The Routledge Handbook of Religion and Security 9780415667449, 9780203102312, 2012006766

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THE ROUTLEDGE HANDBOOK OF RELIGION AND SECURITY

The Routledge Handbook of Religion and Security breaks new ground by addressing global security through the lens of religion and examining the role religion plays in both war and peace. In recent years there has been a considerable upsurge of public concern about the role of religion in violence. However, other than historical materials, there has been a relative neglect of the subject of religion and security. The Routledge Handbook of Religion and Security fills this gap in the literature by providing an interdisciplinary, comprehensive volume that helps nonspecialists and experts alike understand how religion is both part of the problem and part of the solution to security challenges. Featuring contributions from many of the key thinkers in the field, the Handbook is organized into thematic sections, reflective of three basic questions:
What does religion think of security?
What does security think of religion?
What happens when the two are mixed in specific real-world cases of religious conflict? This Handbook offers analyses of how nine different world religions have related to issues of war and peace, theologically and practically; overviews of how scholars and practitioners in nine different topical areas of security studies have (or have not) dealt with the relationship between religion and security; and five case studies of particular countries in which the religion–security nexus is vividly illustrated: Nigeria, India, Israel, the former Yugoslavia, and Iraq. This Handbook will be of great interest to students of religion, security studies, war and conflict studies, and international relations in general. Chris Seiple is President of the Institute for Global Engagement, a research, education, and diplomatic institution in Washington, DC, that builds sustainable religious freedom worldwide through local partnerships. He is a frequent media commentator and speaker on religion and security, and is co-author with H. Knox Thames and Amy Rowe of International Religious Freedom Advocacy (2009). Dennis R. Hoover is Vice President for Research and Publications at the Institute for Global Engagement and Editor of The Review of Faith & International Affairs. He is co-editor with Douglas Johnston of Religion and Foreign Affairs: Essential Readings (2012). Pauletta Otis is Professor of Security Studies at Marine Corps University, Quantico, VA. A prolific author and speaker on religion and security, she has served as a member of the Defense Intelligence Advisory Board and in numerous other advisory positions in U.S. national security.

THE ROUTLEDGE HANDBOOK OF RELIGION AND SECURITY

Edited by Chris Seiple, Dennis R. Hoover and Pauletta Otis

First published 2013 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN Simultaneously published in the USA and Canada by Routledge 711 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2013 selection and editorial material, Chris Seiple, Dennis R. Hoover and Pauletta Otis; individual chapters, the contributors. The right of the editors to be identified as the authors of the editorial material, and of the authors for their individual chapters, has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data The Routledge Handbook of Religion and Security / edited by Chris Seiple, Dennis R. Hoover, And Pauletta Otis. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-0-415-66744-9 -- ISBN 978-0-203-10231-2 (e-book) 1. Security, International--Religious aspects. 2. Religion and international relations. 3. Violence--Religious aspects. I. Seiple, Chris. II. Hoover, Dennis. III. Otis, Pauletta, 1942BL65.S375R68 2013 2010 .727--dc23 2012006766 ISBN: 978-0-415-66744-9 (hbk) ISBN: 978-0-203-10231-2 (ebk) Typeset in Bembo by Taylor & Francis Books

CONTENTS

List of contributors 1

viii

Introduction Chris Seiple, Dennis R. Hoover, and Pauletta Otis

1

PART I

World religions and security 2

9

Dichotomous Jewish understandings of security: Historical origins and contemporary expressions Stuart A. Cohen

11

3

Eastern Orthodoxy and the fusion of national and spiritual security Christopher Marsh

22

4

Catholic approaches to security and peace Gerard F. Powers

33

5

Always reforming: Protestantism and international security Robert Joustra

45

6

Shi’a Muslims and security: The centrality of Iran Max L. Gross

57

7

Islam and security: A Sunni perspective Qibla Ayaz and Rashid Ahmad

69

8

Hinduism and security: A hierarchy of protection Torkel Brekke

80

v

Contents

9 All shall abide in peace, prosperity, and justice: Sikhism and security Pashaura Singh 10 The protection of Dharma and Dharma as protection: Buddhism and security across Asia Iselin Frydenlund

90

102

PART II

Security studies and religion

113

11 Religion, war, and peace: Leavening the levels of analysis Eric Patterson

115

12 Religion and security in international relations theories Stacey Gutkowski

125

13 Religion, nationalism, and international security: Creation myths and social mechanisms Philip S. Gorski and Gülay Türkmen-Dervis¸og˘lu

136

14 Women, religion, and security: Islamic feminism on the frontlines of change Isobel Coleman

148

15 Spiritual values, sustainable security, and conflict resolution Jamie Price and Andrea Bartoli

160

16 Religion and public opinion on security: A comparative perspective James L. Guth

171

17 State religion and state repression Jonathan Fox

182

18 Human security: A secularized social gospel and the rediscovery of religion James K. Wellman, Jr.

193

19 Religion, media, and security Lee Marsden and Heather Savigny

204

PART III

Case studies

213

20 Religion and security in Nigeria John Campbell

215

vi

Contents

21 Religion, communalism, and security in post-independence India Ainslie T. Embree

226

22 Religion and the Israeli-Palestinian conflict Dov Waxman

238

23 Religion and (in)security in the former Yugoslavia Paul B. Mojzes

249

24 The religious initiative for national reconciliation in Iraq, 2006–07 Micheal A. Hoyt

260

Index

270

vii

CONTRIBUTORS

Rashid Ahmad (Ph.D., University of Peshawar) is an Assistant Professor of Islamic Studies at the Shiekh Zayed Islamic Center, University of Peshawar. He is an expert on religion and social issues and a frequent media commentator. His research writings include “Islamization of Laws: A Comparative Study of Islamic and Pakistani Laws Regarding Circumstantial Evidence” (International Business & Economics Research and College Teaching & Learning Conferences, October 5–7, 2009, Las Vegas). Qibla Ayaz (Ph.D., University of Edinburgh) is Professor of Islamics/Seerat Studies and Dean of the Faculty of Islamic and Oriental Studies at the University of Peshawar, Pakistan. He is a frequent media commentator and speaker both in Pakistan and internationally, and holds numerous board and advisory positions in Pakistani higher education. His publications include Islam and Conservation (W.W.F., Lahore 2002), Landmines and Islamic Teachings (Peshawar 2005), and T.B. Control and Islamic Teachings (Peshawar 2006). Andrea Bartoli (Ph.D., University of Milan) is the Drucie French Cumbie Chair and Dean of the School for Conflict Analysis and Resolution at George Mason University. He is also the Founding Director of Columbia University’s Center for International Conflict Resolution, a Senior Research Scholar at Columbia University’s School of International and Public Affairs, and a Teaching Fellow at Georgetown University and at the University of Siena, Italy. His recent publications include “The Global Stage of Interfaith Relations,” New Routes, 16(1) 2011 (with Diana Smith). Torkel Brekke (D.Phil., Oxford) is Professor of the History of Religions and South Asian Studies in the Department of Cultural Studies and Oriental Languages at the University of Oslo. He has published widely on South Asian religions, the relationship between religion and politics, and the ethics of war in world religions. Among his most recent books are Fundamentalism: Prophecy and Protest in an Age of Globalization (Cambridge 2012) and Buddhism and Violence: Buddhism and Militarism in Modern Asia, edited with Vladimir Tikhonov (Routledge 2012). John Campbell (Ph.D., University of Wisconsin-Madison) is the Ralph Bunche Senior Fellow for Africa Policy Studies at the Council on Foreign Relations, New York. Notable publications viii

Contributors

include his book, Nigeria: Dancing on the Brink (Rowman & Littlefield 2010), as well as his blog “Africa in Transition.” From 1975 to 2007, Campbell served as a U.S. Department of State Foreign Service officer, including as Ambassador to Nigeria and political counselor at the U.S. embassy in Pretoria, South Africa. He regularly writes and speaks about politics, conflict and security, governance, and democracy in sub-Saharan Africa, with a particular focus on Nigeria and South Africa. Stuart A. Cohen (D.Phil., Oxford) is Professor of Political Studies at Bar-Ilan University, Israel, and a Senior Research Associate at the university’s Begin-Sadat Center for Strategic Studies. His research focuses on the Israel Defense Forces (IDF), Jewish political tradition, and the diplomatic history of the Middle East. His publications include The Jewish Polity: Jewish Political Organization from Biblical Times to the Present (Indiana 1984, with Daniel Elazar), The Three Crowns: Early Rabbinic Perspectives on Government (Cambridge 1990), Israel and Her Army (Routledge 2008) and Israel’s National Security Law (Routledge 2011, with Amichai Cohen). Isobel Coleman (D.Phil., Oxford) is a Senior Fellow and Director of the Civil Society, Markets, and Democracy Initiative and of the Women and Foreign Policy Program at the Council on Foreign Relations, New York. Her areas of expertise include democratization, civil society, and economic development. Her most recent book, Paradise Beneath Her Feet: How Women are Transforming the Middle East (Random House 2010), explores how activists are working within the tenets of Islam to create economic, political, and educational opportunities for women. Ainslie T. Embree (Ph.D., Columbia University) is Professor of History Emeritus at Columbia University. He has served as President of the American Association for Asian Studies and of the American Institute for Indian Studies. From 1978–80, he served as the Counselor for Cultural Affairs at the American Embassy, New Delhi and from 1994–95 he served as consultant to the American Ambassador in India, Frank Wisner. His publications include Utopias in Conflict: Religion and Nationalism in Modern India (University of California Press 1990). Jonathan Fox (Ph.D., University of Maryland) is Professor of Political Studies at Bar-Ilan University, Israel, and Director of the university’s Religion and State project (). He specializes in the intersection between religion and politics. His most recent work focuses on state religion policy, but he has also examined the influences of religion on international religions, ethnic conflict, civil wars, and human rights. His recent books include A World Survey of Religion and the State (Cambridge 2008) and an edited volume titled Religion, Politics, Society, and the State (Oxford 2012). Iselin Frydenlund (Ph.D., University of Oslo) is a lecturer and researcher in the Department of Cultural Studies and Oriental Languages, Faculty of Humanities, University of Oslo. Her research focuses on Buddhism and militarism during the Sri Lankan civil war. She is also attached to the Peace Research Institute Oslo (PRIO), where she published “The Sangha and its Relation to the Peace Process in Sri Lanka,” PRIO Report 2/2005. She is currently conducting research on the role of religion in Norwegian foreign policy. Philip S. Gorski (Ph.D., University of California, Berkeley) is Professor of Sociology and Religious Studies at Yale University, where he is also co-director of the Center for Comparative Research and the MacMillan Initiative on Religion and Politics. His current research focuses on secularism, nationalism, and civility. His recent publications include The Protestant ix

Contributors

Ethic Revisited (Temple University Press 2011) and The Post-Secular in Question (New York University Press 2012) He is currently completing a book on the history of American civil religion. Max L. Gross (Ph.D., Georgetown) retired as Academic Dean of the (now) National Intelligence University, Washington, DC in 2005. In retirement he has been an adjunct professor of Middle Eastern and Islamic History at Georgetown University and the University of Virginia. He also instructs the Afghanistan Area Studies Program at the Foreign Service Institute. He is the author of The Muslim Archipelago: Islam and Politics in Southeast Asia (National Defense Intelligence College Press 2006) and is currently conducting research for a book on Islam and politics in South Asia. He has also authored a number of articles on Lebanon, the Arab–Israeli conflict, Syria, and Islam. James L. Guth (Ph.D., Harvard) is William R. Kenan, Jr. Professor of Political Science and Senior Fellow in Religion and Politics at the Richard W. Riley Institute of Government, Politics, and Public Leadership, Furman University. He has written extensively on religion and politics in the United States and Europe for major political science journals, and has many edited collections. His most recent book is the Oxford Handbook of Religion and American Politics (Oxford 2009), co-edited with Corwin E. Smidt and Lyman A. Kellstedt. Stacey Gutkowski (Ph.D., Cambridge) is a Lecturer in Conflict/Post Conflict Studies in the Middle East & Mediterranean Studies Programme, King’s College London. Her recent publications include “Misreading Islam in Iraq: Secular Misconceptions and British Foreign Policy,” Security Studies, 20(4) 2011, and “Secularism and the Politics of Risk: Britain’s Prevent Agenda, 2005–9,” International Relations, 25(3) 2011. She is currently finishing a monograph on the impact of the secular on Western ways of war. Dennis R. Hoover (D.Phil., Oxford) is Vice President for Research and Publications at the Institute for Global Engagement, Executive Director of its Center on Faith & International Affairs, and Editor of The Review of Faith & International Affairs. He has lectured on religion and international affairs at several colleges, as well as the U.S. Armed Forces Chaplaincy Center, the Pentagon, and the Naval Postgraduate School, Monterey, CA. He is co-editor with Douglas Johnston of Religion and Foreign Affairs: Essential Readings (Baylor 2012) and co-editor with Robert A. Seiple of Religion & Security: The New Nexus in International Relations (Rowman & Littlefield 2004). Micheal A. Hoyt (M.Div., Southern Baptist Theological Seminary) is a retired U.S. Army Chaplain (Colonel). He works as a consultant on religious freedom issues, military chaplaincy, and the role of religion in strategic and operational planning. He has lectured on religion and security with the Berkley Center for Religion, Peace, and World Affairs, Georgetown University; the U.S. Armed Forces Chaplaincy Center; the U.S. Air Force Academy; the Naval Postgraduate School; and USNORTHCOM. He helped lead the development of U.S. Army and joint approaches on religious leader engagement and religious analysis and is an advisor to the Canadian Armed Forces and Chaplaincy. Robert Joustra (Ph.D. candidate, University of Bath) is an editor and a researcher with the North American think tank, Cardus. He is a Lecturer in international politics and foreign policy at Redeemer University College, Ontario, Canada, Senior Editor at Comment magazine, and x

Contributors

Editor of Cardus Policy in Public. He is also editor, with Jonathan Chaplin, of God and Global Order: The Power of Religion in American Foreign Policy (Baylor University Press 2010). His commentary and reviews appear in The Globe and Mail, The Calgary Herald, The Review of Faith & International Affairs, and more. Lee Marsden (Ph.D., Open University) is a Senior Lecturer in International Relations at the University of East Anglia. He is an executive member of the British International Studies Association and co-convenor of its U.S. foreign policy working group. He is Editor of Ashgate’s Religion and Security series and is currently editing The Ashgate Companion on Religion and Conflict Resolution (Ashgate 2012). He is author of For God’s Sake: The Christian Right and US Foreign Policy (Zed 2008). He also edited with Heather Savigny Media, Religion, and Conflict (Ashgate 2009) and with Rosemary Durward Religion, Conflict, and Military Intervention (Ashgate 2009). Christopher Marsh (Ph.D., University of Connecticut) is Director of the European Theater for Special Operations course at the U.S. Air Force Special Operations School (USAFSOS), Hurlburt Field, FL. He also teaches and conducts research on Russian and Eurasian affairs, counterterrorism, and counter-insurgency warfare. Before joining USAFSOS, Marsh was a human terrain social scientist with the U.S. Army at Fort Leavenworth, KS. Previously he was professor of political science and director of the J.M. Dawson Institute of Church-State Studies at Baylor University. His most recent book is Religion and the State in Russia and China: Suppression, Survival, and Revival (Continuum 2011). Paul B. Mojzes (Ph.D., Boston University) is Professor of Religious Studies and former Provost and Academic Dean at Rosemont College. He was Distinguished Visiting Professor of Holocaust and Genocide Studies at Richard Stockton College. A native of Yugoslavia, he came to the United States in 1957. Mojzes is the co-editor of the Journal of Ecumenical Studies and Religion in Eastern Europe. He is the author most recently of Balkan Genocides: Holocaust and Ethnic Cleansing in the Twentieth Century (Rowman & Littlefield 2011). He also edited Religion and War in Bosnia (Oxford 1998). Pauletta Otis (Ph.D., University of Denver) is Professor of Security Studies at the Command and Staff College, Marine Corps University, Quantico, VA. Otis is a prolific author and speaker on religion and security, and has conducted research on religion and conflict/peace on four continents. She served as Senior Research Fellow for Religion and International Affairs at the Pew Forum on Religion and Public Life (2005–06). In 2009 she received the Joint Civilian Service Commendation Award for contributions made to the Office of the Joint Chiefs of Staff for work done on Joint Publication 1–05 regarding U.S. military chaplains. Eric Patterson (Ph.D., University of California, Santa Barbara) is Dean of the Robertson School of Government at Regent University. Previously he served as Associate Director of Georgetown University’s Berkley Center for Religion, Peace, and World Affairs. His books include Ending Wars Well: Order, Justice, and Conciliation in Contemporary Post-Conflict (Yale 2012), Ethics Beyond War’s End (Georgetown 2012), and Politics in a Religious World: Building a Religiously Informed U.S. Foreign Policy (Continuum 2011). Patterson has previously served as a White House Fellow, worked at the U.S. Department of State, and continues to serve as an officer in the Air National Guard. xi

Contributors

Gerard Powers (J.D., M.A., University of Notre Dame) is Director of Catholic Peacebuilding Studies at the Kroc Institute for International Peace Studies, University of Notre Dame. He also coordinates the Catholic Peacebuilding Network. From 1998–2004, he was director of the Office of International Justice and Peace of the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops, and from 1987–98 a foreign policy advisor in the same office. He is co-editor (with Robert J. Schreiter and R. Scott Appleby) of Peacebuilding: Catholic Theology, Ethics, and Praxis (Orbis 2010) and (with Daniel Philpott) of Strategies of Peace (Oxford 2010). Jamie Price (Ph.D., University of Chicago Divinity School) is Director of the Insight Conflict Resolution Program in the School for Conflict Analysis and Resolution at George Mason University and Executive Director of the Sargent Shriver Peace Institute. He is currently working on a book manuscript titled Blessed Are the Peacemakers: Catholic Social Thought and the Spiritual Politics of Sargent Shriver. Heather Savigny (Ph.D., University of Birmingham) is a Senior Lecturer in Politics at the University of East Anglia. She is co-convenor of the U.K. Political Studies Association’s Media and Politics Specialist Group. With Lee Marsden, she is co-editor of Media, Religion and Conflict (Ashgate 2009). Her interests revolve around the way in which political ideas are communicated. She has published in journals such as Political Studies, British Journal of Politics and International Relations, and Parliamentary Affairs, among others. She is currently working on a monograph titled On Meritocracy (Reaktion Books). Chris Seiple (Ph.D., Fletcher School of Law and Diplomacy, Tufts University) is President of the Institute for Global Engagement, a research, education and diplomatic institution that builds sustainable religious freedom worldwide through local partnerships. He is a member of the Federal Advisory Committee to the U.S. Secretary of State’s “Strategic Dialogue with Civil Society,” and also serves as senior adviser to the Dialogue’s working group on “Religion & Foreign Policy.” He is founder of The Review of Faith & International Affairs and co-author (with H. Knox Thames and Amy Rowe) of International Religious Freedom Advocacy (Baylor 2009). A former Marine infantry officer and member of the Council on Foreign Relations (New York) and the International Institute for Strategic Studies (London), he speaks regularly to government audiences regarding the relationship between religion and realpolitik. Pashaura Singh (Ph.D., University of Toronto) is Professor and Dr. Jasbir Singh Saini Endowed Chair in Sikh and Punjabi Studies at the University of California, Riverside. His teaching and research focus on scriptural studies and early Sikh history. His publications include The Guru Granth Sahib: Canon, Meaning, and Authority (Oxford 2000), The Bhagats of the Guru Granth Sahib: Sikh Self-Definition and the Bhagat Bani (Oxford 2003), and Life and Work of Guru Arjan: History, Memory, and Biography in the Sikh Tradition (Oxford 2006). He has also edited four volumes, the most recent one being Sikhism in Global Context (Oxford 2011). Gülay Türkmen-Dervis¸og˘ lu (Ph.D. candidate, Yale University) is a graduate student in the Department of Sociology at Yale University. She is a Junior Fellow at the Yale Center for Comparative Research and the Yale Council on Middle East Studies. Her research interests include sociology of religion, comparative-historical sociology, and cultural trauma and collective memory in the context of national identity formation. She is specifically interested in the ways religious and nationalist identities intersect, intertwine, and compete with each other, especially in the Middle East. Her dissertation project focuses on Islam as a supranational identity in Turkey. xii

Contributors

Dov Waxman (Ph.D., Paul H. Nitze School of Advanced International Studies, Johns Hopkins University) is Associate Professor of Political Science at Baruch College and the Graduate Center of the City University of New York. He has published widely on the Arab–Israeli conflict, Israeli politics, and U.S. foreign policy toward the Middle East. He is the author of The Pursuit of Peace and the Crisis of Israeli Identity: Defending/Defining the Nation (Palgrave Macmillan 2006), and the co-author with Ilan Peleg of Israel’s Palestinians: The Conflict Within (Cambridge 2011). James K. Wellman, Jr. (Ph.D., University of Chicago Divinity School) is Associate Professor and Chair of Comparative Religion at the Jackson School of International Studies, University of Washington. His most recent book is High on God: How the Megachurch Conquered America (Oxford 2013). He is also the editor of several books, including Belief and Bloodshed: Religion and Violence Across Time and Tradition (Rowman & Littlefield 2007) and, with Clark Lombardi, Religion and Human Security: A Global Perspective (Oxford 2012).

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1 INTRODUCTION Chris Seiple, Dennis R. Hoover, and Pauletta Otis

Writing in the March 2003 Atlantic Monthly, prominent columnist and author David Brooks appealed to scholars, policy-makers, and other opinion leaders to “kick the secularist habit.” Brooks admitted that he himself only became aware of his secularist blinders after the shock of the September 11, 2001 terrorist attacks. Like much of the Western intelligencia, he had been academically and culturally shaped by secularization theory’s basic assumption, namely, that modernity inevitably undermines religion. Brooks (2003: 27) realized that in reality the world is at least as religious—and arguably even more so—than ever: Until September 11, I accepted the notion that as the world becomes richer and better educated, it becomes less religious. … It’s now clear that the secularization theory is untrue. … Secularism is not the future; it is yesterday’s incorrect vision of the future. This realization sends us recovering secularists to the bookstore or the library in a desperate attempt to figure out what is going on in the world. But if 9/11—an event obviously at the intersection of religion and security—sent Brooks and other recovering secularists to the library looking for books specifically about this intersection, pickings would have been slim. Only a few major books relevant to this topic (e.g., Johnston and Sampson 1994; Huntington 1996) appeared prior to 9/11. And even after 9/11, the international relations field, including security studies, was relatively slow to integrate religion into its empirical research, theoretical development, and policy debates. As Brooks (2003: 27) notes: Over the past twenty years domestic-policy analysts have thought hard about the roles that religion and character play in public life. Our foreign policy elites are at least two decades behind. They go for months ignoring the force of religion; then, when confronted with something inescapably religious, such as the Iranian revolution or the Taliban, they begin talking of religious zealotry and fanaticism, which suddenly explains everything. After a few days of shaking their heads over the fanatics, they revert to their usual secular analyses. We do not yet have, and sorely need, a mode of analysis that attempts to merge the spiritual and the material. The Routledge Handbook of Religion and Security explores the possibilities of precisely this mode of analysis. 1

Chris Seiple, Dennis R. Hoover, and Pauletta Otis

While Western academics have indulged a long intramural discussion of secularization, most of the rest of the world has demonstrated no interest in secularizing, much less theorizing ad nauseam about it. This Handbook is designed to engage, critically and constructively, a reality that has always existed (whether or not scholars were paying attention): religion matters to security. Our objective for the Handbook is to help meet the ongoing need for interdisciplinary resources that bring religious studies and security studies together in a common forum, offering nuanced analysis of how religion is both part of the problem and part of the solution to security problems. This unique volume encourages the worlds of religion and security to think outside their respective comfort zones, challenging conventional paradigms and assumptions about boundaries that should or even can be kept neatly impenetrable. Our hope is that this book will be a catalyst to a full and fluent discussion between and within disciplines, thereby furthering the maturation of the nascent field of religion and security. By necessity we define both “religion” and “security” in broad terms, as these concepts are inherently complex and contested. By “religion” we mean simply a belief in something greater than oneself—an apprehension of and aspiration to the transcendent and to ethical clarity— which is often made manifest in rituals and institutions. Religion provides meaning, a coherent context for understanding the world, especially matters of life and death. Our intent is to avoid the common mistake of imposing, implicitly if not explicitly, a definition of religion derived from a philosophical hyper-individualism rooted in the Western Enlightenment. Rene Descartes’s famous phrase, cogito ergo sum (“I think therefore I am”), may accurately signal the approach to religion of many modern Westerners—an approach in which the individual is the center of the universe, and notions of the divine or a creator are a product of “culture” as defined by individuals. But for many religious believers around the world (especially outside the West), their philosophical foundation could be better summarized as credo ergo sum (“I believe therefore I am”). In this light, religious beliefs are not just discrete consumer options on the menu of ideas. Rather, the divine is the center of the universe; personal identity is rooted more in one’s religious community and tradition than in individual choice; and culture is a byproduct of the creator. Different understandings of the nature of “religion” can have important analytical consequences for scholars of security. If religion is understood solely in individualistic terms, it becomes easy to buy into simplistic secularism and to underestimate religion’s relevance; the assumption that is never far from the surface is that religion is merely derivative and epiphenomenal rather than elemental and causal. For a balanced estimation of the roles of religion, the analyst must be willing and able to understand religion in terms that devout believers themselves can recognize. This is not to suggest that an analyst must personally be an adherent to the religion being analyzed, or indeed an adherent to any religious tradition, in order to produce insightful scholarship. However, the flip side of this coin is that analysts of religion who are themselves deeply religious are not necessarily biased towards overestimating the importance and/or the benevolent effects of religion in society. Indeed, in some cases it is secularists who have not been tough enough on religion. They assumed it was fading from social significance, and hence ignored its continuing potential for conflict and violence. As for the definition of “security,” in the realist school of international relations (which once was dominant but today has many competitors) security is defined in traditional hard-power terms—troops and tanks—and the major players are sovereign states. While we make no sweeping predictions about any inevitable eclipsing of the state system by non-state actors, we do approach security in a manner that creates ample room for religion and religious non-state actors—and the freedoms necessary to live out faith, in private life and public life. Our focus is sustainable security, defined not merely as the absence of imminent threats to physical safety, but also as the 2

Introduction

presence of the conditions (socio-economic, political, psychological, and spiritual) necessary for long-term stability and well-being. In this we are sympathetic to the “human security” concept (Wellman and Lombardi 2012), which recognizes the inherent connection between a failure to meet core human needs and the likelihood of violent conflict. The freedom to adopt and live out religious faith (or to reject it) is, we contend, one such core human need. Meeting this need—in a context of transparent rule of law and equality of rights and responsibilities for all citizens—is a necessary condition for sustainable security (see R. Seiple and Hoover 2004; C. Seiple 2007; Thames, C. Seiple, and Rowe 2009; C. Seiple and Hoover forthcoming). These assertions are not mere conjecture, for there is ample empirical evidence in support. In their important recent book The Price of Freedom Denied: Religious Persecution and Conflict in the Twenty-First Century, Brian Grim and Roger Finke (2011) analyze a large and sophisticated dataset covering nearly 200 countries, and demonstrate that, when governments and groups in society restrict religious freedom, the likelihood of violent persecution, conflict, instability, and terrorism increases. Likewise, citing a statistical analysis by the Hudson Institute, Grim and Finke (2011: 206) note that “wherever the level of religious freedom is high, there tends to be fewer incidents of armed conflict, better health outcomes, higher levels of earned income, prolonged democracy, and better educational opportunities for women.” In short, religion is empirically related to the security and stability of both society and state. With these concepts of religion and security and their interrelationship as background, we organized this Handbook into three sections reflective of three questions: What does religion think of security?; What does security think of religion? and What happens when the two are mixed in specific real-world cases of religious conflict? Part I, “World religions and security,” offers candid yet respectful overviews of how nine different faith traditions have related to issues of war/violence and peace, both normatively and in practice.

Judaism Stuart Cohen explains how various influences of the biblical messianic vision and Jews’ troubled historical experience have shaped contemporary Jewish conceptions of, and disagreements about, security. Just as there is a lack of political consensus within Israel, Cohen notes, today there are dueling opinions not only about the appropriate religious strategy for attaining security but also about the very definition of the term “security” itself.

Eastern Orthodoxy Eastern Orthodoxy has maintained close ties between church and state throughout its history, and Christopher Marsh explains how this has prompted Orthodoxy to “align with the power of the state and to sacralize its security interests.” His survey focuses on Russian Orthodoxy because of its numeric importance and the resurgence of its social, political, and legal relationship with the Russian state following the Cold War—a resurgence that has considerable implications for the future of democracy in Russia and, in turn, Russia’s role on the world stage.

Roman Catholicism Gerard Powers summarizes key dimensions of Roman Catholicism’s rich history of ethical reflection on matters of peace and security. He outlines the holistic vision of security cast by the Church’s social teachings, and provides illustrations of Catholic engagement regarding nuclear weapons, humanitarian intervention, and peacebuilding. 3

Chris Seiple, Dennis R. Hoover, and Pauletta Otis

Protestantism Robert Joustra argues that Protestantism’s diversity and dynamism make assessing its relationship to security difficult, especially because this religious tradition so heavily influenced the development of the contemporary world order. Joustra situates Protestantism in its historical context, identifies key features that typify the tradition, and discusses perspectives on security evident in six political traditions that have been important in Protestantism: the Anabaptist pacifist tradition, the liberation theology tradition, the Lutheran two-kingdoms tradition, the Reformed/Calvinist tradition, the tradition of Protestant Zionism, and the tradition of “civil religion.”

Shi’a Islam Max L. Gross notes that Shi’a Muslims have been preoccupied with security since the earliest days of Islam, as their minority status within the larger Sunni Muslim world has periodically targeted them for harassment and persecution. Gross argues that political quietism rather than assertiveness has generally been characteristic of Shi’a communities, yet the Shi’a message also contains the potential for enabling revolutionary change, as has been apparent since the Iranian revolution of 1979.

Sunni Islam Islamic terrorist groups routinely claim that violent acts are valid expressions of jihad, but Qibla Ayaz and Rashid Ahmad argue that Sunni scholars and jurists who are faithful to the true core of the tradition regard the sanctity of life highly and accept strict ethical limits on any use of force. Ayaz and Ahmad outline how Sunni ethics govern the proper cause and conduct of jihad. They explain that the disconnect today between Islamic ethics and behavior is due to a variety of factors, including a theological failure to recognize the spirit of the faith and how acts of violence constitute rejection of proper authority.

Hinduism Torkel Brekke examines words from the Hindu tradition that convey its concept of security. He demonstrates how Hinduism’s “hierarchy of protection”—on the levels of state, civil society, and family—blurs the distinction between public and private security. His chapter addresses modern implications for religion and security in India, discussing the influence of both Gandhian non-violence and violent Hindu nationalism.

Sikhism Pashaura Singh provides an overview of Sikh history and argues that popular narratives—and sometimes scholarly narratives too—of the Sikh relationship to violence are often over-simplified. Singh notes how non-religious factors (like ethno-nationalism) affected Sikhism’s development amid shifting political realities. Drawing from Sikh texts, he contends that Sikh thought contains robust ethics regarding the use of force and the transformative power of reconciliation and restorative justice.

Buddhism Iselin Frydenlund notes the plurality within Buddhism and its traditional emphasis on praxis. Drawing on historical examples and texts, she discusses Buddhist political paradigms, justifications 4

Introduction

of violence, and ritual protection. Frydenlund shows how Buddhism’s influence can be seen in political cultures across Asia today, and she explains how its relationship to the state has implications for security and insecurity. Part II, “Security studies and religion,” provides concise and insightful overviews of how scholars and practitioners in nine different topical areas have (or haven’t) dealt with the relationship between religion and security, and the consequences for theory and practice.

Levels of analysis Eric Patterson argues that scholars and foreign policy experts have largely ignored the religious factors that contribute to conflict and peace across all three traditional levels of analysis in international relations: the individual level, the domestic (societal) level, and the international level. He explains how religious factors can induce violence directly (e.g. when a religious leader prescribes killing) or indirectly (e.g. when elites instrumentalize religious symbols for political ends). Patterson also provides examples of how religion can and does play important roles in promoting peace.

International relations theory Stacey Gutkowski argues that the complex relationship between religion and security requires careful theorization. She surveys competing definitions of religion and security, highlights recent developments within international relations scholarship regarding religion’s “return,” and examines how the discipline’s theoretical paradigms address religion’s influence on global affairs. Seeking further theoretical innovation, she calls for case studies that expand beyond the 9/11 wars and the European wars of religion.

Nationalism Philip Gorski and Gülay Türkmen Dervis¸og˘ lu dispel two common myths about religion, nationalism, and security: first, that religion is always a source of violence and secularism a source of peace; and second, that modern forms of nationalism are irreligious and replace religion as a driver of integration in secularized societies. They argue that those seeking to understand the relationship between religious nationalism and international security should more carefully study the influence of religious elites and the impact of catalytic events and symbolic factors on the potential for violence.

Islamic feminism Isobel Coleman argues that in Muslim-majority countries, women’s empowerment is not just a moral concern; it is a driver of economic and societal reform, which in turn has profound implications for security. Using case studies from Morocco, Afghanistan, Indonesia, and Saudi Arabia, Coleman demonstrates how Islamic feminists are using Islamic texts and tenets to promote change for women in ways that are consonant with local religious and cultural environments.

Conflict analysis and resolution Recognizing that the discipline is still developing ways to analyze religion’s relationship to security, Jamie Price and Andrea Bartoli look specifically at three analytical trends in the field of conflict resolution. They track the effort to develop a science of conflict resolution; trace the 5

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advances scholars and practitioners have made in mediation of interpersonal and small group conflicts; and mark progress regarding the potential of spiritual values to transform lives affected by protracted conflict. Price and Bartoli conclude with a case study of the Peace Corps’ policies and procedures, which, they argue, illustrates the value of encouraging—in non-sectarian fashion—spiritual values in peacebuilding.

Public opinion James Guth surveys and evaluates the existing studies of religious influences on public attitudes about foreign policy generally, and national/international security policy specifically. He notes that surveys have primarily been conducted in Western democracies, and many of those studies fail to measure specific aspects of religion like affiliation, behavior, level of belief (or traditionalism), and political theology. Focusing on two broad dimensions—support for militant internationalism or cooperative internationalism—he uses the data available to compare public opinion in the United States, Europe, and the Middle East.

Empirical conflict studies Jonathan Fox summarizes past empirical studies of religion and conflict, which have demonstrated statistically that there is a clear link between state establishment of/support for religion and repression of religious minorities. Fox then presents findings of his original research employing more complex variables from the large Religion and State (RAS) dataset. He shows that, in religiously exclusive states, state repression extends to the entire population, including adherents of the majority faith, not just religious minorities.

Human security James K. Wellman, Jr. explains that the concept of human security focuses on the “soft” power of civil society rather than the “hard” power of the state. He traces the concept’s history and suggests that it has potential as a “secular social gospel” to promote human flourishing beyond the basic, physical security provided by the state. Religion’s impact on human security can be positive or negative, depending on context, but Wellman notes that healthy religious communities both rely on, and are necessary for, human security.

Media Lee Marsden and Heather Savigny revisit the July 2011 mass killings in Norway to examine how religion is framed by the media and how the media both influences and is influenced by societal values. They employ the Copenhagen School’s understanding of societal security to map how values that threaten or seem to threaten a society (e.g. Islam) are securitized. They argue that media, security, and religion can function as both agents and structures as they interact with one another, and that the media’s simplistic securitization of religion undermines long-term security. Finally, Part III of the book presents five case studies of particular countries in which the religion– security nexus—for good or ill—is vividly illustrated. Leading experts highlight key aspects of the religion–security relationship that scholars and practitioners should be knowledgeable about and prepared to deal with in practical ways. 6

Introduction

Nigeria John Campbell offers a nuanced historical portrait of Nigeria’s Christian and Muslim groups and the related security challenges that Nigeria faces today. Campbell examines the popular support for shari’a and radical groups in the north; details the political tensions following the 2011 presidential election; and discusses reforms for the country’s long-term stability.

India Ainslie Thomas Embree explores religion’s role in shaping communal identities in India and demonstrates how religion has been implicated in secessionist movements in Jammu and Kashmir, Punjab, and Nagaland. Since independence, the Indian government has maintained an officially secular stance in an effort to downplay the threat that inter-communal violence poses to the country’s stability. Embree argues that neither security problems nor their potential solution can be adequately understood, however, without bringing religion into the analytical foreground.

Israel Dov Waxman notes that, while the Israeli–Palestinian conflict is often characterized as a “religious conflict,” historically it is more accurately described as a struggle for land in which religion played a complex secondary role. Waxman discusses the history and motivation of the radical ideologies and movements that pose a threat to long-term peace and security: messianic religious Zionism (and the Jewish settler movement), and Palestinian Islamism (and the Hamas movement). Unless official peace negotiations involve religious actors, Waxman argues, these radical movements may grow more violent and actually make the conflict religious rather than territorial.

The Former Yugoslavia Paul Mojzes provides historical context for religious differentiation in the Former Yugoslavia and chronicles the rise of ethno-religious nationalism—focusing on the wars in Serbia, Croatia, and Bosnia and Herzegovina that followed the collapse of Soviet communism. Mojzes posits that the commingling of religious and political identity provided a rallying point for populations uncertain about their future. He sees signs of change today, as some religious leaders call for peace and as interfaith dialogue gains momentum.

Iraq In the final chapter, Micheal Hoyt offers a first-person account of the formation and activities of the Iraq Inter-religious Congress (IIRC) in 2006–07. Hoyt served as the senior military chaplain for all American forces in Iraq and was in a unique position to help promote security solutions that accounted for the role of religion in the lives of the Iraqi people. The IIRC was a national reconciliation peace initiative involving religious leaders inside and outside of Iraq, and Hoyt argues that it provided a model for reconciliation that reflected the highest ideals of religious expression. According to a 2009 global Gallup poll, 82 percent of the world’s people consider religion to be “important in their daily lives” (Crabtree and Pelham 2009). It is hard to ignore the fact that four out of every five people on the planet take religion seriously—although for a long time the international relations field seemed nonetheless attached to its religious illiteracy. Scholarship or 7

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policy that does not account for religion will, at best, miss important insights and opportunities; at worst it will make serious security problems worse. And the stakes are only getting higher as globalization advances. Threats to religious identity—old and new, real and imagined—are proliferating, as are various means of response. Religion remains salient, especially in politics and political violence. Fortunately, in recent years international relations and security studies have begun to kick the secularist habit (see, for example, Chaplin and Joustra 2010; Johnston 2011; Toft, Philpott, and Shah 2011; Snyder 2011; Patterson 2011; Hoover and Johnston 2012). It is our hope that this Handbook helps accelerate this positive trend.

References Brooks, D. (2003) “Kicking the Secularist Habit: A Six-Step Program,” Atlantic Monthly, 291(2), March, 27–28. Chaplin, J. and Joustra, R. (2010) God and Global Order: The Power of Religion in U.S. Foreign Policy, Waco, TX: Baylor University Press. Crabtree, S. and Pelham, B. (2009) “What Alabamians and Iranians Have in Common,” Gallup.com, 9 February, online at (accessed January 15, 2012). Grim, B. and Finke, R. (2011) The Price of Freedom Denied: Religious Persecution and Conflict in the Twenty-First Century, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Hoover, D.R and Johnston, D.M. (eds.) (2012) Religion and Foreign Affairs: Essential Readings, Waco, TX: Baylor University Press. Huntington, S.P. (1996) The Clash of Civilizations and the Remaking of World Order, New York: Simon & Schuster. Johnston, D.M. (2011) Religion, Terror, and Error: U.S. Foreign Policy and the Challenge of Spiritual Engagement, Westport, CT: Praeger. Johnston, D.M. and Sampson, C. (eds.) (1994) Religion, the Missing Dimension of Statecraft, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Patterson, E. (2011) Politics in a Religious World: Toward a Religiously Literate U.S. Foreign Policy, London: Continuum. Seiple, C. (2007) “Memo to the State: Religion and Security,” The Review of Faith & International Affairs 5(1): 39–42. Seiple, C. and Hoover, D.R. (forthcoming) “Religion and Global Security,” in A. Hertzke (ed.) The Future of Religious Liberty, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Seiple, R.A. and Hoover, D.R. (eds.) (2004) Religion & Security: The New Nexus in International Relations, Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield. Snyder, J. (ed.) (2011) Religion and International Relations Theory, New York: Columbia University Press. Thames, H.K., Seiple, C., and Rowe, A. (2009) International Religious Freedom Advocacy, Waco, TX: Baylor University Press. Toft, M.D., Philpott, D. and Shah, T.S. (2011) God’s Century: Resurgent Religion and Global Politics, New York: W.W. Norton. Wellman, J.K. and Lombardi, C. (eds.) (2012) Religion and Human Security: A Global Perspective, New York: Oxford University Press.

8

PART I

World religions and security

2 DICHOTOMOUS JEWISH UNDERSTANDINGS OF SECURITY: HISTORICAL ORIGINS AND CONTEMPORARY EXPRESSIONS Stuart A. Cohen

Traditional Jewish perspectives on national security reflect two contradictory influences. One is the messianic vision contained in the Hebrew Bible, indisputably the foundational text of all Jewish teachings; the other is bitter historical experience, especially as memorialized in the threnodies added over the centuries to the traditional Jewish liturgy. The first part of this chapter will discuss the dichotomous messages imparted by those two bodies of sources. Thereafter, it will analyze the principal Jewish debates over the religious meaning of security currently taking place, especially in the modern state of Israel.

Dichotomous visions of security Biblical prophets painted a picture of security that is as sublime as it is succinct. Messianic times, they foretold, would be characterized by a condition of universal amity, symbolized by the co-habitation of wolves and sheep, leopards and kids, cows and bears (Isaiah 11:6–7). Even more miraculously, humans would renounce the use of force. “They shall beat their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks. Nation shall not take up sword against nation; they shall never again know war” (Isaiah 2:4 and Micah 4:3). That ambience promised the surest guarantee of Jewish security. Under the protective umbrella of Divinely inspired disarmament, “Jacob [the people of Israel] shall return [from exile] and be quiet and at ease; and none shall make him afraid” (Jeremiah 30:19). So powerful was this vision, and so compelling its message, that echoes of biblical affirmations of peace’s virtues reverberate throughout all subsequent Jewish teachings (Artson 1988: 60–62). In early rabbinic texts, “Seek peace and pursue it” (Psalms 34:15) attained the status of a religious commandment. Indeed, the term “peace” itself became a mantra, references to which were inserted at strategic locations throughout the Jewish literary canon. Mishnah, the first of the landmark rabbinic codes of Jewish law (compiled in the fourth century CE) concludes with 11

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the assurance that “the Lord will give strength to His people; the Lord will bless His people with peace.” The liturgy composed in the same period repeats that message. To this day, the peroration to the central portion of the prayer recited thrice daily, as well as to the traditional memorial for the departed, reads: “May He who ordains universal peace bestow peace on us and upon all Israel.” Sincere though such peace-loving affirmations always were, for lengthy periods they also made a virtue out of necessity. More often than not, Judaism’s non-militancy was hardly a product of choice. Rather, it reflected the condition of powerlessness that Rome imposed on the Jewish people early in the Common Era. Prior to that, after all, the children of Israel had resorted to military force with just as much gusto as their neighbors, thereby ensuring warfare a crucial role in the formation of their national identity. That was certainly the case during the period covered by the Old Testament, which contains 286 references to God as “the Lord of Hosts,” who is also frequently described as an active participant in the battles waged by His people. The books of the Apocrypha, some of which narrate histories of “the second Jewish Commonwealth,” circa 500 BCE to 70 CE, indicate that later Jewish traditions, too, were formulated against a background of almost incessant violence. Military success, quite apart from being actively pursued by the Hasmonean dynasty, also became integral to contemporary apocalyptic thought, and was idealized even by the superficially tranquil sectarians who inhabited the Judean desert during Jesus’ lifetime. Indeed, one of the most graphic of the Dead Sea Scrolls is menacingly titled “The War of the Sons of Light against the Sons of Darkness.” From the perspective of its author(s), the road to ultimate security lies not in the pursuit of Isaiah’s program of universal peace but in adherence to the scroll’s detailed plans for the military campaigns to be waged by the Messiah’s armies (Yadin 1962). Unquestionably, the prime cause for the abandonment of such visions was the sobering experience of military catastrophe. Roman legions crushed one major attempt by Judean Jewish nationalists to ensure their sovereignty in the years 66–70 CE, an adventure that ended with the destruction of the second Temple and Jerusalem’s devastation. Six decades later, the same armies responded even more savagely to the uprising led by the shadowy figure named Bar-Kochba. With Bar-Kochba’s defeat, masses of Judea’s inhabitants were put to the sword; many of the survivors were led in chains to exile. In an effort to save Judaism from utter extinction, rabbinical leaders embarked on a program of radical ideological transformation. Inter alia, they renounced militancy as a path to security and instead preached the virtues of non-bellicosity. One essential step was to erase military memories from the national consciousness (Eisen 2011: 87–89). To that end, the Bible was re-interpreted and Scripture’s tales of martial valor divested of their plain meanings. In the rabbinic reading, King David, for instance, was transformed from a fierce warrior into a serene scholar; his lieutenants became equally pacific students. Likewise, military themes were airbrushed out of the traditions that celebrated the victorious Maccabee rebellion against Seleucian rule during the second Temple period. Chanukah, the annual “festival of lights” which commemorates the triumph, was instead invested with other-worldly connotations; it became a quintessential celebration of Zechariah 4:6: “Not by might nor by power, but by My spirit says the Lord of hosts.” Bar-Kochba’s literary metamorphosis was still more extreme—from iconic national hero into prototypical false Messiah, someone who had promised Jews security but in fact had exacerbated their vulnerability (Marks 1994: 204). Above all, armed conflict and its pursuit were denied scholarly attention, even as topics of purely abstract analysis. Only Maimonides (Moses ben Maimon; 1135–1204), universally recognized to be the greatest Jewish legal authority of the entire exilic period, broke with that convention when including a cohesive summary of the biblical and talmudic rulings relevant to the initiation and conduct of armed conflict in his “Laws of Kings and their Wars,” the 12

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compendium that concludes the magisterial codex that he compiled in Egypt and unabashedly titled Mishneh Torah (Supplementary Torah). But this instance, although certainly titanic, remained exceptional and without sequel. No other Jewish codifier of either the medieval or early modern periods probed in any detail the ius ad bellum and ius in bello topics that exercised the minds of their gentile contemporaries. Neither did Jewish philosophers make any effort to master the mysteries of military thought. In fact, this is one of the few areas of intellectual endeavor to which Jews made no contribution whatsoever for almost two millennia. Standard surveys of the field cite not one Jewish thinker in the entire span which stretches from Josephus, in the first century, until Henry Kissinger in the mid-1900s (Chaliand 1994). Prudence undoubtedly supplied one compelling reason for that degree of abstinence. Any sign that Jews, either individually or collectively, might be contemplating a resort to arms—even if only in self-defense—would have been bound to arouse suspicion amongst their gentile suzerains and neighbors, and hence to trigger persecutions and depredations even more severe than those in any case habitually suffered by European and oriental Jewish communities. Even so, the fidelity of Jewish spiritual leaders to a policy of silence where military matters were concerned cannot exclusively be attributed to their appreciation of the benefits of political discretion. It also reflected an equally profound revision of previous understandings of what security entailed and how that sublime blessing was to be attained (Luz 2003). In origin, this re-interpretation too responded to the destruction of the second Temple in 70 CE and the subsequent experience of Exile—twin traumas that from the first were considered Godgiven punishments. Israel was being chastised because it had sinned. By the same token, only after serving out their Divinely imposed sentence could Jews expect to be redeemed. Meanwhile, all they could possibly do in order to ensure their security and welfare, in this world as in the next, was to pray and act piously. There existed no sanction for autonomous military action. On the contrary, according to an early rabbinic interpretation of the three “oaths” recorded in the biblical text known as the Song of Songs (2:7; 3:5; 8:4), Jews were expressly forbidden to use physical force. First committed to writing in the fifth century, that tradition was thereafter burnished by generations of exegetes, all of whom repeated the same warning. On no account seek to “hasten the end of days” and reconquer the Holy Land by force of arms. Instead, as one fourteenth-century rabbi put it, the model for action should be the conciliatory strategy that, according to Genesis chapter 33, was adopted by the patriarch Jacob prior to meeting his brother Esau. Hence: We should follow in the footsteps of our forefathers, that is, prepare to approach the children of Esau [i.e. gentiles] with gifts, and with humble language, and with prayer to God, may He be blessed. It is impossible for us to meet them in war, as it is said [in the Song of Songs]: “I have abjured you, O daughters of Jerusalem, not to provoke war with the nations”. (cited by Ravitzky 1996: 227–28) By the third decade of the twentieth century, two independent processes had combined to erode the Diaspora tradition of Jewish non-bellicosity. One was the enlistment of increasing numbers of Jews into the armies of the nations in which they resided. Until then, Jews had evinced an almost genetic antipathy towards military service. The only practicing Jew known to have won battlefield renown in medieval times was Ismail ibn Nagrela (993–1055/6; in Jewish sources named Shemuel ha-Nagid [Samuel the Prince]), a vizier to the Muslim rulers of Grenada who had the unique distinction of commanding an Islamic army—and of commemorating his achievements in Hebrew verse of the very highest quality (Cole 1996). With the emergence of 13

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the modern nation state, however, the sight of Jews in uniform was no longer so exceptional. Some volunteered to become soldiers; many more were conscripted (Baron 1977: 3–14). But, whichever the case, all divested themselves of their earlier demeanor of non-violence. They were now committed to defending their host countries with as much ferocity as other citizens. Indeed, they would do so even when required to fight against those of their co-religionists who were natives of enemy states, as was the case during World War I. The second process to undermine Jewry’s traditional aversion to warfare was the advent of political Zionism. Within barely two decades of the movement’s foundation in 1897 it became clear that, contrary to the early and naïve expectations of Zionism’s founders, the Jewish drive for renewed sovereignty in the Holy Land was encountering violent resistance on the part of Palestine’s Arab inhabitants (Shapira 1992). In response, rival political wings of the local Jewish leadership promoted the establishment of successively more aggressive militias: Ha-Shomer (1909); the Haganah (1920); the Etzel (Irgun Tzeva’i Leumi; 1931); the Lehi (Lohamei Herut Yisrael, otherwise known as “the Stern gang,” 1940) and the Palmach (1941). From a historical perspective, these two processes grew out of essentially different circumstances and evolved independently. Only a very small percentage of the Jewish soldiers who served in gentile armies ever became Zionists; the vast majority of Zionists who joined local militias in Palestine lacked prior military experience (Cohen 2010: 64–66). In at least one sense, however, the two processes produced overlapping consequences. For the first time in over two millennia, Jews—as individuals and as collectivities—were confronted with the need to define their attitude towards the use of force as a practical instrument of policy and possible path to security. Especially affected were the handfuls of men (almost no women were involved) who carried the awesome responsibilities of communal leadership at moments of supreme crisis. One such group consisted of the political leaders of the fledgling Zionist community in mandatory Palestine. Another was comprised of the spiritual and lay leaders of central European Jewry during the Holocaust, who had to choose between counseling fruitless resistance to the Nazis or equally suicidal submission to their outrages. For that generation, whether or not to abandon the ingrained habit of passive subjection to the will of the Almighty was not just a matter of philosophical speculation. At stake was the very survival of the Jewish people.

Meanings of security in modern Israel Given the complexities of the issues involved, it is not surprising that unanimity was never attained. Hence, no single Jewish definition of security emerged to harmonize the various meanings that Jews had attached to the term in earlier ages. Rather, ever since the early twentieth century, what “security” might entail and, depending on the answer, how it might be attained have become questions of deep religious contention. Especially is this so in the State of Israel, where the margins for error have always been considered very slim. Mirroring political exchanges in the secular Jewish world, two principal axes of controversy concerning security have emerged. One pits “political activism” against “scholasticism”; the other contrasts “accommodation” with “belligerence.”

Political activism vs. scholasticism Contemporary debates over the respective religious merits of “political activism” and “scholasticism” have their roots in the emergence during the early twentieth century of a new school of Jewish thought, known as “religious Zionism.” Breaking with centuries of tradition, “religious Zionists” elevated participation in the re-establishment of Jewish sovereignty in the Holy Land to the status 14

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of a communal religious obligation, incumbent on every Jew. True, both Rabbi Isaac Jacob Reines (1839–1915), who institutionalized religious Zionism when founding the “Mizrachi” movement, and Rabbi Abraham Isaac Kook (1865–1935), its most influential thinker, wholeheartedly subscribed to traditional opposition to militarism. During World War I, each pointedly contrasted the Jews’ adherence to the “culture of the Book” with the preference for the “culture of the sword” displayed by gentiles (Holzer 2007: 344–51). Nevertheless, both broke new ground when recognizing that, as a last resort, Jews too might need to use force in order to ensure their security. In preparation for that eventuality, Kook advocated departing from ingrained habits. We require a healthy body. We have greatly occupied ourselves with the soul and have forsaken the holiness of the body. … Our return will only succeed if it will be marked, along with its spiritual glory, by a physical return which will create … a fiery spirit encased in powerful muscles. (reprinted, A.I. Kook 1993: 80) With the attainment of Israel’s independence in 1948, Kook’s disciples extended the license he had granted for active physical participation in the task of national reconstruction. Convinced that they were witnessing “the beginning of the flowering of our Redemption,” they now preached the virtues of service in the Israel Defense Forces (IDF), a duty which they portrayed as a religious injunction in its own right. In that atmosphere, soldiers could become religious heroes and weapons sacred artifacts. That landmark was crossed in 1967 by Rabbi Zvi Yehudah Kook (1891–1982), the elder Kook’s son and successor as head of the academy in Jerusalem that bore the family name. Just prior to the Six Day War he publicly declared the IDF and their armaments to be “holy” (reprinted, Z.Y. Kook 2003: 363), thereby defying a Jewish religious taboo against sanctifying anything military that had endured for almost two millennia. This progression to an “activist” pursuit of security did not pass unchallenged. It has been resisted with especial tenacity by ultra-orthodox (haredi) Jewry. Although sharing religious Zionism’s profound attachment to the Land of Israel and fervent wish for the end of Exile, haredi spokesmen refuse to budge from the traditional belief that the Return can only result from the Almighty’s decision that the House of Israel has worked its passage home. Precipitate activism, unaccompanied by heaven-sent omens of imminent Redemption, will postpone the advent of the Messiah, not hasten his coming. “Security,” in its highest form, far from being a physical condition, must reflect the metaphysical resolution of the age-old dialogue between Jews and their Maker. Such teachings did not counsel fatalistic passivity. Central to haredi belief is the conviction that Jews can attain security in this world, and indeed will do so by devoting themselves wholeheartedly and unanimously to the study of the sacred texts (Torah), a duty so sublime that it outweighs all other religious obligations put together. Distilled from centuries of reverence for scholasticism, that teaching was repeated even at the height of the Holocaust by several of the most influential haredi rabbis in Europe (Schweid 1994). It is also consistently advanced by their successors in the State of Israel. Notwithstanding the differences in context, the message remains the same. Scholarship, far from being just an intellectual exercise, is essentially a sacrament: it constitutes the prime means whereby Jews achieve communion with God and re-enact the theophany at Mount Sinai. Hence, pursuit of the scholarly vocation guarantees Divine protection. Absent that gift, this-worldly military agencies are powerless. “Other than the Torah we have no security; neither soldiers nor the IDF will help us” (Rabbi Eliezer Menachem Shach [1898–2001], cited by Doron 1988: 504). Statistics relating to military service in contemporary Israel provide the starkest evidence of the practical consequences arising from the debate over the respective merits of scholasticism 15

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and political activism as paths to security. Graduates of national-religious educational frameworks, taught to believe that enlistment is a religious duty, flock to military service with growing enthusiasm—so much so that their numbers in combat units now outrun their proportion in annual male Israeli conscription cohorts by a ratio of about 3:1. Haredi representation in the ranks, on the other hand, is very much lower, principally because so many members of this community apply for (and are granted) indefinite deferments of enlistment on the grounds that “the [study of] the Torah is their profession” (Cohen 2008: 130–33). In 1948 just 400 youths benefitted from this concession. Since 1977 (not incidentally, the year that haredi political parties first joined a government coalition), the numbers have grown exponentially: from 8,000 in 1980 to 16,000 in 1985, to 30,000 in 1999 and—despite the passage of legislation in 2008 designed to stem the flood—to over 50,000 in 2010. Demographers calculate that by 2020 one in every four Jewish Israeli males of conscript age will belong to the haredi community, and the vast majority of these will seek deferment from conscription (Ben-David 2010: 141). Critics warn of the catastrophic implications for Israel’s security; but haredi spokesmen remain insistent that their contribution to national defense is unequalled: “If the government knew how much [Torah] students protect the state’s well-being through their study, it would put guards in the schools, making sure that Torah study is never interrupted” (cited Cohen 1997: 101).

