Islamic Modernity and the Question of Secularism: Revisiting the Political Thought of Jamāl al-Dīn al-Afghānī

Abstract

This article explores Jamāl al-Dīn al-Afghānī’s political thought in relation to modern debates on secularism and Islamic reform. While often invoked by Islamist thinkers to support their anti-secular stance, al-Afghānī’s reflections on reason, religion, and constitutional politics show that he engaged with modernity in a more nuanced way than is commonly recognized. This article examines al-Afghānī’s writings and their reception. It argues that his thought was not about choosing a side between religion and secularism. Instead, his thought is better understood as a pragmatic anti-colonial strategy aimed at the revival of Muslim civilization. This reframing challenges the widely cited genealogical narrative that links him to later Islamists. His attempt to reconcile religious traditions with the imperative for reform provides valuable insights into the responses of Muslim reformers to modernity—insights that remain highly relevant today.

1. Introduction

The intellectual legacy of Jamāl al-Dīn al-Afghānī (1838–1897)1 remains a subject of intense debate among scholars of modern Islamic thought. As a leading reformist thinker, al-Afghānī’s influence on various intellectual currents in the Muslim world has been widely discussed, including his role in Islamism2, a movement often defined by its rejection of secularism (Tibi 2012; Esposito and Shahin 2018). Leading Islamist thinkers such as Hasan al-Banna (1906–1949) and Sayyid Quṭb (1906–1966) envisioned a political order rooted in Islamic principles. This vision rejects secular governance, where religion is separate from the state. It insists, instead, that integrating religious authority into politics is the only way to preserve Islamic values and hold society together (Tibi 2012, p. 1). Many scholars trace such ideas back to al-Afghānī and his disciples, suggesting a genealogical link between early Islamic reformism and the ideological foundations of modern Islamism (Bashkin 2018, p. 64; Ramadan 2012, p. 101; Esposito and Shahin 2018, p. 3; Sheikh 2022, p. 181). As John L. Esposito and Emad El-Din Shahin observe:

The choice of a specific time frame should not indicate any discontinuity in the intellectual stream within Muslim societies. In fact, we see the evolution of Muslim political thought as a continuous process that in a few cases manifests a clear organic connection. For example, one can trace a continuous path from the Islamic reformer Jamāl al-Dīn al-Afghānī to Muhammad ʿAbduh (1849–1905), Muhammad Rashīd Riḍā (1865–1935), Hassan al-Banna, and today’s Muslim Brothers (Esposito and Shahin 2018, p. 3).

Islamists emphasized this perceived intellectual inheritance to frame their ideas as the continuation of Islamic reformism, not a break from it. Rashīd Riḍā, for example, stated that the ideas of al-Afghānī and ʿAbduh in the journal al-ʿUrwa al-Wuthqā deeply resonated with him, shaping his emotions and intellectual convictions (Hourani 2013, p. 226). The Muslim Brotherhood explicitly views itself as part of the modern reform movement initiated by al-Afghānī, often referring to him as their “spiritual father” (Mitchell 1993, p. 321). This purported lineage serves both political and strategic purposes, framing the Islamists’ project as a direct continuation of the 19th-century Islamic reform.

Nevertheless, while it would be inaccurate to deny any connection between al-Afghānī and later Islamic thinkers, overemphasizing these links obscures his intellectual complexity. For example, some scholars note that for al-Afghānī, “secularism meant subservience to foreign masters, while a reformed Islam would offer a rival pathway to modernity” (Sheikh 2022, p. 181). This perspective rightly highlights his goal of forging an alternative path. However, if his view of secularism is understood solely as a reaction to foreign subservience, it may overlook the more complex and strategic nature of his engagement. In response, several scholars have challenged the notion of direct continuity between al-Afghānī and Islamism. Bassam Tibi, for example, draws a sharp distinction, arguing: “[The Islamist terms] are not among the common terms employed in the Islamic tradition and its established scripture… Here lies a key boundary between the revivalist al-Afghānī and the Islamist al-Banna” (Tibi 2012, p. 39). Such views suggest we should reconsider how al-Afghānī related to secularism.

