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The Anthropology of Islamic Law:
Education, Ethics, and Legal

Interpretation at Egypt's Al-Azhar Aria
Nakissa
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OXFORD ISLAMIC LEGAL STUDIES
Series Editors:
Anver M. Emon, Clark Lombardi, and Lynn Welchman
T H E A NT HRO PO L O GY O F ISLAMIC LAW

OXFORD ISLAMIC LEGAL STUDIES
Series Editors:
Anver M. Emon, Clark Lombardi, and Lynn Welchman
Satisfying the growing interest in Islam and Islamic law, the Oxford Islamic Legal
Studies series speaks to both specialists and those interested in the study of a
legal tradition that shapes lives and societies across the globe. Islamic law oper-
ates at several levels. It shapes private decision making, binds communities, and
it is also imposed by states as domestic positive law. The series features innova-
tive and interdisciplinary studies that explore Islamic law as it operates at each
of these levels. The series also sheds new light on the history and jurisprudence
of Islamic law and provides for a richer understanding of the state of Islamic law
in the contemporary Muslim world, including parts of the world where Muslims
are minorities.
ALSO AVAILABLE IN THE SERIES:
The Legal Thought of Jalāl al-Dīn al-Suyūṭī
Authority and Legacy
Rebecca Hernandez
Coercion and Responsibility in Islam
A Study in Ethics and Law
Mairaj U. Syed
Islamic Legal Revival
Reception of European Law and Transformations in Islamic Legal Thought
in Egypt, 1875–1952
Leonard Wood
Shari’a and Muslim Minorities
The Wasati and Salafi Approaches to Fiqh al-aqalliyyat al-Muslima
Uriya Shavit
Domestic Violence and the Islamic Tradition
Ayesha S. Chaudhry
Shari’a and Social Engineering
The Implementation of Islamic Law in Contemporary Aceh, Indonesia
R. Michael Feener
Religious Pluralism and Islamic Law
Dhimmis and Others in the Empire Law
Anver M. Emon
Narratives of Islamic Legal Theory
Rumee Ahmed
The Anthropology
of Islamic Law
Education, Ethics, and Legal Interpretation
at Egypt’s Al-Azhar
A RI A NA KI S SA
1
The Anthropology of Islamic Law. Aria Nakissa.
© Aria Nakissa 2019. Published 2019 by Oxford University Press.
1
Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford. It furthers the University’s
objective of excellence in research, scholarship, and education by publishing worldwide. Oxford is a
registered trademark of Oxford University Press in the UK and certain other countries.
Published in the United States of America by Oxford University Press
198 Madison Avenue, New York, NY 10016, United States of America.
© Aria Nakissa 2019
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or
transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of Oxford University
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You must not circulate this work in any other form
and you must impose this same condition on any acquirer.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Nakissa, Aria, author.
Title: The anthropology of Islamic law : education, ethics, and legal interpretation
at Egypt’s al-Azhar / Aria Nakissa.
Description: New York : Oxford University Press, 2019. | Based on author’s thesis in cultural
anthropology (doctoral—Harvard University, 2012) issued under title: Islamic law and
legal education in modern Egypt. | Includes bibliographical references and index.
Identifiers: LCCN 2018048553 | ISBN 9780190932886 ((hardback) : alk. paper)
Subjects: LCSH: Jami ʿat al-Azhar. | Islamic law—Study and teaching. | Islamic law—Egypt.
Classification: LCC KBP43. E32 J36 2019 | DDC 297.1/40181—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018048553
1 3 5 7 9 8 6 4 2
Printed by Sheridan Books, Inc., United States of America
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Series Editors’ Preface
The Oxford Islamic Legal Studies Series is pleased to include Aria Nakissa’s The
Anthropology of Islamic Law among its lauded list of monographs. Nakissa’s mono-
graph is an important study that blends two distinct disciplinary approaches to
the study of Islam. Historically, the study of Islam and Islamic law (especially in
North America) has been framed by the poles of philology on the one hand, and
anthropology on the other. The former informs the curriculum of long-standing
area studies programs, whereas the latter has increasingly informed the curric-
ulum, training, and production of knowledge in religious studies departments.
The two disciplinary vantage points present distinct orientations and starting
points in the study of Islam and Islamic law.
Nakissa’s study is an attempt to bring the two approaches together. Through a
close study of Islamic law as taught in the seminary classroom, Nakissa not only
illuminates a specific environment of teaching, training, and knowledge trans-
mission, but also interrogates the disciplinary formation of Islamic legal studies
as a subfield of study and research. He blends a rich and deliberate ethnographic
account of seminary training in al-Azhar, a major Sunni institution of learning,
with close readings of the texts taught in those classrooms. His ethnographic
account integrates the texts from which al-Azhar’s instructors teach. By lo-
cating his ethnography in the classroom, Nakissa brings together ethnography
with text-based analysis to perform a composite study that, by this very char-
acteristic, makes his study an important contribution to advanced research on
Islamic legal studies.
Anver M. Emon
Clark B. Lombardi
Lynn Welchman
Contents
Acknowledgments xi
Introduction: Theoretical Orientation and Methodology 1

I. Theoretical Orientation 4
II. Hermeneutic Theory, Practice Theory, and Ethnography 7
III. Methodological Remarks 12
IV. The Overall Structure of the Book 16
SECTION I: THEORY, ETHNOGRAPHY, HISTORY

1. Hermeneutic Theory and Practice Theory in the Study of
Cultural, Legal, and Religious Traditions 21
I. Signs and Hermeneutic Theory 21
II. Geertz, Signs, and the Anthropological Analysis of Religion 25
III. Breaking from Geertz’s Analysis of Signs in Culture and Religion 27
A. Mental Causation 27
B. Mental Causation, Rational Action, and Instrumental Rationality 28
C. Mental Causation and Chains of Effects 31
IV. Asad’s Critique of Geertz, and Its Implications for the Anthropology of
Religion/Islam 33
V. Knowledge of Sharīʿa Rules as Knowledge of Mental Attributes 35
VI. Hermeneutic Analysis and the Transmission of Knowledge of Sharīʿa Rules 38
A. The Qurʾan 38
B. The Reported Obedient Actions of the Prophet Muḥammad (Sunna) 39
C. The Reported Obedient Actions of Past Religious Scholars 43
D. The Observed Obedient Actions of Present-Day Religious Scholars 45
VII. The Holistic Character of Hermeneutic Cultural Analysis 45
A. Interrelations among Desires, Beliefs, and Intentions 46
B. A Coherent Overall Picture of the Mind 46
VIII. Relativism in Hermeneutic Cultural Analysis 48
IX. Hermeneutic Theory versus Practice Theory on the Analysis of Rules 50
A. First Claim: Rules and Control 50
B. Second Claim: Rules as Guides for Human Behavior 51
C. Third Claim: Transmitting Knowledge of Rules through Practice 56
X. Acquiring Knowledge of Another Mind through Practice 58
XI. Acquiring Knowledge of Rules through Texts, Observation, and Practice 60
XII. Conclusion 62
2. Higher Religious Learning in Modern Egypt 65
I. Premodern Egyptian Religious Education 65
II. Modernizing Education 67
III. Government Fears of Islamism 75
IV. Al-Azhar at Present 77
viii Contents
V. Al-Azhar Mosque at Present 79

VI. The Dār al-ʿUlūm at Present 81
VII. The Socioeconomic Lives of Religious Scholars 82
VIII. Status Differentials among Religious Scholars 87
SECTION II: TRADITIONAL ISLAMIC LEARNING

AND LEGAL DOCTRINE
3. Sharīʿa, Sunna, and Ethics 91
I. Islam, Ethics, and Practice Theory 91
II. Islamic Ethics 94
III. Practice, Sharīʿa, Sunna 98
IV. Sharīʿa and Sunna 103
V. The Two Aspects of the Concept of Sunna 106
VI. Sharīʿa and the Role of the Sufi Shaykh 107
VII. The Dispositions of God and the Prophet 108
VIII. Ethics and Sharīʿa Knowledge 111
IX. Theorizing Ethics and Legal Knowledge 114
X. Ethics and Legal Judgment 120
4. Acquiring Knowledge through Companionship (Ṣuḥba) 123
I. Knowledge as a Craft 125
II. Companionship 127
III. Companionship among Later Scholars 128
IV. Sons and Fathers 132
V. The Structure of Companionship 134
VI. Companionship and Learning through Observation 134
VII. Direct Witnessing and Baraka 137
VIII. Companionship and Learning through Practice 142
IX. Punishment in Companionship 144
X. Punishment at Later Ages 146
5. The Sanad 149
I. The Sanad and Companionship 150
II. The Sanad and the Limitations of Learning through Texts 153
III. Written Texts as a Medium for the Transmission of Knowledge 157
6. Taking from the Mouths of Shaykhs (Mushāfaha) 159
I. Mushāfaha and Orality 160
II. Texts Rather than Courses 161
III. Memorization 161
IV. The Sanad and the Ijāza 163
V. Three Modes of Transmission 164
VI. Matns and Commentary 167
VII. Taking from the Mouths of Shaykhs and Companionship 171
VIII. Independent Reading and Heresy 176
IX. Ijāzas Revisited 177
Contents ix
SECTION III: A NEW PERSPECTIVE ON ISLAMIC LEGAL DOCTRINE

7. The Structure of Islamic Legal Thought 181
I. Planning Theory and Instrumental Rationality 182
II. Intentions/Rules Are Partially Instrumentally Rational and Partially
Arbitrary/Non-rational 183
A. Buridan problems, Instrumental Rationality, Non-rationality 183
B. Sharīʿa Rules 188
III. New Circumstances Can Prompt the Abandonment and Reformation of
Intentions/Rules 198
A. Abandoning and Reforming Intentions 198
B. Abandoning and Reforming Rules 201
IV. Language and the Principles of Islamic Legal Interpretation: Ẓāhir
al-Naṣṣ, Qiyās, Istiṣlaḥ, Istiḥsān 205
A. Ẓāhir al-Naṣṣ 206
B. Qiyās 206
C. Istiṣlāḥ 207
D. Istiḥsān 208
V. Literalism and Islamic Legal Interpretation 209
VI. The Rationale for Taqlīd 210
VII. The Epistemic Basis of Taqlīd 211
VIII. Taqlīd, Ijmāʿ, and the Legal Schools 214
IX. What Is Ijtihād? 218
SECTION IV: MODERN REFORM

8. Reorganizing Time and Space 227
I. Student Freedom and the Study-Circle 228
II. Maximizing “Efficiency” and Eliminating “Disorder” 230
III. Al-Azhar’s Faculty of Sharīʿa 236
IV. The Dār al-ʿUlūm 239
V. Reordering Space and Time 241
VI. Teachers as Ethical Exemplars 243
9. Transforming the Act of Reading 247
I. Premodern Muslim Attitudes towards Print 247
II. Text-Based Study versus Topic-Based Study 249
III. Writing Clearly 250
IV. Learning with Clear Texts 255
10. Salafism and Wasaṭism 257
I. Salafism 258
II. Wasaṭism 267
III. The Ongoing Development of Wasaṭism 269
Conclusion: Rethinking the Islamic Legal Tradition 275
Bibliography 279
Index 299
Acknowledgments
Like any human work, I know that this book is not free from error. I ask the
reader to forgive my ignorance. Whatever insights this text contains have only
been possible through the help and guidance of others. I would like to take this
opportunity to thank them.
First, I would like to express my gratitude to the Islamic scholars of Egypt
and Malaysia. I have learned so much from all of them. Special thanks are
due to Shaykh Ḥabīb al-Raḥmān Mohtisham, Shaykh Yāsir Fahmī, Professor
Muḥammad al-Ṭāhir al-Mīsāwī, Professor Ibrāhīm Zayn, Shaykh Salāḥ Ḥasan
Manṣūr, and Professor Muḥammad al-Dusūqī.
Second, I wish to thank all those who have given generously of their time and
expertise to help me improve the manuscript at various stages of its develop-
ment. These include Baber Johansen, Talal Asad, Arzoo Osanloo, Asad Ahmed,
Morgan Liu, Malika Zeghal, David Powers, Flagg Miller, Carl Sharif El-Tobgui,
Daniel Reza Jou, Payam Mohseni, Jonathan Brown, Aron Zysow, Hussein Agrama,
Nada Moumtaz, Charles Hirschkind, and Andrew Shryock. Although my views
are not always in agreement with these scholars, I owe a deep intellectual debt
to all of them.
Special thanks are due to Steven Caton, Brinkley Messick, John Bowen, and
Hayrettin Yücesoy. In addition to offering insightful comments and criticisms,
they have been patient and encouraging mentors.
Special thanks are also due to Wael Hallaq, who has not only provided valu-
able scholarly feedback, but has shown me exceptional kindness.
Special thanks are additionally due to Anver Emon and four anonymous
readers from Oxford University Press. Their comments and suggestions have
greatly improved the manuscript. Without Emon’s patience as a series editor
and guidance as a scholar, this book would not have been possible. I have also
had the privilege of working with Jamie Berezin, who has been an exemplary
editor distinguished by his professionalism and courteousness.
Third, I would like to acknowledge the generous financial support that I re-
ceived from the Fulbright program and from Brandeis University’s Crown Center
for Middle East Studies. I would also like to thank al-Azhar University and Cairo
University for permitting me to conduct research on their campuses.
Finally, I wish to thank my parents for giving me the unstinting love, en-
couragement, and support that only a mother and father can. It is to them that
I dedicate this work.
Introduction: Theoretical Orientation
and Methodology
This book is concerned with cultural, legal, and religious traditions. It exam-
ines how knowledge of such traditions is transmitted through time. I focus
specifically on the Islamic tradition, which is simultaneously a cultural, legal,
and religious tradition. Many traditions contain rules, and hence transmitting
a tradition frequently entails transmitting knowledge of its rules. The Islamic
tradition centers on a corpus of rules known as “Islamic law” or “Sharīʿa.” These
rules are commonly referred to as “Sharīʿa rules” (al-aḥkām al-sharʿiyya). I pro-
vide an analysis of Sharīʿa rules and the system of religious education which
transmits knowledge of these rules.
I situate my analysis in relation to the system of higher religious education
found in modern Egypt. Here, I draw on over two years of ethnographic field-
work among formally trained Muslim religious scholars. The majority of the
fieldwork took place between October 2009 and October 2011. It continued un-
interrupted through the January 25th revolution, which toppled Egyptian presi-
dent Ḥusnī Mubārak in early 2011. During this two-year period, I attended classes
at al-Azhar University’s Faculty of Sharīʿa, Cairo University’s Dār al-ʿUlūm, and
the network of traditional study circles operating in and around the al-Azhar
mosque. These sites are all located in the city of Cairo. Together these sites con-
stitute the most important venue for the transmission of religious learning in
the contemporary Muslim world.1 I also passed a great deal of time with students
and teachers outside of lessons. This enabled me to familiarize myself with their
broader social and religious lives.
In terms of disciplinary orientation, this book is primarily meant as a contri-
bution to the fields of anthropology and history. However, it also engages with
relevant sociological scholarship. Some further clarification on these points will
be helpful.
1
There is a wide variety of evidence for such an assertion. I base it in part on conversations with
Muslim religious scholars in various countries across the world. Generally speaking, these religious
scholars express the opinion that Egypt is uniquely significant. Moreover, they constantly reference
the ideas and writings of Egyptian religious figures. Cairo is, of course, a center of Sunni (rather
than Shiʿī) Muslim learning, but the overwhelming majority of contemporary Muslims are Sunni.
2 The Anthropology of Islamic Law
In the early twentieth century, texts provided a convenient dividing line

