sin

Why doesn’t God use Faithbook?

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By Khaled Diab

If God wants to reach out to humanity, why rely on prophets and scripture when he presumably has the power to connect with each of us directly?

3 September 2010

An article I recently read posits that, even if we were able to create a foolproof experiment to prove the existence of God, it would not only spell the end of atheism, but also of Christianity (and I presume the same applies to the other monotheistic religions), because without faith there can be no religion.

But do we really need to wait for God to rear his divine face to lay to rest the spectre of religion? For the sceptics among us, this is figuratively a doomsday scenario, as we would have to live with our doubts until the Day of Reckoning comes, which we, of course, highly suspect won’t arrive, leaving us stuck in a sort of secular purgatory for all eternity.

But it strikes me that we’re asking the wrong question here. God may prove to be an impossible hypothesis to (dis)prove, but the same does not apply to faith itself. I believe we can test the veracity of religion, especially religious scripture which claims to be divinely inspired or even revealed.  So, here is my own modest attempt to test run religion and show that it is not worthy of our faith.

God, the author, or humanity, the ghost writer?

The holy books of the three Abrahamic faiths all claim divine authorship, or at the very least, divine inspiration. But if scripture contains the word of God (or his son), why do the monotheistic religious texts show such clear signs of human authorship and contain a recycled mix of older, often polytheistic, myths and legends (Sumerian, Persian, Egyptian, etc.)?

Moreover, if the message in scripture, like the Supreme Being, is timeless and for all time, why do they teach us values and standards that we would, otherwise, find reprehensible and unacceptable, such as slavery (in Judaism, Christianity and Islam), the subjugation of women, the slaughtering of your (read God’s) enemies?

In defending religion, many believers will argue that scripture appeared in the context of a different time and place and, so, not all of it is binding in the modern context. But if we go down the road of selectively choosing which articles of faith to hold on it, what’s to stop us from ditching it all and starting from scratch to create something more appropriate?

Similarly, scripture contradicts so many scientifically proven facts – and contradicts itself, such as in the case of the creation of the world in Genesis I and Genesis II – that it would cast serious doubt on God’s knowledge of the Universe he reportedly created.

Scripture v Faithbook

The Abrahamic tradition of religion is founded on the dual pillars of message (in the form of scripture) and messenger (in the form of prophets and even the son of God). The most fundamental question this raises is: what is the point of this?

If God is omnipotent and omnipresent, surely he could conjure up more imaginative and effective ways to communicate with his creations. As any good communicator knows, messages are often distorted or corrupted in their transmission. So, what better way to avoid confusion than to drop outdated and outmoded scriptures and communicate with each of us directly?

After all, we humble humans already possess the technology, if it were universally distributed, to communicate with everyone on the planet, and social networking sites already boast hundreds of millions of users. So, why can’t God use his omni-powers to create some sort of interactive interface, a sort of Faithbook, to talk to every human? I’m sure he’d have billions of friends (or should that be worshippers?) if he did.

Some might say that God doesn’t have the time to waste on this, but I thought he had all the time in the Universe. Others might argue that this world is a test of our faith and, by revealing himself to each of us, God would be making it too easy. Well, Adam and Eve lived by God’s side and still they disobeyed him – that’s the beauty of free will.

Besides, as they stand, the Abrahamic religions are exclusive clubs that only save those who belong to them. If God is as just and loving as they say he is, then surely he would want to offer all humanity an equal shot at salvation. By addressing us individually, God would be doing the ultimate to empower and enfranchise his creations – not to mention, hold us accountable – and to democratise religion.

Raise prophets by cutting out the middlemen

As purportedly the ultimate proponent of equality, God should not be elevating some humans above others. Yet, between us and him, he has elevated prophets and clergy. If God’s prophets are meant to be role models to us all, why are so many of them such unpleasant characters or commit acts which would otherwise be regarded as reprehensible, or at the very least unacceptable: stealing from neighbours, committing war crimes, sexually coercing women and killing their husbands, committing incest, marrying children, murdering siblings, and much more.

And even though many prophets had commendable attributes, they were human and are, hence, fallible, so it is best that God cut out these middlemen – and they are always men.

