In Arabic, several words are used to denote “knowledge” and “knowing.” Among them, ʿilm (العلم) and maʿrifah (المعرفة) are the best known. Although these two words are often regarded as synonyms in ordinary usage, Islamic epistemology, manṭiq (logic), and the discussions of Muslim intellectuals have identified certain significant distinctions between them.
Generally, maʿrifah refers to awareness, familiarity, or factual knowledge of a person, object, event, or subject. By contrast, ʿilm encompasses not merely knowing information but also understanding it, verifying its accuracy, identifying relationships among different pieces of information, analysing and evaluating them, and developing new insights, interpretations, or solutions on their basis when necessary.
In this sense, ʿilm is not merely the acquisition of information; rather, it is an intellectual process through which information is transformed into meaningful knowledge and wisdom. In other words, ʿilm is a creative form of knowledge that does not merely preserve the past; it can also analyse the present and help chart a course for the future.
In discussions of manṭiq, maʿrifah is sometimes explained as being closer to taṣawwur (conceptual apprehension), whereas ʿilm is associated with taṣdīq (assent to a proposition on the basis of reasoning and evidence). Although this interpretation is not universally accepted, it has particular significance in epistemological discussions. Among the Sufis, too, the two terms ʿilm and maʿrifah are used with a different nuance and significance.
As I understand it, maʿrifah primarily informs us about a subject, whereas ʿilm enables us to transform information into knowledge, knowledge into wisdom, and wisdom into a force for human welfare and the advancement of civilisation.
In other words, ʿilm is not simply a matter of retaining information in memory. Rather, it enables us to understand, assess, analyse, and determine the proper application and significance of that information.
It is in this sense that ʿilm is affirmed as an attribute (ṣifah) of Allah Taʿala. He is described as al-ʿAlīm (the All-Knowing), and the attribute of ʿilm is affirmed of His Divine Essence. By contrast, Allah Taʿala is not described as possessing the attribute of maʿrifah. This is because ʿilm is an essential, eternal, and perfect attribute of Allah Taʿala, whereas maʿrifah generally conveys the sense of familiarity with, or awareness of, something.
Modern educational theory, too, does not restrict cognitive development to the mere memorisation of information. In the original framework of Bloom’s Taxonomy, knowledge and recall occupy the initial stage of cognitive skills, while the revised framework places Creating at the highest level. In other words, knowing and remembering (Remember) constitute the initial stage of cognitive development. The subsequent stages are understanding (Understand), applying (Apply), analysing (Analyze), evaluating (Evaluate), and, finally, integrating existing knowledge to construct or create something new (Create).
Of course, it would not be appropriate to regard Islamic ʿilm as directly equivalent to any single level of Bloom’s Taxonomy. Islamic epistemology has its own sources, purposes, ethical foundations, and conception of truth.
Nevertheless, as a comparative educational framework, this classification of the cognitive domain reminds us of an important point: knowing information is not the same as analysing, evaluating, and applying knowledge creatively. The distinction between the conceptual and judgmental dimensions of knowledge also finds a parallel in the discussions of taṣawwur and taṣdīq in manṭiq.
Viewed from this perspective, when I consider contemporary Muslim scholarship, I feel that although many individuals are skilled at collecting information, those capable of genuinely creative and constructive intellectual work—scholars in the fuller sense of the term—are comparatively few. Many individuals have achieved considerable recognition because of their extensive repositories of information, powerful memories, study of books, or ability to compile juristic opinions (fiqhī views).
Undoubtedly, these contributions are valuable, necessary, and deserving of respect. However, they do not, by themselves, represent the fulfilment of scholarship; rather, they indicate its preliminary stage. Within the epistemological framework of this discussion, it is more appropriate to describe this stage as maʿrifah in contrast to ʿilm.
The number of books a scholar has read, the number of opinions he can recall, or the number of quotations he can produce indicates only one dimension of his scholarship. The next, and more important, question is: What does he do with that knowledge?
When confronted with a new question, does he merely repeat earlier quotations and opinions, or can he analyse new realities on the basis of the knowledge inherited from the past?
When faced with modern states, economics, banking, technology, science, philosophy, social systems, civilisational crises, or new intellectual challenges, can he formulate a coherent and reasoned response in the light of Islamic sources and foundational principles?
In my assessment, this is where an important distinction emerges between information-rich scholarship and creative scholarship.
It seems to me that a substantial part of our scholarly activity remains centred on the collection of information. Competition often revolves around who knows the most quotations, who has read the greatest number of books, or who can compile the largest number of opinions.
