Much of the philosophical and religious thought that may very loosely be categorised as ‘Eastern’ endeavours to show people how to ‘liberate themselves’ both from the ego and from step-by-logical-step thinking. This is a deliberate abdication of precisely our most valuable attributes. Of course, it does not do this because it is stupid—it isn’t. It chooses this path because those attributes are admittedly imperfect. Unfortunately, this is like giving up entirely on going to the doctor because medicine, too, is imperfect.

But this is not a solely philosophical matter. It is also illuminating to look at it from a political perspective. Oriental philosophy by and large enjoins accepting things as they are, going along with the flow—as exemplified by the key Taoist concept of wu-wei, ‘not striving’ (among other translations), since any striving is regarded as counter-productive and surely destined to fail. It hardly seems coincidental that this is a philosophy arising among, and especially suited to, people who politically and socially lacked much agency for change and, hopefully, improvement.

To state it more bluntly: in this regard, it is a philosophy tailored for vassals who are to be kept in their place, and for political systems that see evolutionary change as inherently bad. A dynasty may be toppled and followed by another dynasty, but the idea itself of being ruled forever by dynasties (kingly or even of a modern, more corporate type) is not to be questioned. Give me stasis, or I’ll give you death.

The above qualifications ‘very loosely’ and ‘by and large’ reflect the obvious fact that Oriental religio-philosophical thinking is not monolithic but varied. Yet, even granting this diversity, it would be inattentive not to notice overall patterns. At the same time, parts of this thinking are not exclusive to the East, either. For one example, just turn to the US’s late grand old man of geopolitics, Henry Kissinger, the heart of whose political philosophy, as he made clear in his book World Order, was that something is good if it keeps a lid on things. (He regretted the French Revolution, for example, not on any grounds related to whether people were better or worse off because of it—that was largely immaterial to him—but because it swept away a self-correcting European order that had held since 1648.)

But again, the general pattern is that the preference for immutability is more of an Eastern than a Western thing; the West tends to see stasis as stagnation. The major exception to this dichotomy is in religion—specifically, religion defined not in association with a general system of philosophical thought, but with an organised, hierarchical structure. Religion in this form is always a tool for social control and a belligerent guardian of the status quo in West and East alike. (For social control, much of the East hasn’t even needed it where a non-religion, Confucianism, has been there to perform that role.)

The West stands for a never-ending struggle for change for the better, despite stumbles and setbacks. A lot of bad things can be said about the West (although such rather widespread impressions as that imperialism or slavery are uniquely Western traits are grotesquely misinformed). But the notion that it is better to seek progress than to preserve existing conditions at all costs is one that should genuinely be cherished. This idea has allowed the West to achieve progress in many areas—and to keep working on its own, and others’, problems.

It is logical that populations which see no chance of ever escaping a preordained hard lot or severely subservient position will seek evasion in mystical doctrines that take them away from themselves and their reality. Conversely, their adherence to such thinking helps keep the systems that preordained their miserable position in business. It’s a loop.

The West is also the birthplace of the self as associated with an individual who is more than a cog in the whole. That clearly doesn’t mean that otherwise people don’t know who they are; it means that they don’t define themselves only in relation to a community which they form part of and must, above all other considerations, serve. Of course, a balance needs to be struck between the individual and the group, between the ego and the collective. (It should be clear that ‘ego’ is herein used simply in the sense of self-awareness, not in the Freudian sense or that of an excessive self-regard.) But the moral and practical imperative to be solidary with others need not and should not mean giving up the self. According the ego its proper place is one of the triumphs of Western thought. Having a self-aware ego is our most basic treasure.

Wild, to-hell-with-the-others individualism is bad—and so is the opposite extreme position, that hell is me. (And that thus, I need to abandon or ‘transcend’ my ego. By the way, what a contrast, quite coincidental of course because the context is different, from Sartre’s ‘Hell is other people.’) Every person born comes with an ego. The alternative to coming to life, with the attendant ego, would be to remain in nothingness forever; the birth and the ego are a win in a cosmic lottery that offers staggeringly low chances. To throw the ego away is therefore an appalling waste.

Why does Eastern philosophy want to jettison it? Because it says the self—what Hinduism calls atman, although equivalences in these matters are seldom complete—stands in the way of realising the true nature of reality. Two points about this. First, it takes it for granted that the ego could not, by being made aware of the danger, in some way hold itself in check and see things straight after all.  

Second and more seriously still, what is that true nature of reality which the ego allegedly clouds? In that worldview, it is that we, along with everything else, are just part of, or emanations from, a mystical supreme entity or unchanging ultimate essence, whose existence it posits (Brahman, in Hinduism; Buddhism doesn’t give it a name but believes in it). There are many nuances to all this but in any case, making a prior assumption of what is the ultimate reality isn’t at all what we understand by searching for reality. So, sacrificing the ego to facilitate this ‘search’ is pointless.

Another reason that Eastern philosophy, Buddhism in particular, asserts that the self is an impossibility is that it is in eternal flux: our ego of a moment ago is gone with the moment itself. (This goes for everything else; nothing then really exists except in the actual now.) This is in a way comparable to Zeno’s paradoxes of motion and to the solipsist’s failure to prove the existence of anything outside his or her own mind.

As I have intimated in an earlier article on persistent philosophical errors, in these matters the shortcomings belong to philosophy, not reality. In actuality, even as the philosophers with such proclivities tie themselves into knots, Achilles does catch up with the tortoise¹. Things outside solipsists’ heads do exist and would do so whether solipsists themselves existed or not. And our self does manage to hold on to itself despite being presented with the notion that it was a different thing a moment ago. (Let’s face it, worse things have happened to our sense of self. We thought our organism was singular, and it turns out that we are symbionts with bugs, countless bugs, inside us. Yet here our ego still is. The question of whether the minute creatures have their own little egos remains open. But if they do, they should prize them.)

Next comes the decisive matter of rational, careful, step-by-step thought. The Oriental religio-philosophical persuasion—again, loosely defined—actively works to undercut or at least bypass it. Instead, it puts its faith in a direct apprehension of reality.    

Rational thought is one of our greatest properties as individuals and as a species. For someone in the Western tradition, it feels silly merely to state something so obvious. The fact that increasing numbers of animals are finally winning the acknowledgement that to varying extents they too can think rationally, and not just instinctively, and that they have degrees of self-awareness that could be likened to an ego, does not in any way diminish the paramount importance of these gifts for us.

It is the West (why not say it more precisely? Greece) that is the birthplace of the espousal of linear, rational thought for pursuing any line of enquiry and even for its own sake—and not mainly to create, justify, and extend religious or quasi-religious systems.

Why does the Eastern tradition distrust rational thinking? Because it feels that the latter’s way of categorising and labelling things destroys their wholeness. It may have a point—as long as this wholeness is understood only as a possible complex and fragile inner connectedness, and not as some mystical attribute. But it goes too far, not least with its underlying assumption that only the wholeness is worth considering, not the inner workings.

Oriental thinking, with Buddhism to the fore in this, also holds that the reality of the world is simply too elusive, too full of complexities for rational thought to stand a chance with it. From this elusiveness and complexity—and this is the crucial point—it reaches the conviction that it’s useless to try; Buddhism calls the attempt to do so trishna, ‘grasping’.

Actually, that something is difficult does not mean that it is necessarily impossible or that it isn’t even worth attempting. Attempts to show the inherent uselessness of ‘grasping’ via analogies, like that of a fist trying to get hold of itself or a net trying to catch water, beg the question of whether those analogies are the appropriate ones. Rational, ordered thought does lead to greater understanding in many cases—and even in cases in which ultimate success is not reached, much may anyway be learned during the attempt. Meanwhile, the difficulty of the attempts is made greater by the defeatist attitude inherent in ideas of trishna and the like.

As usual, what is needed is to find a balance (even if that itself may be difficult). Eastern thinking could be less of a quitter when it discovers that the world makes no effort to be readily understandable. And the Western line of approach could be more welcoming of lateral thinking and a hunch here and there. Reason is indeed limited in several ways (it needs to be tempered with compassion, we aren’t all that good at it anyway, it should sometimes stay out of the bedroom, and so on). And yet our ability to be rational, or at least as rational as we can manage, remains our best resource. Pace Oriental philosophy, no, it isn’t doomed from the start.

A word (all right, a paragraph) about any claims that Oriental thinking is a source of superior ‘spirituality’ or ‘wisdom’. The very idea that people were or are spiritually better off when under the thumb of superstition or religious establishments or essentially escapist philosophies is nonsense. However one may feel about that, the proof is in the results: the claims in question ring hollow in populations provenly just as subject to brutal spasms of violence as those in the West.

One should abandon neither one’s self, nor rational thought, nor the rational world—instead, if able and willing to do anything about them, one should work on improving them.

Related reading

Two cut-the-nonsense thinkers who overcame the philosopher’s curse(s), by Nicholas E. Meyer

Religion and the decline of freethought in South Asia, by Kunwar Khuldune Shahid

The rise and fall of god(s) in Indian politics: Modi’s setback, Indic philosophy, and the freethought paradox, by Kunwar Khuldune Shahid

1. Corrected 14 September 2024. It originally read ‘hare’ rather than ‘tortoise’. ︎

The post Awry in the Orient: some problems with Eastern philosophies appeared first on The Freethinker.

Like the typical visitor to Japan, I initially regarded Shinto as the quaint if not simplistic faith of the Japanese people. However, when placed in its historical context, I realised that Shinto was one of the last remaining major expressions of a much older faith, namely animism (typically described in Western countries as ‘paganism’).¹ Further study led me to the realisation that animism, with its panoply of mostly nature-affiliated deities like a sun or a rain god(dess), was in fact the oldest form of religion about which, today, we have any trace. That is to say, animism is now widely acknowledged among scholars as the oldest form of religion, practised universally by our ancestors for tens, if not hundreds, of thousands of years.

Inasmuch as survival plus reproduction is generally recognised as the fundamental purpose of all life forms, the creation of sun god(s), rain god(s), fire god(s), etc. is unsurprising. For just as the creation of stone tools enhanced the evolutionary fitness of hunter-gatherers, the presence of nature-affiliated deities offered the possibility of controlling (and benefitting from) natural phenomena that were beyond any other method of control. In short, what we today identify as religion resulted from the fundamental human need to survive, though it should be noted that religion at this stage was centred on the needs of the entire tribe—to ensure plentiful water and animals to hunt and so on—rather than the spiritual needs of the individual tribal member. Today, we now have examples of tribal religious practices involving nature-affiliated deities dating back as far as 70,000 years ago.   

Yet, if tribal-oriented, animistic religions can be traced back tens of thousands of years, if not longer, how does one account for the personal faiths we have today? For this, we are indebted to the insight of a German-Swiss philosopher by the name of Karl Jaspers (1883–1969). Jaspers noticed the broad changes in religious and philosophical thought that occurred throughout the entire world from about the 8th to the 3rd century BCE, now known as the Axial Age. He noted that the present-day spiritual foundations of humanity were laid nearly simultaneously and independently in China, India, Persia, Judea, and Greece. Among the key thinkers of this period, he identified Confucius and Lao-Tse in China, the historical Buddha and Mahavira in India, Deutero-Isaiah in ancient Israel², and Socrates and Plato in Greece.

