Tag: Islam

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ShalomSalamPeaceIsraelisPalestiniansIslamophobia has been the phrase used to describe those that attack, belittle, and generally vilify Muslim people and the Islamic faith.  In this last week, in response to the terrible events in Sydney, we have seen plenty of real islamophobia.  I’ve seen everything from Pauline Hanson quotes on facebook to my Iranian friends (who are actually Christian, but fit the physical middle eastern stereotype) feeling scared on the streets and in the shopping malls.  The #illridewithyou impromptu movement has been a worthy, albeit imperfect, response to this real xenophobia.

The response from the Islamic leadership and the Muslim community to the siege in Sydney has been appropriate and right.  The evil actions have been absolutely condemned.  Condolences have been offered.  Again, I have seen in my Iranian friends (including those who are Muslim) the collective sense of shame and betrayal that they feel about this man.  Not only has he dishonoured his compatriots, he has betrayed them, who have escaped the trauma of their homeland, by bringing such trauma to their new home.

I have admired the response to the response.  Christian, Muslim, and Jewish leaders have moved towards each other with shared prayer times and other expressions of unity.  To the extent that we can stand united, as Australians, and as fellow human-beings, this is the right attitude to have.

BUT, and there is a “but”, I have some skepticism when it comes to the level of populist engagement with it all.

1) “Unity” at the expense of distinctives is actually divisive.

I have heard on the radio a montage of last week that has John Lennon as the backing track (“…and no religion too, imagine all the people, living life in peace…”).  While nice and sentimental, it is unhelpful on so many levels, consider:

  • It misunderstands the role of religion.  It presumes nominalism – that people are religious in name only, and religious adherence is merely a facade.  Facades can be discarded for the sake of something deeper.  But this is not the reality.  For many, their religion is already about the deepest depths of who they are.  This is true of both Christians and Muslims, and of the Secular Humanists too!  At a personal level, “religion” and “world-view” are coextensive – it defines and informs a person’s, and a community’s, identity, purpose, morality, ethics, relationships, self-worth and view of others.  It is exhaustive and is not something that can be flipped on and off at whim.  It’s why changing religion is called a conversion – it is a total realignment.
  • It presupposes that tolerance only comes from the transcendence of religion.  It was wrong in Lennon’s time, and it’s wrong now.  It’s actually a politically-correct form of xenophobia.  Real peacefulness seeks to overcome fear of the different.  This “transcending” philosophy actually seeks to eliminate the difference altogether.  “You all worship the same God after all, right?  It’s all about loving each other, right?” actually causes an elimination of identity through the elimination of distinctives.  It is progressive humanism doing what it always does, failing to recognise itself and thereby imposing itself on others.  It is the opposite of pluralism.

So when I stand in unity with my Muslim neighbours, it is not because we have been able to transcend our differences, it’s because we have found within (informed, shaped, and bounded by) our world view a place of common ground.  And so the Christian doesn’t stand with a Muslim because “we’re all the same really” – no, the Christian stands with the Muslim because the way of Christ shapes our valuing of humanity, our desire to love our neighbour, and even our “enemy” (for some definition).  I can’t speak for the Islamic side of the equation, but I assume there are deep motivations that define the understanding of this same common ground.  Take away that distinctive and you actually take away the foundations of the unity, the reasons and motivations that have us sharing the stage right now.

2) What on earth is a “religion of peace”?  Depending on how you define it, I’ve got some big questions for Islam.

We all love peace.  None of us love violence.  Except that that is not true in an absolute sense.  Sometimes we need to fight injustice, and sometimes we need to punish bad people by doing “violence” to their life or liberty.  All it takes for evil to triumph is for good people to do nothing.  And so even Christians have the doctrine of the “just war” motivated by standing against tyranny.  But then again, the whole point of exercising justice is to bring about the peace that was removed by the injustice.  In an imperfect world, peace sometimes rests on ethically bounded acts of violence.

In this broadly brushed sense, Christianity is a “religion of peace” and so is Islam.  We want peace, but we don’t like injustice either.

Most of us have peace as the loftiest and deepest of goals.  And because these goals are informed by our religious depths (see above), ultimate peace and endpoint-of-religion often go together.  This is basic eschatology.  Christians believe that the return of Christ will usher in the fullness of rest; the triumph of the Prince of Peace is the advent of a time when tears are wiped away and lions lay down with lambs.  Jews, as I understand it, are awaiting their Messiah, who will lead them out of exile into the shalom of life perfectly shaped, inwardly and outwardly, by Torah. Muslims, as I understand it, associate ultimate peace with all humanity united in Islam, perfectly faithful to shariah and living in perfect submission to Allah’s way.

