the Fort Hood tragedy

On November 5, Major Malik Nadal Hasan opened fire at Fort Hood at 1:30pm and killed 13 servicemen, wounding 38 others.  It was a shocking tragedy.  After the initial moment of shock wore off, my first thought was that this would be called either “homicide” or “terrorism,” and the decision lay entirely in what we discovered the religion of the assailant to be.

Malik Nadal Hasan

Once again as a nation, we are thrown into this question of what we are to think of Islam.  Eboo Patel, a Muslim leader deeply engaged in interfaith dialogue, tells his story here as he learned of the attack midway through a conference for Muslim/Jewish dialogue.  Patel tells of the immediate fear the Muslim community faces in light of such an attack, as recent history teaches such an event incurs violent backlash against Muslims in America.  Patel tells of the Muslim organizations denouncing this jihad as in direct opposition to the teachings of the Qur’an, even as he knows these denouncements will go unnoticed.

Before the sun set, we learned his name was Hasan, knew he was Muslim, and saw the anger against Muslims pour in over facebook and media et al.  The event, the murder, was without excuse.  Hasan’s actions were despicable, let me be clear, and it would have been better if he had never been born.  But there is so much to learn about ourselves amidst such a tradgedy.

First, evil people are the Other in our eyes:

Hasan was a member of a military, very well educated, murdering with a legally purchased weapon, and a Muslim.  Which of those four facts are we quickest to jump to as explanation for the unexplainable?  The one most different from ourselves.

Second, we will close off our ability to see through the eyes of the other:

If Hasan had been a “Smith,” and had in fact been a Christian, would we have seen headlines about a “Christian terrorist” attacking our troops?  When George Tiller, an abortion provider in Kansas, was murdered by a Christian this summer, did we say “Surprise, surprise… the attacker was a Christian”?  Would we protest they misunderstood our religion if Mideast militants looked at our armies and said “Surprise, surprise… Christians crusading again”?  We are outraged that Hasan considered himself a radical Muslim first, and an American second.  Yet how many of us would show concern if a Christian or Jew said the same?  How many Christians want to be stereotyped in with the Westboro Baptist crowd (who protest soldiers funerals with “God hates America, fags, fill-in-the-blank”), and yet we nevertheless jump at the chance to compare our best to the Other’s worst?

Third, my enemies are always men like me:

As Islam has said throughout the ages, and I agree, to take one life is like taking all lives.  The taking of life is never a good action.  Taking life is a great way to solve problems quickly… at least in the short run of things.  In every war, skirmish, in every argument, there are two sides.  There are the good guys (the defense) and the bad guys, who see themselves as good guys too (the preemptive defense, if you will).  We are all on the side of righteousness in our own eyes.  No man thinks himself a murderer.  Every shot we take is “just.”  God is always on my side, guiding my leaders, supporting my cause.

Fourth, sin goes back to a moment in a garden long ago:

Under the right circumstances, I could be convinced that killing was the only option, that it was an excusable thing to do.  It is the way that we have evolved; we lie and cheat and kill because it seems good for our survival.  The fact that violence inevitably leads to more violence, not peace, is lost in the chaos.  In truth, I want to believe that “bad people” are very different from myself, that they have no excuse and cannot be reasoned with, that they are very different from me, and that God thinks they suck too.  We are all so alike.

—-

Let us learn and befriend the Other with respect and love.  Let us not give into the temptation to dehumanize, stereotype, give up on, hate, or justify any of the aforementioned against the other.  We must confront religious ignorance and bigotry, and not give into the type of fear of the Other that a Fort Hood, or even a 9/11, can create about the Other.  Instead, let us talk to the Other, read their stories, read their religious texts, try to understand them, and in so doing, see the reflection of ourselves and of the Divine.

the future of faith: Globalization vs. fundamentalism, Yoda vs. al Qaida

“Give us this day our daily faith, but deliver us from beliefs.”

-Aldous Huxley, Island

Opening his last chapter of The Future of Faith, Harvey Cox offers this eccentric quote from Huxley’s sketch on the future of religion in a science world.  It is overstated to be sure, but the quote captures something that, like it or not, we are seeing in the world of religions today.  The growing emphases on Spirit and Justice are disrupting the preeminence which dogmatic belief has held on the religious landscape, especially in the last century.