Though their teachings varied, all these thinkers shared three basic elements in common. First, ‘truth’ was universally valid, and its existence was no longer confined to one’s tribe. Second, morality/ethical conduct, too, was universal. While it had long been wrong, or taboo, to steal from or injure a fellow tribal member, the rule for members of other tribes was ‘anything goes’, especially when the latter posed a threat or possessed something coveted by one’s own tribe.  At least in principle, those outside one’s tribe were now recognised as fellow human beings. Finally, the myths that had explained natural events like the eclipse of the sun, or the creation of the world, were no longer accepted uncritically. Slowly, haltingly, the search for rational answers to natural phenomena and life’s questions took root, eventually leading to the birth of science.

One good example of this change in mentality is provided by the historical Buddha in regard to the doctrine of karma. In Sanskrit, the word ‘karma’ originally meant no more or less than an ‘action’ of some kind. Later, in the Vedas, which initially presented an Indian form of animism, ‘karma’ came to mean action associated with properly conducted ritual sacrifices to the gods. It was only later still, with the advent of the Buddha, that karma acquired an ethical connotation. The Buddha ethicised the meaning of karma by identifying it with intentional actions on the part of the actor. Thus, when actions were undertaken with wholesome intent, this was good and proper, reaping positive rewards. However, when actions were conducted with harmful intent, this was wrong, and those who did so would suffer the negative consequences of their actions.

Not only did the Axial period mark the beginning of religion for individuals, but it also prepared the way for the emergence of all the major, universal religions we have today, whether Judaism, Christianity, Islam, Hinduism, or Buddhism. That is to say, while there are major doctrinal differences between these faiths, they all share the same three basic characteristics born during the Axial Age. Thus, if there is hope for mutual religious understanding, if not religious tolerance, it is to be found in the fundamental tenets underlying them all.

However, given the copious amounts of blood that have been shed in conflicts between post-Axial faiths, it is readily understandable that readers may think I have a Pollyannaish view of religion. However, such is not the case, for I have long realised that the Axial Age did not bring an end to a tribal religious mentality. Instead, the Axial Age functioned to add something like an additional universal layer on top of limited tribal religion, the latter concerned first and foremost with the wellbeing of one’s ‘in-group’, whether defined by a common religious faith, ethnic and racial grouping, or simply membership in the new tribal grouping we call ‘nations’.

The ongoing wars in Ukraine and Gaza are classic examples of this religious ‘layer cake’. Prior to the war, the Ukrainian Orthodox Church (UOC), while it enjoyed a degree of autonomy, was part of the Russian Orthodox Church. After the invasion in February 2022, the UOC declared its independence from Russia. (The Orthodox Church of Ukraine—a separate church—had already gained independence in 2018.) Since then, the independent UOC has attempted to cut all ties with Moscow, dismissing pro-Russian bishops and having its head, Metropolitan Onufriy, publicly condemn Russia. For its part, in April 2024, the Russian Orthodox Church proclaimed that Russia was engaged in a ‘holy war’ with Ukraine. Although they shared the same God, the same faith, the split between them clearly came about due to their allegiance to the contending warring tribal entities we today call ‘nations’.

As for the current war in Gaza, it is, if anything, an even clearer example of the conflict between universal and tribal religion. For example, Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu did not hesitate to invoke the Biblical image of the Jewish tribal battle against the Amalekites.³ Last year, he said that Israelis ‘are committed to completely eliminating this evil [Hamas] from the world… You must remember what Amalek has done to you, says our Holy Bible. And we do remember.’

Netanyahu’s reference was to the first Book of Samuel in which God commands King Saul to kill all the Amalekites. God, says the prophet Samuel, has told the Israelites to ‘go and smite Amalek, and utterly destroy all that they have, and spare them not; but slay both man and woman, infant and suckling, ox and sheep, camel and ass.’ (1 Samuel 15:3).

Likewise, Israeli Defence Minister Yoav Gallant claimed that ‘We are fighting human animals and we act accordingly.’ While Gallant may have initially been referring to Hamas fighters, he went on to call for the collective punishment of all Palestinians in Gaza, stating, ‘We are imposing a complete siege on Gaza. There will be no electricity, no food, no water, no fuel. Everything will be closed.’ The tribal nature of Netanyahu and Gallant’s comments, and their complete dismissal of the shared humanity of Israelis and Palestinians, could not be clearer.

That said, it is important to acknowledge that there are Jews, including in Israel, who do recognise their shared humanity with Palestinians. Organisations like Jewish Voice for Peace and IfNotNow share post-Axial universal values of caring for the poor and oppressed, pursuing justice, and treating others with compassion based on their shared humanity.  

If this analysis is correct, readers may be thinking that this tribal way of thinking is not unique to some adherents of Judaism, and they would be correct. One Christian example particularly relevant to the current situation in Israel/Palestine is the role played by ‘Manifest Destiny’ in American history. First coined in 1845, this term represented a collective mindset that viewed the expansion of the US as both necessary and ordained by God. As the US gained more territory, proponents of Manifest Destiny used it to justify the forced removal, enslavement, dehumanisation, and even elimination of Native American tribes, as well as the expansion of slavery into newly acquired territories.

Compare these actions with the words from Leviticus 19:33-34 that both Christians and Jews claim to believe in:

And if a stranger sojourn with thee in your land, ye shall not vex him. But the stranger that dwelleth with you shall be unto you as one born among you, and thou shalt love him as thyself; for ye were strangers in the land of Egypt: I am the Lord your God.

These examples point to an unresolved split in all religions, i.e. between their tribal nature, based on tens of thousands of years of history, versus their post-Axial awakening occurring less than three thousand years ago. This awakening was of profound importance in that it led, at least in principle, to a recognition of the universal nature of their religious teachings based on their shared humanity. This in turn led, at least some of the time, to a feeling of mutual compassion in which people recognised others as extensions of themselves, extensions who had the same human needs and fears as they themselves had.

The struggle between a narrow tribal mentality versus a truly universal mentality accepting of others is one that transcends all ethnic, racial, national, and even religious boundaries. Nevertheless, in the US, for example, the slogan ‘America First’ is embraced by millions, demonstrating that for many the tribal mentality remains firmly in place.      

On the one hand, as brutal and destructive as religion-endorsed tribal warfare has been in the past, humanity as a whole was not endangered. Today, however, things are different. For the first time in the approximately 300,000-year history of Homo sapiens, we have the capacity to destroy each other not only in the tens of thousands, or even the millions, but totally, without exception. This is because of the very real possibility of ‘mutual assured destruction’ in the form of a nuclear-induced winter, not to mention the ever-increasing dangers resulting from phenomena like global warming. None of the deadly serious problems facing humankind as a whole can be solved by one or even a group of nations. They require the concerted efforts, and necessary sacrifices, of all the world’s nations and peoples.

Thus, adherents of all the world’s religions, and even those who identify with no faith, share a common challenge. Can we Homo sapiens collectively awake to, and transcend, the tribal religious mentality of our past or are we bound to continue to fool ourselves into oblivion, believing that we are pursuing universal truths even as we betray such truths in practice? In Ukraine, Gaza, and beyond, we live in a world characterised by the ongoing threat of thermonuclear warfare, global warming, and many other deadly challenges.

Can religion save the human race?

As an adherent of religion, I sincerely wish I could answer this question in the affirmative. However, in light of the above examples, and many others like them, I cannot. What I can say with confidence is that postaxial religion has the largely unrealised potential to prevent humanity from destroying itself. Yet, all too regrettably, this potential is far, far from being realised even though pockets of universal good will do exist.  A positive outcome for humanity, let alone all life forms, requires that we undertake concrete actions based on the realisation that the continued existence of our species is, in fact, dependent on the success of a truly universal struggle, by the religious and nonreligious alike, for human equality, dignity, and justice.

Will we be successful? Among many others, the answer lies with each reader of this article.

1. As a foundational aspect of various ancient and indigenous religions, animism is based on the belief that all things, animate and inanimate, possess a spiritual or animating force. ‘Paganism’ describes the same phenomena but the word as used to describe this belief system has pejorative overtones and is therefore no longer widely used. ︎
2. Deutero-Isaiah is the name given to the anonymous author of chapters 40–55 of the Book of Isaiah. He (it was most likely a ‘he’) is believed to have lived with the Jewish exiles during their Babylonian captivity (c. 597 BCE – c. 538). Because this prophet’s real name is unknown and his work has been preserved in the collection of writings that include the prophecies of the earlier, or first, Isaiah, he is usually designated as Deutero-Isaiah—the second Isaiah. Deutero-Isaiah was a pure monotheist who rejected the idea of Yahweh as the exclusive god of the Jews. Instead, he proclaimed that Yahweh was the universal, true God of the entire universe. ︎
3. The Amalekites were a people of the Negev and adjoining desert who were regarded as a hereditary enemy of Israel from wilderness times to the early monarchy. Amalek, a son of Esau’s son Eliphaz, was presumably the eponymous ancestor of the Amalekites. ︎

Read Part Two here.

Related reading

The rise and fall of god(s) in Indian politics: Modi’s setback, Indic philosophy, and the freethought paradox, by Kunwar Khuldune Shahid

Religion and the decline of freethought in South Asia, by Kunwar Khuldune Shahid

Can sentientism save the world? Interview with Jamie Woodhouse, by Emma Park

The Highbrow Caveman: Why ‘high’ culture is atavistic, by Charles Foster

‘The Greek mind was something special’: interview with Charles Freeman, by Daniel James Sharp

Image of the week: Anaxagoras, by Emma Park

‘The real beauty comes from contemplating the universe’: humanism with Sarah Bakewell, by Emma Park

Reading list against nuclear war, by Emma Park

Atheism, secularism, humanism, by Anthony Grayling

Morality without religion: the story of humanism, by Madeleine Goodall

The need for a new Enlightenment, by Christopher Hitchens

Can the ‘New Theists’ save the West? by Matt Johnson

Against the ‘New Theism’, by Daniel James Sharp

What has Christianity to do with Western values? by Nick Cohen

Religion and the Arab-Israeli conflict, by Kunwar Khuldune Shahid

Israel’s war on Gaza is a war on the Palestinian people, by Zwan Mahmod

Is the Israel-Palestine conflict fundamentally a nationalist, not a religious, war? by Ralph Leonard

Young, radical and morally confused, by Gerfried Ambrosch

Britain’s liberal imam: Interview with Taj Hargey, by Emma Park

White Christian Nationalism is rising in America. Separation of church and state is the antidote. By Rachel Laser

The post Can Religion Save Humanity? Part One appeared first on The Freethinker.

I was born to an Indian Bengali Hindu family. My childhood was drenched in the rich embroidery of customs, ceremonies, and convictions; my perspective was moulded by the strict social standards that were imposed upon me. But I ended up scrutinising the doctrines that characterised my reality, and now I consider myself a seeker of truth rather than a follower of custom. I have travelled from unbridled religiosity to reasonableness.

My childhood in a Hindu family imparted to me a profound veneration for the heavenly. Narratives of divine beings were woven into the texture of my life. I believed in a world full of divine powers. My grandmother used to recount these exciting stories to me, from Prince Rama killing the demon Ravana and winning the beautiful Sita back to how Narasimha (an exceptional blend of human and lion and the fourth avatar of Vishnu) killed the evil king Hiranyakashipu and protected the king’s faithful son Prahlada.

However, as I grew up, I started to understand that these stories were simple legends. The seeds of uncertainty were planted in me as I took note of the irregularities and inconsistencies of the holy texts and lessons that I had once accepted unquestioningly. Questions emerged: How could a considerate god support unfairness and suffering? What objective reason was there for considering some practices sacrosanct and others not? Why should a husband be seen as a god by his wife? Why should the wife not be treated equally?

