The flaws of faith

To some degree, then, the early development of the Christian church made possible an alignment between the spiritual Christian-Muslim relationship and the geographical west-east one. In an age of “war on terror”, when many Muslims believe that the Christian west is waging undeclared war on Islam and forging an unholy alliance with Israel, the dangers of such a polarisation are intensified.

Christian Arabs are among the many victims of this virtual psychological war. Many thousands had already been forced to emigrate by historic economic deprivation in Syria and Lebanon, and the Lebanese civil war – involving many self-inflicted wounds by Christian sectarian leaders – opened the gates further. Meanwhile, the Christian population of Palestine has under Israeli occupation been reduced to just over 50,000; and terrorist attacks on churches in Iraq – in the name of God, of course – are pushing many Iraqi Christians to flee abroad.

The trend of this emigration, and of lower than national average birthrates, suggest that Christians in Longman’s historic Palestine, Syria and Mesopotamia will become virtually extinct a century from now. This will be a major loss to the soul of this region’s civilisation, for if there is a model of Christian-Muslim (and, very often, Jewish) coexistence – as interacting faiths, not as religious groups merely “tolerating” each other - it ought to be in this part of the world.

The revival of Islamic fundamentalism has put at stake more than the fate of Christians in the middle east; in regarding any pre-Islamic civilisation as al-jahiliya (ignorant) it encases the history of social, religious and cultural life in rigid religious dogmas. The notion defies historical reality on many levels – from the rich pre-Islamic civilisations of the Sumerians and Akkadians, to Pharaonic Egypt and the early religious education of the Prophet Mohammed by Christian clergy.

But the active engagement of Arab Christians with the west, though on one level a cultural respite from Islam’s social power, also helped in some circumstances to perpetuate Christian sectarianism (especially in Lebanon). The long-term result is a depletion of Christian influence in the region and a retreat of the civilisation it represents, making the region even more pliable to western hostility. (Muslim minorities have fared little better – some opting for hibernation, others buying time by withdrawing from political power.)

The grounds of interaction between the three great monotheistic faiths is omnipresent: the notion of God – the common denominator of all religions. Yet religions are also the dividers of people across the world.

As I grew up in the 1960s and 1970s in Lebanon, it was sectarianism that divided the different people of Lebanon. Yet amid such strife, secularism was still breathing, as the then leaders of the struggle for Palestine demonstrated. Now even this intensely nationalist struggle has been turned into a zealously religious cause. Nationalist secularists have rendered themselves as backseat guests of the struggle, and only by invitation from Islamists.

A combination of political, economic, social and technological frustration, plus the absence of any sense of national pride, have brought out the worst of the Muslim faith. Just as the west has created an image of Christianity as an arrogant, materialist culture, the Arab world has generated an image of Islam as a bloodthirsty culture, incapable of finding harmony with what has become the most basic value of collective life: democracy.

A time to build boats

The dialogue between Christians and Muslims has been dominated by thickly-bearded clergy with heavy turbans. Many Muslims think they are being cornered by the Christian west (especially by American evangelical Christians) and are digging deeper into their theological trenches. Similarly, the dwindling number of Christian Arabs find it extremely difficult, if not impossible, to find breathing-space outside their enclaves; gone are the historical Christian secularist personalities like Amin al-Rihani, Khalil Gibran, Antoun Saade, or Edward Said.

In this difficult environment, Muslim and Christian secularists ought to take the initiative to establish common ground that transcends historic theological differences. Today they seem to be a scarce breed; yet it is such prospective enlightened secularists who should be the advance guard for pulling us out of an age-old theological mire.

Secularism ought to be a socio-cultural safety-valve able to perform a number of tasks: reclaim the supremacy of reason over theology; close the floodgates of Islamic fundamentalism; assert that Islam is a tolerant faith; recover the near-eastern roots of Christianity; and engage in responsible dialogue with the rest of the world.

This must be the shared ground for rewriting the history textbooks about this region – if not for my son’s generation, then for his children’s. We must start before we are swept away by the flood. There are no off-the-shelf secular Noah’s arks to keep us safe; and American-made arks will not float, let alone be able to sail. We have to build our own.