalists. ‘Abd al-Raziq served on the party executtive committee, represented the ‘Abidin District of Cairo in Parliament, and was active in defending the constitutional regime against attempts to weaken it. In 1947 he was appointed minister of awqaf (religious endowments) in the government led by Mahmud Fahmi al-Nuqrashi, a post he retained under Ibrahim ‘Abd al-Hadi until 1949. Prior to this appointment, the king issued a royal decree at the request of al-Azhar granting a pardon to ‘Abd al-Raziq and nullifying the 1925 judgment against him. Appareently, the nullification, which did not appear in the official al-Azhar newspaper, related only to the prohibition against his holding public office and not to the annulment of his title of shaykh, for he continued to be addressed as ustadth (mentor) only.26 The pardon was initiated and carried out by al-Azhar, and with the approval of the king, illustrating the preservation of the legal authority of the Azharist ‘ulama’ in matters of faith, and, more broadly, to the sustained affinity between religion and politics in Egypt. Several historians have, justifiably, pointed to the expansion of the democratic civic discourse in Egypt between the world wars, especially in the press. Indeed, this discourse prevented inroads by Italian – and German – style fascism in the government headed by Isma‘il Sidqi (1930-1933).27 However, the notion of a Western-style role of religion in the state proved less acceptable. ‘Abd al-Raziq’s view of Islam as an essentially spiritual religion was too radical and was ultimately ignored. He himself seemed to renounce this view by implication in 1925 and more explicitly in 1951.28 His published work on the topic of religion and state, following the storm he raised in 1925, was cautious and circumsspect. While he criticized the blatant intervention of religious functionaaries in political life, he rejected the drastic means taken by Turkey to eliminate such interference, namely the separation of religion and state. He argued that this did not serve public interest, and was not justified in light of Turkey’s glorious Muslim past. Rather, he wrote, a "firm governmment" (hukuma hazima) was needed to keep the religious establishment in check, while assigning a legitimate role to Islam in a democratic civil regime. This compromise would balance two "commendable" albeit extreme approaches: the expansive, which claims religious authority over every area of life; and the minimalist, which views religion solely as a spiritual code. In ‘Abd al-Raziq’s view, such coexistence was possible,

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both due to democratic values in religion itself, such as the equality of all before God or the sovereignty of the people (the shura in Islam); and by force of historical experience which proves that in certain countries religion also served as a basis for, and not only an obstacle to, the establlishment of democracy (e.g., in Britain and the United States). In advocating such a compromise, and in acknowledging the vitaliity of the Islamic heritage in molding Egypt’s modern culture,29 ‘Abd al-Raziq joined mainstream modernist discourse which avoided openly banishing religion from the public domain. Moreover, the intense publlic preoccupation with the caliphate (1924-26), despite its impracticcality, and the appearance in 1928 of the Muslim Brotherhood, both insured Islamic politics a role in the struggle over the image of society. Significantly, the rivalry that soon developed between the Brotherhood and al-Azhar did not result in a direct confrontation. Both sides viewed Islam as a normative framework for molding faith and behavior, and each expressed its own way to reinforce religious consciousness in socieety. The Brotherhood fostered political activism based on an effective communal network.30 Al-Azhar cultivated ritual, preserved ideological conformity in its ranks, and stood fast in the face of systematic attempts at the substantive reform of its institutions. Ultimately, al-Azhar relied on its official state status and its intimate identification with the court to wield authority.31 Maintaining Islam as the official religion in Egypt positioned the radical concept of separation of religion and state, as outlined by ‘Abd alRaziq in his book, at the margins of the consensus. Such marginalization was reinforced by the constitutional government’s political fragmentattion and its reluctance to promote social welfare measures. The declared goal of the political elite, which overrode any concern for pressing econnomic and social issues, was attaining independence from Britain. This goal was achieved to a limited extent only. In the context of the period, independence meant domestic autonomy subject to sustained external intervention. As early as 1921, an Egyptian nationalist activiist aptly observed that British preparedness to grant independence to his country was in fact designed to legally sanction a foreign presence based on force and violence.32 The precarious Egyptian reality of politiccal degeneration and social divisiveness, which was sharply criticized by contemporary commentators,33 served to disprove the modernizattion paradigm. The latter held that the power of tradition diminishes in direct proportion to the degree of the modernization of society accordi-

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ing to criteria such as accelerated urbanization, advanced education and the development of industry and transportation. This sweeping Euroccentric approach was displaced in the scholarly literature by an equivoccal perception of the term modernization as relative, i.e., as describing a process in which nationalist elites eliminate or reduce their country’s inferiority and move toward equality with the developed nations. The goal of equality in this view is not fixed but rather is a moving target, and the method of dealing with social and political problems is shaped by the distinctive historical and cultural experience of each society.34 The Egyptian government’s negligible interest in social justice – because of its leaders’ preoccupation with political independence and their elitist background – engendered a receptive attitude to radical ideas among the embittered masses. Neglect of social welfare issues evoked activist ideologies that claimed both authenticity and political power, mainly Islamism and Arabism. Both these ideologies deconstructed the political discourse, making it more complex and heterogeneous. Islamism aimed to transform Egypt into a state based on shari‘a law, and Arabism aimed to position Egypt in a supranational framework as the leader of a unified Arab nation.35 Both Islamism and Arabism were fueled to a great extent by the intellectual climate of the 1930s which re-emphasized the religious heritage of Egypt as a reaction to Westernization.36 The resurgence of Islamic themes in contemporary writing was described in earlier studiies as reflecting a crisis of orientation37 and in later research as a tactical withdrawal aimed at conveying the Western liberal message in a tradittional wrapping more familiar to the broad public.38 A study published in 1995 holds that Egyptian writers were anxious to extend an effective dialogue to a wider audience, along with the intellectual conviction that Islam must be taken into account in developing a modern culture for Egypt.39 These analyses of Egypt’s embrace of Islamic themes during the interwwar period highlight the transition from the old world to the new. Egypt possessed neither the ability nor the will to dismantle the religio-cultural pillars of the traditional system. This was exemplified by the incomplete integration of the Coptic minority into the majority Muslim society.40 Moreover, many Egyptian writers themselves feared that cultural borrrowing from the West would lead to a loss of self-identity. This helps explain why these writers found it relatively easy to focus on Islam.

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Loyalty to Islam (even in progressive commentary of the Scriptures) shackled the liberal argument to an ideological discourse devoted to perppetuating the affinity to what society viewed as sacred.41 For example, Haykal’s book, Hayat Muhammad ("Life of Muhammad," 1935), was imbued with polemics that idealized the period of the founding of Islam and criticized Western culture as purely materialistic.42 Islamic moderniist Husayn Ahmad Amin claimed that Haykal exacerbated Muslims’ confusion in the modern era. By idealizing the period of the Prophet as the model of rational and ethical Islam, he created the mistaken impression that Muslims need not deal with the challenges of their time, because all values related to progress are dictated by their religion.43 Not surprisingly, Haykal’s book was widely admired in Islamic circles, which consisted mainly of members of the urban middle class (effendiyya) eager to highlight Egypt’s authentic identity.44 Moreover, the book earned religgious approval when Shaykh al-Azhar Muhammad Mustafa al-Maraghi (1881-1945), known for his progressive views, added an intorduction. Al-Maraghi, while favoring objective scholarship in researching the period of the Prophet, nevertheless validated the orthodox perception that the Prophet was both apostle and ruler, thereby emphasizing the organic relationship between Islam and state.45 Haykal perpetuated the theological embrace of national politics in his later books, al-Siddiq Abu Bakr ("Abu Bakr the Just," 1942) and alFaruq ‘Umar ("Commander ‘Umar," 1944). In these works he claimed that the Prophet laid the foundations for the Muslim empire, and that the fierce wars waged by the first caliph, Abu Bakr, against Muslims who refused to pay the zakat (financial levy) were justified because the very existence of Islam was threatened.46 This ratification of the Gordian knot between religion and politics in Islam by Haykal and other writers, and the outpouring of a multi-faceted body of Islamic literature, fueled an ongoing discourse on the role of religion in the Egyptian polity. The contest between competing orientations – territorial nationaliism, Islamism and Arabism – developed together with the failure of the parliamentary government to cope with rising social and political disccontent. The ruling Wafd Party, identified with the drive for national independence and championing the constitution in the 1920s, become far less influential by the early 1940s. The regime survived largely due to the immaturity of the domestic oppositionist forces. However, the regime was challenged thereafter by increasingly radical demands for social and economic reform, aimed at forging a more just and inclusive

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community. Shaykh Khalid Muhammad Khalid was the primary repressentative of this new intellectual current.

Khalid Muhammad Khalid and the Shari‘a Khalid Muhammad Khalid (1920-96), born in a village in the al-Sharqiyyya province, was educated at al-Azhar as a theologian and preacher. He taught until 1950, when he left the profession to devote himself to writiing. His political views were molded both by his peasant origins, which sensitized him to the injustice of the agrarian system (iqta‘), and his Azharite education, which exposed him to the intellectual dogmatism of the ‘ulama’. He adopted a moderate socialist stance and an ethical perception of the role of Islam to guide rather than govern. Politically, he was identified with the left wing of the Wafd Party. Khalid elucidated his views in his book, Min Huna Nabda’ ("From Here We Begin," 1950), which the public prosecutor banned for its "communist tone" and its attack on Islam.47 A few months later, howeever, the ban was rescinded by court order. Significantly, the title of the book reflected the crossroads faced by Egyptian society on the eve of the collapse of the monarchical government and the rise of the revolutionaary regime. In Khalid’s view, for religion to sustain its influence over the people, it must both respond to the changing needs of society, and preserve its essential mission to bring happiness to mankind. The ‘ulama’ (whom he sarcastically labeled the "priesthood") betrayed this mission in their corruption and their defense of social injustice, preaching frugaliity in the anticipation of reward in the next world. A distinction must be made, he argued, between religion – which is altruistic and rational, and views earthly happiness as the highest goal – and the priesthood, which is selfish and ignorant, and reduces life to negligibility to control the minds of the people. The history of Christian Europe, he pointed out, shows that the association between religion and the clergy not only perpetuated blind obedience and fatalism, but also tarnished the purity of religion in the perception of the enlightened.48 This moral interpretation of religion led Khalid to dismiss the role of the ‘ulama’ as well as the idea of establishing an Islamic government. He based his convictions on two arguments: 1. The historic argument – Muhammad’s religious message, as that of Moses and Jesus, was essentially spiritual in that it preached the emancipation of man from enslavement. Although Muhammad did

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perform worldly functions, such as exercising judicial and military leadership, these were "social necessities" (darurat ijtam‘iyya) which he was compelled to undertake for the welfare of the community. The Prophet, however, did not define a governmental system for Islam. Any government that promotes the welfare of society is legitimate and has the blessing of religion, Khalid held. With the passing of Caliphs Abu Bakr (634) and ‘Umar (644) and the opposition to their legitimate successors, ‘Ali and his heris, the reighteous moral conduct of government also disappeared, Khalid maintained. It was replaced by political tyranny imposed by rulers with dynastic ambitions who cloaked themselves in an aura of false holiness as implementers of the will of Allah on earth. Despotism is intrinsic in every government that professes to act in the name of religion, whether Christianity or Islam. Moreover, it is not the province of the distant past only, as shown by the negative example of current regimes in the Arabian Peninsula which exploit their countries as if they were personal propeerty, ostensibly in the name of Allah. 2. The pragmatic argument – The normative basis of a religious governmment is the emancipation of man from the shackles of his base desires by subjecting him to a system of prohibitions for the sake of social cohesion. However, the real power of religion, Khalid argued, must be measured by its ability to arouse the consciousness of the believer and to address his spiritual needs without relying on the coercive power of state law. Notably, Khalid pointed out, the applicability of many of the religious prohibitions is limited. For example, stealing for the sake of survival exempts the perpetrator from the punishmment of amputation. Adultery or drinking wine require the direct testimony of several witnesses to the act, or alternatively, a confesssion by the accused, which are indisputably rare. While a complete absence of moral censure in society is neither permissible nor desiraable, a religious government is not necessary for the implementation of prohibitions. They can be enforced within the framework of the existing law of the land, either directly or through supplementary legislation. Ultimately, positive law devised by man is similar to the shari‘a in that it is based on public interest and rationalist thinking, and its goal to organize society.49 Based on these arguments, Khalid concluded that a religious governmment is not relevant for Muslims in modern times, and that there is no

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alternative to separation of religion and state. Such a separation would preserve religion as the eternal moral truth, leaving the state to function as a political structure fostering social justice and individual freedoms. Although cruelty and tyranny are likely to be the province of a national government as well, this form of governance, unlike a religious governmment, cannot function with complete impunity, or for long, due to such restraints as public opinion, parliament and the courts. Moreover, a national government is dynamic and evolutionary and is not restricted by the fundamental weaknesses of religious government – primarily ignorance and isolation. The ultimate test of the national elite is the actualization of social welfare. In Khalid’s words, "A government that does not provide food for the people is no government and will not endure."50 Khalid was aware that his conclusions were controversial but he maintained that the truth was more important than affability or popullarity. The role of the writer is to sound the alarm, criticize, and posit alternatives, he declared. If the reader is offended, clearly he has not yet reached the level of intellectual maturity that allows him to respect views other than his own.51 Led by al-Azhar and the Brotherhood, Khalid’s critics denounced him, arguing that he had turned religion into merely "a source of solidarity" whose morality is revealed only when it is isolated from national politics. The Brotherhood, along with al-Azhar, charged that the appeal of a qualified religious figure such as Khalid for separattion of religion and state promoted the malicious intentions of Western imperialism by destroying the true meaning of Islam.52 However, the Brotherhood seemed indifferent to Khalid’s accusations aimed at the religious establishment. In the Brotherhood’s view, the need to rehabilitate al-Azhar’s status in society was negligible compared to the need to reinstate Islam’s power. One of the most prominent Brotherhhood ideologists, Shaykh Muhammad al-Ghazali (1916-96), castigated al-Azhar for its intellectual vacuity, which, he contended, facilitated the emergence of deviant views such as Khalid’s and his predecessors’ (i.e., ‘Abd al-Raziq).53 These views were addressed by al-Ghazali in a book titled Min Huna Na‘lamu ("Our Beginning in Wisdom," 1950). In contrast to Khalid, al-Ghazali held that any ethical idea aimed at improving the life of the individual or of society can be realized only in a binding political framewwork. Human nature is such that improvement by means of good intenttions or wise counsel is not practicable. This was demonstrated by both

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the French Revolution and the Communist Revolution and is all the more valid for Islam, whose principles are loftier and purer than both revolutions together. Significantly, the Prophet Muhammad held both spiritual and temporal authority, dealing with judicial affairs, political alliances and military leadership. He did all this not because of "compellling social necessities," as Khalid had argued, but as part of the very definnition by Allah of his mission, which included establishing a political government. This is the pattern of Islamic government that the Prophet passed on to his successors – a government devoted to the protection of both religion and nation. Al-Ghazali did not deny that tyranny was and remained the province of Muslim rulers, but claimed that this should not stain Islam or Musllim history. In his view, the fact that the current regimes in the Arabian Peninsula enforced the hudud (Qur’anic punishments) does not make them "Islamic governments," as Khalid held. First, these regimes were remote from the moral stature prescribed by Islam regarding ruler-subjject relations. Second, the hudud constitute only part of a wide array of interwoven religious imperatives, some of which are observed by the individual directly (e.g., prayer, fasting) and some indirectly, through the aegis of the state (e.g., jihad and zakat). State-mandated imperatives are essential to fortify the faith and require implementation by a governmmental authority, since the fulfillment of these duties by the individual is unreliable. Therefore, the functional separation of religion and state in Islam is out of the question. The role of the state is the "protection of the faith, the implementation of its instructions, and the overall supervision of the affairs of the faithful." The basis for its functioning is the Qur’an, which is the sole embodiment of the sovereignty of Allah.54 Al-Ghazali also dismissed Khalid’s argument that the Qur’an is vague and lends itself to flexible interpretation which can legitimize any national government as long as it promotes social welfare. First, alGhazali asserted, the Qur’an is generalized but not ambiguous – a disttinction that underscores the virtue of Islam as a religion adaptable to the spirit of the times, for otherwise it would have faded. Second, the option of Western democracy as a preferred form of government for Muslims is essentially without foundation. This becomes clear from an examination of the destruction and missionary-like enslavement wrought by Britain and France in the Middle East, which exposes the hollowness of their noble principles. Even the United States, viewed by many Muslims as free of its predecessors’ stains and as embodying the openness of a more

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humane and just era, proved to have harbored the same malicious intent to destroy Islam as a faith after destroying it as a government. Moreover, the United States unconditionally supported the establishment of a Jewiish state – the embodiment of contemporary anti-Muslim contempt. Both doctrinally and historically, therefore, Islam has proven itself superrior to Western democracy.55 The debate between al-Ghazali and Khalid centered around the same issue raised a generation earlier by ‘Ali ‘Abd al-Raziq in his book, "Islam and the Sources of Political Authority": Is government a part of Islam or not? Indeed, al-Ghazali claimed in the introduction to his book that a large number of Khalid’s arguments were identical to those articulated by ‘Abd al-Raziq in his day.56 Was this so? A comparative examination shows that Khalid replicated ‘Abd al-Raziq’s basic ideas regarding both the Prophet as a spiritual and not a political leader, and the functional discrepancy between religion and state. However, in contrast to his preddecessor, Khalid did not stop at undermining the traditional perception of Islam as both religion and state. He also reached an explicit conclussion, i.e., the need for a national government. Furthermore, ‘Abd al-Raziq and Khalid wrote in different political time frames which dictated different emphases. ‘Abd al-Raziq’s "Islam and the Sources of Political Authority" was written against the backgground of King Fu’ad’s claim to the caliphate throne in the 1920s, backed by al-Azhar. ‘Abd al-Raziq, associated with the Liberal Constitutionaliists, sought to thwart this plan by rejecting the necessity of the caliphate for Muslims. Khalid’s "From Here We Begin," by contrast, was written in response to the rising power of the Brotherhood in the 1940s and its rising demand for the establishment of an Islamic government in Egypt with the shari‘a as its basis. Khalid, identified with the leftist wing of the Wafd Party, aimed to undermine the Brotherhood and sound the alarm regarding the danger inherent in its demand to restore Islam to the centter of political power. Passing over ‘Abd al-Raziq’s macro theme, which dealt with the ideal political form of government – universal caliphate vis-à-vis local entity – Khalid focused on the appropriate legislative basis for the state on the micro level: shari‘a vs. positive law. The different emphases of these two writers reflected the shift in Islamic thought during the interwar period. Underlying this transittion was a detachment from the pan-Islamic concept embodied in the caliphate, and a de facto acceptance of the existence of the modern state, albeit with the aim of elevating its moral quality.57 This development

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was largely dictated by a shift in the religious center of power from the Azharist establishment, which was in gradual decline as a result of the modernization of the Egyptian state, to the Brotherhood, a populist movement which sought substantive, and not merely abstract, power for Islam. The Brotherhood perceived political power as a theological imperative, defining it as "one of the foundations, if not the most essenttial one, of Islam, since the revelatory law requires a state to enforce it." The Brotherhood’s emphasis on the organic unity between Islam and the state was not only a theoretical proposition, but also a contemporrary necessity to arrest the encroachment of modern secular political and legal systems into the heartland of Islam. Responding to this political challenge, the Brotherhood shunted aside the issue of the caliphate. Its founder, Hasan al-Banna (1900-1949), acknowledged the importance of the resurrection of the caliphate, but highlighted the practical need for patient preparation for this by strengthening the cultural, social and economic ties between the Muslim peoples.58 This de facto reconciliation to the existence of the modern state did not dampen the Brotherhood’s religious fervor, but it did defuse the ideological tension in the movemment’s platform between the universal principle of a world community of believers and the territorial principle of the Egyptian entity. The public outcry evoked by Khalid’s "From Here We Begin" (as by ‘Abd al-Raziq’s "Islam and the Sources of Political Authority" in its day) revealed that despite the modernization and Westernization in Egypt, the country remained distressed over its self-image. Both books were essentially radical treatments of the confrontation of the liberal democcratic discourse with the forces of tradition in society. The significance of "From Here We Begin," however, was greater, due to the mounting political and social discontent in the late 1940s.59 Khalid, in his book, attacked the government’s poor performance, which he labeled "arrogant and despotic." Even in the "age of nations," he argued, the Egyptians still feel like subjects (ri‘aya) rather than citizzens. Nevertheless, he continued to champion representative democracy, proposing suggestions for improving its implementation in Egypt. In his words, "the best remedy for the defects of democracy is an excess of democracy."60 Government circles suppressed their resentment of Khallid’s criticism of their performance and allowed the publication of "From Here We Begin," following a court order in its favor. The court, relying on Islamic law as well as on constitutional freedom of speech, ruled that Khalid had not besmeared religion, but the intention to exploit religion

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for personal gains. On the issue of government, the court quoted seveeral hadiths (sayings of the Prophet) as well as the introduction written by former Shaykh al-Azhar al-Maraghi, to Muhammad Haykal’s treattise, "Life of Muhammad" (1935). In it the shaykh pointed out that the Prophet was commanded to deliver Allah’s message and defend it, but he was not instructed how to accomplish this task.61 This supported Khallid’s argument that the Prophet did not sanctify any specific regime, and that any regime which operates according to rational and humanitarian principles, including a national government, is legitimate and deserving of the blessings of Islam. Nevertheless, in citing Shaykh al-Maraghi’s remarks, the court, in contrast to Khalid, confirmed the inherent affinity between Islam and polity as embodied in the personality of the Prophet, defender of the faith and ruler of the community. The judiciary relying on Islamic traddition and on the opinion of a former rector of al-Azhar illustrates the political elite’s need for religious backing to neutralize its Islamist opponnents. Reliance on Islam to enlist public support did not nullify the modernization attained in Egypt (and other Middle Eastern states) in the period under review, however such modernization was limited to the economic and administrative spheres. Religious law remained largely autonomous in matters of personal status and societal ethics. The goveernment avoided passing laws prohibiting the marriage of minors, or of polygamy, and contented itself with merely issuing various regulations. These regulations hampered but did not prevent the continued existence of these customs, which generally received Islamic legal sanction.62 Indeed, advances in the conformation of Egyptian law to Western codes were attained more through integrating Islamic elements than eliminating them.63 The role of Islam in the state was left undefined, largely reflecting the reluctance of the elite to take the far-reaching step of removing religion from the public domain. The limited achievements of the parliamentary experience elicited demands by a number of writers for a more decisive leadership to carry out comprehensive reform64 and spurred the entry of a new radical force into the political arena – the army. The Free Officers coup of July 1952, which replaced the constitutional government with an authoritarian populist regime, headed by Gamal ‘Abd al-Nasser, forced the liberal camp into distress. This was reflected both on the institutional level (i.e., by the disintegration of political parties and the constriction of individual liberties) and the ideological level (e.g.,

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by the embrace of official pan-Arabism and a blurring of the Egyptian identity).65 The situation was exacerbated by the stance adopted by the revolution toward the role of religion in the state. The regime abolished the shari‘a courts (1956) and transformed al-Azhar into a state university (1961). These steps were aimed not at excluding Islam from the politiccal discourse, but rather at mobilizing Islam to endorse governmental policies (namely, pan-Arabism, Arab socialism and the delegitimation of the Arab monarchies), and at the same time suppressing the Brotherhhood domestically. The separate status of the venerable al-Azhar instituttion was preserved, turning it into a symbol of the struggle for national realization. Its spokesmen – the ‘ulama’ – mainly in the countryside, were harnessed to the revolutionary effort as ideological intermediaries to provide scriptural justification for such domestic policies as family planning, savings plans and rural economic development. Simultaneoously, al-Azhar’s state-funded budget expanded impressively, from £E 900,502 in 1948 to £E 7 million in 1966. Al-Azhar was thus awarded considerable funds to continue exerting its moral authority in society.66 The façade of organic unity between religion and state was symboliccally demonstrated by the appointment of the shaykh of al-Azhar by presidential order and by a renewed recognition of Islam as the state religion in Clause 5 of the revised constitution of 1964.67 The regime’s paternalistic approach to religion was also reflected in the large number of newly constructed governmental mosques and in increased supervission of the Sufi orders while financing their popular celebrations.68 The regime’s recognition of Islam’s mass appeal dovetailed with the ‘ulama’s interest in preventing the shift in Nasserist ideology toward sweeping secularization. Ultimately, the change that Nasserism sought to effect in Egypt’s social landscape was only partially realized.69 As a populist regime aimed at forging an intimate link with the masses and positioning its leader as a national father figure, Nasserism found itself compelled to project its authority in society in religious terms as well. As Daniel Crecelius put it, Egypt remained an "Islamic state in form and essence."70 The aura of Nasserism faded during the 1960s, especially in the Arab world. The decline of Pan-Arabism in the wake of the defeat by Israel in 1967 resulted in a reaffirmation of Egypt’s national identity, albeit with no defined ideological content. On the contrary, this turning inward generated a new, more violent type of struggle waged by Islamism against the modern state.

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Chapter 2 The Religious Revival in Post-Nasserist Egypt

The ultimate goal of the Muslim Brotherhood was to position Islam as the operative force in society and politics. The use of physical force to accomplish these ends, as reflected in the writings of the founder of the movement, Hasan al-Banna, was conditional on unity in the ranks of the Islamic movement and on circumstantial need, but was not disqqualified in principle.1 The motif of force in the Brotherhood platform, translated into action with the establishment in the late 1940s of a secret apparatus for political violence, relied on the argument that the legitimmate existence of the state was solely conditional on the implementation of the shari‘a both in private and public life. This perception was in direct conflict with the guiding principle of both the constitutional and the revolutionary regimes, namely the principle of national interest, or the right of society to conduct its activity according to its own interests and to changing circumstances. The constitutional government, which was weak and feared accusattions of apostasy, was slack in its approach to the Brotherhood (with the exception of the end of Prime Minister Mahmud Fahmi al-Nuqrashi’s term, when he outlawed the movement in December 1948). In conttrast, the revolutionary regime, under the charismatic leadership of ‘Abd al-Nasser, suppressed the Brotherhood, following an initial honeymoon period (1952-54). The Brotherhood was banned, its leaders were jailed or exiled, and several were executed.2 In retrospect, that experience of repression provided the crucible for the rejuvenation of Islamist thought, laying the groundwork for the Sunni revolt against Muslim rule after a long period of political obeisance.

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The Religious Revival in Post-Nasserist Egypt

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The groundbreaking ideologue of radicalized Islam in Egypt and beyond was Sayyid Qutb (1906-66). Influenced by Pakistani thinker Abu al-‘Ala Mawdudi (1903-79), Qutb fostered a perception of violent opposition to rulers who, in his view, were Muslim in name only, and who by instituting Western secular legislation detracted from the sole sovereignty of Allah (the hakimiyya) and entrapped his followers. As a result, Muslim countries had become ensnared in a state of neo-jahiliyya (pre-Islamic state of ignorance), characterized by over whelming interfference by the modern state in civic life, based on foreign ideologies such as nationalism or socialism. Such intervention in society by regimes fashioned by mere humans may be likened to the theft of divine functtions, or apostasy, which must be uprooted by means of jihad.3 Although revolutionary, the perception of the new jahiliyya articullated by Qutb was premature and, moreover, too theoretical to serve as an operative weapon in the Brotherhood’s confrontation with the revollutionary regime in Egypt. Moreover, the persecution experienced by the Brotherhood during Nasser’s rule prompted dissent in the movemment. Some of the Brothers, especially younger members such as Ahmad Shukri Mustafa, preached splitting off from the movement and forming an opposition group aimed at violently overthrowing the existing order. Others, especially veteran members under the leadership of Hasan alHudaybi (1908-74), turned to communal activity (da‘wa) within the existing order with the aim of changing it peacefully and gradually.4 These trends were fueled by a religious resurgence that swept over the region in the early 1970s, manifested both on the individual level (a return to an Islamic way of life) and on the collective level (a proliferattion of new mosques and religious charitable associations).5 This resurggence cannot be attributed solely to the questionable legitimacy of the new style of Arab politics, or to prolonged socioeconomic crises. It also involved a more basic cultural component, namely the ongoing conflict between tradition and modernity.6 Not coincidentally, the phenomena of loss of faith and religious skepticism were generally marginal in Middle Eastern society, even in the Western-oriented sectors. These sectors remained captive to what Sayyid Alatas has called "mental dualism," which incorporates scientific practice without nullifying the local cultural heritage. Beneath the Westeern mantle, local society remained essentially traditional.7 In the Egyptian context, the religious resurgence was reinforced by Sadat’s relatively open government (1970-81), reflected in the state’s

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retreat from its intensive involvement in the economy, the encouragemment of foreign investment, and the loosening of some of the restraints on political activity. These steps aimed to serve two main purposes: a distancing from the Nasserist legacy in light of its cumulative failures, and mounting pressure for political freedom emanating from a more pluralistic society.8 The relatively liberal period also fostered the convergence of a parlliamentary opposition, consisting of newly formed parties on both sides of the political spectrum; and in part extra-parliamentary, consisting of political movements. The parliamentary opposition added a pluralistic element to the political scene but remained non-influential, overshadoowed by the powerful institution of the presidency. By contrast, the extra-parliamentary opposition, led by the Islamic trend, gathered force primarily because the regime viewed the Islamists as a political means to neutralize the left and the Nasserists. The Brotherhood was permitted to renew its public activity, Islamic associations (jama‘at) were established on campuses, and the range of religious programs in the school system and in the electronic media grew significantly. Sadat also carefully fosttered the image of a believing president, and granted religion an importtant spot in the life of society and state.9 Sadat’s embrace of Islam within the context of molding a less represssive and more cosmopolitan polity than his predecessor served him well in the short term. However, it eventually exacted a substantive political price in terms of Islamic circles’ heightened expectations for a new politiical system based on the shari‘a. His later efforts to backtrack from this line adopted at the beginning of his term (for example, by using delay tactics to prevent a flood of religious demands) exposed him to sharp criticism by the Islamic opposition.10 Moreover, although Sadat recruited the heads of al-Azhar to project a moderate version of Islam that would not undermine the essential legitimacy of the national government or fan ethnic Muslim-Coptic flames, they failed. They were conceivably, ideologically empathetic to the basic principles of the Islamic opposittion. This was exemplified by Shaykh al-Azhar ‘Abd al-Halim Mahmud’s support of the cause of the immediate implementation of the shari‘a during the 1970s. Ultimately, the reforms that had been instituted in alAzhar, mainly during the revolutionary regime, succeeded in weakening the power traditionally held by the ‘ulama’ but failed to turn the clergy into an effective agency for state policy.11

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The distress of the regime during the 1970s, demonstrated, inter alia, by the grave riots of January 1977, strengthened the Islamic opposition. Yet, the central component of this opposition – the Muslim Brotherhhood – avoided confrontation with the regime, for two main reasons. One was ideological: its conviction that Egypt could become an Islamic, shari‘a-governed state through a gradual and peaceful transformation. The other was pragmatic: the movement’s recognition of the entrenched power of the state and its unwillingness to be branded as radical and thus targeted for repression. Facing a choice between adaptation to systematic pressure or going underground, the Brotherhood opted for the former. This strategy suited the profile of a movement of "world transformattion," using peaceful means and engagement with the surrounding socieety to expand its influence.12 Yet, the Brotherhood’s reluctance to use force did not mean relinquishing its struggle to implement the shari‘a. One result of the Brotherhood’s patience and sustained activity toward this end was the amending of Article 2 of the constitution in 1979 (ratified by a popular referendum in 1980). The amended article states that the shari‘a principles serve as "the primary source of legislation" instead of "a primary source of legislation" as worded in the original verssion in 1971. Nevertheless, the ideological platform of the Brotherhood, which demanded the implementation of the hudud and denied the right of existence of all political parties (particularly parties with communist leanings),13 hindered the emergence of a broad anti-regime coalition. Moreover, although the Brotherhood displayed restraint toward the existing order, it was offset by the more radical elements in the Islamic spectrum, namely the militant underground groups such as al-Jihad and al-Jama‘a al-Islamiyya.14 Although the influence of the militant groups was limited to various fringe sectors of the urban population, their viollent attacks on the symbols of the regime’s legitimacy – the army, politiccal institutions, and at times the religious establishment – gained wide publicity within and outside Egypt. Retrospectively, Sadat’s assassination in 1981 exposed the paradox of the dualistic policy he adopted to curb religious radicalism: iron-fisted suppression of the militants, combined with a paternalistic approach toward Islam aimed at reinforcing the foundations of the regime. In its effort to establish Egypt as a modern national entity, the regime found itself increasingly obliged to address Islam. This continued through Mubarak’s term, when the government became entangled in Islamic politics, unable to resolve the built-in contradiction between a society

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that remained largely traditional in its values and a modern political system based on secular principles. When forming his government in 1981, Mubarak aimed at expandiing the limited democratization instituted by Sadat. The commitment to the democratic process has reflected the new government’s confidence in its ability to guide the process. Retreat from Sadat’s path to a centraliized form of government would evoke significant counterpressures from the local educated upper class and from Western countries economically linked to Egypt. The multi-party experiment indeed gained new impetus under Mubarak’s administration. However, the ongoing state of emergency declared in the wake of Sadat’s assassination and the new restrictions on party activity, meant that although the opposition enjoyed greater freedom of expression, it had less political potential to affect government policy. This was clearly reflected in the 1984 elections, when only a single opposition party, the New Wafd, passed the required threshold for parlliamentary representation with 58 mandates, while the ruling National Democratic Party (NDP) maintained a decisive majority of 390 seats of a total of 448.15 These results represented a dual achievement for the government: its control of the legislative process was unharmed, while the legitimacy of the political system which it headed was reinforced, especially with the entry of the opposition (the New Wafd Party) into parliament. The relative success of the New Wafd, largely attributable to its alliaance with the Brotherhood on the eve of the elections, was impressive. In linking itself to the New Wafd, the Brotherhood, a quasi-legal organizzation, exploited the legitimate channels of expression granted the oppossition to demonstrate its determination to operate entirely within the confines of the law.16 The election results proved the partnership between the Brotherhood and the New Wafd to be worthwhile for both sides, each of whom had been denied political self-expression during the 1952 revolotion. The New Wafd soon became the government’s primary rival, while the Brotherhood attained eight seats in parliament and put the implementation of the shari‘a on the public agenda. However, the alliance soon began to falter when the New Wafd declined to put pressure on the government regarding the shari‘a issue.17 As an opposition party, the New Wafd could allow itself to ignore its obligation to implement the shari‘a. Such a course was more difficult for the government, whose public image depended on its efforts to coalesce

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society around its leadership. Mubarak’s government, as its predecessor, was committed in principle to implementing the shari‘a, whose legal supremacy was recognized in Article 2 of the constitution. Mubarak in fact took steps to reinforce the Islamic character of the state by increasiing the exposure of religious themes in the media, censoring books and plays offensive to Islam or Islamic morality, and instituting prayer servvices in government offices.18 Despite this, the government reserved the right to determine the specifics of implementing the shari‘a. A moderate approach, advocating gradual and consensual steps, was adopted. This approach also underlined the public dialogue with the radical organizations, initiated by Mubarak. He sought to allow the religious opposition freedom of speech, while exposing the weakness of their argumments. In light of their religious legal expertise, Azharist ‘ulama’ were the major pro-government spokesmen in the public dialogue with the radiccals. These ‘ulama’ differentiated between worship (‘ibadat), which, they argued, was largely facilitated by the state in accordance with the shari‘a; and civil affairs (mu‘amalat), such as governmental and economic policy, which required gradual adjustment so as not to disrupt public stability or national interests. Most ‘ulama’, however, did not conceal their disapppointment with the government’s inaction when called upon to present a practical program for translating its commitment to implement the shari‘a.19 A particularly vigorous spokesman on this issue was Shaykh al-Azhar Jadd al-Haqq ‘Ali Jadd al-Haqq (1917-96), who warned that parliamenttary procrastination in ratifying the Islamic laws made a mockery of the will of the parliamentary electorate – the people.20 Al-Azhar’s determmination to pursue the issue of the shari‘a stemmed from the desire to rehabilitate its deteriorated public image, and sought to deflect the sharp criticism against it by the radicals for yielding to the regime. It was also attributable to al-Azhar’s unwavering view of Islam as a normative framework for molding both faith and behavior. Its spokesmen defined the Qur’anic imperative to "prohibit wrong" as "one of the weapons of the immutable truth" to preserve the Islamic character of society and save it from cultural corruption. "It is not sufficient for us to know how to pray," they emphasized. "It is also our duty to know how to behave as individuals in Islamic society."21 Clearly, al-Azhar shared the guiding principle of the radicals’ platfform to Islamize the polity, although it rejected their extremist interppretation of the nature of society and government. The establishment

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‘ulama’ denied the right of any Muslim to accuse another of apostasy (as the radicals did), so long as the latter avers that he is a believer, even under the threat of death. The ‘ulama’ also denounced acts of violence against public figures and against Copts, claiming that Islam forbids the mistreatment of one’s fellowman and preaches respect toward believers of other faiths.22 However, they viewed the radicals as having strayed from the correct path, rather than as transgressors, and as failing to corrrectly understand religion because their knowledge of Islamic faith and law was self-taught. As such, they must be treated gently and not with violence, which only leads to further extremism. The ‘ulama’ emphasized that al-Azhar could best provide this kind of guidance, and hence its social status required rehabilitation.23 Mubarak recognized al-Azhar’s central role in the struggle to eradiccate religious extremism24 but was cautious about strengthening ‘ulama’ status. Various elements in the government disagreed with the tolerant ‘ulama’ approach toward the radicals, and viewed the radicals as "mad dogs who cannot be tamed." The radicals reacted coolly to the governmment’s preparedness for dialogue with them, viewing it as a ploy to publlicly delegitimize them.25 Their rigidity exacerbated their confrontation with the state and hindered the efforts of the religious establishment to wage a campaign to win the soul of the Egyptian believer.26 The governmment, for its part, trapped itself in a web of convoluted statements issued by the ‘ulama’ regarding the Islamization of the polity beyond what the regime intended. Meanwhile, the growing conflict afforded the radicals a platform to air their views.27 In the context of an unavoidable confrontation between the governmment and the radicals, the government perceived the Muslim Brotheerhood as a responsible factor. The Brotherhood assiduously distanced itself from the radical path, maintaining that the militants distorted the essence of Islam, a religion capable of enlisting rivals through persuasion rather than repression. In the movement’s view, the shari‘a laid out clear directions for correcting distortions in following the path of Allah, but these do not include charges of apostasy or impinging on the rights of others. The Brotherhood noted that Egyptian law drew upon atheisttic sources, and that religious areas such as personal status and educattion were exposed to secular influences, yet few Muslims left their faith. Some strayed due to ignorance or a faulty understanding of Islam, and deserved guidance rather than denunciation.28

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Eschewing religious extremism as "an ideological distortion and an emotional deviation," the Brotherhood simultaneously pointed an accusing finger at the government as responsible for the religious vacuuum among the young. Brotherhood spokesmen charged the governmment with disregarding Article 2 of the constitution, which states that Islam is both religion and state, and the shari‘a is the primary source of the constitution. They also accused the government of limiting the Brotherhood’s freedom of action, even though the movement constittuted the main and moderate trend in the Islamic camp. Demanding to be allowed to form a political party, the Brotherhood maintained that its goal was to establish a civic government that would draw its authority from the citizenry by means of democratic elections. Back in the early 1970s, one of the prominent leaders of the movement, Salah ‘Ashmawi, argued that the closest form of government to Islam is the "presidenttial republic," while another leader, Mustafa Mashhur, reiterated in the 1980s that "our government will be a civic one based on the shari‘a."29 While the government rejected the Brotherhood’s request to form a party, it did allow the movement an established presence in the political arena through coalition with existing parties. Two examples are the 1984 elections when the movement formed an alliance with the New Wafd (see above), and in the 1987 elections, when the Triple Alliance was formed between the Brotherhood, the Labor Party, and the Liberals.30 From the government’s point of view, allowing the Brotherhood into the political arena was perceived as a way to closely monitor the movement’s activity. However, the political price for the government proved to be too high. The Brotherhood’s significant electoral achievement in 1987 turned it into the primary opposition force, winning 36 of the 60 seats attained by the Triple Alliance umbrella. The New Wafd, meanwhile, lost power in that election, winning only 36 seats despite the Islamic line that it stressed in its platform. The Brotherhood’s impressive achievemment stemmed largely from a well-oiled organizational machine and a populist campaign whose persuasive motto was "Islam is the solution." This illustrated the relative freedom in which the elections were condducted, as well as the importance of Islam as a political asset, as demoonstrated in every electoral campaign in which the Brotherhood took part. The conspicuous presence of the Brotherhood in parliament fortified the movement’s position to demand the implementation of the shari‘a, a

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principle which the government was committed to. Gaining a foothold in national politics while continuing to develop a communal network of educational and social services, was part of the movement’s long-range goal to deepen its presence in civil society.31 The arrival of the Brotherhhood on the political scene created rifts in the movement’s ideological unity,32 however, the public impact of the Brotherhood was now immeassurably greater than that of the secular opposition. The movement was able to project itself as a counterforce to the ruling elite. In his book, Mubarak’s Egypt (1990), Robert Springborg addressed Islamist commentary attributing the failure of the secular opposition to the fact that secularism was foreign to society and hence provided insufficient stimulus for political mobilization. This interpretation, in Springborg’s view, is not compatible with Egypt’s modern history, as shown by the Wafd Party, which led the nationalist movement during 1923-52, and the Nasserist experiment (1952-1970), which swept the masses in its wake.33 Springborg, however, overlooks an important point. While the Wafd Party and Nasser undeniably sought to turn Egypt into a modern national entity based on secular premises, their policy (often with the support of al-Azhar) conformed with Islamic teaching. Signnificantly, the Wafd displayed caution and reluctance in dealing with the modernization of Islamic laws and institutions. Nasser, for his part, legally recognized Islam as the state religion in the 1964 constitution, while consistently portraying "Arab socialism" as drawn on principles from Islam. This prudent approach acknowledged the central role of Islam in society and the need to mobilize it to legitimize government domestic and foreign policy. As Sami Zubaida observed, Islam always constituted an integral part of the political sphere. It was not cloistered in symbolic constitutional arrangements, but was overtly enlisted in political struggles.34 In a similar vein, Gregory Starrett pointed out that the "functionalization of religion" for the purpose of political usefulness was also evident in the school system, where the state reconstructed tradditional texts in a modernist fashion to counteract the public appeal of the Islamic opposition.35 Springborg posits an alternative explanation for the impotence of the secular opposition in contrast to the impressive public support for the religious opposition. He claims that the appeal of Islamic activism had not yet been discredited, since the state had precluded it from the legal political system. Thus Mubarak’s decision to permit the Muslim Brotheerhood access to the political stage in the 1987 elections, Springborg

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argued, was aimed at exposing the weakness of its ideological position regarding Egypt’s pressing problems, a tactic that had succeeded with the New Wafd in 1984.36 This explanation, however, is problematic for two reasons: 1. The primary role of the opposition is to attack government policy, not present a detailed alternative political program. From the point of view of the public, any attempt by Mubarak to brand the Brotherhhood as politically impotent would have failed to absolve his governmment of responsibility for Egypt’s social and economic distress. 2. The year 1987 was not a turning point but rather a continuum of the policy Mubarak adopted in 1984, when he first permitted the Brotherhood to join the political system. At that time, the Brotherhhood was represented in parliament as a junior, but active, partner of the New Wafd. Viewed retrospectively, and in light of its enhanced strength in the 1987 elections, the Brotherhood’s entry into national politics did not appear to have corrupted or dulled its commitment to promoting Egypt’s Islamic character. On the contrary, the New Wafd’s unwillingness to play an active role in efforts to apply the shari‘a prompted the Brotherhood to simply end its partnership with that party. Two main conclusions may be drawn from the discussion above. First, secularism as a formal ideology remained marginal in Egypt’s politiccal culture, especially under Mubarak’s tenure, when most parties used religion to gain public support.37 Second, withholding political access from the Brotherhood did not sufficiently explain the movement’s broad public appeal. Rather, its appeal stemmed first and foremost from the coherence and authenticity of the movement’s ideological message. This message offered a refuge from the distress of modern life, which fostered a climate of social disenfranchisement – a reality that also prevented the sweeping secularization of the political culture.38 Mubarak’s regime, like its predecessors, continued to steer Egypt, with its tangled problems in the modern era, along a course of unendiing contention regarding the role of Islam in the state. This struggle was as much ideological as political, exposing the clash between two world views: one metaphysical, existing largely in a setting of absolute truths and explicit commands; and the other rationalistic, tending to translate religion into an ethical code to advance concrete achievable goals.

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The liberal discourse subscribed to the latter view. Functioning in a climate of disappointment with Western precepts, this discourse found itself facing an Islamic threat that sought to excise it from socieety by ostracization, boycott and even bloodshed. Several outstanding early liberal writers of the pre-revolutionary period, such as Tawfiq alHakim, Najib Mahfuz and Yusuf Idris, continued to participate in the public debate on the Islamic challenge during the 1970s and 1980s. Their response, however, was somewhat feeble, either because of ideollogical exhaustion or an absence of reinforcement from the government. The government, preferring to avoid confrontation, opted for dialogue with the Islamists.39 Several liberals with a more socialistic orientation set aside their antipathy for religion and delved into Muslim history in search of an authentic heritage. This was a by-product of the enervattion of socialist thought under the influence of the political changes in Eastern Europe in the latter 1980s, a development that served as a lever for the Islamists to promote their demand to implement the shari‘a in Egypt.40 The "new partisans of the heritage" (al-turathiyyun al-judad) included ‘Adil Husayn, editor of al-Sha‘b, the Labor Party organ; Tariq al-Bishri, a historian and jurist who had served as a minister in the Nasserist governmment and later occupied key positions in the legal system; Hasan Hanafi, a spokesman of the Islamic left; and the writer Khalid Muhammad Khallid. A careful review of their writings reveals that they did not abandon the positivist approach, but rather sought to legitimize it through the more efficacious channels offered by religion.41 ‘Adil Husayn, for exampple, claimed that the contemporary Islamic resurgence had become the single most vital catalyst for social and political transformation. Ignoring it would be tantamount to renouncing the people’s aspirations and denyiing their quest for cultural independence.42 An emphasis on the importtance of human reason, and on harmony between Islam and democracy and between Islam and socialism, were central themes in the work of these "new partisans of the heritage." The methodology they adopted was essentially socio-historic rather than theological, thereby aiming to present a dynamic Islam unshackled by preordained literal texts. The positivist orientation of this group of writers is best represented by Khalid Muhammad Khalid. In his book published in 1981, al-Dawla fi al-Islam ("The State in Islam"), Khalid affirmed his loyalty to the organic unity of Islam and the state, writing: "Islam is religion and state, truth and power, culture and civilization, ritual and politics."43 In this

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book, and later in a memoir (1993), he acknowledged the error of his appeal for the separation of religion and state in his first work, "From Here We Begin" (1950). That line of thinking, he explained, had been influenced by two factors. One was the shocking impact of the historical experience of the religious regimes in Europe of the Middle Ages, which had brought about so much torture and bloodshed. This led him to draw certain conclusions about Muslim history based on the cruelty of such figures as al-Hajjaj ibn Yusuf, the Umayyad governor of Iraq, Hijaz and Yemen in the early eighth century. The second factor was the menacing power of the Brotherhood from the 1930s onward, which had exceeded the realm of preaching and had established an underground apparatus. Both these factors led Khalid to conclude that the interests of Islam dictated a severing of all ties with politics to preserve itself as a source of light and guidance to the people. However, the admiration expressed by the West for his book "From Here We Begin" caused him to wonder if he had not furnished the enemies of Islam with ammunition. Accordiing to Khalid, a thorough reading of Muslim history illuminated the significant difference between a religious and an Islamic government: the former was exemplified by the unenlightened medieval authority of the church in Europe, and the latter by the virtuous rule of the Prophet and his successors, with a few exceptions of tyrannical deviation from the faith. Khalid’s rejection of the Western formula of separation of religion and state did not necessarily mean an embrace of the extremist version of the radicals (the hakimiyya), or even the Brotherhood’s moderate version (civil government based on the shari‘a). Islam, he held, does not foster governance that ostensibly draws its authority from divine sanction, or that positions itself above law and justice. Rather, democracy, as a politiccal system of government based on a social contract between ruler and subjects that upholds the principles of liberty and justice, is consistent with Islam and is completely compatible with the Islamic institution of consultation (shura). In fact, Khalid pointed out that only under democcratic rule can the shari‘a be applied, for its goal is not punishment for its own sake but the reinforcement of social morality. This requires minor adjustments in the existing manmade legislature, specifically in relation to the hudud or to certain civil and commercial matters.44 Khalid demonstrated intellectual consistency by retaining allegiance to liberal-socialist ideas. This raises the question of whether the shift in his approach to Islam was merely lip service in a climate of religious

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resurgence, aimed at providing religious sanction for Western democrracy. The answer appears to be affirmative. The breakdown of the liberal and socialist elements in political thought, which had failed to take root in the Egyptian context, together with the regeneration of religious fervvor, impelled Khalid (and others) to seek cultural inspiration in Islamic sources. This quest, however, was doomed a priori, for Khalid blended it (consciously or not) with the Western thought patterns that had nurttured him for years. It was only natural that his findings did not essenttially conflict with Western concepts, as exemplified by his identifying democracy with the shura, which he had discussed in his writing as early as the 1950s.45 His renewed loyalty to the idea of Islam and the state as one, therefore, stemmed less from an inner conviction than from the spirit of the time, which obliged him to adhere to a widely accepted perception. As Leonard Binder correctly observed, "liberalism can no longer be based on the argument of ‘Ali ‘Abd al-Raziq [regarding the apolitical nature of Islam] if it is to succeed."46 In a climate imbued with disillusionment with Western premises, this tactic constituted the least possible evil. Yet, it is doubtful that the methodology adopted by Khalid indeed succeeded in promoting rational and democrative values. Khalid’s published work following his "repentance" attracted wide attention because it signified the renunciation of ‘Abd al-Raziq’s percceived successor to demand the separation of religion and state. This cession, combined with the religious façade of Khalid’s writings, accentuaated the distinctiveness and superiority of Islam in the public mind and deepened support for its exponents. Significantly, Khalid, in his book, Difa‘ ‘an al-Dimuqratiyya ("In Defense of Democracy," 1985), wrote: "Islam preceded the whole world in giving birth to democracy, [includiing] the empires surrounding it: Rome, Persia and Ethiopia, which were all imperialistic, tyrannical and dictatorial. Islam appeared and granted liberty, justice and human rights."47 Ultimately, Khalid’s and his colleagues’ acknowledgment of the political nature of Islam played into the hands of the Islamists in their demand to establish an Islamic system of governance in Egypt. As the ideological discourse shifted toward sympathy for the Islamic trend, the campaign to implement the shari‘a was no longer a purely judicial issue but became politicized as a scheme for remaking society. In this environmment, liberal thought struggled for survival, after being stripped of most of its political and cultural assets during the 1952 revolution. Two of the most forceful advocates of Egyptian liberalism in the past – ‘Abd al-

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Raziq during the 1920s and Khalid in the 1950s – retreated, over time, from their denial of any political attribute in Islam. They unintentionaally contributed to the reformulation of the intellectual discourse so that appeals to separate religion from state, or opposition to the shari‘a, were shunted. The marginalization of these views underscored the continuiing ambivalence in Egyptian thought regarding the issue of tradition vs. change. At this low ebb of intellectual discourse, which was labeled by one Egyptian writer al-tafkir fi zaman al-takfir (thinking in the era of accusattions of apostasy),48 several writers stepped forward to bear the banner of Egyptian liberalism, enlisting in the defense of the civic regime. The most assertive of them was Faraj ‘Ali Fuda.

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Part II Religion and State in Faraj Fuda’s Thought

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Chapter 3 A Political-Intellectual Portrait

Faraj ‘Ali Fuda was born on August 20, 1945, to a middle class famiily in the village of al-Zarqa in the Damyat district, Egypt, along the Mediterranean. His grandfather, Faraj (d. 1965), was a merchant who owned a candy factory and a rice processing plant, as well as an importexport company which supplied equipment for the water purification plant at Damyat. His property was nationalized during the revolution. Fuda’s father, ‘Ali (1918-91) studied mechanical engineering at the Univversity of Alexandria and worked as maintenance manager of an iron and steel plant at Hilwan, south of Cairo. He was known as a devoted Muslim who studied the Qur’an regularly and followed a modest life style. Actively involved in the communal life in his village, a mosque and a street were named in his honor after his passing. Fuda’s mother came from the village of Sharbin in the Mansura district. Many members of her family were physicians and academics. Fuda, the eldest of five children, excelled in his studies at an early age, showing proficiency in literature and poetry. He had a flair for writiing speeches, which he delivered before friends at school or in the villlage. A Ministry of Education supervisor, hearing him speak, wrote him saying that he hoped that Fuda would become “one of the leaders of this nation” in the future. Fuda’s mother’s death when he was 14 left him lonely, later expressed in his writings. He also praised the warmth and affection of a Coptic neighbor, which gave him solace.1 He wrote in one of his poems: You, the dreamers and the rejoicers in love and children! My heart set out on its way, but without joy and without Provisions. And

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found the city here in your sad eyes, and Swore never again to migrate or wander in the land.2 Good neighborly relations with the Copts, along with an atmosphere of openness in his home, played an important role in molding Fuda’s toleraant attitude toward the religious minorities in Egypt. He applied to study mechanical engineering, as his father had done, but his grades were poor (they had declined sharply after his mother’s death). He was channeled by the Maktab al-Tansiq (a national body that assigned students to university faculties based on their aptitude and the needs of the state) to agricultural studies at ‘Ayn-Shams University. Pleased with this course of study, he often spoke about the importance of agriculture in the development of the national economy. Fuda soon became involved in a wide range of student activities at the university, serving as a member of the student council, organizing cultural events, including reading his own poetry at literary gatherings held by fellow student Muhammad Qabil. His poems clearly reflected his childhood memories, while also displaying a patriotic streak, exempplified in a poem praising the Aswan Dam, which Fuda depicted as “the true folk hero” of Egypt.3 His father was concerned lest his many activitties interfere with his studies, but Fuda graduated with honors, second in his class (June 1967). His academic record led to a position as a teachiing assistant in the agriculture faculty. Close university friends who went on to hold key posts in academic and public life were Hamdi Salim, Fahri Shusha and Muhammad Tawfiq ‘Awida.4 Like other young people at that time, Fuda was deeply affected by Egypt’s defeat in the June 1967 war. He wrote: Time stood still for me.... I felt worthless, foolish and helpless. A strong desire to die or to hide took hold of me. Everything before me became small and pitiful. It seemed to me that Egypt had died and was finished, and I saw no alternative but to bury myself in history books.5 The national sense of humiliation, and a concurrent prolonged econnomic recession, laid the groundwork for the student riots of February and November 1968, which involved bloody clashes with the police and led to the temporary closure of universities in Cairo, Alexandria and ‘Ayn-Shams. The students protested what they perceived as too light sent-

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A Political-Intellectual Portrait

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tences handed down to air force officers held responsible for the military defeat. The students also demanded political reforms, especially greater democracy and civil rights. The regime, internationally humiliated and suffering domestic serious economic and social problems, was aware of its rapidly deteriorating public image. Nasser was forced to acknowledge the political strength of the student movement and to make various conccessions to satisfy its demands. Fuda was active in the demonstrations and was arrested for two days. As a result, approval of his membership in the Arab Socialist Union (ASU) was withheld until Nasser’s death in 1970.6 Looking back, Fuda observed that the 1968 riots were spontaneous and not organized by any political element. In his view, “it was a prottest movement that embarrassed the regime” and reflected the students’ power to serve as the spokesmen of the nation at a time when other voices were weakened.7 While Fuda’s heightened political awareness and his democratic outlook impelled him to take part in the riots, two other motives – related to his family history – also influenced him: the conffiscation of his grandfather’s property, which had damaged the family’s economic and social status, and the death of his younger brother, Muhi al-Din, a graduate of Egypt’s military academy in the 1967 war. Fuda’s criticism of the centralized nature of the regime, and of its military defeat, did not lessen his deep admiration for Nasser, whom he viewed as a “salt of the earth" national leader devoted to Egypt without being shackled to rigid ideologies.8 Early in 1970, Fuda criticized the poor performance of lecturers who had trained in the Communist bloc and the preferential treatment awarded them by the academic establishment. A serious dispute with his dean ensued. The conflict, which ultimately resulted in Fuda leaving the university, reflected both his rebellious spirit and his refusal to accept social norms he regarded wrong, such as nepotism, discrimination and despotism. This attribute also explained his disdain for the notables of his home village (which he left in the late 1960s, moving to Cairo). These officials, appointed to their posts solely on the basis of family ties with the prime minister in the late 1940s (Ibrahim ‘Abd al-Hadi), blatantly neglected the welfare of the population. Fuda referred to them mockingly as “unemployed by virtue of inheritance.”9 In 1975, following a two-year stay in Iraq, where he taught in the agriculture faculty at Baghdad University, Fuda launched a career in business. At the same time, he completed his MA in agronomy at ‘Ayn-

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Shams University. He also married a former student of his, Siham Saqr and eventually had four children. Shortly before his marriage, his famiily left Damyat following a feud with Fuda’s father’s cousins who had adopted an orthodox religious life style and ostracized Fuda’s liberal views on religion.10 Fuda joined the Liberal Party in 1977, but left it four months later after a confrontation with the religious elements in the party, who equated secularism with heresy and apostasy. Shortly thereafter, he met Fu’ad Sarraj al-Din and joined in founding the New Wafd Party.11

The New Wafd Party Fu’ad Sarraj al-Din, former secretary of the old Wafd Party and a goveernment minister before the 1952 revolution, chose to announce the formation of the new party in an address before the Bar Association in Alexandria on 23 August 1977 at a ceremony marking the birthday of the founder of the Wafd Party, Sa‘d Zaghlul. The time and place were intentional, and meant to emphasize the historic affinity between the Wafd and the bar members as the bearers of democracy in Egypt. In his speech, Sarraj al-Din lauded the Wafd’s national achievements, especcially the 1919 revolution, which, he said, constituted a historic point of departure in the transformation of Egyptian society. In contrast, he attacked the 1952 revolution as destructive and injust.12 Although Sarraj al-Din praised the liberalizing steps taken by Nasser’s successor, Sadat, he stressed that the title “father of the Egyptian nation” which Sadat cultivated implied not only the right to lead the nation but also the obligation to treat it justly. The political vacuum in Egypt could only be filled by establishing an authentic opposition party with deep roots in society, Sarraj al-Din argued. In effect, he demanded that the Wafd lead Egypt once again. Following intensive efforts, including enlisting the support of 20 delegates in the People’s Assembly (as required by the Parties Law) and composing a platform – in which Fuda was involved – the New Wafd Party was formally established in mid-1977, and granted official recognnition in February 1978.13 The New Wafd was not very different from the old. It was a coalition of professionals and landowners, although the latter constituted a smaller proportion than in the past due to agriculttural modernization and economic reforms. Lawyers were particularly predominant. Many of them, born in the outlying provinces, had disp-

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played an impressive degree of adaptation to Egypt’s urban, Westernized milieus. The party leadership hailed from the pre-revolutionary generattion, namely, Sarraj al-Din, head of the party; his deputy, ‘Abd al-Fattah Hasan, a former Wafd minister and a parliamentary delegate as of 1976; and Ibrahim Faraj, director of the office of Prime Minister Mustafa alNahhas in the 1940s. The veteran generation controlled the party and hindered the advancement of the younger activists. Yet, Sarraj al-Din was anxious to gain broad support. He co-opted political figures who had held positions in the revolutionary regime yet had voiced opposittion to its policy, as well as Islamists and leftists who viewed the New Wafd as a viable political challenge to Sadat. With the exception of the highest level of leadership, most party members came from the upper middle class rather than from the landed elite. They represented variied professions, with only a third landowners. Ideologically, the New Wafd platform supported the existing constitution and political order but demanded the institution of representative government and a free economy, including both lower taxes and the annulment of price conttrol. On the issue of religion, the platform called for the modernization of religious law regarding personal status (marriage and divorce).14 This blend of political, economic and religious liberalism helped the New Wafd project an image of strength and authenticity vis-à-vis the regime, which was portrayed as authoritarian, rigid and ineffective. Growing support in the late 1970s for the New Wafd, which also sharply criticized the peace process with Israel and Egypt’s rift with the Arab world, contradicted Sadat’s assessment that the new party would remain insignificant due to the advanced age of its leaders. By May 1978, Sadat decided to eliminate the Wafdist challenge by imposing new restrictions on party activity, especially the prohibition forbidding anyone who had “corrupted” public life prior to the 1952 revolution to be involved in political activity. This impeded the functioning of the New Wafd, whose leaders, identified with the pre-revolutionary era, were branded as tainted. The party disbanded in June 1978.15 Sadat, justifying his move, charged that the New Wafd had overstepped the bounds of acceptable criticism and that it had exploited the misery of the masses for politiccal gain. Ultimately, the episode demonstrated the fragility of political pluralism during Sadat’s regime. With activity halted, the New Wafd Party slipped back into political marginality, although the bar associattion linked both organizationally and ideologically to the party, continuued to serve as a stronghold for the defense of constitutional rights.16

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Fuda, at work on his doctoral thesis in agronomy during this period (the time the New Wafd was disbanding), completed his dissertation in December 1981.17 He also published his first book, al-Wafd wa’l-Musttaqbal (“The Wafd and the Future”) the same year. Praising the old Wafd heritage, the book promoted human rights and the values of democracy, social justice, the separation of religion from politics, and a firm belief in national unity between Muslims and Copts. Fuda described the return of the Wafd to the political arena as a “historical necessity... and even more so a cultural necessity.” He believed that the party’s rootedness in society, along with its organizational ability, positioned it to spearhead the campaign against the Islamic challenge. The outcome of this strugggle, Fuda predicted, would determine whether Egypt would turn “to the future or to the past, to democracy or to terror.”18 Nevertheless, he expressed his disappointment with the New Wafd for not presenting any visible action for the present nor any plan for the future. Fuda attributed this failure to the physical and ideological exhaustion of the veteran leadership and their stubborn preoccupation with the past. The 1952 revolution, he pointed out, was only one chaptter in a long history which neither began nor ended with that episode. Delegitimizing the Revolution and slandering Nasser, he argued, were invalid for two reasons. First, the New Wafd had no right to judge histtory. The negative attributes of Nasserism, such as its repressive policcies, he stated, do not obliterate the positive aspects: the separation of religion from politics and the promotion of social justice, albeit by extreme means. The second reason for avoiding recrimination was the need for dialogue with the young generation, educated in the spirit of the revolutionary principles. The young generation constituted not only “the sole guarantee of success or failure of any party” but also the future leadership of Egypt.19 Fuda also insinuated criticism of the exclusion of younger members of the Wafd Party (including himself ) in shaping its ideological and political direction. In this context he wrote in the introduction to “The Wafd and the Future”: “This is the testimony of a member of a generation that has not yet had a say, and whose only request is to take part in building the future of his homeland.” Although Fuda emphasized in the introduction that what he had written reflected his own views only,20 he clearly hoped to see these ideas incorporated in the platform of the New Wafd, which resumed its activity in the summer of 1983 after a five year hiatus.