The recent scholarship often defines secularism as the separation of religion and state and the rejection of religious dominance in public affairs. This article, however, challenges this genealogical narrative. It analyzes al-Afghānī’s key texts, places them in historical context, and compares them to later Islamist thought. This analysis shows that his commitment to reason, reform, and constitutional governance put him in a unique position: he neither fully embraced nor wholly rejected secularism. Instead, this article contends that his engagement with secularism was strategic, serving the political goals of resisting colonial oppression and reviving Muslim civilization. It is precisely this strategic pragmatism that explains why his critique of secularism, while real, was fundamentally different in nature and scope from the rigid, all-encompassing anti-secular ideology of later Islamists. To demonstrate this, the article will first contextualize the colonial challenge and then analyze how al-Afghānī strategically employed reason, constitutionalism, and religious morality as interconnected tools for his overarching anti-colonial project. In doing so, this article contributes to a broader rethinking of how secularism, as both a historical process and a conceptual category, interacts with modernity in the contemporary Middle East.

2. Secularism in Context: Islam and the West Compared

Understanding al-Afghānī’s strategic engagement with secularism first requires examining how the concept emerged in Western political thought and how it entered Islamic discourse, especially under colonial conditions. Historically, this model emerged as a response to the fragmentation of religious authority in early modern Europe and subsequent religious wars. Though it originated from Christianity, secularism has since been reframed as a necessity for modern societies (Taylor 2007, p. 1). From this perspective, it is not simply a Western innovation, but a generalized response to changes brought about by modernity.

As Taylor himself emphasizes, secularism in the modern West is more than just separating institutions like the church and state. It reflects a fundamental change in how people believe, meaning that religious faith is no longer the automatic or unchallenged moral framework for society. According to Taylor, the modern Western state distinguishes itself from pre-modern societies by being “free from this connection” to religious foundation. Political structures are no longer guaranteed by “faith in, or adherence to God, or some notion of ultimate reality” (Taylor 2007, p. 1). In this framework, religion is viewed as a matter of personal conscience, and political decisions are expected to be separate from religious or spiritual beliefs. The shift Taylor describes marks not just a separation of the church and state. It is about the rise of a public space where belief is just one choice among many and where religious authority is no longer taken for granted. This deeper transformation is what makes secularism, in Taylor’s view, a distinctive feature of modern politics.

This shift is clear in the American approach to liberal secularism, which treats keeping religion private and the state neutral as ideals for modern societies. Thomas Jefferson’s metaphor of a “wall of separation” between the church and state, though not universally adopted, reflects two normative commitments: first, that religious belief and practice should be confined to the domain of individual conscience (Hamburger 2004, p. 16); and second, that the state must remain impartial and equidistant from all religious denominations (Fox 2018, p. 171). In this framework, religion becomes voluntary, private, and apolitical (Dreisbach 2002, p. 2). Jefferson and other Enlightenment thinkers also rejected the transcendental basis of ethics, insisting instead on the sufficiency of reason and shared human values. As a result, the public sphere was shaped not only by the absence of religious institutions but also by setting aside the divine as a source of moral values. This helps explain Jefferson’s opposition to using the Bible as a schoolbook (Hamburger 2004, p. 119).

While the Western model describes an internal evolution, it fails to capture what happens when secularism is experienced as an external imposition. To analyze this crucial distinction, this article borrows a critical perspective from Talal Asad. Asad challenges the notion of the secular as a neutral or natural outcome of modernity. Instead, he argues that it is a historically contingent category, produced and governed by the modern nation-state (Asad 2003, p. 13). From this viewpoint, secularism is not simply the subtraction of religion from public life, but a political doctrine that actively reforms, regulates, and redefines religion. It thereby creates new arrangements of power and knowledge. This perspective helps us see that in the modern Middle East secularism did not evolve from the ground up. It was imposed as a key part of colonial rule—a process loaded with power that fundamentally shaped how local people responded.