Humanity’s forgotten half

The human race is, more or less, evenly divided between men and women. Despite the insistence of religious modernisers and reformers that God is an equal opportunities creator, scripture seems to place men consistently a cut above women, and demands that women obey men.

Right from the word go, Genesis informs us that Adam was created first and Eve was fashioned out of his rib (or simply created after him, according to the Islamic version). Not only is this creation myth totally unscientific, it also makes no symbolic sense. With the human reproductive functions being what they are, one would expect that, if anyone were to come second, Adam would follow Eve. Even at the molecular level, we see that two X chromosomes result in a female, while an X and a Y chromosome result in a male, which might suggest that the male gender is more ambiguous than the female.

To add insult to injury, Eve leads Adam astray by convincing him to eat from the forbidden Tree of Knowledge. In the Islamic version, they are both blamed equally but, still, there are numerous passages in the Qur’an which stress the inferior status of women. For example, Surat al-Nisa (Verse on Women) informs us quite explicitly that: “Men are the protectors and maintainers of women, because God has given the one more (strength) than the other, and because they support them from their means. Therefore, the righteous women are devoutly obedient, and guard in (the husband’s) absence what God would have them guard.”

This raises the question of why God is such a macho, especially considering that there’s little actual difference between the two genders, and women have consistently proven themselves men’s equals in all walks of life. If, as scripture seems to suggest, women are so much more imperfect and fallible than men, why on earth did the Supreme Being bother to create them? Couldn’t he have just made humanity asexual? Or could it be because it was man who created God in his image, rather than the other way around?

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Do no haram

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By Khaled Diab

A new search engine claims to filter out 'haram' (sinful) content for the faithful. Should non-believers now demand their own version – let’s call it Godpile – that blocks religious content?

10 September 2009

We live in tough times for the faithful, for vice has gone virtual and a worldwide web of sin has been weaved online. The fleshpods of the internet make the fleshpots of Egypt seem tame in comparison, and all the godlessness online would make the throne in heaven shake in rage.

Luckily, some good Samaritans have come to the rescue. A few months ago, a group of Orthodox rabbis launched Koogle, the kosher search engine.

Perhaps not to be outdone, a Muslim equivalent has also just been launched in time for Ramadan, a time when virtuousness is an extra-special virtue.  I’mHalal claims to filter out haram or sinful content, and may soon promote halal or virtuous content through special widgets.

“Our goal is to create a safe environment for Muslims to search the worldwide web,” said the search engine’s creator Reza Sardeha, an Iranian-Kuwaiti based in the Netherlands. In addition to blocking sexually explicit content, I’mHalal is also progressively excluding content deemed to be haram by selected Islamic scholars.

Secular and progressive Muslims are not amused. “Muslims are not children. What’s the point of free will if someone else always decides for you what’s right and what’s wrong?” believes Mona Eltahawy, an Egyptian journalist based in New York.

Even some devout Muslims find it objectionable. “Two words I’m absolutely sick of: halal and shari’a – and coming from a practicing Muslim that’s saying something. One more Halal invention and I’m converting to Scientology,” said one commenter on Facebook discussion.

Despite the protests that this amounts to censorship, Sardeha insists that: “We have absolutely no intention of being a dictatorial search engine” and that I’mHalal is not intended to be a “political censor”.

But determining what is sinful is no easy feat. Halal, like its cousin kosher, is pretty straightforward when it comes to diet. The overwhelming majority of Muslims accept that eating pork and drinking alcohol is haram (sinful). Of course, many are willing to run the risk of divine retribution (“vengeance will be wine”?) to savour the joys of intoxication, but even if a flying pig landed beside them on a desert island, they might well not eat it.

However, beyond the bread-and-butter issue of food, determining what is halal is wrought with difficulty. In fact, it could spark a theological controversy and force this search engine, which is currently targeted at “moderate Muslims”, to install varying levels of virtue and vice.

For instance, like Judaism, the strictest interpretations of Islam ban “graven images”, not to mention poetry and song. Should an Islamic search engine, then, block YouTube, TV channels and all embedded images on a page?

How about non-halal views? Should a search engine like this not return results that contradict Islamic orthodoxy, are critical of Islam, or advocate atheism? Although I understand why people adhere to a faith and take a more nuanced view of religion than many other non-believers, I write plenty of stuff that would be considered haram.