—-

Part 1: Creeds crafting orthodoxy and the Gospel of Thomas

Part 2: 20th Century American Fundamentalism

Globalization: Humility, or pluralism and fundamentalism

Globalization breeds crisis of faith as contact with the Other suggests we may not understand as much as we previously thought.  A mature reaction is humility and a desire to dialogue and learn.  But more commonly a reaction of ambiguous syncretism or reactionary dogmatic fundamentalism is taken instead.  This is the history of the late 20^th century, as earlier 20^th century trends of theological liberalism and fundamentalism reached a crux to the point that people took sides without realizing they were even doing so..

To explain this, Cox highlights the remarkable resurgence in Islam over the last century.  There are a variety of explanations for this trend: the rise of education and low job market in the middle east, the world’s oil addiction, the failure of either socialism or free market capitalism to satisfy needs.  But the most likely reason, Cox argues, is the way in which change (i.e. globalization) breeds in people a need for stability (i.e. tradition, religion).  To take it a step further, Islam has always had a care for the poor as a central pillar, and so the growing humanitarian obsession merged well with a religio-political system that required the poor to to be taken care of in order to reach paradise.

The rise of lay leadership, to the hierarchy’s chagrin

On top of this, we see a phenomenon in Islam that has congruent strains in every major religion: the rise of the lay semi-clergy.  Notably, Christianity, Islam, Judaism, Buddhism, and Hinduism are showing trends toward less ordination, less officiation, and more work outside the bounds of the dominant system.  In American Christianity, we see this in para-church ministries such as Young Life, the Passion conferences, the Salvation Army, or churches planted without denominational support or seminary-schooled clergy.  There is no longer an assumed need for official sanction.  The reaction from the religious systems of the world loosing control is violent.  A brand new Buddhist temple, beautifully constructed into the side of Mt. Fugi is destroyed because it houses a lay sect.  Christian priests are excommunicated.  Muslim’s have been killed for stepping outside the watch of the imams.

Education breeds doubt and atheism

Cox goes on to describe a far more hidden fact, a truth that philosophers and theologians have known since Plato but that few choose to articulate: people want a solid, unquestionable narrative with which to frame life and ethics.  Faith does not do well if its subscribers do not feel absolutely sure of their fundamentals.  Even in the highly functional societies of northern Europe need a common, almost religious, framing ethic regardless of the success of atheism.  In the Bible churches of the US south, we see an example of this in the way that pastors are reluctant to teach their congregations of the contradictions and problems with Biblical inerrancy that they learned in seminary.  People hate that sense of not being sure.

History inarguably shows that a society’s rise of education corresponds to a rise in atheism.  Even when atheism does not dominate, a rise in intellect still threatens the clergy-class because the lay become aware of problems in the faith.  People learn, and then they doubt.  There doubts can no longer be assuaged with pompous assurances from a cleric, because the doubter can google the question on his mind and know more about it in a short 10 minutes than the cleric learned in 5 years of grad school.  So at best, education threatens the religious establishment, if not religion itself.

Crisis point: liberalism leads to fundamentalism leads to emergence

The last trend Cox sees in the future of faith is the sharpening and marginalization of fundamentalism.  To look at this, Cox highlights al Qaida, a group that emerged in response to what it saw as the secularization of governments founded in Islam.  Intelligence analysts tell us that al Qaida’s goal is not first and foremost to hurt America and non-Muslim states.  Al Qaida wants Islamic renewal, and after witnessing the trend of impassioned young Muslims rising whenever a foreign state intervenes in domestic affairs, al Qaida saw an opportunity to coax America to attack.  Hence 9/11; we each needed the other to attack.  For a few years, their desire for the US to attack worked well and surged their ranks.  Fundamentalist movements are well equipped to draw true believers.  But the plan backfired, as fundamentalist tactics warped by a good guys vs. bad guys worldview tend to do, and by 2005, we saw al Qaida’s plummeting esteem in the Muslim world.  The became the laughable sideliners, angrily fighting a loosing battle.  An American national intelligence agency reported in 2008 that al Qaida was being alienated from the broader Muslim world due to its “indiscriminate killing and inattention to the practical problems of poverty, unemployment, and education.”

