Surely Islam needs a reformation? Isn't literalism in religion an obstacle to open minds; and isn't the promotion of rationalism the best way to boost the slow pace of science and innovation in the Islamic world? Until a few years ago, I believed that the answer to all these questions was a qualified "yes." Today I am not so sure.
This is because I've spent the past few years reading my way into the history of science during what is known as the golden age of Islamic civilisation. This is the 700-year period between the 8th and the 16th centuries, when the Muslim faith spread across the world and produced stunning innovations in art, architecture, crafts, medicine, science and technology.
When I began my investigations, there was one core idea that I didn't expect to be challenged on: that blind literalism in religion is essentially a bad thing for science and for society, and that rationalism is always a force for good. Yet, as I immersed myself in the Islamic contributions to astronomy, mathematics, medicine and optics, I discovered something far more complex. Not only was a literal interpretation of religion often a positive influence on the course of science in Islamic times. More astonishingly, a policy of state-sponsored rationalism had led to much suffering, even death; and it had been largely, if unintentionally, responsible for keeping science out of Islamic colleges and universities.
Science and innovation tend to be driven by a combination of influences. These include healthcare, defence, politics, business and empire-building as well as the curiosity of the human mind. During the golden era, however, there was an additional driver: a rapidly expanding community of religious believers. Algebra, for example, was developed partly as a tool to simplify complex inheritance formulae. Similarly, spherical trigonometry and mechanical instruments such as the astrolabe were perfected because of obligations to pray daily towards Mecca. The major mosques also doubled up as observatories because they employed timekeepers whose job included having to compute accurate astronomical tables.
Many of these developments took place during the rule of one particular dynasty, known as the Abbasids, who ruled the Islamic world from 750 until 1258. They were devout in belief, but also fired by a desire to unlock the secrets of new knowledge, regardless of where it came from. They were also committed rationalists—to the extent that they believed that reason and rationality should be the official ideology of the state.
Rationalism in religion was not a mainstream idea for believing Muslims at that time (nor is it now). And so the Abbasid rulers of the 9th century resorted to some rather extreme measures to convince their sceptical public that the principal criterion for making decisions must be reason. Religious leaders and public intellectuals were asked to take a test of reason during an inquisition known in Arabic as the mihna. They were "invited" by provincial governors to publicly refute irrational ideas, such as belief in miracles. Those who refused to do so were persecuted, jailed and tortured; a small number were also killed.
Most had no choice but to toe the line. But a few resisted, and one of the best-known examples is the Baghdad jurist Ahmad ibn Hanbal. Ibn Hanbal is the popular founder of an important (though literalist) school of Islamic law. Today, his teachings influence the laws in Saudi Arabia, and his books are read by those who are spied on by western intelligence agencies. Among the reasons why Ibn Hanbal is popular, however, is because of his resistance to the inquisition.
He was brought before the Abbasid authorities and asked to affirm that the Koran was not the eternal word of God, but had instead been "created" at a certain time and place. In his response, Ibn Hanbal said that rulers had no right to interfere in his right to believe in whatever he liked. This didn't wash with the Abbasids. Ibn Hanbal was flogged and spent many years under arrest.
Ibn Hanbal was revered in his time. In contrast, the many scientists employed by the Abbasids were seen by the population at large as being in the pockets of despots and dictators. The reputation of science—and that of scientists—undoubtedly suffered as a result. So much so that when the inquisition ended towards the end of the 9th century independent scholars quickly organised themselves into the first colleges and guilds, and made sure that there would be no place for science in their new institutions. Rationalist science was seen as an oppressive tool of the state; it was literalism in faith that promised freedom.
This holds an important lesson for today. Yes, the countries of the Islamic world need to do much better in science and technology than is currently the case. But Islamic states have long memories of the injustices meted out in the name of reason—and public confidence in science and evidence-based policy will not be helped if science allied to political power is used to interfere with peoples' right to believe. Rationality cannot simply be enforced; but history does remind us that faith has also often been the mother of invention, and could be again.
