Beyond Bureaucracy: Reclaiming the Intellectual Aims of the Maʿqūlāt Tradition in the Farangī Maḥall
Orientalism remains a living phenomenon today. While there are more overt attempts by Orientalists to discredit the Muslim tradition, it is often the more subtle ones that go unnoticed. What may appear at times to be neutral historical analysis can, in fact, be part of a broader project aimed at planting seeds of doubt in readers’ minds. These efforts work quietly, often seeking to call into question fundamental aspects of the Islamic intellectual heritage.
Without a culture of verification, an academic’s assumptions can be cited, discussed, messaged, and eventually retweeted for millions to see, slowly taking on the aura of fact. This piece explores one such example of subtle intellectual undermining that hides in plain sight within academic works.
To illustrate how this discreditation works, we turn to a particular statement by a modern scholar. In his analysis of the renowned Dars-i Niẓāmī curriculum of South Asian madrasas, historian Francis Robinson offers a seemingly authoritative explanation for why the rational sciences (maʿqūlāt) gained prominence in that syllabus. At first glance, his assessment (as presented immediately below, though contrasted elsewhere by less measured claims) reads like sober historical insight. Yet to those with lived experience in the classical curriculum, it is immediately apparent that something is amiss. He writes:
“The significance of the enhanced emphasis on ma'qulat in the Dars-i Nizamiyya lies in part in the superior training it offered prospective lawyers, judges and administrators. The study of advanced books of logic, philosophy and dialectics sharpened the rational faculties and, ideally, brought to the business of government men with better-trained minds and better-formed judgement. That this curriculum began to take shape in the first place for of course it was in the process of formation before it was crystallized by Mulla Nizam al-Din-cannot merely be a tribute to the intellectual curiosity of Awadhi scholars but also to the fact that the skills it offered were in demand from the increasingly sophisticated and complex bureaucratic systems of seventeenth- and eighteenth-century India. That it was taken up also owes something to the speedier training it offered the student; the emphasis on the development of reasoning skills meant an emphasis on understanding rather than merely rote learning. It enabled a good student to complete his studies by the time he was sixteen or seventeen.”
Robinson, F., 2001. The ‘Ulama of Farangi Mahall and Islamic Culture in South Asia. New Delhi: Orient BlackSwan, p. 53.
At first glance, someone with lived experience of the classical Dars-i Niẓāmī curriculum can easily recognise the thinly veiled Orientalist reductionism masquerading as analysis in the passage above. While certain factual elements are present, they are entangled with superimposed ideas rooted in presuppositions, resulting in conclusions that are skewed away from the truth.
Certain personal opinions put forward in the passage and those that follow, have either not been permitted to fully mature or have not been subjected to the necessary scrutiny. In some cases, the author presents claims that are simply incorrect, yet treats them as settled conclusions. Ironically, he also acknowledges gaps in research in these very areas. A clear example is his suggestion that “It was also, through the introduction it offered to the sophisticated religious approaches that existed in the maʿqūlāt tradition, to bring the continued possibility of a truly understanding interaction with other religious traditions in the region, whether Shiʿa or Hindu, as it had done in the seventeenth century in the person of the unfortunate prince, Dara Shikoh.” He then concedes that research has not yet shown the extent to which the scholars of Awadh engaged with the full body of ideas from the Iranian maʿqūlāt tradition. This amounts to a clear superimposition of European secular ideals onto the scholars of India, particularly when one considers the context of Emperor Aurangzeb’s close relationship with Mullā Niẓām al-Dīn’s father, Mullā Quṭb al-Dīn, and the well-documented scholarly rejection of the religious views espoused by Dara Shikoh, Aurangzeb’s own brother, particularly those that departed from established Islamic orthodoxy, alongside several other factors omitted here for brevity.
Altogether, this reflects an oversimplification of the illustrious Farangī Maḥall. This was not a phenomenon that emerged in a vacuum during Mughal India, but a tradition built on over a thousand years of intellectual development. Robinson’s conclusions, drawn from piecing together historical accounts, lack the necessary subtlety, suggesting not only a lack of lived experience with this still-living tradition, but also a striking absence of access to the contents of the curriculum itself, particularly the rich and complex content of the maʿqūlāt tradition in this case.
The passage presented above is the sole opinion of the author; he offers no references for the points he mentions. In the following passage, he makes another claim, this time with a reference, but even in the footnote of that reference, he is forced to include a note that contradicts his initial point, something the reader can easily verify to save time. Now, although the entire book deserves critique, I want to present just some initial thoughts on the passage above, which may serve as the foundation for a more thorough critique in the future, when time permits.
For the purposes of this piece, the central claim in Robinson’s account is that the emphasis on the maʿqūlāt hinges, in no small measure, on administrative needs and the machinery of Mughal bureaucracy.
As mentioned, Robinson provides no reference for this point, so it stands entirely as his own opinion. The impression conveyed is essentially, how could these Indians possibly engage in rational inquiry for its own sake? Rather, he suggests it was to secure in-demand government positions for the ʿulamāʾ. He reinforces this sentiment when he states, “[it] cannot merely be a tribute to the intellectual curiosity of Awadhi scholars but also to the fact that the skills it offered were in demand from the increasingly sophisticated and complex bureaucratic systems of seventeenth- and eighteenth-century India.”
The intellectual tradition within the Farangi Mahall did not emerge out of a vacuum, it was practiced and developed by scholars for hundreds of years before the formal establishment of the institution itself. The development and advancement of the ʿaqliyyāt tradition must be viewed in this context; failing to do so results in a serious lack of contextual understanding. This observation also overlooks the historical fact that the scholars of the Farangī Maḥall were recipients of the intellectual tradition through Mīr Fathullāh Shīrāzī.
Mullā Niẓāmuddīn, the eponym of the Dars-i-Niẓāmī curriculum, was the son of the revered scholar Mullā Quṭbuddīn al-Sihālawī al-Shahīd. Mullā Quṭbuddīn is often regarded as the intellectual forefather of the Farangī Maḥall tradition, with the majority of scholarly lineages in South Asia ultimately tracing their roots back to him. His own education was deeply shaped by the Shīrāzī tradition, transmitted to him through his teacher, Mawlānā Dānyāl, who had himself studied under Mawlānā ʿAbd al-Salām al-Dīwī.
The roots deepen with Mawlānā ʿAbd al-Salām al-Dīwī’s journey to Lahore, where he refined his knowledge under another towering figure, Mawlānā ʿAbd al-Salām al-Lāhorī. This encounter became a pivotal moment in the shaping of Muslim intellectual life in India for centuries to come.
Mawlānā al-Lāhorī himself was rooted in the Shīrāzī tradition, tracing his scholarly lineage back to the renowned philosopher and logician, al-Muḥaqqiq al-Dawwānī. Mawlānā al-Lāhorī had the great privilege of studying under the celebrated eastern maʿqūlī scholar, Mīr Fatḥullāh al-Shīrāzī. Through this remarkable chain of teachers, the Farangī Maḥall became deeply influenced by the Shīrāzī school, with regards to the maʿqūlāt tradition (rational sciences).
The idea that the Farangī Maḥallīs incorporated the maʿqūlāt into the syllabus for administrative roles in the Mughal Empire not only overlooks the generation of Indian scholars just prior to Mullā Niẓām al-Dīn, such as Mullā Quṭb al-Dīn, Shāh Walī Allāh al-Dehlawī, and Mīr Zāhid al-Harawī, but also misses the deeper connection to the Shīrāzī school through figures like Mīr Fatḥullāh Shīrāzī. Robinson does acknowledge this connection elsewhere in his book, though its significance doesn’t appear to register with the weight it deserves, given the conclusions he draws in the passage above.
Through Mīr Fathullāh Shīrāzī, the Farangī Maḥallīs became recipients of the long-standing Islamic intellectual tradition, one that includes the names of numerous towering figures such as Mullā Dawwānī, Mīr Sayyid Jurjānī, Imām Quṭb al-Dīn al-Rāzī, Imām Fakhr al-Dīn al-Rāzī, Imām Abū Ḥāmid al-Ghazālī, and Imām al-Ḥaramayn al-Juwaynī, to name a few.
If it were truly the case that rational studies were emphasised in the curriculum for the sake of bureaucracy in the Mughal Empire, then it begs the question, what was the motive behind scholars heavily engaging in the rational sciences for hundreds of years prior to the Farangī Maḥall; scholars who came from across the Muslim world, not just from Mughal India?
Mīr Sayyid Jurjānī for instance, is one such scholar who authored numerous works in the rational sciences, from his Ṣughrā and Kubrā to his gloss on Sharḥ Risālah al-Shamsiyyah and even his Sharḥ al-Mawāqif. Following the same line of reasoning, should we then conclude that Mīr Sayyid’s emphasis on the rational sciences was simply to prepare scholars for bureaucratic roles in the Timurid Empire? Or that the Ottomans incorporated the maʿqūlāt into their curriculum merely to produce Ottoman officers? If one has the audacity to answer yes, then this would imply that the entire Islamic intellectual tradition, developed and refined over more than a thousand years, was driven by monetary gain and the needs of successive governments.
This reductionist approach to the Islamic intellectual tradition appears to stem from a lack of understanding, not only of its early development after the time of Caliph Maʾmūn, but also of its objectives and the actual content found within the works of the maʿqūlāt. There are multiple sciences within the ʿaqlī tradition; take, for example, logic, it was taught primarily to equip scholars with the tools to respond effectively to rational objections against the tenets of Islam. Logic was used extensively in kalām, which aimed to provide rational demonstrations of ʿaqāʾid Islāmiyyah using the language of philosophy.
As a result, the books of logic within the Farangī Maḥall tradition are actually situated within two distinct funūn, a point Robinson clearly overlooks. These are basic logic (Manṭiq Sādhaj) and mixed logic (Manṭiq Mamzūj). The works included by Mullā Niẓām al-Dīn al-Sihālawī in the curriculum to convey the essential objectives of logic were as follows:
Ṣughrā & Kubrā by Mīr Sayyid al-Jurjānī
Sharḥ Tahdhīb al-Manṭiq by Mullā Yazdī and ʿAllāmah Taftāzānī, respectively
Sharḥ Shamsiyyah (also known as al-Quṭbī) along with Mīr Quṭbī, authored by Imām al-Kātibī, Imām Quṭb al-Dīn al-Rāzī, and Mīr Sayyid al-Jurjānī, respectively.