Accommodation vs. belligerence Whilst scholasticists and activists dispute the appropriate religious strategy for the attainment of security, controversies between advocates of “accommodation” and “belligerence” focus more specifically on what meanings the term “security” should, and should not, carry in terms of Jewry’s ultimate purposes in the world. From the first, some Jewish theologians expressed concern about the potential for violence inherent in Zionism. Jewry’s uniqueness, they taught, lay in its character as a spiritual and moral people, which had not been corrupted by the trappings of power. Anti-Zionists sought to preserve that tradition by opposing (and sometimes doing all in their political power to prevent) the establishment of a Jewish national home, a prospect that they feared would pervert Israel’s mission to be “a light unto the nations.” In 1917, for instance, Claude Montefiore (1858–1938), a leading exponent of Reform Judaism and prominent Anglo-Jewish communal leader, attempted to use his influence to persuade the British Government not to publish the Balfour Declaration. “For the true well-being of the Jewish race, emancipation and liberty in the countries of the world are a thousand times more important” (cited in Cohen 1982: 304). Religious Zionists, whilst certainly not going that far, were equally insistent on the need to honor Judaism’s unique heritage of commitment to moral conduct. Most clearly and influentially adumbrated by Ahad Ha’am (Asher Ginzburg, 1856–1927, who, although a self-proclaimed “secularist,” expressed himself in decidedly spiritual terms), those themes were echoed by a long line of more obviously “religious” personalities, albeit some more observant of Orthodox practices than others. Within that group come rabbis Reines and Avigdor Amiel (1882–1946), Chief Rabbi of Tel-Aviv-Jaffa in the 1930s (who on more than one occasion equated Jewish nationalism with idolatry), Aharon Shemuel Tameret (d. 1931), a more obscure Russian rabbi who likewise criticized Zionism’s emphasis on the nationalist component in Judaism, and—perhaps most famously of all—Martin Buber (1878–1965), the most influential Jewish religious humanist of his age. What united these otherwise disparate figures was their conviction that the realization of the Zionist dream, although laudable, would not ipso facto ensure Israel’s security. On the contrary, growing evidence of local Arab resistance to Jewish colonization of Palestine indicated that 16

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Zionism’s success would make Jews even less secure than they already were. An independent Jewish polity was bound to become a perpetual target of Arab attack. Buber believed that the only escape from that impasse was for the Jews to work for the creation of a bi-national state in Palestine, in which they and their Arab neighbors could live in harmony. To that end, he and a small coterie of like-minded intellectuals in 1925 created one organization called Brit Shalom (Covenant of Peace) and in 1942 helped found another, Ichud (Unity). Neither initiative was avowedly pacifist. Unlike Gandhi, with whom he corresponded on the subject, Buber did believe in the legitimacy of violence as a means of self-defense. So too did Tameret and Amiel. Their distinction lay, rather, in their preference for non-violence, a preference rooted as much in their understanding of contemporary realities as in their assessment of what is morally right and wrong (Eisen 2011: 192). Buber’s advocacy of a bi-national state never attained wide support amongst religious Zionists. Until as late as 1967, however, the majority of that community undoubtedly agreed with the broader message that security was more likely to be achieved by accommodation with the Arabs than by adopting a belligerent posture towards them. As much is indicated by the records of the great debate that took place between 1936 and 1939, when the Jewish community in mandatory Palestine anguished over an appropriate response to the unprovoked attacks perpetrated against Jewish targets during the “Arab Rebellion.” Overwhelmingly, national religious rabbis joined the secular political leadership in advocating a policy of restraint. Moreover, they justified their position on moral grounds. Referring repeatedly to the ethical principles embedded in the prophetic and rabbinic traditions, they insisted that there existed no religious justification for the violence proposed by firebrands on the extreme right of the Jewish political spectrum. Indeed, when the Irgun and the Lehi did between 1947 and 1948 mount several operations against both British and Arab targets that failed to discriminate between combatant and non-combatant targets, the religious establishment roundly condemned them as “acts of terror” and contrary to the more moderate thrust of traditional Jewish postures (Don-Yehiyah 1993). By and large, that remained the dominant tone of Israeli religious Zionist discourse until the twin cataclysms of the Six Day War in 1967 and the Yom Kippur War of 1973. Those events produced contradictory effects. The first, interpreted as a God-given triumph, held out the promise of the imminent extension of Jewish sovereignty to Judea and Samaria, the very cradle of Israel’s biblical history and sites of its most sacred shrines. By contrast, the near catastrophe of 1973 demonstrated how tenuous Israel’s control over those regions might be. Suddenly, there appeared a real possibility that governments might succumb to international pressure and relinquish some, perhaps all, of “the territories.” Any such action would pose a double threat to Israel’s security: it would both arouse Divine wrath and expose the remainder of the country to renewed attack. Gush Emunim (Bloc of the Faithful), an extra-parliamentary pressure group, was established in February 1974 with the purpose of averting both dangers. Its core consisted of disciples and students of Rabbi Zvi Yehudah Kook, who by that time was declaring the retention of Jewish rulership over Judea and Samaria to be a Divine command, and non-resistance to their transfer to be a sin. As far as the Gush was concerned, those guidelines could best be followed by initiating a large-scale program of Jewish settlement, designed not just to place Jewish feet firmly on the ground but also to show the world (and especially the Palestinians) that Israel was determined to fulfill its destiny by retaining lands that the Almighty had promised to Jews in perpetuity. Judged against the gauge of past Jewish teachings, “security” thus acquired an entirely revolutionary meaning. By investing a severely down-to-earth and practical enterprise (settlement construction) with chiliastic connotations, the Gush had injected into the term an element of messianic dynamism that promised to be transformational (Sprinzak 2000). 17

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For the most part, the energies thus released were channeled into activity that, although aggressively pursued, was not violent and usually received government sanction. That was especially so once the right-wing Likud party attained power in 1977, after which date the Jewish population in the West Bank and Gaza Strip exploded—to 24,000 in 1983, 116,000 in 1993, and 242,000 in 2004. But it did not take long for a darker interpretation of the Gush’s message to emerge. By the mid-1980s a minority of religious extremists had begun to implement suggestions that settlement objectives could best be attained were the enterprise to be accompanied by violent activities, designed to deter Palestinians from offering any resistance. In pursuit of that aim, and its promise of celestial as well as terrestrial security, even the biblical prohibition against murder could be shunted aside. In order to safeguard “the greater Land of Israel,” devotees could, in extremis, obtain (clandestine) rabbinical sanction to target individual Palestinian leaders and, in 1995, to assassinate Israel’s own Prime Minister. Manifest though the shift to a belligerent interpretation of security thus became after 1967, it did not entirely sweep all religious opinion before it. Most (albeit not all) rabbis condemned settler vigilante violence; other spiritual leaders continued to preach the virtues of the traditional search for security through accommodation. Prominent amongst these was Yeshayahu Leibowitz (1903–94), a practicing Orthodox Jew who was professor of organic chemistry at the Hebrew University in Jerusalem and subsequently became a philosopher. Leibowitz had expressed public criticism of Israeli militarism long before 1967; as early as 1953 he accused the IDF of betraying Jewish traditional values when conducting retaliatory actions that indiscriminately targeted Palestinian civilians. After 1967, however, his tone became more strident. Gush Emunim, he warned, was turning the settlements into a Golden Calf; retention of the territories was breeding a generation of “Judeo-Nazis.” Security required that Israel cease ruling over Palestinians (Leibowitz 1992). Those sentiments, albeit not necessarily their formulation, struck a chord with members of the small but nevertheless not insignificant moderate wing of national religious thought. Adherents of this school also established pressure groups, and for a short time boasted a representative (a rabbi) in Israel’s parliament too. Prior to 1993, religious advocates of accommodation could table few practical proposals. At a time when Palestinian terror was raging (the first intifada erupted in December 1987), counterbelligerency held far greater attractions. But in September 1993, Israeli and Palestinian negotiators unexpectedly announced that they had secretly reached agreement at Oslo, and the world of religious Zionism was thrown into turmoil. Suddenly, the settlement enterprise seemed in jeopardy. In the name of so-called peace and so-called security, not only would Israel’s government impose a ban on the construction of new settlements; worse still, it might order the IDF to dismantle some of those already in existence. Did settlers possess religious sanction to resist any such program, even by resorting to force against IDF soldiers? Did religious soldiers possess religious sanction to refuse to obey orders to participate in dismantlement operations? Although religious Zionists debated the pros and cons of those questions with much intensity throughout the latter half of the 1990s, the issues remained hypothetical. Principally, this was because the momentum generated at Oslo did not survive Rabin’s assassination in 1995; in the year 2000, moreover, the fragile “peace process” was further undermined by the outbreak of a second intifada, even more murderous than the first. In the atmosphere thus created, settlement dismantlement seemed so unlikely that the debate between “accommodation” and “belligerency” petered out. What brought it back to life, with even greater vigor, was Prime Minister Ariel Sharon’s decision—announced in December 2003—to unilaterally end Israel’s occupation of the Gaza Strip and to withdraw all Israeli settlements from that region and from a small section of northern Samaria. Reactions on the Israeli right, and especially on the religious right, were 18

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instantaneously vehement. Rabbinic manifestos, which poured off the presses, rehearsed all the old affirmations about the irrevocability of Jewish rights to the Holy Land: The Jewish people—regardless of this or that government—does not relinquish, and is not entitled to relinquish, so much as the span of a solitary man’s foot of the Land of Israel according to its Biblical boundaries … for it is God’s land. (The Sanhedrin 2005) Ominously, they also decreed that disengagement, because it would provide Palestinians with a wider base for terror operations, threatened the security of all Israelis living elsewhere. Thus: Any Jew who participates in, or cooperates with this plan, whether actively, or even by merely remaining silent, transgresses the commandment “You shall not stand idly by your neighbor’s blood” (Leviticus 19:17) and in the future will be judged by God for this sin. (The Sanhedrin 2005) More specifically still: Any Jew—including a soldier or policeman—who supports the uprooting [the pejorative used as an alternative to “disengagement”], whether directly or indirectly … and obviously, anyone who actively participates in the uprooting … transgresses a large number of Torah commandments. (The Sanhedrin 2005) Contrary to the forebodings expressed by many observers, the practical import of such pronouncements proved to be very limited indeed. The disengagement program was sanctioned by Israel’s parliament in February 2005 by a majority of 59 to 40, with five abstentions, and carried out by IDF forces in mid-August of that year within the space of a single week. No violent clashes took place between the settlers and the troops sent to remove them from their homes; more significantly, out of the several thousand national-religious soldiers who were assigned to this operation, only 63 refused orders to play any role in its execution. No single circumstance fully accounts for that outcome. At least in part, however, it deserves to be attributed to the impact of the counsels of restraint propounded by many national religious rabbis, who gave new meaning to what we have termed a policy of “accommodation.” Prominent in this group were several of the principals of the theological academies (hesder yeshivot) that provide a framework within which national-religious conscripts can combine military service with torah study, and whose contacts with soldiers on service are hence especially intimate. Records of their exchanges with their students reveal that, unlike Buber, who had sought ways to reach a modus vivendi with Palestinians, the focus of these rabbis was introspective, and centered almost entirely on the priority of minimizing discord amongst Jews. In their view, the threat to Israel’s security posed by the implementation of disengagement paled into insignificance when measured against the disastrously fissiparous effect on Jewish unity bound to be exerted by violent resistance on the part of the settlers or massive displays of conscientious objection on the part of religious troops. It is obligatory to obey military orders, even though the Land of Israel is our land, every inch of which it is a religious and Zionist duty to settle. It is obligatory to obey 19

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military orders, even if they mean destroying our own house or that of our kinsfolk. It is an obligation to do so because that is the backbone of our common existence. Any other course involves tearing society to shreds. It is an obligation to do so because a country in which there is no norm of orderly government and obedience to commands is in danger of extinction. (Cherlow 2010: 108)

Conclusion History cautions against drawing unwarranted inferences from the way in which the disengagement program was carried out in 2005. In the past, after all, the pendulum of opinion has always tended to oscillate between rival interpretations of security. In this instance too, the very success of disengagement (from the government’s perspective) might already be spawning its own backlash: a determination on the part of religious Zionist activists to ensure that their reaction to future proposals for settlement dismantlement will be far more turbulent. Some circles have begun attaching another layer of religious meaning to the term—not just physical well-being or even domestic harmony but, above all, the preservation of national dignity, of the sort gained for all time by the biblical figure of Samson when praying “Let my soul perish with the Philistines” ( Judges 16: 30). Should that mood take hold, then the volatility that has persistently characterized Jewish religious understandings of security will assuredly persist. Some schools of thought will advocate the sustainability of the prophetic depiction of international concordance; others (particularly those imparted to the growing numbers of haredi youth) will emphasize the virtues of devotion to Torah scholarship as a path to Divine protection; yet a third will point out the extent to which the Jewish experience, current as well as historical, exposes the vulnerability of both of those visions, and the dangers that await those who place over-reliance on their fulfillment. Currently, no resolution of those debates can be discerned.

References Aran, G. (1991) “Jewish Zionist Fundamentalism: The Bloc of the Faithful in Israel (Gush Emunim),” in M.E. Marty and R. S. Appleby (eds.), Fundamentalisms Observed, Chicago: University of Chicago Press, pp. 265–344. Artson, B.S. (1988) Love Peace and Pursue Peace: A Jewish Response to War and Nuclear Annihilation, New York: United Synagogue of America. Baron, S.W. (1977) “Review of History,” in S.W. Baron and G.S. Wise (eds.) Violence and Defense in the Jewish Experience, Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, pp. 3–14. Ben-David, D. (2010) Report on the State of the Nation 2009 (Hebrew), Jerusalem: The Taub Center. Chaliand, G. (1994) The Art of War in World History: From Antiquity to the Nuclear Age, Berkeley: University of California Press. Cherlow, Y. (2010) Disengagement Responsa (Hebrew), Tel-Aviv: Miskal. Cohen, S. (1982) English Zionists and British Jews, Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. ——(1997) Between the Scroll and the Sword: Dilemmas of Religion and Military Service in Israel, London: Harwood. ——(2008) Israel and its Army, London: Routledge. ——(2010) “Reversing the Tide of Jewish History: Culture and the Creation of Israel’s ‘People’s army’,” in S. Cohen (ed.), The New Citizen Armies, London: Routledge, pp. 56–73. Cole, P. (1996) Selected Poems of Shmuel HaNagid, Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Don-Yehiyah, E. (1993) “Religion and Political Terror: Religious Jewry and Retaliation During the 1936–39 ‘Arab Revolt’” (Hebrew), Ha-Tziyonut, 17:155–90. Doron, A. (1988) The State of Israel and the Land of Israel (Hebrew), Ra’anana: Beit Berl College.

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Eisen, R. (2011) The Peace and Violence of Judaism, New York: Oxford University Press. Holzer, E. (2007) “Attitudes Toward the Use of Military Force in Ideological Currents in Religious Zionism,” in L. Schiffman and J. Wolowelsky (eds.) War and Peace in the Jewish Tradition, New York: Yeshiva University Press, pp. 341–414. Kook, A.I. (1993) Lights of Rebirth (Hebrew), Jerusalem: Mosad Harav Kook. Kook, Z.Y. (2003) To the Paths of Israel (Hebrew), Bet-El: Meiavnei Ha-Makom. Leibowitz, Y. (1992) Judaism, Human Values, and the Jewish State, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Luz, E. (2003) Wrestling with an Angel: Power, Morality and Jewish Identity, New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Marks, R.G. (1994) The Image of Bar Kokhba in Traditional Jewish Literature, University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press. Ravitzky, A. (1996) Messianism, Zionism and Jewish Religious Radicalism, Chicago: University of Chicago Press. The Sanhedrin (2005) Decision of the “Special [rabbinical] Court for Matters Concerning the Nation and the State.” Online at (accessed July 1, 2011). Schweid, E. (1994) From Ruin to Salvation (Hebrew), Tel-Aviv: Ha-Kibbutz ha-Meuchad. Shapira, A. (1992) Land and Power: The Zionist Resort to Force 1881–1948, New York: Oxford University Press. Sprinzak, E. (2000) “Israel’s Radical Right and the Countdown to the Rabin Assassination,” in Y. Peri (ed.) The Assassination of Yitzchak Rabin, Stanford: California University Press, pp. 96–128. Yadin, Y. (1962) The Scroll of the War of the Sons of Light against the Sons of Darkness, London: Oxford University Press.

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3 EASTERN ORTHODOXY AND THE FUSION OF NATIONAL AND SPIRITUAL SECURITY Christopher Marsh

The Orthodox church traces its roots back to the earliest churches established by the Apostles, and it remained a part of the united church until the Great Schism of 1054, at which point Christendom broke into Western and Eastern halves. While this is not the place to examine the theological reasons for the Great Schism, one of the main points of contention remains highly significant for Orthodoxy today, namely ecclesiastical autonomy. The East resisted the Pope’s claim to be able to speak on behalf of the church on theological matters, a power the Eastern churches considered the sole domain of ecumenical councils, bodies comprised of representatives from all of the churches. Eastern Orthodoxy originally centered around the great churches of Constantinople, Alexandria, Antioch, and Jerusalem. Moscow would later enter the ranks of these powerful patriarchal seats in 1589. Moscow’s ascension to autocephaly and the establishment of a patriarchal seat centered on Russia’s capital city did much to fuse state power with religious authority, and civic identity with religious identity. Henceforth, Russian national identity and Orthodox faith became almost inextricably linked in the minds of most Russians, from lay believers to the highest echelons of the state and the church. Similar fusions took place in other Orthodox societies whose ecclesiastical boundaries were roughly co-terminus with their political borders, including Bulgaria and Serbia. Such a fusion of political and religious identity did much to link religion to security and goes far in explaining the many ways in which Orthodoxy and security have related throughout history and continue to do so today. It is this close church-nation tie that has determined Orthodoxy’s central tendency (though not its only tendency) on security matters—namely, Orthodoxy has tended to align with the power of the state and to sacralize its security interests. Today Orthodoxy’s reach is global, and that means it has the potential to become drawn upon and utilized in conflicts and security issues stretching from Eastern Europe and the Balkans to Russia’s Far East and even Ethiopia. There are an estimated 215 million Orthodox Christians living in 133 countries around the world. The largest Orthodox populations are in Russia (80 million); Ukraine (27 million); Ethiopia (22 million); Romania (19 million); and Greece (15 million). The United States is home to some 2 million Orthodox Christians (or perhaps as few as 1.2 million or as many as 5 million, depending on the source). 22

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Philip Jenkins (2002), in writing on The Next Christendom, puts forth the thesis that the center of global Christianity is moving southwards, and that Africa is likely to be the center in the future. While in Europe there are trends of decreasing religiosity, as Berger (1999) points out, much of the rest of the world is undergoing “desecularization” (or is rediscovering a robust religiosity that was there all along). The Orthodox world is an example of this par excellence. After 70 years of forced secularization in the Soviet Union, the end of the policy of militant atheism has seen an unprecedented religious revival (Marsh 2011). For instance, since 1992 the number of Orthodox churches in Russia has more than doubled, monasteries have been restored and a score of new ones opened, and even Orthodox colleges are becoming a popular facet of Russian higher education. Similar trends are underway in other Orthodox-majority countries in Eastern Europe and the Balkans, including Macedonia.1 Not surprisingly, as Orthodoxy re-enters social and political life in these societies, it often finds itself being drawn into issues of security. This ranges from a simple connection to national pride and patriotism all the way to more nefarious combinations such as xenophobia and Islamophobia. As such, it is important to understand 1) the dominant historical patterns in Orthodox thought and practice vis-à-vis state security, and 2) the key contemporary manifestations of these patterns and their possible implications. As a full survey of global Orthodoxy far exceeds the bounds of this chapter, in what follows I focus on the case with the most security implications: Russian Orthodoxy. Russia is by far the largest Orthodox-majority country, and the post-Cold War resurgence of linkages—socially, politically, and legally—between Orthodoxy and the state has already had significant consequences within Russia and its immediate sphere of influence. Moreover, it could be relevant to the broader international community as well, given Russia’s increasingly aggressive foreign policy stance over the past decade (Lucas 2009).

Orthodoxy and holy war The roots of thinking on war and killing in the Orthodox tradition are the same as those in the other Christian traditions, finding their basis in such scriptural passages as Matthew 5–7 and 26:52, and Luke 2:14, 3:14, and 6:29. In these passages Christians are exhorted to show mercy to those who persecute them, to love their enemies, to turn the other cheek, and to beware that anyone who commits murder is subject to judgment. At the same time, however, as Stoyanov (2009: 167) suggests, Orthodoxy inherited the potential for a non-pacifistic and even militaristic exegesis of certain passages, particularly those with imagery of heavenly war. Even the concept of laying down one’s life in war being a sacred act has deep roots in Orthodoxy. When St. Cyril, the celebrated missionary to the Slavs and author of the alphabet bearing his name, paid an ambassadorial visit to the court of Abbasid Caliph al-Mutawakki in 851, the Muslim theologians there asked him why Christians do not apply in practice the biblical precepts in Matthew 5:38–44 which preach non-resistance to evil-doers and call Christians to pray for their enemies. St. Cyril reportedly replied with reference to John 15:13, responding that “No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends,” explaining that Christians should be prepared to sacrifice their lives in defense of their neighbors, that they should fight to the last, and that if they fulfilled this pledge the church would qualify these Christian soldiers as martyrs and intercessors before God (Stoyanov 2009: 170–71). Of perhaps greater significance was the Byzantine understanding of Christian holy war. In contrast to the West, ecclesiastical involvement and participation in warfare with some religious goals was important in the Orthodox/Byzantine world, but not essential. With the blending of Orthodox theology and Byzantine political thought, most Byzantine wars possessed an aspect of holiness, even those without ostensibly religious objectives and waged primarily for political 23

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purposes (Stoyanov 2009: 180). These wars were waged to recover formerly Christian lands and therefore to defend God’s kingdom on earth—they were wars, therefore, fought for God and Orthodoxy. Conversely, military defeat was divine punishment for the sins of the empire and its leaders. Indeed, in the later years of the empire, they became part of the unfolding eschatological drama of Byzantium. Pleading for God’s intercession and protection, therefore, was crucial, as was the singing of hymnic cycles and summoning of the “invincible weapon” of the Holy Cross to grant Orthodox people and their rulers victory over their enemies. The development of an Orthodox concept of holy war was slow to take root in Russia, despite seemingly favorable conditions for it. The great thirteenth-century battles waged by St. Alexander Nevsky and St. Dmitry Donskoi were not against their Tatar overlords of the Golden Horde, but against German, Swedish, and Lithuanian adversaries who came to convert the “heretical” Rus to the true faith (which for them was Roman Catholicism). The same is true for the seventeenth-century Polish invasion and siege of Moscow. While Dmitry Pozharsky, the hero who repelled the Polish forces, was not canonized by the Orthodox church, he did carry a religious banner into battle and was seen by the church as a holy protector. Nevertheless, the wars themselves were not seen at the time as wars of religion. The case of Russia’s Tatar overlords is even more surprising, but begins to make sense once one recalls that the Muslims did not intervene in the internal affairs of the church. As Muscovy increased in power, however, and readied itself to battle the Muslims who ruled them, Orthodoxy was naturally drawn upon. The first battle where this became evident was the 1552 Battle of Kazan. As Romaniello recently explained, Orthodox rhetoric “dominated the call for the conquest of the Khanate of Kazan, becoming the public voice of Muscovy’s decision to expand to its east” (2007: 514). Metropolitan Makarii used his position and influence to portray the war as a religious struggle of the Church Militant. Makarii blessed Ivan’s army for their holy work, explaining that the Tatars had “shamed the word of God” and “desecrated” the true faith. In commemoration of the victory, a new icon was painted, the “Blessed is the Host of the Heavenly Tsar,” more commonly referred to today as the “Church Militant.” This icon, which hangs today in the Tretyakov Gallery in Moscow, depicts the Archangel Michael leading Ivan IV and his troops back from their victory over Kazan, which is embroiled in flames, while hosts of angels bring martyrs’ crowns to the fallen Russian soldiers.

The sacred and security Religion and security have been closely related from the adoption of Christianity as the official religion of Rus in 988 onwards. From the day that Kievan prince Vladimir converted to Orthodox Christianity and brought his subjects with him, the religion of the Rus and their politics have been almost inextricably linked. Not only was Vladimir canonized as ravno-apostalnii (equal of the Apostles), starting a long tradition of canonizing political leaders and heroes, but the distinction between political power and religion became forever blurred. Current research into nationalism has begun to uncover what religious believers have long known—that there is a strong and long tendency for threats to national security to become framed as sacred causes (Juergensmeyer 2003; Marsh 2007). This is due to the fact that many nations tend to view themselves as a “chosen people,” a group chosen by God for a special purpose (Smith 2004). This can be seen in many nations throughout history, and the nations of the Orthodox world are no exception (though it is important to note that, when taken to an extreme, it can be considered heretical, as ethnophylitism). This propensity to see political events through a biblical lens was quite strong for many of the nations of the former Soviet 24

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Union, particularly for Russians and Ukrainians, two peoples with a long history of looking to the Bible for clues to their past and future. At least as far back as the eleventh-century Primary Chronicle, the Rus looked to Scripture for such clues and found them from Genesis to Revelation. They were the descendants of Noah’s third son, Japheth, giving themselves direct lineage to the diluvian period, and they were of the tribe of Magog (or Gog), in the land of Rosh. (The implications of such identity as expressed in Revelation, where the Gog and Magog were both thrown out of heaven, apparently didn’t matter to those drawing these lines. Ancestors were found in the Bible, and that was enough.) Futhermore, the Primary Chronicle recounted that St. Andrew had visited Kiev and blessed the land and its inhabitants as early as the Apostolic period. Clearly, this was a land blessed by the Lord and the Rus were a chosen people, much like the Jews of the Old Testament. Defense of the nation then became a sacred cause, and attacks by those of other religious traditions had more than one’s worldly existence at stake. In fact, from an Orthodox theological position, the existence of the church itself was at stake, and therefore of man’s ultimate salvation. Many of Russia’s security challenges throughout the previous millennium were easily framed in this way, such as the thirteenth-century Northern Crusades led by the Teutonic Order aimed at converting the “pagans” of Rus to the true faith (i.e. Catholicism). Likewise, the effort to defend Russia shortly thereafter against the onslaught of the Muslims from the Orient was also seen as a sacred cause, and their defeat this time was even interpreted as divine punishment by some for the persistence of pagan rituals among much of the populace. This propensity to see sacred issues interlinked with secular battles became a particularly crucial issue following the fall of Constantinople to the Turks in 1453, at which point Moscow proclaimed itself the Third Rome. Other battles and wars were less clearly sacred causes, including the defense of Moscow against the Polish Catholic forces in 1603 (for which the heroic prince Dmitry Pozharsky received the title “savior of the motherland”) or the defense of the Soviet “motherland” against the Nazis in World War II. Prima facie, the latter should not have been easily construed as a sacred cause; after all, the Soviet Union was in the midst of its period of greatest suppression of religion thus far, while the Nazis were not expressly endorsing any specific religious agenda (they mixed elements of everything from atheism to Zorastrianism to paganism to Christianity, and twisted everything to support strong anti-Semitism). But the Russian Orthodox church so feared the German attack that the head of the church responded before even Stalin himself in calling upon the people of the “motherland” to rise up in defense of the nation. Two days after the German invasion, Stalin opened the Soviet press and radio to Metropolitan Sergii, who called on the faithful to rise in defense of the nation. And though the church was not a legal institution at the time, it began to raise money to support military efforts, and even received permission from Stalin to open an account in the Central Bank for this purpose. While this funding mostly went to assist hospitals and children’s homes, and to aid the families of soldiers, it also funded two military units, the St. Dimitry Donskoy Tank Column and the St. Alexander Nevsky Fighter Squadron, honoring two sanctified Russian historical figures known for their victorious battles against foreign invaders.

The sacred and Soviet security On the very day of the German invasion Metropolitan Sergii penned a letter to the faithful in which he proclaimed that “The Church of Christ confers its blessing on all Orthodox believers in their defense of the holy borders of our motherland.” The clergy continued this message, appealing to their fellow believers “to join this holy struggle” (Chumachenko 2002: 4). Priests began to give lively sermons to groups of Red Army soldiers, while regimental commanders are 25

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known to have led prayers among their soldiers before going into battle. Stalin recognized the value of these efforts, and quickly restored the church to a legal entity, a move which greatly facilitated its ability to collect even more money for the war effort. These events not only marked the beginning of popular resistance to the German invaders, they also inaugurated a new era in church-state relations under Soviet rule. At the time of the Soviet Union’s entry into World War II, the Orthodox church had been almost completely destroyed throughout the country. There were only a few bishops who remained free, managing to survive in remote parts of the country or under the disguise of ordinary priests. Only a few hundred churches remained open for services. Nationwide, most of the clergy were either imprisoned in concentration camps or had already died there. Church property soon began to be restored, however, and churches that had been closed by the League of Militant Godless were allowed to reopen. Russian Orthodoxy underwent a renaissance, albeit temporary and limited, during this period. Theological schools were quickly opened, and thousands of churches began to hold regular services (though the number of churches opened paled in comparison to the number of requests submitted by believers and the church). Many priests were released from prison, including bishops, and some of the priests who had been in hiding or who had been put to work in factories returned to their parishes. As Anderson described the situation, icons “reappeared from chests or under beds to hallow the common tasks of the household from behind the ‘lampadka’ in the icon corner” (1961: 300). The rapprochement between church and state, generally referred to as the concordat, quickly began to develop into a “patriotic union.” On September 4, 1943, Stalin received Patriarchal Locum Tenens Metropolitan Sergii, along with Metropolitan Alexii (Simansky) and Metropolitan Nikolay (Yarushevich), in the Kremlin. Four days later 19 bishops assembled and elected Sergii Patriarch, filling the office that had been vacant since Tikhon’s death in 1925. The new Patriarch then wrote “The Truth about Religion in Russia,” in which he downplayed to the rest of the world the harsh suffering of the church under Soviet rule. Commenting on Soviet Constitutional guarantees of religious freedom, the new Patriarch said, “it may be said with complete objectivity that the Constitution, guaranteeing full freedom of religious worship, definitely in no way restricts the religious life of the faithful and the life of the Church in general.” At the end of the war, Patriarch Alexii (who succeeded Sergii in 1944 following the latter’s death) expressed similar sentiments, telling the world that “Russian Orthodoxy was never subjected to systematic persecution, the Christians were never killed as in ancient Rome. … To speak about intolerance and persecution of religion in the USSR means opposing the truth” (Chumachenko 2002: 53). For his role in these and other efforts, Patriarch Alexii would receive medals “For the Defense of Leningrad” and the order of the “Red Banner of Labor.” The issue of Stalin’s use of the church during World War II is still a controversial one, but for present purposes it is safe to conclude that, in the face of war against fascism, religion was allowed to play a limited public role and was even seen as being able to function as a patriotic organization. One explanation that has been put forward to explain Stalin’s turn in religion policy is the idea that he might have thought about the use of the churches as a tool of control in the new Communist regimes of Eastern Europe. Pospielovsky argues that Stalin needed to “tame” the Catholic, Protestant, and Orthodox peoples of Western Europe, and he had to practice religious toleration at home in order to not scare them off (1998: 192–93). Once these regimes were securely in the Soviet sphere of influence, however, the Orthodox church once again was of little value to the regime (Chumachenko 2002: 54). Once the war was over, Stalin found another role for the church—improving the Soviet Union’s image abroad, particularly in the international peace movement and its emphasis on 26

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avoiding nuclear weapons proliferation. Stalin had also seemed to hope for a while that the Patriarchate might be able to develop into a “Moscow Vatican,” with the Russian Patriarch taking on a leading role not only in the Orthodox communion, but among all (non-Catholic) Christians in the world. Such would have allowed him access and leverage in the decolonizing societies of Africa, for instance, as well as helped develop a sympathetic voice in America. The Patriarch’s efforts in this regard, which centered around the establishment of an Ecumenical Orthodox Center in Moscow, never materialized, because to the Eastern Patriarchs it smacked of an attempt to build a Third Rome. While no ecumenical council or even preconciliar council could be held, Moscow did eventually hold a conference for leaders of Orthodox churches in 1948 in celebration of Moscow’s 500 years of autocephaly (Chumachenko 2002: 53–54).

Orthodoxy’s role in perestroika From the period of Khrushchev’s renewed attack on religion in the early 1960s until the launching of perestroika by Gorbachev in 1987, Orthodoxy played little role in Soviet security affairs. Once Mikhail Gorbachev took over as general secretary of the CPSU in 1985, however, Orthodoxy would come to play a significant role in several events that would ultimately change the way people viewed the Godless regime that governed Holy Russia for more than 70 years—the Communist Party itself. It was two events in particular that resonated most saliently with believers—and even then non-believers—during the final days of the Soviet Union. The first was the 1986 nuclear disaster at Chernobyl, which was quickly interpreted as having been clearly predicted in the Bible in the book of Revelation, where the third angel sounded his trumpet and a star fell from heaven, “and the star is called Wormwood” (chernobyl in Ukrainian). The waters became “bitter” and “many men died of the waters” (Revelations 8:11). Anyone who has gotten a taste of hydrogen peroxide can immediately connect the idea of hydrogen-based nuclear energy fallout with bitter water. Such was seen by many as a sign of the Apocalypse, and the number of people who viewed the Communist Party as the anti-Christ increased dramatically. The next connection was that of the millennial celebration in 1988 of the Baptism of Rus. One of the most important numbers in New Testament eschatology is the number 1,000, probably being used by as many different groups throughout the history of Christianity to predict the Second Coming. The simultaneity of the millennium of Christianity and perestroika and the liberalization of Soviet religion policy had a unique effect. Those who had been weaned on Soviet atheist propaganda even began to wonder which was truth: the scientific atheism propagated by the Soviet regime, or the beliefs of Christianity. Even the most convinced party member had to give pause and think twice, especially as he watched Mikhail Gorbachev standing beside Patriarch Pimen speaking favorably about the Russian Orthodox church. In many ways echoing Stalin’s attempt to use the church for foreign policy purposes, Gorbachev sought to combine the millennial celebration with the issue of non-proliferation. The Soviet government arranged for an arms summit with the United States to coincide with the event, as the church was once again seen as useful in the foreign policy realm. In a joint letter to Gorbachev and Reagan, Patriarch Pimen encouraged them in their growing cooperation, and said he and the church were “praying for their success” (Moscow Patriarchate 1998a: 2). Patriarch Pimen then wrote to Soviet presidium chairman Nikolai Ryzhkov just following the summit, expressing the church’s support for their work in disarmament. “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called sons of God,” Pimen wrote the Soviet leader, quoting from the Beatitudes. He also pledged the church’s continued support as the Soviet government worked to build peace among nations (Moscow Patriarchate 1998b: 4). Finally, he also expressed the church’s 27

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desire that, by the time of the bi-millennial celebration of the birth of Christ, the world would be entirely free of nuclear weapons.

Orthodoxy and security in post-Cold War Russia If during the Cold War the church’s role was limited, the collapse of Communism has allowed Orthodoxy to re-emerge into all facets of Russian life, including security. Examples include:





assigning protector-saints to the Strategic Rocket Forces and individual tank battalions; using religious symbols in official and unofficial military/security capacities; constructing chapels on the premises of Russian governmental agencies; involving the Patriarch in the inaugural ceremonies of presidents Yeltsin, Putin, and Medvedev.

While some of these acts can arguably be dismissed as mere ceremony and not very egregious violations of Russia’s religion law, other events clearly signal a dangerously close collusion between secular and sacred authority. Foremost among these is allowing the church access to draft legislation prepared for the Duma, a move that suggests that the Russian Orthodox church is now well entrenched and developing into a de facto established church. The same can be said about the powerful role that Orthodoxy—and indeed the church itself—is playing in Russian public education, with the requirement for a course on Foundations of Orthodox Culture. Lisovskaya has referred to this process as a “clericalization” of Russian politics (Lisovskaya 2010; Lisovskaya and Karpov 2010). Such a tendency has long existed in Russia. In fact, one of Lenin’s greatest criticisms of the nascent democratic institutions of the 1910s was that the clergy were “clericalizing” the Duma. Something similar is returning today, with the Russian Orthodox church claiming the right to “review” legislation coming before the Duma. More directly relevant to religion and security, however, is the state’s prohibition of possession of certain types of religious literature, including The Watchtower and the writings of the late Turkish Islamic revivalist Said Nursi. A group was even arrested for simply carrying copies of Nursi with them, probably having come from a reading group. This resulted in a violent backlash, and eventually the murder of an Orthodox priest—right in the middle of a religious service—by a group of Muslims. It seems that the government policy of restricting access to what the government considers radicalizing religious literature may be having an effect directly opposite from what was intended. It is also important to point out that a fringe minority of Orthodox have been involved in violent acts against Muslims. Perhaps the most startling case is that of Artur Ryno, a young Russian student at an Orthodox icon-painting school who was arrested in June 2007 on 37 counts of homicide (see Marsh 2010a; Marsh 2010b). It turns out that he had spent more than a year targeting and killing members of minority ethnic groups in Moscow, mostly migrant workers from the traditionally Muslim regions of Central Asia and the Caucasus. For people such as Ryno—including members of some quasi-fascist groups associated with Russia’s “skinheads”—the combination of Russian nationalism and a perverted form of Orthodox Christianity is proving lethal (Laruelle 2009). National-level data demonstrate that the case of Ryno is not an isolated one, although it is certainly one of the most horrific and extreme cases. The number of murders has risen sharply in recent years. By far, Moscow is the primary locus of not only political extremism but also the violence that too often goes along with it. In 2006–08, official statistics record 146 murders and 649 beatings as being attributed to racist and neo-Nazi groups. For Russia as a whole, the respective numbers are 248 and 1,561 (Verkhovsky 2009). While Russia’s leaders and much of the Russian ethnic population seek an accord with their Muslim compatriots, facts 28

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such as these make it little surprise that many Muslims themselves feel that it is little more than rhetoric and that they are second-class citizens. Finally, there is one other dimension linking Orthodoxy with security, that of the emerging concept of “spiritual security.” As Payne (2010) has recently argued, the Russian Orthodox church has been collaborating with the Russian Ministry of Foreign Affairs for the purposes of expanding and consolidating the Russian world. This is being done in the name of “spiritual security.” As stated in the 2000 National Security Concept, which outlines Russian national security strategy: Assurance of the Russian Federation’s national security also includes protecting the cultural and spiritual-moral legacy and the historical traditions and standards of public life … . There must be a state policy to maintain the population’s spiritual and moral welfare … and counter the adverse impact of foreign religious organizations and missionaries. The idea that foreign missionaries were engaged in a “war for souls” with the Orthodox church is not a new idea, and had been clearly articulated by then-Metropolitan Kirill (now Patriarch Kirill), when at a meeting of the World Council of Churches he equated such activity with boxing, saying Western churches were entering Russia and competing for Orthodox souls “like boxers in a ring with their pumped-up muscles, delivering blows” (1999: 73–74). As Anderson (2007: 195) phrased it, these “competitors (especially Catholics and ‘sects’ [Protestants]) can be depicted as threats to the religion of the nation, and thus to the nation itself.” It was opinions such as these that led Russia to adopt a new law on religion in 1997, a quasi-establishment arrangement that affords special status to the “four traditional” religions of Russia—Orthodoxy, Islam, Buddhism, and Judaism—while in reality the other three are named only to deflect criticism of a single established church. Other religions, including Catholicism and various Protestant denominations, are afforded legal protections but face legal restriction on their activities. These religions are not thought of as “Russian” and therefore their members are seen as traitors, or Judases, those who turned their back on Christ. The joining of forces of the Russian Orthodox church and the Ministry of Foreign Affairs is proving rather effective. For one, it has lead to an increase in professed Orthodox belief among members of the Ministry, and according to a recent survey (Institute of Sociology 2010), this trend is apparent throughout the nation’s police and security forces as well. This increased level of identification, however, has not been coupled with higher rates of attendance at religious services, reportedly because the service-members have no time to attend. The church recognized that problem and in March 2002 it consecrated a small chapel at the Lyubyanka, the old KGB headquarters and home of the current FSB (Federal Security Bureau). During the low-key ceremony, Patriarch Alexey II focused his remarks on the need for concerted efforts aimed at combating the current threats posed to Russia’s “spiritual security” (Payne 2010: 715). This relationship is proving effective, mostly in attempts to reunite the various churches of the Russian tradition that exist throughout the diaspora and through the reacquisition of Russian church property that had been lost during the Soviet period. They have met some success in these endeavors, especially in the reunion of the Russian Orthodox church with the Soviet-era splinter church, the Russian Orthodox Church Outside Russia (ROCOR). The implications of such a relationship are significant. As Payne (2010: 727) concludes, “in order to be a world superpower once again, Russia needs an instrument that will serve as the unifying cultural factor in its self-identity. That instrument is the ROC” 29

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Concluding observations Many in the West, especially in the United States, see the advancement of sustainable security worldwide as inextricably linked with the spread and consolidation of democracy. The linkage between religion and security is therefore often understood as being mediated by democratization. Seen in this light, Orthodoxy is not a significant agent of long-term positive transformation in global security, because it has not mobilized in a major way to support democratization. Lack of democratization (and of human rights that are part of liberal democracy) has been a source of strain in the U.S.–Russia relationship over the past several years. Vladimir Putin’s shift to the prime ministership in 2008, immediately after his eight-year presidency, led many to fear that democratic elections and transfers of power were mere window dressing. Those suspicions were confirmed in September 2011 when Putin’s successor as president, Dmitry Medvedev, announced at the congress for the United Russia party that he would not seek re-election and that the party should endorse Putin as its candidate. Putin in turn promised the prime ministership to Medvedev, meaning that, as of this writing, the two leaders were set to swap positions in March 2012. If Russia’s democratic credentials were in question before, this move has made matters worse. As Gvosdev (2011) immediately pointed out, it shows how far Russia is from being able to replicate the electoral model of countries like Japan or India, states where a single strong national party was able to dominate national politics for a prolonged period of time. Unlike the Liberal Democratic Party in Japan or India’s Congress, Gvosdev points out, United Russia is neither a mass party with a strong membership base nor does it represent a series of powerful interest groups that use the party as a means of negotiating policy. Instead, “United Russia remains focused on the person and personality of Putin,” a situation that does not bode well for the country’s long-term development and security. While the West has decried Putin’s maneuvers, major figures in the Russian Orthodox church have hailed them as an instance of “kindness and integrity”; it has described Putin’s planned bid for the presidency as a “peaceful, dignified, honest, friendly” power transfer agreement (Interfax 2011). Archpriest Vsevolod Chaplin, head of the Moscow Patriarchate’s office of external church relations, praised the event and argued that it was a sign of “integrity” in politics: When else has it happened in Russian history that supreme power in the country was handed over in such a peaceful, dignified, honest, friendly way? It is a genuine example of kindness and integrity in politics, an example that, I believe, would have been a source of envy for our predecessors and people who lived in the Soviet period and, moreover, should be a source of envy for the people of the majority of countries in the world, including those that try to lecture us. (Interfax 2011) It was actually in regard to peace and security that Archpriest Vsevolod justified the move. In a “country where peace, welfare, and even the lives of millions of people depend on the person who heads the vertical structure of authority,” he argued, “the handover of power must be extremely responsible, it must rule out any head-on clashes, not just between individuals but between large social groups that such individuals may persuade to take their side” (Interfax 2011). In this way, stability and security trump democracy and citizen participation in the political process. As we have seen, this propensity has deep roots in the Orthodox world, and in Russia in particular, and remains a challenge in developing a genuine democratic political order. Two caveats are in order, however. First, it is important to put Orthodoxy’s tendencies toward frank realism and nationalism in historical perspective. Over the centuries the Orthodox 30

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world has faced numerous security challenges in the form of non-Orthodox invaders, from pagan tribes and the Teutonic Order to Muslim Mongols and Turks. In particular, the threat of Muslim invaders looms large in the collective memory of many of the Orthodox-majority nations that neighbor Muslim-majority societies and/or are home to sizable Muslim minorities. Nowhere else on the planet do such larger numbers of Christians and Muslims live side by side as in the Orthodox world. This fact has forced the Orthodox church and the various states that protect their Orthodox subjects to seek an accord with their Muslim neighbors. In contrast to Western perspectives on a clash between Orthodoxy and Islam, this accord has worked remarkably well from a world-historical perspective. While the bloody history of the wars in Bosnia and Chechnya and even the Beslan Hostage Crisis come to mind, one must not forget that these are exceptions in a part of the world where historical animosities run deep and the challenges of political and economic development can often take on religious overtones. Second, Orthodoxy is not a monolith, and some of its diversity may yet find channels of expression in pro-reform, pro-democratic directions. For example, the posture of Orthodoxy toward the protests following the December 2011 parliamentary elections in Russia shows that there is no single opinion within the church. At one end of the spectrum there were actually Russian Orthodox church clergy taking part in the protests, while on the other, SchemaArchimandrite Iliy (Nozdrin)—rumored to be the Patriarch’s personal priest—called the movement a provocation and claimed that the protests were funded by foreign sources. (The U.S. State Department is believed by many to be behind the protests in Moscow, as well as the Arab Spring.) Archpriest Vsevolod took an intermediate (albeit still distinctly conservative) position, stating that “it is imperative that all allegations of unfair ballot counting” and other irregularities be properly investigated, yet also stating his agreement with Prime Minister Putin that the election results themselves cannot be revised (Melnikov 2011). In commenting on this situation, Russian journalist Andrei Melnikov summed it up thus: Church representatives are forced to balance the desire to be at the forefront of public debate and, at the same time, to help the existing power to, as the Patriarch put it, maintain ‘unity in spirit.’ This balance is becoming increasingly more difficult to achieve [for clergy of all levels]. (Melnikov 2011) Perhaps the same can be said about a healthy balance between Orthodox faith and national security in contemporary Russia. One can only wait and see how that balance will lean as the country either retreats further into the authoritarian tendencies of Putin or moves forward in line with the desire of the thousands of people—including Orthodox leaders and laity alike—who gathered in Bolotnaya Square calling for democratic change.

Note 1 While large sums of government funds have been used in the building of these churches, doing so has rarely come under criticism, as it is seen as the current Russian government rectifying the illegal destruction of the country’s churches during the Soviet era.

References Anderson, J. (2007) “Putin and the Russian Orthodox Church: Asymmetric Symphonia?” Journal of International Affairs, 61: 195. Anderson, P. (1961) “The Orthodox Church in Soviet Russia,” Foreign Affairs, 39: 300.

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Christopher Marsh Berger, P.L. (1999) “The Desecularization of the World: A Global Overview,” in P. Berger (ed.) The Desecularization of the World: Resurgent Religion and World Politics, Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, pp. 1–18. Chumachenko, T. (2002) Church and State in Soviet Russia: Russian Orthodoxy from World War II to the Khrushchev Years, Armonk, NY: M.E. Sharpe. Gvosdev, N. (2011) “No Putinism without Putin,” The National Interest (September 26), online (accessed 28 September 2011). Institute of Sociology (2010) Statisticheskie Dannie o Moscovskom Patriarkhate 2010 g [Statistical Data on the Moscow Patriarchate 2010], Moscow: Russian Academy of Sciences. Interfax (2011) “Russian Church: Medvedev-Putin Agreement Instance of ‘Kindness and Integrity,’” September 24. Jenkins, P. (2002) The Next Christendom: The Coming of Global Christianity, New York: Oxford University Press. Juergensmeyer, M. (2003) Terror in the Mind of God: The Global Rise of Religious Violence, Berkeley: University of California Press. Laruelle, M. (2009) In the Name of the Nation: Nationalism and Politics in Contemporary Russia, New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Lisovskaya, E. (2010) “Orthodoxy, Islam, and the Desecularization of Russian State Schools,” 2010 Hugh and Beverly Wamble Lecture, February 11, 2010, J.M. Dawson Institute for Church-State Studies, Baylor University, Waco, TX. Lisovskaya, E. and Karpov, V. (2010) “Orthodoxy, Islam, and Desecularization of Russia’s State Schools,” Politics and Religion, 3(2): 276–302. Lucas, E. (2009) The New Cold War: Putin’s Russia and the Threat to the West, London: Palgrave-Macmillan. Marsh, C. (2007) “The Religious Dimension of Post-Soviet “Ethnic” Conflict,” Nationalities Papers, 35(5): 811–30. ——(2010a) “Pluralism, (Un)Civil Society, and Authoritarianism in Russia’s Regions,” in V. Gel’man and C. Ross (eds.) The Politics of Sub-National Authoritarianism in Russia, Aldershot, UK: Ashgate, pp. 123–34. ——(2010b) “Orthodox Spiritual Capital and Russian Reform,” in P. Berger and G. Redding (eds.) The Hidden Form of Capital: Spiritual Influences in Societal Progress, New York: Anthem, pp. 171–90. ——(2011) Religion and the State in Russia and China: Suppression, Survival, and Revival, New York: Continuum. Melnikov, A. (2011) “Tserkov’ ne vo vsem opravdyvaet deistvuiushchuiu vlast’ [The Church Does Not Excuse the Use of Force in All Cases],” Nezavisimaya Gazeta, December 28: 2. Metropolitan Kirill of Smolensk and Kaliningrad (1999) “Gospel and Culture,” in J. Witte and M. Bourdeaux (eds.) Proselytism and Orthodoxy in Russia: The New War for Souls, Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books. Moscow Patriarchate (1988a) “Celebration of the Millennium of the Baptism of Russ,” Press Release, no. 3, June 4: 2. ——(1988b) “Celebration of the Millennium of the Baptism of Russ,” Press Release, no. 5, June 7: 4. Payne, D. (2010) “Spiritual Security, the Russian Orthodox Church, and the Russian Foreign Ministry: Collaboration or Cooptation?” Journal of Church & State, 52(4): 712–27. Pospielovsky, D. (1998) The Orthodox Church in the History of Russia, Crestwood, NY: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press. Romaniello, M. (2007) “Mission Delayed: The Russian Orthodox Church after the Conquest of Kazan,” Church History, 76(3): 514. Smith, A. (2004) Chosen Peoples: Sacred Sources of National Identity, New York: Oxford University Press. Stoyanov, Y. (2009) “Norms of War in Eastern Orthodox Christianity,” in V. Popovski, G. Reichberg, and N. Turner (eds.) World Religions and Norms of War, New York: United Nations University Press, pp. 166–219. Verkhovsky, A. (2009) Radikalizm i Ksenofobiya v Rossii [Radicalism and Xenophobia in Russia], Moscow: Tsentr Sova.

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4 CATHOLIC APPROACHES TO SECURITY AND PEACE Gerard F. Powers

Catholicism boasts a rich tradition of reflection on war and peace that is situated within an equally rich tradition of social teaching. The Church’s teaching covers a broad range of topics relevant to matters of security, from the nature of peace and the international system to the duty of humanitarian intervention and the ethics of nuclear deterrence. It includes teaching on the ethics of resort to war, as well as the ethics of peacebuilding—i.e. conflict prevention, conflict management and transformation, and post-conflict reconciliation. It is very much a living tradition, as these beliefs and norms have not only developed and sometimes changed over millennia, but they also inspire and inform the present-day programs, actions, and advocacy of a major transnational institution and a billion-strong community of believers. In this chapter, I begin by giving a brief overview of how Catholic norms, institutions, and the Catholic faithful engage issues of peace and security. I then consider in more detail key elements of Catholic teaching: a cosmopolitan ethic; a positive conception of peace; the norm of solidarity; the central role of international law and institutions; the just war tradition and non-violence; a growing emphasis on a theology, ethics, and praxis of peacebuilding; and the importance of virtues. In the final section I discuss three examples of Catholic engagement in international affairs: nuclear weapons, humanitarian intervention, and the Church’s direct involvement in peacebuilding in countries torn by conflict.

The many dimensions of Catholic engagement An overview of how a large, complex, and diverse global religious institution engages on issues of security is inherently incomplete and overly broad. But it is possible to sketch the outlines of the Catholic Church’s engagement by considering its rather unique mix of ideals, institutions, and people (Hehir 1990: 75).

Beliefs and teachings Rooted in scripture and the natural law tradition, the Church’s beliefs and teachings on issues of security and peace have been enunciated and developed through the catechism, documents of the Second Vatican Council, modern papal social encyclicals dating back to 1891, annual papal World Day of Peace messages, and documents of various Vatican agencies. In addition, special 33

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synods of bishops at the continental level have issued major documents, as have national episcopal conferences. This teaching covers a broad range of spiritual, theological, and ethical themes, as well as specific policy issues. Central to this teaching is a conviction that work for peace and justice is integral to the life and mission of individual Catholics as well as the Church as a whole. This commitment to work for a more just and peaceful world is ultimately grounded in the belief that all people are children of the same God (Imago Dei), and in scriptural commands to love God and your neighbor, and to be peacemakers. Two distinct but complementary styles of Church teaching on war and peace reflect two distinct but overlapping audiences. As is explained in the next section, teaching addressed to Catholics emphasizes the biblical conception of peace, the centrality of peace in the Church’s sacraments and mission, and a theological and ethical vision of peace in a world that has been redeemed in Christ yet does not know the fullness of God’s gift of peace in a sinful world scarred by war. Teaching addressed to the wider community is rooted in the natural law tradition, which presumes that the demands of justice and peace are knowable and binding on all persons, regardless of their faith or lack of faith (USCCB 1983: 10–11).

Transnational institution Beliefs, teachings, and rituals have little social relevance unless they shape the actions of institutions and individuals. The Catholic Church is one of the world’s largest and most complex transnational institutions. It is difficult enough to summarize the activities of the pope and various Vatican agencies, but an adequate analysis must also include well over a hundred national bishops’ conferences; thousands of bishops and dioceses; tens of thousands of parishes; vast social service, health care, social action, and educational systems; hundreds of thousands of priests and women religious;1 and a multiplicity of lay organizations and movements. The Church is perhaps the most vertically integrated religious body; its hierarchical structure has clearly defined leaders and institutions at all levels of a pyramidal structure, and clear lines of teaching and organizational authority. Its vertical integration is closely tied to an enormous capacity for what sociologists call “horizontal integration.” Despite its hierarchical structure, the Church is quite decentralized in its operations, especially in how it pursues issues of justice and peace at the national and local levels. Yet, ecclesial bonds of solidarity across geographical, cultural, national, and economic divides are often quite strong. These bonds are inspired by a belief that all are part of one Body of Christ, while the clear hierarchical structure facilitates relationship-building and common action. The Vatican (or Holy See), which has the distinction of being both a religious institution and a state, has, under its Secretariat of State, what some consider to be one of the most effective (for its size) diplomatic services. The Holy See has diplomatic relations with 178 states and the European Union, and is a member or observer at dozens of intergovernmental institutions, from the U.N. and the International Courts at The Hague, to the Organization of American States and the International Atomic Energy Agency. The Pontifical Council for Justice and Peace is responsible for promoting Catholic social teaching and applying it to current problems, such as the arms trade and poor country debt. It also promotes the pope’s annual World Day of Peace Message. Caritas Internationalis is the Vatican agency that serves the 165 national Caritas agencies, which together constitute one of the world’s largest social service and development networks. Other Vatican entities dealing with inter-religious (other faiths) and ecumenical (Christian denominations) dialogue also are involved in peacebuilding, especially when there is a religious dimension to a conflict. These Vatican agencies have counterparts at continental, regional, and national bishops’ conferences, as well as at the diocesan and, to a lesser extent, at the parish level. Through their pastoral role, military chaplaincies in many countries counsel 34

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military personnel on the ethics of war. Catholic schools and universities teach, research, and provide expertise to the Church and the wider public on matters of peace and security.2 In addition, there are many lay Catholic organizations, such as the Sant’Egidio Community and Pax Christi International, which have affiliates in dozens of countries and are involved in prayer, education, and advocacy around issues of peace. Catholic institutions and individuals also play a prominent role in many interfaith organizations, such as Religions for Peace. Most people experience the Church as an actor at the local level, primarily through parishes but also through local social service and social action work. In many poor, war-torn, and failed or failing states, Catholic parishes, schools, hospitals, relief and development agencies, and human rights programs make the Church one of the most important civil society institutions, sometimes even a substitute for government. This rootedness in local communities suffering from conflict is combined with a global reach that can surpass that of governments, international institutions, or multinational companies. John Paul Lederach, a renowned Mennonite peacebuilder, calls this the Catholic Church’s “ubiquitous presence,” which “creates a unique if not unprecedented presence in the landscape of … conflict[s]” because the Church is at least potentially engaged with such a wide range of actors on all sides of a conflict and at all levels (2010: 50).

People power As a community of believers, the Church is able to reach, educate, inspire, and mobilize people. Two of the most dramatic examples of “people power” are the Catholic Church’s role in providing institutional support to the mass protests that helped bring down the Marcos regime in the Philippines in 1986 and its role in supporting the Solidarity movement in Poland in the 1970s and 1980s. Mass mobilizations are the exception, however. More typical are advocacy efforts, such as the landmines and debt relief campaigns, in which the Vatican, regional and national bishops’ conferences, dioceses and parishes, schools, and Catholic NGOs worked to mobilize Catholics in support of changes in government policies. Catholic “people power” is also obviously about individuals. Catholic leaders, from the pope and bishops to priests, women religious, and lay people often have a moral credibility that political, military, business, and other leaders lack. In collaboration with other actors, religious and secular, their moral credibility allows them to be effective advocates for peaceful social change, to mediate between/among conflicting parties, and to provide new visions for the future in societies torn by conflict. Catholic ideals, institutions, and individuals constitute a potent force for peacebuilding when they are integrally related, that is, when beliefs about peace animate Catholic institutions and the lives of individual Catholics. The Church’s support for the global campaign to ban landmines in the 1990s is a case in point. The Church supported a global ban because landmines are indiscriminate weapons and they impede post-war reconstruction. Numerous statements were issued by Pope John Paul II, by continent-wide synods of bishops in Africa, Latin America, and Asia, by national bishops’ conferences, and by lay Catholic organizations. The Vatican was actively involved in the negotiations on the 1997 Mine Ban Treaty (and, as a state party, ratified it). In the major landmine-producing countries, bishops’ conferences joined with other Catholic organizations in mobilizing dioceses and parishes to support the wider national and international campaigns to ban landmines. In the United States, the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops hired a former college president to head a multi-year Catholic effort to change U.S. policy that was coordinated closely with the wider campaign. The bishops brought two things that the secular organizations mostly lacked: a strong moral critique and the ability to mobilize people to demand changes in U.S. policy (Sigal 2006). Caritas Internationalis and many national relief and 35

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development agencies were key players in the advocacy campaigns and, more importantly, sponsored programs to assist landmine survivors and remove landmines.