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Party leader Sarraj al-Din announced the New Wafd’s return to the political arena at a public conference in Cairo honoring the achievemments of Sa‘d Zaghlul and Mustafa al-Nahhas. The reappearance of the New Wafd was described by Muhammad Balal, secretary of the party’s preparatory committee, as vital to the completion of the democratic proccess and to restore hope to the Egyptian people for a better future.21 President Mubarak was uneasy about the extent of the threat posed by the New Wafd, as was his predecessor, and he too placed obstacles in the party’s path. In September 1983 the parliamentary Parties Committee ruled that the disbanding of the New Wafd in 1978 disqualified it from conducting any political activity unless it submitted a request for a new permit. The underlying intent was to impede the party’s preparations for the general elections scheduled for May 1984. New Wafd spokesmen responded that their party had not disbanded but had merely frozen its political activity as a result of pressure exerted by the regime. A judicial ruling handed down in October 1983, and upheld on appeal in Januaary 1984, accepted the New Wafd’s argument and ruled that there was no impediment to its participation in the elections. Shortly thereafter, another judicial decision annulled the prohibition against the party leadeers from engaging in political activity. Armed with these two legal gains, the New Wafd was able to rehabilitate its public image. It promptly expanded its membership and launched a weekly paper that enjoyed large circulation.22 The renewed popularity of the New Wafd evoked a campaign of defammation among political circles identified with the government. One partticularly prominent writer active in this campaign, ‘Ali al-Dali, asserted in Mayu (the organ of the National Democratic Party) in September 1983 that the New Wafd had no political or moral justification for its renewal because of its past link with King Faruq, who had corrupted party politics in Egypt.23 Fuda, responding in an article in al-Ahrar the following month, rejected the accusations against his party, arguing that it had always supported independence, national unity and social justice. “Why,” Fuda asked, “do we not take part together in building Egypt’s future through fair-minded dialogue and constructive criticism, and leave the final verdict to the people, to history and to the future?”24 Fuda was even more critical of the official opposition, especially the Nasserists, who remained hostile toward the Wafd and all it represented. Before attacking others, he argued, the Nasserists would do well to work toward binding the rifts in their own ranks and to consolidate their ideol-

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logical position. Their unwillingness to acknowledge the existing pluraliistic reality and operate within it eliminates the basis for their pretension to serve as representatives of the majority in the Egyptian street.25 However, Fuda’s defense of his party soon shifted to sharp criticism. He accused the party leaders of undisguised manipulation of the list of parliament candidates and of negotiating an alliance with the Brotherhhood. Fuda rejected these moves for two reasons: the first was personal, namely, several candidates, including himself, were relegated to unrealiistic places on the list; and the second reason was political, namely, he opposed providing the Brotherhood with a platform for advancing their demand to establish a religious regime in Egypt.26 With the approach of the 1984 elections, the New Wafd advocated a cautious policy aimed at avoiding confrontation with the government, while at the same time fostering its base. The party supported the basic principles of the 1952 revolution, yet denounced Nasser as a dictator. It praised the economic openness introduced by Sadat and Mubarak, and concurred with their social legislation, but demanded implementation at a reasonable pace. It supported Mubarak’s foreign policy, but criticized Israel and the United States scathingly. This approach did not substanttially differ from the New Wafd’s platform of November 1977, when the party was founded. However, their stand regarding the status of Islam in the state, which appeared in the party’s formal election platform issued in April 1984, was innovative. The platform supported Article 2 of the constitution, which recognized the principles of the shari‘a as the primmary source of legislation, as well as the need to disseminate the Islamic heritage in the school system and the media. Simultaneously, the New Wafd leadership distanced itself from Fuda’s book, “The Wafd and the Future,” which called for the separation of religion from politics and for a united struggle against the Islamists. Sarraj al-Din pointedly announced that “the book expresses the opinions of its author and not the position of the Wafd,” which, he stressed, had never waged a war against Islam or against the Brotherhood in particullar.27 This stand was supported by Shaykh Salah Abu Isma‘il, a delegate to parliament and a member of the Supreme Council of the New Wafd with close ties to the Brotherhood. Abu Isma‘il emphasized that the New Wafd was publicly committed to the implementation of the shari‘a. Only its Supreme Council or its parliamentary delegates had the authority to speak in its name, and Fuda was neither. In his view, the secularism that Fuda advocated meant draining religion of all its content and nullifying

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the holy text. Going beyond vociferous criticism of Fuda, Abu Isma‘il demanded Fuda’s expulsion from the party as a condition for his own continued membership.28 Fuda, in response, argued that secularism, in the narrow sense disccussed in his book, does not deny religion but disqualifies the involvemment of its spokesmen in governmental policy making. Secularism, in this sense, served as a central axis in the political thought of the old Wafd and preserved national unity. This is the correct interpretation of the motto coined by Zaghlul: “Religion for Allah and Homeland for all,” and for Nahhas’s opposition to the coronation of King Faruq in the alAzhar mosque.29 Fuda was deeply disappointed by the lack of party support in his bittter conflict with Abu Isma‘il. The New Wafd, emphasizing that Fuda’s views imposed no obligation on the party, blocked every possibility for him to raise the issue within the party, thus favoring electoral over moral considerations.30 Fuda resigned from the New Wafd in January 1984, explaining that he sought greater freedom to pursue the ideological and political struggle against the Islamic trend, a struggle for the sake of the entire Egyptian motherland.31 He stressed that he had no intention of generaating publicity for himself or of serving as a tool for political rivals of his former party. He claimed that the New Wafd sought to enter the annals of history through the gate of “light-mindedness” (khiffat al-ra’y), and in anticipation of the elections it “planted” members identified with another political body (the Brotherhood) in its midst. Still, Fuda argued, there is no doubt that the New Wafd represents an “entrenched popular trend” whose presence is vital to the existence of a strong opposition and a stable democracy in Egypt. “I resigned from the Wafd,” he stated, “but not from its principles,” which must be well guarded by forming a new party that will function on the basis of ideology rather than electoral considerations.32 He attributed the fact that in his brief political career he had managed to resign from two parties – the Liberals and the New Wafd – to his being part of a generation that had not yet found its place because of a corrupt political climate that pays lip service to values and misleads young people who see themselves as Egypt’s leaders of tomorrrow.33 Fuda’s public dispute with Abu Isma‘il continued after he left the New Wafd. Abu Isma‘il portrayed Fuda as a victim of the alliance between the Wafd and the Brotherhood, but Fuda pointed out that the

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true victim was the Wafd’s principles, and that the reason for his resignnation was solely that Abu Isma‘il “hurt what is dearest to me, Egypt, the great motherland, without which my existence has no significance.” In his view, emulating Abu Isma‘il and those like him meant emptying Egyptian nationalism of its content, turning its past and present spokesmmen into heretics, and presenting Egypt with two alternatives, one worse than the other: the Iranian or the Lebanese. This danger, he wrote, will remain so long as the intellectuals retain their silence and the political parties, whose only interest is to enhance their status, remain indiffereent.34 The regime ultimately benefited from the dispute, conducted in the press, between Fuda and Abu Isma‘il. It depicted the alliance between the New Wafd and the Brotherhood as “an unnatural marriage” and as the epitome of opportunism.35 The New Wafd, rebutting the attempt to portray the party as selfserving, claimed that the party platform had always rejected separation of religion and state as instituted in France in 1905 or in Turkey in 1924, while opposing a religious regime of the medieval European type or the Khomeini type in Iran. Moreover, the amending of Article 2 of the consstitution, which recognizes the shari‘a as the main source of legislation, does not signify total annulment of the existing laws without careful examination, or at the expense of the welfare of the public and national unity. Opening the party to the Brotherhood, the New Wafd explained, was mandated by the principle of ideological pluralism, which the Wafd had always lauded. This served the national interest both by bringing Muslims and Copts together under one roof, and by channeling Brotheerhood activity into a legal framework.36 Simultaneously, the New Wafd minimized the importance of the internal debate over the alliance with the Brotherhood. Sarraj al-Din pointed out that there was nothing wrong with integrating new elements into the party. This was natural, and accepted policy everywhere in the world, its goal being to prevent stagnation in party ranks. New members were required to have a clean record and show goodwill – criteria met by the Brotherhood. He had been surprised by Fuda’s withdrawal from the party, he said, for the conflict with Abu Isma‘il was over his opinions alone, not the party’s. Sarraj al-Din noted that he had hoped to resolve the difficulties between the two, but that Fuda thwarted this prospect by announcing his withdrawal from the party.37 In the end, in a last-minute alliance with the Brotherhood, the New Wafd emerged as the main opposition party in the 1984 elect-

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tions despite the short campaign (three months) and the 8% threshold required by the new election law. The party’s impressive electoral results evoked renewed interest in the multi-party system and high hopes in the intellectual circles affiliated with the party for greater democratization. In a typical article, novelist Najib Mahfuz praised the return of the Wafd to the national arena, viewing it as indicative of a positive change in the dynamic of Egypt’s political life.38 A careful study of the New Wafd’s platform in April 1984, in light of the party’s break with the Brotherhood in the spring of 1985, reveals that the New Wafd did not veer from its basic principles. The party simply sought to promote these principles by manipulating the Islamic card, which was and remains the most promising channel in Egypt’s political climate. Fuda understood this, but as an intellectual for whom politics was essentially a means to advocate his liberal views, he had an aversion to electoral maneuvers that fractured society. He labeled the alliance between the Wafd and the Brotherhood a short-term marriage of convenience (mut‘a). More broadly, he was disappointed with all the opposition parties, which failed to garner public support for three reassons, in his view: they preached democracy but conducted their internal affairs dictatorially; they focused on secondary populist issues such as the role of religion in the state instead of such basic issues as public welfare; and several of them endorsed a vague platform, for example a moderate course between secularism and theocracy, while articulating strong opposition to the regime. Ideological fuzziness combined with a frontal attack against the government confused the Egyptian public, Fuda observed. It was necessary to focus on the issues of the hour in the economic and social realms, and accept that opposition parties constittute a legitimate part of the political system and as such must behave responsibly.39 Despite his aversion to the way the opposition parties functioned, Fuda asserted that a multi-party system, however poor its performance, was preferable to single-party rule. He demanded that Mubarak institute an honest democratic political system that would make room for new parties. Such parties would be required to open their conventions to the public and choose their leaders in direct elections, thereby contributing to “the reinforcement of democracy and the drafting of public support for political action.”40

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The Mustaqbal Party: A New Political Vision Compelled by the Islamic challenge and by his disappointment with the weak party system, Fuda devoted himself to establishing a new party, al-Mustaqbal (The Future). Its founders, besides Fuda, included young politicians, academics and journalists. Prominent figures were Ahmad Mahmud Tal‘at, a noted member of the Liberal Party, who headed the list, and Wajih Khayr Shukri, Mu’ab Tawhid al-Muwaylihi, Wasim alSisi, Ahmad Subhi Mansur, Wahid Ra’fat and Kamal Bulis Basili.41 Fuda was in charge of formulating the party’s platform (see Appendix). He defined the identity of the party as representing a generation not yet experienced in political life. Unlike other parties, the new party follows a "guiding idea, rather than a leader who thinks for others." In this spirit, a series of internal rules were established to guarantee democratic functtioning, such as restricting the party leader’s term of office to two years, after which the post would be contested anew; and providing for the dismissal of the leader, if needed, by a two-thirds majority of the political committee or a third of the party’s general assembly.42 Ideologically, the Mustaqbal Party defined itself as "Pharaonic, Copttic, Muslim and Mediterranean."43 Its motto, echoing the old Wafd slogan, "Religion for Allah and Homeland for all," meant separation of religion and politics and support of a civil government. Such a goveernment would be based on six fundamental principles: (1) The right of citizenship as the primary basis for national affiliation, regardless of religion, race or gender; (2) The constitution and the law as sole determminants of social order, subject to amendment by the majority; (3) Freeddom of thought, speech and political association; (4) Social justice with the aim of raising the standard of living of the citizens and providing for them during illness, unemployment and old age; (5) Special care devoted to the young, who are the responsibility of the state no less than of the family; and (6) The unification of the Nile Valley linking Egypt and Sudan, and inter-Arab cooperation based on solidarity and shared interests between sovereign democratic states.44 In the economic realm, the party platform held that the correct way to resolve economic distress should not involve a sweeping approach, whether liberal or socialist, but rather a relative approach that will formmulate solutions for specific problems. In the case of housing, for exampple, the solution must be socialist, i.e., requiring industrial companies to build housing for their workers; imposing a progressive tax on luxury

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districts in the cities; and expropriating land outside the cities and grantiing extended credit and loans to residents who purchase housing there. As for education, in the case of school dropouts, the solution must be liberal, namely the state is not obliged to bear the costs of their return to school. Moreover, promoting social justice should not come at the expense of the individual’s economic independence, namely, freedom of employment, the ownership of property, and preventing monopolies over the means of production or over products. Indeed, the party viewed the private sector as the "cornerstone of the Egyptian economy" and demanded the removal of the restrictions on its activity.45 Although the founding convention of the Mustaqbal Party was scheduled for September 1984, Fuda was unable to obtain a permit from the Parties Committee. The committee was in no hurry to approve the new party and placed procedural obstacles in its way. Unsuccessful in obtaining a license for the party, Fuda decided to run as an independent candidate in the 1987 elections for parliament, representing the Northeern Cairo district.46 He campaigned under a logo displaying a crescent and a cross and the motto “Religion for Allah and Homeland for All,” stressing that a strong electoral showing at the polls represented the road to change, and that support for him meant support for national unity and human dignity. At the same time, he sharply attacked the Triple Alliance (the political coalition of the Labor Party, the Brotherhood and the Liberals), claiming that its platform lacked any connection to Islam (beyond its perfunctory call to implement the shari‘a). The soluttion to social problems on the threshold of the twenty-first century, he argued, was not to be found in verses of the Qur’an or the hadith, but in open-minded thought (ijtihad).47 In particular, Fuda asserted that any hope of realizing democracy through the Brotherhood, whose history was stained with blood, was in vain. "The voters have the right to cast their vote for whomever they please on election day," he said, "but it is my duty to warn you that one of those options constitutes the Beretta gun."48 Fuda failed in the elections, securing, by his own account, only some 3,000 votes. He viewed this as a considerable achievement, considering that as an independent he lacked the resources and the media coverage available to the candidates of the established parties. Furthermore, he took comfort in the fact that the New Wafd had included more Copts, young people and women in its list of candidates, while the leftist National Progressive Unionist Grouping (NPUG) had advocated a platf-

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form free of any religious slogans. Yet, despite the encouraging aspects he identified in the political arena, he considered the final results of the 1987 elections grave because of the increased power of the Brotherhhood.49

Civic Activity In addition to his political activity, Fuda was also involved in establishing various forums devoted to promoting openness and tolerance in society, the most prominent of which was the Egyptian Enlightenment Society (al-Jam‘iyya al-Misriyya li’l-Tanwir). Founded in 1987, the society spent two years, which involved an appeal to the courts, to obtain official recoognition by the Ministry of Social Affairs. The society, based in Fuda’s office in Cairo, aimed at altering a cultural climate that fostered religious fanaticism, by publishing translated works on Western thought and dissseminating the writings of the pioneers of Egyptian liberalism. Efforts to publish a weekly, al-Hurriyya ("Freedom"), were blocked by the state, which feared to appear anti-Islamic. Two other bodies that Fuda helped found were the Egyptian Society for Human Rights and the Egyptian Committee for the Protection of National Unity. The latter propounded that the Egyptian motherland belonged to all its citizens regardless of creed or ethnicity.50 The difficulties presented these associations by the Ministry of Social Affairs in everything related to legal registration and material support angered Fuda. He claimed that the negative attitude of the ministry officcials relayed the message that these bodies were subversive, while the truth was precisely the opposite. The aim of these organizations, whose membership included prominent public figures, was to promote commmunal activity and replace public apathy with positive involvement. Fuda argued that official non-support of this effort detracted from the struggle against the radical elements.51 Goaded by the restrictions imposed on the civic forums he helped found, Fuda decided to run again as an independent candidate in the elections to parliament held in 1990. He immediately discontinued writing his regular column for the government party-sponsored newspapper, Mayu, explaining that using this platform to promote his candidacy against the regime’s candidate would be unethical. He emphasized in his electoral campaign that the civil state is not a community without religion but rather a community that does not take Allah’s name in vain.

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Nevertheless, he again failed to be elected, although, as in the past, he refused to consider this a defeat of his world view. Fuda recalled that Ahmad Lutfi al-Sayyid’s democratic views became popular despite his defeat in the 1927 elections.52 Meanwhile, Fuda’s repeated requests to obtain a license for the Musttaqbal Party continued to be denied or deferred by the Parties Committtee on various grounds. Some of the reasons cited were related to the list of founders, which, the committee claimed, listed too many Copts. Others related to the party’s adoption of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights issued by the UN (1948), ostensibly because some of its articles contradicted the Egyptian constitution.53 Fuda, commenting on the Committee’s intentional foot-dragging, remarked cynically: “There is only one thing left that has not requested and we have not submitted – bird’s milk.” Not despairing, he predicted that the public would eventtually be persuaded that Egypt needed bold secular thought to combat fanaticism, and that this threat cannot be dealt solely with security meassures.54 Along with his public activity, Fuda devoted considerable energy to writing, focusing on an attack against religious zealotry as threatening national unity, which, he emphasized, depends on the delicate coexisttence between Muslims and Copts. Both in his written work and in his personal confrontations with Islamists he sharply criticized the sloggan they endlessly repeated: society’s ills will be resolved with immediate enforcement of the shari‘a. He used rational arguments and in-depth research of Muslim history to highlight the hollowness of this slogan, which distorts the essence of Islam as a religion that does not sanction any political system. Fuda argued that in a dynamic reality, separation and not integration of religion and politics best serves the priorities of government and best preserves Islam as the moral foundation of society, and thus as an integral component in Egypt’s secular identity. Fuda was aware of the vehemence of his argumentation, which markeedly contrasted his calm and peaceful demeanor. He emphasized that his fervor was imperative in light of the palpable threat to the Egyptian motherland. In his mind, the Egyptian intellectual had two choices: to go along with the views popular in society, or, as he advocated, to rattle the public’s peace of mind by illuminating the truth as he saw it. The first option is easy and convenient, he acknowledged, while the second option requires a serious effort by writer and reader alike. However, in a climate dominated by accusations of heresy, the writer who sounds

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the alarm and exposes the truth is perceived as a saboteur and a traitor deserving of death. His work, therefore, is destined for future generattions and not for his own generation, and the terror aimed at the current ideological struggle is the price he must pay for a more liberal milieu in the future.55 Fuda’s stance thrust him into public spotlight and angered the religgious community in Egypt, which branded him an ignoramus and an atheist who brandished the slogan of the separation of religion and polittics for political gains with the Copts. In their view, he was no different from a fifth columnist who infiltrates behind enemy lines, blends into the nation, and destroys its morale by spreading rumors and instigating strife.56 His personality was also discredited. He was depicted as unstable, avaricious, an advocate of normalization with Israel, and as exploiting his close relationship with government circles to incite them against the Islamic trend. Shaykh Salah Abu Isma‘il, who supported the Brotherhhood, was a particularly aggressive adversary, accusing Fuda both of misguiding the people to adopt the Pharaonic heritage, imbued with tyranny and destruction; and of authorizing licentiousness by opposiing the shari‘a punishment for adultery (stoning). This opposition, Abu Isma‘il charged, could only mean that Fuda was not a true believer.57 In response, Fuda depicted Abu Isma‘il as an opportunist from the onset of his political career, starting with his abandonment of the Brotherhood, through his support of the revolutionary regime, and culminating in his zigzag record of affiliation with a series of parties during the 1970s and 1980s.58 Fuda did not ignore the charge that he supported normalization with Israel, an accusation critics frequently reiterated. He denied that he had any business or other contact with representatives of Israel, other than granting interviews to the Israeli press. Fuda stressed, however, that peace is the language of the strong and war the language of the weak. Unlike those who espouse a rigid ideology and harbor false illusions, he explained, his position regarding peace with Israel derived from two premises: a sober realization that “the element of time did not work for the benefit of the Arabs,” and the right of Egyptians to devote their full energies to the development of their country. He also cited the death of his brother in the war of 1967, which eliminated any basis for discreditiing his patriotic loyalty to Egypt.59 Fuda’s aggressive writing, which sometimes engendered judicial procceedings,60 derived from his approach to his written work. He viewed

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it as part of a historical and political discourse subject to logic, and not as a discourse about issues of faith outside the realm of criticism. In his words, “it is a discourse about Muslims and not about Islam.” Moreover, he held, with the death of the Prophet, no mortal has immunity.61 In this context Fuda justified his blunt attack on Shaykh al-Azhar Jadd alHaqq, who, in an open letter to Islamic commentator Fahmi Huwaydi (published in al-Ahram, 16 February 1988), denounced secular writeers for besmirching Islam and aiding its enemies.62 Responding in an article published in March 1988, Fuda noted that Jadd al-Haqq should thank Allah that the shari‘a had not yet been implemented in Egypt, for he would have been subjected to a flogging for blasphemy. The denuncciation of a portion of the Muslim population as heretics and foreign agents is a crime by any definition in Islam, Fuda wrote. Furthermore, he charged, the power held by the shaykh al-Azhar, and his opulent life style, are alien to the spirit of Islam and to the path of the legal sages of the distant past, who lived modestly and defended the right of ijtihhad. Moreover, all this is dwarfed by the shaykh al-Azhar’s arrogance in spreading fear and in aiming accusations of heresy at anyone he pleases, under the pretense that he alone holds the keys to religion.63 Addressing the shaykh al-Azhar, Fuda wrote: You may not assume for one moment that you alone defend the faith and the truths of Islam, for we are all Muslims and we all defend the faith. The refutation of your accusations is part of this defense, for we understand Islam as a religion of the intellect and not as a religion of atrophy and blind imitation of tradition; a religion of mercy and not a religion of extremism.... Islam, shaykh al-Azhar, is in good condition so long as its defender does so for the sake of his faith and not for his salary; for Allah and not for power, money or status.64 Fuda’s article evoked a public storm, followed by his vilification by the religious community, who viewed him as a perpetuator of the Crussader/Jewish attack on Islam and its greatest leaders.65 Undaunted, Fuda included the article in his book, Nakun aw la Nakun (“To Be or Not to Be,” 1990), which promptly elicited a complaint by al-Azhar to the proseecutor general for state security. Al-Azhar demanded the confiscation of the book on the grounds of defamation of the Qur’an and the Prophet’s companions (the sahaba) and offending the shaykh al-Azhar. Fuda was

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questioned for two days and released. Shortly thereafter, an order against distributing the book was also removed.66 Fuda, rejecting the charges brought against him, stressed that what was at issue was plainly ijtihad, with no relation to heresy. As for the Prophet’s companions, they are not immune from criticism, as was historically exemplified by Mu‘awiya’s denunciation of Caliph ‘Ali. Regarding his ostensible defamation of the shaykh al-Azhar, Fuda noted that he did not use the title “Honorable Supreme Imam” in the article, in as much as Muslims are not adhereents of formalism, as can be learned from Abu Bakr’s speeches in which Muhammad’s name is mentioned without any title. The shaykh al-Azhar has the right to criticize his views, Fuda wrote, but portraying him as a heretic is invalid and demands a suitable response.67

Fuda’s Murder and its Repercussions The dispute over Fuda’s written work, and the accusation that he denied the holy principles of Islam, had the effect of licensing a bloody campaign, exposing him and his family to dire threats.68 Fuda shrugged off the enmity aimed at him, but he was concerned about his family. One Islamist publicly proposed a marriage of convenience (mut‘a) of a month’s duration to Fuda’s daughter, which Fuda understood as a solicitation for prostitution. His young son’s friends declined to attend his birthday party. Fuda, expressing his sense of insult in the introduction to "To Be or Not to Be," wrote: "When they grow up, they will understand that I was defending them and their future."69 Throughout this period, Fuda remained true to his ideals. He wrote: "Whoever swims in water where there are sharks must bear the conseqquences. I bear the consequences of my political activity, for life is short and a person should not betray his honor and pride."70 Judging from the past, he declared, ostracization have proven ineffective in the struggle against freedom of thought and scientific inquiry, as demonstrated by mankind’s welcoming of an era of human rights and advanced technnology. He saw himself as one of the pioneers of Egyptian liberalism, such as Sa‘d Zaghlul, Taha Husayn and ‘Ali ‘Abd al-Raziq. These great thinkers all functioned in difficult circumstances, yet their written work was preserved, while the controversy around them died down and was forgotten. Had these great persons succumbed to the prevailing view of the truth, their influence would have been restricted to their formal professions only – Zaghlul, teacher of civil law; Taha Husayn, lecturer

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in Arabic literature; and ‘Abd al-Raziq, researcher of the memoirs of the qadis in the religious courts. However, they were aware of their destiny – to play a role dictated by extant circumstances and the demands of the future, and with determination and courage, made their message meaniingful.71 Fuda summarized his attitude toward the threats to his own life in particular, and toward ideological terror applied by Islamic groups generally, in the introduction to his book, al-Irhab ("Terror," 1988): What kind of period do we live in? What sort of dialogue is it when one party addresses the other in words, and the other replies by gunshot.... If the goal is that we relinquish our intellect, then they are asking the impossible. And if the intention is to frighten us, they are mistaken.... We are not talking about courage here but about logic, for death is preferable by far to life in the shadow of their faulty perception, arrogant judgment and foolish menttality. Losing a life in defense of the motherland would be more honorable than living in a fractured motherland. Sacrificing the remaining years of one’s life would be more honorable than spendiing them under the rule of those who prefer riding on a camel to riding in a car.... Opposing them in a jihad until Allah reveals his will is the true and correct choice.72 On 8 June 1992, two young men on a motor scooter shot Fuda at the entrance to his office in Cairo. He died on the operating table several hours later. His son Ahmad, age 15, and his colleague in the Mustaqbal Party, Wahid Ra’fat, both with him at the time of the assault, suffered minor injuries. Just before his murder, he had published a compelling article accusing militant Islamists of fostering sexual deviation by repressiing the sexual instincts of young people. He had also urged President Mubarak, at a public meeting with intellectuals which he had organized, to legislate an anti-terror law.73 The murder resonated loudly in Egypt and abroad. Several public figuures attended the funeral, including Zakariyya ‘Azmi, head of the presiddent’s office; Foreign Minister Amru Mussa; the Mufti of Egypt Shaykh Muhammad Sayyid Tantawi; and ambassadors of Arab and other counttries.74 The interrogation of one of the suspected assassins apprehended shortly after the incident, ‘Abd al-Shafi Ramadan, revealed that he was a member of the al-Jama‘a al-Islamiyya, whose leader was Shaykh ‘Umar ‘Abd al-Rahman. The shaykh had issued a religious fatwa (legal opini-

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ion) against Fuda from his residence in the United States.75 The persson who ordered the execution was Safwat ‘Abd al-Ghani, imprisoned for the murder of Speaker of the Parliament Rif‘at al-Mahjub in 1990. A search of Ramadan’s home revealed lists of future targets for assasssination, including government figures, intellectuals, artists and even ‘ulama’.76 Al-Jama‘a al-Islamiyya declared in a public manifesto that the assassination was the result of Fuda’s enmity toward Islam, and that the act reflected not the repression of free thought but rather a curb on the freedom of heresy.77 Fuda’s killing triggered a bitter public debate about religious zealootry. Liberal circles, who found themselves struggling for survival, vigoroously denounced the murder as a warning sign to all advocates of human rights and freedom of speech. In their words, the loathsome crime that targeted a thinker portended the flight of dialogue from the realm of words to that of bullets and was antithetical to Islam. Actions such as these represent a deviation from the spirit of Islam, which fosters toleraance and a willingness to hear differing opinions, even when articulated bluntly. The liberals called on state authorities to show greater determinnation in the struggle against terror, while preserving the fundamental freedoms of the individual and the process of democratization.78 Islamic circles also denounced the murder, but in subdued tones, attributing the blame to Fuda and to the authorities who provided him a public platform to freely disseminate his deviant views. Prominent ‘ulama’ criticized the depiction of Fuda as a martyr (shahid), since he had sullied the holiness of Islam. They also protested the decision of the authorities, following his death, to reprint his books, which they regarded as a scheme to entrench secular thought in society.79 This line of thinking was outlined by the Forum of the ‘Ulama’ (Nadwat al-‘Ulama’), established in March 1992 with the goal of both restoring young peopple’s faith in the religious establishment, and halting the secular attack on Islam. The forum leader, ‘Abd al-Ghafar ‘Aziz argued that freedom of thought is necessary but must be qualified to prevent distorted interppretations of Islamic teaching as well as anarchy. Fuda, he said, went to extremes in applying his right to freedom of thought and deviated from the parameters of ijtihad allowed by Islam.80 ‘Aziz wrote: If we are allowed to label religious young people as extremists, then Faraj Fuda is to be considered the most arrogant of the extremists in proclaiming his absolute refusal to implement the shari‘a immed-

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diately or gradually; in openly preaching constricting the phenomeenon of the return to religion in state institutions; and in using his pen to corrupt the principles of Islam. It is no secret that extremiism in the yearning for religion is preferable to the extremism that opposes religion…. Undoubtedly, Fuda deviated from the bounds of moderation and violated the law that defines Egypt’s Islamic identity and the duty to protect values and morality.81 ‘Aziz also questioned Fuda’s religious faith in light of his advocacy of mixed-gender socializing (including consensual sex), which is prohibited according to Islam, and his opposition to the establishment of military schools, a requirement of jihad. ‘Aziz asserted that Fuda had gone to extremes to protect the Copts from the implementation of the shari‘a, and his demand to integrate them in government institutions, the army and the judiciary was also excessive. Strangely, ‘Aziz noted, the Copts themselves did not oppose implementation of the shari‘a, which is the right of the Muslim majority, but only requested that they be exempted. In defending the Copts, Fuda had lead the instigators of sectarian warffare in Egypt and deserved to be punished as a heretic (i.e., by death).82 Yet, ‘Aziz claimed that Fuda’s murder could have been prevented. The newspaper editors should have recognized his opponents’ right to respond to his arguments in the press. Denying them this right convinced young people that the allegedly deviant opinions expressed by Fuda reflected the official view of the state, thus intensifying their violent protest. Such protest, in turn, served the state as justification for escalating its struggle against the Islamic cause and tarnishing its image in the public eye.83 This argument was put forward by the Brotherhood, which denied any involvement in the murder or any organizational affinity with the radical groups. In the words of Brotherhood spokesman Ma’mun al-Hudaybi, "We are preachers, not judges. We did not issue a death sentence against the man, even if we attacked his views vehemently." With this, the Brotheerhood warned against the destructive repercussions of the Anti-Terror Law (issued in July 1992, a month after the murder) for civil rights and for the freedom of oppositionist political activity. The law imposed a life sentence for aiding terrorists, and granted the police authority to arrest and hold a suspect for three days without notifying the prosecutor general. Was it not ironic, commented the Brotherhood, that the state proclaims the necessity to uphold democracy, yet in practice restricts

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the right to establish political parties and imprisons hundreds of young people in degrading conditions.84 The tenuous condemnation of Fuda’s murder by the ‘ulama’ and the Brotherhood reflected a pragmatic wish to placate the radicals, who were highly critical of al-Azhar and the Brotherhood. There was also an ideollogical affinity for the radicals’ cause. Significantly, certain statements made by ‘ulama’ before and after the murder were used by the radicals to justify the act. One example was a manifesto published by the Forum of the ‘Ulama’ (five days before the murder), which labeled Fuda "a secularist to the core" whose national loyalty was doubtful. It defined the Mustaqbal Party as "a danger of the highest degree to the security of the state" because of the membership of radical Copts, and because the party called for breaking free of religion. Al-Jama‘a al-Islamiyya referred to this manifesto in an announcement it published after the murder.85 Another example was the testimony of the noted Islamist writer Shaykh Muhammad al-Ghazali on behalf of the defense in the trial of the accused murderers (June 1993). Al-Ghazali declared that anyone who openly expresses opposition to the implementation of the shari‘a and calls for replacing it with manmade law excludes himself from the community of believers. Such a person’s espousal of the shahada (the declaration of faith) becomes worthless and he becomes a murtadd (apostate), punishaable by death.86 If the state, through its judiciary, does not implement the punishment – an omission that in itself is unacceptable because it leads to anarchy – then whoever carries it out on his own is considered an emissary of the state by virtue of fulfilling its duty. In such a case, the Qur’an does not prescribe any punishment for the perpetrator.87 In light of this testimony, one of the main defendants in the murder case, Safwat ‘Abd al-Ghani, announced that he would plead not guilty and rely solely on al-Ghazali’s testimony, even if he were to be sentenced to death.88 Al-Ghazali’s testimony created a stir both within Egypt and abroad. However, other than the part about permitting a private individual to enforce the punishment for apostasy should the state fail to do so, his testimony contained nothing he had not said previously. As far back as the 1960s, he had written that Arab writers who distort Islam and its heritage in the name of freedom of thought are apostates and "agents of world imperialism," punishable by death. In his words: "How can we demand of Islam to permit the apostates the right of life so that they may take part in killing it?"89 Displaying unconcealed disdain for Fuda, al-Ghazali declared that in forcing Islam out of society "this man had

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cast himself as an enemy of Islam." How can Fuda be persuaded that Islam is also a state when he does not believe in it as a religion, al-Ghazali inquired rhetorically.90 Al-Ghazali’s testimony was criticized vehemently by the Egyptian Enlightenment Society and the Egyptian Society for Human Rights, which Fuda had helped found. Spokespersons for these groups charged that the testimony legitimized armed violence against advocates of freeddom of thought and speech, and in effect accused all of society of heresy.91 The religious establishment selectively distanced itself from the testimmony, specifically from the parts that related to the authority to execute the punishment of ridda but not from the law itself, which forbids Musllims to renounce their religion.92 Al-Azhar, in a public manifesto, ruled that an individual does not have the authority to confer the punishment of ridda on someone else, no matter how great the deviation from Islam. To uphold law and order, punitive authority is granted exclusively to the ruler and the courts.93 Al-Ghazali, for his part, expressed astonishment at the storm his testimony evoked. He claimed that the tempest diverted the discussion from the issue of the validity of Islam’s injunctions to the secondary question, which is the punishment or non-punishment of a person who had undertaken the duty of the state. What is involved, alGhazali argued, is his own personal opinion based on religious law, and not any new innovation.94 Support for al-Ghazali’s position was expressed by Shaykh Yusuf alQaradawi and by Fahmi Huwaydi, two prominent Islamic writers who had confronted Fuda on several occasions. Huwaydi had called Fuda a "member of the ‘secular jihad organization’," meaning that the violence of his writing was tantamount to the violence of the radicals.95 Both al-Qaradawi and Huwaydi argued that the public storm over al-Ghazali’s testimony stemmed from a misunderstanding. First, he had appeared as a witness and not as a religious arbiter. As such he quoted the holy texts and religious law verbatim, and not as a mediator between the text and the circumstances of the case. Had al-Gazhali been required to rule on the question of ridda, his response regarding an individual mandate to carry out the punishment would have been different in light of the implications, i.e., the fear of anarchy.96 Second, according to Huwaydi and al-Qaradawi, in emphasizing that the individual is entitled to carry out the punishment of ridda when the state fails to do so, al-Ghazali sought to warn against anarchy and to stress that this is the task of the government and not of its citizens. Lastly, al-Ghazali’s testimony only

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spoke of a person who takes the oath of faith while publicly rejecting the implementation of the shari‘a, with the goal of adopting manmade law. In such a case, the individual in question is an apostate. However, al-Ghazali’s response would have been different had he been questioned about a person who is averse to implementing the shari‘a but does not say so openly, in which case he is a hypocrite (munafiq), for which no penalty is mentioned.97 Huwaydi’s and al-Qaradawi’s attempts to moderate al-Ghazali’s testimmony without disqualifying its content reflected their own ambivalence, which was dictated by a reliance on scripture. This allowed them limited latitude for commentary and thus little tolerance for dissident views in matters of faith. More broadly, Fuda’s murder illustrates the difficulty of labeling Islamic streams of thought with modern terms such as conservative, moderate or radical. Such labels, as seen in the agitated controversy over Fuda’s views during his lifetime and at his death, are relative and become invalid when immutable Islamic tenets underlie the debate. This phennomenon illuminates an ideological consistency that unifies the Islamic camp, whose normative mission is to mold not only faith but also behaviior.98 In the wake of Fuda’s murder, 13 persons were tried in a military court (four in absentia), most of them charged with aiding and abettting and with possession of weapons. Eight were acquitted. Of the three main suspects, Safwat ‘Abd al-Ghani was acquitted for lack of evidence and was convicted only of attempting to flee the country, and the other two – Ashraf al-Sayyid Ibrahim and ‘Abd al-Shafi Ramdan – were execcuted. The judgment handed down by the court ruled that the defense argument – that the accused had carried out the punishment of apostasy because the government had failed to – was unfounded. It declared that Egyptian criminal law does not permit killing for religious or ethical reasons but only for self-defense or in the defense of honor.99 This ruling, however, did not alter the broader reality that Islamic circles perceived Fuda, and liberal thought as a whole, not as the victim but as the aggresssor, to be condemned by society.

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Chapter 4 The Shari‘a: Myth and Reality

In Islam, more than in Judaism, and certainly more than in Christianity, religious law, perceived as the revelation of God’s will, became an effecttive agent in organizing communal life and defining the guiding princciples of individual and collective behavior. H. A. R. Gibb attributed this development to the inclusive nature of the shari‘a and its quest for unity, along with the practical needs of the Muslim community, which sought to standardize the law before the consolidation of a theologicalphilosophical system.1 The shari‘a, conceived as a "discursive tradition," by Talal Asad,2 was also nurtured by local custom (‘urf) and molded by a changing reality as executed through the authority of the ruler to issue canon law. The primary role of the shari‘a was to ensure a morally sound society as the fundamental condition for preserving the faith from corruption. It is no coincidence that the study of law was defined by Muslim jurists as "the knowledge of rights and duties whereby man is enabled to observe right conduct in this life, and to prepare himself for the world to come."3 Muslim communal life was exposed to foreign (mainly Turkish) valuues and customs from the tenth century onward. The ‘ulama’ struggled to preserve the ideals of the shari‘a. This struggle peaked in the ninetteenth century, during the modernization process undertaken by the Ottoman Empire. The goal was to consolidate a new order, more closely resembling the West. Sometimes referred to as a process of "rationalizattion of societies,"4 the thrust toward modernization essentially limited the authority of the shari‘a to matters of personal status, while leaving Muslim society stranded after the empire collapsed and separate states were established. These states ultimately failed to provide an adequate

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response to the communal needs of the modern era, clearing the way for Islam to resume a central role through populist movements that sought a renewed link with the past, based on the shari‘a. Emanuel Sivan, in his book, Mythes Politiques Arabes (1995), points out that the shari‘a in modern Islamic discourse serves as a guiding princciple that had flourished in the past and merits restoration in an effort to establish a moral polity which alone is capable of solving the problems of society.5 The breakdown in the status of the shari‘a in modern times was aptly described by Muhammad Qutb thus: How has the meaning of Islam retreated in our souls to this state? From an all-embracing meaning for human life to a merely rituualistic foundation relating to the relationship of man with his creator... from a comprehensive body of law to a collection of conffused emotions lacking any basis in practice, emotions that conflict in the soul of man who lives in a non-Muslim society yet does not deny such a corrupted life or try to change it.6 The demand to restore the shari‘a mirrored a quest for authenticity and through it a monopoly of historical truth. Islamic circles in Egypt united under the banner of this demand, despite their varied perceptions of Egyptian society: in the radicals’ view, society was heretical, whereas the Brotherhood and the ‘ulama’ considered it Muslim, albeit distanced from the true religion. Faraj Fuda, attacking the demand to implement the shari‘a, posited an alternative concept that challenged the excessive sanctification of the shari‘a. He argued that the viewpoint he represented neither negates nor denies Islam but simply unburdens it. His approach rested on two premiises: 1. Egyptian society is not heretical. On the contrary, it is perhaps the society closest to true Islam. Adherence to religious values is ingrained in the character of the Egyptian, molded over the centuries. This proppensity for religion held true for Pharaonism and Christianity before the arrival of Islam in Egypt, and even more so for Islam. Evidence of this religiosity is widespread: frequent mosque attendance by Egypttians; the strict observance of Islamic holidays and the transformattion of the month of Ramadan into a national holiday. 2. For the Islamists, the shari‘a embodies the link between Islam as a religion and as a state, and the demand for implementation is not a

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goal in itself, but a means toward the establishment of a theocratic state. Such a state, whose government would rule in the name of Allah, is alien to Islam and would destroy national unity.7 Based on these two premises, which reflected the liberal vision of a nationalist, civic, and cosmopolitian Egyptianism, Fuda developed a critical analysis of the shari‘a, first by disproving its idealistic image through a careful review of Muslim history, and then by denying its relevance to modern times.

History as Prosecutor Fuda presented his guidelines for discussing the issue of the shari‘a in the introduction to his book, al-Haqiqa al-Gha’iba (“The Absent Truth,” 1986), which was a rebuttal of ‘Abd al-Salam Faraj’s al-Farida al-Gha’iba ("The Absent Duty," 1979). Such a discussion must be political in nature, he held, dictated by logic and conducted by people who live in the twentieth century and are interpreting events that occurred 1,300 years previously. In his words: This book opens a window, which many have closed, on the veraciity of history. It revitalizes a part of the body that we have greatly neglected – the mind, and makes use of a tool that we have ignored – logic. The thesis of this book is that with the death of the Prophet, the era of Islam was completed and the era of the Muslims began. No matter how it is defined, it is a period that is not enveloped in a halo of holiness and does not prevent scholars and thinkers from approaching it or analyzing its events. It does not constitute evidence against Islam but rather against those who seek to rule in the name of Islam.8 A critical examination of the shari‘a as a mirror of historical reality led Fuda to conclude that most of its corpus was compiled under circumsstances that were far from ideal, including power struggles, bloodshed, social distress and corruption. A glance at what the Islamists view as the Golden Age of Islam – the Rashidun (the "rightly guided" caliphs, 632-61) era, reveals that three of the caliphs – ‘Umar, ‘Uthman and ‘Ali – had been assassinated: ‘Umar by a spy of Persian origin while he was at prayer in a mosque; ‘Uthman by Muslim rebels who besieged his resid-

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dence while he was absorbed in reading the Qur’an; and ‘Ali by a radical Muslim while he was delivering a religious judgment in a mosque in the city of Kufa. The only caliph of the period to die a natural death was Abu Bakr, and there is some suspicion that he too may have been murdered. All this occurred in a period of less than thirty years after the Prophet’s death. Furthermore, the opening and closing chapters of the Rashidun era were clearly devoted to warfare and contention (the ridda wars led by Abu Bakr, 632-34; and ‘Ali’s struggle to unify the Muslims under his rule, 656-61).9 Between these episodes came ‘Umar’s 11-year reign (634-44) and ‘Uthman’s 12-year reign (644-56) – a period that allowed each of these caliphs the opportunity to establish a model of Islamic rule. Both men had been close to the Prophet and each enjoyed distinguished status, ‘Umar by virtue of his role in the victories of Islam and the dissemination of its message, and ‘Uthman because of his marriage to the Prophet’s daughtter. Yet, these two reigns differed significantly from each other. ‘Umar drew Muslims close to faith, fostered justice among his subjects, and left his successor a well-organized and efficient system of government. His death evoked sincere sorrow among the Muslims, who mourned the loss of a true leader of the nation.10 ‘Uthman, by contrast, exploited the treasury and bestowed favors on his friends, engendering an uprising against his rule. Despite repeated entreaties by venerable companions of the Prophet to mend his ways or step down, lest he be deposed, ‘Uthman persisted with his style of rule, claiming that a caliph is not obliged to pay for his errors, and that the bay‘a (oath of allegiance) granted him was absolute. His brutal murder, the mutilation of his corpse, and the refusal of his rivals to bury him in a Muslim grave despite his advanced age and his familial tie to the Prophet proved, in Fuda’s view, that "‘Uthman was no pillar of Islam, but flesh and blood who sinned and caused harm."11 Fuda inferred from ‘Uthman’s role in Muslim history that a distincttion must be made between Islam and Muslims: the former is sanctified and divine, the latter fallible and earthly. ‘Uthman’s errors, therefore, did not have a negative effect on the power, greatness or good name of the faith.12 Fuda applied the same logic of separation of religion and politics in Islam to the struggles at the time of Abu Bakr and ‘Ali. In contrast to the prevailing view, not every war waged by Abu Bakr – cumulatively labeled the ridda (apostate) wars – was waged for reasons of religion. Some targeted Muslims who fulfilled the religious commandments faithffully and paid the zakat, but earmarked it for the benefit of the needy

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rather than for the caliph or his treasury. Abu Bakr was thus the first figure in the history of Islam to cause the killing of Muslims by Muslims. This contradicted the principles of the religion, yet conformed with the political need to entrench the newly formed Islamic state. Similarly, the wars led by Caliph ‘Ali against several of the Prophet’s companions and against Mu‘awiya, the governor of Syria, were essentially political and territorial struggles, and not religious wars. Otherwise, Fuda pointed out, the community of believers would have been expected to view one of the sides as heretical, and this was not the case.13 The only early caliph, and in effect, the only caliph in all of Muslim history, who can be regarded as both a religious figure and a statesman was ‘Umar. His distinctiveness, moreover, lay in his ability to separate the religious from the political functions of his rule. Indeed, he angered the Prophet’s veteran companions when he prevented them both from amassing assets which would have sent a message of materialism, and from being appointed to government posts which demanded personal capabilities beyond expertise in religion. According to Fuda, "Every arena has its experts and every field of action its specialists. Politicians are suitable for government, and religious authorities for preserving the faith."14 This aspect distinguished Caliph ‘Umar as a jewel of the Rashiidun era, a period permeated by religious deviation and internal strife. If this was the case for the formative period of Islam, it was all the more so during the Umayyad and ‘Abbasid periods, when both the status and the religiosity of the caliphs declined.15 Fuda perceived the establishment of the Umayyad dynasty (661) as portending the final break of the caliphate with Islam and its transformmation into a system of government by the sword rather than by the Qur’an. Moreover, the Umayyads entrenched the rule of the Prophet’s tribe, the Quraysh, over the Muslims. In Fuda’s view, the imposition of the Quraysh regime did not reflect the will or the choice of the Muslims, and conflicted with the egalitarian spirit of Islam. The Umayyad era was characterized by the reinforcement of the state authority and extensive conquests reaching as far as India in the east and Spain in the west. Its repressive rule discouraged internal unrest until 750, when rebellion augured the demise of the Umayyad state. With the exception of the ascetic ‘Umar bin ‘Abd al-‘Aziz (717-20), the Umayyad rulers were devotees of the material world, and several of them, such as Yazid II (720-24) and his son Walid II (743-44), were notorious for their corruption and moral dissolution.16 Fuda singled out four Umayyad

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caliphs as noteworthy rulers: Mu‘awiya (661-80), ‘Abd al-Malik (685705), Walid I (705-15), and Hisham (724-43). All were military and political figures focused on developing their empire, and their success was marked by “their consistent tendency to separate religion and state.” Supporting this analysis, Fuda cited ‘Abd al-Malik who, upon closing the Qur’an that he was holding, commented: "This is the last period to make use of you."17 All four caliphs were aware that their accession to power stemmed neither from integrity nor from deep faith, but from material means, and that ensuring their rule demanded wielding power, i.e., earthly acts. They were aided by such persons as the infamous ‘Amru ibn al-‘Aas, Muslim ibn ‘Aqaba and al-Hajjaj ibn Yusuf, all of whom were reviled as killers and tyrants. All four caliphs were great military commanders – men of the sword and not of the Qur’an, who regarded decapitation as the simplest method of silencing their opponents. Had they tried to rule in the name of the Qur’an, conduct debates with their opponents over the just faith, or attain leadership honestly and fairly, their rule would have ended before it began, Fuda pointed out. The sword was “the law of their era,” and in using it they enforced their will and maintained an empire. The ‘ulama’ were already adept at yielding to the ruler and at legitimizing wrongful deeds by issuing convenient fatwas, or hadiths, attributed to the Prophet. Some ‘ulama’ did so in anticipation of materrial gain. Others, such as Hasan al-Basri, ‘Amru bin ‘Ubayid and Wasil bin ‘Ata, known to be righteous, went along with what was expected of them without threatening to incite the population.18 A bright spot toward the end of the Umayyad era, Fuda pointed out, was the literature and poetry of the period, and even more so the schools of religious law, which reached a peak of creativity during the first Abbassid dynasty (750-842). This was a period of freedom of religious thought which allowed for a more humane response to the cases of heresy that appeared. Instead of burning deviant works or putting a price on their authors’ head – practices adopted by Iran over a millennium later in the late 1980s as in the case of Salman Rushdi – the response was a written polemic refuting their ideas. This supported Fuda’s conviction that Islam’s true enemies were those who believed that their religion was unequipped to remonstrate or provide rebuttals.19 The freedom of thought that flourished during the first ‘Abbasid dynasty constituted the first signs of a civil state, reflecting a link between the earthliness of governmental rule, and the development of religious

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law and the arts. The more entrenched freedom of thought becomes, Fuda contended, the greater the success of the civil state, and vice versa. Nevertheless, Fuda pointed out, the religious, legal, and literary producttivity of the first ‘Abbasid period could not obfuscate its negative aspects. The period was notable for warfare, internal contention, and corruption, centered in Hijaz and Iraq.20 This pattern of activity originated with Abu al-‘Abbas al-Safah (750-54), the first of the ‘Abbasid caliphs, who issued two unprecedented brutal decrees: the exhumation of the remains of the Umayyad caliphs from their tombs, and the murder of all the members of their families; and the massacre of 90 dignitaries of the Umayyad household who had been invited to the palace, followed by the public hanging of their corpses. Fuda viewed this brutality as evidence of the character of the caliphate which the Islamists sought to restore: a tyrannnical regime cloaked in religion to justify its existence, with its leader appointed by lineage and not by election. Tyranny in the name of religgion, Fuda held, is not only the historical legacy of the West, ruled by the Church during the Middle Ages, but also of the East, which was ruled by the caliphate.21 The guiding principle that al-Safah bequeathed to his successors was that the end justifies the means. This was especially true for Ja‘far alMansur (754-75), the true founder of the ‘Abbasid empire. Killing was his method of repressing his opponents, with emotion playing no role in this policy. He even allied himself with Christian kings against his enemies at home, a clear violation of an Islamic commandment, thereby distancing himself from the Rashidun legacy.22 The thundering silence of the religious legal sages bore witness to their consent. Moreover, renowned scholars under Caliph al-Ma’mun (813-33), including Abu Hanifa, Malik bin Anas, al-Shafi‘i and Ibn Hanbal, were often subjected to degradation and torture. It was the inevitable product of the stifling of thought by a despotic regime whose rulers perceived the role of the writer as to offer praise of the caliph, and not criticize or advise him. Caliph al-Wathiq’s rule (842-47), characterized by widespread sexual abandon, marked the end of the first ‘Abbasid dynasty and the start of the second (861-1258), a gray and insignificant period of history which reflected the political ineptitude of its rulers.23 The goal of this historical analysis, Fuda explained, was not to focus on the dark side of Muslim history but to expose the truth so diligently excised from Muslim collective memory. "Islam was not handed down to angels but to human beings like ourselves. Some of them were indust-

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trious and determined and attained greatness and majesty. Others were beset by human weakness and were deviant," he wrote.24 Ironically, while Europeans today face the future hopefully and are critical of their medieval progenitors who behaved despotically in the name of religion, Muslims turn to a backward past and study its history as if it were a model of purity. In Fuda’s view, the error of this selective reading of Muslim history stems from the Eastern tradition of deductive reasoning. Such reasoning starts with the general and proceeds to the particular – from faith to its historio-political aspects – thereby barricading any doubt about what is perceived as certain and prescribed. By contrast, European thinking is inductive; it begins with doubt and the demand for absolute freedom of thought, and ends with a more honest belief system.25 The conclusions drawn by Fuda from his research of the past and its relevance to the present were twofold: 1. Islam is a religion, not a state. Moreover, criticism of the perception of Islam as a state does not indicate religious heresy or rebellion. On the contrary, religion serves as the moral foundation of society and fulfills an important role in the areas of education, culture and histtory. Separating religion from politics relieves Islam of a great burden and allows the believer to criticize and even deny the earthly history of Islam without detracting from its spiritual sanctity. By contrast, the amalgamation of religion and politics forces sociopolitical debate into a religious context and thereby sanctions the use of violence, since the issues inevitably involve absolute truths.26 2. The study of Muslim history leads to the conclusion that society today is more progressive by any standard than in the past, with morality and ethics at its forefront. It is more qualitative and comppassionate in all that pertains to ruler-subject relations – the product of a humane culture which Islam accepts.27

Fuda’s Use of Early Muslim Sources Fuda relied heavily on the work of early Muslim writers such as al-Tabari, al-Mas‘udi, Ibn Kathir, and Ibn Athir in his historic analysis of the shari‘a. Fuda saw the credibility of these historic sources as unimpeachaable. "Whoever disregards them, disregards Muslim history entirely."28 Indeed, the research value of these writings derives either from their proximity in time to the events, described in detail and in chronological

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order; or from their reliance on ancient oral accounts which were not preserved. Nevertheless, it is questionable whether or not these materials can be considered the work of historians. An examination of the work of Abu Ja‘far Muhammad ibn Jarir al-Tabari (d. 923), whom Fuda regarded as "the buttress of Muslim history,"29 reveals that he was more a chronicler than a historian.30 AlTabari himself, in a forward to his multi-volume work, Ta’rikh al-Rusul wa’l-Muluk ("The History of Prophets and Kings"), observed that the role of the historian is to focus on conveying history to future generattions rather than on deduction or judgment: The reader of my book should know that I relied entirely on what was reported to me.... If in the book I mention a report about certtain people from the past, which the reader or the listener consideers contentious or warranting omission in that it is devoid of truth or factual content, he should know that this cannot be attributed to us but to those who passed it on to us. We simply passed on the report as it was given to us.31 In other words, when choosing between rational deduction (‘aqliyya) and reportage or transmission (naqliyya), al-Tabari opted to position the writing of history in the latter category, in the belief that such reportaage represents the external expression of the will of Allah in the world, and as such, must be documented faithfully. This does not mean that independent judgment is absent from his work, but it is used spariingly.32 For example, his treatment of the civil war during ‘Uthman era. In as much as he perceived history purely as factual documentation, he refrained from accusing either of the sides involved in the war. He chose to cite their claims, as well as the various versions of the war, as they had been reported by his predecessors, Ibn Ishaq (d. 767) and al-Waqidi (d. 823).33 As the modern historian Tarif Khalidi aptly observed, "What he really thought about these events, especially about their implications regarding the moral conduct of the Prophet’s friends, we will appareently never know."34 And yet by preserving various reports about these historic events, al-Tabari enabled modern writers to construct their own interpretive narratives, as Fuda did in the desanctification of the shari‘a account in the earliest period of Islam. Fuda also referred extensively to the source material of the early historian Abu al-Hasan ‘Ali al-Mas‘udi (d. 956). For al-Mas‘udi, an

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understanding of history, rather than reportage, was the essence, and his writing was highly influenced both by Hellenistic philosophy and sciences and by the Shi‘a tradition. His ethical judgment of early Musllim history, as reflected in his book, Muruj al-Dhahab ("Meadows of Gold"), reveals his theological inclinations as a Shi‘ite Muslim.35 Unlike contemporary historians, such as al-Dinawari and al-Ya‘qubi in the late ninth-early tenth centuries, al-Mas‘udi’s approach to the Rashidun period highlighted ‘Ali’s elevated status as second only to the Prophet in wisdom and virtue. In al-Mas‘udi’s view, ‘Ali’s attempt to base a legitimate goveernment on Islam was foiled not because of any flaw in his character, but because of circumstances beyond his control, i.e., the disobedience of his supporters, the greed of his rivals, and the population’s foolish inability to distinguish between good and bad. Al-Mas‘udi called the rulers of the Umayyad dynasty (except for the ascetic ‘Umar ibn ‘Abd al-‘Aziz) kings rather than caliphs, for the latter, he said, lacked any governmental legitimacy and exploited their subjects. Notably, he depicted the caliphs of the ‘Abbasid dynasty in a less pejorative manner than the Umayyads – even al-Muntazir, who was involved in the plot to murder his father and who was portrayed in a negative light by al-Ya‘qubi.36 Clearly, these nuances reflected a link between al-Mas‘udi’s Shi‘ite origin and his criticcal approach to Muslim history, prompting several researchers to view him more as a philosopher-historian concerned with evaluating the past, than a documentor of history in the tradition of al-Tabari.37 A later writer, ‘Izz al-Din ibn al-Athir (d. 1232), demonstrated clariity and a degree of historic judgment in his work, although in extensively using al-Tabari’s materials, he replicated some of the flaws in them. For example, his book, al-Kamil fi al-Ta’rikh ("A Comprehensive Treatise on History"), does not cite sources, and is structured along rigid chronollogical lines.38 While the flaws in al-Tabari’s, al-Mas‘udi’s and Ibn Athir’s works do not invalidate the vast treasures in them, they raise some doubt over Fuda’s alleged contention regarding their absolute reliability. Had Fuda been truly convinced of this, he might have: (1) Indicated that the leadeership of some of the revolts against Abu Bakr included false prophets, as reported by al-Tabari and Ibn Athir, thereby showing that the ridda wars had a religious, not only a political, character39; (2) Cited some of the traditions regarding ‘Uthman’s merits, mentioned by al-Tabari; and (3) Highlighted ‘Ali’s status rather than ‘Umar’s, or at least modulated his harsh judgment of the ‘Abbasid dynasty, as did al-Mas‘udi.40

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In his selective use of these scholars’ work, and in capitalizing on the gray areas in Islamic political thought, Fuda, like his predecessors and contemporaries, reached to the distant past to support his own truth regarding the separation of religion and politics in Islam. Clearly, there is no single historical truth. As historian Jacob Talmon observed, "Historical truth is complex and multi-faceted, laden with ambivalence and filled with discrepancies, struggles and clashes."41 An independent interpretation of the events of the past leads to the "inventtion of tradition," Eric Hobsbawm observed,42 a process Fuda employed to imbue his call for the separation of Islam from politics with historic depth and continuity.

The Shari‘a in Modern Times Fuda’s critical reading of the historical record of the shari‘a was accomppanied by a critical evaluation of its contemporary relevance as well. In disqualifying history as capable of providing a normative code for Muslim behavior in the present, Fuda sought to foster intellectual skeptticism regarding Islamic truths presented as absolute, and to encourage greater cultural openness to the modern age. In his view, the ascetic life style adopted by the young radicals of the latter twentieth century, and their preoccupation with peripheral issues such as whether to enter the bathroom with the right or left foot, or to clean one’s teeth with a toothbrush or a toothpick, showed symptoms of schizophrenia. Most of these radicals had studied sciences such as engineering and medicine, yet were irrationally obsessed with the formalistic aspects of religion. They viewed progress as heresy and licentiousness, despite their use of the tools of progress.43 The solution to current problems, Fuda argued, does not lie in hiding behind a questionable past that, except for "fleeting flashes of light," has nothing in common with Islam. Rather, it lies in adopting progressive ideas and institutions that had no parallel in early Islam yet are compatible with its true essence. The instrument that links and enriches religion with worldly reality is "enlightened ijtihad," which Fuda called "the guideline of the era" (ra’id al-‘asr). Without it, Islam will remain a symbol lacking content or purpose, while Muslims will shed rivers of blood because of their limited horizons.44 Does endorsing enlightened ijtihad justify the demand to implemment the shari‘a once the central pillar – historical sanctity – has been eliminated? Fuda replied in the negative. The foundations of religion,

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he argued, tend to be stable, but the circumstances of life change. The convergence between what is stable and what is not necessarily creates disharmony, which historically has always ended with modifications in the religious foundations to accommodate the complexity of life. Religgious change is brought about by enlightened ijtihad, which was fosttered by ‘Umar and bequeathed by him to the Muslims. The fact that ‘Umar did not apply the punishment of amputation for theft during periods of drought, or the punishment of flogging for drinking wine during wartime, prompts two conclusions: (1) ‘Umar wisely identified the reasons for these acts rather than adhering blindly to the text; and (2) He acted in the spirit of Islam based on his insight that the ultimate goal of the text is justice, and that it is better to override the written word for the sake of doing justice than to treat his subjects with cruelty.45 In so doing, ‘Umar emphasized the humane rather than the punitive aspect of the shari‘a, demonstrating that instead of resorting to amputation or flogging, Muslims are required to conduct society on the foundations of well-being and security for all. Fuda pointed out another example of deviation from the shari‘a in light of changing realities, found during the rule of both ‘Uthman (644-56) and ‘Ali (656-61). Despite the vengeful acts carried out by ‘Ubayd Allah against the assassins of his father, Caliph ‘Umar, the new caliph – ‘Uthman – refrained from punishing him. Instead, he chose to pay compensation to the families of the victims. In Fuda’s view, ‘Uthmman’s mercifulness prompted him to deviate from a shari‘a injunction (the punishment of death) in order to prevent a situation in which the murder of the father would be compounded by the killing of the son. ‘Ali similarly deviated from written law when he obligated himself to Mu‘awiya to avenge ‘Uthman’s murder. Seeking the killers among his own men, he was faced with the response: "We are all ‘Uthman’s killers," and refrained from carrying out the required punishment.46 1,300 years have passed since these events, Fuda argued, and Musllims must be allowed greater latitude to alter the shari‘a commandments in light of problems in modern society that did not exist during the formative period of Islam. Fuda believed that legislation must respond to the needs of a humane society. It is highly doubtful that the shari‘a is capable of suitably dealing these problems. Notably, the shari‘a as cited in Article 2 of the constitution is in the context of "the principles of the Islamic shari‘a," and not "the Islamic shari‘a" per se, Fuda pointed out. The significance is more than semantic. The former wording has a broad

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meaning and refers to the general principles of Islam, which are flexible and rely on justice, compassion and the common good. The latter wordiing has a narrower meaning and refers to the specific instructions of the Qur’an and the Sunna, especially the hudud.47 Ironically, Fuda noted, the very same Islamic circles that hold Article 2 so dear and quote it repeatedly, reject the notion of the current politiccal regime and its components, which the constitution upholds. Furtthermore, their demand to implement the hudud in particular is faulty at base. Such implementation would lead to disagreement over judicial verdicts based on the shari‘a because of the inevitable legal disputes over the conditions or the severity of some of the hudud punishments. An example is the prohibition of drinking wine, for which the Islamists demand the full punishment of 80 lashes. To support this they quote ‘Ali’s statement that intoxication leads to delirium and anyone who is delirious invents lies. Ostensibly, the analogy here is that whoever gets drunk loses self-control and has fewer inhibitions about slandering otheers or even stealing and murdering. Fuda rebutted this with three argumments. First, the Qur’anic source of the prohibition of drinking wine (5:90) is restricted to the wine of grapes and not to other alcoholic drinks, such as apple or date wine, as ruled, e.g., by Abu Hanifa and Ibn Mas‘ud. The punishment itself relies on a weak hadith not cited in the authoritative compilations by al-Bukhari or Abu Muslim. Secondly, the severity of the punishment is under legal dispute: in ‘Umar’s time it was 80 lashes, but according to the Shafi‘i school (which is dominant in Egypt), 40 lashes are called for. Thirdly, the analogy derived from ‘Ali’s statement may be challenged by another analogy no less logical, namely that intoxication leads to loss of judgment, which means that a drunk person cannot be punished for his acts.48 Fuda took a similar approach regarding the crime of adultery. The demand to implement the punishment of stoning for this transgression, in his view, was a denial of the reality that the existing law enforcing this morality is more effective than the shari‘a punishment, should it be enforced.49 Exploring the transgression of adultery in depth, Fuda set out three premises that he demanded be considered in the context of the discussion about the status of the shari‘a in Egypt: 1. Defined attributes and detailed grounds of evidence are prescribed for the sin of adultery that are unparalleled for any other transgresssion. This is because the crime undermines the family unit and disgraces the perpetrators and their families. It may be proven in

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three ways: eyewitness testimony, evidence of the act itself (i.e., pregnnancy), or confession. Eyewitness testimony is required from four men known to be upstanding, who saw the act explicitly. If only three men testify to the act and the fourth gives a different version or retracts his testimony, the other three are considered liars and are punished by flogging (24:4). In modern times, eyewitness testimony is generally impossible to obtain in view of advanced construction methods such as shuttered windows and locked doors, except in two situations: when the witnesses peek through the peep-hole of a door, which makes them spies and their testimony unacceptable; or if the witnesses were in bed with the couple, which makes them parties to the crime and their testimony is similarly unacceptable. Under these circumstances, proving the crime by means of eyewitnness testimony becomes nearly impossible.50 Similarly, evidence of adultery – pregnancy – is insufficient to prove the crime. If the wife of a traveling husband becomes pregnant even though her husband has been away for several years, can there be any stronger proof of adultery on her part? Religious law holds otherwise and provides the woman with an opportunity for acquittal. The Hanbali and Maliki schools of law posit the phenomenon of the "hidden pregnancy" (alhaml al-kamin), i.e., a pregnancy which can be present in a woman’s belly for two or three years without showing. The third method of proof – confession – depends on the conscience of the confessor and is difficult to implement in modern times, especially in view of the condition set by the legal sages that the confession must be explicit and cannot rely on a written document or a rumor. The legal difficultties in proving the crime of adultery testify first and foremost to the mercy of Allah, and indeed the punishment was rarely enforced in Muslim history.51 2. Punishment for the crime of adultery by stoning is disputed by the religious scholars. The Qur’an cites only the punishment of flogging: "The fornicatress and the fornicator – scourge each one of them a hundred stripes." (24:2) Punishment by stoning appears only in the Sunna, raising the question of whether the Sunna overrides the Qur’an in such a case. This was a matter for the scholars to decide, and they ruled stoning for married male and female adulterers (almuhsinin) and flogging for unmarried male and female fornicators (ghayr al-muhsinin).52 Fuda viewed this ruling acceptable in contrast

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to the demand for the indiscriminate implementation of stoning without ijtihad or consideration of the needs of the period.53 3. A known legal tradition in Islam maintains that easing the prohibittion of immoral conduct takes precedence over punishment for it. According to this tradition, Allah, in his mercifulness and knowleedge of human nature, grants concessions to his believers, enabling them to avoid violating the commandments. During the Prophet’s lifetime, three concessions were granted in the realm of male-female relations: men could have up to four wives; men could keep servvant-concubines, especially as spoils from conquests; and mut‘a marrriages were permitted, i.e., marriages of convenience in exchange for payment in times of war or travel when men were far from home. Once the reason for such a marriage no longer existed, the marriage was terminated, unless a prior agreement was made to retain it.54 In light of the availability of all these concessions, Fuda wondered who would commit adultery, unless he was "mentally disturbed, brain damaged or suicidal." In granting the concessions cited above, Islam obliterated the temptations for adultery to the point that the need to apply a punishment for it became a rarity.55 Fuda pointed out that this situation no longer exists. The option of mut‘a marriages was eliminated in Sunni tradition; the institution of servant-concubbines disappeared with the termination of slavery in the nineteenth century; and the practice of four permitted wives was ended by the economic difficulties in modern Muslim society. If the advocates of a return to early Islam laws are sincere, Fuda argued, they must permit Muslims the leeway Allah had allowed his first believers. Only then would the application of the punishment of stoning an adulterous Muslim be justified.56 In extending his opponents’ logic to the point of absurdity, Fuda aimed to expose their demand to return to past legacy as confused and inevitabbly leading to the permissibility of practices incompatible with contempporary moral values. However, he stressed that his generation had no right to judge those of the Rashidun era in the context of modern times, or to determine moral norms.48 Indeed, Fuda reiterated, it was not the shari‘a that he rejected but its application in modern times, which is impossible considering its rigid restrictions, and in fact unnecessary thanks to positive (man-made) law. Positive law complements the spirit of the shari‘a, punishing wrongdoers in instances the shari‘a is unable

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to. One example is acts of adultery that are provable today by a variety of modern means, such as the identification of the presence of someone in a room without the necessity of a witness. Positive law also calls for the death sentence or life imprisonment for using hard drugs, while the shari‘a prescribes flogging, on the basis that drug abuse falls under the category of crimes of impaired understanding and are therefore akin to drinking wine.57 Religious behavior, Fuda argued, is ultimately a personal choice. Those who seek to enter paradise do so by choice and not by force of the law. A Muslim familiar with Islam understands that the state cannot legiislate a law that will require prayer, or prohibit eating during the month of Ramadan, or punish violators of such a law by flogging or imprisonmment. Such a law would be attacked from all sides, and rightly so. It would be unenforceable and, moreover, it would not enhance the religgious aura or the honor of the worshipper or the Ramadan faster, driven by fear of the authorities.58 Religion contains both the essential and the incidental; without an inner motivation for religious belief, any attempt to force others to follow one’s path reveals only a weakness of faith.59 Ultimately, people embody both right and wrong, without which there is no life and no humane governance. The goal is not to prevent immoral conduct but to live with it and try to limit it.60 These observations were not meant to advocate a halt in the struggle against crime or sin. Fuda explained that the point was not the strugggle against the problem but the goal of that struggle. Are we trying to prevent crime entirely, he asked, in which case we enter the realm of utopianism; or are we trying to reduce it, which is acceptable and posssible? Every demand to increase punishments or implement them in public constitutes a type of evasion, focusing the discussion on punishmment rather than the reasons for the act and how to eliminate them. The means for trying to solve social problems are known and are used in progressive countries. Fuda cited the example of the proliferation in Egypt of cases of rape, a reflection of sexual frustration among young people stemming from their inability to marry at a young age. The soluttion is not repressing the sexual instinct by abstinence and prayer or by requiring women to wear a veil, but finding practical solutions to the problems of unemployment and low income, so as to promote economic opportunities for marriage.61 Dealing with the sexual drive rather than avoiding is not a hypotthetical issue. According to Fuda, it is based on the history of formative

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Islam, which indisputably came closest to satisfying the requirements of the faith. The problem of sexuality was solved in that period by flexiibility rather than restriction, by means of the institutions of permanent marriage to up to four wives, temporary marriage (mut‘a), and servantconcubines. These means would be invalid and impossible to apply in modern times, yet the principle that underlay them at the time repressented social justice, in contrast to the prospect of implementing the shari‘a today.62 The lofty goal of social justice was repressed and eventuaally disappeared from the approach of such ostensibly enlightened modeern Islamists as Fahmi Huwaydi, who held that non-fulfillment of the shari‘a harms Egypt’s sovereignty and suborns it to conquest by imported Western laws.63 Responding to such arguments, Fuda charged that modern-day attempts by several Middle Eastern states to implement the shari‘a offer ample proof that this policy has not yielded true independence or a culttural blossoming. Rather, it has proven that the application of the shari‘a does not represent the essence of Islam, and the focus on punishment in a society that faces hunger does injustice to its image.64 The Islamists’ insistence on the adoption of the shari‘a as the sole cure for society’s ills, despite its practical defects, shows that their ultimmate goal is to establish a religious state which they will rule, directly or indirectly, in the name of Allah. This is a governmental model alien to the spirit both of Islam and of contemporary times, and if actualized will lead to the destruction of national unity, Fuda warned. Since the goal is the establishment of a religious state, the discussion of means, i.e., the implementation of the shari‘a, should logically be diverted to the rightfful arena – the political one. So long as the discourse is political and not religious, the notion of right and wrong will be relative concepts and the issues will be subject to debate rather than restricted to the parameters of permissible and forbidden, wherein any deviation constitutes heresy.65 Based on this premise, Fuda stated: I am plainly and simply against the implementation of the shari‘a immediately or even gradually, for I believe that such implementtation will lead to the establishment of a religious state.... I am against sanctifying either religious figures or political activity…. There is no sanctity in politics, only needs that may be filled by it.66

