The addictive grip of idleness

I have been reflecting quite a lot recently on what Christians refer to as ‘the addictive power of sin’, for I am one of those unfortunate souls that makes mistakes and repents only to repeat them again over and over. Faced with this phenomenon, I believe it is easy to appreciate how many Christians come to conclude that there is no escape from sin except through a dramatic external intervention—even if we believe they are wrong. While we would say that their solution is an illogical extreme, given that we only recognise sin in the light of what God has defined as good and bad, there is no escaping that sense of despair when we constantly replicate the same mistake throughout the years of our lives. Muslims are, of course, reminded of the words of God, that had He created a community that would not sin and err and return in repentance, He would have removed it and replaced it with one that would, for He loves to forgive. Indeed we are reminded of the famous Hadith Qudsi in which we are promised forgiveness, no matter what we have done, so long as we return in repentance:

O son of Adam, so long as you call upon Me and ask of Me, I shall forgive you for what you have done, and I shall not mind. O son of Adam, were your sins to reach the clouds of the sky and were you then to ask forgiveness of Me, I would forgive you. O son of Adam, were you to come to Me with sins nearly as great as the earth and were you then to face Me, ascribing no partner to Me, I would bring you forgiveness nearly as great as it.

We are aware of so many words which give us hope, and yet the sense of despair is real, for recurring repentance for oft-repeated errors begins to feel hollow, shallow and half-hearted. It is true that I am not the worst of people, but my criteria for judging myself is not the standard set by the behaviour of others; my errors may well seem insignificant in a world of widespread bloodshed, but the Middle Way is not defined as the path between the shifting extremes of the day. We judge ourselves against a fixed standard. The earliest Christians would have been aware that all was not lost in the face of sin—even the parables recorded in the contemporary Gospel cannon make this clear—but today’s discourse incessantly emphasises the need for a redeeming saviour. When I look at my own response, I see ignorance at its heart. Ignorance feeds despair, for addiction is persuasive. If we convince ourselves that our addiction is incurable—as is the Christian’s theological position, even though we find that many Christians are in fact people of high moral calibre who are clearly not subsumed in sin—a sense of hopelessness is really only a natural response. In my case ignorance affects me in many ways, which at first seem quite distinct, but which are in fact all interrelated. An ignorant response to mistakes is tied to the ignorance which leads to them in the first place.

All of this carries me back towards my thoughts during my recent stay in the Black Sea, which I have wanted to write about since my return, but have been unable to articulate (I still can’t as I would like to). People in that forested valley not far from the border with Georgia generally lead happy, contented lives and are self-sufficient in many ways, but I was still struck by the hardship of many of their lives. We met widows on the sides of those valleys, and children who had lost their fathers, mothers who lost their sons. I watched as old men busied themselves chopping logs for the stove and women collected hay for their cows, each preparing for the cold winter that will draw down on them in the next few months. I witnessed much more than this, and I reflected on it in light of my own life and the way I live it. My life has always been characterised by remarkable ease—I have never experienced real hardship—and yet what can be said of the way I live it? I am lazy and often feeble, capable of telling myself that I am doing okay when I achieve nothing in weeks and weeks. What my experience in the Black Sea taught me—and this thought kept recurring in my mind throughout our stay—was that our Lord has far higher expectations of us than I have ever acknowledged, that He requires a higher standard. The great hardship I witnessed convinced me that my laziness and feebleness in the face of so much ease could not possibly be acceptable to our Creator.

So here I stand taking stock of my life, and truthfulness—not humility—confesses that there is not a lot to be proud of. I may well deny that need for a redeeming saviour, but I remain tarnished by the legacy of that tradition, for instead of striving against my laziness, my weakness, my emotional addictions, I have allowed myself to succumb to them. Jesus was sent to sinners not saints, Christians often remind us, but we recognise that this was one of the roles of our noble Prophet too: the point is that they were sent to sinners so that they might reform themselves and become the best of people. I reflected on those matters during my stay in a simpler setting in Ramadan, but what have I achieved since my return? Nothing to be proud of once more. ‘To good and evil equal bent, both a devil and a saint.’

