An important element in Smith’s argument is the claim that the emergence of the notion of ”religion” as a systematic and coherent entity is a very recent — and a very modern – phenomenon. To highlight the uniqueness of the modern concept, Smith spends the better part of an entire chapter tracing the history of the word “religion” in the Latin West. Here, I will restrict my comments to section v of chapter 2, where Smith offers three case studies to illustrate how the word “religion” was understood in Latin Christendom during the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries.

Smith’s three case studies are as follows: (1) Marsilio Ficino’s work De Christiana Religione from 1474, (2) Ulrich Zwingli’s work De Vera et Falsa Religione Commentarius from 1525, and (3) John Calvin’s work Christiane Religionis Institutio from 1536.

Marsilio Ficino (1433-1499) was an influential philosopher during the European Renaissance, a translator into Latin of the writings of Plato and Plotinus. Smith notes that the phrase Christiana Religione was “relatively new” when Ficino used it, and that it “subsequently became common and has remained so, but with a profound change of meaning” (p. 33). Smith goes on to describe what this phrase meant to Ficino, contrasting it to what it has come to mean now.

Today, we are likely to translate the phrase Christiana Religione as “the Christian religion,” and understand it as a synonym for “Christianity.” This is so because today we understand the word “religion” as meaning “any system of doctrines and practices, any institutional phenomenon or historical development, one of ‘the religions’ of the world.” This meaning of the word “religion,” Smith argues, was “certainly not in Ficino’s mind.”

When we think of “the religions” (in the plural), we are thinking of the variety of ways in which people express their religiosity. Ficino understood this idea very well, but he did not use the word religio to describe it; instead, he used the phrase ritus adorationis. On the one hand, Ficino believed that human beings practice, and have practiced, many different “ways of adoring God.” He thought that God Himself had allowed such diversity, and that it was good and desirable. On the other hand, he used the word religio to indicate something unchanging and stable. According to Smith, “That to which Ficino gives the name religio . . . is universal to man; it is, indeed, the fundamental distinguishing human characteristic, innate, natural, and primary.” While there are many different “ways of adoring God,” Ficino believed that there was only one religio.

Smith suggests that we render Ficino’s sense of the word religio by using the English word “religiousness.” Given that Ficino was a Platonist, he assumed the classical distinction between the perfect “ideal” and the imperfect “actual.” As a Platonist, Ficino believed that “the veritable form is ideal” and that “the actual occurrences in human history in the lives of men and women are more or less inadequate, approximative, more or less untrue instances of that ideal.”

Consequently, Ficino understood that religio is not, and cannot be, of different types. In its absolute perfection, religio exists only in the world of forms; what we have here on earth are the countless human attempts aimed at enacting that ideal within the messy confines of history. In other words, religio in human actuality necessarily falls short of its ideal perfection, which is why it is found in the human realm “in differing degrees of genuineness,” as Smith puts it. Since religio is good, Ficino thought that it was better to have it in a small quantity, or in a low grade of genuineness, than to not have it at all.

Next, Smith looks at the word Chrstiana as used by Ficino in the phrase Christiana religio. He argues that it makes a great deal of difference whether we translate this phrase as “the Christian religion” or as “Christian religion.” In the former instance, the presence of the definite article indicates the contemporary sense of the word “Christian” as pertaining to Christians or Christianity. In the latter instance, the absence of the definite article indicates the original sense of the word “Christian” as pertaining to Christ. As a result, the English phrase “the Christian religion” assumes the modern sense of “religion” as a systematic and coherent entity and can therefore be understood as signifying “Christianity.” In contrast, the phrase “Christian religion” does not assume the modern understanding of “religion,” and, consequently, signifies something far more profound, namely, the kind of religiousness that was “exemplified and taught” by Christ. Regarding the distinction between “the Christian religion” and “Christian religion,” Smith notes:

The difference is not minor. Not only by religio did Ficino not mean what is today referred to in the phrase ‘the Christian religion’; it would also be altogether meaningful to ask whether that to which today this latter phrase objectively refers is ‘Christian’ in Ficino’s understanding of that term.

Smith’s question may be paraphrased as follows: How much of what we today call “Christianity” actually pertains to Christ?

