Falling

When I moved down to Cambridge in 1995 to work as a software tester for an IT company, I encountered a programmer who said he was quitting IT, heading off to work for the National Trust instead. The new-fangled email system and nascent internet were loading too many pressures on his shoulders and he could not wait to get out, to drive a tractor or something. The world has completely changed since then—in the course of my career I have only known this always-online world—but I can appreciate his sentiments perfectly. I often wish I could just turn off and disconnect. I sometimes think I might survive those old dreams of mine to disappear into the hills to live a subsistence lifestyle.

I mentioned my current feeling about the internet to my colleagues the other day and they all looked at me somewhat stunned. I have just got myself a job as a web application developer. ‘Don’t you think you might have chosen the wrong career path then?’ they asked me. Quite possibly.. I had just told them that I often think about cancelling my broadband internet connection, except that my wife now benefits from it greatly for staying in touch with family and friends overseas. ‘Okay, put it another way,’ I said, ‘I use the internet all the time, and that’s the problem.’ It wastes my time and worse.

I remember that feeling of relief we had after we disposed of our television six years ago. I can imagine such relief returning for me personally if I unplugged from this giant network. There is nothing fundamentally wrong with television: there is good in it as well as bad. The same is true of the internet. I am not condemning it as the ultimate source of evil. I am just saying I could live better without it, I think.

Today my heart is weighing heavy in my chest and I feel like I am burning up inside, and a memory keeps on recurring in my mind’s eye. A few years ago my wife and I holidayed in south Wales. One morning we were driving down hill along a private road. For a split second we freewheeled and I quickly lost control of the car. We hit a sharp rock and ripped one of the front tyres open. I managed to get the car back into gear, slow it down and regain control. But a minute on down the road, just round the bend, came a walker, rambling up the slope. I realised in that instant that I could have killed that man. The past few weeks I have been free wheeling (or free falling) just like that in my life. And now I see that walker, standing in my path. I think this pain in my chest is going to accompany me for a while now. I want to head for the hills and disappear.

Lying

Lying is the opposite of faith in God. The two cannot be together. And the worst of lies is slander.
{Bayhaqi}

13.7 billion years

According to contemporary scientists, it is thought that the universe came into being around 13.7 billion years ago. The basic characteristics of the very early universe have been described in the big bang theory, but scientists are still only able to make educated guesses about the details. High energy physics has been used to describe the evolution of the universe in the period that followed, explaining how the first protons, electrons and neutrons formed. They talk of the formation of the first nuclei, then the formation of atoms and of neutral hydrogen. A third period describes the formation of structure: matter coming together to form stars, quasars, galaxies, galaxy clusters and super clusters. I find this structural period fascinating.

Some of the most beautiful images I know are those showing deep space as generated by the Hubble Space Telescope. Those images always warm my soul, reminding me of the grandeur of our Creator, putting everything into perspective. One of the most exciting developments of recent times was the Hubble Ultra Deep Field image, which was derived from data accumulated between September 2003 and January 2004. Although this has been described as covering a small region of space, it is estimated to contain ten thousand galaxies. As the deepest image of the universe ever taken using the visible spectrum, it takes us back in time more than 13 billion years, showing us how the universe looked in the early Stelliferous age.

While the images of deep space in themselves are always heartwarming, their significance is also profoundly felt when one considers the words of the Qur’an about Allah’s creation. Sura 41, ayat 11, fails to provide us with a wooly, open description that the post-enlightenment age has taught us to expect from scripture. Far from it: the Hubble Ultra Deep Field image could be used to illustrate this verse. The non-Muslim, Arthur J. Arberry, translated it as follows in 1964:

Then He lifted Himself to heaven when it was smoke, and said to it and to the earth, “Come willingly, or unwillingly!” They said, “We come willingly.” *

This need not comes as a surprise for the Muslim who believes that the Qur’an is the Word of God. Of course the Creator can describe His creation in truthful terms. From His Throne, He is witness to all things. For the disbeliever who considers the Qur’an to be the fourteen hundred year old work of man, however, it could be nothing but a miracle: it would even have been so had it originated in 1964, twenty-nine years before Hubble was operational. Allah is magnificent.

One of my favorite websites is http://hubblesite.org. For me it is a reminder of what we really mean when we say ‘Allahu Akbar’ – God is Great. In these days of conflict, it is wonderful to remind ourselves of these things. If we set our short lives beside the fourteen billion years of Allah’s creation, it helps put everything into perspective. It reminds us of our place. It reminds us of why we are here and our part in this great scheme of things. It is right that we reflect upon these things, because it is what Allah asked of those us who were not brought up as Muslims. This is how that same Arabist translated sura 21, ayat 30:

Have not the unbelievers then beheld that the heavens and the earth were a mass all sewn up, then We unstitched them and of water fashioned every living thing? Will they not believe?

For my part, I have beheld and thus I am one who witnesses that none has the right to be worshipped except Allah alone without partner and that Muhammad is his Messenger. Allah is magnificent. Visit that site and reflect. It is well worth it. Notice how it strengthens your du’a.

* A. J. Arberry (1964), The Koran Interpreted, Oxford University Press, p.491

Fifty Thousand

So it is the day after May Day once more. While I often forget my birthday, this bank holiday and the day that follows it in the UK calendar is stuck in my memory. Eight years ago this wee holiday was the weekend I concluded that I believed in Islam. The Tuesday that followed was the day I uttered those few significant words: None has the right to be worshipped except God and Muhammad is his messenger. I am not alone in this however. I did not meet my future wife for another three years, but by God’s will she too had become Muslim over that same early May bank holiday in 1998. So we’ve both been living this life for eight years. It is some kind of reminder for us: the little we have done, and how much we still have to learn. And it could all have been very different: I trapped my ankle in a revolving door that bright sunny morning and almost turned right around to hobble my way back home. I had also decided, while believing Islam to be true, that I’d talk to my family about it first. Instead, I uttered those words that I have repeated at least fifty-thousand times since.

The Nomad

Sometimes I feel like the nomad. I came to Islam towards the end of the twentieth century of the Christian Era, over fourteen hundred years after the Prophet’s migration to Medina, peace be upon him. I came to Islam after the European colonial age which saw the slaughter of Muslim scholars and the “Great Powers” playing different groups of Muslims off against each other. I came to Islam after the seed of nationalism had grown into a vast but barren tree.

Those born into practicing Muslim families could at the very least grasp on to the tradition of their parents, seeking refuge in the remains of a living tradition. This was the discussion I had with my wife two nights ago that prompted me to hammer out that huge post on knowledge: as converts to Islam we are thrown into the deep sea of confusion, looking this way and that, listening to the competing claims of Muslims here and there. The Scholars are the inheritors of the Prophet, peace be upon him, we are told: but which Scholars? Perpetually we are warned of corrupt scholars, government scholars, wolves in sheep’s clothing, pretenders to the throne… the list goes on. We do not have Muslim heritage to look back on. We cannot ask our grandparents about their grandparents.

So I do find myself harking after the simple faith of the nomad. If you ask me what my aqida is, I will say I do not know. I don’t even know what aqida is. Just now I simply pray and fast and give charity, and try to be kind to those around me. This is about the entirety of my Islam. I am well aware that there are dangers in this, but it is all I can do in this time of confusion. I cling to the jamat wherever I find myself and focus on those actions about which there is no disagreement: the smile which is a charity, control of the tongue, the five prayers and their companions, a few coins to one in need, responding to the one who asks.

I cannot do more than this because my mind is too small to fathom the pathway to the past as it passed through the era of European Empire. My wife is Armenian and she tells me of the mischief of the British, as they encouraged the Armenian uprising whilst the Turks were defending their borders. The scene was replicated throughout the Muslim lands. Ethnic groups turning on one another, scholars slaughtered, the European Powers promoting one group of Muslims against another… The simple faith of the nomad seems safer somehow.

As an agnostic about ten years ago I wrote a somewhat irreverent piece about my search for the truth. While I have faith today, testifying that none has the right to be worshipped except God and that Muhammad is His messenger, there remains a mustard seed of truth in that piece. It is no longer a question of religion, but of who you can trust to follow. Just follow the Qur’an and Sunnah, say some, but we all know it is not so simple. Am I to interpret them myself, given my distance in time, space and language from the Prophet and his companions? Everyone agrees that the scholars are the inheritors of the religion, to explain these matters to us, but we do not agree on which scholars: which are the wolves and which the pretenders to the throne. I know that ijazzah can be traced to ijazzah, back through the generations, but where is this presented? So there remains a grain of truth in that piece of mine from a decade ago:

Question everything, but don’t tell anyone. When you’re on that journey of yours, never confess that you’re completely lost. Just smile, grin, and bear it. It’s going to infuriate you, but nobody will understand. In their control rooms, they have their timetables and maps. To them it’s obvious, so why can’t you see that?

… Recently, you were going to church every Sunday, hoping a sermon would cure your questioning mind. And one day, your lucky day, they invite the unsure, the faithless, the agnostic, to stay behind after the service, where they’ll explain it to you and make you see the truth. You sit there and wait: you pray they’ll make you see, but soon you discover that it’s not you who’s blind. The preacher arrogantly assumes that you’re just ignorant, that you don’t have faith because you’re ignorant. Because you didn’t read the Bible.

“Well, actually, I was reading the Bible, I just didn’t see the proof.”

And what is the preacher’s proof? He says it’s obvious. Well, no, it isn’t obvious, because you wouldn’t be sitting here listening to him if it was. He arrogantly assumes that those without faith simply have no faith because they never tried and never thought about it. He tells you that it’s obvious, so obvious that even a four year old could understand. But wait. You’re not four years old; the four year old didn’t read the Bible, she just sucked on her lolly and never wondered if the sugar would rot her teeth.

An editor recently left a message on my answer-phone asking me to write a balanced view of the birthday of the Prophet in light of my Christian upbringing. I very nearly did not write anything because I do not know anything about the topic. When I eventually got a few thoughts together the result was neither passionate nor critical. At best it was wishy-washy. I was asked to tie it in with how I viewed Christmas as a Christian and so I merely described my experience. It was not an argument in favour or against, but merely a description of my encounter. The truth is, I have never met anyone celebrating his birth, only those who commemorate it by focusing on his biography; so I said so. I concluded:

…as I ponder on those I witnessed expressing such love for the Prophet as they read his sirah and his sunnah, I can only conclude that whatever I write will be worthless, because I do not know the Messenger as I should.

This prompted somebody to respond with eight hundred words on the question of innovation. Talk about interpretation. I was talking about how love for the Prophet permeates the actions of those who sit and learn, of those who immerse themselves in learning. I was talking about how distant I am from that example. I was saying that their love inspires me to learn much more. You see, I have the faith of the nomad, but I want so much more.

The uncomfortable voice within

Mainstream contemporary discourse represents a relativist worldview, wherein there is no truth, only ideas and arguments; all beliefs are generally valid, although some are more valid than others. For people of faith this has major implications.

A few years ago, one of the discussions of the Church of England’s General Synod concerned Christian witness in a plural society. Writing in the Church Times at the time, David Banting noted that Muslims expect Christians to have convictions as clear as their own. He was right. 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.

In my own case, as a convert, it is impossible to ignore the fact that my belief in Islam causes deep unhappiness within my family. While I am not a good believer and my practice is hugely wanting, I do believe sincerely. It is not something that I take lightly, nor is it something that I took on as a choice of fashion. I came down this path because I believe that it is the correct way to worship God. For this reason I cannot turn my back on it for the reason of bringing ease in my personal relationships.
Most people who are sincere in their faith hold a position similar to this, whether they are Roman Catholic, Pentecostal, Buddhist, Baha’i or Jewish. I have been told that my family and friends continually pray that I may be guided back to the truth. They worry about me, fear that I have taken the wrong path and that, on the Day of Judgement, I will be amongst the losers. This situation is just one of the things which come with the territory of believing there to be a definitive truth and a reason for our existence. On both sides we believe that we have a hold of the truth.

Yet our relationship does not end there. Indeed there need be no conflict 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. Periods of Islamic history attest to the fact that pluralism can coexist with a one-way faith, however much today’s religious puritans and secular fundamentalists may wish to prove otherwise.

A survey of all the counties touched by Islam will reveal the existence of local and diverse culture. Just look at the mosques of Turkey, India, Mali or China: each of the designs manifest something of an indigenous tradition. Consider the mastery of the Urdu poets, the literature of the Arabs or the growing body of modern self-expression in blogistan and cyberspace. Jewish writers have noted that many of their forefathers flourished as scholars under Muslim rule in Spain. Srebrenica was once a glowing example of coexistence in the midst of Europe. It is true to say that our history was not all light, but for every instance of shame we can find another to be proud about.

Muslim tradition teaches that Islam was the religion of all the Prophets. At the same time it stresses that there is one path to God: that affirmed by all of them, that none should be worshipped except the one true God, the Creator of all things. The fact that I believe this does not negate my contribution to a pluralist society. We do not need to pretend that we cannot understand another person’s point of view because we maintain firm beliefs. Muslims believe in God as the Creator of all things and therefore as the God worshipped by Jews and Christians. A Christian, however, might well argue that this is not the case in view of their Trinitarian theology; since Islam rejects the idea that anything in creation can also be the Creator, the demarcation is clear. We may hold completely different beliefs, but we are not incapable of understanding one another. The argument for the resurrection in the Christian worldview is that humans are irreparably corrupt and so our only salvation is through the blood of Christ. Islam, however, denies the concept of fallen humanity and original sin. Does this mean we cannot talk to each other?

I believe 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.

Unfortunately, this alternative view of pluralism has become dominant today. Conviction is aligned with intolerance, while those who reject the relativist worldview are accused of promoting cultural ghettos. Since the massacres in London last summer we have heard much about the failure of multiculturalism from politicians, journalists and commentators alike. This is nothing new. Over the past thirty years there has been a growing body of theologians determined to frame religion in relativist terms. One William Cantwell Smith argues that it is a form of idolatry for Christians to believe that Christianity alone is true. This suggests that they worship Christianity. 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. For the majority of followers the religion is merely the transport towards an end; they do not worship it, but use it to worship.

Yet again I insist that the concept of pluralism need not pose difficulties for our mere existence as believers of different faiths. The question is how it affects our ability to share our faith. This is the crux of the matter for me as a convert. To believe in a path as the one authentic way to worship God and yet withhold that from my loved ones is a form of hypocrisy. In life it is easier to hide — fearing to cause offence by saying that you believe this to be the way — than to invite others to believe in what you believe. Because the dominant argument of our age insists that there is no single truth and that while some views may be more valid than others, all beliefs are nevertheless legitimate, we can feel uncomfortable when it comes to sharing our beliefs with others. We avoid being a nuisance or causing resentment at all costs.

Even as this dominates, however, with belief there is always an uncomfortable feeling inside: one day, when our meeting with our Lord finally comes, will my family and friends not hold me to account for failing to adequately explain this belief to them? The uncomfortable voice within says that though you fear their anger now, there is something worse along the line if you are silent.

For believers of whatever faith, it is the central dilemma of our age.