Cox makes a startling comparison to Islam’s extremist wing to what he says is the American Christian version: the Religious Right’s desire for a “Christian nation.”  In Africa, it comes in the form of bishops splitting communions over women and gay clergy.  In Israel, it is the formation of a religious “Torah State.”  In India, the Barata Janata party wants to “Hinduize” India.  It is a consistent fundamentalist reaction we see in every major religion to discomfort with globalization.  At some point, globalization and growing literacy/education forces a community to a crisis point at which they will choose either mechanistic and reactionary fundamentalism, or a rupture into faith beyond the traditional bounds of beliefs they have known.  My fear for the Church is that so many choose fundamentalism because they mistakenly feel doing so is loyal to Jesus and the Bible.  It is a very deceptive myth that shrouds fear and misinformation as loyalty.

Jedi Prophet Yoda

The great sage Yoda once said, “Fear is the path to the Dark Side.  Fear leads to anger; anger leads to hate; hate… leads to suffering. “

There is much fear disguising itself as loyalty in all the fundamentalist movements.  It thrives on misinformation and an unwillingness to learn from anyone outside its own camp.  And it is a losing battle.  Fundamentalism will never die, but it will continue to be marginalized, screaming from the sidelines that somebody else stole their things and they want them back.

The Future of Faith

In the end Cox is very hopeful for the future of faith, as am I.  A growing emphasis on Spirit and Justice is on the rise, and fundamentalism is on the decline.  Faith, with its loyal prophets of education and atheism, are growing strong.  Just as creeds emerged from the spheres of authority over a vast body that could have cared less, we see less emphasis on lists of beliefs for inclusion (and theologians like myself are far more interested in a wider sphere of learning).  There is less hierarchy, patriarchy, and dogmatism.  Faiths are rediscovering their founder’s philosophies.  The Church is rediscovering “Gospel” as Jesus defined it (“the Kingdom of God is at hand”) rather than the way 20^th century fundamentalism defined it (“believe these things and you will get to heaven”).  As Rabbi Gamaliel once urged the Sanhedrin to cease oppressing an emerging Jewish sect called “the Way of Jesus” because if it was from God it could not be stopped, I am convinced this new turn of the Spirit and Justice will not be stopped.  It will be excommunicated, slandered, oppressed, and martyred, but it will not be stopped.

Do Christians and Muslims believe in the same God?

A week ago, I linked to an article that stirred up some discussion on the subject of gods represented in Christianity and islam: are they separate gods or one in the same? I wanted to comment further on this.

As a partial response, I posted on a (dis)belief towards a/theism. In that post, I tried to point to the reality that any theological discourse carries the idea of god somewhat lightly, reshaping god as an object to be discussed. But as this flies in the face of our claim towards god’s trascendence, we can assume that there exists, in a theological speculation, a faithful betrayal of god. We demote the divine to an object to be speculated on, and must realize that we are then partly (and likely significantly) erroneous in our conclusions 100% of the time.

So when we speak of god, as C.S. Lewis famously put it, we speak not of god, but of an idol. However much we wish to accurately know of god, the divine is something that cannot be colonized.

Which brings us to this question of whether or not Christians and Muslims and Jews worship the same god. I remember this being the trendy question following the violence of 9/11. There sprung up a cadre of Christian apologists who pounced on the attack as an avenue to prove a difference, and another cadre of Mulsim apologists sprung up to explain the difference between extremist Wahabism and more moderate Muslim doctrine. The rhetoric of the question gave a tacitly playful acknowledgement of the existence of two gods, but the question was understood as not asking about the existence of two actual gods, but whether or not Christians and Muslims were imagining the same being; the entity who would be the one true god. But it is not that simple either, because I could say I believe in the one true god, who happens to be a toasted cheese sandwich sitting behind Neptune. I can speak of the “one true god” and mean the same thing as you as far as the term itself goes, but that says nothing of the characteristics we would not agree on.

So the question should not be phrased childishly as “do Christians and Muslims worship the same god?” (as we can agree there could only be one god), but instead, “do Christians and Muslims worship a god with either identical or similar enough characteristics to be called the same entity?” To continue to insist otherwise, to rhetorically insist that Christians and Muslims actually worship different gods, becomes a bit childish and incoherent at best. We cannot dispute these cousin monotheisms both trace ancestry to a singular god of a man named Abraham, but we can certainly dispute whether or not the god represented by each has markedly different characteristics.