I recognise that laziness is one of my greatest diseases, but as I said to my friend last night, most of the time I’m too lazy to do anything about it. In a world of AA for alcoholics and smoking cessation counselling for Smokers, isn’t ‘the addictive power of sin’ a rather lame excuse for idleness?

The legacy of my Christian upbringing

I once knew a fellow who explained that the reason he was not taking his shoes off to pray on the dusty carpet in the basement of his bookshop was that we should differentiate ourselves from the Jews and the Christians. I had heard other justifications for shoes-on-carpet before, but I thought he was confused. I pointed out that in this country certainly, Christians don’t tend to take off their shoes when they go to Church; at home too, they do not remove them at the door. Far from differentiating himself from the Jews and Christians, he was differentiating himself from those who differentiate themselves.

I am thinking about the question of differentiation because I have been pondering over recent days the legacy of my Christian upbringing. I think the initial response of the convert is often one of rejection. Certainly in my case I took various positions, led by a series of lectures I attended in those early days, which I now regret to some extent. The celebration of birthdays is a case in point. I was told that this is haram and so I built up yet another wall between myself and my family, refusing to accept well-wishes and gifts. I look back on that now with some derision, taking a more magnanimous stance, but the damage is done. We live in a society in which families spend less and less time together, but the birthday provides the perfect opportunity to reconnect, to get together and share a little love. Indeed it provides the opportunity to say that we care, to say thank you, even to acknowledge our place in the world. Conversely, what is the benefit of rejectionism? It does not serve any religious function; if anything it creates conflict with other imperatives (creating anger, conveying ingratitude).

In any case, there is a more pertinent question here: how much of this rejectionism is just skin deep? Much of who I am, how I act and what I think are a legacy of my Christian upbringing. I am not ashamed of this and do not think I should be. This upbringing taught me good manners and modesty after all, both of them perfectly admirable Islamic characteristics. And there is more; concerns about global justice and social responsibility come from this root, and I am thinking here of the Drop the Debt campaign and Fair Trade in particular. As a Muslim who believes that fairness and social responsibility is part of our religion, I buy Fair Trade products, but I still acknowledge the root of this concern. I buy my fish from an independent supplier and my milk direct from the producing farm via Abel & Cole. If I buy chocolate, I check that it’s from a source which pays cocoa farmers a fair wage. And I’m proud that my adopted town is known as a Fair Trade Town. All of this is a legacy of my upbringing.

Yet my upbringing has done more than affect how I act: it can be seen in my thinking. As a Christian I was raised on the parables and reported stories of Jesus’ life in the four gospels. The commentary provided by Paul’s epistles seemed less important in childhood as it becomes for the adult faithful. Jesus’ exhortations to the Pharisees to observe the spirit of the law not just its letter is no doubt reflected throughout everything I write. The gospel accounts do not call for the law to be abandoned — although Luke tells us of the infamous dream in which all foods were shown to be lawful in his contradictory Acts of the Apostles — rather there is a call to appreciate its purpose. Unconsciously I see this affecting the way I live. For example Muslims are taught to respect water and indeed there are rules about how water is used. In the spirit of this, I find the idea using heavy bleaches in the toilet abhorrent; I know it doesn’t make a difference in the big scheme of things, but my conscience drives me to choose biodegradable products. Likewise, Muslims are taught to be careful of the tongue, so in this spirit I consider it applicable to what I write.

I do not consider Islam a negation of my upbringing, but a continuation of it. Indeed, retaining that which is good, I consider it a perfection of it. I think it can be useful to acknowledge the legacy of our upbringing and to be truthful too; a lot of the rejectionism I see around me is surely just skin deep.

