Religion, Opinion and Madhhab
Islam is not merely a religious system or a set of rituals and acts of worship. Rather, it is an all-encompassing, divinely revealed way of life that, by the light of revelation, provides human beings with guidance in every aspect of their individual, social and spiritual existence. Its foundation is the Qurʾān, the direct speech of the Lord of the worlds, and the Sunnah of the Messenger صلى الله عليه وسلم, which is the living and practical interpretation of that divine speech. At its core, the teachings of Islam are simple, natural, and universal. Their purpose is to awaken the human conscience, liberate thought and reason, and set man firmly upon his natural path.
The great miracle of the Prophet’s mission was that he connected religion directly to human life without entangling it in philosophical intricacies or abstract theoretical terminology. In the light of revelation, his teaching of the dīn was so clear and natural that the Bedouins of the desert, the merchants of the market, and the simple townsfolk could grasp it and make it part of their lives. It involved no complexity of conceptual jargon, no class barriers, and no stagnation of inherited traditions. The dīn blended into the stream of life like colour in water, and despite human weakness, those who embraced his model rose to new heights of character, morality, knowledge, and wisdom.
Yet history bears witness to a bitter truth: when a revealed or reformative movement moves beyond its initial phase of spirituality and simplicity, institutional stagnation, intellectual prejudice, and vested interests begin to creep in. So it was with Islam. After the death of the Messenger صلى الله عليه وسلم, as Islam engaged with diverse peoples, cultures, and civilisational traditions, new intellectual and practical challenges arose. There was need for interpretation of the Qurʾān and Sunnah, clarification of rulings, and guidance in unprecedented matters. At this stage, fiqh, uṣūl al-fiqh, and the schools of ijtihād emerged. These efforts were undoubtedly marked by sincerity and intellectual breadth, in harmony with the natural spirit of the dīn. The fuqahāʾ guided the ummah as best they could, systematised the principles of the sharīʿah, and shaped the religious sciences into a coherent body of knowledge.
Centres of learning such as Madinah, Kūfah, Baṣrah, Makkah, Egypt, and Syria fostered diverse intellectual traditions. The Companions, the Tābiʿūn, and later the fuqahāʾ, laid down paths of intellectual breadth and ijtihād. Imām Mālik, Imām Abū Ḥanīfah, Imām al-Shāfiʿī, and Imām Aḥmad ibn Ḥanbal established, with great caution, honesty, and sincerity, principles of fiqh rooted in the Qurʾān and Sunnah, thereby giving organised structure to interpretation. Their temperaments were marked by humility, openness, and allowance for difference of opinion. None of them regarded his own view as final. The saying of Imām al-Shāfiʿī, “My opinion is correct, but it may be wrong; and the opinion of my opponent is wrong, but it may be correct” reflects this openness and breadth of vision which was the essence of Islam.
Over time, however, history took a turn which gradually constricted that openness. The dīn, which in the beginning had flourished directly under the light of revelation, the Sunnah of the Prophet, and the lived example of the Companions, began to be confined within narrower boundaries. The juristic opinions—essentially human efforts, intellectual endeavours, and understandings of the revealed texts—came to be fixed into distinct schools. These schools, which had begun as expressions of scholarly diversity and ijtihād, evolved into self-sufficient, often competing, institutions.
Although founded in sincerity and with the intent of providing the ummah with structured guidance in changing circumstances, the interplay of human nature, institutional interests, and inherited habits turned that broad ijtihād into a confined and stagnant framework.
Fiqh, once a living and dynamic intellectual process, became a closed, written, and finalised law. On the one hand, the statements of jurists and imams were regarded as absolute, detached from the context of their times and circumstances; on the other hand, affiliation to a madhhab came to dominate to such an extent that direct recourse to the Qurʾān and Sunnah and their independent understanding was sidelined.
