South[ern] Africa’s Dar ul-‘Ulums: Institutions of SocialChange for the Common Good?

Muhammed Haron

Published online: 16 October 2013� Springer Science+Business Media Dordrecht 2013

Abstract Muslim communities in principally non-Muslim nation states (e.g. South

Africa, United States of America, the United Kingdom and the Netherlands) established a

plethora of Muslim theological institutions. They have done so with the purpose of edu-

cating and reinforcing their Muslim identity. These educational structures have given rise

to numerous questions that one encounters as one explores the rationale for their formation.

Some are: have these institutions contributed towards the growth of Muslim extremism as

argued by American and European Think Tanks? If so, then in which and why did they do

so? If not, then why have they been falsely accused, and how should Muslims counter these

erroneous criticisms? And, more importantly, have some of these educational institu-

tions—as agents of ‘social change’—contributed towards the ‘common good’ of the

society? In response, the article attempts to investigate the reasons for the formation of

these Muslim educational institutions within a broad Southern Africa democratic context.

It prefaces the discussion by first constructing ‘social change’ as a viable theoretical frame

and it thereafter places the madrasas and Dar ul-‘Ulums within the mentioned context prior

to reflecting upon the notion of the ‘common good.’ It then proceeds by making reference

to the Dar ul-‘Ulum curriculum that plays a significant role in shaping and moulding the

theologians’ thinking and behaviour. It concludes by questioning to what extent the type of

theological curriculum that they constructed assists them to contribute towards the

‘common good’ of Southern Africa’ societies.

Keywords Southern Africa � Education � Dar ul-‘Ulum � Social change � Common

good

M. Haron (&)Department of Theology and Religious Studies, University of Botswana, Gaborone, Botswanae-mail: HARONM@mopipi.ub.bw

M. HaronDepartment of Religion Studies, University of Johannesburg, Johannesburg, South Africa

123

Stud Philos Educ (2014) 33:251–266DOI 10.1007/s11217-013-9386-z

Introduction

Muslim educational institutions have played a vital educational role in enriching and

transforming the Muslim communities in and outside the Muslim heartlands over many

centuries. Whilst many (e.g. Nizamiyyah College [est.1065]) have disappeared with the

passage of time, others (e.g. Al-Azhar University www.alazhar.edu.eg [est.970]) contin-

ued to disseminate the Islamic sciences and promote Islamic studies scholarship. In chiefly

non-Muslim environments (e.g. India), Muslim communities have laid the foundations of

Muslim theological educational seminaries such as Nadwa ul-‘Ulama (www.

nadwatululama.org [est.1894]) and Deoband (www.darululoom-deoband.com [est.1866])

that came to act as important purveyors of Islamic knowledge since the end of the 19th

century (Metcalf 1982; Singh 2003). One of the significant spin-offs of these seminaries

has been the formation of closely associated or affiliated ‘branches’ or independent

institutions in countries such as South Africa, UK, and the USA (Reetz 2011). Though

some of these remained devoted to the curricula and spirit of the mentioned premiere

theological seminaries, others redesigned and twigged their curricula to suit the environ-

ments in which they were established (Singh 2003).

Despite some of the positive Muslim educational developments during the 20th century,

Western Think Tanks such as Rand Corporation (www.rand.org) towards the close the 20th

century and at the beginning of the 21st century questioned the relevance of these cur-

ricula. They argued—from their vantage point—that these Muslim educational institutions

(i.e. schools, seminaries, and universities) are—to quote Coulson (2004: 2)—‘tools of

indoctrination’ and they are to blame for agitating and spreading Muslim extrem-

ism (Delavande and Zafar 2013: 8–9); according to their supposedly definitive findings, it

was concluded that the curricula, which are traditionally oriented and outdated, should be

radically revised and they should realign the curricula so that they are in tune with modern

epistemological foundations (see Fair 2008; Waghid 2009; MPAC 2012; Njozi 2012;

Delavande and Zafar 2013). The research outputs of these Think Tanks were given further

credence and clout after the dreadful destruction of New York’s iconic twin towers on the

9th of September 2001—popularly referred to as 9/11 as well as a string of other similarly

shocking events that took place during the first decade of the new millennium in different

parts of the world. These Think Tanks thus persuasively lobbied and convinced their

Western governments—led by the USA—to demand that Muslim theological seminaries in

particular and Muslim educational institutions in general not only be closely monitored and

scrutinized but that they bring about the necessary curricula changes and textbook

replacements (WB 2008; GEI 2011). In fact, these Think Tanks stipulated, that Muslim

governments audit and drastically modify the curricula and simultaneously retrain and re-

educate the teaching staff.

One of the reasons for this critical approach towards Muslim educational institutions in

and beyond the Muslim heartlands is based upon the argument that a number of these

institutions have been responsible for producing many individuals who have adopted an

extremist stance and have spread radical views against the West, hence the tension that

exists between the West and Muslims and the pervasiveness of Islamophobia in Europe and

North America (Choudhury et al. 2006; Ali et al. 2011; Meer (2013); Delavande and Zafar

2013). The questions that arise are: to what extent is there truth in this particular theoretical

position? And why has it suddenly become an issue that needs urgent attention since most

of these institutions have been around for many decades and in some for more than a

century? In addition to these questions, one is also confronted with a set of other questions

such as ‘how do these Muslim theological institutions contribute towards the making of a

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vibrant democracy?’, ‘in which manner are these institutions gearing students for positive

social change towards the ‘common good’ of the region or, expressed differently, preparing

them to be loyal citizens in the (non-Muslim) nation-states?’