The connection between secularism and culture is apparent in the context of the modern Middle East. In contrast to Western secularism, which emerged from internal religious conflicts and the Enlightenment, Middle Eastern secularism was introduced through top-down state-led modernization under imperial domination. In cases such as Kemalist Turkey, Pahlavi Iran, and the Baʿathist regimes in Iraq and Syria, secularism was not the result of grassroots pluralism but was institutionalized from above, often by suppressing religious authorities and using Islamic rhetoric as a tool of governance (Hourani 2013, p. 296). As Victoria Harrison observes, this experience contrasts sharply with that of many Christians and Jews in the West. She argues:

[M]any Jews and Christians within the West experienced secularization as liberating… In many parts of the world where Muslims constitute the majority, however, secularization was part and parcel of the experience of colonialism… This negative perception of secularization appears to have intensified the more that modernization was forced upon unwilling populations by the agents of colonial powers. Consequently, a resistance to secularization became closely linked with a resistance to colonialism

(Harrison 2007, p. 346).

The gap between the Western experience and the colonial one becomes clearer when we examine how religion and politics historically interacted in the Islamic intellectual tradition. Classical Islamic political thought3 did not separate the sacred from the secular; rather, it evolved within a unified religious–legal tradition based on divine revelation. In this tradition, questions of political authority, legitimacy, and governance were primarily addressed within the jurisprudential framework of Sharīʿa (Hallaq 2013, p. 57). Such a conceptual orientation fundamentally challenges the liberal assumption that religion should be kept out of politics to maintain neutrality.

These structural features of Islamic political thought shaped how modern Muslim intellectuals responded to secularism in colonial and postcolonial eras. For many Islamist thinkers, secularism was not a neutral arrangement but a political project that sought to displace the divine moral order. Figures like Hasan al-Banna and Sayyid Qutb viewed Sharīʿa as the indispensable foundation for justice and communal cohesion (Esposito and Shahin 2018, p. 3; Tibi 2012, p. 1). Without it, they argued, politics became arbitrary, vulnerable to manipulation and moral relativism (Mitchell 1993, p. 215). They therefore called for the full reintegration of Islam into public life, based on divine sovereignty and revelation (Ramadan 2012, p. 101). In doing so, they framed Islam and secularism as fundamentally at odds. This uncompromising stance reveals the limits of applying secularism as a universal framework across diverse historical and cultural contexts. However, it was not the only possible Islamic response to modernity.

It is precisely within this complex historical context—one where “secularism” was experienced as a colonial project and “modernity” itself was a field of contestation —that al-Afghānī’s political thought becomes so significant. Faced with the twin challenges of foreign domination and internal stagnation, he could neither uncritically adopt Western liberalism nor retreat into the total opposition. Instead, as the following section will demonstrate, he forged a third path: a strategic and dialectical engagement with modernity. He did this by appropriating modern concepts like rationality and constitutionalism and re-grounding them within a reformed Islamic framework.

3. Al-Afghānī’s Dialectical and Strategic Engagement with Secularism

Al-Afghānī’s political thought was a strategic and complex engagement with the world, shaped by two driving forces: the need for rational Islamic reform and the urgency of anti-colonial resistance. Rather than adopting a binary stance for or against secularism, al-Afghānī forged a distinct path. He engaged with its underlying assumptions about science, reason, and politics by reinterpreting Islamic traditions in innovative ways. He upheld the public role of religion while rejecting clerical control. Instead, he based political legitimacy on rational interpretation, seeking to reconcile Islamic principles with modern socio-political demands. Through this approach, he did not outright reject modernity; instead, he sought to integrate Islamic teachings with modern political structures.