It is no secret that Christianity and Judaism influenced Islam, and that Islam influenced Christianity back. The god depicted by each came be so remarkably similar. Consider these verses, some from the Qur’an and some from the Bible:

“When God’s help and victory come, and you see men embrace God’s faith in multitudes, give glory to your Lord and seek His pardon. He is ever disposed to mercy.”

“Do not treat men with scorn, nor walk proudly on the earth: God does not love the arrogant and the poud”

“Believers, Jews, Christians… whoever believes in God and the Last Day and does what is right- shall be rewarded by their Lord; they have nothing to fear or to regret.”

“But the wicked will perish: the lord’s enemies will be like the beauty of the fields, they will vanish- vanish like smoke.

“whoever believes in God and the Last Day and does what is right- shall be rewarded by their Lord; they have nothing to fear or to regret.”

“I warn you, then, of the blazing fire, in which none shall burn save the hardened sinner, who denies the Truth and gives no heed.”

“He defended the cause of the poor and needy, and so all went well. Is that not what it means to know me?”

‘What has brought you into Hell?’

They will replay: ‘We never prayed, nor did we ever feed the hungry. We engaged in vain disputes and denied the
Day of Reckoning till the inevitable end overtook us.’

Which verses came from the Bible, and which came from the Qur’an? Even where we know, we see remarkable similarities in how god is represented and what god’s concerns are. We could quote many more verses to trace more similarities. Each is a god that has commanded war and peace at varying times. Each is a god of the oppressed, who holds those who hoard resources with fiery contempt. Each is depicted as a god who saves men by his grace but will one day judge man by his works and come down to reign on the earth. In our scholarship, we know that both depictions of these gods evolved from earlier concepts of god, that El became Eloh’im who became YHVH in the Bible, and that Eloh’im became al’Lah in the Qur’an.

We cannot deny that the god of the Qur’an and the god of the Bible have differing characteristics. But I think if we are honest with ourselves and resist the temptation to force the Old and New Testaments into a seamless theology, we all know that the god of the OT and god in the NT have differing characteristics as well. Are the gods of the Qur’an and the Bible different? Certainly, at least as much as the gods of the OT and NT are different. This is to say, both texts try to describe the same god, but have attribute to him (well, god even fluctuates on gender in the OT) differences. So how big of a difference does there have to be before we call these different gods?

Many make a great deal of the difference of Trinity, although then we must also say that Judaism worships a different god from Christians as well. In addition, we would have to say any sect of Christianity that rejects the Trinity concept, as well as many or most Christians before the 4^th century creeds, do not worship the same god either. There is the difference of the Christ, but even this is not so clear as we make it seem. It is no secret to historians that it took several hundred years for the idea of Christ’s coequal status with God-Father to become orthodoxy (a la filioque). Just as Christ is only the 2^nd greatest prophet and a messiah in Islam, Christ was no more than a messiah (and not coequal with god) to many Christians in the pre-creedal centuries (and many continue this line of thought today). At what point does the line of exclusion aim its guns at fellow Christians in the same way we exclude the Muslim for differing beliefs? What about particular atonement models which many Protestants unknowingly hold on to and decide who is a “real christian” or not? What about differing concepts of afterlife? Differences on Resurrection? Differences on Virgin Birth? Differences in how we view inspiration? Differences in predestination and god’s determinism? These are all differences which have evolved into creed-level fundamentals over time for some Christian or another (or Muslim), but there is a pervasive myth of orthodoxy within the Church that undermines the key point here. That is to say, every Christian wants to believe he believes the same as the early followers of Christ did, but this myth of consistency and orthodoxy across churches in the beginning betrays in itself an ignorance of history.

At what point do we consider the other an other because his god is too other? At what point are we, rather than looking for insight, merely looking for a reason to label a fellow Christian as liberal or unorthodox, or a Muslim an extremist, misogynist, and racist in a violent religion? Choosing to use rhetoric that encourages the idea that the other is a follower of another god and not my god gives approval that the other 1) is pagan, 2) is ignorant, 3) is not righteous, and 4) will lose in the end to the true god. Which are all things that make rhetorical or physical violence easier to justify.

And a side note for Christians of the more exclusive point of view: what do we say of the fascinating growing trend of Muslim Christians? There is a vast and growing populace of Muslims coming to see the Christ as their savior while staying Muslim, honoring Muhammad, keeping the prayer hours, etc. Would you judge that they are in or out, Christian or Muslim, faithful or syncrotistic?