Smith’s next two case studies are from the period in European history known as the Reformation. The first of these is the book De Vera et Falsa Religione Commentarius (1525) by the Swiss Protestant reformer Ulrich Zwingli (1484-1531). The title can be translated as “An Essay on True and False Religion.” The issue at stake, once again, is the meaning of the word “religion,” this time as used by Zwingli. Given the modern understanding of “religion” as a systematic and coherent entity, and given the reality of many different “religions” in the world, Zwingli’s title may suggest to an unsuspecting modern reader that his book argues for the validity of Christianity over and against Judaism, Islam, Buddhism, and so on. This, however, is very far from the meaning that Zwingli had in mind. By “true religion,” Zwingli did not mean a systematic and coherent entity called “Christianity,” and by “false religion” he did not mean other systematic and coherent entities such as “Judaism,” “Islam,” “Buddhism,” and so on. This is because in the sixteenth century the modern concept of “religion” as a thing-like entity with definite boundaries has not yet emerged. Smith notes:

By this title he is not maintaining that Christianity is a true religion, other religions false. Neither he nor Calvin seems to use the term ‘Christianity’ at all. The opening sentence of Zwingli’s work announces firmly that it will deal ‘with the true and false religio of Christians’. For him, religio is a relation between man and God. It is established when man comes to trust God who in His mercy reaches out toward him. False religio, or as he calls it, false piety or superstition, is found therefore when anything is trusted as God other than He. (p. 35)

Like Ficino, Zwingli used the word religio not to indicate a systematic and coherent entity but to indicate a particular human quality; we may render his sense of religio as religiousness, faithfulness, or piety. Indeed, what he calls false religio comes rather close to our modern understanding of “religion.” Smith explains:

For Zwingli, false religion is an oversanctifictaion of popes, councils, church authorities, and the like; a giving honour to the mundane organization through which the divine is mediated instead of the divine itself. To use our modern terminology, one might almost represent Zwingli as introducing the concept of ‘false religion’ precisely to characterize the tendency whereby men give their allegiance to religion rather than to God. (p. 35)

This last idea is important enough to deserve repetition: False religiousness is the tendency of people to “give their allegiance to religion rather than to God.” The significance of Smith’s (and Zwingli’s) insight can be appreciated by noticing its contemporary relevance. Today, it is not uncommon to meet people who describe themselves as “spiritual but not religious,” and who say that they believe in a “higher power” but are not too excited about “organized religion.” Perhaps such people have a genuine thirst for what Smith calls “religiousness” and what Zwingli calls “true religion,” and yet they have grown increasingly dissatisfied with the rituals, institutions, and social forms of their religious tradition. The real cause of their dissatisfaction, however, is not necessarily the “mundane organization through which the divine is mediated.” Perhaps what has made them dissatisfied with “organized religion” is not the fact of religion being organized, but the human tendency to absolutize the means (the organized aspects of religion) while forgetting or disregarding the end (religiousness, faithfulness, or piety). This is tantamount to giving one’s allegiance to a particular religious system, as opposed to giving one’s allegiance — for lack of a better word — to ”God.”

Smith notes that the title of Zwingli’s book is best rendered into English as “An essay on genuine and spurious piety” (p. 37).

Smith’s third case study is the famous and highly influential work by John Calvin (1509-1564), Christianae Religionis Institutio, first published in 1536. According to Smith, one consequence of the widespread influence of Calvin’s work, especially in its catechism form, was the increasing use of the word religio and the phrase Christiana religio by the end of the sixteenth century. Calvin’s work was translated into English in the nineteenth century under the title “Institutes of the Christian Religion,” a title that Smith believes represents a “serious misinterpretation.”

For one thing, institutio meant ‘instruction’, instituting, setting up, establishing . . . . Furthermore, religio is certainly not ‘one of the religions’, an over, institutional phenomenon nor an abstract system. It is rather, as with the other writers that we have observed, the sense of piety that prompts a man to worship. It is innate in everyman, and is the one characteristic that lifts man above the brutes. It is an inner personal attitude.

Smith goes on to suggest that the title of Calvin’s magnum opus is best rendered into English as “Grounding in Christian piety” (p. 37).