Catholic social teaching on security and peace Catholic engagement on issues of security and peace must be understood in the context of a wider Catholic social ethic. Several elements of Catholic social teaching are especially important: an overarching cosmopolitan and communitarian ethic; a positive conception of peace; the norm of solidarity; the central role of international law and international institutions; a rich tradition of reflection on the ethics of the use of military force; a growing emphasis on the need to further develop a Catholic theology, ethics, and praxis of peacebuilding; and the importance of personal virtues. Catholic teaching is grounded in a cosmopolitan and communitarian ethic that is more compatible with developing notions of “human security” than with the narrower realist emphasis on “national security.” It is a human-centric, not state-centric, ethic. Individuals and communities and their needs—e.g. economic, environmental, cultural—are the ultimate concern, not just states and the standard military, political, and economic metrics for measuring a nation’s security. Respect for principles of sovereignty, the equality of states and non-intervention, and the duty to protect national security are important norms, but they are not absolute. The foundational moral concerns are the dignity of the human person and the unity of the human family, concepts derived from the Imago Dei, the belief, as found in scripture, that all human beings are made in the image and likeness of the one God. Respect for human dignity entails a strong emphasis on human rights and responsibilities. A Catholic understanding of human rights includes the civil and political rights that are the principal concern of Western liberalism, but also economic, social, and cultural rights. Protecting human rights is one part of the obligation of individuals and states to promote the local, national, and global common good, defined as “the sum of those conditions of social life by which individuals, families, and groups can achieve their own fulfillment in a relatively thorough and ready way” (Second Vatican Council 1965: no. 74). The term “international community” is not an oxymoron in Catholic teaching. Catholic social thought is quite realistic about sin in the world and the challenges involved in moving from a quasi-anarchic international system to a more authentic international community. But it insists that, by respecting human dignity, promoting the unity of the human family, and working for the universal common good, such an authentic international community can and must be achieved (Pontifical Council for Justice and Peace 2005: nos. 433–34). More specifically, it calls for the development of a cooperative security regime based on strengthened international norms and institutions that can reduce and eventually eliminate the occasions when nations feel compelled to resort to force, and will improve their capacity to address global problems that even the most powerful nations cannot expect to solve on their own. This cosmopolitan ethic posits strong public roles for religion and morality, roles that are incompatible with realist approaches that exclude or marginalize them. This ethic is also unsympathetic to notions of cultural and moral relativism that claim that norms governing human rights and the conduct of war, for example, are culturally contingent and not universally applicable. This ethic also rejects the widespread notion that “war is hell” and therefore somehow beyond morality. There is nothing inevitable about war. It is a product of human choice and, like all human action, must be subject to moral constraints. National security, vital interests, and the “necessities” of war do not trump moral norms. A second element of Catholic teaching is a positive conception of peace. National and international security is often understood first and foremost as about preventing, limiting, and stopping war 36

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between states and violent conflict within states. Achieving this “peace of a sort,” or negative peace, is a major moral and political challenge (Second Vatican Council 1965: no. 81). Catholic teaching goes further, however, and insists on the need and possibility of also achieving a positive peace. Kenneth Himes describes three dimensions of positive peace. The Shalom of Isaiah, where the wolf and lamb lie down together (Isaiah 11:6), is the eschatological meaning of peace, the peace of the end times. The spiritual meaning of peace is the interior peace that comes through communion with, and by being part of, the Body of Christ (Romans 6:4–11). Tranquillitas ordinis is how Augustine described the political meaning of peace, the peace of a rightly ordered political community directed toward the common good (Augustine 1972: XIX.13; Himes 2010: 268–69). This political peace has many elements, but four are central: 1) promoting human rights; 2) advancing integral human development; 3) supporting international law and institutions; and 4) building solidarity among peoples and nations (Catholic Church and Mennonite World Conference dialogue members 2009: no. 153). In Catholic social teaching, political peace is not a mere utopian ideal but a realistic goal. As Pope Paul VI noted, moving beyond a state of affairs where war is a sad necessity is a moral obligation akin to abolishing slavery and eradicating diseases (Himes 2010: 280). And, like the efforts to eliminate slavery and diseases, political peace is not a static, once-and-for-all achievement. It will be the fruit of constantly changing and necessarily contingent efforts to achieve communities of right relations in many different places and at many different levels of society (Himes 2010: 269). Solidarity is a third element of Catholic teaching. Grounded in the social nature of humanity, the unity of the human family, the Body of Christ, and love of neighbor, solidarity is the glue that is necessary for any social order based in right relations. Solidarity is not just a sentimental concern for those who are suffering in far-off places, but is the virtue that transforms the fact of interdependence into a genuine commitment to achieve the good of the other. It is, according to John Paul II, “a firm and persevering determination to commit oneself to the common good” (1987: no. 38). Solidarity reminds us that one’s own good is intimately bound up with that of the wider community, and that a moral calculus of what is just, whether in war or in politics, is cold and sterile if separated from the love of God and neighbor, especially the poor, the marginalized, and victims of violence and injustice. Solidarity is a term that is largely absent from the foreign policy lexicon. Lisa Cahill claims that it is also one of the hardest concepts in Catholic social teaching to embrace in practice. It is antithetical to liberalism’s highly individualistic and conflictual view of society and international relations, and to the realist view that nations are in the business of protecting their national security and enhancing their political, economic, and military advantage over others. Instead, solidarity calls for collaboration among individuals, groups, and nations to promote the common good and to build structures of cooperative security (Cahill 1997: 198; Himes 2010: 273). Solidarity also impels the Church to overcome, through its own peacebuilding and accompaniment efforts, the chasm that divides the world’s zones of peace and prosperity from the zones of war and deprivation. The centrality of international law and international institutions is a concrete manifestation of the virtue of solidarity, and a necessary means to achieve both a negative and positive peace. Interestingly, it was under the heading, “The Total Banning of War, and International Action for Avoiding War,” that the Second Vatican Council urged “the establishment of some universal public authority acknowledged as such by all, and endowed with effective power to safeguard, on behalf of all, security, regard for justice, and respect for rights” (Second Vatican Council 1965: no. 82). Every pope since the founding of the United Nations has argued that it must have a central role in the international order if the fact of interdependence is to be transformed 37

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into the moral solidarity necessary to preserve international peace, promote just and sustainable development, protect the environment, and respect human rights. The Church is not calling for creation of a “global super-State” (Pontifical Council for Justice and Peace 2005: no. 441). That would violate one element of the principle of subsidiarity:3 that authority should be exercised at the lowest level possible. But a world without the U.N., or something very much like it, would violate a second element of subsidiarity: that authority should be exercised at the highest level necessary. The role of the U.N. and other international institutions is not to limit or replace the authority and responsibilities of nation states, but to address problems that nations or alliances alone, no matter how powerful, cannot resolve (John XXIII 1963: no. 140). Strengthening international institutions goes hand in hand with developing “real,” not “soft” or pseudo, international law-making and law-enforcing processes and institutions so that international law can become a “guarantor” of international peace. The Church is not naïve about the limitations and inadequacies of the U.N. and international law, but is confident that these problems can be addressed through reform, better resource allocation, strengthened political will, and other measures. The U.N. is a necessary but not sufficient element of developing “an authentic international community” (Pontifical Council for Justice and Peace 2005: no. 440). Just as a strong civil society is necessary for a just and vibrant social order at the local and national level, so, too, a strong civil society is necessary at the international level. Many civil society actors are motivated by a cosmopolitan ethic and a commitment to the global common good that is an antidote to the political realism and narrow self-interest that often drive the actions of states. A fifth element is the Church’s rich tradition of reflection on the ethics of the use of military force. Catholicism, like other Christian denominations, has long wrestled with the four main approaches to the ethics of war: holy war, amoral realism, just or limited war, and pacifism or principled non-violence. The first two—holy war and amoral realism—are not considered morally acceptable in the Catholic tradition. While Christianity has a long and less-than-proud history of holy war, this unlimited form of warfare, exemplified today by al Qaeda’s so-called jihad against the West and extreme forms of religious nationalism, has long been rejected by most Christian denominations. Catholic teaching accepts the realist assumption that, in a sinful world without an international authority to control and resolve conflict, military force is sometimes a tragic necessity to establish or maintain order. But it rejects those realists who claim that national security interests, not norms, are ultimately decisive in war, and that war is merely politics by other means. In Catholic teaching, war is the failure of politics, not simply another form of politics. The just war tradition and pacifism, or principled non-violence, are the two morally legitimate approaches in the Catholic tradition of moral reasoning about war. In their 1983 peace pastoral letter, the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops suggested that the two traditions share a common starting point: a strong presumption “in favor of peace and against war,” a starting point which makes them “distinct but interdependent methods of evaluating warfare” (1983: 51). Nevertheless, non-violence has been considered an option for individuals, not governments. Faced with aggression, “governments cannot be denied the right to legitimate defense once every means of peaceful settlement has been exhausted” (Second Vatican Council 1965: 79). The just war criteria limit when, why, and how force may be used. The jus ad bellum criteria restrict resort to war: just cause, comparative justice, legitimate authority, right intention, probability of success, proportionality, and last resort. Jus in bello criteria restrict the conduct of war: non-combatant immunity, proportionality, and right intention (USCCB 1993: 12–14). The strong presumption against war creates a hermeneutic that interprets these criteria not in a permissive way that readily justifies war but in a highly restrictive way that severely limits it. 38

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This restrictive hermeneutic derives from an overall assessment of war and a corresponding and growing emphasis on non-violence. Church documents are replete with condemnations of the “savagery” and “scourge” of war, descriptions of war as “an adventure without return,” and a “defeat for humanity,” and hortatory appeals, such as “war never again” and “war is not the answer” (Pontifical Council for Justice and Peace 2005: no. 497). This language reflects a growing appreciation of the destructiveness of modern war. The experience of total war in the twentieth century, the threat of a nuclear holocaust, and the fact that civilians have increasingly been the main victims of war have led the Church to be deeply skeptical of the ability of modern war to meet just war criteria. While the just war tradition remains valid, non-violence has received greater emphasis and legitimacy since the Second Vatican Council, and especially since the end of the Cold War. The experience of successful non-violent change, from the demise of Marcos in the Philippines to the mostly peaceful dissolution of the Soviet bloc, has contributed to this growing emphasis on non-violence (John Paul II 1991: no. 23).4 Given this assessment of the destructiveness of war and the efficacy of non-violence, a sixth element of Catholic teaching has become more prominent since the end of the Cold War: a strict interpretation of the just war tradition presumes, complements, and incorporates a wider theology and ethic of just peace or peacebuilding. Properly understood, a strict just war analysis is an element of peacebuilding. It provides a moral rationale for opposing resort to military force in cases like Iraq in 2003 (conflict prevention). A just war that is fought justly with the end of restoring or building a just peace will not only help limit and manage war and increase prospects for a negotiated peace (conflict management), but will also contribute to prospects for post-war reconstruction and reconciliation. But a just war analysis also presumes and requires a wider ethic of peacebuilding. Just as peacebuilding has become a cottage industry among secular actors at all levels since the end of the Cold War, the Catholic Church has seen a similar proliferation of peacebuilding activities. Sant’Egidio’s peacebuilding work in Mozambique and elsewhere is a notable example (Bartoli 1999). Less well known are the peacebuilding activities of Catholic Relief Services and other Caritas agencies which have developed well-funded, long-term peacebuilding programs (Rogers, Bamat, and Ideh 2008; Caritas Internationalis 2002). In some ways, this practice of peacebuilding is further developed than the theology and ethics of peacebuilding.5 For example, Catholic social teaching has much to learn from the now well-developed field of conflict resolution (Himes 2010: 282). In addressing conflicts, the Church appeals for dialogue and negotiation as a viable alternative to military force, but Catholic teaching provides little guidance on how to deal with the ethical dilemmas and trade-offs usually present in such cases. Virtues are a final aspect of Catholic teaching on security. Popular discourse on war is replete with stories of the virtues of soldiers: courage, self-sacrifice, loyalty, patriotism. While these virtues are rightly lauded and nurtured, they easily can morph into a glorification of the warrior and warfare in ways that obscure the violence, suffering, and trauma of war. A Catholic approach defines the virtues required for peace and security differently. It starts with the notion that peacebuilding is a vocation for individual Catholics and for the Catholic community. The vocation of Catholics in the military is primarily to contribute to building a negative peace. But all have as part of their Christian vocation a duty also to build a positive peace. As the U.S. bishops said in The Harvest of Justice is Sown in Peace, peacebuilding requires that individuals and communities cultivate peaceable virtues: True peacemaking can be a matter of policy only if it is first a matter of the heart … we must seek to foster communities where peaceable virtues can take root and be nourished. We need to nurture among ourselves faith and hope to strengthen our spirits 39

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by placing our trust in God, rather than in ourselves; courage and compassion that move us to action; humility and kindness so that we can put the needs and interests of others ahead of our own; patience and perseverance to endure the long struggle for justice; and civility and charity so that we can treat others with respect and love. (USCCB 1993: 6)6 In short, the bishops are saying that the Sermon on the Mount cannot be relegated to sweet songs on Sunday, but must animate the life and mission of the Catholic community. This emphasis on virtues makes a Christian approach to peace and security especially counter-cultural when contrasted with the dominant secular approaches.

Catholic teaching in action The Church addresses a host of specific issues, from the ethics of major military interventions and peacebuilding amidst intractable conflicts to advocating for arms control agreements and promoting forgiveness and reconciliation after violent conflict has ended. In order to illustrate how the Church’s peacebuilding norms apply to specific types of peacebuilding, it is useful to consider briefly the Church’s response to two pressing public policy issues: nuclear weapons and humanitarian intervention. I then consider briefly the ways in which the Church, itself, plays a direct role as a peacebuilder amidst intractable conflicts.

Nuclear weapons and arms control Nuclear weapons, more than any other security issue, led the Church to undertake “an evaluation of war with an entirely new attitude,” reinvigorating a debate over the just war tradition within and outside the Church as a result (Second Vatican Council 1965: no. 80). The U.S. Catholic bishops’ 1983 pastoral letter, The Challenge of Peace, is widely considered to be a seminal analysis of the ethics of nuclear weapons. Consistent with Vatican II’s condemnation of counterpopulation warfare, the bishops categorically rejected “city-busting” nuclear strategies as indiscriminate and disproportionate, and were deeply skeptical of the morality of virtually all other conceivable uses of nuclear weapons. They were concerned about breaking the taboo against nuclear use, the inability to control a nuclear war, and the morally disproportionate harm that would be involved in even limited strikes against military targets. The ethics of nuclear deterrence is more complex than the issue of use. During the Cold War, nuclear deterrence was considered morally acceptable only if it involved the minimum arsenal necessary to deter nuclear use, and if it was used as a step toward progressive disarmament. Since the end of the Cold War, Church statements have stressed the need to move beyond the Cold War deterrent framework and to pursue much more vigorously the long-term policy goal of mutual, verifiable, nuclear disarmament. The narrow issue of the ethics of nuclear weapons has always been joined in Catholic teaching to broader challenges. Catholic teaching insists on the need to develop international and regional institutions of cooperative security and more effective means of negotiation, as well as agreements to abolish or severely restrict armaments and the arms trade, in order to achieve the long-term goal of “general, balanced, and controlled disarmament” (Pontifical Council for Justice and Peace 2005: no. 508).

Humanitarian intervention Since the end of the Cold War, the long litany of genocides and humanitarian catastrophes has posed a security challenge very different from that of nuclear weapons: the ethics of humanitarian 40

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intervention in internal conflicts. Without elaborating on the nuances of the Church’s position or its responses to particular cases (Powers 2009), it is fair to say that, in the face of the Somalias, Bosnias, and Rwandas, the Church had a clear answer to Cain’s question: “Yes, we are our brother’s keeper.” Unlike many foreign policy elites at the time who argued that it was not in the national interest to get involved in internal conflicts involving “ancient hatreds” (Kissinger 1995), John Paul II said in 1992 that the international community had not only a right but a duty to intervene “where the survival of populations and entire ethnic groups is seriously compromised” (John Paul II 1992: no. 475). More recently, Pope Benedict XVI has offered strong support for the nascent international law concept of a “responsibility to protect” (Benedict XVI 2008). The U.S. bishops have highlighted several elements of an ethical approach to humanitarian intervention. First, reflecting its cosmopolitan, human-centric ethic, the principles of sovereignty and non-intervention are important, but they are not absolute norms. When governments fail in their responsibility to protect human rights and the common good, it falls to the international community to fill the void in an effort to strengthen, not limit, that nation’s sovereignty (Benedict XVI 2008; John XXIII 1963: nos. 61, 132–37). Second, the priority should be humanitarian interventions that do not involve military force, such as diplomacy, targeted economic and political sanctions, arms embargoes, delivery of humanitarian aid, and U.N. peace operations that do not involve war-fighting.7 In exceptional cases, however, “military intervention may sometimes be justified to ensure that starving children can be fed or that whole populations will not be slaughtered,” for these cases represent “St. Augustine’s classic case: love may require force to protect the innocent” (USCCB 1993: 15–16). Third, in order to ensure that humanitarian intervention does not “open the door to new forms of imperialism or endless wars of altruism” (USCCB 1993: 15–16), intervention should preferably be under the auspices of the United Nations and consistent with wider efforts to strengthen international law and international institutions (USCCB 1993: 38–41; Powers 2011). This ethic of humanitarian intervention exemplifies how an ethic of war and an ethic of peacebuilding incorporate and complement each other. A just war analysis that permits some forms of multilateral humanitarian intervention has to be tied to a much broader ethic and effort that can address the root causes of these internal conflicts, can support the spread of democratic and just political and economic orders, and can prevent conflicts and settle them promptly when they erupt. Humanitarian interventions have also inspired reflection on the need to develop a jus post bellum, an ethic to address a host of post-intervention issues, such as the responsibilities of intervenors to rebuild states, and the elements of political and cultural reconciliation.

Catholic peacebuilding Nuclear weapons and humanitarian intervention involve the ethics of governments’ security policies. But the Church’s involvement in peace and security issues also goes far beyond public policies, with the Church itself often playing a direct role in peacebuilding. For example, the Church provides emergency assistance to victims of war in Colombia, resettles refugees from Iraq, facilitates the referendum on independence in South Sudan, provides 30,000 monitors for elections in the Democratic Republic of the Congo, establishes “spaces for peace” in the Philippines, and investigates human rights abuses in Guatemala. Of special interest is the Church’s role in mediating or facilitating peace processes. The Vatican mediated a resolution of the Beagle Channel dispute between Chile and Argentina in 1978–79 (Princen 1992). In Poland, the Church provided an alternative social vision, offered a safe space for Solidarity to organize, and used its good offices to help negotiate the peaceful 41

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. transition from communism to democracy (Zycinski 1992). In Northern Uganda, Catholic Archbishop John Baptist Odama joined with other Acholi religious leaders in helping to convince Joseph Kony, the ruthless leader of the Lord’s Resistance Army, to participate in the peace process (Thompson 2008).8 In Colombia, the Catholic Church has long played a formal role in negotiations between the government and rebel groups, and often negotiates hostage releases and other conflicts at the local level (Gaviria 2009). In Northern Ireland, Fr. Alex Reid served as an interlocutor between the IRA and the Irish and British governments and is credited with helping bring about the IRA cease-fire that paved the way for the Good Friday Agreement.9 And there is the well-known example of Sant’Egidio, the lay Catholic community from Italy, which helped negotiate an end to the civil war in Mozambique in 1992 and is involved in similar efforts around the world (Sengulane and Gonçalves 1998). In some ways, the Church relies on strategies and tactics that are common to all peacebuilders. But in other ways there is something distinctively “Catholic” in its approach to peacebuilding. It is the peacebuilding power of faith; not faith in general, but a particular kind of faith. As Lederach argues, in predominantly Catholic countries like Colombia and the (Democratic Republic of the) Congo, the Church’s depth and breadth of engagement aligns with the multilevel and multifaceted demands of peacebuilding in ways rare among religious and secular actors. Lederach points out that secular notions of mediation, negotiation, and conflict resolution do not adequately account for the Church’s formal and informal engagement with armed actors. In fact, the Church often uses “pastoral dialogue” or “accompaniment” as alternatives to these secular terms. A local pastor in the “no-go” areas in rural Colombia reaches out to the narco-trafficker or paramilitary leader, not as a mediator, but as a pastor who engages and accompanies both the victims and perpetrators of violence, as well as a prophet who denounces and calls for accountability for violence and human rights abuses. A pastor might offer to hear a hardened killer’s confession, or invite Catholics from all sides of the conflict to see in the Eucharist a call and grace to reconcile. The sacraments, especially the Eucharist, Lederach explains, stand “as an important, perhaps unique, contribution of the Catholic tradition” to peacebuilding (2010: 50).

Conclusion Since the so-called “wars of religion” of the 1990s and especially since 9/11, religion, which many international affairs experts assumed was waning or at best irrelevant, has taken on new prominence. Yet, much of the focus has been on the negative role of religion in fomenting conflict. Much less attention has been given to the positive role of religion in promoting peace. In ways both direct and indirect, Catholic social teaching and practical action have become increasingly important factors in this broader trend toward more holistic conceptions of security. While there is tremendous diversity, there are nevertheless common threads that have run through Catholicism since the end of the Cold War: a robust understanding of human security; a commitment to strengthen the political, economic, cultural, and military institutions necessary to achieve that security; and an emphasis on the importance of peacebuilding for both public policy and for the Church itself.

Notes 1 Women religious are popularly known as nuns. 2 See, e.g., the Catholic Peacebuilding Network at . 3 According to the principle of subsidiarity, “a community of a higher order should not interfere in the internal life of a community of a lower order, depriving the latter of its functions, but rather should

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4 5 6 7 8

9

support it in case of need and help to co-ordinate its activity with the activities of the rest of society, always with a view to the common good” (John Paul II 1991: no. 48). For John Paul II’s teaching on war, see Christiansen (2006). On a theology of peace, see, e.g., Schreiter, Appleby, and Powers (2010); Bole, Christiansen, and Hennemeyer (2004); German Bishops’ Conference (2000). For more on peacemaking, see Catholic Church and Mennonite World Conference dialogue members (2009) Called Together to be Peacemakers. For the distinction between war and policing, see Schlabach (2007): 70, 73–77. For an overview of the range of peacebuilding activities undertaken by religious leaders in Northern Uganda, see the website of the Acholi Religious Leaders Peace Initiative, at . See, e.g., the case study on the work of Fr. Alex Reid and Protestant minister Rev. Dr. Roy Magee (Little 2007: 53–96).

References Augustine (1972) The City of God, (ed.) D. Knowles and trans. H. Bettenson, New York: Penguin Books. Bartoli, A. (1999) “Mediating Peace in Mozambique: The Role of the Community of Sant’Egidio,” in P. Aall, C. Crocker, and F. Hampson (eds.) Herding Cats: Multiparty Mediation in a Complex World, Washington, DC: U.S. Institute of Peace, pp. 245–73. Benedict XVI (18 April 2008) Address to the General Assembly, United Nations, reprinted in Origins 37(46): 747–50. Online. Available at: <hanwww.vatican.va/holy_father/benedict_xvi/speeches/2008/ april/documents/hf_ben-xvi_spe_20080418_un-visit_en.html> (accessed January 11, 2012). Bole, W., Christiansen, D., and Hennemeyer, R.T. (2004) Forgiveness in International Politics: An Alternative Road to Peace, Washington, DC: USCCB Publishing. Cahill, L.S. (1997) “Goods for Whom? Defining Goods and Expanding Solidarity in Catholic Approaches to Violence,” Journal of Religious Ethics, 25(3): 183–219. Caritas Internationalis (2002) Peacebuilding: A Caritas Training Manual, The Vatican: Caritas Internationalis. Catholic Church and Mennonite World Conference dialogue members (2009) Called Together to be Peacemakers: Report of the International Dialogue between the Catholic Church and Mennonite World Conference, 1998–2003, no. 153. Online. Available at: (accessed January 11, 2012). Christiansen, D. (2006) “Catholic Peacemaking, 1991–2005: The Legacy of Pope John Paul II,” The Review of Faith & International Affairs, 4(2): 21–28. Gaviria, H.F.H. (2009) “The Colombian Church and Peacebuilding,” in V.M. Bouvier (ed.) Colombia: Building Peace in a Time of War, Washington, DC: U.S. Institute of Peace, pp. 173–90. German Bishops’ Conference (2000) A Just Peace, Bonn: Sekretariat der Deutschen Bischofskonferenz. Hehir, J.B. (1990) “Responsibilities and Temptations of Power: A Catholic View,” Journal of Law and Religion, 8(1&2): 71–83. Himes, K. (2010) “Peacebuilding and Catholic Social Teaching,” in R. Schreiter, S. Appleby, and G. Powers (eds.) Peacebuilding: Catholic Theology, Ethics, and Praxis, New York: Orbis, pp. 265–99. John XXIII (1963) Pacem in Terris, The Vatican. Online. Available at: (accessed January 11, 2012). John Paul II (1987) Sollicitudo rei Socialis, The Vatican. Online. Available at: (accessed January 11, 2012). ——(1991) Centesimus Annus, The Vatican. Online. Available at: (accessed January 11, 2012). ——(1992) “Address to the International Conference on Nutrition,” Origins, 22(28): 473, 475. Kissinger, H. (1995) “Bosnia: Reasons for Care,” Washington Post, 10 December, C9. Lederach, J.P. (2010) “The Long Journey Back to Humanity: Catholic Peacebuilding with Armed Actors,” in R. Schreiter, S. Appleby, and G. Powers (eds.) Peacebuilding: Catholic Theology, Ethics, and Praxis, New York: Orbis, pp. 23–55. Little, D. (2007) “Men Who Walked the Street: Father Alex Reid and the Rev. Dr. Roy Magee,” in D. Little (ed.) Peacemakers in Action: Profiles of Religion in Conflict Resolution, New York: Cambridge University Press, pp. 53–96.

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Pontifical Council for Justice and Peace (2005) Compendium of the Social Doctrine of the Church, Washington, DC: U.S.C.C.B. Publishing. Powers, G. (2009) “The U.S. Bishops and War since the Peace Pastoral,” U.S. Catholic Historian, 27(2): 82–86. ——(2011) “The Meaning of War: An Ethical Analysis of Sanctions and Humanitarian Intervention,” in M.E. O’Connell (ed.) What is War? An Investigation in the Wake of 9/11, Leiden: Martinus Nijhoff. Princen, T. (1992) “Mediation by a Transnational Organization: The Case of the Vatican,” in J. Bercovitch and J. Rubin (eds.) Mediation in International Relations: Multiple Approaches to Conflict Management, New York: St. Martin’s Press, pp. 149–75. Rogers, M., Bamat, T., and Ideh, J. (eds.) (2008) Pursuing Just Peace: An Overview and Case Studies for Faith-Based Peacebuilders, Baltimore, MD: Catholic Relief Services. Schlabach, G.W. (2007) “Warfare vs. Policing: In Search of Moral Clarity,” in G. Schlabach (ed.) Just Policing, Not War, Collegeville, MN: Order of St. Benedict, pp. 69–92. Schreiter, R., Appleby, S., and Powers, G. (eds.) (2010) Peacebuilding: Catholic Theology, Ethics, and Praxis, New York: Orbis. Second Vatican Council (1965) Gaudium et Spes, The Vatican. Online. Available at: (accessed January 11, 2012). Sengulane, D., and Gonçalves, J.P. (1998) “A Calling for Peace: Christian Leaders and the Quest for Reconciliation in Mozambique,” Conciliation Resources. Online. Available at: (accessed January 11, 2012). Sigal, L. (2006) Negotiating Minefields: The Landmines Ban in American Politics, New York: Routledge. Thompson, K. (2008) “Uganda: Alliances for Peace: The Acholi Religious Leaders Peace Initiative,” in M. Rogers, T. Bamat, and J. Ideh (eds.) Pursuing Just Peace: An Overview and Case Studies for Faith-Based Peacebuilders, Baltimore, MD: Catholic Relief Services, pp. 133–44. U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops (USCCB) (1983) The Challenge of Peace: God’s Promise and Our Response, Washington, DC: U.S. Catholic Conference. ——(1993) The Harvest of Justice Is Sown in Peace, Washington, DC: USCCB Publishing. . Zycinski, J. (1992) “The Role of Religious and Intellectual Elements in Overcoming Marxism in Poland,” Studies in Soviet Thought, 43(2): 139–57.

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5 ALWAYS REFORMING: PROTESTANTISM AND INTERNATIONAL SECURITY Robert Joustra

Introduction Protestant social thought, James Gustafson has said, is just a little short of chaos (as quoted in Ballor 2010: xi). The same could be said, without much irony, of international security. Working these two terms together is an exercise in generality and extrapolation. Protestantism is an enormous phenomenon, especially for a young religious tradition. Of course, most Protestants would demur on that assessment. Although the Protestant tradition specifically dates back to the time of the Reformation,1 its claim is one of reforming, rather than a new revelation or dispensation. It claims to recover and reform, not invent, the Christian religion. It has only theologians. Its innovations are primarily hermeneutic. International security is trickier still to define, situated as it is in the international order which owes a great deal to the work of the Protestant Reformation. Indeed, the obligations of states and the separation of church and state are rooted in the fabled Treaty of Westphalia. This treaty in the myths of modern liberalism brought an end to the bloody religious wars that followed the Reformation. It would not be an exaggeration to claim, as Daniel Philpott (2000; 2001) does, that the Protestants sparked a revolution in sovereignty that explicitly and implicitly shaped and continues to shape modern international relations in fundamental ways. Or, as Charles Taylor in A Secular Age (2007) might say, Protestantism is implied when we speak of the modern world order. Security, which was often the province of hard power and realist gaming, took a sharp normative turn after 9/11 (Seiple and Hoover 2004: 1). Work in the field is beginning to emerge, connecting images of the political and the religious to security and conflict, this book being only one example. The meaning, means, and ends of security are being explored in this research, unpacking why the practice of international security can no longer afford to be ignorant of its religious and historical roots. It is my overall thesis in this chapter that Protestantism’s highly diverse contributions to international security stem from the historic revolution in sovereignty described by Philpott and Taylor; a revolution from the embedded hierarchical cosmology of medieval Europe to the horizontal interdependency of modern world order. I hope to make these claims clear in the 45

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following ways. First, by asking the question, what is Protestantism? Appreciating the change that Protestant thought represents relative to the moral and social order of an earlier age will help reveal now-naturalized assumptions about social and political order in the modern world. Further, by situating the movement within its historical period, and finding what key features unify it as a coherent tradition, I hope to make more clear its influences and potential for international security. I do this chiefly by separating Protestantism into six traditions of political reflection: the Anabaptist pacifist tradition, the liberation theology tradition, the Lutheran two-kingdoms tradition, the Reformed/Calvinist tradition, the tradition of Protestant Zionism, and the tradition of “civil religion.” Each of these is undoubtedly Protestant based, but also offers unique insights on security. And each, of course, is a period reaction that has developed with surprising, and at times perplexing, contemporary manifestations. In my conclusion, I speculate on what each of these Protestant traditions has to offer international security.

What is Protestantism? Protestantism arose as a movement of response to the perceived excesses of the Roman Catholic Church in the European medieval period. From its modest beginnings, the movement of protest and reform spread like wildfire across the European continent (Payton 2010). The European world of the medieval age was punctuated by crisis after crisis, almost without respite. In 1071 the Byzantine Empire, which long blunted nomadic incursions, was broken by the Seljuks at Manzikert. On its heels the Mongol and then Ottoman invasions threatened both East and West. The Hundred Years War (1337–1453), economic and agricultural collapse, ravages of the plague, and rife corruption seeded unease and rebellion. The Church had crisis and scandal enough to match. By the end of the first millennium Western Europe had almost entirely embraced Christianity, and the Pope in Rome was revered as God’s appointed representative on earth. The Church was the only true international body in the continent, and civil governments of all stripes operated under ecclesiastical oversight, not merely for the exercise of ecclesial control—although that came into play as well—but often simply because the Church had something of a monopoly on literacy and education. It was the Respublica Christiana, in which there was no supreme authority within a territory, and manifestly no sovereignty (Philpott 2000). A great deal of social confidence rested on the integrity and capacity of the Church. As European states gained power, activist popes began to clash more and more with monarchs for material control. Pope Innocent III (1198–1216) pressured the monarchs of France, England, and the Holy Roman Empire to yield to his directives. Those directives included a call for an array of crusades to recover the Holy Land. This brought about conflicts of interest even as the papacy regularly extracted bribes from kings, peoples, and clergy. The Avignon Papacy was only one, if the most striking, example of this confluence, creating the foundation for the Reformation. The slogan Radix Omnium Malorum Avaritia—the root of all evils is avarice—graffitied Avignon. That Papacy also became known for its moral depravity and a cavalier indifference not only to the rule of celibacy but also to any restriction at all on sexual appetites. Worse, when the papacy briefly moved back to Rome in 1377, a crowd surrounded the papal palace demanding the election of an Italian bishop of Rome. Frightened cardinals elected Pope Urban VI in 1378, whose legacy of extreme asceticism caused cardinals to flee to France where they repudiated Urban VI’s election under duress and elected a new Frenchman, Pope Clement VII, who promptly returned to Avignon. Urban meanwhile created his own cardinals and demanded the allegiance of Christians, denouncing Clement and his cardinals as servants of Satan. Western Europe was suddenly split 46

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in a great schism between rival papacies, a debacle which lasted from 1378 to 1415. Vigorous anticlericalism became the rule across Europe, as monarchs worked to cut better deals between rival popes. The uneasy international order that had once been provided by the Church crumbled under its own excesses and its loss of material and spiritual confidence, as Europe split along nationalist lines.2 It was in these pangs of moral and spiritual pain that the reformations gave birth to Protestantism and what would become its unique and lasting contribution to international order. Two theological rallying cries of the Reformers stand out as unique, around which I will focus the tradition: sola fide and sola scriptura. Sola fide means justification by faith alone. While differences exist within Protestantism as to how divine grace impacts people as they come to faith, they nonetheless share this basic point. Human beings are sinners, and they are saved only by an act of God. As John Calvin wrote: “For we are said to be justified through faith, not in the sense, however, that we receive within us any righteousness, but because the righteousness of Christ is credited to us, entirely as if it were really ours” (Calvin 1537, as translated by Fuhrmann 1960: article 16, p. 42). The book of Romans in the New Testament has long been a central pivot for sola fide (Luther famously articulated this doctrine from his encounter with Romans 1:16–17, but see also Rom. 3:20, 3:28, 4:3, 5:1). Justification by faith alone was a theological position, but it had the corollary of germinating a strong sociological and political move. Sovereignty was implied. Religion that can be experienced and encountered personally, that does not depend on the maintenance and placation of a substantial hierarchy, is religion that may be experienced directly, without mediation. This was the first crack in the hierarchical edifice of medieval cosmology, where it began to be possible to imagine a relationship with God by simply erasing the soteriological need for a papacy altogether. Further, it undermined the rituals and liturgies that had come to be understood as necessary to the Christian life. Sola fide did not, as Catholic critics claimed, undermine the importance of individual Christians doing good works. In 1531 Philip Melanchthon argued that faith was never alone. He wrote, “Our opponents slanderously claim that we do not require good works, whereas we not only require them but show how they can be done” (Melanchthon 1531, as translated by Tappert 1959: 126). The Book of James provided scriptural ballast for this theology, as in 2:26 “As the body without the spirit is dead, so faith without deeds is dead” (New International Version; see also all of 2:14–28). Martin Luther was also clear on this point. In The Freedom of a Christian he wrote, “This is that Christian liberty, our faith, which does not induce us to live in idleness or wickedness but makes the law and works unnecessary for any man’s righteousness and salvation” (Luther 1520, as quoted in Payton 2010: 123). Others like Zwingli, Calvin, and Bucer were just as clear. For the Reformers, says James Payton, “justification is by faith alone, but faith is never alone” (Payton 2010: 131). Sola scriptura was the second and arguably most significant challenge to the hierarchical cosmology of medieval Europe. Yet even here the immediate break by the Reformers was less radical than present day Protestantism often suggests. Reformation scholar Irena Backus writes, “the Reformers did not reject the tradition of the Early Church, which in their eyes was to be distinguished from the corruptions of the medieval ecclesiastical structures” (Backus 1993: 81). This view had precedent well before the actual reformations of the sixteenth century, but its extension by Luther was especially troublesome to the Catholic hierarchy. Allegations, which may strike scholars as appreciably postmodern, were made of Luther at the Diet of Worms in 1521 that he was promoting subjectivism. How, after all, could he propose to have read Scripture correctly? Was not sola scriptura simply a veil for whatever insights individuals might wish to promote? 47

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If “every man is a priest,” as Luther famously declared, then what was to stop every man from becoming his own denomination and church? From there it is but a short step for a Protestant prince or king to conclude that he did not owe fealty to the Pope and the Holy Roman Empire. Yet even Luther did not strictly advocate Scripture alone, so much as Scripture as the highest authority. His extensive readings of Augustine and church fathers like Ambrose, Hilary, Cyprian, John Chrysostom, and others all suggested this same approach. Luther was not writing against traditions of interpretation, but rather against traditions he took to be corruptions of the great tradition and of Scripture, as read against earlier movements in church history. It was a reform inspired by the Church for the Church, not an attempt to start an independent movement disconnected from that tradition, as some contemporary Protestant manifestations have taken it. The Reformation was, in short, self-understood not as innovative revolution, but penitent rediscovery. Luther’s summary of religious authority and Scripture is striking: “[W]e Gentiles must not value the writings of our fathers as highly as Holy Scripture, but as worth a little less” (Luther 1539, as quoted in Payton 2010: 139). Sola scriptura thus meant for Luther that Scripture was the only unquestioned religious authority but it did not mean it was the only religious authority. What this suggests is that Protestantism as a religious phenomenon opened up the possibility of a horizontal and complementary kind of social order, a way of understanding the world that did not necessarily rely on the mediation of the medieval Catholic hierarchy. Again, this is the revolution in sovereignty to which Daniel Philpott refers in high medieval Europe (2001: 123–49). The slow degradation of medieval hierarchy made possible a horizontal society of interlocking interdependency; discrete individuals with interlocking causes rather than a cosmological hierarchy with duties of obligation. A system of sovereign states was made possible by subverting the order of the Church and sustaining a theological tradition that gave authority to individuals or, more significantly for that time, monarchs to interpret and apply the Christian tradition. The advantage of this system was not lost on Europe’s monarchs. The society that slowly began to emerge was one predicated on an invention of “religion” (Cavanaugh 2009), one which was discretely disembedded from structures and rituals of obligation, and more concerned with individual piety and conviction. Famously, the authors of the Treaty of Westphalia—the Dutch Republic, the Kingdom of Spain, France, Sweden, and the Holy Roman Empire—labored to produce an international system that provided for the private administration of religion within a realm, but not its public or international manifestations. This, of course, is its own kind of moral and ontological ordering of society, distinct, but not neutral in comparison to the hierarchical medieval world of Western Europe. The Reformation was one significant part of this move toward modern moral order, and the very definition of what we’ve come to call the “international” and its securities. Some of the key transformations in knowledge and authority—of sola fide and sola scriptura—came from the Reformers, making possible an international relations of sovereign states with religious toleration across borders. While sweeping, the spirit of Philpott’s argument is convincing: The Reformation created religious pluralism, which led to the crisis that was eventually resolved through Westphalia’s toleration, the abjuration of international enforcement of religion. The Reformation also yielded the idea that the authority of territorial kings and princes could be separated from the temporal powers of the universal Church. Both of these prongs of Protestantism—toleration and separation of powers— led to a system of sovereign states at Westphalia, a solution of pluralism to a crisis of pluralism. (2001: 148) 48

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So we have a picture of Protestantism, its contribution to both international order and its security, and some of the key ideas that give it coherence. In these next sections I will focus on traditions that emerge out of Protestantism, their specific prefiguring of the political and the religious, and then what contributions they have—or have yet—to make to the concept and practice of international security.

The Anabaptist pacifists The devolution and decentralization of the medieval hierarchy has its most radical manifestation in the tradition of the Anabaptists, and in the more contemporary work of theologians John Howard Yoder and Stanley Hauerwas (see for example Yoder 1994 and Hauerwas 2011). In the twenty-first century, Anabaptism has come to mean the legacy of the Mennonites, Hutterites, and the Amish, but in the time of the Reformation it was far more varied. Both Protestant Reformers and Catholics viewed the Anabaptists with suspicion. For many Anabaptists the Reformational move was not just a correction but a long overdue purification of the true Christian polis, the Church, from the corrupting influences of secular power. While the tradition’s diversity might make it hard to pin down Anabaptist “saints,” its “devil” is obvious: the Emperor Constantine. In the Anabaptist view, it was under Constantine, in the fourth century, that the Christian religion was co-opted into the cultic rituals of the Roman state and power. These secular powers quickly corrupted the radical originality of the Gospel. The kingdom of God was not of this world and those who played in the halls of power of the here and now ran the risk of compromising the message of personal and moral salvation. Conclusively, the polis for the Anabaptists was not the city-state or the Christian empire, but rather the newly gathered community of the Church. Civil institutions of whatever stripe existed in an entirely postlapsarian3 sense, existing as they may by the grace of God to restrain the evil in the world, but having no normative or redemptive historical role. Government was, in this sense, a necessary evil but not a Christian vocation. That states made war and that Constantine in particular made war “under the sign of the cross” was conclusive evidence for the Anabaptists that Constantinianism or Christendom was an apostasy, detracting from the immanent message of personal salvation and ecclesial community. Certainly the evidence of Constantinianism gone bad was not hard to find in the sixteenth century. And people like Stanley Hauerwas would say that evidence is abundant also in today’s America, its legacy of Christian Protestantism long since compromised by the realism of power politics and the hubris of empire. The experiment of “Christian America,” of a secular political power aligned with the Christian faith, has not only failed in the Anabaptist imagination, but it was wrong headed to begin with. The Christian Gospel cannot be incarnated in the brick and mortar of Capitol Hill but only in the hearts of human beings. Structures and systems, such as they are, are grist for the mill work of salvation. They are not the point itself. All of which makes it awfully difficult to pin down a contribution to international security, in a tradition that is suspicious of power and downright agonistic as to its forms. Its radically horizontal sociology hollows out some of the more traditional concepts in the security literature. But what it does contribute is possibly one of the most unique and thus fruitful areas of Protestant engagement in international security: pacifism. Pacifism is not unique to Protestantism, nor even to Anabaptism, but the Anabaptist tradition is one of the most consistent to apply it. The purism of Anabaptist theology has a limited normative role of governments or powers to practice war or to compel their citizens in coercive fashion, though domestic police action is usually exempted. It is for this reason that other Protestant traditions often accuse Anabaptism of certain inconsistencies, including the policing authority of 49

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the state which it accepts domestically, but not internationally. Security, regardless, is primarily preventative or reconciliatory in the Anabaptist tradition. Anabaptism has been prolific on pacifism for that reason and its creativity is often rooted in asking unorthodox questions about peace, peacemaking, and security. A good example of this can be found in Glen Stassen’s edited volume on Just Peacemaking: Ten Practices for Abolishing War (1998), which, while styled as a “third way” between just war and pacifism, offers mainly pacifist and preventative approaches to international security. These include:









non-violent direct action independent initiatives to reduce threat cooperative conflict resolution repentance and forgiveness the advance of democracy, human rights, and religious liberty sustainable economic development reduction in weapons and weapons trade grass roots peacemaking and volunteerism.

Typically, pacifism focuses on individuals, if only because Anabaptism lacks a robust theory of social institutions. Yet even here there are great treasures for those working in international security. The strategic application of boycotts, strikes, non-violent protest, and attention to the causes of war are important tools in international security. And much to their credit, the Anabaptists have employed many of these through the singular work of the Mennonite Central Committee (MCC), a self-described organization of relief, development, and peace in the name of Christ. Anabaptism remains, for this reason, one of the most important Protestant traditions from which resources can be gained for the effort of international security.

Liberation theology Liberation theology was not a child of the Protestant Reformation so much as the scientific materialism of later Marxism. It is a tradition of exodus from oppression, of liberation from material power, paralleled in the Old Testament narrative of Israel’s slavery in Egypt and driven by the class analysis of Marx. It has nonetheless taken root as a significant Protestant tradition of social and political reflection. Liberation theologians interpreted the rise of market capitalism and its global dominance to be an apostasy in need of firm Christian correction. Reading the global financial system through a Marxist prism of class struggle, liberation theologians argued for the priority of the poor in international relations. Political change was the work of the grass roots, or a revolution of the proletariat that would bring material equity in a system badly lacking it. The critiques of liberation theology, and indeed Marxism, do not strike one as a complete international theory, but their influence on Protestant thought has been serious. The prominent American evangelical Ronald Sider wrote his first edition (1977) of Rich Christians in an Age of Hunger borrowing a great deal from these arguments, though subsequent editions seriously tempered his class-based analysis. Today, evangelical anti-corporate activism, and the emerging evangelical left in America, also borrow heavily from arguments distilled from this tradition. Regardless, economic equity has long been seen as a hallmark of Protestantism generally, and Marxism provided a political lens by which to privilege that goal in a practical way. Indeed, some liberation theologians have adopted the language of empire in deep criticisms of Americanled globalization, arguing that idealist principles like freedom and democracy are merely a veneer for underlying material and corporate dominations. 50

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For this reason, liberation theology tends to provide a moral ballast to Marxism or Gramscianism rather than a fresh analytical intervention for international security. Further, liberation theology is an approach shared not only by Protestants but by a wide array of Catholics. It is, for that reason, more of an approach than a tradition, but a significant one which continues to command, even if in more limited ways, the sympathies of power-critical Anabaptists in particular.

The Lutheran two kingdoms The Lutheran two-kingdom tradition is an iconic movement of modern world order, germinating the idea of the separation between secular and sacred powers well before the Treaty of Westphalia ever came to retrospectively enshrine its principles. Lutheranism is perhaps the truest expression of the political theology implicit in the modern Westphalian state system. Indeed, the tradition of political Realism in international security owes much, ethically speaking, to the Lutheran assumption that political decisions cannot properly be expected to conform to moral ethics. This is more than a simple Aristotelian distinction between personal morality and political justice. It is a conviction that the work of justice itself has more in cause with the pragmatism of the day and the maintenance of order than a normative Christian code. This is the function of Luther’s “Doctrine of the Two Kingdoms and the Two Governments.” Philpott writes that: one was the realm of the spirit, the site of the relationship between Christ and the believer’s soul; the other was the realm of the world, the order of secular society, governed through civil magistrates, laws, and coercion. The reformers demanded a separation. Thus, the pastors of the church were not to perform the duties of public order, just as magistrates, princes, and kings would not preach or perform the sacraments. (2001: 223) For Protestants, this can yield a paradox by which, within the confines of the liberal state, Christian ethics demand mercy and compassion, but such ethics have very little to offer the international or the political generally. This is what the eminent Christian realist Reinhold Niebuhr called a basic dualism: Christ deals with the fundamental problems of the moral life; he cleanses the spring of action; he creates and recreates the ultimate community in which all action takes place. But by the same token he does not directly govern the external actions or construct the immediate community in which man carries on his work. (1951: 174) This is instructive for those working alongside Protestants on issues of international security because the assumptions of two-kingdom Lutherans will lead such Protestants to a strong conviction that moral or ethical principles which they may otherwise hold dear in their own domestic affairs are absolutely inappropriate as norms beyond that. Intrinsic is a kind of realism, but as readers of international security will know, that tradition also has a dizzying array of diversity. The point is that the two-kingdom view actually offers very little to international security that is not already present. It is highly reticent to translate the religious convictions of Protestantism into the conversation, aside from separating church and state. Security is a legitimate but wholly secular vocation and international experts should be left to uncover its norms and guiding principles as best they can, with secular reason and pragmatic ends and means. 51

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The Reformed/Calvinist tradition The Reformed or Calvinist tradition of Protestantism has one of the richest areas of thought for international security. It overlaps extensively with the natural law of Catholic tradition, given that both share the assumption that theological reflection should have significant influence on political and social life and that such reflection can usefully uncover guiding norms or laws. John Calvin (1509–64) has a vast legacy not only in theology but also political theory, particularly in the English-speaking world. Even Rousseau acknowledged a debt to Calvin: “[T]he editing of our wise laws, in which he had a large share, does him as much honour as his Institutes” (Rousseau 1762, as quoted in Meeter 1975: 94). Among his heirs are Johannes Althusius, often recognized as the father of federalism. Indeed, a concept of federalism as the unmediated horizontal responsibility of discrete spheres of life to God is one of Calvin’s most important legacies for international security. Princeton theologian B.B. Warfields writes: The roots of Calvinism are planted in a specific religious attitude, out of which is unfolded first a particular theology, from which springs on the one hand a special church organization, and on the other a social order, involving a given political arrangement. (Warfield 2003, as quoted in Pennings 2008: 362) For our purposes, thinkers in the Reformed tradition first and foremost have a positive view of government. Unlike the Anabaptists who subscribe to the postlapsarian necessity of civil authority, or the Lutherans who separate its norms and functions from theological reflection, Calvinists viewed magistrates as having a commission from God, as being invested with divine authority, and as representing “the person of God, as whose substitutes they in a manner act” (Calvin 1559, as translated by Battles 1960). Calls to obey authorities and warnings against civil disobedience are clear throughout Calvin’s writing, often directly against the Anabaptists of his day. Nonetheless, Calvin did permit resistance to tyrannical abuse and favored the limitation of power. It is incumbent on the Reformed Christian to act as citizen, and it is the obligation—not merely the invitation—of Christians to participate and practice political life as a prelapsarian good, as one act of obedience in the theatre of God’s glory. Indeed Calvinism has much to say about how political life should be shaped. Calvin argued that church and state have separate responsibilities and that each was accountable to God. This accountability was best practiced, given the Calvinist emphasis on depravity, through a series of clear limits on power and a system of checks and balances at all levels of authority. To paraphrase the Calvinist heir and former Dutch Prime Minister Abraham Kuyper, there is a duty to God owed in every square inch of life. And while these spheres have discrete responsibilities and different guiding norms, all of them have a directed obedience due to God. It is an important emphasis that each owes direct obedience to God, in contrast to the Catholic social framework of subsidiarity, which retains the more hierarchical cosmology of the medieval period. In international security the key Calvinist insight is probably what scholars in the tradition of theorist Herman Dooyeweerd (2003) call the simultaneous realization of norms. Dooyeweerd was a student of Kuyper and took his Calvinist insights about the horizontal immanence of social and political life to mean that the good society depended not on sustainable flourishing of one sphere or another, but on a careful balance predicated on obedience to higher laws. So for example Calvinists like Bob Goudzwaard (1994) have produced sharp criticisms of the misbalance in the market system. It is not enough for a market to produce wealth, it must distribute it equitably. And such equitable distribution depends on strong governments exercising the task of public justice to secure property rights and the rule of law. It depends on flourishing families 52

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and public virtue; on artistic, poetic and scientific flourishing. Human security, in short, cannot be tackled one isolated piece at a time. This is the argument of Gary Haugen, president of International Justice Mission, who wrote in a recent Foreign Affairs article that international security can no longer be predicated only on human rights and development, but must restructure itself to include those with backgrounds and skills to diagnose and repair broken public justice systems (Haugen and Boutros 2010). The lessons in development over the last decade in Afghanistan and Iraq have surprisingly Calvinist tones: the liberal euphoria over material equity producing stable, secure societies is misplaced. Property cannot be secured without law, an economy cannot function without ownership, and a democracy cannot be erected by institutions alone. This last is perhaps the key insight of a Calvinist approach to international security, echoed by scholars of religion and international relations theory like Scott Thomas (2001) and Jonathan Chaplin and Robert Joustra (2010): the simultaneous realization of norms is not merely structural, but also deeply cultural and, often times, what we have come to think of as religious. The assumptions about self, society, and the world that underpin democratic practice are not incidental, but rather indispensible. Calvinism, with its emphasis on normative social structure, alerts us that society depends on virtues that government cannot legislate and markets cannot sell. In short, our modern life has at its very core beliefs and ideas that are neither neutral nor secular; the work of security and development cannot proceed apace, in some stripped utilitarian sense, apart from them. The excavation of Westphalian political theology, its assumptions, and how these operate to make democratic and capitalist systems possible, is among one of the most fruitful tasks that Calvinist thought can offer the discipline of international security.

Protestant Zionisms In his 2005 book With or Against the World? America’s Role among the Nations, James Skillen identifies three kinds of “Zionism” operative in American civil religion. The first and earliest of these is America’s originating vision as the New Israel, a Puritan paradise blessed specially by God, through which God would in turn bless the nations. In one sense, through the rejection of the Church of England and Rome and, indeed, the European tradition of hierarchical monarchy, America was reforming Christianity. Implicit was a recovery of true Christianity. What George McKenna therefore calls the “American way of life” was certainly modern and nationalist, but also deeply Protestant. He writes, “the very definition of America is bound up with the biblical paradigm of a people, like the ancient Hebrews, given a holy mission in a new land” (McKenna 2007: 7). Likewise, Skillen concludes that American civil-religious nationalism was certainly not secular, if secular means non-religious. The implications of a “redeemer nation” self-identity are staggering. The debt and obligation that American Protestants understand themselves to owe the world, as if to God—and the hybrid co-option of that divine debt with the tools of liberal modernity, military power, economic growth, democratic institutions, and more—produce a heady interventionist cocktail. The premises of Protestant America’s identification as a “New Israel” give missing normative answers on much of its, at times, sacrificial foreign policy, and the enormous burden the American people have seemed, to this point, willing to bear in the name of freedom and democracy. America itself projects an implicit nationalistic political theology both at home and abroad, which has been one of the most powerful and enduring forces in the political order of the last century. The second kind of Zionism discussed by Skillen is the traditional sort, associated with those like Theodor Herzl who worked to create the state of Israel, and which continues to play important roles in motivating various pro-Israel lobby groups in American politics. While 53

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this version of Zionism is not directly linked to Protestantism, the third version flows directly from a Protestant theological tradition called premillennialism. Among other things, premillennialism focuses on the biblical prophecy that in the last days (leading up to Jesus’ Second Coming) the Jewish people will return to Israel. Hence the establishment of the modern state of Israel in 1948 is taken to be an immensely important event. To be sure, the return of the Jews to Israel is clearly not prophetically uncomplicated, as there are different streams of premillennialism. In England, for example, covenantal premillennialism holds that the Jews will first convert to Christianity before returning to Palestine. But, in America, dispensational premillennialism is more common, especially within the fundamentalist wing of evangelical Protestantism. Many dispensationalists hold that the Jewish people might return before or after their conversion. However there are also hardline dispensationalists who disavow any need for evangelistic outreach to the Jews as a catalyst to the unfolding of God’s plan for the end-times, the final judgment, and the restoration of creation. Regardless of such distinctions within dispensationalism, the practical effect in American politics has been a very large religious constituency zealously supportive of Israel. This Christian Zionist lobby is estimated by Stephen Sizer in Christian Zionism to be at least ten times larger than the Jewish Zionist movement and the dominant Israeli lobby within contemporary American politics (2005: 254–55).

American civil religion What sociologist Robert Bellah introduced to the American conversation in his seminal essay “Civil Religion in America” (1967) was not, of course, a new concept. Jean Jacques Rousseau famously argued in The Social Contract (Book IV, Chapter 8) that all democratic societies are necessarily organized around a “civil religion” of one kind or another. Theologians as well as political philosophers are notoriously split on the utility or outright apostasy of the term. Bellah had to work quickly to defend himself after the term’s introduction against accusations of idolatrous worship of the American nation. His argument, of course, was not about national self-worship but rather about the subordination of the nation to ethical principles that transcend it, in terms of which it should be judged. But it does not necessarily follow that, just because certain inviolable, non-demonstrable principles sustain the American Republic, these are specifically or enduringly Protestant, or even generically Christian. American political debate is often fiercely split on this question, especially when it comes to the nature of the nation’s founding—i.e. whether America’s founding was a golden age of Protestant religion or a glowing hour of Enlightenment reason. In American Gospel, Jon Meacham argues it was neither (2006, 6). The at-times simplistically caricatured debate between the Christian right and the secular left in America is often over this inheritance, both of which make serious errors in reading the historical record. There is no doubt, writes Meacham: that the Founders lived in and consciously bequeathed a culture shaped and sustained by public religion, one that was not Christian or Jewish or Muslim or Buddhist but was simply transcendent, with reverence for the “Creator” and for “Nature’s God”. (2006, 233) The Founders undoubtedly thought religion was a force for good, but also that there was a difference between public and private religion. The founding of America, after all, was little more than a century after the Treaty of Westphalia (1648). The American experiment was an inheritor of, but also the beneficiary of, the lessons of that time. 54

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In this sense—the understanding that religion is a descriptive rather than normative concept—the American civil religion does have a specifically Protestant history. It is not a theologically heavy Protestantism, which insists on creedal affirmation, but it is a clear demarcation between the secular and the sacred, the public and the private, which was intrinsic to the Protestant Reformation. The American democratic system is widely, even if unevenly, regarded as one of the most enduring and successful models of governance. Its political culture and, indeed, civil religion is implicitly exported with its institutions and its policies. Its definitions of things like religious freedom and political pluralism are cornerstones for its work in development, diplomacy, and defense. The modern international order—and the security issues that come with it—bear the historical marks of Westphalia. And in today’s context of rapidly accelerating American-led globalization, we should not be surprised to also find an international order increasingly bearing marks of an American-style civil religion. Nor should we be surprised to see push-back both from militant secularists (who find even the thin religion of civil religion intolerable) and from militant theocrats (who will settle only for an explicit religious establishment).

Conclusion The historic emergence of Protestantism and its influence on the international system, and on its practice of security, is hard to overstate. One could speculate at length on the influence of particular Protestants on international security, like Woodrow Wilson or Martin Wight, but what is even less commonly understood is the origin, definition, and animating principles of the phenomenon called Protestantism. Protestantism was the historic twin of the secular state, the often uneasy Westphalian definitions of religion and politics, and as such it is the often-overlooked background to the state and to international security. To even begin to apply a religious tradition as complex as Protestantism to international security, we must first be extremely clear what we mean by it and we must quickly overcome any lingering squeamishness about history and theology to do so. Today many Protestant traditions—including even of those who were once either apolitical or parochial in their politics (den Dulk 2006)—are engaging with serious concerns in the world abroad. This trend has potential to serve global security in a significant way. Protestantism is rooted in a Reformation that preaches “always reforming.” That, at least, is a call that international security and international relations more generally cannot tire of hearing. Protestantism may serve international relations in its perpetual reformations, pushing back the staid and tired boundaries of religion and politics in an ailing Westphalian consensus, and making real, tangible contributions to security and global order.

Notes 1 The Reformation is typically dated to Luther’s publication of The Ninety-Five Theses in 1517 and said to conclude in 1648 with the Treaty of Westphalia which ended the so-called religious wars. 2 For example, the Catholic prosecutor of the Schmalkaldic War, the Holy Roman Emperor Charles V, went to war not against Lutherans, but against the Pope. Charles V’s soldiers sacked Rome, not Wittenberg, in 1527, and when the papacy belatedly sponsored a reform program, both the Habsburgs and the Valois refused to endorse much of it, rejecting especially those Trentine decrees that encroached on their sovereign authority. Of the 23 years that Charles V was at war during his reign, 16 of them were with Catholic France. Alliances were even periodically made with the Muslim Turks. 3 The difference between prelapsarian and postlapsarian is whether something existed before or after the fall of humankind. If it existed prior, then it is considered prelapsarian and a creation of God’s goodness. If it is postlapsarian, then it is a result of sin, and at best an institution that mitigates the

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effects of the fall. This is part of an argument in Christian political theory about whether government exists purely to restrain the licentiousness of man, or whether it also has a normative, positive role in God’s creation, even following a final consummation.

References Backus, I. (1993) The Disputation of Baden, 1526 and Berne, 1528: Neutralizing the Early Church, Studies in Reformed Theology, Princeton, NJ: Princeton Theological Seminary. Ballor, J.J. (2010) Ecumenical Babel: Confusing Economic Ideology and the Church’s Social Witness, Grand Rapids, MI: Christian Library Press. Bellah, R.N. (1967) “Civil Religion in America,” Daedalus, 96(1): 1–21. Calvin, J. [1537](1997), Instruction in Faith, translated and edited by P.T. Fuhrmann, Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press. ——[1559](1960) Institutes of the Christian Religion, edited by J.T. McNeill, translated by F.L. Battles, Library of Christian Classics, Philadelphia: Westminster. Cavanaugh, W. (2009) The Myth of Religious Violence, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Chaplin, J. and Joustra, R. (eds.) (2010) God and Global Order: The Power of Religion in American Foreign Policy, Waco, TX: Baylor University Press. den Dulk, K.R. (2006) “Evangelical Elites and Faith-Based Foreign Affairs,” The Review of Faith & International Affairs, 4(1): 21–29. Dooyeweerd, H. (2003) The Collected Works of Herman Dooyeweerd, Series B, Vol. 3, Roots of Western Culture: Pagan, Secular, and Christian Options, Lewiston, NY: Edwin Mellen. Goudzwaard, B. (1994) Beyond Poverty and Affluence: Toward an Economy of Care, 4th revised edn., Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans. Hauerwas, S. (2011) War and the American Difference: Theological Reflections on Violence and National Identity, Grand Rapids, MI: Baker. Haugen, G. and Boutros, V. (2010) “And Justice for All: Enforcing Human Rights for the World’s Poor,” Foreign Affairs, 89(3): 51–62. McKenna, G. (2007) The Puritan Origins of American Patriotism, New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Meacham, J. (2006) American Gospel: God, the Founding Fathers, and the Making of a Nation, New York: Random House. Meeter, H.H. (1975) The Basic Ideas of Calvinism, Grand Rapids, MI: Baker. Niebuhr, R.H. (1951) Christ and Culture, San Francisco, CA: Harper Collins. Payton, J. (2010) Getting the Reformation Wrong: Correcting Some Misunderstandings, Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press. Pennings, R. (2008) “Political Ministers of God,” in J.R. Beeke (ed.) Living for God’s Glory: An Introduction to Calvinism, Orlando, FL: Reformation Trust, pp. 361–73. Philpott, D. (2000) “The Religious Roots of Modern International Relations,” World Politics, 52(2): 206–45. ——(2001) Revolutions in Sovereignty: How Ideas Shaped Modern International Relations, Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Seiple, R.A. and Hoover, D.R. (eds.) (2004) Religion and Security: The New Nexus in International Relations, Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield. Sider, R. (1977) Rich Christians in an Age of Hunger, Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press. Sizer, S. (2005) Christian Zionism: Road-map to Armageddon?, Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press. Skillen, J.W. (2005) With or Against the World? America’s Role Among the Nations, Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield. Stassen, G. (ed.) (1998) Just Peacemaking: Ten Practices for Abolishing War, Cleveland, OH: Pilgrim Press. Tappert, T. (ed.) (1959) The Book of Concord: The Confessions of the Evangelical Lutheran Church, Minneapolis, MN: Fortress. Taylor, C. (2007) A Secular Age, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Thomas, S.M. (2001) “Faith, History, and Martin Wight: The Role of Religion in the Historical Sociology of the English School of International Relations,” International Affairs, 77(4): 905–29. Yoder, J.H. (1994) The Politics of Jesus, 2nd edn., Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans and Pasternoster.