Inter-faith Dialogue

If dialogue is to be of any benefit we should set aside philosophical debates on our approach to different faiths and come as we are with a view to first understanding what we each – as faith communities – believe. I have encountered time and again Christians writing about Islam with no real knowledge of its basic teachings; and, yes, Muslims writing on Christianity in a similar manner. The question of forgiveness is a key example, many writers convinced by the notion that Christianity exclusively amongst the world religions has addressed the issue. The opinion of the prominent evangelist associated with the Alpha Course is just one example amongst many.

Perhaps understandably, authors often view the beliefs of others through the prism of their own theology. As a result Christians are concerned about salvation to such an extent that they view its absence in other faiths as a great oversight. Salvation by good works, for example, is a Catholic concept, for Muslims do not believe that humans are by nature fallen and thus do not seek salvation. Instead, good works are undertaken for the pleasure of God, who loves goodness and beauty. We also believe that we are not judged by the deeds themselves, but by the intentions behind them. Thus one could feed the poor seeking people’s good opinion and it would not be of benefit at all. Yet sin is addressed by Islam, with a huge emphasis placed on forgiveness; it just happens to be a practical step, rather than a metaphysical one: ‘as long as you call on Me and hope in Me, I will forgive you whatever comes from you and I do not care.’

Pluralism is not the problem

An article in the Church Times some time ago had David Banting saying, in relation to the General Synod discussion on Christian witness in a plural society, that Muslims expect Christians to have convictions as clear as their own. While diversity of opinion is of course to be welcomed, the meandering, self-conscious spirit amongst many does not promote confidence in the process of dialogue. Representatives of the two faiths need to define clearly what it is that they believe, not wavering because they fear causing offence. Honesty must crown any efforts at dialogue and this means addressing issues even if they cause discomfort.

While Muslims believe in God as the Creator of all things and therefore as the God worshipped by Jews and Christians, I understand the argument that there is no continuity, for by believing in the divinity of Jesus you cannot then accept those who say that he is absent from the so called Godhead. Since Islam rejects the idea that anything in creation can also be the Creator, the demarcation is clear. Islam also denies the concept of fallen man, original sin and the irreparable – except through Christ – depravity of human beings.

There need be no conflict, however, between the idea a faith’s uniqueness and pluralism. We do not need to be totalitarian about our faith (whatever that may be) because we believe in its uniqueness; it is perfectly possible to live peaceably with people of other faith traditions whilst maintaining our own convictions. Muslim tradition teaches that Islam is the religion of the Prophets, going back to Adam. In that sense it is inclusive, yet at the same time it stresses that there is one path to God: that affirmed by all the Prophets, that none should be worshipped except the one true God, the Creator of all things. Islamic history attests to the fact that pluralism can coexist with a one way faith, however much today’s Muslim puritans may wish to prove otherwise.

The vast landmass touched by Islam, for example, is characterised by provincial culture. The famous mosque of Timbuktu reflects the beauty of its own particular culture, like the mosques of Istanbul or India. Abdal-Hakim Murad writes that ‘classical Islam has always been able and willing to see at least fragments of an authentic divine message in the faiths and cultures of non-Muslim peoples. If God has assured us that every nation has received divine guidance, then we can look with some favour on the Other’ (Lecture British and Muslim? 17 September, 1997). He goes on:

Those who believe that Muslim communities can only flourish if they ghettoise themselves and refuse to interact with majority communities would do well to look at Chinese history. Many of the leading mandarins of Ming China were in fact Muslims. … In China, mosques look very like traditional Chinese garden-temples, except that there is a prayer hall without idols, and the calligraphy is Koranic. (ibid.)