But in order to seek answers to these and other related questions, the article—in the first

part—explores the notion of ‘social change’; thereafter it contextualizes the madrasa,

which preceded the Dar ul-‘Ulums’, and narrates briefly how the seminaries became

significant agents of social change in Muslim majority societies (in the Muslim heartlands)

and in Muslim minority communities within a broad Southern African region; a region that

has modelled itself along democratic principles as advocated by the USA and Western

Europe. The second part of the article conceptualizes the notion of the ‘common good’ and

relates it to the Darul-‘Ulum curriculum. And the concluding section evaluates the cur-

riculum that is adopted by the Dar ul-‘Ulums in order to illustrate whether it is indeed an

agent of social change for the common good of society.

Muslim Theological Seminaries: Institutions of Social Change

Broadly speaking, the term ‘social change’ is an all-embracing phenomenon. Social change

is a term that has generally been the focus of sociological, historical, economic and

political studies. In these studies, the term is related to concepts such as paradigm shifts

and revolution, and it also addresses the negative and positive measurement of individual

or communal characteristics. Social change, on the one hand, may be viewed as a negative

process and, on the other hand, it may be seen as a positive development. In a negative

sense social change refers to the disruption of societies, alienation of individuals and

dislocation of values; and in a positive sense it brings about order within a society,

integrates individuals into a group, and reinforces universally approved values in a com-

munity. Whilst its negative dimensions are fully acknowledged and associated with social

conflict, the article’s interest is in the set of positive dimensions that it generates (cf. Moosa

2009). McGuire (1997) points out that in general terms social change may refer to

(a) social structural changes that are effected through, among others, social relations and

social institutions; (b) behavioural pattern changes that result in processes of transforma-

tion and transition; and (c) advocacy driven changes that cause societal changes in a

normative manner.

Bearing these in mind, McGuire (1997) reminds one that social change is a phenomenon

that is also contingent on a number of interrelated (internal and external) social, economic,

political, cultural and religious factors (see Moosa 2009: 565). McGuire makes reference to

the observations of a few neo-Marxist sociologists who revisited the religion—social

change nexus; they concluded that when they studied the USA American Civil Rights

movement they could not overlook the fact that it was not only deeply motivated by

religious worldviews but it was also led by Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. (d.1968) who was

an intensely religious and a very charismatic person; for them, religion was not a negative

force but a positive one in this instance because it brought about tangible social change.

Still on the subject of social change, Arjomand (1986) interestingly mentions five

processes of social change that are likely to strengthen individuals’ religiosity (i.e. the level

of religious commitment) under favourable conditions in the contemporary world; a world

that has been deeply affected and influenced by the process of secularisation. The first is

the spread of literacy and education, the second is the integration into the international

system, the third is the development of transport, communication and the mass media, the

fourth is the incorporation of the masses into political society and the fifth is urbanization.

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Now all of these processes have taken place in varying degrees in the countries of the

North (i.e. USA and Europe) as well as the South (i.e. countries in Africa and Asia); the

latter, being the least developed, has, for example, not reached the same levels of

urbanization and integration as the North. Nonetheless, the point that Arjomand under-

scores is that these processes created conditions under which the ‘revitalization of religious

activity’ is able to take place; for example, the formation of new religious movements, the

rise of schismatic religious groups, and the establishment of religious institutions are

outcomes of these processes. So when one carefully reflects upon Arjomand’s notion of

social change, then it may be concluded that he was indeed correct in his observations

because Dar ul-‘Ulums such as the famous one in Deoband (India) not only asserted their

identity as Muslim institutions, but they also revitalized their religious activities to such an

extent that they extended their global reach beyond the imagination of the founding fathers

of these institutions (cf. Reetz 2011).

Now these Dar ul-‘Ulums—unlike the Islamic universities that have been modelled

along Western universities such as Yale University (USA) or Oxford University (UK)—are

essentially theological educational colleges or institutions that are somewhat similar to the

Christian theological seminaries that one encounters in Europe and Africa. These insti-

tutions, like their Christian counterparts, have been in pursuit of the ‘common good’ (see

section ‘‘The Madrasa System: In its Southern Africa Context’’) and bent upon shaping and

moulding the thinking of their students according to their understanding of Islam’s primary

sources and at the same time bringing about socio-religious change. Seeing themselves as

the bona fide interpreters of these sources and viewing themselves as agents of positive

social change within the Muslim community, they regarded and continue to consider

themselves as the sole purveyors of traditional Islamic theological knowledge and insti-

tutions that act as a moral compass; in the process of doing this, they compete in more

ways than one with the Islamic universities’ graduates (who are popularly called ‘shay-

khs’). And like their co-religionists, these Dar ul-‘Ulum graduates, commonly known by

the appellation ‘maulanas’, left a deep impression upon Muslim communities in and

beyond South Asia.

Though they were at one historical phase confined to the shores and hinterlands of South

Asia, they have since migrated to other parts of the world where they have taken up

imamate (i.e. a religious leadership) posts. In these positions as itinerant teachers, these

Deobandi graduates saw to the religious needs of the diaspora Muslim communities and

were thus considered to be in the vanguard of revitalizing the religious activities by

asserting their (Deoband [Tablighi]) Muslim identity (Reetz 2011). This was further

enhanced when the Deoband Dar ul-‘Ulum exported itself via the formation of branches

globally; consequently, one comes across these various versions of the mother institution in

regions such as Southern Africa.

The Madrasa System: In its Southern Africa Context

When comparing Southern African Muslims to many other minority Muslim communities

on and beyond the African continent, then it may be argued that they have been admired

for their toughness and resilience (Amra 2006; Haron 2009, 2012). As Muslim minorities,

they—with a few exceptions of course who generally threw their weight behind the lib-

eration movements that strove towards ridding the region of its colonial masters and

oppressive regimes—were generally apolitical. Despite this, the leadership of the liberation

movements, which transformed themselves into viable and influential political parties,

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awarded those who supported and participated in the struggles with worthy civic and

governmental positions. And since these Muslims found themselves in a democratic

environment, they, along with other religious representatives have been critically involved

in contributing towards securing their rights as religious minorities in a predominantly

Christian region in Southern Africa.

