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Ibn Rushd, known in the West as Averroes, is perhaps the most important of the Islamic philosophers who emerged during the golden era of intellectual flourishing that occurred in the Muslim world in the several hundred years around the turn of the first millennium. His life and work reflected tensions that were endemic in Islamic society at the time. Religious orthodoxy was highly valued, and often enforced at the pain of death. But the Muslim world also boasted a rich intellectual tradition, rooted mainly in a Neoplatonism that valued rational enquiry and free thought. It was in this context that Ibn Rushd fought the vigorous rearguard defence of philosophy against the accusation that it encouraged heresy and that it was un-Islamic that he is most noted for today.

Ibn Rushd was born in 1126CE in Cordova, Spain, into a well-connected family of jurists and theologians. His grandfather and father both held the office of chief judge (qadi) of Cordova under the then ruling Almoravids dynasty (a position which Averroes would later occupy). His education, though in a sense orthodox for a Muslim male, was by our standards eclectic: Qur’anic exegesis, the Hadith, jurisprudence (Fiqh), scholastic philosophy, mathematics and linguistics were all studied, and became part of his intellectual armory. Moreover, under the tutelage of Abu Jafar Harun, Ibn Rushd attained a proficiency in medicine, which eventually enabled him to become the royal physician to the Almohad caliphs Abu Yaqub Yusuf and Abu Yusuf Yaqub. Indeed, such were his abilities in this field that his book Generalities (Kulliyat) was perhaps the most significant general medical text in the Judeo-Christian and Islamic worlds for several hundred years after his death.

It was Ibn Rushd’s connections within the royal court that led him by happenstance to the most significant body of work of his life. He had been introduced to the caliph, Abu Yaqub, by his mentor Ibn Tufayl, who at that time was the court physician. The story has it that the caliph thoroughly unnerved the young philosopher by asking him whether the heavens were created or not. This seems an innocuous enough enquiry, but  it was the kind of question that could get a Muslim philosopher into trouble. The difficulty is that a negative response potentially places a limit on the power of God, whereas an affirmative response runs the danger of anthropomorphising him. The caliph, a keen philosopher himself, spared Ibn Rushd’s blushes by answering his own question, and then engaging in a long discussion of the issues surrounding it. Shortly afterwards, Ibn Rushd received word that the caliph believed the works of Aristotle to be disjointed, rather obscure, and therefore likely to confuse people. The solution was simple – Ibn Rushd should write commentaries on them.

Twenty-six years later, Ibn Rushd completed this task (as far as it was possible). Based on Arabic translations, the commentaries took three different forms. The shortest (Jami) were simple summaries, suitable for anybody who wanted just a flavour of the work. The intermediate commentaries (Talkhis) were appropriate for normal studies. And then there were the Tasfir – detailed analyses of Aristotle’s work, incorporating  Qur’anic concepts, which were suitable for advanced study. Ibn Rushd did not have access to Aristotle’s Politics, so instead he commented on Plato’s Republic, arguing that the original Islamic community was equivalent to Plato’s ideal state.

According to Oliver Leaman, a leading scholar of Islamic and Judaic philosophy, the most impressive aspect of these commentaries is that Ibn Rushd was able to resurrect Aristotle’s original arguments by ridding them of the Neoplatonist baggage they had gained over time. His technique was to approach the texts as though they were new, and then to reconstruct their arguments on authentically Aristotelian lines. Leaman argues that although Ibn Rushd was not always successful, and though he was not shy about adding his own comments to the text, his work on Aristotle remains impressive. Certainly his commentaries helped to spark a revival of interest in Aristotle in the Judeo-Christian world, where they retained their influence for several centuries after his death.

Although Ibn Rushd enjoyed the protection of royal patronage, he was not entirely able to avoid the unpleasantness that inevitably occurs when religious orthodoxy runs up against intellectual freedom. In 1195, at the age of seventy, with the Almohad caliph under pressure to do something about  the liberalising tendencies within Islamic society, he was formally exiled from Cordova, his writings were banned, and his books burned. Though quickly back in favour, and allowed to return home, he did not live much longer, and questions about his orthodoxy persisted. Indeed, his influence in the Muslim world quickly declined after his death, as Islam embarked on a path which all but extinguished the sort of intellectual life that bred philosophers as great as al-Farabi (Alpharabius), Ibn Sina (Avicenna) and Ibn Rushd himself.