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Is a religious state capable of fulfilling these needs in an era in which progrress is the key word? Fuda believed that the onset of "cultural reaction" is at stake,67 harboring dangers in three areas: governmental impotence in the absence of a political platform; the suppression of democracy and freedom of thought; and the destruction of national unity. Governmental Impotence The state, Fuda held, is a political, social and economic entity that requires an ongoing dialogue with reality. Yet those who champion the slogan "Islam is religion and state" – even the few with good intenttions – refrain from presenting an operative platform for solving the oppressively real problems of society. They generally exempt themselves by referring questioners to the Qur’an and the Sunna. Fuda declared this as pure rhetoric aimed at both concealing ideological sterility and obscuring religious legal disputes in various areas. An example is the Personal Status Law of 1979, aimed at reducing polygamy by impeding the process of taking a second wife. Inter alia, the law requires the husband to divorce his wife in the presence of witnesses and publish notification of his second marriage. The first wife is entitled to a series of benefits, such as custody of the children, easier conditions for claiming child support, and housing provided by the father for her and her children. Fuda noted that despite the religious source of this law, the sole source of legislation in matters of personal status and family, the law nonetheless elicited harsh criticism by the ‘ulama’. Contending with a new world where women’s rights were now an issue, the ‘ulama’ nevertheless sought to reinstate restrictions formulated in the eighth and ninth centuries.68 For example, they opposed Section 4 of the law, which grants the divorced woman possession of the jointly owned home. This aspect, the ‘ulama’ claimed, is not mentioned by the Hanafi school, on which the law is based; only the husband’s obligation to provide housing for his children is cited.69 Fuda sketched an even more depressing picture in the economic realm, should a religious regime be established in Egypt. He foresaw that the complexity of contemporary issues such as low productivity, the high inflation rate, and the balance of payments deficit would create insurmountable difficulties under religious rule. To solve these modern problems, the banks and the use of interest to help attract local and foreign investment must play a key role. Nullifying these elements, as the Islamists demand, would evoke chaos in the money market and

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economic ruin instead of growth.70 However, rather than proposing an alternative economic approach, Fuda wrote, religious circles content themselves with Islamic rectifications based on deterrence and punishmment, such as amputating the thief ’s hand or flogging the bribe-taker.71 For the Islamists, the easiest way to evade a practical discussion of econnomic issues is to brand society and government as heretical or, at the very least, distant from Islam.72 Moving from a discussion of the specific issues of personal status and economy to a broad discussion of the governmental system, Fuda conttended that the religious legal controversies in this area are even deeper and more difficult to bridge. In the Islamist view, the ruler must be a believing and upstanding Muslim, as well as of Quraysh origin. This condition, Fuda argued, is bizarre, racist and foreign to Islam, which advocates equality between all people. The issue is indeed controversial in the religious legal literature. A few ‘ulama’ believe the condition to be binding, based on a hadith specifying that the imamate is the province of the Quraysh tribe. Other ‘ulama’ insist on the selection of a just ruler regardless of tribal origin, based on a counter-hadith that calls for the appointment of an honest and talented man, even if he be an Abyssiniian slave. This is a simple issue that does not require exhaustive debate, Fuda noted. Yet the legal controversy of this matter is widespread to this day, with the threat of denying a prophetic saying poised like a sword dangling over both sides. The ‘ulama’ refrain from using plain logic, in as much as the Qur’an does not offer defined rules in this matter and the Prophet did not deliberate on it. Otherwise, ‘Ali would not have refused to appoint Abu Bakr as caliph (although, according to one version, his refusal lasted only several days), and disputes would not have erupted at the al-Saqifa conference of 632, where Sa‘d ibn ‘Ibada of Medina challlenged Abu Bakr’s candidacy.73 The al-Saqifa conference also provided Fuda with evidence of another dispute over the choosing of the ruler, which in the formative period of Islam was conducted in various ways: (1) Selection by authority figures during Abu Bakr’s time; (2) Nomination by a sealed note in the case of ‘Umar; (3) Selection from a small pool of candidates in the case of ‘Uthmman; (4) The granting of bay‘a, or an oath of loyalty, by several regional governors in the case of ‘Ali; (5) Force and the sword in Mu‘awiya’s time; and (6) Heredity in ‘Abd al-Malik’s time. The holy text determined no explicit method for selecting the ruler, hence a sustained legal dispute ensued regarding the preferred method.74

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Another historic obstacle to establishing a religious state was the practice of life tenure adopted by the rulers, in disregard of the stricture that the bay‘a was granted based of devotion to the cause of promoting the path of Allah, and the warning that a ruler who strays from this path will be deposed. Muslim history is filled with accounts of rulers who blatantly violated this principle yet remained on their thrones, forcing their will on their subjects. This evidence disproves the Islamists’ claim that the shura restrains a despotic ruler, especially since, according to the majority legal consensus, the opinion of the shura does not obligate the ruler.75 Fuda acknowledged Islamic thinkers such as Khalid Muhammad Khallid, who held that representative government confers with the essence of justice and freedom in Islam. However, Fuda claimed that their enlighteened thinking was overpowered by the deafening roar of opposition by the religious camp. This camp opposed anything that detracted from the sovereignty of Allah, such as public opinion, elections and political parties. Fuda viewed the attempt, particularly by Khalid, to promote liberal discourse in Islam by using Islamic terminology in naming democcratic political institutions – first and foremost the shura – as doomed to failure. Neither the foundations nor the content of such bodies was supported by the Scriptures or by religious legal consensus. They had developed outside the Muslim world and had a different nomenclature. Fuda’s criticism of Khalid, however, did not lessen his esteem for him as a "towering pyramid" who influenced many liberal writers.76 The various built-in obstacles to establishing a religious state and its efficient functioning pose a difficult dilemma for the Islamists, Fuda observed. Adopting the practice of early Islam, he wrote, will force them to reject the spirit of the present era and leave them helpless in faciing daily problems. Conversely, accepting present-day reality will oblige them to relinquish the ideal of a religious state and work out a cooperattive mode to build up the country together with their political opponnents. The inability to resolve this dilemma compels the Islamists to shift responsibility to the state and demand blind reliance on the shari‘a without debate, or else be branded heretical.77 Suppression of Democracy and Freedom of Thought An Islamic state is a political entity based on governance in the name of Allah; sanctifies the Qur’an and the Sunna; and rejects all political parties save one: the Party of Allah.78 Fuda viewed government such as

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this as despotic and harmful to Islam because it merges human reasoniing with revealed faith, thereby allowing the ruler to ascribe divinity to his acts. Fuda traced the roots of the perception of divine rule to Caliph ‘Uthman, who rejected the demand of the rebels that he relinquish the caliphate, responding: "This is the garb in which Allah has attired me."79 Moreover, Fuda argued, history shows that shari‘a-supported despotism does not stop at the political level but spreads to every aspect of life. An example, as discussed above, is the punishment for adultery, which, if implemented, he warned, will lead to such restrictions as the preventtion of mingling between the sexes and an enforced dress code for all subjects.80 Fuda criticized the efforts of ‘Abd al-Mun‘im al-Nimr, minister of religious endowments in Sadat’s government, who tried to allay fears regarding the possible adoption of the shari‘a by assuring the public that the officials appointed to implement such a system would have the highest degree of knowledge both in religious law and mundane affairs. Ultimately, however, al-Nimr stressed that opposition to implementing the shari‘a would evoke a firm response.81 Fuda argued that rather than expanding democracy and devising practical solutions to the citizen’s problems, al-Nimr surreptitiously introduced a threat into the discourse on the shari‘a, which delegitimized any critical debate. In reality, Fuda pointed out, only a handful of Islamists truly believe that Islam conforms with the spirit of modern life, but their voice is drowned out by the radicals’ threats. The fate of the fourth caliph, ‘Ali’ ibn Talib, offers sufficient proof of the inevitable scenario, for his piety and legal proficiency did not prevent his assassination by dissidents in his camp (the Kharijites) who considered themselves more religious than he.82 Fuda argued: If this was done by those closest to the Prophet, who were the most proficient of Muslims in the Qur’an and the Sunna, what can be expected from any of the following three groups: a group that excludes all of us from Islam [the militants], a group that views Islam merely as a means to gain governmental power [the Brotherhhood], or a group viewed by the first two as representative of the official Islam, abandoning the principles of the faith for the materrial world [the ‘ulama’].83

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Fuda pointed an accusing finger in particular at the Brotherhood, fully aware of the movement capacity to form such a repressive religious goveernment. The Brotherhood carefully projects the façade of a group of comrades (jama‘a) uninterested in power, but in reality they are indeffatigably involved in political activity with the objective of gaining state control, Fuda maintained. Their violent behavior in the past and their ideological orientation leave no room for doubt regarding the despotic character of the Islamic state they demand to establish. Notably, the poor record of Islamic governments both historically and in modern times has prompted the Brotherhood to formulate a pragmatic interim agenda: the establishment of a state with a civil government but shari‘abased legislation. However, a significant area remains vague – that which involves human rights and democracy. Are these aspects part of the religgious legislative or the civil governmental domain? Are they absolute, and if not, what restrictions are imposed? In any event, Fuda held, a clarification of its position on these issues would not acquit the Brotherhhood from putting forward an operative platform for solving the probllems of society.84 Destruction of National Unity Fuda defined the character of the religious state as contradictory to the very meaning of religious pluralism. Religious figures who control such a state, either directly or indirectly, see themselves as possessing the absollute truth, while members of other religions are perceived as followeers of absolute falsehood, and their conversion to Islam is a sanctified duty. If attempts to convert fail, the alternative, also a sanctified duty, is repression and degradation. Not surprisingly, Islamic legal texts include numerous rulings that discriminate against religious minorities toward the goal of keeping them under the control of Islam. Examples are the payment of the jizya (poll tax), non-eligibility for public office, the requirement to wear an identifying garment, a prohibition against the public announcement of their prayer times, and the prohibition against their riding a horse. Fuda found no scriptural source for these restricttions and indeed they contradict the spirit of tolerance of Islam or of any other divine religion.85 Fuda backed his fear of discrimination against the Coptic minority in a religious state in statements by Islamists that Islam frowns upon ties of friendship or affection toward non-Muslims and forbids participating in their holidays. Non-Muslims are awarded the status of either protected

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subjects, if they wish, or if not, enemies. Only voluntary conversion to Islam can deliver them from either of these conditions.86 Fuda viewed this approach as patent evidence of ethnic discrimination, which would only fuel the communal schisms in Egypt. In his opinion, the claim that the implementation of the shari‘a completes the religious life of the Musllim while allowing the Copt to preserve his identity, is baseless. Since the issue under discussion is a single state, it should have a single system of law, not two – religious and civil. The adoption of the shari‘a would creaate a situation of judicial duality in the country, which does not conform to the principle of equal civil rights and duties. Such judicial duality will evoke further antagonism between the two communities. For example, in the case of a crime of theft, the Muslim will be punished by the amputtation of his hand, while the Copt will be sentenced to a term of imprisoonment. The Muslim will curse the day he was born a Muslim and will view the Copt as a more esteemed citizen, as both had perpetrated the same crime. If opposing the enforcement of the shari‘a means taking a stand against Islam, Fuda was at peace with his position, for the ultimate aim is to prevent a graver ill – ethnic conflict.87

Islam as a Moral Code Fuda warned against mixing politics with religion, citing the dangers to democracy and national unity inherent in the establishment of a religgious state. The shari‘a, he held, constituted the point of convergence between the two. The issue is not one of philosophy but of the conccrete reality of past and present Islamic regimes that claimed religious legitimacy but failed to produce a just administration or improve their subjects’ welfare. This was confirmed in the cases of Iran, Pakistan, Saudi Arabia and Sudan, he contended.88 Despotism, inherent in any religious government that cleaves to a single truth, proves that the solution is not the amalgamation of religion and politics but their separation. Separation both relies on a secular percception and constitutes the identifying attribute of the Western-style civil state. Responding to the Islamist charge that secularism (‘almaniyya) is heresy, Fuda explained that the term secularism, as the term democracy, does not have a finite or narrow definition but rather is multi-faceted and variable, depending on the historical and cultural circumstances of the polity. Secularism in France, for example, differs from that in Englland: in the former, separation of religion and state is absolute, while in

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the latter, the head of state (officially embodied by the monarch) also serves as head of the Church. Egypt lies somewhere in between, with secularism focused on the separation of religion and politics yet allowiing much interaction between religion and state. Article 2 of the Egypttian constitution, which defines Islam as the official religion, empowers the state to supervise all religious institutions and appoint their leaders; marks the Islamic holidays officially; and allocates a distinctive role to Islam in the school system and the media.89 All of this is defined in a context that avoids politicizing religion and preserves it as a "cultural component" of society. Indeed, Islam has become integral in society’s self-identity. Egyptian society is marked by distinctive characteristics not present in other Middle Eastern societies, for example, its tolerant attitude to minorities. In this sense, there is an Egyptian Islam, just as there is a distinctive Saudi or Iranian Islam, all of which have a shared ritualistic basis while each has cultural patterns of its own.90 Preserving Islam as a religion and not a state, as a moral guide and not as a sword, restores the proper equilibrium, unburdens Islam and promotes its basic goal – the enactment of justice. In Fuda’s descripttive wording, "Structures cannot be built on the Shafi‘i or Hanbali legal schools... but on foundations made of concrete. Yet, faith and conscience are required to ensure the high quality of the concrete." Analyzing the situation in Egypt, Fuda noted that the separation of religion and polittics is not maintained meticulously. Three contributing factors to this lacuna are the government’s impotence in matters such as preventing prayer in government offices; the use of Islamic names for army units and training exercises; and especially civil legal judgments supporting the adoption of the shari‘a.91 Fuda also pointed to the politicization of religious institutions, especcially the mosques, as constituting as great a danger as the Islamizattion of state bodies. Muslim attendance at Friday prayers is traditionally aimed at dispelling dispute and preserving the unity of the people. Yet the interweaving of political issues – by nature contentious – in the imam’s sermon violates the sanctity of the mosque. During the period when the Camp David accords were being composed, for example, an imam in one mosque depicted the agreements as violating Allah’s commmandments, while an imam in another mosque legitimized them as signnifying the return of Muslim land to its rightful owners. In another example, during the Iraqi invasion of Kuwait in 1990, ‘ulama’ in Cairo and in Jidda advocated a jihad against Saddam Husayn, while ‘ulama’

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in Baghdad supported their country’s leader.92 Clearly, while the religgious leaders on both sides will never be accused of heresy, the long-term result is divisiveness among Muslims. The mosque, therefore, must focus on religious topics, which are subject to broad agreement, rather than political subjects, which are disputed.93 Similarly, Fuda insisted that the principle of Islam as a religion removed from political issues must be fully adopted by Egypt. Although Egypt has an essentially secular government that relies first and foremmost on rational law responsive to changing needs, greater stability and openness in three areas are needed: the right to citizenship and affiliaation to the motherland regardless of race or religion; legislation that reflects both individual and common interests; and a civil government whose legitimacy rests on the constitution and the protection of human rights. These elements distinguish the civil state from the religious state. The criterion for electing the president in a civil state is competence, not degree of faith or religious expertise. The president’s adherence to the constitution and the law – rather than a reliance on his conscience, as was the case in Muslim history – determines the legitimacy of his administration.94 In stressing the centrality of the law and the constitution, Fuda aimed to impress upon the Islamists, and especially the Brotherhood, that the only acceptable way to promote their demand to implement the shari‘a (and thereby change the nature of Egypt) was by forming a party and taking part in elections, not by applying pressure on the authorities. Only by the former method would their demand attain legal recognittion and reflect the will of the people. The government, for its part, must nullify the extant prohibition against forming political parties based on religion and thereby facilitate a fully democratic climate.95 In the case of the Brotherhood, Fuda argued, this prohibition is purely formalistic. The movement operates a political and propaganda infrastructure and is represented in parliament by individuals. The ongoiing disregard of the Brotherhood as a political force is akin to burying one’s head in the sand, while granting a formal license to legalize the movement would yield distinct advantages. It would obligate the Brotheerhood to present a defined political platform, so that dialogue with it will be rational and not religious. Conducting such a dialogue in an arena and a conceptual framework not their own will ultimately unglue the Brotherhood’s ideology. Fuda reinforced this premise of legalization with historical examples, such as Hasan al-Banna’s failure to be elected

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to parliament from the Isma‘iliyya district in 1945, and the failure of the Brotherhood in the 1951 elections, when they were at the height of their popularity. He also cited historical evidence to dispel the fear that the establishment of a Brotherhood party would strain the ethnic fabric of Egyptian society by evoking demands by the Copts for the establishmment of their own religious parties. On the contrary, Fuda pointed out, the Copts had been drawn to the secularism of the Wafd Party during the first half of the twentieth century.96 However, Fuda was unable to guarantee that historical experience could predict the erosion of the Brotherhood once its members officially entered the political arena, or that the demand to establish Coptic partties was unlikely. Nevertheless, he emphasized that the very fact that the Brotherhood was prepared to operate within the context of the existing order revealed its members’ recognition of a civil state in Egypt whose rational/secular laws allow them to express their opinions freely. This reality also applied to the radicals, who have the right to legal defense and are sentenced according to the law and not by the sword.97 What is it that the Islamists find illegitimate in the existence of a civil state, Fuda asked. If their argument is that such a civil state is alien to Islam, then both the Scriptures and history show that Islam does not contain the blueprint for a concrete government as part of its legacy. If their claim is that such a state stems from Western culture, then the rebuttal is that culture is universal and not the province of any particular sector.98

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Chapter 5 Countering the Islamic Challenge

Political developments in the Middle East during the 1970s and early 1980s reflected the strengthening of Islamism, which posited political activity as the primary agent of change in society and the state. Contrary to the basic premises of theories of modernization, religion not only did not disappear from public life, but it renewed its presence in this arena in many Muslim countries. Iran established an Islamic republic; Pakistan and Sudan co-opted the shari‘a as the law of the land; and Egypt, Jordan, Tunisia and Algeria officially declared their allegiance to the values of Islam in an effort to neutralize religious opposition. Admittedly, the aura of the shari‘a myth dimmed in light of the dispiriting experiments in Iran, Pakistan and Sudan, yet the march of Islamic movements into the political arena continued, fueled by the region’s abiding socioeconomic crises. Ultimately, the only means that thwarted their access to governmmental power was military force or political maneuvers.

Analyzing the Islamic Phenomenon The aggravated confrontation between the government and the Islamists in the 1980s over the image of the Egyptian polity engendered a conccerted effort by government officials and the intellectual community to analyze the Islamic phenomenon and evaluate its role in history. One view regarded the Islamic camp as a single entity, with each of its elemments fulfilling a defined task: the radicals undermining public safety and the stability of the regime through violence, and the moderates peneetrating the political arena by means of legal activity, using the state media to spread the religious message. Both elements were perceived as

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aspiring to undermine the secular regime with the support of the Islamic financial sector, which owned banks and investment firms. In contrast, other analysts thought that the Islamists functioned through ideological but not operational unity, agreeing over goals but disagreeing over tactics. This view was supported, by the ambivalent position of the Brotherhood regarding the radicals’ violent behavior. In some cases the Brotherhood defended the radicals’ ideological position in courts of law.1 Fuda’s initial position on this issue, as expressed in his book, "Before the Fall" (1985), was closer to the latter view, i.e., that a variety of factions existed in the Islamic camp. The traditional faction believes in political activity within the existing system, as represented by the Brotherhood. This faction reiterates the wish to establish a political party and the goal of becoming the ruling party, or at least participating in the government. The second, revolutionary faction, views modern society as heretical, rejects any political activity stemming from a man-made constitution, and advocates violence as the only means to obtain power. The third facttion is the "financial trend" (al-tayyar al-tharwi), led by individuals who made their fortune in Egypt and Saudi Arabia by exploiting these counttries’ economic liberalization policies. They own financial institutions, printing presses and media. They seek to establish an Islamic regime patterned on that of Saudi Arabia, which Fuda described as "a state that uses faith as a mantle to protect itself even from social justice." This type of regime would espouse free trade and would strive to limit zakat rates, implement the hudud, and spur the population to devote themselves to religion in the anticipation of reward in the next world. The financial faction, in other words, views the Islamic state merely as a vehicle for acquiring wealth for itself, and the shari‘a laws merely as a brake against instability. The financial faction thus embodies economic power, the traditional faction provides the ideology, and the revolutionary faction supplies the violence.2 However, Fuda pointed out, conflicts over operational means and the appropriate attitude toward society, in the absence of a unifying leadership, makes coordination impossible, at least in the foreseeable future. Moreover, they face internal schism which limits their ability to attain broad influence or support. This is particularly evident in the traditional trend, whose ideological fragmentation stems from the tenssion between Hasan al-Banna’s modernistic outlook and Sayyid Qutb’s revolutionary approach.3

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Countering the Islamic Challenge

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Three years later, Fuda reappraised his opinion regarding the separate existence of the Islamic factions. He claimed, in his book al-Irhab ("Terrror," 1988), that the Brotherhood’s electoral achievements in the 1987 elections demonstrated that the three factions indeed coordinated tasks and each benefited by the power gained by the others. They repressed their disputes until they gain the political control they seek. Several efforts reinforced this view, he said, including the declared support of radical figures – most prominently Shaykh ‘Umar ‘Abd al-Rahman – for the Tripple Alliance (the political coalition of the Brotherhood, the Labor Party and the Liberals). A joint election campaign under the slogan "Islam is the solution," without going into detail about the nature of the solution so as to avoid disputes, also showed a united effort. Even though the Islamic candidates did not present practical solutions to pressing probllems, and falsely accused their political rivals, they shrewdly acquired vigorous backing from the establishment ‘ulama’, enabling them to preseent themselves as defenders of the faith.4 Fuda viewed this development as a throwback to the historic precedent established by the Brotherhood in the 1930s and 1940s: political moderation alongside terror, with an additional and dangerous element, funding, which allows for the diversification of Islamic activity. This new three-in-one equation, Fuda pointed out, blurs the distinctions between each trend,5 while heighteniing confusion over religious extremism. Some local observers viewed such religious militancy as essentially a security problem that demanded a harsh response, but according to Fuda this narrow-minded approach reflected the conventional and widespread security policy in regime circles. Others viewed it as a legiislative problem related to the status of Islam in the state, the solution being the replacement of the existing laws that negated the shari‘a with other laws that support it. Fuda, however, maintained that the existing laws are compatible with the shari‘a in its broadest sense, which is not limited to the Qur’an and the Sunna or to the period of the Rashidun caliphs (632-61). Yet another view was that religious militancy reflected a crisis of identity which required dialogue with the radicals and the restoration of the Islamic legacy of the past to allay the mindless drift to Western culture. Fuda rejected this view as well, arguing that the notion of a civil regime does not conflict with the spirit of Islam, and that the wholesale rejection of Western culture will leave Muslim society in a backward position. Furthermore, he pointed out, national identity is

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the only acceptable identity in a society such as Egypt, in which nonMuslim minorities live.6 In Fuda’s view, the weakness of the various analyses of religious milittancy proved that the Islamic phenomenon is essentially political but is cloaked in religion as a pretext for demanding the enforcement of the shari‘a. The underlying aim is to rule Egypt and turn it into a religious state patterned on the caliphate. Recognizing this agenda, Fuda pointed out, constitutes the first step toward solving the problem.7 Before pressenting the solution, he laid out the reasons for the growth of the Islamic trend in Egypt during the 1970s and 1980s, as follows: 1. The absence of the national element in the Egyptian discourse. Fuda identified a strong link between a heightened national consciousness and the weakening of the Islamic trend, as demonstrated historically by the anti-British revolt of 1919 and by the significant sociopolitical changes that occurred in Egypt during the 1920s. The revolt, which became the symbol of the struggle for national independence, succceeded in unifying the Egyptians and inspiring them to rise above religio-ethnic differences. Islamic activity was totally absent during this period. The same held true for the ascendance of Pan-Arabism during the revolutionary regime, when Nasser disallowed any menttion of Islam as the state religion in the constitution of the United Arab Republic. The concept of the homeland was defined in purely territorial terms, and the struggle against the enemies of the homelland focused on the theft of land. In such an atmosphere, it was only natural that religious slogans disappeared. 2. The Arab defeat of 1967. Two ideological trends emerged in the wake of the 1967 defeat: the first called for a more proficient strugggle against the Israeli enemy by adopting advanced organizational and technological systems, and the second held that the defeat was not attributable to the Egyptians or their leadership, but to Egypt’s choice of secularism. The reasoning was that just as Israel is a religgious entity, the Egyptians must defend themselves with the same weapon, i.e., Islamic ideology, which had proven itself in the time of the Prophet. 3. Sadat’s Islamic policy during the 1970s. Sadat assumed that the Islamists could be controlled and used in the struggle against the Nasserists and the left. This strategy, however, backfired, opening the door to accelerated Islamization in Egypt. Sadat’s "suicide," in

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Fuda’s terminology, left his successor a difficult route strewn with obstacles. 4. An atmosphere of "democratic tolerance," which is very different from a "fully democratic climate." The difference between these two concepts is vast, Fuda explained. The former depends on the willingness of the ruler, while the latter limits his power by force of the constituttional system. "Democratic tolerance" strengthened the status of the Brotherhood, while limiting its rivals’ ability to oppose it. This was particularly pronounced in granting a permit to the Brotherhood to disseminate its views in various print media – some sponsored by political parties – a move that intensified religious sentiment. Conversely, the prohibition against establishing new political parties resulted in the infiltration of religion into the existing parties and the formation of pro-Islamic pressure groups within them. Fuda’s conclusion, therefore, was that Egypt’s partial democracy lessened the value of the party system while benefiting the Islamists. 5. The regime’s inconsistent response to religious radicalization. From the start, the regime and its supporters among the intellectuals downpplayed their confrontation with the Islamists as merely a religious dialogue about shari‘a issues (e.g., personal status, or the hudud) rather than a political dialogue that would address grave practical issues, which would ultimately reveal the weakness of the Islamic conception. Moreover, the initiation by the state of a religious diallogue, and the adoption by the state media of a vague stance on the issue, created a public climate that was unsympathetic to the regime.8 These factors, in Fuda’s view, allowed the Islamists to garner significant support by the late 1980s and to establish a network, which also gave them an entrée to national politics. The Islamist terrorist wing also expanded significantly. It no longer limited its activity to attacks against regime figures or Copts, but attempted to impose a puritan mindset on society, following its success in several districts in Upper Egypt by the late 1980s.9 Fuda rejected the claim that religious terrorism was traceable to the torture endured by members of the Brotherhood under the July 1952 revolution. Islamic terrorism, he argued, had begun well before, with the very establishment of the Muslim Brotherhood movement in the late 1920s. The oath of allegiance was taken by swearing on the Qur’an and on a pistol, as recounted in the memoirs of the movement’s

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leader, Hamid Abu al-Nasr. The existence of a secret apparatus for politiccal assassinations proved that terrorism was integral to the Brotherhood’s modus vivendi and was not a byproduct of the political climate during Nasser’s rule.10 Terrorism was inherent in the Brotherhood’s ideological thinking long before the 1952 revolution, Fuda emphasized, but had spread in contemporary Egypt through populist demagoguery that distinguished between legal and illegal terrorism, or acceptable and unacceptable terrorism. Sadat’s murderer is named a martyr, while the murderer of policemen is judged a terrorist, Fuda pointed out. Attacks against foreign diplomats and tourists on Egyptian soil are depicted by leftist organs as acts of bravery, without concern that they weaken society’s ability to deal appropriately with terror. Moreover, every terrorist attack is preceded by a systematic campaign of falsehoods and half-truths. Fuda cited the example of the attempt in May 1987 to assassinate the former minister of interior, Hasan Abu Basha, on the grounds that he was said to have thrown a Qur’an on the floor and stepped on it. This slander, reiterated in public, weakened the condemnation of the assassination attempt. One of the predominant aspects of terrorism, Fuda observed, is the mental preparation of the public that anesthetizes their judgmental faculties.11 Fuda pointed an accusing finger in particular at the state-sponsored media and at certain political parties. The media, in his analysis, rely on a shallow theory to explain terrorism, namely that terrorists are drawn to violence for lack of religious guidance. The solution they propose is guidance toward the true religion (tashih al-din) with the help of the ‘ulama’ and the airing of religious programs that highlight the tolerance and the glory of Muslim history.12 The intent of this approach may be correct, Fuda wrote, but reality points to the opposite result, namely the spread of fanaticism. Two reasons account for this: (1) Fanaticism is political in essence and its proliferation stems from depressed socioeeconomic conditions; (2) Religious programs in the media focus on the golden ages in Muslim history, which were all too rare and brief, while omitting the black pages of this history, saturated with oppression and moral breaches. No wonder the religious programs reinforce young peopple’s urge to restore that lost past by any means, Fuda commented.13 Progressing from the realm of the media to the realm of party polittics, Fuda painted a picture that was no less discouraging. Some of the parties, he charged, relate to terrorism inconsistently, cynically vacillati-

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ing between denunciation and support, depending on the prevailing atmosphere. The use these parties made of religious sloganeering, if only for tactical reasons, benefited the Islamists, while exposing these parties as "worse than the ruling party."14 Fuda viewed both the media and the entire party system as reflecting the impotence of the regime. Faced with a religio-political movement that exploits legal means to infiltrate and eventually control the governmental system, as did the Nazis in Germmany in the early 1930s,15 the regime hesitates to act. This hesitancy is apparent on three levels: 1. Non-enforcement of laws when they are violated. Examples of blatant violations of the law include the illegal construction of mosques on state land or in public parkland without a permit, the use of outdoor amplifiers in mosques, work stoppages in government offices for group prayer, and legal judgments based on the shari‘a rather than on civil law. These infractions erode the deterrent power of the state and invite further violations. 2. A lack of coordination between the authorities in dealing with the Islamic threat. Whereas the Ministry of Interior wages vigorous measures against acts of violence, state media policy remains vague. It tends to highlight the humane side of the Islamic trend. The demand to confine women to the home, and the advocacy of implementing the shari‘a are aired systematically in the state-sponsored media. While freedom of speech must indeed be protected, this does not extend to the point the regime endangering itself. The role of the media is to present a balanced picture, so that the dark sides of the Islamic experiment are also presented and other trends in society are also given exposure. The same holds true for the ministries of religious endowments and education, which regularly call for a conciliatory dialogue with the radicals. State school curricula imply contempt for a culture of progress. History books cover only the glorious Islamic past, such as the battles waged by the early Muslims under the leadeership of the Prophet, thereby perpetuating the militant rather than the human aspect of Islam in the consciousness of young people.16 3. The regime’s reliance on security rather than fostering civic opposition to the Islamic threat. The regime prohibits the establishment of secular parties, presents obstacles to public associations that advocate freeddom of thought and national unity, and shows poor results in electtions on university campuses and in the professionals’ unions. The weakness of the ruling National Democratic Party is especially pron-

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nounced – its influence on political life is negligible. In contrast to its predecessor, the Arab Socialist Union, the National Democratic Party does not present a clear platform or display organizational effectiveness. Its technocratic thinking is more suitable to problem solving than to promoting political action. The result is the lack of an intimate connection with the broad public, and a conciliatory approach to the demand to implement the shari‘a – the gateway to a religious state.17 Fuda argued that in favoring the co-option of the Islamists over a firm stance against them, the regime lost ground. Competition with the Islamists necessarily takes place on their playing field and focuses on the issue of the shari‘a, giving the impression that the choice is between a radical or a moderate religious state. Furthermore, the policy of co-option dooms the mobilization of unequivocal popular action against terrorism to failure.18 History shows that the extent of the deterrence elicited by a government determines the length of its rule. Reverence for the regime in the Pharaonic period served as an important basis for the molding of a glorious civilization. During the Rashidun period, Abu Bakr presserved such fear adeptly in the ridda wars. ‘Umar, in displaying a sense of justice, used firm measures to attain the highest levels of statemansship. ‘Uthman, by contrast, gradually weakened this tool by vacillating between force and moderation and by revoking his own decisions, until he depleted the deterrent capacity of the government. Similarly, ‘Ali’s insistence on religious dialogue with the Kharijite rebels, which sealed his own fate of death, also weakened his regime. In contrast, Mu‘awiya, a statesman and politician, prevented factionalization in his kingdom by redrawing the line between criticism of the ruler and battling him. This was exemplified in the case of Hujr bin ‘Adiyy, whose piety did not bar Mu‘awiya from having him executed when he crossed this line. In Mu‘awiya’s view, the issue was the very existence of the regime.19 Interpreting history in contemporary terms, Fuda argued that restraint in the face of radicalism, rather than a firm stand, only leads to greater radicalization: The ruler in our modern world must learn from the experience of his predecessors.... He must not conduct a dialogue with those who oppose him in their arena, or by using their weaponry, or by dancing to their tune. He must require them to conduct a dialogue

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with him in his arena, and there is no other arena than the consstitution, no other weapon than the law, and no other tune than democracy.20 Fuda ascribed a central role to constitution, law and deomcracy in the modern polity. These three elements dictate the rules of the political game and preclude the rise of a dictatorship. They serve as the criteria that distinguish between enlightened and backward nations. Confirmattion of this view, in Fuda’s thinking, lay in the changes in Eastern Europe during the late 1980s, especially the fall of East Germany and the colllapse of the Soviet Bloc. The rigidity of thought and repressive regimes, typical of Marxist governments, eventually led to a sea change. Ironically, Fuda pointed out, the most enduring influence of Marxism was evident less in the Eastern Bloc than in the capitalist Western countries, which adopted certain tenets in the area of social welfare, such as providing unemployment compensation, medical insurance and public education. The openness of thought of Western capitalism, which incorporated lesssons learned from its history of social exploitation in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, helped preserve these regimes and led to the ultimmate victory of liberal government. Any school of thought that detaches itself from human experience and is incapable of learning the lessons of its past, Fuda concluded, is destined to disappear, as did Marxism.21 Today, with the end of the era of ideologies and the beginning of the era of technology, Fuda wrote, Europe is marching toward economic as well as political unification, impelled by the pragmatic interests of progress and development. By contrast, the Arabs remain captive to a world of emotions and internal disputes despite their shared ethnicity, language and history. Soon enough, Fuda predicted, the Arab world will cease to serve as a source of cheap oil and labor for the West. The troublesome question of its role among the giants of tomorrow will have to be confronted. However, certain groups in the Arab world persist in clinging to obsolete slogans, such as the Islamic radicals, who demand the restoration of the caliphate, or the Nasserists, whose cause is PanArabism. The only difference between the two is that the former group is planted in the seventh century, while the latter is stuck in the mid-twenttieth century. The long and stubborn struggle being waged by the Arab states to eliminate Israel, also shows that the Arabs have been educated to focus on utopia instead of reality, in Fuda’s analysis. It is no wonder, he wrote, that this struggle has failed and ultimately made way for the

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peace process in the region. The struggle resulted in a loss of resources and, even more importantly, a loss of precious time, which the Arabs could have put to better use by closing the gap between themselves and the West. As for Egypt itself, whose pioneering role in the Middle East was always greater than its limited material assets, a regrettable domestic struggle is being waged between backwardness and progress. Egyptian writers, too, detach themselves from any dialogue with world change and fail to map out their country’s future.22 In Fuda’s view: The tragedy is that we await what tomorrow will do to us, instead of the other way around. We have become used to reacting rather than initiating. We have trained ourselves to fool our souls, as if the world stands still and does not change. As if we do not undersstand that every new day creates a new reality, which requires diffferent ways of coping. We speak about peace with Israel and do not understand its [positive] ramifications, even though they are clear to the average political commentator. We also speak about a unified view of history, forgetting that geographic conditions are the decisive factor. Worst of all, we believe that we are capable of imposing our view, despite the fact that it is reality that imposes itself on us.23

The Remedy The remedy for the backwardness that afflicts the Arab world today is neither simple nor unequivocal, Fuda wrote. A first step is self-criticism and a willingness to learn from past mistakes, starting with addressing the Islamic challenge in the correct way. Devotees of Islam, he charged, adhere to a philosophy of cutting off the hand that is extended to them, and sometimes even murdering the person who proffers it. For example, Nasser permitted the Brotherhood to operate freely, on the grounds that it was an association and not a political party. Standing at Hasan alBanna’s graveside in 1949, Nasser even swore to avenge his death. None of this helped him, and in 1954 an attempt was made on his life by Islamists. Nasser was lucky and escaped death, but he was clever enough to learn a lesson, and from then on he repressed the Brotherhood’s activiities.

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His successors, however, did not follow his lead. Sadat paid with his life for releasing Brotherhood leaders from prison and allowing the movement freedom of action and speech. Mubarak gave the movement a foothold in parliament, thereby evoking a series of violent acts. A similar fate was in store for other Arab states, such as Algeria, Tunisia and Jordan.24 This historical record led Fuda to two conclusions. First, it is impossible to reach an understanding with the Islamists that will allow the government to accede to some of their demands in return for a guarantee of stability. The issue is not differences of opinion but rather a fundamental contradiction between a government that bases itself on the constitution and operates in the national interest, and an opposition movement that bases itself on Scripture and is dedicated to promoting what is perceived as an absolute truth. Fuda also concluded that the Islamists view democracy as a means rather than an end, to be granted to them only and not to others. This represents a return to the political norm that prevailed in the Arab world in the 1960s when the slogan "Freedom to the people but not to the enemies of the people" was widespread, with the concept "freedom to the people" referring only to supporters of the regime.25 Fuda emphasized that he was not condoning the use of violence against the religious opposition, but rather sought a balance between "the language of the era, which is democracy, and the language of justice, which is the law." This led Fuda to embark on a purposeful discussion on facing the Islamic challenge in Egypt, the country which constituted, in his view, "the cradle of existence and the point of departure for influenciing the entire region."26 His proposal focused on two main factors: 1. The rule of law. People who live under dictatorships fear the regime, while in democracies people fear the law. In Egypt, there is no fear of the regime, yet respect for the law is not sufficiently entrenched, as in the West. Significantly, terrorism stems primarily from the goveernment’s non-enforcement of the laws of the state.27 2. Democracy. Democracy in Egypt is more a "democracy of speech" than a "democracy of change." Imposed by the ruler, it does not permmit the growth of new leaderships and ideas, or the development of enlightened public opinion, which would allow for an effective politiical response to the Islamic challenge.28 Only the complete freedom to establish parties and publish newspapers, Fuda was convinced, would reinforce anti-Islamist civic activity and expose the Islamists’ ideological sterility in political and non-religious debate. Fuda cons-

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sidered Hasan al-Banna’s failure in the 1945 elections, which the Wafd had boycotted, and the failure of the Brotherhood in the 1951 elections, when the movement was at the height of its power, as histtorical evidence of the link between total democracy and limiting the power of the Islamists.29 In Fuda’s view, reverence for the law would guarantee the elimination of radical opposition to the existing order, while full democracy would channel the Brotherhood’s activity along legitimate lines and obligate them to focus their discourse on the national rather than the religious sphere. Both areas – the rule of law and democracy – must undergo significcant and immediate reform, Fuda insisted. Other areas, he pointed out, require change over a longer period before they can yield results, especcially economic development and the shaping of national unity.30 Economic Development Sharply criticizing the regime in the economic area, Fuda pointed out that in contrast to Western countries, the regime in Egypt did not prommote social legislation for the needy or laws protecting consumers and workers. Overcrowding in the cities and the absence of community services in outlying provinces engendered a sense of disfranchisement among sectors of the population. Ultimately, these lacunae fuel religious fanaticism, which in essence is a reflection of a harsh reality and a loss of hope by young people.31 Fuda was especially critical of the exaggeraated emphasis on military needs at a time when resources should have been devoted to the development of the country.32 He also attacked the government planning policy, which, instead of promoting urbanization in the villages, fostered the ruralization of the cities (taryif al-mudun), with all the negative aspects of rural life, particularly a superficial reliaance on religion. The residential slums that sprang up around the cities with no plans or permits, such as the Imbaba and al-Mutriyya quarters on the outskirts of Cairo, administratively and geographically belong to the city but socio-culturally resemble villages. It is these locations that radiate fanaticism toward the city centers. Beyond recoiling from the religious superficiality of the fellahin, however, Fuda focused on their underdeveloped economic state. He demanded that they be viewed as citizens with equal rights and not only obligations, who must be treated justly after prolonged neglect by the government.33

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Fuda ascribed the root of evil in the national economy to the regime’s defective development policy. The country’s widespread unemployment and low productivity, he wrote, could be solved by offering incentives to the private sector and opening the doors to foreign investment. Howeever, instead of reducing the role of the state in providing basic services to privately initiated economic projects, the government procrastinated in issuing permits for such projects, ostensibly to prevent failure and corrruption. This is a utopian perception that ignores the fact that mistakes are part of human nature. Moreover, it is obsolete in fomenting hostility toward capitalist wealth as operating in the service of imperialism. The sole result of this policy is the flight of investment and arrested growth. Yet Fuda did not advocate absolute economic freedom, but rather freedom with restrictions to guarantee the public good. As he put it: "The boundaries between the encouragement of investment and the destruction of the country are clear." Fuda illustrated his point by citing the case of a Saudi investor who rented a hotel in Cairo and ran it as if it were his, thereby violating tourism laws: he remodeled the hotel without a permit, set his own accommodation prices, and refused to serve alcohholic beverages. Such behavior, Fuda observed, promoted a moral rather than an investment interest and damaged the state’s economy, in which tourism plays an important role.34 Egypt’s development policy affects not only its domestic condition, Fuda argued, but has regional implications as well. Limiting developmment to the territorial confines of the country is short-sighted because of regional interdependence. Egypt’s genius, in Fuda’s view, is linked to the reality of its regional location. The country’s modern development began during the rule of Muhammad ‘Ali (1805-48) and Isma‘il (186179). Significantly, both rulers went beyond the boundaries of the Nile Valley: Muhammad ‘Ali northward to the heart of the Ottoman Empire, and Isma‘il southward to the sources of the Nile in Africa. These steps promoted development and a cultural revival within Egypt itself followiing a period of stagnation under the rule of Khedive ‘Abbas (1848-54) and Sa‘id (1854-63). What Muhammad ‘Ali and Isma‘il had in commmon was a pronounced reliance on geographic rather than historic attribbutes. Neither of them promoted any kind of pan-Arab, pan-Islamic or pan-African agenda. In contrast, Nasser (1952-70) tried to discount the importance of geography, abandoning the notion of the unity of the Nile Valley and focusing on Arab unity based on history alone. Howe-

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ever, he failed and thus weakened the national interest and involved the Egyptian army in wars on distant foreign soil.35 In his book, "The Wafd and the Future" (1981), Fuda ascribed the failure to achieve the unity of the Nile Valley on the intervention of foreign elements anxious to deny Egypt a leading role in molding the region during the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries.36 The worrisome developments that took place in Sudan during the 1980s, such as the split between north and south and the growing political power of Hasan al-Turabi’s Islamic Front, force Egypt to re-examine its policy toward its neighbor to the south, Fuda believed. Egypt needs to establish firm parameters for coexistence with Khartum on such threateening issues as the construction of dams on the Nile, the separation of southern Sudan from the north, and Sudanese support for radical Egypttian Islamist groups. If necessary, the use of force is a relevant option.37 National Unity A final element cited by Fuda as necessary to neutralize the causes of religious fanaticism in Egypt is the entrenchment of a sense of national unity among Muslims and Copts. The Copts, in contrast to most other minorities world over, are a minority indigenous to their country, and as such cannot be viewed as foreign or undesirable, Fuda pointed put. Nevertheless, they suffer from meager representation in the leadership of the country’s political parties, and their day-to-day reality is imbued with evidence of alienation toward them, as toward other minorities, such as the Bahais, the Shi‘ites and the Jews.38 Fuda attributed this situaation to three factors. The first is state policy going back to the early twentieth century, which denies Copts access to key posts in government and military service based on the religious precept that a Muslim cannot be subordinate to a non-Muslim. The second factor is the tendency of al-Azhar to minimize the seriousness of ethnic friction and to portray such incidents as part of the normal interaction between citizens, or as fomented by outside sources.39 The third factor is the position of the media and the political parties alike, which demands implementation of the shari‘a as the country’s top priority. This presents the Copts with a difficult dilemma. Support for this demand will perpetuate their inferioority as "protected subjects," while opposition will portray the Copts as an obstacle to the fulfillment of the Muslims’ religious goals.40 Fuda traced the root of Copt alienation to defects in Egyptian law. In his view, Egyptian law provides a narrow interpretation of freedom

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of belief (hurriyyat al-i‘tiqad) which in fact excludes freedom of religious belief because of a loophole in Article 46 of the constitution. The article states that the state guarantees freedom of belief and religious ritual, but does not elaborate further.41 This paved the way, for example, for the degrading attitude toward the Bahai faith, which was made illegal in 1960. Periodically, Bahais are tried for incitement against Islam.42 The correct interpretation of the law, Fuda argued, is not the validity of the Bahai religion but the protection of freedom of belief, which is absolute and is recognized in Article 18 of the U.N. Universal Declaration of Human Rights of 1948. In Fuda’s view, the more constricted freedom of belief is, the less tolerance there is, not only toward the Bahais but also toward the Copts.43 In as much as the constitution forms the "basis for the political structure" of society, Fuda demanded amending Article 46 to state "absolute freedom of religious belief."44 Other loopholes in the constitution that fuel ethnic tension in Egypt, Fuda pointed out, stem from Article 2, which holds that Islam is the religion of the state, and the principles of the shari‘a are the primary source of legislation. In his view, the first clause in the article – Islam is the religion of the state – evokes contradictory interpretations among Muslims themselves, going back to the 1920s when the constitution was drafted. According to one interpretation, the clause constitutes a firm obligation by Egypt to obey the commands of Islam; whoever denies them is to be considered a traitor to the motherland. This implies that the state has the authority to restrict freedom of thought and opinion if these tarnish Islam. According to another interpretation, however, the article is merely a formality: the intent is to honor the majority religion and its customs, which are obligatory to its adherents, while the state, which is an "artificial entity," does not reward good deeds or punish sins. In this interpretation, the authorities are merely required to refrain from inflicting any harm to the majority religion, such as closing mosques, spending waqf monies improperly, canceling the pilgrimage to Mecca, or annulling Islamic festivals. This confirms Egyptian reality without imposing new religious obligations on the regime, and without detractiing from its obligations to uphold a modern code of behavior that does not contradict the spirit of Islam. The second clause in Article 2 – that the principles of the shari‘a are the primary source of legislation – also elicits contradictory interpretations. The Islamists claim that the clause relates to prohibitions and punishments cited in the shari‘a, but a conttradictory interpretation holds that it refers only to the principles of

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the shari‘a, which are generalized and flexible, as in any other divine religion.45 Fuda viewed the loopholes in Articles 2 and 46 of the constitution as encouraging divisiveness in society. He believed that a clear stance by the state regarding full equal rights and the absolute freedom of ritual practice would reinforce Egypt’s civic foundations and restore a sense of belonging to the motherland.46 In an era of human rights, Fuda argued, there is no room for talk of majority/minority, or tolerance, but rather of immutable rights. "The Coptic citizen in Egypt has rights not because we are tolerant, but because he is first of all an Egyptian.... Whoever believes otherwise is mentally disturbed and ignorant." The Copts have repeatedly demonstrated their loyalty to the homeland and their disincclination to exploit their minority status, he pointed out. Examples are their participation in the national struggle against the British, and their opposition to the notion of reserving a fixed percentage of seats for them in parliament, as had been drafted in the 1923 constitution.47 What is true for the Copts is also true for the status of women in society, Fuda held. The Islamists argue that a woman’s honor and liberty are reflected solely in her adherence to the principles of religion and only when she remains shuttered at home, like a hidden pearl.48 The Islamists counter the demand to allow the woman to have a career outside the home and to grant her equal status with that of the man with two argumments: First, woman is sensitive and less able than man, especially under pressure or when making momentous decisions. Second, the emergence of Islam improved women’s status immeasurably in comparison with that in the jahiliyya period. In Fuda’s view, these comparisons are merely empty rhetoric. The relevant comparison is between the status of women in Islam and her status as defined in the U.N. Declaration of Human Rights. As the platform of the al-Mustaqbal Party (established by Fuda in 1984) stated, instead of viewing the woman as "sister, mother or partnner,” she is viewed as a “ticking sex bomb."49 Since the issue is of importtance to the entire public, women should be regarded in the same way as in the enlightened Western world. Everyone must accept this reality, even if his personal preference or religious belief differs from this premiise. A civil state that guarantees the equality of its citizens’ rights and duties, and promotes social justice, is not only in the Egyptian interest but in the regional interest as well. "The keys to this entire region," Fuda wrote, "are in Egypt’s hands."50

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Chapter 6 Summary: Fuda’s Liberal Vision

In his writings, Fuda attacked the widespread slogan proclaiming that the solution to society’s ills lies in implementing the shari‘a. Employing rational arguments, and drawing on both ancient and modern Muslim history, Fuda discredited this slogan as distorting the essence of Islam, which is a religion, not a blueprint for a political entity. In a changing, dynamic reality, he held, the separation of religion and politics will bettter serve governmental priorities. It will also preserve Islam as the moral and cultural basis of society and, thereby as an integral part of Egypt’s secular identity. Fuda insistently questioned the excessive sanctification of the shari‘a, stressing instead Egypt’s national experience. He sought to promote two goals: to expose the ideological sterility of the Islamists in attempting to solve concrete problems, as demonstrated by the policies adopted in Iran, Pakistan or Sudan; and to foster loyalty to Egypt as the motherland, which since its inception had been associated with progress and served as a melting pot for a multiplicity of civilizations – in Fuda’s enumeration, "Pharaonic, Islamic, Coptic, Arabic and African."1 In interpreting the present reality based on events of the past, Fuda sought to validate the national/secular image of the Nile Valley and thus imbue Egyptian liberalism with historical and ideological depth. On occasion, he would refer to the contributions of such liberal luminariies in pre-revolutionary Egypt as Rifa‘a Rafi‘ al-Tahatawi, ‘Ali Mubarak, Muhammad ‘Abduh, Mustafa Kamil, Ahmad Lutfi al-Sayyid, Taha Husayn, ‘Ali ‘Abd al-Raziq, Qasim Amin, ‘Abbas Mahmud al-‘Aqqad and Khalid Muhammad Khalid. "They defended what they believed in, and understood that the future is on their side despite the fact that the prese-

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ent is against them."2 Through the acuity of their arguments, and their determination, Fuda pointed out, they became the standard bearers of democracy and openness in Egypt, notions that shortly beforehand were perceived as heretical. Major norms were molded along the lines of these concepts during their time, such as national unity, civil government and the separation of religion and politics.3 The achievements of Egyptian liberalism during the first half of the twentieth century served as a source of inspiration for Fuda as well as a standard by which to measure the status of the trend in the second half of the century. The founding generation, he noted, had been succeeded by a new generation in the 1970s and 1980s which included Muhammmad Sa‘id al-‘Ashmawi, Husayn Ahmad Amin, Nawal al-Sa‘dawi, Louis ‘Awad, Subhi Mansur, Khalil ‘Abd al-Karim, Mahmud Sayyid al-Qimni, Fu’ad Zakariya and ‘Abd al-‘Azim Ramadan.4 Although several of these personalities, such as Zakariya and Ramadan, had a Leftist orientation, Fuda pointed out, their advocacy of humanism and independent judgmment and their opposition to the Islamic trend made them partners in liberal thinking. In Fuda’s view, the written work of the new generation was no less daring than that of the previous generation, taking into conssideration the problematic contemporary reality, namely the growing Islamization of society and state. Nevertheless, he expressed disappointmment in how intellectuals in general functioned, dividing them into three types: cowards; fatalists convinced that the Islamists will eventuaally regain power; and corrupt, having been bribed monetarily by the Islamists. This lack of intellectual courage allows for a discourse that might be congenial but avoids true debate over controversial issues. Fuda viewed such tepid discourse as disastrous, for human intellect develops only though the airing of opinions and counter-opinions, and culture is renewed only by rational dialogue.5 In his words, "Egypt requires dozens of writers who fear for their homeland more than they fear for themsselves. Only this will change Egypt’s course."6 Fuda attributed the distress of Egyptian liberalism in the post-revollutionary era to the fact that Egypt did not have to pay a high price for liberal values. Unlike in the West, these values were secured with ease and without a violent struggle. Not surprisingly, relinquishing them was perceived in the public consciousness as insignificant and not distressiing. Still, Fuda was confident both in the historic impulse toward progrress rather than regression, and in the Egyptian people, who manifest "the readiness to sustain challenges." Just as the demand for democracy

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became popular during the 1920s, and its opponents were marginaliized historically, so secularism, which demands the separation of religgion and politics, is destined to triumph, while the empowerment of the Islamists will dissipate. Two factors will facilitate this: the militants’ acts of destruction and violence, which reveal the dark side of any religious regime; and the Brotherhood’s ideological sterility, which demonstrates the irrelevance of the shari‘a to the modern age.7 To enlist the support of the masses for this purpose, as those who will ultimately determine Egypt’s direction, the government must adopt an assertive policy: restore reverence for the law, amend the loopholes in the constitution regarding freedom of religious belief, and permit full political democratization, including the right of the Brotherhood to establish an independent party. In Fuda’s view, reverence for the law will eliminate opposition to the existing order; amending the constittutional article on freedom of religious belief will increase tolerance in society and entrench national unity among Muslims and Copts; and full democracy will channel the Brotherhood’s activity along legitimate lines and obligate the movement to focus its platform on the national rather than the religious sphere. Fuda regarded the rule of law, the constitution and democracy as a practical means to neutralize the Islamic threat and also as vital foundattions of a civil state that ensures justice and human rights. He defined himself as a "flesh and blood liberal," and his period as the "era of human rights." Viewing this definition as a universal measure for classsifying societies as progressive or backward, he upheld and championed a range of liberal ideals that he studied seriously during his travels to Europe and the United States. These included equality before the law, and the freedom of worship, speech and association.8 Yet, while espousiing the individual and civic freedoms, he also emphasized that caution was required to ensure the public good and the national interests of the state. In this context, he justified imposing restrictions on written incitemment to violence and destruction, and prohibiting foreign investment that violates local laws. Protection of national interests also prompted him to demand Egypt to take a firm stand in its relations with neighboriing states, such as Sudan, which commands the sources of the Nile; and with Western countries, which encourage Arab regimes to compromise with the Islamic movements in an effort to create potential allies in the future.9

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Notably, by identifying the major threat to the state as the Islamic trend, Fuda revealed an inner tension in his liberal approach. On the one hand he advocated freedom of activity for the Islamists, while on the other he recognized the need to restrain this freedom. In fact, his support for Islamists’ legal inclusion into national politics was essentially aimed at exposing their ideological hollowness, and not to turning them into legitimate partners in shaping the polity.10

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Part III Competing Truths

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Chapter 7 The Liberal Discourse: A Comparative Analysis

Fuda, explicitly appealing for the separation of religion from politics and rejecting the applicability of the shari‘a to the modern age, positioned himself on the extreme end of the liberal spectrum in post-revolutionary Egypt. He may to some extent be viewed as the ideological successor to ‘Ali ‘Abd al-Raziq and Khalid Muhammad Khalid, whose pre-revolution works had also caused a public storm. A comparative examination reveals that on the issue of the separattion of religion from politics, Fuda exhibited an affinity to the basic principles expressed by both ‘Abd al-Raziq and Khalid, i.e., that Islam is a religion and not a state, and as such cannot be bound by predetermmined paradigms. Essentially, Fuda’s message focused on the disseminnation of justice and humanism, which can be guaranteed only by a civic state committed to human rights, drawing its authority from the people. Fuda’s thinking was more similar to Khalid’s than to ‘Abd alRaziq’s thinking, on two levels: 1. Both Fuda and Khalid favored the methodological approach of histtoric interpretation over the semantic textual interpretation of Islam. The issue of the caliphate serves as a good example. All three writers agreed that the caliphate does not constitute a part of Islam and is irrelevant to Muslims in the modern era. However, ‘Abd al-Raziq based this view primarily on the absence of any mention of the caliphate in the Qur’an or the Sunna, contenting himself with the exclusively historical narrative about Abu Bakr and the ridda wars. In contrast, Khalid and Fuda relied on the long historical record of the caliphate, which, they pointed out, conflicted with the spirit of Islam.

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2. Both Fuda and Khalid favored the discursive method, which expanded ‘Abd al-Raziq’s narrow discussion of the caliphate and more broadly focused on the basis for the functioning of the modern state: would it be the shari‘a, or positive law? The shift in emphasis from the caliphate to the shari‘a is reminiscent of the changes that took place in modern Islamic thought with the appearance of the Brotherhood in the late 1920s. The Brotherhood’s demand to implemment the shari‘a began to acquire political and public support in the 1930s and 1940s, reaching a peak in the 1970s and 1980s. In an effort to delegitimize this cause, Khalid, and more so Fuda, attacked the excessive exaltation of the shari‘a, which in their view represented a despotic historic reality and a fossilized political agenda. Enummerating the dangers veiled in the application of the shari‘a, Fuda approached the issue from a broader perspective than Khalid in the 1940s. He cited the negative evidence provided by a cross section of Islamic-style states, which in addition to the Arabian Peninsula emirates included such countries as Iran, Pakistan and Sudan, as well as a cross section of Islamic movements which supported violence. Moreover, Fuda exhibited a greater interest in the Rashidun period than Khalid. He invalidated not only the ‘Uthman caliphate but also the caliphates of Abu Baker and of ‘Ali,1 viewing that of ‘Umar as the single ray of light in Muslim history. By limiting the glorious early days of Islam to the reign of a single figure, Fuda sought to diminiish the attractiveness of the Rashidun period as a lofty ideal for the conduct of modern Muslims. Despite overall conceptual continuity, Fuda differed from both ‘Abd alRaziq and Khalid on two main points: the status of the Prophet, and the role of religion in society. First, Fuda argued, from the start, Islam sanctified the separation of religion and politics, but he did not deduce from this that the Prophet was solely a spiritual leader and not a statesmman, as his two predecessors held. Fuda viewed the Prophet’s acts as a ruler as beyond the province of historical judgment owing to divine inspiration. This is not the case, however, for the Prophet’s era, which is to be viewed from a historical perspective, exempting Muslims today from imitating its conventions, such as attire, medical practices or the use of torture, which became obsolete over time.2 Second, while Fuda was eager to promote radical change in society based on modern values, he did not advocate forcefully removing religion from the public space

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entirely, in contrast to ‘Abd al-Raziq and especially Khalid. Rather, he viewed religion as a moral guide for society and as integral to the Egypttian character, allocating it a key role in culture. Similarly, he did not deny the right of the ‘ulama’ to “guide citizens in matters of religion,” on the condition that they are careful not to intermix the sanctity of religion with their political views. In his thinking, the notion of the separation of religion from politics (but not from the state, as his predecessors demanded) recognizes Islam as integral to the Egyptian experience and imposes the duty of preserviing its values, festivals and institutions on the state. In effect, Fuda suppported a democratic arrangement that took an intermediate position between the “jurisdictional” approach, which ensures the position and role of religion in the state by constitutional and legal definition, and the “separatist” approach, which views religion as the personal and private affair of the individual.3 A contextual reading of Fuda’s writing shows that his relatively modeerate position on the issues of the Prophet and the role of religion in society stemmed not only from inner conviction, but from an awarenness of the religious impulse as an important element in the definition of Egypt’s national identity. As a politician, Fuda was conscious of the acuity as well as the impracticality of the notion of privatizing religion, even if he was clearly thus inclined. This inclination is observable, inter alia, in his demand to restore religion to its proper place – the mosque, or in his insistence that faith is a personal issue between man and his creator, and no one has the authority or the right to insist on the quality of a person’s religious practice as a Muslim.4 In the context of resacralizattion of the public sphere, Fuda merely sought to moderate the religious impulse and channel it to the benefit of the state. Pointing to the restrictions on intellectual self-expression in his time, Fuda wrote in his book, "Before the Fall": I hereby testify that there is no Allah except Allah; Muhammad is His prophet. This is the testimony of one who is forced by circumsstances to wave the slogan of his religion instead of, or prior to, the slogan of citizenship. This, as proof of that which does not require validation, and as a preface that is unavoidable when dealing with a tendency which finds it easiest to hurl the accusation of heresy at a Muslim, or shoot the arrow of apostasy at anyone who disagrees with it.5

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Fuda’s avoidance of discussing the Prophet’s status as spiritual leader vs. statesman, and rejection of the possibility of removing religion from public life weakened his argument that the separation of religion and politics was inherent to Islam. However, it did not blunt his forceful position on the issue of the shari‘a, making him the most controversial writer in contemporary liberal thought in Egypt. Two additional outsspoken liberal writers were Husayn Ahmad Amin and Muhammad Sa‘id al-‘Ashmawi.