So again we pose the question: do Christians and Muslims believe in the same god? First answer me this, acknowledging that no two people on the planet have identical concepts of god: do you and I believe in the same god?

And another question: isn’t this a really bad question?

I finished reading the Qur’an. Now for my thoughts…

I finally finished reading through the Qur’an. It was a pretty trendy thing to read right after 9/11 and the media obsession with Islam. It seemed that every politician and social leader out there claimed to have read the book, although I suspect there may have been a few fibbers in there. I’ve wanted to read it for years, but only began six months ago during my last university semester for a class on that very topic. All that to say, I am not trendy. I’m actually a geek about these things.

And a quick disclaimer: I’m no Islamic scholar, and I understand there are legions of sharp Islamic theologians/apologists who could blow my reading out of the water. Take this for what it’s worth.

Reading the Qur’an, what stands out is that there is a lot of theological carry over into Islam from Judaism and Christianity. Muhammad was an Arabian trader, and came into contact with the Abrahamic monotheists, the “People of the Book.” Concerning them (I mean, me), the Qur’an seems to oscillate between generally saying Christians and Jews can inherit eternal life, but sometimes also going off on hell-fire rants against them. If there is consistency in Muhammad’s view of Christian/Jewish place in heaven, I can’t figure it out. But the best I can tell, if I am sincerely following God in my context, and not blaspheming God or the message, then I get eternal life. Which interestingly, I’m not sure is in heaven…

In classic Judaism, as in early Christianity, heaven was not a (meta/)physical place somewhere else in the way most Christians believe today, looming invisibly on the edge of the cosmos. Heaven, paradise, was a renewed earth. The classic belief seemed to be that God would come here to reign, and that man would be resurrected on earth, rather than floating off to heaven somewhere else. I cannot be sure, but Muhammad’s rhetoric seems consistent with the ancient Jewish/Christian doctrine of resurrection on earth.

The ancient Israelite concept of elohim also finds its way into the Qur’an, which is interesting, given the Qur’an’s proclivity to rant against polytheism. Calling God elohim does not denote polytheism explicitly, but it flirts with it. Elohim is common name for God, second to YHWH in Jewish scripture. Genesis 1 reads: “Bereshit elohim bara…” (In the Beginning, God created…) Only, Jewish words ending in -im are plural. And as el was a ubiquitous term for “god” in ancient Canaan (notice the etymological relation to the god Ba’al), the Israelites adopted the term. In similar fashion, Lah was the common name for “god” in 7^th century Arabia, and was even used by Christians. But God was pictured back then (and all too commonly and reductionistically today) as a King, complete with his royal posse. So, Genesis 1 could just as easily read, “In the beginning, the court of God created…” or, “…the gods created…” It’s not quite polytheistic, but it flirts with the plurality of God commanding not only his strength, but also that of a royal cohort. In similar fashion, Islam adopts this view of a kingly God, and when God speaks, it is a “We” rather than an “I” who commands.

Another similarity is found in how we are judged at the Last Day. In Islam, as with Judasim and Christianity, we are saved by grace, but judged by works (a la Revelation 20). The chief sins that send one to hell are a failure to care for the poor, the orphan, the oppressed. Second to that are sins of impiety or blaspheme. This, in fact, has remarkably similar correlates to Christian theology (James 1 comes to mind), being that the people of God, if they are acting as the people of God, must be good news to the poor and the oppressed. If the three Abrahamic faiths could all just practice together what their texts preach independently, we would have a beautiful thing on our hands.

The thing that struck me most was the constant juxtapositioning of the amiable “In the Name of God, the Compassionate, the Mercyful” at the beginning of every chapter with the faithfully ensuing threats of retributive hell-fire. It contrasts starkly with the Bible, in which “hell” is found anywhere from 0 to about 15 times, depending on accuracy (with lower counts being more true to original text). Al’Lah (lit. The God) is portrayed as a sovereign deity, who stays his hand at punishment as he sees fit to grant mercy. So, we deserve hell, but he can show grace. What ended up occurring to me was how similar this view of God has in common with the Christian fundamentalist view of God, being one who consigns all to the hell they deserve, save those he chooses to show mercy and salvation. Live in conformity to God’s will, and you will go to heaven. Step out of God’s will, and Islamic/Christian fundamentalist God will toast you. He seems almost eager, really. I recall youthful debates over whether al’Lah and God were the same person, complete with 20 verses shown with no context. I don’t know if they are the same guy, but if your faith in either tradition is fundamentalist, then… it’s a pretty close call.

