My (earnest, irate) thoughts

One recent morning, as I was pulling into a BP gas station and I saw a horrible sight in the middle of the road. A small brown bird had been hit by a car or landed in a puddle of oil or something, because its wing was bent at an unnatural angle and seemed stuck to the pavement. A dozen identical birds were flapping their wings, chirping and screeching all around, and seemed to be trying to help. But every time a car got near, the other birds had to fly up to the electrical wire or over to the grass to avoid getting hit, and the injured bird stayed trapped, struggling wildly.

I felt sick, watching it. I thought about helping, but I had no idea what to do. Cars came by every few seconds or so, into the gas station or out of it. The hurt bird was in the middle, so the cars passed by about a foot away on either side. Back and forth went the birds, committed to rescuing their friend. Back and forth. A wave of flapping wings knowing just when to depart, when to return. All the while chirping and screeching (advice and directives?) in their language. I went into the store to get coffee. When I came back out, all trace of the birds was gone. There was no blood or guts on the ground, no chirping birds on the wire or in the nearby sky. Not even one feather remained. They had done it, they had rescued him. I have no idea how.

I have begun to pray the obligatory prayers again. Yusuf, probably thinking it would inspire us, set up the ezan machine, a plastic mosque that sings a recorded Arabic call to prayer at the appointed times. The times are slightly off, because our city is not major enough to have its own setting: you have to be a New York or a L.A. to warrant that. When it yelled Allahu ekber Allahu ekber this morning, I jumped out of my skin.

I am used to being wrathful at the beep-beep-BEEP-BEEP of my ’70s-era alarm, and then, as I remember why I am waking up in the dark, I push my ‘just five more minutes’ nefis aside to head for the bathroom. Then, as it dawned that I was furious with what should be a lovely, if mechanical, call to prayer filled me with enormous guilt. ‘Why did you set that?’ I demanded, irate that guilt was my first emotion of the day. My husband looked taken aback. Then I noticed he was wearing the knit prayer hat I hadn’t seen in months. ‘Are you praying?’ I asked. Probably sarcastically, because it had been me going it alone these last few weeks. ‘Last night I did,’ he said softly, still looking shocked. I got up and washed and prayed, an extra two rakats — perhaps I was seeking absolution. Then I fell back asleep sort of fitfully, without explaining my behavior. I was blushing in the dark, unable to understand why my heart was beating so fast. Then I remembered why, one morning months ago, I had taken the batteries out of the ezan machine. We weren’t praying then, and the noisy five-times-daily reminder of the obligation I was shirking sent my guilt into overdrive. It was better, I had thought, to wake up to the alarm, feel a prick of guilt for not having set it early enough, and then go on with my day. But I couldn’t understand why its unexpected sound still evoked the same flood of guilt, since I was getting up to pray.

Honestly, and I swear there’s no judgment here, but I don’t know how folks who don’t pray live in Muslim countries, where the call to prayer rings out every single day whether you want the reminder or not. The guilt would kill me, I think. I’d have to start praying, or run away to a non-Muslim-majority country, where the faithful go to noiseless churches once a week, where the dead go silently to nondescript funeral parlors, eerie places with flowers and low lights and grave men in gray suits. The noises of Turkey — the ezan, and the funeral prayer ringing out for the recently deceased, washed and wrapped in white cloth and prayed over before going directly into the earth — must be an uplifting blessing for the faithful, and a crushing burden for the faithless.

When my husband said, ‘I don’t understand you’ I thought, ‘I don’t understand me, either.’

Like in Istanbul, when my non-Muslim stepfather greeted us at breakfast at our tiny hotel near the Blue Mosque, and as we gorged on fresh bread with cherry jelly, honey and white cheese and cup after cup of hot çay, he said, with a look of surprised happiness on his face, ‘I heard the ezan this morning through the window.’ And I would smile and say, ‘Me too’ but I would blush furiously, because the sound had woken me from sleep and briefly, but pointedly, made me mad. I envied his ease, how the sound was novel for him, the way wearing a headscarf at my nikah had been, a foray into something foreign, not a lifestyle to be lived.

It’s like this weekend. I went to visit my grandmother on Saturday, bringing her lentil soup and a chopped salad with my experimental attempt at vinaigrette. We made conversation, and of course it devolved into listening to my grandmother pass on hearsay and judgment about people I do and don’t know. She’s a devout Christian, but born and raised in Georgia, and for a great many Southerners, gossiping comes as natural as breathing. Afterward, I was wrecked. I felt exhausted from playing the ‘dutiful granddaughter, who behaves so selflessly now that she’s Muslim’. And ashamed that my good deed came didn’t seem to come from my heart, that I had to push myself to do it, push myself to get through it, and then try not to complain about it incessantly afterward (I failed at the last one). On Sunday, I visited my deceased grandmother’s best friend, bringing her a lobster sandwich from her favorite restaurant. And, though I thought I had absolutely no expectations from our time together, afterward I felt exhausted, again. Maybe from playing the ‘personification of perfect, contented Islam’ role, which — yes I know — is absurd. Maybe because I wish good deeds gave me that thrill of a job well done, like they seem to for my mom, whose nur shines on her face after she plants flowers in my yard or helps Yusuf study for the GRE.

My brain knows Allah loves me, and that religion is forgiveness, not guilt; Muhammad is a prophet of comfort, not gloom. Why doesn’t my heart know this?

I vaguely remember Bediuzzaman Said Nursi, saying in one of his writings that sometimes with delicate, sensitive people, Satan whispers to them that their ‘bad’ thoughts are proof that they are not really Muslim, because if they were ‘really’ Muslim, their thoughts would be pure. Is that what this is? Is this just Satan being a bastard, or is this ugliness the real me? … Another question: Must right thought precede right action, or does right thought stem from right action?

Something has troubled me since I first began to learn about Islam. It niggled at my conscience. It irked me. It made me feel as if Islam, promoted by Muslims as a ‘complete way of life’, was destined forever to be misunderstood by non-Muslims because of it.

Though I could read with my own eyes the Qur’anic position on warfare — which forbids aggression but permits killing in self-defense — it still seemed like Islam would always fall short against other religions whose theologies appear more pacifist. Though medieval Europe had Christian armies, modern Christians largely dismiss them as antithetical to the message of Jesus, blessings upon him, and avoid judgment for secular armies because they are unrelated to Christianity. On the other hand, eastern traditions like Buddhism now seem very distant from the warrior-monks of feudal Japan, and today is associated with peace and inclusiveness. Then there’s Islam, which is linked to warfare and vigilantism in every sound byte.

