On the question of Islam and the more-than-world city

Abstract

This further engagement is organised into two parts. In the first part, I clarify that my emphasis on ‘what is Islam’ in my previous commentary should not be read as an obstacle to the inquiry of ‘how’ and ‘why’. Instead, it should be an invitation to rethink how to do ‘how’ and ‘why’ research and decolonisation. In the second part, I think through the concept of more-than-world city coined by Sidaway and highlight some points that geographers ‘outside the project’ should consider when thinking with a different metaphysical commitment.

On the question of Islam

When writing my previous commentary (Anshary, 2023) I was aware that the limited space I had to write my argument might raise further questions from others. In this part, I am using this opportunity of further engagement to explain why exactly I focused on ‘the Islamic worldview’ while also engaging with Sidaway's other interlocutors who might not be directly concerned with my argument.

I begin with one commentary directly addressed to me. Arik (2024) argues that Sidaway (2023a) ‘primarily drawing upon Islamic scholars who often work on the “whats” of Islam, rather than the “whys” and “hows”[,] … invites essentialist claims regarding the “immutable truths” of Islam’ (see Anshary, 2023). To amend this alleged inadequacy, Arik proposed Talal Asad's idea of Islam as a discursive tradition to move towards a more decolonised Muslim geographic epistemology.

There are some issues here. For me, it is unclear what is necessarily wrong with an ‘essentialist’ ¹ claim and how such an ‘essentialist’ claim would be necessarily at odd with inquiries of ‘how’ and ‘why’. To this response, I should clarify: I do not disagree that knowledge of Islam ² that is held as true by those who claim for ‘immutable truths’ or even myself is often informed by specific gender, racial, and other forms of social relations. There are things beyond the purported ‘orthodoxy’ and ‘scriptures’. There is nothing explicit in my brief explanation of Al-Attas (or even Al-Attas’ texts themselves) that discourages such an exploration. In short, I cannot see how taking an allegedly ‘essentialist’ approach necessarily contradicts the inquiries of ‘how’ and ‘why’.

However, my argument could be read as a critique that the inquiry of ‘how’ and ‘why’ cannot escape the question of ‘what’, especially when such an inquiry is deployed to inform a more normative project. In different ways, some scholars argue that they do not take the theologists’ or jurists’ jobs to decide what ‘truth’ is. Their job is to explore ‘how’ and ‘why’. However, we need to investigate such a statement further. Non-theologist or jurist researchers, at best, merely suspend or make implicit their affirmations, whether positive or negative. To clarify, I do not argue that all researchers automatically take theologians’ or jurists’ roles when dealing with Islam. Neither do I suggest that researchers should go through a formalised litmus test to uncritically judge whether one's scholarship is ‘good’ or ‘bad’. ³ Instead, I aim to point out that such beliefs held by researchers are not without consequences, especially when it comes to the decolonisation agenda, although the consequences are not always clear or equally significant in every case.

Consider the case of the ongoing genocide and settler colonialism in Palestine, whose origins lie beyond 7 October. There is an ongoing debate about whether one can frame such an issue as Islamic as many Muslims, including Palestinian themselves, would argue. In her article ‘Palestine and the Question of Islam’, Rizvi (2021) astutely observes the debate and explains why a ‘no’ answer is problematic. The proponents disagreeing with such a framing take a range of reasons to justify their position, from the question of Palestine being a humanitarian issue (vis-à-vis a religious one) to the concern that discussions of ‘religion’ only distract from the ‘secular’ settler-colonial dynamics. She argues that while these reasons correct some popular assumptions, there are notable consequences from regurgitating such answers, even when they come from sincerity.

Under such a logic, Rizvi (2021) contends, the utterance of takbir during a protest would be rendered a ‘failure to recognise the true, political nature of the occupation’ because the occupation is not ‘a religious issue’. Consequently, Islam becomes an anti-political force and an active agent of depoliticisation. It also allows the question of ‘what about Palestinian non-Muslims?’ emerging as a rebuke, amplifying ‘a wider discursive climate that casts Muslims as innately prejudiced and uniquely averse to the rights of minorities’. Rizvi also askes, ‘[w]hat if forcibly secularizing the question of Palestine is to mistakenly provincialize a worldwide struggle – one vitalized by Islamic aspiration, conceptions of divine justice, and the unbroken enthusiasm of devoted Muslim masses across the Global South?’