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6 SHI’A MUSLIMS AND SECURITY: THE CENTRALITY OF IRAN Max L. Gross

Shi’a Muslims have been preoccupied with security since the earliest days of Islam. Their minority status within the larger Sunni Muslim world has periodically targeted them for harassment and persecution. They have learned to walk through life with caution, sometimes concealing their true identity in an effort to avoid attention and controversy. Political quietism rather than assertiveness has generally been characteristic of Shi’a communities. Yet, the Shi’a message also contains the potential for enabling revolutionary change, as has been apparent since the Iranian revolution of 1979. Today Shi’a aspirations for security are embedded in a clerically-dominated state—Iran. The new clerical regime clearly feels some responsibility toward the Shi’a communities of neighboring Iraq and Afghanistan as well as the substantial community in Lebanon.1 In Arabic, the language of Islam, the term islam (submission to the will of Allah/God) is linguistically associated with the term salaam (peace). They are the same root word, and the affirmation of Islam is that, if men (and women) collectively submit to the will of God, mankind will live in perpetual peace and, one might add, prosperity as well. But how does one know the will of God? The testimony of Islam is that God’s will has been made known through the body of revelations presented to mankind through the agency of the Prophet Muhammad (d. 632 CE) and collected together in the Qur’an. Following the teachings of the Qur’an and the example set by the Prophet Muhammad2 will lead mankind into an era of perpetual peace and prosperity. All Muslims, both Sunni and Shi’a, believe this promise as an article of faith. Despite this affirmation of peace, the Islamic community faced conflict, both within and without, from the moment of its birth. The concerns of the Qur’an (God’s revelation) are fundamentally religious, and the Prophet defined his early community as a religious community, devoted to belief in God (Allah) and acting in accordance with God’s teachings about moral and ethical behavior. But of course the Prophet also created a political community and, as its leader, he acted politically and diplomatically and even engaged in war against bitter enemies who were determined that his holy community would not survive. The Qur’an, moreover, contains revelations that not only authorize believers to fight, but in some cases order them to fight against those who would fight the Muslims.3 This example of the Prophet who did what was necessary—politically, militarily, and diplomatically—to ensure the victory and sustainability of his community has made the political dimension of Islam as important historically as the moral and ethical dimension. 57

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The early Muslim jurists carefully addressed the problem of war and concluded that only war for the cause of religion (jihad) was legitimate. Inter-tribal warfare and intra-tribal conflict springing from revenge or ambition (i.e. secular motivations) were defined as illegitimate and not sanctioned by revelation. In this manner, the Islamic concept of “just war” (equivalent to the Roman concept of bellulm justum) was derived. As such, it was a collective duty of Muslims (fard al-kifiya), not an individual duty (fard ‘ayn), as asserted by Osama bin Laden in his famous February 1998 declaration of war against Americans and their allies.4 As a collective responsibility, only the ruler (caliph, imam, sultan) was in a position to decide when jihad was justified or legitimate. No ordinary Muslim had authority to make this judgment.5 The early Muslim jurists also drew distinctions between various categories of jihad (legitimate warfare). These included conflict with polytheists, apostates, peoples of the Book (Christians and Jews), dissenters, thieves, and robbers, and defense of the frontiers of the state, for which different rules of combat and definitions of victory (submission of the defeated) were delineated (Khadduri 1955: 74–82). Among the dissenters to this Sunni-developed legal theory of warfare was the Shi’a Muslim community, which, though it accepted the same body of revelation and example of the Prophet’s practice as the larger Sunni community, dissented from the process by which it was being implemented, as noted in the following paragraphs. The gradual emergence of the Shi’a movement was an example of conflict within the early Muslim community that eventually (by 657) provoked its first civil war and belied Islam’s early promise of bringing a perpetual peace to those who followed the Prophet’s revelation. A question that divided the early Muslims was who should succeed the Prophet Muhammad in his position of leadership after his death in June 632. The first shi’at al-Ali (partisans6 of Ali to succeed the Prophet) were largely the Prophet’s close companions who suffered with him during the early years in Mecca, migrated with him to Medina, and fought alongside him in his battles with the forces of Mecca who had tried to exterminate the religious order that he founded. The Prophet’s cousin, Ali, who was married to his only surviving daughter, Fatima, and who together were the parents of his principal grandsons, was part of this group. They assumed that in victory they would reap their just rewards and be leaders of the new community. Ali, as an intimate member of the Prophet’s family, was the favored candidate among most of these to lead the community after the Prophet’s death. The outcome was otherwise. In a rather backroom deal in 632, a small cadre of others close to the Prophet chose Abu Bakr rather than Ali as his caliph (successor) and, on his death two years later, Abu Bakr designated Omar ibn Abd al-Khattab as the second Caliph (634–44). Ali had not been present at the meeting. Indeed, he appears to have been intentionally excluded. From the viewpoint of Ali’s supporters, a power play had been made and they were not happy about it. Ali did his best to counsel patience, urging them to carry on, a chivalrous quality that added even greater luster to his name among those that supported him. Under the second Caliph, Omar, the great Arab conquests got under way. Arab armies totally defeated the ruling Sassanid regime of the Persian empire and were overrunning its lands by the time of Omar’s death. Moreover, the Arabs had driven the Byzantine armies out of Palestine, Syria, and Egypt. Within the space of a few years a large Arab-ruled empire spanning the region between the Nile and the Oxus had come into being, and great revenues were beginning to pour into the ruling center at Medina. The challenges of political ascendency rather than of community security predominated in this early Islamic era. Shortly before his death, Omar designated a committee of six to choose the next Caliph. Ali was included in this group. The committee chose Uthman (644–56), the eldest among the six. Although an early convert and a close companion of the Prophet, Uthman also was a member of the Umayyad clan of Mecca, most of whose members had been the fiercest enemies of the 58

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Prophet until he had defeated them. Uthman’s appointment of his relatives, who so recently had been the Prophet’s enemies, rather than his closest associates, to important governorships and high offices in the now large and expanding Islamic empire provoked resentment. In 656, in what modern observers can only recognize as a coup d’état, partisans of Ali overthrew Uthman, killed him, and installed Ali as the fourth Caliph (656–61). Ali’s rule proved to be a tempestuous period and resulted in civil war, not the peace that Allah’s revelation had enjoined. Ali’s efforts to reward his supporters with appointments to office and the rewards of conquest were rebuffed by the Umayyad relatives of Uthman who demanded justice for the killers of the third Caliph. The fourth Caliph was unable to give satisfaction and only war between the two factions could settle the issue. Muawiyya, the governor of Damascus, led the Umayyad forces, and the armies of the two factions met in the summer of 657. At a critical moment, Ali agreed to allow the issue to be settled by arbitration, which resulted in a judgment that both men should step down in favor of a new election process. Neither man did, and the stand-off continued until Ali’s assassination in 661 by a disillusioned supporter. The failure of Ali to achieve victory and his subsequent assassination was yet another blow to the cause of those who, at least in their view, represented the purist strain and the uncorrupted vision of the unfolding Islamic community.7 Power then passed to Muawiyya in Damascus who assumed authority as the fifth Caliph (661–80) and launched the Umayyad dynasty by designating his son, Yazid, as his successor shortly before his death. The partisans of Ali had not passed from the scene, however. At the death of Muawiyya, they convinced Ali’s second son, Husayn, to challenge the Umayyad usurpation of power, promising to raise an army to confront Yazid. On the way from Medina to Iraq to gather his army, Husayn’s small party was intercepted by the Umayyad army of Yazid, and most, including Husayn, were killed. Although Husayn is said to have fought valiantly, the cause of the Shi’a was lost, and his dead body was buried at Karbala, while his head, severed from his body, was given a separate resting place in Damascus. Once again the Shi’a had suffered an irrevocable setback from which there appeared to be no recovery, despite their conviction of the righteousness of their cause. Like the crucifixion in Christianity, the martyrdom of Husayn at Karbala has become the central symbol of Shi’a Islam. Today, this event (Ashura) is commemorated in reenactment ceremonies (ta’ziyah) each year in Shi’a communities around the world on the tenth of Muharram (the first month of the Islamic lunar calendar), when Shi’a mourn the victory of evil in the world and the eclipsing of righteousness.8 The Shi’a cause remained alive politically after Husayn’s death, and Shi’a discontent with Umayyad rule was among the forces behind the Abbasid revolution against the Umayyads in 750. The Abbasid leadership were descendents of Abbas, an uncle of the Prophet Muhammad, and therefore of the Prophet’s family, though not lineal descendents. The general revolution they led was anti-Umayyad, and a result was the end of Arab dominance in the Islamic empire in favor of a more cosmopolitan Islam that welcomed Muslims of all backgrounds. Such a vision, it was argued, amounted to a restoration of the true mission of Islam, which the Umayyad dynasty was said to have usurped and distorted. The office of high leadership (Caliph) would remain in the hands of descendents of the Prophet’s family, though not his direct descendents, and the Islamic revelation was now considered universal and appropriate for all mankind. Henceforth, subsequent Muslim states understood diversity within their realms and without to be based on religious affiliation rather than ethnic differentiation. Thus there were various Christian, Jewish, Buddhist, or Hindu communities, but not Arab, Persian, Turkish, Kurdish, or other communities based on ethnicity. The culmination was the famous Ottoman millet system in which each religious community was recognized as an autonomous political entity within the 59

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Ottoman empire, governed by its own religious clerics under overall Ottoman authority. The Shi’a also constituted such a minority religious community in the eyes of the official Sunni establishment, while the Shi’a themselves nursed deep-seated grievances about the injustice that had been perpetrated on the Islamic world. In the Abbasid revolution, the Shi’a had hoped their cause would find fulfillment, but this later proved not to be the case. Under the Abbasids, as under the Umayyads, the Shi’a imams (leaders, lineal descendants of the Prophet) and their followers came to be considered a subversive threat. Each of the Shi’a imams was eventually killed (according to Shi’a tradition), demonstrating that, however right the Shi’a cause might be, it also seemed politically hopeless. After the death of the eleventh Shi’a imam, Hasan al-Askari, in 874, Shi’a teaching informs us that the twelfth imam, a young boy of five, was kept hidden away from general public view until 941, when he issued his last communication that he would not be heard from again. During his lifetime, he was said to have communicated with his Shi’a followers through a few select deputies. According to Shi’a doctrine, however, this twelfth imam, Muhammad al-Mahdi, did not die but rather entered into a state of occultation (ghayba) and will return one day to restore justice and legitimate leadership to the earth. Sunni scholars often speculate that the twelfth imam never existed, but was a myth designed to keep the Shi’a cause alive. It was in the tenth century, about the time of the entry of the twelfth imam into a state of ghayba, that Shi’a religious doctrines as we generally know them today took form and permanence. This occurred under the Buyid dynasty, a regime of Shi’a amirs9 (945–1056) who managed to take control of the Abbasid Caliphate and govern on behalf of the Caliphs for more than a century. To be sure, the Buyids did not truly rule the Abbasid empire in the name of Shi’a Islam during their time of ascendency. But Shi’a were protected and safe from religious persecution during their era. Under the Buyids, the doctrine of the Hidden Imam took form. So also did the annual commemoration ceremony of the martyrdom of the third imam Husayn (ta’ziyah). Closely associated with the ta’ziyah was the ritual cursing of the first three Caliphs, emphasizing that Shi’a rejected as illegitimate all leadership of the Islamic empire except that of the twelve designated descendents of the Prophet, including the last who, although he remained in hiding, was still the only legitimate figure whom Muslims ought to look to as leader (imam). Yet another ceremony, commemorating the event of Ghadir Khumm, which recalled a time just prior to Muhammad’s victorious entry into Mecca, when the Prophet designated Ali as his successor (wali), was established to assert Shi’a claims. Finally, all the tombs of the eleven deceased Shi’a imams, especially those of Ali at Najaf and Husayn at Karbala, were given great patronage and embellishment, and the requirement for Shi’a to make pilgrimages to those tombs was established. Key figures in developing these doctrines were Shi’a scholars such as Muhammad al-Kulayni (d. 941), Al-Shaykh Muhammad al-Muf’id (d. 1022), al-Sharif al-Murtada (d. 1044), and al-Shaiykh Abu Ja’afar al-Tusi (d. 1066), who flourished under Buyid rule, primarily in Baghdad (Kennedy 2004: 226–28). Shi’a security in the heartland of the Islamic world suffered a severe setback beginning in the mid-eleventh century, when the militantly Sunni Seljuk Turks emerged out of Central Asia, established their control over most of Iran, and took control of the Abbasid caliphate in 1056, replacing the Buyids. The Seljuk sultanate rapidly expanded its area of control by defeating the army of the Byzantine empire at the Battle of Manzikert in 1071 (in modern-day eastern Turkey) and overrunning most of Anatolia, threatening Constantinople itself. It was this threat that provoked Pope Urban II to call for the first Crusader response in November 1095. With the restoration of Sunni political ascendency throughout the Islamic world by the Seljuks, Shi’a Muslims fell into the category of a despised heretical sect. It was in this era that the security of the community became a foremost concern and has generally remained so until 60

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the present day. In the absence of a protecting political leadership, Shi’a looked to their religious leaders (ulama, mujtahids) for guidance, and to hold the community together. Following the tenets that had been developed during the Buyid period, these taught that the only legitimate political leadership of the Islamic world had been that of the twelve imams of whom the last, the now Hidden Imam, was the true leader of Muslims and the one whose leadership all should follow. As during his time of lesser ghayba (before 941) he had communicated through certain select disciples, so too now during the time of greater ghayba, only the most learned and capable scholars (ulama) were considered capable, albeit not infallibly so, of discerning his will. In this new era, although ultimately concerned with political power—sometime in the future, associated with the return of the Hidden Imam—Shi’ism developed primarily as a nonpolitical religious movement within the context of a surrounding Sunni world in which political and religious authority were deemed to be conjoined. Shi’a ulama (scholars), like their Sunni counterparts, developed primarily as religious leaders, teaching, ministering to, and adjudicating disputes according to the shari’a (principles of Islamic law) among individual followers of the Shi’a faith. However, whereas Sunni jurisprudence developed around the concepts of ijma (consensus) among the ulama, and use of qiyas (reliance on legal precedents and analogical reasoning), as the only legitimate methodology for interpreting the Qur’an and hadith in developing the shari’a, Shi’a jurisprudence developed along a somewhat different path. Unable to accept the Sunni concept of ijma that might conflict with the guidance of one of the twelve imams, and in which the Shi’a could never prevail in any case, the Shi’ ulama laid stress on the use of rational argumentation (aql) by the invididual scholar (alim) as a method of developing the shari’a. This meant that leading Shi’a scholars might have honest disagreements with one another, but at the same time they were not wholly dependent on the actual texts of the Qur’an, the hadith, or the writings of the imams to reach judgments. As a result, the Shi’a ulama tended to think more independently than their Sunni counterparts and to develop independent schools of thought. At the pinnacle of these schools were the leading scholars, or mujtahids (experts in the use of reason/ijtihad), to whom other scholars as well as their followers tended to show deference and submission (Halm 1997: 99, 103–5). Shi’a Islam, therefore, was not monolithic but reflected several tendencies depending on the views of its most prominent scholars, whose views reflected somewhat different understandings of the will of the Hidden Imam. Regarding the problem of war, the Shi’a ulama generally followed their Sunni counterparts, regarding jihad as being the only form of legitimate war. However, since only the twelve imams were capable of making such a declaration, in the era of the Hidden Imam the possibility of jihad had entered into a dormant stage—a state of suspension that could not be revived until the reappearance of the twelfth imam, at which time he would re-establish legitimate leadership over the Islamic world and perpetual peace, with righteousness and justice, for all mankind (Khadduri 1955: 66–67). In the meantime Shi’a had to accept the tyranny under which they were ruled and were even permitted to practice concealment and dissimulation (taqiyya) of their true identity in order to protect their families and property. Key scholars associated with Shi’a thought in this era were Nasr al-Din al-Tusi (d. 1274 in Baghdad) and Allamah al-Hilli (d. 1325) of al-Hilla in Iraq, who developed these doctrines (Black 2001: 145–53).

Shi’a Iran The disruption of the eastern Islamic world during the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries by the Mongols under the leadership of Genghis Khan and his successors led to more than a century of fragmented political authority, insecurity, and confusion. The era witnessed a great migration of both Sunni and Shi’a Muslims to more secure areas. One of these areas of migration was India, which 61

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Muslim conquests beginning in the thirteenth century opened up as a new frontier of migration and opportunity. Muslims of every persuasion tended to be welcome in the Muslim states that various sultans had established to govern the large indigenous Hindu population. Out of the fragmented political firmament that constituted the Islamic world during this era, consolidation became apparent in the early sixteenth century with the emergence of the Sunni Ottoman empire based in Constantinople, the Shi’a Safavid empire in Iran, and the Sunni Mughal empire in India. The establishment, beginning in 1501, of the Safavid dynasty in Iran that lasted until 1722, and the formal adoption by its founder, Shah Isma’il Safavi, of Twelver Shi’a Islam as the official religion of his state, for the first time provided Shi’a space where they might gather unmolested and practice their religion in relative security. The Shi’a ulama, whom he invited from all over the Islamic world and provided with a safe haven, ironically found themselves in a position analogous to that of their counterparts in traditional Sunni governments. Although undoubtedly grateful for the favor demonstrated by the Safavid Shahs, as well as by their Qajar and Pahlavi successors into the late twentieth century, and the opportunity such favor presented to spread Shi’a doctrines unimpeded through the whole of Iran, the Shi’a ulama were nevertheless conscious that the ruling dynasty was not the Hidden Imam and could never enter into a true partnership with him. The security provided to Shi’a Islam by the Safavid Shahs, however, created circumstances that gave rise to two primary contending schools of thought among the leading Shi’a scholars. On one hand were those, associated with the Akhbari school, who viewed their role in Iran as similar to that of the ulama in Sunni states—collaboration with the ruler in the interest of the whole community. On the other were those of the Usuli school, such as Muhaqqiq Karaki (d. 1537) and Muhammad Baqir Majlisi (d. 1700) (Black 2001: 228–37), who refused to abandon the idea that no ruler could be legitimate except for the Hidden Imam. Although during times of close cooperation and harmony between the Shah and the ulama, it might be argued that the Shah was acting in the place of the Hidden Imam, at times of conflict between “the turban and the crown” those of the Usuli school tended to emerge as dominant, arguing it was only they who were remotely qualified to interpret the will of the Hidden Imam. The Shah, therefore, was in their eyes either subordinate to the will of the ulama or he was illegitimate. As had long been established, it was the perceived duty of Shi’a Muslims to follow the lead of the Shi’a ulama rather than illegitimate authority. The ulama of the Usuli school possessed a powerful tool to limit the authority of a Shah who opposed their collective will. In an effort to dominate the ulama, Shah Isma’il had established a single authority (a sadr) among them with whom they should consult in matters of religion. This appointment had the long-term impact of institutionalizing a hierarchical structure among the Shi’a ulama of Iran. Although entirely new within Shi’ism, such a hierarchy was a legacy of Persian cultural tradition, and it was a means for later Shahs to attempt to master the adherents of the Usuli school who were skeptical about their legitimacy. Whether the sadr represented the interests of the ulama before the Shah or was a way for the Shah to monitor and supervise the ulama remained an open question. Regardless, a hierarchy of authority was gradually established by which the sadr was recognized as the supervisor of regional leaders who in turn appointed and supervised judges (qadis), prayer leaders (pish-namaz), preachers (katib), and teachers (hojat all-Islam) in towns and villages throughout Iran.

Emergence of the marja’ al-taqlid The office of sadr remained a Shah-designated appointee, and in an era of growing alienation between the Shah and the ulama following the end of the Safavid dynasty (1722) and the establishment of the Qajar dynasty (1796–1925), pressures grew among the Shi’a ulama to 62

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designate one of their own as marja’ al-taqlid (source of imitation), a single leading scholar whose opinions and example would be considered binding on all Shi’a, including the sadr. This further elaboration of a ranking structure among the Shi’a ulama was a reaction of the Usuli school whose leading figure in this era was Muhammad Bakir Vahid Behbihani (d. 1790). Fierce in his defense of the use of ijtihad by competent scholars, he declared all opponents of this point of view to be infidels (kafir) (Halm 1997: 114–15). Such an argument, although aimed primarily at the fiercely anti-Shi’ite, Sunni Wahhabi movement that had emerged in the Arabian peninsula in the late eighteenth century, was also a delegitimization of Sunni Islam in general, as well as the Akhbari school, whose proponents, he argued, were virtually Sunnis in their approach to Islam and therefore also illegitimate. The rigorous, though ultimately unsuccessful Wahhabi challenge to Ottoman Iraq and Shi’a security in Persia had the impact of coalescing support for the Usuli school among the ulama of both Iran and Iraq, although the Akhbari school continued to prevail among Shi’as elsewhere in the Islamic world—including Basra in southern Iraq, Bahrain and eastern Arabia, Lebanon, and India, at least until the time of the Iranian revolution of 1979 (Halm 1997: 114). The ascendency of the Usuli school in Iran, as well as in Najaf and Karbala in Iraq, particularly when coupled with the weapon of takfir (declaring those who disagreed with them kafir—non-Muslims), gave Iranian Shi’ism a particularly intolerant character, as it implied only Usuli Shi’a were true Muslims. The remainder of the Islamic world was living in error, not to mention the much larger non-Muslim world. Two other factors contributed to a coalescence of the Shi’a ulama in favor of a single authoritative leader. One was the emergence in the middle years of the nineteenth century of popular movements, such as the Babists that gave rise to the Baha’i movement later in the century. The Babist movement was launched by a Shi’a scholar, Sayyid Ali Muhammad (d. 1852), who announced in 1844 that he alone was the sole bab (gateway) to the Hidden Imam. Preaching that there always had been such a human representative of the Hidden Imam, his claim was aimed at delegitimizing the pretensions of the Shi’a ulama, most of whom Sayyid Ali derided as corrupt and servile creatures without true religious authority. Articulating a populist message that railed against the arbitrary powers of both the Shah and the ulama, he drew a significant following and inspired outbreaks of revolt in several Iranian provinces before the movement was crushed in 1852 (Lapidus 2002: 576). Challenged by the arguments of Sayyid Ali Muhammad, the ulama were also being challenged by the Qajar ruler, Muhammad Shah (1834–48), who sought determinedly to break their power and attempted unsuccessfully to adopt a number of Western-style reforms modeled on the Tanzimat reforms of the neighboring Ottoman empire. Forces seem to have conspired to lead the ulama to conclude that Shi’a security required a single individual among them to symbolize the authority they collectively represented as interpreters of the will of the Hidden Imam and the eternal validity of Shi’a Islam. The one so named was Mortaza Ansari (d. 1864). A native of Khuzestan in southwestern Iran, he had studied and worked in Iran for a number of years before settling in Najaf in Ottoman-ruled Iraq in 1833. There, beyond the political reach of the Qajar Shah, he gained recognition as the first marja’ al-taqlid in Shi’a history. The new rank of marja’ al-taqlid was not without controversy and, following Ansari’s death in 1864, no successor was named until the general recognition of Mirza Muhammad Hasan Shirazi (d. 1895) as supreme guide in the late nineteenth century. Following his death, yet another interval occurred until 1949, when Ayatollah Husayn Boujerdi (d. 1962) gained general recognition as the preeminent marja’ al-taqlid of the Shi’a. So far, there has not yet emerged a fourth single “source of emulation” among the Shi’a ulama, although several candidates have had strong bases of support for such a designation. One of these candidates was Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini (d. 1989) whose supporters advanced his cause largely because of his successful 63

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role as leader (rahbar) of the Iranian revolution that overturned Iran’s last Shah in 1979 in favor of a new constitutional government that enshrined the ulama as the permanent guardians and guides of the new political order. Khomeini did not gain universal acceptance as the sole marja’ al-taqlid, however. Not all Shi’a ulama agree with his concept of the vilayet-i faqih (government by jurists) that was his guiding principle in the Iranian revolution.10

The Iranian revolution The ulama-led Iranian revolution of 1978–79 was a complex process that involved many forces besides ulama opposition to the Western-oriented, modernizing, yet highly autocratic Shah of Iran.11 The revolution was successful because it was a broadly popular movement involving nearly all sectors of Iranian society—communist and secular-nationalist as well as religious. Yet the ulama were able to emerge as the leading force guiding the revolutionary movement, in part because of the keen political skills of revolutionary leader Khomeini,12 but more importantly because of the vast influence that the ulama retained over the mass of the Iranian population.13 By the time of Khomeini, the perceived threat to Shi’a Islam was less the surrounding Sunni world than the influences of Western power and modern secularism on Iranian society. Adapting the idea of a left-wing Iranian writer, Jalal Al-e Ahmad, Khomeini called this influence gharbzadegi (Westoxification). Carrying the logic of the Usuli school one step farther, the only means for Islam (Shi’ism, as well as clerical ascendency) to be preserved in the face of such an insidious influence, of which the Shah himself was a champion, was for the ulama to displace the ruling Shah and to establish direct rule by the leading mujtahids themselves. This was his doctrine of vilayet-i faqih, which was revolutionary in Islam itself as well as in Iran. Although Khomeini’s argument was not universally accepted by other leading Shi’a clerics, a combination of political adroitness on his part and a sufficiently strong revolutionary following enabled his view to carry the day. The Iranian revolution as an Islamic revolution was possible because the Shi’a ulama continued to hold a position of strength in Iranian society that far exceeded that of their Sunni counterparts in neighboring Muslim-majority states. Whereas in most modern Muslim-majority states, the Sunni ulama class had been effectively marginalized by the new, increasingly secularized intelligentsia that had come to be politically dominant in most countries, this was not the case in Iran, where the doctrine of the Hidden Imam and the historic role of the Shi’a ulama in interpreting and representing his will put them in a powerful position. The very success of the Iranian revolution against the Shah on which the ulama class rode to power, moreover, provided a demonstration of the particular political strength enjoyed by the Shi’a ulama that their Sunni counterparts could not easily emulate, yet also served as a “source of emulation” for them. The 1979 Iranian revolution did prove a source of inspiration for Muslims throughout the world who favored a revival of the centrality of the shari’a in the daily lives of their societies, and the world has since seen a proliferation of Islamist movements in virtually every Muslim-majority country aimed at achieving this end. Within the world of Sunni Islam, however, the sources of these movements lay less with the ulama, a great many of whom had been coopted by the modern state regimes within which they operated, than with popular groups, generally established as non-governmental organizations (e.g. the Muslim Brotherhood) that strove to achieve the same goal, largely by virtue of the ever-increasing number of their adherents and supporters.

Sh’ia and security today Since the last years of the twentieth century, the world has witnessed a Shi’a revival. Something new, never before seen in Islamic history—a government clearly led and controlled by religious 64

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clerics—has come into being in Iran. In neighboring Iraq, another Shi’a-led government, albeit democratically elected, has also been established in the first decade of the twenty-first century. And in nearby Lebanon, the Shi’a Hizbollah movement, although it does not control the reins of government, plays a powerful and decisive role in Lebanese politics. Many in the West and in the Sunni Islamic world view these developments as threatening. But the historic perspective of the Shi’a clerical leadership and their followers is that it has been Shi’ism that has been under threat since the first days of Islam’s appearance, and recent developments have been aimed only at securing the community from continuing threats. Today, the security of the Shi’a community, the clerical establishment, and the religion itself is embodied in the Constitution of the Islamic Republic of Iran. Although the document provides for a representative government, with a President and unicameral legislature (majlis) elected by the citizenry of Iran, it makes special provision for the leading Shi’a clerics who control the judiciary. Above everyone is the special office envisioned by revolutionary leader, Ayatollah Khomeini, the vilayet-i faqih, or ruling jurist. Today the vilayet-i faqih is Ayatollah Ali Khamen’i, whose authority is able to override that of anyone else. His authority is not so much an agent of change, but of vetoing proposals emanating from below that he believes are contrary to the doctrines and spirit of Islam. Although not considered infallible, his principal role and responsibility is that of representing the Hidden Imam and preparing for the latter’s reappearance. As such, he is the ultimate guarantor of the security and well-being of the Shi’a community and the ascendency of Shi’a doctrines. Despite this role, which implies a responsibility for the worldwide Shi’a community, including the Shi’a of neighboring Iraq, Lebanon, Afghanistan, and even south Asia, nothing in the Constitution suggests a role specifically for the vilayet-i faqih in representing the security or interests of Shi’a Muslims outside of Iran. Indeed, the Constitution is wholly a nation-state document, with no appeal to historic imperial memories. With regard to perceived threats, the recent history of relations with the West prevails over the historic hostility of the Sunni Islamic world. Article 10 of the Constitution makes the interesting assertion: all Muslims form a single nation, and the government of the Islamic Republic of Iran has the duty of formulating its general policies with a view to the merging and union of all Muslim peoples, and it must constantly strive to bring about the political, economic, and cultural unity of the Islamic world. (Constitution of the Islamic Republic of Iran 1980) In article 12, while defining Twelver Shi’ism as the official religion of Iran, the Constitution also notes that “other Islamic schools of thought … are to be accorded full respect, and their followers are free to act in accordance with their own jurisprudence in performing their religious devotions” (Constitution of the Islamic Republic of Iran 1980: 31–32). Clearly the vision is of a reunited Islamic world in which all will be liberal and tolerant—living in perpetual peace as originally envisioned by the revelation of the Prophet Muhammad. The historical record concerning such idealism is not encouraging, however. Today, many in the West are concerned about Iran’s nuclear program and alleged effort to develop a nuclear weapons capability. In fact the program dates back to the 1950s, long before the Iranian revolution, and was halted briefly by the new clerical regime, on religious grounds, so it was said. The program was resumed in the early 1980s, solely for peaceful purposes, the Islamic regime avers. Western intelligence agencies have been skeptical, despite repeated Iranian statements that possession of nuclear weaponry would not serve Iranian national security interests.14 In every case, including that of the United States, nuclear weapons programs have been carried out 65

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in utmost secrecy, revealed only when such weapons are deployable. Such would be the case with Iran as well. The Shi’a concept of taqiyya (dissimulation in interest of self-preservation) is particularly suitable for misleading enemies concerning Iran’s true intentions. To say this, however, does not prove that it is operative in this case. Secular motives such as national pride, the quest for national prestige, and the desire to achieve deterrent capability can be more than sufficient for any nation to seek nuclear weapons. And, as noted earlier, under Shi’s teachings such motives do not constitute the basis of legitimate jihad. From a strictly religious point of view, the security of the Shi’a community, more than the state of Iran, should be the concern of the leading mujtahids that guide the community. Nevertheless, the eschatological view apparently held by some of the current Iranian leadership— that the day of the appearance of the Hidden Imam is very near—could lead key decisionmakers to conclude that such military capability is necessary to help him prevail in restoring legitimate rule and justice in the world. The issue threatens to undermine the liberal and peaceoriented world order that the Iranian Constitution claims to represent. One hopes that the leading Shi’a mujtahids will exercise their renowned reasoning powers carefully as they address this issue. Historic Sunni animosity toward Shi’a Islam is also a factor impinging on Shi’a security. Although, as noted above, the Iranian revolution served as a source of inspiration for Islamist movements elsewhere in the Islamic world, most of these other movements have been in Sunni communities. Unfortunately, the most extremist of them (e.g. al Qaeda, al Qaeda in Iraq, the Taliban in Pakistan and Afghanistan), in addition to their attacks on Western targets, have resurrected the ancient Sunni–Shi’a conflict that has expressed itself in vicious sectarian attacks on Shi’a mosques and ceremonies, particularly in Iraq and Pakistan. Shi’a efforts to counter these attacks—via newly established government authorities in Iraq and via militia (e.g. the Sepah-i Muhammad in Pakistan) have also escalated Sunni–Shi’a sectarian conflict. For many in the Sunni Islamic world, the Shi’a revival of the last 30 years is perceived as threatening in ways that Western audiences find difficult to understand. Strong efforts have been mobilized, particularly by Saudi Arabia, to contain the Shi’a revival. The clerical regime in Iran, on the other hand, quite openly provides financial, advisory, and even military support to Shi’a groups beyond its borders in an effort to buttress their physical security. The revival of this ancient conflict threatens once again to undermine the promise of peace and prosperity that Muslims believe was part and parcel of the Islamic revelation. Finally, it is important to note that the concept of vilayet-i faqih (rule by the Shi’a jurists) is not universally accepted by all Shi’a clerics. It is an innovation whose usefulness and permanence is being tested in the hard circumstances of historical development. The concept may or may not endure. The world today has become a system of nation states characterized by fairly defined territorial boundaries in which the concept of self-determination of the inhabitants of that state appears to be gaining increasing acceptance. How the Shi’a citizens of Iran, Iraq, Lebanon, Afghanistan, Pakistan, India, or elsewhere view the requirements for their security may eventually take precedence over the view of their clerics. In an era of increased global communications, in which young people especially are more globally connected than their elders, it is difficult to point the way to the future. The unsuccessful Green movement in Iran in 2009, which anticipated the successful, popular Arab Spring movements in Tunisia, Egypt, Libya, Yemen, and elsewhere in 2011, was an indicator of the potential for a more democratic, or popular, expression of what Shi’ism means in the modern world. One thing seems clear: the kingdoms, the empires, the caliphates, the sultanates, the emirates, indeed even the imamates of the past, are gone, and not likely to ever reappear. What is emerging to replace them, however, is less clear. 66

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Notes 1 Because of requirements for brevity, this article focuses solely on the Twelver (Imami) Shi’a community whose strength is in Iran, Iraq and Lebanon. The Sevener (Ismaili) Shi’a community, which is smaller and more dispersed, is not addressed, although its Imams (leaders) held power in Egypt for nearly two centuries (the Fatimid dynasty, 969–1171 CE) and for the next two centuries through the so-called Assassin movement fought a determined rearguard action to preserve the community against the assaults by ascendant Sunni Islamic rulers. The substantial Twelver Shi’a communities in south Asia (India, Pakistan, Bangladesh) are also not addressed, although doctrinally what is said here may also be said to apply to them. 2 Twelver Shi’a Muslims also hold that the teachings and example of the “twelve imams,” the twelve direct descendents of the Prophet’s family, should also be followed, as they are considered to have been the true leaders of the Muslim world. 3 For example, Qur’an 22:39, “Leave is granted to those who are being attacked, for they were wronged, and God is assuredly capable of sending them victory.” Also 2:190, “Fight in the cause of God those who fight you, but do not commit aggression: God loves not the aggressors.” But also 2:212, “Fighting has been prescribed for you, although it is a matter hateful to you. And yet, for all you know, you may hate something—and it is good for you. For all you know, you may love something—and it is harmful to you. God knows, and you do not know.” And finally, 9:29, “Fight those who do not believe in God or the Last Day, who do not hold illicit what God and His Messenger hold illicit, and who do not follow the religion of truth from among those given the Book, until they offer up the tribute, by hand, in humble mien.” Translations from Khalidi (2008). 4 The full text of the bin Laden declaration may be found in many places, for example, Ibrahim (2007: 11–14). 5 For a full exposition of this theme, see Khadduri (1955: 51–73). 6 The Arabic term shi’a translates literally as partisans, adherents, disciples, followers, party, or faction. In modern terms, we may think of it as a political party that favored Ali to lead the Islamic community after the death of the Prophet Muhammad and opposed the choices that were made. 7 Allamah Tabataba’i, in his presentation of Shi’ite Islam to a Western audience, asserts that the key difference between Ali’s leadership and that of the Ummayads was that the latter were preoccupied with the conquests and the “immeasurable booty” which came from them, whereas Ali was devoted to the “cultivation of the sciences of the Household of the Prophet,” at whose head he stood. That is, he was devoted to understanding the revelation, not to the growing materialism evoked by the wealth produced by the great Arab conquests (Tabataba’i 1979: 49). 8 The ceremony of ta’ziyah was not formally established as a regular event until the tenth century, however. See below. 9 The title was actually amir al-umara (military commander-in-chief), implying the Buyid period was one of military rather than civilian rule. A civilian administrator would have been titled wazir al-wuzaraa (Kennedy 2004: 216). 10 Nonetheless, Khomeini’s supporters managed to insert his status as marja al-taqlid in the Iranian Constitution of 1979. See Article 1, Constitution of the Islamic Republic of Iran (1980: 26). 11 The Iranian revolution has produced a vast literature. Perhaps one of the best accounts is that of Milani (1994). Other excellent accounts are those of Armojand (1988); Bakhash (1984); Keddie (1982); Abrahamian (1982); and Fischer (1980). 12 On the political acumen of Khomeini during the revolution, see especially Moin (2000: 199–222). Khomeini’s legitimization of his political role that “the only means that we possess to unite the Muslim nation, to liberate its lands from the grip of the colonialists, and to topple the agent governments of colonialism, is to seek to establish an Islamic Government” and “It is an acknowledged fact that the jurisprudents are rulers over the kings … . In such a case, the real rulers are the jurisprudents, and the sultans are nothing but people working for them” (Khomeini,1979: 26, 35). 13 For a detailed study of the Iranian ulama on the eve of the revolution, see Akhavi (1980). 14 See, for instance, the 2005 statement of Ambassador (to the U.N.) Javad Zarif: “The predominant view among Iranian decision-makers is that development, acquisition or possession of nuclear weapons would only undermine Iranian security. Viable security for Iran can be attained only through inclusion and regional and global engagement” (“An Unnecessary Crisis” 2005).

References Abrahamian, E. (1982) Iran Between Two Revolutions, Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Akhavi, S. (1980) Religion and Politics in Contemporary Iran, Albany, NY: State University of New York Press.

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Armojand, S.A. (1988) The Turban for the Crown: The Islamic Revolution in Iran, New York: Oxford University Press. Bakhash, S. (1984) Reign of the Ayatollahs: Iran and the Islamic Revolution, New York: Basic Books. Black, A. (2001) The History of Islamic Political Thought: From the Prophet to the Present, New York: Routledge. Constitution of the Islamic Republic of Iran (1980) Constitution of the Islamic Republic of Iran trans. H. Algar, Berkeley, CA: Mizan Press. Fischer, M.M.J. (1980) Iran from Religious Dispute to Revolution, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Halm, H. (1997) Shi’a Islam: From Religion to Revolution, trans. A. Brown, Princeton, NJ: Markus Wiener. Ibrahim, R. (ed.) (2007) The Al Qaeda Reader, New York: Broadway Books. Keddie, N. (ed.) (1982) Religion and Politics in Iran: Shi’ism from Quietism to Revolution, New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Kennedy, H. (2004) The Prophet and the Age of the Caliphates, 2nd edn., Harlow, UK: Pearson Longman. Khadduri, M. (1955) War and Peace in the Law of Islam, Baltimore, MA: The Johns Hopkins Press. Khalidi, T. (2008) The Qur’an: A New Translation, New York: Viking. Khomeini, R. (1979) Vilayet-i Faqih; trans. U.S. Government (1979) Islamic Government, New York: Manor Books. Lapidus, I.M. (2002) A History of Islamic Societies, 2nd edn., Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Milani, M. (1994) The Making of Iran’s Islamic Revolution: From Monarchy to Islamic Republic, Boulder, CO: Westview Press. Moin, B. (2000) Khomeini: Life of the Ayatollah, New York: St. Martin’s Press. Tabataba’i, A.S.M.H. (1979) Shi’ite Islam, trans. and ed. S.H. Nasr, Albany, NY: SUNY Press. Zarif, J. (2005) “An Unnecessary Crisis: Setting the Record Straight about Iran’s Nuclear Program” New York Times, 18 November.

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7 ISLAM AND SECURITY: A SUNNI PERSPECTIVE Qibla Ayaz and Rashid Ahmad

Religion is gaining political and social significance around the world, and issues concerning religious reawakening loom large on the agenda of many interdisciplinary academic forums. It is hard to find any major country or society that is not witnessing public debate on religious themes. It should, however, be noted with concern that in many cases this religious “resurgence” has contributed to social divisions, intolerance toward other faiths, internal dissent, political insecurity, insensitivity to undisputed human rights, violence, and disruption of public order. The divisive effects of religion appear to be eclipsing its cohesive role. This phenomenon is particularly true about Islam. In recent years, law and order has deteriorated in a number of the Muslim-majority countries. Societies across the Middle East, Central and South Asia, and the Far East have been terribly disrupted by the violent acts of religious groups. The situation in the tribal belt bordering Afghanistan, for instance, has continuously caused tremendous damage to public order in the north-western region of Pakistan. And suicide attacks on civilian gatherings, particularly in Iraq, Afghanistan, and Pakistan, have posed serious threats to peace and security. Islam has a comprehensive set of guidelines and rules for diverse aspects of human life, including politics, economy, law, and relationships among different groups in society. Peaceful co-existence and smooth public and social order have a very significant place in the Islamic polity. As will be discussed below, the Qur’an categorically condemns those persons and groups who commit acts injurious to peace, security, and public order of society as a whole (including both the governmental and non-governmental sectors). In this chapter we will discuss from a Sunni perspective Islamic concepts and ethics regarding war, peace, and security.1 Islamic teachings attach great importance to human life, honor, and property. The Qur’an is explicit about this value: Because of this did We ordain unto children of Israel that if anyone slays a human being unless it be [in punishment] for murder or for spreading corruption on earth—it shall be as though he had slain all mankind; whereas, if anyone saves a life, it shall be as though he had saved the lives of all mankind. (Qur’an, 5:32) 69

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The Prophet of Islam, may peace be upon him (hereafter abbreviated PBUH), also laid great emphasis on observing the sanctity of life, honor, and property of human beings. During his last pilgrimage at Mecca he gave a comprehensive manifesto of basic human rights. Regarding the equality of human beings and the sanctity of human life, honor, and property he said: There is no superiority for an Arab over non-Arab and for a non-Arab over an Arab; nor for the black over the white, except in God’s consciousness. All humankind is the progeny of Adam and Adam was made out of clay. Behold every claim of privilege whether that of blood or property is under my heels. Verily your blood, your property and your honor are sacred and inviolable until you appear before your Lord and you will be held answerable for your actions. (Ibn Sa’d 1987: 1:469). On another occasion, concerning the sanctity of life, he said: “Among the deadly sins: polytheism is the deadliest one, and killing a human being, and disobedience of parents, and telling lies” (al-Bukhari 1987: 6:2519). Careful study of the Holy Qur’an and Sunnah2 reveals that peace is not only an academic subject; rather it is the goal of life and existence. Peace cannot be established in a society until each and every member of a society contributes. In fact peace has always been, in every age, a human need. Islam encourages its adherents to be involved in peacebuilding processes rather to create violence and disturbance in a society. The ultimate goal of the Islamic teachings is the establishment of such a society, where peace, justice, freedom, and all other basic human rights are guaranteed and observed. The word Islam itself is from the root SLM which means to surrender, to submit, and also to become reconciled with one another, to make peace. In Islam, one of the beautiful names of Almighty Allah is Salam, which means Peace Giver. As Muhammad Abu Nimer argues, in Islam peace is a state of physical, mental, spiritual, political, and social harmony (Huda 2010: 81). This is reflected in the life of the Prophet (PBUH) as well. When he started preaching he and his companions were severely tortured and even a few were brutally martyred, but despite that he always advised his followers to remain calm and not retaliate. When he migrated from Mecca to Medina, an Islamic State was established and he tried his best to avoid confrontation. His internal as well as foreign policy was based on non-violence, but the pagans of Mecca did not leave him to preach his religion in a peaceful way. Only in that circumstance was permission for jihad given by Allah, with some strict rules and regulations. Jihad is by no means synonymous with war; it has a larger and broader meaning (which will be discussed further below). In fact the rationale of jihad is only one goal; to create a peaceful and harmonious society. In the post-Cold War era, the ethics of violence has become a more urgent issue, particularly in the Sunni Muslim school of thought. Many new religious groups have emerged that promote jihad in a totally different sense than the tradition, and they catalogue violent acts as part of greater jihad. Al Qaeda, for instance, has sociological/historical roots in Sunni Islam, but its concepts and ethics of “jihad” and security deviate sharply from the true Sunni tradition.3 It is therefore appropriate to discuss the meaning of jihad in order to put the term’s use in the right perspective.

The meaning of jihad The word jihad is derived from the root JUHD, which means making utmost effort to achieve an objective (al-Afriqi n.d.: 3:133). In the Qur’an it is used in several contexts. Any struggle for the cause of supremacy of the religion is called jihad, and this includes taking up arms when the situation justifies it. This stage of jihad is separately termed qital in Islamic literature. 70

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The Qur’an says: “So, O Prophet, do not yield to the disbelievers, but wage a Jihad against them with this Qur’an” (Qur’an, 25:52). Noted contemporary Sunni Muslim scholar Maulana Maududi explains this verse in context by giving the following meanings for jihad:
to exert one’s utmost effort for the cause of Islam;
to dedicate all resources to this cause; and,
to fight against the opponents of Islam on all possible fronts with all one’s resources in order to raise high the “Word of Allah.” This will include jihad with one’s tongue, pen, wealth, life, and every other available weapon. (Maududi 1999: 3:457) The medieval Sunni scholar al-Kasani (d. 1191 CE) defines jihad thus: “Jihad means exerting one’s utmost struggle in the way of Allah by sacrificing his life, money, and by means of his tongue, etc.” (al-Kasani 1989: 7:97). Another renowned medieval jurist and scholar of Sunni Islam, Ibn Taymiyyah (d. 1328 CE) has explained various forms of jihad to mean:





inviting others to Islam; removing doubts about Islam; struggling for the betterment of Muslims; and scarifying soul and body, when needed. (Bahuti 1982: 3:36)

Jihad is a broad term that covers all aspects of human life. It may be carried out by words or actions; one can even do it through intentions. In a nutshell it can be said that any effort for the well-being of humanity and pleasing Allah is jihad. Jihad has two main categories, “greater” and “lesser.” Once the Prophet (PBUH), coming back from an expedition against the Muslims’ enemies, described war as “a lesser jihad” in comparison to “ the greater Jihad,” which is the effort of inward purification and of a human being’s spiritualization before his Creator (Ramadan 2001: 61). Thus, the full meaning of the word jihad is broader than simply the use of force. But today jihad and qital (armed struggle) are frequently used synonymously; therefore, for the purposes of the present discussion of security, below, we will further examine “jihad” in the particular sense of armed struggle.

Cause of jihad ( Illah) According to Muslim jurists, the cause (Illah) of jihad is aggression and oppression of Muslims by others. Jihad is allowed in Islam for self defense only (Ibn al-Hummam 1986: 4:291; Malik b. Anas n.d.: 3:6). This limitation is evident in the following verses from the Qur’an: Fight in the way of Allah against those who fight against you but do not transgress. For Allah does not love transgressors. Kill them whenever you confront them and drive them out from where they drove you out. (For though killing is sinful) wrongful persecution is even worse than killing. (Qur’an, 2:190–91) Permission (to fight) has been granted to those who are being fought against for they have been wronged. Verily Allah has the power to help them: Those who were expelled from their homes for no other reason than saying: Allah is our Lord. (Qur’an, 22:39–40) 71

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The following rules are thus derived from the above verses:
When Muslims are subjected to oppression, and when war is waged against them, then they are allowed to defend themselves.
Muslims are allowed to fight against those who have usurped their land and homes.
They can fight against those who persecute them for being Muslim. Similarly, jihad becomes obligatory for safeguarding the path of justice; for the punishment of treachery and fraud; for the eradication of internal enemies of the state; for safeguarding peace; and for the support of the oppressed. Jihad can be carried out until the oppression and persecution (fitnah) has come to an end. The Qur’an says: “And fight them on until there is no more persecution (fitnah)” (Qur’an, 2:193). Furthermore, in Islamic injunctions regarding jihad there are two categories of the opponents, belligerents and non-belligerents. Islam does not allow harm to non-belligerents in any case. It is clear that the cause (Illah) of jihad is aggression, oppression, and persecution of Muslims, and that jihad should be undertaken for the pleasure of Allah only. Motives for worldly gains are contrary to the spirit of jihad. The Prophet (PBUH) said: “He who went to fight in the way of Allah but had the intention of benefiting himself with a rope to fasten his camel will get the string but no reward in the Hereafter” (al-Hindi 1979: 4:336). According to Islamic texts, therefore, jihad is not an unqualified holy activity; instead Islam has conditioned it with certain ethics. Some of the primary ways in which the true Sunni tradition applies these norms are outlined below.

Applying norms of jihad from Sunni theology and religious ethics4 1. Permission of a legitimate imam (ruler) is required. The first norm of jihad is that it cannot be waged without the permission of the imam (the ruler of the Muslims). In order to bring any military operation under strict discipline, the first step is to centralize the combative operation and to inculcate in the army the principle of “listen and submit” (sam’a wa ta’ah) (Maududi 2010: 238). Islam emphasizes the establishment of a proper system of government. There are several sayings of the Prophet (PBUH) that command Muslims to extend respect and obedience to their imam. Nomination of a leader is, in fact, obligatory for Muslims. This issue has been treated in several ahadith5 of Prophet Muhammad (PBUH); these sayings explicitly advise Muslims “to obey the ruler even if he is a black slave with his head like a dry grape” (al-Bukhari 1987: 6:2612). The raison d’être of these sayings and the advice of the Prophet is the maintenance of a peaceful and coherent society, and to ensure public order. 2. Avoid clashes and be steadfast. The Prophet (PBUH) said: “Do not ask for a clash with the enemy, rather pray for peace and wellbeing. If conflict is inevitable, fight with courage and determination. Be it known that the path to heaven lies under the shadow of swords” (al-Bukhari 1987: 3:1101). The first part of this saying of the Prophet (PBUH) clearly indicates that he disliked a state of perpetual war with non-Muslims. The second part stipulates that if an encounter does take place, then the Muslims must remain steadfast. 3. Attacking in a state of unawareness is forbidden. It was general practice during the pre-Islamic period for warriors to surprise the enemy at night. The Prophet (PBUH) stopped this practice and forbade Muslims from attacking the enemy at night or early dawn (al-Tirmidhi n.d.: 1:563). 4. It is obligatory to call the enemy to Islam prior to resorting to force. According to Muslim jurists it is obligatory to call the enemy to Islam before starting the battle. These jurists have based their opinion on the following traditions of the Prophet (PBUH): 72

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Whenever you meet polytheists in a battlefield, invite them to accept one of the three options: first, invite them to accept Islam, and if they do, accept this from them; [second,] if they do not accept, then offer them the status of dhimmis [protected citizens of the Islamic State], and if they accept it, then abstain from bloodshed; [third,] if they do not accept this offer then seek the help of Allah and begin fighting against them. (Abu Da’wud 1983: 2:328) It was a common practice from the time of the Prophet (PBUH) that, whenever the Muslims conquered cities, they abstained from genocide. The population was neither enslaved nor deprived of their belongings; they were given full security. In return, jizyah (an amount levied on non-Muslim citizens for exemption from military services) was imposed. Those who received the status of dhimmis then obtained many rights,6 a few of which include:
Jizyah is leviable on the war-ready population only. Non-combatants such as women, children, lunatics, the blind, disabled, servants of places of worship, the elderly, beggars, ascetics, the sick, and slaves are exempted from payment of jizyah.
The blood and property of a dhimmi is as sacred as that of a Muslim. If a Muslim kills a dhimmi he is liable to Qisas (retaliation), and if a Muslim damages his property the victim will be compensated. Similarly the status of Muslim and dhimmi is equal within the framework of the penal and civil code.
If someone causes an injury to a dhimmi either through abusive language or physical abuse, it is considered unlawful in the same manner as if a Muslim had been victimized.
A covenant of trust struck between a Muslim and a dhimmi is eternal and inviolable for the Muslim. Once concluded, Muslims cannot revoke this trust. On the other hand, a dhimmi is free to maintain or rescind it at his will.
The private matters of dhimmis are dealt with in accordance with their personal law; Islamic law is not to be imposed upon them.
The worship places of dhimmis are not to be interfered with.
Dhimmis are not to be tortured in order to recover jihzyah or tribute; they must be treated with compassion and kindness, and not burdened beyond their capacity.
As jizyah is in lieu of military services, dhimmis will not be forced to defend the country; that is the sole responsibility of Muslims. However, if a dhimmi offers his services for military purposes then he would be exempted from jizyah. (Maududi 2010: 287) 5. It is prohibited to burn the enemy. It was a custom during the pre-Islamic period to burn the enemy alive. The Prophet (PBUH) stopped this practice. He said: “Nobody has the authority to award a punishment of fire. It is the prerogative of the Creator of fire” (Abu Da’wud 1983: 2:351). 6. Killing the helpless is forbidden. The Prophet (PBUH) prohibited tying with ropes and torturing the enemy before killing. It has been reported by the authority Abu Ayyub Ansari that the Prophet (PBUH) prohibited the execution of a person with his hands tied (Abu Da’wud 1983: 2:358). 7. Pillaging is prohibited. Islam unequivocally prohibits looting, plunder, and pillage during war. Once the Prophet (PBUH) addressed a gathering and said: Does anybody from you, in his arrogance, believe that Allah has not prohibited anything except the restrictions mentioned in the Glorious Qur’an[?]. By Almighty Allah, the advice I give you and the decrees of amr and nahi (doing right and abstaining 73

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wrong)—my proclamations—are like the Glorious Qur’an or more than that. Allah has not permitted you to enter into the houses of the People of the Book (Banu Nadir) without permission, and beat their women, or consume their fruits. They have paid you whatever was due from them. (Abu Bakr 1983: 1:149).7 8. Revenge and savagery is forbidden. During their advancement into enemy territory, Islam prohibits Muslims from destroying crops, massacring the local population, and setting properties on fire. The Qur’an terms these acts as mischief on earth, and says: “Whenever he attains authority, he goes about the earth spreading mischief and destroying harvests and killing the human race, even though Allah (whose testimony he invokes) does not like mischief (Qur’an, 2:205). In this regard, the instructions of the first Caliph Abu Bakr (d. 634 CE) to the Muslim army while dispatching them to what was then Syria are of great significance. He instructed as follows (Ibn Khaldun 2004: 2:443):









Do not kill women, children, and the elderly. Do not mutilate dead bodies (muthla). Do not harass religious functionaries and do not destroy places of worship. Do not cut fruit-bearing trees and do not set ablaze the harvests. Do not demolish houses. Do not slaughter animals. Honor your pledges. The life and property of those who confess loyalty are as sacred as those of Muslims.

9. Siege of the enemy is permitted conditionally. Islam permits siege of the enemy if so required and if all the conditions and restrictions as laid down by the Qur’an and traditions of the Prophet of Islam are observed. The siege may be for the purpose of the war strategy, like depriving the enemy of external supplies in order to make them surrender without further loss of life. Similarly, the siege may be carried out for economic pressure, again for the purpose of ensuring peaceful surrender (al-Zuhaily 2010: 66). 10. Mutilating dead bodies (muthla) is prohibited. As mentioned above, Islam forbids the mutilation of dead bodies. The Prophet (PBUH) said: “Do not breach trust, never embezzle booty, and do not mutilate dead bodies” (al-Bukhari 1987: 2:874). 11. The use of poisonous, biological, and chemical weapons is prohibited. It is totally prohibited to use poison, either by giving it to the enemy directly or by mixing it with water, food, or in the air. Similarly, the use of poisonous gases and weapons is also prohibited. The use of biological and chemical weapons is not in consonance with the Islamic rules of war (adab al-harb), as treated in detail below. Neither is the use of any atomic weapon; use of these weapons is contrary to the teachings of Islam, as these weapons cause mass killing of innocent civilians and mutilation of dead bodies (al-Zuhaily 2010: 62). 12. Treachery is prohibited. The Prophet (PBUH) condemned treachery and breach of trust. He said: On the Day of Judgment, the dishonesty of every treacherous [person] and treatyviolator would be identified by a flag, which would be proportionate in size to the volume of his treason. Remember! If the leader of a nation commits perfidy, he is the biggest hypocrite of all. (al-Bukhari 1987: 3:1164) 74

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In the context of battle, use of a white flag (which is meant for surrender, truce, or negotiations) or flags of the Red Cross or Red Crescent for deceit qualifies as treachery. Use of a uniform similar to that of the enemy and their special signs is prohibited. Another form of treachery is the use of an enemy’s slogans (phrases used by the army for encouraging and boosting the morale of soldiers), as their use means that the enemy has been given protection. Perfidy is also prohibited; it falls under the category of treachery. 13. Planting mines in civilian areas is prohibited. Mines, whether planted on land or in open seas, are prohibited in areas where civilian casualties might result. Islam clearly prohibits any harm to non-combatants and those who are neutral in hostilities. 14. Killing war prisoners is prohibited. The Prophet (PBUH) strictly prohibited killing prisoners of war. He said: “No prisoner (of war) would be killed” (al-Baladhuri 1916: 1:6). ‘Abd al Allah b. ‘Umar, a close companion of the Prophet of Islam, said: “Allah has not allowed us to do so. He has ordered either to release the prisoners as a gesture of good will or in exchange for ransom” (Ibn Abi Shaiba 1987: 12:421). 15. Murdering envoys is prohibited. Islam does not allow the killing of envoys in any case. When the envoy of a rival claimant to the prophethood, Musailama, came to the Prophet (PBUH) and delivered his message to him, the Prophet (PBUH) responded to him with the following words: “Had the murder of envoys been permissible I would certainly have killed you” (Ibn Hanbal 1986). From this basic principle, the Muslim jurists derived the rule that, if a person approaches the frontiers of an Islamic state and discloses his identity as an ambassador or envoy and declares that he has a message for the Head of State, he will be allowed safe passage without any hindrance. This includes his goods, equipment, servants, staff, and even arms. These facilities would be denied if he fails to establish his credentials as an ambassador (Abu Yusuf 1963: 116; Maududi 2010: 231). 16. Jihad must end when the enemy inclines toward peace. The purpose of jihad in Islam is the elimination of fitnah (mischief and oppression) in order to establish peace and order in society. The Qur’an says jihad is allowed “until the war lays down its arms” (Qur’an, 47:4) and “until mischief ends and the way prescribed by Allah prevails” (Qur’an, 2:193). When the elimination of fitnah becomes possible by the inclination of the enemy towards peacemaking, then the opportunity should be grasped. The Qur’an says in this regard: “If they incline to peace, incline you as well to it, and trust in Allah. Surly He is All-Hearing, All-Knowing” (Qur’an, 8:61). 17. Neutral parties must not be harmed. Muslims are instructed to refrain from attacking those who choose to remain impartial in hostility. The Qur’an says: “If they leave you alone and do not fight against you and offer you peace, then Allah does not permit you to harm them” (Qur’an, 4:90). Muslims have been commanded to extend asylum if it is sought. The Qur’an says: “And if any one of those who associate others with Allah in His divinity seeks asylum, grant him asylum that he hear the word of Allah, and then escort him to safety for they are a people bereft of all understanding” (Qur’an, 9:6). It is clear from the above Qur’anic verses and Sunni tradition that the purpose of Islamic war is not bloodshed, but reform, peace, and welfare. The Islamic ethics of jihad, properly understood, teach that if there is any opportunity to achieve these goals through reconciliatory efforts, then Muslims should embrace the opportunity before resorting to arms.

From ethics to behavior In many contemporary conflicts, the worst kinds of atrocities can be witnessed—burning of enemy soldiers, the maltreatment of prisoners of war, mutilating dead bodies, the use of chemical and biological weapons, raping of women, indiscriminate bombing and killing of 75

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non-combatants/civilians, and more. Total disregard for the International Humanitarian Laws (IHL) has become widespread. In Muslim-majority countries—and primarily in Afghanistan, Pakistan, and Somalia—contempt for the IHL is common. Abduction of civilians and piracy for ransom are just two examples of the methods that violent groups use to achieve self-proclaimed goals. And, both in Muslim-majority countries and abroad, there has been a surge in religiously motivated terrorism, including suicide attacks. Some (though by no means all) of the perpetrators of these evils are nominally part of Sunni Islam. As outlined above, Islam in general and the Sunni tradition in particular contain ample ethical teachings that, if fully understood and given proper normative weight, would prevent Sunni participation in these evils. But there is a profound disconnection today between authentic Islamic ethics and the actual behavior of a still small, but increasingly dangerous, minority of Muslims. There are many socio-economic and political factors that help account for this disconnection, but for purposes of this chapter we will highlight two important theological factors.