A partial list of hadiths (sayings of the Prophet Muhammad, may God bless him) about gentleness and kindness:

Truly, God is mild and is fond of mildness, and he gives to the mild what he does not to the harsh.
God is gentle and loves gentleness.
To gladden the heart of the weary, to remove the suffering of the afflicted has its own reward. In the day of trouble, the memory of the action comes like a rush of the torrent, and takes our burden away.
He who helps his fellow creature in the hour of need, and he who helps the oppressed, him will God help on the Day of Travail.
All God’s creatures are His family; and he is the most beloved of God who does the most good to God’s creatures.
Whoever is kind to His creatures, God is kind to him; therefore be kind to man on earth, whether good or bad; and being kind to the bad is to withhold from him badness, thus in heaven you will be treated kindly.
Kindness is a mark of faith: and whoever has not kindness has not faith.

In some very pacifist part of my own being, warfare and religion were forever at odds. When learning about the history of the Arab and Turkic Islamic empires, some central part of me rebelled at the idea of a ‘Muslim’ army. How could an army be Muslim, I thought. Islam, coming from the root word slm, means peace and submission. This is the vision of Islam that I had fallen in love with — a Sufi bowing to his Beloved, grinning at children and animals as tiny examples of Divine Beauty. I began to be troubled. How could a soldier and his sword fit into this picture?

It’s important to note that I have always had an overdeveloped sense of justice. As a child, after being punished for back-talking or door-slamming with time-out in my room, I would come out and say, ‘I’m sorry.’ Then I would wait for my mother’s apology, since it takes two people to have an argument and clearly I wasn’t alone in my wrongness. My mother didn’t agree. And yet, anyone else’s ‘wrongdoing’ continued to bother me deeply, and I would wish that other people cared, like they ought to, about objective justice.

Though I liked reading about Sultan Mehmet the Conqueror, who spoke seven languages and at the age of 21 fulfilled the prophetic prediction that one day Constantinople would be conquered by a Muslim army, I was vaguely horrified by various Turkic and Arab invasions throughout Asia, Africa and Europe under the banner of Islam. Though it’s never really fair to judge the past by present sensitivities, it hurt me that they did it for Islam, not in spite of Islam.

Interestingly, since the Crusades, anti-Turkish sayings abound in European languages, like the Italian saying for any imminent danger (’Oh my, the Turks are coming!’) and the French saying for a person who is harsh and pitiless (’He’s a real Turk’) and the Austrian way to call children in from play (’It’s already dark, the Turks are coming, the Turks are coming!’). It makes my husband laugh — Yusuf is fond of saying Europeans still wouldn’t know how to relieve themselves or take showers if it weren’t for the ‘bloodthirsty Turks’.

But a part of me couldn’t help but think, ‘How could it be ‘religious’ to take up arms?’ See, I had this idea that true religion means always turning the other cheek, always peacefully resisting violence, always striving to return evil with good. (I picture Gandhi in his loincloth, refusing to eat.) Which is true, according to all the major religious traditions, including Islam. But is it the whole truth? Is it the truth in every situation?

If a people are ruled by violent, unjust or dishonest leaders, do they have a right to rebel against their society, or ask for help from foreign leaders? If a leader has knowledge, justice and love for God — and it shows in his nur — does he have an obligation to take control over foreign lands in order to rule them more justly, to prevent those people from starving or being stolen from or executed?

And if a country is peaceful, tolerant and inclusive, is there any guarantee that other countries will respect its freedom to continue that way? Look at Tibet.

Was my pacifism a cop-out, a way of dodging responsibility for my fellow humans? Does it make it easier for me to hide behind theories to explain why our world is full of injustice? Didn’t I have a part — don’t we all — in making it so?

The Prophet Muhammad, upon him be peace, said that the greatest jihad is to speak the truth before an oppressive ruler. (Due to the oppressive nature of many Muslim countries, it’s not oft-quoted in their history classes.) The Prophet also said that if we see an injustice, we must change it with our hands; if we cannot, we must speak out against it; if we cannot, we must feel bad about it in our hearts — though the last is the weakest form of faith. Faith, then, is not linked to what we believe, it is linked to what we do.

The Qur’an gives limited permission to fight, and only against persecution, which it says is worse than killing. When I think of ethnic cleansing, no matter who orders it; or torture, no matter who’s wearing the ski mask; or mass starvations, government corruption, or religious persecution, no matter who’s behind it — we do have an obligation to do, say or (at the very, very least) feel something.

Though I could never harm an innocent person, I also know that I should not be able to live with myself if I did nothing as a horrible indecency unfolded before my eyes.

I give credit to my husband for taking the time to explain to me his theory of why the Ottomans worked to spread the boundaries of their 600-year empire. At the least, it is a fresh perspective to consider historic empire-building from. At the best, it is a weight off my mind, as Islam now returns to its rightful place as a fundamentally honest religion that offers a ‘correct’ action for every human situation.

I have never been so profoundly affected by an essay. Tradition or Extradition? The Threat to Muslim-Americans by Abdal-Hakim Murad, a British shaikh, is pretty much the best thing ever.

As the new ‘Jews’ of this country, U.S. Muslims must be vigilant not to — ahem, dare I say it? — deserve being labeled Other. The shaikh takes us quickly through the particular struggles being faced among Muslim-Americans. And how America has handled other perceived enemies in decades past. And what we must do to avoid a showdown with an increasingly suspicious host, who has a history of antisemitism.

The believer’s greatest argument is his face. True religion lights up the face; false religion fills it with insecurity, rage and suspicion. This is perceptible not only to insiders, but to anyone who maintains some connection with unsullied primordial human nature in his heart. The early conversions to Islam often took place among populations that had no access to the language of the Muslims who now lived among them; but they were no less profound in consequence. Religion is ultimately a matter of personal transformation, and no amount of missionary work will persuade people — with the occasional exception of the disturbed and the desperate — unless our own transformation is complete enough to be able to transform others. Rigorism, discourtesy and narrow-mindedness, the tedious recourse of the spiritually inadequate and the culturally outgunned, end up reinforcing the negative attitudes that they claim to repudiate. Conversely, a reactivation of the Prophetic virtue of rifq, of gentleness, which the hadith tells us ‘never enters a thing without adorning it’, will make us welcome rather than suspected, loved and admired rather than despised as a community of resentful failures.

Yeah!

This started as a comment to an interesting post I read from awhile back about latte-sipping urbanites wearing Middle Eastern headwear to look cool. It makes me laugh, this hilarious thing Americans do of picking up the outward symbol (kaffiyeh) and not necessarily embracing or even being aware of its political interpretations (tribal affiliation, Palestinian solidarity, etc.) or functional purposes (desert heat/wind). America, so commercial. America, so reductionist.

America, so effing funny.