The tension between philosophy and religion that characterised this era found perfect expression in the dispute that formed the basis of Ibn Rushd’s most important work of original philosophy, The Incoherence of Incoherence (Tuhafut al-Tuhafut). This is a defence of philosophical reason against its critics. Its specific target was the Islamic theologian and mystic al-Ghazali (Algazel), who had written The Incoherence of the Philosophers (Tahafut al-Falasifa), in which he attacked philosophy, and in particular the work of Ibn Sina, for being self-contradictory and un-Islamic.

Al-Ghazali’s attack was multidimensional – commentators have identified at least seventeen different points of contention – but perhaps the most interesting issues have to do with God as a freely acting agent able to intervene in the world in any way that he chooses. Consider, for example, the question that caliph Abu Yaqub posed to the young Ibn Rushd – are the heavens created? The Islamic philosophers who were the focus of al-Ghazali’s ire had tended to argue that they were not. Ibn Sina’s view, for instance, was “emanationist”: he claimed that the universe was not created ex nihilo at a particular moment in time, but rather that it exists out of necessity, emanating in manifold forms from God’s divine nature. Or to put this differently, God is the divine One, the pure intellect upon which all reality is founded, and to which it is connected by logical relations.

Obviously, this is a highly esoteric conception of God, and to the uninitiated likely it makes little sense, but certainly it didn’t please al-Ghazali. It is easy to see why – it seems to do away with God as a free agent. Al-Ghazali ‘s response to all this was to argue that the Qur’an is quite clear that the universe was created by God. If God is an agent, able to act according to his own will, then it is perfectly reasonable to suppose that he created the world ex nihilio, and that he could eliminate it again should he so choose. In effect, then, al-Ghazali defends a particular conception of divine agency: God is all-powerful, therefore, he can act to create and destroy worlds.

Ibn Rushd’s critique of al-Ghazali’s view of divine agency is exemplary in terms of the kinds of argumentative techniques that he employed. He argued that al-Ghazali goes wrong by mixing up the temporal and the eternal. It is quite reasonable to suppose that temporal beings (i.e., humans)  can decide to embark upon some course of action, then delay doing so, then begin, then stop, and then start again, but it doesn’t work that way for God. Consider, for example, what follows from God’s omniscience and omnipotence: God will always know the best arrangement for the universe, and he will always be able to instantiate it, so it doesn’t make sense to think that he might choose not to instantiate it at a particular moment in time. To put this another way, there is nothing internal nor external to his nature that might lead him to delay the moment of creation. Indeed, it isn’t clear that there will even be different moments in time for God, especially if one thinks that God is present across all times.

Similar kinds of difficulties afflict al-Ghazali’s position if one reflects upon God’s perfection. God is eternal and unchanging. This makes it problematic to suppose that he has desires that he might act upon in the same way that human beings have desires which they act upon. The idea of desire suggests some kind of perturbation in God’s nature, which is then annulled when the desire is fulfilled. But this makes no sense, since it implies a change in God’s nature – and as we have seen God’s nature is eternal and unchanging. It seems to follows then that God’s acts must simply be a manifestation of his nature, and that they are not willed in the same way that human beings will their acts.

It is easy to see why this kind of argument might get an Islamic philosopher into trouble. As al-Ghazali suggested, it does seem to do away with God’s agency – his freedom to choose. Although Ibn Rushd denied this particular criticism, he was aware that there was a general issue about the impact of philosophical arguments on less sophisticated believers. In his work Decisive Treatise (Fasl al-maqal), he argued that it is clear from the Qur’an that there is an obligation to attempt to understand the world through the study of philosophy:

That the Law summons to reflection on beings, and the pursuit of knowledge about them, by the intellect is clear from several verses of the Book of God, Blessed and Exalted, such as the saying of the Exalted, “Reflect, you have vision:” this is textual authority for the obligation to use intellectual reasoning, or a combination of intellectual and legal reasoning. Another example is His saying, “Have they not studied the kingdom of the heavens and the earth, and whatever things God has created?”: this is a text urging the study of the totality of beings.