I read, in context, many verses that I’d only heard before via the diatribe of radio and TV pundits. Take this common verse from Surah 2: “Slay them wherever you find them. Drive them out of the places from which they drove you.” Never in my life have I heard that verse with the preceding verse used as context: “Fight for the sake of God those that fight against you, but do not attack them first. God does not love aggressors.” It’s the beginning of a just war doctrine! Slay the infidel, but only when he’s baring down on you with the sword. So this verse is ubiquitous in Islam-smearing media, but is it ever pointed out that this is “Just War”? Now, I happen to think Just War doctrines are suicidal short-sighted and immature, but most Christians and Muslim’s take pretty much the same view. Again, we should really just get together all the fundamentalist Muslims and the fundamentalist Christians, who all think they have no option but to kill each other, and let them figure out how much their god-concepts have in common. In addition, this verse should give us pause when fundamentalists Muslims brutally attack us; I’m no apologist for them, but we should consider what men, who are very much aware of this verse, feel we have done first to warrant surprising violence. Ignorance is suicidal.

Muhammad clearly shows familiarity with many Biblical stories, but they alter significantly from Biblical accounts. For instance, the Story of Noah has him heartbroken as he stares out the window of the ark in sorrow for a son who stayed behind on the earth and drowned. At first, I assumed these differences were because Muhammad was working off rough oral accounts rather than copying a Torah scroll. But another thought occurred to me in that the telling of the Qur’anic stories so often puts a different theme on the story, I have to wonder if Muhammad was hearing midrashim. The Jewish tradition of midrash had rabbis intentionally altering stories to explore an issue from a different angle (how’s that for Biblical literalism?) Could it be that Muhammad was in such close contact with the Jews in the trade routes that he was acquiring Jewish theology refined by hundreds of years of midrashim and commentary?

The thing I felt most uncomfortable with in the Qur’an was the explicit denial of the Christ as diety. Second only to Muhammad in reverance and prophetic status, Jesus is nonetheless sharply denied to be god. And I think I can understand why; with Muhammad struggling to differential from a dogmatically polytheistic culture, he needed to remove any possible connection to another god’s existence (and hey, he was pushing it to even include demi-gods like devils and demons, not to mention the aforementioned plural god-term). I’m aware that there is a growing body of Muslim Christians in the world today. Following Isa (Arabic for “Jesus”), they place a renewed reverence for the Christ, whom they already hold in such veneration, but seek to remain in their Muslim contexts. This is a provocative, but very interesting, concept to me (I, mean… Muslim Christians?). But if, as we say, “Jesus didn’t come to start a religion,” then this probably shouldn’t be so surprising. So, I would be very interested to hear how they reconcile Muhammad’s shots against Jesus’ deity with their belief in his place in Trinity. Perhaps it is similar to many messianic Jews, who follow Jesus as the anointed One, but play down his deity to a degree.

I’ve got so much more to say than one can surmise in a blog post. My Qur’an is scribbled with notes and underlinings. It challenged my view of, not only of Islam and Muslims, but God. You can’t really wrestle with a religious text without seeing its similarities and differences to your own understanding, and the experience should challenge you. Hopefully, I’m a bit better student of beliefs as a result. Because, as I said earlier, ignorance is suicidal.

Islamo-fascism (points for pundits and death knells to critical thought)

You know what term has been getting under my skin recently?  It’s one that I hear flare up as a battering ram every time there is talk of ending the Iraq War or giving some sort of court process to the guys we hold in Gitmo.  And recently, I’ve heard a lot of people locally come out swinging with the term, what with the shooting of the recruiting soldier here in Little Rock last week.

Islamo-Fascism has been that term for me as of late.  Maybe it’s evidence that I’m getting way to hung up on my politics and social justice rants, but nevertheless, someone has to utter that word every time there emerges evidence that some (*gasp*) in the Islamic world are not fans of the US.  You hear it from right-wing pundits nonstop. What does it mean?  If you answer “I don’t really know,” you are pretty close.  If you answer “it actually means nothing,” I say you are right.