William Cantwell Smith’s accusation that to believe that Christianity alone is true is a form of idolatry suggests that Christians worship Christianity. Surely for the majority of followers the religion is merely the transport towards an end; they do not worship it, but use it to worship. It is true that a religion itself can become an object of worship, but that is not what believers are doing by insisting on its truth. It is a mistake for Christians to renounce their faith – to deny previously established beliefs – simply because they are now encountering people of other faiths. Indeed, people of other faiths expect Christians to hold their ground; the real source of discomfort is not religious pluralism but effective secularism. It is the latter which demands that there is no absolute truth (except this one), not adherents to other religions. In truth we are really talking about secularist theology, with the notion of pluralism a mere fig leaf.

The way they treat their women…

“I CAN’T believe how many black men are becoming Muslim in London… after the way they treat their women.” I once heard this statement being made one evening a long time ago, before I knew anything about Islam. The above statement makes an assumption about Islam, even though it does not assert that assumption directly. ‘They’ is supposed to refer to Muslims; the statement suggests that if a man becomes a Muslim he must accordingly treat women in a way which is presumably poor.

This reasoning ignores the way in which we consider our own history. A fair question to ask, for example, would be, “Do Christians treat women better (if they do; if we can really generalise) because of their Christianity or despite it?” The fact is that the results of the modern women’s liberation movement did not originate from Christianity. The fact that British (Christian) women now have basically the same rights as men, in theory at least, would never be attributed to Christianity. So is it fair to apply this kind of reasoning to Muslims and Islam? I would argue no, for Muslims as individuals and societies have a history just like any other person or society.

Do Muslims treat women badly (if they do; if we can really generalise) because of their Islam or despite it? I would argue that people are generally influenced by the behaviour of the society in which they live. Religion may teach a certain way of life, but individuals will not necessarily comply; indeed religion may prohibit certain behaviour, but people have the freewill to do as they please. This applies in many spheres. The Ministry of Transport of a given country may set the speed limit as 70mph on the motorway, but this does not mean that everybody will drive at or below this speed.

In 1870, British married women were granted the right to own property for the first time. This right was obtained not because of Christian teachings, but because of a social movement within the society of the time. That British Christian women have benefited as a result does not mean that it should be attributed to their religion. Similarly, Islam categorically prohibits the ‘forced’ marriage of Muslim women; the fact that there are cases where Muslim women do face this situation should not be attributed to Islam. The truth is that the teachings of any religion are usually something quite different from the practice of adherents. Paul of Tarsus, after all, from whom much of the Christian Church’s teachings derive insisted that women must not ask questions in church, but we would be hard pressed to find people in this age considering this acceptable. It should, therefore, come as no surprise that I wish to separate the teachings of Islam from the cultural practices of Muslims.

Islam is a religion which has something to say about the rights and roles of women in society. This is not the place to engage in apologetics or to argue that what has been achieved for women in Britain over recent years is what Islam teaches. A Muslim society is centred on seeking the pleasure of God, to whom all praise is due, which is in stark contrast to one of the main, if unstated, aims of life in contemporary Britain (i.e. the pursuit of personal happiness). Islam sets out a way of life for its adherents, male and female, such that it is not difficult to determine what it actually teaches in this regard.

The fact is that Islam attracts all sorts of people, both male and female, to believe in it as the Truth. If it were the case that Islam (the religion) did indeed command a certain poor treatment of women that the above statement portrays, it would be hard to imagine that so many people would embrace it as a way of life. Writing in The Times in 1993, Lucy Berrington highlighted this point.

“It is even more ironic,” she wrote, “that most British converts should be women, given the widespread view in the west that Islam treats women poorly. In the United States, women converts outnumber men by four to one, and in Britain make up the bulk of the estimated 10,000 to 20,000 converts, forming part of a Muslim community of 1 to 1.5 million.” (Lucy Berrington, The Spread of a World Creed, The Times, 9/11/93)

To understand how exactly Muslims (and not necessarily those who are male) should treat their women, it is only necessary to examine what the Qur’an and the Prophet said on this matter.