However, Ibn Rushd did not think that the arguments of philosophers were suitable for general consumption. In particular, where philosophy leads to conclusions that conflict with the apparent meaning of scripture, then it should be kept from the ordinary masses. He was quite clear that there could be no real conflict between philosophical truth and scripture – any disagreement simply meant that an allegorical reading of scripture was required. This had long been accepted as a legitimate way of proceeding by the Muslim community, which meant that al-Ghazali, and the other critics of philosophy, were wrong to claim that philosophers were indulging in unbelief when they questioned doctrines such as the creation of the universe or bodily resurrection. Nevertheless, Ibn Rushd did believe that in order to serve the end of the collective well-being of the Muslim community, it was necessary for teachers to modify their arguments depending on the audience they were addressing. To attempt to teach the ordinary faithful about a higher interpretation of scripture when they do not have the conceptual apparatus to understand it almost inevitably harms their faith, and thereby affects the happiness of the community as a whole. Philosophical enquiry is sanctioned by God, but it requires the kinds of talent and rigorous training that necessarily means it will be suited only to a minority of people.

Ibn Rushd’s philosophical arguments on religious matters were not entirely defensive. He also developed a number of arguments in favour of the existence of God, contending that the fact that the world fits so neatly with the purposes of human beings, and the fact that all living things are clearly the work of a designer, is proof of God’s reality. And, as we have seen, he wrote influentially on non-religious matters. However, even if it ultimately failed, it is for his defence of philosophical reason, which he mounted in the face of considerable opposition, that he is rightly celebrated.

This is immensely depressing. Paween Mushtakhel, once one of the most recognisable female faces on Afghan television, can no longer venture outside without wearing a burka.

Ramin Jahanbegloo has devoted his entire intellectual life to the project of fostering dialogue between different cultures and societies. However, in April 2006, his endeavours were brought to an abrupt, though temporary, end, after he was arrested and imprisoned by Iranian authorities when on his way to a conference in Belgium. His imprisonment provoked an international outcry. It seemed that he was being punished  – possibly even tortured – simply for his contact with the West. In May 2006, four hundred leading intellectuals, including Chomsky, Habermas and Rorty, signed a letter demanding his immediate release. However, it was not until the end of August that he was finally freed.

Despite this brush with what he says was “inhumanity” and “evil”, Jahanbegloo remains absolutely committed to the project of fostering dialogue and interconnections between human beings and cultures.

“The most important thing I got out of my own experience with evil and the inhuman is that one should not live in bitterness, but rather with a sense of humanity,” he tells me when we meet at the University of Toronto, where he has just become the Dean’s Distinguished Visitor in Human Rights. “One should always try to find ways of remaining ethical in the face of evil and to look for the humanity in the inhuman.”

This imperative to engage with the other, to always seek dialogue and points of connection, is a thread that runs through all his thoughts about the challenges of the modern world. For example, his notion of democracy is founded on the idea that it is necessary to engage with people in what he says is “a daily effort of interconnectedness, dialogue and tolerance”. According to Jahanbegloo, democracy is not simply a matter of safeguarding certain individual rights.

“I think the main goal of democracy is to reduce violence,” he says. “It is not enough simply to talk about rights. We have to add duties into the mix. This is how democracies will improve. If there is no way to talk about shared common values, if one is simply satisfied that these have been defined within a constitution, then things are not going to move forwards.”

The scope and effectiveness of dialogue, of course, is a hot topic at the moment. The processes of globalisation and mass migration of people have brought the West increasingly into contact with different traditions, and particularly with Islam. The “clash of civilisations” thesis holds that we’re likely dealing here with incommensurate beliefs and values, which will limit the usefulness of dialogue. I mention, as an example of the kind of event which suggests that there is little room for an accommodation between two divergent traditions, the row over the cartoons of the Prophet Muhammad that were published by the Danish newspaper, Jyllands-Posten.

“I do not believe that cultures clash per se,” Jahanbegloo responds. “The clash is between intolerant people within different cultures – it’s a clash of intolerances. The Danish cartoons example is certainly relevant here. The key thing is that whilst freedom of expression is a right in the West, there is no compulsion to act upon that right. Just because we have the right to do something does not mean that we should neglect our duties towards other people. In the Danish case, the clash is between different absolutists in different cultures. People who believe in moral and political pluralism practice their rights in a way that leaves space for others. It has to do with listening and learning. It is not about whether there is the right to publish the cartoons – constitutionally speaking, of course it is legitimate – it is about the fact that it is necessary to think about the consequences of one’s actions if one does not want to harm people, and that puts limits on free speech.”

The problem with this response is the standard thought that we should not be constrained in our actions and speech simply because some people happen to find some particular thing offensive. Supposing people are offended by literature featuring homosexuality, for example. Would this mean that it shouldn’t be published?

“I’m just saying that we have to look at our priorities,” says Jahanbegloo. “You don’t have to think against others to do a work of dissidence. There is no need to forget the other. If the Danish cartoons had been accompanied by an effort to make the Danes understand about Islam, then that would have been an important thing to do, but this didn’t happen. It was accompanied by a lot of prejudice towards Muslims. In Denmark, if you are a veiled woman, it is very hard to get a job. That is a prejudice.

“I would say that in our global world the issue of not harming other people is not just about rights. It also has to do with the problem of understanding each other. We live in an interconnected world, so if we want a better future, we have to be more aware of what we say and how we act.”

There is still the worry that Jahanbegloo is asking us to give up too much here. For example, the nature of religious identity means that I could potentially “harm” a Muslim just by talking about the Prophet Muhammad in a certain kind of way – perhaps by questioning the veracity of the Qur’an. Does this mean that I need to modify how I talk about Muhammad?

“Well, you have a responsibility to learn more about the Prophet Muhammad, that’s the first thing,” is the rather caustic reply. “Why should somebody talk about something they don’t know about? And why is it in always in a very satirical way. This is part of the process of demonization of the East by the West.”

This is not a particularly persuasive response. Take, for example, somebody like Ibn Warraq, who wrote the book Why I Am Not A Muslim. Unless the bar is set unreasonably high, he surely passes the knowledge test. So has he behaved badly by writing his more polemical books?

“It depends on the goals you have in speaking in a particular way,” says Jahanbegloo. “If the goal is to stop dialogue, and to hurt other people, then I would say that was not ethical. But if the goal is to reduce violence, then you need to consider how you’re going to engage with other people. Monologues do not make for a good dialogue. I would go back to the Socratic principle of engaging in a dialogue, and not just speaking in one direction.”

This seems to take us straight back to the problem of the radical incommensurability of beliefs and values. It is possible that there simply cannot be a dialogue about certain kinds of things. It is certainly very hard to imagine any real dialogue occurring if one wanted to write a book questioning whether Muhammad is a historical figure, for example. We’re not necessarily talking about scorn and derision here; perhaps just straightforward critical, historical enquiry.

“I take an Isaiah Berlin view about this,” Jahanbegloo tells me. “One can accept that there are plural values, but at the same time think that there is room for shared values or universal norms. I do think that whilst we might have some incommensurable  values in different cultures, there are also values that we share because we belong to one humanity:, for example, in all religions there is this idea that killing is wrong.”

Again, I think this response is too trite. It is certainly true that the Qur’an holds that killing certain kinds of people is bad. But it would be hard to argue that the Qur’an is particularly opposed to the killing of infidels, for example.

“But that depends on how you define infidels,” Jahanbegloo insists. “It depends on how you read philosophical and religious texts. I distinguish between soft reading and hard reading of texts. Fundamentalists are always those who read philosophical and religious texts in a hard way. But, on the other hand, there are those who have a soft reading of Islam; or take the Dalai Lama who has a very soft reading of religion in general.”

But however you read the Qur’an – and, sure, you can explain away the rather unfortunate passages about the Jews, for example, – it is very difficult to deny that  atheists and polytheists are subject to horribly violent sanctions. It doesn’t require a tendentious reading to come to that conclusion.

“Okay, but you had exactly the same problem in the West for many years. These things need to be discussed and resolved. Take John Locke’s Letter on Toleration: it’s interesting that he had no toleration for atheists. If we just focus on the fact that Christianity equals the inquisition, or that Judaism equals ultra-conservative Jews, then there is no way that you can have a dialogue among faiths and religions. We shouldn’t focus purely on the negative aspects of each organized religion. We also have to look at what people do with their beliefs. It is very interesting that in the twentieth century there were two ways of reading Christianity. You had Martin Luther King’s nonviolent way – you know, the Sermon on the Mount; and you had the ultra-conservative way of reading it, where it becomes almost hate speech.

“You find the same thing in Islam. The Taliban and al-Qaeda use the Qur’an for their own goals. They’re not interested in dialogue.”

There is a difference between Christianity and Islam, though. The West experienced a fairly profound Enlightenment period in the 18th Century. Of course, there was also an Islamic Enlightenment, but it was stamped out. There just hasn’t been this same process of mainstream, internal criticism. There is no equivalent in Islam of Voltaire or the Encyclopedists.

Jahanbegloo  is not convinced by what he sees as my overly negative portrayal of Islam.