Al-Afghānī’s reformism began with a reassertion of Islam’s compatibility with scientific rationality. He challenged modern secularist narratives, which attributed the rise of science to the decline of religious authority (Asad 2003, p. 22; Taylor 2007, p. 4). In his view, technological progress and rational inquiry were essential for building a strong Muslim society (al-Afghānī [in Keddie 1968], p. 102). His conviction was not merely theoretical; it was reflected in his practical advocacy for educational reform (Mishra 2012, p. 80). For him, commerce, industry, and agriculture were inherently tied to scientific knowledge (al-Afghānī [in Keddie 1968], p. 103). Crucially, al-Afghānī did not posit science in opposition to revelation. He believed that the Qur’an could be interpreted as a text that not only allowed for but also encouraged philosophical reflection. As he argued, it was “the first teacher of philosophy to the Muslims,” and “the cause of the enlightenment of the minds” (al-Afghānī [in Keddie 1968], pp. 114, 170). For him, reason, though frequently emphasized in Western Enlightenment discourse, was deeply rooted in the Islamic intellectual tradition. In his view, the embrace of science was not a philosophical preference but a strategic necessity for the survival of civilization and for resisting colonial domination.

A key part of al-Afghānī’s reformist thinking was his call to revive ijtihād (independent reasoning). This revival was not just theoretical; it aimed to move Qur’anic interpretation away from rigid imitation (taqlīd) and what he described as stagnant interpretations (al-tafāsīr al-jāffah), which he saw as “a field that was disconnected from the social domain” (Aras 2024, p. 301). He wanted interpretation to become a practical tool for civilizational renewal. Consequently, he viewed ijtihād as a broad intellectual method grounded in critical reasoning, applicable not only to legal issues but also to political and religious questions (Böwering 2015, p. 245). To address these issues, he emphasized that ijtihād required deep expertise. Only those well-versed in ḥadīth, ijmāʿ (consensus), and qiyās (analogy) were qualified to reinterpret doctrines (Aras 2024, p. 309). In this way, ijtihād did not stand in opposition to revelation but served as its rational extension. In defense of this bold move, al-Afghānī writes:

What Qur’anic authority could be quoted to show that this door (i.e., of ijtihād) is closed? …. “A Scripture whereof the verses are expounded, a Lecture (i.e., Qur’an) in Arabic for people who have knowledge” (surah 41:3); (in other words) the Qur’an was sent down to be understood and to be followed by man according to his own intelligence

(Al-Mujahid 1954, p. 55).

In “The Refutation of the Materialists,” al-Afghānī further emphasized the importance of reason. He argues as follows:

… [I]f man believes in things without proof or reason, makes a practice of following unproven opinions, and is satisfied to imitate and follow his ancestors, his mind inevitably desists from intellectual movement, and little by little stupidity and imbecility overcome him—until his mind becomes completely idle and he becomes unable to perceive his own good and evil

(al-Afghānī [in Keddie 1968], p. 171).

This same practical concern shaped his support for constitutional governance. He was a strong advocate for constitutional politics and the end of authoritarian rule, viewing both as essential for justice and national progress (Mishra 2012). For him, these ideas stemmed not from liberal doctrines like popular sovereignty or civic rights, but from a reinterpretation of Islamic political concepts. He interpreted shūrā (consultation) as a form of public participation similar to parliamentary democracy. He viewed maṣlaḥa (public interest) as a principle of pragmatic ethics and ijmāʿ (consensus) as a historical parallel to public opinion (Hourani 2013, p. 144). These reinterpretations, therefore, pointed to a new source of political legitimacy. It no longer came exclusively from divine command or clerical authority, but from a rational engagement with scripture. In this sense, rather than secularizing Islamic politics, al-Afghānī sought to reshape Islamic tradition in ways compatible with modern governance. Given his emphasis on rational reinterpretation, a crucial question arises: who, in his view, held the authority to reinterpret Islamic norms?

He challenged the interpretive authority that the established clerical hierarchies had long held. On the one hand, by reviving the tradition of ijtihād, he granted interpretive authority to those committed to rational analysis. On the other hand, he argued that a legitimate religious scholar was not someone who merely preserved inherited doctrines but someone capable of reinterpreting revelation in light of reason and a changing world. He sharply criticized the ʿulamāʾ of his time for opposing scientific progress (al-Afghānī [in Keddie 1968], p. 107). In his view, while the ʿulamāʾ would continue to lead Muslim societies in the future, they had to be capable of engaging with reason and contemporary intellectual developments such as science and political thought (Al-Mujahid 1954, p. 104). He did not call for excluding religion from political life. Instead, he sought to reform traditional legal and political authority by subjecting it to rational scrutiny and reinterpretation.