Yet an abundance of information does not automatically give rise to original thought or creative knowledge. The creative power of genuine ʿilm lies in transforming information into new ideas, fresh analysis, and solutions suited to the needs of the age.
It is from this perspective that I assess Sayyid Abul Aʿla Mawdudi (رحمه الله).
On the basis of my many years of study, extensive reading of his writings, comparative study of various Islamic and Western intellectual traditions, and consideration of both the strengths and limitations of his thought, my personal assessment is as follows:
“In the contemporary era, Sayyid Abul Aʿla Mawdudi (رحمه الله) was an intellectual of exceptional scholarly stature and one of the most influential architects of Islamic thought. In my assessment, he may be regarded as the foremost scholar of his age.”
In evaluating him, I do not take his popularity, organisational affiliation, number of followers, or political influence as my criteria. My principal criteria are the nature of his knowledge, his analytical ability, the originality and creativity of his thought, his awareness of contemporary realities, his capacity to engage with different intellectual traditions, and his endeavour to construct a coherent system of thought in the light of Islamic sources.
This, to me, is where Mawdudi’s distinctiveness lies. He did not merely compile Islamic rulings, historical accounts, or existing opinions. Rather, he sought to reorganise and reinterpret Islam’s fundamental concepts in the intellectual language of contemporary people. Instead of presenting Islam as a collection of isolated religious rituals, he endeavoured to present it as an integrated worldview encompassing individual life, society, the state, the economy, morality, and civilisation as a whole.
His extensive writings on the state and politics, economics, banking, social justice, the Islamic movement, secularism, nationalism, democracy, capitalism, socialism, critiques of Western civilisation, and modern intellectual crises are all manifestations of this endeavour.
One need not agree with all his conclusions. Nevertheless, it is difficult to deny the intellectual significance of the questions he raised and his efforts to formulate answers to them in the light of Islamic sources.
The most notable characteristic of Mawdudi, in my view, is this:
He sought to connect the knowledge of the past with the questions of the present. He did not stop at asking merely, “What has been said?” He also sought answers to questions such as: “Why was it said?”, “What is the underlying principle?”, “What significance does it hold in modern circumstances?”, and “What solutions to present-day problems can be derived from it?”
This is precisely why I regard him as an important representative of creative scholarship. Reading his works gives one the impression that he was not merely an interpreter of the past; rather, he sought to establish an intellectual dialogue between Islam and the realities of his own age.
By “creative,” I do not mean thought that is entirely unprecedented or detached from the inherited tradition. Rather, I mean connecting the inherited scholarly tradition, the fundamental guidance of the Qur’an and Sunnah, and contemporary realities in order to develop new interpretations and solutions to new questions. In this sense, creative scholarship does not mean rejecting the tradition; it means rereading and engaging with it creatively.
In my assessment, the epistemological distinction between a ṣāḥib al-maʿrifah (صاحب المعرفة)—one who possesses information or familiarity with a subject—and an ʿālim (عالم), a scholar, lies precisely here. A ṣāḥib al-maʿrifah possesses information and familiarity concerning a subject, whereas an ʿālim can elevate that knowledge to a broader level of significance through analysis, critical judgment, and application. Preserving the knowledge of the past is important, but understanding the present and providing intellectual guidance for the future on the basis of that knowledge are also part of the scholarly responsibility associated with ʿilm.
In this sense, Mawdudi’s contribution is particularly significant to me. He did not merely preserve the accumulated knowledge of Islam; he sought to establish an active dialogue between that knowledge and the questions, crises, and intellectual challenges of his own time.
An important qualification is necessary here, however. Creativity does not guarantee correctness. The fact that a thinker raises new questions, offers new interpretations, or constructs a new theoretical framework does not establish the correctness of every conclusion he reaches. Indeed, a natural characteristic of creative thought is that, alongside new insights, it also carries the possibility of error.
I apply the same principle to Mawdudi (رحمه الله). I do not consider any of his opinions, interpretations, ijtihād (independent juristic reasoning), or analyses to be beyond criticism. He was human; therefore, it is entirely possible that his thought contained errors. Indeed, those who attempt to answer new questions beyond established intellectual frameworks may be comparatively more exposed to new kinds of error.
Conversely, someone whose work is largely confined to preserving, reproducing, and explaining earlier opinions may face a comparatively lower risk of introducing new kinds of error. At the same time, however, the possibility of opening up new intellectual horizons may also be limited. Therefore, treating the absence of error as the ultimate criterion of scholarship and regarding the presence of new ideas as evidence of error are both one-sided approaches.