There are differences but clear similarities in these eschatologies.  Again, in these broad eschatological brushtrokes Christianity is a “religion of peace” and so is Islam – but we mean something different about the focus and shape of what that peace is.

The sticking point is when it comes to seeking to “advance” the religious cause.

Christians, for instance, are keen to see their neighbours “come to Christ” and convert.  In doing this, ideally, they are motivated by a constructive belief that the way of Christ is the way of renewal, restoration, and reconciliation, that brings life and freedom.  Ideally, the method of the Christian is persuasion and example.  The gospel is proclaimed, and the life of Christ is witnessed through the Christ-imitating ways of Christ’s followers.  Violence is not only avoided, it is explicitly prohibited.  Jesus commands the sword be put away, even at the cost of his own life.  It is grace, not force, kindness and welcome, not compulsion, that leads to the proclamation of truth, the furthering of justice, and reconciliation with God and others in Christ.

In this methodology the phrase “religion of peace” is clearly applicable to Christianity.  Yes, there are extremists who have used violence in the name of Christ – from the crusades to Westboro Baptist.  But the way of these extremists do not accord with the way of their founder, the heart of their supposed religion.  The answer to any Christian extremism is not whether or not the extremist is supported or rejected by fellow Christians, it’s whether or not that extremist is supported or rejected by Jesus.  “Jesus never did it that way” is the answer to any Christian warmonger.

But I am skeptical about Islam.  The more I learn about the way of Islam’s founder, Mohammed, the more I worry about his methodology.

On the one hand, I can affirm it: I can see the vast majority of Muslims, particularly in the Western World, following the peaceable ways of Mohammed during his early years in Mecca.  At this time Mohammed did not have political or military power and preached harmony and non-violent engagement, particularly with other “people of the book.”  The “higher jihad” speaks of the war against the destructive passions of the human person.  There is much common ground with the Christian here for sure.

But on the other hand, I question it. When I hear about the ways of Mohammed in his later years in Medina I hear of conversions by the sword, the dhimmitude servility expected of Christians, and oppressive enforcement of shariah law.  I cannot ignore this.  This picture of Islam seem to be in accord with the general vibe of Muslim majority nations, particularly in the Middle East: the denigration of women, and the oppression of freedoms and other religions.  Furthermore, I cannot ignore the testimony of my brothers and sisters who have converted from Islam, having experienced firsthand, spiritual and physical violence in the name of Islam.

There is little, if any, common ground here for me to find. The end problem is that I do not see how to find it. It’s not enough to point to the thousands/millions of Muslims who eschew such ways, if that doesn’t tell me how to say to a violent jihadist, “this is not the way of Mohammed.”  Because it does look like his way!  It seems like peace only in the sense of the “pax romana” – peace when Islam wins, peace through subjugation!  And I cannot agree that that is peace at all.

In fact, it looks like an injustice.  And an injustice is something I can’t be peaceable about.  And I would “fight” it in some sense.  In the very extreme, many of my brothers and sisters in recent months have “fought” it by dying for their faith in Northern Iraq and Syria.

So there’s a complexity within Islam.  It’s a complexity within the life of Mohammed himself.  It’s a complexity that, if I am to respect distinctives, I must engage with.  Finding the common ground on one side, questioning deeply on the other.

And of course, my engagement must be in accord with my own methodology: declaration of God’s truth, persuasion, demonstration of God’s love.

In embracing truth, I must question whether “religion of peace” language is helpful.  Does it actually help us get to the truth, to real respect for distinctives and motivations, or is it just another way of glossing over?

In embracing persuasion, I must ask questions.  They are not unanswerable and I may learn something, but they also make a point:  “Islam is a religion of peace” must be met with “What do you actually mean by that? How do you embrace this foundational teaching, or this behaviour of the devout, that appears to contradict the way of peace?”  I can even put my own perspective: “Let me tell you about the truest peace I have ever known, I have found it in Jesus Christ.”

In embracing demonstrations of love, I continue to welcome.  I recognise a fellow human.  I recognise someone wrestling with the deep things of life, and empathise.   In particular, in my context where I am the “majority” I use that position to stand against xenophobia.

Do I want to get rid of Muslims from my country? No!
Will I associate a nutcase who takes the name Muslim with the essence of that religion? No!
Will I refuse to share common ground, particular in times of national emotional unity? No!
Will I ride with them, and speak up for those who feel mistreated?  Yes! Absolutely!