Beyond the political architecture of the state, al-Afghānī’s anti-colonial strategy required a moral foundation, which he found in religion. This set him apart from modern secularists. As a result, he rejected the secularist notion of separating moral norms from religious belief (al-Afghānī [in Keddie 1968], p. 144) and reaffirmed religion’s role in public decision-making and ethical evaluation. He argued that humans are were naturally inclined toward immoral traits such as cruelty, ignorance, and treachery (al-Afghānī [in Keddie 1968], p. 140). In his view, if left unchecked, these tendencies threatened social order and could lead to disastrous consequences. As he wrote, “[I]f there is no straightener and adjuster it [human desires] will inevitably result in transgressions and oppression… and even burn himself on the fire of his passions” (al-Afghānī [in Keddie 1968], p. 173). He maintained that religious teachings were more effective than secular laws in deterring immoral behavior. Without a sense of shame, he believed, punitive measures, except execution, would be ineffective in regulating human conduct (al-Afghānī [in Keddie 1968], pp. 144, 145). This position stood in clear contrast to the views of the Enlightenment, which trusted in the self-sufficiency of reason. Nevertheless, al-Afghānī’s conviction in religion’s foundational role for morality did not lead him to advocate for a purely religious education. Instead, he served the Council on Education, a secular institution tasked with implementing a new law to reform and modernize educational institutions (Keddie 1972, p. 64; Mishra 2012, p. 80).

Al-Afghānī’s political thought should be viewed as an effort to revitalize Islamic societies in response to colonialism. He emphasized the civic and ethical aspects of Islam over theological speculation. As Keddie noted, “In none of his writings does al-Afghānī appear as a man moved by a truly original religious vision…. [T]he ‘Islam’ to which he appeals has almost exclusively secular virtues and little positive religious content” (Keddie 1968, p. 45). He invoked Islam, especially the caliphate, as rallying points of anti-colonial resistance, focusing on unity rather than institutional restoration (Hourani 2013, p. 116). In this light, al-Afghānī viewed himself as a “secular messiah,” someone who inspired audiences through rhetorical skill and political strategy, rather than through doctrinal innovation (Keddie 1972, p. 142). Keddie’s provocative label highlights a central tension: al-Afghānī’s methods were often secular and pragmatic, even when his ultimate vocabulary was religious. These practical concerns, rather than pure theological doctrines, explain his commitment to reform, education, and anti-colonial activism. Shaped by Islamic ethics and a deep historical awareness, his concerns could not be neatly divided into categories like ‘secular’ or ‘theocratic’.

Understanding this practical perspective is key to grasping the seeming contradictions in al-Afghānī’s thought. This apparent tension is best resolved by viewing him not as a systematic philosopher, but as a pragmatic political activist who tailored his message to specific audiences and objectives. For instance, while he praised philosophical reason in his correspondence with Ernest Renan, he vigorously defended religious orthodoxy in “The Refutation of the Materialists” when addressing a Muslim audience. He tailored his approach to fit the context: when addressing Western intellectuals or mentoring elite disciples, he appeared as “the image of logic, clarity, and rationality” (Keddie 1968, p. 36). However, when mobilizing the Muslim masses against colonial domination, he drew on the language of religious orthodoxy, as religion was, in his view, “the only source of ethics and stimulus for political mobilization” (Mishra 2012, p. 112).

This pragmatic approach, however, did not mean his ideas lacked philosophical depth. As discussed earlier, he consistently emphasized the value of reason and science, yet he also feared that reason, if unmoored from religion, would lead to social disorder and moral decay. His critique of materialism as a socially corrosive force finds a powerful echo in the work of the contemporary philosopher Taha Abed al-Rahman, who also challenges secular philosophy’s separation of religion from morality (Suleiman 2020, p. 54). In this light, al-Afghānī’s vision was not a simple rejection or reconciliation of secular and religious thought, but a strategic synthesis: to build a modern Islamic society that was rational enough to be strong, yet religious enough to remain united and resilient in the face of colonial power.