So when one travels from one Southern African nation state to another, one cannot fail

to notice the plethora of Muslim institutions that dot the region’s landscape and that exist

as evidence of the present-day Southern African governments’ wide-ranging tolerant and

respectful policies towards religious traditions in general and minority religious commu-

nities such as Muslims in particular (Mohamed et al. 1991). The Constitutions of the

Southern African nation-states have, in fact, provided Muslim communities with an

enabling environment that spurred them on to reinforce their Muslim identities through the

creation of various structures such as humanitarian organizations, economic institutions,

and educational establishments. Indeed it is their educational structures, particularly the

madrasa system, of which the Dar ul-Ulums form an integral part that assisted in profiling

their identities with the intention of aligning their activities with the principles of Islam, on

the one hand, and preparing them to act as ‘good citizens’ in a principally dominant non-

Muslim environment on the other. On the whole, these Southern African Muslim com-

munities have blended into the region without them having had to sacrifice any of their

religious (non-negotiable) principles; principles that were generally in line with the notion

of the ‘common good’—see next section—of the region’s peoples.

Each and every Muslim community in the region made laudable efforts in laying the

foundations for educational institutions. All of these communities set up the traditional

madrasa system—of which the Dar ul-Ulums is a logical extension—that aimed to

indoctrinate and educate the Muslim children. Herein their children are taught the rudi-

mentary teachings of Islam, they learn how to (melodiously) recite the Qur’an, they are

informed about legalities that accompany the various obligatory rituals, and they are trained

how to act morally and ethically when doing business transactions, for example. In addition,

they study Prophet Muhammad’s biography and are expected to memorize popular pro-

phetic statements that encourage male and female learners to not only ‘study from the cradle

to the grave’ but to act virtuously under all circumstances and wherever they find them-

selves. The madrasa system thus played and continues to play a crucial role in not only

reinforcing their Muslim identity, but it also did so in cementing intra religious and inter

communal bonds. These forms of relationships resulted in the formation of ethically ori-

ented communities that have been obliged by their theology to demonstrate degrees of

loyalty towards the governments of the countries in which they reside. Traditionally, this

system of education was prevalent in different parts of Southern Africa for many decades

and it remained in the main successful in achieving its basic religio-educational objec-

tives (see Mohamed et al. 1991).

Though attempts were made by some Muslim educationists, who were influenced by the

process of modernization, to alter and amend parts of the madrasa system by replacing it

with newer methods of teaching the curriculum that consisted of core subjects such as

Qira’at (Quranic recitation) and Sirah (Prophet’s biography), the Deobandi graduates, who

staffed the madrasas and who were not trained in methods of teaching, remained stub-

bornly devoted to the traditional method (see Moosa 1989). Instead of adopting novel ways

of imparting the concept of Tawhid (divine unity), considering fresh approaches to dis-

seminating ideas of Fiqh ([Muslim] jurisprudence) for children, using textbooks in place of

cyclostyled notes, employing blackboards rather than stressing rote learning, these ardent

traditionalists held fervently on to the archaic methods of teaching and disseminating the

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subjects. That aside, Muslim educationists in particular and the Muslim communities in

general were continuously challenged when they attempted to use creative ways in

teaching the subjects and when they tried to bring about the necessary changes in an

outmoded curriculum.

Thus whenever innovative tools were employed to learn the fundamental Islamic sci-

ences the Muslim educationists met some stiff opposition because the traditionalists within

the Muslim community opined that these inventive methods were tied to secularism and

that they were essentially being employed to undercut the traditional Muslim educational

system that had been inherited for generations from their forebears. Non-traditionalists,

however, held opposing views on these matters and argued along rationalist lines why

certain changes had to be brought about within the madrasa system. Since tensions between

these two groups still prevail, some of those in the conservative camp have even publicly

aired their views—using religious contentious tabloids such as the Port Elizabeth based

Majlis (www.themajlis.net)—against the acquisition of ‘Islamic’ knowledge from within a

secular environment. According to their understanding, the study of Islam should take

place in a ‘pure’ and ‘unadulterated’ Muslim controlled environment; one that has neither

been tainted by secular thinking and nor affected by modern influences that negatively

impact upon a Muslim’s faith. In fact, when the first ‘Islamic Studies’ program was

introduced during the mid 1970s at the University of Durban-Westville—which has since

amalgamated with the University of Natal to form the University of KwaZulu Natal (www.

ukzn.ac.za)—spearheaded by the Arabic Study Circle (ASC est. 1950) and supported by

the Muslim Youth Movement of South Africa (MYM est. 1970) that espoused a more open

approach to the understanding of Islam (Jeppie 2007), the conservatives such as the

Jami’at ul-‘Ulama (Council of Theologians) cautiously distanced themselves from these

developments (see Haron 1996).

The clash between conservatism/traditionalism and modernism/liberalism was and is

still quite evident when assessing the attitudes of Southern Africa’s Muslim communities

(Moosa 1989). This has, for example, been witnessed in different parts of the region as well

as in other parts of the continent. These communities were and still are under the influence

of the traditionally trained theologians particularly those who completed their studies at

South Asian Dar ul-‘Ulums as well as their Southern African affiliate branches that

implement the same curricula. With the afore-mentioned understanding of the context in

which the madrasa system developed, the article now turns to the Dar ul-‘Ulum curricu-

lum. It does so in order to assess to what degree the Dar ul-‘Ulum curriculum is under-

girded by the philosophy of the ‘common good’.