separating the disciplines of anthropology and history. The (stereotypical) his-
torian sought to construct an account of past societies based on the written
texts which they had left behind. By contrast, the (stereotypical) anthropologist
sought to construct an account of contemporary non-Western societies based
on ethnographic fieldwork. Such fieldwork involved long-term residence in
a non-Western society for the purpose of directly observing its practices and
directly conversing with its members. Hence, whereas the historian relied upon
texts, the anthropologist collected data not found in texts. Indeed, at this time,
anthropologists focused primarily on “primitive” nonliterate societies without
writing or texts. But matters were to change. Hence, in the latter half of the
twentieth century, anthropologists embraced texts as a source of data, thereby
unsettling (though not eliminating) the disciplinary boundary separating an-
thropology and history. Nevertheless, anthropology’s initial rejection of texts
has left an enduring but problematic legacy.
One aspect of this legacy is anthropology’s limited openness to textual anal
ysis. In this respect, there remain significant differences between anthropo-
logical studies and historical studies, especially where Islam is concerned.
Historians who study religious ideas or institutions in Muslim societies are often
referred to as “Islamicists” (or “Orientalists”). Whereas anthropological studies
of Islam typically incorporate a handful of religious texts, Islamicist studies often
provide in-depth analyses of sizable religious literatures (e.g., Tafsīr, Uṣūl al-Fiqh,
Sufism). Such analyses frequently draw on dozens (if not hundreds) of Arabic
primary source texts. Methodologically, the present book is best seen as a hy-
brid of anthropology and Islamicist history, taking its inspiration from Brinkley
Messick’s seminal Calligraphic State (1993). Accordingly, the book combines eth-
nography with in-depth Islamicist-style analysis of Arabic religious texts. It will
become clear that the present book is also deeply indebted to the writings of
(anthropologist) Talal Asad and (Islamicist) Wael Hallaq, who have laid down key
foundations for the future study of the Islamic legal tradition.
In advancing its arguments, the present book gives special attention to the
sizable anthropological literature on Islamic law that has developed over the
past four decades. This literature has sought to expand knowledge of Islamic
law by providing ethnographic case studies of Sharīʿa courts and Islamic edu-
cational institutions in different parts of the world, including (but not limited
to) Iran (Fischer 1980; Osanloo 2009), Morocco (Eickelman 1985; Rosen 1989),
Yemen (Messick 1993), Mayotte (Lambek 1993), Kenya (Hirsch 1998), Malaysia
(Peletz 2002), Indonesia (Bowen 2003), Egypt (Dupret 2007; Agrama 2012),
Tanzania (Stiles 2009), Lebanon (Clarke 2012), Britain (Bowen 2016), and China
(Erie 2016) (Also see Starrett 1998; Mir-Hosseini 1999; Asad 2003; Mahmood 2005;
B. Silverstein 2011).
In addition to addressing key topics in the anthropology of Islam, the book
also addresses key topics in legal anthropology. However, its methodological ap-
proach differs from that favored in many works of legal anthropology. Since the
1940s, legal anthropology has been associated with the study of “law in action”
Introduction 3
through the so-called “trouble case” method (see Llewellyn and Hoebel 1941).
This approach involves empirical research on individual disputes and legal prob-
lems, investigating how law and other mechanisms of “social control” are used
to resolve them (see e.g., Gluckman 1967; Bohannan 1968; Comaroff and Roberts
1981; Moore 1986; Merry 1990). With respect to Islamic law, such research has
typically centered on Sharīʿa courts.2
Nevertheless, over the past three decades, the trouble case method has faced
mounting criticism (see Conley and O’Barr 1993; von Benda-Beckmann 2009).
For instance, it is not obvious that studying individual cases provides the best
means of grasping the sociological dynamics of a larger legal system. Moreover,
legal discourses exert influence over human political, cultural, and intellectual
life in an enormous variety of ways, most of which have little to do with issues
of individual dispute resolution (see Kahn 1999; Sarat and Simon 2003; Erlanger
et al. 2005). With these facts in mind, an increasing number of legal anthropolo-
gists have moved away from the trouble case method. This shift is particularly
noticeable in recent research on Western legal systems. Instead of limiting itself
to dispute resolution, such research addresses topics like pedagogy in Western
law schools (Mertz 2007), the style and structure of legal documents (Riles 2001),
and the dissemination of transnational legal norms (Merry 2006). I believe that
this is a welcome development. To be sure, the trouble case method has value
in some circumstances. Still, there is little reason it should be regarded as the
defining feature of legal anthropology or of legal anthropological research on
Islamic law. Hence, although the present book examines some legal disputes,
it does not revolve around the trouble case method. Rather, following Mertz
(2007), the book concentrates its attention on institutions of legal education.
Although the present book offers an ethnographic study of legal/religious
learning in the modern period, it has much to say about the premodern period
as well. Accordingly, the book engages with Islamicist scholarship on premodern
Islamic legal doctrine (e.g., Schacht 1967[1950]; Schacht 1965; Zysow 2013[1984];
Crone 1987; Calder 1993; Melchert 1997; Johansen 1998; Weiss 1998; Dutton 1999;
Hallaq 2001; Yunis Ali 2000; Motzki 2002; Hallaq 2005; Lowry 2007; Vishanoff
2011; Gleave 2012; El Shamsy 2013; Sadeghi 2013; Ahmed 2016). The book like-
wise engages with Islamicist scholarship on premodern religious education (e.g.,
Makdisi 1981; Berkey 1992; Chamberlain 1994; Ephrat 2000).
While the present book focuses primarily on anthropological and historical
scholarship, it also takes note of the smaller sociological literature on Islam and
Muslim societies, giving special attention to studies informed by the ideas of
Max Weber (Rodinson 1973; Turner 1974; Arjomand 1984; Stauth 1987; Salvatore
1997; Bamyeh 1999; Huff and Schluchter 1999; Abaza 2002; Zubaida 2003). By in-
tegrating relevant anthropological, historical, and sociological literatures, the
book offers a comprehensive cross-disciplinary perspective absent from existing
scholarship on Islam and Muslim societies. Such a perspective makes it possible
2
Examples are given above.
to critically engage with theoretical currents which run across the boundaries
of these disciplines.
I. THEORETICAL ORIENTATION
In terms of theoretical orientation, the present book engages with two highly
influential analytic frameworks; namely, hermeneutic theory and practice
theory. “Hermeneutic theory” is a (loose) term that can be used to cover “her-
meneutics,” “historicism,” “interpretive” social science, as well as elements of
“action theory” and “phenomenological sociology.” These intellectual currents
are all interconnected, sharing a common genealogy going back to the early
nineteenth century. Hermeneutic theory (broadly defined) encompasses con-
tributions from a range of philosophers, jurists, historians, sociologists, and
anthropologists. Leading figures include Friedrich Schleiermacher, Friedrich
Karl von Savigny, Johann Gustav Droysen, Wilhelm Dilthey, Max Weber, Alfred
Schutz, Talcott Parsons, R.G. Collingwood, Emilio Betti, Hans-Georg Gadamer,
Paul Ricoeur, Clifford Geertz, Donald Davidson3, Ronald Dworkin, and Quentin
Skinner. Meanwhile, “practice theory” is a (loose) term that can be used to cover
“historicist genealogy,” particular strains of “poststructuralism,” and forms of
social analysis indebted to Aristotelian virtue ethics. Practice theory emerged
in the 1970s and 1980s, subsequently assuming a dominant place in anthropo-
logical, sociological, and historical research. Leading proponents of practice
theory (broadly defined) include Pierre Bourdieu, Michel Foucault, Anthony
Giddens, Marshall Sahlins, Sherry Ortner, and Talal Asad.
Hermeneutic theory and practice theory are both concerned with the rela-
tionship between action and mind. However, they analyze this relationship in
different ways. Hermeneutic theory emphasizes that actions reveal the mind.
Hence, if a woman purchases vegetables, her action reveals that she has a desire
for vegetables. Similarly, if she prays, her action reveals that she has a belief in
God. In this sense, her actions are evidence of the content of her mind (i.e., her
desires, beliefs, emotions, intentions, etc.). As we will see, hermeneutic theory
suggests that human beings, by nature, seek to understand the minds of others.
They acquire such understanding by intuitively and unconsciously inferring the
content of others’ minds from the evidence supplied by others’ actions (which
function as “signs”/“symbols”). This process deeply shapes social life, for it en-
ables communication and the transmission of cultural knowledge.
Practice theory posits a different relationship between action and mind, em-
phasizing that repeated action (i.e., “practice”) alters the mind. Hence, through
the repeated action of eating vegetables, a woman may develop a desire for
vegetables. Similarly, through the repeated action of prayer, she may develop a
3
Even though Davidson is conventionally labeled an analytic philosopher, it is widely recognized
that his work addresses key issues in hermeneutic theory. See Davidson 2001[1984]; 2001[1980];
Ramberg 2015.
Introduction 5
belief in God. Likewise, through the repeated action of bike-riding she may de-
velop knowledge of how to ride a bike (i.e., a skill, “practical knowledge”—and
knowledge is conventionally located in the mind). Through these practices, the
woman has acquired a desire, a belief, and a type of knowledge that she did not
previously possess. Practice theory tends to speak of mind in terms of “subjec
tivity,” or in terms of the “dispositions” of a “habitus.” Here, dispositions/hab-
itus denote mental content acquired through practice (although the concept of
habitus blends notions of mind and body).
Practice theory pushes this line of analysis further by asserting that insti-
tutions of power prescribe particular forms of practice (i.e., “discipline”) to
alter minds in particular ways. Hence, a government health organization may
prescribe the practice of eating vegetables to instill a desire for vegetables in
the population. Similarly, a church may prescribe the practice of prayer to in-
still a belief in God in the population. By altering minds, powerful institutions
thereby exert influence and control over behavior. Hence, by instilling a desire
for vegetables, a health organization creates a population which is inclined to
eat vegetables. Similarly, by instilling belief in the Christian God, a church cre-
ates a population inclined to obey teachings ascribed to that God (e.g., in the
Bible). The notion that institutions (“structure”) can alter people’s minds, and
thereby influence (though not strictly determine) their future behavior/ac-
tions (“agency”) is central to practice theory—and this notion underlies practice
theory’s efforts to conceptualize the temporally extended dialectical relation-
ship between structure and agency.
For practice theory, human social life revolves around powerful institutions
and their efforts to alter minds (and influence/control behavior) by prescribing
practices. I will refer to practices of this type as “power-laden practices.”
Building on the preceding perspective, leading proponents of practice theory
(like Bourdieu and Foucault) have criticized hermeneutic theory for not paying
attention to power-laden practices. Thus, for Bourdieu (1977:4, 21) herme
neutic notions (like Schutzian phenomenological sociology) are flawed in that
they ignore the power of “objective” structures to generate “subjectivity” (i.e.,
mental content) through practice. Similarly, Foucault consciously distances
himself from hermeneutic analysis (especially the idea that the analysis of a text
should focus on determining the intentions/mental content of the text’s au-
thor) (Foucault 1998[1969]). Rather, Foucault suggests that the analysis of texts
(i.e., “discourse”) and society should focus on power-laden practices (i.e., “disci
pline”) (1972;1995[1977];1990[1985]). Consequently, the rise of practice theory
in recent decades has coincided with the increasing marginalization of herme
neutic theory within many fields of social research, including anthropology and
history.
For practice theory, an emphasis on power-laden practices goes hand in
hand with an interest in the “body” or “embodiment” (see esp. Bourdieu 1977;
Foucault 1995[1977]; 1990[1985]). Thus, most practices involve the human body
(i.e., the movement of body parts). For instance, the practice of bike-riding in-
volves pedaling with the legs. The practice of prayer involves bowing one’s head
and reciting sacred formulae with one’s tongue and lips. For proponents of practice
theory, hermeneutic theory’s neglect of power-laden practices leads to a neglect
of the body. By contrast, practice theory seeks to place the body at the center
of social analysis. For practice theory, the body is an object to be manipulated,
trained, and remade through practices prescribed by powerful institutions. By
seizing control of the body, powerful institutions seize control of the mind.
In assessing these theoretical developments, the anthropological contribu-
tions of Geertz and Asad deserve special attention. In the late nineteenth and
early twentieth centuries, Franz Boas and Alfred Kroeber worked to incorpo
rate hermeneutic ideas into American anthropology (see Boas 1887; Stocking
1974; Bunzl 1996; Buckley 1996). However, between the 1960s and 1980s, Geertz
emerged as the most influential anthropological proponent of hermeneutic
ideas (i.e., “interpretive anthropology”; also see Agar 1980; Rabinow and Sullivan
1987; Clifford 1988:21–54; Lambek 1991; 2015). Geertz is especially well known
for his writings on religion. Despite the existence of earlier colonial-era pre-
cedents (e.g., Edward Lane, Christiaan Snouck Hurgronje, Paul Marty), Geertz
is widely credited with establishing the anthropology of Islam in the 1960s,
publishing a number of ethnographic studies on Muslim religiosity in Indonesia
and Morocco (1960; 1968; 1983). Between the 1970s and the 1990s, Geertz’s work
shaped much anthropological research on Muslim societies (see, e.g., Rabinow
1977; Crapanzano 1980; Dwyer 1982; Hefner 1985; Rosen 1989; Fischer and Abedi
1990; Lambek 1993; also see Bowen 1993). However, Geertz’s writings have also
attracted a great deal of criticism, and since the 1990s his ideas have fallen out
of favor. Geertz’s work has been attacked on a variety of grounds (see Shankman
1984; Clifford and Marcus 1986; M. Schneider 1987). Yet, the most common
criticism of Geertz has been that he ignores issues of power (Roseberry 1982;
Ortner 1999).
Asad is Geertz’s foremost critic. Influenced by Foucault, Asad is a major an-
thropological proponent of practice theory, and has led efforts to apply insights
from practice theory to the study of religion (generally) and to the study of Islam
(specifically). As we will see, Asad attacks Geertz for ignoring power-laden re-
ligious practices and the body in favor of a concern with religious signs/sym-
bols. For Asad, the study of religion/Islam should center on power, practice, and
the body.
Over the past two decades, Asad’s ideas have come to dominate the anthro-
pology of Islam, most evidently in research on the Middle East (Mahmood 2005;
Hirschkind 2006; Hamdy 2009; Mittermaier 2011; Silverstein 2011; Agrama 2012).
Moreover, Asad’s ideas have found a receptive audience outside of anthropology,
greatly impacting interdisciplinary scholarship on Islam, especially among
Islamicist historians (see, e.g., Zaman 2002; Salvatore 2009; Anjum 2012; Hallaq
2013; Katz 2013; Ahmed 2016; Farquhar 2017). Much of this interdisciplinary
scholarship specifically centers on the “body” or “embodiment” (Kugle 2007;
Bashir 2011; Ware 2014). The shift from Geertz to Asad within the anthropology
of Islam reflects a broader shift in anthropology (and related fields) from her-
meneutic theory to practice theory.
Introduction 7
In the past, when insights from practice theory were less familiar, it made
sense to give them heavy (or even exclusive) emphasis. And indeed, scholarship
inspired by practice theory has greatly advanced our understanding of cultural,
legal, and religious traditions. This is particularly true of recent practice the-
oretical work by Asad, Mahmood, and Hallaq, which has greatly advanced our
understanding of the Islamic tradition. Nevertheless, at present, there is good
reason to reject a narrow focus on ideas drawn from practice theory. For such
an approach risks simply rehashing lines of analysis that have already been ex-
plored in depth.
In this book, I argue against the current trend toward marginalizing her-
meneutic theory in favor of practice theory. This is because cultural, legal, and
religious traditions (like Islam) have important dimensions which can only be ad-
dressed through hermeneutic theory, and which have typically been overlooked
by proponents of practice theory. However, I not interested in championing her-
meneutic theory at the expense of practice theory. Rather, I am interested in
thinking about how these two frameworks can be brought together in a coherent
and fruitful manner. More specifically, I am interested in thinking about how
these two frameworks can be brought together in a manner which facilitates
the analysis of traditions—especially traditions (like Islam) which contain rules.
In the next chapter, I further explain both hermeneutic theory and practice
theory, showing how they can be brought together in a manner relevant to the
Islamic tradition. However, at present, I would like to give the reader a prelim-
inary understanding of how these two frameworks relate to my fieldwork.
II. HERMENEUTIC THEORY, PRACTICE THEORY,

