Is it time to retire this blog?

The author is considering to retire this blog.

The older posts look like they were written by someone else. Then there are reactive posts expressing frustration with the community’s star leaders and sometimes ordinary Muslims, which represent the author’s not-so-distant past.

Many of these posts were written with indignation and frustration that people weren’t doing Islam right. And it was getting in the way of winning people over to Islam. 😬

There was concern about the growing number of muslims who no longer resonate with the ideals and concerns of traditional Islam but do not have a clear alternative in front of them either. People’s relationship with God was at stake.

There was continued belief in the promise of the qur’ān and Islam. There was a desire to articulate things in a manner that spoke to people of our time and place, especially those on the margins who are often treated like witches in medieval Christian Europe. To them the star shaikh does not speak, but fears them. And the mobs cheering for the celebrity shaikh on social media despise them too, because these people on the margins are party poopers. They ought to be attacked and lynched with words, if not on the street, for the threat they pose to the hegemonic majority.

For feeling the pain of these people on the margins and beginning to identify with them, the author sometimes screamed. He was advised, counselled and attacked. Because he was no longer speaking for and to the majority. What was wrong with him, people wondered. Why is he agitated. Why does he bite. Hush. Go away. Behave yourself.

While the author questions the reactive nature of his writing and the indignation, he also feels that he could not be radical enough on this platform. Because he was policed by friends and foes. He could not be his emerging true self. The orthodox don’t like unorthodox talk.

But he needs to ask new questions. He needs to engage in newer inconvenient conversations. He needs to push the boundaries – for his own growth and possibly the benefit of others who are concerned with similar questions. This blog is likely not the forum for that purpose.

It is perhaps the end of one chapter and the beginning of another. 

God, spare us Nouman Ali Khan's wisdom.

Dear God,

Not so long after Nouman Ali Khan messed up in a serious way, he got back into the business of selling you. And he has got his audience. 

I am guessing his 2017 mess taught him a lesson or two and affected, hopefully in a good way, how he conducts himself. But he is still weird, God. He makes lots of non-sense. And it is very unsettling for some of us.

I wasn't really hoping he would be significantly more thoughtful or well-rounded compared to his own past, just that he would shut up on certain issues, if not altogether as he was advised.

I watched this clip yesterday (courtesy my YouTube feed) and I am nauseated.

NAK is telling his ‘boys’ to ditch the witch if they care to please you and not let her emotionally manipulate them into continuing the ‘harām’ interactions (like NAK's own from a couple of years ago?!). And so they walk away from sin for the sake of your pleasure.

God, please tell us this is not about you. Tell us you are not the kind of god that can be pleased in this way.

I am tired of this notion of ‘sin’ where the (male) individual only risks his reputation with you and harms his own ākhirat – like there is no other stakeholder.

Men and women will continue to be attracted to each other. Preachers like NAK don't care to learn about the sociology of what they describe as ‘haram’ interactions or relationships. And they are not equipped to address the harm done to a woman when the repenting man walks away from her, either.

NAK is basically encouraging his bros to ditch women after hanging out (and possibly sleeping) with them, so you would be pleased. This makes for a recipe for abuse, God. Men won't stop engaging in such ‘relationships’. But given NAK's advice, they will walk away from ‘sin’ (i.e. the womankind) when they are sufficiently remorseful or ready to settle with a woman of their mom's choice.

I am tired of such religious advice that is not based on a social-scientific understanding of human experience and that fails to address how an individual's ‘sin’ affects other human beings and the planet – your creation, good lord!

While we are at it, I want to also share with you that the larger impact of an individual's sin appears to be disregarded more often when the perpetrator is a man than when she is a woman. In other words, a man's sin is more likely to be subsidized and discounted as an individual affair, between you and him; but a woman's sin seems to affect an entire family, a society, perhaps the universe.

God, I have a favorable opinion of you. And I want to maintain it. Please tell us that you are not freaking out when men and women experience attraction and a desire for love and compassion that you celebrate (Qur’an 30:21). Let us normalize this attraction and bonding. Help us see the beauty in two human beings coming together and teasing the possibilities with excitement and hope.