Luckily for me and open-minded Muslims,  I’mHalal does not seem to have blocked my writings questioning Islam and religion, such as my guides to Ramadan for the non-believer and the drinker, or my piece on atheism in Islam.

Although I don’t like the idea of divine or worldly censorship, my belief in freedom of choice means I cannot object to self-censorship of this sort. The danger is that, once the technology is perfected, theocratic regimes, such as in Saudi Arabia or Iran, could force citizens to use it and block other alternatives.

But as the genie is now out of the bottle, at this rate we may soon have search engines designed to answer people’s spiritual questions modelled on the Ask Jeeves format, possibly named Ask Jehovah or Ask Allah. Since there seems to be a growing market for niche search engines, may be we’ll soon get one for atheists, perhaps it could be called Godpile, which blocks religious content. Personally, I wouldn’t use Godpile, just as I wouldn’t use I’mHalal, but there might be a market for it out there.

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Face to faith: Ramadan for the faith-challenged

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By Khaled Diab

Ramadan possesses a certain secular appeal but fasting requires the non-believer to square the philosophical circle.

30 August 2009

Summer Ramadans are the toughest. In northern climes, the yawning chasm that separates dawn from dusk makes the long, meandering days feel less like a pleasant stroll and more like an epic marathon. Further south, the days may be shorter and the hunger less palpable, but the intense heat makes the faster feel lost in a desert of thirst.

Although I no longer do Ramadan, the first time I ever fasted, when I was seven, happened to be one of those endless English summer days upon which the sun never seems to set. Muslim children are not obliged to fast and my parents thought I was too young, but I've always been up for a challenge. Besides, there was a mysterious and exotic appeal to those rituals which transformed life within the confines of our home, but hardly caused a ripple in the routines of the outside world.

That first day, Palestinian friends hosted us for iftar. As our mothers prepared a delicious Middle Eastern banquet to mark the start of the month, the kitchen became a torture chamber – teasing and tormenting me with an array of delicious, mouth-watering aromas.

The last couple of hours were sheer hell: it seemed that time itself had become so hunger-stricken that it could no longer function properly, and crawled from one second to the next like a snail on tranquilisers. All the adults commended me for getting so far and urged me to break my fast, but a stubborn streak inside me insisted that I would eat and drink only when the grown-ups did.

With practice over the years, fasting got much easier physically but much tougher philosophically. Ironically, I took up fasting in a non-Muslim country as a child and abandoned it in a Muslim land as an adult. Even before I lost my faith completely, I was never really a practicing Muslim: I've never prayed regularly, nor have I ever read the Qur'an in its entirety, let alone memorised it. In fact, fasting Ramadan – but not the marathon prayer sessions and Quranic recitals associated with the holy month – is the only aspect of Islam that I have ever stuck to religiously.

I'm not entirely sure why that was. Part of the reason could be the special spirit of solidarity that marks Ramadan. The short fuses, ready tempers and irritability excepted, there is the camaraderie, unison and communalism of the season, the festive air, like Christmas for a whole month, the enchantment associated with the partial reversal of night and day, the bubbling late-night waterpipes, the pre-dawn beans on a Cairo street corner.

More profoundly, another explanation could be that, beyond the religious duty, Ramadan carries a secular appeal. Praying would involve expressing devotion to a being – or creator – and a belief system which have always raised doubts in my mind. In contrast, fasting is not just a ritual for its own sake but is also about self-discipline, exercising control over your body and empathising with the predicament of the less fortunate.

But despite my secularised version of Ramadan, certain tensions between Islamic norms and my a-religious outlook were increasingly thrown into sharp relief. Could girlfriends and later cohabitation mix with fasting? How should I handle my fondness for alcohol? Did I want to be like those non-practicing Muslims who seek salvation for their 'sins' through seasonal devotion, especially as I did not see what I was doing as sinful? As a free-thinker for whom the questions and contradictions in religion multiplied with time – rather than resolved themselves as confident believers assured me they would – could I continue to hold on to an artefact of a faith which clashed with the reality I observed?

Increasingly unable and unwilling to square the philosophical circle, I eventually abandoned this last vestige of my religion because, in the end, I seek food for thought and not for the soul.

This column appeared in The Guardian newspaper's Face to faith series on 29 August 2009. Read the related discussion.

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