All three case studies serve to illustrate and substantiate Smith’s argument that the contemporary meaning of the word “religion” has emerged gradually during the early modern period. Before the seventeenth century, the word “religion” was used to indicate a particular human quality, namely faith or piety. In this sense of the word, the use of the plural form, “the religions,” would have been absurd. It was only through a gradual — and peculiarly modern — process of reification that the word “religion” came to designate not an inner, personal attitude that people have, but a well-defined and impersonal system of beliefs and practices.

Muslims take the Qur’an as containing the revelations that came from God to Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him). The phenomenon of revelation, however, is not unique to Islam, and the Qur’an itself confirms that many individuals had been the recipients of such divine revelation in the past. This fact allows us to examine the phenomenon of revelation in a comparative perspective. When we look at the revelations found in the Hebrew Scriptures and the New Testament, and compare them with the revelations that we have in the form of the Qur’an, we are struck by the fact that all these revealed texts have one characteristic in common: They are invariably aimed at encouraging and facilitating some form of personal transformation.

The purpose of revelation is guidance, and the most important form of guidance that human beings need is practical guidance. Revealed texts are therefore meant to answer the most urgent of all questions, i.e., “how should I live?” While revelation provides theoretical guidance as well, the latter is discussed not for its own sake but mainly for its practical implications. In other words, the primary function of revelation is such that it is most clearly served when the revelation speaks in the imperative mode, as in the commandment “You shall have no other gods before me” (Exodus 20:3), or in the saying of Jesus “Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me” (Luke 9:23). Even when the revelation speaks in the declarative mode, its aim is not simply to provide us with information but rather to transform us in some important way. For instance, when we are told: “God, there is no god except He . . .” (Qur’an 2:255), the revelation is not merely informing us that there is only one God; rather, it is reminding us of the attitude we are supposed to adopt given that there is only one God. In the same way, when the Qur’an narrates the stories of previous prophets or informs us of the punishments of hell and the blessings of paradise, its purpose is not to add more data to our minds; the purpose, rather, is to help us transform ourselves in the desired ways.

To claim that revelation does not emphasize “ideas” is to suggest that holding the right beliefs is not one of its central concerns. In the ordinary, non-technical sense of the word, “believing” refers to giving intellectual assent to certain ideas. While it is important to hold the right beliefs, or believe in the right ideas, this in itself does not provide any guarantee that personal transformation will actually take place. It is all too common for people to hold one set of ideas as true, while living their lives as if those ideas were entirely false. It would appear that people tend to hold not one but two sets of ideas in their minds: (1) ideas that they believe they hold, and (2) ideas that actually guide their choices and conduct. From the viewpoint of revelation, holding ideas that do not shape our lives is ultimately worthless even when they are objectively true. For there is no benefit in “knowing” a truth if one does not “understand” it, and there is no benefit in “understanding” a truth if it does not guide one’s attitudes, priorities, habits, and values. A truth that is held in the mind but not embodied is no better than a treasure that we own but cannot spend.

Revelation is definitely concerned with transforming our beliefs, but it is even more concerned with transforming our choices and conduct. From the viewpoint of revelation, only those of our beliefs are relevant that actually shape our lived reality, i.e., beliefs that actively determine our “deeds.”

Iqbal’s use of the word “deed” is such that it cannot be substituted by the word “action.” This is because he seems to have used the word “deed” in a much more comprehensive sense than what the word “action” would suggest. Nor should we think of “deed” as something that is diametrically opposed to “faith.” On the contrary, the words “faith” and “deed” are very nearly synonymous for Iqbal. I have been led to this conclusion because of three statements that Iqbal makes in the very first paragraph of The Reconstruction, immediately following the preface:

The essence of religion . . . is faith . . . .

. . . the transformation and guidance of man’s inner and outer life is the essential aim of religion . . . .

Religion is not a departmental affair; it is neither mere thought, nor mere feeling, nor mere action; it is an expression of the whole man.