The Darul-Ulum Curriculum and the Notion of the ‘Common Good’

The immediate questions that confront one when it comes to defining the ‘common good’

are: what is understood by this term and how does it relate to the Dar ul-‘Ulum’s purpose

and function when it is a term that applies more to the commercial sector rather than the

social and educational arenas? Since the term is a fairly flexible concept, it has been

employed in this instance to the socio-educational arena. One of the scholars that referred

to and used the term to unpack the notion of corporate social responsibility and corporate

companies is Antonio Argandona (1998). Argandona, who extracted this term from the

Catholic social doctrine, made it quite clear in his introduction that the ‘common good’—

as a conceptual tool—left itself open to ‘vague and contradictory interpretations’ and that

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some schools of thought rejected its applicability despite its time-honored philosophical

roots.

In the process of conceptualizing the term, Argandona, like most social scientists

stressed the point that ‘a human being is essentially a social being’; someone who interacts

and mixes with others to attain personal and social objectives. Since a human being is not

an island, he/she needs to be with others to attain certain goals that he/she had set out.

Whilst achieving personal goals are laudable, they are not seen in a positive light if they go

against the goals that society had identified and desired to achieve. In other words, if a

person’s goals counter those of the society then this goes against the ‘common good’ of all.

Emphasis is therefore placed on the fact that a person’s goals should tie in with those of

civil society and if the person persists in wanting to attain his/her personal objectives at the

expense of the social ones, then society ought to decide how to deal with that individual.

Hollenbach (2002: 3) explains it as follows: ‘‘the common good of the community should

have primacy in setting direction for the lives of the individuals, for it is a higher good than

the particular goods of the private person.’’ And prior to making this point Hollenbach

stated that, ‘‘One of Aristotle’s most significant conclusions was that a good life is oriented

to goods shared with others—the common good of the larger society of which one is a

part’’.

In offering a somewhat loose definition of the term, Argandona (1998: 1095) quoting

from the 1965 Vatican II document, states that the ‘common good’ is ‘‘the overall con-

ditions of life in society that allow the different groups and their members to achieve their

own perfection more fully and more easily’’. In further exploring and unpacking the

concept, he states that the ‘common good’ is:

• society’s ultimate goal because it grants the individual, who normally socializes and

cooperates, the necessary support to achieve his/her personal objectives;

• society’s good as well as that of the individual, who is one of its members, and being

cognisant of the fact that the society’s goal is not independent on its members’ goals;

and that

• it is not a partial good, a value that belongs equally to everyone (as social beings).

It is thus a given that the individual and society are interconnected and this underlines the

fact that the two will remain inseparable. By this is meant that the individual’s personal

goal cannot be achieved without society and that society cannot function without

individuals. Related to this, Hollenbach (2002: 4) remarks that when Aristotle (d.322 BC)

made reference to the ‘common good’ achieved by the community he viewed it as nobler

and ‘more divine’ than the good acts of one individual. And whilst Hollenbach points out

that this religious dimension was indeed the concern of Christian reflections with regards to

various aspects of human life, it cannot be denied that it was also a religious aspect that

was echoed by medieval Muslim scholars such as the Abu Hamid Al-Ghazali (d.1111).

In fact, the notion of the ‘common good’ was not only pivotal to Muslim life but it was a

key ingredient in the Muslim educational system. Muslim scholarship weaved the idea of

the ‘common good’ into its curriculum so that individuals may passionately pursue the

‘common good’ through sincerely serving God. Since the Dar ul-‘Ulum curriculum is in

the main embedded in the philosophy of the notion of the ‘common good’ as understood

from Islam’s primary sources. It stands to reason that each Dar ul-‘Ulum disseminates

wholesome (religious) values; values that perpetuate the ideas and practices that would

benefit all—the individual as well as the society. It is assumed that the founding fathers of

the Dar ul-‘Ulum constructed—like the Christian religious leaders such as Ignatius Loyola

(d.1556) who set out clear-cut visions for their followers/orders—a vision that ‘glorifies

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non-else but God’ and a set of goals that are directed towards the service God (see

Hollenbach 2002: 5). What one gathers from the institution’s underlying philosophy is that

if and when it upholds the set of ‘common good’ values, then at no stage will the society be

harmed by the ideas that it continuously imparts to its students. It, as a matter of fact, instils

positive values instead of negative ones that demoralize them.

But if, as observed by the American and European Think Tanks, the teaching program

promotes ideas of extremism or includes contents that are harmful to the individual and, by

implication, the society then these should automatically be weeded out of the curriculum.

Or if a Dar ul-‘Ulum allows one of its staff members—who is invariably a theologian—to

teach intolerance towards other religious traditions (as witnessed in parts of Northern

Nigeria), extremism towards individuals who belong to a different school of Islamic

thought (as observed in Iraq and Bahrain), and violence against non-Muslim neighbours (as

noted in certain Muslim majority societies such as Pakistan), then these individuals should

immediately be ejected from the educational system for they contribute towards the

destruction of society. The dissemination of unconstructive thoughts not only weakens the

‘common good’ goals but it negatively impacts upon and undermines the good social

relations that have existed among and between diverse ethno-religious and linguistic

communities.