Seeing the forest for the trees First, among some Sunnis (and other Muslims) there is failure to internalize not just the letter of Islamic law on this or that specific point, but a broader failure to internalize the spirit of the faith. What is missing is consciousness of the presence of God and attendant feelings of accountability to God for disrupting the peaceful, just social order to which Islam aspires. In laying out a vision for a harmonious society and a better public order, the Qur’an, in a number of places, emphasizes the spiritual side of human life and tries to arouse in its readers a consciousness of the presence of God (Allah). It reminds Muslims to be mindful of the day of judgment (yawm al-akhira). Such a consciousness can effectively deter individuals from committing acts inconsistent with the requirements of a harmonious society. In verses 27–30, chapter 5, the Qur’an narrates the story of the murder of Abel, the son of Adam (PBUH), by his brother Cain. The story highlights the significance of Abel’s consciousness of the presence of God; this consciousness deters him from entangling himself in shedding blood of his brother. The verses read: And convey unto them, setting forth the truth, the story of two sons of Adam, how each offered a sacrifice, and it was accepted from one of them whereas it was not accepted from the other. (And Cain said): “I will surely slay thee!” (Abel) replied: “Behold. God accepts only from those who are conscious of Him. Even if thou lay thy hand on me to slay me, I shall not lay my hand on thee to slay thee: behold, I fear God, the Sustainer of all the words. I am willing, indeed, for thee to bear (burden of) all the sins ever done by me as well as the sins ever done by thee: (but) then thou wouldst be destined for the fire, since that is the requital of evildoers!” (Qur’an, 5:27–30) The Qur’an repeatedly reminds readers to be God-fearing and never lose sight of the eternal life that will come after the demise of the present physical existence. Chapter 99 of the Qur’an explicitly highlights this aspect of the human life and the universe: When the earth quakes with her [last] mighty quaking, and [when] the earth yields up her burdens, and man cries out, “What has happened to her?” on that Day will all recount all her tidings, as thy Sustainer will have inspired her to do. On that Day will all men come forward, cut off from one another, to be their [past] deeds. And so, he who shall have done an atom’s weight of good, shall behold it: and he who shall have done an atom’s weight of evil, shall behold it. (Qur’an, 99:1–8) 76

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The Muslim clerics (‘ulama) repeatedly give sermons on this theme and produce popular literature on it. They argue that the sense of the accountability of the human being before God, and a belief in justice on the Day of Judgment, can bring about internal serenity and contentment in this world. This consciousness can minimize transgressions and other evil-doings. The Qur’an categorically condemns those persons and groups that commit acts injurious to peace and public order. The Qur’an refers to such activities with a special term, fasad fi al-ard, and has determined severe penalties for such groups: The recompense of those who make war on God and His apostle and spread disturbance on earth shall be that they shall be slain, or crucified, or their hand and feet be cut off on opposite sides, or that they shall be banished from the earth. Such shall be their disgrace in this world. (Qur’an, 5:33) The Sunni Muslim jurists regard this verse as a legal injunction against those who perpetuate heinous crimes and strive with the use of might and force to spread mischief in the land. The jurists have included in this category crimes, such as highway robbery (qat,al-tariq), excessive plunder of public property (saraqat al-kubra), gang-rape and spreading terror in the public by violent acts (takhrib), and kidnapping (ighwa). The jurists have coined a special term for these, calling them hirabah crimes. The contemporary Muslim scholar Asma Afsaruddin has rightly inferred that, in today’s parlance, hirabah is the equivalent of terrorism in its scorched-earth policy and disregard for the sanctity of civilian life; rouge militants in the Muslim world today dress up hirabah as jihad (see Qamar-ul-Huda 2010: 59). A renowned Sunni scholar of the twentieth century, Maulana Mufti Muhammad Shafi’, explained that indeed hirabah is such a heinous crime that Allah termed it equivalent to war with Himself and with His Apostle (Shafi’ 1982: 3:120). The Islamic penalties have been criticized by Western scholars and also by more liberal Muslims. But the penalties indicate Islam’s concern for peace, public order, and effective writ of the government. The modern crimes of suicide attacks on civilians and non-combatants, bomb blasts in public places, rocket and missile attacks on civilian populations, and other acts of terrorism can safely be catalogued as hirabah.

Understanding legitimate scholarly consensus on rebellion and terrorism There is little awareness, at either a popular or elite level, of the fact that Sunni Islamic scholars have produced a great deal of literature regarding the immorality of rejecting legitimate authority. In Arabic the word bagh’i is used for rebellion (al-Afriqi n.d.: 14:75) which, according to jurists, means to disobey the commands of a lawful government and launch armed struggle against it— even though the rebels may have an otherwise genuine interpretation (ta’wil) (Qadri 2011: 175) of the Qur’an and hadith. Bagh’i has been broadly discouraged by Sunni Muslim jurists, who have recommended a peaceful struggle for change. In medieval Islamic literature, armed rebellion and total rejection of state authority were allowed only when the ruler/imam of the Muslims committed kufr bawwah (denunciation of Islam) (Ahmad 2008: 596). Most importantly for security today, the contemporary Muslim jurists catalogue all acts of terrorism as rebellion. In this regard, the “Makkah Declaration” is of great significance. It was made after the sixteenth session of the Muslim World League, (2002) held in the Islamic Academy of 77

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Jurisprudence in Mecca under the supervision of King Fahd, January 5–10, 2002. This declaration termed all forms of terrorist activities, whether committed by individuals, groups, or states, as inconsistent with Islamic teachings. Relevant parts of the declaration include: Terrorism is aggression perpetrated by individuals, groups, or states in a spirit of oppression against one’s religion, blood, reason, wealth, or honor. It comprises all types of fear-inducing behaviors, harms, and threats, including armed burglary, the spreading of fear amongst travelers, and acts of highway robbery. It covers all acts of violence or threats to commit individual or group crimes for the sake of striking fear amongst people or terrifying them through threats of causing harm to them or endangering their lives, freedom, security, or general conditions. Included in the types of terrorism is the endangering of national resources or the damaging of public utilities or private properties. All of the above are types of mischief on earth, which God prohibited Muslims from committing when He said in the Qur’an: “[A]nd seek not mischief in the earth. Indeed, God does not like those who spread mischief.” God has legislated a rigorous punishment for terrorism, aggression, and corruption, and regarded them as acts of war against God and His Messenger (PBUH). Another Islamic legal verdict regarding terrorism is also relevant. Pakistani religious scholars held a meeting in Jamia’ Ashrafia, Lahore, Pakistan on April 15–17, 2010 in which more than 100 prominent Sunni Muslim scholars and jurists participated. Maulana Saleemuallah Khan, President of the Wifaq al Madaris al Arabia wal Islamiah Multan, presided over the meeting. The wifaq is a representative body of the religious seminaries (madrasa/madaris). The Islamic verdict mainly concerned the prevailing situation in Pakistan; nonetheless, it is significant that the scholars broadly addressed the issue of violence and security and unanimously declared that peaceful means should be adopted for ensuring Islamic order.8 The Resolution was termed a “Religious Stance” (dini mauqif). It declared that militant methods such as suicide bombing, kidnapping for ransom, and bombing in public places are un-Islamic (Abu ‘Ammar 2010: 2).

Conclusion The consensus of the Muslim World League and the Pakistani scholars and jurists indicates a strong movement within the Muslim community generally, and Sunni Islam specifically, to condemn religious terrorism and pursue peace based on Islamic tradition. Islam’s theology and ethics contain a rich conception of security, one attaching great importance to human life, honor, and property. Properly understood, Islam insists on justice, respect for legitimate authority, peacebuilding, and strict limits on the use of force. Unfortunately, a small but dangerous faction of Muslims today seems to be failing to grasp not only the letter but also the spirit of Islamic law. They claim the mantle of “jihadis” but are operating from a distorted and truncated definition of jihad. The challenge going forward is therefore more a matter of rediscovering rather than revolutionizing Islamic ethics of security.

Notes 1 The Sunni tradition is the branch of Islam that accepts the first four caliphs as rightful successors to Muhammad (PBUH). In the present day, the majority of Sunni Muslims are in Indonesia, Malaysia, Pakistan, Bangladesh, Turkey, Saudi Arabia, some Muslim-majority African states, and most of the Central Asian Muslim-majority states. 2 The practices of the Prophet (PBUH) and the example he set.

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Islam and security: A Sunni perspective 3 The word “Salafi” is often used incorrectly in discussions of al Qaeda. Salafies are groups of Sunni Muslims who interpret the Qur’an and hadith in the traditional Madinain context. The majority of Salafies do not approve the present violent uprisings in Muslim-majority societies. 4 Note that these Islamic norms are very similar to those of the just war tradition. 5 The ahadith (singular, hadith) are the collected narratives about the sayings and actions of the Prophet (PBUH) as well as certain actions by his companions that the Prophet (PBUH) tacitly approved by not expressing any objection. 6 In our view, the Prophet’s (PBUH) approach to non-Muslim citizens was one that by historical standards emphasized a high degree of fairness and justice. This ethic has not, of course, always been properly interpreted and applied in Muslim-majority countries through Islam’s 14 centuries. 7 This was during the battle of Banu Nadir, a battle with a Jewish tribe that took place in June 625 CE. “People of the Book” refers to Jews and Christians. 8 It is necessary to mention the names of some of these prominent religious scholars to highlight that they are very influential persons among the religious circles of Pakistan. They include: Maulana Ubaidullah Ashrafi; Maulana Dr. Abd al Razzaq Sikandar; Maulana Muhammad Rafi’ Usmani; Maulana Justice Taqi Usmani; Maulana Abd al Rahman Ashrafi; Maulana Mufti Abd al Rahim; Maulana Mufti Ghulam al Rahman; Maulana Fazal al Rahman, Amir, Jamiat al Ulama Islam, Pakistan; Maulana Samee’ul Haq; Maulana Qari Muhammad Hanif Jalandhri; Maualna Anwar ul Haq; Maulana Muhmmad Amjad Khan; Maulana Mufti Kifayatullah; Maulana Imdad al Allah; and Maulana Abu Ammar al Rashidi.

References Ibn Abi Shaiba (1987) al-Musannaf, Karachi: Idarat al-’ulum al-Qur’an. Abu ‘Ammar, Zahid al-Rashidi (2010) “Kalimat a-l Haqq,” The Monthly, al-Shari’ah’, May. Abu Bakr, Muhammad (1983) al-Tamhid, Lahore: al-Maktaba al-Quddusiyya. Abu Da’wud, Sulaiman b. al-Ash’ath al-Sajistani (1983) al-Sunan, Lahore: Islamic Academy. Abu Yusuf, Ya’aqub b. Ibrahim (1963) Kitab al-Kharaj, Cairo: al Matba’a al Salafiyyah. al-Afriqi, Jamal al-Din Muhammad b. Mukrim (n.d.) al-Lisan al-’Arab, Beirut: Dar Sadir. Ahmad, Khurshid (1997) Islam: Its Meaning and Message, Lahore: A.H. Publishers. Ahmad, Muhammad Mushtaq (2008) Jihad, Muzahamat aur Baghawat, Gujranwala, Pakistan: al-Shari’a Academy. Bahuti, Manzur b. Yunus (1982) Kashhaf al qina’a a’n matn al-Iiqna’, Beirut: Dar al-Fikr. al-Baladhuri, Ahmad b. Yahya (1916) Futuh al-buldan, trans. P.K. Hitti, New York: Columbia University Press. al-Bukhari, Muhammad b. Isma’il (1987) al Jami’ al Sahih, Beirut: Dar Ibn Kathir. Ibn Hanbal, (1986) al-Musnad, Beirut: Dar al-Kotob al-Ilmiyah. al-Hindi, Husam al-Din ‘Ala’ al-Din ‘Ali al-Muttaqi (1979) Kanz al-’ummal, Beirut: Mu’ssasa al-Risala. Huda, Qamar-ul (2010) Crescent and Dove, Washington, DC: United States Institute of Peace Press. Ibn al-Hummam, Kamal al-Din Muhammad (1986) Fath al-Qadir, Beirut: Dar Ihya’ al-Turath al-’Arabi. Ibn Khaldun, Abd al Rahman b. Muhammad (2004) al-’Aibar wa Dewan al-Mubtada Khabar fi Tarikh al-Arab w al-’Ajam w al-Barbar, Urdu trans., Lahore: al-Faisal Nashiran. al-Kasani, ‘Ala al-Din (1989) Badai’a al sanai’, Quetta, Pakistan: al Maktaba al Habibiyyah. Malik b. Anas (n.d.) al-Mudawanat a-l Kubrah, Beirut: Dar al Sadir. Maududi, Sayyad Abul A’la (2010) al-Jihad fi al-Islam, Lahore: Tarjaman al-Qur’an. ——(1999) Tafhim al-Qur’an, Lahore: Islamic Publications. Muslim World League (2002) “Makkah Declaration,” January 10, online at (accessed 15 November 2011). al-Nasa’i, Ahmad b. Shu’ayb (1988) al Sunan al Kubra, Beirut: al-Maktab al-Islami. Qadri, Muhammad Tahir (2011) Fatwa on Terrorism and Suicide Bombing, Lahore and London: Minhaj al-Qur’an International. Ramadan, T. (2001) Islam, the West and the Challenges of Modernity, Leicester: Islamic Foundation. Ibn Sa’d, Abu ‘Abd al-Allah Muhammad (1987) al Tabaqat al-kubra, trans. Abd al Allah A’madi, Karachi: Nafees Academy. Shafi’, Muhammad (1982) Ma’arif al-Quran, Karachi: Idarat al-Ma’arif. al-Tirmidhi, Muhammad b. ‘Isa (n.d.) al-Sunan, Beirut: Dar Ihya’ al-Turath al-’Arabi. al-Zuhaily, Wahba (2010) al-’Alaqat al-Dauliya fi al-Islam, Urdu trans. Hakim al-Allah, Islamabad: Shariah Academy.

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8 HINDUISM AND SECURITY: A HIERARCHY OF PROTECTION Torkel Brekke

Hindu civilization encompasses a vast array of different religious and non-religious cultures—and with them a variety of world views, beliefs, and practices.1 Despite this diversity, there are Hindu texts and traditions that are of particular importance to discussions of security, and these can reasonably be said to broadly represent Hinduism’s position. In linking Hinduism and security, it is important to acknowledge from the start that there is unlikely to be a mental image (or concept) held by those in one religious tradition that is identical to the concept held by others (i.e. members of the Western and English-speaking community). I begin by examining the relevant words and terms from the Hindu tradition that convey the concept of security before examining the challenges it presents today.

A Hindu concept of security Hindi is by far the most common of the modern languages spoken by Hindus. In standard Hindi, the common translation of “security” is suraks.a-. Suraks.a- is the word used in the official Hindi of the Indian government as being equivalent to “security,” while raks.a- is the equivalent of “defense.”2 Both of these words come from Sanskrit,3 from the same root: raks.. In Sanskrit, the words raks.an.a and suraks.a- are nouns that refer to a number of different practices, ideas, and states of affairs. They can mean “security,” but other important meanings are “safety” and “protection.” The words stemming from the Sanskrit root raks. go very far back in time and it would be reasonable to say that the concepts that these words tend to produce in the minds of native speakers, and the practices associated with these concepts, constitute what we can consider a specifically Hindu concept of security. Here, I will use the English word “protection” to translate both the Sanskrit word raks.an.a and the modern Hindi word suraks.a-, keeping in mind that, for Hindus who speak Hindi and related languages, these words will carry shades of meaning that also fall under English ideas of “guarding,” “defense,” and “safety.” The concept of protection brings us to the core of Hindu social and political ideology. Much of the most ancient Indian religious texts called the Vedas are concerned with asking for protection from the gods. Gods were expected to protect the wealth and household of the petitioner. Among the gods, Indra was the primary protector. Wealth consisted of cattle, and the Protector of Cattle (pas´upa-) was a standard epithet of the god Pu-s.an. In later Hinduism, the religious and cultural ideas of protection would include the protective role of the goddess, too. In much of 80

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medieval and modern Hinduism the need for protection was an important motivation for worship of the goddess Durga-, and she is often supposed to be the source of the king’s power to protect his people. For instance, in the central text about the goddess, the Devı- Ma-ha-tmyam, which was composed sometime in the fourth or fifth century, the great goddess is invoked as a cosmic protector and a great slayer of demons (Agrawala 1963: ch. XI). The gods’ protective functions continue in later periods, and in much of the religious Hindu literature gods are presented as protectors of people. Indra remained the prime protector in Vedic times, though this role was largely taken over by Vis.n.u in later Hinduism. Vis.n.u’s many incarnations (avata-ra) are involved in protective campaigns on behalf of chosen humans, and the most prominent of the incarnations—Kr.s.n.a and Ra-ma—are gods who sometimes actively intervene to protect people. For example, in one episode recounted in the Bha-gavata Pura-n.a, Kr.s.n.a is said to protect his devotees in the land of Vraj against the wrath of the god Indra. Indra is enraged because the cowherds of the forests of Vraj have abandoned him in order to worship Kr.s.n.a instead, and he wants to crush them in revenge. Kr.s.n.a vows to protect his people and lifts up a mountain called Govardhana over their heads for shelter with the pledge “I shall protect the cowherd community by my own mystic power” (Bryant 2003: 116). Ra-ma, too, as the great Hindu king, is the model of protective behavior. In modern times Ra-ma has been invoked extensively in campaigns by Hindu extremists in order to “protect” Hindu India against “foreign” threats, like Islam and Christianity. We will return to such xenophobic aspects of Hindu ideas of security and protection later in this chapter, but first we should look at some of the Hindu texts that are most relevant for a historical understanding of the Hindu concept of security.

Hindu statecraft and security The Hindu science of statecraft is rooted in Kaut.ilya’s Arthas´a-stra (generally referred to as Kaut.ilı-ya Arthas´a-stra and henceforth abbreviated KA). In the KA, the king (ra-ja) is at the center. The king and his subjects depend on each other for their well-being and happiness. It is the duty of the king to provide security for his subjects and it is the duty of the subjects to pay a certain percentage of their wealth to the king. A king who protects his subjects gains one-sixth of the religious merit of the people, but a king who does not protect receives one-sixth of their demerit (Lingat 1967: 236). The belief that a bad king is burdened by the sins of his subjects is found in many places in Hindu literature (Scharfe 1989: 44). As head of state, the person of the king must be protected in a number of ways. The first chapter of KA explains in detail how the king should organize his personal guards, how he should make sure his food and water is not poisoned, etc. (KA 1.21.1–29).4 The first chapter concludes that, just as the king keeps watch over other people, so he should protect himself against danger from other people; Kaut.ilya uses a verb from the root raks. to denote the protection of the king himself (KA 1.21.29). In KA, raks.an.a and pa-lana are common words used to denote protection of persons and their property by the king. However, protection is not only about physical security against willed threats. The most basic aim of the state is the welfare of the subjects, and that welfare is often referred to with the term yogaks.ema. This broader definition of protection requires the king or the state to provide for those who are not able to make a living and to protect people from a wide variety of threats to their well-being. Yogaks.ema implies the notion of security of livelihood and goods.5 In the political science of classical India, the king protects people who behave well and punishes people who misbehave and cause crime and strife in the kingdom. The whole of 81

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chapter four in KA is devoted to the protection of society against several types of threats. Magistrates are given powers to hold different classes of artisans and traders responsible for cheating and fraud, and they are tasked with ensuring that villages organize themselves to avoid fires and stay resilient in the event of natural disasters. Kaut.ilya calls this work “protection (raks.an.a) of the land (janapada)” (KA 4.4.1). The magistrates are also responsible for seeing to it that society is protected against a variety of criminals. In addition to domestic order, the kingdom must be protected against threats from external enemies, and many of the detailed policy analyses in KA are about external relations, including war. Kaut.ilya presents the relationships among kingdoms as an anarchic system, in which the king must see himself in the middle of a circle of kings (ra-jaman.d.ala). In this circle, a king’s immediate neighbors are natural enemies and the neighbor’s neighbor is a natural friend because he is the enemy of the enemy. Although Kaut.ilya seems to discuss external and internal affairs in ways that are akin to the modern distinction between foreign and domestic policy, it would be mistaken to take this parallel literally. The centralized Indian states that arose between the end of the Vedic period and the end of the Gupta period (i.e. roughly between 500 BCE and 500 CE) were nothing like modern states with clear borders. From a discussion in KA about external and internal rebellions against the rule of the king we see that Kaut.ilya’s model of the state only regarded people residing with the king in the capital, like the crown prince, court priest (purohita) and the general, as insiders. If one of the king’s governors in the provinces or a military chief guarding its border defected, this was considered an external rebellion (KA 9.3.12 and 22; Bhattacharya 1993). The concept of security found in the Hindu literature on statecraft is echoed in the more important literature about dharma, the rights and responsibilities of individuals and groups according to religious laws. The most famous of these books is The Laws of Manu, composed sometime between 200 BCE and 200 CE. At the start of chapter seven of his lawbook, Manu states clearly that protection (pariraks.an.a) is the most fundamental obligation of members of the warrior class. Classical Hindu ideology divided society into four classes (varn.a): priests (bra-hman.a), warriors (ks.atriya), primary producers (vais´ya), and slaves (s´u-dra). Each class had its own set of social obligations, responsibilities, and privileges captured in the fundamental concept of dharma. In order to follow his dharma, a member of the warrior class must take the responsibility of protecting people in society against threats. To explore the deeper meaning of protection as it is discussed by Manu, we may consider the important commentary to The Laws of Manu composed by Medha-tithi. The commentator explains that protection, at a basic level, means removing trouble (paripa-lana). Furthermore, it means protecting the weak against the strong and it means ensuring that people do not transgress against the laws (s´a-stra). The Laws of Manu comprises a key part of the laws and, according to Medha-tithi’s commentary, Manu calls on those with political power to enforce his own laws as well as the laws of other important legal writers. Medha-tithi states that protection (pariraks.ana), as it is expressed by Manu, means saving people from trouble or suffering (duh.kha). If people in the kingdom are allowed to transgress the law, and if they are not properly punished, this will bring about unseen trouble; the rule of law will be compromised. It can certainly be argued that punishment from the king (ra-jadan.d.a) brings its own kind of trouble or suffering (duh.kha), Medha-tithi says, but that punishment is much lighter than the suffering experienced in hell (Jha 1939: Vol. 2: 2; Jha 1924: 2, Vol. 3, Part 2: 275). In Medha-tithi’s commentary on chapter eight of The Laws of Manu, the exposition of the duties of kings is continued with a discussion of protection. The commentator repeats that the basic duty of kings, who generally are considered to belong to the class of warriors, is the 82

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protection (paripa-lana) of the people. He explains the concept of protection in slightly different words from those in his commentary on chapter seven. Here, protection (paripa-lana) is explained to mean the removal of afflictions (pı-d.a-). The word pı-d.a- basically means pain or affliction, so the king’s protection is assumed to be dynamic; the king actively removes the afflictions of his subjects and works to prevent them from arising in the first place. Medha-tithi explains that there is an important distinction to be made between seen and unseen afflictions. The seen affliction is simply that which arises in this world when the strong take the belongings of the weak, while the unseen affliction is the pain (duh.kha) that a person will experience in the next world by transgressing the law. Medha-tithi explains that people often act out of feelings like hatred and jealousy, and these actions result in unseen evils in the next world. Hindus, like the followers of most religious traditions of India, believe in rebirth: acts in this life have consequences for the next. These consequences, in turn, may result in the demise of the kingdom because the kingdom is called “the people’s prosperity” (prajais´varya) (Jha 1939 Vol. 2: 71; Jha 1924, Vol. 4, Part 1: 1–2). So, in Medha-tithi’s discussion of The Laws of Manu and their treatment of the duties of kings there is a strong causal connection between the king’s ability to guard the people against both seen and unseen afflictions and the integrity and longevity of the kingdom.

Security and family life The Sanskrit word raks.an.a and the modern Hindi word suraks.a- are used to convey concepts concerning protection, both in a public and in a private sense. As discussed above, raks.an.a was used in classical statecraft to refer to the protection offered by a king and his army to society and subjects. In modern Hindi, words from the same root are used to denote public security policy. The concept of protection is at the core of a Hindu concept of state security. At the same time, in everyday Indian languages spoken in South Asia today (e.g. Hindi, Punjabi, Gujarati, etc.), these words also refer to the protection offered by private individuals to members of their family. A father has a duty to provide protection for his family, his daughters in particular; a brother has a duty to offer protection to his sister or other female members of the family who have similar roles; and sons have obligations to protect their mothers. These duties indicate that Hindu ideas of security, specified here as the concept of protection, enter social reality on many levels. This holistic approach becomes clearer if we look again at the Hindu literature about dharma. Here we can see that the Hindu concept of security/protection is not only about protecting people from external threats but also about guarding them against the evil inclinations in their own minds and hearts. This aspect of protection becomes especially relevant when the Hindu legal thinkers turn to the issue of gender relations. In chapter nine of The Laws of Manu, for example, Manu explains that it is the duty of men to guard or protect women. “Her father guards (raks.ati) her in her childhood, her husband guards her in her youth, and her sons guard her in her old age” (Olivelle 2004: 96, 155). Medha-tithi explains that guarding or protecting women means averting that which is bad or unprofitable (anartha). The commentator also points out that all the men in the household are responsible for the protection of women in all stages of life, although fathers, husbands, and sons are assigned special responsibilities during the three stages of a woman’s life (Jha 1939, Vol. 2: 242; Jha 1926, Vol. 5: 3). Medha-tithi states that women are not strong enough to protect themselves and therefore must rely on the protection of others. However, the next verses of Manu and commentaries reveal that the protection of women is not only against external dangers and threats. Manu 9.5 states that women must be guarded against their own desires and impulses, or else they will 83

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bring grief to families. This protection is gender-specific, as males are protectors in the household and females receive protection. In Medha-tithi’s commentary on Manu 8.2, he draws a parallel between a householder’s authority in the home and the king’s authority in the kingdom. He says that the householder is entitled to inflict punishment (dan.d.a) in minor cases in the household. In the case of minor offenses (aparadha) the householder (gr.hastha) acts like the king, while in serious cases he must report to the king (Jha 1939: 72). We should note here that the word denoting punishment (dan.d.a) of family members is the same as the word denoting punishment of criminals or punishment of hostile kingdoms by military action. Of course, one word may refer to different concepts in different contexts, but other important treatises on dharma assume the same parallel between the king’s authority over his subjects and the householder’s authority over the members of his household (Lingat 1967: 235). It seems, then, that the concept and norms of protection are present from the top to bottom of society, according to Hindu political and social ideology and practice. The king is at the very top of the hierarchy of protection. His primary responsibility is to protect beings in his realm. At the lower end of the hierarchy is the father, the head of the Hindu household, and he is responsible for the protection of the members of the family. As one prominent scholar of Hindu jurisprudence and politics put it: “The ra-ja [king] was viewed as the apex of a broadbased pyramid of authority, judicial and administrative” (Derrett and Duncan 1975: 132). We might reasonably identify the Hindu concept of security as a hierarchy of protection—on the level of the state, on the level of civil society, and on the level of families and extended families. Two implications result from this vision of security. First, the distinction between public and private security is far less clear in the Hindu tradition than in modern Western thought. The “public” security offered by the king is simply seen as a higher form of the “private” security given to members of a household by the ideal father and householder. Second, it seems reasonable to say that the Hindu concept of security is gendered on all levels. The king is the man and the punisher, in the words of Manu, and he is often talked about in the literature in gendered terms. For instance, sometimes he is thought of as “married” to his kingdom as a bridegroom to a bride, and he punishes his subjects as a man should punish unruly members of his household. Kaut.ilya says in several places that the king should behave as a father towards his subjects. Women are, at least in theory, dependent on male guardianship through their lives both in order to avert external dangers and to suppress dangerous urges within themselves. Important elements of this world view are clearly present in many Hindu communities today. One ethnographic study of high-caste Hindus in the city of Banaras showed how the concept of protection is a major factor in gender relationships (Derné 1995). A majority of the men in this study believed it was important to protect girls and young women against impulses from the outside world, and most of the men said they are careful not to let their daughters or young wives leave the house unaccompanied. “Shame” (lajja-) is a Hindu woman’s most important ornament, according to both men and women in this study, and the shame and modesty of the individual girl or woman is closely linked to the honor of the larger family. The need to protect the honor of the family is an important reason why high-caste Hindu men protect their girls and women. This idea of household security is present in some Hindu rituals and customs. The most obvious example might be the Hindu festival of raks.a-bandhan. In the raks.a-bandhan sisters tie a band around their brother’s wrist to symbolize their dependence on their male siblings for protection. For proponents of modern human rights—especially genderequality—the concept of security and protection expressed in this type of traditional, high-caste Hindu world view is problematic because it clearly restricts the freedom of women and gives men power over them. 84

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Hindu non-violence and freedom from fear In addition to the concept of security as protection, Hinduism has a long-standing tradition of pursuing security through non-violence. Hinduism is famous for the concept of ahim.sa- (nonviolence), due in large part to the activism of Mahatma Gandhi. Hindu thought about the value of ahim.sa- is extremely old and seems to be connected with developments regarding the animal sacrifices that were central to the Vedic religion that dominated India around 1500–1000 BCE. Around the middle of the first millennium BCE, significant religious and philosophical transformations took place in the society centered on the Ganges plains of northern India. Movements both internal and external to the orthodox Brahmin culture challenged the practice of animal sacrifice and the beliefs that underpinned it. Philosophers that we may call early Hindus, as well as Buddhists and Jains, taught that the Brahmins had missed the point with their carefully choreographed sacrificial rituals. The true rituals and the true sacrifices, the opponents said, took place inside the physical body of the person who devoted himself to correct religious discipline. The law of karma, which literally means “action,” meant that outward acts, and violent acts in particular, produced bad results for the individual in a future life. They developed the idea that all living beings are reborn, and many of the religious groups that emerged in that era believed that the goal of religious life—salvation—meant release from the eternal cycle of rebirth and painful existence. From this point of view, ahim.sa- was seen by many Hindus as a fundamental ingredient of right religious practice. Ahim.sa- has always had this very fundamental role in individual religiosity, but the idea of non-violence colored political thought in South Asia from early times, too. A good king would offer ahim.sa- as a way to make his subjects secure and happy, and a proclamation of non-violent policies was thought to produce abhaya. In English translations of Hindu texts, the Sanskrit word abhaya is often rendered as “security.” The fundamental meaning of the word is really “non-fear” or “freedom from fear”; bhaya means “fear” and the prefix, “a,” makes the word into its opposite. Abhaya is the state of not fearing for external and internal threats to life and property; it is a positive state that may be a result of the protection and safety that the king bestows on society. The ideal Hindu king (ra-ja-) was expected to grant security to his people and the gift of security (abhayada-na) was regarded as something an ideal king would offer to his subjects (Lingat 1967: 232). This gift was an active bestowal of something that people needed and craved (Hibbets 1999: 442–43). One precondition for abhaya is physical security of life and property, but abhaya carries a number of other, less tangible meanings. In fact, abhaya often has connotations that we might call religious or metaphysical. Several religious groups that arose within the Hindu world were not content with the freedom from fear offered by physical and economic guarantees. Their goal was to anchor freedom from fear in a much more fundamental way. Buddhists, Jains, and Hindu sects sought abhaya through strict religious practice, including various forms of meditation. Freedom from fear came to be seen as a hallmark of true religious achievement and an aspect of salvation (nirva-n.a or moks.a) (Brekke 1999). Through the history of diverse Hindu kingdoms, tension between the ideals of non-violence and the necessities of politics was inevitable, and this tension is the main theme in the most famous of all Hindu texts: the Bhagavad-gı-ta-. The Gı-ta- is one small part of the great epic called the Maha-bha-rata, which relates the story of a war between two branches of the same family. When the decisive battle is about to start, the hero Arjuna is overcome with despair at the prospect of killing his own kinsmen and for a moment he wants to dodge his dharmic duty as a warrior and embrace the path of non-violence. However, the god Kr.s.n.a intervenes and explains to Arjuna how he should resolve this dilemma cognitively and morally. 85

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There are many ways to read the conversation between Kr.s.n.a and Arjuna about violence and non-violence. Mahatma Gandhi offered a modern exposition of the idea of ahim.sa- that was informed by his reading of the Bhagavad-gı-ta-. Gandhi’s ideas about non-violent resistance to colonial oppression emerged partly from the Hindu tradition and partly from his wide reading of Western thinkers, both classical and modern (Brown 1991; Parekh 1997). In Gandhi’s world view, ahim.sa- was not just the absence of overt violence; it was a total approach to life. He believed that it is impossible to avoid all violence (him.sa-) in this world—simply by eating one must necessarily destroy life. From a Gandhian point of view, non-violence is not simply the absence of overt violence, and security is not only the absence of overt and manifest threats. Real non-violence and sustainable security demand a total way of relating to life in the world: with universal love for everybody and a willingness to suffer. Gandhi did not see his own ideology and practice of non-violence as a strategy of the weak. He insisted that his rejection of violence cannot be simply equated with passive resistance. On the contrary, Gandhi would say, ahim.sa- requires great strength and incessant activity. Gandhian non-violence is several things at the same time: a highly pragmatic approach to politics, the core of the life of satyagraha or “grasping for truth,” and a deeply religious ideal linked to Hindu ideas of the oneness of all beings. Militant groups of Hindu nationalists that emerged in the early decades of the twentieth century saw Gandhi’s strategy as weakness and powerlessness, but he insisted, on the contrary, that violence is always the easiest solution. In his view, violence is a more passive and less creative route taken by people who fight against oppressors, like the Indians against the British Empire (Gandhi 1996–97: 134–35). For post-independence political leaders in India, Gandhi’s ideals seemed too unrealistic and anarchistic to be relevant to the task of governing a fragile young state. Indeed, Gandhi’s ideas about reconstructing the state and the economy were often naïve (Parekh 1997: 109ff). Still, Gandhi’s idea of non-violent resistance has had a great impact on social movements in many countries across the world, from the African-American Civil Rights Movement to the non-violent protest launched against the Burmese junta by Aung San Suu Kyi (Gandhi 1996–97: 140–41; Kapur 1993). In the end, however, forces in Indian society espousing overt and violent forms of power were provoked by what was perceived as lack of military strength and Hindu pride, and in 1948 Gandhi was murdered by an activist from the Hindu nationalist organization called the Rashtriya Swayamesevak Sangh (RSS). We now turn to this culture of aggressive Hinduism.

The contemporary Hindu challenge to security Despite Ghandi’s legacy of non-violence, India has seen a large number of violent incidents over the past decades in which assertive and nationalist Hindu organizations have attacked members of minorities, in particular Muslims and Christians. The activities of these organizations constitute a real threat to security in India. The center of gravity of this movement is the RSS, or National Volunteer Organization, founded in 1925 by K.B. Hedgewar (1889–1940) to promote Hindu national consciousness and action. During the turbulent times of the 1920s and 1930s, when large sections of the Indian elites were engaged in a struggle for independence from British rule, the RSS mostly stood on the side because it did not share the vision of an inclusive nation envisaged by leaders like Mahatma Gandhi and Jawaharlal Nehru. Through its centralized and authoritarian structure, the RSS controls a network of like-minded organizations (often collectively called the Sangh Parivar) devoted to the infusion of Hindu culture and values in different spheres of Indian society.6 Their strategy takes an aggressive stance against minorities that do not fit into the vision of Hindu nationalism. RSS activists and leaders have encouraged suspicion, or even hatred, of Muslims and Christians and they have 86

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created several militant organizations devoted to attacking members of these minority groups in different parts of India. Best known among the Hindu terrorist groups is the Bajrang Dal. Building on detailed research about violence between Hindus and Muslims in India after independence in 1947, Paul Brass has shown how an institutionalized “riot system” has been evolving in north India over decades (Brass 1996; 1999; 2003). Politicians and political organizations associated with the RSS or allied groups are implicated in the production of riots to justify the existence and activities of Hindu nationalist groups. The management of such organized rioting, with the resulting deterioration of human security in many parts of north India, is an essential element in the maintenance of militant Hindu nationalism. The political wing of the RSS is the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP), which was created in 1980. The party was established by members of the RSS, like A.B. Vajpayee and L.K. Advani, who later would play key roles in national politics. In the early years of its existence, the new party was often criticized by the RSS because the politicians launched a watered-down version of the Hindu fundamentalist program with little reference to Hindu culture. But the BJP benefited immensely from the erosion of secularism in the 1980s. During that decade, there were a number of Hindu–Muslim riots in north Indian cities, and the police forces often took the side of the Hindus. Where local police took part in riots against Muslims, the central government, headed by the Indian National Congress, did little to punish the crimes or reintroduce state neutrality towards the different religious communities of the country. In 1984, Indian authorities did little or nothing to prevent massacres of Sikhs in response to the assassination of Indira Gandhi by her Sikh bodyguards. These developments spurred the BJP’s increased political power from the late 1980s and through the 1990s, culminating in a coalition government with the BJP as the main party and A.B. Vajpayee as Prime Minister from 1999–2004. In their bid for power during the 1980s and 1990s, the RSS and several other Hindu nationalist organizations focused particular ire on a mosque allegedly built on the birthplace of the god Ra-ma in the city of Ayodhya. They claimed that the Muslim ruler Babar, the founder of the Mughal Empire in the early 1500s, had destroyed a temple to Ra-ma in Ayodhya to make room for the mosque, the Babri Masjid. The activists demanded that the judiciary and the government allow Hindus to take control of the land and build a temple to Ra-ma to redress what they saw as a historical injustice. (The use of history in this campaign has several parallels to similar disputes over territories and buildings in other parts of the world, such as in Israel–Palestine and Kosovo.) By staging large processions and mobilizing Hindu holy men (sadhus), the RSS, the BJP, and the Vishva Hindu Parishad sought to unite Hindus against Muslims. Hindu symbols were employed in this campaign; of particular importance was the mythological universe centred on the Hindu god Ra-ma, who is regarded as the epitome of religious righteousness and an embodiment of a specifically Hindu marriage of religion with politics. In December 1992, the campaign succeeded with the destruction of the mosque by Hindu activists.

Conclusion A specifically Hindu concept of security can be discerned through examining words in Hindi and Sanskrit that convey concepts of “protection,” “safety,” “security,” etc. In Hinduism the idea of protection can be identified in norms of statecraft as well as in beliefs about the proper ordering of family life. There is a hierarchy of protection running through Hindu society, at least in theory, from the king at the top to the father of the household at the bottom. The gendered nature of this hierarchy has continuing implications for the status of women in Hindu India. Hinduism has, like all world religions, vast resources for justifying many different positions concerning the ordering of political and social life simply because Hinduism itself is many 87

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different things. Hinduism displays religious ideologies of non-violence alongside Machiavellian ideas about statecraft. It displays heroic warrior ideals in epic literature alongside the esoteric and sometimes bloody imagery and symbolism of the Tantric tradition. In modern times, Hinduism has influenced ideals of non-violence that have had a global impact, but it has also produced violent nationalism that continues to challenge Indian security. Because Hindu tradition heavily influences Indian legal and social ideas, it will always be intimately tied to conceptions of security on many levels, but practical outcomes will also be shaped by broader socio-political circumstances and leadership.

Notes 1 I would like to thank Dr. Sanjukta Gupta for discussing the topic of this chapter with me. 2 See for instance the official webpage of the Indian Ministry of Defence in Hindi at . 3 Sanskrit is an ancient Indian language. Hindi and many other modern Indian languages have developed from Sanskrit but have also incorporated many features from other languages. 4 When I refer to the Kaut.alı-ya Arthas´-astra I will refer to the number of the verse(s) in question. The verse can be looked up either in Kangle’s Sanskrit edition or in English translation; see References, Kangle 1975 and 1969. 5 Some have argued, mistakenly in my opinion, that Kaut.ilya’s ideal state is a welfare state (Kangle 1965: 118–19). 6 I believe the label “fundamentalist” is appropriate to describe some of these organizations, especially when compared to similar movements in other world religions (Brekke 2012).

References Agrawala, V.S. (1963) The Glorification of the Great Goddess, Varanasi: All India Kashiraj Trust. Bhattacharya, S. (1993) “Pluralism and Visible Path (Pratyaksha Marga) and Early Indian Idea of Polity,” Social Scientist, 21(12): 3–24. Brass, P. (1996) Riots and Pogroms, London and New York: Macmillan Press. ——(1999) Theft of an Idol: Text and Context in the Representation of Collective Violence, Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. ——(2003) The Production of Hindu–Muslim Violence in Contemporary India, Seattle: University of Washington Press. Brekke, T. (1999) “The Role of Fear in Indian Religious Thought with Special Reference to Buddhism,” Journal of Indian Philosophy, 27(5): 439–67. ——(2012) Fundamentalism: Prophecy and Protest in an Age of Globalization, New York: Cambridge University Press. Brown, J.M. (1991) Gandhi: Prisoner of Hope, New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Bryant, E. (2003) Kr.s.n.a: The Beautiful Legend of God, Shrimat Bha-gavata Pura-n.a, Book X, trans. with introduction and notes, London: Penguin. Derné, S. (1995) Culture in Action: Family Life, Emotion and Male Dominance in Banaras, India, Albany: State University of New York Press. Derrett, J. and Duncan, M. (1975) “Social and Political Thought and Institutions,” in A.L. Basham (ed.) A Cultural History of India, Oxford: Clarendon Press, pp. 124–40. Gandhi, Leela (1996–97) “Concerning Violence: The Limits and Circulation of Gandhian Ahimsa or Passive Resistance,” Cultural Critique, 35: 105–47. Hibbets, M. (1999) “Saving Them from Yourself: An Inquiry into the South Asian Gift of Fearlessness,” Journal of Religious Ethics, 27(3): 435–62. Jha, Ganganatha (1920) Manu Smrti—The Laws of Manu with the Bhashya of Medhatithi. Translated by Jha, Ganganatha, Calcutta: Calcutta University, Volume I, Part 1. ——(1921) Manu Smrti—The Laws of Manu with the Bhashya of Medhatithi. Translated by Jha, Ganganatha, Calcutta: Calcutta University, Volume I, Part 2. ——(1921) Manu Smrti—The Laws of Manu with the Bhashya of Medhatithi. Translated by Jha, Ganganatha, Calcutta: Calcutta University, Volume II, Part I.

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Hinduism and security ——(1921) Manu Smrti—The Laws of Manu with the Bhashya of Medhatithi. Translated by Jha, Ganganatha, Calcutta: Calcutta University, Volume II, Part II. ——(1922) Manu Smrti—The Laws of Manu with the Bhashya of Medhatithi. Translated by Jha, Ganganatha, Calcutta: Calcutta University, Volume III, Part 1. ——(1924) Manu Smrti—The Laws of Manu with the Bhashya of Medhatithi. Translated by Jha, Ganganatha, Calcutta: Calcutta University, Volume III, Part 2. ——(1924) Manu Smrti—The Laws of Manu with the Bhashya of Medhatithi. Translated by Jha, Ganganatha, Calcutta: Calcutta University, Volume IV, Part 1. ——(1926) Manu Smrti—The Laws of Manu with the Bhashya of Medhatithi. Translated by Jha, Ganganatha, Calcutta: Calcutta University, Volume IV, Part II. ——(1926) Manu Smrti—The Laws of Manu with the Bhashya of Medhatithi. Translated by Jha, Ganganatha, Calcutta: Calcutta University, Volume V. ——(1932) Manu Smrti with the Manu Bhashya of Medatithi (Sanskrit text) Calcutta: Royal Asiatic Society of Bengal, Vol. 1. ——(1939) Manu Smrti with the Manu Bhashya of Medatithi (Sanskrit text) Calcutta: Royal Asiatic Society of Bengal, Vol. 2. Kangle, R.P. (1965) The Kautilya Arthashastra, Part III, a study, Bombay: University of Bombay. ——(1969) The Kautilya Arthashastra, Part I, a critical edition with a glossary, Bombay: University of Bombay. ——(1975) The Kautilya Arthashastra, Part II, English translation with critical and explanatory notes, Bombay: University of Bombay. Kapur, S. (1993) Raising Up a Prophet: The African-American Encounter with Gandhi, Delhi: Oxford University Press. Lingat, R. (1967) Les Sources du Droit dans le Systeme Traditionel de l’Inde, Paris: Mouton & Co. Olivelle, P. (2004) The Law Code of Manu, trans. Patrick Olivelle, New York: Oxford University Press. Parekh, B. (1997) Gandhi: A Very Short Introduction, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Scharfe, H. (1989) The State in Indian Tradition, Leiden, Netherlands: E.J. Brill.

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9 ALL SHALL ABIDE IN PEACE, PROSPERITY, AND JUSTICE: SIKHISM AND SECURITY Pashaura Singh

Sikhism is not well understood by those outside the faith, especially in the West. Although there is a significant global diaspora of Sikhs, they are still predominantly found in Punjab, India. Sikhs number only about 25 million worldwide (of the major world religions, only Judaism is smaller). Ignorance and confusion about Sikhism abounds. In North America, for instance, one of the most common mistakes at the popular level is to confuse Sikhs with Muslims. In the post 9/11 context, this has had serious implications for the personal security of Sikhs. The first victim of violent backlash after the terrorist attacks of 9/11 was a Sikh, Balbir Singh Sodhi of Arizona, who was shot dead by an angry gunman calling himself a patriot. Mr. Sodhi became the target because he was wearing the Sikh turban and was mistaken as a Muslim. Even when Sikhs are not completely misidentified, they are still often stereotyped as having militant tendencies. This stems, in part, from misunderstandings about why traditional Sikh garb includes the kirpan, a small ceremonial sword. To outsiders the kirpan may seem to signal a propensity in Sikhism toward religiously-motivated violence, but in actuality it is symbolic of self-defense and protection of the innocent only; it has no aggressive meaning. Compounding the stereotype further is the history of inter-communal violence in India. The highest profile incident involving Sikhs (discussed further below) was the 1984 assassination of Prime Minister Indira Gandhi, who was gunned down by two of her Sikh bodyguards. Like all faith traditions, Sikhism has some violence in its history, especially in times of nationalistic or secessionist fervor. However, my argument in this chapter is that Sikhism also contains robust ethics regarding not only the use of force but also the broader task of achieving sustainable security through transformative initiatives like reconciliation and restorative justice. Many scholarly and popular accounts of the evolution of Sikh thought present an overly simplified narrative in which the faith was essentially pacifist at its fifteenth-century origins but later became a kind of military brotherhood in response to prolonged persecution. Such narratives overlook important elements of contextual complexity. Herein I briefly highlight key sources of Sikh thought on security, drawing especially from the Adi Granth (Original Book; hereafter abbreviated AG), the principal scripture of the Sikhs, and from writings attributed to the tenth Guru Gobind Singh. I then provide a historical overview of the Sikh experience in war and peace, noting both negative and positive Sikh contributions to security and describing key current trends. 90

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Sikhism and the ethics of force and security Sikhism originated five centuries ago in the land of Punjab. Its founder, Guru Nanak (1479– 1539), stressed the notions of divine unity and the equality of human beings in a society rife with conflict between Hindus and Muslims. For the next two centuries Sikhism evolved in response to changing historical circumstances and under the guidance of Guru Nanak’s nine successors, beginning with Guru Angad (1504–52) and ending with Guru Gobind Singh (1666–1708), the tenth and the last human Guru of the Sikhs. The tradition quickly became demarcated from other religions in its doctrines, practices, and style. Its fundamental message relates to the ideal of achieving spiritual liberation within a person’s lifetime through meditation on the divine Name. It is oriented toward action, inspiring the dignity of regular labor, family life, and social responsibility. Sikhism is strictly a lay organization, which makes the issue of religious authority a complex one. The Sikh Panth (community) recognizes no priesthood, and there is no centralized “church” or an attendant religious hierarchy. In 1699 Guru Gobind Singh inaugurated the Khalsa, an order of loyal Sikhs bound by common identity and discipline. He symbolically transferred his authority to the scripture (Guru Granth) and the community (Guru Panth) together when he died in 1708. Recently, Dorn and Gucciardi (2011: 67) have pointed out that Sikhs have yet to “build a theory for the justified use of armed forces and for military ethics more generally.” Similarly, Brekke (2011: 411) has argued that “there is no systematic attempt to discuss under what circumstances, under what authority, and for what causes war is legitimate or just” (jus ad bellum), and that “there is no trace of jus in bello, i.e. a systematic thinking about rules of war and combat typically revolving around issues such as the distinction between combatants and civilians, and proportionality of means and ends in war.” A key reason for the lack of a formal tradition of just war theorizing in Sikhism is that, as the world’s youngest major religion, Sikhism has had to address the various doctrinal, philosophical, and cultural dilemmas and divergent approaches in a more compact timeframe and within a context of persistent political turmoil. While many other world religions have had many centuries, even millennia, to work through various theological and ethical issues, Sikhism has only just begun to make its impact in both the scholarly field and the world of comparative religion and ethics. A primary source for Sikh thought on security is of course the faith’s founder, Guru Nanak. Of particular note is Guru Nanak’s own poignant response to the lived reality of warfare. The first Mughal emperor, Babur (1483–1530), invaded northern India in the 1520s and achieved his final victory over Ibrahim Lodhi in 1526 on the field of Panipat. Guru Nanak condemned the violence inflicted on innocent people in his four hymns, collectively known as Babur-vani (AG: 360, 417–18, and 722–23). In fact, these hymns provide an eye-witness account of Babur’s invasion of India and throw considerable light on the devastation caused by his army. Guru Nanak was pained to see the suffering of the innocent who had little to do with politics and war: You spared Khurasan but yet spread fear in Hindustan. Creator, you did this, but to avoid the blame you sent the Mughal as the messenger of death. Receiving such chastisement, the people cry out in agony and yet no anguish touches you. Creator, you belong to all. If the mighty destroy only one another, 91

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one is not grieved. Refrain. But if a mighty lion falls upon a herd of cattle, then the master is answerable. The wretched dogs (Lodhis) have spoiled the priceless jewels; when they are dead no one will regard them. You alone unite and you alone divide; thus is your glory manifested. (AG: 360) Here, the principal theme is related to the question of why the weak and innocent should suffer unmerited torment at the hands of the strong. In this respect this hymn has obvious affinities with the Book of Job. God is called into account, just as Job summons him. Guru Nanak made it quite explicit that it was the Creator who sent Babur as the messenger of death to destroy the Lodhi Sultanate. With a firm belief in God’s omnipotence he offered the solution to the problem of suffering as follows: “You alone unite and you alone divide; thus is your glory manifested.” Nevertheless, Guru Nanak underscored the point that if any mighty person attacks “the weak and unarmed” person then it is a violation of an ethical norm of warfare (K. Singh 1989: 116). A careful examination of the four hymns of the Babur-vani reveals a powerful critique of both the invaders and the rulers. Guru Nanak described the Lodhis as “wretched dogs” for their moral failure to protect their sovereignty and the innocent (ratan, “jewels”) people. They had acted in a manner contrary to the divine intention and were responsible for the ultimate overthrow of their dynasty. In the Tilang hymn, on the other hand, Guru Nanak referred to Babur’s army as the “marriage-party of evil,” immorally demanding a “dowry” from the suffering people (AG: 722). Elsewhere, Guru Nanak was deeply anguished over the horrible situation of women being raped by soldiers who did not bother to discriminate between Hindus and Muslims who were in their path (AG: 417). He employed the Punjabi phrase “stripping of one’s honor” to describe the rape of women by the Mughal army. In Guru Nanak’s view, the enormity of violence caused by Babur’s army violated ethical norms that must be followed during warfare. During the period of Guru Nanak’s nine successors three key events took place. The first was the compilation of the AG in 1604, under the sponsorship of the fifth Guru, Arjan (1563– 1606). As canonical scripture, this text provided a framework for the shaping of the Sikh Panth (community). The second key event was Guru Arjan’s execution by the Mughal authorities at Lahore in 1606, a tragedy that became a turning point in the history of the Sikh Panth. His son and successor, Guru Hargobind (1595–1644), signaled the formal process of empowering the Sikh Panth for defense purposes when he traditionally donned two swords symbolizing the spiritual (piri) as well as the temporal (miri) investiture. He also built the Akal Takhat (Throne of the Timeless One) facing the Harimandir (the present-day Golden Temple in Amritsar), which represented the newly assumed role of temporal authority. Under his direct leadership the Sikh Panth took up arms to protect itself from Mughal hostility. Much of the seventeenth century was, therefore, marked by political and military conflict with the Mughals, culminating with the execution of the ninth Guru, Tegh Bahadur (1621–75), in Delhi, by order of the Mughal emperor, Aurangzeb (r. 1658–1707), for refusing to renounce his faith in favor of Islam. The third important event was the founding by Guru Gobind Singh of the institution of the Khalsa (Pure), an order of loyal Sikhs bound by common identity and discipline. On Baisakhi Day, 1699, at Anandpur, Guru Gobind Singh initiated the first Cherished Five (panj piare), who formed the nucleus of the new order of the Khalsa. They received their initiation through a 92

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formal ceremony involving sweetened water (amrit) stirred with a two-edged sword and sanctified by the recitation of five liturgical prayers. In turn, Guru Gobind Singh asked the five volunteers to initiate him, after which he initiated many more men and women into the Khalsa order in the same way. He assumed characteristics of the spiritual leader and of a ruler, who had specific responsibilities to protect righteousness (dharam). Not surprisingly, waging battle was part of the dharmic responsibility of the Guru. He established his army in the Order of the Khalsa that would retain “its commitment by steadfastly refusing the temptation to seek concealment in times of danger.” Most instructively, his army was never to wage war for power, for gain, or for personal rancor. As McLeod says, “The Khalsa was resolutely to uphold justice and to oppose only that which is evil” (1997: 105). Let us now closely look at the text of Zafarnama (Letter of Victory) as an example of Sikh ethics of peacemaking, reconciliation, restorative justice, and just war (P. Singh 2001: 206–09). The Zafarnama is the letter that Guru Gobind Singh addressed to Aurangzeb in response to Aurangzeb’s personal message. It contains certain references to the promises made by the Mughal officials before the evacuation of Anandpur by Guru Gobind Singh, who had resisted them for a considerable length of time. These promises were not kept, and the Guru was obliged to fight the battle of Chamkaur in which he was overwhelmed by a disproportionately large number of Mughal troops. Although he himself escaped unscathed, he lost two of his sons and many followers in the battle. The Guru’s letter makes a reference to the earlier written and verbal messages from Aurangzeb, probably asking the Guru to present himself before the Emperor. Guru Gobind Singh wrote the Zafarnama in the Persian language from Dina Kangar in the southern Punjab in February 1705 when he heard the news of the execution of his other two sons at Sarhind. Guru Gobind Singh was prepared to meet with Aurangzeb at his camp in the Deccan in South India where the Emperor was engaged in quelling disturbances. Unfortunately, Aurangzeb died while the Guru was on his way to the South, and thus the actual meeting between the two never took place. The text of the Zafarnama nevertheless shows Guru Gobind Singh’s “reputation for reconciliation” (Loehlin 1971: 78). The Guru begins with the invocation to the Supreme Being who is merciful particularly to those who follow the way of truth and trust. Those who serve the One beyond Time (Akal) and the Source of all Goodness (Yazdan) are protected by him against all enemies. The fact that Guru Gobind Singh had been protected by the Lord was ample proof of the justness of his cause: “Not even a single hair of mine was touched, nor my body suffered. For, God, the Destroyer of my enemies, himself pulled me out to safety” (verse 44). The Guru reminds Aurangzeb of divine justice: “When you and I will, both, repair to the Court of God, you will bear witness to what you did unto me” (verse 81). Here, Guru Gobind Singh is using the Islamic notion of judgment to expose the injustice of the Emperor who followed the law and traditions of Islam in every detail. He further warns Aurangzeb that his rule is one of painful oppression: “Shed not recklessly the blood of another with your sword, lest the Sword on High falls upon your neck” (verse 69). The sword that is invoked here is Akal Purakh (Timeless One, i.e. God) made manifest. Indeed, it is the God of justice visibly present as a sword wielded in defense of truth and righteousness. In the face of divine justice, tyrannies collapse because they run against the grain of human community. Secondly, the Zafarnama is essentially a homily on keeping one’s word. It is no wonder that Guru Gobind Singh upbraids Aurangzeb for breaking his oath that he took on the Qur’an. This refers to the treachery of his generals during the siege of Anandpur when, after promising safe conduct to the Guru’s forces for leaving the city, they attacked and looted the Guru’s property. It was a clear violation of solemn “treaty and agreements” reached during warfare (K. Singh 1989: 121). Thirdly, Guru Gobind Singh advocates the doctrine that one must first try all the peaceful means of negotiations in the pursuit of justice. Only when all those methods of redress have 93

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failed is it legitimate to draw the sword in defense of righteousness. Note the following celebrated verse of the Zafarnama: When all other methods have been explored and all other means have been tried, Then may the sword be drawn from the scabbard, then may the sword be used. (Zafarnama verse 22) Interestingly, Guru Gobind Singh is adapting here Shaikh Sa’adi’s eighth admonition (pand) of his Gulistan (Rose Garden) to appeal to Aurangzeb, who would undoubtedly be familiar with the text: “When the hand is foiled at every turn it is then permitted to take the sword in hand” (as quoted in Tasbihi 1967: 575). In line with Sa’adi’s understanding, the Guru justifies the use of force in defense of justice when all other alternatives fail. In this context, McLeod makes an important observation: “None of this should suggest that the Panth exists only to breathe fire or wield naked swords” (1989: 56). The use of force is certainly allowed in the Sikh doctrine, but it is authorized only in defense of justice and only as a last resort. Moreover, in the face of tyranny, justice can be defended and maintained only through sacrifices. The Zafarnama further stresses that no sacrifice is too great for the sake of truth and justice: “It does not matter if my four sons have been killed, the Khalsa is still there at my back” (verse 78). Fourthly, Guru Gobind Singh is extending an invitation to Aurangzeb to come to the village of Kangar in the southern Punjab. In spite of his terrible losses, the Guru shows his willingness to enter into dialogue with the Emperor. Guru Gobind Singh is prepared to encounter the Emperor and see him “face to face.” He wants to keep the channels of communication open with Aurangzeb. He promises protection to the Emperor on his journey in the area where the “whole tribe of Brars” is under his direct influence (verses 58–60). Since the Guru has been quite blunt and forthright in his letter, he promises to use “kind words” in their personal conversation. Such features are most significant in the process of reconciliation, and they are an integral part of any restorative approach to peacemaking. Finally, Guru Gobind Singh praises Aurangzeb and characterizes him with qualities that, according to some Sikh scholars, are not really vouched by the other parts of the Zafarnama (Hans 1988: 235). They maintain that this part of the text does not square with other statements. This is simply not the case. We need to closely look at the following verses: O Aurangzeb, king of kings, fortunate are you, An expert swordsman and a horseman too. O one of brilliant conscience and handsome body, You grant riches and lands in charity. You are the king of kings, ornament of the thrones of the world: Ruler of the age, but far from Islamic faith (din)! (Zafarnama, verses 89–94) Here, Guru Gobind Singh is trying to consider Aurangzeb as a person in new ways. He is focusing on his good qualities from a human perspective. He does not want to give offence to him with his ironic rebukes only. He is rather trying to convince the Emperor that he can no longer claim any legitimacy for his imperial sway, since he has departed from the principles of Islamic faith (din). The Guru is trying to appeal to Aurangzeb’s “brilliant conscience” to see what his officials had done to him. In fact, the Guru had made a perfect case before the Emperor in the 94

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Zafarnama, such that he won his immediate attention to redress his grievances. It is the restorative perspective that lends basic unity to the whole text of the Zafarnama. In sum, the Zafarnama of Guru Gobind Singh provides an excellent example of a restorative approach. It lays particular emphasis on keeping one’s word, open dialogue, and respect for basic human rights and dignity in the process of reconciliation. It also marks the boundaries of the use of force in conflict resolution, stressing ethical norms of righteous war (dharma yudh). When all peaceful means of redress fail, it is legitimate to draw the sword in defense of righteousness. The Zafarnama prepares both the Guru and the Emperor for “a face-to-face encounter” and opens new ways to see each other as persons, to respect each other, and to identify with the experiences of the other. Although Guru Gobind Singh and Aurangzeb never met, the Zafarnama laid the foundation of resolving the age-old conflict between the Sikhs and the Mughal authorities. It is no wonder that the meeting between the Guru and Emperor Bahadur Shah (r. 1707–12) increased their mutual understanding and commitment to resolve their differences. Indeed, the Zafarnama stands for the victory of the principles of reconciliation, personal responsibility, vindication, negotiation, restoration, and healing which are the hallmarks of the theory and practice of restorative justice (P. Singh 2001: 209).