I wonder why we don’t hear about Christiano-facists???

I, for one, was hoping this Islamo-fascism term would go out of fashion with the end of the previous administration.  It was probably too much to expect, but the mention of the term has at least subsided significantly.

As far as I can tell, “Islamo-fascism,” a term came onto the scene in force during the Bush era, was a improper and educationally lacking neologism used to sway public opinion.  There is evidence of the word being sparsely used before this point, but it was post-9/11 that it became a media-savvy, household term.  And a compliant media made it oh-so-trendy to talk about.  There are two words run together to create a term synonymous with “terrorism,” but is also used to reductionistically label any possible enemy so long as he is Muslim.

Short history lesson:

If we started popularly using this term “Islamo-fascism” right after the 9/11 attack (when anti-Muslim hysteria was sweeping the media and culture) then it is easy to see that the prefix “Islamo-“ is not at all neutral.  It means “bad” in this case.  The suffix of the term is generally a bit more vague to people.  What is fascism, you may ask?  Well, the truth is that historians have argued about the meaning of the term “fascism” for decades and have reached no conclusion.  It emerged in the early 20^th century Italy to describe a government structure that had no distinguishing feature other than a name.  Italy’s dictatorship was really nothing new.  Italy even used the term for years before she even came up with an actual definition for herself (because then, like today, nobody really knew what the term “fascism” meant).  Mussolini favored keeping the term as vague and open to interpretation as possible in order to encompass as many people as possible.  Actually, when other nations started considering adopting a form of fascism after Italy, the Italians objected saying that it was only an Italian thing.  I write all this just to expose some of the ridiculous nature of the term itself.  We can say that there are some common traits, that sometimes reoccur in nations that called themselves fascists.  But even then, most of these tenants are so vague (suspicion of Marxists, suspicion of liberal democracies, support for the military, vying for national supremacy) that it could just as accurately (which is not much) be said that the average Christian in America is every bit as much fascist as the average al-Qaeda unit.

So if the term “fascism” is fully known to historians and the academia to mean nothing consistent enough to merit it’s vogue usage, why then would an administration or the media latch onto it with such tenacity?  Because it’s a pejorative term that is vague enough to pass for a quick label, I suspect.  At a time when “Islam” meant “bad,” and if a vague term like “fascism” always means bad, and we have historically always tried to kill any fascists, and if we want the public to hop on board with killing any opponents without thinking all that hard first, then let’s run the terms together.  That way, we can label something that we don’t think people need to adequately understand in order to take position on.  It makes sense if you are trying to build a public consensus, doesn’t it?  I think those in media and in popular culture who continue to use the term are sadly buying into an packaged term with an etymology they are ignorant of and with implications they have not really thought out.

But the truth is that it is so poorly reductionistic.  When I hear the term “Islamo-fascist” used over here, it makes me feel the same way I do when I hear a Palestinian refer to Israelis as “Zionists” or when I hear Muslims refer to “militaristic American imperialists.”  When you reduce the Other to a simple term, you dehumanize him in some sense.  It becomes easier to say things like, “Some people can only be dealt with one way.”  And we know what one way means (hint: doesn’t involve civil discourse).  It makes me sad that Palestinians reduce Israelis to mindless “Zionists” who can only be dealt with one way; it makes me sad that several Muslim groups reduce us to “militaristic imperialists” who can only be dealt with one way; and it makes me saddest of all when I hear Americans, specifically Christians (who should know better than to reduce people into easy categories), reduce certain Muslim peoples to “Islamo-fascists” who can only be dealt with one way.

I have no problem with someone labeling me an American.  But if they reduce me and my whole tribe as just a bunch of militaristic imperialists, without considering any of our perspectives or differences among us, then that is immature.  It is the same issue we are guilty of if we were to reduce any militant Islamic group to “Islamo-fascists,” with no consideration that they may have any legitimate grievance at all.  A mark of maturity is being able and willing to see through the eyes of the Other.

It is so, so easy to think that there is only one way to deal with a problem.  It is shockingly easy for us to reduce people to simplistic categories and never even consider that the Other has any legitimate grievance.  And in case we are not clear on this, yes, it’s safe to assume that anyone we can an opponent has at least some legitimate grievance against us.  But we can label them easy, point-scoring terms so that we don’t have to see them as worth speaking with.