4. Genealogies and Divergences: Rethinking al-Afghānī in Light of Islamism

As mentioned earlier, many Islamist thinkers present their ideas as part of a tradition that traces back to al-Afghānī, suggesting that he was a pioneer of anti-secular political theology. This view has been widely supported by scholars. However, such claims tend to oversimplify al-Afghānī’s ideas and overlook the important differences between his vision and the views of later Islamists. While al-Afghānī aimed to reconcile Islam with reason and constitutionalism, many Islamists have used his legacy to justify their own political theology. This section highlights the key differences between them. It shows that these were not just minor disagreements in thought, but completely different strategies for dealing with Western imperialism. Al-Afghānī’s approach was about reforming the state to engage with modernity, whereas the Islamist movement evolved into one focused on cultural purity and totally rejecting Western civilization. By comparing their views on governance, law, and the West, we see not a continuous development, but a significant shift in their thinking.

This strategic divergence stems from how they diagnosed the colonial problem, which in turn shaped their proposed solutions. As we discussed earlier, al-Afghānī believed that the decline of Muslim societies was due to intellectual stagnation and political tyranny, which left them vulnerable to foreign control. His solution was to focus on internal renewal, encouraging reason, scientific progress, and selectively adopting Western ideas. In stark contrast, al-Bannā diagnosed the problem primarily as one of external moral and cultural corruption brought by the West. This idea was reflected in his manifesto, which called for “[a]n end to the foreign spirit in our homes with regard to language, manners, dress, governesses, nurses, etc., with all these to be Egyptianized” (Al-Bannā 2009, p. 77).

This critique was radicalized by Sayyid Quṭb. In Milestones, Quṭb argued that the Islamic world had fallen into a state of Jahiliyya (pagan ignorance), which he saw as a rejection of Allah’s sovereignty. He believed the solution was for a pure, dedicated group to lead a movement that would not only break completely from the old world but also carry out a comprehensive jihad. This jihad, according to Quṭb, would defend Islam and establish Divine authority across the entire earth (Quṭb 2006, p. 82). He viewed the West as the ultimate example of modern Jahiliyya: materially advanced but morally bankrupt, having “come to an end primarily because it is deprived of those life-giving values” (Quṭb 2006, p. 23). For him, the West was the central enemy that the Islamic revival needed to confront and overcome. The goal was to replace it with a civilization rooted in Divine authority. This confrontational worldview can be seen in contemporary movements as well. For instance, the Islamists in Turkey, who see themselves as equals to the West, have adopted an increasingly confrontational stance. They believe they must not simply coexist with Western civilization but actively compete with it (Bacik and Seker 2023). Ultimately, this represents a shift in anti-colonial thought: from al-Afghānī’s project of building a modern state to engage the West, to al-Bannā’s cultural defense to insulate from it, and finally to Quṭb’s theocratic war to destroy the entire Western-dominated global order.

These differing diagnoses directly shaped the solutions they advocated for Muslim societies, particularly on matters of law, governance, and reform. The central point of contention is the role of Sharīʿa in the state. Modern secularism, particularly in its liberal forms, is built on the idea of keeping religious law separate from state authority. In this context, Islamists’ calls for Sharīʿa as the state’s legal foundation are often cited as evidence of their anti-secular stance (Mozaffari 2007, p. 20). As Richard P. Mitchell notes, the Muslim Brotherhood viewed the full implementation of Sharīʿa as the defining feature of an Islamic order: “The ultimate goal of the Muslim Brothers was the creation of an ‘Islamic order’…. The Sharīʿa—its implementation or non-implementation—was the determinant in the definition of a true Islamic order” (Mitchell 1993, pp. 234, 235). This view remained central to the Brotherhood’s ideology since its founding in 1928, as reflected in their enduring slogan: “Allah is our objective. The Prophet is our leader. The Qur’an is our constitution. Jihad is our way. Martyrdom is our highest hope” (Hussain 2010, p. 2).