These and many other questions drove me to investigate what I had been taught, and eventually I broke free from the shackles of religiosity that had been imposed on me from birth. This was an overwhelming experience of liberation, but it caused conflict between me and my family and others who lived nearby. They could not let go of dogma and custom and were unable to engage with different viewpoints. My family made me practice absurd rituals like not oiling or shampooing my hair, not cutting my nails, and not having non-vegetable foods for 13 days between my grandmother’s death and funeral. But I was undaunted, still desperate to find my own way based on reason and evidence rather than blind adherence to antiquated traditions.

The situation between me and my family was like a cold war initially, but as time went on, they realised that forcing me to adhere to dogmas would not only hamper my personal growth but strain my relationship with them. With time, we both understood that to maintain a healthy relationship, we had to desist from discussing religion openly and respect each other’s choices.

The Hindu misogyny I experienced played a major role in my rejection of dogma. Disallowing menstruating women from entering temples, decreeing that widows are not allowed to participate in wedding rituals, preventing infertile women from taking part in baby showers, and various other misogynistic practices emboldened me to raise my voice against injustice.

I decided to embrace sanity. I recognised that the world was not generally as it appeared and that the search for truth was a progressive and always-evolving endeavour. Many books helped me in my journey towards rationality, starting with the Indian revolutionary Bhagat Singh’s 1930 Why I Am an Atheist, which Singh wrote in jail just months before his execution. Singh left certain logical questions—like ‘Why doesn’t God create a better world for humans?’ and ‘Why doesn’t God stop humans from committing sin?’—unanswered in my mind. Later, books like The God Delusion (2006) by Richard Dawkins, God Is Not Great: How Religion Poisons Everything (2007) by Christopher Hitchens, and Breaking the Spell: Religion as a Natural Phenomenon (2006) by Daniel Dennett helped me in my path to enlightenment.

So far, my experience as a secular person has been exciting, diverse, and full of challenges. On the one hand, I have faced questioning and judgement from people opposed to my views, and on the other, I have found comfort and backing in networks of similar people who shared my feelings and gave me a sense of fellowship that rose above the limits of religion, nationality, and culture. As I continued my journey, I felt I was in the right kind of company.

As I look back, I feel great appreciation for all the encounters I have had, both positive and negative, for they have moulded me into the person I am today. While the journey to reason was full of difficulties, it was also full of epiphanies, understanding, and personal development. Each step forward gives me a more profound knowledge of myself and the world I find myself in. It has provoked me to scrutinise the convictions and suspicions that once characterised my reality and to embrace vulnerability and uncertainty with boldness and interest. As I continue to explore the intricacies of life, I’m inspired by the thought that the pursuit of truth is an undertaking motivated by our most elevated desires, and I know that by rocking the boat and thinking freely we can make ourselves, and our world, a happier and better place.

Related reading

Religion and the decline of freethought in South Asia, by Kunwar Khuldune Shahid

The rise and fall of god(s) in Indian politics: Modi’s setback, Indic philosophy, and the freethought paradox, by Kunwar Khuldune Shahid

Image of the week: Ajita Kesakambali, ancient Indian materialist and one of the Six Heretics, by Daniel James Sharp

Campaign ‘to unite India and save its secular soul’, by Puja Bhattacharjee

The resurgence of enlightenment in southern India: interview with Bhavan Rajagopalan, by Emma Park

‘We need to move from identity politics to a politics of solidarity’ – interview with Pragna Patel, by Emma Park

The post Why I am no longer a Hindu appeared first on The Freethinker.

In Pakistan, the formation of a truly democratic government is increasingly hindered by the limited participation of religious minorities. Many Ahmadis, members of a religious group facing severe persecution—and I am one—abstained from voting in the 2024 general election in February for fear of attacks and the discriminatory and dangerous practice of separate voter lists. This exclusion from the democratic process reflects the broader challenges faced by religious minorities in the country.

Amir Mehmood, a community spokesperson, told me that religiously motivated extremists consider it their duty to kill Ahmadi individuals; it is therefore practically impossible for Ahmadis to vote so long as there is a voters list that openly identifies them as Ahmadi.

Pakistan is home to a population where less than 4% of the citizens are religious minorities, including Ahmadis, Sikhs, Hindus, Christians, and others. These groups were registered on separate voter lists from the 1985 general election onwards, but in 2002, President Pervez Musharraf abandoned this practice—except for the Ahmadis.

According to Pakistan’s most recent census, in 2017, 3.53% of the population consists of religious minority groups. The total population of these minority groups is 7,331,246. Interestingly, the Ahmadi population has seen a decline, decreasing from 291,000 in the 1998 census (the last one before 2017) to 207,688 in 2017. However, since many Ahmadis boycotted the censuses, the true figure is thought to be considerably higher—between two and five million.

Nasir Qureshi, an Ahmadi, is a resident of Karachi, the largest city in Pakistan. He has been living and running a business there since 1979. However, he has never voted due to the discriminatory voter list practice. When I spoke to Qureshi, he said that the situation for Ahmadis in Pakistan is the worst it has ever been. Each day, the number of attacks and incidents of hatred against the community is increasing. ‘Like other parts of Pakistan, Karachi is also insecure for the community,’ he told me.

Qureshi stated that discrimination has become widespread and that it is impossible for Ahmadis to vote for fear of being targeted with violence. ‘Until the separate voter list is abolished, I cannot vote and will not vote in the future because it makes us easily identifiable and vulnerable to attacks,’ he lamented.

Still, he was defiant. Although the ‘Ahmadiyya community is being compelled to boycott the general elections and is denied a role in the formation of a democratic government… [It] is our fundamental right to participate in polls because Pakistan is our home country.’

The Ahmadis believe that they are Muslims, but the Constitution and law of Pakistan criminalise this belief. The Constitution of Pakistan was promulgated in 1973 and passed unanimously by the parliament. General Zia-ul-Haq, the military dictator who ruled Pakistan under martial law from 1977-88, passed Ordinance XX of 1984, introducing sections 298-B and 298-C to the Pakistan Penal Code (PPC), which made it a criminal offence for Ahmadis to, among other things, refer to themselves as Muslims, call their places of worship mosques, and give the call to prayer (the Azan).

The National Commission for Human Rights, a statutory body established in 2012, recently released a situation report titled Monitoring the Plight of the Ahmadiyya Community which provides detailed statistics of the persecution against the Ahmadiyya community from 1984 to 2023. According to the report, Ahmadis in Pakistan have faced ‘an astonishing number of legal charges – 765 cases for displaying the Kalima [Islamic prayers containing the fundamentals of the religion], 47 cases for calling the Azan, 861 cases for preaching, and various others.’

Shedding further light on the persecution faced by Pakistani Ahmadis, the Human Rights Section of the Ahmadiyya Muslim Foreign Mission released a report in February 2024. According to that report, 277 Ahmadis were murdered between 1984 and 2023 because of their faith, and 478 attempted murders took place for the same reason. Additionally, 4,280 Ahmadis were arrested and 202 Ahmadi mosques were desecrated. In 2023, one Ahmadi person was murdered, 133 were arrested, and 39 Ahmadi mosques and 100 Ahmadi graves were desecrated. The report states that in the first couple of months of this year, several mosques were desecrated or attacked, 88 graves were desecrated, one Ahmadi was arrested under the anti-Ahmadi law PPC-298-C, one Ahmadi survived a murder attempt, and six Ahmadi teachers were transferred due to their faith. These statistics show just some of the ways—there are, sadly, many more—in which the Ahmadi community is persecuted and disenfranchised in Pakistan.

Amir Mehmood had this to say about the plight of the Ahmadis:

‘Sadly, we have been marginalized and excluded from the fabric of the state. As Ahmadis, we are also concerned about the future of our country, Pakistan. The actions of the state have cornered the Ahmadis, which is actually against the statement made by Quaid-e-Azam [‘Great Leader’, Muhammad Ali Jinnah], the founder of Pakistan, shortly after the creation of Pakistan [in 1947]. Quaid-e-Azam declared that every person, regardless of their religion or sect, would be free to practice their beliefs and worship in temples, mosques, gurdwaras, and so on.

This is a miserable situation for our community. Everyone, including rights activists, fails to understand why this is happening or why there is a desire to commit genocide against us, even though the loyalty of the community lies with Pakistan. Unfortunately, state institutions remain silent on this critical issue, which has not only damaged the image of Islam but also our country. However, I firmly believe that Pakistan is our country, and we are determined to serve it at any cost.’

Qureshi mentioned that discrimination is prevalent everywhere, including in universities, schools, and other institutions. Youths are also deprived of job opportunities, and their life chances are being adversely affected in Pakistan. Despite lodging several complaints with the relevant authorities regarding these issues, our pleas have been futile.

Excluding the Ahmadis, a majority of voters from other religious minorities in Pakistan also refrained from voting for their favoured candidates due to fear instigated by candidates representing the majority religion, Islam. Approximately 70% of Hindu, Sikh, and Christian voters decided to abstain from participating in the 2024 general election according to Behwish Kumar, a rights activist for religious minorities. He told me that minorities refrain from using their vote out of fear. He added that there is no mechanism to protect minorities from the consequences which would be meted out by opposing candidates.

Mehmood stated that activists have repeatedly approached the relevant authorities to abandon the separate voter list for Ahmadis, but, unfortunately, their requests have been disregarded every time. ‘We do not hold positions in parliament or other high-ranking posts, so we can’t decide to remove this. We are left with no choice,’ he said.

To participate in Pakistani democracy, Ahmadis would have to risk their lives. As the well-known human rights lawyer Yasir Latif Hamdani put it to me: ‘How can they participate openly in the electoral process and cast their votes with a separate electoral list?’ He continued:

‘As a Pakistani citizen, I firmly assert [my] right to participate in the electoral process on equal footing with every fellow citizen of Pakistan whatever their religion. This demand is firmly grounded in the Constitution, which explicitly grants this right to every individual in Pakistan. Hence, it is truly bewildering why Ahmadis are unjustly deprived of this fundamental right, despite the Constitution’s clear provisions. Such discrimination goes against the universal principles of human rights that guarantee equal rights and opportunities for all individuals.’

He added that the current situation militates against Jinnah’s vision of an inclusive Pakistan, where everyone would be an equal citizen regardless of their religion and creed.

Mehmood emphasised that Ahmadis are not seeking to overthrow the Constitution, but are simply demanding their rights under it:

‘As Ahmadis, we do not seek special legislation for protection, as the Constitution of Pakistan already guarantees the right to life for every citizen. However, we strongly advocate for the repeal of the specific articles introduced through Ordinance XX on April 26, 1984. These articles not only contradict the principles of human dignity and equality but also go against the very essence of the Constitution of Pakistan.

We are currently enduring a distressing existence, with no safe haven to be found. Our children and women face constant insecurity and are denied access to educational institutions. Shockingly, there are public declarations advocating for the legality of murdering Ahmadis, while hatred continues to propagate unchecked. It is of utmost importance that these circumstances be abandoned and addressed immediately.’

In 1947, Pakistan’s founder said:

‘You are free; you are free to go to your temples, you are free to go to your mosques or to any other place of worship in this State of Pakistan. You may belong to any religion or caste or creed—that has nothing to do with the business of the State…’

As an Ahmadi myself, I look forward to the day when Jinnah’s secular vision is realised.