AND ETHNOGRAPHY
Throughout the book, I cite (somewhat reworked) excerpts from my fieldnotes in
appropriate places. These excerpts appear in italics. The following excerpt gives
the reader some sense of the environment in which my research was conducted:
The area surrounding Cairo’s famous al-Azhar mosque is crowded with tightly packed medi-
eval buildings. The narrow corridors that wind haphazardly between them are crammed full
of small shops and kiosks selling all variety of goods. A large number of shops deal in low-cost
printed versions of medieval religious texts. Other businesses traffic in pickled vegetables,
pungent meats, live chickens, perfumes, women’s garments, and household wares. The
alleyways are filled with people haggling over prices and transporting merchandise using
wagons and carts. Others sit on wooden chairs, sipping tea out of small glass cups, talking
with customers and friends. Nestled in the midst of these bustling goings-on are innumerable
mosques. No matter where one stands there is always a mosque within a five-minute walk. In
some places, different mosques are immediately adjacent to one another. Certain mosques are
large and impressive, but most are lesser in size. Some are no larger or more conspicuous than
the modest shops that surround them.
The al-Farūq mosque is of middling proportions. It is a tall single-story rectangular struc-

ture. Constructed of smoothened yellowish-brown stone blocks, from the outside the mosque
looks little different from its other ancient counterparts. Patrolled by mangy cats, the poorly
paved back alley leading up to the mosque is strewn with refuse and buzzing with flies.
Nothing about the area suggests anything special. But the location of the mosque and its
modest exterior are deceiving. Entering the mosque reveals an uncommonly sumptuous inte-
rior. The floor is blanketed with a dozen large Oriental carpets of various patterns, mingling
hues of blue, red, and white. A matrix of dull gray marble columns is interspersed through
the middle of the building. Suspended above its center is an ornate bronze chandelier studded
with tiny turquoise lamps. The walls of the mosque are decorated with alternating rectan-
gular blocks of burgundy and white marble.
Every Tuesday, at the time of the afternoon prayer (ʿAsr), the mosque is visited by Shaykh
ʿAbdullah. Shaykh ʿAbdullah is a professor at al-Azhar University. He is one of the most
respected authorities on Islamic law in Egypt. While the shaykh does some teaching within
the university itself, he also gives periodic lessons open to the public at a number of select
local venues. One of them is the al-Farūq mosque. Around 70 years old, Shaykh ʿAbdullah has
a long grayish-white beard. He wears a special garb reserved for male graduates of al-Azhar.
The garb has two primary components. First, there is a loose outer garment with widely
flared sleeves. Known as a “jubba,”4 it resembles a long coat. Some jubbas have pinstripes.
Others are plain. Their colors are always understated and solemn. Varying shades of gray,
blue, and brown are typical. The garb also includes a particular kind of headwear. Known as
an “Azhari turban,”5 it consists of a cap of red felt with a white cloth wound around its sides.
The uppermost portion of the cap peeks out from above the area covered by the white cloth.
It is pinched at the top, with a small blue or black tassel attached. The turban represents an
Azhari scholar’s religious authority, and he will often take it off when he wishes to ceremoni-
ously disclaim the attendant privileges.
The lesson begins as soon as Shaykh ʿAbdullah takes his place. He seats himself upon a
squat wide-bottomed wooden chair fitted with a striped green cushion. The back of the chair
is positioned against one of the mosque’s walls. A small table has been placed before it. The
students who are present sit on the floor in front of the shaykh. Facing him, they are arrayed
in a circular pattern. The shaykh’s chair is positioned on the edge of the circle. The area im-
mediately before the shaykh is empty. In Arabic, this arrangement is known as a “ḥalaqa”6
or “study-circle.”
There are about 20 students in attendance. They range in age from the mid-20s to the
mid-30s. All but one of them is male (the lone female in attendance sits off to the side, sepa-
rate from the study-circle). Three-quarters of those present have beards and about half wear
a type of robe-like garment known as a “jallābiyya.” Some wear traditional caps as well.
The remainder of the students dress in Western clothing. Even though many of them are for-
mally enrolled at al-Azhar University, none of them wear the special garb sported by Shaykh
4
Also known as a “kākūla.” 5
“Al-ʿimāma al-azhariyya.”
6
Also known as a “ḥalqa.”
Introduction 9
ʿAbdullah. However, many are recognizable as up-and-coming religious authorities them-

selves. Some lead their own study-circles in other places.
Shaykh ʿAbdullah delivers his lesson by reading from a centuries-old legal text. As he
proceeds through the work in a soft, calm voice he intermittently stops to comment upon
its contents. Sometimes he even makes a humorous remark and laughs. The students follow
along in their own printed copies of the text. After a time, an older heavy-set woman of rural
origins comes in. She is carrying a large iron tray. On top of the tray are steaming glasses of in-
tensely sweetened green tea. Everyone in attendance takes a glass, and the shaykh continues
his commentary on the text. The lesson concludes after about an hour and a half. The shaykh
takes general questions for about 15 minutes and then proceeds to rise from his seat. When he
rises, so do the students. They file forward to kiss the top of his hand, as a sign of their respect
and affection.
The shaykh slowly walks toward the exit, with all of the students thronging around him.
They follow the shaykh outside the mosque as he makes his way through narrow corridors
and back alleys. After a few minutes walking he finally emerges from the inner regions of the
bazaar on to a major road. There is an old sedan waiting to meet him, with the driver sitting
inside. The students give the shaykh their final goodbyes and help him into the front pas-
senger seat. Two students open up the rear door of the car and take seats behind the shaykh.
They will continue on with him, although it is unclear where they are headed. As the car
rattles off, the week’s session draws to an end.
Shaykh ʿAbdullah’s students attend his lessons to acquire knowledge of Sharīʿa

rules. How is this process to be understood? Islamic legal texts certainly play a
role. As noted previously, the shaykh reads these texts to his students while of-
fering clarificatory comments. But, as we will see, there is an additional non-
textual dimension to Shaykh ʿAbdullah’s pedagogy. Hence, it is expected that
the shaykh will set an authoritative example for his students by living in accord-
ance with Sharīʿa rules. The shaykh practices these rules when he eats, worships,
travels, and interacts with others. Meanwhile, students observe and imitate the
shaykh. More specifically, they practice Sharīʿa rules based on the model pro-
vided by the shaykh. They thereby acquire knowledge of Sharīʿa rules.
For instance, before the lesson begins, Shaykh ʿAbdullah prays the afternoon
prayer with his students. When the shaykh stands in prayer, he faces in the direc-
tion of Mecca. From this, students infer that there exists a Sharīʿa rule which re-
quires Muslims to face Mecca when praying. Moreover, the shaykh drinks green
tea when it is brought to him. From this, students infer that Sharīʿa rules permit
the drinking of green tea. Finally, when women appear, the shaykh looks away
from them. From this, students infer that there exists a Sharīʿa rule which re-
quires males to look away from females. The students then imitate the shaykh’s
actions, facing Mecca when praying, permitting themselves to drink green tea,
and looking away from females. When students fail to properly practice Sharīʿa
rules, the shaykh uses his power and authority to correct them.
This form of learning can be analyzed using practice theory. Recall that
through the practice of bike-riding a person may develop knowledge of how to
ride a bike (i.e., a skill). Here we could say that through the practice of Sharīʿa
rules, the shaykh’s students develop knowledge of how to (properly) practice
Sharīʿa rules. Power also clearly enters into this process. After all, al-Azhar
University is a powerful institution. Shaykh ʿAbdullah is part of this institution
and shares in its power. As a representative of al-Azhar, he prescribes the prac-
tice of Sharīʿa rules, and he uses his power to correct students who deviate from
these rules. We can push this practice-theoretical line of analysis still further.
Hence, through the power-laden practice of Sharīʿa rules, Shaykh ʿAbdullah’s
students not only acquire knowledge of how to practice Sharīʿa rules (i.e., a
skill). They also acquire other mental content. For instance, through the prac-
tice of prayer (i.e., through practice of Sharīʿa rules on prayer), students develop
belief in God.
In this way, we see how practice theory can be used as a theoretical framework
for analyzing ethnographic data (e.g., Shaykh ʿAbdullah’s lessons). Yet, while
I find such a framework helpful, it also has limitations. These limitations work to
obscure the nature of Sharīʿa rules and Sharīʿa knowledge.
As we will see, for Muslim scholars, knowledge of Sharīʿa rules is knowledge of
God’s mind (i.e., mental content). More specifically, knowledge of Sharīʿa rules is
knowledge of God’s will/intentions, desires, and beliefs.
Thus, Sharīʿa rules embody God’s “will” or “intentions. Meanwhile, God’s will/
intentions are based on His desires and beliefs. For instance, there is a Sharīʿa
rule which requires that Muslim men refrain from looking at women who are
not their wives or relatives. This is known as “lowering the gaze” (i.e., ghaḍḍ al-
baṣar) (See Qurʾan [24:30]). In the view of Muslim scholars, it is God’s “will” or
“intention” that Muslim men lower their gaze. Moreover, God’s will/intention is
based upon God’s desires and beliefs. Thus, God desires to prevent extramarital
sex. Moreover, God believes (i.e., “knows”) that if a man looks upon a woman
he may be tempted to pursue extramarital sex with her. Hence, it is possible to
say the following: God desires to prevent extramarital sex, and He believes (i.e.,
knows) that if men look at women, they will be tempted to pursue extramarital
sex. Therefore, it is God’s will/intention that men lower their gaze. Hence, the
Sharīʿa rule embodies God’s will/intention, which is based upon God’s desires
and beliefs. Accordingly, knowledge of the Sharīʿa rule is knowledge of God’s
will/intention, as well as the desires and beliefs upon which it is based.
The preceding points have implications for how we analyze Shaykh ʿAbdullah’s
lessons. Practice theory suggests that the shaykh’s students acquire knowledge of
Sharīʿa rules by observing and imitating the shaykh (i.e., by modeling their prac-
tice on his example). But although this line of analysis is valid, it also obscures an
important fact. In reality, the shaykh’s students are not simply acquiring knowl
edge of “Sharīʿa rules.” At a deeper level, they are also acquiring knowledge of
God’s mind. More specifically, they are acquiring knowledge of God’s will/inten-
tions, beliefs, and desires.
For example, when women appear, Shaykh ʿAbdullah lowers his gaze. What do
students infer from this? At one level, they infer that there exists a Sharīʿa rule
which requires that men lower their gaze. But at a deeper level, students infer
Introduction 11
that it is God’s will/intention that men lower their gaze. Moreover, it can be argued
that students make additional inferences about God’s mental content. Hence,
they may also infer that God desires to prevent extramarital sex, and that God
believes (i.e., knows) that if men look at women they will be tempted to pursue
extramarital sex. This gives rise to an interesting but perplexing phenomenon.
The students observe Shaykh ʿAbdullah’s actions, and from these actions they
infer God’s mental content (i.e., His intentions, beliefs, desires).
This basic phenomenon is hardly limited to Islamic learning. Consider a
Russian general and his soldiers. If we see the soldiers marching toward the
French capital Paris we might infer that the general intends to attack Paris. We
might further infer that the general desires to force France to surrender, and
that the general believes France will surrender if Paris is attacked. Thus, just as
we infer God’s mental content from Shaykh ʿAbdullah’s actions, we infer the
general’s mental content from his soldiers’ actions. Similarly, we might infer the
mental content of a factory owner from the actions of his/her workers, and we
might infer the mental content of an architectural planner from the actions of
his/her builders.
I will argue that the preceding phenomenon plays an important role in many
(or perhaps all) cultural, legal, and religious traditions. I will also argue that the
phenomenon can only be understood through hermeneutic theory. This is be-
cause hermeneutic theory provides a way of grasping how actions (e.g., Shaykh
ʿAbdullah’s actions) reveal minds (e.g., God’s mind).
Insights from hermeneutic theory are not only helpful in analyzing the non-
textual dimension of Islamic legal education (e.g., how students learn from
Shaykh ʿAbdullah’s actions). These insights are also helpful in analyzing the
textual dimension of such education. Hence, we will see that the texts used in
Islamic legal education do not simply lay out a list of explicit verbal rules (e.g.,
“Face Mecca in Prayer,” “Lower the Gaze”). On the contrary, these texts report
the actions of pious Muslim authorities like the Prophet Muḥammad, ʿUmar, and
Abū Ḥanīfa (e.g., in Hadith reports and āthār). For instance, it might be reported
that the Prophet or Abū Ḥanīfa lowered his gaze in the presence of women. From
the actions of these authorities the reader makes inferences about the mind of
God (e.g., it is God’s will/intention that men lower their gaze, God desires to pre-
vent extramarital sex). Consequently, there is a parallel between (1) inferences
made from the observed actions of figures like Shaykh ʿAbdullah, and (2) in-
ferences made from the textually reported actions of figures like the Prophet
Muḥammad and Abū Ḥanīfa. I suggest that this parallel is of fundamental im-
portance in the analysis of Islamic learning and legal doctrine. Although the par-
allel is overlooked by practice theory, I will argue that it can be understood using
hermeneutic theory. Once again, this is because hermeneutic theory provides a
way of grasping how actions reveal minds—whether these actions are directly
observed or reported in texts.
The foregoing points indicate the need for a new perspective on Islamic legal
doctrine and religious learning. According to such a perspective, knowledge of
Sharīʿa rules consists in knowledge of God’s mental content. Knowledge of God’s
mental content is inferred from actions, whether these actions are directly ob-
served or reported in texts. This process is analogous to the process whereby we
infer knowledge of a general’s mental content from the actions of his soldiers.
It can be said that practice theory, taken alone, does not suffice for analyzing
how knowledge of Sharīʿa rules is transmitted in Shaykh ʿAbdullah’s lessons.
Recourse to hermeneutic theory is also necessary. Hence, it becomes necessary
to integrate practice theory and hermeneutic theory. I would suggest that in
achieving such integration, we help bridge the gap between anthropological and
Islamicist approaches to Islamic law. After all, contemporary anthropological ap-
proaches are indebted to practice theory. Meanwhile, Islamicist approaches are
frequently concerned with the sorts of issues addressed by hermeneutic theory
(e.g., “How do Muslim jurists determine the will/intentions of God?,” “How do
Muslim jurists analyze Hadith reports and other texts reporting the actions of
religious authorities?”). Consequently, in integrating hermeneutic theory and
practice theory, conceptual resources are provided for scholars who wish to
work between anthropological and Islamicist approaches. I would count myself
among this group of scholars.
III. METHODOLOGICAL REMARKS