Then if a man, or a woman, thinks it is not feasible for them to be with someone, let them find the courage and the decency to communicate that to the other. Let them shoulder some of the responsibility that comes with freedom and not use you as an excuse to vanish from someone's life.

God, it is not ok to give hope and promise to a fellow human, a woman, then ‘repent’ and walk away from her. It is my conviction that you cannot be appeased and pleased at the expense of your creation. For we have been told to not make allāh an excuse to evade our responsibilities to fellow humans (Qur’an 2:224).

I am so done with these notions of ‘sin’ that deny human nature, ignore social reality, and diminish the impact of our behavior (men's behavior, in particular) while bidding to please you.

Spare us Nouman Ali Khan's wisdom, please. And pave the way for better ways of doing islām.

Thank you.

A good word is like a good tree

أَلَمْ تَرَ كَيْفَ ضَرَبَ اللّهُ مَثَلاً كَلِمَةً طَيِّبَةً كَشَجَرةٍ طَيِّبَةٍ أَصْلُهَا ثَابِتٌ وَفَرْعُهَا فِي السَّمَاء تُؤْتِي أُكُلَهَا كُلَّ حِينٍ بِإِذْنِ رَبِّهَا وَيَضْرِبُ اللّهُ الأَمْثَالَ لِلنَّاسِ لَعَلَّهُمْ يَتَذَكَّرُونَ وَمَثلُ كَلِمَةٍ خَبِيثَةٍ كَشَجَرَةٍ خَبِيثَةٍ اجْتُثَّتْ مِن فَوْقِ الأَرْضِ مَا لَهَا مِن قَرَارٍ – إبراهيم 24–26

Have you considered how God describes a good word like a good tree that is firmly grounded and its trunk rises high into the sky. It bears fruit all the time that people benefit from. And it begets more of its kind. It begets goodness.

As for evil, or a foul word, it is like a sick tree that is barely rooted. It does not bear fruit, nor does it give life. It does not survive.

Why should we consume ourselves with a sick tree! Why not plant a good word. Why not light a candle that we must light.

The Legacy of Junaid Jamshed: Radicalisation, Privilege & Hero-worship (A Response to faisal)

(This post reads as an address to the author of Mourning Junaid Jamshed after years of estrangement: An open letter to the fans of the star preacher, which was posted on this blog a few days ago following Junaid Jamshed's death in an airplane crash. NB: Faisal has since modified the original post.)

I must say that compared to some of your earlier posts, this one comes across as a little less ‎thoughtful and a little more adversarial. While you bring up valid concerns relating to privilege and its ‎associated blind-spots, you also engage in considerable projection and ascription.

Your mukhatab in this post is a straw-man of your own construction – to whom you ascribe an ‎assortment of undesirable attitudes and beliefs. You proceed to carry out a purely speculative ‎psychoanalysis of this person:‎

“You view his Tablighi career as virtuous, but you loved him for his past that you deemed sinful: ‎his career in music. You loved him not because he was a good preacher. There are lots of them ‎that you do not care about. You loved Junaid because he was a pop star in the first place, and ‎you love stars, especially after they convert to your religious sensibility, and bring you lots of ‎validation. Just as you have loved Yusuf Islam (aka Cat Stevens), and Muhammad Ali for their ‎iconic status. Because these celebrities bring you validation, they make you feel good about ‎your religion and ultimately yourself. You loved Junaid Jamshed because he embodied the ‎tension that you experience yourself. He embodied your love for music, which you think is ‎sinful, and your desire to be devoted to God, at once. His conversion to Tablighi religion was a ‎story of spiritual success that you wish you would achieve in your own life. Renounce ‘sin’ and ‎devote yourself to God.”

While some of this psychoanalysis may hold a kernel of truth, it is important to recognise that it is an ‎exercise in speculation – doubling the zann factor of your analysis.

You later address the “real” people who you have known to celebrate JJ’s life and stardom, for whom ‎he has been a hero, and who now fill your newsfeed with homage and tributes to him after his death. ‎What I see you doing here is inflicting a kind of violence – denying these people the space to celebrate ‎a hero of their choosing and to mourn his passing. People have well-founded reasons to celebrate ‎him: As an artist, he produced extremely popular music; as a religious preacher, he was involved in philanthropy; as a “personality”, his life-story had elements of drama and ‎pathos which have universal appeal among people. People always choose heroes who bring them and ‎their identity validation – this isn’t unique to JJ’s followers. You cannot ignore these very ‎understandable reasons for people to love him. More importantly, however, you cannot deny these ‎people the space to celebrate him – or worse – deny them the consideration and compassion they ‎deserve while they mourn his tragic passing.‎

You state that you find the shift in his religiosity alienating. His renunciation of music and the espousal ‎of “a religious sensibility that denies human nature” makes you uneasy. You are unable to celebrate ‎him or to see him as your role model. Your religious sensibilities are more expansive, more complex, ‎more nuanced. Fair enough.‎

I do not see Junaid Jamshed’s evangelism as a call for/towards radicalisation in itself – even though ‎elements of radicalisation and sexism come with the package of the Islam he preached. He was ‎primarily a caller to God – as is the tendency of the Tablighi movement in general. Sexism and the ‎renunciation of music was not his central message; it wasn’t something he specifically preached. He ‎may have experienced a radical shift in his personal life, but he did not call on his followers to do the ‎same. He sang nasheeds instead of Gorey rang ka zamana. He grew a hideous beard and decided to ‎look unsexy. On the spectrum of radicalisation, the nature and scale of JJ’s message is pretty ‎innocuous.‎

Relatedly, I would argue that in a class analysis, Junaid Jamshed’s later life was a continuation of his earlier avatar as a pop star. He started out in the Pakistan Air Force, shot to popularity ⁠with a career in ‎music, established an upmarket designer label, and died a huge celebrity in a plane crash. I mean these ‎are not exactly experiences everyone can relate to. These are not the standard landmarks of an ‎average Pakistani’s life. He was born an upper-middle or upper-class urban elite; he lived as one his ‎whole life; and he died as one.‎

The upheavals of his inner life were magnified because of his public stature. While extreme shifts of ‎lifestyle may not inspire you personally, I do not see what is wrong with taking inspiration from such ‎individuals in general. Most of the early converts to Muhammad’s religion were people who ‎experienced extreme reversals of faith, extreme about-turns in their entire worldview. In the matter ‎of a few moments, Umar al-Khattab was transformed from being a staunch enemy of the movement to ‎probably its strongest champion. There is something to be said for people who are open-minded ‎enough to renounce a cherished lifestyle after coming across something that makes better sense to ‎them. It indicates a certain innate humility, an acknowledgement of the fallibility of belief, a spiritual maturity that risks being mistaken as fickleness.

However, it is also unacceptable that Junaid Jamshed’s fans – mostly mainstream Sunni men from the ‎Indian subcontinent – institute a discursive tyranny of their own by appealing to etiquette (or “sunni ‎adab”, as you call it). Etiquette often becomes an instrument to wield privilege, to venerate existing ‎structures of power, and to silence valid criticism. The excuse of etiquette is used by men to silence ‎women in a patriarchy. Tone-policing is the standard tactic of continuing to oppress a minority ‎population – such as Black people in the US. Likewise, suppressing criticism of someone out of ‎‎“respect” becomes a means of maintaining discursive hegemony. I have personally never understood ‎the logic of putting a moratorium on criticising a dead person. How does someone’s death suddenly ‎make it unacceptable to criticise them (as long as it isn’t done disrespectfully)? If you disagreed with ‎and criticised someone while they were alive, why can you not continue that after they’re dead? By ‎that measure, does it ever become okay to criticise a dead person? If not, how do we study history – ‎which deals with talking about dead people – without violating the expectations of adab? Additionally, ‎this adab tends to be selectively extended only to people we personally respect – we pick and choose ‎who gets to be respected in death and who doesn’t.

On this point, I thank you for putting this in terms of class, gender and cultural privilege and the ‎maintenance and reproduction of their respective hegemonies.

In short, Junaid Jamshed was your average garden-variety sexist maulvi whose real-world influence ‎doesn’t extend beyond a certain space-time capsule. Let us respectfully disagree with some of the ‎things that come with the package of his Islam. Above all, let these disagreements be part of an ‎ongoing exchange of ideas within the cultural universe of Islam, instead of ill-timed ad hominem attacks during moments of loss and ‎grieving. In subverting systems of oppression, let us not institute a tyranny of our own, an ugly ‎obstinacy that goes against wisdom and compassion. We need to develop an etiquette of beautiful ‎resistance.‎⁠⁠

Mourning Junaid Jamshed after years of estrangement: An open letter to the fans of the star preacher

Distressed souls grieving the dramatic passing of Junaid the preacher,

Have you ever mourned the loss of someone that you got estranged from several years ago? Someone you loved at some point, but some of their choices in life complicated how you felt about them. If you have, you might understand some of what I am going to say here, and what others – who were not excited about Junaid Jamshed’s career as a religious preacher, but valued his work as a pop artist – have said elsewhere.

You tend to view Junaid’s Tablighi career as virtuous, but you loved him for his past that you deemed sinful: his career in music. You loved him not because he was a good preacher. There are lots of good preachers that you do not care about. You loved Junaid because he was a pop star in the first place, and you love stars, especially after they convert to your religious sensibility and bring you lots of validation. Just as you have loved Yusuf Islam (aka Cat Stevens) and Muhammad Ali for their iconic status. Because these celebrities bring you validation, they make you feel good about your religion and ultimately yourself.

You loved Junaid Jamshed because he embodied the tension that you experience yourself. He embodied your love for music, which you think is sinful, and your desire to be devoted to God, at once. His conversion to Tablighi religion was a story of spiritual success that you wish you could replicate in your own life: Renounce ‘sin’ and devote yourself to God.

Yet there are people including myself who do not see his career in music as a bad thing. Music and poetry are essential means for us to capture our humanity, and share our experience with fellow humans. Junaid’s music was among the limited means that were available to me as I grew up the in the 90s and early 2000s. His songs were the voice of my heart.

Junaid Jamshed’s renunciation of his past and conversion to Tablighi faith was alienating, but I respected the choice he made for himself. Later on, his overt sexism, and eventually polygamy, that he assumed and practiced as a normative aspect of my religion was very troubling. But most fans of Junaid the preacher do not seem to have any problem with that. You would like to hush any talk of your hero’s sexism. You think it is passing ‘judgment’ on him after he has died. No – it is scrutiny of his influence as a public figure and his representation of my religion!

While I appreciate Junaid’s spiritual striving and I wish him well in the afterlife, I do not see him as my role model. I cannot quite appreciate his pendulum swing, much less his understanding and representation of my faith. People who are too religious then too worldly, or too worldly then too religious are very human – I do not ‘judge’ them. They are certainly deserving of God’s favors as anyone else, but I do not relate with their experience. I do not like the idea of renouncing part of yourself in favor of another.

I am inspired and intrigued by people who excel in the middle path, who perfect moderation to an art, who are at peace with their humanness and connected with God at once. Those are my role models, and they are often not stars.

Junaid bought into a religious sensibility that denies human nature. Where making peace with God means that you renounce your humanity in a certain way. Thus, you appreciate a bird dancing to impress another as a marvel of God’s creativity. You appreciate the pufferfish carving beautiful patterns deep down the sea to find a mate. But if a man danced for a woman, or a woman sang to a man, you are outraged. You think it is sinful.

Such conception of religion is not native to God’s creation. It is not the din al-fitrah that many claim it is.

The poetry and music that many of us view as sinful do not compete with God’s word. The texts and traditions that have become sacrosanct do. The people that we honor side by side with God do. They are idols that we are unable to break. And that is why religion has become so much more than oneness of God and becoming one with zir creation.

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People wanting to hush critiques of Junaid’s religious legacy say it is about respecting the dead. I am afraid it is not. We tend to spare our heroes necessary scrutiny when they are alive and when they are dead.

Fans of Junaid wanting to hush critical voices that do not resonate with them is a sign of the dominance and the privilege that certain people enjoy in the Pakistani social-religious world.

While Junaid was alive, his fans urged people to forgive him after he issued an apology for the alleged blasphemy against the prophet’s wife. But how many advocated for Aasia bibi and other voiceless people accused of blasphemy to be forgiven after they apologized or pleaded not guilty? I suspect that many people in the country who defended Junaid against blasphemy accusations silently watched or cheered the murder of Governor Taseer for seeking pardon for Aasia bibi, an underprivileged woman from the marginalized Christian community.

When the “righteous” assassinated the characters of Taseer, Edhi and Qandeel Baloch postmortem, how many posted on Facebook and Twitter asking people to stop?

As a nation, we only care to rescue privileged religious celebrities, our lesser gods that we worship but we acknowledge not.

We ask critics to not ‘judge’ them. Their account is closed when they die, and ours is still open. We speak of their weaknesses as very personal in terms of their harm. We wish away their influence as public figures, or we assume it was entirely good. Because our heroes reflect our own thoughts, we are baffled when others call them out for normalizing sexism and misogyny.

As a people, we are obsessed with protecting ‘impressionable’ minds who apparently cannot think for themselves. Yet we want Junaid Jamshed’s ignorant talk on TV shows and interviews to be excused. Few are alarmed when Maulana Tariq Jameel says the prophet sent him a message that Junaid was doing ok in his company. Anything goes so long as it is coming from people that work within a certain framework that we honor and privilege. On the other hand, righteous guardians of faith are ruthless in scrutinizing someone like Javed Ghamidi. And we will turn a blind eye when people write awful things about his legacy after he dies, and some will take pleasure.

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Check your privilege, folks. And the privilege of those that you defend: the Sunni male privilege compounded by stardom. Who deserves your sympathies has really become a function of gender, religious affiliation and ostentatious symbolism, and social and cultural status. You are being selective, to the advantage of the privileged, in who you care about and who you speak up for.

Check your own privilege and that of a religious celebrity that lets you turn a blind eye to what others are describing as normalization of sexism and misogyny by a public figure. Check the privilege that makes you want to hush critical voices and police the parameters of the discourse.

What is wrong with CII suggesting men may hit their wives

When I first came across the proposals of Pakistan’s Council of Islamic Ideology (CII) for a “model” women’s protection bill, I thought I would just ignore it and remain focused on the more urgent things in my own life. I changed my mind when I read Khalid Zaheer sb’s post in which he (too) elaborates when a man may hit his wife. I was disappointed and I thought I had to pen down my thoughts.

The anachronism and absurdity of other proposals deserves our attention too, but I will restrict myself to CII’s recommendation that “a husband may, when needed, lightly beat his wife.”

CII, respected Khalid Zaheer sb, and others would justify or give an apologist explanation for the alleged permission by making reference to Qur’an 4:34. The verse permits men fearing nushūz from their wives to “advise them, not sleep with them, and/or hit them.”

Aside from the difficulty in interpreting nushūz that seriously limits the applicability of this portion of the verse, the misconception that Qur’an allows men of our time to hit their wives is based on a fundamentally flawed assumption: That all verses of Qur’an are applicable in all times and places! That the entire text of Qur’an is universal and absolute in its applicability.

In this post, I will argue that a certain kind of Qur’anic verses, including 4:34, work only in relation to their spatial and temporal cultural context. While they remain instructive in some ways, they do not (fully) apply in all times and places. In fact, the more you attend to their immediate context, the harder it gets to justify their applicability in other settings. These verses are relative and contingent and their application limited to their immediate circumstances. For most practical purposes, they belong in history.

Sadly, well-meaning scholars of the past and the present have often stripped the contingent verses of Qur’an of their context and suggested continued applicability out of their desire to continually derive guidance from God’s word. This is why CII can’t admit that physical disciplining of one’s wife is a thing of the past and Khalid Zaheer sb has difficulty saying that a man may not be allowed to beat his wife under any circumstances in 21st-century Pakistan.

So what is universal and what is contingent in Qur’an? What is absolute and what is relative?

Human beings relate with the metaphysical propositions of Qur’an independent of the realities of their time and space. Thus, God is one, whether you are born in 7th-century Arabia or 21st-century North America. That we will be held accountable for the kind of lives we have lived and admitted to the garden or the fire is as true today as it was in the time of Moses and Pharaoh.

Similarly, the general ethical principles outlined in Qur’an apply as much today as they did in the past. Truthfulness is a virtue in Asia as well as Africa. Striving for justice and caring for the weak is as desirable today as it was in the time of Jesus.

These metaphysical and general ethical propositions of Qur’an constitute the universal dimension of the Arabic proclamation.

On the other hand, specific instructions relating to specific circumstances and situations cannot be isolated from their context. They are necessarily tied to a certain segment of human history. They cannot (and they are not meant to) be applied to other settings and other peoples without regard to the peculiarities of their own time and space. The specific ordinances of Qur’an are really archives of what was happening at the time and how God and the messenger dealt with it. They are contingent. They are relative. They remain insightful and instructive, but readers of Qur’an may not be able to observe them literally in a different time and place. In fact, literal adherence to some of these texts could very well run contrary to the spirit of Qur’an.

What I have suggested here is not new. In Islamic history, we see numerous instances of departure from the text of Qur’an (and the prophet’s example) as the spatial and temporal reality of believers changed.

The second caliph ‘Umar, for example, is known to have suspended the Qur’anic instruction to amputate the hand of a thief in view of the economic reality in his time. He is also known to have departed from the prophet’s practice in distributing the spoils of war. He reserved conquered land for the state so that individual warriors don’t turn into feudal lords.

The Ḥanafī principle of istiḥsān (juristic preference) also entails departure from an obvious analogy or qiyās to arrive at a solution that is more in line with the demands of justice. The historical discussions of maqāṣid al-sharī‘ah (objectives of law) sought to identify overarching concerns of the Qur’anic discourse so as to guide the Islamic juristic practice in matters where literal adherence to the text was not helpful.

These examples show that early Muslims did not think that literal adherence to foundational Islamic texts was always required of them. People like ‘Umar Ibn Khaṭṭāb, Abū Ḥanīfah and his earliest disciples had imbibed the Qur’anic spirit, and confidently made their call as khulafā’ of God whenever needed. They upheld the spirit of Qur’an, not always the letter.

In our own times, people resort to scientific calculations of astronomical dawn, or when the sun is 16 or 15 degrees below the horizon, and not their ability to distinguish between black and white threads (as Qur’an proposes) to begin fasting in the morning.

Qur’an prescribes a procedure for recording the transaction when a person borrows money from another: have a scribe write down the transaction in the presence of two witnesses; if two male witnesses are not available, have one male and two female witnesses so if one of the women forgets, the second would remind her; follow the procedure whether the transaction is small or large, for it helps establishing testimony should a confusion arise (2:282–283). Yet the most observant of Muslims are comfortable with having a mere electronic record of the transaction – an email exchange may be. It is because we believe electronic records are convenient and often more reliable than having a scribe write down a transaction in the presence of two witnesses.

These are instances of departure from literal observance of the Qur’anic text warranted by availability of better means. We do it. And we know it is alright. Yet the Council of Islamic Ideology insists that DNA evidence may not be admissible in cases of rape! They insist that a man may beat his wife if needed.

If a friend shared with us that they are having difficulties in their marriage, who in their right mind says, “Ahan! Sounds like nushūz. Here is what Qur’an wants you to do”? No sensible Muslim, not even people identifying as ‘ulamā’ refer their loved ones to Qur’an 4:34 or 4:128. When someone reports marital discord, we share our two cents if we are close to them, and we refer them to a counselor, a wise person in the family, or an experienced and thoughtful friend. We attend to the peculiarities of their case, instead of offering them one pill that works for all.

It’s about time that we acknowledged that verses like 4:34 belong in history. That insisting on continued permissibility of men disciplining their wives is contrary to the spirit of Qur’an, just as it is offensive to say that slavery is still permissible.

Specific instructions of Qur’an pertaining to specific situations are not like a ceiling – they are more likely the baseline, the foundation upon which to build better human societies. It was not the creator’s intent to give us answers to all possible questions in Qur’an. With its core universal teachings, the word of God seeks to cultivate an ethical consciousness, with which we navigate the world. Confronted with an infinite number of new situations, we are expected to use our best judgment and make our call as khulafā’ of the creator, as custodians of God’s world, instead of stretching Qur’an and other Islamic texts beyond their spatial and temporal contexts and making a mockery of religion.

A Belated Reflection on Being Muslim in Short Shorts

In the world of biblical studies, Paul Ricœur has described a (believing) scholar’s relationship with the bible as consisting of three stages: first naiveté, critical distance, and second naiveté. The former is when the reader or the scholar approaches the bible on the latter's terms, without questioning its assumptions, considering it to be the word of God speaking directly to believers of all times and places. For various reasons, some people get disillusioned from this state of naiveté, and enter a phase of critical distance, when they begin to question the assumptions of the sacred text, consider its constituent parts to be culturally and historically contingent reflecting the concerns of and speaking to a people who lived in a certain time and place, and explore the question of authorship with a historical-critical approach. Following a phase of critical distance, some people would enter another phase of naiveté, where they come within a hearing distance of the bible and allow the text to speak to them (yet again, or for the first time in the case of some) albeit on new terms consistent with the insights gained from the historical-critical study of the text. I will come back to this in a moment.

Last month, Thanaa el‑Najjar published her courageous piece Practicing Islam in Short Shorts on Gawker's True Stories. The piece captures some of the challenges a Muslim woman living in 21st century North America experiences in terms of her identity, relationship with the community and the tradition, and connection with the divine. Aside from the author’s appeal to “intentions” as the core of (or more important than) actions (al‑a‘māl bi‑al‑nīyāt), I thought the piece was very thought provoking.

Thanaa’s piece went viral on the internet. It seems a lot of people found it unsettling. A few people responded by posting their own pieces. People fear that Thanaa’s coming out as Muslim would normalize wearing “short shorts, drinking whiskey, and smoking weed.” They would rather have her pass as non-Muslim, or marginally Muslim, incapable and unworthy of a connection with the divine, a “sinner”, one who is not a “true believer” even if “Muslim” from a dated Islamic juristic point of view. One of my Facebook friends said, “I am actually glad she does not outwardly say she is Muslim because I do not want people to base their perception of Islam upon her…I will not let her be an example of a proper Muslim woman to my daughter.” As one might notice, we don’t need certified men of knowledge (known as ‘ulamā’ in popular parlance) to be gatekeepers – lay Muslims can very well do the job on their own. People want to make sure that their daughters buy into an “Islamic” dress code and continue wearing what they wore, so they could avoid a PR disaster in their social circle. To a lesser extent, it is about obsessing with the outward (presumably necessary) forms of a religion the fundamentals of which people spend little time learning about, relying instead on English-speaking televangelists backed by skillful graphic designers, event managers and webmasters. Who cares if fellow human beings feel ostracized and unworthy of God’s favor so long as our daughters wear long pants!

It is not my intention to analyze and comment on the responses to el‑Najjar’s piece, some of which are very thoughtful. However, Hussain Makke’s post on the Muslim Vibe deserves a special mention, for it embodies certain attitudes that keep the Muslim community from understanding, let alone catering to the needs of a growing number of “outliers”. Makke speaks of being Muslim and being a “true believer” in premodern theological terms that give him and his readers some sense of “authenticity” but are anachronistic nonetheless. Ro Waseem has devoted a few lines in his piece to critiquing Makke’s audacious suggestion that el‑Najjar is not necessarily a true believer. Another feature of Makke’s piece is trivializing el‑Najjar’s experience by relating it with his own, suggesting that it is only a phase that will (or should) eventually pass, that she will get where he is right now i.e. a higher place, provided of course that she is sincere enough.

In Makke’s piece, the concern for representation, or misrepresentation, of Islam is unmistakable. From his point of view, el‑Najjar has painted an “inaccurate picture of Islam” and a “distorted view of its sciences”, and views like these “may influence others who don’t know better”. In Makke’s cosmology, honoring the work of the “saints and mystics and scholars who gave their lives to pass on the message” and preserving the rosy picture of normative Islam is more important than an individual finding peace with the creator – just as people are more concerned with saving the face of Islam than the loss of lives at the hands of Islamic militias. The individual would do well to abide by the “law” if they wanted to be considered practicing Muslim. As for their thirst for “spiritual feeling in prayer”, Makke’s wisdom tells us, “It’s not about the feeling. It’s about being true servant in submission.” Deference to authority of the amorphous tradition and the male scholarly elite, justified by a sense of intractable ignorance of the lay is a crucial aspect of Makke’s cosmology. Orbala does a nice job critiquing some of these things in her piece Why Are Muslim Guys Responding to That ‘Short Shorts’ Article? On my turn, I am astonished that people still think that emphasizing the importance of law and one-size-fits-all rituals is the way to go. Makke is just not able to see that the strategy has not worked for el‑Najjar, and will not work for a growing number of young Muslim men and women.

From my point of view, the most interesting thing about el‑Najjar’s experience is her transitioning from the first naiveté to a phase of critical distance and eventually a second naiveté. She has articulated how she took a break from guilt-and-fear-driven ritual prayers; went on to wear short shorts, drink whiskey, and smoke weed; learned the meaning of surrender from Buddhism; experienced emptiness in her life; and returned to her prayer rug, this time around on a different set of terms. In the process, she distanced herself from “authoritative” religious leadership and institutions embodying “authentic” Islam (she got unmosqued), she personalized religion for herself, and did away with the need for authorization and approval.

Muslim relationship with the Islamic tradition is not the same as European experience of Christianity that led to secularization and particular forms of secularism. The secularization thesis is no longer taken for granted. Yet the temporal and spatial factors that fostered the spiritual-but-not-religious movement in the second half of the 20th century, the enduring influence of secularism, and the concern for empowerment of the individual (which is arguably the prevailing zeitgeist), along with the inadequacies of the traditional religious doctrine and practice will come to bear on the religious experience of contemporary Muslims. More and more people are likely to transition from their first naiveté to critical distance, and many will experience a second naiveté. The deference to authority that only made sense a few decades ago is neither possible nor desirable in a world defined by mass education of individuals and electronic availability of information and resources. Individual Muslims will personalize Islam sooner or later.

I do not mean to suggest that all Muslims will experience the “progression” consisting of the three stages. For some, the first naiveté will continue to work. Others will distance themselves from the beliefs and practices that they grew up with. Some of the latter will experience a second naiveté. Still others will transition directly from the first naiveté to a second naiveté.

What does all of this mean for the Muslim community? There is good and bad news. The good news is that people will continue to find their way to God – islām, i.e. finding peace with the creator, will persist. The bad news is that the second naiveté of muslim individuals (who will have found peace with the divine in their own ways) will look radically different from the “authentic Islam” of the gatekeepers. Though heterogeneous, the muslims experiencing a second naiveté will hopefully create fresh, inclusive religious spaces to cater to their own needs and to welcome seekers as well as the occasional visitor.