That “faith” is the essence of religion is not an insignificant matter, for this implies that whatever is true of religion in general must be true of faith, if not truer. Consequently, if the purpose of religion is to guide and transform all aspects of human life, and if the essence of religion happens to be faith, then it would be a serious mistake to conceive of faith in a narrow or partial manner. What Iqbal says explicitly about religion he implicitly says about faith as well: Faith is neither mere thought, nor mere feeling, nor mere action; it is an expression of the whole person. For Iqbal, faith is the personal transformation that constitutes the “essential aim” of religion, as well as the means through which that aim is pursued.

If we can conceive of faith in this broad and comprehensive Iqbalian sense, then we can also appreciate the partial and limited nature of belief. Faith is an expression of the whole person — the sum total of one’s attitudes, priorities, habits, and values, as well as of one’s choices and conduct – while belief is merely an idea that a person holds in his or her mind. While it is obviously better to hold a true belief than a false one, holding a true belief is not the same thing as achieving the “essential aim” of religion, i.e., personal transformation.

When Iqbal says that the Qur’an emphasizes “deed” as opposed to “idea,” he is basically telling us that the Qur’an is far more concerned with “faith” than it is with “belief.”

]]> http://footprintsonsand.wordpress.com/2012/01/11/between-deed-and-idea-2/feed/ 0 footprintsonsand http://footprintsonsand.wordpress.com/2012/01/05/between-deed-and-idea-1/ http://footprintsonsand.wordpress.com/2012/01/05/between-deed-and-idea-1/#comments Thu, 05 Jan 2012 00:50:34 +0000 Ahmed Afzaal http://footprintsonsand.wordpress.com/?p=2551 ]]> When Iqbal published his lectures on “the reconstruction of religious thought in Islam,” he decided to add a brief preface. The preface begins with the following statement:

The Qur’an is a book which emphasizes ‘deed’ rather than ‘idea’.

This is a significant statement, considering where it appears: in the preface to a book which is all about ideas! Introducing a highly theoretical work that addresses the nuances of Islamic as well as Western thought in the areas of metaphysics, theology, and ethics, Iqbal found it necessary to confess that the world of ideas — thought — is not something that’s terribly important from the Qur’anic viewpoint. After acknowledging that ideas do not constitute a central concern of the Qur’an, Iqbal went on to argue in the same preface why it is nevertheless necessary that we pay attention to ideas.

Iqbal’s statement about where the Qur’an puts its primary emphasis is significant for several other reasons as well. For instance, it demonstrates an element of critical self-awareness on Iqbal’s part. He knew perfectly well, and was able to acknowledge in writing, that his own emphasis on religious thought was not in perfect harmony with the Qur’anic emphasis on what he called “deed.”

Perhaps the important question from the reader’s viewpoint is this: Is Iqbal’s statement correct? Is it really true that the Qur’an emphasizes “deed” rather than “idea”? The claim may sound counter-intuitive to many Muslims, who may want to argue that the Qur’an does pay sufficient attention to ideas. Thus, when the Qur’an speaks about God and God’s attributes, or narrates the stories of previous prophets, or informs us of the punishments of hell and the blessings of paradise — isn’t it obvious that in all these matters the Qur’an is discussing what may be called beliefs? And isn’t it true that beliefs are made up of ideas? If they are not ideas, what else could they be?

The term that most Muslims use for religious beliefs is ‘aqa’id, plural of ‘aqidah. The contemporary use of the word ‘aqidah is such that it is practically a synonym for what Christians call “creed.” Strictly speaking, a “creed” is not the same thing as “belief.” A community can have a wide range of beliefs at any given moment, but when a particular understanding of what everyone is supposed to believe is expressed in a particular verbal formula by a religious authority, the resulting declaration of belief is called a creed. Thus, the Latin version of the Nicene Creed begins with the words “Credo in unum Deum,” we believe in one God, indicating the declarative and public (or communal) nature of a creed. During most of Christian history, matters of creed were typically very important, in that whether or not one professed the right creed was the main factor in differentiating between orthodoxy and heresy (in some cases, this could mean the difference between life and death).

In the Islamic instance, the term ‘aqidah is normally taken as suggesting a particular formulation of religious belief as articulated by a particular religious authority — and this is exactly how the term “creed” is normally defined. For our present purposes, however, whether we call the particular formulation in question a “creed” or a “belief” makes little difference; for whichever term we choose, the critical issue is that the actual content of ‘aqidah is widely assumed to be either an idea or a set of ideas.

