Recently, I had a heated exchange with some friends and associates over a subject that in my opinion defines the current struggle towards secular and modern politics in middle eastern societies where religious themes run deep within the political establishment: What is the new status of the religiously sacred in a society aspiring to political freedom and openness? Can an open political system afford to recognize and respect all religious sens itivities? or should we scrap the term “sacrilege” from our dictionaries once and for all?
These questions may seem anachronistic to a European or American observer, but to the average Middle-Easterner, who has only read about the Age of Enlightenment in books, they are very real, urgent and contentious.
I inadvertently started the debate by asking a provocative rhetorical question comparing Ali Khamenei (the supreme leader of the Islamic government currently ruling Iran) and Ali-Ebn-AbliTaleb, the first Imam of Shiites, a highly revered religious figure for all Shiites, most Sunnis, and even many secular Iranians from a religious background. A symbol of piety, justice and integrity, Ali was divinely ordained–claim the Shiite–to succeed the prophet as the head of the Islamic state, but was outwitted by a group of the prophet’s disciples who voted in a succession committee for a different person; a decision that won popular support and was ultimately implemented despite fierce opposition from a small group of Ali’s supporters. Ali eventually dropped his claim and went along with the decision, although he never really recovered from the defeat–or as he saw it the “betrayal”–and the bitterness surrounding this episode in the early history of Islam is what divides the two major Islamic factions, the Sunnis and the Shiites, to this day.
I asked if there really is a difference between the two: “Ali-ebn-AbiTaleb thought that god himself appointed him the leader too, and was therefore riled up when the people rejected him. What is the difference?”
The link here, is the very young Shiite political ideology of “Velayate Faghih” or the Guardianship of the Jurisprudent, which–citing the divine appointment of the early Shiite imams as the heads of state–argues that political leadership is a divine matter, decided by god and inferred by the highest ranks of the elite religious establishment, and therefore not to be relegated to the popular vote of earthlings.
Among the first responses was a pointed sarcastic question directly attacking me. The writer was clearly too outraged by the supposed desecration of the holy Imam to even pretend to engage in an actual debate. My response to that was equally–if not more–personal, and this coincidentally opened up a meta-debate; good points were made about the factual and historical aspects of the question, but more importantly, questions were brought up about the very possibility of and open exchange, when certain ideas or symbols are declared “sacred” (read “off-limits” ) by a party.
What follows is my response, edited and with a few additions and minor alterations. It summarises my thoughts on the politics of “religious sanctity”. Please read on.
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I’m not the least bit interested in the actual “Ali ben abi taleb”. I’m not a historian or a biographer. I’m a living person in the 21st century who interacts with the “political realities” of his own time. What the actual Ali did or did not do can’t be more irrelevant to his political role in our present world. It is essentially out of our reach, and there is no reason we as “political beings” should be concerned with it.
I’m interested in a different Ali. In fact, there exist two fundamentally different “Ali Ebn AbiTalebs”: the person who actually (may or may not have) lived 1400 years ago, and the symbol that was born out of the political career of the former, outlived him, and continues to live to this day. There is no reason why this “Ali” should have anything in common with the actual Ali, and there is no proof that it in fact does. The political symbol evolves through time and is shaped by the imagination, prejudices and personal agendas of those who retell its story and pass it on, most of whom inevitably exercise selfish political influence to one degree or another as they narrate. This Ali then becomes an amorphous mass of emotional and instinctual energy that can be sculpted to the taste of whoever decides to turn it into political praxis. This is the force that crushes the protesting Sharif students under the boots of smelly basiji thugs high on religious fervour, yelling “Heydar! Heydar!”.
I couldn’t care less about who Ali-the-person was and what he did. I care about Ali-the-name, or Ali-the-symbol or Ali-the-testosterone-booster who is capable of breaking bones or sending kids to dungeons. And there’s no way I should be expected to “respect” this Ali. I find this expectation absurd: almost semantically ill-defined. It is like asking people to respect Kerosene. And by directly or indirectly expecting me to respect this “thing”, you are violating my human rights as if to ask me to give up my right to react to an object flying fast toward my head.
So, while a historical criticism of what I suggested might well be appropriate, focusing on that here would be missing the real point. What happened here was that the invisible political symbol once again exercised its power in an attempt to preserve its hegemony. It manipulated a living being to act as its “agent on the ground” by provoking religious fervour. The answer to the literal historical question about the actual Ali is of secondary importance.
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Regarding the question of “respect” for the beliefs of others, I have to say, I have no respect for any belief, if this “respect” is the same you show a person. I do think every idea should be given a fair chance at proving itself right, so I will gladly hear every impersonal thought. You can call this my “respect” for beliefs if you like. But beyond this, nothing. And I think the very terms “ehteram be moghaddasaat” (reverence for the sacred) and “tohin be moghaddasaat” (sacrilege) are ridiculously offensive abuses of language. They don’t have any meaning. They’re the linguistic fronts for a dirty political tactic with the following logic: “Is that behaviour a danger to my authority? then it shall be declared “bad”. “
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My final word to the religious: your expectation that I respect what you consider “sacred” is an outrageous infringement of my human rights. It’s oppressive and offensive. It’s like asking me to give up my right to self-defense. Something I naturally will not do.