Now when one ponders over the Dar ul-‘Ulum’s function, then it is quite obvious from

the discussion in the afore-mentioned paragraphs that its curriculum is by and large

underlined by the philosophy that underpins universal ‘common good’ values. And by

extension, it may be argued that the set of ethico-moral values that the Dar ul-‘Ulum

teaches and that forms part of the ‘common good’ naturally finds their way into the social

networks where individuals pursue their specific ‘common good’ goals in the broader

social structures. What this means is that on an ideal plane the ‘common good’ values are

reinforced by the Dar ul-‘Ulum system and it further secures ‘common good’ rights for

everyone irrespective of their background. Indeed if this is the case, then it essentially

means that the Dar ul-‘Ulum, which imparts and shares the ethico-moral values with its

students—who subsequently take up positions in society where they continue to spread

them—should be seen as a public institution that operates in the interest of, and not against

the state and its peoples. Since this is the case, then this argument counters the views that

have been expressed by the American and European Think Tanks that insist that the Dar

ul-‘Ulum perpetuates extremism (see Fair 2008).

Perhaps it is best to look at specific case studies from Southern Africa to assess whether

the Think Tanks’ thesis is valid or invalid; and the argument is basically as follows: that

even though Dar ul-‘Ulums in South Asia, Southern Africa or elsewhere are not institutions

that effect extremism or cause terrorism, since they strive towards positive social change

and are in pursuit of the ‘common good’, there are a few theological seminaries that

inadvertently promote myopic theological thinking and seemingly lend support to the

views espoused by the Think Tanks. For one to have a better insight into this issue it is

perhaps prudent at this stage to make reference to a few South African institutions since it

is beyond the scope of this essay to deal in detail with all the Southern African Muslim

theological seminaries.

South(ern) Africa’s Dar ul-‘Ulums as Case Studies

While the modern-day period, Dar ul-‘Ulum Newcastle is generally recognized as the first

such institution in the Southern African region, this is, however, not the case. Almost a

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century ago—1869 to be exact—this institution was preceded by Shaykh Abu Bakr

Effendi’s (d.1880) Cape based Institute of Higher Islamic Theology; an institution that was

indeed theologically unique and the first of its kind on Southern African soil. Though it did

not survive the passage of time, Shaykh Abu Bakr left a legacy that remained alive in the

minds of subsequent generations at the Cape. And it was only succeeded about 90 years

later by the Johannesburg based Waterval Islamic Institute (WII est. 1940); an institution

that was set by the Mia family (i.e. Hajji Moosa Ismail Mia and Maulana Mohamed Mia)

and at that time spearheaded by Maulana Ebrahim Sanjalvi (d.1983) from Woodmead in

Gauteng Province. In spite of WII’s long history and contribution to Muslim education, it

was the Dar ul-‘Ulum in Newcastle that made its mark from the time it laid its foundations

and taught Muslim theological studies.

Dar ul-‘Ulum Newcastle’s formation was gradually viewed as a thriving model and

resulted in the establishment of a plethora of similar Dar ul-‘Ulums. Even though Sayed

(2011) and Reetz (2011) interestingly tabulated all those Dar ul-‘Ulums that are currently

operating in South Africa, they, regrettably, excluded many other related educational

institutions such as the Cape based Institute of Shariah Studies (est. 1973) that would have

given them a different insight into the types of Muslim educational institutions that

spawned South Africa’s cities. In any event, it would have been quite instructive if they

had included in their respective tables those Dar ul-‘Ulums that exist in South Africa’s

neighbouring states; for example, sister institutions are found in Mozambique, Zimbabwe,

Malawi and Zambia. Taking into cognisance these socio-educational institutional devel-

opments, the formation of Dar ul-‘Ulum Newcastle was a unique and important experi-

ment; one that left its footprints on South Africa’s educational landscape. At this juncture

there is a need for a closer look at its significance as an important Muslim theological

seminary.

Dar ul-‘Ulum Newcastle

After Maulana Cassiem Mohammed Sema (d.2007) successfully graduated from the Indian

Dar ul-‘Ulum known as Jameah Islamiyyah Dhabel in 1942, he only returned to South

Africa during the early part of 1944. From that year onwards, he took up different posts and

gradually participated in missionary activities in KZN’s Msinga Reserves where he built a

mosque and a madrasa. By the end of the 1960s Sema’s desire to establish a Dar ul-‘Ulum

intensified and during 1969 he with the assistance of supporters and sponsors, namely Hajji

Moosa I. Vawda, I. M. Patel and A. H. Moola, secured the purchase of St. Dominics

Academy; a Roman Catholic convent that was dormant. Dar ul-‘Ulum Newcastle opened

its doors on the 13th of May 1973 (cf. www.darululoomnewcastle.co.za; Ingram 2011).

According to the institution’s records, the first graduates who followed the 3 years

program finished in 1977; and 373 students completed the 6 years theological program

between 1983 and 2005. This meant that an average of approximately 16 students grad-

uated over the 22 year period. Over a period of 30 years an average of 9 students com-

pleted the hifz (i.e. Quranic memorization) program between 1975 and 2005 (a total of 284

students). Now when one compares the number of ‘Alim Fadil graduates (i.e. those who

completed the post-graduate theological programs) at Newcastle with those who completed

at Dar ul-‘Ulum Zakariyyah (Gauteng http://www.sunniforum.com), it is noted that at the

end of 2007 there were 61 who successfully completed the 7 years program and this

brought its total number of graduates to 435. Since Dar ul-‘Ulum Newcastle’s—alongside

Dar ul-‘Ulum Zakariyyah and Dar ul-‘Ulum Azaadville—reputation as a respected

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academic theological institution grew, individuals from many countries such as Malaysia,

Australia, Canada, Kenya, and Zimbabwe joined its program. For the record, the Dar ul-

‘Ulum Newcastle was the first English medium institution of its kind in Southern Africa at

that time and one that was strongly associated with the Indian based ‘parent’ Deoband Dar

ul-‘Ulum that faced some inflexible internal crises by 1982 (cf. http://zakariyya.wordpress.

com/).

At this point it may be instructive to make reference to Dar ul-‘Ulum Jameah Mah-

moodiyah’s rationale and vision for the introduction of Islamic studies as reflected on its

online site (www.mahmoodiyah.org.za): It stated that, ‘‘In modern times when man is once

again engulfed into moral and spiritual decadence, we may assert with confidence that only

Islam can salvage him… They need to delve into the Qur’an and Hadith and seek solutions

to heal the distressed souls of modern man.’’ With this rationale in mind, it further states

that ‘‘Jameah’s aim is to create such Rijaal (men [/women]) for the Ummah ([Muslim]

community) who will strive to educate the Ummah (Ijaabah [response/answer] and

Da’wah [invitation]) and streamline the way of Islam for them. Throughout Islamic history

Muslim scholars applied themselves to this course, embodied its message in them and

passed it on to the succeeding generations. Jameah envisions that this need can be fulfilled

through its graduates.

From the lengthy quote it is observed that the Dar ul-‘Ulum Jameah Mahmoodiyah

categorically states that it is only Islam that can salvage the individual from the ills of

society and that the Dar ul-‘Ulum is an appropriate vehicle that assists to address modern

society’s ‘sick soul.’ Seeing itself as an important institution that seeks to find solutions to

the socio-moral issues that (Muslim) societies encounter, it aims to educate men (and

women) by acquainting them with Islam’s primary sources, namely the Qur’an and Aha-

dith, and by demanding that they live their lives according to Islam’s fundamental prin-

ciples; principles that are in line with the philosophy of bringing about positive social

change and work towards achieving the ‘common good’ goals. Since Islam is viewed as a

just social system by Muslim communities, the Dar ul-‘Ulum and other sister institutions

strive towards spreading social justice and upholding the notion of the ‘common good’

among their students through the curricula and syllabi that they have formulated.

The Dar ul-‘Ulum Newcastle syllabus, which was modeled on the Dars Nizami (i.e. the

[traditional] Nizami Teaching system) course that was and is being taught in the Dhabel

and Deoband Dar ul-Ulums (Sayed 2011; Ingram 2011), was designed with the assistance

of Maulana Sema’s respected teacher, Maulana Yusuf Binnouri (d.2007), and was slightly

adapted to fit into the South African context. It included, inter alia, the teaching of Arabic,

Urdu, Quranic exegesis, Quranic recitation & memorization, Islamic jurisprudence,

Muslim history and Educational Psychology. Maulana Sema realized the importance of the

last mentioned subject and thus made it an essential part of the syllabus and like Gauteng

based Dar ul-‘Ulum Azaadville, provides the students with a short course in teaching

methodology.

Since the slightly adapted Dars Nizami course was followed by this institution, it was

subsequently replicated when other similar institutions were set up by former teachers or

former students of Dar ul-‘Ulum Newcastle. The string of Dar ul-‘Ulums that were created

did not see themselves as rivals but as complementary structures that continued to pursue

the same program that was devised by Dar ul-‘Ulum Newcastle. What this meant was that

instead of acting competitively in the field, these institutions generally adopted a syllabus

and a set of prescribed texts that did not differ much theologically and jurisprudentially

from one another. Despite this somewhat uniform theological education that was being

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disseminated by these educational structures, there are others that diverged from this

program. It is to one of these that the essay turns its focus.

Darul-‘Arabiyyah Islamiyyah

The Dar ul-‘Arabiyyah Islamiyyah (DUAI http://www.duai.co.za), which is located in

Gordon’s Bay outside the Greater Cape Town area, began its institutional life in 1996 and

underwent some changes by 2001. DUAI was founded, according to Maulana Taha Ka-

raan—its principal, with the twin objectives of preservation and progress. Karaan, who

studied in one of the Indian Dar ul-‘Ulums, stated that ‘‘(t)he study of Islam is not simply

an area of academic investigation. It is the continuation of a legacy—a legacy that was

initiated with the revelation of Iqra’ (recitation/reading), whose foundations were laid over

the 23 years of Prophethood, and whose edifice was raised by successive generations of

keenly devoted scholars for well over a thousand years.’’ Karaan further highlights that

‘‘(t)he type of individualism that places the investigator in the centre and ignores the legacy

of the discipline is foreign to Islam. Knowledge is handed down through a legacy of

scholarship. The student, as the recipient of knowledge, becomes an heir to that legacy. By

inheriting the legacy he (/she) becomes part of it, and it is then through him (/her) that the

legacy is perpetuated.’’

When comparing Dar ul-‘Ulum Jameah Mahmoodiyah’s rationale to the statement

issued by DUAI’s principal, it is apparent that the latter has a clear idea of how his and

other similar theological institutions were historically and educationally connected to the

prophetic legacy. As far as he is concerned, the accumulation and dissemination of

knowledge through scholarship by the student was, and remains a key process in pre-

serving the tradition and transforming society in line with that tradition. For him, this

remains a critical process, since the preservation of Islam’s legacy and the advancement of

true knowledge are important tasks, and indeed the responsibility of the Muslim scholar

(i.e. the theologian). Karaan subtly articulates the view that the legacy that he refers to in

his rationale is the notion of the ‘common good’ that has so far been discussed in this

article. The prophet’s legacy demands that a Muslim should be fair, just and honest when

interacting in society, and anyone who goes against this would be transgressing it or to put

it differently: s/he will be severing the ties that promote the ‘common good’ and thus harm

him/herself as well as society.

Karaan’s vision is that DUAI should produce students that would not only promote the

‘common good’ but would demonstrate how the goals of the ‘common good’ goals could

be achieved. For this Karaan adopts a pedagogical approach that upholds the idea of

cultivating an intimate teacher-student relationship in small classes and creating a learning

environment ‘‘that promotes a profound commitment to life-long study, continuous self-

reformation and an ethic of community service.’’ As a result of his program, DUAI, like its

sister institutions in KZN and Gauteng attracted students from other parts of Africa (such

as Malawi, Zimbabwe and Zanzibar) and outside the continent (from North America and

Southeast Asia). It claims that its ‘‘students are taught to be instruments of (social) change

and (be of) benefit to others. Graduates pursue diverse ends: further study; research;

writing; community leadership as Imams; and community education. Many go on to create

their own institutions’’.

To Karaan, students, who graduate from this institution, would be ‘instruments of

(social) change’ and in the end be of benefit to everyone with whom they interact. As far as

Karaan is concerned, the student/graduate or the theologian should essentially work in the

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community’s interest and not against it otherwise he/she will be betraying the legacy of the

prophet. From this it may be concluded that the program that is being followed at DAUI is

one that does not at any stage disseminate what has been termed ‘Islamic extremism’ or

‘Islamic radicalism’. If, for some reason, it should be promoting any of these acts, then it

would go against the institution’s basic educational policy and it would indeed not be in

sync with its vision.

Taking this into account it is interesting to note that DUAI’s educational program differs

slightly from the Dar ul-‘Ulum Newcastle and Dar ul-‘Ulum Zakariyyah Darsi Nizami

programs. It offers in the first 2 years an intensive introductory course, which is followed

by the 4 years ‘Alim Fadil program. The mentioned introductory course is aimed at

offering a thorough 2 years study of the Arabic language and in the process the student is

exposed to preliminary readings in all major disciplines such as ‘Aqidah (creeds), Usul al-

Fiqh (legal theory), Fiqh (Islamic jurisprudence), and Tafsir (Quranic exegesis) to ease the

student into the language in particular and the Islamic sciences as a whole. When the

students reach the advanced stage, they are provided with a thorough grounding in each of

the major disciplines. For example, when they undertake a study of Fiqh (Islamic juris-

prudence) they concurrently explore the main ideas in Usul al-Fiqh (legal theory) to

appreciate and understand Shari‘ah’s main objectives, and this is further complemented by

the reading and examination of, among others, Abu Ishaq al-Shatibi’s (d.1388) al-Mu-

wafaqat (Appropriate [religious thought]).

It is perhaps useful to refer to one set of prescribed texts to provide some insight into the

types of issues that are studied and discussed in the classroom at both the introductory and

advanced levels. Since the issue of ‘Aqidah has been and remains a sensitive issue in and

beyond the Muslim community, the institute prescribes specific texts for both levels. At the

introductory level, it prescribes Tahir al-Jaza‘iri’s (d.1920) al-Jawahir al-Kalamiyyah fi

Idah al-‘Aqidat al-Islamiyyah (The Theological Jewels in Explaining the Islamic Creed).

And at the advanced level it prescribes Kubra al-Yaqiniyyat (The Great Certainties) written

by the respected Syrian scholar, Shaykh Muhammad Sa‘id Ramadan al-Buti (d.2013). The

Kubra, which is an instructive introductory manual to Islamic beliefs, limits itself to those

beliefs held by the ‘Ahl al-Sunnah wa al-Jama‘ah’ and thus excludes those expressed by

the Shi’a and other schismatic groups.

Whilst one tries to appreciate the institution’s reasons for prescribing these specific

books, one glaring omission from the list is the exclusion of texts that cover Shi’a theology.

The inclusion of the Shi’a theological texts would have granted the students an opportunity

of a comparative view of how, why, and in which sectors these two significant theological

branches differ. More importantly, is the fact that since DUAI—and the other mentioned

Dar ul-‘Ulums—excludes Shi’a theology (as well as ‘Ibadi theology) from its program, it

customarily adopts an unquestionably one-sided approach to Islamic theological studies.

This therefore automatically weakens and impacts negatively on the notion of the ‘com-

mon good’ as embedded in the DUAI curriculum. And it basically fulfills the minimalist

rather than the maximalist view of Islamic education that Waghid (2011) captures in his

seminal work on Islamic education. This approach raises the question of whether insti-

tutions such as DUAI and others that only focus on Sunni theology are really in a position

to achieve the ‘common good’ goals and whether they are able to keep alive and maintain

the universal values. Defenders of this school argue that the Sunni managed institutions are

able to achieve the ‘common good’ without having to include Shi’a and ‘Ibadi theological

ideas because their teachings (from a Sunni perspective) are in line with the prophetic path

that had been charted by an array of well-known and respected classical scholars such as

Ibn Kathir (d.1373)and al-Ghazali. From from their perspective it is a method that has been

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successfully followed over the centuries by the majority of Muslims, and as such, has

achieved the overall objectives of the ‘common good’.

Towards a Conclusion

From the afore-mentioned paragraphs it may be stated that whilst the Dar ul-‘Ulum chiefly

operates as a vehicle for ‘social change’ for the ‘common good’, ocassions do arise in

which it falters and shifts away from what has generally been accepted as ‘the middle

way’. But despite the Dar ul-‘Ulum veering off at times, it continues to pursue a moderate

road; one that is akin to the prophetic path. In the eyes of the Muslim theologians, the Dar

ul-‘Ulum ostensibly remains a key theological seminary that is committed to conforming to

the traditionally accepted method of disseminating and teaching the Islamic sciences. As

dedicated theologians, they underline the fact that their traditional pedagogical approach in

the Dar ul-‘Ulum should not be misunderstood as a method that endorses an anti-Western

bias and one that imposes a form of divine autocracy.

For them, the Dar ul-‘Ulum aligns itself with Muslim tradition as an acceptable path

since it is one that is steeped in spirituality and it is unlike the modern secular educational

system that is devoid of any form of spirituality. As a result of their firm stand and support

for the traditional method, they argue that they have been unfairly accused by American

and European Think Tanks of being guilty of perpetuating religious radicalism and the

prime instigators of Islamic extremism; they opine that the Think Tanks’ (faulty) findings

are based upon emotionally charged research reports that have been publicized by over-

zealous anti-Muslim critics such as Daniel Pipes (MPAC 2012). As a consequence of these

misinterpretations and sensationalist reports, they point out that these Think Tanks appear

to be confused about what the term ‘tradition’ actually means and conflate it with the terms

‘extremism’ and ‘radicalism’.

Muslim theologians constantly stress that the theological seminaries have been created to

disseminate the Islamic sciences and they were not established to produce graduates that

adopt extremism or radicalism. If they do, then it is an unintentional outcome, and that

radical theologians do not represent the seminaries’ philosophy and outlook. They also

express the view that they cannot be held responsible for each and every graduate who

propagate extremists and radical opinions and that these Think Tanks should not unfairly

find them guilty for producing these types of graduates. If one returns to Karaan’s quote in

which he states that the Muslim seminary is a place ‘‘that promotes a profound commitment

to life-long study, continuous self-reformation and an ethic of community service’’, then it

counters the views reported by the Think Tanks. Karaan’s opinion implies that the seminary

graduates and theologians who are studious, reformists and ethically minded, are, in other

words, theologians, who should perpetuate a clear vision of how Muslims—as loyal

Southern African citizens—should meaningfully pursue education, work towards refor-

mation, and interact with communities within a predominantly non-Muslim environment.

Apart from opposing and debunking the Think Tanks’ thesis, these theologians make

the point that the reason for the emergence of extremism/radicalism among Muslim

communities does not lie in the Muslim heartlands or Muslim communities. They argue

that the rise of these elements was caused by the imposition of prejudicial North American/

European foreign policies—policies have been formulated in such a manner that it planted

the seeds of Islamophobia. The mistaken impression that has been conveyed by the

mentioned policies was that Islam’s adherents in general and its educational institutions in

particular have—through their interpretation and application of Islam’s primary and

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secondary sources—a tendency to promote violence and extremist behavior. In addition,

the foreign policies have been further supported by a set of pseudo experts and the global

media (that are mainly owned by pro-West companies).

Be that as it may, on different fronts Muslims and their theological institutions have had

to respond to various criticisms and the issue that they had to deal with is: how do they

counter the prejudices and biases that have been perpetuated by the policy makers, pseudo

experts on Muslim affairs and Western media outlets?Although this article did not focus on

this or related questions, it has argued that the Dar ul-‘Ulums and other comparable

Muslim theogical institutions have been, and are educational agents of positive social

change. They are educational institutions that have, and continue to promote the objectives

of the ‘common good’. It has been observed that despite the Muslim theological institu-

tions’ good intentions and noble actions, a few of them seem to have inadvertently given

weight to American and European Think Tanks’ thesis, and that is that these Muslim

educational institutions present programs, devise curricula, prescribe texts, and produce

students that undermine the ‘common good’ agenda. Arkoun (1995) and Rahman (2001)

are among the list of contemporary Muslim scholars that also clamored for change among

the Muslim theological institutions; they proposed that Muslim communities adapt to

modernity and at the same time suggested alternative methods of disseminating Muslim

education so that Muslim communities might partake in healthy internal Muslim debates

and dialogue. They argued strongly for the need to challenge the traditional Muslim

educational institutions’ monopoly of religious ideas and for perpetuating the uncreative

traditional ways of thinking (Arkoun 1995; Rahman 2001).

As ardent and passionate critics of these types of institutions, they proposed that

alternative educational institutions be created in order to assist in transforming the mind-

sets of the Muslim community that have been heavily influenced by the thinking of the Dar

ul-‘Ulum theologians. In South Africa attempts have been made by some to establish

alternative institutions such as the International Peace College of South Africa (www.

ipsaedu.org), but these still have to prove how successful they are able to be. This is unlike

the Dar ul-‘Ulums that have flourished and have received large donations from members in

the Muslim communities. Nonetheless, the issue of whether more such Muslim educational

institutions be formed or whether alternatives be created will remain an ongoing debate.

More importantly is the question of whether these institutions—the traditional or alter-

native non-traditional ones—will continue to play their role as agents of social change and

whether they will continue to promote ‘common good’ objectives. It is assumed that they

will continue to be instruments of change but—as highlighted in the article—they might

fall short of achieving the goals of the ‘common good’ and that there will always be a few

who will unintentionally deviate from the prophetic legacy and unconsciously perpetuate a

path that pursue radical and extreme methods to achieve objectives.

In conclusion, the article reflected upon how Dar ul-Ulums played, and continue to their

roles as significant agents of social change for the common good. It charted a theoretical

frame that assisted in understanding how these seminaries as bona fide educational insti-

tutions stimulated and brought about social change in their respective communities. Since

the focus was on Southern Africa where some of these seminaries are located, the article

provided a general context within which it had emerged and developed. With this back-

drop, the article went on to demonstrate to what extent these seminaries incorporated the

philosophy or the notion of the ‘common good’ within its curricula. And to further

illustrate this, the article directed its attention to selected Muslim seminaries in South

Africa to assess whether they have incorporated the notion of the ‘common good’ in the

way it is generally understood and to what degree they have fallen short in reaching its

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goals. Finally, it also interrogated whether these seminaries have been conscious of their

contributions towards Southern African Muslim communities, in particular, and the

Southern African societies in general.

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