In recent weeks I have given a lot of thought to the flap over Barack Obama's assertion that economic frustration inclines people to "cling to guns or religion." Beyond the domestic debate, the hullabaloo provoked by the Senator's remarks offers a useful point of departure to probe the complex motivations that animate Islamist movements and ideologies.
Nor surprisingly, pundits and politicians alike used (and abused) Obama's remarks to score political points. Some interesting bedfellows (including William Kristol!) joined Hillary Clinton in arguing that Obama subscribes to an âœelitistâ view that faith does not reflect deeply held religious values. Rather, it is a tool the alienated consciously or unconsciously use to cope with economic or social misfortune.
This "opiate of the masses" view of religion is obviously simplistic. But we do no justice to the multiple forces that animate faith by asserting the equally crude notion that religiosity is born strictly of religious conviction. No self-respecting evangelist would deny that people cling to faith most intensely when floating in a sea of crisis. Back on dry land, the distressed sometimes look to faith for deeper, more enduring answers; faith becomes a beacon of light that gives life meaning, or a transcendent moral compass that cannot (or should not) be subject to the everyday vicissitudes of political or social conflict.
The notion that religion exercises its most positive influence when it remains at a safe distance from politics is hardly news to most Americans. What is new is that this quasi-secular vision has been gaining ground in the Muslim world, in a way that is inspiring an important, if often confused, debate.
Noah Feldman's article "Why Shariah?" stakes out one position in this debate. Feldman holds that the revival of Shariah (Islamic law) is not driven by an "obscurantist" urge to cure the supposed moral ills of rampant Westernization. This "reactionary Islamism," typical of the Khomeini era, is giving way to a new Islamism, one that retrieves Shariah's "core" idea, namely that "all governments…are subject to justice under the law." Today's Islamists advocate Shariah to confront autocracies with a religiously based demand for the rule of law.
To advance this goal, some Islamists propose that a form of "Islamic judicial review" be used to insure that the laws passed by elected assemblies reflect the spirit of Islam. But this idea, which Feldman endorses, is problematic: far from subjecting the whims of fallible politicians to a higher authority, empowering religious experts to decide what is and what is not Islamic could invite the abuse, rather than the rule, of law. Of course, politicization of the highest courts can also occur in Western democracies. But this is precisely why we do not conflate the professional duties of judges with the religious mission of clerics.
And this is also why, according to one of Feldman's most passionate critics, the demand for the rule of law has not been framed in Shariah terms. Thus Indonesia's two mass-based Islamic associations, Mohamadiyya and Nahdatul Ulema, oppose reinserting the Shariah into the Constitution. One reason they maintain this position is that millions of Indonesians favor a secular order. More to the point, Muslim leaders fear that any Islamic high court will impose some other group's Islamic agenda, thus exacerbating conflicts between Muslims. In Indonesia, an implicit secularism is widely accepted as the basis for social peace.
In the Middle East, a similarly pragmatic set of concerns has inclined a new generation of Islamists to question the utility of any Shariah-based project. But these leaders face a dilemma. Driven by escalating social and cultural frustration and—dare I say?—growing bitterness with the status quo, many of their followers look to Shariah for answers. Yet beyond their immediate audience, their societies boast a myriad of groups and parties whose interests hardly coincide with a born-again Islamic moralism. How to articulate the alienation of their most ardent supporters while embracing a moderate agenda acceptable to the wider society is the great task these new Islamists must confront.
Sound familiar? If walking this fine line is difficult for a certain charismatic Senator from Illinois, imagine how tricky it is for Turkey's Justice and Development Party (PJD). Squeezed between an activist base of True Believers, and a larger and more disparate electorate—many of whom expect that the PJD will deliver economic development and liberal democracy—the PJD is struggling to demonstrate that it can fulfill the hopes and dreams of all its followers.
Whether this is possible remains to be seen. In the meantime, we should resist Feldman's suggestion that there are clear "majorities" or even "super-majorities" that favor a shared vision of a Shariah-based constitutionalism. Such a view downplays the diverse social and political motivations that shape the Islamic faith. Moreover, it flies in the face of a basic truth that many secular and Islamist democrats now understand: if democracy is to have any chance in the Middle East, the majority must respect the desires, hopes and fears of minorities (or pluralities). Such respect comes from a genuine dialogue that cuts across the ideological divide, from wise leaders who inspire cooperation, and from institutions that protect the rule of law.
Daniel Brumberg is an associate professor of government and director of democracy and governance studies at Georgetown University. He is also a senior nonresident fellow at the Project on Middle East Democracy. His work focuses on political, social and economic change in the Middle East and wider Muslim World.