Norms of peace and peacemaking in Sikhism As founder, Guru Nanak was the central authority for the early Sikh Panth and the definer of tradition for his age. For him, the true spiritual life required that “one should live on what one has earned through hard work and share with others the fruit of one’s exertion” (AG: 1245). In addition, service, self-respect, truthful living, humility, sweetness of the tongue, and taking only one’s rightful share were regarded as highly prized virtues in the pursuit of spiritual liberation and peaceful living in the world. In the social context, Guru Nanak advocated the virtue of justice in its legalistic sense and made it to be the principal characteristic of the ruler and the administrator (AG: 1240). He severely condemned the contemporary qazi (Muslim jurist) who had become morally corrupt by selling justice and having no concern for the truth: “The qazi tells lies and eats filth” (AG: 662). In Punjabi culture, the phrase “to eat filth” referred to “unlawfully earned food” in those days when the qazi used to take bribes to deprive people of justice (AG: 951). Guru Nanak further proclaimed that “to deprive others of their rights must be avoided as scrupulously as Muslims avoid the pork and the Hindus consider beef as a taboo” (AG: 141). The text of the Mul Mantar (root formula) with which the Adi Granth opens provides us with the basic theological statement of the Sikh faith. It consists of different epithets, all of which are understood as characterizations of Akal Purakh. In particular, the two Punjabi words Nirbhau (Fearless) and Nirvairu (Without Enmity) have special significance vis-à-vis Sikh concepts of security. They are employed to put emphasis on the divine attributes of fearlessness, justice, and benevolence. Guru Nanak employed the word Nirvairu for the Supreme Being (AG: 931), but the frequency of its usage is greater in the compositions of the fourth Guru, Ram Das (1534–81). This may reflect his firm resolve to counteract the situation of hostility in real life, created by the animosity of his rivals, with the spirit of love and friendliness (Hans 1988). He proclaims: “If anybody has ill words for the devotees of Akal Purakh, they do not lose their equanimity. It is for Akal Purakh to arrange things for his devotees” (AG: 719). As a matter of fact, when the fourth Guru was designated to the office of the Guru he openly “redeemed all the slanderers and evil detractors” (AG: 307). A scriptural passage reflects a real life incident when a “detractor” was completely forgiven by Guru Ram Das and he was reintegrated in the congregation (AG: 854–55). In his compositions, the fifth Guru, Arjan, claims to have established the rule of justice and humility (halemi raj) in the town of Ramdaspur (Amritsar): “The merciful Lord has now 95

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ordained a commandment that none shall be domineering over others. All shall abide in peace, prosperity, and justice. Thus is established the rule of justice and humility on earth” (AG: 74). This verse of Guru Arjan has become the divine manifesto of Sikhism ever since, “clearly indicating that this new religion was not only a theological path towards spiritual salvation, but also a secular, temporal process of ushering in a new socio-political order” (Ahluwalia 1983: 145). The Guru further says: “There is no other place like the beautiful and thickly populated Ramdaspur. The ideal divine rule prevails in Ramdaspur due to the grace of the Guru. No tax is levied, nor is any fine; there is no collector of taxes” (AG: 817). Evidently Ramdaspur was an autonomous town and its administration was in the hands of Guru Arjan. Traditionally, the Sikhs have always been preoccupied with the understanding of the spiritual roots of the principles of justice, dignity, and fearlessness. Even when militancy became an integral part of the tradition under the pressure of historical circumstances, Sikhs maintained a hold on the basic values of tolerance, humanity, and service. Bhai Gurdas defended the new martial response as “hedging the orchard of the Sikh faith with hardy and thorny kikar tree” (Var 26: 25). It is, however, instructive to note that Guru Hargobind, who fought to resist the oppression of the Mughal authorities, founded a village known as Sri Hargobindpur. In that village he built at his own expense a mosque for Muslims and a temple for Hindus (H. Singh 1971: 128). Moreover, the Guru instructed that even when one is fighting in the battle one should do so without any feeling of enmity towards one’s foe. During the period of the ninth Guru, Tegh Bahadur, the increasing strength of the Sikh movement in the rural areas again attracted Mughal attention. His ideas of a just society may be seen in the following couplet on fearlessness: “He who holds none in fear, nor is afraid of anyone, is acknowledged as a man of true wisdom” (AG: 1427). This is the ideal state for human beings, individually and socially. In this context, Harbans Singh aptly remarks: In this condition no one submits to highhandedness and exploitation and no one has the chance to dominate, despoil, or demean another. In this state there is no aggression, nor any fear of aggression. Peace is the value prized most: peace is thus ensured. (H. Singh 1971: 125) Moreover, Guru Tegh Bahadur advocated religious liberty and posed a direct challenge to Emperor Aurangzeb who was determined to impose Islam on all his non-Muslim subjects. When a group of Hindu pandits (scholars) from Kashmir asked for the Guru’s help against Aurangzeb’s oppressive measures, he agreed to do whatever was necessary to defend their rights. A message was sent to the Emperor saying that if Guru Tegh Bahadur could be persuaded to accept Islam, the Hindus would convert as well. Accordingly, the Guru was summoned to Delhi by the orders of the Emperor, and on his refusal to embrace Islam he was publically executed in Chandni Chowk on 11 November 1675. The Sikhs perceived his death as the second martyrdom, which involved the “larger issues of human rights and freedom of conscience” (H. Singh 1982: 104). If the martyrdom of Guru Arjan had helped bring the Sikh Panth together, Guru Tegh Bahadur’s martyrdom helped to make the protection of human rights central to its identity. Most instructively, Wilfred Cantwell Smith remarked that “the attempt forcibly to convert the ninth Guru to an externalized, impersonal Islam clearly made an indelible impression on the martyr’s nine-year-old son, Gobind, who reacted slowly but deliberately by eventually organizing the Sikh group into a distinct, formal, symbol-patterned, boundaried community” (Smith 1981: 191). Indeed, the inauguration of the Khalsa was the culmination of the canonical period of the development of Sikhism. The most visible symbols of Sikhism known as the Five 96

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Ks—namely uncut hair (kes), an iron wristlet (kara), a short sword (kirpan), a comb for the topknot (kangha), and undergarment breeches (kachh)—became mandatory as part of the Khalsa Rahit (Code of Conduct).

Violent and non-violent “militancy” Sikhism is dedicated to the defense of human rights and resistance against injustice. It strives to eliminate poverty and to offer voluntary help to the less privileged. It is committed to the ideal of universal brotherhood/sisterhood, and with an altruistic concern for humanity as a whole. In a celebrated passage from the Akal Ustat (Praise of the Immortal One), Guru Gobind Singh declares that “humankind is one, and all people belong to a single humanity” (verse 85). Here it is important to underline the Guru’s role as a conciliator who tried to persuade the Mughals to walk the ways of peace. Even though he had to spend the greater part of his life fighting battles forced on him by Hindu hill rajas (chieftains) and Mughal authorities, a longing for peace and fellowship may be seen in a passage from the Akal Ustat: The temple and the mosque are the same, so are the Hindu worship (puja) and Muslim prayer (namaz). All people are one; it is through error that they appear different. … Allah and Abhekh are the same; the Purana and the Qur’an are the same. They are all alike, all the creation of the One (verse 86). The above verses emphasize the belief that the differences dividing people are in reality meaningless. In fact, all people are fundamentally the same because they all are the creations of the same Supreme Being. Sikhs of the Khalsa spent most of its first century fighting the armies of Mughals and Afghan invaders. The Rahit-namas (Manuals of Code of Conduct) provide a rare insight into the evolving nature of the Khalsa code in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. In fact, the Rahit grew considerably during the eighteenth century in response to Mughal campaigns and later to the Afghan menace, and it produced injunctions that were clearly aimed at protecting the Khalsa from enemies who were seen to be Muslims. For instance, the Tanakhah-nama (Manual of Penances) is the oldest document written during the period of Guru Gobind Singh and its earliest extant manuscript is dated 1716 CE. The following relevant extracts from it throw considerable light on the ideology concerning warfare: He is a Khalsa who in fighting never turns his back … . He is a Khalsa who does not look covetously on another’s wife or property … . He is a Khalsa who repeats the divine Name … . He is a Khalsa who destroys the oppressor. (McLeod 2005: 284) In the Chaupa Singh Rahit-nama (1740–65 CE), we find certain rules pertaining to weapons and warfare and the Khalsa reverence for swords and other weapons. There are also certain references to ideas of legitimization: “The right to rule is won and sustained by the sword. Arms should only be used, however, when there is good cause for doing so” (McLeod 1987: 40). The historical context indicates that resistance against the oppression of the Mughals was the legitimate reason for going to war. Chaupa Singh also gives some brief comments on rules for the battlefield: “A Singh should never turn his back in battle. Always aid a wounded, disabled, or exhausted Sikh on the battlefield. Always have slain Sikhs cremated on the battlefield if possible” (McLeod 1987: 40). 97

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An Afghan clerk, Qazi Nur Muhammad, who was part of Ahmad Shah Abdali’s raid of Punjab in 1764–65, keenly described the martial traits of the Sikhs: Don’t call the Singhs sag [dogs], since they are in truth lions. Why would you call men who are courageous lions in the battlefield “dogs”? They are soldiers who are like roaring lions. If you want to learn the science of war, learn it from them. (Dhavan 2011: 139) The Qazi reluctantly admitted that “the Singhs were men of honor” who never attacked anyone who would be considered weak and helpless. He further remarked that the targets of Sikhs never included women, who were treated as if they were old (burhiyas) respectable ladies. By the end of the eighteenth century, Ranjit Singh (1780–1839) succeeded in unifying the Punjab, taking control of Lahore and declaring himself Maharaja in 1799. For the next four decades the Sikh community enjoyed more settled political conditions, and with territorial expansion as far as Peshawar in the west, people of different cultural and religious backgrounds were attracted into the fold of Sikhism. It is no wonder that the Sikhs “established relations of perfect amity with their former persecutors and made them partners in their rule” (H. Singh 1971: 129). For instance, note the following text of Maharaja Ranjit Singh’s decree of September 1825: Sincere Well-wisher, Fakir Nuruddin Ji, May you be happy. It is hereby decreed by His Highness with utmost emphasis that no person in the city should practice highhandedness and oppression on the people. Indeed, if even His Highness himself should issue an inappropriate order against any resident of Lahore, it should be brought to the notice of His Highness so that it may be amended. Protector of Bravery Malwa Singh should always be advised to dispense justice in accordance with legitimate right and without the slightest oppression and, furthermore, he should be advised to pass orders in consultation with Panches and Judges of the city and in accordance with Shastras and the Qur’an, as pertinent to the faith of the parties; for such is our pleasure. (Waheeduddin 1981: 17) The spirit of reconciliation was the bedrock of Maharaja Ranjit Singh’s reign. It was part of the complex process of state formation. This was the most effective strategy to negotiate with different religious communities to maintain peace and harmony. Indeed, this spirit of accommodation may be regarded as the legacy of Guru Gobind Singh’s vision of a common humanity. After the death of Maharaja Ranjit Singh in 1839, his successors could not withstand the pressure exerted by the advancing British forces. After two Anglo–Sikh wars, in 1846 and 1849, the Sikh kingdom was annexed to the British Empire. With the loss of the Punjab’s independence the Sikhs were no longer the masters of their own kingdom. The British deployed their system of control by including the Sikhs among the “martial races” to serve their own military purposes. Not surprisingly, one theory bestows credit for Sikh militancy on the British rulers who picked up the militant Khalsa version out of several Sikh identities available in the nineteenth century (Fox 1985). After Indian independence from Britain, and especially in the last two decades of the twentieth century, Sikh ethno-nationalism gathered strength. The main political party of the Sikhs in the Punjab, Akali Dal (Army of the Immortal), was demanding increased autonomy for all the states of India. As a result, Sikh relations with the Indian government became increasingly strained. In 98

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an apparent attempt to sow dissension in the ranks of the Akali Dal, the Congress government encouraged the rise of a charismatic young militant named Sant Jarnail Singh Bhindranwale (1947–84), who was “a homespun village preacher who called for repentance and action in defense of the faith” (Juergensmeyer 2000: 88). But this strategy backfired in the spring of 1984, when a group of armed radicals led by Bhindranwale decided to provoke a confrontation with the government by occupying the Akal Takhat (Throne of the Immortal) building inside the Golden Temple complex in Amritsar. The government responded by sending in the army. The assault that followed—code-named Operation Blue Star—resulted in the deaths of many Sikhs, including Bhindranwale, as well as the destruction of the Akal Takhat and severe damage to the Golden Temple itself. A few months later, in October 1984, Prime Minister Indira Gandhi was assassinated by her own Sikh bodyguards. For several days, unchecked Hindu mobs in Delhi and elsewhere killed thousands of Sikhs. Virginia Van Dyke (2009) has recently provided a summary of competing narratives of the Punjab crisis. The dominant narrative told by the Akali Dal and supported by many academic and journalistic sources focuses on the malfeasance and vindictiveness of the state, more specifically the Congress Party and Indira Gandhi herself. In this narrative, the rise of a militant movement was a creation of Congress, as summed up succinctly in an article in Tehelka: “In 1978 Sikh radicals backed by Congress took centre stage and were able to successfully destabilize the Parkash Singh Badal government. That led to nearly two decades of strife” (Dyke 2009: 126). In order to defeat the nefarious designs of Congress, so goes the narrative, there is a need for the coalition between the BJP (Bhartiya Janata Party) and the Akalis to preserve harmony and reassure the populace of continued peace. This coalition is also necessary in changing the image of the Sikhs as anti-national. In contrast to the above view, there are other narratives that focus on the desire of the Sikhs for autonomy or independence. And there are also opposing viewpoints to the argument that the coalition between the Akali Dal and the BJP is a statesman-like inter-communal alliance to preserve the peace. According to these alternative voices, including from those few and dwindling number of Akalis who do not belong to the Badal faction, the alliance with BJP is completely self-serving on the part of the BJP and Badal and his supporters. These voices are relatively muted due to the widespread desire for peace, along with structural changes that support the main Akali faction’s position (Dyke 2009: 126). However, there is still another narrative, one that deserves much more attention than it has received to date, namely a narrative highlighting the ongoing non-violent dimension of Sikh “militancy.” The representation of Sikhs and Sikhism in violent and militant images has been pivotal in popular understanding of Sikhism since colonial times. Sikh history is indeed replete with the valor of the Sikh warrior in battle. However, there is less attention to the Sikh warrior in equally and perhaps more demanding non-violent actions. For instance, Paul Wallace (2011) makes the point that the Sikhs are not essentially violent but militant, where “militancy” does not mean violence in actions and reactions alone, but also an aggressive and passionate stand for the cause of their religion and the Gurus. Through a study of the development of non-violent militancy, Wallace argues that public demonstrations and political demands through non-violent means have been more successful than violent ones. Three case studies (of the Gurdwara Reform movement from 1920–25, the Punjabi Suba (Province) movement from 1947–66, and the movement against the emergency imposed by the Prime Minister Indira Gandhi from 1975–77) highlight the strengths of non-violent struggles and those of the actors within the Akali Dal. The violence during the 1980s in Punjab, Wallace (2011: 85–101) argues, is now finding ways of closure through non-violent democratic means, moving away from “anti-centrism” to “cooperative federalism.” Conflict resolution can 99

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be found through measures of democratic process and accommodating the former militants in a peaceful manner, along with initiating transparency and justice through the state structure.

Conclusion This essay has highlighted the ways Sikhism has sometimes been part of the problem in security and sometimes part of the solution in sustainable security. In fact, acts of violence or non-violence are social phenomena that take place at particular historical junctures. They cannot be described as essential features of any community. The Punjab crisis of yesteryear reflected the multidimensionality of violence. On the one hand, involvement of Sikh militants in random acts of violence and guerrilla warfare were totally unwarranted and counterproductive. On the other hand, the state allowed the “chaos of insurgency to proliferate before brutally and clinically exterminating it almost at will” (Mandair 2007: 220); one cannot overlook the sheer egregious and unjust acts of state, killing in the name of order, security, and sheer power, especially when religious militants were the victims. In short, while the history of Sikhism contains some violence, as does the history of all world religions, the history of Sikh thought and practice also reveals a strong tradition of ethics about the use of force and the imperatives of peace and reconciliation. More broadly, Sikhism can contribute positively to sustainable security in today’s globalizing world through its model of enthusiastic acceptance of extraordinary diversity of faith and practice. In the pluralistic and multicultural societies of the postmodern world, where stress is being placed upon liberty, diversity, tolerance, security, and equality of race and gender, Sikh ideals are thoroughly in place in the developing values of the global society. To this day, Sikhs conclude their morning and evening prayers with the words: “In thy will, O Lord, May peace and prosperity come to one and all.”

References Ahluwalia, J.S. (1983) The Sovereignty of Sikh Doctrine, New Delhi: Bahri Publications. Brekke, T. (2011) “The Dharam Yudh or Just War in Sikhism” in K. Roy (ed.), Warfare and Politics in South Asia from Ancient to Modern Times, New Delhi: Manohar Publications, pp. 388–414. Dhavan, P. (2011) When Sparrows Became Hawks: The Making of the Sikh Warrior Tradition, 1699–1799, New York: Oxford University Press. Dorn, A.W. and Gucciardi, S. (2011) “The Sword and the Turban: Armed Force in Sikh Thought,” Journal of Military Ethics, 10(1): 52–70. Dyke, V.V. (2009) “Politics in Punjab,” Sikh Formations, 5(2): 125–27. Fox, R.G. (1985) Lions of the Punjab, Berkeley: University of California Press. Hans, S. (1988) A Reconstruction of Sikh History from Sikh Literature, Jalandhar: A.B.S. Publications. Loehlin, C.H. (1971) The Granth of Guru Gobind Singh and The Khalsa Brotherhood, Lucknow: Lucknow Publishing House. Juergensmeyer, M. (2000) Terror in the Mind of God, Berkeley: University of California Press. Mandair, A. (2007) “The Global Fiduciary,” in J.R. Hinnells and R. King (eds.), Religion and Violence in South Asia, London: Routledge, pp. 200–213. McLeod, W.H. (trans. and ed.) (1987) The Chaupa Singh Rahit-nama, Dunedin, New Zealand: University of Otago Press. McLeod, W.H. (1989) The Sikhs: History, Religion, and Society, New York: Columbia University Press. ——(1997) Sikhism, London: Penguin Books. ——(2005) Sikhs of the Khalsa: A History of the Khalsa Rahi, New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Singh, H. (1971) “Sikhism and World Peace,” The Journal of Religious Studies, 3(1): 121–31. ——(1982) Guru Tegh Bahadur, New Delhi: Sterling Publishers.

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Singh, K. (1989) Political Philosophy of the Sikh Gurus, New Delhi: Atlantic Publishers. Singh, P. (2001) “Sikhism and Restorative Justice: Theory and Practice,” in M.L. Hadley (ed.) The Spiritual Roots of Restorative Justice, Albany: State University of New York Press, p. 199–216. Smith, W.C. (1981) On Understanding Islam, The Hague, Netherlands: Mouton Publishers. Tasbihi, M.H. (ed.) (1967) The Persian-English Gulistan or Rose Garden of Sa’adi (trans. Edward Rehatsek), Tehran: Shargh’s Press. Waheeduddin, F.S. (1981) The Real Ranjit Singh, Patiala: Punjabi University. Wallace, P. (2011) “Sikh Militancy and Non-Violence,” in P. Singh (ed.) Sikhism in Global Context, New Delhi: Oxford University Press.

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10 THE PROTECTION OF DHARMA AND DHARMA AS PROTECTION: BUDDHISM AND SECURITY ACROSS ASIA Iselin Frydenlund

“Buddhism” refers to a wide range of traditions that relate their teaching and practice to the Buddha, but the term itself is an artificial construct that points to difference rather than similarity in terms of the object of study. As Buddhism spread across Asia it adopted a variety of forms. Thus, Buddhism must be understood as a translocal, complex historical formation that draws on certain core elements but also allows for plurality. Moreover, all religious traditions and communities are constantly reconstituted communities: they are in flux, rethought and contested through time and space. These discourses and practices are produced in a web of meaning, constituting what we think of as “tradition.” In the first half of this chapter I will discuss Buddhist political paradigms, justifications of violence, and ritual protection. Thereafter, I will analyze Buddhism’s complex relations with states in contemporary Asia, indicating Buddhism’s potential for security as well as insecurity.

Royal protection of dharma Ideas and practices of individual as well as collective protection abound in early Buddhist literature. Dharma (the Teaching, righteousness, norms) is often seen as a provider of protection (in Pa-li: ra-kkha or pa-ritta), as warding off evil thoughts, or physical threats, but is also used in the context of state security. In fact, dharma has a particular political dimension to it, which is reflected in ideas of Buddhist just rule. Kings flourish in both canonical and post-canonical Buddhist literature.1 The historical Buddha was himself of aristocratic background and abandoned his own political career to seek enlightenment; the tales in the Ja-taka recall the life of the Buddha as a king in previous lives; and the canonical texts reflect many meetings between the Buddha and various kings during the former’s lifetime. Although the Buddha was generally silent about political affairs, a Buddhist ideology of kingship (different from that of Hinduism)2 gradually developed, which was based upon narratives in early texts, as well as historical practice. Different interpretations were made of canonical and post-canonical texts in each of the cultures where Buddhism established itself. 102

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Various practices arose, giving rise to different political paradigms throughout the Buddhist world. The early Buddhist view of the state begins as a quasi-contractual arrangement under which the king performs certain functions in return for certain rights.3 For example, one of the texts in the Pa-li canon, the Aggañña Sutta tells of a dim past, when humans fell from a state of happiness into a state of greed and violence.4 To save themselves from anarchy, they elected an outstanding individual, the maha-sammata. This text rejects the divine basis of the caste system, as well as the divine right of kings, and is the first reference in Indian political thought to a theory of social contract (Gombrich 1988). The Aggañña Sutta presents the maha-sammata as the first Buddhist king. And later kings, particularly in Burma and Sri Lanka, trace their descent from Maha-sammata. A second paradigm articulates the “two wheels” theory that became the basis of much early Buddhist political theory. This view was first articulated by King Aja-tasattu, who reputedly said that, while the monastic order was dharmacakra (the wheel of law), he (as king) was a-n.a-cakra (the wheel of command). This implies a clear distinction between the temporal and the spiritual, although their interdependence is also acknowledged (Gokhale 1966; 1969). The maha-sammata figure and the “two wheels” theory clearly testify to the importance of royal power in early Buddhism. Without royal power, anarchy and a-dharma would prevail. Moreover, the early Buddhists adjusted to the political context of the day, and several of the rules in the monastic code were amended to accommodate royal needs. However, kings are also often described as greedy and autocratic, and canonical texts refer to fear of royal tyranny. As monks were forbidden to enter politics, the only protest possible was for them to leave the territory of a despotic ruler. The need for social order—which was granted by the king—and royal support of the monastic order, on the one hand, and the fear of abuse of power, on the other, created a paradox that the early Buddhists sought to solve through ethicizing the state. Early Buddhists thus asserted the power of dharma over the state. Further, dharma was understood as a cosmic force that also regulates the order of nature. Therefore, if the king followed the dharma, he would be able, after observing particular rites, to master nature (e.g. rain-making) and thus secure the well-being of his population. It is within the third political paradigm that the ideal Buddhist king is shaped. Only a few sermons in the canon deal explicitly with kingship, the most famous being the Cakkavattisı-hana-da Sutta. This is the locus classicus of the doctrine of the ideal king, the cakravartin (“wheel-turning king”).5 The political principle laid down is that of the righteous ruler who conquers territory through the principles of righteousness and morality. He is the “secular” counterpart of the Buddha, and both are said to bear the 32 marks of the superhuman on their bodies. In one of the tales of the Buddha’s previous lives (Ja-taka IV 200) the ideal king, the cakravartin, rules according to ten royal virtues (dasara-jadharma): alms-giving, morality, charity, justice, penitence, peace, mildness, mercy, meekness, and patience. He is spiritually advanced and suffuses the universe with a key set of four meditative practices: love, compassion, sympathetic joy, and equanimity. He rules without recourse to violence, since his power is based on the dharma and not the stick (dan.d.a). Furthermore, he leads a happy life owing to the vast stores of merit he has accumulated in previous lives.6 The issue of merit is crucial to Buddhist ideas of kingship, as Buddhist kingship is traditionally understood as depending on the ruler’s merit status. The logic behind this is that the person who ranks highest in the social hierarchy can be none other than the person with the largest store of merit. The primeval contract is now substituted by dharma, and the state is perceived as a quasi-divine institution. Moreover, dharma constitutes the necessary royal charisma, but a king’s failure to observe the dharma will result in the loss of this charisma. There is a balance of forces between the state and dharma which limits the potential despotism of the state, while subordination 103

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to the dharma makes it an instrument of morality (Gokhale 1969: 738). This idea is in clear contrast to the doctrine set out in the Arthas´a-stra, the famous Hindu manual of statecraft, in which violence is portrayed as a necessary tool for the maintenance of an ordered society. The Cakkavattisı-hana-da Sutta can be seen as providing an example of a Buddhist non-violent alternative to Hindu kingship ideology, and can be understood as an attempt within canonical Buddhism to harmonize ethics and politics. However, it removes the problematique from the real world, as the Cakkavattisı-hana-da Sutta presents, in Steven Collins’s (1996: 442) words, “a fantasy world in which royal rule is possible without violence.” The ideal, then, is non-violence, but this ideal rarely seems to have been used as a charter for the art of politics. It should be noted, however, that the activities of the righteous Buddhist king are described in military metaphors: the king conquers, and he is flanked by an army. This can be interpreted metaphorically as the righteous king’s effort to conquer greed, hatred, and delusion, but another possible interpretation is that even the righteous king has to protect his subjects through defensive war. Thus, the text can, in certain contexts, serve as a literary source for Buddhist just war ideology. The greatest historical inspiration for Buddhist polities in South and Southeast Asia—and thus ideas about security—is the Indian emperor As´oka (268–239 BCE). In one of his many edicts As´oka claims to be a lay Buddhist follower.7 Nonetheless, it can be argued that, rather than making Buddhism the religion of his empire, As´oka’s policy of dharma is to be viewed as a nonsectarian “civil religion” in which he expressed a particular imperial ideology. In an attempt to avoid sectarian strife and internal disunity, As´oka’s dharma policy was defined as an ethical principle that emphasized law and order, but one which allowed for cultural and religious pluralism under its canopy. Noteworthy is that As´oka’s rule did not reflect the idea of a social contract, but rather expressed a novel “parental ideology.” In one of his inscriptions, As´oka held the view that “All men are my children, and just as I desire for my children that they should obtain welfare and happiness, both in this world and the next, so do I desire [the same] for all men” (As´oka and Bloch 1950: 137). Hence, the king was regarded as a parental benefactor upon whom his subjects depended for welfare and security. The As´okan dharma-policy became an efficacious ideology of pacification, political stability, and security. After violent conquest, As´oka adopted the doctrine of ahim.sa- (no-harm), and he became the prime historical exemplar of non-violent rule. However, it should be noted that he only adopted non-violence after the territory was conquered and made secure. Moreover, As´oka stated that war was not necessary (at the moment), but he did not rule out a future need for the use of violence to secure the empire. Finally, his policy did not imply radical non-violence or pacifism in the “public” sphere (Thapar 1998: 201–2).8 What is often referred to as the “The As´okan paradigm” has been paramount to Buddhist political culture in South and Southeast Asia. This includes ideals of non-violence and the idea of the king as Dharmara-ja (king of dharma), the protector of dharma, viz. of tradition, the preservation of canonical texts, the maintenance of the integrity of the monastic order, and doctrinal purity. Another related, but yet different political paradigm is to be found in the multiple conceptualizations of the bodhisattva (a person who aspires to Buddhahood, i.e. awakening) as king. In Tibet, this form of divine rule has taken a particular form in the institution of the Dalai Lama. The office of Dalai Lama is never elected, or inherited; rather the Dalai Lama has to be “discovered” as the reincarnation of Avalokites´vara, the bodhisattva of compassion.

Averting evil: apotropaic Buddhism Human life is intrinsically linked to danger, destruction, and death, and a crucial aspect of religion, including Buddhism, is to offer protection from threats. These insecurities can be 104

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constructed and defined within a given religious cosmology in terms of evil forces influencing the human—as well as the natural—world, or by constructing soteriological/salvational insecurities. Religion offers protection against such dangers and insecurities. This apotropaic aspect of Buddhism is not a deviation from the allegedly “pure” and doctrinal Buddhism for accommodation to the needs of the laity, but rather an integral part of the Buddhist traditions themselves. Texts are of utmost importance in Buddhism, but so also is praxis (rituals and spiritual techniques), to the extent that disputes over ortho-praxy dominate over disputes over ortho-doxy. One important aspect of Buddhist praxis relates to various types of protective rituals that in one way or another are intended to influence the world. Such rituals aim at securing the well-being of the individual, a particular community, or a state. Noteworthy is that Buddhist conceptualizations of power include not only worldly power (e.g. politics), but also supernormal powers who can both threaten and protect Buddhists. Protective rites are an important aspect of Buddhist praxis, not only among the marginalized, but also among people at the top, for example among politicians who often consider themselves to be in a world of insecurity and high risk. In Indian religious traditions the magical power of words has been essential, and the recital of text as a protective means has been crucial to Buddhist practice since its early formations. In Therava-da Buddhism9 (Thailand, Burma, Cambodia, Laos, and Sri Lanka) the primary ritual text to be memorized and recited is The Book of Protection, the Metta-paritta. Paritta means “protection,” and the Metta-paritta refers to a selection of texts from the Pa-li canon that are recited by monks to protect people from harm. For example, the recitation of the Ratana Sutta protects people from evil spirits that cause drought, sickness, and famine. Recital of other texts extends loving kindness to dangerous animals so that no harm will take place. Moreover, ancient textual sources indicate that paritta recital was crucial in expressing political power and territorial control. For example, according to the Dı-pavam.sa 1: 80 (fourth century CE), the Buddha circumambulated the island of Sri Lanka while reciting the Metta-paritta, in this way ensuring that the island would be “protected forever.” Clearly, this reference to paritta recitation indicates the early importance given to this ritual, and the description of the Buddha carrying out the ritual himself clearly bestows a sense of legitimacy upon the practice. Therava-da rulers, including contemporary heads of state, request monks to recite paritta to avert dangers of natural disasters and of invading armies. In Maha-ya-na Buddhism so-called dha-ran.i are recited, which in a similar way to paritta recitation offers protection from harm. Certain dha-ran.i texts have turned into magical spells, which destroy obstacles and ensure health and wealth, and they have become very popular in East Asian and Tibetan cultural areas. Also, protection from harm is sought for the state, and certain texts intend to protect cities from enemy invasions. For example, the Scripture on Perfect Wisdom for Humane Kings who Wish to Protect their States (a Chinese text) and the Golden Light Sutra specifically address Buddhist state protection and statecraft. In twentieth-century Japan the authorities used the Scripture on Perfect Wisdom for Humane Kings who Wish to Protect their States in an attempt to prevent the American invasion in World War II (Lang 2010b).

Buddhist violence? There is a strong identification of Buddhism with non-violence. However, while radical pacifism is found in the canon, so is the assumption that violence belongs to a separate sphere of activity, that of the warrior caste (to which kings belong). In fact, Buddhist political paradigms discussed above all accept the institution of war, in that they regard it as being within the jurisdiction of the state. Although Buddhist injunctions against violence abound in Buddhist texts, these are often related to the level of individual and inter-group relations. In fact, the Buddha appears to be 105

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reserved in advocating absolute pacifism with regard to kings (Bareau 1993; Schmithausen 1999). Perhaps the early Buddhists were reconciled with the fact that they could not influence the state beyond giving ethical advice? We can only speculate about the reasons for the Buddha’s reservation in this matter, although the argument that the Buddha may have considered political interference as detrimental to the future of the monastic order also seems reasonable (Bareau 1993). Moreover, the religious sphere is unable to exist without the political sphere, and in Asia this has implied close associations between Buddhism, nationalism, and the state. In this context, Buddhism has lent—and still lends—its legitimacy to state-organized violence, as a necessary evil to safeguard Buddhism and/or the majority ethnic group. Buddhist justifications for violence raise the important issue of social actors: who are the perpetrators of “Buddhist violence”? The question of “Buddhist holy warriors,” either as state agents, or as insurgents, is controversial and its answer varies across Asia. On the one hand, “Buddhism as non-violence” has become a dominant discourse within the Buddhist traditions themselves, as well as in Western popular culture. Moreover, Buddhist justifications of violence have for too long been neglected in academic research.10 On the other hand, it should be noted that Therava-da Buddhism, with a few exceptions, does not offer a fertile ground for “holy warrior-ideology.” A common interpretation is that the ultimate religious goal of nirva-n.a is incompatible with military activities.11 Another explanation is found in the legal separation of the monastic order from other societal spheres and mundane activities. For example, according to the monastic code, disrobing is mandatory if a monk takes part in war. Moreover, it is explicitly stated that monks should not watch military parades or manoeuvres, or stay with an army beyond what is absolutely necessary. These canonical injunctions against monastic involvement in army life have been interpreted by some as evidence of Buddhist non-violence (e.g. Deegalle 2009). Another more critical view holds that monks with close military relations could have created the impression of vested interest or even have aroused suspicion of espionage (Schmithausen 1999: 47). Regardless of interpretation, the monastic code draws a line between army and monastic life. This explains, at least partly, why “monk soldiers”—robed soldiers of the state—have not been common in Therava-da Buddhist countries in South and Southeast Asia, although it should be noted that occasional revolts led by Buddhist monks occurred in Thailand and Burma in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Nonetheless, Buddhist monks throughout Asia are closely attached to military institutions. How shall we understand this against the monastic code? The monastic code regulates monk–army relations, but it should be noted that the code provides several exceptions to the rule so that monks can stay with an army if deemed necessary.12 Thus, relations between monks and the army are not in themselves contrary to the monastic code. “Buddhist violence” and “Buddhism and security” raise important questions of internal differences within and between Buddhist traditions. Maha-ya-na Buddhism, as historically practiced in the Tibetan cultural milieu and East Asia, has shown a particular flexibility with regard to practice and doctrine, viz. the doctrines of “skills-in-means” and distinctions made between “conventional” and “higher” truths.13 Such ideas have provided doctrinal flexibility in regard to the use of violence, and in certain contexts murder becomes permissible—even authorized as a compassionate act towards the victim—which has been used to legitimize the killing of kings, invading armies, and/or “un-Buddhists” (in many cases other Buddhist sects).14 In addition to “compassionate killing,” another justification for violence is related to the Maha-yana concept of emptiness (s´u-nyata-), and in Japan such teachings were found helpful in war. The doctrine of emptiness helped provide justification for both taking life and sacrificing one’s own life for a higher goal. Also, East Asia has a historical record of “soldier-monks,” most notably in China and Japan, but also in Tibet. As Buddhism institutionalized, accumulation of wealth implied 106

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monastic landlordism, which in turn resulted in monastic armies for the protection of wealth and political influence.

Buddhism and state security in the modern era The nineteenth and twentieth centuries brought about radical changes in Buddhist polities across Asia. Colonialism, communist rule, or modern political institutions with multi-party democracy challenged traditional Buddhist concepts of political power. However, Buddhist royal ideology is still important in many Buddhist-majority countries today. For example, post-colonial Sri Lanka witnessed a Buddhist revival, which re-established the notion that political authorities (like the king in pre-colonial times) were the chief protectors of Buddhism. In the Sri Lankan Constitution Buddhism is granted a “foremost place,” and ideals of a “Dharma State” have inspired Sri Lankan politicians up to the present time, most notably the late President Premadasa (1924–93) and the All Monks Party (Jathika Hela Urumaya), established in 2004. Also in other Buddhist-majority countries (e.g. Thailand, Burma, and Buthan) state leaders are expected to be Buddhist, and the state offers special support to Buddhist institutions. Broadly speaking, Buddhism’s various responses to modernity can be divided into “neotraditionalist” or “fundamentalist” movements, which defend traditional values—often by modern means—and “reformist” groups, which creatively reinterpret Buddhism in order to solve contemporary problems. Notably, there are few examples of Buddhist “fundamentalist” violence against a state, or against public security. Again, as long as the state is considered legitimate and thus a tool for “Buddhicizing” society, Buddhist pressure groups will work to reform and pressurize the state, not to violently oppose it. Buddhism’s close relations with the state, also in the modern era, have made Buddhism a close ally to ethno-nationalism in countries like Thailand, Burma, Sri Lanka, and Japan (prior to World War II). The local expressions may vary, but a shared pattern can be identified in that the territory is perceived as being particularly Buddhist. Although the historical continuity (and importance) of ethno-nationalism can be debated, sacred land ideology certainly exists in many Buddhist-majority states today. Ideas of Sri Lanka being Buddhist sacred territory, for example, find their earliest expression in the historical works Dı-pavam.sa and the Maha-vam.sa (fourth and fifth century CE, respectively). In the introduction to Chapter Seven (verses 3–4) of the Maha-vam.sa, the scene is the Buddha’s deathbed, where the Buddha is surrounded by gods. Here, the Buddha says to Sakka (i.e. Indra, king of the gods): Vijaya, son of king Sı-haba-hu, is come to Lan.ka- from the country of La-l.a, together with seven hundred followers. In Lan.ka-, O lord of gods, will my religion be established, therefore carefully protect him with his followers and Lan.ka-. The claims made in this text passage, concerning the special relationship between Buddhism, the Sinhalese people, and Sri Lanka, are given authenticity with reference to the Buddha himself: the words are presented as the very words of the Buddha. Moreover, the importance of Sri Lanka is given further weight through the claim that the Buddha was concerned with the island at his deathbed. Indeed, the text suggests that the future of the island was a key concern for the Buddha at this time. Along with similar passages in other texts, the passage thus expresses a special relationship between the Buddha, the claimed forefather of the Sinhalese (Vijaya), and the territory. As related in the Maha-vam.sa, the Buddha selected Sri Lanka for the Sinhalese people to live in and appointed them to protect the dharma. Significantly, the arrival of Prince Vijaya from India occurs at the actual moment of the Buddha’s death. These ideas are essential to contemporary 107

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Sinhala Buddhist discourse, in which it is close to a religious duty to protect the state’s territorial integrity against ethnic secessionist claims. Moreover, the Sri Lankan case shows that looking into monastic-military relations in a specific war context reveals important aspects of Buddhist concepts of protection and security. The religiously based ethno-nationalism in Sri Lanka, in which the spatial integrity of the island is considered crucial to the future survival of the dharma, has resulted in monastic militarism. This militarism is expressed in a subtle war-rhetoric in which the monks ask the state and the army for the “protection of the country” but, even more importantly, militarism is expressed through a specific field of praxis. During the war the aim of “militant” monks was to pressurize politicians and state agents not to give any concessions to the ethnic minorities. In this political climate, the state, the army, and the police were political allies, and monks did not have to take up arms either against the state or against Tamil insurgents. Therefore, symbolic acts of support, such as assisting the army by carrying boxes of military equipment, composing military hymns, or organizing heated rallies against any political concessions to the Tamil rebels, show the commitment of “militant” monks. At the national level, ties between the Army and Buddhist monks are formalized through The Buddhist Army Association, which administers rituals and sermons, e.g. in connection with the founding anniversary of the Army. Sermons are held in military compounds, which are visited by relatives of dead or wounded soldiers from all over the country. During special ceremonies Buddhist monks receive offerings (da-na) and transfer merit (puñña) to dead soldiers. Moreover, throughout rural Sri Lanka, monks are important at military funerals in the ancestral village of the soldiers. In this context, rituals connected with Buddhist soteriology are interwoven with the social formations of the military. The majority of military personnel in the armies of Burma, Thailand, and Sri Lanka are Buddhists. Soldiers do not leave their religious identity behind when they enter the army, which means that they bring their Buddhism into army life. In comparison to, for example, Korea, where Buddhist monks wear military uniforms and are paid by the Ministry of Defense, there are no formal chaplain monks in the Sri Lankan military.15 Rather, monks residing in temples near army camps serve the religious needs of the soldiers and offer them spiritual guidance and protection. If we accept the notion of a Buddhist just war ideology, warfare should not be conceived of as problematic at the individual level. Warfare is the duty carried out by professional soldiers, for the protection of the “country, race, and religion,” as the nationalist slogan in Sri Lanka goes. While a minority of militant Buddhist monks argues that killings on the battlefield do not have negative karmic consequences, the majority view is that killing in fact has negative consequences for the individual. Also, the question of the moral standing of the soldier is an issue to the soldier himself, as he is concerned with the implications of his violent actions for his karmic distribution.16 Although carried out to secure the religion and the country, killing is problematic. This seems to indicate that many soldiers feel that war could not be sanctioned by Buddhism in the sense that their actions on the battlefield would exempt them from individual responsibility. The Sri Lankan case therefore illustrates an important point in the discussion about religion and security: security at the state or group level does not necessarily lead to soteriological security at the individual level. On the contrary, defending the country, the religion, and the people, may cause mental stress and soteriological insecurity for the individual soldier. As the Buddha is not considered to be operative in this world, soldiers do not pray to him for military success.17 However, there are other practices that function in similar ways, as when Buddhist ritual practices bestow spiritual protection on the army and its soldiers. Specific rituals are organized before large military operations, for example paritta recital for the protection of the army. Also, it is a common practice for Buddhist monks to bless officers. On June 11, 2008, 108

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three months after a suicide attack on the Commander of the Army General—which he miraculously survived—Buddhist monks bestowed blessings on the General when he reassumed office, monks recited paritta, and the General made offerings to the monks. Moreover, leading military personnel receive blessings in the shrine room of the Temple of the sacred tooth relic in Kandy, the prime symbol of Buddhist political power, and Buddhist monks tie pirit nu-l (protective thread) around their wrists. Wearing pirit nu-l is a customary lay practice, but such rituals involving top generals are turned into special occasions—widely covered in the media, or at army websites—for protection in the battlefield. Again, while Buddhist ritual practice interconnects with the individual religious life of the soldier, these practices also express symbolic support to the army in the public domain. While Buddhism lends its authority to the state’s military efforts, as well as providing relief to individual soldiers, the state through the army offers protection to Buddhist monks. In the context of territorial disputes in ethnic and religious minority areas, Buddhist monks receive state protection of temples and sacred sites. Physical security at the level of the individual monk, as well as protection of temple property, were crucial elements in army–monastic relations. Also, this symbiotic relationship is expressed in the ritual domain. Within contested areas claimed by ethnic and religious minorities, and where few lay Buddhists reside, offerings made by army and police personnel can be necessary for the monks’ survival. In fact, the Sri Lankan context exemplifies a broader trend of Buddhism lending its legitimacy to state-organized violence. While individual monks might have clear views on Buddhism as non-violent, they nonetheless carry out their religious duties in a close relationship with state institutions, such as the army, in order to protect the dharma. In general, being a militant monk in contemporary Asia is not a matter of taking up arms, but of vociferously supporting a military solution to external and internal conflicts that are believed to endanger Buddhism. As long as the state is conceived of as legitimately Buddhist, or at least moving in that direction, they will support the state’s use of military means in order to protect the state, as well as Buddhism. Thus, when Buddhism functions as the ideological basis for an ethno-nationalist state, it may authorize exclusivist policies towards ethnic and religious minorities that are defined by the Buddhist-dominated state as a threat to national security. Such is the case of the Muslim community in Southern Thailand, as well as the Christian Karen people of Burma. As a result of marginalization, or repressive policies (like in the case of the Karen), minority groups have taken up arms against the state. In the case of secessionist movements, “non-Buddhist” identities can be perceived as a threat and even lead to persecution of religious minorities. Along these lines Burmese authorities view Christian evangelization as a Western imperial means for dividing the country. Moreover, the nexus of Buddhism and state-nationalism in times of state insecurity may result in militarization of Buddhism. As a result of the insurgency in southern Thailand (carried out by several armed groups with differing ideologies) and the subsequent declaration of martial law in 2004, soldiers are temporarily ordained as Buddhist monks and Buddhist temples are transformed into military camps and “high-security zones” (Jerryson 2009). Older patterns of interaction and co-existence between Malay Muslims and Thai Buddhists are under pressure, and temples, rather than serving as multicultural meeting places, now constitute a possible threat to the local Muslim community. In general, state protection of Buddhism does not imply restrictions on religious freedom for minority religious communities. Even during the Sri Lankan civil war between the Sinhala- and Buddhist-dominated state and the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE)—whose soldiers were of Hindu and Christian background—Hindus, Christians, and Muslims enjoyed a large degree of individual religious freedom. However, there are exceptions to this general trend. 109

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For example, as a response to proselytizing by Christian evangelical groups across Asia, attempts have been made to restrict what has been defined as “unethical conversions” (Frydenlund 2011: 119–20). So far, attempts of this sort in countries like Sri Lanka remain unsuccessful. In Burma, religious activities are subject to restrictions on freedom of expression and assembly, including the Buddhist monastic order, which is separated legally from other spheres of society and has historical roots for articulating political opposition.18 Importantly, however, dominant discourses of “national unity” are based on Burmese language and Buddhism, and the military regime promotes Buddhism and Burmese culture vis-à-vis non-Buddhist and non-Burmese national minorities, in a process of reinventing national unity, often referred to as “Myanmafication” (Houtman 1999). Moreover, Burma is a case in point where Buddhism is both the religion of a repressive regime as well as its main opposition, and thus Buddhism is an important idiom for dialogue with the generals. An example of this is seen in the opposition’s use of specific Buddhist texts as expressions of democratic values (e.g. Mangala Sutta). Buddhism can also be used to legitimate violent opposition in cases in which the state is considered illegitimate. The violent uprising of the Sinhala Marxist party JVP (Janatha Vimukti Peramuna) in Sri Lanka (1971; 1987–89) illustrates that Therava-da Buddhist monks can also violently challenge a Buddhist state leader (President Premadasa), who modeled himself as the ideal Buddhist ruler. The social protest of the JVP was expressed in a Sinhala nationalist and Buddhist idiom, in which some monks took the role of robed revolutionaries. Compared to the pre-colonial Buddhist king, modern party politics increase the competitive space where different political parties can be said to represent “true Buddhism.” Using violent means, both the state and the JVP monks fought for what they perceived as “true Buddhism” (Abeysekara 2002). Nonetheless, the most severe threat to Buddhism has been posed by communist states, in which Buddhist political paradigms have been set aside by atheist regimes that have not only regarded Buddhism as “childish” superstition, but also as a threat to state security. In the case of Tibet, Buddhist monasteries have become “sites of protests” and Buddhist religious practice has become a tool in articulating political opposition to Chinese occupation. Buddhism, as an important expression of Tibetan resistance to Chinese rule, poses a threat to Chinese state security, which explains Chinese surveillance of monasteries in Tibet, persecution of monks and nuns, and the Chinese detention in 1995 of the 10-year-old boy believed to be the reincarnation of the eleventh Panchen Lama. The lack of religious freedom in Tibet, and the Chinese persecution of Buddhist monks and nuns have led to a radicalization of Tibetan nationalism, feeding the negative spiral in Tibetan–Chinese relations (Schwartz 1994). The most extreme threat to Buddhism by a state was witnessed in Khmer Rouge’s Cambodia.19 The monks were portrayed as unproductive, as they did not work the land, and Buddhism was recast as a “foreign” religion, with origins in Thailand. By 1972 one third of the monasteries were under Khmer control. The temples were used as military compounds because their construction and geographical location made them easier to defend. In addition, the Khmer benefitted from the fact that the Republican forces were more respectful of sacred sites and hesitated to attack them. By 1975 all remaining monasteries were closed, and many were physically dismantled to provide building materials. Religious art, objects of devotion, and sacred texts were destroyed. When Phnom Penh fell to the Vietnamese in 1979, only a hundred monks remained; the rest had been killed or forced into exile (Harris 1999b: 54–78). Although the early post-Khmer period witnessed a more positive attitude towards Buddhism, restrictions were made on ordination age, as well as on daily religious practice in the monasteries. However, a radical shift took place in 1993 when the monarchy was re-established, and the Constitution once again declared that Buddhism was the religion of the state. 110

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Conclusion Today, a Buddhist revival is taking place in Cambodia, as well as in other post-communist societies, like for example Mongolia. One dimension of Buddhist revivals is Buddhist praxis directed towards gaining security and protection at the individual level, as well as Buddhism’s ability to provide for identity and meaning in a shifting global context. Yet, even more important is Buddhism’s ability to serve as the ideology of the state. For, in complex ways Buddhism lends to political authority a certain sacrality, constituting a “Buddhist political culture.” Today’s heads of state in Buddhist-majority countries around the world express themselves as patrons of Buddhism, and diplomatic relations between Buddhist-majority states are often articulated within a Buddhist idiom. However, the dark side of Buddhist political paradigms is the potential exclusion of ethnic and religious minorities, which in turn might increase levels of insecurity.

Notes 1 In Buddhism there are three surviving canons: the Pa-li canon, the Tibetan canon and the Chinese canon, in addition to a great number of other authoritative texts in vernacular languages. The canonical texts were orally transmitted for centuries and remained “open” for later additions until the fifth century CE (Pa-li canon) and up to the fourteenth century (Chinese and Tibetan canons) (Lang 2010a). 2 This Buddhist royal ideology is in clear contrast to the doctrine set out in the Arthas´a-stra, the famous Hindu manual of statecraft, which presents a Machiavellian state where the monarch has absolute power, based on the economy and law enforcement. In fact, early Buddhist literature shows a clear dislike for the ideology of the Arthas´a-stra (Harris 1999a). 3 As Buddhist canonical texts were composed and transmitted over several centuries, it is difficult to establish exact dates for early Buddhist political thinking. “Early” in this context refers to the time from the Buddha (fifth century BCE) to the writing down of the Pa-li canon in Sri Lanka in the first century BCE. 4 In the section called “The Long Discourses” (Dı-gha Nika-ya) in the first of the three so-called “baskets” of the canon. 5 In Buddhism the wheel symbolizes the Buddhist teachings. The dharma represents a wheel in that it is thought to be eternal in having neither a beginning nor an end. Moreover, as a political symbol it signifies universal power. 6 Merit is perceived as something that can be accumulated, and it can be stored up for a better rebirth for oneself, passed on to a dead relative for his or her future well-being, or given to the gods in return for help in worldly matters. 7 The Bhabra Inscription, Minor Rock Inscription. 8 For example, capital punishment continued throughout his reign. 9 Buddhism is comprised of various “schools,” or traditions. Therava-da means “the teaching of the elders” and is the oldest of the surviving Buddhist schools. Maha-ya-na (The great vehicle), which can be regarded as having its foundations among the earliest Buddhist communities, later identified itself as a distinct tradition. Maha-yana- and Therava-da developed different positions on the nature of Buddhahood and the Buddhist path to enlightenment. While Therava-da remains dominant in South and Southeast Asia, Maha-yana- developed into various localized traditions in North and East Asia. 10 I argue elsewhere (Frydenlund 2011) that Buddhist non-violence should be differentiated from pacifism. Although more research would be needed before a firm answer could be provided, there is evidence to suggest that the strategic use of the principle of non-violence in the political domain was largely a modern, postwar, and Gandhian-inspired enterprise, with little historical precedence in Buddhist history. 11 That is not to say, however, that the ultimate goal of the monks and nuns is to attain nirva-n.a. Recent research shows that even the early monastic order was far more engaged in mundane activities than was previously held by Western academics. 12 This is one of the exceptions made to the Pa-cittiya XLVIII rule in the Vinayapit.aka. 13 There is a striking difference between Maha-ya-na scriptures and other Buddhist canons in that the Maha-ya-na canon was never officially “closed” so that texts continued to proliferate. 14 Yogacharabhumi-sastra (Discourse on the Stages of Yogic Practice, c. fourth century CE). 15 Professor Vladirmir Thikhonov, personal communication.

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16 See also Iselin Frydenlund (2005; 2011) and Daniel Kent (2010). 17 Moreover, it is a common practice to ask for protection from other suprahuman beings in the cosmos, like powerful gods and spirits. 18 The legal separation between monks and other citizens varies across Buddhist communities. In Thailand, Burma, and Cambodia monks have restricted civil rights (e.g. they cannot vote, hold political office, or appear in secular courts), while in Sri Lanka they are entitled to full civil rights. 19 Another case in point is Mongolia where Buddhism was close to extinction.

References Abeysekara, A. (2002) Colors of the Robe: Religion, Identity, and Difference, Columbia: University of South Carolina Press. As´oka and Bloch, J. (1950) Les Inscriptions d’Asoka, Paris: Les Belles Lettres. Bareau, A. (1993) “Le Bouddha et les Rois,” Bulletin de l’Ecole Française d’Extrême-Orient, 80(1): 15–39. Collins, S. (1996) “The Lion’s Roar on the Wheel-Turning King: A Response to Andrew Huxley’s ‘The Buddha and the Social Contract’,” Journal of Indian Philosophy, 24(4): 421–46. Deegalle, M. (2009) “Norms of War in Theravada Buddhism,” in V. Popovski, G.M. Reichberg, and N. Turner (eds.) World Religions and Norms of War, Tokyo: United Nations University Press, pp. 60–86. Frydenlund, I. (2005) The Sangha and its Relation to the Peace Process in Sri Lanka, Oslo, Norway: International Peace Research Institute. ——(2011) Canonical Ambiguity and Differential Practices: Buddhist Monks in Wartime Sri Lanka, Ph.D. thesis, Department of Cultural Studies and Oriental Languages, University of Oslo, Norway. Gokhale, B.G. (1966) “Early Buddhist Kingship,” The Journal of Asian Studies, 26(1): 15–22. ——(1969) “The Early Buddhist View of the State,” Journal of the American Oriental Society, 89(4): 731–38. Gombrich, R. (1988) Therava-da Buddhism: A Social History from Ancient Benares to Modern Colombo, London: Routledge & Kegan Paul. Harris, I. (1999a) “Buddhism and Politics in Asia: The Textual and Historical Roots,” in I. Harris (ed.) Buddhism and Politics in Twentieth-century Asia, London: Pinter, pp. 1–25. ——(1999b) “Buddhism In Extremis: The Case of Cambodia,” in I. Harris (ed.) Buddhism and Politics in Twentieth-century Asia, London: Pinter, pp. 54–78. Houtman, G. (1999) Mental Culture in Burmese Crisis Politics: Aung San Suu Kyi and the National League for Democracy, Study of Languages and Cultures of Asia and Africa Monograph Series (33), Tokyo: Tokyo University of Foreign Studies. Jerryson, M. (2009) “Appropriating a Space for Violence: State Buddhism in Southern Thailand,” Journal of Southeast Asian Studies, 40(1): 33–57. Kent, D. (2010) “Onward Buddhist Soldiers,” in M. Jerryson and M. Juergensmeyer (eds.) Buddhist Warfare, New York: Oxford University Press, pp. 157–78. Lang, K.C. (2010a) “Canons and Literature,” in D. Keown and C.S. Prebish (eds.) Encyclopedia of Buddhism, London: Routledge, pp. 195–205. ——(2010b) “Ritual Texts,” in D. Keown and C.S. Prebish (eds.) Encyclopedia of Buddhism, London: Routledge, pp. 619–21. Schmithausen, L. (1999) “Aspects of the Buddhist Attutude Towards War,” in J.E.M. Houben and K.R.V. Kooij (eds.) Violence Denied: Violence, Non-violence, and the Rationalization of Violence in South Asian Cultural History, Leiden, Netherlands: Brill, pp. 45–65. Schwartz, R.D. (1994) Circle of Protest: Political Ritual in the Tibetan Uprising, New York: Columbia University Press. Thapar, R. (1998) Asoka and the Decline of the Mauryas, revised edn. with new afterword, bibliography, and index, Delhi: Oxford University Press.

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PART II

Security studies and religion

11 RELIGION, WAR, AND PEACE: LEAVENING THE LEVELS OF ANALYSIS Eric Patterson

Cold War era thinking continues to permeate the study of international relations, particularly with regard to the influence of religious factors. The Cold War framework understood international politics as characterized by competing politico-economic systems and corresponding ideologies: those of Western capitalist democracies versus totalitarian Communist governments. Most government elites on both sides of the Iron Curtain tacitly agreed that religion’s role was instrumental in international life: for the West it was a tool for rallying the Third World against godless Communism; the East understood religion as the “opiate of the masses,” used to pacify and coerce Western publics. The academic elite of both sides also regarded religion as a historical artifact that modernization would banish into the mists of the past. They were wrong. By the late 1990s social scientists “rediscovered” that people around the world not only continued practicing their faith, but mobilized politically on the basis of ethnicity, nationalism, culture, and religion (Hoover and Johnston, 2012). In fact, religious dynamics (e.g. actors, world views, and cultures) infused numerous conflagrations in the 1990s including in Bosnia, Rwanda, Afghanistan, and Sudan. In this chapter I consider how scholars and foreign policy experts should understand the direct and indirect ways that religious factors intersect with and inform competition, bloodshed, reconciliation, and peace.

International relations theory explaining war Traditional international relations scholarship has focused on a variety of factors of war that are typically called the three levels of analysis: the individual level, the domestic (societal) level, and the international level. The first level of analysis is the individual level, which considers how individual human beings directly cause or exacerbate conflict and the personal, psychological, and human nature explanations for war more generally. For instance, how can one understand World War II without understanding Adolf Hitler? How can one understand the wars of the beginning of the nineteenth century without understanding Napoleon? How can one understand the rise to imperial greatness of Rome without thinking about Julius Caesar and his peers? Such analyses of the causes of war are focused on a variety of individual-level factors. Thomas Hobbes, in Leviathan, observed that, “in the nature of man, we find three principal causes of quarrel. First, competition; secondly, diffidence (fear); thirdly, glory” (Hobbes [1651](1985): 85). 115

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Hobbes is speaking about the state of nature—man against man—but he generally assumes that relations between governments operate in a similar fashion. More generally, contemporary authors focusing on first-level explanations for conflict have zeroed in on greed, hate, the socalled lust for power (libidus dominandi), and psychological dynamics (Waltz 1959: 180). It is true that, to understand many conflicts, the decisions and decision-making processes made by key leaders, be they generals in war or political officials, matter. However, what is typically missing in international relations theory is how religion can be a motivator for individuals, be it Emperor Constantine, Joan of Arc, Osama bin Laden, or Desmond Tutu. International relations theory has also pointed us to a series of second-level analysis factors, specifically, domestic politics. At the second level of analysis scholars ask the question, “How do domestic political factors, such as regime type and influential interest groups, affect the decision to go to war and how war is fought?” For example, it is well documented that Japan’s decision to declare war on the United States with an attack on Pearl Harbor in December 1941 was not made by a single person but through bargaining among different elite factions: the military, the business class, and those close to the emperor. Each sector had its own set of interests, be they military expansion, finding new markets, or nationalist fervor. The policy outcome of this political “logrolling” was inherently shaped by the policy process itself (Lee 2007: 114). Likewise, democratic peace theory argues that democracies are less likely to go to war (at least among themselves) and that unstable and authoritarian regimes are much more likely, for a variety of reasons, to resort to force. Democratic peace theory’s explanation is that the mechanisms for peace are representative government’s checks and balances (e.g. separation of powers, popular opinion, the critical role of an independent press), which make going to war difficult. In contrast, authoritarian regimes, which can prop up their legitimacy by “rally round the flag” effects associated with some form of conflict, as well as governments that are unstable due to a major political transition (including democratic transition), are the most likely to go to war (Tibi 2009: 9). Again, what is missing from most academic analyses is the way that religious factors do influence the inner workings of governments and societies and then determine policies, such as the self-understanding of Saudi Arabia and Iran as guardians of Islam and the inevitable conflict that such narratives engender between Sunni and Shia.1 International relations theory has a third level of analysis as identified by Kenneth Waltz in his 1959 classic Man, the State, and War: the international system. Waltz argued that international politics is defined by anarchy: there is no central government to stop states from going to war. Waltz famously called anarchy the “permissive cause” of interstate war (Waltz 1959: 233). In other words, the lack of centralized government authority means there is little to stop the next interstate war. Waltz then pointed to issues of power and security within anarchy as defining the likelihood and nature of conflict. Anarchy continues to define the international system, but this provides a space for empowered non-state actors in the twenty-first century. Indeed, religious non-state actors and transnational networks, from the Roman Catholic Church to al Qaeda, compete in globalized anarchy in ways similar to states, utilizing instantaneous communication, rapid and cheap international travel, increasingly shared sets of competing values at the international level (e.g. the legitimacy of democracy and human rights), fungibility of economic assets, and the democratization and lethality of firepower/WMD. Today it is not only states but other actors as well that compete, contend, and challenge one another—and can cooperate—for resources and legitimacy in the global public sphere. All of these venues for competition can be points of contact for peace as well. At the international level, transnational religious actors like al Qaeda have perpetrated violence across the globe; yet transnational religious actors like the Mennonites and various religious NGOs have resolved conflict and invested in economic and political development. 116

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The rest of this chapter focuses specifically on religious factors that can contribute to war and peace. These factors, from divine revelation to the manipulation of religious symbols by political elites, share a religious intentionality in their justification for war or peace. They are not the kind of factors typically emphasized in traditional levels-of-analysis scholarship, yet they are arguably the most powerful inducement for or against conflict in the world today.