Yet this sacralization of Sharīʿa marks a significant departure from al-Afghānī’s views. While rejecting liberal secularism’s privatization of religion, al-Afghānī did not call for Sharīʿa to be the sole legal foundation of the state. Compared with Islamists, al-Afghānī proposed a more complex, near-constitutionalist standard for legitimate rule. In Al-ʿUrwa al-Wuthqā, he stated that a ruler’s authority was not inherited, but a result of his adherence to law, his executive competence, and the consent of the community (Al-Afghānī and ʿAbduh 1884a). He regarded Islamic law as open to reinterpretation by philosophers and maintained ties with proponents of the Tanzimat reforms, which introduced secular legal codes into the Ottoman legal system (Mishra 2012, p. 80; Keddie 1968, p. 16). After all, unlike those Islamists, al-Afghānī did not seek the total fusion of religion and state, nor did he envision a unified “Islamic state” (Hourani 2013, p. 116). His disciple, Muḥammad ʿAbduh, likewise did not envision Sharīʿa as the exclusive basis for constitution. While endorsing its role in personal status matters, ʿAbduh accepted secular civil and criminal courts, modeled on European systems, as legitimate (Hourani 2013, p. 153). However, Rashīd Riḍā took these reformist ideas in a different direction. He moved away from a focus on interpretation and instead pushed for a legal revival, treating Sharīʿa as a complete legal system (Kerr 1966, p. 155; Lombardi 2012, p. 740). This marked a clear break from al-Afghānī’s approach, which was more concerned with reforming how Islamic teachings were understood and applied.

This fundamental divergence in diagnosis and political blueprint is further reflected in their respective reform methodologies, particularly in their differing interpretations of the core concept of “return.” For al-Afghānī, returning did not mean going back to old traditions or institutions. Instead, it meant renewing Islamic thought through reason and critical reflection. He believed the Qur’an should be actively engaged with, not treated as a fixed text limited to language or theology. His method, called tadabbur (pondering), encouraged using the Qur’an as a living source for “seek[ing] solutions to social and political problems” (Aras 2024, p. 304). He urged Muslims to revive the spirit of early Islam, which he described as a time of “knowledge, wisdom, learning, reflection, thought and insight,” as well as “philosophical sciences” (al-Afghānī [in Keddie 1968], p. 114). For him, reason and faith worked together. Returning to Islam meant embracing its original energy and curiosity; not copying the past, but reinterpreting core texts with fresh thinking to meet the needs of the modern world (Aras 2024, p. 308).

In contrast, Islamists like Ḥasan al-Bannā and Sayyid Quṭb saw their movement as a return to the origins of Islam. But instead of drawing ethical guidance from early Islam, they viewed it as a fully developed political system. Departures from this system, they argued, led to the decline of the Muslim world. As Sayyid Quṭb argues,

If Islam is again to play the role of the leader of mankind, then it is necessary that the Muslim community be restored to its original form. It is necessary, to revive that Muslim community which is buried under the debris of the manmade traditions of several generations, and which it crushed under the weight of those false laws and customs which are not even remotely related to the Islamic teachings, and which, in spite of all this, calls itself the “world of Islam”

(Quṭb 2006, p. 25).

Al-Bannā likewise described the Brotherhood’s mission as a return to “the [true] path” (Mitchell 1993, p. 322), implying that secularism was not merely deficient, but apostate. Their vision of return thus led not to critical renewal, but to a closed, dogmatic model of political Islam. To confuse these two approaches is to miss a fundamental distinction: al-Afghānī’s call for “return” was an invitation to rational reinterpretation, whereas the Islamist version became a mandate for political absolutism grounded in Sharīʿa.

Beyond their different views on the state and reform, how they each criticized the ulamāʾ also shows they were not nearly as similar as they appeared. Al-Afghānī’s critique focused on the stagnation of inherited legalism and called for a more rational engagement with the scripture (al-Afghānī [in Keddie 1968], pp. 106, 171). In doing so, he did not completely reject the special status of the ʿulamāʾ (Al-Mujahid 1954, p. 104). By contrast, many later Islamists went further, actively challenging and diminishing the traditional authority of the ʿulamāʾ. As Olivier Roy observes, they blurred disciplinary boundaries by claiming that a chemist, engineer, or economist could be considered among the ʿulamāʾ, since “all knowledge is divine and religious” (Roy 1994, p. 36). In this regard, this might suggest a more inclusive approach to religious interpretation. Yet while al-Afghānī promoted interpretive flexibility free from ideological control (Aras 2024, p. 310), Islamists used the right to interpret as a tool to centralize power within a framework they defined as sacred. This strategy ultimately supported an ideological agenda aimed at global domination (Mozaffari 2007, p. 21).