Before closing out this introductory chapter, I would like to briefly touch on a
few methodological issues. The first concerns whether it is valid to make broad
generalizations about the (Sunni) Islamic tradition. One view is that general-
izations of this type are fundamentally problematic. Proponents of this view
emphasize (correctly) that there exists substantial temporal and geographic
variation in Muslim religiosity. For instance, it is common to distinguish be-
tween different periods in Islamic legal history (e.g., a formative period from the
seventh to tenth centuries, a classical period from the tenth to twelfth centuries,
a postclassical period from the twelfth to nineteenth centuries).7 It is likewise
common to distinguish between the types of religiosity found in different re-
gions of the Muslim world (i.e., the Middle East and North Africa, Sub-Saharan
East and West Africa, Central Asia, South Asia, and Southeast Asia).8 In light of
the preceding facts, some scholars have asserted that it is inappropriate to speak
of a coherent Islamic tradition (see, e.g., El-Zein 1977; Gilsenan 1982; Al-Azmeh
1993). Such scholars dismiss general claims about an Islamic tradition as insuffi-
ciently nuanced, “essentialist,” and ignorant of Islam’s enormous historical di-
versity (i.e., there are “Islams” rather than an “Islam”). It is also asserted that
general claims about an Islamic tradition are problematic because they are, by
nature, prescriptive rather than merely descriptive. According to this line of
7
For works addressing legal change and periodization in Islamic legal history see Johansen 1988;
Hallaq 2001; Burak 2015.
8
For works that discuss regional differences in Islamic religiosity see Laffan 2011; Ware 2014;
Ahmed 2016.
Introduction 13
reasoning, general claims are frequently based on politically dominant/elite/

orthodox forms of Islam, and imply that other forms of Islam are inauthentic
or illegitimate. Scholars committed to the preceding perspective hold that good
academic work concerns itself with local and historically specific forms of Islam.
The most respectable and scholarly of claims are those which are most modest
and extensively qualified.
I do not deny the value of studies which focus on local and historically specific
forms of Islam. However, I do not believe that this style of scholarship is the only
legitimate one. Scholars like Talal Asad (1986) and Shahab Ahmed (2016:113–404)
have challenged the view that it is inappropriate to speak of a coherent Islamic
tradition. While Asad and Ahmed acknowledge substantial temporal and geo-
graphic variation in the Islamic tradition, they hold that this tradition exhibits
a type of coherence because its different currents share a general orientation;
namely, they all take the Qurʾan and (perhaps) the Hadith reports as funda-
mental (though not necessarily exclusive) sources of religious knowledge (see
Asad 1986:14; Ahmed: 345–356). Although this is a radical oversimplification of
Asad and Ahmed’s views, it captures a key insight found in their work.
Building on the preceding insight, I would posit that, broadly speaking, different
currents of the Islamic tradition take (either explicitly or implicitly) the Qurʾan,
the Prophet Muḥammad, and past religious scholars as fundamental sources of
religious knowledge. This fact does not preclude substantial variation in forms
of Islamic religiosity. Nevertheless, it engenders certain widely shared trans-
historical and transregional patterns in Islamic education and legal thought.
I am concerned with patterns of this kind, and in describing them I will make
a number of general claims about the Islamic tradition. I qualify these claims
to some extent, and I recognize that some scholars would prefer to see them
qualified still further. Nevertheless, I do not believe that maximal qualification
is necessarily a virtue. Maximal qualification is useful when delineating local
and historically specific forms of Islam, but it can also obscure broader patterns
which are also worthy of attention.
I realize that generalizing about broader patterns will invite criticism from
scholars who are methodologically committed to the view that wide general-
izations are inherently problematic, and that the sole aim of proper Islamicist
scholarship is to precisely delineate local and historically specific forms of Islam.
However, to my mind, scholarship on Islam can give attention both to broader
patterns as well as local and historically specific forms. In fact, the present book
attempts to do exactly this. In other words, it attempts to discern broad patterns
within the Islamic tradition, while also examining a local and historically spe-
cific form of Islam in modern Egyptian religious education.
I am inclined to say that this book makes credible generalizations about the
Sunni Islamic tradition. However, it could be asserted, more cautiously, that the
book makes credible generalizations about a dominant current of religiosity
within the Sunni Islamic tradition. Ultimately, I want to leave it to the reader
to evaluate my arguments and then decide how to best understand the book.
I regard scholarly debate and disagreement over the proper scope of a work as
legitimate and productive.
My general claims about the Islamic tradition are meant to be read as descrip-
tive rather than prescriptive. Hence, this book does not seek to privilege one
form of Islam as legitimate and authentic, or to dismiss others as illegitimate
and inauthentic. While there may be value in discussions of legitimacy and au-
thenticity, such discussions fall outside the scope of the present work.
A second methodological issue pertains to the division between the
“premodern” and “modern” periods. I use the term “modernity” to designate
an ensemble of technologies and modes of institutional organization originating
in post-medieval Europe. In the nineteenth century, this ensemble was increas-
ingly disseminated outside of Europe, reaching Egypt and other Muslim lands.
To understand modernity’s impact on Egyptian religious education, it is neces-
sary to consider the character of Islamic learning in the premodern period.
In subsequent chapters, I use the expression “traditional Islamic learning” as
a shorthand way of referring to religious education in Arab Muslim lands (par-
ticularly Egypt) from the eleventh century until the coming of modernity. I will
cite the writings of various Muslim authors who lived during this span, using
their texts to elucidate specific educational practices that were challenged by
modern Egyptian educational reforms. Yet the validity of such an approach may
be questioned.
Past Islamicist historical scholarship was accustomed to portraying the
premodern period as entirely static. This view was forcefully attacked in Edward
Said’s Orientalism (1978). As a result, much recent scholarship both emphasizes
the dynamism of premodern Muslim societies and is acutely sensitive to the dan-
gers posed by overbroad historical generalizations. Thus, many anthropologists
feel the need to stress that the Islamic tradition is in a constant state of change,
and that to believe otherwise is mistaken. Here is where I stand on these matters.
Every era is similar to those before and after it in some ways, and different from
them in others. To assert (in the abstract) that traditions change is no more true
than to assert (in the abstract) that they stay the same. Decontextualized asser-
tions of either type have little methodological value. Rather, claims regarding
change or continuity only have value when related to specific issues.
The appropriate periodization for one’s study will depend on the type of issues
addressed. For some investigations (e.g., archaeology) it may be appropriate to
lump many millennia together. In others, going beyond a century (or decade)
may be ill-advised. My contention is that modernity inaugurated radically new
educational practices. In comparison to these modern practices, the premodern
practices constituent of what I have termed “traditional Islamic learning” can
be looked at as broadly similar, at least with respect to the issues with which
I am concerned (for a similar perspective, see Ware 2014). I suggest that many
traditional Islamic learning practices can still be witnessed in Cairo. In analyzing
these practices, I cite relevant premodern texts, along with relevant modern
Egyptian texts and ethnographic data. When used with adequate caution, this
approach can be fruitful.
Introduction 15
Another important reason to pay attention to premodern texts is that con-

temporary religious scholars constantly reference them. Hence, many of the key
texts currently used in Islamic education originate in the medieval period. As a
result, texts authored in the medieval period are still “contemporary” texts, in
the sense that they are still being taught and read today. Thus, in providing an
account of contemporary Islamic education, there is no way to avoid extensive
references to “medieval” texts. Throughout the following chapters, virtually all
of the medieval texts I cite are in widespread use today.
Consider that contemporary religious scholars see themselves as faithful rep-
resentatives of an ancient tradition extending back to the Prophet. They relate
many aspects of their lives, both scholarly and personal, to this ancient tradi
tion. When scholars invoke the past, they do so with reference to ancient texts
(Qurʾan, Hadith reports, etc.). Oftentimes they memorize the exact wording of
these texts. Alternatively, they may closely paraphrase them or deploy formulaic
expressions drawn from them. These habits are ingrained by religious education
itself, instilling within scholars thoroughly “textualized” patterns of discourse.
This, of course, does not mean that contemporary scholars merely reproduce
ancient views. After all, they decide what to cite, when to cite it, and what other
citations to combine it with—choices that deeply inflect the communicated con-
tent. At any rate, when dealing with contemporary religious scholars, simple
dichotomies like “past versus present” and “written versus oral” become prob-
lematic. Such scholars strive to keep a past tradition alive in the present, while
constantly referencing and paraphrasing written texts in their speech. It is
this situation that has led me to weave together ethnographic data (on living
scholars) with (ancient) Islamic texts.
An additional methodological issue pertains to gender. In the premodern
period, those who participated in Islamic learning were overwhelmingly male.
As we will see, at present, al-Azhar and the Dār al-ʿUlūm educate both sexes.
Nevertheless, they remain predominantly male institutions, especially at the
highest levels. Furthermore, owing to Islamic norms of gender segregation, male
researchers (like myself) are limited in their ability to interact with females at
these institutions. Consequently, my fieldwork focused primarily (though not
exclusively) on male religious scholars.
I will conclude by saying a couple of words about my own identity, and how it
shaped my research. Although I think that exercises of this type are always se-
lective, they can still be beneficial. My father comes from a largely secular (but
not anti-religious) Shiʿite Iranian Muslim family, and my mother comes from a
largely secular (but not anti-religious) white Catholic American family. I was not
brought up within any particular religious tradition. At the same time, I have
always been dissatisfied with hegemonic secular liberal descriptions of human
experience (i.e., the notion of Homo economicus). More specifically, I have never
subscribed to the notion that human existence consists in the egoistic attempt
to maximize individual happiness by consuming as many goods and services as
possible. By extension, I have never believed that an ideal society is simply one
in which a capitalist economy produces an ever-increasing range of goods and

services through constant advances in science and technology.
The notion that human experience centers on happiness maximization
through material consumption has, of course, been challenged in many works
of classical social theory, as well as more recent research in psychology, biology,
and cognitive anthropology. In keeping with such research,9 I strongly suspect
that the human mind/brain is in some sense “naturally” inclined to search for
purpose in the cosmos, and to process experience through particular forms of
“mythical” thinking (although I do not equate “myth” with “falsehood”). I also
suspect that the human mind/brain is in some sense “naturally” inclined to-
ward physically enacted ritual, affection for kin, and concern with “identity”
(i.e., concern with one’s people/in-group, its history, and traditions). I recog-
nize that such a perspective is controversial, I will not seek to argue for it in
this book, and the book’s findings are in no way dependent upon accepting it.
Nevertheless, at both a personal and academic level, I think matters of myth,
ritual, kin, and identity are profoundly important. Put differently, I do not think
they can simply be dismissed as ignorance and barbarism which lack relevance
in a modern age dominated by empirical science, atomized individualism, and
consumer capitalism. I genuinely respect Islamic religious scholars for taking
matters of myth, ritual, kin, and identity seriously, and this respect doubtlessly
shaped my research.
IV. THE OVERALL STRUCTURE OF THE BOOK

The remainder of this book is divided into 10 chapters. The 10 chapters are dis-
tributed among four sections.
The first section is titled “Theory, Ethnography, History.” It contains chapters 1
and 2. In chapter 1, I explain how hermeneutic theory and practice theory can
be brought together in the analysis of cultural, legal, and religious traditions,
giving special attention to the Islamic tradition. Throughout the remainder of
the book I draw on hermeneutic theory and practice theory to analyze central
aspects of Islamic learning and legal doctrine. In chapter 2, I offer an ethno-
graphic and historical account of higher religious learning in modern Egypt.
The second section is titled “Traditional Islamic Learning and Legal Doctrine.”
It contains chapters 3, 4, 5, and 6. In chapter 3, I take up the key concepts of
Sharīʿa, Sunna, and ethics (akhlāq), clarifying their place in Islamic learning and
legal doctrine. In chapter 4, I examine the traditional Islamic pedagogy of com-
panionship (ṣuḥba). In chapter 5, I examine the place of the sanad in the tradi
tional Islamic learning. In chapter 6, I consider how written texts are used in
traditional Islamic learning.
9
Some relevant research on this topic includes the work of cognitive anthropologists like Dan
Sperber, Stewart Guthrie, Scott Atran, Pascal Boyer, and Emma Cohen. Related work has also been
done by evolutionary anthropologists like Richard Sosis, William Irons, and Robin Dunbar.
Introduction 17
The third section is titled “A New Perspective on Islamic Legal Doctrine.” It

contains a sizable chapter 7. In chapter 7, I examine the overall structure of
Islamic legal thought, and explain how it relates to the pedagogical practices
characteristic of Islamic learning. Here I develop hermeneutic ideas using in-
sights from “planning theory,” an influential approach in recent philosophical
and legal scholarship. This allows for a new perspective on an entire range of
Islamic legal concepts including: maṣlaḥa, taʿabbud, Maqāṣid al-Sharīʿa, qiyās,
istiṣlāḥ, istiḥsān, ijmāʿ, ijtihād, taqlīd, and madhhab. I link my analysis to ideas and
practices found at al-Azhar University, al-Azhar mosque, and the Dār al-ʿUlūm.
The fourth section is titled “Modern Reform.” It contains chapters 8, 9, and
10. In chapter 8, I examine how modern reform efforts have sought to trans-
form Islamic learning by reordering time and space. In chapter 9, I examine how
reform efforts have introduced new practices of reading texts. In chapter 10,
I examine how reform efforts have given rise to two modern currents of Islamic
legal thought: namely, Salafism and Wasaṭism.
Section I
Theory, Ethnography, History
1
Hermeneutic Theory and Practice

Theory in the Study of Cultural, Legal,
and Religious Traditions
In this chapter, I explain how hermeneutic theory and practice theory can be
brought together in the analysis of cultural, legal, and religious traditions. I begin
by introducing some basic hermeneutic ideas, situating them in relationship to
the work of Geertz and Asad. Next, I consider how these hermeneutic ideas can
be developed in new directions and applied to the Islamic tradition. I then use
these ideas to critique certain key aspects of practice theory’s approach to rules.
I conclude by offering some suggestions on how ideas from hermeneutic theory
and practice theory can be integrated.
In this chapter, I utilize a list of terms associated with hermeneutic theory and
practice theory. I pay special attention to terms that have near (or exact) Arabic
equivalents, and which are important in the Islamic tradition. These terms in-
clude “mind” (qalb), “action” (fiʿl or ʿamal), “mental attribute” (ṣifa al-qalb or waṣf
al-qalb), and “disposition” (malaka or khuluq). In subsequent chapters, I will make
use of these terms to explicate Islamic learning and legal doctrine.
I. SIGNS AND HERMENEUTIC THEORY

As noted previously, hermeneutic theory encompasses a diverse but intercon-
nected range of intellectual currents. I will focus on one specific current which
has deeply influenced social theory. This largely German current is rooted in
the early nineteenth century ideas of Hegel and Schleiermacher. In the later
nineteenth century, this current is developed into an expansive program for so-
cial and historical research by Dilthey (1988[1883]; 1972[1900]; 2002[1910]) and
Droysen (1893) (i.e., the notion of Geisteswissenshaften). At the beginning of the
twentieth century, Weber (1978[1922]) draws on this current to produce a system-
atic sociology (i.e., “interpretive sociology”). Weber’s ideas are then reworked in
the early and mid-twentieth century by Parsons (1949[1937]; 1964[1951]) and
Schutz (1967[1932]; Schutz and Luckmann 1973). In the 1960s, Schutz’s ideas
are further extended by Berger and Luckmann (1991[1966]). Moreover, in the
latter portion of the twentieth century, Davidson builds on and refines concepts
which are central to this general current (esp. “action” and “interpretation”; see
Davidson 2001[1980]; 2001[1984]). During the same period, the jurist Betti (1990;
2017) seeks to revive older lines of analysis associated with this current.
Geertz’s work can only be appreciated when situated with respect to the
preceding current. Nevertheless, this current is habitually overlooked in con-
temporary anthropological and historical work which identifies itself as her-
meneutic/interpretive in character. Such work tends to focus on ideas from
Gadamer ([1960]2006) and Ricoeur (1981)—two hermeneutic theorists who also
influenced Geertz (see, e.g., Agar 1980; Rabinow and Sullivan 1987; Lambek 1991;
2015). But the ideas of Gadamer and Ricoeur often diverge significantly from the
current of hermeneutic theory developed by Droysen, Dilthey, Weber, Parsons,
Schutz, Berger, Davidson, and Betti.
Hermeneutic theory is concerned with knowledge of other minds. According
to conventional views, an individual’s mind contains his/her beliefs, desires,
emotions, intentions, etc.1 Hence, beliefs, desires, emotions, and intentions may
all be referred to as “mental attributes,” for they are all “located” in the mind.
It would be possible to mention a wide range of additional mental attributes.
Nevertheless, given their special importance in social theory, I focus on (1) be-
liefs, (2) desires, (3) emotions, and (4) intentions.
An individual’s mind can be distinguished from his/her body. The body is a
corporeal entity which walks (with its legs), eats (with its mouth), talks (with
its tongue), and so on. A major difference between the mind and body is that
the mind cannot be seen. Thus, it is impossible for me to directly look into the
mind of another person and see the mental attributes it contains (i.e., I cannot
see another person’s particular beliefs, desires, emotions, etc.). But if another
person’s mental attributes are hidden in this way, how can one acquire knowl
edge of them? Hermeneutic theory seeks to address this question (Dilthey
1972[1900]:231–232).
In doing so, hermeneutic theory draws attention to the concept of “action.”
An individual’s actions include behaviors like walking, eating, studying, driving,
and so forth. Hermeneutic theory also treats intentional refusal to perform
an action as a type of action. Hence, intentionally abstaining from alcohol is
an action. Similarly, avoiding extramarital sex is an action. Finally, for her-
meneutic theory, making a verbal statement is considered an action. (Dilthey
2002[1910]:79–209; Weber 1978[1922]:3–26).
Hermeneutic theory holds that it is (often) possible to infer an individual’s
mental attributes from his/her actions. For instance, if a man performs the ac-
tion of purchasing chocolate ice cream, one may infer from this action that he
has a desire to eat chocolate ice cream. Similarly, if he performs the action of
putting on a raincoat, one may infer that he has a belief that it will rain. If he
picks up a tennis racket, one may infer that he has an intention to play tennis.
Just as individuals may perform actions, groups of individuals may also perform
1
For a critique of this general (Cartesian) perspective see Ryle 2002[1949].
Hermeneutic Theory and Practice Theory 23
actions (e.g., cooperative actions, customs, communal rituals). For instance, a