Religious factors and war Why is it that religious variables have not been adequately addressed in traditional international relations scholarship? Part of the reason that they have been neglected is because such factors are ideational/cultural in nature rather than material. Much of the existing scholarship and policy analysis assumes that people and states go to war, or sue for peace, based solely on their material interests. When one considers the three levels of analysis described above, it is clear that Western, secular, materialist explanations undergird much of international relations theory on war: economic competition, the struggle for resources, the security dilemma, and retaining the throne by relying on rally effects. There is often merit is such explanations, but they neglect to consider other distinct factors such as culture, religion, and ideology which may provide competing justifications for violence and/or may inform the definition of collective and especially individual interests. There are many ways that religion can foster or exacerbate conflict, and most of them occur at the first level of analysis as individuals express religious justifications for violence. For instance, religion can directly induce conflict when a religious text or divine revelation explicitly mandates violence. To be more specific, if an individual or group believes that they have received a divine command to engage in violence, or if a religious text specifically commands that group to engage in violence, this is an example of religion directly causing conflict. Perhaps the most familiar historical examples are the wars of the Old Testament in which the Hebrews were told specifically to act as agents of judgment upon their idolatrous neighbors: this was a direct revelation to Moses, Joshua, and others. Today Joseph Kony, leader of the Lord’s Resistance Army (LRA), which terrorizes northern Uganda and the tri-border region there (Sudan and Congo), provides a unique example of divine revelation used to incite violence. Kony has said on numerous occasions that the Holy Spirit speaks directly to him and tells him what to do: “They [spirits] speak to me. They load through me. They will tell us what is going to happen. They say, ‘You, Mr. Joseph, tell your people that the enemy is planning to come and attack’” (Farmar, BBC News: June 28, 2006b). On another occasion Kony asserted, “Yes, we are fighting for Ten Commandments. Is it bad? It is not against human rights. And that commandment was not given by Joseph [Kony]. It was not given by the LRA. No, that commandment was given by God.” Kony went on to explain that the LRA is “fighting for Uganda to be a free state governed by the Ten Commandments, a democratic state, and a state with a freely elected president” (Farmar, The Times: June 28, 2006a). It is beyond the scope of this chapter to examine the seeming disjuncture between the religious ideology of the LRA and its horrific tactics in the field (e.g. cutting off the ears, noses, and lips of children) as well as to engage in deeper analyses of whether or not Kony and all of his senior lieutenants continue to believe that God is directing them: this has been a consistent mantra for over 20 years since the LRA’s predecessor movement, Alice Auma’s Holy Spirit Movement in the 1980s, marched and nearly took Kampala (Berkley Center for Religion, Peace, and World Affairs 2011d: 2). In sum, Kony and the LRA are a stark case of religious understandings directly contributing to contemporary conflict, starting at the individual level and influencing the other two levels as a result. Here it is important to note, however, that, in contemporary warfare worldwide, the direct-revelation dynamic is quite rare. 117

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A second direct way that religion can induce conflict is when religious actors claim the authority to prescribe killing. This occurs when leaders whose legitimacy and authority is defined in terms of their religious knowledge and/or their religious position tell their followers to engage in killing. Consider the example of Muqtada al-Sadr in Iraq. His family boasts a welldocumented direct descent from the prophet Muhammad and he comes from a long line of influential clerics with vast influence in the region. His father, a well-known cleric, and two brothers were murdered (or martyred) by Saddam Hussein. Muqtada al-Sadr, although young and not a traditional ayatollah with the recognized authority to proclaim fatwas, has nonetheless appropriated a religious and social bully pulpit based on religious authority and consequently built the Mahdi Army as a “self-defense force” that has been very aggressive against not only Coalition forces and Sunnis, but rival Shia as well. After years of riotous political grandstanding, he departed to Iran for two years of seminary training, returning in 2010. And, of course, the manipulation of pulpit power is precisely how Osama bin Laden, the founder of al Qaeda, behaved. Bin Laden claimed that contemporary Islam, practiced in Saudi Arabia and elsewhere, is corrupt and abominable. Although not a formal religious or political leader, bin Laden claimed that through his own study and personal piety he led a reformation within Islam. In other words, he claimed authority within Islam based on his veneration of the religion. It is from this standpoint that he prescribed killing. In his famous 1996 fatwa, he called for the killing of all Crusaders, Jews, and infidels. The authority he claimed in doing this was his presumed status as a prophetic voice within the Islamic community, calling it to repentance and to action against its aggressors. So religion can directly cause or exacerbate conflict when divine revelation or some form of religious authority figure, formal or informal, calls for violence. A third way that religion can directly induce violence is when those who are personally carrying out violence use religion to justify their claims and actions. Often this is not a religious leader; it is the follower, the foot soldier. Many suicide bombers are the rank and file of their movement and have little formal religious training and no standing as religious authorities. Nonetheless, they cite religious justifications for their actions. These justifications are often religiously inspired, but lack a deep knowledge of theology, and hence are what R. Scott Appleby (2000: 69) has called “weak religion.” Appleby argues that the theologically illiterate are the most likely to be motivated by simple theological justifications for violence (such as a future in paradise surrounded by dozens of willing virgins) or so-called religious arguments that the Other is subhuman, demoniacal, or an object of divine wrath. Chilling evidence for these views is available in a series of interviews by the Israeli government that documents the motivations of failed suicide bombers—those Palestinians who planned or tried to blow themselves up but failed to do so, perhaps due to a faulty mechanism on the explosive or because they were captured at the last minute. These are not scholars of the Qur’an, nor are they religious authorities. They do not claim that a divine voice directly spoke to them and compelled their obedience to kill. They tend to be young men who often know little of the Qur’an. When one asks about their reason for their participation in violence, they blend a variety of motives: the national “humiliation” of the Palestinian people, a sense that they have no hope and their lives are not going anywhere, defense of Allah, defense of the Qur’an, defense of the al-Aqsa Mosque (Dome of the Rock), and the rich rewards that they will receive in the afterlife (including 72 virgins) when they enter paradise for engaging in a suicide attack. In sum, they cite religion, without theological sophistication, religious authority, or divine revelation, as one key justification, though there may be other rationales in play as well. A fourth way that religion can directly exacerbate or cause conflict is when religion sacralizes a tangible thing or place, thereby making it holy and resulting in a perceived obligation to 118

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protect that thing or place by religious adherence. A contemporary example of this can be found on the Indian subcontinent, which is infused by Islamist violence, Hindu nationalism (hindutva), and various local and regional flashpoints. Perhaps the most explosive was the 1992 destruction of the Babri mosque at Ayodhya in Uttar Pradesh by Hindu nationalists. The rioting that followed killed thousands and resulted in heightened tensions across the region. The sacred Hindu text Ramayana calls Ayodhya the birthplace of Lord Rama, one of Hinduism’s most important gods, an incarnation of the god Vishnu (Liberhan 2009: 23). Hindu nationalists claim that the site originally housed a Hindu temple on the birthplace of Lord Rama that was destroyed in the early sixteenth century by the Muslim Emperor Babur, who built the Babri Mosque on the site. Not only was the site attacked by Hindu nationalists in order to liberate it from Muslims, but a national Hindu building campaign was initiated in which 300,000 bricks were sanctified from communities across India and then brought—often by foot—to Ayodhya to assist in the construction of a new temple (Bakker 1991: 99). It was only in late 2010 that the Indian judiciary ordered a legal resolution, mandating that the site be shared between Muslims and Hindus (BBC News, September 30, 2010). In short, in India over the past 20 years rioting, arson, and other attacks have plagued pilgrims venturing to this and other sacred places as both sides try to assert their claim over it. In the fall of 2010 a similar instance occurred when a previously unknown American Christian pastor claimed that he was going to burn copies of the Qur’an at his small church in Florida on September 11. This act was obviously provocative because the Qur’an is the primary holy text for Muslims, and the claim quickly went global thanks to Internet communications and a simultaneous controversy over the building of an Islamic center and mosque near Ground Zero in New York City. In the United States no one died or was injured, although the media frenzy was intense. In contrast, in majority-Muslim countries around the world, dozens of people died in rioting. What were they rioting about? What caused the violence? They were responding to the affront against a sacralized object, their holy book. The above religious factors relate directly to elements of conflict at the individual or the collective level—in other words, at the first or second levels of analysis. There are also other ways that religion can cause or exacerbate conflict—ways that tend to be less direct, either in terms of social identity or manipulation of religious symbols. The first and generally the most potent indirect form of religion inspiring violence is when faith identification serves as a critical communal social identity marker. Communal identities marked in part by religion can become cleavage points for political competition or competition for economic resources and, in some cases, spark violence. Religion can exacerbate conflict when it is essential to the formation of communal identity and multiple such groups are competing. Most so-called wars of religion are precisely this: battles between groups who self-identify along cultural, ethnic, and religious lines and see others as rivals. Take, for instance, the conflict in Lebanon. In Lebanon over the past half century there have been a number of bloody wars, all infused to some extent with religious overtones. The antagonists in each of these conflicts self-identify and have been identified by their challengers in large part by their religious heritage: Shia Muslims, Druze, Maronite and other Christians, Sunni, and a variety of other groups in between. What the media tends to report is Muslims killing Christians, Christians killing Muslims, attacks on and by the Jewish state, etc. But what is really going on in Lebanon has nothing to do with who the Orthodox patriarch is, who the Catholic prelate is, or the theologies of the Qur’an, Torah, or Bible. What is being disputed in these conflicts is not faith; it is not theology; it is not sacred sites. Rather, the contest is for patronage, access to power, economic resources, and political privilege. In Lebanon, people are fighting for money, for opportunity, and for power; religion is a critical marker to distinguish “us” versus “them”—“we” 119

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Christians versus “those” Druze, “we” Christians versus “those” Shia, and so on. In short, this is domestic political competition, but of a sort far different than that found in Western democracies because the cleavages are defined in terms of confessional communities and because all sides tend to employ violence to achieve their ends. This is also what happened in Northern Ireland in the “Troubles” between Catholics and Protestants. Northern Ireland has a long history of difference and discrimination, but no one there was fighting over the number of books in the Bible, about theology, about the nature of communion, about the infallibility of the pope, or any of the things about which Catholics and Protestants differ theologically and ecclesiastically. Instead, the conflict in Northern Ireland that has lasted for the better part of three decades (and which is just now winding down), was and is a conflict about discrimination, economic and political opportunity, nationalism, crime, and rights—over a long period of time—that became a tit-for-tat cycle of violence by groups who identified as “religious,” in part, but where religion was not the driving factor. Indeed, what is interesting about the Northern Ireland case is that the principal group on the Catholic side, the Irish Republican Army (IRA) and its political wing Sinn Féin, are not religious—although supposedly they were defenders of the Catholics. The IRA judged the institutional Catholic Church as taking a quietistic role, with its head in the sand and consequently supportive of the status quo. In contrast, the IRA and Sinn Féin’s intellectual roots are in leftof-center, secularist, twentieth-century nationalism rather than in the ideology of a Catholic-inspired insurgency (such as Colombia’s ELN) (Berkley Center for Religion, Peace, and World Affairs 2011c: 12). A second way that religious variables can indirectly contribute to conflict is when religious symbols are manipulated for sectarian or mass mobilization and thus become collective-action frames. In other words, when elites (political or religious) instrumentalize religious symbols as political objects, or the citizenry rally behind a symbol, a color, a date, or a place with religious significance, it can indirectly shape the nature of conflict. Ayatollah Khomeini and his cohort were radical Islamists who wanted to impose a theocratic form of government on Iran, but the end result was not an outcome that was certain at any time. In fact, the Khomeini faction relied on socialists, Communists, democratic liberals, and a variety of other types of reformers as political allies in the early years. Part of what made Ayatollah Khomeini’s push resonate so broadly with many of the people was that he called for a historic Muslim, Iranian identity in his quest to maintain the political order. And in this he was savvy in using Islamic symbols, like the crescent and the color green, as rallying points. Khomeini distinguished the “true” Islamic identity of Iran from the pagan (Persian), Western-oriented, authoritarian regime of the Shah. Khomeini used an explicitly Muslim and Islamist approach to criticizing the Shah’s regime, his lavish spending to celebrate Persepolis and the Persian Empire, and his friendship with “secular” America. Khomeini asserted that what Iranians needed was a simpler, freer, liberating Islam for the people. The symbols of Islam became the rallying cry against the Shah’s regime, and Khomeini’s associates used the mosques and Friday prayers as safe havens to promote their message outside of state channels (Berkley Center for Religion, Peace, and World Affairs 2011a: 9). Here it is important to note that using religion indirectly—through symbols and associations—to promote violence is by no means limited to Islamist movements. For instance, this is what happened in the Balkans in the 1990s as Serbian political leaders (who were Eastern Orthodox Christians) used religious narratives to decry the loss of Kosovo to the Turks in 1389 and to call for a Final Solution that would liberate a Greater Serbia from Muslims. A millennium earlier, Crusaders used the cross to help motivate armies. What all of these conflicts have in common is the way that religious symbols not only motivate individuals but in some case energize entire 120

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societies to fight, and how often local violence becomes interstate conflict as peacekeepers and regional powerbrokers enter the fray, as in Lebanon and the Balkans.

Religious factors for peace The peace-facilitating potential of religion is often acknowledged on a superficial level but underestimated by scholars and policy-makers. There is a tendency to assume erroneously that the pacific dimensions of religion operate only indirectly and rather weakly—e.g. that religions do generally teach love and peace—but these ethics are not significant factors for most actual decision-makers in real-world conflict situations. It is important therefore to highlight those ways that religion can and does offer more than just platitudes of peace, whether by inspiring individual peacemakers or informing the methods of collective reconciliation and political forgiveness. First, religion can contribute to peace when an individual or group renounces violence based on a specific religious text, a personal spiritual encounter, or a revelation. For example, some Christians reading the Gospel of Mathew and Jesus’ injunction, “Turn the other cheek” make a commitment to pacifism and non-violence (Matthew 5: 38–39). Pacifists and advocates of nonviolence come in many different forms, from those who entirely eschew any touch of conflict (conscientious objectors and peace protestors), to those who are willing to provide aid to the needy and wounded—even on the battlefield (some Quakers)—to some Catholics who have been heavily engaged in peacebuilding in Central America and Colombia. A second, parallel way that religion can contribute to peace is when an individual or a group reports a calling or vocation to engage in faith-inspired peacemaking. This is what happened in the United States and Canada, in particular, when the Mennonites renewed their peace witness and advocacy during the vicissitudes of the Vietnam War. Since then, Mennonite peacemaking has been instrumental in bringing conflicting parties together for conflict resolution, as in eastern Nicaragua (Lederach and Wehr 1991: 93). Similarly, over the past 200 years, Quaker organizations have reported a calling to peace, a calling that has moved them beyond conscientious objection to assisting the vulnerable or to working on behalf of peace (Le Mare and McCartney 2009: 22). Third, religion can contribute to peace when religious elites use their spiritual authority to act as agents of peace. More specifically, this is when peacemaking leadership is exercised by actors whose legitimacy and social authority are rooted in their religious tradition, in their position within the religious hierarchy, or in their distinctive religious service. Perhaps the most famous example of this in recent times is Archbishop Desmond Tutu. Archbishop Tutu fought non-violently against the apartheid system of South Africa from an overtly Christian perspective, earning the Nobel Peace Prize.2 Of course there were alternatives to the non-violent “religious militancy for peace” that Tutu and his allies practiced.3 There was that of the African National Congress (ANC), which took a secular-, nationalist-, and Marxist-inspired approach to fighting against apartheid. On occasions the ANC and other groups responded to apartheid with violence. Desmond Tutu and many of the black churches took a parallel but different track by criticizing the structural violence of South African society and building alliances for social justice. They did so, in part, by using their bully pulpits on behalf of peace. They called injustice what it was, injustice, and worked across society to build bridges for peace. It is hard to imagine the South African miracle occurring without the inspirational leadership of individuals like Desmond Tutu. Tutu was instrumental in the transition phase as a key leader in South Africa’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC), which openly engaged raw issues of truth, justice, and mercy from a perspective informed by religion. The TRC was not religious per se, but one cannot understand its fundamental principles without some sense of the 121

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Christian theology and local cultural principles (e.g. ubuntu—the idea that individuals only actualize their humanity in relationships) inherent to it, nor can one dismiss the role of prayer, clergy commissioners, and the overt support from both black and white churches for the TRC. Indeed the TRC suggests a fourth way that religious factors can contribute to peace. Religiously inspired claims can redefine social identities, formerly points of cleavage, to promote reconciliation. This process, albeit hard and rare, relies on religious teaching, spiritual insight, and conflict resolution techniques to transform former opponents to God’s children, changing one’s enemies to one’s brothers and sisters. This redefinition of identity, from enemy to God’s child, is a critical vector for religious conflict transformation. An example of a religious group taking this approach is Community Sant’Egidio, a Catholic lay organization based in Rome. It is beyond the scope of this chapter to tell the entire story, but beginning in the early 1980s Sant’Egidio began to engage—quietly—with leaders on both sides of Mozambique’s long and bloody civil war. On the one hand was the government known as FRELIMO, originally claiming a Marxist ideology and benefitting from various external supporters; and on the other hand were the rebels (RENAMO), supported by South Africa and other outside partners. Sant’Egidio built private, personal relationships with leaders on both sides while at the same time providing humanitarian and development assistance, free of charge, to people on both sides. In short, they acted in a spirit of peace to alleviate suffering in a conflict zone. Over time, Sant’Egidio built informal but strong relationships with both sides of the conflict, allowing them to host informal meetings between the antagonists in the late 1980s. It was ultimately Sant’Egidio who led in brokering the 1992 peace deal that ended Mozambique’s civil war. In the ceremony marking the signing of the peace agreement, the representatives of Sant’Egidio specifically spoke of reconciliation transforming opponents into “brothers and sisters in Christ” (Berkley Center for Religion, Peace, and World Affairs 2011b: 5). What makes the Sant’Egidio case interesting is the way that all of the three levels of analysis are present: individual leadership, the role of an NGO engaging across borders, domestic political and religious factors, and ultimately the inclusion of outside state actors—all catalyzed by Catholic lay people. Finally, religion can contribute to peace when faith-inspired forgiveness transcends the oftenunresolved issues of a conflict. Of course, forgiveness is extremely difficult to work out in practice, especially in interstate war. Nonetheless, forgiveness is a transcendent opportunity for individuals, groups, and nations to move beyond the past legacy of violence. Many political systems have attempted to approximate this over the past 20 years, learning lessons about political forgiveness, amnesty, truth-seeking, political reconciliation, and justice in contexts such as Latin America and sub-Saharan Africa. From an institutional perspective, faith-inspired forgiveness is difficult to employ on behalf of governments, yet we have the testimony of thousands of people who indicated that their faith has inspired them to forgive people who have stolen from them, who killed their loved ones, and who harmed their lives in places like Colombia and Rwanda. At the collective level, this has been implemented in some specific cases by trying to approximate justice and forgiveness through what is called transitional justice and specifically through truth and reconciliation commissions. These commissions often record and document the experience of victims and the crimes of perpetrators, symbolically offering an accounting and an opportunity for regret and social forgiveness at a collective political level. Often these are most effective when there are strong elements of religious faith involved, be it prayers led by religious leaders or the inclusion of religious leaders on the tribunals. An example in this regard is the truth and reconciliation commission of East Timor, which included religious actors and local cultural practices such as naha bitte: laying out the grass mats to sit upon for dialogue and reconciliation (Gordon 2009: 212). 122

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Conclusion The world is a highly religious place where communal identity, individual faith, and global religious movements cannot be separated from issues of governance, development, politics, or security (Patterson 2011). Few wars are directly or solely caused by religious factors, but many of the conflicts of the past generation have included differences of religious and ethnic identity, religious justifications for violence (e.g. Islamist terrorists claiming their actions are a legitimate expression of lesser jihad), and instances wherein religious actors sanctioned conflicting efforts for war and peace. When religious identity and sacred issues are part of a wider set of dividing trends, such as economic grievance and human rights abuses, the mix can be nothing short of holy war waged on behalf of Serbian Orthodoxy, Islamic jihad, or sects like the LRA, Mexico’s drug saints, or animists in the hills of the Far East. But religious actors, themes, and practices can also provide the resources for diminishing difference, inspiring conflict resolution, and transcending past hurts to build a more secure peace. Religious factors are relevant across the traditional levels-of-analysis framework. As such, the future of international relations scholarship should creatively and comprehensively integrate the study of religious individuals, groups, and congregations with the study of security.

Notes 1 This essay does not focus heavily on second-level explanations, but rather seeks to tease out where and when religious themes and actors directly or indirectly induce war or peace. It should be noted, however, that it is entirely possible for “religionized politics” (Tibi 2009: 203) to either provide the raison d’être of a state like Iran or the primary collective critique against the status quo, as in the case of the Muslim Brotherhood in Egypt. In either case, religious actors, religious parties, and religious justifications underscore violence at home and against their neighbors. 2 It should be noted that Tutu’s views changed over time and that, not dissimilar to Reinhold Niebuhr and 1930s-era Christian realists, Tutu evolved from a position of non-violence to apparently tacitly supporting a violent alternative if the structural violence of apartheid were not to end. However, it is clear that he did not plan to participate in such a struggle, however justified it may have been. 3 R. Scott Appleby (2000) coined this term in his book The Ambivalence of the Sacred. He applies “religious militancy” both to faith-inspired perpetrators of violence and to intense, faith-inspired action against violence.

References Appleby, R.S. (2000) The Ambivalence of the Sacred: Religion, Violence, and Reconciliation, Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield. Bakker, H. (1991) “Ayodhya-: A Hindu Jerusalem: An Investigation of ‘Holy War’ as a Religious Idea in the Light of Communal Unrest in India,” Numen, 38(1): 80–109. BBC News (2010) “Ayodhya Verdict: Indian Holy Site ‘To Be Divided,’” BBC News, September 30. Online. Available at (accessed February 6, 2011). Berkley Center for Religion, Peace, and World Affairs (2011a) “Iran: Religious Elements of the 1979 Islamic Revolution.” ——(2011b) “Mozambique: Religious Peacebuilders Broker End to Civil War,” March 15. Online. Available at (accessed March 23, 2011). ——(2011c) “Northern Ireland: Religion in War and Peace,” March 5. Online. Available at (accessed 1 April 2011). ——(2011d) “Uganda: Religiously-Inspired Insurgency,” March 5. Online. Available at (accessed 21 March 2011). Farmar, S. (2006a) “I Will Use the Ten Commandments to Liberate Uganda,” The Times, June 28. Online. Available at (accessed January 17, 2011).

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Eric Patterson ——(2006b) “Ugandan Rebel Leader Breaks Silence,” BBC News, June 28. Online. Availableat (accessed January 11, 2011). Gordon, G.S. (2009) “Complementary and Alternative Justice,” Oregon Law Review, 88(3): 88–101. Hobbes, T. [1651](1985) Leviathan, New York: Penguin. Hoover, D.R. and Johnston, D.M. (eds.) (2012) Religion and Foreign Affairs: Essential Readings, Waco, TX: Baylor University Press. Lederach, J.P. and Wehr, P. (1991) “Mediating Conflict in Central America,” Journal of Peace Research, 28(1): 85–98. Lee, D.S. (2007) Power Shifts, Strategy, and War: Declining States and International Conflict, New York: Routledge. Le Mare, A. and McCartney, F. (2009) Coming from the Silence: Quaker Peacebuilding Initiatives in Northern Ireland 1969–2007, York, UK: William Sessions Ltd. Liberhan (2009) “Report of the Liberhan Ayodhya Commission of Inquiry,” November 14. Online. Available at (accessed February 2, 2011). Patterson, E. (2011) Politics in a Religious World: Toward a Religiously Literate U.S. Foreign Policy, London: Continuum. Tibi, B. (2009) Islam’s Predicament with Modernity: Religious Reform and Cultural Change, New York: Routledge. Waltz, K.N. (1959) Man, the State, and War: A Theoretical Analysis, New York: Columbia University Press.

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12 RELIGION AND SECURITY IN INTERNATIONAL RELATIONS THEORIES Stacey Gutkowski

Since the end of the Cold War, International Relations (IR) as a discipline has had to sharpen its theoretical paradigms to take into account new global security challenges. Many of the challenges that have emerged in the post-Cold War era have been unconventional in terms of their object (global health, the environment, human trafficking), their scope (transnational networked alliances), and their operational modes (insurgency and guerilla tactics, terrorism, and the specter of chemical, biological and radiological weapons). With the seismic shift away from a bipolar global security arrangement, a series of smaller conflicts—which would have once been either sidelined as local spats or magnified as proxy wars—have become increasingly visible, both to Western scholars and to those at the political helm of the current global order. The frame that was most often deployed to articulate the conflicts of the 1990s was that of ethno-nationalism, which has of course been a feature of world politics for centuries but seemed to return to the foreground after the Soviet Union dissolved. When NATO powers intervened in a series of conflicts in Africa and the Balkans, scholarly usage of ethno-nationalist idioms increased still further. The amount of attention paid to religion in the IR discourse of the 1990s was uneven. Terrorist attacks such as the 1993 bombing of the World Trade Center and the 1998 attacks on U.S. embassies in Africa stimulated increased analysis of radical Islamist politics, though for the most part this attention remained a regional specialization (Middle East, North Africa, South Asia). After the massive terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001, however, religion suddenly emerged as part of a security dilemma of global import, to which IR theory would need to respond. The relationship between religion and security is complex, begging careful theorization. Ron Hassner (2010) has pointed out that the primary effect of religion on war is constitutive, not causal. Religion may shape participant and opponent identity, and in turn how participants talk about or justify conflict. It can shape the causes and duration of a war; the legitimacy of weapons and targets; the timing and location of confrontations; tactical and strategic calculations; conceptions of victory and defeat; and the materiality and ideascape of soldier life, including how they “dress, eat, fight and die” (Hassner 2010: 207). However, Hassner also cautions that, because religion pervades all aspects of human behavior, identifying its role in warfare requires keeping an open mind. Pauletta Otis (2004) has argued that religious leaders and institutions are force-multipliers, exerting power through their control of resources, interpersonal relationships, communication capabilities, and expert knowledge. Religious institutions and leaders may have 125

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significant control over goods, services, and organizational capabilities (particularly in weak states) as well as access to local, national, or transnational social networks. Religious leaders often have expert knowledge of non-verbal symbolism, community sensitivities and histories, and may help to define which political leaders will emerge, stay in power, or fall. Religion itself provides a common means of communication, language, and often coherence among a group. These factors are significant both during wartime and after the cessation of hostilities. Scholars differ over the extent to which religion is something sui generis, requiring new theory, or whether sufficient theory exists (Shah and Philpott 2011; Nexon 2011). Historically, analysis of religion had been a fairly niche area within the study of warfare. Accounts of the Thirty Years War and the French wars of religion flourished in the field of European history, as did studies of the jihad in the histories of the MENA (Middle East and North Africa) region and South and Central Asia. However, over the last three decades—and especially since 9/11—an increasing number of violent acts across the globe have been articulated by their perpetrators in a variety of religio-political idioms. Consequently, more widespread scholarly interest has been piqued regarding the theoretical and empirical connections between religion and violence. In this context, scholars of Security Studies (SS) have turned their enquiries increasingly to religion. This interest is by no means confined to IR. The relationship between religion and security has sustained significant attention from scholars of Geography, Anthropology, Sociology, Law, Theology and other social science disciplines over the past ten years. The first part of this chapter looks at the competing definitions of security and of religion currently holding sway in IR. The second section then deconstructs the recent preoccupation of IR as a discipline with the “return” of religion to global affairs, a preoccupation which has filtered through to SS. It will highlight the fact that, although violent religio-political actors have become more visible to Western analysts since the end of the Cold War, outside of Europe the influence of religion on security issues was not new. The third section addresses how the main schools of security theory—realist, liberal, and constructivist—interpret the multiple roles of religion in global affairs. It will discuss the analytical advantages and disadvantages of the main theoretical approaches in their own right; however, no one theoretical paradigm can fully capture the complex political manifestations of religion (Sandal and James 2010: 3–25). Possible compatibilities between theoretical paradigms are therefore highlighted. The fourth section examines the discipline’s focus on the 9/11 wars and emerging theoretical trends from the margins of the discipline that speak to the mainstream.

The story of religious “return” Regardless of paradigm, the theoretical literature in IR and SS has been largely, though sometimes tacitly, indebted to a story of religious “return” (Petito and Hatzopoulos 2003). According to this story, since the end of the wars of religion of the seventeenth century and the foundation of the modern state system in 1648 in Europe, religion came to play an increasingly marginal role in global affairs. Religion did not disappear entirely. For example, the religious commitments of leading statesmen such as Woodrow Wilson and powerful religious institutions such as the Vatican continued to play a significant role in international politics. However, during the twentieth century, a global religio-political trend emerged in a variety of regions, evident at state (e.g. Iran and Pakistan) and non-state levels. Since the 1970s, a significant number of non-state actors have committed high-profile terrorist acts, articulated in a religio-political idiom woven together with nationalist and other identity-based political markers (Juergensmeyer 1993, 2000). Many scholars ascribe this to a renaissance across several religious traditions, which for various reasons has also taken on atavistic, fundamentalist forms (Kepel 1994; Appleby et al. 2003). 126

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This IR (and SS) story is indebted both to European history and a normative mythology made possible by that history. Shah and Philpott have attributed the evolution of IR theory to the response of Western political thought to a series of historical events, primarily in Western Europe, whereby the state was seen as the primary vehicle of the culmination of human history, with religious actors required to subordinate themselves to this mission. Though the history of IR theory is predominantly secular, there was a strong Christian influence in the IR theories of the English school, evident in the work of Arnold Toynbee, Martin Wight, and Herbert Butterfield (Sharp 2003: 855–78). However, this story of “return” is also indebted to a normative mythology, which William Cavanaugh (2009) has called “the myth of religious violence.” In short, this mythology suggests that the state has played a unique historical role in containing violence in the name of the gods, funneling and calming human passions through government. An important side story to this—though one that Cavanaugh does not dwell on at great length—was the transfer of religious violence to the colonial frontier in the European imaginary. Several scholars have argued that this mythology—whereby “the West” is a bastion of peaceful, secular/plural rationality and “the Rest” is still struggling to cast off its jinns and demons and achieve capitalist modernization—has had a significant impact on global affairs. Hurd (2007) has identified the global order post-Second World War (not merely the way we theorize it) as secular. Cavanaugh himself has suggested that the myth that religion has a unique propensity towards violence has enabled the American-led “global war on terror,” including the pursuit of war in Iraq. The full story of SS theory is not so much one of religious “return” as “shocking introduction.” Religion played little role in the conflicts that occupied the Western strategists who forged the discipline from the 1950s to the end of the Cold War. This was largely because the secular European ideologies of the nineteenth century, most explicitly nationalism, Marxism, and liberalism, had been integrated into the self-articulation of non-Western post-colonial struggles in the twentieth. If Christianity mattered little to the intellectual classes of Europe from the 1960s onwards, religiosity mattered even less so to the proponents of Arab nationalism and the Marxist-Leninist framers of East Asian communism. Initially, the Iranian revolution was read through a secular Cold War lens by American security analysts (Luttwak 1994). Post-Cold War, security scholars continued by and large to read the nationalist conflicts of the 1990s through a secular lens, which was the trend in the rest of the social sciences. The emergence of al Qaeda as a global threat to civilian targets around the world has made SS scholars aware of the importance of including religion in their analytical accounts, but has also deeply colored how those new analytical paradigms have developed.

What is security? What is religion? The concepts, “religion” and “security,” are both essentially contested. There is no scholarly consensus about the meaning of either. Rather, a series of loosely agreed-upon settlements and highly disputed boundaries prevail. The analysis of military philosophy and history dates back to several centuries before the Common Era, with Sun Tzu and Thucydides. In the modern period, Clausewitz (1780–1831) made perhaps the most substantial contribution. However, the study of security evolved significantly as a formal academic discipline during the 1950s, largely in an Anglo-American context (McSweeney 1999). In this context it referred specifically to national security and to military means of achieving security for the state. Paul Williams (2008) refers to the discipline’s early concerns as the four S’s: states, strategy, science, and the status quo. 127

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Barry Buzan’s publication of the second edition of People, States and Fear in 1991 coincided with the end of the Cold War, and was highly influential in bringing an expanded definition of security beyond military issues and defense of the state to the academic mainstream, upon which the Copenhagen school later capitalized. In addition to the military dimension, Buzan highlighted non-military realms of security: political, economic, societal, and environmental. Though analysts broadly agree that security means the alleviation of threat, they continue to differ greatly over several central questions: What constitutes a threat?; What should be the level of tolerance of threat before action is taken? What or whom should be protected (popular answers are: the state, human beings, and society)?; and, Who should carry out action, and by what means? Williams (2008) has suggested that, though there is huge diversity, analysts generally break down into two “philosophies of security.” In the first school of thought, security is understood as a commodity, as the accumulation of power (through the accumulation of property, money, and weapons). This first school of thought is generally associated with the SS field, which is informed by a broadly realist perspective, discussed further below. In the second school of thought, security is a relationship between actors. Many—though not all—in this school are concerned with the idea of security as based on the provision of human rights and justice. The definition of religion is a similarly contested concept, much debated among scholars of religion and theology across a number of fields. Within the field of comparative religion, Smart (1996) has identified six dimensions of religiosity: ritual; mythic or narrative; experiential and emotional; ethical and legal; social; and material. In IR, a positivist approach has been most popular, with analysts looking to formal organizational structures or social groups, sacred sites such as the church or mosque, and religious leaders (Haynes 1998). Adopting a Geertzian approach, Hassner (2011: 23, 45) has argued in favor of a “thick religion” methodological approach which “tries to construct successive layers of explanation.” The analyst “proceeds from the religious microfoundations of a political phenomenon,” with attention to the details of theology, organizational structure, iconography, and rituals or beliefs. Other scholars associate religion specifically with a sense of the sacred and/or with the supernatural. A significant body of scholarship has built up from those who argue that Western conceptions of “religion” as personal faith and as a discrete activity, incompatible with and indeed perhaps threatening to democratic political life, was made possible by the Protestant Reformation in Western and Central Europe (Smith 1998). These scholars argue that this conception of religion as belief has had considerable power in the political sphere, particularly through European colonialism and its efforts to govern, control, and systematize non-Christian traditions in the colonies (Fitzgerald 2007; Peterson and Walhof 2002). Some scholars also suggest that attempts to distill religion into a universal essence which began during the European Enlightenment have spilled over into academic arenas, particularly through the creation of a field of study of “world religions” or “the great religious traditions” (Masuzawa 2005). Robert Bosco (2009: 95) has argued that some prominent IR scholarship has been beholden to a similar tendency to associate religion primarily with belief. He argues that such conceptions of religion which define it as “‘feverish belief,’ ‘ultimate concern,’ or ‘primordial loyalties,’” communicate to the reader that religious interventions into global affairs—particularly the violent ones—are always driven by some kind of “uncompromising sincerity and commitment.” This, Bosco suggests, is misleading. The “feverish belief ” approach has, however, not been ubiquitous, with other scholars of SS and IR recognizing the multi-faceted nature of religion: as a form of communal and/or individual identity, as a series of practices or rituals, as an informal or formal set of doctrines, as an articulated discourse or set of symbols, and as a world view and/or ethical and political system. They recognize that belief in a higher power or a phenomenology of the sacred may or may not come into play. 128

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For example, actors need not articulate their own security identity as “religious” in order to capitalize on the symbolic significance of religion. Between 1994 and 2004 the decidedly secular FARC assassinated about 60 Catholic priests and bishops in Colombia as a way of undermining what it perceived as the hierarchy’s challenge to its authority over particular territories. For the FARC, the targeting of the Catholic hierarchy was both symbolic and the elimination of a perceived material threat. For the analyst, religion is visible in this event, but not because the members of the FARC articulated the act as an expression of Christian faith. Some scholars also acknowledge that religion gets mediated through a variety of cultural and political forms as it manifests itself in the social world. For example, Bradley (2009: 272) has noted that “religious subjectivities often form the platform for political mobilization and result in the prominence of certain national and ethnic identities as they react to change.” The role of religion as a source of legitimacy and nation-formation during the Balkan wars of the 1990s is a case in point.

The main theoretical paradigms This next section looks at how the main IR/SS theoretical paradigms interpret the relationship between religion and security and includes a table in which I identify strengths and weaknesses of different theoretical schools and their variants vis-à-vis religio-politics.

Realism While there are numerous sub-schools of realist theory (including neoclassical, post-classical, rise and fall, offensive structural, and defensive structural), the following discussion will target the two most prominent: classical and neo-realist. Both see the state (to different extents) as the prime mover in international affairs. However, the ability of these two branches of security theory to incorporate the complex effects of religion on global security differs significantly. Strategic Studies theorists generally share the philosophical underpinnings of IR theories of classical realism. These are a pessimistic view of human nature, a belief in the fundamental inevitability of war, and a suspicion that morality, law, and institutional cooperation can only play a limited role in an anarchic international system where the logic of self-help reigns (Baylis and Wirtz 2007). Sandal and James (2010) have argued that, of all the realist paradigms, classical realism may be the one most amenable to taking into account the role of religion. They point out that, as the starting point in classical realism is human nature, moving on to the system level, this paradigm has a built-in opportunity to look at linkages between the two. Religion could be used as a subunitary, independent variable. They cite the example of Iran: while a classical realist could not say that Iran’s status as an Islamic state caused it to take a particular action, they could say that the circles around Ahmedinejad recognize that sectarianism is a way to mobilize people’s base instincts, and this influences the security alliances Iran has chosen to build with Shi’a minorities in the region, most prominently with Hizbollah. Classical realism, they think, can accommodate the world view of the leader, political culture, or bureaucratic system. Still, this argument can be countered. Though Ahmedinejad’s anti-Semitic rhetoric may target Israel’s identity as a Jewish state, for classical realists, regional balancing generally better explains the contemporary Iranian security posture. Other scholars have been more pessimistic about the possibility of classical realist security analysis taking into account issues of culture and identity, including religion. The inattention of most scholars with a bent towards strategic studies to religious and cultural variables would tend to bear this out (Shaw 2011). For classical realism, religious variables remain wholly epiphenomenal to the main story of material factors (guns and money). While interesting, they have little explanatory potency. Realism has also not traditionally been concerned with ethics, which is central to the claims of many religio-political actors. 129

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Still, the relationship between Christian ethics and realism has also received scholarly attention in recent years, particularly the Christian realism or “ethical realism” of Reinhold Niebuhr. In light of the “war on terror” and the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan scholars have revisited Niebuhr’s attempts to square the imperatives of state power in a dangerous, anarchic system with the ethical imperatives of Christianity. By contrast, neo-realist theories of security seem less able to theorize religious variables. In this paradigm, states as units are functionally alike, adhering to an ordering principle of rational self-help in an anarchic system. The state is a black box, with little account of preferences or domestic dynamics, including those of religious institutions, actors, and ideas. Neo-realist theories are also not attuned to transnational actors. Al Qaeda as a transnational actor seems to elude neo-realist explanation. Sandal and James (2010: 19) are optimistic that a neo-realist perspective could be used to analyze identity creation and consolidation of alliance patterns. However, such a paradigm seems to veer off unhelpfully in the direction of Samuel Huntington’s civilizational explanations. For example, the security relationship between Syria and Lebanon is defined by more than the Shi’a adoption of the Alevis as also Shi’a, though the presence of Shi’a populations in both provides an impetus for Iranian support.

Liberalism Classical liberalism holds, along with peace studies (an area of scholarship deeply invested in the relationship between religion, ethics, and non-violence), that war is not inevitable. In contrast to realism, liberalism emphasizes the role of law, norms, regimes, and cooperation in averting war. There are several schools of liberal security theory which are less amenable to religious variables because of their focus on the state and the economy. These include commercial liberalism, republican liberalism, and state-centric variants. However, other variations, particularly of neoliberalism, emphasize the role of norms, international institutions, and the rule of law in facilitating cooperation and compliance across the international system. These accommodate and give significant credence to the role of non-state, inter-state, and transnational actors and processes. There are few states with overtly theocratic leanings (Saudi Arabia and Iran are exceptions). Therefore in the tradition of neoliberalism, attention to action outside the state is particularly important for interpreting the impact of religion on global security. Neoliberal paradigms are conducive to studies of legitimacy (which take religion as an intervening variable) and transnational identity formation (taking religion both as a dependent and an independent variable). In terms of security theory, neoliberalist approaches can explain, for example, the impact of transnational religious organizations and networks (including al Qaeda and the Roman Catholic Church) either directly on war or state decisions in war; the impact of ethno-religious lobby groups on states’ security postures; the role of religious NGOs in the provision of humanitarian aid during and post-conflict; the impact of religion on national identity-formation; and the impact of religio-political leaders on mobilizing discursive frames for war or peace. Religious solidarity is an important facilitator of cooperation, for good or ill, across the international system, and eludes explanations that exclusively privilege material factors. Some liberal theorization of war has come under sustained critique from critical, constructivist, and post-colonial scholars in recent years, with particular attention paid to warfare since 9/11. These critics suggest that liberal security theories disguise their own political and normative assumption that a clear separation between religion and politics generates peace and healthy politics. This normative assumption (the myth of religious violence), critics suggest, may lead liberal theorists to over-interpret religious actors and ideas as violent, suggesting heavy-handed intervention to make way for market expansion and economic “cooperation.” The story is far 130

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more complicated than either side of the debate suggests. As R. Scott Appleby points out, religion is both a progressive and dangerous force in world affairs (2000).

Constructivism Despite significant diversity within this theory, for constructivist scholars of security, “the world is constituted socially through intersubjective interaction. … [A]gents and structures are mutually constituted … [and] ideational factors such as norms, identity and ideas generally are central to the constitution and dynamics of world politics” (MacDonald 2008: 59). Epistemologically, constructivists hold that the social world is a constant process of human creation. War and peace are what states make of them and, for some constructivists, analysts also participate in this generative process. Some constructivists lean more heavily than others on the causal relationship between identity and interests. The approach is particularly accommodating of the ideational and symbolic impact of religion: as a series of practices or rituals, as an informal or formal set of doctrines, and as a world view and/or ethical and political system. Constructivists are concerned with how the security alliances and violent divisions among religious communities and between religious communities and governments are created by actors. They are also concerned with the creation and articulation of religio-political identities, and the symbols and discourses through which religio-political actors communicate their interests and loyalties, and how these things are interpreted by others in a particular security environment. Although there are multiple schools of thought within constructivist security theorizing, the Copenhagen school is one of the most prominent. Copenhagen scholars turned their attention to “sacred referent objects for securitization” (Laustsen and Waever 2000). For Copenhagen scholars, leaders are pivotal in declaring something to be under threat, thus necessitating a security response which may occur without democratic deliberation. Other scholars later followed suit, including those influenced by the Welsh and Paris schools of thought (Sheikh 2009; Mavelli 2011). These advances built on the increasing recognition across both conventional and critical constructivist IR “schools” in the 1990s of the importance of culture and identity to global security, for example in the construction of amity and enmity (Jepperson, Wendt, and Katzenstein 1996). While the Copenhagen school is somewhat unique in emphasizing the role of discourse (speech acts) in constituting security issues, many other constructivist scholars give strong credence to material factors. Constructivist IR empirical studies have also drawn fluidly from constructivist work in the cognate social sciences, especially Geography, Anthropology, and area studies, which understand religio-politics as a process of constant contestation (Dorman 2009). Out of all the theoretical schools in SS, constructivist accounts have perhaps the most potential to accommodate the widest possibility of religious manifestation across the international system. Constructivists often refer to their approach as a method or “toolkit,” a supplement to other theoretical paradigms. The strengths and weaknesses of the different theoretical schools and their variants vis-à-vis religio-politics are highlighted in Table 12.1.

Emerging theoretical trends and the double-edged sword of 9/11 As yet, most discussions of “religion and IR theory” have been confined to the mainstream paradigms. Nexon has warned about the supposed hazards of the theorization of religion and global affairs via non-traditional theoretical positions in IR. He argues that “we need to be sensitive to the very real risk that religion becomes yet another vehicle for advancing the agenda 131

Table 12.1 Theoretical paradigms and religion in international relations Religious dynamics in conflict and post-conflict acknowledged by the paradigm

Paradigm’s explanatory value vis-à-vis religio-politics

Drawbacks to the paradigm vis-à-vis religio-politics

Classical realism

Not traditionally concerned with matters of identity, including culture and religion.

A concern with human nature and the system level may allow for exploration of religion as a subunitary, independent variable.

A paradigmatic preference for material factors may lead to an underestimation of the dynamics of religion and culture.

Neo-realism

Neo-realist theories are not attuned to religio-political dynamics, because states as units are presumed to be functionally alike, “black boxes,” adhering to principles of rational self-help.

n.a.

Nearly impossible to read cultural and religious dynamics through a neo-realist lens.

Neoliberalism

A particular emphasis on the influence of religious norms on non-state institutions: churches, networks, lobby groups, NGOs, IGOs.

Good at explaining transnational religious solidarities and interpreting transnational solidarities, the impact of lobby groups on state security postures, and the role of NGOs.

Normative assumption that religion is violent may lead neoliberal theorists to over-interpret religious actors and ideas as violent.

Constructivism (Cophenhagen School)

Sees religious traditions and religio-politics as informing discourse and symbolism.

Particularly good for explaining how leaders of states, religious groups, or religio-political groups declare security issues.

Largely confined to speech acts.

Constructivism (Wendtian)

Particularly accommodating of the ideational and symbolic impact of religion: as a series of practices or rituals, as an informal or formal set of doctrines, and as a world view and/or ethical and political system.

Can accommodate a wide variety of manifestations of religion (including those accommodated by neoliberalism) as well as the relationships between religion, ethnicity, and nationalism in particular cases.

Analysts may pay insufficient attention to material factors.

Critical security theory

Similar to Wendtian constructivism.

Similar advantages to Wendtian constructivism. Particularly useful for non-Western cases or where significant imbalances of power between actors exist. Useful in analyzing “power over” and legitimization and silencing in political affairs.

A tendency towards utopianism or perhaps under-interpreting the extent to which religiopolitics is often a double-edged sword.

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of, variously, constructivists, post-structuralists, interpretivists, and adherents to other ‘dissident’ positions in the field” (2011: 161). Nexon’s criticism adopts a very narrow and authoritative conception of what “counts” as IR theory. Some of the most interesting theoretical innovations on the religion–security nexus are from those speaking from the margins of the discipline, particularly those with strong multidisciplinary theoretical concerns, working from post-colonial perspectives. Critical security theory—of which there is a great deal of overlap with constructivism— concerns itself particularly with the politics of conflict: how narratives become dominant or silenced and in turn set limits for legitimate or feasible action; how identities are contested; how representations of threat and divisions of us/them are made possible by particular political, epistemological, cultural, economic, and social hierarchies in global affairs (Bilgin 2008). Critical theorists are fundamentally concerned with how states and groups maintain and exercise power—military, economic, political, social—over the less powerful in global affairs. Critical security theorists ask the following kinds of questions which are relevant to the theorization of religion and security: How have Orientalist assumptions about the Muslim “Other” shaped how the United States and its allies have waged the war on terror? Have certain religious movements in the United States and Europe been empowered by the 9/11 wars to the detriment of others, and what are the consequences for global politics? To what extent are Western-led democratization projects across the MENA region and beyond beholden to Western assumptions about the proper separation of religion and politics? What possibilities for moderate Islamic political and economic visions of the good life have been stunted by the 9/11 wars and their aftermath? What hierarchies have been created within the secular global order, who has been disadvantaged by these, and what are the consequences? (Asad 2003; Euben 1999; Butler 2008). Critical lines of enquiry also draw attention to what religio-political actors are legitimized or silenced, how and by whom; what religio-political narratives are bolstered or constrained in the public sphere; the “nested” histories of hegemony across the MENA region and the politics of resistance to hegemony. While, as Cox (1981: 126–55) famously pointed out, all theory has normative stakes, answers to these questions are of use to scholars and policy-makers across the epistemological and political spectrum. One potential difficulty for the advancement of critical theorizing about religion in IR is that many of these innovations have focused closely on the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan and on Islamist terrorism around the globe, and have generalized about the role of “religion” in war from these specific cases where Islam is the salient religious factor. Many anthropologically conscious critical scholars are also wary of theorizing about “religion” as a universal construct, making their contributions perhaps less evident to scholars working on “religion and IR” in other theoretical paradigms. However, there are many possible areas of cross-pollination. All theoretical schools described here have made useful contributions to the theorization of the religion–security nexus: constructivists to the ideas, discourses, and identities driving religious actors and their reception; liberals to the institutional expressions of religious identities and loyalties; realists to the material factors that often condition and override utopian religious ideals; and critical scholars to the politics of the 9/11 wars which have conditioned IR theorization of religion and security. There is now a pressing need to build up the empirical case study literature beyond that of the 9/11 wars and the European wars of religion in order to fuel further theoretical innovation (Horowitz 2009). In particular, there is a need for rich case studies featuring non-Western referents, and going beyond Western readings of non-Western actors. Kent’s constructivist exploration of Buddhism, security, and moral legitimacy in Cambodia is one example of what this might look like (2006: 343–61). Additionally, all scholars would do well to shake off any lingering suspicions of religion as an epiphenomenal “opiate of the masses” and to take seriously the emancipatory potential of religious traditions, for conflict de-escalation, regulation, and peacebuilding (Petito and Michael 2009). 133

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13 RELIGION, NATIONALISM, AND INTERNATIONAL SECURITY: CREATION MYTHS AND SOCIAL MECHANISMS Philip S. Gorski and Gülay Türkmen-Dervis¸og˘lu

The tri-partite relationship of religion, nationalism, and security is currently obscured by two myths. The first is what William Cavanaugh (2009) has dubbed “the myth of religious violence.” According to this myth, religion is always a source of violence, and secularism is always a source of peace; complete privatization of religion is therefore the only solution to the problem of sectarian conflict. The second is what Anthony Smith and others have called the “modernist theory of nationalism” (Smith 1998). According to this myth, nationalism is a specifically modern phenomenon which replaces religion as a source of integration in secularized societies. In the first half of this chapter, we will show why both of these myths are myths, and in both the historical and anthropological senses of the term: they are at odds with the historical record, but serve to legitimate a certain cultural world view, namely, the kind of philosophical liberalism advanced by political theorists like John Rawls. This essay also argues that the study of religious nationalism and international security would benefit from greater attention to what might be called meso-level mechanisms. Most academic and policy discussions of religion and violence tend to focus either on what social scientists refer to as the “micro-level,” encompassing individual “beliefs” or “identity” (Stern 2003) or on the “macro-level,” encompassing “values” or “culture” (Huntington 1996). What often goes missing in such accounts is an intermediate or “meso” level, consisting of factors such as elites and ideology (Hassner 2011). For example, where religion is concerned, there is a tendency to focus on an entire “tradition” or “civilization” (e.g. “Islam” or “Christendom”) or on individual “beliefs” or “goals” (e.g., “jihad” or “salvation”). In reality, much of religious life occurs at an intermediate scale or meso level that includes religious leaders and teachings in the context where they are lived. Seeking to fill this gap, in the second half of this paper we will advance two main arguments: first, that insurgent forms of religious nationalism most often come into being as a result of strategic alliances between religious and political elites, usually ones who feel excluded from power; and second, that religious nationalist violence tends to be triggered by certain catalytic events and occurs around particular geographical flash points, which we identify more precisely below. 136

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The foundation of the liberal state and the myth of religious violence In the introduction to his influential book Political Liberalism, John Rawls presents what is in our view an oversimplified history of Western Christianity and the liberal state. “[T]he historical origin of political liberalism (and of liberalism more generally),” he argues, “is the Reformation and its aftermath” (Rawls 2005: xxiv). Citing just two works—a work on political theory by a Harvard colleague and a 40-year-old survey of the English Reformation—he then makes another bold assertion: the Protestant Reformation “introduces into people’s conceptions of their good a transcendent element not admitting of compromise. This element forces either mortal conflict … or equal liberty of conscience and freedom of thought” (Rawls 2005: xxvi). In other words, religious pluralism admits of only two solutions: never-ending wars of religion or the perpetual peace of political liberalism. Is he right? In a seminal article written shortly after the Second World War, the legal scholar Leo Gross advanced a remarkably similar argument and in somewhat more specific terms. The 1648 Peace of Westphalia, he contended, signaled the end of early modern Europe’s wars of religion. More than that, it signaled the beginning of the modern system of human rights and international relations. Henceforth, “the principle of religious equality was placed as part of the peace under an international guarantee.” The Peace of Westphalia, in an oft-cited phrase, formed “the majestic portal which leads from the old into the new world” (Gross 1948: 28). The problem of religious violence, as represented by Rawls and Gross, is a standard trope in social and political theory (Juergensmeyer 2000; Parekh 1999) and in comparative politics and international relations (Philpott 2001). The moral of these stories is that the radical privatization of religion is the only possible solution to the (putatively) intractable problem of cultural pluralism. This narrative is a myth in the anthropological sense. It underwrites a certain domestic and international order: a liberal one. But it is also a myth in the historical sense, insofar as it rests on a questionable account of Western development. One reason its account is questionable is that it is telescoped. It leaps directly from the “sectarian violence” of the sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries to the “religious equality” of the late eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, as if Hobbes and Locke were contemporaries of Madison and Jefferson. It thereby leaps over—indeed, altogether ignores—the long era of confessional states and state churches, and consequently misunderstands the genesis of religious toleration. The central principles of the “Westphalian system,” after all, were territorialization and confessionalism, not secularism and privatization (Schilling 1988; Schilling 1998). Ideally, the boundaries of state and church were to coincide. And insofar as they did not, one confession would be publicly privileged, and religious minorities would be second-class citizens (Kaplan 2007). Liberalism arose mainly as a reaction against confessionalism (Hsia and van Nierop 2002; Murphy 2001). Specifically, it first arose in the context of pluralistic polities, when religious minorities pressed for civic equality, as in the Dutch Republic and the American colonies. Another reason the myth is questionable is that it presumes that the wars of religion were only wars of religion, whose root cause was theological difference. In truth, the Protestant Reformation intersected with a congeries of other long-simmering economic, political, and social conflicts—conflicts between the Emperor and his Electors, between princes and parliaments, between urban magistrates and episcopal sees, between artisans and merchants (Koenigsberger 1971). Premodern rulers were generally able to control and contain these tensions by means of patrimonial politics and divide-and-rule tactics. But the religious movements of the Reformation era could not easily be managed in this way because they were cross-class and cross-regional (Nexon 2009; Te Brake 1998). As such, they could and did serve as effective platforms for larger and fiercer forms of resistance. In short, insofar as the causes of the wars of religion were 137

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religious, changes in religious organization were more important than changes in religious ideas per se. The third and final reason for rejecting the myth of religious violence is its faulty moral accounting. As religious observers presaged early on, the greatest atrocities of the modern age are attributable, not to conflicts between the historic “world religions,” but to conflicts between the modern “political religions” of Jacobinism, Fascism, Nazism, and Communism (Sturzo 1925; Voegelin 1939).1 Against this background, the emphasis on “wars of religion” almost seems like an exercise in misdirection by members of the Second World War generation such as Rawls and Gross. Rather than defending liberalism as a buttress against the horrors of twentiethcentury totalitarianism, they defended it as a response to the early modern wars of religion. In truth, there is no neat dividing line between “secular” and “religious” wars, and attempts to draw them are rarely disinterested. But, one might counter: Isn’t liberal secularism good political theory, even if it is bad political history? Doesn’t a clear separation of religion and politics lead to higher levels of social and political stability? Not necessarily. There is considerable evidence that radical secularizing campaigns often generate “fundamentalist” backlash movements. This occurred not only in authoritarian regimes, such as Kemalist Turkey or Mubarak’s Egypt, but also in the liberal democracy of the United States (Kuru 2009; Toft, Philpott, and Shah 2011).2 One might therefore conclude that the myth of religious violence is something of a self-fulfilling prophecy when states try to force religion into the supposedly “safe” boxes built by secularism. The crucial point for the present analysis is this: the myth of religious violence implies that the roots of religious violence are to be found in some differentia specifica that distinguishes religious values or world views from secular ones. Thus, scholars commonly argue that religion is “absolutist,” “divisive,” “irrational,” and “non-negotiable,” thereby implying that secularism is “relativist,” “inclusive,” “scientific,” and “compromising.” In reality, one can easily point to exceptions in both directions, to more accommodating and peaceful forms of religion, on the one hand, but also to fanatical and violent forms of secularism, on the other. In our view, a theory of religious violence should be embedded within a general theory of social conflict rather than in a specific theory of religious values.3

The foundations of the nation state and the myth of secular nationalism The myth of religious violence tries to draw a sharp political line between (violent) religion and (peaceful) liberal secularism. Similarly, the myth of modern nationalism attempts to draw a sharp historical line between religion (traditional and premodern) and nationalism (secular and modern). It does so by embedding the history of nationalism within a broader narrative of secularization qua modernization. On this account, nationalism fills the cultural vacuum created by religious decline. Consider Benedict Anderson’s Imagined Communities, still one of the most cited academic studies of nationalism. Nationalism, he argues, is best seen as a basic cultural structure like kinship or religion (1991: 5). The rise of nationalism, on this account, is closely linked to the decline of religion. As secularization undermined religious sources of political legitimation, the story goes, modern nationalism expanded to fill the gap. “Print media” such as novels and newspapers replaced sacred texts. Myths of national origin and destiny replaced myths of creation and deliverance. Or did they? Curiously, when Anderson turns from grand narrative to specific cases, religion suddenly reappears, not as a predecessor to nationalism, but as its very foundation. Or consider another widely read text, Eric Hobsbawm’s Nations and Nationalism since 1780 (1992). Its central premise is that: “The basic characteristic of the modern nation and everything 138

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associated with it is its modernity” (14). Before the French Revolution, Hobsbawm argues, the word “nation” did not have anything like its present meaning.4 During the Revolution, he continues, “land,” “people,” and “state” were tied together into an ideological package. Thus, for Hobsbawm as for Anderson, the rise of nationalism accompanies the decline of religion— and the genesis of modernity. Or does it? As in Anderson’s text, we witness a return of religion in the shift from theory to history. Indeed, at one point Hobsbawm (1992: 124) observes: “The alliance of nationalism and religion is obvious enough, especially in Ireland and Poland. Which is primary? The answer is far from clear.” Like the myth of religious violence, the myth of secular nationalism plays a foundational role, in that it addresses a lingering unease at the very heart of the liberal vision: liberalism recommends itself as a neutral guarantor of peace and order, but can it also generate the civic virtue and social solidarity necessary to political community? (see Beiner 2011; Holmes 1993; and Kloppenberg 1998). Religion might aid in this task, but liberalism forbids a public role for it (Audi 2000; Dworkin 2006; Rawls 1971). Liberalism insists that religious commitments be confined to the realms of personal belief and private worship. The obvious alternative is (secular) nationalism. Yet it, too, is uncomfortably close to a public religion. Thus we see perennial attempts to sharply distinguish “good” types of nationalism from “bad” ones (Greenfeld 2001; Kohn 1946; Viroli 1997). The liberal state must be a nation state. And it must be buttressed through a “good” form of nationalism. The two myths, then, are politically complementary, but their relationship is an uneasy one, insofar as most liberals remain quite wary of nationalism. Like the myth of religious violence, the myth of secular nationalism has proven problematic, and on two fronts. On the one hand, it has proven very difficult to disentangle the history of nationalism from the history of monotheism. As Steven Grosby and others have shown, for example, the ancient Israelites had all the distinguishing characteristics of a modern nation (Grosby 1991; Grosby 2002; Roshwald 2006). Further, as Anthony Smith and others have demonstrated, the idea of a “chosen people” arguably served as the model for modern nationalism, which linked “holy land,” “chosen people,” and independent “state”—the conceptual triptych identified by Hobsbawm (Hastings 1997; Hutchison and Lehmann 1994; O’Brien 1988; Smith 2003). Little wonder, then, that Anderson and Hobsbawm could not altogether avoid the subject of religion as they turned from theories to cases. On the other hand—and this is the second difficulty—the expectations of secularization theorists and political liberals have been repeatedly confounded, and doubly so. There is, first of all, not just the stubborn persistence of religion in some parts of the West, but the surprising “global resurgence of religion”—surprising to academic analysts, that is—which has overtaken precisely those parts of the world that are currently undergoing the most rapid modernization, thereby refuting the core claim of secularization theory, namely, that religion and modernity don’t mix (Berger 1999; Davie 2000; Moghadam 2003). Then, there is the leading role played by “public religions” in the “third wave” of democratization, not to mention their possible role in a fourth wave that may now be overtaking the Middle East, thereby challenging the core claim of political liberalism, namely, that the privatization of religion is a prerequisite of democratization (Philpott 2004; Toft, Philpott, and Shah 2011; Woodberry and Shah 2004). The crucial point for the present analysis is this: the myth of secular nationalism presumes that “genuine” nationalism can and should be defined in opposition to “traditional” religion and that nationalism is therefore only “modern” to the extent that it is “secular.”5 But these conceptual distinctions are historically leaky. There is both a formal similarity and a genetic connection between Western monotheism and Western nationalism and, most likely, between religion and nationalism more generally. This means that secular forms of nationalism are almost always parasitic on religious sources of identity. This dynamic awakens us to the possibility, or 139

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rather to the reality, that the distinction between secular and religious forms of nationalism is always a matter of degree, rather than of kind. Any nationalist mobilization always carries within it the potential for a religious reactivation.