“I really think there is a big problem with the way that you’re characterising Islam,” he tells me. “We have this tendency to judge Islam just in terms of the news and media – you know, all the rather shocking events. But it is the wrong thing to do. If we want to judge Islam, then we have to go back to its traditions and the history. If you look at Islamic history, you’ll find that there is an attempt to think about atheism and about how to live with different cultures, as for example in Andalusian Islam.

“In addition, I would say that amongst today’s Islamic pluralists, not just in Iran, but also in Nigeria, Morocco, Egypt and Lebanon, there is an effort to create a new Enlightenment. There are a great number of people with Islamic backgrounds trying to engage with this project. The West must try to engage them in dialogue, not simply isolate them by saying that they are just a small number of people. It is tough, but it was also tough in the West. You know, many people forget about the killing of Protestants in Europe. The Western tradition is taken for granted by Westerners. Nobody looks back at the effort it took to get you here.”

But surely this isn’t right. Part of the reason that some people in the West are exercised by this kind of thing is precisely because they don’t take the Enlightenment for granted. Isn’t this why we worry about the encroachment of religious authoritarianism?

“Well, it is certainly taken for granted by those people who just think that secular values are universal values, that they are the best values, and that these values alone should be employed in the political framework of Europe,” Jahanbegloo replies. “Take the situation in France for example: there are five million Muslims living there. They are not Arabs, they are French, and it is necessary to engage in dialogue with them. Look at the situation in Britain – the fact that some British Asians do not feel British and are attracted by fundamentalist views  is partly because they haven’t been engaged in dialogue, which has created what we might call mental ghettos. It is a huge problem. In most European countries, Muslims have been rejected, and they’ve been pushed towards the periphery.

“It goes back to the issue of how you educate people, how you engage with them. There is a need to be understood, to be taken into account. Does Europe want to be a continent of diversity or not? Do we have a monolithic view of Europe or a multicultural view? If you don’t engage the younger generation in the work of democracy, if you don’t help them to see themselves as citizens, then you increase the likelihood that they will be attracted by fundamentalist ideologies. It’s very important that Europe should have governments of dialogue. They have to be flexible towards the new issues and problems of the world – some of which have to do with multiculturalism and globalization.”

Jahanbegloo has always stressed the role of intellectuals in the project to deepen the connections between cultures and to bring about democratisation. I wonder how optimistic he is about their ability to achieve social change?

“The intellectuals in the Middle East could certainly play a very important role,” he tells me. “Priority number one is for them to engage in an inter-cultural dialogue. This is a philosophical and ethical imperative. It is important to embark upon this project before we think about the more pragmatic stuff. There is a tendency for governments just to think in terms of Realpolitik, and to ignore the possibility of a rich inter-cultural exchange. This is why I engage in this kind of dialogue: young people need to know more about the West.”

He explains that in Iran the dialogue with the West tends to take place within the institutions of civil society – in journals, artistic performances and intellectual settings. He is optimistic that this intellectual engagement with young people can drive social change.

“In the Middle East, intellectual ideas have always been effective in the process of modernization and democratization. Even in the Gulf States, the younger generation of people in governing bodies do not think the way their grandfathers used to think. They have a less tribal view of Islam, and a less feudal view of politics. The fact that today they engage culturally and politically in their societies shows that things are different. They don’t want to repeat what their grandfathers were doing.

“It’s likely that even Saudi Arabia will change. Certainly women’s organisations and associations are pushing for a liberalisation. Also, you should not underestimate the work of the trans-nationals – those people from Saudi or the UAE who live in London or who are studying or working there. They don’t just learn about British football or cricket. They also learn about the work of citizenship – about how to be a responsible citizen. Teaching tolerance and citizenship must be one of the priorities of democratic societies.”

I ask him whether his experience of being imprisoned has undermined his optimism?

“Absolutely not. It has helped me to understand that there is no way one can proceed or succeed with hatred, or resentment, or revenge. When you’re a prisoner in solitary confinement, especially if you’re a dissident, you do ask questions about why people need to humiliate each other in order to show their own greatness, which of course happens at all levels of politics. Somebody such as Gandhi didn’t need to humiliate people. He was always looking for the noble side of human beings. It was very important for him to engage in dialogue with the human behind the inhuman.

“Since we have been talking about freedom of speech, and individual rights, it bears saying that it isn’t possible to find meaning in the way we act and speak unless we take the other into account. Also, we need to think of our engagement with the other as a process of exchange, a way of going beyond the axis of monologue and prejudice that is created by those social, political and ideological ideas that stop our democratic engagement with other people and other cultures.”

This originally appeared in Issue 41 of The Philosophers’ Magazine.