Husayn Ahmad Amin’s Historical Approach Husayn Ahmad Amin (b. 1932) was the son of Ahmad Amin, editor of the liberal periodical al-Thaqafa ("Culture") and one of the leading Egyptian intellectuals during the inter-war period. Husayn graduated from Cairo University with a degree in law in 1953 and worked as a lawyyer and a radio commentator. He joined the Egyptian diplomatic service in 1970 and, after holding a series of posts, including deputy director of the Diplomatic Academy and consul-general in Rio de Janeiro, he was appointed ambassador to Algeria (1987).6 Three of his works are releevant to the present discussion: Dalil al-Muslim al-Hazin (“A Guide to the Anguished Muslim,” 1983), Hawla al-Da‘wa ila Tatbiq al-Shari‘a alIslamiyya (“On the Call for the Application of Islamic Law,” 1984), and al-Islam fi ‘Alam Mutaghayyir (“Islam in a Changing World,” 1988). Amin’s first argument regarding the shari‘a was that significant parts of any religion are “human additions,” the product of cumulative experieence of societies over time. These additions throughout Muslim history reflected the interaction between Islam and the customs of the societies it conquered, as well as power struggles, human impulse and deviations which, when presented in a religious context, distorted the essence of Islam. The role of the historian, in Amin’s view, is to discard what is foreign to this essence – the superficial strata that accumalated during Islamic history, releasing the truly faithful from the duty to expose the extraneous elements of the religion.7 Amin traced the evolutionary proccess of the corruption of Islam to the sira – the biographical literature dealing with the life of the Prophet. The early Muslim historians, such as Ibn Ishaq, Ibn Sa‘d, al-Waqidi and al-Tabari, sincerely strove to limit their work to accounts of the events with no interpretation or criticism, on the premise that history is the external expression of the will of Allah in this world and as such must

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be documented faithfully. Amin attributed the sincerity and accuracy of their writing to their proximity in time to the events. With the passage of time, and with the influence of the close contact with conquered populations and other religions, the sira accounts began to lose their histtoric value. Their aim was no longer the documentation of the truth but the idealization and mythologization of the image of the Prophet as part of the aim to effectively debate Jews and Christians. These non-Muslims presented the miraculous deeds of their own prophets and delegitimized such aspects of Islamic history as Muhammad’s polygamy or his hostile attitude toward the Jews of Medina. Defending the Islamic faith in religgious confrontations, the Muslims adopted an apologetic approach, a mode that peaked in their encounter with the West in the nineteenth century. The more palpable the challenge of the West became, the greater were the distortions of sira literature to accommodate to new valuues – the interest in science, women’s rights, the struggle against racism, and social justice.8 Similarly, Amin traced the systematic distortion of the Prophet’s times in the hadith literature. Upon the death of the Prophet and the spread of Islam, new historical circumstances were created which the Qur’an discussed only in general principles. The need to realize these principles prompted the guardians of the Islamic tradition to consoliddate the Sunna as the second most sacred source, after the Qur’an, for community guidance. This reflected the perception that in order for an opinion or practice to be accepted by the believers, such innovations must be validated by word or deed of the Prophet himself. The guardiians of tradition intended to serve Islam, but the use of prophetic hadith (whether true or fabricated), Amin argued, deviated from the purpose of sanctifying higher goals, such as the reinforcement of faith, and became merely a tool for attacking political rivals. Ninth-century thinkers such as al-Bukhari, Abu Muslim, al-Tabari, al-Nasa’i and Ibn Maja tried to purify the hadith literature, but limited themselves to examining the credibility of the conveyors (isnad) only, and not the essence of the content (matn).9 Amin ascribed the ‘ulama’ a key role as fomenting anarchy by the manipulative use of the hadith. Their religious ordination by government authority prompted them to invalidate any innovation that might endanger the status quo and the welfare of the ruler. Moreover, they secluded themselves in their privilleged world and lost contact with the daily concerns of the populace. As a result, the people sought guidance from Sufi shaykhs, who represented

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a popular, accessible Islam and were more daring in their demands of the rulers. The ‘ulama’ became narrow minded and disconnected from the population, resulting in a total reliance on the favor of the political elite. The people’s ability to cope with the challenges of their reality, especially in the modern era, was impaired. Large numbers of Muslims were unable to keep up with the pace of progress, and their loss of a sense of identity as they were increasingly exposed to outside ideological movements caused widespread confusion and helplessness.10 In Amin’s view, the key to the rehabilitation of Muslim self-identity lay not in the dogmatic imitation of a falsified Islamic past, or the blind adoption of Western culture, which had not managed to solve its own problems, but in grasping the essence of the faith as it existed in the formative period of Islam. Together with this, the historic truth must be exposed by rewriting the sira without idealization or apologetics and by a careful filtering of the hadiths. Historical research, Amin believed, will reveal a faith that sanctifies the circumstances of every period and allows Muslims to continue to develop. It will also prove that the current demand to apply the shari‘a is not as simple as its advocates believe. They ignore the historical dimension and identify the shari‘a with a divine law that is fixed and eternal, whereas the consolidation of the shari‘a was accomplished by adjusting to the changing needs of Muslim society over generations.11 The Qur’an contains only a handful of legal instructions, which perttain to corporal punishments (hudud), wills and inheritance, most of which lay down general principles that allow for various interpretations in accordance with the practical needs of the time. For example, the Qur’an forbids drinking wine, but without citing a punishment for viollators, under the assumption that the believer will abstain from acts that do not please Allah. The need to prescribe punishment, Amin explained, arose later, when foreign peoples whose faith was not sincere or total joined Islam. Significantly, while the Prophet had been satisfied to rule beating with a shoe as a punishment for drinking wine, and without citiing the extent of the beating, those who came later ruled whipping: 40 lashes in Abu Bakr’s time, and 80 lashes in ‘Umar’s time. All the Propheet’s acts themselves related to defined areas in response to the conditions of his time. With his death and with the loss of divine inspiration in legiislation, the first caliphs appeared and declared new laws in a variety of matters not mentioned in the Qur’an or the Sunna. They also changed religious instructions according to need, Amin pointed out, citing the

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example of ‘Umar, who set aside the punishment for theft – amputation – and forbade mut‘a marriages. The first caliphs in these policies made the most of the generalized wording of the Qur’an and their intimate knowledge of the Prophet’s intent. However, the many conquests that followed had the effect of expanding positive (man-made) legislation, with the shari‘a incorporating more and more customs of the conquered nations.12 Amin traced the explicit influences of local customs on the shari‘a as reflected in the various Islamic legal schools of thought. On the topic of slavery, for example, the Maliki school, influenced by the spirit of democracy and equality widespread in the Hijaz, ruled that a slave is considered part of the family and has the right to acquire property, while the Hanafi school divested itself of this approach under the influence of the entrenched class system in Iraq. The legalistic disputes between these schools, however, were viewed by Imam al-Shafi‘i (d. 820), founder of the Shafi‘i school of law, as degrading to Islam. He posited the Sunna as a divine source equal to the Qur’an. The result was a dogmatic rigidiity that constricted independent judgment and hindered the ability to find solutions responsive to changing needs. Another restrictive legal development was the introduction of the principle of consensus (ijma‘), which followed the Qur’an and the Sunna in importance. As a result, a gap was created between law and reality. This gap widened with the consolidation of all the Islamic legal schools and the banning of ijtihad in the tenth century.13 The abandonment of ijtihad and the enforcement of taqlid (unquesttioning acceptance of established doctrines) limited accessibility to the authentic faith and failed to prevent questions regarding legal issues purpportedly settled at the beginning of Islam. In Amin’s view, the dismissal of religion as irrelevant could have been avoided if the jurists had undersstood that many of the shari‘a rules in the Qur’an and the Sunna had been formulated in response to the problems of society in the Arabian Peninsula in the seventh century, and that the generations following the Prophet had a right to develop these rules in response to the new circumsstances.14 Amin used the example of the punishment of amputating a hand for stealing. Theft in the Arabian Peninsula at the time Islam appeared was a widespread phenomenon. Stealing from a rival tribe was consideered permissible, and the perpetrator was entitled to be proud of his deed. In fact, theft constituted a source of livelihood which nomadic

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society did not condemn. Often, theft was accompanied by the murdder of the owners or guards, which resulted in bloody feuds and strife between the tribes involved. In an effort to mold a new, non-fractious society, the Qur’an prescribed the severe punishment of amputation for theft, especially the theft of female camels, which constituted the basis of nomad economy. With the death of the Prophet and the expansion of the Islamic state, other, non-nomadic societies with more developed forms of property were annexed. Camel theft, or the theft of goatskin water bottles, became less common, and theft itself was no longer conssidered a major threat in settled societies. The jurists could have ruled that while the punishment of amputation historically was proportional to the crime of stealing female camels in tribal society, later generations were entitled to devise an alternative punishment for theft, so long as it did not conflict with the spirit of Islamic justice. Instead, they presserved the literal interpretation of the verse, while attempting to qualify its essence by compiling a long series of conditions.15 Amin leveled similar charges of ignoring the principle of historical relativism anchored in Islam at the ‘ulama’s adversaries – the moderniists of the nineteenth century onward. If these modernists were indeed enlightened, and not hypocrites, Amin held, they would have embraced such liberal values as the equality of women, the prohibition of polygaamy, and democracy, by highlighting the adaptive nature of Islam to new social conditions rather than falling back on ancient tradition. In modern times, Amin emphasized, partnership should replace the transaactional contract as the essence of marriage, and democracy as embodied in the sovereignty of the people should replace the shura, which merely involved the ruler’s consultation with his close companions.16 A lawyer by profession, Amin stressed that laws must reflect the spirit of the times. The appropriate affinity between the rules of the shari‘a and the needs of the time, he explained, precludes binding Muslims by the rigid and unrealistic traditional legal approach that views the shari‘a as divine and eternal. Nevertheless, the correct approach is neither seculariist nor non-Islamic, which leaves faith to the individual’s conscience. Rather, faith must link the nation’s heritage to its future recognize that self-enclosure is impractical in a world transformed into a global village. There is no impediment, Amin held, to accepting the principle of the application of the shari‘a in the modern age, but its many flaws necesssitate thorough and prolonged study. In this, ‘ulama’ as well as experts in

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a range of life studies should play a role, so as to incorporate collective knowledge to the fullest.17

Muhammad Sa‘id al-‘Ashmawi’s Etymological Approach A similar view was espoused by Muhammad Sa‘id al-‘Ashmawi (b. 1932). A law graduate from Cairo University in 1954, al-‘Ashmawi held a series of posts in the state prosecutory and judicial systems, includiing prosecutor-general for the city of Cairo and president of the High Court for State Security. He published his legal views in a series of essays, the most relevant to the present discussion being Usul al-Shari‘a (“The Foundations of Islamic Law,” 1979), Jawhar al-Islam (“The Essence of Islam,” 1982), al-Islam al-Siyasi (“Political Islam,” 1987), and al-Khilafa al-Islamiyya (“The Islamic Caliphate,” 1990). In these works, al-‘Ashmawi discusses the vast difference between Islam as a religion and Islamic politics: the former is broad, humane and tolerant; the latter is narrow, transient and dictatorial. Combining the two restricts religion to narrow parameters and sanctions acts of exploitattion and violence. In al-‘Ashmawi’s view, the dominant norm in Muslim history (with the exception of the Prophet’s government, which operated by divine inspiration; and ‘Umar’s government, which was unique) has been the subordination of religion to mundane politics. As a result, the noble values of Islam were shunted aside, and replaced by power struggles and factionalization which revived the negative practices of the pre-Musllim period: tribal fanaticism, egoism and materialism.18 Many ‘ulama’ focused on refining their scholarly religious expertise rather than providiing moral guidelines for political conduct. Muslim law was left with no clear political doctrine and the perception of the ruler as an independent entity, unrelated to an institutional system, thrived. Ataturk’s annulment of the caliphate in 1924 gave rise to populist movements that sought power by means of vague slogans with no relation to the values of moraliity and justice embedded in Islam.19 These slogans included, inter alia, the implementation of the shari‘a, Islam as religion and state, and the supremacy of hakimiyya (Allah’s rule). Al-‘Ashmawi supported his thesis by etymological and philologiccal analyses of key concepts in Scripture and by tracing their historical development. The concept of the shari‘a in the Qur’an, he argued, means minhaj (following the right path). In Judaism, he pointed put, minhaj is interpreted as justice, with an emphasis on extant commandments

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and laws which human weakness make difficult to obey. In Christianity, minhaj means love, which emphasizes fraternity between all people but does not provide a legislative framework and is therefore often disreggarded. Islam, as the most recent and perfect religion, sanctifies benevollence, which is a blend of justice and love, punishment and forgiveness, and encompasses all that is virtuous in the customs of a given society. An example of this element of benevolence is the haj, which continued from the pre-Islamic era because of its importance in bringing Muslims together, rather than the act of pilgrimage itself. Another example is the legal innovations of Imam al-Shafi‘i, who, while journeying from Iraq to Egypt, altered many of his views on traditional religious practices to adopt and adjust them to the new environment he encountered.20 However, those advocating the application of the shari‘a today identtify minhaj in Islam with the narrow legal interpretation of instructtions pertaining to worship ritual and public morality. They perceive these instructions as cited not only in the Qur’an and the Sunna but also in the jurisprudence literature containing the ‘ulama’s interpretattions over the centuries. Al-‘Ashmawi claimed this view invalid, as it implies a partnership with Allah. It mixes a divine creation embodied in the Scriptures with human legal innovation accrued through historical development. The former, said al-‘Ashmawi, is religion; the latter, religgious thought. Moreover, even the minimal legislative kernel found in the Qur’an is marginal and highly generalized. It pertains primarily to matters of personal status and inheritance, and secondarily to the civil realm (the prohibition against interest when landing money) and the criminal realm (the hudud). With the exception of this legislative kernel, most of the injunctions in the Qur’an deal with matters of morality. The Qur’an focuses first and foremost on molding a moral person, and refrains from detailed legislation so as to allow Muslims broad political and civic maneuverability. Al-‘Ashmawi, in illuminating the transient nature of the laws of the Qur’an, relied on the principle of naskh, which enabled the abrogation of a large number of verses once they achieved their objective and became obsolete. This, he pointed out, kept the Musllims progressing until the tenth century, when the gates of ijtihad closed, marking the start of the decline.21 The generalized nature of the Qur’anic instructions engendered the development of an extensive system of laws in a variety of areas. This was "legislation by the people and for the people," in al-‘Ashmawi’s description. It was especially pronounced in the criminal area with the

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accrual of a series of conditions for the application of the hudud that turned them into “conditional punishments.” The obstacles raised by these conditions to the application of the hudud, and the appearance of new categories of transgressions as society developed (e.g., spying, betrayal, forgery and tax evasion), led to the consolidation of the ta‘azir system of governance, i.e., punishments imposed at the discretion of the ruler or judge. Al-‘Ashmawi viewed this system as the basis for criminal legislation in Islam: it was a system characterized by a responsiveness to the conditions of the time and the needs of society, and introduced alternative punishments when the conditions for applying the hudud were absent.22 Furthermore, al-‘Ashmawi did not disqualify adapting elemments from other cultures. He defined modern culture as the repository of human accomplishments in the fields of science and the arts. It had become a world culture by virtue of liberating man from the intellectual stagnation that the Church had perpetuated in the past. Its roots are in the past but it faces the future, fulfilling the Islamic notion of minhaj which fosters progress unthreatened by accusations of heresy. Although communist atheism, also a part of modern culture, cannot be ignored, al-‘Ashmawi depicted it as merely a “heretical patch. The garment itself is made of the cloth of religion.”23 Al-‘Ashmawi observed that responsiveness to the needs of humankind is mandatory, and any government, including a civil one, may be conssidered an Islamic government. By inference, other slogans brandished by the Islamists (other than the application of the shari‘a) are hollow, he argued, for example, Islam is both religion and state, or the hakimiyya. A state must be based on the social foundations and religious customs of the majority of its subjects, he held, but these elements pertain more to the moral than the political level.24 As for the hakimiyya, its contention that government is solely in the hands of Allah reflects zealotry and selfisolation originating in Abu al-‘Ala Mawdudi’s defensive stance against the non-Islamic cultures of India, which threatened the religious life of the Muslim minority there in the 1930s and 1940s. The first to introdduce the term hakimiyya in Islamic political thought were the Kharijjites, who distorted its meaning in their political struggle against Caliph ‘Ali (661-662). While the concept hukm appears in the Qur’an and the Sunna, al-‘Ashmawi pointed out, its meaning there is judiciary, implying judgment and guidance, not governance and politics (for which the corrrect term is ‘amr). Islam’s greatest achievement, al-‘Ashmawi held, was in the realm of humanity, in that it replaced the enslavement of man to his

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fellow man with the worship of Allah alone. No wonder, then, that Islam refrained from detailed divine legislation and from assigning a superior status to the clerical sector. The purpose was to foster a civic style of government.25 Civil government, al-‘Ashmawi explained, is based on intellectual vitality and on humanism. These principles also distinguish between two contemporary Islamic trends in the Middle East: the political trend, which views government as integral to Muslim faith rather than belongiing to Muslim history; and the rationalist trend, which does not sanctify political institutions and seeks integration into world culture based on progressive values. While political Islam perpetuates the flaws and errors that have become integral to Islam during its history, rational Islam discards them. A rationalist interpretation of Islam contributes to the ongoing development of the religion and stipulates the implementation of the shari‘a and the hudud on the existence of a just and equal society. Al-‘Ashmawi suggested that only such a society can assure correct implemmentation of the hudud, which the Muslim will view as a purifying and not an aggressive act.26

Comparative Notes Amin’s and al-‘Ashmawi’s modernistic interpretations evoked sharp conttroversy in Islamic circles in Egypt. Amin, pressured by attacks against him, sought a Foreign Ministry appointment and was posted to Brazil as consul-general in Rio de Janeiro. Al-‘Ashmawi was denounced by alAzhar as a “perverted writer” and his books were banned, only to be permitted for distribution after President Mubarak’s intervened.27 Both writers, and particularly al-‘Ashmawi, were accused by Islamists of tryiing to empty Islam of content by denying the sanctity of the text, as well as instilling despair in the faithful regarding the establishment of current Islamic government.28 Notably, two particularly scathing critiics were Fahmi Huwaydi and Muhammad ‘Imara, Islamist writers who viewed themselves as modernists. They discredited the scholarly value of al-‘Ashmawi’s work, which they depicted as perpetrated by persons merely professing to be Muslim. In their opinion, al-‘Ashmawi (and to a considerable extent Amin as well) led Muslims toward self-denigration vis-à-vis the West in the name of universalism and world culture.29 Amin’s and al-‘Ashmawi’s published work, like Fuda’s, reflected a strong desire to validate Islam as a progressive religion, to reinforce the

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status of Egypt as a modern state, and to warn about the dangers of establishing a religious regime, with its authoritarian rule and enclave mentality.30 Despite the themes common to these three writers, the basic views of Amin and al-‘Ashmawi on how best to deal with the Islamic challenge, are significantly different from Fuda’s. Both Amin and al-‘Ashmawi did not contest the shari‘a as a guidiing legislative principle, although they called for fundamental revision, qualifying its application on the a priori existence of a just society. Fuda, by contrast, completely dismissed the validity of the shari‘a in modern times and shifted the debate to the political arena, which, he argued, exposed the weakness of its advocates’ claims. While Amin and al-‘Ashmmawi sought to reconstruct the legacy of the past by the "correct implemmentation of the shari‘a," Fuda wanted to entirely replace the shari‘a with a civil government, whose principles he expounded in the platform of the Mustaqbal Party. Fuda often pointed to the deficiencies of the cultural discourse condducted by Egyptian writers, stressing that they focused solely on the religious legal debate over the shari‘a. "What interests me is the political aspect of the issue. The application of the shari‘a will turn the Christian into a second-class citizen, popular songs into a symbol of prostitution, plays and films into an obscenity, and the adornment of the woman into an indecent practice."31 Nevertheless, Fuda did address religious legal issues, especially the application of the hudud, in order to reinforce his arguments supporting the civil state and opposing implementation of the shari‘a. He thus recognized the indisputable affinity between the sacred and the profane inherent in the Islamic discourse, which hinddered discussion of each component separately. This intimacy was aptly articulated by the Islamic paper al-Liwa’ al-Islami, which stated: "How can one differentiate and say this belongs to God and that to Caesar, when every whisper derives from Allah… when none of the parts of the human body function by the will of man but of God?"32 Fuda’s earnestness regarding the shari‘a was matched by his acute criticism of the government’s feeble response to the Islamic challenge. His outlook was greatly influenced by his scientific training as an agronoomist, while his religious knowledge, by contrast, was self-taught. Furtthermore, as a politician he was free of the patronage of the regime and not tied to the ideology of any party. By contrast, Amin and al-‘Ashmawi were more cautious and fastidious in their argumentation, relying on their formal religious studies and legal training. Their criticism of the

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regime’s Islamic policy was made in passing and indirectly, stemming in no small degree from their official positions – Amin as a diplomat and al-‘Ashmawi as a judge. Amin mainly focused on the government’s hesittant response to pressures by the radicals regarding the implementation of the shari‘a. Similarly, al-‘Ashmawi limited his criticism to the amendmment of Clause 2 of the 1979 constitution, which cited the principles of the shari‘a as the primary source for legislation.33 Moreover, a close study of the thinking of Amin and al-‘Ashmawi reveals a number of weaknesses, which played into the hands of the Islamists. In Amin’s case these weaknesses are apparent regarding three issues: he did not address the Rashidun period, which was viewed by the Islamists as the ideal model of the Islamic polity;34 he moderated his criticism of the Umayyads and the ‘Abbasids, while praising their ability to function in a complex reality in which they assimilated laws from a foreign code; and he invalidated secularism as a concept alien to Islam. He argued that despite the sincere enthusiasm of secularist spokesmen for democracy and equality, they do not express the will of the people, whose primary loyalty is to Islam.35 Al-‘Ashmawi relied considerably on apologetics. Unlike Amin, who adopted the principle of historical relativity and viewed himself as entittled to assimilate liberal values without the need to seek their roots in Islam, al-‘Ashmawi chose to sanction these values on a religious basis employing etymological evidence from the Scriptures. He argued that democracy does not mean atheism, nor liberalism imperialism, and the fact that these terms do not exist in Arabic does not invalidate their Islamic content.36 Al-‘Ashmawi’s criticism of Muslim history, however, was marked by an ideological shift, as follows: 1. In his writing of the late 1970s, al-‘Ashmawi defined government in the Prophet’s time as the “government of Allah,” with the Prophet merely the executor of the religious message. The believers did not have the right to express an opinion or oppose the Prophet’s actions, for example the establishing of an institutional network in Medina to insure that the shari‘a would be enforced. In his writing of the 1980s, however, al-‘Ashmawi stipulated that the government of Allah did not spread into the realm of mundane politics. He maintained that the Prophet was a messenger who sought to disseminate the values of Islam and who arbitrated between the people of their own free will and not by force of law.37

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2. In his book, "The Essence of Islam" (1982), al-‘Ashmawi praised the early caliphs as virtuous in that they drew their authority from the people without any aura of holiness or superiority, with their reigns characterized by cooperation between ruler and subjects.38 However, in his later writing, i.e., "Political Islam" (1987) and "The Islamic Caliphate" (1990), he scathingly criticized the early caliphs. Abu Bakr, he argued, usurped the Prophet’s rights when he forced the Muslims to pay the zakat. Moreover, the ridda wars in Abu Bakr’s time laid the foundations for the militarization of Islam. ‘Uthman conducted a corrupt and tyrannical regime, using public revenues as if they were his own and treating his subjects cruelly. ‘Ali was a devious ruler who planted the seeds of the first civil war in Islam and shed Muslim blood to attain the position of caliph.39 Al-‘Ashmawi continued to view the reign of ‘Umar as fulfilling the true spirit of Islam, yet censured ‘Umar’s tendency toward a dictatorial mind-set, as reflected in his rigid position on the issue of interest.40 3. In his early books – Damir al-‘Asr (“Conscience of the Time,” 1967) and Hisad al-‘Aql (“The Fruits of Intellect,” 1974) – al-‘Ashmawi defined the shari‘a as a system of justice that “regulates most areas of man’s activity.” It is an integral part of the Qur’an and serves as an “inclusive legislative system for the sacred and the profane, for the individual and for society, for the ruler and the ruled.” It includes laws pertaining to war and peace, the hudud, marriage and divorce, inheritance and wills. Under this inclusive regime, man is required to dedicate his life to the work of Allah.41 However, the publicattion of his book, "The Foundations of Islamic Law" (1979), revealed a shift in al-‘Ashmawi’s broad judicial interpretation of the shari‘a to the narrower Islamic context of minhaj, which is primarily conccerned with morality.42 Al-‘Ashmawi thus redefined the function of the shari‘a from juridical to ethical. The apparent reason for the evolution in al-‘Ashmawi’s writing was his gradual ideological radicalization, clearly a response to the growing power of the Islamists in Egypt. His conceptual metamorphosis peaked in his books, "Political Islam" (1987), in which he explicitly called for the separation of religion from politics, and in "The Islamic Caliphate" (1990), in which he accused the early caliphs of despotism and slavery. Al-‘Ashmawi thereby sought to dismantle the dual fundamental ethos that underlay the Islamists’ drive for political mobilization: the Gordian

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knot tying religion and politics, and the idealization of the Rashidun period as the model for desirable political conduct in modern times. Despite the ideological differences between Amin and al-‘Ashmawi on the one hand and Fuda on the other, their thinking provided a new impetus for Egyptian liberalism in the post-revolutionary era, especially regarding religion and state. As a result, the Islamists no longer had the discursive arena entirely to themselves, to quote Nazih Ayubi.43 A symbbolic historical continuity in the liberal discourse, whose luster had been dimmed in the wake of revolution and the Islamic challenge, was to be found in Amin’s family background (see above); in Fuda’s participation in Najib Mahfuz’s intellectual salons; and in the public letter written by Tawfiq al-Hakim to al-‘Ashmawi on the publication of "Sources of the Shari‘a" in 1979, praising al-‘Ashmawi for revealing the shari‘a as a path toward progress and openness rather than as lagging behind in a dynamic world.44

Debating Islam: A Leftist Perception The neo-liberal discourse of the 1970s and 1980s served as a vital forum for a broad spectrum of intellectuals with various orientations whose common denominator was their denunciation of Islamism as a tangible danger to Egypt.45 A prominent ally of the neo-liberals in this context was Fu’ad Zakariya (b. 1932), a veteran leftist who taught philosophy at ‘Ayn Shams University. He presented his opinions in a series of articles comppiled in a volume titled al-Haqiqa wa’l-Waham fi al-Haraka al-Islamiyya al-Mu‘asira (“Truth and Delusion in the Modern Islamic Movement,” 1985). Zakariya viewed the fundamental obstacle facing advocates of the shari‘a to be the creation of a just and tolerant government that ignores historical experience (including tyranny and exploitation) and relies on Scripture alone. He pointed out that the Islamists themselves acknowleedged the distortions in the shari‘a throughout the Islamic experience, and also viewed ‘Umar’s rule exceptional. Both admissions cast doubt on the prospect of applying the shari‘a in the present. Suffice to examine the depressing situation of revolutionary Iran, despite all the basic componnents for progress that it has – a deeply rooted culture, vast manpower, and natural resources, primarily oil, Zakariya asserted. It is man, not God, who rules, and it is man who transforms divine commands into a correct or a mistaken human experience, Zakariya argued. Divine justice is no different from modern legislation, which

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contains lofty clauses regarding the application of justice, equality and freedom but does not guarantee against governmental tyranny. To prevvent the harmful misuse of power, guarantees that evolved as a result of mankind’s long and bitter experience are required.46 Some Islamists, Zakariya pointed out, distinguish between the geneeralized guidelines of the shari‘a and implementation, emphasizing that nothing prevents the interpretation of these instructions according to the requirements of each period, especially in modern times when life is so complex. Praising this position, Zakariya urged that it be encouraged, for it means that ijtihad plays a more important role and the generalized principles a lesser one, thereby turning the essence of the organization of society into a human effort.47 By way of example, Zakariya cited the principle of benevolence and giving charity, whose goal is social justice. In a complex civil society, where the link between the rich and the poor is weak, defining the means to bridge the gap is necessary. These means can range from the rich giving charity to the poor directly to preventing the rich from controlling the resources which enable them to exploit the poor. These means are legitimized by the broad religious principle of benevolence. Another example is the shura, subject to a number of interpretations, from consultation of the ruler with a group of close advisers, to representtational democracy in which elected delegates represent the people and monitor the ruler. The optimal interpretation of the shura, in Zakariya’s view, was provided by Khalid Muhammad Khalid, who asserted that Western democracy is “the political government posited by Islam, withoout deviating or detracting from it.” Khalid’s definition of the shura, which included parliamentary representation, the existence of an oppossition, and freedom of the press, was obviously based on his reading of the works of such Western philosophers as Locke, Montesquieu and Rousseau, and on studying the experiences of governments that chose democratic rule. The various interpretations of the shura, Zakariya held, ultimately enrich its general principles by providing concrete content based on human endeavor.48 Zakariya did not conceal his distress at the broad support of the Islamic discourse, as compared to the currently hesitant support of the secular discourse, which had been bold and explicit in the 1920s. He viewed the root of this negative development stemmed from repressive atmosphere during Nasser’s revolutionary period. What Egypt needed, he wrote, was not a war against young Islamists who seek reform, but

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guidance to restore these young people’s critical intellectual capacity. Only then will they grasp that the key to progress lies in facing the future rather than in returning to the past, and that secularism is not atheism but rather a demand to separate religion and state. Religion does not have to address every area of life. Its province is the realm of faith and ritual, while other realms should be dealt with by human endeavor.49 Zakariya argued that the application of the shari‘a in the modern age is clearly impractical, hence the real choice is not between a governmment of Allah and a government of man, but between a human governmment professing to speak in the name of divine inspiration and one that acknowledges its human origin. The former is a dangerous model because it imputes a false immunity and sanctity to man’s weaknesses. Indeed, Zakariya commended the enlightened approach of those Islamists who do not view the hudud as reflecting the spirit of the shari‘a, and who stipulate that implementing these punishments depends on creating a just social atmosphere – a long-term process. However, he pointed out, this approach is self-defeating. Stipulating the implementation of the hudud on attaining a reasonable level of well-being involves solving the problems of unemployment, housing shortages and poverty by means other than the shari‘a. The pretext for implementing it is thereby eliminnated.50 Zakariya’s conclusion brings the discussion back to its starting point: have all the sociopolitical alternatives in the Arab Muslim world indeed collapsed, leaving only the Islamic alternative? In Zakariya’s view, not necessarily. Both liberalism and socialism were given only a partial opporttunity to prove themselves in Egypt. The liberal experience, lasting 30 years (1922-52), faced many obstacles, including the British occupation, the hostility of the monarchy, and poor economic development. The socialist experience in effect lasted only five years (1961-65), and lost its vitality during the decade that followed because of the mediocrity of its leaders. By comparison the implementation of the shari‘a lasted nearly 1,400 years, and with the exception of the formative period, could be described as “a long series of failures,” Zakariya held. “Despotism formed the basis, and exploitation the axis of the relationship between ruler and subjects.”51 In his writing, Zakariya, like other neo-liberals, relied on classic principles of justice, rationalism and historic relativism. The similarity between his and Fuda’s thinking is particularly evident, both in their focused, acerbic style and in their invalidation of the shari‘a as a guiding

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principle for modern life. Yet their perceptions differ regarding both the meaning of secularism and how to deal with the Islamic threat. Fuda, as a liberal, defined secularism as the separation of religion and politics while preserving the cultural role of religion in society. Zakariya, as a leftist, defined secularism as the separation of religion from the state and the relegation of religion to the status of non-compulsory ritual. Fuda called for forceful confrontation with the Islamic radicals as lawbreakers, while Zakariya called for dialogue with them because they lacked politiccal consciousness. Zakariya was virulently criticized in Islamic circles, despite his concciliatory tone. His writing was depicted as “destructive rather than consstructive, divisive rather than unifying, alienating rather than embracing.” According to Yusuf al-Qaradawi and Muhammad Qutb, when Zakariya abandoned the shari‘a and adopted secularism, he joined those writers who for tactical reasons posit secularism as derived from Islam, with the aim of undermining Islam from within. In this sense, the notion of socialist or liberal Islam has a single goal: to nullify the distinctiveness of Islam.52 Islam, the critics pointed out, sanctifies ijtihad, which allows man to pursue well-being and self-development, but this is granted only to those authorized for this purpose, i.e., the ‘ulama’, and is subject to certain circumstances.53 In granting religious authorization of the use of human logic, albeit selectively, the Islamists frequently quoted from the works of modernist thinkers, most prominently from a book by ‘Abbas Mahmud al-‘Aqqad (1889-1964) titled al-Tafkir Farida Islamiyya ("Thought is an Islamic Duty," 1962). Al-‘Aqqad aimed to expose Islam and its believers to the spirit of progress, yet his discussion of the important status ascribed by the Qur’an to freedom of thought54 only further reinforced the notion of the superiority of Islam. This viewpoint was expressed by such Islamists as Muhammad al-Ghazali, Yusuf al-Qaradawi, Fahmi Huwaydi and Muhammad ‘Imara,55 as will be discussed in the next chapter.

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Chapter 8 The Centrist Islamic Discourse: Openness and its Limitations

The neo-liberal discourse in Egypt, despite differing emphases, called for the desanctification of the Islamic heritage in favor of human intellect as the moral guide for society. The understanding of Islam was more histtorical than scriptural, aimed at interpreting religious belief as a general ethical code that could be applied in various ways according to the spirit of the changing times. This liberal cause was promoted by modes that ranged from relying explicitly on orthodox Islamic sources, to undersscoring the silence of the shari‘a on certain subjects and its openness to multiple interpretations.1 This dynamic perception of Islam enables the resolution of pressing societal problems and strengthens the communnity’s civic foundations – the real guarantee for progress and developmment. Does such a perception entail the destruction of Islam? Egyptian liberals such as Faraj Fuda, Husayn Ahmad Amin and Sa‘id al-‘Ashmawi thought not. They viewed Islam a religion and not a form of governmment, although they did not deny Islam’s cultural legacy or repudiate the obligation of the state to preserve its holidays and customs. The liberals were fully aware of their controversial outlook but did not rule out the possibility of a dialogue with those Islamists who were ready to operate within the existing order. The parameters of such a diallogue were outlined by Fuda thus: The Islamists view Islam as religion and state and this is their right. We perceive it as religion only, and this is our right. Some Islamists believe in taking part in official politics and it is our duty

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to support their demand and allow them forums for the expression of their views. Ultimately, they are in the same boat as we, since the radicals’ treat them even harsher [than us]. If they have good intentions, we will reach an understanding and meet halfway: the Islamists by exercising enlightened ijtihad, adhering to national unity, and respecting our man-made laws; we liberals by acknowleedging that democracy can embrace all of us, and that the future is in our favor but without renouncing the Islamists.2 The sharp polemics in Islamic circles evoked by the liberal discourse preccluded any positive response to the appeal for a constructive dialogue. Rather, the liberals’ critical challenge of the fundamentals of Islam (usul) dictated a furious reaction from Islamic spokesmen who perceived Westeern cultural imperialism as threatening to overwhelm the indigenous identity of Muslims. Nevertheless, several prominent Islamist thinkers in Egypt did address key issues on the liberal agenda, such as the nature of the Islamic regime, the implementation of the shari‘a, and the status of minorities under an Islamic state. Their discourse relied on the same Islamic texts used by their liberal adversaries but with alternative conclussions more conducive to their political vision. The most distinguished of these writers were and remain Shaykh Muhammad al-Ghazali (1917-96), a noted ideologue of the Muslim Brotherhood in the 1940s and 1950s; Shaykh Yusuf al-Qaradawi (b. 1926), an Islamic scholar and dean of the Shari‘a Faculty at the Univversity of Qatar; Muhammad ‘Imara (b. 1931), publicist and former Marxist; and Fahmi Huwaydi (b. 1937), a journalist who writes a coluumn in Egypt’s leading daily, al-Ahram. These writers were not public officials, nor were they politically affiliated. They were discredited by Islamic militants as collaborators with the infidel regime in Egypt, but enjoyed support from the mainstream Islamic movement – the Musllim Brotherhood. All four defined their discourse on Islamic identity as representing the wasatiyya (centrist) stream, which lay between two extremes: the militant Islamists, who sought to reconstruct society as it was in the seventh century, and the secularists, who sought to imitate the West.3 Both sides tarnished Islam’s true face: the militants by their enclave mentality and their use of violence, and the secularists by divestiing Islam of its social and political content. Paving the way for a centrist narrative, al-Ghazali, al-Qaradawi, ‘Imara and Huwaydi articulated a modernist viewpoint, advocating a

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civic form of Islamic government which, although not secular, would not be theocratic either. In this they aimed to achieve two major goals: first, to insure that the voice of Islam be heard in the intense public debate over the question of democracy and the prospects of its realization in the Arab world; and second, to neutralize Western criticism of the dark and suppressive nature of the Islamic regime both ideologically and historiccally. Such criticism was fueled by the repressive policies of the religious regimes in Iran and Sudan, and the Islamic violence in communal confflicts with non-Muslim populations (e.g., in Kashmir, Chechnya and Bosnia). The perception of Islam as a religion of the "sword" reached its peak in the wake of the September 11, 2001, attacks in the United States.4 In countering this Western response, Huwaydi, as his colleagues, urged Islamists to work for Allah’s cause through "the gate of freedom and democracy," which would highlight the progressive aspect of Islamic teaching and disprove false accusations.5 The published works of this group of writers, known throughout the Arab world, reflected and continues to reflect the multiple facets of Islam and the presence of the Islamists’ dynamic interaction with their social and political environment and its constraints. These writers also provided an insight into the broader discussion of the measure of recepttiveness displayed in the modern Islamic discourse toward liberal values and ideological rivals, an issue that is a major focus in contemporary scholarly literature.6 The premise of these writers is that religious extremism is marginal, as human nature tends toward moderation and the quest for righteousnness (al-sirat al-mustaqim). Seeing that Islam was handed down in its complete form, without defect, and whereas Muslims did not emerge subsequently as a backward people, extremism can only be attributed to the misinterpretation of Islamic tenets. The main culprits are the ‘ulama’, who focused on worship and ritual, neglecting individual rights and the individual’s relationship to society. By separating belief from action, and by disregarding liberty and democracy, the ‘ulama’ divested Islam of its true content, while also failing to enlist society in surmounting poverty and backwardness.7 Historically, Fahmi Huwaydi argued, concern for the destiny and the dignity of the Muslim was no less important in Islam than sustaining the religion. By way of example, he cited the right of self-defense during the month of Jumadi, when there is a religious prohibition against fighting.8

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Together with repudiating religious extremism as "ideological disttortion and spiritual perversion,"9 al-Ghazali, al-Qaradawi, ‘Imara and Huwaydi also denounced secular liberal intellectuals such as Faraj Fuda, Husayn Ahmad Amin, Sa‘id al-‘Ashmawi and Fu’ad Zakariya. The centtrist Islamists accused these secularists of aiming to sever the integral connection between religion and politics in Islam by depicting the notion of the Islamic regime as tyrannical and the shari‘a as inapplicable in the modern age. By stripping Islam of its political content, Huwaydi argued, the secularist exploits freedom of belief to make Islam an impottent religion. Such lay pretensions to the interpretation and modificattion of Islamic law are unacceptable, according to the Islamist writers, for Islam is not an academic text open to free debate but a fixed mandate whose purpose is to facilitate the implementation of Allah’s will. The sole authority for religious interpretation is the qualified spokesmen of Islam – the ‘ulama’, who fear Allah and are conscious of their responsibility. As for the Muslim believer, he does indeed have the right to freedom of thought, only on the condition that his motives are pure and that he shows the necessary respect for what is regarded sacred.10 In the same vein, Muhammad al-Ghazali noted that Islam was the first religion to fight for freedom of belief and to allow people to choose between truth and falsehood for themselves, based on Allah’s statements, "No compulsion is there in religion" (2:256) and "dispute with them in the better way" (16:125). With the migration of the Muslims from Mecca to Medina in the seventh century, the political entity established by the Prophet evolved to conform with contemporary modern states, and assumed the features of a nation with a territory and a central authority that guaranteed the rights of its citizens, both Muslim and non-Muslim. Additionally, diplomatic relations and treaties were establlished with Byzantium, Ethiopia, Yemen and Egypt, reflecting foreign recognition of the emergent Islamic state, respect for its rulers, and a desire for peaceful coexistence with it. Historically, therefore, Islam comprised both religion and state since its very inception, al-Ghazali concluded. Merging rather than separating the temporal and spiritual worlds, Islam laid the foundations for a widesspread Muslim empire, with worship guaranteeing a moral society free of corruption; the zakat creating a balance between rich and poor; and the hajj reinforcing Muslim unity through annual pilgrimages to Mecca. Accordingly, secularism, which preaches the separation of religion and politics, is alien to Islam and distorts its true nature.11

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Islam and Secularism In Yusuf al-Qaradawi’s view, the very term secularism is problematic in Arabic because of an inherent ambiguity stemming from the dual pronnunciations of the word used to denote secularism, ‘ilmaniyya / ‘almaniyyya, each of which has a different meaning. Secularism was introduced by its spokesmen as deriving from the root ‘ilm, namely, the pursuit of scieence and scientific exploration for the promotion of human well-being. There is no contention over this meaning, since it coincides with one of the precepts of Islam as a progressive religion. However, al-Qaradawi regarded the ‘ilm interpretation a cover for the word’s alternative meaniing, ‘almaniyya, which is derived from the root ‘alam – worldliness or materialism, concepts unrelated to religion.12 Al-Qaradawi accused Muslims who championed the ideal of secularism of ignoring its religgious and historical context, which was uniquely European. Religiously, Christianity provided support for the separation of religion and state, as expressed by the New Testament: "Render unto Caesar the things which are Caesar’s and unto God the things which are God’s" (Matt. 22:21), and offered no legislative infrastructure for the daily guidance of society. Historically, moreover, the church was hostile to freedom of thought and scientific exploration, and tended to support tyrannical kings. As a result of its unworthy conduct, the church evoked widespread protest aimed at overthrowing religious repression, and supported separation of religion and state as serving the public interest. In its Marxist-Leninist revolutionary form, secularism sought not merely the exclusion of religgion from public life but the elimination of it entirely.13 The identification of secularism with the European experience led alQaradawi to view the concept as a "Western artifact" that, when incorpporated into an Islamic context, becomes dangerous. In Christianity, he noted, the separation of religion and state did not abolish religious authority, as embodied in the papal system, but rather detached it from worldly rule, allowing each its own sphere of influence and activity. Islam, in contrast, has no separate and independent religious authority, such as the Vatican, because of the organic unity between the spiritual and the temporal. Accordingly, separation of the two deprives Islam of its very structure, without which it is destined to atrophy. Al-Qaradawi found support for this assertion in the example of Turkey under Mustafa Kemal during the 1920s and 1930s. The separation of religion and state threatened to wipe out Islam at that time, reducing its political presence

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to a single ministry for religious affairs whose influence, compared to that of the Vatican in Europe, was negligible.14 Furthermore, Christianity’s two defects – a repressive clergy and hosttility toward science, both of which impelled the emergence of secullarism in Europe – are absent in Islam. First, Islam has no priestly or religious class, but only the ‘ulama’ who are experts in religious law and in the propagation of Allah’s word. Their status is not elevated above those of other classes or professions. They aim not to gain authority but to ensure that the ruling regime applies Islamic principles and guarantees the rights of its citizens.15 Second, a review of Islamic history shows that Islam sanctifies rational and positive thought and rejects blind imitation. It internalizes the cumulative experience of other nations while filtering out superstition, bias and slander. Islam’s recognition of the universalism of knowledge replaces any dichotomy between local and imported ideas with a broader view that distinguishes between what is beneficial for human well-being and what is not (fikr nafi‘, fikr darr).16 As evidence, Huwaydi cited the Muslims’ adoption of patterns of warfare and adminiistrative practice from Persia and Byzantium in the early days of Islam, and philosophic thought from Hellenistic Greece. In this spirit, Huwaydi recommended that the principles of civil rights and social equality be adopted from democracy and socialism, respectively. In contrast to secularism, however, Islam restricts the search for knowledge and does not apply it to revelation, which is abstract and divinely sanctioned (‘ulum al-wahi wa’l-shar‘). Exposing revelation to human judgment would cause conflict and undesirable urges and would lead to changes in the life-style of the Muslim believer not in accord with religious norms.17 In other words, Islam invests man with a special status and assigns him responsibility for advancing human society (wakil), but strictly within the parameters of devotion to Allah. "Man is a master in the universe," Muhammad ‘Imara noted, "but not the master of the universe." His primary mission is not the conquest of nature for power and material gain, as is the premise in the hedonistic West, but bringing people closer to the right path through obeying Allah’s commands. This perception was defined by the Islamists as the central aim of the Islamic regime, in direct opposition to modern Western discourse, which highllighted the capabilities of man alone in shaping his destiny.18

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The Islamic Regime In analyzing the features of the Islamic regime, the centrist Islamist writers emphasized the dualism in terms of religion and state, with the shari‘a serving as the legislative guide for affairs of state; and also in terms of ruler and subjects, with the ruler representing the nation and entrusting with the mission of providing justice. Authority in the Islamic regime is delegated by Allah to the nation, and by the nation to the ruler. This places the Islamic regime between the two poles of European experience: theocracy in the Middle Ages as a system ordained by God (nizam hatmi), which sanctified the ruler but elicited tyranny; and democracy in the modern era as a regime of free choice (nizam iradi), in which authority derives from the nation and fosters immoraliity.19 All four writers – al-Ghazali, al-Qaradawi, ‘Imara and Huwaydi – emphasized that Muhammad, as previous prophets, did not receive a mandate for political rule from Allah but rather the gift of wisdom and the ability to distinguish truth from falsehood. A distinction must be made, therefore, between the Prophet’s actions in the religious sphere and those in the worldly and political sphere. Religiously, his role was to bring Allah’s message to the people without elaboration or abbreviation. Politically (a sphere not defined in the Qur’an) his role lay in organiziing state and society to provide a supportive base for disseminating the divine message, a role that involved human ijtihad. It was the political role, in contrast to the religious one, that deprived the Prophet of infalllibility. The nature of the regime that he established and passed on to the Muslims was earthly and its ruler lacked any semblance of divinity or infallible authority. In light of the distinction between the Prophet’s spiritual and worldly functions, ‘Imara concluded that politics is not one of the three cornnerstones of Islam. These foundations are monotheism, prophecy and the afterlife. The political realm, therefore, is not subject to the criterrion of faith/infidelity, but to the criterion of right/wrong. Islam conssists of two components: the religious community of the faithful, who believe in Allah and the Prophet; and the political community of citizzens (including non-Muslims), concerned with mundane matters that by their nature are subject to change.20 Does this arrangement allow for ideological and political pluralism in Islam? All four Islamist writeers under review believed it does. They criticized both Islamic militants and conservative ‘ulama’, who reiterate that Islam is a tolerant system

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while applying a restrictive interpretation to such values as liberty and democracy under the pretext that the Scripture does not supply clear instructions on these matters. This practice, the writers held, represents a slavish subordination to literal interpretation and a sanctification of the founding generation (al-salaf al-salih). It nullifies 1,400 years of Islamic history, rejects the cumulative experience of other nations, and is tanttamount to "neo-idolatry." Although the total assimilation of modern political practices into Islam is unnecessary and undesirable, the authenttic Islamic experience in this sphere must be traced. In doing so, texts that explicitly cite prohibitions are to be followed, but those open to various interpretations should be viewed as non-binding.21 More specifically, ‘Imara argued, the notion of pluralism is to be viewed as having two planes: one that involves the unity of faith and community, where there is no place for pluralism; and a second plane that is political, in which pluralism is vital and already exists in human ijtihad, although it is subject to the restraints of morality. Islam, in this view, sustains an appropriate degree of pluralism, allowing for unity with diversity. Historically, ‘Imara pointed out, the first Islamic polity was established in Medina, but this religio-political union nullified neither the autonomy of the local tribes nor the freedom of worship of the Jews. In the political arena, pluralism is reflected in that the Qur’an, the divine source, does not provide specific laws to actualize these principles, while the shari‘a, the divine law, does not supplant ijtihad and human experieence, which continuously develop.22 The Islamic regime ensures popullar participation in the management of the mundane concerns of life through the institution of shura, which obliges the ruler to consult with the elected leaders of the community, thereby precluding tyranny. Notably, Islamists throughout the Middle East perceived the shura as the core of the Islamic regime, while viewing legal disputes over its status – whether or not its directives binding the ruler in conducting the affairs of state – as ijtihad. Some Islamists were ambiguous, contentiing themselves with the generalized premise that Islamic political rule is based on a contractual relationship between ruler and nation, and that the ruler’s legitimacy derives from the bay‘a (pledge of allegiance by the community). The bay‘a is granted on condition that the ruler shows justice and curbs any tendency toward tyranny.23 Others, such as the Islamic Liberation Party, argued that the shura is obligatory for the ruler in domestic matters, such as education, health and the economy, but not in military and foreign affairs.24 A more definitive stance was endorsed

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by al-Ghazali, al-Qaradawi, ‘Imara and Huwaydi. In their analysis, the decisions emanating from the shura are binding for two reasons: the institution itself is rooted in the Qur’an, supported by the Qur’an’s encouragement of collective leadership generally; and common sense, which dictates that the shura has no value unless it binds the ruler. This proves that the community was awarded a role in decision-making and legislative processes. It was viewed as an active partner in running the affairs of state and insuring a consultative, just and accountable rulersship.25 This modernist Islamist perception viewed the shura as equal in stattus with Western institutions of representative democracy, but without violating the basic theological premise that Allah, and not the people, is the source of authority in society. The principle of democracy was represented as a guarantee against dictatorship, not against the sovereeignty of Allah or to excise heresy. The ultimate task of Muslims, ‘Imara argued, is to devise a state system within the confines of "the permitted and the prohibited" as defined by the shari‘a.26 The shari‘a delineates not only the sphere of activity of the ruling regime, but also the rules of the political system, ‘Imara and Huwaydi held. Political parties are permisssible as long as they adhere to moral principles. Like the legal schools, they constitute ideological streams in Islam and serve to monitor the political regime. They take on the role of opposition should the ruler deviate from Islamic norms or fail to uphold justice among his subjects, as reflected in Abu Bakr’s injunction: "If I succeed, retain me, but if I stray, rebel against me." With the encroachment of Western colonialism on Muslim lands, according to this view, the term "opposition" lost its Islamic moral conttent, while newly established secular parties rejected the notion of suboordination to religion in the political arena altogether. The correct way to deal with secularist parties, ‘Imara advised, is to deny them public support by means of ideological and political struggle, but not to aboliish or restrict their freedom.27 Censorship will only prevent exposing the weakness of the secularist arguments to the public and might lead people to identify with the exponents of these views if they are banned. Underllying this approach was a strong conviction in the righteousness of Islam and its mass appeal, which would overshadow any competing orientattion. However, such openness to ideological rivals was limited. ‘Imara and Huwaydi referred to the type of rivals who were "secular moderaate nationalists" and who called for separating religion and politics and

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disagree over the issue of the shari‘a, but display affinity and respect for Islam and are prepared to defend it against "imperialist plots." Their position makes them legitimate participants in a constructive discourse about the cultural identity of society. By contrast, "secular extremists" go beyond "the freedom of error" (huriyyat al-dalal) by insulting Islam and acting as agents of imperialism, thereby casting themselves out of the community entirely.28 According to Huwaydi, If we view the Islamists as the main side in the dialogue, this does not mean that the others lack affinity to Islam or assume a stance of rejection and rivalry toward it. We all belong to Islam, whether by faith or educational and cultural background. It is only natural that there are those who despise and hate Islam, but they are few and represent a deviation. The guiding rationale of the dialogue between the groups in this debate is not about the question of Islam or not. Rather, it bypasses the issue of faith, about which there is a consensus, and concerns the shari‘a, which is in dispute.29 The dividing line between moderate and extremist secularists, however, remained vague in ‘Imara’s and Huwaydi’s written work. Furthermore, their perception of the Islamic-secular dialogue did not entail reaching a compromise with the secular premise but rather correcting it: the secular premise was viewed as deriving from a distorted understanding and a lack of knowledge, which must be rectified through an ongoing diallogue.30 Ambiguous and tentative as it was, Huwaydi’s and ‘Imara’s appeal for a dialogue with moderate secularists was criticized by their senior colleagues, al-Qaradawi and al-Ghazali. Al-Qaradawi did not conceal his dislike for secular intellectuals, whom he perceived as worse than Muslim militants. He stipulated any dialogue with them on their accepttance of the "definitive injunctions of the shari‘a" (qat‘iyyat al-shari‘a), which, while few in number (mainly the hudud), constitute, together with faith, a definitive guiding framework for all believers. Al-Ghazali’s stand was even more rigid, defining secularism as heresy because it views the universe as autonomous and evolutionary rather than as the ultimmate, perfect creation of Allah.31 Nevertheless, although their attitude toward the secular camp differed, these Islamist writers were united in their perception of the centrality of the shari‘a in the lives of the Muslim community and the urgent need to restore it. Replacing the shari‘a with

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foreign Western laws was defined by Huwaydi as tantamount to legisllative occupation, which is worse than physical occupation by foreign armies.32

The Implementation of the Shari‘a The secularists justified their objection to adopting the shari‘a as the law of the state by pointing to its historical record, which they portrayed as tyrannical and morally corrupt. Responding, al-Ghazali, al-Qaradawi, ‘Imara and Huwaydi differentiated between Islam as the history of a people, and Islam as embodied in the sacred and judicial texts – the Qur’an, the Sunna and fiqh (jurisprudence). This raised the question of whether the focus on Islam as represented in these texts, which ignore Islam as history, is not a gross distortion. Al-Qaradawi answered in the negative, writing that Islam is a set of divine instructions that people are obliged to follow and only then is society entitled to be considered an Islamic society. The criticism that Islam is an ideal, and difficult to realize, is not relevant, since Islam was handed down to the people by Allah as a faith that binds its followers. In any case, every ideology is ultimately an ideal that people must struggle to realize. The situation of the Islamists is no different from that of democrats or socialists who promote their respective ideologies in their pure form, far removed from the deviations involved in implementing them.33 The centrist Islamist writers did not deny the violent upheavals and the mistakes made in Islam’s political history, but rejected the tendency to unduly emphasize them. They acknowledged the internal strife and the corrupt politics following the Rashidun period, but emphasized that Islamic faith and the moral conduct of the people remained intact over time. According to al-Qaradawi, this occurred because the corruption of the regime was centred in the capitol, and, in the absence of the educcational and communications apparatus of the modern state, did not extend to affect the people’s righteous conduct.34 The distortion of Islam by secularists is not confined to the realm of history alone, but is applied to modern times as well, al-Qaradawi pointed out. The secularists sarcastically ask: "Which Islam do you mean – the Sudanese Islam fashioned by army officers, the Iranian Islam fashiioned by ‘ulama’, or the Saudi Islam fashioned by kings?" According to al-Qaradawi, the answer is twofold. First, the Islamic regimes of today do not reflect the true path of Islam, both in terms of their formal instit-

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tutions and the conduct displayed by their rulers. Consequently, their application of the shari‘a is far removed from the eternal norms anchored in the Scriptures. Second, ideologies espoused by secularists, such as democracy and socialism, are also flawed by conflicting interpretations. Both liberalism and communism viewed themselves as authentic modeels of democracy. Yet each contributed a dimension to democracy that led to political and social injustice: liberalism by emphasizing political freedom biased in favor of the bourgeoisie, and communism by emphassizing social and economic equality at the expense of civil rights and human dignity. Differentiating between principles and their implementation, the centrist Islamists dismissed the Islamic experiment in Pakistan under Zia ul-Haq (1977-85) and in Sudan under Ja‘far al-Numayri (1983-85) as nothing more than attempts to enforce tyrannical regimes.35 The two episodes were defined by al-Qaradawi as "Islam without Islamists," as the enactment of the shari‘a was carried out by governmental functionaaries and not by the Jama‘ati Islami in Pakistan or the Muslim Brotherhhood in Sudan. As for the poor experience of clerical rule in Iran, it was viewed by the Islamist writers as a Shi‘ite phenomenon irrelevant to Sunni thought and practice. In this the writers sought to dispel the secullarist premise regarding the inability of the shari‘a to provide a relevant political platform for dealing with modern problems, as argued mainly by Fuda. The Islamist writers maintained this premise as fictitious, citing several reasons. First, the prerequisite cited in the shari‘a that the ruler must be of Quraysh origin is based on an authentic hadith authorized by the ‘ulama’ without any objection from the Muslim community, with the exception of the heretical Kharijites who wanted to destroy Islam. Quoting the Prophet himself – that the ruler is a trustee of the nation and superior only in the extent of his responsibilities – the Islamists conccluded that Quraysh origin takes precedence only if the candidate dispplays talent and true conviction.36 Second, various methods of selecting the ruler in Islam are legitimate and illustrate Islam’s flexibility, allowing its followers to implement the method that is appropriate to their time. This was best reflected in the election of the first four caliphs: Abu Bakr by direct elections, ‘Umar by nomination, ‘Uthman by election from a group of candidates, and ‘Ali by the bay‘a. Islam does not, however, recognize taking rule by force, as shown by the case of Mu‘awiya, or by inheritance, as in the case of ‘Abd al-Malik.37 Third, the shura forms the

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basis of the Islamic regime, aimed at defending the rights of both the individual and the community.38 The Islamist arguments in the socioeconomic sphere were less focused, generally attributing Egypt’s economic problems to society’s distance from Islam. As observed by historian Timur Kuran, Islamists in general never seriously attempted to provide a viable economic agenda.39 As with their view of Islam’s purposeful lack of definition concerning worldly issues, al-Ghazali, al-Qaradawi, ‘Imara and Huwaydi proposed only minor modifications in the existing economic order reflecting Islamic principles, such as abolishing interest.40 The centrist Islamists held a more defined stand on the issue of the hudud, as this was discussed explicitly in the Qura’n and the Sunna. The hudud are part of Allah’s law, they asserted, and should be treated with respect and submission. Some of the writers, especially Huwaydi, adopted a pronounced evolutionary approach, calling on Islamists to adhere to a "hierarchy of priorities" (tartib al-awwaliyyat) in order to insure the proper application of the hudud. He emphasized that the shari‘a is a compendium of ethical, cultural and operative principles more than it is a collection of laws, and that legal reform is only one dimension of applying the shari‘a – a gradual and long term process. In Huwaydi’s view, promoting justice and morality takes precedence over removing and forbidding wrongdoing. The hudud, therefore, are to be implemented only after molding the believer’s conscience, improving his standard of living, and taking into consideration the political and socioeconomic conditions of the community. These punishments relate to the areas of faith, worship and morality, with their sole aim being to promote justice.41 For example, to impose the punishment of amputattion for the crime of theft, it must be proved that the thief had a reasonaable standard of living. Otherwise, the crime is one of desperation driven by need, not deviancy (inhiraf). Only in the latter case does society have a duty to amputate the hand of the perpetrator, so as to correct him. Huwaydi quoted the Andalusian jurist Ibn Hazm (d. 1064), who stated that if a Muslim is deprived of a reasonable standard of living, defined as sufficient food, housing, a wife and clothing for winter and summer, he has the right to defy and even fight the wealthy, in which case he would be considered a martyr. Strict criteria also apply to the punishment for the crime of adultery. To reach a verdict that an adulterous act has been committed, direct testimony of four reliable male witnesses, or the conffession of the perpetrator, is required. Indeed, punishment for the crimes

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of theft and adultery were rare in Islamic history, testifying, in Islamist thought, to the mercy of Allah, whose aim is to deter rather than sancttion. However, in contrast to the secularist argument, this circumstance does not suggest questioning the obligatory status of the hudud or their irrelevance in modern times.42 The centrist Islamists argued that Allah’s commands are eternal and constitute part of the ruler’s legitimacy. Moreover, the hudud should not be viewed as cruel or backward, for physical punishment has been shown to have a more edifying effect on criminals than imprisonment. This shows that the secularists’ objection to the application of the shari‘a is not based on ijtihad in a complex and changing reality, but is intended to discredit Islam and reinforce the demand to sever it from the poliity.43 The secularists’ intention is most obvious in their emphasis on the harmful effect of the implementation of the shari‘a on the status of the non-Muslim minorities, the Islamists held. Al-Ghazali, al-Qaradawi, ‘Imara and Huwaydi argued that the shari‘a, a comprehensive body of law based on the Islamic heritage, in fact encourages tolerance toward non-Muslims. From its inception, Islam sanctified humanity and unity among peoples.44 The verses in the Qur’an that warn Muslims not to take Jews or Christians as friends or helpers (3:28, 5:54) do not imply shunning non-Muslims, al-Ghazali and al-Qaradawi explained. In their view, and in contrast to that of Sayyid Qutb (who justified the plain meaning of the text), these verses apply only to those who wage war against Islam and Muslims. Civilly and politically, Islam invests nonMuslims with the same rights and obligations as it does Muslims, and its social system is geared toward the assimilation and integration of all its members.45 To support this, Huwaydi quoted Hasan al-Banna, who viewed the Copts as "sons of Egypt." Significantly, he pointed out, the eleven principles that al-Banna laid out for the Islamic social system listed solidarity and unity first.46 Although both Huwaydi and al-Qaradawi proposed replacing the shari‘a term dhimmis (protected subjects) with the term muwatinun (citizens), this did not signify a fundamental change in their attitude toward the status of minorities in Islam. To illustrate, Huwaydi offered a circuitous interpretation regarding the issue of allowing non-Muslims to hold political office in light of the Qur’anic precept forbidding a believer to be subjected to the authority of a non-Muslim. Being elected to a seat in parliament, Huwaydi argued, does not imply that the delegate

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has control or authority over the nation. In actuality, the delegate reprresents only his constituency and protects its interests. Moreover, he is not authorized to issue laws or decisions on his own, but is part of a larger body of delegates whose legislative proposals require the approval of the ruler. Thus, the parliament lacks any supervisory power over the people, so that any theological reservations about allowing non-Muslims to serve are baseless. Clearly, Huwaydi’s reformism was only partial, as it referred mainly to elections and parliamentary activity. Regarding key public posts, such as the head of state, Huwyadi adhered to the traditional view, statiing explicitly that such a post encompasses religious duties that can be implemented only by a Muslim. The question of other offices with religgious overtones, for example army commanders and judges in cases of disputes between Muslims, was not addressed by Huwaydi. Notably, the precept forbidding subjecting a believer to non-Muslim authority consstituted an essential component of the doctrine of "forbidden wrong," defined by eminent Muslim jurists as the most basic pillar of the religgion.47 Huwaydi was unwilling or unable to overstep its boundaries in the name of equal political rights. Additional issues included the requirement that non-Muslims were also required to respect the religious sensibilities of Muslims (for exampple, by refraining from drinking wine or eating pork in public), or that they must pay the jizya (poll tax). Justifying the jizya obligation, alQaradawi explained that it has two functions: as a means of financiing public services; and as a substitution for the duty of jihad, which is imposed on all Muslims for the defense of "the state of the faith" (dawlat al-‘aqida).48 In spite of these and other measures intended to preserve the disttinctly Islamic character of the polity, al-Qaradawi and Huwaydi insisted that religious minorities under Islamic rule live under conditions of toleerance. While both writers acknowledged the episodes of intolerance and animosity toward non-Muslims in Islamic history, they contextualized them, e.g., attributing them to Muslim suffering under the Crusades and the Christian monarchs in Spain in the medieval period, or under British and French imperialism in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Instead of campaigning for minority rights, which are guaraanteed by Islam, al-Qaradawi urged secularists to consider the predicamment of the Muslim majority, prevented from exercising their religious rights freely in an alien immoral regime (i.e., the secular Egyptian state).

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This is a violation of the peoples’ will, guaranteed both in Clause 2 of the constitution, which declares Islam to be the religion of the state and the shari‘a to be the major source of legislation; and in Clause 46, which guarantees religious freedom for every citizen.49 The real conflict, alQaradawi contended, is not, as the secularists claim, between the Islamic regime which suppresses minorities and a civil regime which is just and neutral, but between Islam and its antithesis.50 Summarizing the issue of religious minorities, al-Qaradawi made no effort to conceal its secondary importance as compared to the urgent need of restoring the prominent role of the shari‘a in society: We preach tolerance since Islam teaches us to do so. However, this does not mean that we should forgo our religion to please someone else…. Tolerance does not entail demanding that the Muslim put aside his religious injunctions and suspend its penalties for the sake of the non-Muslim minorities so as not to arouse their fears or hurt their feelings. I do not understand why a Christian or a Jew should fear the amputation of the hand of a thief, or flogging the adultterer, the prostitute and the drunk. The Muslim perceives these imperatives as part of Islamic faith, and is drawn closer to Allah by implementing them; while the non-Muslim perceives them as the law of the state, agreed upon by the majority. Every religion has its own essential values and character, and one should not overlook them in favor of superficial civic gestures in the name of universal human rights toward people of other religions.51

Defining Parameters At the core of centrist Islamic thought, as articulated by al-Qaradawi, alGhazali, ‘Imara and Huwaydi, lay an attempt to bridge the gap between religious dogma based on revelation, and liberal political praxis based on rationalism and human insight. Achieving this goal would necessitate change, these writers acknowledged, but such change must not question religious conviction or moral conduct. This marks the line between ijtihad and anarchy, between rejuvenation and destruction.52 While endorsing human ijtihad, these Islamist writers essentially confined implementattion to persons considered qualified to undertake such responsibility, mainly those ‘ulama’ of integrity who fear only Allah. Approving worldly activity and human rule in political affairs, they tied these elements to

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theological endorsement due to the organic unity between religion and state in Islam. They justified political opposition, but only opposition that could serve as a guarantee against the ruler’s deviation from the path of Islam, not opposition as a legitimate competitor for rule. They depicted the shura as the central political system underlying the Islamic regime, yet claimed that the source of all authority and legislation is Allah and not the people through their representatives in parliament, as in Western democracies. According to these Islamist writers, the soveereignty of Allah is embodied in the shari‘a, and the main task of the state is to enforce its injunctions and defend the faith from apostasy and external aggression. Although some thinkers, namely al-Qaradawi and Huwaydi, regarded non-Muslims as citizens rather than as protected subjects of the Muslim state, they limited the access of such citizens to leadership posts under shari‘a rule. A particularly harsh stance was expressed regarding the legal status of the heterodox religious communitties, such as the Bahais, Druze and Isma‘ilites. These sects were defamed by al-Ghazali and Qaradawi as heretical, and their followers as deserving of excommunication.53 In comparison to the radicalism of such prominent twentieth-centtury thinkers as Abu al-‘Ala Mawdudi, Sayyid Qutb, Sa‘id Hawwa and Fathi Yakan, the Islamic vision of the group of Islamists discussed here was more inclusive, although still antagonistic toward Western thought. Their relative openness testified to the diversity of thought in the Islamist sphere, which is far from unified or monolithic. Significantly, this relattive openness remained within the confines of "scriptural liberalism," seeking to introduce democratic values and institutions based on the religious legislation embodied in the early experience of Islam. For such writers, the scriptural paradigm remained the ultimate point of reference for constructing a modern political community, thereby passing entire areas of human behavior through a theological filter.54 Huwaydi acknowledged that in contrast to Christianity, Islam serves as a major influence in molding the philosophy, politics and lifestyle of society. He nevertheless refused to classify Islam as an ossified religion which prohibits divergent cultural or ideological views among its believeers. Such a classification, he said, is attributable to Western attempts to impose its own cultural and ethical model on the East. If the West indeed believes in pluralism, he argued, it should not prescribe its liberal concepts as a universal criterion, but should recognize that society is multifarious and that values are culturally specific, the product of the

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historical context in which they have emerged. Moreover, religion may be modified by internal cultural influences. Islam, for example, embraces such diverse peoples as Arabs, Persians and Turks, whose cultural differeences are accepted.55 Huwaydi’s defiance of Western ethnocentrism and cultural arrogance embodied the basis of the Islamist attitude toward the true nature of Islamic politics. Centrist Islamists shared the view of Muslim liberals and secularists that Islam does not sanctify a single specific model for the political regime, but argued that not every civic regime which prommotes justice is by definition Islamic. The existence of an Islamic regime is determined first and foremost by the formal application of Allah’s injunctions, which are fixed and eternal and merge the spiritual with the physical, the individual with the collective, the temporal world with the afterlife. These principles guide Islamic politics and thereby differentiate it from Western politics, whose rationale is essentially hedonistic. This differentiation between Islamic politics – as a religious mission aimed at fulfilling Allah’s will – and Western politics – which are materiaalistic – narrowed the ecumenical outlook of enlightened Islamists such as al-Ghazali, al-Qaradawi, ‘Imara and Huwaydi. It also led them to denounce those who tried to blur this inter-cultural distinction. They sought to reshape the parameters of public discourse in matters of faith by perceiving the call to separate religion and state, or the objection to applying the shari‘a, as tantamount to heresy. In so doing, these Islamists adhered to the traditional stance of sanctifying the duty of Muslims to "forbid wrong" in society and excommunicating those who publicly repudiate religious conventions. This approach was expressed clearly by al-Qaradawi, who considered "forbidding wrong" as one of the funddamental injunctions of Islam as it provides moral solidarity among Muslims, just as the zakat provides material solidarity. Ignoring this injunction entails the dissolution of morality into arbitrary decisions based on the individual’s conscience alone. The crime of apostasy, in alQaradawi’s definition was the gravest of all dangers to Muslim society, for this society’s core identity and well-being focus on faith, which is threatened by the massive invasion of an alien culture. The severity of apostasy warrants severe punishment. In his view: The secularist who denies the rule of the shari‘a out of hand takes from Islam its name only and thus becomes an apostate. He must redeem himself by casting away doubt, otherwise he is subject to

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the death penalty prescribed for the crime of apostasy. He will no longer belong to Islam and must be separated from his wife and children and bear the legal fate of apostates in this life and hereaafter.56 This chapter, in analyzing the writing of a group of prominent Islamist writers, contributes to understanding modern Islamic thought regarding the ideological sources and ultimate goals of an Islamic regime. These fundamental attributes also dictate the institutional and moral features of such a regime, e.g., the shura, the political system and the parameters of intellectual discourse. An exploration of these sources and goals reveals that the ideal Islamic political entity is not necessarily autonomous but is functional in fulfilling its goal. It provides the coercive power for fulfilliing the demands of religious law and improving the soul of the believer, thereby acting as a conduit of theology. Seeking to reclaim the authority of the past, which highlighted the contractual relationship between God and man, the Islamist writers argued that a man who does not worship Allah does not fulfill his destiny and is valued as less than an animal. He is like dust on the earth on which people walk.57 These ethical and moral considerations constituted the raison d’être of the Islamist agenda. Denying them fully or partially meant detracting from Muslim authentticity, in the Islamists’ view. The wasatiyya, or centrist philosophy of al-Ghazali, al-Qaradawi, ‘Imara, Huwaydi and other Islamic writers such as Muhammad Salim al-‘Awwa, Kamal Abu Majd, Muhammad Ahmad Khalafallah and Tariq al-Bishri, called for reviving Islam, depicting its contemporary condittion as an archeological relic that requires renewal without destroying its essence. This essence is eternal and embodies faith, worship and moral values. The centrist approach, representing a quest for cultural authentticity along with a need to adapt to changing realties, was more than an intellectual exercise and acquired political substance with the formation in 1996 of the Wasat (Centre) Party, a splinter group of the Muslim Brotherhood. The centrist Islamists did not relinquish their support for the Muslim Brotherhood as the preferred political vehicle for restoring the moral vision of Islam. They praised the Brotherhood as a grass roots movemment with mass appeal and a reformist platform determined to operate within legal parameters. The emergence of the Brotherhood in the late 1920s was portrayed as historic moment, ending Muslim submissiven-

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ness to the West.58 However, the regime’s systematic harassment of the Brotherhood and obstruction of its access to national politics prompted these writers to put their trust in its offspring, the Wasat Party. To what extent this party represented an ideological compromise and a more inclusive Islamic political approach; and what obstacles the party faced in its efforts to become a legitimate actor in Egyptian politics, will be dealt with in the next chapter.

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Chapter 9 The Wasat Party: Toward Inclusive Islamic Politics

From the early 1970s onward, Islamic movements, exploiting social and economic distress, gained political momentum and posed a challenge to existing regimes in the Middle East. Their success in taking power, however, has been limited to four countries: Iran (1979), Sudan (1989), Turkey (1996) and Afghanistan (1996).1 In some countries, such as Syria and Algeria, the Islamists found themselves struggling for physical survival over time; in other countries such as Egypt, Jordan and Tunis, they have been engaged in a daunting attempt to ameliorate their posittion in national politics. The centralized government in the Arab states prompted rifts within the Islamic movements in the 1990s. Their followers, especially from the urban lower classes, were pressing for concrete and more immediaate results in the sociopolitical arena.2 One outcome of this situation was members splintering off to establish officially recognized parties and pledging loyalty to the state and its political system. Some Western scholars have described this development as the start of a post-Islamist era, with state suppression forcing the Islamist political groups toward ideological moderation.3 Other observers, however, Western and Musllim alike, viewed this shift as a sign of resilience demonstrating the dynamic, adaptive nature of Islamist politics in response to changing circumstances.4 Underlying these disparate analyses was an ongoing public debate over the image of Islam and its true attitude to democratic values and rival ideologies. An illuminating case study of such a debate was provided by the Egyptian al-Wasat ("Centre") Party.