group of individuals might together hunt a buffalo. From their action, it may be
inferred that they desire to eat buffalo meat.
Because verbal statements are simply one type of action, they can be analyzed
in the same way. Hence, if a woman states: “Shut the door,” one can infer from
her statement that she has a belief that the door is open. If she states: “I am
going to the ice cream shop,” one can infer that she has a desire to eat ice cream.
(See Dilthey 1972[1900]; 2002[1910]; Weber 1978[1922]:3–26; Schutz 1967[1932]).
Hermeneutic theory expands upon the preceding ideas in a manner relevant
to cultural and historical analysis. Hence, hermeneutic theory notes that ac-
tions can either be directly observed or reported by others. Just as one may infer
mental attributes from directly observed actions, one may also infer mental at-
tributes from actions that are reported by others. For instance, if I directly ob-
serve John go to the ice cream shop, I may infer that he desires to eat ice cream.
Similarly, if someone reports to me that John went to the ice cream shop, I may
infer that he desires to eat ice cream.
For hermeneutic theory, actions (including statements) reported in texts are
essential linkages to the minds of individuals from the past (see Droysen 1893;
Dilthey 2002[1910]; Schutz 1967[1932]; Gadamer [1960]2006). Such individuals
might be ordinary people (e.g., my great-grandfather). Or they might be major
historical personalities (e.g., Alexander the Great, Prophet Muḥammad, William
Shakespeare). In most cases, what I know about a figure from the past will be
based on what has been reported about that figure’s actions (including state-
ments). From a historical figure’s reported actions, I come to know that histor-
ical figure’s mind (i.e., I infer his/her various mental attributes).
Building on Hegel, hermeneutic theory also notes that, through their ac-
tions, human beings shape their material world and their social world. Human
beings shape their material world through actions whereby they produce dif-
ferent material structures and artifacts (e.g., bridges, churches, rice fields, sculp-
tures, paintings, swords, pottery, cars). Human beings shape their social world
by implementing specific rules, decrees, and plans through their actions (e.g.,
military decrees, building plans, rules of law, rituals, ceremonies, and customs)
(Droysen 1893:18; Dilthey 2002[1910]:106–107, 175–178; 1972[1900]:231; Schutz
and Luckmann 1973:16–17). Such often involves obedience on the part of a group.
Hence, to implement a rule, decree, or plan in a given society, people within the
society must obey the rule, decree, or plan by acting in accordance with it. I will
refer to this as “obedient action.” Obedient action differs from ordinary action in
that ordinary action may not involve acting in accordance with a rule, decree, or
plan. For instance, a person may kick the television, but this is not an obedient
action, as there is no rule, decree, or plan which prescribes kicking the television.
For hermeneutic theory, one may infer mental attributes from material struc-
tures/artifacts and obedient actions. Hence, when people build a church, it
may be inferred that they believe Jesus is God. If they produce soccer balls, it
may be inferred that they desire to play soccer. If they act in accordance with
legal rules which forbid theft (i.e., obedient action), it may be inferred that they
desire to protect property rights. If they perform prescribed rituals of mourning

when parents die (i.e., obedient action), it may be inferred that they experi-
ence emotions of sadness when their parents die (see Dilthey 1972[1900]:232;
2002[1910]:101–102, 168-170; Droysen 1893:11–19).
Thus, for hermeneutic theory, mental attributes can be inferred from actions,
statements, material structures/artifacts, and obedient actions. Hermeneutic
theorists refer to these things as “expressions,” “externalizations,” or
“objectifications” of mind (i.e., mental attributes) (see Dilthey 2002[1910]:101–
109,168–174; Droysen 1893:12; Schutz and Luckmann 1973:16–17; Berger and
Luckmann 1991[1966]). These things are also frequently referred to as “signs”
of mental attributes (Dilthey 1972[1900]:231–232; also see Schutz and Luckmann
1973:17, 63, 75). Thus, when a woman purchases chocolate ice cream it is a sign
she desires to eat chocolate ice cream. When a man states: “Shut the door,” it is a
sign that he believes the door is open. When a group of people plants a rice field,
it is a sign that they desire and intend to eat rice. In the context of hermeneutic
theory, inferring mental attributes from signs is referred to as “interpretation,”
which leads to “interpretive understanding” (Verstehen) (Dilthey 1972[1900]:231–
232; Weber 1978[1922]:3–26; Schutz and Luckmann 1973:16). Hence, one interprets
the woman’s action of purchasing chocolate ice cream cone as a sign that she de-
sires to eat chocolate ice cream (i.e., one infers the woman’s desire for chocolate
ice cream from her action of purchasing chocolate ice cream).
Hermeneutic theory draws on the preceding insights to offer a distinctive per-
spective on human social life. For hermeneutic theory, human beings, by their
very nature, are intensely concerned with understanding others. Humans are
concerned with understanding the other individuals they live and interact with.
They are likewise concerned with understanding the other individuals they
hear about and read about in texts (including individuals from the past) (see
Schutz 1967[1932]; 1962; Schutz and Luckmann 1973; Betti 1990:160). The pro-
cess of understanding others involves acquiring knowledge of their minds. For
hermeneutic theory, ordinary people intuitively and unconsciously infer such
knowledge from the signs they encounter in society (e.g., actions, statements,
structures, artifacts). Thus, if an ordinary woman sees a man smash a television,
she will infer that he has an emotion of anger. If she sees an irrigation system in
a village, she will infer that the villagers desire to water their crops. The woman
makes these inferences in an intuitive and unconscious manner, thereby accu-
mulating an intuitive and unconscious “stock of knowledge” concerning the
minds of others (see Schutz 1962; Schutz and Luckmann 1973). For hermeneutic
theory, human social life centers largely on inferring the mental attributes of
others from signs (i.e., interpreting signs)—a process which enables commu-
nication and the transmission of cultural knowledge (see Schutz 1967[1932];
Schutz and Luckmann 1973:esp.16–17, 270–271; Parsons and Shils 1951:159–189).
Addressing this issue, Betti (1990:160) remarks:
Nothing is of greater importance to man than living in mutual understanding with
his fellow-men. Nothing appeals as much to his understanding as the lost traces
of man that come to light again and address him. Whenever we come into contact
with meaning-full forms [i.e. signs] through which an other mind addresses us,
we find our interpretative powers stirring to get to know the meaning contained
within these forms. From fleeting speech to fixed documents and mute remain-
ders, from writing to chiffres and to artistic symbol, from articulated language to
figurative or musical representation, from explanation to active behavior, from
facial expression to ways of bearing and types of character—in short, whenever
something from the mind of an Other approaches us there is a call on our ability
to understand. . . .
The notion that human social life centers largely on interpreting signs can be
developed in a number of different directions. This is because the concept of the
“sign” has been theorized in myriad ways (e.g., by Saussure, Peirce, Wittgenstein,
Bakhtin). However, I wish to focus on the concept of the sign in hermeneutic
theory, giving special attention to the work of Geertz.
II. GEERTZ, SIGNS, AND THE ANTHROPOLOGICAL

ANALYSIS OF RELIGION
Geertz was trained at Harvard by Parsons in the 1950s. Accordingly, his work
reflects the influence of Parsons, as well as related thinkers such as Dilthey,
Weber, and Schutz. Geertz’s work also reflects the broader interest in signs (or
“symbols”) characteristic of anthropological scholarship between the 1960s
and the 1980s; that is, the “symbolic” anthropology associated with figures like
Victor Turner (1967), David Schneider (1968), and Mary Douglas (2002[1962];
2003[1970]). Geertz’s analysis of signs is partially indebted to hermeneutic
theory (e.g., Dilthey, Weber, Parsons), but it draws on other intellectual cur-
rents as well (e.g., Ryle, Wittgenstein, Susanne Langer). In his writings, Geertz
sometimes refers to “signs” (1973:14). More often he refers to “symbols.” Yet,
for Geertz, symbols are signs. Geertz is not entirely consistent in how he defines
signs/symbols. However, to keep matters simple, it can be said that for Geertz
a sign (or “symbol”) is “anything that denotes, describes, represents, exempli-
fies, labels, indicates, evokes, depicts, expresses—anything that somehow or other
signifies [emphasis mine]” (1980:135; also see 1973:14, 91–92). Turner (1967:19)
offers a similarly broad definition of signs/symbols. In adopting such a posi
tion, Geertz (and Turner) acknowledge that there are many different types of
signs. Hence, there are signs that function through conventional association
(which enables “label[ing]” and “denot[ing]”). For example, the English word
“apple” is a sign/label for apples because it is conventionally associated with
apples. There are also signs that function through resemblance (which enables
“depict[ion]” and “exemplifi[cation]). For instance, a painting of a king is a
sign/depiction of the king because it resembles the king (i.e., a Peircean “icon”;
see Silverstein 1976:27; Daniel 1984:31–32; Kohn 2013:8). Geertz recognizes
there are also signs which function as evidence “indicat[ing]” the presence of
something else (i.e., a Peircean “index”; see Silverstein 1976:27; Daniel 1984:31–
32; Kohn 2013:8). Hence, smoke is a sign of fire because it is evidence indicating
the presence of fire. Similarly, Geertz tells us that “dark clouds are the symbolic
precursors of on-coming rain” (1973:91; i.e., dark clouds are evidence indicating
the future presence of rain). Signs of this sort function as evidence because the
presence of the sign is statistically correlated with what it indicates (i.e., the pres-
ence of smoke is statistically correlated with the presence of fire, so the presence
of smoke is evidence indicating the presence of fire).
Geertz often invokes forms of hermeneutic analysis which treat actions, state-
ments, and material structures/artifacts as signs of mental attributes (i.e., the
“verstehen approach,” 1973:3–30). Yet, Geertz does not limit himself to these
forms of analysis. Rather, Geertz tends to analyze different types of signs to-
gether in a fairly loose and imprecise manner. The loose form of analysis em-
ployed by Geertz (simply) highlights the fact that, in a given culture, a particular
set of signs is somehow “linked” (through signification) to a particular set of
beliefs or ideas (i.e., “meanings”) (see esp. 1960; 1980). In other words, this par-
ticular set of cultural signs somehow “denotes, describes, represents, exempli-
fies, labels, indicates, evokes, depicts, [or] expresses” a particular set of cultural
beliefs or ideas. Rather than explain exactly how a given sign is linked to a given
idea or belief, Geertz simply remarks that each sign is linked, in various ways, to
many ideas and beliefs. For Geertz, signs are “richly polysemic (that is, have mul-
tiple senses), their significance spreading out profusely in an embarrassment of
directions” (1980:105; also see Turner 1967:27–30).
Echoing Parsons (see Parsons and Shils 1951:159–189), Geertz suggests that
any culture or any religion can be treated as a system of “signs” (or “symbols”)
(1973:14, 89–94). These signs include things as various as “carvings, flowers,
dances, melodies, gestures, chants, ornaments, temples, postures, and masks”
(1980:103). For Geertz, signs cause people to adopt beliefs, especially religious
beliefs. Hence, when people encounter a set of (religious) signs, they will
be inclined to accept the (religious) beliefs with which these signs are linked
(1980:104; 1973:87–125). Signs are most effective in fostering religious belief
when people are repeatedly exposed to them, and when the signs are embedded
in awe-inspiring, emotionally evocative, and aesthetically beautiful cultural
events or products (i.e., “pomp and ornament,” 1980:105, 100, 121, 18). Such
a stance seems to imply that religious signs/symbols operate akin to political
propaganda or commercial advertisements. Geertz also argues that when people
in a given society are exposed to signs/symbols, they will be inclined to accept
the religious beliefs conveyed by these signs/symbols, if the beliefs serve to jus-
tify their particular “way of life” (see 1973:89–90).
Thus, Geertz develops hermeneutic ideas in a distinctive way. First, he claims
that any cultural or religious tradition can be treated as a system of signs.
Second, he promotes a loose and imprecise approach to the analysis of signs—
one which is partially indebted to hermeneutic theory. Third, he asserts that,
under the right conditions, signs cause people to adopt religious beliefs. These
ideas define Geertz’s distinctive approach to anthropology (i.e., “interpretive

anthropology”).
III. BREAKING FROM GEERTZ’S ANALYSIS OF SIGNS

IN CULTURE AND RELIGION
Different hermeneutic theorists develop different approaches to signs in social
analysis. Geertz develops one approach, but there are others. Indeed, I think that
hermeneutic theorists like Droysen, Weber, Schutz, Parsons, and Davidson de-
velop a more productive approach. Their work suggests that, in social analysis,
signs are often best understood in terms of “mental causation” and its effects.
A. Mental Causation
Discussions of “mental causation” go back to Aristotle, but are refined by herme

neutic thinkers like Weber and Davidson (also see Heil and Mele 1993; Audi 2006).
Weber recognizes that causal explanation takes different forms depending upon
whether we are dealing with matter or with mind (also see Dilthey 1988[1883];
Collingwood 1993). Thus, we causally explain the behavior of material objects
without reference to mental attributes. Take the movement of a rock. Thus, the
rock might be caused to move by being struck (e.g., by a falling tree). The rock
might also be caused to move (i.e., fall) by gravity. Notice that causal explanation
of this type makes no reference to mental attributes. However, a human being
differs from a material object (like a rock) in that s/he has a mind. This means
that it is possible to causally explain human behavior (i.e., action) with reference
to mental attributes. For instance, a woman was caused to purchase ice cream by
a desire for ice cream. A man was caused to smash the television by his emotion
of anger. Weber does not deny that, in theory, human action can also be causally
explained without reference to mental attributes. For instance, one might say
that a woman was caused to purchase ice cream by a biochemical reaction in her
brain. Here there is no reference to mental attributes (like belief, desire, etc.).
Yet, for Weber (an antipositivist), social analysis centers on causal explanation,
which does reference mental attributes (see Weber 1975:125–129). Collingwood
endorses the same position (1993:214–215).
Thus, for Weber, mental attributes (like belief, desire, emotion, intention) cause
actions. In other words, actions are effects of mental attributes (see Weber 1975:125–
129; 1978[1922]:12; Huff 1984. Also see Schluchter 1999:68; Beiser 2011:539–544).
For instance, a belief that the door is open causes a man to state: “Shut the door.”
An intention to play basketball causes a man to put on his basketball shoes. Like
Weber, Parsons, Collingwood, and Davidson affirm that mental attributes cause
actions (Parsons and Shils 1951:161 ft.1; Collingwood 1993:214–215; Davidson
2001[1980]:3-19). Notably, however, this key idea drops out of the work of Geertz,
and anthropological work inspired by Geertz.
B. Mental Causation, Rational Action,