Related reading

From the streets to social change: examining the evolution of Pakistan’s Aurat March, by Tehreem Azeem

Surviving Ramadan: An ex-Muslim’s journey in Pakistan’s religious landscape, by Azad

Coerced faith: the battle against forced conversions in Pakistan’s Dalit community, by Shaukat Korai

Breaking the silence: Pakistani ex-Muslims find a voice on social media, by Tehreem Azeem

The power of outrage, by Tehreem Azeem

Artificial intelligence and algorithmic bias on Islam, by Kunwar Khuldune Shahid

Religion and the decline of freethought in South Asia, by Kunwar Khuldune Shahid

The post How the persecution of Ahmadis undermines democracy in Pakistan appeared first on The Freethinker.

During the campaign for the polls which have seen him suffer major setbacks in his bid to be elected for a third successive term today, Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi claimed that his birth was ‘not biological’ and that ‘God has sent me’. Over the past decade, Modi has resoundingly established himself as the central figure in the consolidation of Hindu nationalism. The irony of this has been that Hindu nationalism is based on a religio-philosophical tradition one of whose defining features is its very lack of a central authority. However, it is precisely this decentralisation, intrinsic to Hinduism—or Sanatana Dharma as many prefer to call it—and the freethought thereby allowed in the tradition which explains this paradox.

Modi’s ascribing of god-gifted qualities to himself to woo religious Hindus came four months after he inaugurated the Ram Mandir in Ayodhya, Uttar Pradesh. Despite fulfilling this longstanding vow to religious voters, and thus intensifying the focus on Hindu nationalism in Indian politics, the fact that Modi’s Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) suffered its biggest losses in Uttar Pradesh is emblematic of the futility of constructing a power centre on Hinduism.

Hinduism’s scriptural ideas of god range from sarvaṃ khalvidaṃ brahma—a kind of anthropomorphic rendition of pantheism, meaning that everything comes from Brahman, the universal cause of existence—to the unequivocal agnosticism of Nasadiya Sukta, the Hymn of Creation: ‘Gods came afterwards, with the creation of this universe. Who then knows whence it [the universe] has arisen?’

Five of the six astika darshanas, or orthodox schools of Indic thought—Nyaya, Vaisheshika, Samkhya, Yoga, and Mimamsa—have incorporated various forms of nontheism. Nyaya and Samkhya, for instance, give much attention to human-centric epistemology and allow for nontheism or atheism. The concept of karma (present in all six schools in different forms) as a self-governing model of ethicisation can be held to strip god of the role of moral arbiter—and perhaps even of existence. Indeed, the three main nastika darshanas, or heterodox schools, Buddhism, Jainism, and Carvaka, are downright atheistic. The fact that the former two are simultaneously organised religions further illustrates the non-mandatory nature, perhaps even the superfluousness, of the god concept in a polytheistic tradition that incorporates the Tridasha, a pantheon of 33 Hindu deities. This also underlines the difficulty of comparing Abrahamic concepts of religion, god, theism, and so on to Indic ones.

While eight of the traditional nine schools of thought in Indic religion and philosophy preach divinity, Sanatana Dharma is fundamentally anthropocentric, unlike the theocentric Abrahamic faiths. It puts the abstract notion of Atman—essentially, the human self—at the foundation of the supernatural superstructure, which may or may not have been created by a divine power. This not only establishes faith and its individual expression as each human’s prerogative, but it also seeks to present a panentheistic theodicy to reconcile belief in a higher power with all the ills and evils in the world that any omnipotent deity would logically be held accountable for.

Carvaka, however, corresponds most closely to modern-day atheism. It takes no prisoners in denying the supernatural. The seventh-century Indic Buddhist philosopher Dharmakirti described the views of Carvaka thus: ‘Believing that the Veda are standard (holy or divine), believing in a Creator for the world, Bathing in holy waters for gaining punya, having pride (vanity) about one’s caste, Performing penance to absolve sins, Are the five symptoms of having lost one’s sanity.’ The adherents of Carvaka endorsed materialism, viewing pratyaksha, or direct perception, as the sole means of attaining knowledge and calling the concept of the afterworld and ‘the realm of Shiva’ fabrications of ‘stupid imposters’. The Carvaka school of thought has been referenced in everything from epics like the Mahabharata to the Mughal codes of law to modern-day podcasts.

How then did this diverse and pluralistic religio-philosophical tradition, which even includes an institutionalised school of thought that blatantly negates it, evolve into the monolithic doctrine represented by Modi and the Hindutva ideology that his BJP government endorsed for a decade?

How did the Hindu Rashtra, a nation-state founded upon Hindutva (‘Hinduness’), become the touted endgame of an ancient tradition that doesn’t even confine itself to the bounds of a universe, let alone a nation or a state?

How has the suppression of perceived sacrilege, whether in the shape of beef consumption or expressions deemed offensive to Hinduism—intended as such or not—become associated with a religious tradition that rejects the notion of there being one supreme god and one unquestionable truth?

While the Carvaka thinkers—similar to heretics in other religions—can be found throughout Hinduism’s 4,000-year-old history, much of their dissenting literature against the astika ideologues is found solely in orthodox writing, where they are cited only for opprobrium. Even as the Indic schools of thought have incorporated renunciations of religion, the Vedas nonetheless also condemn and shun the nonbelievers, and even endorse the use of violence against them. Elsewhere in the Hindu scriptures, one finds instances of a quasi-monotheistic insistence on one true god, which have been echoed by proselytising Hindu groups such as the Arya Samaj. Likewise, despite the prevalence of Vedic freedom of conscience, the Hindu scriptures have simultaneously and rigidly institutionalised casteism and misogyny for millennia.

Even so, this monolithism within Hinduism is but a corollary of Indic philosophy being a spectrum of darshanas, ranging from pantheism to polytheism to monotheism to atheism. While contradictions are an integral feature of all religious doctrines, in Hinduism these are consistent with the core tenet: freedom of belief. Therefore, even if there were to be a consolidated foundation to define a unitary Indic belief system, it would be freethought more so than any particular Vedic interpretation. But given the synchrony among the scriptural inconsistencies within Hinduism, Indic freethinking inevitably becomes a function of time and power: it is precisely the freedom granted to Hindus by the Indic philosophy that has paradoxically resulted in the rigidity of Hindutva ideology and the almost Abrahamization of Hinduism. With no core beliefs, freethought has allowed Hindus to customise various belief systems from an almost infinite spectrum of ideas, good and bad, depending on the historical context.

The Indus Valley Civilisation originally had no organised religious ideology, until the Aryan migration to India around 2000 BCE formalised what has since become Sanatana Dharma. Unlike Mesopotamia, Egypt, or Persia, whose indigenous belief systems and cultures were erased by Islamic empires, Indic syncretism not only safeguarded Hinduism in the region but in fact gave birth to various major Islamic sects. During the heyday of Muslim colonialism in the Indian subcontinent, Carvaka went underground, only to resurface when the more secular-minded Mughal emperor Akbar was formulating his own unitary Indic religion for his empire in the 16th century.

Similarly, Hindu monotheism arrived amid the Christian British Empire’s supplanting of the Muslim rulers of India, and the movement for Indian independence amid an Islamic separatist movement in the 19th century. Hindutva was born around the same time, punctuated by the trademark Indic paradox of having been founded by a staunch atheist, Vinayak Damodar Savarkar, whose ideals are being successfully implemented by Modi and the BJP.

The examples cited in these paragraphs underline that Sanatana Dharma has modified itself according to various times and challenges, for better or worse. In recent times, with Judeo-Christian and Islamic civilisations dominating the global religious discourse, a monolithic, even monotheistic, rendition of Hinduism, which endorses a quasi-theocracy with blasphemy-like laws, has emerged.

In monotheistic religions, where theocrats and clergies impose the fundamental tenets of the religion, freethought is defined as a rejection of these fundamentals. In polytheism, especially of the Indic variety, where freethought itself is the foremost fundamental, the most prevalent idea is self-imposed by the adherents. For the past decade, that idea was that India is a Hindu nation, with Vedic practitioners as its primary constituents. Perhaps it is through embracing the best ideals of Carvaka, forged by its millennia-old struggle against all forms of superstition and supremacism, that Indic freethought can truly be unshackled from religious groupthink and dogma and any interpretation of god can be rendered decisively irrelevant in matters of governance.

Related reading

‘We need to move from identity politics to a politics of solidarity’ – interview with Pragna Patel, by Emma Park

The resurgence of enlightenment in southern India: interview with Bhavan Rajagopalan, by Emma Park

‘Words are the only victors’ – Salman Rushdie’s ‘Victory City’, reviewed, by Daniel James Sharp

Campaign ‘to unite India and save its secular soul’, by Puja Bhattacharjee

Faith Watch, February 2024, by Daniel James Sharp

Faith Watch, March 2024, by Daniel James Sharp

The post The rise and fall of god(s) in Indian politics: Modi’s setback, Indic philosophy, and the freethought paradox appeared first on The Freethinker.

Every couple of years, whenever he declares that he is a ‘cultural Christian’, Richard Dawkins provides a ‘gotcha!’ moment to a whole host of ideologues. That he has expressed this sentiment for at least a couple of decades should suffice in putting to bed the self-congratulatory notion that his latest LBC reiteration is a triumph of Christianity over nonbelief or the death knell for ‘New Atheism’. These claims have been made more frequently recently, owing to Ayaan Hirsi Ali’s recent conversion from atheism to Christianity. In fact, her conversion prompted an open letter by the evolutionary biologist questioning her embrace of Christian beliefs.

Another reason why Dawkins’s LBC interview received backlash was that he set contemporary British Christian culture against Islam, declared his dislike of Ramadan celebrations in Britain, described Britain as a (culturally) ‘Christian country’, and noted that Islam is ‘hostile’ to, for example, gay rights and women’s rights. But again, there is nothing new about Dawkins’s singling out of Islam as being especially problematic today—even many Muslim thinkers concede this. Like Christopher Hitchens before him, he believes that Christianity was just as dangerous as Islam historically (he states as much in his open letter to Hirsi Ali).¹ Even so, Dawkins does not limit the simultaneous embracing of a cultural affiliation with a religion and staunch atheism to Christianity, even extending it to Islam in The God Delusion.

The idea that atheism and religious identity can coexist in an individual is hardly groundbreaking. In Sanatana Dharma, or Hinduism, the nirishvaravadi (one who rejects the notion of a divine supreme being) and the nastika (those who reject the divinity of Hindu scripture) not only have the freedom to self-identify as a Hindu, but also have the Vedic, or scriptural, permission to do so. Both Jainism and Buddhism stem from the nastika tradition of Hinduism, rejecting the notion of a creator—albeit still preaching the divine and the supernatural, thus underlining the fluidity of the Indic belief systems. However, while the combination of irreligion with religious culture is natural in syncretic polytheism, pantheism, and non-theism, it is more difficult to envisage in Abrahamic monotheism.

While Jews run the gamut from the ultra-Orthodox to the atheist, all of whom unapologetically lay claim to a Jewish identity, Christianity and Islam are the last bastions of monotheistic rigidity. It is no coincidence that these two became the two largest religions in the world, given the aggressive evangelicalism and the notion of one, absolutist, divine truth common to both. These strategies have since been coopted by political dogmas that establish themselves as quasi-religions, which in recent years can be seen in the rise of Critical Social Justice ideology or ‘wokeism’. The Christian uproar against Dawkins identifying with Christianity owing to his rejection of the Biblical doctrine is no different to the woke repudiation of Dawkins as left-leaning or progressive owing to his blaspheming against gender ideology, for which he has been duly excommunicated by the American Humanist Association. But, of course, these affronts carry a whole different meaning in Muslim countries and communities.