This internal ideological divide was finally mirrored in their external attitudes toward Western modernity. While Islamists such as Sayyid Quṭb portrayed the West as a civilizational threat characterized by spiritual emptiness and moral relativism, al-Afghānī adopted a more selective and constructive stance. He never condemned the West in total, nor did he frame Islam’s future as incompatible with Western achievements. He believed that the foundations of strength and progress in both the East and West rested on the same underlying principles (Al-Afghānī and ʿAbduh 1884b). His critique targeted European imperialism and materialist philosophy. On multiple occasions, he praised Europe’s achievements in science, industry, and governance, noting that “Europeans have reached this high level of prosperity only because they have preferred science to ignorance, justice to tyranny, equality to inequality, and freedom to slavery” (Al-Mujahid 1954, p. 101). In this sense, Nikki Keddie even called him a “Westernizer” (Keddie 1972, p. 64).

Islamist thinkers moved away from emphasizing Islam’s rationalist potential and its capacity for engagement with Western knowledge. They instead adopted a more confrontational and exclusivist stance (Wickham 2013, p. 23). Rashid Riḍā, for example, downplayed the significance of technological progress. He insisted that Islamic revival had to be rooted solely in the Qur’an, not in external scientific or institutional models (Hourani 2013, p. 228). Sayyid Quṭb expressed his view even more explicitly: “How I hate and disdain those Westerners! All of them, without exception” (Calvert 2009, p. 75). This stark denunciation illustrates the emotional tenor of Quṭb’s civilizational critique, which contrasts sharply with al-Afghānī’s more analytical stance. Over time, Islamist discourse came to equate Western civilization not only with secularism, but also with moral corruption and religious hostility (Mitchell 1993, p. 229). This shift, from a critique of colonialism to a total rejection of an entire civilization, put them even further apart from al-Afghānī’s position. To conflate al-Afghānī’s anti-colonialism with Islamist anti-secularism is to misread a strategy of constructive dialog as a stance of total civilizational rejection. Al-Afghānī sought engagement, not estrangement.

As this section has shown, while Islamists often frame al-Afghānī as a precursor to anti-secular political theology, such portrayals overlook the fundamental differences in his vision. This article does not suggest that al-Afghānī was uncritical of secularism; rather, as discussed in the previous section, his opposition to secularist ideas was part of a political strategy. His goal was to resist colonial domination and revitalize Muslim societies by promoting constitutional reform, scientific advancement, and rational interpretation. In contrast, Islamist thinkers turned anti-secularism into an ideological commitment that rejected pluralism and everything associated with the West, with the aim of building an Islamic political order. These distinctions underscore the need to reassess al-Afghānī’s legacy on its own terms rather than through the lens of later Islamist narratives.

5. Conclusions

In conclusion, it is misleading to portray al-Afghānī as either a proto-Islamist or a simple anti-secularist. Instead, this article argued that he was a pragmatic anti-colonial strategist whose vision was one of civilizational revival. To achieve this, he championed a reformist outlook that combined rational interpretation (ijtihād), constitutional principles (shūrā), and a thoughtful engagement with modern politics. This was not an abstract theological exercise but a practical project to build a sovereign and modern Muslim state. Viewing his work through this anti-colonial lens reveals a clear demarcation between his modernist approach and the totalizing anti-Westernism of later Islamists, thereby dismantling the conventional narrative that links them. Ultimately, al-Afghānī’s legacy offers a critical “third path” that rejects both the forced privatization of religion demanded by colonial secularism and the theocratic absolutism of the Islamists who later claimed his mantle.