Reflections on Luther’s Epistle of Straw

ONE MAY wonder why I would choose to write reflections on The Letter from James.1 The answer primarily boils down to a personal reason. From the time I was about fifteen, I slipped almost continually between atheism, agnosticism, deism and doubt. During my second stay on the Isle of Iona2, overwhelmed by emotion and the beauty of the music in the abbey, I rejected God. I pretended to myself that God was not real and, from that point, I began questioning life, our existence, meaning, and myself. I hated attending church after that, for I felt like a hypocrite, uttering words I didn’t believe in and singing hymns I wished to avoid. But in my second year of university, I began to seek answers and I began to make an effort to discover what religious people call the truth. So, impressed by the preaching of John Stott at All Souls in central London, I began attending that church every Sunday just to listen to the sermons. Meanwhile, at the same time, I took to reading the Bible.

Unfortunately, doubters don’t read with an open heart, but critically instead. Were you to open my Revised English Bible, which I had with me at the time, you would find its margins filled with pencil marks and its text highlighted in radiant yellow. But were you to turn to A Letter of James, you would be surprised, for you would find my hostility ebbing away. Indeed, pencilled under the final paragraph, you would find my conclusion; words which I had written in a moment now gone: ‘The Most Beautiful Book in the Bible.’ Those were my thoughts at that time. I found its words speaking to me, as one often finds words do, whether they be song lyrics or classical literature. How could I, in my state of mind, escape words which described the way I was: ‘like a wave of the sea tossed hither and thither by the wind’, believing one day and doubting another?

This letter is one which has had a great impact upon me and one which I have returned to many times. My pencil marks on the page describe it as ‘pure and beautiful teaching’, because that is the feeling it created in me, and still does, when I read it. I try to put words to the feeling, but I find it very difficult. I can describe its opposition; like wading through treacle; but I can’t find the words to describe this. Perhaps almost sterile, like cold water, though none of these really describe it. Perhaps ‘pure and beautiful teaching’ will do, as in the first words that must have come to my mind.

Writing now, I am not an atheist or a doubter, but a Muslim; not a very good Muslim, but a Muslim none the less. In the past I have been criticised for drawing attention to The Letter from James, as a Muslim and I suppose I have some sympathy with those who complain, ‘How can you speak of that, when you reject the rest?’ But, as I have explained here, I can only say that it touched my heart.

It is my hope, therefore, that the reader is not offended when I approach this letter from a Muslim perspective, or rather my perspective as a Muslim. In reality, my reason for writing this commentary does not end with emotions. Rather, over the short time that I have been a Muslim, I believe that I have come to understand and appreciate the epistle better. One may read the letter through and through, but only on hearing those teachings uttered week on week in sermons, and then striving to act upon them, do I feel that the message really comes alive.

It is my intention, therefore, to present this commentary from that perspective. I do not claim to be objective: although I am a very poor example, I am a practising Muslim, and thus I write with this in mind. Nor do I claim to have studied the subject in great depth: these, instead, are my views and this commentary is my own approach. Should the reader wish to approach The Letter from James as a topic of study, I would suggest that he or she took up a scholarly commentary such as that of R. V. G. Tasker.3 However, what I present here is surely an adequate introduction to the shared heritage of Christianity and Islam.

Indeed, I hope within these pages to present a side of Islam which has remained hidden from the average non-Muslim. It will perhaps shed light on the reason for the supposed absence of piety amongst Muslims. Can piety, I may ask for example, be boastful? The lessons of The Letter from James, I believe, are a fine place to start in this connection. Thus, this is the final reason for presenting this commentary.

To end, I should point out that this commentary is written by one who is in constant need for such reminders as those held in the Letter and in this exposition. In writing it down, it is hoped that God, to whom all praise is due, might accept these words and in His mercy benefit the writer and the reader alike, if that is His will.

T. J. Bowes
University of Stirling,
December 1999.

Notes:

1 The King James Version has been used for copyright reasons only.

2 Iona, off the west coast of Scotland, is often referred to as ‘Holy Isle’. It has become a place of pilgrimage for many western Christians.