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A Political Profile The death in 1996 of Muslim Brotherhood leader Hamid Abu al-Nasr, and the appointment of 74-year-old Mustafa Mashhur as his successsor heightened a generational crisis in the movement and helped pave the way for the establishment that year of the new al-Wasat Party. The name of the party had a dual significance, indicating an ideological shift toward the center of the Egyptian consensus, and greater representattion of the middle or transitional generation in the public sphere. This generation sought greater recognition in various other parties as well, but was largely ignored,5 a development viewed by local observers as the middle-generation crisis in Egyptian politics that resulted in stagnation of the opposition.6 The Wasat founders pointed out that the idea of forming the party was not new, but that its implementation had been accelerated by the offensive mounted by the state against the civil society, and particularly against the Islamic trend, during the 1990s.7 The founders included formmer key activists in the Brotherhood such as Abu al-‘Ala Madi, ‘Isam Hashish, ‘Isam Sultan, ‘Umar ‘Abdallah, Muhammad ‘Abd al-Latif and Salah Abu al-Maqsud, as well as several women and a number of Copts.8 The Coptic presence aimed at highlighting the party’s commitment to Muslim-Christian national unity, as well as emphasizing al-Wasat’s civic character (religious parties are forbidden by Egyptian law). The most prominent Coptic figure in al-Wasat was Rafiq Habib, son of Egypt’s Anglican bishop and a sociologist by training. Habib became the official party spokesman. A prolific writer, Habib denied the existence of sectarian strife or the deliberate discrimination against Copts, but acknowledged that Egypt’s deep political and economic crissis enhanced sectarianism and weakened the bonds of national identity. He claimed that the formation of al-Wasat was timely, because it could untangle several major defects characteristic of other Islamic movemments. First, it would create a common ground between Muslims and non-Muslims based on the traditional values of Arab Islamic civilization which stemmed from both Islam and Christianity. Second, it would fully exclude theology from the socioeconomic and political realms, which are secular in essence and should be equally accessible to all. Third, it would eschew vague slogans and instead delineate a detailed platform in several areas, from water management to the peace process in the region, and the attitude to the West.9

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The party’s human makeup and ideological platform, Habib pointed out, personified the culture of the centre (hadarat al-wasat), which he identified with Islamic civilization. This civilization, in contrast to that of the West, unified spirit and body, emotion and wisdom, religion and culture. The last component occupied an important place in Habib’s writing, since it related to the status of non-Muslims. In his view, Islamic civilization is based on two spheres: religious, i.e., shared moral values such as the belief in a metaphysical authority, in the day of judgment, and in the need to oppose heresy; and cultural, because man is born into a given social and cultural environment, in which he is raised and educcated. These two elements of Islamic civilization – religious and cultural – enhance the solidarity between social sectors and between Muslims and non-Muslims, thereby ensuring stability and continuity. For this reason, Habib looked to the revival of a "culture of the center" as the remedy for the contemporary predicament of the Arab-Muslim peoples.10 Of the 74 founding members of al-Wasat, 62 had formerly been active in the Brotherhood. Their occupational profiles were diverse, with approximately half trained as doctors and lawyers, etc, and the rest conssisting of urban laborers and rural peasants (fellahin) the ratio required by the Parties Law of 1956. The founders came from a broad geographiccal area, encompassing the districts of Cairo, Jizya, Minufiyya, Aswan, Minya and Fayyum. The core leadership was largely educated, urban and middle class, the traditional backbone of the Brotherhood. Their averaage age was 35-45 and their political mindset was molded in the Islamic associations (jama‘at) established on Egypt’s university campuses in the mid-1970s. They often played key roles in professional unions that were under the control or influence of the Brotherhood, e.g., the associations of engineers and physicians. Some leaders were jurists, journalists and academic. Their roles in the unions and on campus accorded them organnizational experience and stimulated their political appetite.11 While the social profile of the al-Wasat leadership did not differ essentially from that of its parent movement, the Brotherhood, its ideollogical profile diverged substantially in various aspects. The Wasat Party depicted itself as "setting precedents for other Islamic movements in the Arab world" by espousing new kind of Islam – accessible, moderate, with no monopoly on the truth, and supportive of a pluralistic political system. The party leader, Abu al-‘Ala Madi, formerly a vice-secretary of the Engineers Association, described the main thrust of the party as prommoting social justice and clean politics. In his view, "a righteous secular

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ruler is better than an Islamic dictator." In the same vein, the party’s platform advocated respect for the constitution and the rule of law; the defense of freedom of belief and opinion; fostering national unity; reducing social disparity; the right to develop communal institutions with minimal government interference; condemning terror; and seeking a constructive dialogue between the state and the Islamic trend. Praising other Islamic movements that demonstrated a pluralistic stance, such as those in Yemen, Tunisia, Morocco and Turkey, al-Wasat neverthelless highlighted its distinctive contribution to modern Islamic thought, mainly in its ecumenical outlook and its embrace of non-Muslims in the political process.12 However, al-Wasat’s ecumenical philosophy did not help the party obtain a legal license from the government, which suspected the party of being a branch of the Brotherhood aiming at promoting revolutionary ideas behind a "façade of democracy." Official spokesmen, including President Mubarak, dismissed the presence of Christians in the party ranks as "decoration" only. Leading Coptic clerics, politicians and writeers were even more antagonistic toward al-Wasat, accusing its Christian members of creating internal strife in the Coptic community and assistiing the Islamists in their campaign against the state.13 They mainly targgeted Habib, known since the mid-1980s for his caustic criticism of the Coptic religious leadership. In particular, he had accused Coptic clerics of turning the Coptic Church into a seclusionist force aimed at blockiing the integration of the Coptic population into the mainstream Musllim society so as to preserve the authority of the Church and sustain a minority syndrome.14 Shortly after the founding of the Wasat Party (January 1996), three of its leaders were arrested and tried on charges of supporting terror and inciting against the state. The court, however, cleared them of these accusations, apparently reflecting the authorities’ conviction that the rift between the Brotherhood and al-Wasat was genuine and that establishmment of the new party was not a Brotherhood initiative. From the goveernment’s point of view, the development of internecine Islamic friction was useful, and al-Wasat was allowed to survive.15 The Brotherhood, for its part, was both anxious to avoid aggravatiing its relations with the government, and feared internal disintegration, thus denied any organizational connections with al-Wasat. It depicted the new party as a fictitious body motivated solely by the desire to attract media attention. Brotherhood officials stressed that their movement did

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not act as guardian of any group, insisting that the Islamic arena was large enough to contain a variety of groups and that anyone who wished to establish a political party was entitled to do so. The Brotherhood spokesman Ma’mun al-Hudaybi cited historic evidence of this position by pointing out the support that Hasan al-Banna had given in 1939 to the Shabab Muhammad, a splinter of the Brotherhood that had had little impact on Islamic politics.16 This reference to the historical record aimed to demonstrate not only the Brotherhood’s tolerance toward other Islamic groups that had sprung from it, but also the insignificance of such groups in comparison with the deeply rooted parent party. The indifference toward the Wasat Party did not conceal the ideoological alienation and intergenerational tensions in the ranks of the Brotherhood. Brotherhood members left to join the new party in increasing numbers. Notable in this migration were the two brothers of ‘Isam al-‘Aryan, a prominent leader of the younger generation who had been jailed since 1995.17 The Brotherhood, irritated by al-Wasat’s persistent efforts to gain official approval, including a judicial appeal against the negative decision issued by the Party Affairs Committee, shifted from covert opposition to active contention. Al-Wasat foundeers were denounced as having violated their sacred allegiance (bay‘a) to the Brotherhood leadership by withdrawing from the movement, and as seeking only media exposure. Members of the new party faced tremmendous pressure to withdraw, including threats of slander and excommmunication.18 The Brotherhood justified these moves with the argument that communal activity (da‘wa) formed the basis of Islam, with politics constituting only one branch of this activity. Focusing on party politics would divert the Islamic movement from the goal of total commitment to God and subject it to close supervision by state authorities.19 This position was reminiscent of that adopted by Mustafa Mashhur in the 1980s, when the movement allied itself to the Wafd Party in the 1984 parliamentary elections. Mashhur had argued then that adopting pattterns of activity typical of political parties meant: a clear diversion from the Islamic path in constructing the Islamic society. The aim is not to gain the support of he who votes for us on the ballot, but of he who enlists himself and his assets for God…. We seek students of the next world rather than of governmment and earthly posts as they exist in political parties. We seek those who work in the field of da‘wa with the fear of God, piety,

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and loyalty to the goal of establishing the Islamic government. This does not mean that we reject politics. We are aware of its role and importance, but allocate it the proper weight without overshadowiing other activities.20 The Brotherhood’s campaign against al-Wasat had its effect. A significcant group of founding members (46 of the original 74) left the party in January 1997 and reaffirmed their loyalty to the parent movement. Some of these returnees criticized the leading role played by the Copt, Rafiq Habib, in the new party.21 In response, al-Wasat Party spokesmen expressed disappointment that a movement which itself long had been subjected to repressive measures, collaborated with the government against another group, thereby "marking a black spot in its glorious histtory." The Brotherhood’s old guard, they charged, dictated rigid adhereence to a narrow and anachronistic vision rooted in the 1940s. Al-Wasat leader Madi sought to counter the Brotherhood’s efforts at delegitimation and to position his party at the center of the Islamic consensus by adopting three tactics. First, he focused on the divisions in the Brotherhood by emphasizing the existence of a moderate trend in its ranks, which put aside past grievances and adopted an ecumenical attittude toward the state and toward rival ideologies. Second, he attempted to minimize the status of the Brotherhood by highlighting the work of other religious groups engaged in communal and educational activity, including the establishment ‘ulama’ and Sufi shaykhs as well as indeppendent-minded Islamic writers such as Muhammad al-Ghazali, Yusuf al-Qaradawi, Fahmi Huwaydi and Tariq al-Bishri. Third, Madi quoted extensively from the writings of Hasan al-Banna, the legendary founder of the Brotherhood, illustrating the centrality of political activity in Islam, inasmuch as "Islam is a comprehensive government concerning all areas of life."22

Ideological Outlook The growing tension with the Muslim Brotherhood reinforced the disttinctive identity of the Wasat Party and its willingness to defy the parent party. Al-Wasat reached out to the Egyptian left and joined the Nasserists in initiating the publication of a weekly newspaper, al-Mustaqbal ("The Future"), in 1997. The paper aimed to provide a forum for a variety of ideological trends in society and to enhance Egyptian cultural heritage

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in face of the perceived threat of Westernization. Al-Wasat’s goal was to build a bridge between all segments of society, in the belief that each social or political force has "the right and the duty to be present in the public sphere."23 Al-Wasat also sought to promote a constructive rather than polemical public discourse. Its spokesmen accused the Brotherhood of defaming Egypt’s modern history as dominated by repressiveness and corrupttion. The result, in the party’s view, was the obliteration of the collective memory and the nurturing of a cultural disorientation. Mutual reconciliiation was needed, based on a sincere recognition of the historical truth, including acknowledging the grave injustice caused to the Brotherhood during the 1952 revolution when many of its members were abused and tortured. The Brotherhood, for its part, needed to end its patently false accusation that Nasser himself planned the assassination attempt on his own life in 1954 and that he organized fictitious trials of Islamists in 1965. Furthermore, the movement needed to admit that some of its members had worked to undermine Nasser’s regime.24 Al-Wasat leaders also took a more liberal position on various senssitive issues, constituting a pronounced divergence from the Brotherhhood’s traditional position. This progressive attitude was reflected in its emphasis on the sovereignty of the people; the principle of democracy and respect for the majority opinion even if contradictory to the spirit of Islam; and above all, the acceptance of Christians as equal citizens of the state. In particular, al-Wasat praised the Copts’ vital historical contributtion in helping the Egyptian homeland cast off imperialist rule during the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. In the same vein, the party denounced the Islamic jizya as irrelevant to modern times. Central to its ecumenical outlook was the party’s perception of Islam as a cultural heritage rather than a judicial codex, thereby widening the scope of national identity to include indigenous Christians. In al-Wasat’s view, defining Islam as a culture enhances the contribution of Christians in shaping the Arab-Islamic legacy and turns them into full citizens or partners (shuraka), rather than confining them to the traditional status of dhimmis. Habib best articulated this position in his statement: "I am a Christian by faith and a Muslim in my culture."25 Christians’ historic involvement in defending the homeland, according to al-Wasat’s platfform, constituted the basis for full equality and thereby abolished the concept of dhimma. Expanding the notion of belonging to the Egyptian polity, the platform used the traditional term of "nation" (umma) as

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expressing a more inclusive meaning than the modern term of "people" (sha‘b), whose origin was Western.26 The notion of Islam as a civilization, and the emphasis on the equal civic status of the Copts, was the definitive distinction between al-Wasat and its parent movement, the Brotherhood. In the Brotherhood’s view, the shari‘a is the obligatory legal basis of organized communal life, thereby restricting the social inclusion of non-Muslims and ensuring the moral superiority of Islam over other religions. In "the state of belief" (dawlat al-‘aqida), according to the Brotherhood perception, non-Muslims are entitled to share in social services and economic resources together with Muslims, but they cannot hold public office or attain political power. The movement’s leader, Mustafa Mashhur, accurately exemplified this restrictive stand in an April 1997 statement that the Copts should pay the jizya and should be excluded from army service because they are not of the Islamic faith and "might change their loyalties and become enemy agents."27 Mashhur’s statement fueled a public outcry and a political dispute. Responding, Brotherhood officials argued that his comment had been taken out of context and distorted. The jizya, they explained, pertained only to those who attacked Islam or the Muslim community. It did not apply to Egypt’s Copts, who had proven their loyalty to the homeland in the long struggle against imperialism. These clarifications, however, failed to dislodge doubts in political circles regarding the civic status of religious minorities in the Islamic polity advocated by the Brotherhhood.28 The Wasat Party, eager for the opportunity to retaliate against the Brotherhood for its hostility, as well as to enhance its egalitarian civic image in order to obtain official recognition, insisted that the jizya was no longer valid. The Copts, Madi argued, were full citizens, not secondclass citizens. Moreover, the restriction of their right to take part in polittics and hold public office conflicted with Islam’s spirit of humanity.29 However, as an Islamic party, by its own definition and by most of its membership, al-Wasat did not completely defy Islamic tradition or the ideological platform of the Brotherhood. Its discourse remained within the framework of Islam. For one thing, al-Wasat shared the declared goal of introducing metaphysical values into the Egyptian polity. It posits the shari‘a as the primary source of legislation, albeit in a progressive interppretation, aimed at fostering the dynamic conduct of socioeconomic life and granting full civic rights to non-Muslims. In Madi’s view, Islam for Muslims constitutes a faith by which they live and die; for Christians,

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Islam constitutes a culture. Contentious issues, such as the legal status of the Islamic criminal code (mainly the hudud), were not dealt with explicitly in the party’s publications. Al-Wasat supported women’s access to public life and women holding political posts, but only in accordance with extant social values and without harming the institution of the family, defined by the party as "the pillar of society."30 Al-Wasat drew the line at sacrificing Islamic values and traditions in the name of freedom of opinion, and demanded the protection of Egypt’s Arabic and Islamic identity against Westernization. In this conttext, Habib held: "You can have scientific, economic and diplomatic cooperation. You can exchange ideas. But you cannot exchange values." In a similar vein, the party opposed any compromise with Israel, includiing normalization, perceiving the peace treaties signed with Israel as an Arab surrender to an exploitive and repressive entity. What is needed, Habib argued, is a firm stand and patience until the expropriated assets of the Palestinians are restored.31 Essentially, al-Wasat’s Islamic discourse advocated change and opennness in the spirit of the modern era, yet restricted such change to maintain clear boundaries between Islam and other cultures. These reservations were reinforced by the discourse of such ideological pillars of the party as writers Yusuf al-Qaradawi, Muhammad ‘Imara, Fahmy Huwaydi and Muhammad Salim al-‘Awwa, who, inter alia, represented al-Wasat in its judicial appeals. They urged the Brotherhood to cease harassing alWasat, a party they depicted as sincere in its effort to save the Islamic trend from its current political predicament, and warned against closing the gates of renewal and ijtihad.32 Nevertheless, the ideological opennness they projected was defined by the parameters of Islamic morality. For them, restricting rationalism and human insight when it questioned religious conviction marked the boundary between ijtihad and anarchy, between rejuvenation and destruction.33 As discussed in the preceding chapter, these writers were intolerant of dissident views in matters of faith and opposed those who denied the applicability of religious law in modern times. Moreover, their stand on the issue of religious minorities was vague and characterized by apologgetics. The reservations expressed by al-Qaradawi, ‘Imara, Huwaydi and ‘Awwa over responsiveness to the "other" were articulated primarily regarding Western culture, which was depicted as hedonistic, imperialist and threatening to the indigenous core identity. Ultimately, the polemi-

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ics that erupted periodically between these writers and state officials or liberal secular intellectuals had a negative effect on the moderate public image that al-Wasat sought to project in those circles.

The Legal Hurdle While the formulation of its political platform and the establishment of its internal structures reinforced al-Wasat’s separate existence from the Brotherhood, the obstacle of gaining a license from the state remained, an obstacle that proved difficult to overcome. The government was determined to block the access of any Islamists to political power. Two applications by al-Wasat to gain official approval, in May 1996 and in May 1998, were rejected by the Party Affairs Committee, as were appeals submitted to the court each time.34 The court rulings that followed, dismmissing the party’s appeals, reiterated previous arguments that al-Wasat’s platform did not differ from that of other parties, as required by the law, and that many of its progressive themes appeared in the platform of the ruling party. Government officials went further, charging that al-Wasat’s platform contradicted the constitution and undermined national unity and the existing social order.35 Undaunted, al-Wasat leader Madi announced his party’s intention in 1999 to make a third attempt to gain official approval, a right granted by the constitution. The party membership, he asserted, had no intention of returning to the ranks of the Brotherhood. Madi added that allowiing Islamists to engage in political activity through legal channels was vital to ending politically inspired violence, and that true parliamentary opposition is an integral component of, rather than a threat to, goveernment.36 Habib, however, was far less determined about submitting another application. Referring to a statement by Mubarak in 1998 that 14 parties in Egypt were enough, he contended that the government did not want active parties. The election campaigns themselves were meaniingless rituals, as reflected in the low voter turnout and meager involvemment of the population in political activity. This passivity, he believed, demonstrated the people’s rejection of the regime because it was based essentially on brute force, the suppression of civic activity, and a prefereence for the interests of the state over those of the nation. As an alternattive to legal party activity, which "is a near impossibility," Habib urged focusing on cultural and intellectual channels to disseminate al-Wasat’s ideas.37

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Significantly, the opposition of both the state and the Muslim Brotheerhood to licensing al-Wasat as a political party did not evoke support for its cause from the secular opposition either. Spokesmen for the oppossition called for expanding the democratic experience but argued that religious parties, whether Islamic or Christian, were not the solution and would only impair the national interest. Even if al-Wasat’s platform were humanistic, they emphasized, the party’s identity as representing Islam would inevitably result in religious dogmatism. Mixing religion and politics, the opposition spokesmen held, was a priori unsatisfacttory.38 This reservation was underset by the fear of the electorate’s drift toward the Islamists, for religion had proven to be the most promising electoral card in Egyptian politics, demonstrated by the Brotherhood’s popularity in the 1984 and 1987 elections. Intellectual views regarding the Wasat Party were more diverse. Figuures such as Sa‘d al-Din Ibrahim, a prominent civil rights activist, argued that there was no reason not to include Islamic parties that had proven to be moderate, such as the Brotherhood or al-Wasat. Their inclusion would expand the scope of political participation and reduce the scale of violence. In contrast, Hala Mustafa, a researcher at the governmentsupported al-Ahram Center for Strategic Studies, warned against the approval of Islamic political parties in light of the Algerian precedent. The most urgent task, she emphasized, was to develop a tolerant political culture capable of hearing the voice of liberal forces in society. A middle position was taken by Sa‘id al-Najjar, an economist and head of the Civic Forum, a nongovernmental association established in 1992. Welccoming the appearance of al-Wasat, which he called an important step toward legalizing Islamic political participation in public life, al-Najjar praised the party for opening its doors to non-Muslims. Nevertheless, he argued, al-Wasat needed to declare its support for the Universal Declarattion of Human Rights and for a purely ethical interpretation of Islam, as do Christian Democrat parties in Europe. This is necessary because a political party based on a religious ideology intrinsically poses a risk to the very existence of the modern nation state. Would al-Wasat be willing to go that far? Al-Najjar was doubtful.39 The common Egyptian political and intellectual reservations regardiing legalizing Islamic parties detracted from the demands of the opposittion – both parliamentary and civic – for further democratization. This played into the hands of the state in the struggle against the Islamists, whether radicals or moderates. The state’s sustained refusal to license

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al-Wasat (as well as other new parties) reflected the government’s corpporatist outlook, which mobilized society behind its agenda in an effort to discourage dissident tendencies. Ultimately, al-Wasat was satisfied with applying in 2000 for a permit to establish a cultural association aimed at promoting intellectual dialogue between different ideological trends. The state promptly approved its application, reflecting a williingness to tolerate Islamic cultural, not political, activity. In accordance with the 1999 Nongovernmental Organization Law, al-Wasat assured that it would be financed by donations and members’ dues, and would not obtain outside funding from international forums. Islamic writer Muhammad Salim al-‘Awwa was named head of the association. The founders included al-Wasat members, public figures, secular intellectuals and two Copts.40 In practical terms the Wasat Party had limited influence in comparisson with the grassroots Brotherhood movement. Moreover, its very existtence depended on the goodwill of the government. The state, inherently suspicious of the Islamic opposition and determined to deny Islamists access to the formal political arena, maintained its reserved attitude toward al-Wasat. Diya’ Rashwan of the al-Ahram Center for Political and Strategic Studies observed that "Egypt’s experience with the Islamists is too complex and too old to change in a few years."41 As a result, the effect of the Wasat Party was marginal in Egyptian politics, which was dominated by the sustained, albeit controlled, struggle between the two main political players – the government and the Brotherhood. Al-Wasat’s repeated failure to obtain official party status bore good tidings for the Brotherhood, and corresponded with its sense of triuumph regarding its communal strategy when the Islamic militant groups renounced violence as a legitimate means to achieve their goals in 1997. When a number of dropouts from these groups attempted to form political parties, the Brotherhood welcomed the expansion of the reformist Islamic spectrum but warned that the new parties would not survive because they made no social contribution. The only religious movement with coherence and broad appeal was the Brotherhood, its leaders pointed out.42 The electoral gains in the October/November 2000 parliamentary elections, held on an individual rather than a party basis, offered the Brotherhood further evidence of the movement’s public strength. Seveenteen of the movement’s 73 candidates were elected, more than the total number of seats (16) won by candidates from all 15 other opposit-

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tion parties combined. This electoral achievement reflected the relative freedom in which the elections took place, as well as the movement’s organizational capabilities, especially considering the official systematic harassment. The results demonstrated the Brotherhood’s political potenttial and reaffirmed its status as a permanent feature of Egyptian society.43 Its gains, however, did not put an end to state harassment or defuse internal dissension.44 Egyptian observers attributed the Brotherhood’s problems to its ideoological inflexibility and an unwillingness to integrate into the political order, a weakness that enabled systematic government suppression. Only a more pragmatic vision would keep the movement viable on the threshoold of the third millennium, these observers argued. An outside commenttator, Palestinian scholar ‘Azzam Tamimi, detected another dimension of the Brotherhood’s problematic position, namely the absence of internal democracy. Tamimi accused all Brotherhood movements in the Arab world of projecting a false image, claiming to be democratic but condducting their affairs like a patriarchal family business, with the leaders demanding total submission.45 Responding to such criticism, Mashhur pointed out that "any change in the conduct of the movement would have to be done in accordance with what Allah perceived," a reflection of the metaphysical dimension in Islamic politics.46

Al-Wasat and the Arab-Islamic Arena The Egyptian Wasat Party was not an isolated case of a more inclusive type of Islamic politics in the Arab Middle East. Its thrust was evident in a similar party in Morocco, the Parti du Justice et Dévéloppement (PJD), founded in 1997 as a coalition of several Islamic groups whose social and ideological profile largely coincided with that of the Egyptian al-Wasat. Members of the PJD ranged in age from 35 to 40, and their social status was urban middle class. Defining itself as a civil party, PJD excluded any demand to implement the shari‘a from its platform and declared loyalty to the monarchy as integral to the Moroccan milieu. This moderate line earned the party an official license from the regime, which was interested in neutralizing the stronger oppositionist voices on the Islamic specttrum, mainly the "Justice and Charity" Movement led by Shaykh ‘Abd al-Salam Yasin. Several PJD members were elected to parliament in the general elections of 1997. The party tripled its representation in the Septtember 2002 elections, from 12 to 42 seats, thereby becoming the third

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largest party in parliament. Still, its quest for political integration and a broader base of support did not imply giving up Islamic ideals. In this spirit, the PJD declared shari‘a principles as the beacon in the struggle against bribery and corruption. The party also opposed the government’s initiative in 1999 to introduce changes in the Personal Status Code as part of its efforts to improve the status of women.47 These developments in Egypt and Morocco affected the Islamic disccourse in Jordan as well. The Islamic Wasat Party was established in Jorddan in July 2001 by former activists in the Muslim Brotherhood and its political arm, the Islamic Salvation Front. Most were in their early forties and of Jordanian origin. Prominent leaders such as Bassam al-‘Amush, ‘Atif al-Batush and Marwan al-Fa‘uri, together with supporters, abanddoned the Brotherhood because of the movement’s decision to boycott the Jordanian parliament elections in November 1997. They emphasized the importance of participating in the political process for the benefit of the Islamic community, while their adversaries in the Brotherhood, mainly Palestinians, pointed to the uselessness of such involvement in the face of repression by the monarchy. Moreover, they argued, such integration would entail the legitimation of the Jordanian-Israeli peace treaty. The ideological discord between the two groups reflected ethnic friction in the Brotherhood between Jordanians and Palestinians. Along with former members of the Brotherhood, the Jordanian Wasat Party also included unaffiliated Islamists and members of the business community. The new party proclaimed its allegiance to Jordan’s national interests and its opposition to boycotting elections. It also stated its readiiness to cooperate with both national and leftist forces and to open its doors to all, women and men alike, as well as Christians who identify with Islamic civilization. Moreover, the Jordanian al-Wasat declared that it would not attempt to undermine the Islamic movement. The Brotheerhood, for its part, said that it welcomed any initiative to strengthen political pluralism in Jordan, although both groups were clearly moving toward a political confrontation.48 Unlike in Egypt, the Jordanian government did not present any signnificant obstacles to granting the Wasat Party an official permit. It merely required information from the party regarding its financial sources and internal structure. This cooption of the Islamic trend into the political arena reflected a relative absence of past grievances between the monarcchy and the Islamists, in contrast to the Egyptian situation.49

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The Wasat parties in Egypt and Jordan and the PJD in Morocco were prompted by similar circumstances: an inter-generational chasm and an atmosphere of repression by the regime. All three parties rebelled against the long-term strategy of Islamization from the bottom up and were anxious to play an active role in national politics in order to bring about change in the political center. They also displayed a more inclusive attitude toward women, religious minorities and political rivals in their respective communities. Indeed, the Wasat parties in Egypt and Jordan and the PJD in Morocco served as a forum for voices in modern Islamic discourse that were more restrained and integrative, and were also heard outside the Arab Middle East, such as in Turkey and Indonesia.50 All three parties defined their identity as civic rather than religious. They emphasized their support for a pluralistic political system and the reinforcement of civil society, and called for greater tolerance of rival ideologies. This ecumenical approach revealed an affinity to the distinctive Islamic reformism of Shaykh Muhammad ‘Abduh in the nineteenth century. It demonstrated a dynamic Islamic discourse influenced by the needs and constraints of the surrounding environment. Nevertheless, this "ethic of tolerance" was qualified. It was in fact antagonistic toward cultures other than Islam, reflecting a quest for cultural authenticity in an era of globalization and multi-dimensional interaction - political, economic and intellectual.51 The Wasat parties in Egypt and Jordan and the PJD in Morocco supported a constructive dialogue between different trends, yet set limitations to discourse in matters of faith. They urged abolishing social divisions between Muslims and indigenous Christians, yet advoccated restoring and reinforcing the cultural division between Islam and the West.52 The emergence of the Wasat parties and the PJD in the Egyptian, Jordanian and Moroccan political arenas illustrated on one hand the diversity of modern Islamic thought and on the other an underlying belief in the superior status of Islam in the state and its divergence from Western thought. The rejection of religious dogmatism and the endorsemment of secular political principles did not necessarily imply a relinquishiing of efforts to improve the morality of the polity. Ultimately, none of the three parties was embraced by their respective governments. They were perceived essentially as potential political instruments to weaken the Islamic camp rather than as legitimate partners in shaping he image of society.

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Conclusion

The role of Islam in the state has been a contentious issue in Egypt since the country’s encounter with the West in the nineteenth century. In retrrospect, Egypt had advanced more than any other Muslim state, with the exception of Turkey, Tunisia and the Central Asian Republics, in terms of both modernization and secularization. Nevertheless, it never nullified the essential unity of religion and state, or the supremacy of the shari‘a in matters of personal status (marriage and divorce). Above all, the Egyptian polity can be described as adaptive, continually open to revisions in self-identity. Responding to growing Islamist pressure, Egypt amended its constitution in 1980 and recognized the principles of the shari‘a as the primary source, rather than as a source of legislation. In the same vein, the Personal Status Law of 1979, which improved women’s rights regarding divorce and custody, was weakened in 1985 in order to pacify the country’s religious circles.1 In this sense, the Egyptian state had a distinctive theological component, with political as well as cultural ramifications. The tension between tradition and change was reinforced with the emergence of Islamism as the main opposition to the government. Both wings of the Islamic opposition – the communal (the Brotherhood) and the militant (the radical organizations) – held a fundamentalist percepttion of divine law, defining Islam as a comprehensive guide for human conduct. The shift in the status of the Islamic movement from a perseccuted fringe element under Nasser in the 1950s and 1960s to a major political force under Sadat and Mubarak from the 1970s onward reprresented a series of ongoing developments. These included an increasiing economic recession; a reevaluation of the 1952 revolution and its destructive effects on Egypt’s social fabric; Sadat’s policy of de-Nasserizattion which encouraged Islamists to resume public activism to counter the Left; and al-Azhar’s failure to present a tolerant version of Islam,

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whether because of its remoteness from the distress of the masses or its basic ideological affinity for the Islamists.2 Viewed historically, the crisis in al-Azhar that resulted from moderniization and the coalescence of the Egyptian state during the nineteenth and twentieth centuries was relative. The state had taken away al-Azhar’s traditional power but had failed to turn the institution into an effective conduit for conveying the regime’s modernized agenda to the masses. Unlike the Brotherhood and the radicals, the ‘ulama’ did not defy the prevailing order, or aspire to rule, but they were determined to preserve their traditional role as guardians of public morality. However, unlike in the past, they were forced to share this role with other elements in the Islamic spectrum.3 Islamic politics posited Islam as the only solution that could provide an authoritative and coherent response to the malaise of Egyptian socieety, with its built-in religious proclivity. The government was forced into a position of ideological distress which reflected its weakness in shaping the public discourse in the face of a deeper-rooted narrative. In response, the government sought to reinforce the link between Islam and the state in an effort to enhance its legitimacy, while the liberal trend, which attempted to interpret religious law as a general ethical code, became the natural target of lethal attacks by Islamic circles. This was not the first time in modern Egyptian history that the liberal trend, as a Western perception reflecting such basic values as free will, the sovereignty of the people, pluralism, individual liberty, openness and tolerance, found itself facing the threat of exclusion from society. With the Free Officers’ coup of 1952, which replaced the parliamentary goveernment with an authoritarian one, the liberal discourse lost much of its vitality, although some of its spokesmen dared to express reservations about Nasserism, however obliquely.4 Nasser’s death in 1970, and the relative openness in the country’s political and economic institutions introduced by Sadat, and even more so by Mubarak, elicited new hope for Egyptian liberalism. This hope proved premature in the disappointiing reality of the waves of religious revival toward the end of the centtury. Several prominent liberal writers of the old generation, such as Tawffiq al-Hakim, Husayn Fawzi, Najib Mafhuz and Yusuf Idris, continued to participate in the public discourse both on the Islamic challenge and on how to contend with it, writing in the press and appearing frequently in the electronic media. However, their response was somewhat luke

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warm, whether due to ideological exhaustion or insufficient backing from the regime, which favored dialogue rather than frontal confronttation with the radicals and depended on the ‘ulama’ for legitimation. Other liberal writers of a more socialistic persuasion, such as Khalid Muhammad Khalid, Hasan Hanafi, ‘Adil Husayn and Tariq al-Bishri, eventually reversed their anti-religious position and immersed themsselves in Muslim historic research in quest of an authentic heritage. The neo-liberal trend was populated by a group of writers who explicitly identified themselves as perpetuators of the Western-style libeeral discourse and viewed their task as defending the government. These writers were neither disdainful of religion, nor saw themselves as secular purists in the Ataturk mold. In contrast to Western secularists, they did not nullify the authority of Muslim canonic texts, but rather provided an alternative reading of them or used selective historical sources. They retained both an emotional and an ideological affinity to Islam. They were determined, however, to promote real social change based on modeern values that while not explicit in Islam, do not conflict with it. The most important of these liberals were Husayn Ahmad Amin, Muhammmad Sa‘id al-‘Ashmawi and Faraj Fuda. Of the three, the most daring was Fuda. Fuda’s outspoken views on the separation of religion and politics, freedom of religious belief and the need for full normalcy with Israel, worked against him to a great extent. He failed to gain a seat in parliamment or to obtain an official license to establish the Mustaqbal Party, and he was branded as a heretic in religious circles. Aware of the acuity of his own argumentation, he nevertheless attributed the hostility toward him to the deductive logic of the East, which injects faith into the historiopolitical context, thereby preventing the possibility of doubting of what is perceived a priori as certain and absolute. In his words, "Civilization means logic, and backwardness means emotions. In this sense we are backward."5 The campaign that he was conducting, Fuda declared, reprresents the price he pays for a better future for Egypt.6 In his opinion, patience and time were required not only in the struggle against the Islamists, but also to achieve full democracy. This would put an end to the emergency laws, whose oppressiveness leads to dictatorship and to the worship of rulers who relinquish office only upon death, whether by natural causes or assassination.7 Fuda’s written work, and that of others, illuminated both the enduraance of Egyptian liberalism and its fragility, especially in matters of faith.

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Shimon Shamir aptly described the neo-liberals in Egypt as a small band of nonconformists who, remote from the ruling elite, conducted a vigoroous struggle for legitimacy.8 In the words of Husayn Ahmad Amin, "We [the liberals] are nothing but a bunch of dissidents writing on water" while the cult of the legacy of the past "is spreading like a plague." In the same vein, Nasr Hamid Abu Zayd pointed out that the "lack of any public space to exchange and debate ideas has resulted in a siege menttality. To offer new explanations or interpretations of religion becomes blasphemous act."9 Similar frustration was expressed by liberal writers elsewhere in the Middle East during the late twentieth century. The Tunisian writer ‘Abd al-Majid Charfi observed: "We are always beleagguered; sometimes able to conduct a debate in the public sphere in Paris, but not in Tunis."10 Notably, both Egypt and Tunisia witnessed accelerated waves of modernization during the twentieth century. Moreoover, militant Islam was suppressed in both countries during the 1990s. However, the public discourse in matters of faith in the two countries remained fragile. The portrayal of dissenting views of Islamic faith as both religious deviation and an imperialist plot to divest society of its indigenous identity proved an effective strategy, given the fresh memory of foreign domination in the region. As a result, the liberal discourse "has more often been victim than victor," in Kurzman’s observation.11 Fuda himself remained true to his world view, never deviating from the basic principles that he laid out for the civil state he envisioned in Egypt, despite being ostracized by the government and demonized by the Islamists. He was aware of the pressures on the government in its dealings with the Islamic opposition, yet did not hesitate to criticize it openly and incisively. He maintained a consistent liberal agenda and promoted it by establishing various political and public bodies that demanded radical improvements in the Egyptian polity.12 In this sense, Fuda may be viewed as an "intellectual dissident," who, in contrast to Husayn Ahmad Amin and Muhammad Sa‘id al-‘Ashmawi, was not in the government’s employ and was therefore more vulnerable to arrest and trial for ostensibly harming Islam. Fuda can also be categorized as a "gatekeeper," along the lines of Lewis Feuer’s classification of intellectuaals. Impelled by a skeptical approach, Fuda defied norms and authoriity, and dedicated himself to defining an ideological alternative to the aspects of Egypt’s political and social conduct that he rejected. This diffferentiated him from the moralist intellectual, who distances himself from corruptive politics; or the "preserver," who helps provide legitim-

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macy to authority (whether old or new) and thereby becomes an integral participant in the extant order.13 Fuda’s estrangement from his social environment, imperviousness to innovation, did not make him apathetic. On the contrary, he became deeply involved in political and social issues in an effort to revive a liberal milieu. His dedication to universal concepts of democracy and human rights, however, may have cost him his political career when he resigned from the New Wafd Party. It certainly cost him his life. His role in advancing a vision of progress in Egypt was well summarized in an introduction to a compilation of his articles published by the Egyptian Enlightenment Society after his death: Fuda engaged himself with the concerns of his time and with his eternal love, Egypt. However, this occupation did not deflect his vision from the future. Furthermore, the party he dreamed of and sought to establish bears the name "The Future"…. It is only natural and necessary that a thinker who is ahead of his time will encounter the hatred of the narrow-minded who live in the past and benefit by turning back.... They hold onto part of the present but have no place in the future. They make headlines in the official newspapers, but history will allot them a few sentences only, while it will be filled with thinkers who have lofty principles, who herald progress, freedom and enlightenment.14 If Fuda stood for the forward thrust of history, his murder exposed the vulnerability of rational discourse in Egypt aimed at reaching a consenssus over a workable political system. The murder, and the agitation that preceded it, also reflected the Islamists’ assertive struggle over society’s cultural orientation. Clearly, modern Islamic thought is not monolithic. It harbors diverse voices, a reflection of the ideological pliability of Islamic doctrine, as well as differing perceptions of coping with the vicissitudes of modernnity. Certain Egyptian Islamists identified with the centrist philosophy, such as Muhammad al-Ghazali, Yusuf al-Qaradawi, Muhammad ‘Imara and Fahmi Huwaydi, have acquired a reputation for moderation in their writings. They acknowledged the need for the rejuvenation of Muslim thought and institutions and allocated greater weight to human insight. These centrists justified openness and change and appealed for dialogue with ideological rivals, yet within firm limits. In effect, they played an

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active role in the delegitimation of Fuda, portraying him as having abanddoned Islam. Their position regarding other intellectuals with dissident views on religion and state, such as Muhammad Sa‘id al-‘Ashmawi, Husayn Ahmad Amin and Fu’ad Zakariya, was similarly dismissive and replete with charges of blasphemy. Other Islamists, such as Muhammad Salim al-‘Awwa, recognized the legitimacy of pluralism within Islam, but still restricted man’s free will to choose between good and evil and advocated a future Islamic state where all parties would be obligated to adhere to Islamic values.15 Similar discourses regarding openness and its limits existed among other Islamist writers in both the Sunni and Shi‘ite worlds, mainly regardiing individual liberty. Both Sunni and Shi‘ite commentators described liberty as a "gift from God," yet adopted a restrictive approach, particullarly in the realm of intellectual and political discourse. Such discourse, they held, must be conducted without undermining religious principles or create internal fissures. This approach sought to preserve the supremaacy of Islamic faith in society as well as sharpen the dividing line between Islam and Western democracy.16 Fuda’s murder, and other assassination plots against liberal thinkers, prompted a number of intellectuals to express disdain for the breakdown of ideological discourse that left Egypt, at the turn of the twenty-first century, in the hands of a generation with an anachronistic mind-set. The root of this evil, they believed, lay in two historic processes. The first was the encounter with the West in wake of the French conquest at the end of the eighteenth century, which sought to bring an abrupt end to traditional society. The result was prolonged instability and disorientattion. The second process was the obliteration of the collective memory of the Egyptian nation, first by Nasser, who blackened the pre-1952 constitutional experiment, and later by Sadat who turned the country toward Islam in order to reinforce his rule.17 Both these processes hinddered the entrenchment of civil society in Egypt. Civil society is defined as a system of institutional and ideological pluralism that preserves the role of the state in maintaining public order and mediating between various interests, but prevents it from gaining a monopoly over power and truth.18 This perception became a central elemment in the written work of Egyptian intellectuals from the late 1980s onward, although its application was perceived in different ways. Some writers, such as Sa‘d al-Din Ibrahim, a sociologist who headed the prohuman rights Ibn Khaldun Center in Cairo, held that the key to the

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viability of civil society in Egypt lies in the existence of voluntary bodiies such as professional associations, pressure groups and political partties. These groups endow the individual with autonomy in exercising political and social rights, and serve to represent the individual to the authorities and the public at large.19 By contrast, other writers, such as economist Sa‘id al-Najjar, argued that private property, free enterprise and social justice all constitute the required foundation for a true civil society.20 Lastly, scholars such as Nasr Hamid Abu Zayd, a lecturer in Arabic literature, believed that only a system of education that fosters freedom of thought can maximize individual capabilities and create the conditions for entrenching democracy. These conditions would allow for uprooting the use of Islam as "political fuel" that blocks society from its ecumenical essence, and would entrench the true meaning of secularism, which liberates man from the burdens imposed by religious authorities but not by religion itself.21 The need for civil society was also fostered by some Islamists, who held that society must rely on varied personal and informal ties, which are the distinctive characteristics of an authentic traditional communnity. In their view, political parties, professional associations, investment companies and charitable organizations fill a central role in the transsition to democracy and in the reinforcement of the government’s tie to the population, and should be encouraged rather than restricted.22 This perception of a civil society that promotes the autonomy of social institutions largely reflected a practical desire of the Islamists to deepen their hold on society through such bodies so as to strip the government of any social infrastructure. While the notion of civil society assigns the state a defined role in guaranteeing law and order and promoting an "ethic of tolerance" toward political variance,23 Islamists viewed the state as an intrusive, centralizing agent intent on making its presence felt in all aspects of life. According to Islamist interpretation, the state’s task is to protect the faith and organize the institutional system, including the cultural discourse, within the parameters of what is permitted in Islamic law. This task is actually the state’s sole raison d’être. The debate over the chances of establishing a civil society in Egypt has largely been confined to an intellectual exercise. The democratizattion process, ongoing in Egypt since the 1970s, aims primarily at guaraanteeing the stability of the state, but this is also its weakness. Efforts at privatization and structural reform undertaken in Egypt since the early 1990s have been cautious and have not been followed up by any

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significant reduction of governmental supervision over the economy. This supervision preserves the power of the state but also perpetuates its almost exclusive responsibility for economic destitution.24 Moreover, the cultural code in society continues to foster an intimate affinity between religion and politics, despite the absence in the Qur’an of any directtives regarding the political regime, and the removal of the ‘ulama’ from governmental affairs as far back as the earliest period of Islam.25 The façade of organic unity between theology and politics hinders Egypt, as well as other Muslim countries, from modernizing its social system in the absence of a significant measure of secularization. This impediment perpetuates the Islamic struggle over the image of society. Admittedly, even in the bastions of democracy in the West, such as the United States, Britain, France and Germany, the issue of religion and state has not been fully resolved, and the political culture in those countries is affected, inter alia, by attitudes toward religious belief. However, the encounter between religion and secular trends in the West is controlled and does not endanger the cohesion of the state, much less its very existence. Whether the Islamic cause in Egypt is reinforced or weakened conttinues to be determined by the state, rather than by the public or by ideological struggle. From the early 1990s onward, the government has dealt harshly with the Islamists, undoubtedly influenced by the electtoral victories of the Front Islamique du Salut (FIS) in Algeria (1991) and the Welfare Party in Turkey (1996), both of which elicited military intervention. The FIS went underground in the wake of the imposition of a military regime, while the Welfare Party was forced to concede its hold on the government and was declared illegal. Egypt’s iron-fist policy during the period was reflected in widespread arrests of radicals and the constriction of the political freedom of the non-violent Brotherhood.26 While the relative strength of the Egyptian regime ensures its stabiliity, it does not entirely neutralize the problem of the regime’s legitimacy. Mubarak has managed to force the Islamic movement to struggle for survival and legitimacy, but has failed to uproot it. Although activity of militant groups has been sporadic and their presence is largely confined to the peripheral areas of Upper Egypt, they nevertheless constitute an ongoing security problem. Furthermore, the Brotherhood is essentially a mass movement without sectorial leanings – in sociological parlance, a value-oriented movement.27 It aims, in the name of a religious belief systtem – Islam – to bring about change in the value system of its surroundiings. Such change takes time and requires patience, but the Brotherhood

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is convinced that the results are preordained. In the words of one of its supporters, Shaykh Yusuf al-Qaradawi, "Forbearance (sabr) is both a national and a religious necessity. There is no success in this or the other world without showing forbearance."28 Nearly eight decades of Brotherhood activity, marked by a pronnounced transition from violence to legal activity, illustrate that the movement adapted to changing political realties while remaining loyal to its principles. The Brotherhood maintained ongoing interaction with its environment, yet did not diverge from its strategic objective – to apply the shari‘a in the state, ideally under Brotherhood leadership. This was best articulated in a 1993 manifesto authored by the movement stating that "the rulers are responsible for applying the laws of Allah, or leaving power to those who can."29 Like other political movements, the Brotherhood was not immune to internal schism. This came to a head in 1996 when younger cadres broke away and established the Wasat Party, with its more inclusive orientation toward ideological rivals and religious minorities. However, al-Wasat’s limited influence, and the government’s ongoing refusal to license it, awarded the Brotherhood uncontested publlic status. In filling the psychological and communal needs of a dislocated socieety, the Brotherhood acquired potential to inculcate change over time. The movement’s grip on the lower classes and on the public space in Egypt was reinforced by the anomaly in the state judicial system that grants a large measure of autonomy to religious law in matters of social morality and personal status. In contrast to political and economic conccerns, these areas are mentioned explicitly and in detail in the Qur’an, presenting modernist liberal writers with a dilemma. Such writers were viewed by Islamists as relinquishing the disciplined life required by faith and as willing to trade their traditional value system for a cosmopolitian mindset. Such behavior merited denunciation. At times, liberals were forced to legally defend their cause against charges of heresy without receiving significant support from the state, which opted to demonstrate its loyalty to Islam. This political preference was aptly articulated by the Cairo Court of Appeals, which ruled in 1995 that since Islam is the state religion, to attack the fundamentals of Islam is to attack the very founddations of the state.30 The efforts to modernize Egyptian society by continual delving into religious tradition, reflects the essence of the ongoing struggle over the role of Islam in the polity.

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Notes

Introduction

1. Charles E. Butterworth, "On What Is Between, Even Beyond, the Paradigms of the State and Islam," in C. E. Butterworth and I. W. Zartman (eds.), Between the State and Islam (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001). 2. On purity-pollution dichotomy in religious systems, see Mary Douglas, Purity and Danger (London: Ark Paperbacks, 1984). 3. See e.g., Aviezer Ravitzky, Religion and State in Jewish Philosophy: Models of Unity, Division, Collision and Subordination (Hebrew; Jerusalem: The Israel Democracy Institute, 1998); Ann K. Lambton, State and Government in Medieval Islam (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1981), pp. 13-20, 307-315; also Albert Hourani, Arabic Thought in the Liberal Age 1798-1939 (3rd ed., London: Oxford University Press, 1983), pp. 1-24. 4. Lambton, State and Government in Medieval Islam, pp. 138-151. 5. On these and other versions of secularization, see Donald Smith, Religion and Political Development - An Analytic Study (Boston: Little Brown, 1970), pp. 85123. 6. A full survey of the historic roots of modern Islamism is beyond the scope of the book. For further reading, however, see, e.g., Nehemia Levtzion and John O. Voll (eds.), Eighteenth-Century Renewal and Reform in Islam (New York: Syracuse University Press, 1987); David Commins, Islamic Reform: Politics and Social Change in Late Ottoman Syria (New York: Oxford University Press, 1990); Itzchak Weismann, Taste of Modernity: Sufism, Salafiyya, and Arabism in Late Ottoman Damascus (Leiden: Brill, 2000), pp. 261-316. 7. Fred Halliday, The Middle East in International Relations: Power, Politics and Ideology (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005), pp. 213-214; idem, Islam and the Myth of Confrontation: Religion and Politics in the Middle East (London: I.B. Tauris, 1996), pp. 42, 57-63. 8. Conversely, the more limited the scope of modernization, such as in the semitribal monarchies of the Arabian Peninsula, the Persian Gulf and North Africa, the less challenging the Islamic discourse was. Contributing factors to this conservatism were the elevated status of Islam and relative affluence (especially from oil revenues) in those regions, which allowed for the assimilation of new sectors, thereby blunting protest. 9. Amnon Cohen, Political Parties in the West Bank under the Jordanian Regime 1949-1967 (London: Cornell University Press, 1982), pp. 209-229; Suha TajiFarouki, A Fundamental Quest: Hizb al-Tahrir and the Search of the Islamic Caliphate (London: Grey Seal, 1996).

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10. Emmanuel Sivan, Radical Islam (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1985), pp. 195-199, 201-207. 11. See also Meir Hatina, "The Ulama and the Cult of Death in Palestine," Israel Affairs, 12 (January 2006), pp. 44-45. 12. See also Martine E. Marty and R. Scott Appleby, "Introduction: The Fundamentalism Project: A User’s Guide," in idem (eds.), Fundamentalisms Observed (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1991), pp. vii-x. 13. On the notion of liberalism in its Western context, see, e.g., Emil J. Kirchner, "Introduction," idem, Liberal Parties in Western Europe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988), pp. 2-7; R. Jeffrey Lustig, Corporate Liberalism (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1982); Nicholas Timmins, The Five Giants: A Biography Welfare State (London: Fontana Press, 1995). 14. Hourani, Arabic Thought, p. iv. 15. Israel Gershoni, Light in Shadow – Egypt and Fascism 1922-1937 (Hebrew; Tel Aviv: Am Oved, 1999), pp. 62-73. See also Roel Meijer, The Quest for Modernity: Secular Liberal and Left-Wing Political Thought in Egypt 1945-1958 (London: Routledge Curzon, 2002), pp. 19-21. 16. Eisenstadt’s remark was made in the context of the debated issue of the applicable of the public sphere concept in the Muslim world. Eisenstadt, "Concluding Remark: Public Sphere, Civil Society and Political Dynamics in Islamic Societies," in M. Hoexter, S. N. Eisenstadt, Nehemia Levtzion (eds.), The Public Sphere in Muslim Societies (New York: State University of New York Press, 2002), p. 159. 17. This definition is taken from Nadav Safran, Egypt in Search of Political Community (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1961), p. 275, note. 1 to Chapter Six. 18. On text-context relationship in the history of ideas, see Quentin Skinner, "Meaning and Understanding in the History of Ideas," History and Theory 8 (1969), pp. 3-53; Israel Gershoni and James P. Jankowski, Egypt, Islam and the Arabs (New York: Oxford University Press, 1986), pp. viii-xiv. On sociological analyses of the interaction between culture and politics and its implications in the Middle Eastern context, see Sami Zubaida, Islam, the People and the State (London: Routledge 1993), chapter 1-2; Ervand Abrahamian, Khomenism (London: I.B. Tauris, 1993), chapter 3; Halliday, The Middle East in International Relations, pp. 193-228. 19. For general literature on intellectuals and their place in society, see Edward Shils, "Intellectuals," International Encyclopaedia of the Social Sciences 7 (1968), pp. 399-400; idem, The Intellectuals and the Powers and Other Essays (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1972), pp. 25-26; Joseph A. Schumpeter, "The Sociology of the Intellectuals," in George B. De Huszar (ed.). The Intellectuals: A Controversial Portrait (Illinois: Free Press, 1960), pp. 69-70; Lewis S. Feuer, "What Is an Intellectual?," in Aleksander Gella (ed.), The Intelligentsia and the Intellectuals (London: Sage Publication, 1976), pp. 50-51. See also Edward Said, Representation of the Intellectual (London: Vintage, 1994); Shlomo Sand, Intellectuals, Truth and Power (Hebrew; Tel Aviv: Am Oved, 2000). 20. Paul Johnson, Intellectuals (London: Weidenfeld, 1988), p. 2. 21. Schumpeter, "The Sociology of the Intellectuals," p. 70; Seymour M. Lipset and Asoke Basu, "The Roles of the Intellectual and Political Roles," in Gella (ed.), The Intelligentsia and the Intellectuals, pp. 111-122; Carl Boggs, Intellectuals and

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the Crisis of Modernity (Albany, N.Y: State University of New York Press, 1993), pp. 3-4. 22. J.P. Nettl, "Ideas, Intellectuals and Structures of Dissent," in Philip Rieff (ed.), On Intellectuals (New York: Doubleday, 1969), pp. 81-83. 23. Ibid.; Samuel N. Eisenstadt, Tradition, Change and Modernity (New York: J. Wiley, 1973), pp. 310-327; also Eric Hobsbawm, "Introduction: Inventing Traditions," in Eric Hobsbawm and Terence Ranger (eds.), The Invention of Tradition (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983), p. 1. 24. Eisenstadt, Tradition, Change and Modernity, pp. 119-121. 25. Shils, The Intellectuals and the Powers, pp. 35-36. 26. Sand, Intellectuals, Truth and Power, pp. 20-22. 27. This marginality, in the contemporary Middle Eastern context, contrasts with the more profound role played by intellectuals in shaping the modern nationalist image of their societies in the early twentieth century during the process of statebuilding, which impelled new ideological and cultural directions. Prominent intellectuals, who carried out this task, and who were also involved in national politics, included Ziya Gokalp in Turkey, Ahmad Lutfi al-Sayyid, Muhammad Husayn Haykal and Taha Husayn in Egypt, Sati‘ al-Husri in Iraq and Michel ‘Aflaq in Syria. 28. Shils, The Intellectuals and the Powers, pp. 85-89, 376-380; S. Hussein Alatas, Intellectuals in Developing Societies (London: Frank Cass, 1977), pp. 48-69. 29. On the intellectual in the Middle East, see Menahem Milson, Intellectuals in the Arab World in Medieval Age and Modern Time (Hebrew; Tel Aviv: Humanities Press [New York] and Am Oved, 1973). 30. See, e.g., Michael C. Hudson, Arab Politics: The Search for Legitimacy (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1977), pp. 7-11. 31. The literature on the neo-liberal discourse, including that of Fuda, in postrevolutionary Egypt is limited and not systematic. Initial contributions to the subject can be found in Emmanuel Sivan, Mythes Politiques Arabes (Paris: Fayard, 1995), pp. 232-243; Nazih N. Ayubi, Political Islam (London: Routledge, 1993), pp. 201-213; Shimon Shamir, "Liberalism: from Monarchy to Postrevolution," in idem (ed.), Egypt from Monarchy to Republic, pp. 195-212. Other references can be found in the following sources: Fouad Ajami, The Dream Palace of the Arabs (New York: Vintage Books, 1999), pp. 203-221; Milton Vorest, In the Shadow of the Prophet (New York: Westview, 2001), Chapter 2.

Chapter 1

1. On the social origins of the Umma Party’s leadership and its platform, see Walid Kazziha, "The Jarida-Ummah Group and Egyptian Politics," MES 13 (0ctober 1977), pp. 373-385. 2. Safran, Egypt in Search of Political Community, pp. 107-111; Israel Gershoni and James P. Jankowski, Egypt, Islam and the Arabs, pp. 40-43. 3. Allenby (Cairo) Telegram of 19 February 1920, in George Curzon Papers, FO800/153; Memorandum entitled "British Policy in Egypt," dated April 28, 1925 in Murray (Cairo) dispatch of 28 April 1925, FO371/10889, J1218/32/16; Headlam-Morley, Memorandum on British Policy Toward Egypt, dated 17 November 1926, FO 371/11597, J3106/166/16.

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4. On the emergence of Egyptian nationalism and its spokesmen in the late nineteenth century, see Hourani, Arabic Thought, pp. 161-162, 193-209; James Jankowski, "Ottomanism and Arabism in Egypt 1860-1914," The Muslim World 70 (July-October 1980), pp. 226-259. 5. For a survey of state-religion relations in Egypt of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, see Daniel Crecelius (PhD dissertation), The Ulama and the State in Modern Egypt (Princeton, New Jersey: Princeton University Press, 1968), pp. 199-256. 6. P.J. Vatikiotis, Islam and the State (London: Croom Helm, 1987), p. 3. See also Samuel N. Eisenstadt, Tradition, Change and Modernity (New York: J. Wiley, 1973), pp. 4-11, 23-29; Ernest Gellner, Culture, Identity and Politics (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987), pp. 15-18. 7. For the full text of the constitution, see Davis H. Miller. Constitutions, Electoral Laws, Treaties of States in the Near and Middle East (2nd ed., Durham, N.C.: Duke University Press, 1953), pp. 26-46. For a discussion of the Islamic clauses, see Safran, Egypt in Search of Political Community, pp. 109-111; Michael Winter, "Islam in the State: Pragmatism and Growing Commitment," in Shamir (ed.). Egypt from Monarchy to Republic, pp. 57-59. 8. Jacques Berque, Egypt: Imperialism and Revolution (London: Faber & Faber, 1972), p. 365. 9. Elie Kedourie, "The Genesis of the Egyptian Constitution of 1923," in P. M. Holt (ed.), Political and Social Change in Modern Egypt (London: Oxford University Press, 1968), pp. 350-352. 10. Bakith, quoted in Muhammad al-Sharif, ‘Ala Hamish al-Dustur (Cairo: n.p, 1938), Vol. 1, p. 87. 11. Foreign Office minute (London) to Henderson (Cairo), 25 August 1926, FO371/11597, J2395/166/16. Another writer who referred to the public debate over the constitution was Taha Husayn in an article written in the late 1920s. See Faraj Fuda, "al-Fitna al-Ta’ifiyya," in Faraj Fuda, Yunan Labib Rizq and Khalil ‘Abd al-Karim (eds.), al-Ta’ifiyya ila Ayn? Cairo: Dar Misr al-Jadid, 1987, pp. 43-50. 12. Allenby (Cairo) to Curzon (London) 23 April 1923, FO371/8961, E4589/10/16; Allenby (Cairo), telegram of 4 May 1923, FO371/8961, E4540/10/16; Sir R. Allason Furness, Report on the modifications to be introduced into the Constitution and the Electoral Law in Furness Papers, St. Antony’s College, Oxford; Memorandum on British Policy in Egypt, dated 28 April 1925, in Murray (Cairo) dispatch of 28 April 1925, FO371/10889, J1218/32/16. 13. Gershoni and Jankowski, Egypt, Islam and the Arabs, pp. 71-81, 89-95. On a definition of a "generational unit," see, Karl Mannheim, "The Problem of Generations," in idem, Essays in the Sociology of Knowledge (New York: Oxford University Press, 1952), pp. 302-312. 14. Safran, Egypt in Search of Political Community, Chapter 2; Hourani, Arabic Thought, pp. 324-326. 15. Charles C. Adams, Islam and Modernism in Egypt (London: Oxford University Press, 1933), pp. 253-259. 16. For a prosopographic analysis of intellectual discourse between the two World Wars, see G. Eliraz, (PhD dissertation). Egyptian Intellectuals in the Face of Tradition and Change 1919-1939 (Hebrew; Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 1986), pp. 74, 170-188.

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17. On the caliphate issue, see Martin Kramer, Islam Assembled (New York: Columbia University Press, 1986), pp. 86-105. 18. ‘Ali ‘Abd al-Raziq, al-Islam wa-Usul al-Hukm (Beirut: Dar Maktabat al-Hayat, 1966), pp. 39-47, 65-66, 77-84, 141-156, 181-201. 19. For a critical discussion of ‘Abd al-Raziq’s views, see Leonard Binder, Islamic Liberalism (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1988), pp. 128-135. On the public debate over the book, see Gershoni and Jankowski, Egypt, Islam and the Arabs, pp. 66-70; Hourani, Arabic Thought, pp. 188-192; Muhammad ‘Imara, al-Islam wa-Usul al-Hukm li-‘Ali ‘Abd al-Raziq, Dirasa wa-Watha’iq (Beirut: alMu’assasa al-‘Arabiyya li’l Dirasat wa’l-Nashr, 1972), pp. 109-110. 20. Henderson (Cairo), telegram of 11 September, 1925, FO371/10888, J2664/29/16; Henderson (Cairo), telegram of 12 September, 1925, FO371/10888, J2746/29/16; Henderson (Cairo) to Chamberlain (London), September 21, 1925, FO371/10888, J2748/29/16. 21. For Zaghlul and the Wafd’s reaction, see ‘Imara, al-Islam wa-Usul al-Hukm, pp. 109-110. 22. ‘Abd al-Raziq’s articles in al-Siyasa al-Usbuiyya, 13 November 1926, p. 17; alHilal, 1 November 1931, pp. 19-20; ibid., 1 January 1955, pp. 81-82; also quoted in Ahmad Lutfi al-Sayyid (ed.), al-Duktur Muhammad Husayn Haykal (Cairo: Matba‘at Misr, 1958), pp. 69-70. 23. ‘Imara, al-Islam wa-Usul al-Hukm, pp. 91-92. 24. Kramer, Islam Assembled, pp. 100-101. 25. The reluctant but realistic conclusion that the caliphate could not be resurrected was well reflected in a memorandum issued by the Congress, appeared in Donald E. Smith, Religion, Politics and Social Change in the Third World (New York: The Free Press, 1971), pp. 61-64. 26. On ‘Abd al-Raziq’s political activity in parliament and the Ministry of Awqaf, see ‘Abd al-Rahman al-Rafi‘i, Fi A‘qab al-Thawra al-Misriyya (Cairo: Maktab al-Nahda al-Misriyya, 1947, 1949), Vol. 1, pp. 236-244, Vol. 2, pp. 144-146; al-Siyasa, 5, 13 June 1928, 2 June 1931, 4, 6,9 March 1947. For the sanction aspect of al-Azhar in 1925, see ‘Imara, al-Islam wa-Usul al-Hukm, p. 22; alAhram, 24, 25 September 1966. 27. Gershoni, Light in Shadow – Egypt and Fascism, mainly Chapter 2; Afaf Lutfi alSayyid-Marsot, Egypt’s Liberal Experiment 1922-1936 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1977), pp. 248-251; Selma Botman, Egypt from Independence to Revolution 1919-1952 (New York: Syracuse University Press, 1991), pp. 136147. 28. After his trial, ‘Abd al-Raziq tried to refute the allegations made against him by pointing out that the verdict contradicted the constitutional guarantee of freedom of opinion, while also claiming that there is no mention of the spirituality of Islam or the shari‘a in his book. He also argued that the Prophet exercised earthly political authority and evoked obedience due to the people’s belief in his message rather than by oppressive acts. ‘Imara, al-Islam wa-Usul alHukm, pp. 60-72, 92-101; Binder, Islamic Liberalism, pp. 144-146. For a more explicit statement by ‘Abd al-Raziq later, see Risalat al-Islam 3 (July 1951), pp. 246-247. 29. ‘Abd al-Raziq’s articles in al-Siyasa, 13 May, 17 June 1928, p. 1; al-Hilal, 1 April 1931, pp. 723-24: ibid, 1 May 1935, pp. 777-783.

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30. On the communal and political role of networks in urbanized milieus, see Gulian Denoeux, Urban Unrest in the Middle East (New York: State University of New York Press, 1993), pp. 22-26. 31. On the reformist efforts in al-Azhar, see Crecelius, The Ulama and the State, pp. 290-327. 32. Israel Gershoni and James P. Jankowski, Redefining the Egyptian Nation 19301945 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), pp. 3-7; Charles Issawi, Egypt in Revolution (London: Oxford University Press, 1963), pp. 3234; pamphlet entitled, "The Independence of Egypt," January 1921, in Nevill Barbour Papers, St. Antony’s College, Oxford. 33. See, e.g., Ahmad Hasan al-Zayyat in al-Risala, 1 April 1935, pp. 481-482. 34. On the theory of modernization, see Smith, Religion and Political Development; David Apter, The Politics of Modernization (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1965). For criticism on this theory, see Samuel N. Eisenstadt, Tradition, Change and Modernity (New York: J. Wiley, 1973), pp. 7, 98-105; J.P. Nettl and Roland Robertson, International Systems and the Modernization of Societies (London: Faber and Faber, 1968), pp. 129-132, 171-73. On cultural relativism, see Melville J. Herskovits, Cultural Relativism: Perspectives in Cultural Pluralism (New York: Random House, 1972). 35. Meijer defines the ideological radicalization in the 1930s as the emancipation from elite patronage and the revolt of romanticism against the rationalization of the enlightenment. Meijer, The Quest for Modernity, pp. 21-23; also R. P. Mitchell, The Society of the Muslim Brothers (London: Oxford University Press, 1969); Lia Brynjar, The Society of the Muslim Brothers in Egypt (London: Ithaca Press, 1998); Israel Gershoni, The Emergence of Pan-Arabism in Egypt (Tel Aviv: The Shiloah Institute, 1981); also James P. Jankowski, Egypt’s Young Rebels (Stanford: Hoover Institution Publications, 1975). 36. Gershoni and Jankowski, Redefining the Egyptian Nation, pp. 35-53, 55-65. 37. Safran, Egypt in Search of Political Community, Chapter 6; Hourani, Arabic Thought, p. 341. 38. C. D. Smith, "The Crisis of Orientation: The Shift of Egyptian Intellectuals to Islamic Subjects in the 1930s," IJMES 4 (October 1973), pp. 382-410; idem, Islam and the Search for Social Order in Modern Egypt: A Biography of Muhammad Husayn Haykal (Albany N.Y.: State University of New York Press, 1983), pp. 138-145. 39. Gershoni and Jankowski, Redefining the Egyptian Nation, pp. 65-71. 40. Despite its rootedness in Egypt and its participation in the national struggle for independence, the Coptic community endured legal restrictions in terms of its right to build or renovate churches or to teach Christianity in government schools. On the status of the Copts in Egypt in the interwar period, see Ghali Shukri, al-Aqbat fi Watan Mutaghir (Cairo: Dar al-Shuruq, 1991), pp. 207209; Thomas Philipp, "Copts and Other Minorities in the Development of the Egyptian Nation-State," in Shamir (ed.), Egypt from Monarchy to Republic, pp. 137-138, 144-145. See also Gudrun Krämer, The Jews in Modern Egypt 19141952 (London, 1989); R. Augustus Vaux, Egyptian and other Episodes: Personal, Political and Legal, in Vaux Papers, St. Antony’s College, pp. 54-55; T. Cecil Rapp, Memoirs, in Rapp Papers, St. Antony’s College, Oxford, pp. 41-42. 41. Shils, "Intellectuals," pp. 410-413.

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42. Muhammad Husayn Haykal, Hayat Muhammad (9th ed., Cairo: Maktabat al-Nahda al-Misriyya, 1965), pp. 489-492. See also Husayn Fawzi al-Najjar, Haykal wa-Hayat Muhammad (Cairo: Dar al-Shuruq, 1970), pp. 19-20. 43. Husayn Ahmad Amin, Dalil al-Muslim al-Hazin (3rd ed., Cairo: Maktabat Madbuli, 1987), pp. 36-37. 44. Israel Gershoni, "The Reader – Another Production: The Reception of Haykal’s Biography of Muhammad and the Shift of Egyptian Intellectuals to Islamic Subjects in the 1930s," Poetics Today 15 (Summer 1994), pp. 251-269. 45. Haykal, Hayat Muhammad, Introduction by al-Maraghi. On al-Maraghi’s biography, see Amira El-Azhary Sonbol, "Maraghi Mustafa Al," Oxford Encyclopedia of the Modern Islamic World 3 (1995), pp. 44-45. 46. Muhammad Husayn Haykal, al-Siddiq Abu Bakr (6th ed., Cairo: Dar al-Ma‘arif, 1971), pp. 14-15, 95-103, 344-47; Haykal, al-Faruq ‘Umar, Vol. 1 (5th ed., Cairo: Dar al-Ma‘arif, 1972), p. 6. 47. Khalid Muhammad Khalid, Min Huna Nabda’ (6th ed., Cairo: Dar al-Fikr al‘Arabi, 1952), pp. 9-14. 48. Ibid., pp. 42, 45-48, 52-55, 150-154. 49. Ibid., pp. 146-147, 154-159, 160-167. See also Khalid, al-Dimuqratiyya Abadan (2nd ed., Cairo: Dar al-Fikr al-‘Arabi, 1953), pp. 143-154. 50. Khalid, Min Huna Nabda’, pp. 85-87, 118-121, 147-149, 172-174. 51. Ibid., pp. 147-149. 52. Ibid., p. 31. On the Brotherhood reaction, see, e.g., Muhammad al-Ghazali, Min huna Na‘lamu (5th ed., Cairo: Dar al-Kutub al-Haditha, n.d), introduction by Salih ‘Ashmawi, pp. 5-7. 53. Al-Ghazali, Min Huna Na‘lamu, pp. 120-124, 128-130. 54. Ibid., pp. 23-25, 28-29, 51-57, 77-83. 55. Ibid., pp. 43-46, 90-103, 108-13. 56. Ibid., p. 15. 57. An exception was the Islamic Liberation Party (Hizb al-Tahrir al-Islami) in Jordan, which promoted the restoration of the caliphate. In the words of its founder, Shaykh Taqi al-Din al-Nabahani, "where there is a Caliph, there is also the Islamic state." Taqi al-Din al-Nabahani, Nizam al-Islam (Jerusalem: Manshurat Hizb al-Tahrir, 1953), pp. 43-44, 76-82. 58. Hasan al-Banna, "Risalat al-Mu’tamar al-Khamis," in idem, Majmu‘at Rasa’il alImam al-Shahid (Beirut: al-Mu’assasa al-Islamiyya, n.d.), pp. 178-179; Mitchell, pp. 263-264, 308. 59. ‘Abd al-Raziq, it will be recalled, had in effect renounced his view of Islam as a mainly spiritual phenomenon with little relevance to temporal life. The question of the accuracy of the reports of ‘Abd al-Raziq’s renouncement, or what his motives may have been, is overridden by the extensive coverage given to his alleged remarks. See note 28 above. 60. Khalid Muhammad Khalid, Muwatinun la Ri‘aya (4th ed., Cairo: Maktabat Wahba, 1951); idem, al-Dimuqratiyya Abadan, p. 1. 61. Khalid, Min Huna Nabda’, pp. 18-21, 25-26. 62. Winter, "Islam in the State," pp. 46-47. See also Fauzi M. Najjar, "Egypt’s Laws of Personal Status,” Arab Studies Quarterly 10 (1989), pp. 320-321. 63. A key role in this process was attributed to the jurist ‘Abd al-Raziq al-Sanhuri (1895-1971). See also Oussama Arabi, Studies in Modern Islamic Law and Jurisprudence (The Hague: Kluwer Law International, 2001), pp. 81-100.