The illustrations above are examples that one will inevitably encounter the question of Islam sooner or later when it comes to talking about Islam and its relationship to decolonisation projects (or beyond). Is Islam capable of becoming an overarching framework? Whether the answer is yes or no, one must be able to provide adequate justification. For such a reason – among others – I offer Al-Attas’ thoughts as a consideration to introspect one's philosophical and political positions when gesturing toward Islam, especially when it comes to the concepts of God, revelation, the universe, knowledge, and happiness, since all are central in his conceptualisation of the Islamic worldview (Al-Attas, 1995). ⁴ These central concepts could become starting points for those who are interested in the potential of Islam in decolonisation processes before going to the derivative concepts such as justice, especially given the abundance and diversity of concepts/epistemologies in Islamic traditions that become concerns for other commentators (e.g., Najib, 2024).

On the more-than-world city

In his manifesto, Sidaway rightly points out the curious disappearance of Makkah from the literature of world cities, global urbanism, and planetary urbanisation (Sidaway, 2023b); also, see Allouache (2024). In personal communication, he further clarified that ‘Makkah is absent from that classification/literature despite its worldly connections and significance. Moreover, it is arguably “more-than-world” for Muslims through its sacred connections, as a locus of orientation – including qibla and Kaaba – historical community, and pilgrimage roles’. What is particularly interesting for me is the presupposition lying behind the ‘more-than-world’. Can we conceive Makkah as ‘more-than-world’ merely because it is absent from mainstream literature? Once included in the canon, would it cease being a more-than-world city?

Taking cues from the analytical distinction between worldly and sacred connections, the adjective of more-than-world attributed to Makkah is only meaningful if one holds to the Islamic worldview that believes in the existence of both the visible and unseen worlds. Surely, one can research Makkah as a more-than-world city without holding such a commitment. However, I wonder: to what extent can it capture the more-than-world impulses that animate the city well?

Consider the 2024 CE/1445 HA Hajj. The Saudi official statistics recorded that more than 1.8 million people come to Makkah to observe the pilgrimage (The General Authority for Statistics, 2024) an obligatory worship that should be done once for those who are physically and financially able. However, the number does not include unauthorised pilgrims who bypassed the systems through myriad means for various reasons, including cutting the waiting time ⁵ and cheaper costs, even if it would mean that they had to be unsheltered under the extreme heat of the Hejaz summer that reached as high as 51.8C/125.2F. The consequences were dire. Reportedly, ‘the number of mortalities reached 1,301, with 83% being unauthorised to perform hajj and having walked long distances under direct sunlight, without adequate shelter or comfort’ (The Guardian, 2024).

While one may appropriately frame such phenomena as a sign of climate crisis, commodification, geopolitics, or management failure, I try to comprehend it from another angle, perhaps a complementary one. I asked about the tragedy to friends who are Saudi residents and familiar with such practices. One of them replied, in my own words: some of the unauthorised pilgrims actually desired to die in Makkah if God permits. Regardless of how this anecdotal story could be generalised into the wider population, the circulation of anecdotal stories about people wishing for death in Makkah is beyond the 2024/1445 Hajj. Such a belief is informed by narrations on the virtue of dying and being buried in Makkah that could be traced to the Prophet (peace to be upon him). Additionally, for a Muslim, death is not the end of being a human; it is merely a transition from the temporary world to a more eternal world. Would a more-than-world framework provide a better explanation?

Indeed, more work is needed to see whether the concept makes a meaningful difference. My exact concern is that one should not assume that holding different metaphysical commitments would automatically grant them a better methodology, and one should make further efforts toward synthesis. As Al-Attas (1978) already warned, one cannot do merely ‘grafting’ and ‘transplanting’; neither one should do a total rejection – it requires diligent works and self-discipline to systematically and accurately discern between different presuppositions (see Daud, 1998: 414–420). Recalling Sidaway’s (2023b) call, Muslim interlocutors – especially those outside the project – should practice ihsan (doing good and excellence) in making geographical inquiries. Whereas I concluded my previous commentary by asking questions to those inside the critical geography project, now I end this account by asking similar questions to those who identify as outsiders to the critical geography project ⁶ about how we should unapologetically hold to our commitments while also recognising and traversing fundamental differences with an ihsan spirit.