and Instrumental Rationality
At any rate, the notion of mental causation has a further level of complexity.
Scholarship on action recognizes that action is of (at least) two types: (1) ra-
tional action, and (2) non-rational action. Let us focus on rational action. One
way to describe a rational action is as follows: an individual performs a rational
action when s/he performs an action which s/he believes will help realize his/
her desires.
The preceding idea can be traced back to Aristotle. Aristotle draws attention
to a particular case. In this case a single desire and a single belief combine to-
gether to cause an action. For instance, John may desire to lose weight. He may
also believe that bike-riding will result in weight loss. John’s desire and belief
combine together to cause him to perform the action of riding a bike.
For Aristotle, when we describe how an individual’s belief and desire combine
to cause an action, we describe his/her reasoning (i.e., the “practical syllogism”
see Davidson 2001[1980]:3–42; Audi 2006:10–28). Thus, in the previous example,
John reasons as follows: “I desire to lose weight. It is my belief that bike-riding
results in weight loss. Therefore, I should perform the action of riding a bike.” In
this way, John’s belief and desire form the basis of his reasoning and cause him
to perform the action of riding a bike. Where reasoning leads to action it is typ-
ically referred to as “practical reasoning.” Thus, for Aristotle, beliefs and desires
form the basis of (practical) reasoning and cause action.2
Within hermeneutic theory, the topic of (practical) reasoning is taken up by
Weber and then Davidson. Like Aristotle, Weber and Davidson hold the view
that beliefs and desires combine to cause action. However, Weber and Davidson
offer an analysis of (practical) reasoning which is more sophisticated than that
of Aristotle.
Weber’s discussion of (practical) reasoning focuses on the concept of “instru-
mentally rational action” (1978[1922]:24–26). Weber’s concept of instrumen-
tally rational action has exercised a strong influence over twentieth century
social theory (see Lukacs 1971[1923]; Schutz 1967[1932]; Parsons 1949[1937];
Horkheimer 2004[1947]; Habermas 1984). This concept is partially inspired
by Utilitarian and neoclassical economic models of human action (e.g., Homo
economicus). However, it is also critical of these models, rejecting some of their
basic premises. For instance, Weber rejects the assumption that all human ac-
tion is self-interested and caused by a desire to acquire material goods. (For
classic anthropological critiques of such models see Malinowski 1984[1922];
Mauss 2000[1950]; Sahlins 1976. Also see Chibnik 2011).
2
This idea continues to enjoy widespread support even though it was attacked in the middle of
the twentieth century on the dubious grounds that “reasons” cannot simultaneously be “causes.”
Ryle (2002[1949]) and Anscombe (2000[1957]) criticize the view the reasons are causes, but Davidson
(2001[1980]) and Audi (2006) convincingly rebut these criticisms.
Weber’s concept of instrumentally rational action can be explained as follows.

Similar to Aristotle, Weber holds that desires and beliefs are causes of action.3
Nevertheless, Weber turns away from the Aristotelian idea that a single desire
and a single belief combine to cause an action. Rather, for Weber, an individual
is caused to perform an action by his/her various beliefs and desires (see Weber
1946[1915]:280; 1978[1922]:24–26; Also see Habermas 1984:87–88). This means
that the individual acts to pursue the strongest of his/her various desires in light
of his/her various beliefs about the world.
Weber’s point is articulated with greater clarity and refinement by prominent
philosopher of action Donald Davidson (2001[1980]; 2001[1984]). Davidson ex-
plains that when analyzing action, it is necessary to adopt a holistic approach.
Such an approach takes all of an individual’s beliefs and desires into account.
This is necessary because an individual’s beliefs and desires can always offset
one another. Recall the example of John the bike-rider. A simple Aristotelian
analysis would hold that John is caused to ride the bike by his desire to lose
weight and his belief that bike-riding will result in weight loss. But such an anal
ysis tacitly presumes that John does not have any offsetting beliefs and desires.
First, consider the case of offsetting desires. For instance, imagine that John de-
sires to rest in bed more than he desires to lose weight. In this situation John
would not ride the bike. More specifically, in this situation, John’s desire to lose
weight would not cause him to perform the action of bike-riding because it is
offset by a stronger desire to rest in bed. There can also be offsetting beliefs. For
instance, imagine that even though John believes that bike-riding will result in
weight loss, he also believes it will result in a fatal heart attack. In this situation,
he would also not perform the action of bike-riding. More specifically, in this
situation his belief that bike-riding results in weight loss would not cause him to
ride the bike because it is offset by a belief that bike-riding will result in a heart
attack.
Davidson (2001[1980]) also points out that intention and action are closely re-
lated. This is because an intention is usually an intention to perform an action.
Hence, I might intend to eat a hamburger or to visit China. In both cases I intend
to perform a particular action (namely, the action of eating a hamburger and the
action of visiting China). Furthermore, an individual’s intentions have a causal
relationship to his or her actions. Thus, once I form an intention to perform an
action, the intention generally causes me to perform the action (unless I am pre-
vented from doing so or unless I make a mistake). Hence, if I form an intention
to eat a hamburger, the intention then causes me to perform the action of eating
a hamburger. In other words, I eat the hamburger because I intended to do so.
For Davidson, it is possible to speak of an individual’s beliefs and desires
causing his/her actions. Yet, this is a derivative phenomenon. In Davidson’s view,
the totality of an individual’s beliefs and desires first cause the individual to form
intentions. These intentions then cause the individual to perform corresponding
3
Weber refers to beliefs as “ideas” or “expectations.” Meanwhile, he refers to desires as “inter-
ests” or “ends.”
actions. Here we may return to the case of John the bike-rider. On Davidson’s
view, John’s desire to lose weight and his belief that bike-riding results in weight
loss cause him to form an intention to ride a bike. This intention then causes
John to perform the action of riding a bike.
In explaining his views on intention, Davidson once again emphasizes the im-
portance of a holistic approach. After all, an individual’s intentions are caused
by his/her beliefs and desires, but these beliefs and desires can offset one an-
other. Hence, it is necessary to take all of an individual’s beliefs and desires into
account. For instance, imagine that John desires to rest in bed more than he
desires to lose weight. In this situation, John would not form an intention to ride
the bike. Similarly, imagine that even though John believes that bike-riding will
result in weight loss, he also believes it will result in a fatal heart attack. In this
situation, John would not form an intention to ride the bike. Consequently, one
must take all of John’s desires and beliefs into account to determine which in-
tentions he will form.
The preceding points can be summarized as follows. The totality of an
individual’s beliefs and desires cause him/her to form intentions. More spe-
cifically, an individual forms an intention to perform a particular action based
on the strongest of his/her desires and in light of all his/her beliefs about the
world. This intention then causes the person to perform the corresponding ac-
tion. Since an individual’s actions follow directly from his/her intentions, it can
also be said that the person acts based on the strongest of his/her desires and
in light of his/her beliefs about the world. I will use the term “instrumental
rationality” to refer to the notion that an individual forms intentions (and/or
performs actions) based on the strongest of all his/her desires and in light of all
his/her beliefs about the world.
As noted previously, human actions can be divided into two (simplistic)
categories: (1) rational actions, and (2), non-rational actions. To put things in
simplistic terms, where an action is rational it can be described in terms of in-
strumental rationality4 (i.e., an individual is caused to form intentions and per-
form actions based on the totality of his/her beliefs and desires). Yet, where an
action is non-rational such a description is not valid. Hermeneutic theorists like
Weber recognize that not all human actions are rational. For instance, Weber
(1978[1922]:24–26) recognizes that actions can be caused by emotions (i.e.,
“affectual action”) or even habits (i.e., “traditional action”).
Indeed, Weber points out that human actions typically do not fit into simple
categories. Hence, an action can be partially rational and partially non-rational.
For instance, a woman might be caused to perform a particular action partially
based on the totality of her beliefs and desires (i.e., instrumentally rational ac-
tion), but also partially based on her emotions and habits. Nevertheless, for both
Weber and Davidson, human actions are largely (though not completely) ra-
tional. Hence, in analyzing actions, one should start with the presumption that
4
This simplification omits Weber’s notion of “value rational action.”
they are rational (see Weber 1978[1922]:6–7, 18–19; Parsons 1949[1937]:640–649;

Habermas 1984:6; also see Beiser 2011:548–550). Yet, one may abandon this pre-
sumption in the face of contrary evidence.
All of this leaves us with a more complex model of mental causation. The
model focuses on rational action (i.e., instrumentally rational action), while
recognizing that action is not purely rational. Insofar as action is rational (i.e.,
instrumentally rational), it can be described as follows. An individual’s beliefs
and desires combine to cause the individual to form intentions, and these inten-
tions then cause the individual to perform actions. Notice that, according to this
model, the individual’s beliefs, desires, and intentions all cause his/her actions
(i.e., this is “mental causation”). Hence, an individual’s actions are effects of his/
her beliefs, desires, and intentions. In other words, actions are effects of mental
attributes.
C. Mental Causation and Chains of Effects
Hermeneutic theorists like Weber hold that actions are effects of mental attri-
butes. However, not all effects of mental attributes are actions. Thus, Droysen
(1893:12) points out that “man’s mind has touched, formed, [and] stamped” the
material and social world. Such a view suggests that things like material struc-
tures and artifacts are also effects of mental attributes. Parsons and Schutz es-
pouse a similar stance (See Parsons and Shils 1951:161 ft.1; Schutz and Luckmann
1973:16–17, 272). This stance can be understood as follows. Consider that a cause
can produce a “chain of effects.” Here, the cause produces an effect. This effect
then causes a second effect. The second effect then causes a third effect, and so
on. For example, my emotion of anger can cause me to shoot a gun, and my ac-
tion of shooting the gun can cause someone’s death. In this case, there is a cause
(anger), which produces an effect (the action of shooting a gun). This effect (the
action), then causes a further effect (someone’s death). Similarly, I may have a
desire to eat corn, and a belief that corn plants will grow if I plant corn kernels
in the earth. My belief and my desire then cause me to perform the action of
planting corn kernels in the earth. My action of planting the corn kernels has
the effect of changing the earth into a cornfield. Hence, the cornfield is an ef-
fect of my action of planting, which is an effect of my desire to eat corn and my
belief that corn plants will grow if I plant corn kernels in the earth. In this way,
my “mind” has “formed [and] stamped” the earth by making it into a cornfield.
Synthesizing the insights of Droysen, Weber, Schutz, Parsons, and Davidson,
I would suggest the following. Actions (including statements), material struc-
tures/artifacts, and the like can be viewed as the effects of mental attributes.
Moreover, these effects can be conceptualized as “signs.” Such signs function
as evidence indicating the presence of something else (i.e., a Peircean index).
Hence, just as smoke is a sign of fire because it indicates the presence of fire, the
action of purchasing ice cream is a sign of a desire for ice cream because it indi-
cates the presence of a desire for ice cream. Moreover, when one sees a cornfield
in a village, the cornfield is a sign that the villagers desire to eat corn and believe
that corn plants will grow if kernels are planted in the earth.
As a general principle, wherever a mental attribute causes a chain of effects,
all of these effects are evidence indicating the presence of the mental attribute.
In other words, all of these effects are signs of the mental attribute which caused them.
In such a situation, one infers the presence of a mental attribute from an effect,
by tracing back from the effect to the mental attribute which caused it. For in-
stance, suppose we see a woman purchasing ice cream. We infer that she desires
ice cream by tracing back her action of purchasing ice cream to a desire for ice
cream (which we presume caused her action). In this case, we have traced an
effect (i.e., the action of buying ice cream) directly back to a mental attribute
(i.e., a desire for ice cream). Nevertheless, in other cases we may need to trace
back through a longer chain of effects. Hence, when we encounter a cornfield,
we see it as an effect of the action of planting corn kernels, and we see the ac-
tion of planting kernels as an effect of a desire to eat corn and a belief that corn
plants will grow if kernels are planted in the earth. In this way, from a cornfield
we infer a desire to eat corn by tracing back through a chain of effects. Schutz al-
ludes to something like the preceding method of inference: “It is a basic fact that
acts . . . change [the world] . . . Some acts . . . leave behind traces . . . We can for-
mally describe all such traces as the results [i.e., effects] of acts . . . [From the re-
sults/effects of an act] one can infer back to a determinate action and from this
to certain subjective [i.e., mental] processes” (Schutz and Luckmann 1973:272).
All of this leads to a particular perspective on social analysis. According to
such a perspective, the minds (i.e., mental attributes) of individuals cause count-
less chains of effects. These chains of effects radiate outward across space and
through time to generate social and material worlds. Ordinary people within a
given society (e.g., Egyptian society) confront a particular social and material
world, consisting in effects. These effects include actions and statements (which
may be recorded in texts), as well as material structures and artifacts. As we will
see, these effects also include obedient actions through which particular rules,
plans, and decrees are implemented. To put things in hermeneutic terms, all
these effects are “expressions,” “externalizations,” or “objectifications” of mind
(i.e., mental attributes). Cultural, religious, and legal traditions consist (at least
partly) in effects of this type, and such traditions are an element of the human
social and material world. People naturally seek to understand their world (and
its traditions). This typically involves tracing back the effects (which constitute
the world and its traditions) to mental attributes. These people thereby treat the
effects as signs of mental attributes. Since traditions consist (at least partly) in ef-
fects, they also consist (at least partly) in signs. Schutz puts forth an analytic
framework of this type when he discusses the intuitive stance that ordinary
people have toward the world (i.e., the “natural attitude”): “In the natural at-
titude I [as an ordinary person] am already cognizant of the historicity of the
social and cultural world. The questionableness of the social and cultural world
is of a historical character. Its objectivations [i.e., objectifications] are traceable
back to human doings, which can be explicated as regards their meaning. By
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up outside the Forbidden City on a large empty space adjoining the
Coal Hill. It was crowded with figures of attendant eunuchs and
handmaidens, and contained furniture and viands for the use of the
illustrious dead in the lower regions. A throne was placed in the
bows, and around it were kneeling effigies of attendant officials all
wearing their Robes of State as if the shade of Tzŭ Hsi were holding
an audience.
On the morning of the All Souls’ festival the Regent, in the name of
the Emperor, performed sacrifice before the barge, which was then
set alight and burnt, in order that the Old Buddha might enjoy the
use of it at the “yellow springs.” A day or two before her funeral,
hundreds of paper effigies of attendants, cavalry, camels and other
pack animals, were similarly burnt so that her spirit might enjoy all
the pomp to which she had been accustomed in life.
The following account of her funeral is reproduced from The Times
of 27th November, 1909:—
“The 9th of November at 5 a.m. was the hour of good omen

