Language, Ownership, and the Boundaries of Bodily Autonomy

بِسْمِ اللَّهِ الرَّحْمَٰنِ الرَّحِيمِ

An Inquiry into Possessive Individualism, Islamic Stewardship, and the Grammar of the Self

Introduction: A Philosophical Fault Line

When Ayatollah Javadi Amoli—in his tafsir of Surah Al-Hamd—states that a human being possesses “real ownership, but limited” over their limbs and organs, he invokes a metaphysics that is profoundly at odds with the modern Anglophone understanding of bodily autonomy. At first glance, the phrase “real ownership” sounds Lockean, even capitalist. It seems to grant the self absolute dominion over its physical vessel. However, as Amoli develops his argument within the broader Islamic framework, it becomes clear that this “ownership” is a functional delegation of authority for moral accountability—not a property right for economic or existential exploitation.

This seemingly theological nuance is, in fact, the tip of an iceberg that reaches into linguistics, developmental psychology, and political economy. Why does the English language force us to say “my hand” while Spanish allows “las manos” (the hands)? Why do Islamic treatises speak of the “rights of the limbs” over the self? And why does capitalism, born in an English-speaking, Protestant milieu, treat the body as the first and most fundamental piece of alienable private property?

This article traces a speculative thread from grammar to ethics, arguing that the way we linguistically relate to our bodies prefigures how we treat them—and, ultimately, how we judge acts of suicide, self-harm, and mutilation.

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night to dawn

Abu Basir narrated from Imam Jafar ibn Muhammad Al-Sadiq (as) that He said: “Indeed, Allah, Blessed and Exalted, calls out every Thursday night, from above His Throne, from the beginning of the night until its end:

‘Is there not a believing servant who calls upon Me concerning his Hereafter and his worldly life before the break of dawn so that I may answer him?

Is there not a believing servant who repents to Me from his sins before the break of dawn so that I may accept his repentance?

Is there not a believing servant upon whom I have tightened his provision who asks Me for an increase in his provision before the break of dawn so that I may expand it for him?

Is there not a believing servant who is sick and asks Me to heal him before the break of dawn so that I may grant him health?

Is there not a believing servant who is imprisoned or in distress who asks Me to release him from his confinement so that I may free him?

Is there not a believing servant who is wronged and asks Me to avenge his oppression before the break of dawn so that I may grant him justice?’ The call continues until the break of dawn.”

The Creative Utterance (Inshā’)

بِسْمِ اللَّهِ الرَّحْمَٰنِ الرَّحِيمِ

Introduction: Beyond Mere Words

In the rich tapestry of Islamic thought, few concepts are as misunderstood, yet as profoundly significant as the nature of sacred speech. When a momin raises their hands in supplication (du’ā’), recites the words of a divine text, or utters a prayer transmitted through the ages, what exactly is occurring? Is this simply a human being conveying information to God or articulating a pre-existing emotional state? Or is something far more profound taking place?

Islamic rhetorical theory (balāghah) and philosophy offer a compelling answer through the concept of creative utterance (inshā’). This article explores this concept, drawing upon the teachings of Ayatollah Abdollah Javadi Amoli, arguing that sacred speech—particularly supplication (du’ā’)—is not merely descriptive but performative, bringing spiritual meanings into existential reality through the very act of utterance.

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growth

“Spiritedness in a boy during his childhood is commendable, so that he may grow into a man of clemency.” ( Imam Musa ibn Jafar Al-Kadhim (as)) (Man Lā Yaḥḍuruh al-Faqīh h. # 264, vol 1, sec 23)

Beyond “Bestiality”: The Unmarked Night of the Soul in Duʿāʾ 1 of al-Ṣaḥīfa al-Sajjādiyya

بِسْمِ اللَّهِ الرَّحْمَٰنِ الرَّحِيمِ

Anyone who has spent time with the opening duʿāʾ of al-Ṣaḥīfa al-Sajjādiyya knows the moment. Imam Zayn al-ʿĀbidīn (ʿa) turns to describe the human being who grows content with fleeting pleasures, and then the prayer says:

فَمِنْهُمْ مَنْ لَتَصَرَّفُوا فِي مِنَنِهِ فَلَمْ يَحْمَدُوهُ، وَتَوَسَّعُوا فِي رِزْقِهِ فَلَمْ يَشْكُرُوهُ، وَلَوْ كَانُوا كَذٰلِكَ لَخَرَجُوا مِنْ حُدُودِ الْإِنْسَانِيَّةِ إِلَىٰ حَدِّ الْبَهِيمِيَّةِ
There are among them those who dispose freely of His gifts but do not praise Him (fa-lam yaḥmadūhu), and who expand in His provision but do not thank Him (fa-lam yashkurūhu). Were they to remain thus, they would exit the boundaries of humanity and enter the limit of al-bahīmiyyah.

For generations, translators and commentators have rendered al-bahīmiyyah as “bestiality” or “the level of brute beasts.” The image is stark: a human being, by abandoning the path of conscious devotion, degrades himself to the rank of an animal. There is truth in this reading, but it rests on an assumption that may not do justice to the Arabic root or to the Qurʾān’s own depiction of the animal world — and, crucially, it can close the door to a deeper spiritual insight the Imam is placing before us.

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