Not only is Islam unparalleled in how it explicitly names other religions as enemies, and in how it reiterates the negation of all other faiths and gods in its daily prayers, but most critically it today remains the only religion that codifies death and violence for thought crimes in numerous states. And yet, despite facing sharia-codified violence, many thinkers for centuries have managed to merge a communal Muslim identity with a rejection of Islamic faith, from Persian alchemists to Turkic physicians to Arab philosophers to Urdu poets in the Indian subcontinent. Granted that self-preservation has been a significant motivation for such thinkers, many also associated with religious culture owing to their desire for uplift and community. This invariably hinges on fighting theological dogma, for it is convenient for the fundamentalists to reject even indigenous voices that self-identify as being outside of the fold as echoers of alien ideas, an allegation customarily launched against the critical thought propounded by many prominent ex-Muslims in recent years.

Furthermore, those who establish theological belief as the definitive feature of religious identity ignore that only a fraction of humankind chooses their faith when they convert from one to another; for the rest, religious identity is just a coincidence of birth, not much different to nationality or ethnicity. Also, if belief were to be used as the determiner, its logical extrapolation would be to presume that all members of the community are adherents of all religious tenets, making all Christians homophobes and all Muslims violently misogynistic. The very reason many have championed a rethinking of the term ‘Islamophobia’ is that it conflates Islam and Muslims, a distinction that many, including Dawkins in his latest LBC interview, maintain is critical so as to protect the expression of critiques against the harmful ideas Muslims and ex-Muslims alike are born into.

Another much-regurgitated critique of Dawkins’s latest interview, which arguably he has walked into himself, is that by identifying as a cultural Christian, the atheist scholar wants to ‘reap the fruits’ of Christianity without believing in the tree that produced them. When Dawkins calls Britain a ‘Christian country’—regardless of the cultural or communal asterisks—to reject Islamic displays, he inadvertently echoes Christian nationalists and their relegation of Muslims, and members of other religious communities, as lesser members of British society, even if not in the eyes of law. Any secular state, which Dawkins has spent a lifetime advocating for, should neither be Christian, nor Muslim, nor affiliated with any other religion, which is perhaps best achieved by limiting all religious displays to their designated spheres.

This is the crucial difference between people formulating religio-cultural identities and states doing so. State secularism has been, and remains, more critical to human progress than any variation of theism or atheism, and it is the sole guarantor of coexistence for all belief systems and cultures, especially when implemented without any preference for the majority or minority. And it is in secular realms that all orthodox and heterodox identities, including nonbelieving members of monotheistic communities, can find their own spaces to express themselves.

1. Hitchens argued that all religions were evil, but not always in the same way or to the same extent at different times; he once said that if he had lived in the 1930s he would view the Catholic Church as the most evil religious force. He was well aware, too, of the many contemporary threats posed by Christian fanatics, and believed that ‘over space and time…[the threat of different religions] tremendously evens out… [And that all religions are] equally rotten, false, dishonest, corrupt, humourless, and dangerous, in the last analysis.’ ︎

The post The case of Richard Dawkins: cultural affiliation with a religious community does not contradict atheism appeared first on The Freethinker.

Fanatics in all the wrong places

On 26 January, the United Nations Relief and Works Agency for Palestine Refugees in the Near East (UNRWA) announced that it had received allegations from Israel that twelve of its employees were directly involved in Hamas’ attack on Israel last October. These employees, some of whom are alleged to have participated in massacres of Israelis, have now been sacked, are dead, or are under investigation by UNRWA. Israel has also accused 190 of the UNRWA’s Gaza employees of being operatives of Hamas or Palestinian Islamic Jihad.

This is not the first time that the UNRWA, founded in 1949 to aid the 700,000 Palestinian refugees created by the first Arab-Israeli War, has been accused of lax hiring practices. Last November, one of the released Israeli hostages claimed he had been held in an attic by a UNRWA teacher.

Now, a slew of countries, including the UK and the US, have stopped their funding for the UNRWA. Combined, these countries contributed over 60 per cent of the UNRWA’s budget in 2022. Whether this is a fair response or not (after all, the UNRWA is now more than ever a lifeline for besieged Palestinians), the allegations are worrying. What hope can there be of a just and stable settlement to this interminable conflict if even the aid agencies of the UN are harbouring violent extremists?

Speaking of fanatics popping up in unwelcome places, Dr Wahid Shaida was suspended by NHS England last month for being the head of Hizb ut-Tahrir in the UK. Hizb ut-Tahrir was itself proscribed as a terrorist organisation shortly before Shaida’s suspension. But just why the head of a woman-hating, homophobic, Islamist outfit, who had openly celebrated the stabbing of Salman Rushdie and the 7 October Hamas attack on Israel, was allowed to practise medicine in the first place is puzzling. One ought not to persecute others for their private beliefs, however distasteful, but it strikes me that such bigotry and fanaticism might have an adverse effect on a doctor’s ability to treat his or her patients fairly – particularly the female, gay, and Jewish ones. In any case, with the proscription of Hizb ut-Tahrir, Shaida’s suspension is certainly justified; though he is still, for some reason, registered with the General Medical Council.  

And then there is Mike Johnson, Speaker of the US House of Representatives and second in line to the presidency since last October. Johnson seems to be an avowed Christian nationalist and his pre-Speaker career highlights include advocating for the criminalisation of gay sex and helping Donald Trump’s demented and spurious legal attempts to overturn the results of the 2020 US presidential election. Read about all this and more in a white paper released by the Congressional Freethought Caucus on 11 January.

It is a sad, sad irony that the very nation founded upon Enlightenment ideals by a group of secularists and freethinkers, including the two great Toms (Paine and Jefferson), is home to some of the world’s most backward and most powerful Christian fundamentalists.

Modi’s triumph and the decay of subcontinental secularism

Meanwhile, India’s great secularist tradition continues to decay under Narendra Modi’s Hindu nationalist rule. On 22 January, Modi officially opened a new temple to the Hindu god Ram in Ayodhya, proclaiming that ‘After years of struggle and countless sacrifices, Lord Ram has arrived [home]. I want to congratulate every citizen of the country on this historic occasion.’

With elections on the horizon, Modi’s fulfilment of a long-standing Hindu nationalist dream was obviously a vote-getting ploy. Little, of course, was made of the fact that the temple’s site was once home to a centuries-old mosque destroyed by a Hindu mob in 1992. The mob were convinced that the mosque had originally been erected by Muslim invaders over an earlier temple where Ram had been born. (Leave it to the religious to desecrate the sacred sites of their rivals.) Riots provoked by the destruction of the mosque killed thousands.

So: communal strife, destruction of ancient buildings, the death of thousands—and all thanks to religious fantasy. And now the vandalism and horror of 1992 are being erased because Narendra Modi wishes to stir up his supporters. In doing so, his assault on India’s rich secularist history reaches new heights. Here is the triumph of Modi.

And this prompts a further reflection: from Israel and Gaza to the US and India—not to mention the bloodstained steppes of Ukraine, where Orthodox-inspired and supported Russian troops are trying to destroy a young democracy—religion, in various forms, remains one of the world’s greatest threats to democratic and secular ideals, and to the ideals of peace and freedom. How far we secularists still have to go! And perhaps it really is not too much to say that ‘religion poisons everything.’

The Navajo Nation vs NASA

On 6 January, one of the great crises of our time arose. The White House hastily convoked a meeting, attended by officials from NASA and the Federal Aviation Administration among others, to meet the crisis head-on. For a commercial lunar mission, Peregrine Mission One, was due to launch in a couple of days—and its payload contained human remains which were to be buried on the Moon.

What, you might ask, was the problem with that? It has been done before, and the Moon is quite a beautiful final resting place. Many people, myself included, would feel honoured to be fired out into space to rest forever on the Earth’s closest fellow orb. Allow the Navajo Nation President Buu Nygren to explain:

‘The moon holds a sacred place in Navajo cosmology… The suggestion of transforming it into a resting place for human remains is deeply disturbing and unacceptable to our people and many other tribal nations.’

Yes, really! This is no different from Catholics or Muslims imposing their religious beliefs on others. The only surprising thing is that it was paid such heed. The only proper response to this sort of thing is: Who cares? Or, perhaps, Too bad!

Of course, the reason no such firmly secularist response was given in this case is because the Navajo are a minority and they have faced terrible oppression. Guilt-ridden liberals who would happily scoff at, say, Catholic calls to ban homosexuality, are unable to do the same when it comes to indigenous people staking their own arrogant claims to religious privilege. This is an act of unintentional bigotry. It suggests that indigenous people cannot be held to the same standards as others and that their superstitions, which they are clearly incapable of throwing off, must be indulged.

But as citizens of democratic nations, nobody has the right to make special claims for themselves based on religion, let alone impose their beliefs on others. That is the essence of secularism. It does not matter whether the demand for privilege comes from a powerful bishop or an oppressed minority.

The Navajo case is representative of a more general trend: the indulgence of indigenous superstition in the name of inclusivity. Other instances include the adoption of such superstitions in American museums and the credence given to ‘indigenous science’ or ‘indigenous ways of knowing’ even in such august journals as Science. In New Zealand, meanwhile, where the embrace of ‘indigenous ways of knowing’ (in this case, Māori ways of knowing) has gone the furthest, a Māori local district councillor defied the secularist mayor during a meeting and recited a prayer.

If Narendra Modi and Mike Johnson are examples of the religious right flaunting its power, are the claims of the Navajo and the Māori examples of the religious ‘woke’ left in action? At least, the ‘woke’ left tends to support these claims. As ever, the only solution is the secularist one of fairness: nobody, however powerful or oppressed, gets a special pass for their beliefs, nor do they have the right to impose those beliefs on others.

Muslims v Michaela

The legal case currently being pursued against Katharine Birbalsingh’s Michaela Community School by fundamentalist Muslims angry at the school’s restriction of Muslim prayer has stirred up something quite unusual, but also very heartening: an outpouring from across the political spectrum of sympathy for secularism. But, as Megan Manson of the National Secular Society notes, this sympathy is somewhat shallow, given its ignorance (or ignoring) of the UK’s deeply anti-secular education system – never mind its overtly religious political system. Still, who knows? Perhaps the intimidation meted out to Michaela by aggrieved fundamentalists and the wave of public sympathy for the school will inspire the country to finally cast off all the vestiges of theocracy.

Postscript: the Conservative MP Mike Freer has just announced that he will stand down at the next election. Why? He is scared of the Islamists who have been intimidating him for years. He is, in fact, lucky to be alive given that he was in the line of sight of the Islamist who murdered Sir David Amess in 2021. As Rakib Ehsan writes in The Telegraph, ‘Freer’s decision to walk away from British politics for fear of his personal safety is yet another example of the Islamist-inspired erosion of British parliamentary democracy.’

An irreligious king?

On a related note, talk of Prince William’s irreligiousness compared to his father and grandmother caused some speculation that he might cut ties with the Church of England upon becoming King. Alas, such rumours were quickly dispelled, but not before they provoked some amusing grumbling from Peter Hitchens in The Mail on Sunday.

Alongside some thin guff in place of any serious reasoning about the truth of Christianity (never Hitchens’ strong point, and something he usually and wisely avoids), there was one point with which I found myself agreeing: ‘If this stuff is not true, or is marginal, or if we do not really believe it, then there is no purpose in having a King, or a Prince of Wales. We might as well have a President in a nice suit.’ Indeed—and huzzah!

The resurrected exorcist

The Daily Star, citing ‘a recently unearthed interview with [an] obscure Spanish magazine’, says that the Pope’s former exorcist Gabriele Amorth (who left this vale of tears in 2016) believed that the Devil is responsible for political evil and corruption. Even Hitler and Stalin, according to Father Amorth, are to be explained by old Nick’s seductive whisperings. Spooky!