originally chosen by the Astrologers for the departure of the
remains of Her late Majesty the Empress Dowager from their
temporary resting place in the Forbidden City to the
mausoleum prepared for her at the Eastern Hills. To meet the
convenience of the foreign representatives, the hour was
subsequently changed to 7 a.m.
“The arrangements for the procession and the part taken
therein by the Diplomatic Body, were generally similar to
those of the funeral of His Majesty Kuang-Hsü, but the
mounted troops were more numerous and better turned out,
the police were noticeably smarter and well-dressed, and the
pageant as a whole was in many respects more imposing. But
for those who, in May last, witnessed the late Emperor’s
funeral, the scene lacked one element of its brilliantly
picturesque effect, namely, the bright sunshine which on that
occasion threw every detail and distinctive note of the cortège
into clear relief against the grey background of the Palace
walls. The day was cold, with lowering clouds, and the long
delay which preceded the appearance of the catafalque at the
point where the Diplomatic Body was stationed had an
inevitably depressing effect on the spectators.
“The catafalque was borne by eighty-four bearers, the
largest number which can carry this unwieldy burden through
the City gates; but beyond the walls the coffin was transferred
to a larger bier borne by one hundred and twenty men. In
front walked the Prince Regent, the bodyguard of Manchu
Princes and the members of the Grand Council, attended by
the Secretariat staff. Behind rode first a smart body of troops,
followed by a large number of camels whose Mongol
attendants carried tent-poles and other articles for use in the
erection of the ‘matshed palaces,’ wherein the coffin rests at
night at the different stages of the four days’ journey to the
tombs. Behind the Mongols were borne in procession the
gaudy honorific umbrellas presented to the Old Buddha on
the occasion of her return from exile at Hsi-an fu in 1901: all
these were burnt on the 16th instant when the body was
finally entombed. Following the waving umbrellas came a
body of Lama dignitaries, and after them a contingent from
the Imperial Equipage Department bearing Manchu sacrificial
vessels, Buddhist symbols and embroidered banners.
Conspicuous in the cortège were three splendid chariots with
trappings and curtains of Imperial yellow silk, emblazoned
with dragons and phœnixes, and two palanquins similar to
those used by the Empress Dowager on her journeys in
State; these also were burned at the mausoleum. Noticeable
figures in the procession were the six chief eunuchs, including
the notorious Li Lien-ying and the short handsome attendant
who usually accompanied the Empress’s sedan chair. The
spectacle, as a whole, was most impressive; no such pomp
and circumstance, say the Chinese, has marked the
obsequies of any Empress of China since the funeral of the
Empress Wu (circa a.d. 700) of whom the annals record that
hundreds of attendants were buried alive in her mausoleum.
“The police arrangements attracted general attention by
their remarkable efficiency, which many Chinese attribute to
the present Empress Dowager’s constant fear of
assassination. Every closed door along the route of the
procession was closely guarded by soldiers and special
precautions taken against bomb-throwing. The street guards
were numerous and alert, and the arrangements generally
were characterised by discipline and decorum. There was
little confusion in the cortège, and none of the unseemly
shouting usual on such occasions.
“Ninety miles away, in a silent spot surrounded by virgin
pine forest and backed by protecting hills, are the Eastern
Tombs, towards which, for four days, the great catafalque
made its way along the yellow-sanded road. There stands the
mausoleum, originally built by the faithful Jung Lu for his
Imperial Mistress at a cost which stands in the government
records at eight millions of taels. It is close to the ‘Ting Ling,’
the burial-place of her husband, the Emperor Hsien-Feng. To
the west of it stands the tomb of her colleague and co-Regent
(the Empress Tzŭ An), and on the east that of the first
Consort of Hsien-Feng, who died before his accession to the
Throne, and was subsequently canonised as Empress.
Throughout her lifetime, and particularly of late years,
Yehonala took great interest and pride in her last resting-
place, visiting it at intervals and exacting the most scrupulous
attention from those entrusted with its building and
adornment. On one occasion, in 1897, when practically
completed, she had it rebuilt because the teak pillars were not
sufficiently massive. After the death of Jung Lu, Prince Ch’ing
became responsible for the custody of the tomb and its
precious contents—the sacrificial vessels of carved jade, the
massive vases and incense burners of gold and silver, which
adorn the mortuary chamber; the richly-jewelled couch to
receive the coffin, and the carved figures of serving maids
and eunuchs who stand for ever in attendance. After the last
ceremony at the tomb, when the Princes, Chamberlains and
high officials had taken their final farewell of the illustrious
dead, while the present Empress Dowager, with her
attendants and the surviving consorts of the Emperors Hsien-
Feng and T’ung-Chih, offered the last rites in the mortuary
chamber, the massive stone door of the tomb was let down
and the resting-place of Tzŭ Hsi closed for ever.
“The cost of the late Emperor’s funeral has been officially
recorded, with the nice accuracy which characterises Chinese
finance, at 459,940 taels, 2 mace, 3 candareens and 6 li. As
the cost of a funeral in China closely reflects the dignity of the
deceased and the “face” of his or her immediate survivors,
these figures become particularly interesting when compared
with the cost of the Empress Dowager’s funeral, which is
placed at one and a-quarter to one and a-half million taels.
Rumour credited the Regent with an attempt to cut down this
expenditure, which attempt he abandoned at the last moment
in the face of the displeasure of the powerful Yehonala Clan.
That the Old Buddha’s magnificent funeral was appreciated
by the populace of Peking is certain, for to them she was for
fifty years a sympathetic personality and a great ruler.
“The conveyance of Her Majesty’s ancestral tablet from the
tombs of the Eastern Hills to its resting-place in the Temple of
Ancestors in the Forbidden City was a ceremony in the
highest degree impressive and indicative of the vitality of
those feelings which make ancestor-worship the most
important factor in the life of the Chinese. The tablet, a simple
strip of carved and lacquered wood, bearing the name of the
deceased in Manchu and Chinese characters, had been
officially present at the burial. With the closing of the great
door of the tomb the spirit of the departed ruler is supposed to
be translated to the tablet, and to the latter is therefore given
honour equal to that which was accorded to the sovereign
during her lifetime. Borne aloft in a gorgeous chariot draped
with Imperial yellow silk and attended by a large mounted
escort, Tzŭ Hsi’s tablet journeyed slowly and solemnly, in
three days’ stages, from the Eastern Hills to Peking. At each
stage it rested for the night in a specially constructed pavilion,
being ‘invited’ by the Master of the Ceremonies, on his knees
and with all solemnity, to be pleased to leave its chariot and
rest. For the passage of this habitation of the spirit of the
mighty dead the Imperial road had been specially prepared
and swept by an army of men; it had become a via sacra on
which no profane feet might come or go. As the procession
bearing the sacred tablet drew near to the gates of the capital,
the Prince Regent and all the high officers of the Court knelt
reverently to receive it. All traffic was stopped; every sound
stilled in the streets, where the people knelt to do homage to
the memory of the Old Buddha. Slowly and solemnly the
chariot was borne through the main gate of the Forbidden City
to the Temple of the Dynasty’s ancestors, the most sacred
spot in the Empire, where it was ‘invited’ to take its appointed
place among the nine Ancestors and their thirty-five Imperial
Consorts. Before this could be done, however, it was
necessary that the tablets of Tzŭ Hsi’s son, T’ung-Chih, and
of her daughter-in-law, should first be removed from that
august assembly, because due ceremony required that the
arriving tablet should perform obeisance to those of its
ancestors, and it would not be fitting for the tablet of a parent
to perform this ceremony in the presence of that of a son or
daughter-in-law. The act of obeisance was performed by
deputy, in the person of the Regent acting for the child
Emperor, and consisted of nine kowtows before each tablet in
the Temple, or about 400 prostrations in all. When these had
been completed, with due regard to the order of seniority of
the deceased, the tablets of the Emperor T’ung-Chih and his
wife were formally ‘invited’ to return to the Temple, where
obeisance was made on their behalf to the shade of Tzŭ Hsi
which had been placed in the shrine beside that of her former
colleague and co-Regent, the Empress Tzŭ An. Thus ended
the last ceremonial act of the life and death of this remarkable
woman; but her spirit still watches over the Forbidden City
and the affairs of her people, who firmly believe that it will in
due time guide the nation to a happy issue out of all their
afflictions. As time goes on, the weaknesses of her character
and the errors of her career are forgotten, and her greatness
only remembered. And no better epitaph could be written for
this great Manchu than that of her own valedictory Decree
which, rising above all the pettiness and humiliations of her
reign, looking death and change steadfastly in the face, raises
her in our eyes (to quote a writer in the Spectator)[130] ‘to that
vague ideal state of human governance imagined by the
Greek, when the Kings should be philosophers and the
philosophers Kings.’”
Marble Bridge over the Lake in the Western Park which surrounds the
Lake Palace.
Photo, Betines, Peking.

“Ti Wang Miao” or Temple to the Memory of Virtuous Emperors of
Previous Dynasties.
Photo, Betines, Peking.

XXVIII
CONCLUSION
“All sweeping judgments,” says Coleridge, “are unjust.”

“Comprendre,” says the French philosopher, “c’est tout pardonner.”
To understand the life and personality of the Empress Dowager, it is
before everything essential to divest our minds of racial prejudice
and to endeavour to appreciate something of the environment and
traditions to which she was born. In the words of the thoughtful
article in the Spectator, already quoted, “she lived and worked and
ruled in a setting which is apart from all western modes of thought
and standards of action, and the first step in the historian’s task is to
see that she is judged by her own standards and not wholly by ours.”
Judged by the rough test of public opinion and accumulating
evidence in her own country, Tzŭ Hsi’s name will go down to history
in China as that of a genius in statecraft and a born ruler, a woman
“with all the courage of a man, and more than the ordinary man’s
intelligence.”[131]
Pending that reform and liberty of the press which is still the
distant dream of “Young China,” no useful record of the life and times
of the Empress Dowager is to be expected from any Chinese writer.
Despite the mass of information which exists in the diaries and
archives of metropolitan officials and the personal reminiscences of
those who knew her well, nothing of any human interest or value has
been published on the subject in China. From the official and
orthodox point of view, a truthful biography of the Empress would be
sacrilege. It is true that in the vernacular newspapers under
European protection at the Treaty Ports, as well as in Hongkong and
Singapore, Cantonese writers have given impressions of Her
Majesty’s personality and brief accounts of her life, but these are so
hopelessly biassed and distorted by hatred of the Manchus as to be
almost worthless for historical purposes, as worthless as the dry
chronicles of the Dynastic annals. Reference has already been made
to the best known of these publications, a series of letters originally
published in a Singapore newspaper and republished under the title
of “The Chinese Crisis from within,”[132] by a writer who, under the
nom-de-plume of “Wen Ching,” concealed the identity of one of
K’ang Yu-wei’s most ardent disciples. His work is remarkable for
sustained invective and reckless inaccuracy, clearly intended to
create an atmosphere of hatred against the Manchus (for the
ultimate benefit of the Cantonese) in the minds of his countrymen,
and to dissuade the foreign Powers from allowing the Empress to
return to Peking. Drawing on a typically Babu store of “western
learning,” this writer compares the Empress to Circe, Semiramis,
Catherine de Medici, Messalina, Fulvia, and Julia Agrippina; quoting
Dante and Rossetti to enforce his arguments, and leavening his
vituperation with a modicum of verifiable facts sufficient to give to his
narrative something of vraisemblance. But his judgment is
emphatically sweeping. He ignores alike Tzŭ Hsi’s undeniable good
qualities and her extenuating circumstances, the defects of her
education and the difficulties of her position, so that his work is
almost valueless.
Equally valueless, for purposes of historical accuracy, are most of
the accounts and impressions of the Empress recorded by those
Europeans (especially the ladies of the Diplomatic Body and their
friends) who saw her personality and purposes reflected in the false
light which beats upon the Dragon Throne on ceremonial occasions,
or who came under the influence of the deliberate artifices and
charm of manner which she assumed so well. Had the etiquette of
her Court and people permitted intercourse with European diplomats
and distinguished visitors of the male sex, she would certainly have
acquired, and exercised over them also, that direct personal
influence which emanated from her extraordinary vitality and will-
power, influence such as the western world has learned to associate
with the names of the Emperor William of Germany and Mr.
Roosevelt. Restricted as she was to social relations with her own sex
amongst foreigners, she exerted herself, and never failed, to
produce on them an impression of womanly grace and gentleness of
disposition, which qualities we find accordingly praised by nearly all
who came in contact with her after the return of the Court, aye, even
by those who had undergone the horrors of the siege under the very
walls of her Palace. The glamour of her mysterious Court, the rarity
of the visions vouchsafed, the real charm of her manner, and the
apparently artless bonhomie of her bearing, all combined to create in
the minds of the European ladies who saw her an impression as
favourable as it was opposed to every dictate of common sense and
experience. In certain notable instances, the effect of this impression
reacted visibly on the course of the Peace Protocol negotiations.
From the diary of Ching Shan we obtain an estimate of Tzŭ Hsi’s
character, formed by one who had enjoyed for years continual
opportunities of studying her at close quarters—an estimate which
was, and is, confirmed by the popular verdict, the common report of
the tea-houses and market places of the capital. Despite her swiftly
changing and uncontrolled moods, her childish lack of moral sense,
her unscrupulous love of power, her fierce passions and revenges,
Tzŭ Hsi was no more the savage monster described by “Wen
Ching,” than she was the benevolent, fashion-plate Lady Bountiful of
the American magazines. She was simply a woman of unusual
courage and vitality, of strong will and unbounded ambition, a
woman and an Oriental, living out her life by such lights as she knew,
and in accordance with the traditions of her race and caste. Says
Ching Shan in the Diary: “The nature of the Empress is peace-loving:
she has seen many springs and autumns. I myself know well her
refined and gentle tastes, her love of painting, poetry and the
theatre. When in a good mood she is the most amiable and tractable
of women, but at times her rage is awful to witness.” Here we have
the woman drawn from life, without arrière pensée, by a just but
sympathetic observer, the woman who could win, and hold, the
affectionate loyalty of the greatest men of her time, not to speak of
that of her retainers and serving maids; the woman whose human
interest and sympathy in everything around her, were not withered
by age nor staled by custom; yet who, at a word, could send the
fierce leaders of the Boxers cowering from her presence. Souvent
femme varie. Tzŭ Hsi, her own mistress and virtual ruler of the
Empire at the age of twenty-four, had not had much occasion to
learn to control either her moods or her passions. Hers, from the
first, was the trick and temper of autocracy. Trained in the traditions
of a Court where human lives count for little, where power maintains
itself by pitiless and brutal methods, where treason and foul deeds
lie in waiting for the first signs of the ruler’s weakness, how should
she learn to put away from the Forbidden City the hideous
barbarities of its ways?
Let us remember her time and place. Consider the woman’s
environment and training, her marriage to a dissolute puppet, her
subsequent life in that gilded prison of the Imperial City, with its
endless formalities, base intrigues and artificial sins. Prior to the
establishment of China’s first diplomatic relations with European
nations, the Court of Peking and its ways bore a strong resemblance
to those of Medieval Europe; nor have successive routs and
invasions since that date changed any of its cherished traditions and
methods. In the words of a recent writer on medieval history, the life
of the Peking Palace, like that of our fourteenth century, “was one of
profound learning and crass stupidity, of infantile gaiety and sudden
tragedy, of flashing fortunes and swift dooms. There is a certain
innocence about the very sinners of the thirteenth and fourteenth
centuries. Many of their problems, indeed, arose from the fact that
this same childlike candour was allied to the unworn forces of full
manhood.” Whatever crimes of cruelty and vengeance Tzŭ Hsi
committed—and they were many—be it said to her credit that she
had, as a rule, the courage of her convictions and position, and
sinned coram publico. Beneath the fierceness without which an
Oriental ruler cannot hope to remain effective, there certainly beat a
heart which could be kind, if the conditions were propitious, and a
rough sense of humour, which is a common and pleasing trait of the
Manchus.
Let us also remember that in the East to-day (as it was with us of
Europe before the growth of that humanitarianism which now shows
signs of unhealthy exaggeration) pain and death are part of the
common, every-day risks of life, risks lightly incurred by the average
Oriental in the great game of ambitions, loves and hates that is for
ever played around the Throne. Tzŭ Hsi played her royal part in the
great game, but it is not recorded of her that she ever took life from
sheer cruelty or love of killing. When she sent a man to death, it was
because he stood between her and the full and safe gratification of
her love of power. When her fierce rage was turned against the
insolence of the foreigner, she had no scruple in consigning every
European in China to the executioner; when the Emperor’s favourite
concubine disputed her Imperial authority, she had no hesitation in
ordering her to immediate death; but in every recorded instance,
except one, her methods were swift, clean, and, from the Oriental
point of view, not unmerciful. She had no liking for tortures, or the
lingering death. In all her Decrees of vengeance, we find the same
unhesitating firmness in removing human obstacles from her path,
combined with a complete absence of that unnecessary cruelty
which is so frequently associated with despotism. Her methods, in
fact, were Elizabethan rather than Florentine.
If Tzŭ Hsi developed self-reliance early in life, the fact is not to be
wondered at, for it was little help that she had to look for in her
entourage of Court officials. Amongst the effete classical scholars,
the fat-paunched Falstaffs, the opium sots, doddering fatalists and
corrupt parasites of the Imperial Clans, she seems, indeed, to have
been an anachronism, a “cast-back” to the virility and energy that
won China for her sturdy ancestors. She appeared to be the born
and inevitable ruler of the degenerate Dynasty, and if she became a
law unto herself, it was largely because there were few about her fit
to lead or to command.
Imbued with a very feminine love of luxury, addicted to pleasure,
and at one period of her life undoubtedly licentious after the manner
of her Court’s traditions, she combined these qualities with a shrewd
common sense and a marked penchant for acquiring and amassing
personal property. To use her own phrase, she endeavoured in all
things to observe the principle of the “happy mean,” and seldom
allowed her love of pleasure to obscure her vision or to hinder her
purposes in the serious businesses of life.
Like many great rulers of the imperious and militant type, she was
remarkably superstitious, a punctilious observer of the rites
prescribed for averting omens and conciliating the myriad gods and
demons of the several religions of China, a liberal supporter of
priests and soothsayers. Nevertheless, as with Elizabeth of England,
her secular instincts were au fond stronger than all her superstitions.
That sturdy common sense, which played so successfully upon the
weaknesses and the passions of her corrupt entourage, never
allowed any consideration for the powers unseen to interfere
seriously with her masterful handling of things visible, or to curb her
ruling passion for unquestioned authority.
The qualities which made up the remarkable personality of the
Empress were many and complex, but of those which chiefly
contributed to her popularity and power we would place, first, her
courage, and next, a certain simplicity and directness—both qualities
that stand out in strong relief against the timorous and tortuous
tendencies of the average Manchu. Of her courage there could be
no doubt; even amidst the chaos of the days of the Boxer terror it
never failed her, and Ching Shan is only one of many who bear
witness to her unconquerable spirit and sang froid. Amidst scenes of
desolation and destruction that might well shake the courage of the
bravest men, we see her calmly painting bamboos on silk, or giving
orders to stop the bombardment of the Legations to allow of her
excursion on the Lake. How powerful is the dramatic quality of that
scene where she attacks and dominates the truculent Boxer leaders
at her very doors; or again when, on the morning of the flight, she
alone preserves presence of mind, and gives her orders as coolly as
if starting on a picnic! At such moments all the defects of her training
and temperament are forgotten in the irresistible appeal of her nobler
qualities.
Of those qualities, and of her divine right to rule, Tzŭ Hsi herself
was fully convinced, and no less determined than His Majesty of
Germany, to insist upon proper recognition and respect for herself
and her commanding place in the scheme of the universe. Her belief
in her own supreme importance, and her superstitious habit of
thought were both strikingly displayed on the occasion when her
portrait, painted by Miss Carl for the St. Louis Exposition, was taken
from the Waiwupu on its departure to the United States. She
regarded this presentment of her august person as entitled, in all
seriousness of ceremonial, to the same reverence as herself and
gave orders for the construction of a miniature railway, to be built
through the streets of the capital for its special benefit. By this means
the “sacred countenance” was carried upright, under its canopy of
yellow silk, and Her Majesty was spared the thought of being borne
in effigy on the shoulders of coolies—a form of progress too
suggestively ill-omened to be endured. Before the portrait left the
Palace, the Emperor was summoned to prostrate himself before it,
and at its passing through the city, and along the railway line, the
people humbly knelt, as if it had been the Old Buddha of flesh and
blood. Incidents of this kind emphasise the impossibility of fairly
judging the Empress by European standards of conduct and ideas.
To get something of the proper atmosphere and perspective, we
must go back to the early days of the Tudors.
Portrait of the Empress Dowager.
Painted from life by Miss Catharine A. Carl for the St. Louis
Exposition, and now the property of the American Nation.
(Reproduced by permission of the Artist.)

