The Return of Ibn Rushd

In the rush of our age, before the current sweeps us away, we pause as contemplators. In the twelfth century CE, when the West was plunging into the darkness of the Middle Ages, and Islamic civilization was living its golden age, Muhammad ibn Ahmad Ibn Rushd was born in Cordoba. He was a physician, a judge, a philosopher, and a commentator on Aristotle. But the greatest thing for which history knows him is his bold stance on the relationship between reason and revelation. Ibn Rushd held that truth is one, it does not multiply. If reason says one thing, and scripture says another, the problem lies not in either of them, but in our way of understanding them both. And if the apparent meanings conflict, interpretation becomes necessary. Not to discard one of them, but to deepen our understanding until the two wisdoms unite. This claim may have seemed simple, but in his time, it was a revolution. It meant: that reason is not the enemy of religion. That doing philosophy is not heresy. That the Quran, in its deepest layers, calls for contemplation, not blind submission. And why ‘the return of Ibn Rushd’? Because Ibn Rushd was never a philosopher alone, he was a link in a long chain of minds that refused to fall asleep. We need Ibn Rushd today, yes. But we also need Al-Farabi, who dreamed of the city of reason when the world was dreaming of kings. And Ibn Sina, who admitted that he knew and did not know, and thus became the greatest of knowers. And Al-Ghazali, who doubted in order to be certain, so his doubt became stronger than the certainty of others. And Ibn al-Haytham, who built science on experiment, not on imitation. And Al-Biruni, who measured the earth and studied religions, not to fight them, but to understand them. These are among dozens of great minds... scholars of the rational sciences! They chose thinking over imitation... and questioning over submission! But the shock? Most of them were not Arab! Al-Farabi, Ibn Sina, Al-Ghazali, Al-Biruni, Al-Khwarizmi, Ibn Rushd... Different origins, one language: Arabic. And one mind... that recognizes no borders! None of them asked: What people are you from? Because philosophy knows no borders... and the mind carries no passport! And here Ibn Khaldun says: ‘The bearers of knowledge in Islam are mostly non-Arabs!’ This is not a paradox... it is a message: Knowledge has no homeland... except the minds that burn with it! So when we call for the return of Ibn Rushd, we are, in truth, calling for the return of reason itself. The question now, Will you be content with merely watching... or will you become part of the fire? And now, if the mind carries no passport... then a deeper question ignites: Does reason need anyone... to reach the truth? Imagine with me... a remarkable thought experiment: A child born alone on a remote island. No mother, no father, no school, no book, no internet, no algorithms flooding him with information. And yet, with his mind alone, he begins to observe the world and ask questions. He sees the sun rise and set, so he asks: Why? He notices that trees grow and that animals breathe, so he asks: From where? He holds his own body and contemplates: Who am I? This is not science fiction. This is an actual narrative written by the Andalusian philosopher Ibn Tufayl more than eight hundred years ago, and its name is Hayy ibn Yaqzan. And it is not merely a story, it is a pioneering thought experiment that raises a question that has haunted philosophers to this day: Can the human mind arrive at the truth on its own, without hearing any prophet or reading any scripture? In the narrative, Hayy grows, contemplates, and searches, gradually, until he reaches a surprising conclusion: he discovers through his mind alone that the universe has a Creator, that the soul does not die, and that life has a purpose greater than eating, drinking, and sleeping. Results he arrives at through mere contemplation, observation, and logic. Then something remarkable happens. Another man arrives on the island from human society, carrying with him a religion, a scripture, and a law. The two men converse, and the first discovers that what he reached through reason matches what the scripture brought. The same truth, two different paths. But, and this is the brilliance, when Hayy descended into human society to tell them what he had discovered, he found that most of them could not understand him. Not because they were foolish, but because every person has a different intellectual capacity. Some people understand through demonstration, others through parables, and others through imitation. And here, and here alone, the great secret of Ibn Rushd is revealed. For Ibn Rushd read this narrative and understood its message: the aim is not for reason to replace religion, nor for religion to replace reason. The aim is for every person to know their capacity and follow their path. The truth is one, and the paths to it are many. And whoever imagines that they are in conflict, let them reconsider, for perhaps they have not understood either of them. The Bridge to the West And it is remarkable that Ibn Rushd’s influence was not confined to the Islamic world. For he was, truly, the bridge across which Greek philosophy passed from East to West. Had it not been for his translations and commentaries on Aristotle, Europe would not have known Greek philosophy as it did. And the Renaissance would not have emerged as it did. Consider: Baruch Spinoza, that great Dutch philosopher who was deeply influenced by Ibn Rushd’s thought. In his book Ethics, Spinoza held that God is not a creator separate from His creation, but that He is in everything. Is this not close to what Ibn Rushd said about the unity of truth? And consider René Descartes, when he placed methodical doubt as the foundation of thought: ‘I doubt, therefore I am.’ Is this not what Ibn Rushd practiced centuries before him: that doubt is not weakness, but an instrument for arriving at certainty? And if we looked at Moses Maimonides, the great Jewish philosopher who wrote The Guide for the Perplexed, we would find in it a direct echo of Ibn Rushd’s thought on reconciling reason and religion. As though Ibn Rushd was not a philosopher for one people alone, but a human voice transcending all borders. Reason and Revelation: Complementarity, Not Conflict Let us return to the fundamental question: Is reason alone capable of comprehending everything? Ibn Rushd answers: Reason is the first instrument that God gave us for understanding the world. Through it we know that the sky is above us, that the earth is below us, that justice is better than oppression, and that truth is weightier than falsehood. But there are matters that transcend reason: matters of the unseen, and the secrets of existence that no creature can encompass. And here revelation comes, not to contradict reason, but to complement it. Not to cancel it, but to supply it with a light that does not come from human beings. Imagine two eyes: one sees the daylight, and the other sees the stars. Which of them is correct? Both see the truth, but each sees a dimension the other did not. Such are reason and revelation according to Ibn Rushd: two eyes in one face. Imagine that reason and the prophet are like two physicians. The physician of bodies treats you with material medicines: he examines you, diagnoses your illness, and prescribes your treatment. And the physician of souls, who is the prophet, treats what the physician of bodies cannot see: arrogance, envy, cowardice, greed, and every trait that corrupts your life from within. Two physicians. One attends to the outward, and the other to the inward. And is it conceivable that the bone doctor would fight the heart doctor? Or that the patient would say: I trust the heart doctor, so I have no need for the body doctor? Rather, each of them complements the other. Look at the heart as though it were a piece of land. Land that bears fruit only through three things: that it be sound in its foundation, that the one who sows it be skilled in what he sows, and that the seed be healthy. If the land is poor, the skill of the sower will not help. And if the sower is ignorant, the land will not help. And if the seed is rotten, nothing will help. The skilled sower is reason. And the healthy seed is what the prophet plants in hearts. And the land, that heart between your ribs, is you. So if you wish to plant a truth within yourself, then bring them both together: a reason that distinguishes, and a heart that receives. And if you take only one of them, it is as though you tried to plant without land, or without seed. Why Is Philosophy Under Attack Today? Before we answer the question of the cave, how do we exit?, let us reflect on what philosophy faces today. For although this great balance between reason and revelation was once among the greatest achievements of Islamic civilization, today we see the opposite. Philosophy is excluded from educational curricula in many Arab countries. Critical thinking is viewed with suspicion and fear. And whoever poses a philosophical question, may be accused of atheism or of stirring discord. How did we arrive at this? How did Ibn Rushd, who was the chief judge in Cordoba, become a stranger in his own lands? And how did thinking become a crime? Perhaps the answer is that, after centuries of decline, we have returned to fearing reason instead of celebrating it. We fear that the question might lead us somewhere we do not wish to go. We fear that our certainty might be shaken. But certainty that fears the question, is not certainty. It is merely habit. And here everything we have said in this episode converges upon a single question: And what proof is there that this balance between reason and truth is actually possible? Are we not imprisoned inside Plato’s modern cave, where we assume that reason is against faith, and that doing philosophy is a departure from the right path? No. For Ibn Rushd was not discussing mere abstract theories, he was building a bridge between two worlds we thought would never meet. And if Plato placed us inside the cave, then Ibn Rushd extends his hand to pull us out. Not by abandoning what we believe, but by understanding it more deeply. And not by silencing our minds, but by unleashing them in pursuit of truth. And this bond between reason and truth, is not a philosophical dream that only Ibn Rushd attained; it is a step that each and every one of us can begin. And if this episode has explained Ibn Rushd’s idea to us, then the application begins with each one of us. To be a contemplator does not mean that you abandon your faith. And to be a believer does not mean that you silence your mind. Both are possible, and both are necessary. So start small: Read. Ask. Contemplate. And do not fear the answers that may surprise you. For if your faith is true, reason will not harm it. And if your mind is free, no text will imprison it. And if they conflict within you, then remember the words of Ibn Rushd: The problem lies not in the truth, but in our understanding of it. And before we return to our lives, let the wisdom of this episode settle within you for a moment; for nothing is more powerful than an idea that has taken root in the heart, and nothing more beneficial than a truth that has illuminated a path. If what you have heard has touched your minds, then share it with those you love; for who knows? Perhaps someone is in need of this voice and does not realize it. This was Ahmed Ali, and until we meet again, Insha'Allah.