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64. See, e.g., Ahmad Hasan al-Zayyat in al-Risala, 27 April 1942, pp. 473-474, 4 August 1952, p. 853; also Meijer, The Quest for Modernity, pp. 66-95; Joel Gordon, Nasser’s Blessed Movement (New York: Oxford University Press, 1992), pp. 27-38. 65. Nissim Rejwan, Nasserist Ideology: Its Exponents and Critics (New York: J. Wiley, 1974), pp. 143-160. 66. See, e.g., Daniel Crecelius, "Al-Azhar in Revolution," Middle East Journal 20 (Winter 1966), pp. 34-49; Meir Hatina, "Historical Legacy and the Challenge of Modernity in the Middle East: The Case of al-Azhar in Egypt," The Muslim World 93 (January 2003), pp. 59-62; "Al-Azhar Discipline," Middle Eastern Affairs (March 1956), pp. 108-115; Gregory Starrett, Putting Islam to Work: Education, Politics and Religious Transformation in Egypt (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1998), pp.79-80. 67. Ambiguity toward the status of Islam in the state was also indicated in Clause 34, which states that "freedom of belief is absolute" but does not clarify whether the right to religious conversion is included. The clause, moreover, restricts the freedom of belief so that it does not "infringe upon public order or conflict with morality." Amos J. Peaslee, Constitutions of Nations (3rd ed., Hague: M. Nijhoff, 1965), Vol. 1, pp. 992, 994. 68. Rifaat A. Dika (Ph.D dissertation), Islamic Traditions in Modern Politics: The Case of al-Azhar in Egypt (Michigan: Wayne State University, 1990), pp. 178180. 69. The regime adopted a "soft" policy, relying on religious sanctions to legitimize its declared social reforms. In the event, these reforms were often not enforced. A prominent example of Nasserist "soft" policy regarding social issues with Islamic overtones was family planning. The authorities worked to gain the approval of the religious establishment and the cooperation of the public by carefully introducing the use of contraceptives as not contradictory to the shari‘a. However, the national policy of family planning was based on the voluntary response of the population, especially in the rural areas, without adopting assertive measures or allocating sufficient resources. Gad G. Gilbar and Onn Winckler, "Nasser’s Family Planning Policy," in Elie Podeh and Onn Winckler (eds.), Rethinking Nasserism (Florida: Florida University Press, 2004), pp. 285288. 70. This assertion differs from that of Joel Gordon, who argues that the religious component was excluded from Nasserist policy and rhetoric. Elie Podeh and Onn Winckler, "Introduction," idem, Rethinking Nasserism, pp. 12-18; Daniel Crecelius, "The Course of Secularization in Modern Egypt," in John L. Esposito (ed.), Islam and Development (New York: Syracuse University Press, 1980), pp. 67-70; Javaid Saeed, Islam and Modernization (Westport, Conn.: Praeger, 1989), pp. 118-128; Gordon, Nasser’s Blessed Movement, pp. 27-38.

Chapter 2

1. Al-Banna, "Risalat al-Mu’tamar al-Khamis," pp. 168-170. 2. On the Brotherhood’s relations with the constitutional and revolutionary regimes, see al-Sayyid Yusuf, al-Ikhwan al-Muslimun: Hal Hiya Sahwa Islamiyya? (Cairo: Markaz al-Mahrusa, 1994), Vol. 3, pp. 33-43, 69-76, 83-86, 147-151;

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Hala Mustafa, al-Nizam al-Siyasi wa’l-Mu‘arada al-Islamiyya fi Misr (Cairo: Markaz al-Mahrusa, 1995), pp. 127-134. 3. Sayyid Qutb, al-‘Adala al-Ijtimaiyya fi al-Islam (6th ed., Beirut: Dar al-Shuruq, 1979), pp. 97-104; Ma‘alim fi al-Tariq (Cairo: Dar al-Shuruq, n.d.), pp. 79; also Sivan, Radical Islam, pp. 21-28, 90-107; William E. Shepard, "Sayyid Qutb’s Doctrine of Jahiliyya," IJMES 35 (2003), pp. 521-545. 4. On the world view of the radicals and the Brotherhood, see Gilles Kepel, Muslim Extremism in Egypt: The Prophet and Pharaoh (new ed., Berkeley: University of California Press, 2003), pp. 70-102; Hasan al-Hudaybi, Du‘at la Qudat (2nd ed., Beirut: Dar al-Islam, 1978), pp. 42-47, 72-74, 78-82, 115-117. A middle way was adopted by Qutb’s younger brother, Muhammad in his books Hal Nahnu Muslimun (2nd ed., Cairo: Maktabat Wahaba, 1968), pp. 9-23, 102104; Waqi‘una al-Mu‘asir (3rd ed., Mu’assasat al-Madina, 1989), pp. 439-444. 5. For methodological literature on the Islamic revival in the Middle East, see Ali E. Hillal Dessouki, "The Islamic Resurgence: Sources, Dynamics, and Implications," in idem. (ed.), Islamic Resurgence in the Arab World (New York: Praeger, 1982), pp. 22-25; R. Hrair Dekmejian, "The Anatomy of Islamic Revival; Legitimacy Crisis, Ethnic Conflicts and the Search for Islamic Alternatives," MEJ 34 (Winter 1980), pp. 1-6. 6. See, e.g., Dekmejian, "The Anatomy of Islamic Revival," pp. 1-6; Hudson, Arab Politics, pp. 1-30; also Niko Kielstra, "Law and Reality in Modern Islam," in E. Gellner (ed.), Islamic Dilemmas: Reformers, Nationalists and Industrialization (New York: Mouton Publishers, 1985), pp. 11-13. See also William Shepard’s findings in his "Conversations in Cairo: Some Contemporary Muslim Views of Other Religions," The Muslim World 70 (July-October 1980), pp. 171-195. 7. Alatas, Intellectuals in Developing Societies, pp. 55-56. 8. On Sadat’s policy and its motives, see Raymond A. Hinnebusch, Egyptian Politics under Sadat (Boulder: L. Rienner Publishers, 1988), pp. 54-65. 9. Hinnebusch, Egyptian Politics under Sadat, pp. 73-78, 174-179, 206-208; Winter, "Islam in the State," pp. 50-53. 10. Israel Altman, "Islamic Movements in Egypt," The Jerusalem Quarterly 10 (Winter 1979), pp. 87-105. 11. Hava Lazarus-Yafeh, "Continuity and Innovation in Egyptian Islam: The ‘Ulama vis-à-vis the Militants," in Shamir (ed.), Egypt from Monarchy to Republic, pp. 173-180; Hatina, "Historical Legacy and the Challenge of Modernity" pp. 5168. 12. Al-Da‘wa, March 1977; ‘Umar al-Tilmisani, Ayyam ma‘a al-Sadat (Cairo: Dar al-I‘tisam, 1984), pp. 19-24; Dhikrayat la Mudhakkirat (Cairo: Dar al-I‘tisam, 1985.), pp. 35-38; Kepel, Muslim Extremism in Egypt, pp. 124-128. See also Gabriel A. Almond, R. Scott Appleby and Emmanuel Sivan, Strong Religion: The Rise of Fundamentalism around the World (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 2003), p. 168. 13. Al-Da‘wa, December 1978; Mustafa, al-Nizam al-Siyasi, pp. 206-207. On the political contest over the shari‘a, see Bernard Botiveau, Loi Islamique et Droit dans les Sociétés Arabes: Mutations des Systèmes Juridiques du Moyen-Orient (Paris: Karthal-Iremam, 1993), pp. 274-283. 14. On radical Islam during Sadat’s tenure, see Kepel, Muslim Extremism in Egypt, pp. 129-171, 191-218.

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15. On party opposition and the 1984 parliamentary elections, see Robert Springborg, Mubarak's Egypt: Fragmentation of the Political Order (Boulder: Westview Press, 1989), pp. 187-198. 16. The Brotherhood’s quasi-legal status was a result of the ban on establishing religious or ethnic parties. ‘Umar al-Tilmisani in al-Wafd, 29 March 1984; idem, Dhikrayat, pp. 183-185. 17. Akhar Sa‘a, 13 February 1985; Springborg, Mubarak's Egypt, pp. 202-206. 18. See, e.g., Ha’aretz, 4 August 1987. 19. Al-Ahram, 23 August 1985; ibid., 6, 9 September 1985; al-Nur, 5 November 1986, 17 February, 9 November 1988; al-Liwa’ al-Islami, 8 December 1988. 20. Jadd al-Haqq’s interview in al-Watan al-‘Arabi, 5 September 1986. See also his earlier statements as the mufti of Egypt (1979-1982) in Jakob SkovgaardPetersen, Defining Islam for the Egyptian State (Leiden: Brill, 1997), pp. 231232. 21. Majallat al-Azhar 26 (15 January 1955), pp. 548-545; ibid., 28 (6 October 1956), pp. 272-279. 22. Al-Liwa’ al-Islami, 6 March 1986; ibid., 29 December 1988; Muhammad Mahjub Hasan, al-Shaykh al-Sha‘rawi min al-Qarya ila al-‘Alamiyya (Cairo: Maktabat al-Turath al-Islami, 1990), pp. 68-69. See also al-Ahram, 9 August 1985; al-Musawwar, 20 March, 15 May 1987 23. Jadd al-Haqq’s interviews in al-Majalla, 1 April 1987; al-Akhbar, 5 November 1986; al-Liwa’ al-Islami, 7 April, 24 November 1988; al-Nur, 25 November 1987; Majallat al-Azhar, June 1993, pp. 1814-1822. 24. See, e.g., the platform of the National Democratic Party of 1984 in Mayu, 30 April 1984. 25. See, e.g., al-Mukhtar al-Islami, July 1989, pp. 23-27; Ruz al-Yusuf, 20 July 1992, pp. 20-22. 26. Huriyyati, 14 June 1992, pp. 26-28; Muhammad Mitwali al-Sha‘rawi, ‘Ala Ma’idat al-Fikr al-Islami (Beirut: Dar al-‘Awda, 1982), p. 25. 27. Shimon Shamir, "Basic Dilemmas of the Mubarak Regime," ORBIS 30 (Spring 1986), pp. 177-178; Saad Eddin Ibrahim, "Egypt’s Islamic Activism in 1980s," Third World Quarterly 10 (April 1980), p. 635. 28. Al-Akhbar, 2 January 1989. On the Brotherhood’s stance toward the issue of takfir, see Sadiq Amin, al-Da‘wa al-Islamiyya (Amman: n.p., 1978), pp. 130135, 126-145. 29. Mustafa Mashhur, al-Tayyar al-Islami wa-Dawruhu fi al-Bina’ (Cairo: al-Tawzi wa’l-Nashr al-Islamiyya, 1987), pp. 48-51; Yusuf al-Qaradawi, ’Awwaliyyat alHaraka al-Islamiyya fi al-Marhala al-Qadima (12th ed., Beirut: Mu’assasat alRisala, 1991), pp. 38-42; Mustafa al-‘Idwi, 'Umar al-Tilmisani byna al-Shabab wa-Hikmat al-Shuyuh (Giza: Dar al-Aqsa li’l-Kitab, 1987), p. 188; Muhammad al-Ghazali, "Bayna al-I‘tidal wa’l-Tatarruf," in [no editor], al-Sahwa al-Islamiyya: Ru’ya Naqdiyya min al-Dakhil (Beirut: al-Nashir, 1990), pp. 64-74; Liwa’ al-Islam, 7 February 1989, pp. 34-35; (no editor), Violence: Towards a Better Understanding of the Dilemma According to the Muslim Brotherhood (London: International Islamic Forum, 1993), pp. 10-28. See also Sana Abed-Kotob, "The Accommodationists Speak: Goals and Strategies of the Muslim Brotherhood of Egypt," IJMES 27 (August 1995), pp. 321-339. 30. On the Triple Alliance platform, see al-Sha‘b, 6 April 1987.

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31. Denis J. Sullivan, Private Voluntary Organizations in Egypt (Tampa: University Press of Florida, 1994), pp. 63-84. 32. See, e.g., Mustafa Mashhur, Tariq al-Da‘wa bayna al-Asala wa’l-Inhiraf (Cairo: n.p., 1984), pp. 16-26, 39-44; idem, al-Qiyada wa’l-Jundiyya ‘ala Tariq al-Da‘wa (Alexandria: Dar al-Da‘wa, n.d.), pp. 42-46; Muhammad Qutb, Waqi‘una alMu‘asir, pp. 453-466; al-Tilmisani, Ayyam ma‘a al-Sadat, pp. 142-143. See also al-Ahrar, 14 November 1983. 33. Springborg, Mubarak’s Egypt, pp. 184-185; also Philipp, "Copts and Other Minorities," pp. 147-148; James P. Jankowski, Nasser’s Egypt (Boulder: Lynne Rienner, 2002), pp. 27-39. 34. Sami Zubaida, Islam, the People and the State (London: Routledge, 1989), pp. 152-158. 35. According to Starrett, the utilization by the state of the religious studies curriculum for political aims proved to be a double-edged strategy, for it also created a convenient climate for breeding Islamic fundamentalist movements. Starret cites sociologists in the field of education who pointed out that students are not the passive pawns of educational organization, nor are educators their absolute masters. Starrett, Putting Islam to Work. 36. Springborg, Mubarak's Egypt, pp. 184, 186. 37. For a broader discussion on secularism, its faults and limited influence in Middle Eastern politics, see ‘Azzam Tamimi and John L. Espositio (eds.), Islam and Secularlism in the Middle East (London: Hurst, 2000). 38. William E. Shepard, "Islam and Ideology: Towards a Typology," IJMES 19 (1987), pp. 307-308, 311-314; Smith, Religion and Political Development, pp. 113-118. 39. See, e.g., al-‘Alam, 14 January 1992; al-Nur, 22 January 1992; Shamir, "Liberalism: from Monarchy to Postrevolution," p. 202. 40. Al-Liwa’ al-Islami, 6 October 1988; al-Mukhtar al-Islami, July 1989, pp. 6-7; Liwa’ al-Islam, 23 July 1990, pp. 26-27. 41. Roel Meijer, "Authenticity in History: The Concepts of al-Wafid and al-Mawruth in Tariq al-Bishri’s Reinterpretation of Modern Egyptian History," in Manfred Woidich (ed.), Amsterdam Middle Eastern Studies (Wiesbaden: Reichert Verlag, 1990), pp. 68-83; Hasan Hanafi’s interview in Ruz al-Yusuf, 30 June 1980; idem, "The Origin of Modern Conservatism and Islamic Fundamentalism," in Gellner (ed.), Islamic Dilemmas, pp. 102-103; ‘Adil Husayn quoted in Ahmad Jawdat (ed.), Hiwarat hawla al-Shari‘a (Cairo: Sina’ li’l-Nashr, 1990), pp. 105111; also (no editor), al-Muwajaha hawla al-I‘tidal wa’l-Tatarruf fi al-Islam (Damascus: Dar al-Tali‘a, 1996), pp. 17-21. 42. ‘Adil Husayn quoted in al-Muwajaha hawla al-I‘tidal wa’l-Tatarruf, pp. 19-20. 43. Khalid Muhammad Khalid, al-Dawla fi al-Islam (Cairo: Dar Thabit, 1981), p. 104; idem, Qissati ma‘a al-Hayat (Cairo: Dar Akhbar al-Yawm, 1993), pp. 373374. See also Binder, Islamic Liberalism, pp. 160-161. 44. Khalid, Qissati ma‘a al-Hayat, pp. 265-267, 276-277, 373-376, 486-492; idem, Difa‘ ‘an al-Dimuqratiyya (Cairo: Dar Thabit, 1985), pp. 187-188, 191-202. 45. Khalid, al-Dimuqratiyya Abadan, pp. 58-59; idem, al-Din fi Khidmat al-Sha‘b (2nd ed., Cairo: Maktabat Wahba, 1960), pp. 21-25. 46. Binder, Islamic Liberalism, p. 161.

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47. Khalid, Difa‘ ‘an al-Dimuqratiyya, p. 195. Notably, Islamic circles continued to retain their former hostile attitude toward Khalid. He was accused by them of filtering invalid Western perceptions into Islam under the guise of his façade as a believer. Such perceptions included the identification of democracy with the shura, and of socialism with social justice – notions that positioned human reason at the center, whereas in Islam man is obliged to serve Allah. Anwar al-Jundi, I‘adat al-Nazar fi Kitabat al-‘Asriyyin fi Daw’ al-Islam (Cairo: Dar alI‘tisam, 1985), pp. 281-84. Similar Islamic charges of heresy were directed at Hasan Hanafi. Ruz al-Yusuf, 12 May 1997; al-Wasat, 12 May, 2 June 1997. 48. Nasr Hamid Abu Zayd, al-Tafkir fi Zaman al-Takfir (Cairo: Sina’ li’l Nashr, 1995).

Chapter 3

1. Interview with Fuda’s sister Rawiya, Cairo, 31 March 1996; Uktubar, 21 June 1992. 2. Uktubar, 21 June 1992. 3. Ibid. 4. Interview with Fuda’s sister Rawiya, Cairo, 31 March 1996; interview with Hakim Micha’il, scholar of Arabic poetry and literature, who became Fuda’s close friend in the mid-1980s, Cairo, 30 March 1996. 5. Faraj Fuda, al-Wafd wa’l-Mustaqbal (Cairo: n.p., 1983), p. 111. 6. Fuda in al-Ahali, 4 April 1990, p. 7. On the student riots, see Haggai Erlich, Students and University in Twentieth-Century Egyptian Politics (London: Frank Cass, 1989), pp. 185-195. 7. Al-Ahali, 1 March 1984. Later, the 1968 student riots served as a comparison for Fuda in his analysis of the situation in Iraq in the first Gulf crisis of 199091. Rebutting the argument that the Iraqi people were not guilty of fomenting the war and the suffering brought about by their ruler, Saddam Husayn, Fuda pointed out that in revolutionary Egypt students demonstrated against those responsible for the 1967 military defeat, demanding that they be held accountable. By contrast, the Iraqi people followed Saddam blindly, ignoring his tyranny and continuing to perceive him as a hero. Fuda, "‘Abd al-Nasir," in (no editor), Faraj Fuda wa-Ma‘arikuhu al-Siyasiyya (Cairo: al-‘Amal li’l-Tiba‘a wa’l-Nashr, 1994), pp. 43-48. 8. Fuda’s articles in al-Ahali, 4 April 1990, p. 7; al-Ahrar, 11 March 1991, p. 4. 9. Interview with Hakim Micha’il, Cairo, 30 March 1996; Uktubar, 21 June 1992. 10. Interview with Fuda’s sister Rawiya, Cairo, 31 March 1996; Uktubar, 21 June 1992. 11. Fuda’s interviews in al-Ahrar, 9 April 1984; al-Usbu‘ al-‘Arabi, 30 January 1989. On the initiative to establish the New Wafd Party, see Ruz al-Yusuf, 16, 23, 30 May 1977. 12. Fu’ad Sarraj al-Din, li-Madha al-Hizb al-Jadid (Cairo: Dar al-Shuruq, 1977), p. 23. 13. Ibid., pp. 15-70; al-Akhbar, 17 February 1978; al-Musawwar, 7 June 1977. On the lawyers union and its links to the Wafd, see Raymond W. Baker, Sadat and After (London: I.B. Tauris, 1990), pp. 46-50, 63-67.

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14. For a socio-political profile of the New Wafd, see Raymond A. Hinnebusch, "The Reemergence of the Wafd Party: Glimpses of the Liberal Opposition in Egypt," MES 16 (1984), pp. 107-109. 15. Ibid., pp. 115-116. 16. Baker, Sadat and After, pp. 77-78. 17. Two of his doctoral mentors were Kamil Rihan, later chairman of the board of the al-Hilal Company, and Ahmad Ahmad Juwayli, head of the agricultural economics department at the University of Zaqaziq and minister of Trade and Supply in the 1990s under Mubarak. 18. Fuda, al-Wafd wa’l-mustaqbal, pp. 63-65, 85-88, 98, 103-107. 19. Ibid., pp. 47-55, 63. 20. Ibid., p. 3. In response, Sarraj al-Din nullified the distinction between old and new Wafdists. He pointed out that 79% of the senior leadership of the party before the 1952 revolution had passed away or retired. Thus the door was open to integrating younger cadres, who constitute "an active and enthusiastic element in the service of the nation." Al-Din’s interview in al-Ahrar, 9 January 1984. 21. Muhammad Balal in al-Ahali, 1 August 1983; al-Ahrar, 24 October 1983. 22. Manifesto published by the New Wafd in al-Ahrar, 5 September 1983; ibid., 31 October, 14 November 1983. 23. ‘Ali al-Dali in Mayu, 5 September 1983. 24. Fuda in al-Ahrar, 3 October 1983, p. 8; idem, al-Wafd wa’l-Mustaqbal, pp. 56-58. See also Sarraj al-Din’s response to the accusations against him in alMusawwar, 3 June 1977, al-Hawadith, 1 July 1977. 25. Fuda in al-Ahrar, 2 January 1984, p. 4. 26. As a result of the alliance with the Brotherhood, the New Wafd rejected Fuda’s demand to place him at the top of the party’s list of candidates in the East Cairo constituency. Ruz al-Yusuf, 15 July 1992; al-Usbu‘ al-‘Arabi, 30 January 1989. 27. The party platform in al-Wafd, 12 April 1984; Sarraj al-Din’s interview in alAhrar, 9 January 1984. Some arguments held that Fuda’s membership in the New Wafd would lead to a loss of its popular image and the withdrawal of members. Fuda in al-Ahali, 9 September 1987, p. 5. In contrast to al-Din’s statement, Fuda argued that Sarraj al-Din was an enthusiastic supporter of the book, but had retreated from this position in light of the electoral alliance with the Brotherhood. Al-Usbu‘ al-‘Arabi, 30 January 1989. 28. Salah Abu Isma‘il in al-Ahrar, 30 January 1984; Sawt Jama‘at al-Azhar, June 1990. 29. Fuda’s articles in al-Ahrar, 30 January 1984, p. 4; Uktubar, 6 May 1991, p. 4; idem, Qabla al-Suqut (Cairo: writer’s edition, 1985), pp. 107-114. 30. Fuda’s article in al-Ahrar, 30 January 1984, p. 4. 31. Al-Ahrar, 9 April 1984. 32. Fuda, Hiwar hawla al-‘Almaniyya (Cairo: al-Mahrusa li’l-Nashr, 1986), p. 15. See also his article in al-Ahrar, 2 April 1984, p. 4. 33. Fuda in al-Ahrar, 2 April 1984, p. 4; ibid., 9 April 1984, p. 6. 34. Fuda, Qabla al-Suqut, pp. 107-114; idem, al-Musawwar, 11 May 1984, pp. 45. Dissatisfied with the role of prophet at the gate, Fuda, together with a group of friends, printed and distributed a flag with the symbol of the crescent and three stars (which had been raised by the Wafd during the 1919 revolution) with

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the motto: "The National Unity." Fuda was promptly arrested, but was released shortly thereafter. Protesting his arrest, he asserted that the call for national unity is an appeal for stability and not for undermining the public peace, and thus is not against the law. Fuda, al-Wafd wa’l-Mustaqbal, pp. 44-45; al-Ahrar, 9 April 1984. 35. See, e.g., Mayu, 19 March 1984. 36. Al-Wafd, 22, 29 March 1984. 37. Ibid., 29 March 1984. 38. Najib Mahfuz, "Kalima ila al-Wafd," in idem, Hawla al-Din wa’l-Dimuqratiyya (Cairo: al-Dar al-Misriyya al-Lubnaniyya, 1990), pp. 185-186. 39. Fuda, al-Haqiqa al-Gha’iba (Cairo: Dar al-Fikr, 1986), p. 38; idem, in alMusawwar, 11 May 1984, pp. 4-5; al-Ahrar, 27 September 1984, p. 7. 40. Fuda in al-Ahram, 3 June 1985, p. 7; Akhir Sa‘a, 25 June 1986; al-Usbu‘ al‘Arabi, 30 January 1989. 41. Al-Ahali, 15 August 1984; al-Ahrar, 6 September 1984. 42. Barnamij Hizb al-Mustaqbal (updated version) (Cairo: n.p., 1991), p. 8. For English translation of selected segments of the part’s platform, see Appendix. 43. Al-Usbu‘ al-‘Arabi, 22 June 1992; Barnamij Hizb al-Mustaqbal, p. 6. 44. Barnamij Hizb al-Mustaqbal, pp. 6-10, 13, 18. 45. Fuda, al-Wafd wa’l-Mustaqbal, pp. 90-96; Barnamij Hizb al-Mustaqbal, pp. 1011, 21, 24-25, 31-35, 54; al-Ahali, 15 August 1984, p. 7; al-Usbu‘ al-‘Arabi, 30 January 1989, pp. 28-29. 46. Fuda and 2,500 other candidates competed for 48 seats allocated to independent candidates. Al-Akhbar, 10 March 1987. 47. Fuda, Nakun aw la Nakun (Cairo: Dar Misr al-Jadida, 1990), pp. 39-50. Support for Fuda’s position was expressed by the historian ‘Abd al-‘Azim Ramadan in Uktubar, 19 April 1987. 48. During his electoral campaign Fuda clashed frequently with Islamic circles who denounced him as a Zionist and a communist in their pamphlets. Al-Musawwar, 13 March 1987; al-Akhbar, 29 March 1987; Mayu, 14 October 1991. 49. Fuda, al-Nadhir (Cairo: Dar Misr al-Jadida, 1989), pp. 84-85; al-Musawwar, 27 February 1987; Sabah al-Khayr, 23 April 1987. On the platforms of the New Wafd Party and the NPUG, see al-Musawwar, 27 April 1987; al-Ahali, 4 March 1987. 50. On the civic associations which Fuda helped establish, see al-Ahali, 18 June 1986, 4 April 1990; al-Ahram. 12 December 1988; Fuda in al-Ahrar, 22 July 1991, p. 4. 51. Fuda in al-Ahrar, 22 July 1991, p. 4. 52. Fuda, Hiwar hawla al-‘Almaniyya, p. 13; also his articles in al-Ahrar, 18 November 1991, p. 4; Mayu, 8 October 1990, p. 3. 53. The Mustaqbal Party called the U.N. Universal Declaration of Human Rights a “cultural and humanistic achievement that merits adherence.” Barnamij Hizb al-Mustaqbal, p. 6; al-Ahali, 10 June 1992. The last application for a license for the Mustaqbal Party was submitted by Fuda in May 1992, a month before his assassination. The application was accompanied by a list of 164 founding members. A review of this list reveals several interesting points. First, the Copts accounted for 20%. Second, the occupational profile was diverse, encompassing the intelligentsia, workers and fellahin. Third, the geographic dispersion was

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wide and included Cairo, Giza, Bani Suwayf, Damyat, Alexandria, Aswan, Minya and Fayyum. On several occasions Fuda declared his intention to apply to the court for judicial approval based on the precedent of the New Wafd Party in 1987. His murder in June 1992 aborted this intention. Interview with Hakim Micha’il, Cairo, 30 March 1996. On the composition of the founding list of the party, see al-Ahram, 14 May 1992. 54. Fuda in al-Ahrar, 18 November 1991, p. 4. 55. Fuda, Nakun aw la Nakun, p. 5; idem, Zawaj al-Mut‘a (Cairo: al-Dar al‘Arabiyya, 1993), p. 11; also his article in Uktubar, 17 November 1991, pp. 18-19. 56. See, e.g., al-Nur, 4 November 1987; al-I‘itisam, January 1989; al-Haqiqa, 2 December 1989; Akhir Sa‘a, 25 June 1986; Hurriyyati, 5 July 1992. 57. Fuda in al-Ahali, 15 February 1989, p. 10; al-Mukhtar al-Islami, August 1991; Abu Isma‘il interviews in Akhir Sa‘a, 13 February 1985, Sawt Jami‘at al-Azhar, June 1990; also al-Ahrar, 12 September 1986. 58. Akhir Sa‘a, 20 February 1985; ibid., 25 June 1986; Fuda, Nakun aw la Nakun, pp. 120-121; idem, in al-Ahrar, 22 September 1986, pp. 7-8; al-Akhbar, 20 December 1988; ibid., 2 January 1989. For Abu Isma‘il’s response to Fuda’s accusations, see Jawdat (ed.), Hiwarat hawla al-Shari‘a, p. 28. 59. Fuda, al-Wafd wa’l-Mustaqbal, p. 118; idem, in al-Ahali, 15 February 1989, p. 10; Barnamij Hizb al-Mustaqbal, pp. 16, 55. 60. See, e.g., Fuda, Hiwar hawla al-‘Almaniyya, pp 121-123; his articles in al-Ahali, 5 August 1987, p. 4; al-Ahrar, 29 September 1986, p. 7; ibid., 18 December 1989, p. 4. 61. Fuda, al-Haqiqa al-Gha’iba, pp. 5-7; idem, Qabla al-Suqut, pp. 113-114. 62. Jadd al-Haqq in al-Ahram, 16 February 1988. 63. Fuda in al-Ahali, 23 March 1988, p. 5. Fuda himself described his article on Shaykh al-Azhar as the most severe of all his articles and unprecedented in the history of criticism of the leaders of the religious establishment. Fuda, Nakun aw la Nakun, pp. 18-19. For criticism of other senior ‘ulama’, see ibid., pp. 171174; his articles in Mayu, 9 October 1989, p. 3; ibid., 16 October 1989, p. 3; al-Ahrar, 14 January 1991, p. 4. 64. Fuda in al-Ahali, 23 March 1988, p. 5. 65. See, e.g., Liwa’ al-Islam, 26 April 1990; Fahmi Huwaydi, al-Muftarun (Cairo: Dar al-Shuruq, 1996), pp. 60-65. 66. Al-Ahali, 10 June 1992. 67. Fuda in Mayu, 23 July 1990, p. 3. 68. Ruz al-Yusuf, 6 April 1987; ibid., 15 June 1992. 69. Fuda in al-Ahrar, 16 December 1991, p. 4; idem, Nakun aw la Nakun, p. 3. 70. Fuda, al-Irhab, p. 5. 71. Ibid., pp. 3-15; interview with Hakim Micha’il, Cairo, 30 March 1996; Fuda’s articles in al-Ahrar, 15 July 1991, p. 4; ibid., 10 December 1990, p. 4; Uktubar, 8 March 1992, pp. 18-19. 72. Fuda, al-Irhab, pp. 12-13. 73. Interviews with Wahid Ra’fat, senior member in the Mustaqbal Party, 1 April 1996, 17 July 1997; idem, quoted in al-Musawwar, 12 June 1992; Fuda in Uktubar, 7 June 1992, pp. 28-29; al-Wafd, 10 June 1992; AFB, 9 June 1992. See also Barnamij Hizb al-Mustaqbal, pp. 29, 58-59.

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74. Al-Wafd, 11 June 1992. Fuda’s murder did end the threats to his family’s lives, as reported in Ruz al-Yusuf, 3 October 1992; ibid., 7 June 1993. 75. ‘Abd al-Rahman was later imprisoned in the United States for his role in the 1993 bombing of the World Trade Center in New York. 76. Al-Musawwar, 12 June 1992; al-Wafd, 13 June 1992; ibid., 14 June 1992; Ruz al-Yusuf, 22 June 1992; MENA, 8 June – DR, 9 June 1992. 77. Pamphlet published by al-Jama‘a al-Islamiyya, cited in Ruz al-Yusuf, 13 June 1992. 78. For secular and liberal reactions to Fuda’s murder, see al-Ahali, 10 June 1992; al-Wafd, 10 June 1992; ibid., 11 June 1992; al-Usbu‘ al-‘Arabi, 29 June 1992. 79. For Islamic responses to the murder, see al-Wafd, 11 June 1992; ibid., 12 June 1992; al-Ahali, 17 June 1992; al-Nur, 17 June 1992; ibid., 24 June 1992. 80. Al-Haqiqa, 21 March 1992; Hurriyyati, 12 April 1992; ‘Abd al-Ghafar ‘Aziz in al-Wafd, 12 June 1992; idem, Man Qatala Faraj Fuda (Cairo: Dar al-Tiba‘a wa’l-Nashr al-Islamiyya, 1992), pp. 21-22. 81. ‘Aziz, Man Qatala Faraj Fuda, pp. 21-23. 82. Ibid., pp. 58-67, 71-75, 112-116, 122-123, 201-209. For Ibn Taymiyya’s stance, see ‘Abd al-Rahman ibn Qasim (ed.), Majmu‘ Fatawat Shaykh al-Islam Ahmad Ibn Taymiyya (Cairo: Maktabat Ibn Taymiyya, n.d.), Vol. 3, pp. 267-268. 83. ‘Aziz in al-Nur, 8 July 1992. 84. On the Brotherhood’s stance toward the murder, see al-Haqiqa, 13 June 1992; Ruz al-Yusuf, 29 June 1992; ibid., al-Watan al-‘Arabi, 24 July 1992; al-Nur, 25 November 1992. 85. Al-Ahali, 10 June 1992; ibid., 17 June 1992; pamphlet published by al-Jama‘a al-Islamiyya cited in Ruz al-Yusuf, 13 June 1992. See also al-Ahali, 17 June 1992; Uktubar, 20 December 1992. 86. Notably, as was argued by Joel L. Kraemer, apostasy was not merely a religious relapse from Islam, whether explicitly or implicitly, e.g., by claiming that religious injunctions such as the zakat are not obligatory. Apostasy was simultaneously a political act of abandoning the Muslim community, as exemplified by the ridda wars in Abu Bakr’s time when some Arab tribes defected from the alliance concluded with the Prophet. It was generally agreed in Islamic law that an apostate should be given the option of recanting his apostasy within three days, or be executed. Kraemer, "Apostates, Rebels and Brigands," Israel Oriental Studies 10 (1980), pp. 36-48; also Yohanan Friedman, Tolerance and Coercion in Islam (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003), pp. 127-133. 87. Al-Ghazali’s opinion that those who carry out the duty of the government should not be punished but only denounced was shared by Shaykh al-Azhar Jadd al-Haqq. Al-Nur, 30 June 1993; al-Majalla, 18 July 1993. 88. Al-Hayat, 23 June 1993; al-Liwa’ al-Islami, 12 July 1993. 89. Al-Ghazali’s writings, Huquq al-Insan bayna Ta‘alim al-Islam wa-I‘lan al-Umam al-Muttahida (Cairo: al-Maktaba al-Tijariyya al-Kubra, 1963), pp. 99-105; al-Islam wa’l-Istibdad al-Siyasi (Cairo: Dar al-Kutub al-Haditha, 1961), pp. 123-125; idem,"Harakat al-Irtidad bayna al-Madi wa’l-Hadir," in Qutb ‘Abd al-Hamid (ed.), Khutab al-Shaykh Muhammad al-Ghazali fi Shu’un al-Din wa’lHaya (Cairo: Dar al-I‘tisam. 1989), Vol. 4, pp. 40-50. 90. Al-Sha‘b, 30 June 1992; al-Nur, 26 August 1992. 91. Al-Nur, 30 June 1993; al-Liwa’ al-Islami, 12 July 1993.

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92. Al-Ahrar, 5 June 1993; al-‘Alam, 31 July 1993. Apostasy had become an extremely sensitive issue in the mid-1970s, when a bloc of Islamic delegates in the Egyptian parliament sought to reinstate the Islamic penalty of death in cases of straying from Islam. The shaykh al-Azhar at that time, Jadd al-Haqq, sanctified the proposed law, arguing that the community is based on law and morality, and in some cases the law must have a preventive effect. Jadd al-Haqq quoted in Skovgaard-Petersen, Defining Islam for the Egyptian State, pp. 231232. 93. Al-Ahrar, 5 June 1993; al-‘Alam, 31 July 1993. A more moderate stance was adopted by the Mufti of Egypt Muhamamd Sayyid Tantawi, who was one of the few religious figures present at Fuda’s funeral. He stated that anyone who recites the shahada and does not deny any religious imperatives should not be labeled heretical, or murtadd. According to Tantawi, al-Ghazali’s testimony was ijtihad, and the spirit of Islam allows the individual to agree or disagree with it. Ruz al-Yusuf, 19 July 1993. 94. Al-Ghazali’s interview in al-Majalla, 18 July 1993. 95. Huwaydi, quoted in (no editor), Faraj Fuda wa-Ma‘arikuhu al-Siyasiyya, pp. 305-314; Fuda, Hiwar hawla al-‘Almaniyya, pp. 105-108. In a later interview with Milton Vorest, Huwaydi stated that both Fuda and his killers were fanatics, "even though he used a pen and they used guns." Huwaydi also recalled his suspicion that Fuda, who wrote for the government paper Uktubar, worked for the security services and was given many benefits. Vorest, In the Shadow of the Prophet (New York: Westview, 2001), pp. 60-61. 96. Huwaydi cited as an example the issue of drinking wine, which is strictly forbidden in Islam. When the matter of the drunkenness of the Tatars in public was brought before the arbiter Ibn Taymiyya, he ruled that the damage caused by drinking wine was less than the damage involved in endangering human life and property. Huwaydi, al-Muftarun, pp. 208-213; al-Qaradawi’s interview in al-Majalla,15 August 1993; al-Nur, 14 July 1993. On Ibn Taymiyya’s ruling in the same matter, see Ibn Qayyim al-Jawziyya, ‘Alam al-Muwqa‘in ‘an Rab al‘Alamin (Beirut: Dar al-Jil, 1973), Vol. 3, pp. 4-5. On Ibn Taymiyya’s balanceof-evils analysis, see Khaled Abou El Fadl, Rebellion and Violence in Islamic Law (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001), pp. 274-275. 97. Huwaydi, al-Muftarun, pp. 208-213; al-Qaradawi’s interview in al-Majalla, 15 August 1993. 98. See, also Gudrun Krämer, "Islamist Notions of Democarcy," Middle East Report, No. 183 (July-August 1993), pp. 2-8. For a harsher analysis, see Martin Kramer, "The Mismeasure of Political Islam," in idem. (ed.), The Islamism Debate (Tel Aviv: The Moshe Dayan Center, 1997), pp. 164-166. 99. Al-Ahram, 5 January 1993; ibid., 23 January 1994.

Chapter 4

1. H.A.R. Gibb, Mohammedanism: A Historical Survey (2nd ed., London: Oxford University Press, 1953), pp. 5-11, 61-62. 2. Talal Asad, The Idea of an Anthroplogy of Islam (Washington, D. C.: Center for Contemporary Arab Studies, March 1986). 3. On the sources and historical development of the shari‘a, see N. J. Coulson, A History of Islamic Law (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1964);

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Mohammad Hashim Kamali, "Law and Society," in John L. Esposito (ed.), The Oxford History of Islam (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999), pp. 107-149. 4. Francis Fukuyama, The End of History and the Last Man (New York: The Free Press, 1992), pp. 73-76. 5. Sivan, Mythes Politiques Arabes, pp. 231-232. 6. Muhammad Qutb, Hal Nahnu Muslimun?, p. 6. 7. Fuda, al-Haqiqa al-Gha’iba, pp. 11-15. 8. Ibid., pp. 5-6. 9. Ibid., pp. 22-25; Fuda, Qabla al-Suqut, pp. 13-16. 10. Ibid., p. 13; Fuda, al-Haqiqa al-Gha’iba, pp. 22-25, 45-46. In extoling ‘Umar’s reign as the golden age of Muslim history, Fuda joined a distinguished list of Egyptian writers active mainly in the first half of the century, such as Haykal, ‘Aqqad and Khalid. Emphasizing ‘Umar’s courage, open-mindedness and sense of justice, these writers sought to neutralize the Muslim sense of inferiority in modern times and stimulate greater social activism. Haykal further argued that the greatness of ‘Umar was no less than, and even exceeded, that of other world figures who left their mark on human history, such as Julius Caesar, Alexander the Great, Genghis Khan and Napoleon. Haykal, al-Faruq ‘Umar, Vol. 1; ‘Abbas Mahmud al-‘Aqqad, ‘Abqariyyat ‘Umar (Cairo: Dar al-Thaqafa al-‘Arabiyya, 1963); Khalid, Bayna Yadayy ‘Umar (3rd ed., Cairo: Maktabat al-Anjilo alMisriyya, 1969). 11. Fuda, al-Haqiqa al-Gha’iba, p. 26; idem, Qabla al-Suqut, p. 24. Similar criticism of ‘Uthman’s nepotism and excessive spending of public money was voiced by Sayyid Qutb, although he attributed this behavior to ‘Uthman’s old age and his devotion to his relatives. Qutb, al-‘Adala al-Ijtima‘iyya fi al-Islam, pp. 214-215. On ‘Uthman’s death and burial, see Ibn Jarir al-Tabari, Ta’rikh al-Rusul wa’lMuluk (Beirut: Dar al-Qamus al-Hadith, n.d.), Vol. 5, pp. 113-144. 12. Fuda, al-Haqiqa al-Gha’iba, p. 24. 13. Ibid., pp. 17, 24-25, 41-45. 14. Fuda, al-Haqiqa al-Gha’iba, pp, 45-46, 89; idem, quoted in al-Liwa’ al-Islami, 22 January 1987. Fuda based his observations about the wealth of the senior sahaba on Muhammad ibn Sa‘d, al-Tabaqat al-Kubra (Beirut: Dar Sadir, 1957), Vol. 3, pp. 67-68, 108-110, 148-149, 214-225; Abu al-Hasan ‘Ali al-Mas‘udi, Muruj al-Dhahab (4th ed., Cairo: al-Maktaba al-Tijariyya al-Kubra, 1964), Vol. 1, pp. 341-343. 15. Fuda, al-Haqiqa al-Gha’iba, pp. 75-77; idem, Qabla al-Suqut, p. 23. 16. Fuda, al-Haqiqa al-Gha’iba, pp. 75-88. 17. Ibid., pp. 78, 88-89; also Jalal al-Din al-Suyuti, Ta’rikh al-Khulafa’ (3rd ed., Cairo: al-Maktaba al-Tijariyya al-Kubra, 1964), pp. 195, 218-219. 18. Fuda, al-Haqiqa al-Gha’iba, pp. 84-85, 89-90; idem, Qabla al-Suqut, pp. 2331. 19. Fuda, al-Haqiqa al-Gha’iba, pp. 91-92; his articles in al-Ahrar, 26 August 1991, p. 4; (no editor), Faraj Fuda Shahid ‘ala al-‘Asr (Cairo: al-Jam‘iyya al-Misriyya li’l Tanwir, 1996), Vol. 2, pp. 97-107. 20. Fuda, al-Haqiqa al-Gha’iba, pp. 88, 91-92, 101-108. 21. Ibid., pp. 95-102; See also ‘Izz al-Din ibn al-Athir, al-Kamil fi al-Ta’rikh (Beirut: Dar Sadir, 1965), Vol. 4, p. 333; al-Mas‘udi, Muruj al-Dhahab, Vol. 3, p. 219. 22. Fuda, al-Haqiqa al-Gha’iba, pp. 102-107.

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23. Ibid., pp. 108-114, 124-128, 132-133; Fuda, Qabla al-Suqut, pp. 27-31. 24. Fuda, Qabla al-Suqut, p. 16. 25. Fuda in Uktubar, 5 Janaury 1992, pp. 32-33. 26. Fuda’s writings, al-Haqiqa al-Gha’iba, pp. 27, 66-69, 133, 139-140; Qabla alSuqut, pp. 18, 23; al-Irhab, p. 56; Fuda in Mayu, 1 January 1990, p. 5; al-Liwa’ al-Islami, 15 January 1986, p. 3. 27. Fuda, al-Haqiqa al-Gha’iba, p. 34; his articles in al-Ahrar, 4 February 1991, p. 4; Uktubar, 22 March 1992, pp. 16-17. 28. Fuda, al-Haqiqa al-Gha’iba, pp. 5-6; idem, quoted in al-Liwa’ al-Islami, 22 January 1987. An even more definitive stance was taken by Muhammad Sa‘id al-‘Ashmawi, al-Islam al-Siyasi (4th ed., Cairo: Maktabat al-Madbuli al-Saghir, 1996), pp. 30-32. 29. Fuda dedicated his book, al-Nadhir, to al-Tabari, who, in the wake of a courageous dispute with the Hanbalis over Qur’anic verses regarding the status of the Prophet, was put under house arrest that was to last until he died. He was buried in his courtyard due to opposition to granting him a Muslim burial. Fuda viewed this abuse of al-Tabari as evidence of a blind fundamentalism that was the antithesis of morality and humanity. Fuda in al-Ahrar, 25 September 1989, p. 4; ibid., 2 October 1989, p. 4. 30. On al-Tabari and his writing method, see, idem, The History of Prophets and Kings [Translated and Annotated by F. Rosenthal] (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1989), Vol. 1, pp. 5-134; R. Stephen Humphreys, Islamic History: A Framework for Inquiry (Minneapolis: Bibliotheca Islamica, 1988), pp. 7173; Tarif Khalidi, Arabic Historical Thought in the Classical Period (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), pp. 73-82. 31. Al-Tabari, Ta’rikh al-Rusul wa’l-Muluk, Vol. 1, p. 5. 32. On early Muslim writing, see Franz Rosenthal, A History of Muslim Historiography (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1968), pp. 53-65. 33. Al-Tabari, Ta’rikh al-Rusul, Vol. 1, pp. 92-113. 34. Khalidi, Arabic Historical Thought, p. 81. 35. On al-Mas‘udi and his writings, see ibid. pp. 131-136; C. Pellat, "Al-Mas‘udi," EI² 6 (1991) pp. 784-789; Tarif Khalidi, Islamic Historiography: The Histories of Mas‘udi (Albany, N.Y.: State University of New York Press, 1970). 36. Al-Mas‘udi, Muruj al-Dhahab, Vols. 2, 3; Khalidi, Islamic Historiography, pp. 120-136. 37. Khalidi, Islamic Historiography, pp.1-27, 31-32; Pellat, "Al-Mas‘udi," pp. 784785. 38. Franz Rosenthal, "Ibn al-Athir," EI¹ 7 (1960), pp. 723-724. See also Ibn Athir’s introduction in al-Kamil fi al-Ta’rikh, Vol. 1, pp. 2-4. 39. Notably, the ridda wars broke out during the life of the Prophet, whose dual role as messenger and ruler was not questioned by Fuda. Moreover, the ridda wars were supported by ‘Umar (whose rare quality of rule was repeatedly emphasized by Fuda) after he was persuaded by Abu Bakr that there is no difference between prayer and zakat. Al-Suyuti, Ta’rikh al-Khulafa’, p. 75; also Kräemer, "Apostates, Rebels and Brigands," pp. 38-39. 40. Al-Tabari, Ta’rikh al-Rusul, Vol. 3, pp. 226-227, 256-257; idem, Vol. 5, pp. 137-139, 147; Ibn Athir, al-Kamil fi al-Ta’rikh, Vol. 2, pp. 342-349, 360-366; also ‘Imad al-Din Ibn Kathir, al-Bidaya wa’l-Nihaya (Beirut: Maktabat al-

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Ma‘arif, 1966), Vol. 7, pp. 199-215. Al-Mas‘udi’s treatment of ‘Ali was more comprehensive than of ‘Umar, and much more comprehensive than of ‘Uthman and Abu Bakr. Al-Mas‘udi, Muruj al-Dhahab, Vol. 2, pp. 358-438. See also alMas‘udi’s praise for the ‘Abbassid Caliph Muntasir, ibid., Vol. 4, pp. 129-143. Fuda, by contrast, disparaged Muntasir, devoting only one sentence to his rule in his book, al-Haqiqa al-Gha’iba, p. 124. 41. Jacob Talmon in Ha’aretz, 31 March 1980. 42. Hobsbawm, "Introduction: Inventing Traditions," pp. 1-14. 43. Fuda, Zawaj al-Mut‘a, p. 135; idem, Hiwar hawla al-'Almaniyya, pp. 139-142; his articles in al-Ahrar, 14 January, 4 February 1991, p. 4; ibid., 22 April 1991, p. 4; Uktubar, 5 January 1992, p. 33; Mayu, 2 July 1990, p. 3, 11; al-Ahrar, 22 April 1991, p. 4. 44. Fuda’s writings, al-Haqiqa al-Gha’iba, pp. 33-34, 133-134; Qabla al-Suqut, pp. 20-21; Zawaj al-Mut'a, pp. 10-11; idem, in Uktubar, 5 January 1992, p. 4. 45. Fuda, al-Haqiqa al-Gha’iba, pp. 45-52, 70; al-Liwa’ al-Islami, 22 January 1986. 46. Fuda, quoted in al-Liwa’ al-Islami, 22 January 1986. 47. Al-Nur, 12 February 1992; Fuda’s interview in Akhir Sa‘a, 11 June 1986; idem, "al-Fitna al-Ta’ifiyya," pp. 36-40; Jawdat (ed.), Hiwarat hawla al-Shari‘a, p. 14. 48. Fuda’s writings, al-Haqiqa al-Gha’iba, pp. 108-114; Hiwar hawla al-‘Almaniyya, pp. 95-98; Akhir Sa‘a, 11 June 1986. Fuda based his argument on Ahmad Amin, Dahi al-Islam (5th ed., Cairo: Maktabat al-Nahda al-Misriyya, 1956), pp. 122-125; Mahmud Shaltut, al-Islam ‘Aqida wa-Shari‘a (2nd ed., Dar alQalam, n.d.), p. 299. See also Ahmad Fathi Bahansi, al-Siyasa al-Juna’iyya fi al-Shari‘a al-Islamiyya (2nd ed., Cairo: Dar al-Shuruq, 1988), pp. 38-47; Ignaz Goldzier, Itroduction to Islamic Theology and Law (Princeton, New Jersey: Princeton University Press, 1981), pp. 59-62. 49. Fuda’s articles in Akhir Sa‘a, 11 June 1987, pp. 5-8; al-Ahrar, 23 October 1989, p. 4; Uktubar, 25 August 1991, p. 26. 50. Fuda, al-Haqiqa al-Gha’iba, pp. 116-117; idem, in al-Ahrar, 13 November 1989, p. 4. 51. Fuda, al-Haqiqa al-Gha’iba, pp. 114-121; idem, Zawaj al-Mut‘a, pp. 159162; also his article in al-Ahrar, 27 November, 23 October 1989, p. 4. Fuda cited Shaykh al-Sayyid Sabiq’s comment, that the punishment for adultery was intended more as a deterrent than for application. See al-Sayyid Sabiq, Fiqat al-Sunna (Beirut: Dar al-Kitab al-‘Arabi, 1969), pp. 400-427. 52. Commenting on this distinction, the theologian and legal scholar Ibn Qayyim al-Jawziyya (1292-1350) stated that the unmarried adulterer (whom he referred to as a virgin) lacked the sexual experience of the married fornicator, and his curiosity was greater. Therefore, his punishment is lesser – flogging and not stoning. Al-Jawziyya, ‘Alam al-Muwqa‘in, Vol. 1, pp. 126-127; also Bahansi, al-Siyasa al-Juna’iyya, pp. 37-38, 94. 53. Fuda in Uktubar, 25 August 1991, p. 26. 54. Al-Liwa’ al-Islami, 22 Janaury 1987; Fuda, al-Haqiqa al-Gha’iba, pp. 114-115; idem, in al-Ahrar, 23 October 1989, p. 4. 55. Fuda’s writings, al-Haqiqa al-Gha’iba, pp. 114-115; Zawaj al-Mut‘a, Gate 1; also in Uktubar, 25 Auguat 1991, p. 27. On the dispute between Sunna and

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Shi‘a over the custom of mut‘a marraige, see Goldzier, Itroduction to Islamic Theology and Law, pp. 207-209. 56. Fuda’s articles in al-Ahrar, 30 October, 6, 13 November 1989, p. 4. 57. Fuda’s writings, al-Haqiqa al-Gha’iba, pp. 121-122; Hiwar hawla al-‘Almaniyya, p. 69; idem, in Akhir Sa‘a, 23 April 1987, p. 8; Majallat al-Ibda', July 1992, pp. 32-35; al-Ahrar, 2 December 1991, p. 4. For the Islamic law on the issue of drugs and its link to the penalty for drinking wine, see Yusuf al-Qardawi, al-Halal wa’l-Haram fi al-Islam (7th ed., Beirut: al-Maktab al-Islami, 1973), pp. 75-77. 58. Notably, Fuda objected to a legislative proposal, backed by senior Azharist ‘ulama’, to impose a six- month prison term or a fine of E£ 5,000 for anyone who eats during the Ramadan fast, thereby offending Muslim sensibilities. AlAhrar, 16 April 1990, p. 5. 59. Fuda in al-Ahrar, 24 June 1991, p. 4; ibid., 16 April 1990, p. 5. 60. See, e.g., Fuda’s discussion on the state’s campaign against all drug use, in Mayu, 1 April 1991. 61. Fuda’s articles in Mayu, 1 April 1991, p. 5; ibid., 30 July 1990, p. 3, 11; Uktubar, 5 April 1992, pp. 16-17; ibid., 10 May 1992, p. 16; ibid., 7 June 1992, pp. 2829. 62. Fuda, Zawaj al-Mut‘a, p. 7, 10-11; idem, Uktubar, 5 April 1992, pp. 16-17. 63. Huwaydi in al-Ahram. 11 February 1986. See also ‘Imara quoted in al-Nur, 12 February 1992; Majallat al-Ibda', July 1992. 64. Fuda, Hiwar hawla al-‘Almaniyya, pp. 85-89; idem, al-Haqiqa al-Gha’iba, p. 30; also his articles in Ruz al-Yusuf, 12 May 1986, pp. 18-19; Mayu, 2 July 1990, pp. 3, 11; Uktubar , 31 May 1992, pp. 16-17. 65. Fuda, Qabla al-Suqut, pp. 52-53; Ruz al-Yusuf, 6 January 1992. 66. Fuda, al-Haqiqa al-Gha’iba, p. 144; idem, quoted in Jawdat (ed.), Hiwarat hawla al-Shari‘a, p. 14. 67. Fuda, "al-Fitna al-Ta’ifiyya," p. 12. 68. Fuda, al-Irhab, pp. 64-69; idem, al-Haqiqa al-Gha’iba, pp. 15-16; his article in al-Ahali, 11 January 1989, p. 9. See also al-Nur, 26 January 1986; al-Liwa’ alIslami, 16 Decemebr 1986; ibid., 8 January 1989. 69. Najjar, "Egypt Laws of Personal Status," pp. 319-320. 70. Fuda, al-Haqiqa al-Gha’iba, pp. 16-17, 30-31; idem, al-Malub Shirkat Tawzif al-Amwal (2nd ed., Cairo: Dar Misr al-Jadida, 1988), pp. 14-21. See also Muhammad Sa‘id al-‘Ashmawi, al-Riba wa’l-Fa’ida fi al-Islam (2nd ed., Cairo: Maktabat al-Madbuli al-Saghir, 1996). 71. Fuda, al-Malub; his articles in Mayu, 29 January 1990, pp. 5, 13; al-Ahrar, 21 October 1991, p. 4. See also al-Da‘wa, June 1978; Tilmisani’s interview in al-Watan al-‘Arabi, 25 September 1981. On the opposition by the religious establishment to birth control in Egypt, see e.g., al-Liwa’ al-Islami, 1, 15 September 1994. 72. Fuda’s writings, al-Haqiqa al-Gha’iba, p. 17; Qabla al-Suqut, pp. 63-70; alIrhab, pp. 64-69. 73. Fuda, al-Haqiqa al-Gha’iba, pp. 17-22, 66, 101-105; idem, in Sabah al-Khayr, 23 April 1987, p. 5. On the al-Saqifa incident, see al-Tabari, Ta’rikh al-Rusul, Vol. 3, pp. 213-199; Ibn Athir, al-Kamil, Vol. 2, pp. 325-332. 74. Fuda, al-Haqiqa al-Gha’iba, pp. 19-20.

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75. Ibid., p. 20; Fuda’s interview in Sabah al-Khayr, 23 April 1987. 76. Fuda’s writings, al-Haqiqa al-Gha’iba, p. 21; Qabla al-Suqut, pp. 51-60; his articles in al-Ahram; 1 July 1985, p. 13; al-Ahrar, 19 August 1991, p. 4; author’s interview with Wahid Ra’fat, 14 July 1997. 77. Fuda’s writings, al-Haqiqa al-Gha’iba, p. 22; Qabla al-Suqut, pp. 19, 26, 65-67; al-Irhab, pp. 32-33, 54-56; idem, in Mayu, 18 December 1989, p. 5; Akhir Sa‘a, 20 February 1985; Majallat al-Ibda', July 1992. 78. Fuda, Qabla al-Suqut, pp. 63-64. 79. Ibid, pp. 67-69. 80. Ibid., pp. 52-56, 67-69; Fuda, al-Haqiqa al-Gha’iba, pp. 88-92; also his articles in al-Ahram, 30 June 1988, p. 7; al-Ahrar, 3 July 1989, p. 4. Fuda found support for his arguments in the Islamic newspapers al-I‘tisam, December 1984; al-Nur, 27 June 1989. A similar scenario regarding the repressive nature of a religious state was projected by Husayn Ahmad Amin, al-Musawwar, 26 September 1986. A summary appears in Sivan, Mythes Politiques Arabes, pp. 212-216. 81. ‘Abd al-Mun‘im al-Nimr in al-Ahram, 22 July 1985. 82. Fuda, Hiwar hawla al-‘Almaniyya, pp. 81-83. 83. Ibid., pp. 83-84. 84. Fuda’s writings, al-Haqiqa al-Gha’iba, pp. 32-34; Qabla al-Suqut, pp. 73-75, 159-160; idem, in Uktubar, 22 March 1992, pp. 16-17. 85. Fuda, Hiwar hawla al-‘Almaniyya, pp. 21-22; idem, "al-Fitna al-Ta’ifiyya," pp. 22-24. 86. See, e.g., ‘Abd al-Jawwad Yasin, Muqadama fi Fiqh al-Jahiliyya al-Mu‘asira (Cairo: Dar al-Zahara’, 1987), pp. 58-59, 88-99; al-Liwa’ al-Islami, 27 December 1984; al-Nur, 27 December 1989. 87. Fuda’s writings, Hiwar hawla al-‘Almaniyya, pp. 22-23; Qabla al-Suqut, p. 85; Nakun aw la Nakun, pp. 89-95; his article in Mayu, 15, 22 January 1990, pp. 3, 11. 88. Fuda, al-Haqiqa al-Gha’iba, pp. 20-21; Qabla al-Suqut, pp. 117-135, 145-155; Nakun aw la Nakun, pp. 89-108; his articles in Uktubar, 22 March 1992, pp. 16-17; al-Ahali, 20 March 1985, p. 4; Mayu, 27 August 1990, pp. 3, 11; ibid., 19 August 1991, p. 3. 89. Fuda’s writings, Qabla al-Suqut, p. 23; Hiwar hawla al-‘Almaniyya, pp. 15-16. Other examples of religion-state relationships in Europe, besides the examples of Britain and France, are Spain, where there is a genuine partnership between religion and state; the Scandinavian countries, which, as Britain, have a religiopolitical establishment; and the Republic of Ireland, which recognizes the superiority of one religion (Catholicism) over the others, but without granting it institutional support. In contrast, the United States maintains a strict separation between religion and state. "Church and State," Encyclopaedia Britannica 5 (1964), pp. 744-745. 90. Fuda, quoted in al-Liwa’ al-Islami, 16 December 1986; al-Nur, 12 August 1987; al-Usbu‘ al-‘Arabi, 22 June 1992; Majallat al-Ibda', July 1992. 91. Fuda’s writing, al-Nadhir, pp. 34-38; Hiwar hawla al-‘Almaniyya, pp. 95-98; idem, in al-Ahram, 3 October 1985, p. 7; al-Liwa’ al-Islami, 16 December 1986. 92. Fuda’s articles in Mayu, 10, 17 September 1990, pp. 3, 11; al-Ahrar, 28 January 1991, p. 4; ibid., 4, 11 March 1991, p. 4; (no editor), Faraj Fuda Shahid ‘ala

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al-‘Asr, Vol. 1, pp. 70-73. See also Yavoon Yazbeck Haddad, "Operation Desert Storm and the War of Fatwas," in Muhammad K. Masud, Brinkley Messick and David S. Powers (eds.), Islamic Legal Interpretation (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1996), pp. 297-309. 93. Fuda, Qabla al-Suqut, pp. 37-46; his articles in Mayu, 13, 20 November 1989, p. 3; ibid., 4 June 1990, pp. 3, 11; Uktubar, 28 July 1991, pp. 22-23. 94. Fuda’s writings, Hiwar hawla al-‘Almaniyya, pp. 24-27, 81-83; Qabla al-Suqut, pp. 19-23; al-Haqiqa al-Gha’iba, pp. 34-38; his articles in Uktubar, 22 March 1992, pp. 16-17; al-Ahrar, 11 November 1991, p. 4. 95. Fuda, al-Haqiqa al-Gha’iba, pp. 34-36; idem, in Mayu, 18 December 1989, p. 5. 96. Fuda, al-Haqiqa al-Gha’iba, pp. 36-37; idem, in al-Musawwar, 13 March 1987, pp. 26-27. 97. Fuda’s writings, al-Haqiqa al-Gha’iba, pp. 88-92; Qabla al-Suqut, pp. 31-32; his articles in al-Ahrar, 21 November 1988, p. 8; Mayu, 25 December 1989, p. 5. 98. Fuda, Hiwar hawla al-‘Almaniyya, pp. 16-18, 26-27; Sabah al-Khayr, 23 April 1987; al-Usbu‘ al-‘Arabi, 22 June 1992.

Chapter 5

1. See, e.g., al-Watan al-‘Arabi, 19, 26 June 1992; Springborg, Mubarak's Egypt, pp. 220-223. 2. Fuda, Qabla al-Suqut, pp. 159-165; idem, quoted in Fikr 8 (December 1985), p. 58. On Fuda’s attitude toward the financial trend, see his book, al-Mal‘ub, mainly pp. 49-56; also Springborg, Mubarak's Egypt, pp. 63-65. 3. Fuda, Hiwar hawla al-‘Almaniyya, pp. 35-37. 4. Fuda, al-Irhab, pp. 45-53; Akhir Sa‘a, 11 June 1986. Fuda defined the religious establishment as an "official Islamic political trend," and defied shaykh alAzhar’s call to denounce the opponents of the implementation of the shari‘a. Fuda, al-Nadhir, pp. 19-27. 5. Fuda, al-Irhab, pp. 52-53. 6. Fuda, Hiwar hawla al-‘Almaniyya, pp. 30-34. 7. Ibid., pp. 30-31, 34; Fuda quoted in Fikr 8 (December 1985), pp. 34-36. 8. Fuda, Qabla al-Suqut, pp. 164-189; his articles in al-Ahrar, 24 December 1990, p. 4; Uktubar, 11 August 1991, pp. 16-17. 9. Fuda, al-Nadhir, pp. 9-27; al-Ahali, 13 April 1988, p. 7. 10. Fuda, al-Irhab, pp. 37-44; idem, in al-Musawwar, 13 March 1987, pp. 26-27; (no editor), Fuda wa-Ma‘arikuhu al-Siyasiyya, pp. 305-314. 11. Fuda, al-Irhab, pp. 25-36; idem, in (no editor), Fuda wa-Ma‘arikuhu alSiyasiyya, pp. 35-41. 12. Fuda discussed Egyptian media’s handling of the phenomenon of religious extremism extensively. See, e.g., his books, al-Nadhir, pp. 53-57; Hiwar hawla al-‘Almaniyya, pp. 40-44; and his articles in al-Ahali, 4 April 1990, p. 7; Mayu, 18 June 1990, p. 3; ibid., 16 July 1990, pp. 3, 11. 13. Fuda, al-Irhab, pp. 116-122; idem, in Mayu, 7, 14, 21, 28 May 1990, pp. 3, 11; ibid., 18 June 1990, p. 3; al-Ahrar, 4 November 1991, p. 4. See also Barnamij Hizb al-Mustaqbal, pp. 57-58. 14. Fuda’s articles in Mayu, 12, 19, 26 February 1990, pp. 3, 11; al-Ahram, 22 Juy 1985, p. 13; Ruz al-Yusuf, 11 May 1992, pp. 20-25.

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15. Fuda, al-Nadhir, pp. 71-72. 16. Ibid., pp. 38-42, 47-50; Fuda’s books, Nakun aw la Nakun, pp. 175-196; al-Irhab, pp. 101-103, 113-122; Hiwar hawla al-‘Almaniyya, pp. 39-42; (no editor), Faraj Fuda Shahid ‘ala al-‘Asr, Vol. 2, pp. 16-20; also Fuda’s articles in al-Ahrar, 28 August, 18 September 1989, p. 4; Mayu, 5 February, 2 July 1990, pp. 3, 11; ibid., 21 October 1991, p. 4; Uktubar, 15 March 1992, pp. 16-17. 17. Fuda, al-Nadhir, pp. 42-44, 58-63; idem, in Ruz al-Yusuf, 12 May 1986, pp. 7-8. 18. Fuda’s books, al-Nadhir, p. 45; Hiwar hawla al-‘Almaniyya, pp. 38-39; al-Irhab, pp. 72-73; also Fikr, December 1985, p. 34. 19. Fuda, al-Haqiqa al-Gha’iba, pp. 62-64, 88-90; idem, in al-Ahrar, 23 September 1991, p. 4. 20. Fuda, al-Haqiqa al-Gha’iba, p. 90. 21. Fuda’s articles in Mayu, 8 January, 6 August 1990, p. 3; Uktubar, 20 October, 3 November 1991, pp. 18-19; ibid., 29 December 1991, pp. 22-23. 22. Barnamij Hizb al-Mustaqbal, pp. 21, 55-56; Fuda’s articles in (no editor), Faraj Fuda wa- Ma‘arikuhu al-Siyasiyya, pp. 43-48; Mayu, 29 January 1990, pp. 5, 13; idem, 4 November 1991, p. 3; Uktubar, 17 November 1991, p. 19. 23. Fuda in Uktubar, 20 October 1991, p. 19. 24. Fuda’s articles in al-Ahrar, 13 May 1991, p. 4; Mayu, 12 August 1991, p. 3. 25. Fuda, al-Nadhir, pp. 31-34; idem, in Mayu, 12 August 1991, p. 3. 26. Fuda’s books, al-Haqiqa al-Gha’iba, pp. 139-147; Qabla al-Suqut, p. 159; idem, in Mayu, 12 August 1991, p. 3. 27. Fuda’s books, al-Irhab, pp. 78-88; al-Wafd wa’l-Mustaqbal, pp. 36-39; Ruz al-Yusuf, 12 May 1986, pp. 7-8. On the concept of the rule of law, see, e.g., Geoffrey Walker, The Rule of Law: Foundation of Constitutional Democracy (Melbourne: Melbourne University Press, 1988), pp. 41-42; Leon Sheleff, The Rule of Law and the Nature of Politics (Hebrew; Tel Aviv: Papyrus, 1996), pp. 24, 31-48. 28. Fuda’s books, al-Irhab, pp. 75-78; idem, interview in al-Usbu‘ al-‘Arabi, 30 January 1989; his articles in al-Ahali, 6 September 1989, p. 5; al-Ahrar, 11 September 1989, p. 4. 29. Fuda’s writings, al-Irhab, pp. 75-78; Hiwar hawla al-‘Almaniyya, p. 38; idem, "al-Fitna al-Ta’ifiyya," p. 6; also Ruz al-Yusuf, 23 March 1992; Fuda’s articles in al-Musawwar, 11 May 1984, pp. 4-5; al-Ahrar, 12 August 1991, p. 4. Fuda’s motive in advocating a pluralistic political system as a means to enfeeble the Islamic alternative was not entirely valid. The formal entry of the Brotherhood into the political arena by acquiring parliamentary seats would not yet mean accessibility to, or the sharing of, power. The movement would still have a measure of latitude to attack governmental policy and avoid presenting an operative platform for solving basic problems. Fuda’s references to history to dispel the fear of establishing a Brotherhood party, and the fear of a negative response by the Copts, are also problematic. The Brotherhood indeed failed in several parliamentary elections before the revolutionary period, but the troubled political climate in which these elections were held cannot be ignored. Hamdi al-Basir, "Jama‘at al-Ikhwan al-Muslimin wa’l-Tanshi’a al-Siyasiyya li’l Shabab," in Kamal al-Manufi and Hasanyan Tawfiq (eds.), al-Thaqafa al-Siyasiyya fi Misr (Cairo: Markaz al-Buhuth wa’l-Dirasat al-Siyasiyya, 1994), Vol. 2, pp. 1167-

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1169. See also Mitchell, The Society of the Muslim Brothers, pp. 40, 272-283; Olivier Roy, “Islamists in Power,” in Kramer (ed.), The Islamism Debate, pp. 69-83. 30. Fuda, al-Irhab, pp. 122-123. 31. Fuda, al-Wafd wa’l-Mustaqbal, pp. 24-35; idem, in al-Ahali, 6 September 1989, p. 5; Mayu, 2 April 1990, pp. 3, 11; al-Ahrar, 1 April 1991, p. 4; Barnamij Hizb al-Mustaqbal, pp. 13, 31-33, 54. 32. Fuda, al-Wafd wa’l-Mustaqbal, pp. 72-73; idem, in al-Ahrar, 12 August, 28 October 1991, p. 4; Barnamij Hizb al-Mustaqbal, pp. 9, 16. 33. Fuda in Mayu, 1 June 1990, pp. 3, 11; Barnamij Hizb al-Mustaqbal, pp. 25-26, 35-38, 51-52. 34. Barnamij Hizb al-Mustaqbal, pp. 31-35, 59-62; Fuda, Nakun aw la Nakun, pp. 74-81; also his articles in al-Ahrar, 15, 22 October 1990, p. 4; idem, 21 January, 29 April 1991, p. 4; Mayu, 23 September 1991, pp. 3, 9; Uktubar, 8 December 1991, pp. 16-17. 35. Fuda, al-Wafd wa’l-Mustaqbal, pp. 72-73; idem, in Uktubar, 27 October 1991, 12 January 1992, pp. 16-17; Barnamij Hizb al-Mustaqbal, pp. 18-19. 36. Fuda, al-Wafd wa’l-Mustaqbal, pp. 79-80. 37. Fuda’s articles in Mayu, 10, 17 September 1990, pp. 3, 11; al-Ahrar, 7 January 1991, p. 4; Uktubar, 12 January 1992, pp. 16-17; idem, 23 October 1992, pp. 14-15; also quoted in Fikr, December 1985, pp. 55-58. 38. Fuda, Hiwar hawla al-‘Almaniyya, p. 37. Fuda advocated Coptic representation in parliament by the electoral process, but did not rule out the possibility of the president’s prerogative to appoint several delegates in light of the marginal percentages allocated to Coptic candidates in the party lists in the 1984 and 1987 elections. Fuda, "al-Fitna al-Ta’ifiyya," pp. 30-36. 39. See, e.g., al-Musawwar, 13 November 1987; Akhir Sa‘a, 29 April 1987; al-Usbu‘ al-‘Arabi, 6 April 1987. 40. Fuda, "al-Fitna al-Ta’ifiyya," pp. 12-15, 27, 28-36; idem, "al-Aqalliyyat waHuquq al-Insan fi Misr," Adab wa-Naqd, July 1992, pp. 10-12, 17-18; also his articles in Mayu, 12 March, 30 April 1990, pp. 3, 11; al-Ahrar, 10 June 1991, p. 4. On the Copts’ fragile position in post-revolutionary Egypt, see, e.g., Saad Eddin Ibrahim, The Copts in Egypt (Cairo: Ibn Khaldoun Center, 1996), pp. 1722; Hamid Ansari, "Sectarian Conflict in Egypt and the Political Expediency of Religion," MEJ 38 (Summer 1984), pp. 397-418; Ami Ayalon, "Egypt’s Coptic Pandora’s Box," in Ofra Bengio and Gabriel Ben-Dor (eds.), Minorities and the State in the Arab World (Boulder: Lynne Rienner Publishers, 1999), pp. 53-71; John H. Watson, Among the Copts (Brighton: Sussex, 2000), pp. 93-118. 41. Fuda, "al-Aqalliyyat," pp. 10-12, 18-19; idem, "al-Fitna al-Ta’ifiyya," pp. 40-44. For article 46, see Albert P. Blaustein and Gisbert H. Flanz (eds.), Constitutions of the Countries of the World (New York: Oceana Publications, Inc., 1991), p. 18. 42. For a review of Egyptian government policy toward the Bahais, see Fuda, "alAqalliyyat," pp. 13-14. On the ‘ulama’s position, see Muhamamd Hasan alA‘zami, Haqiqat al-Baha’iyya wa’l-Qadyaniyya (Beirut: Mu’assast al-A‘lami li’l-Matbu‘at, 1973), pp. 30, 43-70; al-Liwa’ al-Islami, 25 February, 17 March 1988.

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43. Fuda, al-Wafd wa’l-Mustaqbal, pp. 66-70; also "al-Aqalliyyat," p. 13; "al-Fitna al-Ta’ifiyya," pp. 42-44; "‘Ala Hamid wa-Hurriyyat al-I‘itiqad," in (no editor), Hurriyyat al-Ra’y wa’l-'Aqida (Cairo: al-Munazzama al-Misriyya li’l-Huquq alInsan, 1994), Vol. 2, pp. 220-224. 44. Fuda, "al-Aqalliyyat," p. 20; Barnamij Hizb al-Mustaqbal, p. 14. Notably, while a written constitution, in accordance with Fuda’s argument serves as an important source for molding the normative behavior of society, yet the implementation of its principles is determined by the fundamental perceptions of the decision makers and the constitutional interpreters – the judges. A comparison with the practice in the United States shows that the absolute separation of religion and state, which the constitution mandates, has not prevented some erosion of the freedom of religion, religious sects or minorities, such as the Mormons, the Native Americans or the Jews, as reflected in federal regulations or judicial rulings. In effect, these rulings have stated that religious worship is not immune from governmental intervention. Furthermore, the public domain in the United States is under more pressure from grassroots groups than ever to allow prayer in school, discontinue sex education, and prohibit abortions. This reality proves that the norms of the majority religion are dominant in the United States, and that the country does not deny that it is part of the culture of the West – the Christian culture. For a counter argument regarding the role of a constitution, see Shelef, Marut Hamishpat, pp. 131-134, 141-159; Marc Noll (ed.), Religion and American Politics (New York: Oxford University Press, 1990); Employment Division vs. Smith, 494 U.S. 872 (1990). 45. Fuda, "al-Aqalliyyat," pp. 18-19. 46. Ibid., pp. 51-52. 47. Fuda’s articles in Mayu, 15, 22 January 1990, pp. 3, 11; Uktubar, 4 August 1991, pp. 18-19; (no editor), Faraj Fuda Shahid ‘ala al-‘Asr, Vol. 2, p. 97. 48. Fuda quoted in Ha’aretz, 8 May 1987. 49. Barnamij Hizb al-Mustaqbal, p. 20. 50. On the status of women in Fuda’s thought, see Hiwar hawla al-‘Almaniyya, pp. 79-80; al-Wafd wa’l-Mustaqbal, p. 16; Nakun aw la Nakun, pp. 197-208; Mayu, 5 February 1990, pp. 3, 11; Uktubar, 20 October 1991, pp. 18-19; idem, 24 May 1992, pp. 10-11.

Chapter 6

1. Fuda greatly admired the Pharaonic era, which had transformed a backward society into a modern state with a glorious civilization that evokes wonder to this day. In this respect, he credited the French conquest of Egypt (1798) for instilling an awareness in Egyptians of their ancient civilization as a cornerstone of the history of mankind. Fuda, al-Wafd wa’l-Mustaqbal, pp. 111-117; idem, in al-Ahrar, 23 September, 23 December 1991, p. 4; al-Usbu‘ al-‘Arabi, 22 June 1992. 2. Fuda’s books, al-Irhab, pp. 6-9; Nakun aw la Nakun, pp. 6-7; idem, in al-Ahrar, 10 December 1990, 19 August 1991, p. 4. Notably, Fuda did not mention Muhammad Husayn Haykal, despite his prominent role in shaping Egyptian thought between the two World Wars. Apparently, Fuda was critical of Haykal’s embrace of Islamic thinking in the 1930s and the effect this had on reinforcing the power of the Islamic opposition. See also note 3 below.

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3. Fuda had particular esteem for Ahmad Lutfi al-Sayyid, whom he called "the mentor of a generation," and Taha Husayn, to whom he dedicated his book, "Terror." Although he hinted at criticism of Taha Husayn for moderating his writing in the wake of religious incitement against his treatise, Fi al-Shi‘r alJahili ("On Pre-Islamic Poetry," 1926), he acknowledged that "dealing with Eastern sensitivity requires a great deal of caution about what we say. We are required to be courageous but not suicidal." Fuda’s books, al-Irhab, p. 3; Hiwar hawla al-‘Almaniyya, p. 13; Adab wa-Naqd, July 1992, p. 25. 4. Fuda, Nakun aw la Nakun, pp. 6-7. 5. Ibid.; Fuda’s articles in Ha’aretz, 13 September 1985, p. 12; al-Ahrar, 5 August 1991, p. 4; also quoted in Jawdat (ed.), Hiwarat hawla al-Shari‘a, pp. 15-16. 6. Fuda in Mayu, 30 July 1990, pp. 3, 11. 7. Ibid.; Fuda’s books, Hiwar hawla al-‘Almaniyya, pp. 13-15, 17-18; al-Nadhir, pp. 77-84; also Mayu, 6 August 1990, p. 3. 8. (No editor), Faraj Fuda wa-Ma‘arikuhu al-Siyasiyya, p. 310; Fuda’s articles in al-Ahali, 6 September 1989, pp. 4-5; Mayu, 30 July 1990, pp. 3, 11; al-Ahrar, 28 October 1991; ibid., 9, 30 December 1991, p. 4. 9. Fuda, Qabla al-Suqut, pp. 179-182; also his articles in Mayu, 2 July 1990, pp. 3, 11; 23 September 1991, pp. 3, 9; Uktubar, 15 March 1992, pp. 1617; Barnamij Hizb al-Mustaqbal, p. 18. Fuda expressed similar criticism of the European countries, whose capitals had turned into bases for intensive Islamist activity. Al-Ahrar, 19 June 1989, p. 4. 10. See also Sivan, "The Clash within Islam," Survival 45 (Spring 2003), pp. 3233.

Chapter 7

1. See, e.g., Khalid’s praise of Abu Bakr for his contribution to the entrenchment of faith and unity in the Muslim community, in his book, Waja’a Abu Bakr (2nd ed., Cairo: Maktabat al-Anjilu al-Misriyya, 1969). 2. Fuda’s books, al-Irhab, p. 58; al-Haqiqa al-Gha’iba, pp. 66-68; idem, in Mayu, 14 May 1990, p. 3; al-Ahram, 30 June 1988, p. 7. 3. Fuda, Qabla al-Suqut, p. 51; al-Liwa’ al-Islami, 16 December 1986; Barnamij Hizb al-Mustaqbal, pp. 8, 14. On the two approaches to the status of religion in the state, see G. De Ruggiero, "Religious Freedom," Encyclopaedia of the Social Sciences 13 (1953), pp. 240-241. 4. Fuda, al-Wafd wa’l Mustaqbal, pp. 103-107; "al-Fitna al-Ta’ifiyya," pp. 25-26; Ha’aretz, 8 May 1987, p. b4; Adab wa-Naqd, July 1992, p. 20. Fuda avoided addressing the issue of the Prophet directly, but some of his close colleagues were more outspoken, e.g., ‘Abdallah Khalafallah, who argued that the Prophet was a spiritual and not a political leader; or Sayyid Mahmud al-Qimni, who highlighted the dark, repressive aspect of the consolidation of the first Islamic state in Medina. Fuda, al-Irhab, pp 6-7; ‘Abdallah Khalafallah, al-Nazariyyat fi al-Islam (Cairo: n.p., 1984); Sayyid Mahmud al-Qimni, al-Hizb al-Hashimi wa-Ta’sis al-Dawla al-Islamiyya (Cairo: Sina’ li’l Nashr, 1990); idem, Hurub Dawlat al-Rasul (Cairo: Sina’ li’l Nashr, 1993), pp. 154-155; interview with Hakim Micha’il, Cairo, 30 March 1996. 5. Fuda, Qabla al-Suqut, p. 51.

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6. For a brief biography of Amin, see his book, al-Islam fi ‘Alam Mutaghayyir (3rd ed., Cairo: Maktabat Madbuli, 1988), p. 335. 7. Husayn Ahmad Amin, Dalil al-Muslim al-Hazin, pp.5-7 , 26-28. 8. Ibid., pp. 30-37; Hawla al-Da‘wa ila Tatbiq al-Shari‘a (2nd ed., Cairo: Maktabat Madbuli, 1987), pp. 192-195. 9. Amin’s books, Dalil al-Muslim al-Hazin, pp. 53-58; Hawla al-Da‘wa ila Tatbiq al-Shari‘a, pp. 192-195. 10. Amin, Hawla al-Da‘wa ila Tatbiq al-Shari‘a, pp. 120-127, 134-136, 260-264. 11. Amin’s books, Dalil al-Muslim al-Hazin, pp. 71-72, 139-144; al-Islam fi ‘Alam Mutaghayyir, p. 226. 12. Amin, Hawla al-Da‘wa ila Tatbiq al-Shari‘a, pp. 185-192. 13. Ibid., pp. 191-197. On the legal dispute over the ‘ijma and its modern implications, see Ermin Sinanovic, "The Majority Principle in Islamic Legal and Political Thought," Islam and Christian-Muslim Relations 15 (April 2004), pp. 237-245. 14. Ibid., p. 207; Amin, al-Islam fi ‘Alam Mutaghayyir, pp. 260-271. 15. Amin, Hawla al-Da‘wa ila Tatbiq al-Shari‘a, pp. 207-208, 213-224; Bahansi, al-Siyasa al-Juna’iyya fi al-Shari‘a, pp. 103-106, 274-275. 16. Amin, Hawla al-Da‘wa ila Tatbiq al-Shari‘a, pp. 208-209, 227-236; also quoted in al-Ahrar, 7 September 1992, p. 8. 17. Amin, Hawla al-Da‘wa ila Tatbiq al-Shari‘a, pp. 171-174, 199-201, 208-209, 227-236, 256-264, 278-279; Ruz al-Yusuf, 17 June 1985; al-‘Arabi, May 1992. 18. Muhammad Sa‘id al-‘Ashmawi, al-Islam al-Siyasi (4th ed., Cairo: Maktabat Madbuli al-Saghir, 1996), pp. 1-4, 7-27. For a discussion of the institution of the Caliphate, see idem, al-Khilafa al-Islamiyya (3rd ed., Cairo: Maktabat Madbuli al-Saghir, 1996), mainly, pp. 17-40. 19. Al-‘Ashmawi, al-Islam al-Siyasi, pp. 85, 112-115. 20. Al-‘Ashmawi’s books, Usul al-Shari‘a (4th ed., Cairo: Maktabat Madbuli alSaghir, 1996), pp. 27-35; Jawhar al-Islam (4th ed., Cairo: Maktabat Madbuli al-Saghir, 1996), pp. 15-30. 21. Al-‘Ashmawi, Jawhar al-Islam, pp. 37-38, 40-44; idem, al-Islam al-Siyasi, pp. 56-67, 69-72. 22. Al-‘Ashmawi, Jawhar al-Islam, pp. 41-43. 23. Ibid., p. 35-36, 40-44; al-‘Ashmawi, al-Islam al-Siyasi, pp. 74-76, 88-91, 212215; idem, Usul al-Shari‘a, pp. 159-162. Al-‘Ashmawi reiterated his assertion about the harmony between the shari‘a and modern Egyptian laws in his book, al-Shari‘a al-Islamiyya wa’l Qanun al-Misri (Cairo: Maktabat Madbuli al-Saghir, 1996). 24. Al-‘Ashmawi’s books, Usul al-Shari‘a, pp. 154-155; al-Islam al-Siyasi, p. 39. 25. Al-‘Ashmawi’s books, al-Islam al-Siyasi, pp. 34-35, 48-52, 73-74, 215; Jawhar al-Islam, pp. 53-60. 26. Al-‘Ashmawi’s books, Usul al-Shari‘a, pp. 61-65; Jawhar al-Islam, pp. 37-38. See also al-Ahram, 16 July 1990. 27. Al-Nur, 22 January 1992; Ha’aretz, 20 February 1992. On al-‘Ashmawi’s reaction to the confiscation of his books by al-Azhar, see his book, al-Islam al-Siyasi, pp. 7-14. 28. See, e.g., al-Da‘wa, October 1979; ibid., December 1979; al-Mukhtar al-Islami, November-December 1985.

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29. Huwaydi, al-Muftarun; Muhammad ‘Imara, Suqut al-Ghuluww al-‘Almani (Cairo: Dar al-Shuruq, 1995). 30. For an apt summary of their perception of these dangers, see Amin’s scenario in the event that the Islamists take power, in his book, al-Islam fi ‘Alam Mutaghayyir, pp. 287-307. 31. Ibid., p. 160; Amin, Dalil al-Muslim al-Hazin, pp. 134-140; al-‘Ashmawi, Usul al-Shari‘a, pp. 171-173; Jerusalem Post, 7 July 1995, p. 20; Barnamij Hizb alMustaqbal, p. 58. Fuda’s opposition to a religious dialogue with the Islamists was also directed at al-‘Ashamwi and Amin. Fuda’s article in al-Ahram, 1 July 1985, p. 13; also quoted in Fikr 8 (December 1985), pp. 34-36, 41-44. 32. Al-Liwa’ al-Islami, 16 December 1986. 33. Amin adopted a more critical approach toward former president Sadat, blaming his open door economic policy for widening social gaps, and the peace treaty with Israel for failing to fulfill Egypt’s material expectations, thereby reinforcing the strength of the Islamists. Amin, Hawla al-Da‘wa ila Tatbiq al-Shari‘a, pp. 161-166, 209-211, 223-224; al-‘Ashmawi, Usul al-Shari‘a, pp. 174-181. 34. On two occasions, however, Amin cited generalized quotations from ‘Abd alRaziq’s book, al-Islam wa-Usul al-Hukm: one regarding the ridda wars, which targeted Muslims and aimed consolidating the state and protecting the interests of the Quraysh tribe; and the second demonstrating that the caliphate is not one of the foundations of the religion. 35. Amin’s books, al-Islam fi‘ Alam Mutaghayyir, pp. 159-160, 227-236; Dalil alMuslim al-Hazin, pp. 22-25; Hawla al-Da‘wa ila Tatbiq al-Shari‘a, pp. 282291. In a later interview (1992), Amin defined himself as a secularist who, like ‘Abd al-Raziq and others, advocates the separation of religion and politics. In his view, secularism is not atheism, but rather conducting one’s personal affairs without the interference of religious authority. Notably, this statement, which represented a radicalization of his previous attitude, was made after he concluded his service as Egyptian ambassador to Algeria. Al-Ahrar, 7 September 1992. 36. Al-‘Ashmawi’s books, al-Islam al-Siyasi, p. 85; idem, Ma‘alim al-Islam (Cairo: Sina’ li’l-Nashr, 1989), p. 283. 37. Al-‘Ashmawi’s books, Usul al-Shari‘a, pp. 61-62, 140-151; Jawhar al-Islam, pp. 48-49, 53-54; al-Islam al-Siyasi, pp. 18, 61, 67; al-Khilafa al-Islamiyya, pp. 115119. 38. Al-‘Ashmawi’s books, Jawhar al-Islam, pp. 54-60; Usul al-Shari‘a, pp. 71-73. 39. Al-‘Ashmawi’s books, al-Islam al-Siyasi, pp. 17-20, 110-112; al-Khilafa alIslamiyya, pp. 135-150. 40. Al-‘Ashmawi, al-Khilafa al-Islamiyya, p. 146; idem, al-Riba wa’l al-Fa’ida fi alIslam, pp. 46-49, 51, 85-86. 41. Al-‘Ashmawi, Damir al-‘Asr (2nd ed., Cairo: Sina’ li’l Nashr, 1992), pp. 43-44; idem, Hisad al-‘Aql (Beirut: Dar al-Kitab al-Lubnanai, 1974), pp. 39, 64. 42. Al-‘Ashmawi, Usul al-Shari‘a, pp. 27-41. 43. Ayubi, Political Islam, p. 212. 44. Ibid., p. 7. Hakim also wrote the preface to al-‘Ashmawi’s earlier book in 1974, Hisad al-‘Aql, pp. 7-9. See also Fuda in al-Ahrar, 21 October 1991, p. 4. 45. These intellectuals included Fu’ad Zakariya, ‘Abd al-‘Azim Ramadan, ‘Abd alSatar al-Tawila and Lutfi al-Khuli.

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46. Fu’ad Zakariya, al-Haqiqa wa’l-Wahm fi al-Haraka al-Islamiyya al-Mu‘asira (3rd ed., Cairo: Dar al-Fikr, 1988), pp. 5-10, 11-12. 47. Ibid., pp. 12-14. 48. Ibid., pp. 144-147, 166-178; al-Ahram, 12 August 1987. 49. Zakariya, al-Haqiqa wa’l-Wahm, pp. 14-20, 31-45, 115; al-Fikr, December 1985. 50. Zakariya, al-Haqiqa wa’l-Wahm, pp. 142-144, 147-154. 51. Ibid., pp. 170-174; al-Ahram, 12 August 1987. Zakariya, in describing the Islamic experience in Sudan, quoted Fuda’s book, Qabla al-Suqut, calling it "an important book with solid argumentation." Zakariya, al-Haqiqa wa’l-Wahm, p. 173. 52. See, e.g., al-Qaradawi, al-Islam wa’l-‘Almaniyya (2nd ed., Cairo: Dar al-Sahwa, 1994), p. 9; al-Mukhtar al-Islami, May 1986, pp. 25-30; al-Nur, 6 August 1986; ibid., 27 January 1988. 53. E.g., Muhammad Qutb, Hawla Tatbiq al-Shari‘a (Cairo: Maktabat al-Sunna, 1991), pp. 7-75. 54. ‘Abbas Mahmud al-‘Aqqad, al-Tafkir Frida Islamiyya (Cairo: Dar al-Qalam, 1962). 55. Al-Ghazali, quoted in al-Nur, 16 July 1986; Huwaydi in al-Ahram, 22 July 1986; idem, al-Qur’an wa’l-Sultan (3rd ed., Cairo: Dar al-Shuruq, 1991), pp. 57-59.

Chapter 8

1. These modes are discussed in Charles Kurzman, "Introduction: Liberal Islam and its Islamic Context," idem. (ed.), Liberal Islam: A Sourcebook (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998), pp. 13-18. 2. Fuda, al-Haqiqa al-Gha’iba, pp. 142-143. 3. On the wasatiyya features, see al-Qaradawi, al-Sahwa al-Islamiyya wa-Humum al-Watan al-‘Arabi al-Islami (7th. ed., Beirut: Dar al-Shuruq, 1993), pp. 51-81. On ‘Awwa, see Ahmad Moussalli, "Modern Islamic Fundamentalist Discourses on Civil Society, Pluralism and Democracy," in A.R. Norton (ed.), Civil Society in the Middle East (Leiden: Brill, 1995), 1, pp. 99-119; Sagi Polka, "The Centrist Stream in Egypt and its Role in the Public Discourse Surrounding the Shaping of the Country’s Cultural Identity," MES 39 (July 2003), pp. 39-64; Raymond W. Baker, Islam without Fear: Egypt and the New Islamists (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2003). 4. See, e.g., Salvoj Žižek, Welcome to the Desert of the Real (New York: Verso, 2002), pp. 33-34, 40-44, 132-134; Oriana Fallaci, The Rage and the Pride (New York: Rizzoli, 2002). For criticism of this perception, see Roxanne L. Euben, "Killing (for) Politics: Jihad, Martyrdom and Political Action," Political Theory, 30, 1 (2001), pp. 4-35; C.R. Sunstein, "Why They Hate Us? The Role of Social Dynamics," Harvard Journal of Law and Public Policy, 25 (2002), pp. 429-441; Susan Buck-Morss, Thinking Past Terror: Islamism and Critical Theory on the Left (London: Verso, 2003). 5. Fahmi Huwaydi, al-Maqalat al-Mahzura (Cairo: Dar al-Shuruq, 1998), pp. 237-236. 6. Some scholars discern a deep-rooted Muslim antagonism toward the West that translates itself into a perpetual threat of bloodshed, pointing to the interlocking

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combination of political party, armed militia and terror cell that characterizes Islamist activity. See, e.g., Samuel P. Huntington, The Clash of Civilizations and the Remaking of World Order (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1996), pp. 254-65; Benjamin Barber, Jihad vs. MacWorld: How Globalism and Tribalism are Shaping the World (New York: Ballantine Books, 1996), pp. 3-20, 205-216; Martin Kramer, "The Mismeasure of Political Islam," pp. 164-66. Others view the notion of an Islamist threat as a myth that does injustice to Islam as a faith and a civilization, and that mistakenly treats the various Islamist movements as a single ideological entity hostile toward anything Western or democratic. They point to the autocratic character of Arab regimes, which systematically bar Islamist movements from access to legitimate channels of political activity, as a major cause for Islamist violence. See e.g., Graham E. Fuller, "Islamism(s) in the Next Century," in Kramer (ed.), The Islamism Debate, pp. 151-160; Fred Halliday, Islam and the Myth of Confrontation (London: I.B. Tauris, 1995); John L. Esposito, The Islamic Threat, Myth and Reality (2nd ed. New York: Oxford University Press, 1995); Ahmad S. Moussalli, "Modern Islamic Fundamentalist Discourses on Civil Society, Pluralism and Democracy," in Augustus R. Norton (ed.), Civil Society in the Middle East, Vol. 1, pp. 79-119; John L. Esposito and John O. Voll, Islam and Democracy (New York: Oxford University Press, 1996), pp. 193-202; R. Hrair Dekmejian, "Multiple Faces of Islam," in A. Jerichow and J. Baek Simonsen (eds.), Islam in a Changing World (Richmond, Surrey: Curzon, 1997), pp. 1-12. 7. Muhammad ‘Imara, al-Dawla al-Islamiyya bayn al-‘Almaniyya wal-Sulta alDiniyya (Cairo: Dar al-Shuruq, 1988), pp. 31-34; Fahmi Huwaydi, al-Tadayyun al-Manqus (2nd ed., Cairo: Markaz al-Ahram, 1988), pp. 13-17, 26-27, 120, 132-33; idem, quoted in al-Majalla, 17 March 1993, pp. 40-41;al-Ghazali, quoted in al-Nur, 3 March 1990. 8. Huwaydi, al-Tadayyun al-Manqus, pp. 29-30, 43-44; idem, al-Qur’an wa’lSultan, pp. 138-46. 9. ‘Imara, al-Dawla al-Islamiyya, pp. 31-34. 10. Huwaydi in al-Ahram, 16 February 1988; also Mona Abaza, Debates on Islam and Knowledge in Malaysia and Egypt (London: Routledge Curzon, 2002), pp. 165-166. 11. Al-Ghazali’s interviews in al-Liwa’ al-Islami, 8 September 1988, 20 May 1993. See also Liwa’ al-Islam, July-August 1982, pp. 38-40; al-Nur, 27 August 1986. 12. Al-Qaradawi, al-Islam wa’l-‘Almaniyya, pp. 48-50. The term denoting hedonism and infidelity commonly used in the nineteenth century was dahriyya, namely, a belief in the eternity of the earthy world, positioning human pleasures at the center of well-being and denying the idea of reward and punishment in the next world. I. Goldziher, "Dahriyya," EI¹ 2 (1965), pp. 95-97; also, "Secularism," Webster’s Third New International Dictionary (Springfield, Mass.: G. & C. Merriam Company, 1967), p. 2053. 13. Al-Qaradawi, al-Islam wa’l-‘Almaniyya, pp. 53-55, 57-59; ‘Imara, al-Dawla alIslamiyya, pp. 171-72; al-Nur, 30 July, 6 August 1986. 14. Al-Qaradawi, al-Islam wa’l-‘Almaniyya, pp. 36-39, 52, 55-62. 15. Huwaydi, al-Qur’an wa’l-Sultan, pp. 42, 61-67. 16. Ibid., pp. 64-67.

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17. Ibid., pp. 61-67; al-Qaradawi, al-Islam wal-‘Almaniyya, pp. 63-71; al-Ghazali’s interview in al-Liwa’ al-Islami, 20 May 1993; ‘Imara, al-Dawla al-Islamiyya, pp. 172-175; also Muhammad Mitwali al-Shar‘awi, ‘Ala Ma’idat al-Fikr alIslami (Beirut: Dar al-‘Awda, 1982), pp. 26-28. On the Western perception of modernity, see, e.g., Jurgen Habermas, The Philosophical Discourse of Modernity (Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 1995). 18. ‘Imara, al-Tariq ila al-Yaqza al-Islamiyya (Cairo: Dar al-Shuruq, 1990), p. 71; idem, Hal al-Islam Huwa al-Hall? (Cairo: Dar al-Shuruq, 1995), pp. 43-46, 131-134. 19. ‘Imara’s books, al-Tariq ila al-Yaqza al-Islamiyya, pp. 68-79; al-Dawla alIslamiyya, pp. 31-34, 44-45; Huwaydi’s books, al-Muftarun, pp. 138-139; alMaqalat al-Mahzura, pp. 71-72. 20. ‘Imara, al-Dawla al-Islamiyya, pp. 10-17, 44, 51-53, 65-76; Huwaydi, alTadayyun al-Manqus, pp. 110-13; idem, al-Qur’an wa’l-Sultan, pp. 130-34. 21. Huwaydi’s books, al-Tadayyun al-Manqus, pp. 106-107; al-Qur’an wa’l-Sultan, pp. 45-46; al-Qaradawi, Islamic Awakening: between Rejection and Extremism (New Delhi: Qazi Publishers, 1990), pp. 22-24, 33-34, 41-45. 22. ‘Imara, Hal al-Islam Huwa al-Hall?, pp. 60-64; also al-Qaradawi, al-Halal wa’l-Haram fi al-Islam, pp. 20-23; Huwaydi, al-Tadayyun al-Manqus, p. 110. For a further discussion of Huwaydi’s notion of political pluralism in Islam, see Shahrough Akhavi, "Sunni Modernist Theories of Social Contract in Contemporary Egypt," IJMES 35 (2003), pp. 38-42. 23. Al-Liwa’ al-Islami, 16 December 1986; Hurriyyati, 10 May 1992. 24. Al-Nabahani, Nizam al-Islam, p. 79. 25. ‘Imara, Hal al-Islam Huwa al-Hall?, pp. 60-64, 81-88; Huwaydi, al-Tadayyun al-Manqus, pp. 110-114; al-Ghazali’s interview in al-Wafd, 2 February 1989. 26. Al-Qaradawi, quoted in al-Majallah, 15 August 1993; idem, Fatawa Mu‘asira (Kuwait: Dar al-Qalam, 1994), Vol. 2, pp. 637-647; ‘Imara, Hal al-Islam Huwa al-Hall?, pp. 81-86; Huwaydi, al-Islam wa’l-Dimuqratiyya (Cairo: Markaz alAhram, 1993), pp. 93-94, 139-143 . 27. ‘Imara, Hal al-Islam Huwa al-Hall?, pp. 86-92, 97-100; al-Ghazali’s interview in al-Wafd, 2 February 1989. 28. ‘Imara, quoted in Abaza, Debates on Islam, p. 164; Huwaydi in al-Ahram, 22 July 1986; his books, al-Muftarun, 6-7, 263-268; al-Maqalat al-Mahzura, pp. 59-62; also Viorst, In the Shadow of the Prophet, pp. 60-61. 29. Huwaydi in al-Ahram, 22 July 1986. 30. Huwaydi, al-Muftarun, p. 272; ‘Imara, quoted in ‘Amru ‘Abd al-Sami‘ (ed.), alDimuqratiyya (Cairo: al-Dar al-Misriyya al-Lubnaniyya, 1998), pp. 334-335. 31. Al-Qaradawi books, al-Islam wa’l-‘Almaniyya, pp. 72-74; Malamih al-Mujtama‘ al-Muslim al-ladhi Nunshidua (Beirut: Mu’assasat al-Risala, 1996), pp. 50-51; Fatawa Mu‘asira, Vol. 2, pp. 652-653; al-Majallah, 15 August 1993, pp. 26-27; ‘Umar ‘Abdallah Kamil, al-Mutatarrafun (Cairo: Maktab al-Turath al-Islami, 1998), p. 3; al-Ghazali, quoted in al-Liwa’ al-Islami, 5 February 1987. 32. Huwaydi in al-Ahram, 11 February 1986. 33. Al-Qaradawi, al-Islam wa’l-‘Almaniyya, pp. 32-35; idem, Malamih al-Mujtama‘ al-Muslim, pp. 173-176. 34. Muhammad Qutb, Hal Nahnu Muslimun?, pp. 102-107; idem, Waqi‘una alMu‘asir, pp. 113-139; al-Qaradawi, al-Islam wa’l-‘Almaniyya, pp. 32-35, 118-

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119, 173-179. In drawing a distinction between the ideas of Islam and their implementation, al-Qaradawi reiterated the argument used by al-Ghazali in his dispute with Shaykh Khalid Muhammad Khalid in the 1950s. Al-Ghazali, Min Huna Na‘lamu, pp. 90-103, 108-113. 35. Al-Qaradawi, al-Islam wa’l-‘Almaniyya, pp. 182-87; al-Liwa’ al-Islami, 16 December 1986. A similar stance regarding the Islamic experience in Sudan and Pakistan was adopted by ‘Umar ‘Abd al-Rahman, the leader of al-Jama‘a al-Islamiyya, in al-Shira‘, 12 November 1990; also Huwaydi, al-Tadayyun alManqus, pp. 72-73. 36. Huwaydi, al-Tadayyun al-Manqus, pp. 81-82; al-Liwa’ al-Islami, 16 December 1986; Huriyyati, 10 May 1992. 37. Al-Liwa’ al-Islami, 16 December 1986. 38. See Note 25, above. 39. Timur Kuran, "The Economic Impact of Islamic Fundamentalism," in Martin E. Marty and R. Scott Appleby (eds.), Fundamentalisms and the State (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1993), pp. 302-341. 40. Al-Ahram, 16, 23 August 1985; Muhammad Qutb, Hal Nahnu Muslimun?, pp. 39-40; idem, Hawla Tatbiq al-Shari‘a, pp. 70-75. The Islamist reluctance to articulate a political platform was most evident in the Brotherhood, whose ambition for political power exposed it to sharp criticism from the secularistliberal trend. According to Brotherhood spokesman Ma’mun al-Hudaybi, it would be useless for his movement to propose practical solutions in the context of a secularist regime which it was eager to change profoundly. Support for such restraint was cited in al-Ahrar, the Brotherhood organ, in a reference to the Prophet’s actions which focused first on consolidating the faith and protecting the lives of the Muslims, and only later on establishing a state apparatus. AlAhrar, 18 May 1987; al-Hudaybi’s interviews in al-Mukhtar al-Islami, January 1989, p. 16, al-Ahrar, 16 July 1990. A similar approach was taken by the militant leaders in Egypt. See Abbud al-Zumur, al-Wa‘i wa’l-Thawra (Ramalla: n.p., 1992), pp. 8-9; ‘Umar ‘Abd al-Rahman’s interviews in al-‘Alam, 30 May 1987, al-Nur, 4 February 1998. 41. Huwaydi, al-Tadayyun al-Manqus, pp. 73-76; al-Ghazali’s interview in al-Liwa’ al-Islami, 5 February 1987. 42. Huwaydi’s books, al-Tadayyun al-Manqus, pp. 69-77; al-Qur’an wa’l-Sultan, pp. 112-13; al-Maqalat al-Mahzura, pp. 230-238; al-Qaradawi, al-Islam wa’l‘Almaniyya, p. 164; also ‘Ali bin Ahmad Ibn Hazm, al-Mahali (Beirut: al-Maktab al-Tijari, n.d), Vol. 5, pp. 201 ff. 43. Al-Qaradawi, Malamih al-Mujtama‘ al-Muslim, pp. 176-180; also Muhammad Qutb, Hawla Tatbiq al-Shari‘a, pp. 30-39. 44. Huwaydi, "al-Sahwa al-Islamiyya wa’l-Muwatana wa’l-Musawa," in (no editor), al-Sahwa al-Islamiyya: Ru’ya Naqdiyya min al-Dakhil (Beirut: al-Nasir, 1990), pp. 109-111. 45. Al-Ghazali, al-Ta‘assub wa’l-Tasamuh bayna al-Masihiyya wa’l-Islam (Cairo: Dar al-Kitab al-‘Arabi, n.d.), pp. 35-42; al-Qaradawi, Ghayr al-Muslimin fi al-Mujtama‘ al-Islami (2nd ed., Beirut: Mu’assasat al-Risala, 1983), pp. 6568; Huwaydi, al-Maqalat al-Mahzura, pp. 223-225. For the militants’ view, see Sayyid Qutb, Fi Zalal al-Qur’an (2nd ed., Cairo: Dar Ihya’ al-Kutub al‘Arabiyya, 1961), Vol. 3, pp. 133-39, Vol. 6, pp. 185-94; Huwaydi, "al-Sahwa

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al-Islamiyya," pp. 120-23; al-Mukhtar al-Islami, June 1987, pp. 8-12; al-Ahali, 21 March 1990. 46. Huwaydi, Muwatinun la Dhimmis (Cairo: Dar al-Shuruq, 1985); al-Banna "Bayn al-Ams wa’l-Yawm," in idem, Majmu‘at Rasa’il al-Imam al-Shahid, pp. 127-28; al-Sayyid Habib in al-Da‘wa, 30 June 1994, pp. 24-25. 47. See, e.g., Michael Cook, Commanding Right and Forbidding Wrong in Islamic Thought (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000). 48. Huwaydi, al-Islam wa’l-Dimuqratiyya, p. 26; idem, al-Maqalat al-Mahzura, pp. 141-148. For a concise discussion of the rights and duties of non-Muslims under shari‘a rule, see al-Qaradawi, Ghayr al-Muslimin, pp. 9-42; idem, al-Halal wa’l-Haram fi al-Islam, pp. 327-35. 49. Al-Qaradawi, Ghayr al-Muslimin, pp. 26-27; Huwaydi, al-Maqalat al-Mahzura, p. 225; al-Nur, 8 July 1992. See also Pope Shenuda’s interview in al-Watan al‘Arabi, 30 October 1992. 50. Al-Qaradawi, Ghayr al-Muslimin, pp. 80-81. 51. Ibid., 52. Al-Qaradawi, Malamih al-Mujtama‘ al-Muslim, pp. 198-200. 53. Al-Ghazali quoted in al-A‘zami, Haqiqat al-Baha’iyya wa’l-Qadyaniyya, pp. 3142; al-Qaradawi, Zahirat al-Ghuluww fi al-Tafkir (Cairo: Jami‘at al-Qahira, 1976), pp. 20-21. See also Uriah Furman, "Minorities in Contemporary Islamist Discourse," MES 36 (October 2000), pp. 1-20. 54. See also Akhavi, "Sunni Modernist Theories of Social Contract," pp. 30-44; Kurzman, "Introduction: Liberal Islam and its Islamic Context," p. 14. 55. Huwaydi’s interview in al-Ahram Weekly, 16 January 1997. 56. As a religious scholar and well-known critic of militant Islam, al-Qaradawi also relegated the authority to rule and execute the punishment of apostasy to those in charge: the ‘ulama’, the judges and the state authorities. Al-Qaradawi, alIslam wa’l-‘Almaniyya, pp. 73-74; idem, Malamih al-Mujtama‘ al-Muslim, pp. 33-51; idem, Jarimat al-Ridda (Amman: Dar al-Furqan, 1996); also quoted in al-Ahram al-‘Arabi, 3 July 2004. 57. Al-Qaradawi, Malamih al-Mujtama‘ al-Muslim, pp. 173-176. 58. See, e.g, al-Qaradawi in al-Majallah, 15 August 1993; ‘Imara, Hal al-Islam Huwa al-Hall?, pp. 34-35.

Chapter 9

1. The Islamic grip on power did not last long in the latter three countries. In Sudan, the military junta headed by President ‘Umar al-Bashir dissolved the political alliance with the Islamic movement led by Hasan al-Turabi and proclaimed an emergency regime in 2000. In Turkey, the government formed by the Welfare Party was removed by the gatekeepers of secularism – the army – after one year, in 1997. A splinter group, the Justice and Development Party (JDP), taking a lesson from this failure, won the elections in November 2002 by promoting a universalistic and secular discourse. In Afghanistan, the Taliban regime was removed in late 2001 following the American military campaign in response to September 11, 2001. 2. See, e.g., Daniel Brumberg, "Rhetoric and Strategy: Islamic Movements and Democracy in the Middle East," in Martin Kramer (ed.), The Islamism Debate p. 23.

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3. Oliver Roy, Le Post-Islamisme (Aix-en-Provence: Editions Edisud, 1999); Gilles Kepel, "Islamism Reconsidered," Harvard International Review 22 (2000), pp. 22-27; idem, Jihad : The Trail of Political Islam (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2003), pp. 1-20, 361-378. 4. ‘Azzam Tamimi, "Islamic Movements: Reform not Fundamentalism," Middle East Affairs Journal 7 (Summer/Fall 1999), pp. 113-124; also Augustus R. Norton, "Activism and Reform in Islam," Current History 101 (November 2002), pp. 377-381. 5. Al-Shira‘ (Beirut), April 21, 1997; al-Wasat, August 4, 1997. On intergenerational strife in other Egyptian parties, see al-Manar al-Jadid, June 1999; al-Majalla, 20 June 1999; Wahid ‘Abd al-Majid (ed.), al-Taqrir al-Istratiji al-‘Arabi 1999 (Cairo: al-Ahram Center for Political and Strategic Studies, 2000), pp. 65-127. 6. Al-Ahram al-‘Arabi, 26 April 1997. See also al-Majalla al-Dimuqratiyya 6 (Spring 2000), pp. 65-142. 7. Al-Majalla, 28 January 1996; Filastin al-Muslima, March 1998; Husayn Tawfiq Ibrahim, al-Nizam al-Siyasi wa’l-Ikhwan al-Muslimun fi Misr (Beirut: Dar alTali‘a, 1998), pp. 167-169. 8. Al-Majalla, 28 January 1996. 9. Interviews with Habib in al-Watan al-‘Arabi, 17 October 1997; al-Islam waFilastin, October 1999. 10. Rafiq Habib, Hadarat al-Wasat (Cairo; Dar al-Shuruq, 2001), pp. 135-211, 226-229, 242-245; idem, al-Taghyir: al-Sira‘ wa’l-Darura (Cairo: Dar al-Shuruq, 1999), pp. 64-69, 83-93, 110-115. For analysis of Habib’s thinking, see Meir Hatina, "In Search of Authenticity: A Coptic Perception," MES 42 (January 2006), pp. 49-65. 11. Al-Majalla, 28 January 1996; Rafiq Habib, Awraq Hizb al-Wasat (Cairo: n.p., 1996), pp. 118-121; Tal‘at Ramih, al-Wasat wa’l-Ikhwan (Cairo: Markaz Yafa, 1997), pp. 220-223. 12. On the party platform, see Habib, Awraq, mainly pp. 23-34, 64-60. Also Filastin al-Muslima, March 1996; Abu al-‘Ala Madi in al-Hayat, 25 December 1997, p. 17. 13. Ramih, al-Wasat wa’l-Ikhwan, pp. 12-13, 95-103; al-Hayat, 5 April 1996. 14. Ramih, al-Wasat wa’l-Ikhwan, pp. 98-99; interview of Habib in al-Watan al‘Arabi, 17 October 1997; Cairo Times, 11 June 1998. 15. Al-Sha‘b, 14 May, 16 July, 1996; al-Hayat, 15 September, 11 December, 1996; Middle East News Agency (MENA), 15 June 1999. 16. Ibrahim, al-Nizam al-Siyasi, pp. 171-175; al-‘Alam, January 1997; al-Wasat, 13 January 1997; al-‘Ahd, 30 May 1997. 17. Al-Hayat, 8 January 1997. 18. Al-Hayat, 29 May 1996, 25 February, 20 June 1997; al-Ahali, 31 January 1996; Ibrahim, al-Nizam al-Siyasi, pp. 181-184; Ramih, al-Wasat wa’l-Ikhwan, pp. 45-54. 19. The Brotherhood manifesto, quoted in Ramih, al-Wasat wa’l-Ikhwan, pp. 239240. 20. Mustafa Mashhur, Tariq al-Da‘wa bayna al-Isala wa’l-Inhiraf (Cairo: Dar alDa‘wa, 1984), pp. 16-26, 39-44. 21. Ramih, al-Wasat wa’l-Ikhwan, pp. 45, 225.

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22. Al-Wasat, 13 January 1997; al-Sharq al-Awsat, 12, 14 June 1996; Madi in alHayat, 19 May 1999, p. 21. 23. Interview of Madi in al-Wasat, 23 September 1996; al-Hayat, 3 January 1997; Civil Society, September 1997, p. 11. According to Nasserist writer Amin Iskandar, the dialogue between rival ideological trends was engendered largely by the life experience of its advocates. They belong to the "middle generation" that had been shaped by the Arab defeat to Israel in 1967, the collapse of panArabism, and the political and socioeconomic crises in Egyptian society under Sadat and Mubarak. Al-Manar al-Jadid, June 1999. Madi himself had begun to promote national dialogue between political rivals as a leader in the Engineering association in the early 1990s, causing dissatisfaction among the old guard of the Brotherhood. Ramih, al-Wasat wa’l-Ikhwan, pp. 157-160. 24. Madi in al-Hayat, 19 May 1999, p. 21. 25. Filastin al-Muslima, March 1996. 26. Ibid.; al-Sha‘b, 31 May 1996; Ramih, al-Wasat wa’l-Ikhwan, pp. 186-188. 27. Al-Majalla, 11 May 1997; al-Ahram Weekly, 3 April 1997; Civil Society, June 1997. 28. Al-Majalla, 11 May 1997. 29. Al-Hayat, 12 May 1997. 30. Habib’s writings, Awraq Hizb al-Wasat, pp. 57-59; Misr al-Qadima bayna alTaghrib wa’l-Takfir (Cairo; Dar al-Shuruq, 1996), p. 96; al-Muqaddas wa’lHurriyya (Cairo: Dar al-Shuruq, 1998), pp. 99-105. 31. Habib, Awraq Hizb al-Wasat , pp. 98-99; idem., quoted in al-Islam wa-Filastin, October 1999; Cairo Times, 11 June 1998. 32. Al-Hayat, 23 September 1996; al-Sha‘b, 31 December 1996; Huwaydi, alMaqalat al-Mahzura, pp. 70-75. On the intellectual influence of these writers on al-Wasat, see also Joshua A. Stacher, "Post-Islamist Rumblings in Egypt: The Emergence of the Wasat Party," MEJ 56 (Summer 2000), pp. 417-418. Stacher argued that al-Qaradawi, ‘Imara and ‘Awwa (I would also add Fahmi Huwaydi) broadened the notions of tolerance and flexibility in modern Islam. A similar conclusion was reached by Raymond W. Baker in his book, Islam without Fear (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2003). Baker concluded that "New Islamists" draw their inspiration from "an inclusive understanding of Islam as a message that speaks to all of humanity, while recognizing and celebrating human variety, including differences in culture and religion." Baker, p. 260. However, a careful study of their published works reveals a more complex Islamic discourse in which religion still defines the parameters of politics and culture, including on the issue of accepting the other (women, non-Muslims and agents of other cultures). See also note 33 below. 33. See Chapter 8; also al-Majalla, 15 August 1993; Shahrough Akhavi, "Sunni Modernist Theories," pp. 38-44. 34. Al-Wasat’s decision, in its second application (1998), to revise its platform and list of founders in order to demonstrate the party’s severance from its parent movement and a more defined move toward the political center proved ineffective. The new list contained only 24 former Brotherhood activists out of 93 founding members. Cf. the proportion of former Muslim Brotherhood activists in the founding membership of the first incarnation of the Wasat Party in 1996: 62 out of 74. The 1998 list of founders also showed an increase in

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the presence of women (from 6 to 19) and Copts (from 2 to 3). The updated platform was formulated by Salah ‘Abd al-Karim, a former Brotherhood activist and a lecturer of engineering at Cairo University. Stacher, "Post-Islamist Rumblings in Egypt," pp. 421-431. 35. Al-Hayat, 27, 28 May 1996; 12 May 1998, 11 June 1999; Ramih, al-Wasat wa’l-Ikhwan, pp. 68-75, 245-259; BBC, 5 June 1999; Middle East Times, 6 June 1999. 36. Al-Hayat, 5, 11, 1999; al-Ahram Weekly, 10 June 1999. 37. Al-Hayat, 5 June 1999; Al-Ahram Weekly, 10 June 1999; Interview of Habib in al-Islam wa-Filastin, October 1999. See also Habib’s writings, al-Taghyir, pp. 110-115; Tafkik al-Dimuqratiyya (Cairo: Dar al-Shuruq, 1997); al-Shakhsiyya al-Misriyya (Cairo: Kitab al-Mahrusa, 1997), pp. 486-490, 493-515; al-Umma wa’l-Dawla: bayan li-Tahrir al-Umma (Cairo; Dar al-Shuruq, 2001), mainly Chapters 3-5. 38. Al-Majalla, 21 March 1999; Cairo Times 11 June 1998. 39. Al-Ahram Weekly, 16 December 1999. 40. Al-Wasat, 24 April 2000. 41. Rashwan, quoted in al-Ahram Weekly, 10 June 1999. See also Augustus R. Norton, "Thwarted Politics: The Case of Egypt’s Hizb al-Wasat," in Robert W. Hefner (ed.), Remaking Muslim Politics: Pluralism, Contestation, Democratization (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 2005), pp. 156-157. Indeed, another application by al-Wasat to obtain official recognition (its third) was rejected by the Party Affairs Committee in October 2004. Once again, the party’s attempt to re-emphasize its civil essence and the diversity of its founders’ backgrounds (44 women, 7 Copts and a mere 19% former Brotherhood activists were included in the newest founding body of 200) proved fruitless. Al-Ahram Weekly, 7 October 2004. 42. Ma’mun al-Hudaybi, quoted in al-Wasat, 5 April 1999; Mustafa Mashhur in al-Wasat, 21 September, 23 October 1999. 43. Meir Hatina, "Egypt," MECS 24 (2000), pp. 191-193. The Brotherhood’s electoral gain was reinforced in the November-December 2005 elections when the movement attained 88 seats. See Ha’aretz, 28 November, 2 December 2005. 44. Al-Sunna (Birmingham), December 1999, pp. 20-30; al-Sharq al-Awsat, 8 April 2001; The Jerusalem Post, 14 December 1999. 45. Lecture delivered by Tamimi at the University Tokyo, 17 July 1999, cited in http://www.ii -pt.com/web/papers/Islam.htm. 46. Ibrahim, al-Nizam al-Siyasi, pp. 186-197; The Jerusalem Post, 14 December 1999. 47. Arab Reform Bulletin 3 (December 2005). 48. Al-Ra’y, 22 July 2001, 27 January 2002; al-‘Arab al-Yawm, 22 July 2002. 49. On relations between the Islamists and the monarchy, see Gudrun Krämer, "Good Counsel to the King: The Islamist Opposition in Saudi Arabia, Jordan, and Morocco," in Joseph Kostiner (ed.), Middle East Monarchies (Boulder: Lynne Rienner Publishers, 2000), pp. 269-275. Notably, the Jordanian al-Wasat Party was affected by internal strife and by the departure of members early on, which cast doubt on the party’s success in firmly establishing itself. The first electoral test of the party in the general elections to parliament (June 2003)

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was disappointing. The party ran on a joint list with several center parties, but only two of its candidates won seats. In contrast, its Islamic rival, the Muslim Brotherhood, won 17 seats, although this result was also much less than expected. Al-Majd, 6 August 2001; al-Dustur, 30 September 2001, 18 May 2003; Jordan Times, 17 June 2003. 50. In the case of Turkey, this was primarily the Justice and Development Party (Adalet ve Kalkinmal), led by Recep Tayyip Erdogan, which became the ruling party after the November 2002 elections. The party’s discourse demonstrated a synthesis between Islam, modernity and democracy. Still, the conduct of the party was closely monitored by the military establishment – the guardian of the secular ethos that was the legacy of Mustafa Kemal, founder of modern Turkey. In the case of Indonesia, the reference is primarily to the Justice and Prosperity Party (Partai Keadilan Sejahtera), which acquired political momentum especially after the 2004 elections, gaining 45 of a total of 550 parliamentary seats. The party refrained from raising the issue of implementing the shari‘a, and put forward a civil agenda calling for social justice, education, combating corruption, and transparency in the governmental and political systems. The party’s progressive image was nurtured largely by a strong pluralistic tradition that reflected the country’s ethnic and religious diversity (Muslims, Hindus and Christians). M. Hakan Yavuz, Islamic Political Identity in Turkey (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003), pp. 239-264; Anthony Bubalo and Greg Fealy, Joining the Caravan? The Middle East, Islamism and Indonesia (Alexandria: The Lowy Institute for International Policy, 2005), pp. 69-73. 51. Cairo Times, 11 June 1998. 52. Al-Wasat’s pronounced alienation from the West was also reflected in its reserved stance toward the demand by the U.S. Administration following the September 11 attacks that the Arab states join the fight against international terror. In a joint leaflet with other Egyptian intellectuals and public figures, the party leaders denounced the violence perpetrated against civilians but blamed what they called the American racist policy toward suppressed peoples and its support of Israel’s war crimes in Palestine. Al-Sha‘b, 21 September 2001.

Conclusion

1. Nevertheless, the government continued to promote the status of women. A new bill of personal status passed in 2000 (Law No. 1) granted women the right to divorce in an accelerated court procedure pending the return of their dowries and a relinquishment of their financial rights, including alimony. Formerly, a woman seeking divorce was forced to prove suffering, harm or injury caused by the husband. The 2000 law also granted legal recognition to customary/ unofficial marriage (zawaj ‘urfi). See Arabi, Studies in Modern Islamic Law, pp. 169-188. 2. The ‘ulama’ viewed the radicals as misguided but not as transgressors. Both the ‘ulama’ and the radicals responded similarly to the challenges of Western modernity, which they perceived as a powerful threat to the Muslim way of life, and both sought to reinforce the religious boundaries of their community. 3. Regular features of the ‘ulama’s public discourse included censoring and banning religious material; opposing and at times obstructing state policy in areas such as abortion, birth control and organ transplants; and denouncing liberal secular

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writers for blasphemy. Some scholars attributed this development to periods spent by many al-Azhar teachers in Saudi universities, where they were influenced by the puritanical Wahhabist ideology, or to the ‘ulama’s close social and economic ties with the Islamic sector. Moreover, historically, the ‘ulama’s assertiveness in Egypt went back to mid-nineteenth century, gaining particular importance in the post-revolutionary era. ‘Ulama assertiveness was not unique to the Egyptian scene. It was also evident in other parts of the Muslim world. Malika Zeghal, Gardiens de l‘Islam (Paris: Fondation nationale des sciences politiques, 1996); Muhammad Qasim Zaman, The Ulama in Contemporary Islam: Custodians of Change (Princeton, New Jersey: Princeton University Press, 2002); Hatina, "Historical Legacy and the Challenge of Modernity"; idem, "Between Harmony and Dissent: Ulama and Nationalist Movements," in Moshe Gammer (ed.), Community, Identity and the State: Comparing Africa, Eurasia, Latin America and the Middle East (London: Routledge, 2004), pp. 117-131. 4. See, e.g., Menachem Klein, The Intellectuals in Nasser’s Egypt (Hebrew; PhD dissertation, The Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 1992). 5. Fuda in Uktubar, 9 February 1992, pp. 16-17. 6. Fuda, Nakun aw la Nakun, pp. 7; idem, in Uktubar, 5 January 1992, pp. 32-33; Adab wa-Naqd, July 1992, p. 25. 7. Fuda, al-Wafd wa’l-Mustaqbal, pp. 41-44; idem, in Mayu, 8 October 1990, p. 3; al-Ahrar, 28 October 1991, p. 4; al-Usbu‘ al-‘Arabi, 30 January 1989, p. 29. 8. Shamir, "Liberalism: From Monarchy to Postrevolution," pp. 209-210. 9. Amin, quoted in Sivan, "The Clash within Islam," p. 39; also in Ajami, The Dream Palace of the Arabs, pp. 214-215; Nasr Hamid Abu Zaid with Esther R. Nelson, Voice of an Exile: Reflections on Islam (Westport, Conn.: Praeger, 2004), p. 4. 10. Charfi quoted in Sivan, "The Clash within Islam," p. 39. 11. Kurzman, "Introduction: Liberal Islam and its Islamic Context," pp. 6, 11-12. Kurzman, however, listed several sources for optimism regarding liberal Islam, including the rising level of education in the Muslim world, enabling Muslims direct access to the scriptures and creating more space for developing novel approaches to Islam; and the emergence of various ecumenical institutions in Muslim and Western countries, which foster peaceful coexistence and display the non-"fanatical" face of Islam. Ibid., pp. 12-13. 12. Fuda’s articles in Mayu, 23 September 1991, pp. 3, 11; al-Ahrar, 31 December 1990, p. 4; ibid., 1 April, 22 July, 25 November 1991, p. 4. 13. On the typology of intellectuals and their sub-categories, see Feuer, "What Is an Intellectual?," pp. 47-59; Lipset and Basu, "The Roles of the Intellectual and Political Roles," pp. 124-143; Edward Shils, "The Intellectuals and the Powers: Some Perspectives for Comparative Analysis," in Philip Rieff (ed.), On Intellectuals (New York: Doubleday, 1969), pp. 25-48. 14. (No editor), Faraj Fuda Shahid ‘ala al-‘Asr, Vol. 2, pp. 2-3. Aiming to entrench Fuda’s heritage, the Egyptian Enlightenment Society held annual gatherings to mark the date of his murder, in which Coptic figures also took part. Al-Nur, 23 June 1993; Civil Society, July 1996. 15. Moussalli, "Modern Islamic Fundamentalist Discourses on Civil Society," pp. 99-119; ‘Awwa, quoted in ‘Abd al-Sami‘ (ed.), al-Dimuqratiyya, pp. 294-296, 299-300; idem, "al-Ta‘addudiyya al-Siyasiyya min Manzur Islami," in ‘Azzam

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Tamimi (ed.), Musharakat al-Islamiyyin fi al-Sulta (London: Liberty for the Muslim World, 1994), pp. 25-37. 16. Charles Kurzman, "Critics Within: Islamic Scholars' Protests against the Islamic State in Iran," in Michaelle Browers and Charles Kurzman (eds.), An Islamic Reformation (Lanham: Lexington Books, 2004), pp. 79-100; Meir Litvak, "The Concept of Freedom in Modern Islamic Thought," Historia 16 (July 2005), pp. 55-80. 17. See, e.g, Uktubar, 21 June 1992; al-Musawwar, 26 June 1992; ibid., 10 July 1992; al-Watan al-‘Arabi, 24 July 1992. 18. Ernest Gellner, Conditions of Liberty: Civil Society and its Rivals (New York: The Penguin Press, 1994); John Hall, Civil Society: Theory, History, Comparison (Cambridge: Polity Press, 1995); Jean L. Cohen and Arato Andrew, Civil Society and Political Theory (Cambridge: MIT Press, 1994); Edward Shils, The Virtue of Civility (Indianapolis: Liberty Fund, 1997). 19. Saad Eddin Ibrahim also served as chairman of the board of the organ alTanwir, published by the Egyptian Enlightenment Society. On Ibrahim’s outlook toward the concept of civil society, see Ibrahim, "Civil Society and Prospects of Democratization in the Arab World," in Norton (ed.), Civil Society in the Middle East, Vol. 1, pp. 30-32; Civil Society, September 1997, p. 16; Sami Zubaida, "Islam, the State and Democracy: Contrasting Conceptions of Society in Egypt," Middle East Report (November-December 1992), pp. 4-5; Mostafa Amin, "A True Democracy," Civil Society, June 1994, p. 36. 20. Al-Najjar, quoted in al-Hayat, 4 March 1993; also idem, Tajdid al-Nizam alIqtisadi wa’l-Siyasi fi Misr (Cairo: Dar al-Shuruq, 1997), Vol. 1. 21. Abu Zayd, al-Tafkir fi Zaman al-Takfir, pp. 26-30, 38-40, 91-92; also idem, "The Modernization of Islam or the Islamization of Modernity," in Roel Meijer (ed.), Cosmopolitanism, Identity and Authenticity in the Middle East (Richmond: Curzon, 1999), pp. 71-85. 22. Zubaida, "Islam, the State and Democracy," pp. 5-6; ‘Abd al-Sami‘ (ed.), alDimuqratiyya, pp. 210-214; also Baker, Islam without Fear, Chapter 3. 23. Mustafa K. al-Sayyid, "A Civil Society in Egypt?" MEJ 42 (Spring 1993), p. 228; al-Ahram Weekly, 19 July 1997. 24. On the role of economics in facilitating civil society in the Middle East, and in Egypt particularly, see Ayubi, pp. 399-410; Roger Owen, "Socio-economic Change and Political Mobilization: The Case of Egypt," in Ghassan Salame (ed.), Democracy without Democrats? (London: I.B. Tauris, 1994), pp. 183199; Stability and Reform in Egypt (A Summary of a Conference held by the International Forum for Democratic Studies, New York, December 1, 1995). 25. Ira M. Lapidus, "The Separation of State and Religion in the Development of Early Islamic Society," IJMES 6 (1975), pp. 363-385. 26. For a summary of the regime’s policy toward the Brotherhood in the mid-1990s, see Carrie R. Wickham, Mobilizing Islam: Religion, Activism and Political Change in Egypt (New York: Columbia University Press, 2002), pp. 215-226. 27. Neil J. Smelser, Theory of Collective Behavior (New York: The Free Englewood Cliffs, N.J: Press of Glencoe, 1963), pp. 120-129, 313-319; Ralph H. Turner and Lewis M. Killian, Collective Behavior (2nd ed., Englewood Cliffs, N.J.: Prentice Hall, 1972), pp. 256-257, 269-274.

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28. Yusuf al-Qaradawi, al-Sabr fi al-Qur’an (Cairo: Maktabat Wahhaba, 1970), p. 12. 29. (No editor), Violence: Towards a Better Understanding of the Dilemma, p. 11. This conclusion differs from Mona El-Ghobashy’s assertion that the Brotherhood’s participation in electoral politics transformed it from a religious mass movement to a modern political party. Ghobashy’s "The Metamorphosis of the Egyptian Brothers," IJMES 37 (2005), pp. 373-395. 30. Quoted in Arabi, Studies in Modern Islamic Law, p. 20. An instructive example of the regime’s dilemma may be illustrated by the legal concept of hisba (the religious command obliging all Muslims to "forbid wrong" in society). This concept made headlines in the 1990s in the wake of an affair surrounding an assistant professor of Islamic studies at Cairo University, Nasr Hamid Abu Zayd, who was known to have secularist views. A judgment by the Court of Appeals in June 1995 found that Abu Zayd must divorce his wife so as not to corrupt her, because of what was termed his damaging views of Islam. Ultimately, the couple had no choice but to emigrate from Egypt. A judicial commission appointed to investigate the issue in 1995 found that hisba constitutes an entrenched judicial concept in society, although a citizen who seeks to present a charge of immoral conduct may do so only through the office of the state prosecutor-general, which is authorized to decide whether the charge merits prosecution. This compromise finding, which was aimed at satisfying the Islamic camp, became state law (in January 1996), thereby preserving the sole authority of the state, yet legalizing an Islamic practice and mandating state action in cases of deviation from a religious norm. On the Abu Zayd affair and its implications, see Abu Zayd, alTafkir fi Zaman al-Takfir ; George N. Sfeir, "Basic Freedoms in a Fractured Legal Culture: Egypt and the Case of Nasr Hamid Abu Zayd," MEJ 52 (Summer 1998), pp. 402-414; also Ami Ayalon, Egypt’s Quest for Cultural Orientation (Tel Aviv: The Moshe Dayan Center, June 1999), pp. 19-36.

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Appendix The Mustaqbal Party Platform (1991) (Selected segments)

Party Mottos • A guiding idea rather than a leader who thinks for others • The motherland’s affiliation to the citizen constitutes the threshold for the citizen’s affiliation to the motherland • Religion is for the Creator and the motherland is for man • Religion is faith and the motherland is faith

The Party’s Oath of Allegiance I swear by the sublime Allah That I will obey the constitution and the law And act for a better future for the sons of the motherland

The Party’s Founding Document The signatories of this platform, the founders of the Mustaqbal Party, pledge their allegiance to the following principles: 1. Honoring the Egyptian constitution of 1971. Any change as a result of ongoing development in Egypt must be applied according to the rules of the constitution and by the democratic processes cited in its articles.

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2. Upholding Egypt’s international commitments. Only the national interest justifies a demand to change these obligations, subject to honoring international justice and laws and the Universal Declarattion of Human Rights. 3. Historically, the Egyptian people belong to the Pharaonic heritage and are linked to the destiny of the Arab nation. Geographically, [the Egyptian people] belong to the African continent, and culturaally to the Mediterranean basin. Egypt’s thrust toward the future is rooted in these affinities, which together reflect the true strength of the Egyptian nation. 4. The central aim of the Mustaqbal Party is to promote the welfare of the motherland, invest effort on behalf of all citizens, and unify the ranks in order to prevent civil war. 5. The Universal Declaration of Human Rights [1949], in whose foundiing and ratification Egypt played a role, and according to which it is committed to act, represents a cultural and humanistic achievement that merits adherence and the upholding of its articles, just as it consstitutes a binding document for the Party. The founders of the Mustaqbal Party call upon the sublime Egyptian people to take part in the consolidation of the Party’s values and princciples, and commit ourselves before Allah and the motherland to truly and honorably adhere to what is written in this platform and to merit trust. Allah and the motherland are the essence.

Why the Mustaqbal Party? 1. To protect democracy as the sole means of guaranteeing the continnuity of the government of the people, by the people and for them, and to build democracy within the Party. The parties that existed in Egypt throughout its history, some of which truly supported democrracy, suffered from an absence of democracy in their midst because of the need to balance different trends or impose leadership and disccipline. The Party will introduce full democracy as a means of condducting the internal party discourse and the leadership procedures. It is essential that the Party function on the basis of a guiding idea and not a leader who thinks for others…. The role of the leadership should be limited to conducting debate and not restraining it; allowiing the presentation of ideas and not the thwarting of them; encoura-

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aging independent thought and not suppressing it; and turning the party committees into forums for ideological fertilization. 2. To guarantee that the principle of “Religion is for Allah and the motherland is for the people” as the threshold for national unity, in as much as the existing parties have used religious slogans to arouse public emotions without comprehending the resultant dangers to the unity of the motherland. The Mustaqbal Party emphasizes its faith in the divine religions, but opposes the attempt to turn Egypt into a state directly or indirectly ruled by religious figures. 3. To promote the motto “peace for national development,” even in the shadow of the atmosphere of hate that prevails in the region, stemmming from the Party’s belief in the following principles: a. Serious harm to the rights of this generation and the generations to follow will result if Egypt, despite its glorious past, serves as a tool to protect the interests of any foreign power. b. The Egyptian armed forces have no role beyond the borders of the motherland. Their responsibility is discharged solely in defending these borders. If a distant need requires the participation of the Egyptian army, as happened in the [first] Gulf War, this constittutes an exception rather than the rule. c. If an external danger to Egypt is said to exist, it is a limited dangger. The greater and more immediate danger is embodied in the army of poverty among the grave-dwellers who comprise hunddreds of thousands living close to the poverty line in the shadow of pronounced discrimination in the allocation of income. This is a danger that grows when the citizen feels he is losing a minimal standard of living in dignity in terms of housing, food, services, social security and the hope for a better tomorrow. 4. To foster the affiliation of the motherland to the citizen as a genuiine gateway to the affiliation of the citizen to the motherland. The affiliation of the motherland to the citizen is embodied in respect for the humanity of the Egyptian by means of improving the level of services, caring for the environment, focusing on improving the condition of the spirit to the same degree as material needs, putting an end to bureaucratic red tape, and implementing equality before the law and the just sharing of the burden of debt. 5. For the sake of the present young generation in the face of attempts by politicians to hold this generation’s future hostage to history. The Wafd, the Young Egypt, the Muslim Brotherhood, Nasserism and

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Sadatism are all movements that belong to history.... Therefore, we believe there is a need to establish a new party which will not tie its future to the past, and will concern itself first and foremost with goals linked to issues not yet discussed. Clinging to a previous idea or experience means placing a stumbling block in the path of the future for the sake of an emotional affinity to the past, whose circumstances will never repeat themselves. We represent a new party that is not burdened by any previous experiences, whether for good or for bad, but rather strives to learn a lesson from them without clinging to them, and to look only toward the future by dealing with the preseent. 6. For the sake of avoiding the inclination to categorize political life in Egypt as black and white, right and left, without understanding that the world today has abandoned this tendency, and that all progresssive states recognize only the color gray with its varied shades. It is a mistake to sanctify an ideological orientation, [be it] rightist or leftiist, and the correct way to deal with an economic issue is by promotiing independent solutions to economic problems. The problem itself will impel a solution, which might be rightist for one problem and leftist for another problem.... This perception is guided by several rules: a. Attaining justice by the allocation of income in society. b. Guaranteeing the needs of all citizens according to the economic wherewithal and the conditions of society. c. Improving the welfare capability of the motherland toward the citizen, as reflected in the reinforcement of social safeguards and a high level of community services. d. Non-restriction of the citizens’ economic freedom, subject to rules that will prevent exploitation of all kinds and will apply equal rights for all. 7. For the sake of over a million Egyptians abroad, who have lost their affiliation to the motherland as a consequence of the motherland’s loss of affiliation to them.... In effect, there is no real effort to protect their welfare and solve their problems outside the country; to create work opportunities for them at home; to make use of their talents or their savings in order to develop their country wisely; to explore posssibilities to restore them to the motherland, which they did not leave willingly; and to turn them into a unified force that will represent Egypt with dignity.

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8. Lastly, to provide a platform for the silent majority, who have not yet said their piece and seek only to take part in building the future of their motherland without endangerment, coercion and distortion, so that others may hear a voice that has not yet been heard, the voice of the future.

The Party’s Ideological Framework The Party’s ideological framework relies on the following principles: 1. The basis for national and party affiliation is the right of citizensship and this right alone guarantees equal rights for the citizens. The protection of the motherland derives from a belief in the sanctity of the land and a recognition that an enemy bullet does not differenttiate between citizens, regardless of their religious faith and politiccal views. The constitution and the law alone guide the direction of society. They are given to change by the will of the majority and in accordance with their interests, as they are man-made texts deriving from ijtihad, subject to criticism, re-examination and correction. 2. Citizens are free to express their views, whether political, by establlishing parties, or ideological, by the right to publish newspapers and periodicals. The law is the sole determining factor and the legal authority. 3. Social justice is the Party’s declared aim. It is reflected in increased productivity and a fairer distribution of the income generated, thereby raising the citizen’s standard of living and protecting him from the dangers of disability, old age or unemployment. 4. The unification of the Nile Valley, north and south, [i.e.,] Egypt and Sudan, is the declared aim of Egyptian policy. It is the hope for a bettter future for generations to come along the banks of the Nile, and the natural threshold for the full development of the Arab economy. 5. Children constitute the reserve of the future and are the responsibiliity of the state to the same extent as they are the responsibility of the family. The social, nutritional and cultural fostering of children constitutes a national aim of the highest importance. Freedom of Thought Democracy mandates freedom of thought, whose plain meaning is "the freedom to express an opinion and counter-opinion".... Reality points

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to a regrettable truth, which is that we have lost the keys to democratic discourse. The dispute over an opinion has become an enemy, and the appeal for dialogue has become worthless, while the triumph of the other opinion, and the very act of expressing it, have become a defect or a crime meriting punishment. The motherland requires a healthy climmate for promoting enlightened public opinion, which can be guarantteed only by freedom of thought and speech. Freedom of Belief The Party does not view citizens through the prism of their religious belief. Their sole identity is Egyptian. The Party negates restricting freeddom of belief, just as it rejects using belief to limit freedom of thought. We believe that the individual is the basis of society, and that the freedom of the motherland is composed of the totality of civil libertties.... There were times when roles were intermingled, when some army elements coveted government power and displayed antagonism toward the civil system. They strayed from the rules of military discipline and trampled on civil liberties under the slogan of "political stability." The intermingling of army and politics was not limited to the administrative level, but spread to every area, with laws issued that restricted liberty in the name of “democracy.” Government and Constitution The government serves as a framework for civic liberties. Based on past experience, the Party believes that the political system must be parliammentary, with the government constituting its executive branch. The president, the symbol of the state, and his deputy will be elected by parliament for a fixed period, which will not exceed two terms of 4 years each. The government is collectively responsible, and will submit its resignation in the event of parliamentry non-confidence in one of the ministers or in the ministry itself. Parliamentary decisions will be final, and the principle of the referendum will be annulled, except regarding constitutional changes, which will be ratified first by the parliament. Parliament will have the full right to discuss and alter the articles of the budget…. The following laws will be annulled: Law No. 48 of 1967, regarding the establishment of the Revolutionary Court; Law No. 105 of 1970, dealing with the State Security Courts; and Law No. 34 of 1971, dealing with security bodies; Law No. 33 of 1978, regarding the protection of the domestic arena and social tranquility. These laws have

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either achieved their purposes or were the product of capricious legislattion lacking justification…. A re-examination of the directive of Law No. 28 of 1966, dealing with military law, is required so that its rulings apply only to military personnel and in military locations…. Article 74 of the constitution [which deals with the president’s authority to adopt urgent measures in the event of danger to national unity or security] must be amended, and the interpretation of its content passed on to the prime minister in the context of clear texts for defined situations. This is conditional upon presenting the steps already taken to the legislative assembly within a defined period, so that it can issue a ruling. Regarding emergency laws, with due appreciation for the consideraations that led to their ratification, a special law pertaining to terror must be consolidated, as has happened in countries that have suffered from this phenomenon, so as to prevent the use of emergency laws which cast a dark cloud over Egyptian political life…. The appointment of professional managing directors for the governmmental ministries should be encouraged, while guaranteeing that their ongoing service will not be influenced by newly appointed ministers. On the subject of election procedure, a law should be issued punishiing fraudulent participation in elections and viewing such fraud as a crime that violates national honor. The Party also calls for amending the law regarding the Shura Council [the upper house of parliament] so that it becomes a true legislative council. In accordance with the above, the freedom to establish parties without restriction serves as a basic guaranttee of democracy and stability. The climate in which the present constitution was accepted, reflected in some articles that relate to a socialist government, the solidarity of the working forces in the nation, and the entrustment of development work to the public sector, has changed. These articles should be amended according to the procedures mandated by the constitution. Peace Peace is the language of the strong, and war is the vulgar reflection of the height of weakness, unless evil should touch the soil of the sanctified Nile Valley or its unity. Peace must serve as a gate to democracy and to openness to the entire world without any psychological complexity or sensitivity, and first of all as a true threshold for growth. The Party calls for the improved capability of the armed forces and a reduction in their

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number without compromising national security, and for developing the army in the fields of human relations, war readiness and equipment. In other words, prioritizing “quality” over the “quantity” in the stage that follows peace. A generation that was ruled by three constitutions, saluted three flags, heard three national slogans, whose country was called three names… and which fought three wars [1948, 1967, 1973], has the right to reject this loathsome threesome and to live in real peace. It also has the right to harness this peace for the benefit of its country, after having served for the benefit of others in the game of nations under the false slogan of neutrality that was not realized. National Unity The Party is convinced that its proposal for freedom of belief can serve as an important threshold for promoting the meaning of national unity. This meaning endows religious officials, by virtue of their training, with the full right to preach religion and guide citizens in matters of faith; it permits them, by virtue of their national affiliation, to take part in the building of their country and to express their political opinions as citizzens, without mixing the sanctity of religion with their own judgment. In this regard the Party emphasizes the following principles: 1. Loyalty to the motherland takes precedence over all other loyalties. It is the first and only justification of national affiliation. 2. Manipulation of religious slogans allows any party to easily arouse the emotions of the masses. Those who air these slogans for quick political profit do not understand that this soon leads to the unraveliing of the country’s national unity and to ideological terror against its citizens. 3. The individual’s religion or belief has no bearing on his party, politiccal or work status in the state. 4. A great deal of light and a little courage are sufficient to expose the harmfulness of the idea of the religious state without enfeebling its advocates or denying their right to promote their beliefs. The Arab Affiliation A lofty nation is produced only by a lofty hope. A lofty hope is produced only by great pain. The greatest pain felt by the people who live in the A reference to Nasser’s policy of positive neutrality toward the United States and the U.S.S.R. in the late 1950s.

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Nile Valley was the disconnection between the northern and the southeern regions. The greatest hope for the people is that they will repossess the regions of their country.... This is a necessity, not merely a statement of fact. The unification of the Nile Valley, by any measure or scale posssible, is the only hope for both regions so that together they will produce a large state that will fulfill ambitious goals. Hundreds of martyrs have fallen in protecting the unity of Egypt and Sudan, with schemes to block this dream stemming from exploitive foreign forces who were aware of the ramifications of unity for their status in the region. The only borders in the world that were applied according to lines sketched on a map are the borders separating our Nile regions. This fact alone proves that those who sought this disconnection could not find a more imaginary dividing line to create false borders not born of historic circumstances, the demands of reality, or hopes for the future…. Our Party must rearrange the pages of history so that the unity of the Nile Valley becomes its greatest hope and its exalted principle…. The Nile Valley unity is the starting point for inter-Arab cooperation, which can exist only between democratic governments that faithfully reflect the will of the peoples and harbor opportunities for continuity and developmment. Moreover, it cannot exist on the basis of history with an absolute disregard of the geographic dimension. The Right of Citizenship Regrettably, the Egyptian citizen lost his sense of affiliation to the motheerland when he lost the simple civic rights. This loss alone explains the painful collapse of general values and morality as well as the minimal measure of involvement by the Egyptian citizen in political and public activity.... The simple rights of the citizen are those that allow him a reassonable level of services; receipt of real service for every qirsh [piaster] he pays; witnessing the simplification of bureaucratic procedures; finding a place of sanctuary and an embassy or consulate abroad that will assist him [in a time of distress], protect his affairs, and be his address for any problem.... That every citizen will feel that the state takes responsibility for his fate if he is beset by paralysis, old age, illness or forced unemploymment; and that the rules that guard respect for the police and the sanctity of the army do not conflict with the rules that guard the dignity of the citizen. The Party believes that the right of citizenship will be upheld only if sheltered by a firm [democratic] base which, through the rule of law,

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will guarantee the welfare of all citizens as taxpayers, and will allow them to play an active role in the national effort and effectively monitor the performance of state administration. In other words, we appeal for respect for the citizen’s humanity. The motherland’s affiliation to the citizen will be the fitting entryway for the citizen’s affiliation to the motherland. Women’s Status The Party expresses its regret over cultural regression, which exerts a negative influence on society and violates human rights. Clearly, the situation of the woman in society is severely damaged by this backward impulse, to the point that we witness appeals to return the woman to the home, to prohibit her from going out to work, to view her more as a ticking sex bomb and a seductive, carousing force than as an intelligent human being, a worker, a sister, mother or partner in struggle. The right of the woman to work, to participate in political life, and to equality with man has become a cultural value that cannot be ignored, and whose influence cannot be evaded. The Party will promote the stattus of the woman, protect her rights, and oppose anyone who limits her progress. Foreign Policy A global society with conflicting and sometimes colliding interests fostters neither fixed friendly relations nor permanently hostile relations. Modern history shows that allies during the WWII became bitter enemmies thereafter, while the founders of the NATO alliance had fought against each other fearsomely during the war. The Party believes, therefore, that the national interest defines the nature of relations with other nations. Similarly, international relations do not allow for the absolute fulfillment of the national interests of one particular country without endangering the absolute national interest of other countries. The essence of international relations lies in shared interests and mutual benefit. Education Social justice requires that the state shoulder the costs of educating capable pupils who are indigent. However, justice does not dictate that taxpayers carry the burden of educating the wealthy dropout. Thus, free education must be circumscribed so that it serves the public good.

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Industry Industrial expansion is the natural gateway to increased national income and greater work opportunities for the rising number of inhabitants. Toward this end, the following steps must be taken: establishing new industrial enterprises, with absolute preference given to enterprises for which local natural resources are plentiful, especially spinning and weaviing, petrochemical, and agricultural enterprises; encouraging the establlishment of limited industrial companies that will issue shares to the public, enabling small investors to take part in industrial development; and creating a support system for new industrial enterprises which will promote material assistance to producers of all exported merchandise in the event of a drop in export prices, and make them competitive in the world markets. All this is aimed at reaching the point where the major portion of export consists of industrial and semi-industrial merchandise. The growiing demand for Egyptian merchandise will also bring about growth in the scope of foreign currency income. Livestock Resources For many years, the perception of livestock resources has been affiliaated with agriculture and harnessing it to agricultural production. This approach led to the annexation of the animal husbandry network to the Ministry of Agriculture. In light of the expansion of agricultural mechannization, on the one hand, and the growing needs for food products on the other, the Party calls for the establishment of a separate governmenttal ministry for livestock resources, which will include a division that specializes in animal breeding and a veterinary department to monitor and care for the animals. Quality of the Environment The rise in environmental pollution levels in the large cities, especially Cairo, endangers the residents’ physical and mental health and producttivity. A series of measures must be taken to reduce the extent of air polllution caused by poisonous gases emanating from factories and vehicles, to prevent the disposal of refuse in the Nile, and to minimize noise, air pollution and the ugly appearance of the Egyptian street. Isolated sites are needed for disposing of discarded cars and non-organic waste. It is equally important to demonstrate that the afforestation of an empty

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space constitutes an economic aim more than the need for visual beauttification. The Party is deeply saddened by Egyptians’ pollution of the Nile, whether by the disposal of waste by industrial plants and ships or by the flow of sewage. This behavior is unbecoming to a deeply rooted people whose Pharaonic forebears approached godliness in their oath not to pollute the Nile. Tourism Tourism represents a comprehensive industry which cannot be based solely on maintaining antiquities and supplying tourist information. It must rely on the ability of the state to enlist manpower and develop transportation and services as part of a perception of tourism as an important source of income in developing countries. The development of tourism, therefore, must be linked to comprehensive infrastructure planning with the assistance of outside professionals. The Party believes that the private sector should be allowed a central role in investment in tourism projects in the context of the overall development scheme. Health Concern for the citizens’ health reflects not only the state’s social and moral duty but also a scientific guarantee for preserving the fitness of the workforce which toils to produce national income.... The Party calls for expanding the medical insurance of every citizen, so that private care will not remain the only choice for the wealthy and the poor alike. Transportation The development of means of communication and transportation on land, sea and air, and the improvement of telegraph, telephone and mail services are the cornerstone for increased production and national income. Locating the funds required for such comprehensive services, therefore, merits re-examining their costs and interpreting them in econnomic terms. Some of the communications and transportation systems must also be required to function on a level corresponding to the cost of the service. The citizen must feel that he receives real service according to accepted world standards for the money he pays.

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Housing The overall solution to the housing problem relies on several foundattions, most importantly: diverting the majority of the housing budgets to public housing, and prescribing a reasonable rental policy in accordance with both income level and building costs; requiring firms that employ a given number of workers to build housing for them on their premises, and basing licensing on compliance with this condition; encouraging the private sector to invest in housing projects by making credit available at low interest rates; re-examining the law of landlord-tenant relations; annulling the government subsidy of construction materials for luxury building, and diverting it to benefit owners of public housing and housiing under joint state and tenant ownership. Rather than subsidizing raw materials, the developer himself must be subsidized. This guarantees that the deserving party benefits, and eliminnates the phenomena of fraud and the black market. The devaluation of workers’ salaries in Egypt is a major contributing factor to the housing problem. The gap between the average wage and the sum needed to pay for reasonable housing requires a comprehensive and rational policy. Village Development The development of the Egyptian village merits strong emphasis. Village inhabitants, as city inhabitants, bear equal duties and therefore must have equal rights. This is not only a question of applying justice but also of the need for development. The present situation, in which we are dependent on outside factors, with food imports reaching about 70% of total local consumption, constitutes a dangerous warning sign regardiing the confused and perplexing situation of the Egyptian village and requires a focus on correcting years of neglect. The Cooperative Movement Cooperation in its pure sense is the best-suited model for pooling the efforts of small manufacturers in a variety of national endeavors. It enhances production capability, reduces costs, increases income, and as a result narrows gaps in status and assists in promoting social peace. The cooperative associations can play an important role in solving some of the housing problems and in diverting aid to those who deserve it among low-income consumers. They also act as a suitable vehicle for pooling the citizens’ income and reinvesting it for their benefit and for

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that of society. Since the cooperative associations do not seek profit, they preserve themselves as a worthy model for society and for self-sacrifice in the name of a lofty value.... Above all, they rely on a foundation derived from the divinely inspired legislation that preaches social solidarity and conforms to the noble character of the Egyptian people. The cooperative sector must be given the full opportunity to fill the role that the public and private sectors fill in a variety of economic activitties: agricultural, professional, consumer, housing and the provision of services. Regrettably, ever since its founding 75 years ago, the Egyptian cooperative movement remains limited. We appeal to the state to extend its patronage over this movement, which by its nature caters to the commmon people. Population Density The problem of high population density has three attributes: increased population growth that exceeds the growth rate of the national produuct; insufficient education and health services for a large proportion of the people; and the disproportional relationship between the geographic distribution of the inhabitants and the available land. Should efforts at economic growth prove unproductive in the future this national problem must be confronted. The time has come to adopt a practical policy to reduce population growth by means of real benefits for small families, such as granting an exemption from military service and preference in work, housing or education. Justice The judiciary has always proven that it protects the rights of the Egypttian and serves as a true guarantor of his freedom, property and dignity. Therefore, support for the judicial system is both a moral responsibility and a national need. The Party calls for the overall development of the judicial system based on reducing legislative scope and speed of issuance for the sake of preserving judicial stability and the ability of those dealing with the law to keep up with its development. A balance must also be found between the number of judges and the number of cases in each court so that the judge is not overburdened or lengthen the duration of the case and thereby cause more injustice than justice.... A suitable way must be found to compensate the individual in the event that the determinat-

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tion of guilt takes an unjustifiably long time and ultimately results in an acquittal. Art National vitality requires that the wonders of the world’s art, which has become identified with human culture and the history of creativity more than with a given time or place, not be hidden from the public or be the sole province of the elite. The public must have access to experts who will introduce art and open the gates of artistic creativity by simple and stimulating means. The role of the artistic associations must be limited to providing services to their members but not to restricting their artistic productivity…. The Party marks the regression in artistic education and in nurturing talent in the schools with great remorse. This regression will lead Egypt to lose its link with the past, i.e., art, and its link to the future, i.e., human and cultural conscience. Culture The Party is saddened by the regression in translation of literature in recent years due to the decline in material compensation and the absence of awareness of the importance of translation and its great influence in linking Egypt to contemporary culture. It has forgotten that knowledge of world human thought is the gateway to the development of local human thought.... What is truly regrettable is that the Arabic book has become foreign in its own country (and its country is Egypt). Egypt concedes its role as the capital of cultural productivity because of foolish bureaucratic restrictions that limit the publishing of books in its domain due to routine and monetary obstacles or the supervision of religious literature by al-Azhar. The export of Egyptian books can occupy a special place in Egypt’s national export if the intent were truly honest and if the efforts of the state were equivalent to the high level of cultural awareness among Egypttians. This level is reflected in the book fair held every year, which the Party proposes should be held twice a year. Within the realm of culture, thought and art, the Party supports the idea of establishing a special cemetery in which the bones of the luminnaries of Egyptian culture and enlightenment will be re-interred. The transfer of the remains will take place 20 years after the demise of the writer or artist, under the aegis of a limited committee of the greatest artists, thinkers and authors, so as to prevent selection by irrelevant cons-

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siderations. Such a cemetery will become a tourist and an educational site visited by students and admirers of intellectual endeavor and high art. Each cemetery could have a small museum attached, containing the personal effects, if available, of the artist or writer. The Struggle against Terror The struggle against terror constitutes a national issue which requires the investment of maximal resources regardless of party affiliation. Such a struggle also requires coordination between the various state systems, especially communications and education, in an overall framework that will locate the causes of the problem and devise practical solutions.

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Bibliography

Interviews

Muhammad Sa‘id al-‘Ashmawi, 28 March 1996 Hakim Micha’il, scholar of Arabic literature and poetry, 30 March 1996 Rawiya Fuda, sister of Fuda, 31 March 1996 Wahid Ra’fat, senior member in the Mustaqbal Party, 1 April 1996, 17 July 1997

Private and Public Archives

Great Britain, Public Record Office, Foreign Office Archives; Curzon George Papers Great Britain, St. Antony’s College, Oxford, Barbour Nevill Papers; Furness R. Allason Papers; Holden Andrew Papers; Keown-Boyd A. William Papers; Rapp Thomas Cecil Papers; Vaux Richard Augustus Papers

Newspapers and Periodicals

Al-Ahali (Cairo) Al-‘Ahd (Beirut) Al-Ahram (Cairo) Al-Ahram al-‘Arabi (Cairo) Al-Ahram Weekly (Cairo) Al-Ahrar (Cairo) Al-Akhbar (Cairo) Akhbar al-Yawm (Cairo) Akhir Sa‘a (Cairo) Al-‘Alam (London) ‘Aqidati (Cairo) Al-‘Arab al-Yawm (Amman) Al-‘Arabi (London) Al-Ayyam (Khartoum) Cairo Times (Cairo) Civil Society (Cairo) Al-Da‘wa (Cairo) Al-Dustur (Amman) The Economist (London) The Financial Times (London) Fikr (Cairo) Filastin al-Muslima (London) Ha’aretz (Tel Aviv)

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Al-Hawadith (London) Al-Hayat (London) Hurriyyati (Cairo) Al-I‘tisam (Cairo) Al-Islam wa-Filastin (Nicosia) The Jerusalem Post (Jerusalem) Jordan Times (Amman) Al-Khalij al-Yawm (Qatar) Liwa’ al-Islam (Cairo) Al-Liwa’ al-Islami (Cairo) Al-Majallah (London) Al-Majalla al-Dimuqratiyya (Cairo) Majallat al-Azhar (Cairo) Majallat al-Ibda’ (Cairo) Al-Majd (Amman) Al-Manar al-Jadid (Cairo) Mayu (Cairo) Middle East Times (Cairo) Al-Masa’ (Cairo) Al-Muharrir (Paris) Al-Mukhtar al-Islami (Cairo) Al-Musawwar (Cairo) Al-Nur (Cairo) Palestine Times (Leeds) Al-Quds al-‘Arabi (London) Al-Ra’y (Amman) Al-Risala (Cairo) Risalat al-Islam (Cairo) Ruz al-Yusuf (Cairo) Sabah al-Khayr (Cairo) Al-Safir (Beirut) Al-Sha‘b (Cairo) Al-Sharq al-Awsat (London) Al-Shira‘ (Beirut) Al-Siyasa (Cairo) Al-Sunna (Birmingham) Tadamun (London) Uktubar (Cairo) Al-Usbu‘ al-‘Arabi (Paris) Al-Wafd (Cairo) Al-Wasat (London) Al-Watan al-‘Arabi (Paris)

News Agencies and other Media Sources

AFP (Paris) BBC (London) Cairo Television Service in Arabic (Cairo) MENA (Cairo)

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Bibliography

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Books and Articles in Arabic

‘Abd al-Majid, Wahid (ed.) Al-Taqrir al-Istratiji al-‘Arabi 1999 (The Arab Strategic Report for 1999). Cairo: al-Ahram Center for Political and Strategic Studies, 2000. ‘Abd al-Raziq, ‘Ali. Al-Islam wa-Usul al-Hukm (Islam and the Sources of Political Authority). Beirut: Dar Maktabat al-Hayat, 1966. ‘Abd al-Sami‘, ‘Amru (ed.), Al-Dimuqratiyya (Democracy). Cairo: al-Dar al-Misriyya al-Lubnaniyya, 1998. Abu Zayd, Nasr Hamid. Al-Tafkir fi Zaman al-Takfir (Thinking in the Era of Accusations of Apostasy). Cairo: Sina’ li’l Nashr, 1995. Amin, Ahmad. Dahi al-Islam (Brilliance of Islam). 5th ed., Cairo: Maktabat alNahda al-Misriyya, 1956. Amin, Husayn Ahmad. Dalil al-Muslim al-Hazin (A Guide to the Anguished Muslim). 3rd ed., Cairo: Maktabat Madbuli, 1987. _____ Al-Islam fi ‘Alam Mutaghayyir (Islam in a Changing World). 3rd ed., Cairo: Maktabat Madbuli, 1988. _____ Hawla al-Da‘wa ila Tatbiq al-Shari‘a (On the Call for the Application of Islamic Law). 2nd ed., Cairo: Maktabat Madbuli, 1987. Amin, Sadiq. Al-Da‘wa al-Islamiyya (The Call of Islam). Amman: n.p., 1978. Al-‘Aqqad, ‘Abbas Mahmud. ‘Abqariyyat ‘Umar (‘Umar’s Genius). Cairo: Dar alThaqafa al-‘Arabiyya, 1963. ‘Ashmawi, Muhammad Sa‘id. Hisad al-‘Aql (The Fruits of Intellect). Beirut: Dar alKitab al-Lubnanai, 1974. _____ Ma‘alim al-Islam (Signposts of Islam). Cairo: Sina’ li’l-Nashr, 1989. _____ Damir al-‘Asr (Conscience of the Time). 2nd ed., Cairo: Sina’ li’l-Nashr, 1992. _____ Al-Islam al-Siyasi (Political Islam). 4th ed., Cairo: Maktabat al-Madbuli alSaghir, 1996. _____ Al-Riba wa’l-Fa’ida fi al-Islam (Interest and Profit in Islam). 2nd ed., Cairo: Maktabat al-Madbuli al-Saghir, 1996. _____ Al-Khilafa al-Islamiyya (The Islamic Caliphate). 3rd ed., Cairo: Maktabat Madbuli al-Saghir, 1996. _____ Usul al-Shari‘a (The Fundamentals of Islamic Law). 4th ed., Cairo: Maktabat Madbuli al-Saghir, 1996. _____ Jawhar al-Islam (The Essence of Islam). 4th ed., Cairo: Maktabat Madbuli al-Saghir, 1996. _____ Al-Shari‘a al-Islamiyya wa’l-Qanun al-Misri (Islamic Legal Tradition and Egyptian Law). Cairo: Maktabat Madbuli al-Saghir, 1996. ‘Awwa, Muhammad Salim. "Al-Ta‘addudiyya al-Siyasiyya min Manzur Islami" ("Political Pluralism from an Islamic Perspective"), in ‘Azzam Tamimi (ed.), Musharakat al-Islamiyyin fi al-Sulta (The Islamists’ Participation in Government). London: Liberty for the Muslim World, 1994. pp. 25-37. Al-A‘zami, Muhammad Hasan. Haqiqat al-Baha’iyya wa’l-Qadyaniyya (The Truth about the Baha’iyya and Qadyaniyya). Beirut: Mu’assasat al-A‘lami li’lMatbu‘at, 1973). ‘Aziz, ‘Abd al-Ja‘far. Man Qatala Faraj Fuda (Who Killed Faraj Fuda). Cairo: Dar al-Tiba‘a wa’l-Nashr al-Islamiyya, 1992.

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Bahansi, Ahmad Fathi. Al-Siyasa al-Juna’iyya fi al-Shari‘a al-Islamiyya (Criminal Policy in the Islamic Shari‘a). 2nd ed., Cairo: Dar al-Shuruq, 1988. Al-Banna, Hasan. Majmu‘at Rasa’il al-Imam al-Shahid (Collection of Tracts of the Martyr Imam). Beirut: al-Mu’assasa al-Islamiyya, n.d. Al-Basir, Hamdi. "Jama‘at al-Ikhwan al-Muslimin wa’l-Tanshi’a al-Siyasiyya li’lShabab" (The Muslim Brotherhood and the Political Education for the Youth), in Kamal al-Manufi and Hasanayn Tawfiq (eds.), Al-Thaqafa alSiyasiyya fi Misr (Political Culture in Egypt). Cairo: Markaz al-Buhuth wa’l Dirasat al-Siyasiyya, 1994. Vol. 2, pp. 1119-1220. Al-Din, Fu’ad Saraj. Li-Madha al-Hizb al-Jadid (Why Establish the New Party). Cairo: Dar al-Shuruq, 1977. Fuda, Faraj. Al-Wafd wa’l-Mustaqbal (The Wafd and the Future). Cairo: n.p., 1983. _____ Qabla al-Suqut (Before the Fall). Cairo: writer’s edition, 1985. _____ Hiwar hawla al-‘Almaniyya (Debating Secularism). Cairo: Dar al-Mahrusa li’l-Nashr, 1986. _____ Al-Haqiqa al-Gha’iba (The Absent Truth). Cairo: Dar al-Fikr, 1986. _____ Al-Irhab (Terror). Cairo: Dar Misr al-Jadida, 1988. _____ Al-Mal‘ub: Shirkat Tawzif al-Amwal (Chicanery: the [Islamic] Investment Companies). 2ed nd., Cairo: Dar Misr al-Jadida, 1988. _____ Al-Nadhir (The Sounder of the Alarm). Cairo: Dar Misr al-Jadida, 1989. _____ Nakun aw la Nakun. (To Be or Not to Be) Cairo: Dar Misr al-Jadida, 1990. _____ Hatta la Yakun Kalaman fi al-Hawa’ (Avoiding Idle Talk). Cairo: Dar alMa‘arif, 1992. _____ Zawaj al-Mut‘a (Marriage of Convenience). Cairo: al-Dar al-Arabiyya, 1993. _____ "Al-Aqalliyyat wa-Huquq al-Insan" ("Minorities and Human Rights"), Adab wa-Naqd (July 1992), pp. 10-19. _____ "Al-Fitna al-Ta’ifiyya" (Sectarian Strife), in Faraj Fuda, Yunan Labib Rizq and Khalil ‘Abd al-Karim (eds.), Al-Ta’ifiyya ila Ayn? (Sectarianism – Where to?) Cairo: Dar Misr al-Jadid, 1987, pp. 11-58. _____ "‘Ala Hamid wa-Hurriyyat al-I‘itiqad" ("‘Ala Hamid and the Freedom of Belief"), in [no editor], Huriyyat al-Ra’y wa’l-‘Aqida. Cairo: al-Munazzama al-Misriyya li’l-Huquq al-Insan, 1994. Vol. 2, pp. 220-224. Al-Ghazali, Muhammad. Min huna Na‘lamu (Our Beginning in Wisdom). 5th ed., Cairo: Dar al-Kutub al-Haditha, n.d. _____ Huquq al-Insan bayna Ta‘alim al-Islam wa-I‘lan al-Umam al-Muttahida (Human Rights between Islamic Teaching and the U.N. Declaration of Human Rights). Cairo: al-Maktaba al-Tijariyya al-Kubra, 1963. _____ Al-Islam wa’l-Istibdad al-Siyasi (Islam and Political Tyranny). Cairo: Dar alKutub al-Haditha, 1961. _____ Al-Ta‘assub wa’l-Tasamuh bayna al-Masihiyya wa’l-Islam (Fanaticism and Tolerance in Christianity and Islam). Cairo: Dar al-Kitab al-‘Arabi, n.d. _____ "Harakat al-Irtidad bayna al-Madi wa’l-Hadir" (Renouncing the Faith, Past and Present), in Qutb ‘Abd al-Hamid (ed.), Khutab al-Shaykh Muhammad al-Ghazali fi Shu’un al-Din wa’l-Haya (Sermons by Shaykh Muhammad alGhazali on Religious and Worldly Affairs). Cairo: Dar al-I‘tisam. 1989, Vol. 4, pp. 40-50.

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Ibn Kathir, ‘Imad al-Din. Al-Bidaya wa’l al-Nihaya (The Beginning and the End). Beirut: Maktabat al-Ma‘arif, 1966. Vol. 3. Ibn Qasim, ‘Abd al-Rahman (ed.), Majmu‘ Fatawat Shaykh al-Islam Ahmad Ibn Taymiyya (Collection of Ibn Taymiyya’s Legal Opinions). Cairo: Maktabat Ibn Taymiyya, n.d. Vol. 3. Ibn Sa‘d, Muhammad. Al-Tabaqat al-Kubra (The Great Book of Generations). Beirut: Dar Sadir, 1957. Vol. 3. Ibrahim, Husayn Tawfiq. Al-Nizam al-Siyasi wa’l-Ikhwan al-Muslimun fi Misr (The Regime and the Muslim Brotherhood in Egypt). Beirut: Dar al-Tali‘a, 1998. Al-‘Idwi, Mustafa. ‘Umar al-Tilmisani bayna al-Shabab wa-Hikmat al-Shuyukh (‘Umar al-Tilmisani: Between the Youth and the Wisdom of the Elders). Giza: Dar al-Aqsa li’l-Kitab, 1987. ‘Imara, Muhammad. Al-Islam wa-Usul al-Hukm li-‘Ali ‘Abd al-Raziq: Dirasa waWatha’iq ("‘Ali ‘Abd al-Raziq’s Book 'Islam and the Sources of Political Authority': Studies and Documents"). Beirut: al-Mu’assasa al-‘Arabiyya li’lDirasat wa’l-Nahsr, 1972. _____ Al-Dawla al-Islamiyya bayna al-‘Almaniyya wa’l-Sulta al-Diniyya (The Islamic State: Between Secularism and Religious Theocracy). Cairo: Dar al-Shuruq, 1988. _____ Al-Tariq ila al-Yaqza al-Islamiyya (The Path to Islamic Awakening). Cairo: Dar al-Shuruq, 1990. _____ Hal al-Islam Huwa al-Hall? (Is Islam the Solution?). Cairo: Dar al-Shuruq, 1995. _____ Suqut al-Ghuluw al-‘Almani (The Collapse of Extremist Secularism). Cairo: Dar al-Shuruq, 1995. Jawdat, Ahmad (ed.), Hiwarat Hawla al-Shari‘a (Debates on Islamic Law). Cairo: Sina li’l-Nashr, 1990. Al-Jawziyya, Ibn Qayyim. I‘lam al-Muwaqqi‘in ‘an Rabb al-‘Alamin (Guiding those who Perform for God). Beirut: Dar al-Jil, 1973. Vol. 3. Al-Jundi, Anwar. I‘adat al-Nazar fi Kitabat al-‘Asriyyin fi Daw’ al-Islam (Reconsidering Contemporary Writings from an Islamic Perspective). Cairo: Dar al-I‘tisam, 1985. Kamil, ‘Umar ‘Abdallah. Al-Mutatarrifun (The Extremists). Cairo: Maktab al-Turath al-Islami, 1998. Khalafallah, ‘Abdallah. Al-Nazariyyat fi al-Islam (Schools of Thought in Islam). Cairo: n.p., 1984. Khalid, Khalid Muhammad. Min Huna Nabda’ (From Here We Begin). 6th ed., Cairo: Dar al-Fikr al-‘Arabi, 1952. _____ Al-Dimuqratiyya Abadan (Democracy Forever). 2nd ed., Cairo: Dar alFikr al-‘Arabi, 1953. _____ Muwatinun la Ri‘aya (Citizens, not Subjects). 4th ed., Cairo: Maktabat Wahba, 1951. _____ Bayna Yadayy ‘Umar (Addressing ‘Umar’s Era). 3rd ed., Cairo: Maktabat alAnjlo al-Misriyya, 1969. _____ Waja’a Abu Bakr (Abu Bakr’s Rise to Power). 2nd ed., Cairo: Maktabat alAnjlo al-Misriyya, 1969. _____ Al-Dawla fi al-Islam (The State in Islam). Cairo: Dar Thabit, 1981.

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_____Qissati ma‘a al-Hayat (The Story of My Life). Cairo: Dar Akhbar al-Yawm, 1993. _____ Difa‘ ‘an al-Dimuqratiyya (In Defense of Democracy). Cairo: Dar Thabit, 1985. _____ Al-Din fi Khidmat al-Sha‘b (Religion in the Service of the People). 2nd ed., Cairo: Maktabat Wahba, 1960. Mahfuz, Najib. Hawla al-Din wa’l-Dimuqratiyya (On Religion and Democracy). Cairo: al-Dar al-Misriyya al-Lubnaniyya, 1990. Mashhur, Mustafa. Tariq al-Da‘wa bayna al-Asala wa’l-Inhiraf (A Preaching Strategy: the Authentic and the Deviant). Cairo: n.p., 1984. _____ Al-Tayyar al-Islami wa-Dawruhu fi al-Bina’ (The Islamic Trend and its Role in Rebuilding Society). Cairo: al-Tawzi‘ wa’l-Nashr al-Islamiyya, 1987. _____ Al-Qiyada wa’l-Jundiyya ‘ala Tariq al-Da‘wa (Commanders and Soldiers in the Call to Islam). Alexandria: Dar al-Da‘wa, n.d. Al-Mas‘udi, Abu al-Hasan ‘Ali. Muruj al-Dhahab (Meadows of Gold). 4th ed., Cairo: al-Maktaba al-Tijariyya al-Kubra, 1964. Vol. 1. Mustafa, Hala. Al-Nizam al-Siyasi wa’l-Mu‘arada al-Islamiyya fi Misr (The Political Regime and the Islamic Opposition in Egypt). Cairo: Markaz al-Mahrusa, 1995. Al-Nabahani, Taqi al-Din. Nizam al-Islam (The Islamic System of Government). Jerusalem: Manshurat Hizb al-Tahrir, 1953. Al-Najjar, Husayn Fawzi. Haykal wa-Hayat Muhammad (Haykal and the Life of Muhammad). Cairo: Dar al-Shuruq, 1970. Al-Najjar, Sa‘id. Tajdid al-Nizam al-Iqtisadi wa’l-Siyasi fi Misr (Renovating the Economic and Political Systems in Egypt). Cairo: Dar al-Shuruq, 1997. Vol. 1. Al-Qaradawi, Yusuf. Al-Sabr fi al-Qur’an (Forbearance in the Qur’an). Cairo: Maktabat Wahba, 1970. _____ Al-Halal wa’l-Haram fi al-Islam (The Lawful and the Forbidden in Islam). 7th ed., Beirut: al-Maktab al-Islami, 1973. _____ Zahirat al-Ghuluw fi al-Tafkir (Extremism in Accusations of Heresy) Cairo: Jami‘at al-Qahira, 1976. _____ Ghayr al-Muslimin fi al-Mujtama‘ al-Islami (Non-Muslims in Islamic Society). 2nd ed., Beirut: Mu’assasat al-Risala, 1983. _____ Awwaliyyat al-Haraka al-Islamiyya fi al-Marhala al-Qadima (The Fundamentals of the Islamic Movement in the Next Stage) 12th ed., Beirut: Mu’assasat al-Risala, 1991. _____ Al-Sahwa al-Islamiyya wa-Humum al-Watan al-‘Arabi al-Islami (Islamic Resurgence and the Concerns of the Arab-Islamic Homeland). Beirut: Dar al-Shuruq, 1993. _____ Fatawa Mu‘asira (Contemporary Legal Rulings). Kuwait: Dar al-Qalam, 1994. Vol. 2 _____ Malamih al-Mujtama‘ al-Muslim alladhi Nunshiduha (The Features of the Muslim Society that We Seek). Beirut: Mu’assasat al-Risala, 1996. _____ Jarimat al-Ridda (The Crime of Apostasy). Amman: Dar al-Furqan, 1996. Al-Qimni, Sayyid Mahmud. Al-Hizb al-Hashimi wa-Ta’sis al-Dawla al-Islamiyya (The Hashemite Faction and the Founding of the Islamic State). Cairo: Sina’ li’l-Nashr, 1990.

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_____ Hurub Dawlat al-Rasul (Wars of the Prophet’s State). Cairo: Sina’ li’l-Nashr, 1993. Qutb, Muhammad. Hal Nahnu Muslimun (Are We Still Muslims). 2nd ed., Cairo: Maktabat Wahaba, 1968. _____ Waqi‘una al-Mu‘asir (Our Present Reality). 3rd ed., Mu’assasat al-Madina, 1989. _____ Hawla Tatbiq al-Shari‘a (On Implementing Islamic Law). Cairo: Maktabat al-Sunna, 1991. Qutb, Sayyid. Al-‘Adala al-Ijtim‘aiyya fi al-Islam (Social Justice in Islam). 6th ed., Beirut: Dar al-Shuruq, 1979. _____ Ma‘alim fi al-Tariq (Milestones). Cairo: Dar al-Shuruq, n.d. _____ Fi Zalal al-Qur’an (In the Shadow of the Qur’an). 2nd ed., Cairo: Dar Ihya’ al-Kutub al-‘Arabiyya, 1961, Vol. 3, 6. Al-Rafi‘i, ‘Abd al-Rahman. Fi A‘qab al-Thawra al-Misriyya (The Aftermath of the Egyptian Revolution). Cairo: Maktab al-Nahda al-Misriyya, 1947-1951. 3 Vols. Ramih, Tal‘at. Al-Wasat wa’l-Ikhwan (The Wasat Party and the Brotherhood). Cairo: Markaz Yafa, 1997. Sabiq, al-Sayyid. Fiqh al-Sunna (Sunna Jurisprudence). Beirut: Dar al-Kitab al‘Arabi, 1969. Al-Sayyid, Ahmad Lutfi (ed.). Al-Duktur Muhammad Husayn Haykal (Dr. Muhammad Husayn Haykal). Cairo: Matba‘at Misr, 1958. Shaltut, Mahmud. Al-Islam ‘Aqida wa-Shari‘a (Islam: Faith and Law). 2nd ed., Dar al-Qalam, n.d. Al-Sha‘rawi, Muhammad Mitwalli. ‘Ala Ma’idat al-Fikr al-Islami (Islamic Thought Observed). Beirut: Dar al-‘Awda, 1982. Al-Sharif, Muhammad. ‘Ala Hamish al-Dustur (On the Margins of the [1923] Constitution). Cairo: n.p., 1938. Vol. 1. Shukri, Ghali. Al-Aqbat fi Watan Mutaghayyir (The Copts in a Changing Homeland) Cairo: Dar al-Shuruq, 1991. Al-Suyuti, Jalal al-Din. Ta’rikh al-Khulafa’ (A History of the Caliphs). 3rd ed., Cairo: al-Maktaba al-Tijariyya al-Kubra, 1964. Al-Tabari, Ibn Jarir. Ta’rikh al-Rusul wa’l-Muluk (A History of Prophets and Kings). Beirut: Dar al-Qamus al-Hadith, n.d. Vol. 5. Al-Tilmisani, ‘Umar. Ayyam ma‘a al-Sadat (Days with Sadat). Cairo: Dar al-I‘itisam, 1984. _____ Dhikrayat la Mudhakkarat (Memoirs, not Memoranda). Cairo: Dar al-Tiba‘a wa’l Nashr al-Islamiyya, n.d. Yasin, ‘Abd al-Jawwad. Muqaddima fi Fiqh al-Jahiliyya al-Mu‘asira (Prolegomena to Contemporary Paganist Thought) Cairo: Dar al-Zahra’, 1987. Yusuf, al-Sayyid, Al-Ikhwan al-Muslimun: Hall Hiya Sahwa Islamiyya? (The Muslim Brotherhood: Is it an Islamic Resurgence?). Cairo: Markaz al-Mahrusa, 1994. Vol. 3. Zakariya, Fu’ad. Al-Haqiqa wa’l-Wahm fi al-Haraka al-Islamiyya al-Mu‘asira (Reality and Myth in the Contemporary Islamic Movement). 3rd ed., Cairo: Dar al-Fikr, 1988. Al-Zumur, ‘Abbud. Al-Wa‘i wa’l-Thawra (Consciousness and Revolution). Ramalla: n.p., 1992.

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Books and Articles in European Languages

Abaza, Mona. Debates on Islam and Knowledge in Malaysia and Egypt. London: Routledge Curzon, 2002. Abdelnasser, Walid M. The Islamic Movement in Egypt. London: Kegan Paul International, 1994. Abed-Kotob, Sana. "The Accommodationists Speak: Goals and Strategies of the Muslim Brotherhood of Egypt," IJMES 27 (1995), pp. 321-339. Abou El Fadl, Khaled. Rebellion and Violence in Islamic Law. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001. Abrahamian, Ervand. Khomenism. London: I.B. Tauris, 1993. Abu Zayd, Nasr Hamid. "The Modernization of Islam or the Islamization of Modernity," in Roel Meijer (ed.). Cosmopolitanism, Identity and Authenticity in the Middle East (Richmond: Curzon, 1999), pp. 71-85. Abu Zaid, Nasr with Esther R. Nelson. Voice of an Exile: Reflections on Islam. Westport, Conn.: Praeger, 2004 Adams, Charles C. Islam and Modernism in Egypt. London: Oxford University Press, 1933. Ajami, Fouad. The Arab Predicament. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1982. Akhavi, Shahrough. "Sunni Modernist Theories of Social Contract in Contemporary Egypt," IJMES 35 (2003), pp. 23-49. Alatas, S. Hussein. Intellectuals in Developing Societies. London: Frank Cass, 1977. Almond, Gabriel A., R. Scott Appleby and Emmanuel Sivan. Strong Religion: The Rise of Fundamentalism around the World. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 2003. Altman, Israel. "Islamic Movements in Egypt," The Jerusalem Quarterly 10 (Winter 1979), pp. 87-105. Ansari, Hamid. "Sectarian Conflict in Egypt and the Political Expediency of Religion," MEJ 38 (1984), pp. 397-418. Ansari, Hamid N. "The Islamic Militants Egyptian Politics," MEJ 16 (1984), pp. 123-144. Apter, David. The Politics of Modernization. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1965. Arabi, Oussama. Studies in Modern Islamic Law and Jurisprudence. The Hague: Kluwer Law International, 2001. Asad, Talal. The Idea of Anthropology of Islam. Washington, D.C.: Center for Contemporary Arab Studies, March 1986. Ayalon, Ami. "Egypt’s Coptic Pandora’s Box," in Ofra Bengio and Gabriel Ben-Dor (eds.). Minorities and the State in the Arab World. Boulder: Lynne Rienner

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index

‘Abbas (Khedive), 109 ‘Abbasid dynasty, 75, 76, 80 ‘Abbasids, 132 ‘Abd al-Hadi, Ibrahim, 18, 49 ‘Abd al-Ghani, Safwat, 66, 68, 70 ‘Abd al-Karim, Khalil, 114 ‘Abd al-Malik (Umayyad caliph), 76, 89, 150 ‘Abd al-Nasser, Gamal, see al-Nasser ‘Abd al-Rahman, ‘Umar, 65, 99, 198 (n. 75), 215 (n. 35) ‘Abd al-Raziq, ‘Ali, 16-19, 26-27, 4243, 64-65, 113, 119-21, 187 (nn. 19, 26, 28), 189 (n. 59), 211 (nn. 34, 35) ‘Abduh, Muhammad, 113, 172 Abu Bakr, 21, 23, 64, 74-75, 80, 89, 104, 119, 124, 133, 146, 149, 198 (n. 86), 201-2 (nn. 39, 40), 209 (n. 1) Abu Basha, Hasan, 102 Abu Hanifa (Hanafi school of law), 77, 83, 88, 125 Abu Isma‘il, Salah, 54-56, 62 Abu Majd, Kamal, 156 Abu Muslim, collector of hadiths, 83, 123 Abu al-Nasr, Hamid, 102, 159 Abu Zayd, Nasr Hamid, 176, 179, 223 (n. 30) Afghanistan, 158, 217 ‘Aflaq, Michel, 185 (n. 27) ahl al-dhimma, see dimmis Alatas, Sayyid, 31, 151, 164 Algeria, 158, 180, 211 (n. 35) ‘Ali b. Abu Talib (fourth caliph), 64, 75, 91, 129 Amin, Ahmad, 122

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Amin, Husayn Ahmad, 114, 122-26, 130-32, 134, 141, 175-76, 178 Amin, Qasim, 113 Al-‘Aqqad, ‘Abbas Mahmud, 113, 137, 200 (n. 10) Arab socialism, 29, 38 The Arab Socialist Union (ASU), 49, 104 Arabian Peninsula, 2, 23, 25, 120, 125, 183 (n. 8) Arabism, see pan-Arabism Asad, Talal, 71 Al-‘Ashmawi, Muhammad Sa‘id, 114, 122, 127-34, 138, 141, 175-76, 178, 210 (nn. 23, 27), 211 (nn. 31, 44) ‘Ashmawi, Salah, 37 Ataturk, see Kemal, Mustafa ‘Awad, Louis, 114 Al-‘Awwa, Muhammad Salim, 156, 166, 169, 178 ‘Ayn-Shams University, 48, 134 Ayubi, Nazih, 134 Al-Azhar, Azharist, 14-19, 21-22, 24, 27-29, 35-37, 55, 63-64, 68-69, 110, 130, 173-74, 187 (n. 26), 188 (n. 31), 203 (n. 58), 210 (n. 27), 220-21 (n. 3), 239 ‘Aziz, ‘Abd al-Ghafar, 66-67 Bahais, 110-11, 154, 207 (n. 42) Baker, Raymond W., 218 (n. 32) Bakhit, Muhammad, 15 Balal, Muhammad, 53 Al-Banna, Hasan, 27, 30, 95, 98, 106, 108, 151, 162-63 Al-Bashir, ‘Umar, 216 (n. 1) bay‘a (oath of allegiance), 74, 89-90,

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145, 162 Berque, Jacques, 14 Al-Bishri, Tariq, 40, 156, 163, 175 Britain (British), 5, 13-15, 19, 100, 112, 136, 152, 180 Al-Bukhari, collector of hadiths, 83, 123 Camp David accords, 94 Charfi, ‘Abd al-Majid, 176 Christians, Christianity, 1, 14, 23, 7172, 123, 128, 142-43, 151, 154, 159, 161, 164-65, 171-72, 188 (n. 40), 220 (n. 50) Communists, Communism, 8, 149 Copts, Coptic, 9, 15, 20, 32, 36, 47, 48, 52, 56, 59, 61-62, 67-68, 92, 96, 101, 110-13, 115, 151, 159, 161, 164-65, 169, 188 (n. 40), 206 (n. 29), 207 (n. 38), 218-19 (nn. 34, 41), 221 (n. 14) Crecelius, Daniel, 29 da‘wa (communal activity), 31, 162 dimmis, 14, 151, 164 Al-Dinawari, Abu Hanifa, 80 Druze, 154 effendiyya, 21 Egyptian Enlightenment Society, 60, 69, 177, 222 Egyptian Society for Human Rights, 60, 69 Eisenstadt, S.N., 6 Faraj, ‘Abd al-Salam, 73 Faraj, Ibrahim, 51 Faruq (King), 53, 55 fatwa(s) (legal responsum), 65, 76 Fawzi, Husayn, 174 fellahin, 108, 160, 196 (n. 53) Feuer, Lewis, 176 fiqh (Islamic jurisprudence), 148 fitna (civil war), 2 France, French, 3, 25, 56, 93, 152, 180, 204 (n. 89) Front Islamique du Salut (FIS), 180 Fu’ad (King), 15, 26

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Fuda, Faraj, 3, 9-10, 43, 47-50, 52-83, 85-115, 119-22, 131, 134, 13738, 141, 149, 175-78, 185 (n. 31), 194 (nn. 4, 7), 195 (nn. 26, 27), 196 (nn. 34, 46, 47, 48, 50), 19697 (nn. 53, 58, 63), 198 (n. 78), 199 (nn. 93, 95), 200 (nn. 10, 14), 201 (nn. 29, 39), 201-2 (nn. 40, 48, 51), 203 (n. 58), 204 (n. 80), 205 (nn. 2, 4, 12), 206 (n. 29), 207 (n. 38), 208 (nn. 44, 50, 1, 2), 209 (nn. 3, 9, 4), 211 (n. 31) Germany, 105, 180 Gershoni, Israel, 6 Al-Ghazali, Muhammad, 24-26, 6870, 137, 139, 141, 144, 146-48, 150-51, 153-56, 163, 177, 198 (n. 87), 199 (n. 93), 214-15 (n. 34) Gibb, H.A.R., 71 Gokalp, Ziya, 185 (n. 27) Habib, Rafiq, 159-61, 163-64, 166-67 hadith(s), 27, 59, 76, 83, 123-24, 149 hajj (pilgrimage), 141 Al-Hakim, Tawfiq, 15, 40, 174 hakimiyya (sovereignty of God), 31, 41, 127, 129, 134 Hanafi, Hasan, 40, 175 Ul-Haq, Zia, 149 Hasan, ‘Abd al-Fattah, 51 Hawwa, Sa‘id, 154 Haykal, Muhammad Husayn, 15, 21, 27, 185 (n. 27), 200 (n. 10), 208 (n. 2) Hijaz, 41, 77, 125 Hobsbawm, Eric, 81 Al-Hudaybi, Hasan, 31 Al-Hudaybi, Ma’mun, 67, 162, 215 (n. 40) hudud (Qur’anic punishments), 25, 33, 41, 83, 98, 101, 124, 128-31, 133, 136, 147, 150-51, 166 Hourani, Albert, 6 Husayn, ‘Adil, 40, 175 Husayn, Saddam, 94, 194 (n. 7) Husayn, Taha, 15-16, 64, 113, 185 (n. 27), 186 (n. 11), 209 (n. 3)

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Index Husri, Sati‘, 185 (n. 27) Huwaydi, Fahmi, 63, 69-70, 87, 130, 137, 139-41, 143-44, 146-48, 150-56, 163, 166, 177, 199 (nn. 95, 96), 218 (n. 32) ‘ibadat (acts of worship), 35 Ibrahim, Sa‘d al-Din, 168, 178 Ibn ‘Abd al-‘Aziz, ‘Umar (‘Abbasid caliph), 75, 80 Ibn al-Athir, ‘Izz al-Din, 78, 80 Ibn Hanbal, Ahmad (Hanbali school of law), 84, 94, 201 (n. 29) Ibn Hazm, Abu Muhammad, 150 Ibn Ishaq, Muhammad, 79, 122 Ibn Kathir, ‘Imad al-Din, 78 Ibn Khaldun Center, 178 Ibn Maja, ‘Abd Allah, 123 Ibn Sa‘d, Muhammad, 122 Ibn Taymiyya, Taqi al-Din, 2, 188 (n. 82), 199 (n. 96) Ibn Yusuf, al-Hajjaj, 41, 76 Idris, Yusuf, 40, 174 ijtihad (legal reasoning), 59, 64, 66, 81, 125, 128, 135, 137, 139, 144-45, 151, 153, 166, 199 (n. 93), 229 ‘Imara, Muhammad, 130, 137, 139, 141, 143-48, 150-51, 153, 155-56, 166, 177, 218 (n. 32) iqta‘, 22 Iran, 3, 4, 56, 76, 93-94, 97, 113, 120, 134, 140, 148-49, 159 Iraq, 41, 49, 77, 125, 128, 185 (n. 27), 194 (n. 7) Islamic Liberation Party, 5, 145, 189 (n. 57) Islamic Salvation Front (Jordan), 171 Islamic Wasat Party (Jordan), 171-72, 219-20 (n. 49) Isma‘il (Khedive), 109 Isma‘ilites, 154 Israel, 8, 29, 51, 54, 62, 100, 105-6, 166, 171, 175, 211 (n. 33), 218 (n. 23), 220 (n. 52) Jadd al-Haqq, Jadd al-Haqq ‘Ali, 35, 63, 198 (n. 87), 199 (n. 92) jahiliyya (pre-Islamic state of

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ignorance), 31, 112 Al-Jama‘a al-Islamiyya, 33, 65-66, 68 jama‘at (Islamic associations), 32 Jama‘ati Islami (Pakistan), 149 Al-Jawziyya, Ibn Qayyim, 202 (n. 52) Jesus, 22 Jews, Judaism, 2, 14, 71, 110, 123, 127, 145, 151, 208 (n. 44) Al-Jihad (organization), 33 jihad (holy war), 25, 31, 65, 67, 69, 94, 152 jizya (poll tax), 92, 152, 164-65 Johnson, Paul, 7 Justice and Development Party (JDP, Turkey), 216 (n. 1), 220 (n. 50) Justice and Prosperity Party (Indonesia), 220 (n. 50) Kamil, Mustafa, 113 Kemal, Mustafa, 13, 142, 220 (n. 50) Khalafallah, ‘Abdallah, 156, 209 (n. 4) Khalid, Khalid Muhammad, 21-28, 40-43, 90, 113, 119-21, 135, 175, 194 (n. 47), 200 (n. 10), 209 (n. 1), 214-15 (n. 34) Kharijite(s), 91, 104, 129, 149 Khomeini, 3, 5, 56 Kraemer, Joel L., 198 (n. 86) Kuran, Timur, 150 Kurzman, Charles, 176, 221 (n. 11) Labor Party, 37, 40, 59, 99 Liberal Constitutionalist Party, 6, 1618 Liberal Party (Liberals), 37, 50, 55, 58-59, 99 Madi, Abu al-‘Ala, 159-60, 163, 165, 218 (n. 23) Mahfuz, Najib, 40, 57, 134, 174 Al-Mahjub, Rif‘at, 66 Mahmud, ‘Abd al-Halim, 32 Malik ibn Anas (Maliki school of law), 77, 84, 125 Al-Ma’mun (‘Abbasid caliph), 77 Al-Mansur, Ja‘far (‘Abbasid caliph), 77 Al-Maraghi, Muhammad Mustafa, 21, 27-28, 189 (n. 45)

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Mashhur, Mustafa, 37, 159, 162, 165, 170 Al-Mas‘udi, Abu al-Hasan ‘Ali, 79-80, 83, 201-2 (n. 35), 202 (n. 40) Mawdudi, Abu al-‘Ala, 31, 154 Al-Mazini, Ibrahim ‘Abd al-Qadir, 15 Al-Misri, Ibrahim, 16 Morocco, 161, 170-72 Moses, 22 mu‘amalat (human relations), 35 Mu‘awiya (first Umayyad caliph), 64, 75-76, 82, 89, 104, 149 Mubarak, ‘Ali, 113 Mubarak, Husni, ix, 65, 107, 130, 161, 167, 173-74, 180, 195 (n. 17), 218 (n. 23) Muhammad ‘Ali (Pasha), 109 murtadd (apostate), 68. See also ridda. Musa, Salama, 16 Muslim Brotherhood (Egypt), 19, 24, 26-27, 30-34, 36-39, 41, 54-57, 59, 62, 67-68, 92, 95-99, 101-2, 106-8, 115, 120, 139, 156-57, 159-70, 173-74, 180-81, 190 (n. 2), 191 (n. 4), 192 (nn. 16, 28), 195 (nn. 26, 27), 198 (n. 84), 206 (n. 29), 215 (n. 40), 218-19 (nn. 34, 41, 43), 222 (n. 26), 223 (n. 29), 227 Muslim Brotherhood (Jordan), 171, 219-20 (n. 49) Mustafa, Ahmad Shukri, 31 Mustafa, Hala, 168 Mustaqbal Party, 58, 59, 65, 68, 112, 131, 175, 196 (n. 53), 197 (n. 73), 225-40 mut‘a (temporary marriage), 57, 64, 85, 87, 112, 125 Al-Nabahani, Taqi al-Din, 189 (n. 57) Nahhas, Mustafa, 51, 53, 55 Al-Najjar, Sa‘id, 168, 179 Al-Nasa’i, Abu ‘Abd al-Rahman, 123 Al-Nasser, Gamal ‘Abd, 28, 30-31, 38, 49, 50, 52, 54, 100, 102, 106, 109, 135, 164, 173-74, 178, 232 Nasserism, 29, 52, 174, 227 Nasserist(s), 8, 29, 30, 32, 38, 40, 53,

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100, 105, 163, 190 (nn. 69, 70), 218 (n. 23) National Democratic Party (NDP), 34, 53, 103-4, 192 (n. 24) National Progressive Grouping (NPUG), 59, 196 (n. 49) Nettl, J.P, 7 New Wafd Party, 34, 37, 39, 50-57, 177, 194 (n. 11), 195 (nn. 14, 26, 27), 196-97 (nn. 49, 53) Al-Nimr, ‘Abd al-Mun‘im, 91 North Africa, 183 (n. 8) Al-Numayri, Ja‘far, 149 Al-Nuqrashi, Mahmud Fahmi, 18, 30 Ottoman Empire, 13, 71, 109 Pakistan, 31, 93, 97, 113, 120, 149, 215 (n. 35) Pan-Arabism, 8, 20-21, 28-29, 100, 105, 218 (n. 23) Parti du Justice et Dévéloppement (PJD), 170-72 Persian Gulf, 183 (n. 8) Pharaonic, 13, 58, 62, 104, 113, 208 (n. 1), 226, 236 Qabil, Muhammad, 48 qadi(s) (judge), 16, 65 Al-Qa‘ida, 5 Al-Qaradawi, Yusuf, 69-70, 137, 139, 141-42, 144-56, 163, 166, 177, 181, 216 (n. 56), 218 (n. 32) Al-Qimni, Mahmud Sayyid, 114, 209 (n. 4) Quraysh, 75, 89, 149, 211 (n. 34) Qutb, Muhammad, 72, 137, 191 (n. 4) Qutb, Sayyid, 31, 98, 151, 154, 200 (n. 11) Ra’fat, Wahid, 58, 65 Ramadan, ‘Abd al-‘Azim, 114, 196 (n. 47) Rashidun ("rightly guided" caliphs), 73-74, 77, 80, 85, 99, 104, 120, 132, 134 Revolution (July 1952), 3, 28, 42, 50-52, 54,101-2, 164, 173, 195

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Index (n. 20) ridda, 69, 74, 80, 104, 119, 133, 198 (n. 86), 199 (n. 93), 201 (n. 39), 211 (n. 34) Rushdi, Salman, 76 Sadat, ix, 31-34, 50-51, 54, 91, 100, 102, 107, 173-74, 178, 191 (nn. 8, 14), 211 (n. 33), 218 (n. 23), 228 Sadatism, 228 Al-Sa‘dawi, Nawal, 114 Al-Safah, Abu al-‘Abbas (‘Abbasid caliph), 77 sahaba (the Prophet’s companions), 63, 200 (n. 14) Sa‘id (Khedive), 109 Salafis, 4 Al-Sanhuri, ‘Abd al-Raziq, 189 (n. 63) Al-Saqifa, conference of, 89, 203 (n. 73) Saqr, Siham, 49 Sarraj al-Din, Fu’ad, 50-51, 53-54, 56, 195 (nn. 20, 24, 27) Saudi Arabia, 93, 98 Al-Sayyid, Ahmad Lutfi, 16, 61, 113, 185 (n. 27), 209 (n. 3) Shabab Muhammad, 162 Al-Shafi‘i (Shafi‘i school of law), 77, 83, 94, 125, 128 Shamir, Shimon, 176 Shi‘a, Shi‘ite, 4, 80, 110, 149, 178, 202-3 (n. 55) shura, 19, 41-42, 90, 126, 135, 14546, 150, 154, 156, 194 (n. 47) Sidqi, Isma‘il, 18 sira, 122-24 Sivan, Emanuel, 72, Springborg, Robert, 38 Stacher, Joshua A., 218 (n. 32) Starrett, Gregory, 38, 193 (n. 35) Sudan, 58, 93, 97, 110, 113, 115, 120, 140, 148-49, 158, 212 (n. 51), 215 (n. 35), 216 (n. 1), 229, 233 Sufi, Sufism, 5, 29, 123, 163 Sunna, Sunni, 4, 5, 31, 83-85, 88, 90-91, 99, 118, 123-25, 128-29, 148-49, 150, 178 Syria, 4, 75, 158, 185 (n. 27)

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Al-Tabari, Abu Ja‘far Muhammad, 7880, 122-23, 201 (nn. 29, 30) Al-Tahatawi, Rifa‘a Rafi‘, 113 Taliban regime (Afghanistan), 216 (n. 1) Talmon, Jacob, 81 Tamimi, ‘Azzam, 170 Tantawi, Muhamamd Sayyid, 65, 199 (n. 93) taqlid (adherence to a school of law), 125 ta‘zir (discretionary punishment), 129 Triple Alliance, 37, 59, 99, 192 (n. 30) Tunisia, 97, 107, 161, 173, 159, 176 Al-Turabi, Hasan, 110, 216 (n. 1) Turkey, 3, 14, 18, 56, 142, 158, 161, 172-73, 180, 185 (n. 27), 216 (n. 1), 220 (n. 50) ‘ulama’, 2-3, 5, 14, 18, 22, 29, 32, 3536, 66, 68, 71-72, 76, 88-89, 91, 94, 99, 102, 121, 123-24, 126-28, 137, 140-41, 143-44, 148, 149, 153, 163, 174-75, 180, 197 (n. 63), 203 (n. 58), 207 (n. 42), 216 (n. 56), 220-21 (nn. 2, 3) ‘Umar (second caliph), 21, 23, 25, 66, 73-75, 80, 82, 89, 104, 115, 120, 124-25, 127, 133-34, 140, 149, 200 (n. 10), 201-2 (nn. 39, 40) Umayyad dynasty, era, 75-77, 80 Umayyads, 80, 132 United States, 3, 5, 19, 54, 180, 198 (n. 75), 204 (n. 89), 208 (n. 44), 220 (n. 52), 232 Universal Declaration of Human Rights (1948), 61, 111-12, 168, 196 (n. 53) ‘urf (customary law), 71 ‘Uthman (third caliph), 73-74, 79-80, 82, 91, 104, 120, 133, 149, 200 (n. 11), 201-2 (n. 40) Wafd Party, 6, 13, 17, 22, 26, 38, 50, 52, 96, 162, 187 (n. 21) waqf (pl. awqaf) (religious endowment), 18, 111, 187 (n. 26) Al-Waqidi, Muhammad bin ‘Umar,

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264


79, 122 Wasat Party, 57, 159, 160-63, 165, 168-71, 181, 218-19 (nn. 34, 41) wasatiyya (centrist) philosophy, 139, 156, 212 (n. 3) Al-Wathiq (‘Abbasid caliph), 77 Welfare Party (Turkey), 180, 216 (n. 1) Yakan, Fathi, 154 Al-Ya‘qubi, ‘Abu al-Abbas, 80 Yasin, ‘Abd al-Salam, 170

Hatina4.indb 264

Yemen, 41, 141, 161 Young Egypt, 227 Zaghlul, Sa‘d, 13-14, 17, 50-53, 55, 64, 187 (n. 21) Zakariya, Fu’ad, 114, 134-37, 141, 178, 211 (n. 45), 212 (n. 51) zakat (alms tax), 21, 25, 74, 98, 133, 141, 155, 198 (n. 86), 201 (n. 39) Zubaida, Sami, 38

3/10/06 4:42:08 pm

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