Blunt of speech herself, she was quick to detect and resent
flattery. Those who rose highest in her affection and regard were
essentially strong men, blunt outspoken officials of the type of Jung
Lu, Tseng Kuo-fan, and Tso Tsung-t’ang; for those who would win
her favour by sycophancy she had a profound contempt, which she
was at no pains to conceal, though in certain instances (e.g., Chang
Chih-tung) she overlooked the offence because of ripe scholarship
or courage. An amusing example of this trait in her character
occurred on one occasion when, after perusing the examination
papers for the selection of successful candidates for the Hanlin
Literary degrees, she expressed herself in the following trenchant
Decree:—
“A certain candidate in the Hanlin examination, named Yen

Chen, has handed in some verses, the style of which is
excellent, but their subject matter contains a number of
allusions laudatory of the present Dynasty. This person has
evidently gone out of his way to refer to the present rulers of
the Empire, and has even seen fit to display gross flattery, for
his essay contains, amongst others, a sentence to the effect
that ‘we have now upon the Throne a female embodiment of
Yao and Shun.’[133] Now, the Throne defines merit in
candidates to-day on the same principles as those which
were in force under former Dynasties, its object being to form
a correct idea of the moral standards of candidates by perusal
of their essays and lyrical compositions. But this effort of Yen
Chen is nothing more than a laudatory ode, entirely lacking in
high seriousness. This is a grave matter: the question
involved is one closely affecting character and moral training;
such conduct cannot possibly be permitted to continue. The
examiners have placed Yen Chen at the top of the list in the
First Class; he is hereby relegated to the last place in that
class. Let our examiners for the future take more care in
scrutinising the papers submitted.”
As was only natural, Tzŭ Hsi was not above favouring her own
people, the Manchus, but one great secret of the solidity of her rule
undoubtedly lay in her broad impartiality and the nice balance which
she maintained between Chinese and Manchus in all departments of
the Government. She had realised that the brains and energy of the
country must come from the Chinese, and that if the Manchus were
to retain their power and sinecure positions, it must be with the good
will of the Chinese and the loyalty of the Mandarin class in the
provinces. From the commencement of her rule, down to the day
when she handed over her Boxer kinsmen to the executioner, she
never hesitated to inflict impartial punishment on Manchus, when
public opinion was against them. A case in point occurred in 1863, in
connection with one of her favourite generals, named Sheng Pao,
who had gained her sincere gratitude by his share in the war against
the British and French invaders in 1860, and who, by luck and the
ignorance of the Court, had been credited with having stopped the
advance of the Allies to Jehol. For these alleged services she had
awarded him special thanks and high honour. In 1863, however, he
was engaged in Shensi, fighting the Taipings, and, following a
custom not unusual amongst Chinese military commanders, had
asked leave to win over one of the rebel leaders by giving him an
important official position. Tzŭ Hsi, who had had ample opportunities
to learn something of the danger of this procedure, declined to
sanction his request, pointing out the objections thereto. Sheng Pao
ventured to suppress her Decree, and gave the rebel the position in
question. Success might have justified him, but the ex-bandit justified
Tzŭ Hsi by going back on his word. Awaiting a good opportunity, he
raised once more the standard of revolt, massacred a number of
officials, and captured several important towns. General Sheng Pao
was arrested and brought in custody to Peking; under cross-
examination he confessed, amongst other misdemeanours, that he
had permitted women to accompany the troops during this
campaign, which, by Chinese military law, is a capital offence. Other
charges against him, however, he denied, and, preserving an
insolent attitude, demanded to be confronted with his accusers. Tzŭ
Hsi issued a characteristically vigorous Decree in which she
declared that the proper punishment for his offence was
decapitation, but inasmuch as he had acquired merit by good work
against the Taipings, as well as against the British and French
invaders, she graciously granted him the privilege of committing
suicide, of which he promptly availed himself.
Tzŭ Hsi, as we have said, was extremely superstitious; nor is this
matter for wonder when we bear in mind the medieval atmosphere of
wizardous necromancy and familiar spirits which she had perforce
absorbed with her earliest education. Following the precepts of
Confucius, she preserved always a broad and tolerant attitude on all
questions of religion, but, while reluctant to discuss things
appertaining to the unknown gods, she was always prepared to
conciliate them, and to allow her actions in everyday affairs to be
guided by the words of her wise men and astrologers—“by dreams,
and by Urim and by prophets.” Thus we find her in the first year of
the Regency of her son’s minority (1861) issuing, in his name, a
Decree, which carries back the mind irresistibly to Babylon and those
days when the magicians and soothsayers were high personages in
the State.
“During the night of the 15th of the 7th Moon,” it begins,

“there occurred a flight of shooting stars in the southern
hemisphere; ten days later, a comet appeared twice in the sky
to the north-west. Heaven sends not these warnings in vain.
For the last month Peking has been visited by a grievous
epidemic, whereof the continued severity fills us with sore
dismay. The Empresses Dowager have now warned us that
these portents of Heaven are sent because of serious wrong
in our system of government, of errors unreformed and
grievances unredressed,” and the Decree ends by exhorting
all concerned “to put away frivolous things, so that Heaven,
perceiving our reverend attitude, may relent.”
In previous chapters we have shown with what punctilious

attention she consulted her astrologers in regard to the propitious
day for re-entering her capital on the Court’s return from exile, her
anxiety for scrupulous observance of their advice being manifestly
sincere. In her concern for omens and portents she seemed, like
Napoleon, to obey instincts external and superior to another and
very practical side of her nature, which, however, asserted itself
unmistakably whenever vital issues were at stake and her supreme
authority threatened. She was at all times anxious to secure the
goodwill of the ancestral spirits, whose presence she apprehended
as a living reality, but even with these, when it came to a direct issue
between her own despotic authority and their claims to
consideration, she never hesitated to relegate the mighty dead to the
background, content to appease them in due season by suitable
expressions of reverence and regret. The most notable instance of
this kind occurred when, disregarding the Dynastic laws of
succession, she deprived her son, the Emperor T’ung-Chih, of the
rites of ancestral worship, committing thus a crime which, as she well
knew, was heinous in the eyes of the Chinese people.
Her superstitious tendencies were most remarkably displayed in
the matter of the selection of the site of her tomb, and its building, an
occasion of which the Court geomancers took full advantage. When
T’ung-Chih reached his majority in 1873, his first duty was to escort
the Empresses Dowager to the Eastern Mausolea, where, with much
solemnity, two auspicious sites, encircled by hills and watered by
streams, were selected and exorcised of all evil influences. Further
ceremonies and mystic calculations were required to determine the
auspicious dates for the commencement of building operations; in
these, and the adornment of the tomb, Tzŭ Hsi continued to take the
keenest interest until the day of her death. In order to secure
scrupulous regard for its construction in accordance with the
requirements of her horoscope, and to make her sepulchre a fitting
and all-hallowed resting-place, she entrusted its chief supervision to
Jung Lu, who thus secured a permanent post highly coveted by
Manchu officials, in which huge “squeezes” were a matter of
precedent. The geomantic conditions of these burial places gave
unusual trouble, the tomb of the Empress Tzŭ An having eventually
to be shifted fifteen feet two inches northwards, and four feet seven
and a half inches westwards, before the spirits of her ancestors were
perfectly satisfied, while that of Tzŭ Hsi was removed seven feet four
inches to the north and eight inches to the eastward.
Tzŭ Hsi feared no man. From the first moment of her power,
secure in the sense of divine right and firmly believing in her “star,”
she savoured her authority like a rich wine. The pleasure she derived
from delivering homilies to the highest officials in the Empire may be
read between the lines of her Decrees. Already in 1862, that is to
say, before she was twenty-seven years of age, we find her solemnly
admonishing the Grand Council on their duties, urging them to adopt
stricter standards of conduct, and to put a check on their corrupt
tendencies. “They are, of course, not debarred from seeking advice
from persons below them in society, but let them be careful to avoid
any attempt at forming cabals or attracting to themselves troops of
followers.” And on another occasion, when she specially invited the
Censors to impeach Prince Kung, she observed: “In discussing the
principles of just government you should remember the precept of
the Confucian school, which is, ‘Be not weary in well-doing: strict
rectitude of conduct is the road royal to good government. Face and
overcome your difficulties, and thus eventually earn the right to
ease.’” Tzŭ Hsi could turn out this sort of thing, which appeals to
every Chinese scholar, in good style and large quantities. She took
pride in the manufacture of maxims for the guidance of the
Mandarins, but there was always a suspicion that her tongue was in
her cheek while she carefully penned these copybook platitudes, just
as we know there was when she set herself to display what The
Times correspondent at Peking called her “girlish abandon,” in order
to regain the affection of Mrs. Conger and the ladies of the
Diplomatic Body.
Of the Empress Dowager’s popularity and prestige with all classes
of her subjects, there is no doubt. At Peking especially, and
throughout the Metropolitan Province, she was the object of a very
general and very sincere affection; seldom is her name spoken
except with expressions of admiration and regard, very similar in
effect to the feelings of the British people for Her Majesty Queen
Victoria. Although her share of responsibility for the Boxer rising and
for the consequent sufferings inflicted on the people was matter of
common knowledge, little or no blame was ever imputed to the Old
Buddha. Her subjects loved her for her very defects, for the
foolhardy courage that had staked the Empire on a throw. Amongst

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The Anthropology of Islamic Law:

Education, Ethics, and Legal

Language and Legal Interpretation in International Law

Ethics at the Edges of Law 1st Edition Cathleen Kaveny

Crime And Punishment In Islamic Law: A Fresh

Essentials of Business Law and the Legal Environment

Islamic Law and International Law: Peaceful Resolution

The Oxford Handbook of Law and Anthropology Marie-

The Rise of Critical Islam: 10th-13th Century Legal

Islamic Ethics: Fundamental Aspects of Human Conduct

T H E A NT HRO PO L O GY O F ISLAMIC LAW

Library of Congress Cataloging-​in-​Publication Data

Introduction: Theoretical Orientation and Methodology 1

SECTION I: THEORY, ETHNOGRAPHY, HISTORY

V. Al-​Azhar Mosque at Present 79

SECTION II: TRADITIONAL ISLAMIC LEARNING

SECTION III: A NEW PERSPECTIVE ON ISLAMIC LEGAL DOCTRINE

SECTION IV: MODERN REFORM

In the early twentieth century, texts provided a convenient dividing line

II. HERMENEUTIC THEORY, PRACTICE THEORY,

The al-​Farūq mosque is of middling proportions. It is a tall single-​story rectangular struc-

ʿAbdullah. However, many are recognizable as up-​and-​coming religious authorities them-

Shaykh ʿAbdullah’s students attend his lessons to acquire knowledge of Sharīʿa

III. METHODOLOGICAL REMARKS

reasoning, general claims are frequently based on politically dominant/​elite/​

Another important reason to pay attention to premodern texts is that con-

in which a capitalist economy produces an ever-​increasing range of goods and

IV. THE OVERALL STRUCTURE OF THE BOOK

The third section is titled “A New Perspective on Islamic Legal Doctrine.” It

Hermeneutic Theory and Practice

I. SIGNS AND HERMENEUTIC THEORY

actions (e.g., cooperative actions, customs, communal rituals). For instance, a

desire to protect property rights. If they perform prescribed rituals of mourning

II. GEERTZ, SIGNS, AND THE ANTHROPOLOGICAL

ideas define Geertz’s distinctive approach to anthropology (i.e., “interpretive

III. BREAKING FROM GEERTZ’S ANALYSIS OF SIGNS

Discussions of “mental causation” go back to Aristotle, but are refined by herme­

B. Mental Causation, Rational Action,

Weber’s concept of instrumentally rational action can be explained as follows.

they are rational (see Weber 1978[1922]:6–​7, 18–​19; Parsons 1949[1937]:640–​649;

C. Mental Causation and Chains of Effects

“The 9th of November at 5 a.m. was the hour of good omen

Photo, Betines, Peking.

Photo, Betines, Peking.

“All sweeping judgments,” says Coleridge, “are unjust.”

(Reproduced by permission of the Artist.)

“A certain candidate in the Hanlin examination, named Yen

“During the night of the 15th of the 7th Moon,” it begins,

In previous chapters we have shown with what punctilious

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

V. Al-Azhar Mosque at Present 79

The al-Farūq mosque is of middling proportions. It is a tall single-story rectangular struc-

ʿAbdullah. However, many are recognizable as up-and-coming religious authorities them-

reasoning, general claims are frequently based on politically dominant/elite/

in which a capitalist economy produces an ever-increasing range of goods and

Discussions of “mental causation” go back to Aristotle, but are refined by herme

they are rational (see Weber 1978[1922]:6–7, 18–19; Parsons 1949[1937]:640–649;