Religious nationalism and religious politics: parameters and preconditions Having clarified the relationship between religion and violence on the one hand, and religion and nationalism on the other, we must now clarify the relationship between religious nationalism and violence. Before doing so, however, it is important to stress that religious nationalism is not the only form of religious politics in the modern world, and that there are other forms of religious politics that are generally benign. For example, religious movements and political parties can serve as a means of democratic reform and civic incorporation (Altınordu 2010; Casanova 1994; Kalyvas 2000). So, how can we distinguish religious nationalism from public or politicized religion? For the purposes of the present analysis, we will define religious nationalism as a social movement that claims to speak in the name of the nation, and which defines the nation in terms of religion (Juergensmeyer 1993; Sells 1996; Tambiah 1986; van der Veer 1994; Zubrzycki 2006). In other words, it seeks to unite a nation and a religion, and to purge both of “impure” or “heterodox” elements, through violence, where necessary. In recent years, for example, violent religious nationalist movements have arisen out of Serbian Orthodoxy, the Hindu right, and Sri Lankan Buddhism. By contrast, public religions are political movements that claim to speak on behalf of a religious community, without defining the polity in religious terms (Altınordu 2010; Casanova 1994). Recent examples include the Christian Democratic parties of Western Europe and arguably the Welfare Party or the Justice and Development Party of Turkey. Their history suggests that, if politicized religions are open to cooperation and compromise with political and religious others, they can be fully compatible with democratic pluralism. So defined, religious nationalism and politicized religion stand on opposite poles of a spectrum. Between them, we find intermediate forms of religious politics such as “civil religion” (Bellah 2005). There are some general preconditions that influence the likelihood that an insurgent form of religious nationalism will crystallize. As we have seen, nationalist discourse generally posits a deep unity between a people, a state, and a territory. An insurgent form of religious nationalism is most likely to the degree that: 1) a single, religious group is demographically preponderant within a national polity (e.g. Buddhists, Sunnis); 2) another, heterodox group dominates state institutions within that polity (e.g. “secular humanists,” Alawites); and 3) that same heterodox group occupies a sacred portion of the national homeland (e.g. Kashmir, Croatia). Conversely, such a movement is less likely to the degree that: 1) the population is evenly divided between three or more religious groups (Wilkinson 2004); 2) all religious groups are proportionately represented in state institutions (Wimmer 1997); and also 3) all groups are fairly evenly distributed across the national territory.6 Here, the constructivist will object that the boundaries of orthodoxy, representation, and homeland are subject to competing interpretations—and rightly so. But not all interpreters are created equal; some speak with greater authority than others (Bourdieu and Thompson 1991). The popular legitimacy of a particular interpretation of a religious tradition has much to do with the “religious capital” of the interpreter, with his or her religious credentials and official position (Bourdieu 1991; Rey 2004). However, the more religious capital a person possesses, the more invested they will generally be in the religious hierarchy, and hence the more inclined they will be to defend the autonomy of the religious community from political control. 140

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This general state of affairs creates something of a dilemma for the would-be religious nationalist: to be successful, s/he needs the authoritative backing of religious elites (De Juan 2008; Gill and Keshavarzian 1999); but the more authoritative these elites are, the less inclined they will generally be to provide that backing. There are at least three means of escaping the dilemma. One is to rely on an alternate source of authority, namely, personal charisma, as opposed to religious office. For instance, some Chechen politicians (e.g. Ramzan Kadyrov or Alu Alkhanov) ally with self-described “jihadi” clerics who claim to represent “true Islam” in order to promote shari’a against the influence of the more moderate and traditionally more popular Sufi orders in the country. Another is to rely on an “illegitimate” source of authority, typically an upstart or dissenting faction within the dominant religion. Thus, while Syria has a Sunni majority, its rulers, the Assad family, belong to the Alawites, a mystical sect within Shiite Islam. A third and final means is for the political leadership to simply claim religious authority for themselves. For example, the fact that Osama bin Laden had no training as a Muslim scholar did not prevent him from offering sweeping interpretations of Islamic history, law, and theology. However, all three of these maneuvers are also likely to meet with serious political resistance from legitimate religious leaders. The likelihood of successful resistance will naturally have much to do with the scale of the religious community and with the level of institutional autonomy and resources (Toft, Philpott, and Shah 2011). For example, a transnational religious organization whose hierarchy and resource base are independent of states will have a much easier time resisting a nationalist insurgency, as in the Catholic Church’s response to the “Troubles” in Northern Ireland (Mitchell 2006). In summary, religious nationalism generally arises out of strategic alliances between insurgent factions of the political and religious elite. Such alliances are most likely to be attractive to political insurgents where there is a demographically dominant religion that believes it is being excluded from state power or national territory (Wilkinson 2004). And they are most likely to be attractive either to charismatic religious leaders who have no official power base or to heterodox religious officials who feel excluded from top-level positions within the religious field. Finally, such cross-field alliances are most likely to be successful when the legitimate religious elite are institutionally and financially dependent upon a particular state. Now that we have highlighted the role of elite-alliances in the birth of insurgent religious nationalism, we will focus on how meso-level entities and actors influence religious nationalist violence.

Religious nationalism and collective violence: catalysts and flashpoints Religious nationalism has a tendency towards symbolic and physical violence (Catherwood 1997; Friedland 2001; Friedland 2002; Friedland and Hecht 1998; Juergensmeyer 1993). This is because religious nationalists seek to align and sharpen the boundaries of the religious and political communities. This results in a very high level of internal solidarity within the movement but also in a very high level of political animosity to those outside of it. A religious dissenter is also a national traitor, and vice versa. This alignment of religious and national boundaries tends to neutralize the “cross-cutting cleavages” that otherwise vitiate the centripetal tendencies of pluralistic societies (Lipset and Rokkan 1967). Religious nationalism may lead to a significant level of physical violence, ranging from isolated acts of intimidation through religious or ethnic pogroms to full-scale civil wars and irredentist campaigns. Naturally, the likelihood of physical violence will be partly determined by the sorts of material factors that are the bread and butter of the international relations 141

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literature. These include the availability of weapons and people who know how to use them, and also strategic factors, such as the local balance of power and the interests of outside actors. But the likelihood of physical violence is also influenced by symbolic factors that typically receive scant attention from international relations scholars. One such risk factor is a discourse centered on “blood”: “blood belonging,” “blood pollution,” and “blood sacrifice” (Ehrenreich 1997; Friedland and Hecht 1998; Jewett and Lawrence 2003; Marvin and Ingle 1999; Pahl 2010). Because they define the religious and national community in ascriptive and quasi-biological terms, blood discourses of this sort help legitimate the violent purging of certain categories of “impure” people, and they often celebrate violent acts of killing as a form of religious “martyrdom.” Blood discourse is a recurring trope of religious nationalisms. In part, this is because it resonates with religious language of ritual sacrifice as well as political myths of military sacrifice. It is also because it helps dissolve the inherent tension between religious universalism and ethnic particularism, by reducing the “brotherhood of man” to which the world religions aspire to a “brotherhood of blood” limited to the ethnic group. A second risk factor is a millennial discourse of imminent apocalypse (Boyer 1992; Hall, Schuyler, and Trinh 2000; Juergensmeyer 2000; Smith 2005). Such discourses imply a meshing or synchronism between cosmic and historical times and purposes, thereby magnifying the significance and the urgency of action. By submerging the individual will in transcendent purpose, and by generating a sense of crisis, such discourses absolve actors of moral responsibility for lethal actions. Apocalyptic themes are a recurring feature of religious nationalisms, even ones that lack an indigenous tradition of apocalypticism, as with the Buddhist nationalism of Sri Lanka (Tambiah 1992). A third risk factor is the presence of sacred centers, particularly contested ones (Hassner 2003; Hassner 2009). Even secular communities have sacred sites (Gentile 2006). But some sites are more sacred than others. And a few are sacred to more than one tradition. One thinks, for example, of Jerusalem’s Temple Mount (Gorenberg 2000). As this example shows, such sites can in fact be divided and shared. But some actors will always contest such arrangements as blasphemous or polluting (Friedland 1996). Violent conflicts at such sites can in turn trigger larger conflagrations, as in the episodes of “communal violence” touched off by the destruction of the Babri Mosque in Ayodhya by Hindu radicals in 1992 (Bacchetta 2000; Hibbard 2010; van der Veer 1994). Even symbolic actions at sacred sites can trigger violence, as when Ariel Sharon’s visit to the Temple Mount (or Haram Al-Sharif) in Jerusalem in 2000 undermined President Clinton’s efforts to broker a peace deal and helped set off the Second Intifada. Likewise, the destruction of the giant Buddha statues in Afghanistan by the Taliban in 2001 not only sparked worldwide criticism from Buddhists and non-Buddhists alike but also, allegedly, led to the assassination in 2007 of Mawlawi Mohammed Islam Mohammadi, the Taliban governor of Bamiyan province at the time. The fourth and final risk factor is the practice of public processions, especially ones that traverse religious boundaries. Indeed, it is remarkable how frequently religious processions serve as a catalyst for—or provocation to—interfaith violence. There are a number of reasons for this. One is that processions assemble a collective subject that claims to represent a religious community (Bruce 1992). As such, actions taken by or against participants can be construed as actions by or against the entire religious community. Another is that processions involve implicit claims to public recognition of a religion, and may therefore spark a backlash from rival movements (Kaplan 2007). The third and last reason is that processions often lead to confrontations between hostile crowds, and to the sort of verbal sparring and dominance rituals that can quickly escalate into physical violence (Collins 2008). 142

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In summary, while religious nationalisms are constituted through various forms of symbolic violence, they do not always result in significant levels of physical violence. The likelihood of such violence is a function, not only of material factors, but of symbolic ones as well. Blood discourse and apocalyptic rhetoric lower the moral barriers to violent killing that inhere in most religions. Sacred sites and ritual processions, meanwhile, often serve as flash points where minor skirmishes can catalyze major conflicts.

Conclusions and recommendations The argument we put forward in this chapter is four-fold: First, following Appleby, Cavanaugh, and others we argued that religion is not inherently violent and secular nationalism is not inherently peaceful. Second, drawing on the work of A. Smith, van der Veer, and others, we argued that it is not really possible to draw a strict line between secular nationalism and religion; secular nationalisms are not free of religious elements and sometimes even metamorphose into religious nationalisms. Third, we argued that the rise of religious nationalism is influenced by contextual factors, such as religious demography and state–church relations, and that the proximate cause of religious nationalism is most often a strategic alliance between insurgent political elites and heterodox religious leaders; in another, less common pattern, weak political elites ally with orthodox religious leaders (e.g. in Turkey). Fourth and finally, we argued that the likelihood that religious nationalism will generate large-scale violent conflict increases when religious actors employ certain types of demonizing and millennial rhetoric and that the triggering events for such conflicts often occur around sacred sites and ritual processions. In the light of these four crucial points, we offer a few tentative conclusions for policy. Currently, “privatization” is the approach most often advocated by liberal academics and policy intellectuals. Religion, it is argued, is inherently and uniquely divisive. Public religion invariably leads to intractable conflicts. Only by removing all aspects of religion from public life—its symbols and rituals, its teachings and personnel—can further “wars of religion” be avoided. We question this reasoning. As we have seen, it is based on a mistaken interpretation of European history and, indeed, of Western liberalism itself. What is more, it is self-contradictory. If freedom of religion and freedom of expression are the foundational values of Western liberalism, then “liberal” demands that discursive restraints be placed on religious speech are actually illiberal in the extreme. Not surprisingly, efforts to privatize religion typically involve repressive measures, such as the restriction of religious expression and the seizure of religious properties. Such measures are frequently counter-productive. In the long run, they tend to generate anti-liberal backlash movements, such as Christian “dominionism” in the United States (Diamond 1995), violent insurgency campaigns, such as the Muslim Brotherhood in Egypt (Kepel 1994), and sometimes even theocratic regimes, such as the Islamic Republic of Iran. And even when they succeed at suppressing religious conflict, as, say, in Kemalist Turkey, they must often employ authoritarian means. In many ways, “liberal secularism” is a political oxymoron. Underlying the privatization thesis is the consideration of religion as “doctrine,” on a macro level. We question this reasoning and argue that the meso level of religion—in the form of elite alliances and symbolic factors—plays an even more influential role in bringing about religious nationalist violence. The meso level warrants careful scrutiny by policy-makers who, most of the time, fall into the trap of evaluating certain religions only as monolithic doctrine advocating violence. As such, this approach helps portray religion as divisive. We argue, however, that it is usually not religion per se that produces violence, but the context in which violence occurs. Our conclusions and recommendations are more Madisonian than Rawlsian. The best antidote for religious tyranny, Madison argued, is religious pluralism, and the best means of promoting 143

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religious pluralism, he concluded, is to promote religious freedom. In his words: “Freedom arises from a multiplicity of sects, which pervades America, and which is the best and only security for religious liberty in any society” (Madison [1788]1999: 381). For him, this meant severing institutional ties between church and state, on the one hand, and protecting rights of religious association on the other, as guaranteed by the First Amendment to the U.S. Constitution. Madison’s reasoning on this issue has proven impeccable. The United States has become increasingly pluralistic over time, and it is now one of the most religiously diverse nations on earth. The resulting dispersion of religious authority means that any claim to speak in the name of the “national religion” will be immediately and seriously contested. Madisonianism does not prevent alliances between insurgent religious and political elites, nor does it outlaw inflammatory rhetoric and the resulting violence. But it does facilitate the formation of counter-alliances and more civil forms of speech; these in turn produce more debate on different interpretations of religion, paving the way for dialogue. To sum up, if policy-makers are to ensure international security, it is advisable that they re-examine commonly-held myths about religion and nationalism and give more attention to the role of meso-level actors and symbolic factors in generating religious nationalist violence.

Notes 1 It might be objected that the political religions are still religions. However, what the totalitarian political religions have most in common with the historic world religions is precisely not theology or belief, but eschatology and ritual. 2 This brings us full circle, for there is also considerable evidence that the modern myth of religious violence took shape in mid-twentieth-century America, where it was appropriated, not only by political liberals, such as Rawls and Gross, but also by the American judiciary, whose re-reading of the First Amendment to the U.S. Constitution is often cited as the catalyst for the rise of the “New Religious Right” beginning in the late 1970s. 3 Political liberals, meanwhile, should stop assuming that political secularists are their natural allies and that public religion is their natural enemy. 4 For a more balanced view of the conceptual history of the term “nation,” see Schönemann (1972–97). 5 This is not to deny that there is such a thing as secular nationalism. Rather, it is to insist that it is only one type of nationalism. Nor do we dispute the specifically modern character of fully secular nationalisms. We would only add that religious nationalism is also modern, insofar as premodern nationalisms were not distinct from religion. 6 Naturally, these are ideal-typical situations, which real polities will only approach to a certain degree. Likewise, the effects of context are also probabilistic.

References Altınordu, A. (2010) “The Politicization of Religion: Political Catholicism and Political Islam in Comparative Perspective,” Politics & Society, 38(4): 517–51. Anderson, B. (1991) Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism, London and New York: Verso. Audi, R. (2000) Religious Commitment and Secular Reason, Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press. Bacchetta, P. (2000) “Sacred Space in Conflict in India: The Babri Masjid Affair,” Growth and Change, 31 (2): 255–84. Beiner, R. (2011) Civil Religion, New York: Cambridge University Press. Bellah, R.N. (2005) “Civil Religion in America,” Daedalus, 134: 40–55. Berger, P.L. (ed.) (1999) The Desecularization of the World: Resurgent Religion and World Politics, Washington, DC: Ethics and Public Policy Center/W.B. Eerdmans. Bourdieu, P. (1991) “Genesis and Structure of the Religious Field,” Comparative Social Research, 13: 1–43. Bourdieu, P. and Thompson, J.B. (1991) Language and Symbolic Power, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

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Boyer, P.S. (1992) When Time Shall Be No More: Prophecy Belief in Modern American Culture, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Bruce, S. (1992) The Red Hand: Protestant Paramilitaries in Northern Ireland, Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. Casanova, J. (1994) Public Religions in the Modern World, Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Catherwood, C. (1997) Why the Nations Rage, London: Hodder & Stoughton. Cavanaugh, W.T. (2009) The Myth of Religious Violence: Secular Ideology and the Roots of Modern Conflict, Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. Collins, R. (2008) Violence: A Micro-sociological Theory, Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Davie, G. (2000) “Prospects for Religion in the Modern World,” The Ecumenical Review, 52(4): 455–64. De Juan, A. (2008) “A Pact with the Devil? Elite Alliances as Bases of Violent Religious Conflicts,” Studies in Conflict & Terrorism, 31(12): 1120–35. Diamond, S. (1995) Roads to Dominion: Right-wing Movements and Political Power in the United States, New York: Guilford Press. Dworkin, R. (2006) Is Democracy Possible Here? Principles for a New Political Debate, Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Ehrenreich, B. (1997) Blood Rites: Origins and History of the Passions of War, New York: Holt. Friedland, R. (1996) To Rule Jerusalem, New York: Cambridge University Press. ——(2001) “Religious Nationalism and the Problem of Collective Representation,” Annual Review of Sociology, 27(1): 125–52. ——(2002) “Money, Sex, and God: The Erotic Logic of Religious Nationalism,” Sociological Theory, 20(3): 381–425. Friedland, R. and Hecht, R. (1998) “The Bodies of Nations: A Comparative Study of Religious Violence in Jerusalem and Ayodhya,” History of Religions, 38(2): 101–49. Gentile, E. (2006) Politics as Religion, Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Gill, A. and Keshavarzian, A. (1999) “State Building and Religious Resources: An Institutional Theory of Church-State Relations in Iran and Mexico,” Politics & Society, 27(3): 431–65. Gorenberg, G. (2000) The End of Days: Fundamentalism and the Struggle for the Temple Mount, New York: Free Press. Greenfeld, L. (2001) The Spirit of Capitalism: Nationalism and Economic Growth, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Grosby, S.E. (1991) “Religion and Nationality in Antiquity: The Worship of Yahweh and Ancient Israel,” Archives Européennes de Sociologie 32(2): 229–65. ——(2002) Biblical Ideas of Nationality: Ancient and Modern, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Gross, L. (1948) “The Peace of Westphalia, 1648–1948,” The American Journal of International Law, 42: 20–41. Hall, J.R., Schuyler, P.D., and Trinh, S. (2000) Apocalypse Observed: Religious Movements and Violence in North America, Europe, and Japan, London and New York: Routledge. Hassner, R.E. (2003) “‘To Halve and to Hold’: Conflicts over Sacred Space and the Problem of Indivisibility,” Security Studies, 12(4): 1–33. ——(2009) War on Sacred Grounds, Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. ——(2011) “Religion and International Affairs: The State of the Art,” in S. Lamy and P. James (eds.) Religion, Identity and Global Governance: Ideas, Evidence and Practice, Toronto: University of Toronto Press, pp. 37–56. Hastings, A. (1997) The Construction of Nationhood: Ethnicity, Religion, and Nationalism, Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press. Hibbard, S.W. (2010) Religious Politics and Secular States: Egypt, India and the United States, Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press. Hobsbawm, E.J. (1992) Nations and Nationalism since 1780: Programme, Myth, Reality, Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press. Holmes, S. (1993) The Anatomy of Antiliberalism, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Hsia, R.P. and van Nierop, H.F.K. (2002) Calvinism and Religious Toleration in the Dutch Golden Age, Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press. Huntington, S.P. (1996) The Clash of Civilizations and the Remaking of World Order, New York: Simon & Schuster. Hutchison, W.R. and Lehmann, H. (1994) Many are Chosen: Divine Election and Western Nationalism, Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press. Jewett, R. and Lawrence, J.S. (2003) Captain America and the Crusade against Evil: The Dilemma of Zealous Nationalism, Grand Rapids, MI: W.B. Eerdmans.

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Philip S. Gorski and Gülay Türkmen-Dervis¸og˘lu Juergensmeyer, M. (1993) The New Cold War?: Religious Nationalism Confronts the Secular State, Berkeley: University of California Press. ——(2000) Terror in the Mind of God: The Global Rise of Religious Violence, Berkeley and London: University of California Press. Kalyvas, S.N. (2000) “Commitment Problems in Emerging Democracies: The Case of Religious Parties,” Comparative Politics, 32(4): 379–98. Kaplan, B.J. (2007) Divided by Faith: Religious Conflict and the Practice of Toleration in Early Modern Europe, Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press. Kepel, G. (1994) The Revenge of God: The Resurgence of Islam, Christianity, and Judaism in the Modern World, University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press. Kloppenberg, J.T. (1998) The Virtues of Liberalism, New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press. Koenigsberger, H.G. (1971) Estates and Revolutions: Essays in Early Modern European History, Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Kohn, H. (1946) The Idea of Nationalism: A Study in Its Origins and Background, New York: The Macmillan Company. Kuru, A.T. (2009) Secularism and State Policies toward Religion: The United States, France, and Turkey, Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press. Lipset, S.M. and Rokkan S. (1967) Party Systems and Voter Alignments: Cross-national Perspectives, New York, Free Press. Madison, J. (1999) Writings, New York: Library of America. Marvin, C. and Ingle, D.W. (1999) Blood Sacrifice and the Nation: Totem Rituals and the American Flag, Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press. Mitchell, C. (2006) Religion, Identity and Politics in Northern Ireland: Boundaries of Belonging and Belief, Aldershot, U.K.: Ashgate Publishing. Moghadam, A. (2003) “A Global Resurgence of Religion?” working paper 03–03, Weatherhead Center for International Affairs, Harvard University, Cambridge, MA. Murphy, A.R. (2001) Conscience and Community: Revisiting Toleration and Religious Dissent in Early Modern England and America, University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press. Nexon, D.H. (2009) The Struggle for Power in Early Modern Europe: Religious Conflict, Dynastic Empires, and International Change, Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. O’Brien, C.C. (1988) God Land: Reflections on Religion and Nationalism, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Pahl, J. (2010) Empire of Sacrifice: The Religious Origins of American Violence, New York: New York University Press. Parekh, B.C. (1999) “The Voice of Religion in Political Discourse,” in L. Rouner (ed.) Religion, Politics and Peace, Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, pp. 63–84. Philpott, D. (2001) Revolutions in Sovereignty: How Ideas Shaped Modern International Relations, Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. ——(2004) “The Catholic Wave,” Journal of Democracy 15(2): 32–46. Rawls, J. (1971) A Theory of Justice, Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press. ——(2005) Political Liberalism, New York: Columbia University Press. Rey, T. (2004) “Marketing the Goods of Salvation: Bourdieu on Religion,” Religion, 34(4): 331–43. Roshwald, A. (2006) The Endurance of Nationalism: Ancient Roots and Modern Dilemmas, Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press. Schilling, H. (1988) Aufbruch und Krise: Deutschland, 1517–1648, Berlin, Germany: Siedler. ——(1998) “Der Westfälische Friede und das neuzeitliche Profil Europas,” in Heinz Duchhardt (ed.) Der Westfälische Friede. Diplomatie—politische Zäsur—kulturelles Umfeld—Rezeptionsgeschichte, Munich, Germany: Historische Zeitschrift, Beihefte N.F. 26, pp. 3–32. Schönemann, B. (1972–97) “Volk, Nation,” in O. Brunner, W. Conze, and R. Kosseleck (eds.) Geschichtliche Grundbegriffe; Historisches Lexikon zur politisch sozialen Sprache in Deutschland, vol. 7, Stuttgart: E. Klett, pp. 141–431. Sells, M.A. (1996) The Bridge Betrayed: Religion and Genocide in Bosnia, Berkeley: University of California Press. Smith, A.D. (1998) Nationalism and Modernism: A Critical Survey of Recent Theories of Nations and Nationalism, London and New York: Routledge. ——(2003) Chosen Peoples: Sacred Sources of National Identity, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Smith, P. (2005) Why War? The Cultural Logic of Iraq, the Gulf War, and Suez, Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

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Stern, J. (2003) Terror in the Name of God: Why Religious Militants Kill, New York: Ecco. Sturzo, L. (1925) Pensiero Antifascista, Turin, Itlay: Piero Gobetti Editore. Tambiah, S.J. (1986) Sri Lanka: Ethnic Fratricide and the Dismantling of Democracy, Chicago: University of Chicago Press. ——(1992) Buddhism Betrayed? Religion, Politics, and Violence in Sri Lanka, Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Te Brake, W.P. (1998) Shaping History: Ordinary People in European Politics, 1500–1700, Berkeley: University of California Press. Toft, M.D., Philpott, D. and Shah, T.S. (2011) God’s Century: Resurgent Religion and Global Politics, New York: W.W. Norton & Co. van der Veer, P. (1994) Religious Nationalism: Hindus and Muslims in India, Berkeley: University of California Press. Viroli, M. (1997) For Love of Country: An Essay on Patriotism and Nationalism, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Voegelin, E. (1939) Die politischen Religionen, Stockholm, Sweden: Bermann-Fischer verlag. Wilkinson, S. (2004) Votes and Violence: Electoral Competition and Ethnic Riots in India, Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press. Wimmer, A. (1997) “Who Owns the State? Understanding Ethnic Conflict in Post-Colonial Societies,” Nations and Nationalism, 3(4): 631–66. Woodberry, R.D. and Shah, T.S. (2004) “The Pioneering Protestants,” Journal of Democracy, 15(2): 47–61. Zubrzycki, G. (2006) The Crosses of Auschwitz: Nationalism and Religion in Post-communist Poland, Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

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14 WOMEN, RELIGION, AND SECURITY: ISLAMIC FEMINISM ON THE FRONTLINES OF CHANGE Isobel Coleman

Introduction Throughout history, religion has had an enormous impact on the status, rights, and well-being of women. Religious arguments have often been used to deprecate women, to make them subservient to men, to restrict their rights and actions in society, and even to justify violence against them. Yet, religion is also a force for positive change. For centuries, women have engaged with religion to advocate for more female-friendly interpretations of texts and traditions and, by so doing, have generated support—among men and women—for an expansion of female educational, social, economic, and political opportunities. For example, in nineteenth-century America, advocates of women’s rights broadly, and suffrage in particular, began to cite biblical passages to rebut arguments for women’s presumed subservience. At the time, conservative Christians sustained a consistent rhetoric that giving women rights was against the teachings of the Bible and would undermine the family. In 1895, Elizabeth Cady Stanton published The Women’s Bible, an effort—shocking at the time—to correct biblical interpretations that were biased against women. It was so controversial that many of Stanton’s fellow suffragists distanced themselves from the publication. Nevertheless, The Women’s Bible became a best-seller. Today, religious debates over the appropriate role for women in society continue, in some places with tremendous urgency. These debates are playing out most actively in the twenty-first century in conservative Muslim-majority countries, where women’s rights remain contentious political and ideological issues, often cloaked within a religious discourse.1 The debates are part of a much larger struggle taking place today within Islam itself. Khaled Abou El Fadl, one of the world’s leading Islamic scholars, describes these times as a transformative moment for Islam, a competition between two opposing world views: “moderate” versus “puritanical” Islam (Abou El Fadl 2005). Other scholars use terms such as “liberal” or “progressive” Islam versus “conservative” or “extremist” Islam to describe this same divide. Conservatives link women’s piety to the purity and Islamic authenticity of their societies. They use religious justifications to enforce that piety through a limited public role for women, gender segregation, and harsh punishments for 148

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any perceived transgressions. Attitudes toward women represent a stark fault line between those promoting economic reform, human rights, and democratization on the one hand, and those who adhere to austere, fundamentalist notions of society on the other. The outcome of this struggle matters enormously. While the more dramatic subjects of jihad and terrorism dominate headlines, it is, instead, attitudes toward women’s rights that will, over the long run, have a more profound role in shaping the social and economic development of societies where these issues are so contentious. At the community level, a more empowered role for women that encourages them to access health care and education, protects them from domestic violence, and allows them to participate in communal life, is critical not only for women’s human security but for that of the whole society. Although women’s empowerment is often framed as a moral issue, it is also, critically, a vital economic and security issue. Put simply, economies cannot prosper, and human security cannot be attained, without the full participation of half the population. Investing in girls’ education and creating economic opportunities for women are proven to have tremendous positive benefits for the broader development of a country. Even small improvements in female education yield corresponding increases in economic growth, per capita incomes, and agricultural production.2 Study after study shows that the advantages of educating women are passed directly to the next generation, and that women use their income to invest in their families. Higher levels of female literacy and education are correlated with lower fertility rates, HIV infection rates, and child mortality rates; and women with higher levels of education are more likely to prioritize their childrens’ education.3 Indeed, as many within the international development community now recognize, women’s empowerment is the low-hanging fruit of poverty reduction (World Bank 2012; Hertz and Sperling 2004). Women’s active participation in the public sphere is also critical to the broader development of civil society. It should come as no surprise that countries with a narrower gender gap between men and women’s educational achievements are also more receptive to democracy (Barro 1999). Many activists working to create economic, political, and educational opportunities for women today in conservative Islamic societies recognize that Islam is the religious and cultural touchstone for the majority of the population. Increasingly, they are turning to more progressive interpretations of Islam to support women’s rights in a movement known as Islamic feminism. Just as conservatives have used Islam as a barrier to women’s empowerment, Islamic feminists are using Islam to promote gender equality. They argue that Islam, at its core, is progressive for women and supports equal opportunities for men and women alike. By firmly grounding their arguments within Islamic discourse, Islamic feminists offer a culturally and theologically acceptable and sustainable way to expand opportunities for women and enhance their human security.

Islamic feminism Islamic feminism incorporates the ideas of numerous intellectuals and activists. Some of its leading proponents are actually men—distinguished scholars who contend that early Islam was radically egalitarian for its time and that it remains so in many of its texts. Islamic feminists claim that Islamic law evolved in ways inimical to women, not due to any inevitability, but because of selective interpretation by patriarchal leaders. They argue that the worst practices toward women, like those of the Taliban, are in fact a subversion of Islamic teaching by tribal customs and traditions. They seek to revive the equality bestowed on women in the religion’s early years by re-reading the Qur’an, putting the texts in historical context, and disentangling them from tribal practices and other local traditions. 149

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The great potential of Islamic feminism is its grass-roots appeal. In this regard it is quite the opposite of the secular feminism that is commonplace in the contemporary West. Secular feminism has usually been the province of urban elites and intellectuals, and that has long been its weakness. Social change takes time to make its way from city salons and urban newspapers to the countryside, especially in places with few roads and little public education. But Islamic feminism has the potential to be embraced by local leaders and, perhaps most importantly, by religious leaders, who can lend their authority to the difficult cultural changes at hand. Islamic feminism strives to work within the values of Islam, not against them. It offers direct social and economic benefits to families through improved opportunities for daughters, sisters, wives, and mothers. While Islamic feminism explicitly works within Islam, and can therefore seem less threatening than secular feminism, it nonetheless questions aspects of traditional Islamic orthodoxy. Many Muslim feminists, for example, are strong proponents of ijtihad, the process of arriving at new interpretations of Islamic law through critical reasoning, rather than blindly following the views of past scholars. (Literally, ijtihad can be translated as “self-exertion.”) In the early centuries of Islam, the process of ijtihad helped shape Islamic law. Whenever the Qur’an or Sunnah (the traditions and sayings of the Prophet Muhammad) did not explicitly address an issue (say, a new discovery or phenomenon), or when jurists could not reach a clear consensus on an issue, a qualified legal scholar could use independent reasoning to come up with a solution that he (and sometimes she) believed was consistent with the Prophet’s intent. This legal ruling, expressed as a fatwa, could then be accepted or rejected by the followers of the scholar as they wished. Ijtihad was a vibrant legal process until the end of the tenth century, and many doctrines were settled by jurists representing the various schools of law. Around this time, influential orthodox Sunni ulama began to argue against the process of independent reasoning, claiming that it could distort Islam. Some of these Sunni scholars instead advocated for a more literal reading of religious texts. Reformers resisted, warning that a rigid interpretation of shari’a, the existing body of Islamic laws, could be profoundly unhelpful in answering contemporary questions. But, over the centuries, the literalists gained ground, leading to what some have referred to as a “closing of the gates of ijtihad” among more orthodox Sunni schools.4 At the heart of Islamic feminism is an attempt to push those gates of reasoning wide open. Across most Muslim-majority societies today, Islamic feminists are combing through centuries of Islamic jurisprudence to highlight the more progressive aspects of their religion. They are seeking—and finding—an accommodation between a modern role for women and the Islamic values that more than a billion people in the world follow. Despite significant restrictions on women in Muslim-majority countries, the last several decades have seen rising levels of female literacy and, due to globalization, greater exposure to international media in every country. Islamic feminists are taking advantage of these changes to shift the terms of religious debate. Networks across countries are forming to help even illiterate peasant women marshal the religious justifications they need to push back on centuries of tribal customs and traditions that have been sustained in the name of Islam. Many of these customs subjugate women, imperil their personal security, and retard their ability to contribute fully to the economic and human security of their families and communities. The examples below demonstrate how Islamic feminism is gaining a foothold in Morocco, Afghanistan, Indonesia, and Saudi Arabia. These are diverse countries, at very different stages of economic and political development, with different social structures and very different starting points for women’s rights. But, in each of them, women—and men—are using the arguments of Islamic feminism to push for greater rights and opportunities for women. Their efforts hold great potential for a resurgence of ijtihad, for improvements in the rights, status, and role of 150

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women in society, and, ultimately, for new understandings of the relationship among religious freedom, human rights, and human security.

Improving human security through women’s empowerment in Morocco Over the past decade, Morocco has been the site of one of the most active Islamic feminist movements in the world. Activists there have successfully employed Islamic feminist arguments to expand opportunities for women, with the 2004 reform of the mudawana (family code) the most prominent example of such efforts. For years, Moroccan activists had struggled to overturn many of the discriminating aspects of their family code—the set of laws relating to marriage, divorce, custody, inheritance, and women’s rights generally that affect every family in the country. The mudawana set the marriage age for girls at 15, allowed men to divorce their wives simply by declaring it out loud, freely permitted polygamy, and made men the legal guardians of their wives. The laws were justified using Islamic texts, and Moroccan women who protested the family code were labeled kafirs, or unbelievers. They were attacked for being anti-Islamic and anti-Moroccan. Undeterred, women activists began a formal campaign in 2000 to reform the mudawana. Wary of being labeled Western agents, the women were careful to showcase the local authenticity of their campaign by collecting signatures from ordinary Moroccans who supported reforming the laws. At the same time, they turned to Islam to bolster their case. The women pored over religious texts, worked closely with reform-minded clerics, and studied historical scholarship on the issues, showing their supporters and critics alike that Islam supports equality for women even in the sacred realm of the home. Within a year, their campaign had caught the attention of young King Muhammad VI, who had ascended the throne in 1999 upon the death of his long-serving father. The signature campaign was a huge success. By 2003, various women’s groups had collected an astounding 1 million signatures from Moroccans all across the country affirming their support for mudawana reform. Armed with grass-roots support and backing from the King himself, the women pushed a series of changes through parliament in 2004. Under the reformed mudawana, the age of marriage for girls is now 18, divorces must be settled in court, polygamy is greatly restricted, and women are given much greater financial guarantees in marriage and divorce. The reform of the mudawana was groundbreaking in that it demonstrated the potential for change for Muslim women around the world. It provided a model of grass-roots support and Islamic scholarship that resulted in real political and social gains. Women’s groups across the Middle East were inspired and mobilized by the example, and many groups have organized similar campaigns. Morocco has also been a leader in promoting women as religious guides, or murshidat. The idea of training women as preachers is an important part of the country’s “religious restructuring” launched by King Muhammad in the wake of the May 2003 terrorist attacks.5 The attacks in Casablanca, the country’s economic center, killed 45 people, wounded dozens more, and deeply unsettled the country. They focused attention on how extremism was taking hold among the nation’s disaffected youth. The idea of women preachers had been floating around Rabat for several years, but the shock of the 2003 bombings put the initiative into higher gear, and the King decided to take a risk. He broke with tradition that year and invited a woman to give the annual Ramadan lecture at the royal palace (Williams 2008). The woman’s presence, amidst imams from all over the world, stunned Morocco’s religious establishment and signaled the more ambitious changes to come. The program, not surprisingly, met with resistance. A rumor in the beginning that women would lead prayers in mosques nearly sank the initiative. After 151

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heated debate about the permissibility of women leading prayers, the High Commission for Religious Knowledge in Morocco issued a fatwa saying that women cannot lead prayers in a mosque for men or women, although they could do so in the private sphere under certain conditions. This defused the issue. Morocco’s more radical Islamist groups denounced the murshidat as “contrary to Islam” and were harshly critical of the government’s heavy hand in the program. However, one of the main Islamist opposition groups, the Justice and Development Party (PJD), was supportive.6 The explicit hope of the government is that the murshidat will help strengthen domestic security by defusing extremism and mainstreaming a more tolerant version of Islam in the poor villages and urban slums that are fertile ground for jihadi recruiters. After a year of intensive religious studies alongside male candidates, the murshidat are sent to prisons, schools, and hospitals to talk with disaffected youth. During the day, they do administrative work in their mosque, and they minister to people in the evening, often in their homes. The first class of murshidat graduated in the spring of 2006, so it is still too early to assess their long-term impact. But, so far, they have been well received by their communities. Women especially feel that the female preachers are good listeners who understand and relate to their problems better than male imams. The murshidat dispense not only religious instruction but also act as social workers, giving advice on a range of family issues. They are serious and dedicated, with a mission to promote the “true face of Islam.”7 Other Muslim countries have launched similar programs. Since 2005, Turkey has appointed thousands of women as vaize, or female preachers, and also allowed them to become deputy muftia, or Islamic judges. The vaize cannot lead congregations in prayer but, like the Moroccan murshidat, they travel across the country teaching and advising on religious matters, particularly on women’s rights and issues related to the family. While there remains resistance from conservative Muslim men (and from women too), the program is very popular. Women continue to flock to theology classes and in some Islamic studies programs actually exceed the number of male students (Schleifer 2005).

Developing women as local leaders in Afghanistan Women have played almost no role in the running of village affairs in Afghanistan, but through an innovative initiative called the National Solidarity Program (NSP), this mindset is slowly changing. The NSP is one of the most powerful engines for women’s empowerment in Afghanistan today, creating sustainable changes for women at the grass-roots level. Religious arguments have been critical to this success. The idea behind the NSP is a simple one, but for Afghanistan it is revolutionary: local villages can and should take responsibility for their own development. The World Bank has implemented community-led development projects in other countries and, after the fall of the Taliban in 2001, it launched a similar initiative for Afghanistan. At the heart of the NSP are community development councils (CDCs), which are democratically elected through secret ballots at the village level. Once in place, the councils receive block grants from the Ministry of Rural Rehabilitation and Development, which they decide how to use. The grants average U.S. $31,000 per village, a considerable sum by rural Afghan standards.8 Not surprisingly, the money comes with some strings attached: the council has to be transparent and accountable in its decision-making, and women have to be part of the process, both in terms of voting and serving on the councils. In the early years of the program, men complained that it was against their traditions and religion to include women on the councils. They often refused to let women participate. But NSP workers, trained in relevant passages from the Qur’an, persistently made the case for women’s participation. They developed manuals that used quotations from the Qur’an and put 152

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them into the context of the program. They sat with village elders and read through the manuals, rebutting religious arguments with religious arguments. As one provincial manager of the program remembers, “Without the Qur’an on our side, we would not have won” (Sawayz 2008). The NSP now operates in more than 90 percent of Afghanistan’s nearly 30,000 villages, all across the country, and has disbursed over 1 billion dollars. The secret balloting for the councils has produced a new generation of rural leaders. On average, those elected are younger (under 35), more literate, yet poorer than traditional leaders—a profound change for Afghanistan, where age and wealth have defined village leadership for centuries (Coleman 2004). Elected leaders are trained in financial accounting, project management, and conflict resolution. The World Bank estimates that projects completed by the CDCs are on average 30 percent less expensive than those constructed by foreign organizations. The U.S. inspector-general has praised the NSP for its efficiency and effectiveness and low levels of corruption (SIGAR 2011). NSP projects also enjoy considerably better security. Schools built by the NSP, for example, remain largely untouched by the Taliban, since they recognize that these schools are locally owned and managed and highly valued by the community. The inclusion of women has also been unprecedented. For the first time, women in rural villages are part of the decision-making process. In every community financed by the NSP, women must identify at least one project.9 They tend to favor literacy and income-generating projects. While male priorities still receive the lion’s share of the funding, women are learning to speak up and be heard. In some cases, foreign donors fund the women’s priorities on top of the regular allocations to give the women additional leverage (Holste 2007). The process has brought women together in other ways. Many are now meeting in groups for the first time, and even setting up savings schemes. In some conservative areas, not surprisingly, it remains a challenge to get women involved in local councils. Mixed meetings are not allowed, so the women meet separately and feed their suggestions into the men’s groups. In several elections, the women running for the councils would not use their own names so they ran under fictitious names, which, not surprisingly, created all sorts of confusion. But women are making progress. In recent years, fully a third of the delegates who attend the national conference in Kabul are women. For many, attending the conference is the first time in their lives that they leave their village.

Expanding women’s grass-roots influence in Indonesia The powerful Nahdatul Ulama (NU), the largest Muslim organization in the world, has nearly 40 million members, the vast majority of whom are simple farmers living in rural areas and small towns across Indonesia. Nahdatul Ulama, meaning the “awakening of the ulama,” was established in 1926 by religious leaders wanting to unify Indonesian Muslims against the threats of secular nationalism and communism and the rise of radical strains of Islam among rival religious groups. The NU’s original purpose was to serve as a religious, social, and educational organization, although it has also operated as a political party.10 The backbone of the NU is its network of about 8,000 pesantren, which have educated millions of Indonesian boys and girls. The NU’s ulama, known as kyai, are respected members of their villages who not only run their local pesantren, but also serve as community leaders and advisers on a range of social issues (Candland and Nurjanah 2004). According to a 2007 poll, more than 80 percent of Indonesia’s population supports the NU and its tolerant agenda (Charney and Castle 2007). As early as 1940, women within the NU established its first women’s association, the Muslimat NU, for women over 40. The association aimed to improve the welfare of Muslim women. A decade later, a sister organization, Fatayat NU, was formed for women 20 to 40 years old. These 153

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groups have local leaders in more than 14,000 villages across the Indonesian archipelago, giving them unsurpassed social muscle at the grassroots level, which they actively flex. Early on, Muslimat and Fatayat were instrumental in getting the NU’s ulama to drop their opposition to family planning. Using arguments from the Qur’an, the NU kyai issued a fatwa in 1969 encouraging family planning. After that, Muslimat and Fatayat moved wholeheartedly into the field of family planning, running clinics and birthing centers, and promoting reproductive health programs. Between 1971 and 1997, total fertility rates in Indonesia dropped in half, from 5.6 to 2.8 births per woman (Candland and Nurjanah 2004: 12). Without the endorsement of religious leaders, the government’s family planning initiatives would not have been nearly as successful. In recent years, the NU women’s associations have been increasingly active in using religious arguments to press for greater gender balance on a number of fronts. Their efforts succeeded in forcing a comprehensive review of the texts used in pesantren to remove misogynist passages and revise gender stereotypes. They were instrumental in getting Indonesia’s parliament to pass a bill in 2004 making domestic violence a crime. They are working to outlaw polygamy and expand reproductive rights for women. They are resisting government efforts to make women wear hijab. They have also lobbied hard against the practice of muta, or temporary marriage. Temporary, or contract, marriages in Muslim countries often involve a poor girl and a man seeking a short-term “wife.” Maria Ulfah Anshor, the outspoken former head of Fatayat, denounces contract marriages as “religiously sanctioned prostitution” (Chow 2005). The NU women’s associations are pursuing these controversial issues at a time of increasing conservatism across Indonesia. The strength of Islamic feminism in Indonesia is that it is not just the preserve of women. Some of its strongest proponents are men, like former President Abdurrahman Wahid, who led the NU before his political ascendancy. After stepping down from Indonesia’s presidency, he established the Wahid Institute, which focuses on promoting tolerant and progressive interpretations of Islam.11 One of the Wahid Institute’s advisers is another popular male Islamic feminist, Kian Husein Muhammad, known fondly by his many female admirers as “Gender Kian.” Husein Muhammad, a pesantren graduate, studied at the Institute of Qur’anic Studies in Jakarta and also at al-Azhar in Cairo. He is a busy man—he runs a pesantren and mosque, writes prolifically about Islam, is an NU representative, and sits on the boards of several NGOs, including RAHIMA, the Centre for Training and Information on Islam and Women’s Rights Issues. RAHIMA promotes women’s rights in Islam through public campaigns and research, including disseminating classical texts in Arabic and local languages that argue for women’s rights. But the jewel of its programming is its training sessions for pesantren students and leaders. Gender Kian, true to his nickname, uses these training sessions to push his progressive ideas about women and Islamic law into the minds of the religious leaders who wield such influence in their local communities. Although Indonesia, like the rest of the Muslim world, has experienced rising Islamic fundamentalism, Islamic feminism has helped keep extremism at bay. Certainly, Indonesia’s relatively open, pluralistic, and democratic society has also been a critical factor in fostering both active women’s groups and diversity within Islamic intellectual thought.

Reconciling religion and modernity in Saudi Arabia Saudi Arabia is a country of contrasts, no more so than with respect to women. Saudi women are internationally recognized doctors. They are prominent businesswomen running global companies. They are Ph.D. economists and scientists. They are deans of colleges and heads of university departments. They are journalists and newscasters. Yet none of these women can drive in their 154

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home country, and they have yet to vote in a local election. Saudi women enjoy fewer legal rights than women in any other country in the world. Every several years, Freedom House ranks Arab countries in terms of economic, political, social, and judicial freedoms for women. Saudi Arabia consistently scores the lowest in each category, in most cases by a significant margin. The Saudi state treats women as legal minors their entire lives, requiring a father’s and then a husband’s permission for many basic activities. Yet despite, or perhaps because of, the considerable restrictions on them, Saudi women are very much in the forefront of social and economic change in the kingdom. By dint of their growing academic, professional, and economic successes, they are quietly breaking down their country’s pervasive discriminatory policies and social attitudes. They are also challenging the strict interpretations of the Wahhabi religious establishment that are used to justify restrictions on women in the first place. Today, women’s reform efforts are a critical part of the country’s broader, struggling reform movement. Women are pushing for educational changes, for economic changes, even for legal changes. Their ability to succeed is clearly a vital social issue—one that will shape public opinion over the long term, not only on women’s rights, but also on related issues of workplace reforms, attitudes towards globalization, economic integration, and religious extremism and violence. Given the deeply entrenched religious establishment in the kingdom, women reformers are careful to couch their efforts within Islamic discourse. Since Saudi Arabia’s monarchy takes the Qur’an as its “constitution,” the case for women’s rights in Saudi Arabia is inseparable from women’s rights within Islam. The role of women in Saudi Arabia is also a long-term economic issue. Women now comprise more than 60 percent of all Saudi college graduates, but only 5 percent of the workforce. Tradition, regulation, and discrimination keep women at home. The added burden of not being able to drive to work, in a country with limited public transportation, makes working especially difficult for non-elites. Windfall oil revenues certainly undermine any sense of urgency for reform, but the country’s underlying demographics—Saudi Arabia has a persistently high birth rate—places large demands on state resources. Indeed, when oil prices collapsed in the 1980s, GDP per capita fell from a high of just under U.S. $18,000 in 1981 to less than $6,000 in 1988 (World Bank 1981 and 1988). Propped up by rising oil revenues, it rebounded back to $18,000 in 2008, putting Saudi Arabia on a par with Estonia (World Bank 2008). But Saudis face rising costs of living driven by a high inflation rate (in recent years it has topped 7 percent (Merzaban 2008)), and many claim they need two incomes to make ends meet (Green 2009). The kingdom’s reluctance to unleash the productive energies of women is undoubtedly costly, not only in terms of wasted capabilities, but also because of the resources it must devote to maintaining gender segregation. One outspoken member of Saudi Arabia’s Shura Council uses economic arguments to agitate for women driving. In his role as a public official, he complains that having a million foreign chauffeurs in the country—who send home annual remittances of more than $4 billion—is simply bad for Saudi Arabia’s economy (Ambah 2005). Benefiting from rapidly rising educational levels, women are quietly pushing for changes throughout society. They are moving into new professions and working discreetly alongside men; they are taking on high-profile roles in the media and bringing public scrutiny to topics that were formerly taboo; they are nudging the government to address the country’s gross legal inequalities. Well aware of the potential for backlash, they are moving slowly but purposefully forward, leading the way for change within an Islamic framework. In the spring of 2011, as unrest spread across the Arab world, Saudi women launched a campaign, Women2Drive, on Facebook. The campaign called on Saudi women with international or foreign driver’s licenses to get behind the wheel of a car to demand the right to drive (Flock 2011). The driving campaign is the largest organized protest by Saudi women and, so far, the leaders of 155

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the campaign have refused to back down even in the face of harsh government repression. Saudi authorities have made it clear that they will not tolerate this flagrant disobedience from women, vowing to arrest those who dare to drive. One woman was even sentenced to be lashed for driving in Jeddah (Abu-Nasr 2011). The government has no interest in allowing the winds of change blowing across the Middle East to reach its desert shores. Its harsh reaction to the Women2Drive campaign is as much, if not more, a reaction against the women’s civil disobedience, and their threatening use of social media to organize, as it is against the act of driving. The government rightly sees this as the thin edge of a wedge that could crack open Saudi’s medieval system in ways that could spin out of control. Yet, Saudi rulers are naïve to think that they can keep women in perpetual servitude and sustain their system of gender apartheid in the twenty-first century. In September 2011, no doubt responding to regional unrest, King Abdullah announced that, starting in the next 12–18 months, women will be able to join the consultative Shura Council and be allowed to run as candidates and vote in the country’s municipal elections. The King said his government was taking this step because “we refuse to marginalize women in society in all roles that comply with shari’a” (Fleishman 2011). Of course, it is conservative interpretations of shari’a that have been used to deny Saudi women many of their basic rights, including until now the right to participate in politics. In the name of shari’a, women must have a male guardian to transact many daily activities, and strict gender segregation continues to be enforced in most public places. King Abdullah was careful to position his decree within Islamic history and to justify the decision with Islamic arguments. Sounding a bit like an Islamic feminist himself, King Abdullah noted that Muslim women had been giving “opinions and advice since the era of Prophet Muhammad” (Murphy 2011). He also emphasized that senior religious scholars had endorsed his changes. In a change that could perhaps have the most direct impact on women’s security in Saudi Arabia, some religious leaders are beginning to question the religious justifications for marrying girls at very young ages, a practice unfortunately common in Saudi Arabia and many other conservative Muslim-majority countries like Yemen and Afghanistan. In recent years there have been several high-profile cases of girls as young as seven and eight being married off (and even sold) to much older men, cases that enraged international opinion and segments of the Saudi population. In response, several Saudi clerics have spoken out against the practice. In 2010, Sheikh Abdullah al Manie, a member of the influential Council of Senior Ulama, said that Prophet Mohammad’s marriage to a nine-year-old girl does not justify child marriage today because circumstances have changed in the past 14 centuries (Murphy 2010). He is among the most senior clerics to have spoken out against the practice. Child marriage is, finally, a hotly contested subject within Saudi Arabia, with ongoing public debate about the need for a legal minimum age of marriage for girls. This change, more so than the well-publicized debates about driving and voting, would have a significant impact on the security of girls in Saudi Arabia.

Conclusion With rising levels of education and civic engagement, women around the world are pushing for greater equality. In conservative Muslim-majority countries, where women’s rights are particularly contentious, women are part of a larger reform effort that will have significant impact on their own personal security, on the well-being of their families and communities, and on overall societal security. The ongoing scholarly process of contextualizing, of recapturing the original meaning of the texts, is central to Islamic feminism, and it has the potential to be as transformative in this century as the Protestant Reformation was in the sixteenth century. The growing ability of 156

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Muslim women to read the Qur’an for themselves is commensurate with the sea change that occurred when ordinary Christians began to read the Bible directly. In many ways, the internet is to Islamic feminism what the printing press was to the Reformation. Websites collect and archive relevant information and materials, demonstrating, for example, how various Muslim family laws that are supposedly divine laws actually differ in practice. This helps women activists make the case that, since there are clear differences among these Islamic laws, they simply cannot be divine and therefore are eligible for reform. Advocacy groups use email to instantaneously bombard policy-makers. Activists expose brutality and injustice with simple video footage captured on a cell phone and uploaded to YouTube. Women’s rights will reach their tipping point at different times in different countries. In Africa and parts of Asia, many of the restrictions imposed on women in the name of Islam in fact run counter to long-held traditions. They were introduced relatively recently, with the spread of a more austere Wahhabi form of Islam over the past several decades. As women and supportive men find their voices, they are pushing back on these restrictive interpretations of Islam. The clamor for shari’a law seems to have peaked in places like Nigeria and Indonesia. Change is happening. The success of the women’s movement in Morocco in 2004 in reforming the mudawana, the family law, within a framework that satisfied many of the country’s Islamists was in many ways a watershed. It showed Muslim women what was possible and energized women’s movements around the world. Progress for women is occurring, although at uneven rates. It is also important to keep in mind that cultural change happens slowly. We are witnessing just the beginning of what will undoubtedly be a long process of change—in many cases intergenerational change. The process will be uneven, and the outcomes from place to place will no doubt differ. Islamic feminism is crucial to that process of change, particularly in conservative Muslim societies where Islam is not only the religious framework but also the key cultural touchstone of society. The spread of Islamic feminism is allowing women’s groups to engage theology with theology to rebut many of the most pernicious practices toward women that inhibit their ability to contribute positively to their societies and in some cases directly threaten their own security. The success of Islamic feminists will help promote a more expansive but sustainable notion of women’s rights and, more broadly, human security.

Notes 1 Other religiously-oriented debates occur across various societies that affect the human security of women—e.g. ongoing, contentious disagreements about women’s access to reproductive health and family planning prevalent in many Christian communities—but these are not the focus here. 2 For economic growth see Dollar and Gatti 1999; for per capita income see Schultz 2001; for agricultural production see Smith and Haddad 1999. 3 For fertility rates see UNESCO 2000; for HIV infection rates see De Walque 2004; for child mortality see Summers 1994; for child education levels see Filmer 2000. 4 Whether or not the “gates of ijtihad” were ever really closed is a controversial question among scholars. While the process fell out of favor among some schools of Islamic law, it remained an active process in others. Shi’a jurists, for example, always continued to practice ijtihad. 5 The religious restructuring also included the establishment of religious education institutions, dedicated religious bodies in mosques, and a fatwa center that would prevent “confusion and dissension.” In effect, the government is asserting greater control over religious authority in an effort to tamp down extremist ideology. See Massad 2007. 6 In November 2011, Morocco held its first parliamentary election under its new constitution. The PJD won the most seats with 27 percent of the vote, and the right to form the new government. Abdelilah Benkirane, head of the PJD, was named the new head of government by the King. 7 “Morocco Introduces Women Preachers,” Al Jazeera. Online at: .

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8 The grants are calculated at the equivalent of U.S. $200 per family, up to $60,000 per community. A village needs a minimum of 20 families to qualify for a grant. See Holste 2007. 9 “Frequently Asked Questions about the NSP,” National Solidarity Program, Afghanistan. Online at . 10 The NU operated as a political party from 1952 to 1984, challenging Indonesia’s authoritarian regime. From 1984 to 1998, the organization withdrew from formal politics and renewed its focus on its social agenda. With the return to democratic politics after the fall of President Suharto in 1998, the NU launched a new political party, the National Awakening Party, known by its local acronym PKB. 11 Emory Law professor Abdullahi Ahmed An-Na’im is one of the Institute’s patrons.

References Abou El Fadl, K. (2005) The Great Theft: Wrestling Islam from the Extremists, New York: Harper Collins. Abu-Nasr, D. (2011) “Saudi Woman Driver Sentenced to Lash after King Grants Vote,” Bloomberg, September 28. Online, available at: (accessed October 1, 2011). Ambah, F.S. (2005) “Saudi Women Recall a Day of Driving,” Christian Science Monitor, December 7. Barro, R.J. (1999) “Determinants of Democracy,” Journal of Political Economy, 107(6): 158–83. Candland, C. and Nurjanah, S. (2004) “Women’s Empowerment Through Islamic Organizations: The Role of Indonesia’s ‘Nahdlatul Ulama’ in Transforming the Government’s Birth Control Program into a Family Welfare Program,” case study prepared for the World Faiths Development Dialogue Workshop in New Delhi, India, February 9–11. Charney, C. and Castle, J. (2007) “A Democratic Indonesian Tiger?” The Washington Post, August 1. Chow, J. (2005) “Pacific Currents: Contract Marriages Assailed as Sanctioned Prostitution,” The Seattle Post Intelligencer, April 11. Online, available at: