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.