But come now. Aside from its obvious foolishness, this is an abdication of moral and intellectual responsibility. Never mind the hard and necessary work of bothering to explain the evil of a Hitler or a Stalin in rational terms, so that we might understand and stop such men from gaining power ever again. No, no: it was the Devil! Just pray and obey our ancient and constipated moral teachings and all manner of thing shall be well.

Remember: this was the Pope’s exorcist. So, quite apart from the fact that the Pope still believes in exorcism like some medieval peasant, until quite recently his exorcist was a plain idiot. But what do you expect from the Catholic Church? And millions, if not billions, take the Pope’s pronouncements very seriously. The human species is still, clearly, very immature.

Some more wisdom from Father Amorth:

‘I tell those who come to see me to first go to a doctor or a psychologist… Most of the time there is a physical or psychological basis for explaining their suffering… The psychiatrists send me the incurable cases. There is no rivalry. The psychiatrist determines if it is an illness, the exorcist if it is a curse.’

‘I work seven days a week, from morning until night, including Christmas Eve and Holy Week. Everyone is vulnerable. The Devil is very intelligent. He retains the intelligence of the angel that he was.

‘Suppose, for example, that someone you work with is envious of you and casts a spell on you. You would get sick. Ninety per cent of the cases that I deal with are precisely spells. The rest are due to membership in satanic sects or participation in séances or magic.

‘If you live in harmony with God, it is much more difficult for the devil to possess you.’

Well, there you go: harmonise your aura with the Lord above, then that rascal Lucifer won’t be able to get you, and there’ll be no evil in the world! Because, of course, no evil has ever been committed by godly men…

Enter Russell Crowe

Apparently, Father Amorth was the subject of a (highly dramatised) movie starring Russell Crowe last year. According to the summary on Wikipedia, ‘[Amorth] learns that a founder of the Spanish Inquisition, an exorcist, was possessed, which let him infiltrate the Church and do many evils. Amorth also finds the Church covered this up…’ This does not, so far as I know, represent anything done or claimed by the real Amorth, but it does chime with his comments given above—and what an easy escape for the Church! All its many crimes throughout history were just a satanic aberration. It was the Devil all along! Thank the Lord for that. Let us never trouble ourselves again about the Inquisition, or Galileo, or Giordano Bruno, or the Crusades, or child sex abuse, or…

So much for mea culpa, never mind mea maxima culpa, then.

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Further reading:

The Israel-Palestine conflict

Bloodshed in Gaza: Islamists, leftist ideologues, and the prospects of a two-state solution, by Kunwar Khuldune Shahid

Religion and the Arab-Israeli conflict, by Kunwar Khuldune Shahid

Is the Israel-Palestine conflict fundamentally a nationalist, not a religious, war? by Ralph Leonard

Christian nationalism in the US

Reproductive freedom is religious freedom, by Andrew Seidel and Rachel Laser

Secular conservatives? If only… by Jacques Berlinerblau

Indian secularism and Hindu nationalism

Religion and the decline of freethought in South Asia, by Kunwar Khuldune Shahid

‘We need to move from identity politics to a politics of solidarity’ – interview with Pragna Patel

Campaign ‘to unite India and save its secular soul’, by Puja Bhattacharjee

British Islam, secularism, and free speech

Free speech in Britain: a losing battle? by Porcus Sapiens

Secularism and the struggle for free speech, by Stephen Evans

British Islam and the crisis of ‘wokeism’ in universities – interview with Steven Greer

Monarchy, religion, and republicanism

Bring on the British republic – Graham Smith’s ‘Abolish the Monarchy’, reviewed, by Daniel James Sharp

‘I do not think you are going to get a secular state without getting rid of the monarchy’ –interview with Graham Smith

The post Faith Watch, February 2024 appeared first on The Freethinker.

‘We are Hindus. Shoot to kill us, but don’t take our children away from us by force. We have no other demand; we simply beg for the safety and protection of our children.’

These heart-wrenching words were shared by Amree Maharaj as she recounted the alleged forced conversion of her daughter, Chanda Maharaj, aged 14. Amree, aged 50, lives with her two other daughters and elderly husband in a rented one-room house, situated on the outskirts of a dirty and unpleasant pond in the slums of Hyderabad, the second largest city in the southern province of Sindh, Pakistan.

[Extract from Korai’s interview with Amree here.]

In addition to Chanda, Amree is equally concerned about the well-being of her two other daughters, Sona, aged 17, and Bhagwati, aged 16. Their mother fears that they too might be forcefully converted to Islam: underage Hindu girls are always in danger. When I interviewed her in April for the Freethinker, Amree told me that she would prefer them to be married early to Hindu men rather than forcibly converted to Islam.  If the girls are taken, she says, ‘I cannot bring them back.  No one comes to our help.’

Amree, who looks older than her age due to malnutrition and stress, tearfully related how her daughter Chanda was forcibly converted to Islam by a Muslim man. She firmly believes that Chanda, who loves her family, would not have willingly left them. 

Chanda Maharaj appeared before a local court in Hyderabad in February 2023 after repeated protests against the police by her family and human rights activists. Since she was underage, and the provincial law prohibits marriage before 18, the court sent her to a safe house. But since then, Chanda’s family has lost track of her.  

Amree’s family is Dalit: the lowest caste in Hindu society, who often face discrimination in terms of education, employment opportunities, and access to basic necessities. For many Dalit families and others from religious minorities, the risk that their daughters will be forcibly converted to Islam is a serious and ongoing concern. In Pakistan, more than 96 per cent of the population are Muslim. The constitution guarantees freedom of religion. However, there is no legislation against religious conversion of any kind, so long as it is (supposedly) unbiased and voluntary.

Chanda and her two sisters were employed at the same textile mill near their home. They earnt only 1. 25 USD each per day, with which they supported their parents (their father is unable to work due to physical weakness, and their mother is a housewife). On 12^th December 2022, all three sisters went to work – but only two returned home in the evening.  

Despite their efforts, Chanda’s family were unable to locate her. This led them to believe that she had undergone a forced conversion, as similar incidents had occurred before involving young Hindu girls.  

Chanda’s sister Bhagwati, two years older than her, met the family and her sister in court and scolded them for not contacting Chanda sooner. She found her younger sister fearful and trembling when she appeared before the court. When Chanda’s lawyer suggested sending her to a safe house run by the provincial government, which is designed to offer refuge to women in need, Bhagwati was dismayed. She held her hands together, as if praying, and begged the state authorities to send her younger sister home.

* *

Forced conversion to Islam remains an ongoing issue in Pakistan. It particularly affects underage girls in religious minorities, including Hindus, Christians and others. Another victim of this practice was Rinkle Kumari, 19, from the town of Mirpur Mathelo, who was abducted, forcibly converted to Islam and married in 2012.

Kumari’s case was heard at all levels, from the local court to the Supreme Court of Pakistan. In an effort to ensure her safe return, and despite numerous threats from her kidnappers, Kumari’s maternal uncle, Raj Kumar Wanjara, fought for her cause.  

When I interviewed him, Wanjara claimed that Kumari consistently expressed her desire to be reunited with her mother throughout the legal proceedings. However, regrettably, she was unable to achieve success in her plea: instead, she was handed over to Naveed Shah, the Muslim man who claimed to be her husband after her conversion.

[Extract from Korai’s interview with Wanjara here.]

According to Wanjara, while Kumari’s statement was recorded in the Supreme Court of Pakistan, it was recorded not by the judge, as would usually be the case, but by the court registrar, because the judge refused to do it. This raises serious doubts as to the claim made by their opponents that her alleged free decision to stay with her new husband was in fact made without external pressure. When the highest authorities responsible for justice in Pakistan exhibit such behaviour, says Wanjara, it raises the question of whom families like his should turn to in order to obtain justice.

The quest for justice for their cherished niece took a devastating toll on Wanjara’s family, resulting in hardships and break-up. Some family members were compelled to seek refuge in India, while others were settled in Karachi. In addition, their once-thriving business in Mirpur Mathelo, their hometown, incurred substantial losses and was ultimately forced to close.

As a result of his attempts to rescue his niece, Wanjara himself says that he has encountered numerous challenges and threats. These include extortion attempts by the Taliban and threatening phone calls from Afghanistan while he was conducting his business in Karachi.

The forced migration from Pakistan, the persistent threats, the fear and the anguish, took a heavy toll on Wanjara’s father, Manohar Lal, who suffered a heart attack at the age of 70.

Wanjara vividly recalls the last words his niece spoke to the local media in 2012: that she would never receive justice after being forcibly married to a Muslim man against her wishes. He last saw her in the Supreme Court on the day, over a decade ago, that the court handed Kumari over to Shah. Since then, Kumari’s family have not seen her and do not know where she is. When her father passed away, she was not even able to attend the final funeral rites and ceremonies. Her last words have been echoing in her uncle’s mind, haunting him in his daily life.

Just a week after our interview, Wanjara unexpectedly passed away in Houston. 

* *

The province of Sindh in Pakistan is home to the majority of Hindus, who are recognised as an indigenous group. Two districts within the Thar desert, Umer Kot and Tharparkar, have a significant Hindu population, approximately 54 per cent and 43 per cent of the districts respectively.

Two Muslim clerics actively and vocally involved in the conversions are Mian Abdul Haq, known as Mian Mithu, of the Bharchundi shrine in the northern part of Sindh, who last year was banned from entering the UK for ‘violations and abuses of human rights’, and Pir Ayub Jan Sarhandi, in the part on the border with India. Additionally, numerous lesser-known clerics have also been allowed to perform conversions without any intervention from state authorities.

Sarhandi, whom I interviewed for this article, emphasises his family’s commitment to promoting and upholding Islam. He strongly denies targeting Hindus and emphasises Islam’s teachings of harmony, coexistence and inclusivity. He believes that conversion serves the cause of Islam. He claims that those who convert are genuinely impressed by Islam. Muslim clerics maintain that the conversions are voluntary and based on the individual’s admiration for their religion.

* *

However, religious minorities in Pakistan, especially Hindus, have in recent years felt increasing fear about the risk of forced conversions to Islam. While this phenomenon has existed in Pakistan for many years, it experienced a significant surge during the Afghan war, with the emergence of Pakistan’s jihadi wave. Since then, the pace of conversions appears to have been escalating, perhaps in part due to social media. Mian Mithu was himself a member of the National Assembly from 2008-13 with the support of his political party, the Pakistan People’s Party; after the Kumari incident, the PPP expelled him from the party and cancelled his membership.

As a result of the risk of conversion, many Hindus have chosen to migrate to India to seek a safer environment. Mohan Lal, an activist from Lyari, one of Karachi’s oldest localities, told me in an interview last month that forced conversions have reached a shocking level: in the last 20-25 years, around 200 families from the area have left and settled in Gujrat India.

Lal himself was kidnapped twice after he encouraged the community, when two girls had been kidnapped and forcibly converted, to register their cases with the police. ‘Sadly, the state is not on our side, which is why all this is happening,’ he said.

Wanjara attributes the discriminatory mindset against Hindus to a deep-rooted hatred for Hindus among extremist Muslim groups, leading to the effective ‘silent genocide’ of Sindhi Hindus in Pakistan, who are in practice either eradicated or forced to migrate to India. And all this, he argues, is going on under state sponsorship.