A well-known principle of the Islamic scholarly tradition is also relevant here. The widely quoted statement associated with Imam Mālik (رحمه الله) conveys the meaning that the words of every person may be accepted or rejected, except those of the Messenger of Allah (صلى الله عليه وسلم).
In light of this principle, there is no reason to regard profound respect for a scholar or thinker and the critical examination of his statements in the light of evidence, reason, and sound principles as mutually incompatible.
On the contrary, genuine scholarly respect lies not in blind following but in fair and just evaluation. Acknowledging a distinguished scholar’s contributions is part of intellectual justice, just as identifying his errors or weaknesses is an equally important part of that justice. In the case of Mawdudi (رحمه الله), too, I consider this balanced approach to be the more acceptable one.
The question now is: Where does Mawdudi stand when assessed by these criteria?
My answer, based on my personal research and many years of reading, is this:
In the field of Islamic scholarship in the modern era, examples of a coherent, integrated, and constructive system of thought comparable to Mawdudi’s are exceedingly rare. I also maintain that “no Islamic thinker of comparable stature has yet emerged in this age.” I present this statement not as an absolute or definitive historical verdict, but as a personal assessment formed through my extensive study.
By “comparable,” I do not mean a mere abundance of information. Rather, I mean the capacity to construct a broad Islamic intellectual framework, grounded in the fundamental perspectives of the Qur’an and Sunnah, that can address the intellectual, political, social, and civilisational questions of the modern world in an integrated manner. Judged by this specific criterion, Mawdudi’s contribution appears to me particularly exceptional.
This does not mean, however, that his thought represents the final word in Islamic thought. His true significance may instead lie in the fact that he opened a new intellectual door. The task of subsequent generations should not be merely to repeat his writings, but to study his methodology, strengths, and limitations critically and to construct more mature intellectual frameworks suited to the new realities of the contemporary world.
History never stands still. The questions of one age are not necessarily the same as those of another. Today, alongside questions concerning the modern state and economy, we face artificial intelligence, biotechnology, digital society, algorithmic governance, environmental crises, new ethical dilemmas, and unprecedented questions concerning human existence. Consequently, the responsibility of contemporary Muslim scholars and thinkers is not merely to preserve the statements of earlier intellectual giants, but to build upon their accumulated knowledge and formulate new scholarly responses to emerging realities.
In this sense, perhaps Mawdudi’s greatest lesson lies not in any particular opinion he held, but in his intellectual courage to connect Islamic knowledge actively with the questions of his age. The identity of a genuine scholar is not determined solely by how much he knows; an important measure of his scholarly standing lies in what he can discern through what he knows, how he analyses it, and what he can construct on its basis.
Information introduces us to the past; analysis helps us understand the present; and creative scholarship equips us to shape the future. In this progression, ʿilm is not merely a repository of memory; it is a source of thought, wisdom, and constructive achievement.
In my assessment, this is where Sayyid Abul Aʿla Mawdudi’s (رحمه الله) greatest scholarly contribution to the modern era lies: he brought Islam’s accumulated body of knowledge face to face with the intellectual questions of his time, thereby opening up a vast field for renewed thought and interpretation.
I therefore do not consider him infallible or beyond criticism, nor do I regard all his conclusions as correct. Nevertheless, his breadth of scholarship, analytical strength, originality, awareness of his age, and constructive intellectual vision have led me to the personal conclusion that he was an extraordinary and exceptional intellectual figure in the modern history of Islamic thought.
This is not a definitive historical verdict; rather, it is an assessment formed through my many years of study, comparative reading, and personal research. Other scholars, researchers, and thinkers may reach different conclusions on this matter, and they should have every right to do so within a healthy scholarly environment.
My hope, rather, is that future generations will not merely follow Mawdudi (رحمه الله), but will also seek to study, analyse, critique, and go beyond his work. The highest form of respect for a great thinker does not lie in repeating his statements indefinitely. It lies in using the intellectual legacy he has left behind to formulate deeper and more mature answers to the new questions of a new age.
Throughout history, Allah Taʿala has brought forth intellectual giants who have provided leadership in confronting the intellectual crises of their respective times. In my personal assessment, Sayyid Abul Aʿla Mawdudi (رحمه الله) was one such extraordinary intellectual in the modern era.
Yet the course of history does not end here. In the future, a thinker may well emerge who, without denying Mawdudi’s contributions, assimilates both his strengths and limitations and advances Islamic thought to a deeper, more mature, and more fruitful stage in response to new realities and challenges.
This is perhaps the natural course of the continuity of Islamic ijtihād and the development of an intellectual civilisation: neither rejecting the past nor imitating it blindly, but building new knowledge for the future upon the ʿilm inherited from the past.