The study of these curricular texts, as well as the works themselves, falls under the fann termed Manṭiq Sādhaj (سَاذَج: an analogical usage by parallel with tasawwur sādhaj), or simple logic. This refers to the study of the maqāṣid (objectives) of logic as a science, like any other subject in the curriculum.
Following the science of simple logic came the science of Manṭiq Mamzūj. Although the works in this fann are also classified as textbooks of logic, the discussions they contain are far more diverse. This science incorporated some of the most advanced discussions in ontology, metaphysics, and, of course, Kalām. In this fann (science), scholars of the Farangī Maḥall and the classical Dars-i Niẓāmī engaged with the following works:
Ḥāshiyah Mīr Zāhid ʿalā Mullā Jalāl ʿalā Tahdhīb al-Manṭiq (Mīr Zāhid al-Harawī’s gloss on Imām al-Dawwānī’s commentary on Tahdhīb al-Manṭiq
Mīr Zāhid’s gloss on Risālah Quṭbiyyah (Risālah fī al-Taṣawwur wa al-Taṣdīq) by Imām Quṭb al-Dīn al-Rāzī), along with the gloss of Mullā Ghulām Yaḥyā
Sullam al-ʿUlūm by ʿAllāmah Muḥibbullāh Bihārī, accompanied by three commentaries: those of Mullā Ḥasan, Qāḍī Mubārak, and Mullā Ḥamdullāh
It is clear that even this single nuance has been missed by Robinson, let alone the dozens of other subtleties found across the various subjects within the maʿqūlāt tradition. Take, for example, dialectics. While an outsider might oversimplify it as a skill cultivated for participation in elite advisory or consultative settings within the Mughal imperial framework, one of its primary purposes was, in fact, its application in the science of Uṣūl al-Fiqh and Sacred Law. The science itself, along with its areas of application, was precisely the same as those employed by Imām al-Ghazālī hundreds of years earlier.
It must be noted that the maʿqūlāt consist of a number of distinct sciences, each developed for its own noble purpose. I do not believe it is accurate, nor respectful, to suggest that their emphasis was to produce Mughal officers. Rather, their purpose was to produce defenders of Islam and its tenets; scholars equipped with the intellectual acuity, gained through the syllabus, to identify and respond to any type of objection raised against the Sharīʿah of Islam. It is also worth noting that Mullā Niẓām al-Dīn’s scholarly lineage traces back to Imām Abū al-Ḥasan al-Ashʿarī through twenty-two teachers. His incorporation of the rational sciences into the curriculum was for the same reasons as those who came before him, and consistent with the tradition found within the Ottoman scholarly framework.
Robinson does write that the emphasis on the rational sciences for bureaucratic purposes “lies in part” as the reason for their inclusion, particularly in how it developed tashḥīdh al-dhihn (sharpening of the intellect). However, while it is true that the rational sciences do indeed cultivate sharpening of the intellect, this should be understood as a by-product of their study, not the sole reason for their inclusion, let alone for bureaucratic ends.
Moreover, it is well understood that curricula have their own distinct features, and one of the defining features of Mullā Niẓām al-Dīn’s curriculum was undoubtedly its emphasis on the rational sciences. However, Robinson would need to provide solid evidence that, had the Mughal Empire or any similar government not existed, Mullā Niẓām al-Dīn would not have emphasised the rational sciences. This is a claim that cannot be taken for granted, and the onus of proof remains on the author himself.
Robinson posits several other ideas which, again, are his own and are bereft of references to support his claims regarding the emphasis on the maʿqūlāt. For the sake of brevity, I have left them out here, though they are even more flimsy than the reason discussed above. Yet again, he presents them as being, “in part,” the reason for their incorporation, bereft of references.
Fundamentally, Robinson was an outsider looking in. He operated on a ‘hermeneutic of suspicion’ that could not countenance the idea that those he studied, pursued knowledge solely for virtuous reasons. For him, there was always a motive rooted in worldly pursuits. Perhaps this is, in reality, a reflection of an Orientalist’s approach to the pursuit of knowledge: a cynical lens, dyed in the same residue with which they tar themselves.
Muhammad Mubashir Iqbal
10 Ṣafar 1447 AH
Bibliography
Niẓām-i Qiyām-i Taʿlīm
Maʾāthir al-Kirām
al-Asānīd al-ʿĀliyah li-ʿUlamāʾ al-Jāmiʿah al-Qādiriyyah
Mumtaz ʿUlamāʾ Farangi Mahall
Sharḥ Sullam al-ʿUlūm, al-maʿrūf bi- al-Mullā Ḥasan
Verified Solutions to Modern Intellectual Anxieties
The ‘Ulama of Farangi Mahall and Islamic Culture in South Asia
Majma‘‑ul‑Bahrain: The Mingling of the Two Oceans