Thus, intellectual stagnation weakened the essential spirit of the dīn—enquiry, reflection, and ijtihād. Scholarly disagreement, which had once been the mark of breadth and depth, turned into sectarian partisanship and factionalism. Each group of followers came to regard its own legal framework as the complete and final form of religion. The attitude of Imām Mālik—“Everyone’s words may be taken or left, except the one in this grave (the Messenger of Allah صلى الله عليه وسلم)”—gradually lost force. The madhhabs extended beyond their bounds to become religious identities, the challenging of which was seen as tantamount to challenging Islam itself.
Religious knowledge, once a means of divine pleasure, of guiding the ummah, and of reforming society, now became a matter of institutional survival and sectarian boundaries. Criticism, renewal, and ijtihād within the madhhabs diminished. Each madhhab pursued its own self-sufficiency, and at times, a sense of superiority over others. The result was that the essentials of religion, rooted in revelation, Sunnah, and ijtihādī insight, were veiled, while the ummah fell deeper into stagnation, prejudice, and division.
Two trends after the fourth century hijrī particularly harmed the spirit of the dīn. First, religious knowledge, once devoted purely to divine pleasure and human betterment, gradually became an inherited legacy, a means of livelihood, and a tool of institutional survival. Madrasahs and institutions, once centres of Qurʾān and Sunnah, ijtihādī insight, and service, succumbed to sectarian, familial, and regional prejudices. Dīn came to be confined to particular madhhabs, text-books, and institutional loyalties. The practice of engaging students in direct reflection upon the Qurʾān and Sunnah weakened. Service of the dīn was replaced by defence of the madhhab; research by rote; sincerity by economic compulsion.
Secondly, some scholars abandoned the natural simplicity of the dīn and the Prophetic model, and instead fused it with Greek philosophy, logic, and speculative systems. The ideas of Plato and Aristotle came to be treated as standards of intellectual profundity. Lost was the realisation that the power of the Qurʾān and Sunnah lay in their natural clarity, their simple style, and their capacity to move both heart and intellect. This infusion of philosophy distanced the dīn from the understanding of ordinary believers. The dīn, once manifest in sincerity, humility, service, and truth, became ensnared in philosophical disputations and technicalities. Its impact upon ordinary Muslims was diminished.
In the Indian subcontinent these two tendencies were especially pronounced. In the madrasahs, the focus was upon narrow understandings of fiqh and creed, and upon Sufi affiliations. The Qurʾān and Sunnah were treated only as confirmatory references, and sometimes narrations were given preference that were not only weak but contrary to the clear teachings of Qurʾān and Sunnah. Madhhab loyalty became so intense that the door of intellectual questioning, ijtihād, or direct engagement with revelation was virtually closed. A climate of reverence for elders arose, whereby their opinions and fatwas came to be treated as final, even when weak in light of Qurʾān and Sunnah.
Still, some institutions and scholarly traditions remained dedicated to freeing the dīn from sectarian prejudice, institutional stagnation, and philosophical entanglement. Their focus was direct recourse to the Qurʾān and Sunnah, promotion of ijtihād, and unconditional pursuit of truth.
This is the way that truly accords with the essence of Islam and can restore the ummah to intellectual freedom, sincerity, and freshness.
Today the Muslim ummah stands at a juncture where it must bring forth again the original truth of the dīn from behind the veils of partisanship, elder-worship, philosophical entanglement, and institutional inertia. The need and importance of fiqh, ijtihād, and scholarly traditions is undeniable. But when these are elevated above the Qurʾān and Sunnah, when intellectual freedom is curtailed, and when religion is confined to the protection of certain groups and institutions, the result is decline, discord, and lifelessness.
The survival of Islam, the restoration of its truth, and the intellectual advancement of the ummah lie in re-establishing interpretation of the dīn upon revelation, the simplicity of the Prophetic Sunnah, the breadth of ijtihād, and the collective consciousness of the ummah. Until the dīn is freed from the confusions of philosophy, the stagnation of fiqh, and the interests of institutions, neither its true spirit can survive, nor its freshness, nor the unity and coherence by which the ummah may again be fit to lead the world.
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Disclaimer: This article was translated by AI. Original post: https://t.me/DrAkramNadwi/6893