Wanjara also makes the point that it seems implausible that Hindu girls, who have no knowledge of Islam, would be sufficiently ‘impressed’ by it, as Sarhandi claims, to run away from their families and convert. He emphasises that there is a significant degree of freedom available to girls within their own community, including the liberty to select their own life partners and to engage in activities like dance and music. He argues that it is improbable that these girls would choose to move to a Muslim environment that would place extreme restrictions on them.

For his part, Amar Lal Karnani Menghwar, the Hindu organiser of of Pakistan Darawer Ittehad, a minority rights organisation, would not rule out the claim that the conversions to Islam are often forced, but argues that, in some cases, girls convert willingly. The girls who are targeted with forced conversions and subsequent marriage to Muslim men are driven by deception, poverty and lack of security. Underage girls, Menghwar argues, are easily influenced by unscrupulous clerics who exploit their dreams of a better life.

* *

Numerous research papers have been published on the issue of conversion in Pakistan. Two notable ones are ‘Forced Conversion of Religious Minorities in Pakistan: A Socio-Cultural Perspective’, a position paper by the Catholic Commission for Justice and Peace (whose name has since substituted ‘National’ for ‘Catholic’) in collaboration with the European Union, and ‘Forced Conversion of Minorities in Pakistan and Legal Challenges’ by academics Aisha Rasool and Kamran Abdullah. According to a 2010 estimate, approximately 20-25 Hindu girls were forcibly converted to Islam every month in Pakistan; as Rasool and Abdullah show, the practice has certainly not stopped since then. Motives behind these forced conversions include the confiscation of property, the aim of displacing religious minorities, retaliation or revenge targeting females, sexual desire, pressure from extremist groups, and self-glorification.

In interviews conducted for the CCJP-EU report, ten girls from different regions were selected as case studies. Nine of them shared their experiences of being abducted and coerced into converting, and later forced to marry their abductors, while only one claimed that her coercion was not forced. The research also highlights the case of two underage Dalit girls named Reena and Raveena, who were recorded reciting the Kalima (Islamic declaration of faith) while still having (Hindu) Holi colours on their cheeks.

* *

Currently, Pakistan does not have a specific law in place to regulate religious conversions. In December 2016, the Sindh provincial assembly in Pakistan passed the Criminal Law (Protection of Minorities) Act 2015. This prohibits forced religious conversions and restricts children from converting until they reach the age of majority (18).

Religious political parties of Pakistan opposed the legislation, especially section 4(1), arguing that it contradicts Islamic principles. The governor of Sindh has since regretted his assent and returned the Act to the assembly for reconsideration. It currently remains in this state of limbo; Muslim religious parties are demanding its repeal while the Hindu minority support it. The Muslim opposition to the law is despite the fact that under the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (ICCPR) and the Universal Declaration of Human Rights (UDHR), to which Pakistan is a signatory, the state is obliged to uphold commitments against forced conversions. The ICCPR, in Article 18(4), recognises the right of parents to determine their child’s religion until they reach adulthood; Pakistan is among the signatories to this convention.

In 2019, while Imran Khan was Prime Minister of Pakistan, he established a parliamentary committee to resolve the issue of forced conversion. However, no progress was made in drafting legislation. Senator Lal Malhee, a member of the committee, subsequently revealed that Muslim members of the committee were unwilling to act because of pressure on the ruling party Pakistan Tehreek Insaaf (PTI) from extremists. The committee was subsequently abandoned.

* *

In Pakistan, the absence of a law about conversions to Islam or official oversight of the process enables conversions to be made informally by any cleric, who can simply recite the Kalima and declare the person converted to be a Muslim; there is also no lower age limit, so even minors can be lawfully converted. Critics argue this process is being manipulated and exploited.

Clearly, the state is failing to protect religious minorities in Pakistan against forced conversion to Islam. As a result, Hindus have resorted to alternative measures, such as early marriages, to safeguard their children.

Wanjara emphasises the severity of the situation: Hindu communities may even resort to extreme measures, including killing their daughters, to avoid them being converted against their will and married to Muslims.

In Thar Gawaria and Karia, two Hindu communities in Sindh, early marriages are prevalent as a protective measure: daughters as young as ten may be married off to avoid the risk of forced conversion and marriage outside the community. Karnani Menghwar claims that there have been no reported cases of individuals converting to Islam for three decades: this appears to be because children are married within the community early.  

* *

Dr Shershah Syed, a renowned gynecologist specialising in fistula repair, spoke to me about the consequences of underage marriages, particularly the risks associated with early pregnancies. Underage marriage can be perilous, he explains, especially during childbirth, as it increases the likelihood of complications such as pelvic fractures and obstetric fistula. In Pakistan, thousands of women suffer from obstetric fistulas each year – a 2013 estimate put the figure at 4,500-5,000. Underage marriage can also have long-lasting and harmful psychological effects.

These risks, Syed argues, must be addressed in order to safeguard the health and wellbeing of young girls involved in underage marriages.

Dr Farhana Malik, a professor in the Psychology Department at the University of Karachi, emphasises that child marriage is distressing and harmful, depriving young girls of their rights and personal development. These girls are forced into adult roles without the necessary understanding, emotional maturity, or physical readiness. This negatively impacts their physical and mental health, as well as their access to education and personal growth.

The practice of underage marriage has severe consequences on girls’ mental and emotional well-being, often resulting in fear, anxiety, depression and confusion. They also face a higher risk of domestic violence, says Malik, and may be at risk of suicidal thoughts.

Muslim clerics hold differing opinions on child marriage, with some advocating for its legitimacy based on their interpretation of Sharia law. The cleric Sarhandi, for instance, has criticised laws forbidding marriages below the age of 18 in Sindh, considering such laws a violation of Sharia principles.

He argues that nightfall (nocturnal emissions), or the onset of menstruation, are indicators of maturity and therefore marriageability according to Sharia, even if they occur well below the age of 18.

While compiling this story, I read about another incident involving a 14-year-old girl named Sohana Sharma Kumari that was brought to light earlier this month. She was allegedly abducted with the intention of forced conversion, and she is seen in a video clip crying out to be reunited with her parents.

The continuing practice of forced conversion and marriage in southern Pakistan is causing a significant divide and fostering animosity between the Muslim and Hindu communities. In Sindh, supposedly a province where the majority of Muslims and Hindus have love and respect for each other, extremist religious groups are responsible for this situation. Even Sindhi nationalist political parties in Sindh condemn such conversions.

To resolve this problem and stop the damaging practice of forced conversion and marriage of young girls, many people believe that the state should intervene and legislate about conversion practices. It is not only a question of young girls being converted and married to Muslims; the alternative, in which their frightened families marry them off underage to other Hindus to prevent them being married to Muslims, may well also cause them harm, and certainly takes away their autonomy. In addition, both Muslim and Hindu customs make it very difficult for women to pursue education after marriage: once they are bound to a man, they usually have little option but to raise children and look after the home.

Altogether, underage marriages pose harm to women from both Muslim and Hindu communities. It is high time something was done to stop them.

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The post Coerced faith: the battle against forced conversions in Pakistan’s Dalit community appeared first on The Freethinker.

Festivals are an important PR opportunity. When they are religious festivals, they become a way of exhibiting the beliefs that the organisers want to showcase, and the image of the religion that they want to project. In South Asia, such festivals are often grotesque illustrations of majoritarian muscle-flexing.

Ram Navami witnessed a surge in violence against Muslims in India last week. The celebration of Ram’s birth provides the Hindutvaadis in India with the chance to reaffirm the deity as a symbol of Hindu supremacism. Chants of ‘Jai Shree Ram’ (‘glory to Lord Ram’) were weaponised by Hindutva mobs that had been emboldened by the triumphant construction of the Ram Temple on the disputed Ayodhya site. In the 16^th century, a mosque was built on the site, which many conservative Hindus believe was the birthplace of Ram, by the founder of the Mughal Empire; in 1992, the mosque was demolished by radical Hindu mobs.

The weaponising of Ram Navami mirrors a similar weaponisation of the ‘love’ for Muhammad in Pakistan. The Islamic festival of Eid Milad-un-Nabi, the commemoration of Muhammad’s birth, has often been marred with violence against the constitutionally excommunicated Ahmadiyya Muslim community. The latter has been targeted for commemorating any Islamic festival, owing to the community’s belief in their sect’s founder, which is deemed by Islamists as sacrilegious. Ahmadiyya Muslims believe their 19^th-century founder, Mirza Ghulam Ahmed, is an Islamic messiah; clerics of other sects deem this belief contradictory to Muhammad’s status as the final prophet of Islam.

Similarly, during the Islamic month of Ramadan in recent years, people have been imprisoned, fined or left to languish in Pakistani jails, or beaten up by Islamist mobs in both Pakistan and the officially ‘secular’ Bangladesh. The Taliban in both Pakistan and Afghanistan, and other jihadist groups in the region like Isis, often increase militant activity during Ramadan. They claim that jihad during the holy month is more rewarding, citing the victory in the Battle of Badr in 624 AD. According to Islamic tradition, this battle was the first between Muhammad’s army and the pagans of Mecca. The triumph of the outnumbered Muslims has been attributed by many Islamic theologians to the month of Ramadan.

As Islamic militancy has spawned regionally, and indeed globally, Hindutva radicalism has also caught the imagination of many in Hindu-majority Nepal. Meanwhile, Buddhist extremists are hoping to erase religious minorities in Sri Lanka and Bhutan.

Varieties of supremacism

In comparing varieties of religious extremism in South Asian states, it is important to stress the differences as well as similarities between them. Despite its precipitous anti-Muslim plunge under the Hindutva regime, Hinduism in India is not (yet) as dominant as Islam in Pakistan, where the religion is more brazenly institutionalised. For instance, not only is Islam the state religion in Pakistan, its supremacy is codified in the penal code. Sharia is used both to sanction violent penalties and also to legally discriminate between crimes committed against the majority and minority religious communities, such as blasphemy.

Multiple mosques remain under construction in India, whose constitution still dubs it a ‘secular nation’. In contrast, not a single Hindu temple has been constructed in Pakistan over the past 75 years, while around 95 percent of minority places of worship have been erased since the country was created in 1947.

In Afghanistan, like Pakistan, religious supremacy for Islam is etched in law via antediluvian sharia clauses. Meanwhile, Sri Lanka’s constitution upholds the ‘foremost position’ for Buddhism in the country, codifying the protection of this ideology as the ‘duty of the state’. In contrast, Bangladesh, Nepal and Bhutan remain formally secular, despite attempts by hardliners to give precedence to the religion of the majority. In Bangladesh, for instance, Islamists are demanding codification of sharia, and using Islam to suppress women’s rights or vandalise Hindu temples. In turn, the government looks to counter the religionist narrative – albeit unsatisfactorily – by issuing reminders of the country’s secular identity or of the fact that it does not have a state religion.

Despite these differences, religious supremacism is a common ailment in South Asia and often manifests itself in similar ways.

Across the region, the elevation of the majority’s religion, whether in law, government narrative, or via unhinged majoritarian radicals, results in its own fragmentation and an internal contest among the divisions to assert their supremacy within the religion. Different factions within the majority’s religion struggle to establish their interpretation of religion as the true one in their country. For instance, just as Islamic extremism in Pakistan has evolved into a quest to subjugate minority Muslim sects, and the millennia-old subjugation of ‘lower’ Hindu castes is upheld by the Hindutva regime in India, so, in Sri Lanka, the propagation of the Theravada strain has accompanied the rise of Buddhist radicalism.

Whenever such a contest erupts within an ideology, especially one that is propounding supremacism, those with the loudest voices are the advocates of a more fundamentalist, radical interpretation of their religion. The result is that minorities even within the majority religion are sidelined, and anyone who does not toe the radical line is shunned by the dominant faction as a ‘traitor’ or ‘blasphemer’ – two terms which have come to be used interchangeably. In a region increasingly in the grip of religious nationalism, allegations of this kind have been used against dissenters in an unrelenting assault on freedom of speech and thought.

Freethought under attack

Examples of the religious oppression of dissenters can be found across South Asia. Perhaps the most punitive cases are found in Afghanistan and Pakistan, both of which have blasphemy laws that prescribe death for criticism of Islam. In Pakistan, the blasphemy law encourages vigilante violence against those who offend Islamic sensibilities. A recent example of this was the death of Priyantha Kumara, a Sri Lankan, in the town of Sialkot in December. He was lynched by an angry mob after being accused of removing posters with Islamic prayers printed on them. Bangladesh has also witnessed a witch-hunt against blasphemy: hit-lists have been released of freethinking bloggers, with Islamists forcing atheists and secularists to flee.

At present, India’s blasphemy law treats all religions equally, and does not sanction death for offence to any religion. However, in 2018, a Member of Parliament for the ruling Bharatiya Jannata Party (BJP) introduced a private member’s bill that would have imposed the death penalty for cow slaughter – in other words, a Hindu blasphemy law. Although the bill was rejected after a debate, BJP members have vowed they will seek to introduce it again.

In different parts of India, slaughtering cows can attract various legal penalties, including imprisonment, although in some parts it is not criminalised. However, allegations of selling or consuming beef can still encourage Hindutva mob violence across the country, just like blasphemy accusations in Pakistan or Bangladesh. For example, in June, a man was lynched in Rajasthan for transporting cattle, while another was thrashed last month for ‘suspicion’ of carrying beef in Mathura.  

Sri Lanka, where Buddhism is the dominant religion, has also seen mob violence similarly fueled by claims of attacks on Buddhism. In March, a 600-strong Buddhist mob broke into a church demanding that the worship be halted. While the country has not so far invoked jurisprudential protection for religiously-motivated suppression by the majority in the manner of India or Pakistan, incidents such as radical Buddhists instigating mob violence against minorities are becoming increasingly common.

Religiously motivated mobs form the first line of attack against freethought. Religionist governments use them to intimidate dissenters, while at the same time using the hordes’ extrastate identity to distance themselves from the consequences. The governments of India and Pakistan, for instance, would on the surface urge citizens to not take law into their own hands. At the same time, however, they profit from pressure by vigilantes which practically quash any debate on whether such laws – which effectively protect the intangible sensibilities of the majority’s religion – should even exist.

But dissent is also being silenced via official channels in South Asia. These days, courts in Pakistan have even imposed the death penalty for ‘sacrilegious’ WhatsApp messages. The Indian state is clamping down on all forms of art that a sufficient number of Hindus can claim to be offensive to Hinduism, such as film, theatre festivals or digital streaming productions. Meanwhile, in Sri Lanka, the government’s ‘Buddhist Publications/Texts Regulatory Act’ enables the state to dictate what can be published, especially in the realm of religion, including what can and cannot be said about Buddhism and its founder.

There are complex political roots behind the move of these governments to silence criticism of the official religious line. Ethnicism, regionalism, linguistics and a wide array of other factors all support the respective power structures in each state. Overall, however, religion is the binding force that upholds the autocratic machineries in South Asia. The dominance of a particular religious and political ideology in each state is an obstruction to all kinds of freedoms, but above all to displays of conscience which challenge the ideology in question.

The hegemony of religion

South Asia has been a melting pot of organised religions from around the globe, Abrahamic and dharmic, for millennia. Although Islam is Abrahamic in origin, two Islamic strains from the Sunni sect take their appellations from cities in India: the Deobandi and Barelvi. The latter, Barelvi, originated as a syncretic brand of Islam that merged Sufi, Indic and dharmic characteristics. South Asia’s indigenous polytheistic and nontheistic faiths have similarly coopted rigid monolithism; as a result, the principle of religious and philosophical pluralism is being sacrificed at the altar of unyielding homogeneity.

One characteristic of South Asian culture, which was well established long before the arrival of the Abrahamic faiths, is its subservience to superstition and attribution of paramount authority to religion. This culture remains entrenched today in the different states, regardless of which religion is dominant. But while those embracing theocratic constitutions – such as Afghanistan and Pakistan – would have no qualms about flaunting religious authority, even supposedly secular states in the region are more or less subservient to religious hegemony.

Secularism in India, unlike in Western countries, has translated into letting different religions have their own spheres of influence, while the state claims to treat all religions equally. The consequence of this has been that, in practice, religion has increasingly been allowed to interfere in civic life. This can be seen in the way in which cow vigilantes are now forcing everyone to make dietary and ritualistic choices based on Hindu beliefs.

Elsewhere in the region, states are letting religions rule their communities, thereby eroding their claims to secularity. The Supreme Court of Sri Lanka, for example, in a 2007 ruling on a case against mosque loudspeakers, maintained that the country is ‘secular’. However, it has elsewhere conceded that its constitution only mandates the protection of Buddhism, while the minority religions are not similarly safeguarded. This underlines the point that establishing the constitutional supremacy of one religion inadvertently breaches minority rights, even when they might be separately engrained in law.   

The current situation in India demonstrates the way in which allowing different religions to govern communities plays into the hands of the majority. Once the followers of a dominant religion are given the power to impose its rules on their own community, by a religionist ‘mission creep’, they try to extend its authority even to nonbelievers.

Moreover, the custom of creating separate spheres of influence for different religions may ostensibly be designed to safeguard minorities, but in practice, it can hinder social progress. In Sri Lanka, for instance, the minimum age for marriage is 18 years, but the child marriage of Muslim girls is allowed because Islamic sharia governs family law in Muslim communities, since religious laws are allowed to rule domestic matters. This undermines women’s rights. In India, Muslim men were permitted to ‘instantly divorce’ their wives under sharia law until 2019, even though the practice had already been outlawed in neighbouring Pakistan and Bangladesh.

Allowing religious ideologies to be imposed on different communities inevitably leads to clashes and contradictions within the state. For instance, the court in the Indian state of Karnataka last month upheld the ban on ‘unessential’ religious symbols in secular schools. This led to a gross contradiction in the right to don religious garbs, wherein Muslim girls could not wear the hijab but Sikh boys could continue to wear turbans.

A secular state should not be determining which practices of any given religion are or are not ‘essential’. Instead, the state should uphold a uniform civil code which applies equally to the entire population. Where the adherents of some religions are treated preferentially to those of other or no religions, freedom of thought and expression cannot but suffer in the process.

‘Progressive’ suppression

In some cases, even advocates of liberal and progressive views have felt a misguided obligation to support the religious hegemony. The widespread liberal support for sexist Islamist modesty tools as symbols of ‘liberation’ is a case in point.

But a religion is just another ideology. A truly liberal approach is not to treat schoolchildren wearing religious clothing any differently from those wearing flags of a political party or jerseys of a particular sports team. Where there is good reason for imposing a uniform dress code, such as in a school, no exceptions should be made on the grounds of religion, any more than they would be in the case of manifestations of a political or sporting affiliation.

In India, defending the Muslim right to flaunt Islamic garb could be interpreted as challenging the already skewed religious narrative in the country, since the targeting of Islamic practices, regardless of how regressive they might be, stems from Hindu majoritarianism more so than any adherence to secularism. However, many self-avowed liberals or progressives in the West have called their own countries’ institutions ‘Islamophobic’ for treating Islam like other religions. Once again, secular progressivism should mean that religious beliefs and practices are treated the same as any other ideology. It does not mean that they should be viewed with a misplaced reverence, or especially privileged.

The support for religious dogma by progressives, in misguided defence of human rights, has unfortunate repercussions in places like Afghanistan and Pakistan, where the same dogmas are used as a tool of oppression. The claim that satirising Islam is an attack on Muslims – even in states that allow significantly harsher mockery of the majority’s religion, such as France – is being used as a ‘progressive’ argument in countries like Pakistan, where criticism of Islam is violently suppressed.

This in turn has adverse effects on debate on religion in these countries, where both religionists and liberals seek to ‘reclaim’ religion. In Pakistan, for instance, the goalposts have been shifted so that the question is no longer whether Islamic dogma should have any bearing on whether people should be executed for blasphemy, but on whether blasphemy is, as some liberals now argue, ‘un-Islamic’.

Many progressives, like Pakistani-born American author Qasim Rashid, cherry pick Islamic theology so as to suggest that violence has ‘nothing to do’ with Islam. At the same time, minorities – including Rashid’s own Ahmadiyya Muslim community in Pakistan – are being violently suppressed, explicitly using 1,400-year-old Islamic laws against blasphemy. Opposing discrimination against Muslims should not translate into liberals’ defending Islamic scriptures against their critics, or into propagation of the term ‘Islamophobia’ in countries where fear of Islam is perfectly rational.  

India, which has a long tradition of self-questioning and indigenous criticism of Hinduism, is now seeing staunch secularists lecturing Hindu nationalists on what it actually means to be Hindu. This is a classic ‘no true Scotsman’ argument, since it claims that that anyone using violence in the name of Hinduism is not a bona fide member of the religious community. Such an approach is a cop-out, since it looks to avoid addressing the Hindu roots of Hindutva; it is also a clear surrender to religion, and religious identity, as the undisputed power centre of both the religionist and secularist spheres.

India’s upholding of Hindu traditions as the bedrock of Indian civilisation is mirrored in Sri Lanka’s promotion of Buddhist heritage as intrinsic to its national identity. The association between civilisation and religious tradition has reaffirmed the latter as central to political dynamics in Sri Lanka, where loyalty to the Buddhist heritage was initially codified in the constitution and is now being rammed home by majoritarian mobs.

Altogether, there is less and less room for political discourse in South Asia that does not involve religious frames of reference.

Denying universalism

While adherents of Islamic and dharmic doctrines see their religious beliefs as antithetical to one another, today they use similar arguments to defend their religion’s supremacy. Such arguments have been dutifully propagated by progressives in those countries as well. Where national environments have become increasingly hostile to religious self-reflection, those in power simply label criticism of Islamic or Hindu traditions – especially that originating in foreign countries – as a ‘western’ narrative.

As a result, critics of organised religion are increasingly silenced in South Asia. The unequivocal rejection of religious doctrine or tradition is depicted as a ‘western’ value; thus, anyone who advocates this view can be accused of being disloyal to their community. The criticism of religion is also dismissed as being grounded in an insufficient understanding of religious doctrine. This approach implies that criticism of religion is itself illegitimate; thus only those who believe in the religion, or at least refrain from criticising it, have the right to discuss it in the first place.

But denying the ability to criticise the majority’s religion freely is to deny a tradition which has deep roots both in India and among many Muslim philosophers. Moreover, to label freethought and the criticism of religion as illegitimate is to imply that they have no relevance in South Asian countries. In fact, though, freedom of thought and speech are universal human rights, which ought to be just as inalienable here as in the West.

There is no reason why the practice of thinking and speaking freely need automatically lead to a complete rejection of all theology. The crucial point is that the advancement of a pluralistic, tolerant and liberal democracy is only possible if no one religion is privileged above others, and if criticism of all religions is freely permitted. For that to transpire in our neck of the woods, freethought needs to be wrestled back from the South Asian ideologues who have pushed all matters of social, civilisational, and human significance into the intolerant domain of religion.

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