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The book On the State of Egypt by the Egyptian writer Alaa Al Aswany got me thinking again about my earlier articles around the God or no god debate. Not that Alaa Al Aswany focuses on God. He does not. His book is a collection of his courageous articles over the two years leading up to the spring 2011 uprising in Egypt. The articles show a mounting tension within the regime fanned by the possible passing of power to the son of the aging ruler. What is remarkable is how Alaa fits into the religious tradition of ancient prophets Amos, Jesus and Mohammed. This is at its clearest when he writes about the huge public reaction to a previous article he wrote arguing that Islam does not require women to wear the niquab or to cover their faces at all. “Those who bombarded the al-Shorouk website with insults imagined that in this way they were defending Islam. … They come out in angry demonstrations to protest the French government’s decision to ban the hijab in French schools, while in their own countries elections are regularly rigged and tens of thousands of detainees, mostly Islamists, spend the flower of their youth in prison without trial. Egyptians are abused and cruelly tortured and their wives may be abused in front of their eyes in police stations and State Security premises. But none of this arouses their religious anger because the religion they have been taught does not include defending general human values, such as freedom, equality, and justice.” This is almost a paraphrase of some of the Hebrew prophet Amos’ ancient writing. A belief in God does not appear central but this writer seems to be living in a religious tradition. That raises again part of the thinking of the book With or Without God by Gretta Vosper – who is writing in the Christian tradition. As I noted when writing about her book, I don’t find it helpful to put any emphasis on exactly what one should believe – or in Voster’s case, what one should not believe. It is Voster’s subtitle which gets it right: Why the way you live is more important than what you believe. Her subtitle suggests that beliefs in God and other myths are secondary. Alaa clearly feels compelled to write his articles on social and political conditions in Egypt. He is clearly doing so within a community. He is in a religious tradition. What he is doing is what matters and we don’t need to know what he thinks about God. I ended my thoughts on Karen Armstrong’s book The Case for God by noting that critics will not be satisfied by her extensive survey of thoughts about God - or my own suggestion that she favours the Eastern tradition that God is mystery. Yet concerns about a final resolution of a debate about God - or no god - are misplaced. The existence or non existence of any particular form of God is a distraction from getting on with doing what one feels compelled to do. God may or may not be assumed to be around, but whether there is or is not a God is not the beginning and end of life in a faith tradition. Of course what one believes about God or no god can matter. It can influence how one treats others and how one approaches life’s experiences. As I pointed out at the end of my reflection on Armstrong’s book, a belief in a mysterious God leads to a humbler more thoughtful and exploratory approach than a conviction about a particular view of God - or indeed a particular view that there is no such thing as God. As I see it, life in a faith tradition gets on with the life. It leaves open the possibility of some form of mysterious God which may or may not become clearer along the way. For those of us who refuse to abandon our reason and integrity, it is possible to follow a faith tradition with the God question simply left open along with the many other myths in a faith tradition which seem secondary. Alaa Al Aswany captures the political dimension of a religious tradition. It involves caring about a society, about how people are treated in it by those in power, about justice and about the people who get hurt or shut out as others prosper. In crude broad sweep, the religious movements which developed in the axial age when human settlements became larger were political reactions to the way society was run. They were seeking alternatives. Some, like Buddhism, focussed on inner peace and self mastery. Others like Confucianism and Taoism focussed on political policy alternatives. The ancient Israeli prophets spoke critically about the treatment of poor people and in favour of justice. The later echo of this prophetic tradition was by the prophet Jesus in first century CE Israel – an Israel which was occupied by imperial Rome. The Jesus tradition put a focus on treatment of the poor and other social outsiders – prisoners (including political prisoners of which Jesus became an example), sick, travellers and non-Jews. This latter non-Jew and outsider dimension was taken up by followers who perceived their work as a faith tradition included non-Jews and spanned the Roman Empire. There are things in my faith tradition which no longer seem particularly useful but which are nonetheless there and part of the tradition. Early politics and the mists of time separate us from the Roman world when the Christian beliefs were forged, debated and then negotiated into a creed (set of beliefs) with the Roman emperor in the fourth century CE. Much of the thinking from those formative earlier times now seems irrational but is understandable. For example, in the then Roman world which declared the emperor to be a god – whatever that meant – it was a reasonable political counter statement for the followers of Jesus to have responded, no, a different kind of person, Jesus, is god – whatever that meant. Similarly, in a world not too distant from human sacrifices and with animal sacrifices to appease an angry god, followers saw the death of Jesus as a parallel to the Jewish Passover. In the Passover story an animal sacrifice allowed God to spare a household. Followers saw the death of Jesus as a form of sacrifice. This was reasoned to be the final sacrifice. The Jewish prophets had noted the limited role of sacrifices to appease God as compared with the way one treats people. The Christian story extended this to an end to sacrifices across the Roman world. While this may not be particularly helpful today, it is part of the faith tradition. The insights of the prophet Mohammed came even later - in the ninth century CE. Mohammed felt compelled by God to write for a community of outsiders in the desert south of the then nominally Christian Byzantine empire. This was the section of the former Roman Empire which continued at that time around the East and South Mediterranean. The insights of Mohammed related to justice and an end to exclusion. He felt compelled to call for reform of traditional religious pilgrimages to Mecca, and formation of a just polity for outsider tribes and merchants. Over the centuries, the various religious traditions have interacted with each other in various ways. Not only did they interact when their respective rulers waged war, but through trade and visits and, for those religions which have it built into their traditions, by proselytising. Life in a particular religious tradition need have very little to do with a package of formal beliefs in or about “God.” Yet most organised religions find it necessary to provide an on-going means to maintain their tradition’s history and distinctiveness. This is typically based on ancient traditional activities which were, and so still are, linked to a god and a package of set beliefs. In several traditions this involves the reading of ancient texts, more recent texts or songs and some reflection on current needs by someone trained in the tradition. Yet this activity can be seen for the necessary vehicle that it is and should not significantly impede the novelty and human creativity of the “how you live.” Most of my working life was spent coordinating ten Canadian national church bodies in their policy, advocacy and resettlement work with refugees. Along the way we worked with various Jewish and Muslim groups, Sikhs and others, in Canada, overseas and in international and UN meetings. My colleague at the World Council of Churches once said working with people of faith was wonderful. Certainly I found groups from local churches in countries around the world were involved in helping refugees. People from local churches made up Red Cross societies who were also helping refugees. In the early 1990s the then head of the Canadian Council for Refugees marvelled at the contribution from the churches and faith communities in Canada. Working together became easier because, in the wisdom of the Roman Catholic Church at its Vatican II council meeting, Catholics were allowed to collaborate with others on service work. Unless strong formal church doctrine arose such as birth control or the role of the military, agreement was relatively easy. The nature of religious work on the ground did not need formalities of a belief and doctrine. Rather, religious work was working alongside a constituency of people with needs and engaging the human and religious power systems to help meet those needs. In my case, the outsiders were refugees and other non-citizens. The beliefs of those working with this community varied enormously. Yet we felt part of a team with common goals and usually common positions to put to the government of the day. For some of us (Buddhists) there was no god. For some there was an elaborate declared belief about the nature of God (Catholics). For others there was but one God (Muslims). Yet the common religious work with refugees was central and the rest, including God or the lack of god, was in the background. So, Alaa,
thank you
for your
articles promoting the social change you
feel compelled to pursue. It
is
profoundly religious work. Whether God
exists or does not is a question
on the
sidelines of the history you and your
colleagues are making. Top Click:  |