3 R. V. G. Tasker (1957) The General Epistle of James: An Introduction and Commentary (London: The Tyndale Press) [see also Schoeps].

Introduction

This is not a commentary in the sense of Biblical exegesis. In fact, it is not really a commentary on the Letter of James itself, but rather one which takes the epistle as a base from which to comment upon a much unknown tradition. It is a work of reflections, with the teachings of Islam reflected in the teachings of the Letter, a base from which I hope the reader will come to understand the former better. In part, I wonder how successfully this aim will be met, for in my own experience the Letter of James is the forgotten, or ignored, epistle of Christianity. I do not think that I have ever heard a reading from it within the walls of a church, or its teachings referred to. That, in my opinion, is a great shame, for it contains so much wisdom. Tasker gives a good historical overview of this subject, noting both its place in various ancient codexes and the opinions of it held by figures such as Luther and Tyndale. For the purpose of this commentary, however, I am optimistic, for I do not believe that my experience can really be a reflection of its place in Christianity. I am almost certain that any reader will appreciate what it says.

Yet, I should point out that it is not a coincidence that I have chosen the Letter of James as this base. While personally I feel an attachment to this letter, there is a more academic reason for its choice. One will consider James’ address to ‘the twelve tribes dispersed throughout the world,’ as an appellation which refers to the Israelites, such that we gain the impression that its origin is in Judaic-Christianity. This, as a connection, is one which will be recognised in scholarly circles, for, as Hans Küng et al point out, ‘the traditional and historical parallels between early Judaic-Christianity and Islam are inescapable.’ In Theology and History of Jewish Christianity, Hans-Joachim Schoeps writes:

‘Though it may not be possible to establish exact proof of the connection, the indirect dependence of Mohammed on sectarian Jewish Christianity is beyond any reasonable doubt. This leaves us with a paradox of truly world-historical dimensions: the fact that while Jewish Christianity in the Church came to grief, it was preserved in Islam and, with regard to some of its driving impulses at least, it has lasted till our own time.’

If we put the teachings of the letter and the teachings of Islam side by side, as I attempt to do so here, I do not think that one can fail to be struck by the similarities. By presenting them in this way, I am hoping to convey something of Islam which many people will be unaware of. Frequently the answer to alien phenomenon is to highlight difference. I believe, however, that it is useful to highlight the common ground. Thus, the reason for this commentary.

As an individual who has benefited from Islam on a personal level, I often think how I am to convey this almost unknown way of life to others. In the past I have often felt it necessary to confront the misunderstandings about and misrepresentations of Islam. Indeed, consideration of the religion is usually reduced to a number of clichés; that Islam oppresses women or that Muslims are violent, amongst others. Recently, however, I began to think differently as a result of being given the responsibility of delivering sermons before the student Muslim community. Unqualified to talk about the big issues which face Muslims, I took to speaking about matters of the heart, which I knew well due to my own failings. In the process of writing such a sermon I came to see what I had gained from Islam and what I had missed out on during my time of aimless wandering. Asking why nobody had told me of the things I know now, I came to realise that there was a hint in there for me. Hence, we arrive at a place where I finally get to a point of offering some of those things.

The sources are three: sermons I have listened to, books I have read and my own experience. There are a couple of books which I would especially like to recommend to anyone who is interested in further contemplation on the ideas in this study. The first is a very beautiful book by a woman named Umm Muhammad, called Realities of Faith. Aimed at believers, in six short chapters it presents studies regarding the heart and soul. These are: the awakening within oneself, taking account of the self, repentance, patience, the feeling of alienation, supplication, and death. Another very useful book is entitled, The Purification of the Soul, and is a compilation from the works of three great Muslim scholars. This book is made up of twenty-one chapters which deal with: sincerity, the nature of intention, the poisons of the heart, the states of the self, gratitude, and repentance, amongst others.