Like 30 people left comments on the post. It partially digressed into a discussion between commenters whether Americans, particularly non-Muslims, were ‘allowed’ to wear ‘Muslim’ clothing.

The Prophet, upon him be peace, tells us that an Arab is not superior to a non-Arab. Would it not follow that Arab attire is not better than non-Arab attire?

Seriously, ‘Muslim’ clothes? What are those?

It seems funny to me (and typically American) that American converts to Islam would choose to wear foreign getups, whether they do it because they think it looks cool, makes them appear more pious, or helps them fit in. American culture, if it can be defined, is a tangled mess, a boiling stew of folks picking and choosing from a world of choices what is appealing to them personally. Further reading: ‘Terrorist Chic’ and Beyond

It seems equally funny that non-Americans would be irate or even surprised about their attire being hijacked by Americans, whether they are Muslim or not. Is their culture ‘above’ imitation or reduction? Why?

Muslim culture, if it can be defined, is a mélange. How can individuals remain intact, unchanged? Why should they want to? Is it really necessary to decide whether what other people are wearing is what you would choose? As Muslims, should we not have so many self-improvement projects going on, so many acts of charity to our family and community, that we simply don’t have time for all this absurd conjecture? Is this not rejected in the Qur’an as zanna, the pitiful, puny alternative to knowledge?

It seems like many people feel compelled to endlessly define what is acceptable, what is orthodox, what are the boundaries. And that is dangerous. When Americans do it, decrying the kaffiyeh as an endorsement of terrorism, it smacks of racism. When Muslims do it, decrying Western clothing as makruh, it smacks of racism, too.

I read once that racism is most prevalent among the poor or disenfranchised because they are more likely to feel ‘encroached upon’. I think it may stem from this feeling inside, this feeling that ‘the other’ is going to invade us, to conquer us. And that afterwards, we will no longer be ourselves.

In much of the Muslim world, colonized and gutted and refilled with Starbucks, there’s an understandable feeling of resentment, of anxiety… that they’ve already lost everything. The real fear is that the enemy isn’t out there, but already lodged inside them in the deepest, darkest places. Muslims are no longer confident in their vision of the world.

And, it would seem, Americans aren’t either.

I was having the worst headaches. Every day from morning till night, and sometimes even in my dreams. Pounding or dull, they never really went away. At first I tried to be stoic. But deep in my heart I am a pill-popper. I started allowing myself one Excedrin at work and two Advil at night. I read once that women feel pain more than men, and respond better to medication. Sounds made-up, but I’m going to pretend it’s true. My husband, being naturally suspicious of all pills (even vitamins), made me go to the doctor.

I always want to burst into tears when I go to the doctor — something about my weight being written down, and an acquaintance listening to me, with concern, as I talk about myself. It’s very moving. Sometimes I do cry a little. Sometimes the doctor then tries to prescribe me an anti-depressant. But after a brief, torrid affair with Paxil in 2002, I just say no. (Paxil made me think it was OK to make fudge a couple of times a week. And eat it by myself. Thirty pounds later, my low self-esteem was good common sense.)

The doctor listened with concern. Tears idiotically sprang to my eyes. I wanted to talk forever. I simultaneously wanted him to leave me alone so I could sob. I struggled to limit my symptoms to one or two. When I start to talk to a doctor the way I talk to a friend, veering crazily between laughter and tears, the doctor is always like, ‘whoa.’ It’s like when I tried therapy. After knowing me exactly thirty minutes, the psychiatrist wanted to write me a prescription for Lexapro. Doctors, they’re all the same. A bunch of drug pushers. But it’s understandable. Western medicine has evolved on the assumption that the human brain is the be-all, end-all of this entire universe. Doctors don’t understand that a little insanity, a few neuroses, are vital to tell a good story. And that this is what I do for a living. I’ll take my contemplation with a side of crazy, thanks.

Anyway, this doctor politely overlooked my teariness and took me through the results of my blood work. No surprise: high blood pressure. I’ve been overweight and sedentary since college. And until I got married, 50% of my caloric intake was Mountain Dew. But I’d really been trying to turn my life around. I gobble up salads, and go for walks — maybe not every day but more than before — and I no longer drink or smoke, and I’ve really, really cut back on soda and coffee.

But the doctor laid down a new law: No salt. This sucked. I was never really into salt until I married a Turk who eats sunflower seeds like regular people eat M&Ms. Suddenly, it came to me in a flash: sunflower seeds! My headaches were the worst in the evening, pounding all through the night. The saltiness of our nightly sunflower-seed-bonanza in front of the TV had sent my already-high blood pressure over the top, and given me hypertension headaches.

Now I’m under orders to exercise daily and eat no salt and a long list of other tasty things. And calm down. I’m really trying. But I have been a bad kid, as my husband would say, and it will take time to undo the damage. I want to treat my body as a temple. It really bothers me, actually, because I am so disciplined in other ways. Like when it comes to reading, considering, learning. Every night I read several pages of A History of God: The 4,000-Year Quest of Judaism, Christianity and Islam. (After I’m done, I will know everything there is to know about the Abrahamic religions. You can quiz me.) But when it comes to eating right and exercising, knowing the right thing doesn’t equate to doing it. My nafs is a jerk, and makes a good case for adding an order of Macadamia-nut cookies to my six-inch Gardenburger sub, or for watching Prison Break from the couch rather than the treadmill.

The worst thing is how these shortcomings have led to a skewed self-image that tears me up emotionally. In your prayers, please think of me, and ask God to help me with my struggle. In this world where so many people don’t have enough food, the least I can do is not eat their share.

If you are American and you speak English, it is doubtless that you, even without being totally aware of it, harbor a vague sense that Islam is a religion of few gods (One, to be precise) and much violence.

Ever wonder if A World Without Islam would be a rather benign, peaceful sort of place? Turns out, not really. Reading this article by professor Graham Fuller will make you feel like you just read an unusually succinct and sharp world history text that covered the last thousand years. An excerpt:

In the face of these tensions between East and West, Islam unquestionably adds yet one more emotive element, one more layer of complications to finding solutions. Islam is not the cause of such problems. It may seem sophisticated to seek out passages in the Koran that seem to explain “why they hate us.” But that blindly misses the nature of the phenomenon. How comfortable to identify Islam as the source of “the problem”; it’s certainly much easier than exploring the impact of the massive global footprint of the world’s sole superpower.

Since you now know quite a bit about world history, let’s have a real dialogue about the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. First off, is anyone who disagrees with zionism an anti-Semite? Not necessarily. Read what a former Israeli citizen thinks at A Change Needs to Come. An excerpt:

This idea that Israel is the only safe place for Jews is critical to understanding the roots of the Palestinian-Israeli conflict, and Israel’s policies and perspective in the present. The majority of Jewish people do not trust non-Jews as life-long compatriots. Experience and cultural narrative have been telling them that since antiquity, rulers and governments as well as populations have become hostile to Jews without warning. This means that no matter how long Jews have lived anywhere, no matter how unobtrusive and well integrated they have been, or how much they contributed to their society, things could turn against them overnight.

What an amazing feeling to read articles by non-Muslims that don’t paint Muslims with the same ugly broad brush — articles that actually point to political and historical ’seeds’ for the branches of evil that cover us today! Praise be to the infinitely Compassionate, indescribably Merciful.

Camel Tracks by Kevin Greeson is an attempt to ‘win Muslims to faith in Christ’. Since I am familiar with both the beliefs and methodologies of both religions, it strikes me as absurd — Muslims already believe in Jesus: in his virgin birth, his miracles, his perfection, his teachings, his gospels, and his second coming. To me, the only Muslim who could be ‘won’ by Christianity is the nominal Muslim who is ignorant about his own faith. I don’t really understand what would be gained in the conversion… rather, the conversion would allow many things to be lost.

Camel Tracks is Christian apologetics wrapped up in Islamic terminology that was given to my husband and me by a dear, well-meaning Christian couple. I have spent time here refuting it, but at the same time it seemed silly doing so. Cherry-picking fragments from a holy book to prove a different theology seems intellectually dishonest. More so because Kevin Greeson has no Islamic education, and seems to have no interest in understanding what the Qur’an is on its own terms. Perhaps he doesn’t know that’s the current trend in scholarship: to study holy books with the assumption that they are what they claim to be — holy.

You’re not going to believe the reason the apologia is called Camel Tracks. “… Allah has one hundred names. And … He has revealed 99 of his names to the sons of men that they may know and worship him. But one name, the one-hundredth name, He has told only to the camel. And, the camel, he is not talking.” (!) No Muslim I know has ever heard of this allegedly Muslim ‘proverb’. My husband thought it was the dumbest thing he ever heard: Like all Muslims live in the desert. Like Muslims believe animals have hidden secrets. Like Islam is not sensible or modern. It’s playing to the same age-old Western biases against Islam: Orientalism in a candy coating.

Basically, Camel Tracks is an attempt to infuse the Qur’an with Christian beliefs: man’s fall from grace, man’s need for a blood sacrifice, and the role of Jesus as that sacrifice. Throughout my refutation, I will quote an English translation of the meaning of the Qur’an, and in my commentary, respond to the arguments of Camel Tracks. I am not actually qualified to talk about these things. But I respect the Qur’an’s integrity, and I don’t like seeing it lied about or exaggerated by ignorant missionaries.

(41) Behold! The angels said: “O Mary! Allah hath chosen thee and purified thee;―chosen thee above the women of all nations. (42) “O Mary! worship thy Lord devoutly; prostrate thyself, and bow down (in prayer) with those who bow down.” (43) This is part of the tidings of the things unseen, which We reveal unto thee (O Prophet!) by inspiration; thou wast not with them when they cast lots with arrows, as to which of them should be charged with the care of Mary; nor wast thou with them when they disputed (the point). (44) Behold! the angels said “O Mary! Allah giveth thee glad tidings of a Word from Him: his name will be Christ Jesus, the son of Mary held in honour in this world and the Hereafter and of (the company of) those nearest to Allah.

The Arabic language has two kinds of plurals: numeric plurals and respectful plurals, as if for royalty. When the Qur’an, which refers to God in neutral, masculine and feminine pronouns ― including the royal, respectful We ― the ‘We’ does not indicate more than One God.

Camel Tracks quotes verse 3:41-45, but skips verse 43. It’s an important omission because the Qur’an is explaining that it is being revealed to Muhammad. It is more than 600 years after Jesus, a time when Arabia was a jostling mixture of faiths, including animist and polytheistic ones. Muhammad was illiterate. He probably had some knowledge of the Jewish and Christian scriptures, but he was most likely uneducated about very specific details, like whether angels ‘threw their pens’ and quarreled over who got to guard Mary.

Because she submits to God, Mary prostrates in prayer. This is how Muslims pray: They wash and cover themselves, ask God’s forgiveness, and recite Holy Scripture. They bow, prostrate and sit before their Lord. They pray only to Him.

(45) “He shall speak to the people in childhood and in maturity and he shall be (of the company) of the righteous.” (46) She said: “O my Lord! how shall I have a son when no man hath touched me?” He said: “Even so: Allah createth what He willeth; when He hath decreed a plan, He but saith to it ‘Be’, and it is!

Pages 8-9 talk about Mary’s conversation with Gabriel in verses 45-46. The answer to Mary’s question is important for the Muslim. God does not need any human help to do anything ― He need only say “Let there be light!” and darkness runs; He need only say “Mary will have a son!” and Mary becomes pregnant; He need only say “I forgive you” and redemption takes place.

(58) Lo! The likeness of Jesus with Allah is as the likeness of Adam. He created him of dust, then He said unto him: Be! and he is.

Page 10 goes on to theorize about why Jesus was born without a father, whether there was ever another prophet born without a father, and what this means. Then to learn about Adam, the prophet Jesus is compared to:

(20:120) In the result, they both ate of the tree, and so their nakedness appeared to them: they began to sew together, for their covering, leaves from the Garden: thus did Adam disobey his Lord, and allow himself to be seduced.

But Camel Tracks translates “…allow himself to be seduced” as “…his nature became evil.” Two very different things! There is an attempt here to view Islamic scripture through the lens of Christian theology. Being seduced by Satan’s whispers does not equate to becoming evil. Islamic belief is crystal clear on this point: when humans are born they are innocent, incapable of abstract thought, and in perfect submission to God. Muslims do not believe human nature is evil ― rather humans are born with the capacity for good or evil, a choice they will begin to exercise when they reach the age of responsibility, around puberty. (I know some Christian sects believe this, too.)

Also, the verse is quoted out of context, without the surrounding verses, which I have included:

(115) When We said to the angels, “Prostrate yourselves to Adam” they prostrated themselves, but not Iblis: he refused. (116) Then We said: “O Adam! verily, this is an enemy to thee and thy wife: so let him not get you both out of the Garden so that thou art landed in misery. (117) “There is therein (enough provision) for thee not to go hungry nor to go naked” (118) “Nor to suffer from thirst nor from the sun’s heat.” (119) But Satan whispered evil to him: he said “O Adam! shall I lead thee to Tree of Eternity and to a kingdom that never decays?” (120) In the result, they both ate of the tree, and so their nakedness appeared to them: they began to sew together, for their covering, leaves from the Garden: thus did Adam disobey his Lord, and allow himself to be seduced. (121) But his Lord chose him (for His Grace): He turned to him, and gave him guidance. (122) He said: “Get ye down both of you― all together from the Garden, with enmity one to another; but if, as is sure there comes to you guidance from Me, whosoever follows My guidance, will not lose his way nor fall into misery. (123) “But whosoever turns away from My Message, verily for him is a life narrowed down, and We shall raise him up blind on the Day of Judgment.”

In Christian theology, there is a cataclysmic fall from grace, an insurmountable gulf of sin, and need for blood sacrifice for God to forgive His people. In Muslim theology, this gulf does not exist, as you can see. In the Qur’an, God reveals that people make mistakes, but God is Compassionate and Merciful; He alone guides, and remembrance of Him will keep us from grief on the Day of Resurrection. God, without any human effort, can forgive any human He wishes to.

Page 10 includes another Qur’anic error: “Isa is the only man who never sinned.” Isa (Jesus) is one of 28 prophets mentioned by name in the Qur’an who are blameless in the eyes of the Lord. They may have made small mistakes, but they are protected by God from committing major sins. They are set apart from humankind and given miracles so that people would listen and follow them (Moses’ magic, Jesus’ healing, Muhammad’s eloquence). All prophets had the same basic message: To love and obey God alone; to treat their neighbors as they would wish to be treated, and basic rules by which to live. The Qur’an actually absolves the prophets of some of the gross sins attributed to them in the Bible (David’s adultery, Noah’s drunkenness, Lot’s incest). The notion that sin is physically inherited through the blood, from fathers and not mothers, is totally un-Islamic.

(47) And He will teach him the Scripture and wisdom, and the Torah and the Gospel, (48) And will make him a messenger unto the Children of Israel, (saying): Lo! I come unto you with a sign from your Lord. Lo! I fashion for you out of clay the likeness of a bird, and I breathe into it and it is a bird, by Allah’s leave. I heal him who was born blind, and the leper, and I raise the dead, by Allah’s leave. And I announce unto you what ye eat and what ye store up in your houses. Lo! herein verily is a portent for you, if ye are to be believers. (49) And (I come) confirming that which was before me of the Torah, and to make lawful some of that which was forbidden unto you. I come unto you with a sign from your Lord, so keep your duty to Allah and obey me.

Verses 3:47-49 explain Jesus’ mission. He will teach and bring new Scriptures (Injeel) and wisdom. He will be a messenger to the children of Israel. He will perform miracles of healing, with God’s permission. He will confirm the Law already revealed, and allow some things that were previously forbidden. He comes with miracles, which are a sign of God, in order that people can keep their duty to God through obedience.

On page 11, verse 10:93 is out of context. Let’s read the section in its entirety.

(89) We took the Children of Israel across the sea: Pharaoh and his hosts followed them in insolence and spite. At length, when overwhelmed with the flood, he said: “I believe that there is no god except Him Whom the Children of Israel believe in: I am of those who submit (to Allah in Islam).” (90) (It was said to him): “Ah now!― but a little while before, wast thou in rebellion!― and thou didst mischief (and violence)! (91) “This day shall We save thee in thy body, that thou mayest be a Sign to those who come after thee! But verily, many among mankind are heedless of Our Signs!” (92) We settled the Children of Israel in a beautiful dwelling-place, and provided for them sustenance of the best: it was after knowledge had been granted to them, that they fell into schisms. Verily Allah will judge between them as to the schisms amongst them on the Day of Judgment.

At the beginning, we see God reminds the children of Israel that He led them safely across the Red Sea and Pharoah’s army was drowned. After God saved them, He says He gave the children of Israel a beautiful place and good food, but that after knowledge (Moses’ Law) came to them, they argued about details. (This sort of religious opinion is dismissed in the Qur’an as zanna ― self-indulgent guesswork about matters no one can be certain of one way or the other, and leads people to become quarrelsome and stupidly sectarian. We unfortunately see this fracturing in the world religions.)

As a Christian, my first reading of the Qur’an shocked me. I had assumed Islam was not related to Christianity in any way, so imagine my surprise that Bible stories were inside. Though I’m no scholar, I noticed the stories were different — shorter and more pointed, as if they had been reframed and refocused to impart a specific moral lesson. There is no long-winded narrative of the exodus of the children of Israel. Instead, the entire event is wrapped up in four or five verses, which refocus the story on this moral: not to argue about the insignificant details of religion, because it divides people.

(93) If thou wert in doubt as to what We have revealed unto thee, then ask those who have been reading the Book from before thee: the Truth hath indeed come to thee from thy Lord: so be in nowise of those in doubt. (94) Nor be of those who reject the Signs of Allah, or thou shalt be of those who perish. (95) Those against whom the Word of thy Lord hath been verified would not believe― (96) Even if every Sign was brought unto them until they see (for themselves) the Grievous Penalty. (97) Why was there not a single township (among those We warned), which believed― so its Faith should have profited it, except the people of Jonah? When they believed, We removed from them the Penalty of Ignominy in the life of the Present and permitted them to enjoy (their life) for a while. (98) If it had been the Lord’s Will they would all have believed all who are on earth! Wilt thou then compel mankind against their will to believe! (99) No soul can believe except by the Will of Allah and He will place Doubt (or obscurity) on those who will not understand.

From the Qur’an, we learn that Only God can light the fire of belief in someone’s heart. And that He only does so in people who genuinely seek truth.

Generally, the Qur’an is poetic and whimsical, whereas the Bible is detailed in its narrative. In fact, the Qur’an almost seems to assume that the listener will already be familiar with the earlier Scriptures. The Qur’anic passage about Pharoah and the parting of the Red Sea is so succinct, it would seem to require knowledge of the Biblical account in Exodus.

(4:135) O ye who believe! Believe in Allah and His messenger and the Scripture which He hath revealed unto His messenger, and the Scripture which He revealed aforetime. Whoso disbelieveth in Allah and His angels and His scriptures and His messengers and the Last Day, he verily hath wandered far astray.

This is a succinct verse which relates what Muslims must believe: in God, in all the Prophets including Muhammad, in all the Books including the Qur’an, in angels and in the Last Day (Day of Judgment). But belief is one part of religion, and not necessarily the most important part.

(6:114) Perfected is the Word of thy Lord in truth and justice. There is naught that can change His words. He is the Hearer, the Knower. (115) If thou obeyedst most of those on earth they would mislead thee far from Allah’s way. They follow naught but an opinion, and they do but guess. (116) Lo! thy Lord, He knoweth best who erreth from His way; and He knoweth best (who are) the rightly guided.

The Word here, of course, is referring to the Qur’an. Even non-Muslim Western scholars must admit that the Qur’an is today as it was revealed to the prophet Muhammad. The Qur’an is a self-reflective document; in it, God promises to safeguard it against ‘change’ — human addition or subtraction. Empirically, we know the Qur’an is unchanged because there are original Arabic Qur’ans on display throughout the Middle East. God says that people will try to mislead the righteous, following opinions and conjecture rather than solid proof. But God knows who is wrong and who is right.

Muslims have taken a variety of positions about the earlier Books. But it is my belief that the best position is a moderate one: The Bible has been changed, but it is useful; the Bible is not perfect, but a careful interpretation of its verses can strengthen the faith of a true believer. I am personally grateful for the Bible’s influence of my formative years and for that foreknowledge which I now bring to Islam. It feels like the completion of a quest for truth that began July 24, 1994 (the day I committed my life to following Jesus).

(3:50) Lo! Allah is my Lord and your Lord, so worship Him. That is a straight path.

This is pretty clear. Worship God, that is the straight path. In fact, Jesus is quoted in the New Testament as summing up religion as ‘Worship and love God and treat your neighbor as yourself’. How do we worship God? By doing what God says. I find it amazing that this clear-cut verse is used for a convoluted argument about how ‘God is too holy to allow 99.9% holy people into heaven’. God’s justice is exceeded only by His mercy.

(39:53) Proclaim: “O My servants who exceeded the limits, never despair of God’s mercy. For GOD forgives all sins. He is the Forgiver, Most Merciful.”

(4:146) Only those who repent, reform, hold fast to GOD, and devote their religion absolutely to GOD alone, will be counted with the believers. GOD will bless the believers with a great recompense.

(19:60) Only those who repent, believe, and lead a righteous life will enter Paradise, without the least injustice.

(20:82) I am surely Forgiving for those who repent, believe, lead a righteous life, and steadfastly remain guided.

(25:71) Those who repent and lead a righteous life, GOD redeems them; a complete redemption.

(4:116) GOD does not forgive idol worship (if maintained until death), and He forgives lesser offenses for whomever He wills. Anyone who idolizes any idol beside GOD has strayed far astray.

Camel Tracks goes on to say that kurban (animal sacrifice) is now proved unnecessary because of the ‘kurban’ of Jesus. (I’m not even going to get into the Muslim theories about Jesus’ death raised by the Qur’an’s vague wording.) But Camel Tracks presupposes a fundamental misunderstanding of what kurban is. Camel Tracks supposes that the Muslim understanding of the ritual is the same as the Christian understanding of the Old Testament ritual. The sacrifice festival coincides with the end of Hajj, the yearly pilgrimage to Mecca to see the Kaba, the site of the first House of God built by Abraham. Kurban is not a ‘blood sacrifice’ to God as the only way to be forgiven for sins, it is an offering — like the offerings that have been made since Cain and Abel, like Abraham’s near-sacrifice of his son. The cow (or sheep or camel, etc.) offered in kurban is divided for food into thirds — one-third to the poor, one-third to neighbors, and one-third to keep. For me, the existence of kurban was another proof — because of its rightful place in the Bible — of the Qur’an’s status as God’s Final Testament.

Pages 14-20 go on to talk about following Jesus (Isa is allegedly the 100th name of God, whispered to the camel) to heaven, more attempts to infuse Islamic monotheism with Christian polytheism. Not surprising or unique. Since the beginning of time, believers have been beset on all sides by arguments against belief in One God. The idols smashed by Abraham seem so quaint to us today — how can anyone worship a statue? — but they do have a modern counterpart. For some reason, people believing and following One God has always made other people angry.

I urge the sincere Christian to read the Qur’an with an open mind, to ponder and mull over its verses in context. Though it wanders from subject to subject, it does confirm and correct the Bible. Where the Bible is right, the Qur’an agrees or is silent. Where the Bible/Christianity has gone astray, the Qur’an very clearly says so. The Qur’an is insistent upon several things: God’s Merciful and Compassionate nature; Muhammad’s prophethood, Jesus’ prophethood (and not divinity), the Oneness of God. One God, One Book, One Law, One People. Tawhid (unity) is the core of Islam.

Islam/Muslim comes from the Arabic root word slm, which means ‘peace’ and ’submission’. Muslims believe that the God who created an orderly, perfect universe that follows natural ‘laws’ would not leave humankind to flounder without a clear-cut idea of how they should live (spiritual ‘laws’). Truly Muslim societies are just, plural and inclusive, tolerant of other religions and cultures. Truly Muslim people are merciful and generous, and seek knowledge their entire lives. If Muslim societies and people do not act as Islam requires, this is hardly the fault of the religion — that’s like saying someone who doesn’t study and fails a geometry test somehow damages geometry itself. To truly judge a religion as right or wrong, we must look to its holy scriptures and its original leader. There are several good biographies written in English about the prophet Muhammad. One is by Martin Lings, another is by Karen Armstrong.

I spend at least an hour every day reading about Islam. Because I use the Internet and speak English, I am regularly flooded with vile, disgusting lies about my religion, prophet and book. Which of course hurts me personally, and leads me to search even more obsessively for positive, helpful information. It must be said: I never did this much reading about Christianity when I was a Christian.

Perhaps it’s because I wasn’t bombarded with anti-Christian rhetoric at every turn. The struggle of the Christian living in the West is more a struggle against materialism and secularism, so I didn’t feel the need to “prove” Christianity to myself every day. My faith wasn’t a battered, fragile thing; it was hardly tested at all. Whereas the struggle of the Muslim living in the West is a struggle against materialism and secularism, too, that is small compared to the struggle to defend myself against a virulent, shrill hatred of Muslims and all things Islamic; a struggle to defend my choice to people who have read only secondary sources and are basically embarrassingly ignorant; a struggle to continue to practice Islam when every single aspect of my society says, ‘You are an idiot.’

My husband, Yusuf, and I talk about it sometimes — the struggle to remain true to a faith that has the worst press ever. Imagine if someone called Jesus a “demon-possessed pedophile” or compared the Bible to “Mein Kampf” or said Christianity is a “cancer that destroys the body it infects” or that all Christians are “donkeys” or “knuckle-dragging savages from the 10th century.” Read it here: Islamophobia and Arabophobia: Laying the Groundwork — Us vs. Them

Who cares, right? But imagine if 150 people said it, over and over, and they all had microphones and reporters or bloggers mass-producing their every statement. Imagine an Orwellian world where lies were truth. Imagine if people, lots of people, actually believed the lies. Imagine if you were the only Christian in your neighborhood, the only Christian at your job, and that your spouse was the only other Christian you saw for weeks or months at a time. You could start to feel strange, out of sorts. You could start to feel sad, or angry. And you would fight the anger rising up like bile, and you would choke it down, because you know your religion requires you to turn the other cheek, even though no one admits that it does. You desire to be good and to show them good things, but at the same time a tiny voice inside says, “It won’t make one shred of difference.”

Sometimes I try to step back and look at me from outside myself, and imagine how people must see me. Do they think I have a hidden agenda? Do they think I want to use democracy to destroy democracy? Do they think I am blind, stupid, oppressed? Or am I a tiny, flickering flame in a very black room? Do my co-workers distrust me, or do they grudgingly admire how I work hard and avoid gossiping with them? Do they read this vitriol? Do they think I must be hiding my true nature, or how I am not like what they read?

It’s a bit different for Yusuf. As he began to learn English five years ago, the pervasive anti-Muslim rhetoric in American media startled him, shocked him; but he has always remained intact. Probably because the existence halfway around the world of 80 million Turks gives him a feeling of solidarity, takes away the possibility of feeling alone and crazy. He knows thousands of Muslims who are shining examples of what humanity can attain in a lifetime of prayer, fasting and charity. Empirically, he knows he’s not nuts because they’re there; he knows that there can be non-Western ways of thinking and knowing.

One time he said something so good, I sat silently for a full five minutes afterward, taking it in. He said, Look at what they say about Islam. And look how Americans and Europeans are becoming Muslim. How can people convert if it is not truth? Islam is like the sun. They can kick dirt on it, but people still see its brightness underneath.

As scholar Karen Armstrong reminds us, belief is only a recent enthusiasm of religion. Religion is really meant to inspire and transform us as human beings, to cause us to stretch ourselves to behave differently in order to be enveloped by the Divine presence.

This is pretty much the best thing ever.

A transcript of Karen Armstrong’s talk is here (and below).

*****
Well this is such an honor. And it’s wonderful to be in the presence of an organization that is really making a difference in the world. And I’m intensely grateful for the opportunity to speak to you today. And I’m also rather surprised, because when I look back on my life, the last thing I ever wanted to do was to write or be in any way involved about religion. After I left my convent I’d finished with religion, frankly. I thought that was it. And for thirteen years I kept clear of it. I wanted to be an English literature professor. And I suddenly didn’t even want to be a writer, particularly. But then I suffered a series of career catastrophes, one after the other, and finally found myself in television. I said that to Bill Moyers and he said, “Oh, we take anybody.”

And I was doing some rather controversial religious programs. This went down very well in the UK, where religion is extremely unpopular. And so, for once, for the only time in my life, I was finally in the mainstream. But I got sent to Jerusalem to make a film about early Christianity, and there, for the first time, I encountered the other religious traditions, Judaism and Islam, the sister religions of Christianity. And while I found I knew nothing about these faiths at all despite my own intensely religious background, I’d seen Judaism only as a kind of prelude to Christianity and I knew nothing about Islam at all. But in that city, in that tortured city, where you see the three faiths jostling so uneasily together, you also become aware of the profound connection between them. And it has been the study of other religious traditions that brought me back to a sense of what religion can be, and actually enable me to take a look at my own faith in a different light.

I found some astonishing things in the course of my study that had never occurred to me. Frankly, in the days that when I thought I’d had it with religion, I just found the whole thing absolutely incredible. These doctrines seemed unproven, abstract, and, to my astonishment, when I began seriously studying other traditions, I began to realize that belief, which we make such a fuss about today, is only a very recent religious enthusiasm. It surfaced only in the West, in about the 17th century. The word “belief” itself originally meant to love, to prize, to hold dear. In the 17th century it narrowed its focus, for reasons that I’m exploring in a book I’m writing at the moment, to include — to mean an intellectual ascent to a set of propositions — a credo. I believe did not mean “I accept certain creedal articles of faith.” It meant, “I commit myself. I engage myself.” Indeed, some of the world traditions think very little of religious orthodoxy. In the Qur’an, religious opinion — religious orthodoxy — is dismissed as zanna — self-indulgent guesswork about matters that nobody can be certain of one way or the other but which makes people quarrelsome and stupidly sectarian.

So, if religion is not about believing things, what is it about? What I’ve found is that, across the board, religion is about behaving differently. Instead of deciding whether or not you believe in God, first you do something, you behave in a committed way, and then you begin to understand the truths of religion. And religious doctrines are meant to be summons to action: you only understand them when you put them into practice.

Now, pride of place in this practice is given to compassion. And it is an arresting fact that right across the board, in every single one of the major world faiths, compassion — the ability to feel with the other, and the way we’ve been thinking about this evening — is not only the test of any true religiosity, it is also what will bring us into the presence of what Jews, Christians and Muslims call “God” or the “Divine.” It is compassion, says the Buddha, which brings you to Nirvana. Why? Because in compassion, when we feel with the other, we dethrone ourselves from the center of our world and we put another person there. And once we get rid of ego, then we’re ready to see the Divine. And, in particular, every single one of the major traditions has highlighted — has said — has put at the core of their tradition — what’s become known as the Golden Rule. First propounded by Confucius five centuries before Christ, “Do not do unto others what you would not like them to do to you.” That, he said, was the central thread that ran through all his teaching and that his disciples should put into practice all day and every day. And it was the Golden Rule would bring them to the transcendent value that he called rén, human-heartedness, which was a transcendent experience in itself.

And this is absolutely crucial to the monotheisms, too. There’s a famous story about the great rabbi Hillel, the contemporary of Jesus. A pagan came to him and offered to convert to Judaism if the rabbi could recite the whole of Jewish teaching while he stood on one leg. Hillel stood on one leg and said, “That which is hateful to you, do not do to your neighbor — that is the Torah. The rest is commentary. Go and study it.”

And “Go and study it” is what he meant. He said, in your exegesis, you must make it clear that every single verse of the Torah is a commentary, a gloss upon the Golden Rule. The great Rabbi Meir said that any interpretation of scripture which led to hatred and disdain or contempt of other people — any people whatsoever — was illegitimate. Saint Augustine made exactly the same point. “Scripture,” he says, “teaches nothing but charity, and we must not leave an interpretation of scripture until we have found a compassionate interpretation of it.” And this struggle to find compassion in some of these rather rebarbative texts is a good dress rehearsal for doing the same in ordinary life.

But now look at our world. And we are living in a world that is — where religion has been hijacked. Where terrorists cite Qur’anic verses to justify their atrocities. Where instead of taking Jesus’ words, “Love your enemies, don’t judge others,” we have the spectacle of Christians endlessly judging other people, endlessly using scripture as a way of arguing with other people, as a way of putting other people down. Throughout the ages, religion has been used to oppress others, and this is because of human ego, human greed. We have a talent as a species for messing up wonderful things.

So, the traditions also insisted — and this is an important point, I think — that you could not and must not confine your compassion to your own group, your own nation, your own co-religionists, your own fellow countrymen. You know, you must have what one of the Chinese sages called rén ài, concern for everybody. Love your enemies. Honor the stranger. We formed you, says the Qur’an, into tribes and nations so that you may know one another. And this, again — this universal outreach — is getting subdued in the strident use of religion — abuse of religion — for nefarious gains. Now, I’ve lost count of the number of taxi drivers who, when I say to them what I do for a living, inform me that religion has been the cause of all the major wars in world history. Wrong. The cause of our present woes are political. But, make no mistake about it, religion is a kind of fault line, and when a conflict gets ingrained in a region, religion can get sucked in and become part of the problem. Our modernity has been exceedingly violent. Between 1914 and 1945, 70 million people died in Europe alone as a result of armed conflict. And so many of our institutions — even football, which used to be a pleasant pastime — now causes riots where people even die. And it’s not surprising that religion, too, has been affected by this violent ethos.

There’s also a great deal, I think, of religious illiteracy around. People seem to think — now equate religious faith with believing things. As though that — we call religious people often “believers,” as though that were the main thing that they do. And very often, secondary goals get pushed into the first place in place of compassion — the Golden Rule. Because the Golden Rule is difficult. I — sometimes, when I’m speaking to congregations about compassion, I sometimes see a mutinous expression crossing some of their faces because religion — a lot of religious people prefer to be right, rather than compassionate.

Now — but that’s not the whole story. Since September the 11th, when my work on Islam suddenly propelled me into public life in a way that I’d never imagined, I’ve been able to sort of go all over the world — and finding, everywhere I go, a yearning for change. I’ve just come back from Pakistan, where literally thousands of people came to my lectures because they were yearning, first of all, to hear a friendly Western voice. And especially the young people were coming, and were asking me — the young people were saying, “What can we do? What can we do to change things?” And my hosts in Pakistan said, “Look, don’t be too polite to us. Tell us where we’re going wrong. Let’s talk together about where religion is failing.” Because it seems to me that with our current situation is so serious at the moment that any ideology that doesn’t promote a sense of global understanding and global appreciation of each other is failing the test of the time. And religion, with its wide following here in the United States — people may be being religious here in different way, as a report has just shown — but they still want to be religious. It’s only Western Europe that has retained its secularism, which is now beginning to look rather endearingly old-fashioned.

But people want to be religious and religion should be made to be a force for harmony in the world, which it can and should be — because of the Golden Rule, “Do not do unto others what you would not have them do to you”: an ethos that should now be applied globally. We should not treat other nations as we would not wish to be treated ourselves. And these — whatever our wretched beliefs — is a religious matter, is a spiritual matter. It’s a profound moral matter that engages — and should engage us all. And as I say, there is a hunger for change out there. Here in the United States, I think you see it in this election campaign: a longing for change. And people in churches all over — and mosques all over this continent after September 11th, coming together locally to create networks of understanding. With the mosques, with the synagogue, saying, “We must start to speak to one another.” I think it’s time we moved beyond the idea of toleration and move toward appreciation of the other.

I’d — there’s one story I’d just like to mention, and this comes from the Iliad. But it tells you what this spirituality should be. You know the story of the Iliad, the ten-year war between Greece and Troy. In one incident, Achilles, the great warrior of Greece, takes his troops out of the war, and the whole war effort suffers, and in the course of the ensuing muddle, his beloved friend is killed — and killed in single combat by one of the Trojan princes, Hector. And Achilles goes mad with grief and rage and revenge, and he mutilates the body — he kills Hector, and he mutilates his body and then he refuses to give the body back for burial to the family, which means that, in Greek ethos, Hector’s soul will wander eternally, lost. And then one night, Priam, king of Troy, an old man, comes into the Greek camp, incognito, makes his way to Achilles’ tent to ask for the body of his son. And everybody is shocked when the old man takes off his head covering, shows himself. And Achilles looks at him and thinks of his father. And he starts to weep. And Priam looks at the man who has murdered so many of his sons, and he too starts to weep. And the sound of their weeping filled the house. The Greeks believed that weeping together created a bond between people. And then Achilles takes the body of Hector, he hands it tenderly to the father, and the two men look at each other, and see each other as divine. That is the ethos found too in all the religions: it’s what is meant by overcoming the horror that we feel when we are under threat of our enemies — beginning to appreciate the other.

It’s of great importance that the word for “holy” in Hebrew, applied to God, is kadosh, separate, other. And it is often, perhaps, the otherness of our enemies that can give us intimations of that utterly mysterious transcendence which is God. And now, here’s my wish:

I wish that you would help with the creation, launch, and propagation of a Charter for Compassion — crafted by a group of inspirational thinkers from the three Abrahamic traditions of Judaism, Christianity and Islam, and based on the fundamental principle of the Golden Rule. We need to create a movement among all these people that I meet in my travels, that you probably meet too, who want to join up, in some way, and reclaim their faith, which they feel, as I say, has been hijacked. We need to empower people to remember the compassionate ethos, and to give guidelines. This Charter would not be a massive document. I’d like to see it — to give guidelines as to how to interpret the scriptures, these texts that are being abused. Remember what the rabbis, and what Augustine said about how scripture should be governed by the principle of charity. Let’s get back to that, and the idea, too, of Jews, Christians and Muslims, these traditions now so often at loggerheads, working together to create a document which we hope will be signed by a thousand, at least, of major religious leaders from all the traditions of the world. And you are the people. I’m just a solitary scholar. Despite the idea that I love a good time, which I was rather amazed to see coming up on the — I actually spend a great deal of time alone, studying, and I’m not very — you’re the people with the media knowledge to explain to me how we can get this to everybody.

I’ve had some preliminary talks, and Archbishop Desmond Tutu, for example, is very happy to give his name to this, as is Imam Faisal Rauf, the Imam in New York City. Also, I would be working with the Alliance of Civilizations at the United Nations. I was part of that United Nations initiative called the Alliance of Civilizations, which was asked by Kofi Annan to diagnose the causes of extremism and to give practical guidelines to member states about how to avoid the escalation of further extremism. And the Alliance has told me they are very happy to work with it. The importance of this is — that this is — I can see some of you starting to look worried because you think it’s a slow and cumbersome body, but what the United Nations can do is give us some neutrality, so that this isn’t seen as a Western or a Christian initiative, but that it’s coming, as it were, from the United Nations, from the world — who would help with the sort of bureaucracy of this.

And so I do urge you to join me in making — in this Charter. To building this Charter, launching it, and propagating it so that it becomes — I’d like to see it in every college, every church, every mosque, every synagogue in the world, so that people can look at their tradition, reclaim it, and make religion a source of peace in the world, which it can and should be. Thank you very much.