But I’ll still have some big questions…

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It takes a special book to capture my imagination.  There are plenty of books that stimulate my thinking or tickle me with trivia.  The occasional epic novel moves me with allegory, symbolism, and a decent hit of adrenaline.  But these are nothing when it comes to a decently written biography, particularly an autobiography.

Grant Lock’s Shoot Me First is a decently written autobiography.

Grant, and his wife Janna, have worked for 24 years in “the hotspots of Pakistan and Afghanistan” – both before and after 9/11.  In Shoot Me First we walk with Grant and Janna through a life of foreign aid work done properly – not from some air-conditioned hotel, but in the dust and dirt, learning the language, embedded in the culture.  The sense of the difficulty is palpable – from the aridity of the climate, to the awkwardness of being new to the culture, to having their children away at boarding school, to the frustration with systemic corruption.  But this is mixed with a genuine sense of love and purpose and determination so that it all comes across with a poignant reality.

The title of the book derives from a particular event in which the workers Grant was leading in building a school for women in Pakistan were threatened with violence.  Grant stood in the breach – “You’ll have to shoot me first!” – and then recounts the hours of working through the nuances and complexities of human culture and human pride so that the project could proceed.

This book doesn’t just give an insight into a couple and their life, it gives insight into a region, a people, and a culture that is so vitally linked to the machinations of world politics.  It’s one of the reasons why we were delighted to have Grant speak at St. David Cathedral’s Friday Forum on the topic of Afghanistan and Islam and it’s implications for Australia.

Grant has therefore positioned himself as a valuable voice for our society.  The years of service demonstrates that he has put his money, and time, and effort, and pain where his mouth is when it comes to loving and building a people.  He can dissect Islam the religion, from Islamic cultures, and give critiques of both that are informed and relevant.

It is therefore useful that he leaves it to near the end to build his commentary.  He does this by recounting conversations.  The first is with his son, discussing the problems of the region and the reason to keep on keeping on.

Matt takes a deep breath and exhales. “Doesn’t it make you feel like you ought to just pack up and go home, Dad?”

“Occasionally, Matt.” Another plate of sizzling kebabs appears on our table. “But when I see the delight of an old lady getting her first glasses, or Afghans we’ve trained building micro-hydroelectricity plants for mountain villagers, or Janna’s embroidery widows making a go of it, I just want to be here to be part of it all.  There’s a local saying: Qatra qatra, daryaa mehsha.”

“Which means?”

“Drop by drop a river is made.” (Page 331)

The second is with his wife, where he talks about Islam in the West

“You know, Janna, after years of living in this part of the world, when I hear Islam being promoted as a religion of peace and freedom, I cringe… Australians should value what they have, keep their brains in gear and not believe everything without checking it out.  They should understand that Islam is more that a religion.  They should love and respect Australian Muslims, but they should be very alert in case, over a period of time, what they have is compromised by making gradual exceptions for a particular group in society”…

“You know, Grant,” Janna says, “if you expressed these views for the benefit of Australians, you would probably be labelled Islamaphobic by some Muslims.”

“That would just prove my point.  It would show that they are not open to freedom of speech, and it would again raise the question: what is it about Islam, or any similar group, that it can’t handle open discussion?”

I didn’t have any trouble doing so, but if you pick  up this book make sure you read it to the end. Much of the last part is made up of the story of a person called Omar.  I wondered at the purpose of emphasising this story until I realised – Grant is using this story as a story of hope.   For him, Omar represents this difficult part of the world, it’s destitution and deprivation, but also it’s eventual hope.

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Anonymous asks: What do you think of Everyone draw Muhammad day?

I hadn’t heard of it, and you made me go look it up.  I suspect my thoughts are not particularly novel and are necessarily initial.

Mixed feelings.

I sympathise with the free speech sentiment.  I am, of course, appalled that someone’s cartoon should lead them to be afraid for their life.  It leads me to give a consideration to those who are suffering persecution at the hands of militant islamic groups in a way that appears to be much more prevalent and immediate (if you can grade these things) than what a western cartoonist may face.

On the other hand:  It is needlessly offensive to those within Islam who would also be appalled at the militant response.  And for what gain?  It amplifies the disrespect.

Perhaps above all, it is poor satire.  A good cartoonist uncovers truth from the side, like the jester of old.  It is a form of wisdom that confronts and challenges even as it amuses.  As soon as it is self-referential it loses all that and is much more likely to be self-serving and purile.

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I was handed a copy of Islam, Human Rights and Public Policy by my Bishop, John Harrower, who is one of the contributors to this book. I came to the book as one who is aware only in general terms of the values of Islam and the application of Islamic religion and spirituality in the public sphere. This book informs, clarifies, warns, exhorts.

The book is far from some Christian compendium of anti-Muslim tracts. The contributors are respected, studious, academic, serious leaders. None of them promulgate a phobic line that is sometimes used elsewhere; there is no emotive placing of Christianity as a victim in a crusade-like framework where the Kingdom of God is threatened by hordes of heathen. Rather here is genuine concern about society in general, not just the Christian church. It is an apology for pluralism – but pluralism done well, in freedom.

Peter Day catches the program somewhat in his chapter, Australian Public Policy: Examining the Foundations:

“It should be clear that excessive Islamophobia is a poor foundation for the development of public policy in any field. And it is an especially poor foundation for the development of the sound knowledge bases… on which sound policy ultimately depends.” (page 27)

This book gave me new awareness of aspects of Islam. An example of this is dhimmitude – the tolerance of non-Muslims allowed to live (as dhimmi) in subjugation to Muslims. Mark Durie applies it by considering the tendency of Western tolerance to unquestioningly affirm all spiritualities.

“This is not a healthy way to engage with Islam for those living in liberal democracies. It establishes a framework in which Islam takes on the role of a dominator that expects to be praised and admired. The reaction to deserved criticism, when it manages to find a voice, can be shock, denial and outrage.” (page 34)

The exposition of the subtleties of sharia law were also worthwhile. The apostasy laws, preventing a Muslim from converting to another religion on pain of severe punishment including death are often cited (amongst other things) as an indicator of the “fundamental areas of conflict between Islamic law and Western democratic human rights” (page 66).

A common conclusion was that even partial recognition of sharia within secular society is unhelpful. Abdallah Bahri shows in his chapter on Aspects of Sharia Introduced into Non-Islamic States how concepts of religious freedom and human rights are being undermined because the end-game of Sharia is always towards a “complete way of life.”

“Many Muslim leaders teach that humanly determined laws are not God’s laws and therefore do not need to be obeyed.” (Page 184)

“It is this complete way of life that is embodied in the Sharia. It prescribes everything from the personal and the family to the state level.” (page 185)

And finally the concept of da’wa, or “invitation”, which is often portrayed as the “real” face of Islam as opposed to jihad – persuasion or invitation instead of coercion or force. Paul Stenhouse argues that da’wa is “Jihad with a Velvet Glove” and warns about being

“deceived, as many in the West are deceived, into thinking that abandonment of overt violence means abandonment of the goals of violence… a change of policy, not a change of heart… Through da’wa it hopes to achieve by stealth what will ultimately prove to be unattainable by brute force.” (pages 222, 224)

Bishop John’s chapter, Religious Policy, Multi-Faith Dialogue, and Australian Values looks at the difficulties of the engagement with Islam in “multi-faith” conversations. He notes that the tendency of Government to “promote multi-faith dialogue as a means of developing a spirit of harmony” rests on certain assumptions, and

“Where one or more of these assumptions are not agreed to by the proposed participants, the resultant ‘dialogue’ becomes an opportunity for advocacy of one’s own world view and the dialogue makes no contribution towards a spirit of harmony… Experience in interfaith dialogue has shown to date that the attempt to develop harmony through dialogue is an idealist’s hope that is not often realised.” (page 247)

This is a worthy recognition of the tendency in Western society to insist that religion submit to a pseudo “civic religion” empty of all diversity or proclamation. Bishop John puts forward a better framework.

“Public policy on promoting harmony should be pursued in the context of promoting the nation’s values, rather than requesting discussions between religious groups… The religious context carries with it, inevitably, an agenda for advocacy and the need to protect one’s doctrinal position. What can be encouraged, however, is a secular dialogue on values.” (pages 251-252)

This book isn’t a wrestle or a debate. The issues are handled but not grappled with in the sense that there is very little to-and-fro, exhortation, rebuttal, response. It is primarily educated opinion and observation.

Therefore, the value is for us who have not had the opportunity or the insight to observe these things about Islam or consider them in that way. The things noted are real, relevant and will become increasingly so in the future as worlds collide. It motivates myself, for one, to be further applied to the teaching of Biblical truth that it may find many voices in times ahead.

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