Given that idea is the substance that is believed to constitute any particular ‘aqidah, and given that having the right ‘aqidah is taken to mean holding certain specific ideas as true, we can see how Iqbal’s statement appears to belittle the importance of ‘aqidah. When Iqbal says that “The Qur’an is a book which emphasizes ‘deed’ rather than ‘idea,’” what he is clearly implying is that, from the Qur’anic perspective, matters of ‘aqidah are not all that worthy of our attention. This is obviously a claim that is in sharp contrast to what a significant proportion of Muslims seem to hold.

Nowadays, a great deal of emphasis is being placed in many Muslim circles on having the “correct ‘aqidah,” and a great deal of intellectual effort is spent on fulfilling this goal. Many Muslims show a strong attachment to their own understanding of what they take to be the one “correct ‘aqidah,” and some are not reluctant at all to criticize and condemn alternative understandings as absolutely unacceptable. In some extreme cases, it would appear as if having the “correct ‘aqidah” is of ultimate significance for one’s salvation — as if going to hell or reaching the paradise is primarily a question of holding in one’s mind the correct wording of particular religious ideas.

Given this widespread emphasis on religious ideas, Iqbal’s statement implies a sharp critique of the attitude that defines the very meaning of religion for many contemporary Muslims. If his statement turns out to be true, it would demand from contemporary Muslims fundamental changes in how they approach their religious lives.

How can we find out whether or not Iqbal’s statement is correct? An important consideration is that the word ‘aqidah, in the sense of a particular articulation of a religious belief — that is to say, a “creed” — does not appear in the Qur’an. In his book “Faith and Belief” (1979), Wilfred Cantwell Smith makes the following observation:

The root ‘aqada, “to tie a knot”, either literally or in the figurative sense of binding a person by a legal or moral commitment, making a binding engagement, occurs seven times in the Qur’an: twice as the verb and five times as a noun. The words ‘aqidah, ‘aqa’id do not occur. (p. 196)

Of course, just because a word does not appear in the Qur’an is no proof, by itself, that there is something religiously illegitimate about the concept it represents. But that is precisely where the problem resides, for the actual concept behind the word ‘aqidah is very often not grasped too well by contemporary Muslims. To quote Smith once again:

Furthermore, I have found in working on mediaeval kalam texts that the VIIIth form i’taqadah, which does not occur in the Qur’an but is introduced into theology later, along with ‘aqidah, ‘aqa’id, in the sense of “creed”, begins there by meaning not “to believe” something but rather more literally to bind oneself, to commit or to pledge oneself to, to take on the engagement of living in accord with a given position; and that only gradually across the centuries does it eventually acquire the more neutral meaning of “to believe” something intellectually. This last comes quite late in the mediaeval period and is perhaps not common until early modern times. (p.196)

What Smith is pointing out in the above quotation is a problem common to all religious traditions that rely on written texts. As time passes, the texts remain static but the language keeps changing. The result is that in the later part of a tradition’s history, texts written in the earlier part tend to become increasingly incomprehensible. This is especially problematic when a later-day reader feels confident that he or she is interpreting an old text exactly as it was intended to be understood, but is doing so without taking into account the glaring fact that the denotations and connotations of words do not remain static over hundreds of years. The word ‘aqidah and related words were initially used by Muslim theologians and jurists in the sense of making a commitment to one or the other side of a controversial issue; as time passed, Muslims continued to use these words but increasingly in the sense of holding certain ideas in one’s mind. According to Smith, while this trend can be found in the late medieval period, it probably did not become dominant until the early modern period.

To reiterate, the widespread sense of ‘aqidah as an idea to which one gives intellectual assent is very different from the original sense of the word as used by classical Muslim theologians and jurists. Nowadays, the vast majority of Muslims use the word ‘aqidah in a way that makes it a virtual synonym for religious “belief” or, more precisely, for “creed.” (I have in mind the modern meanings of these two words, not their premodern meanings.)

One can justify the religious legitimacy of the classical sense of ‘aqidah by appealing to arguments that are ultimately based on the Qur’an. One can also justify the modern sense of ‘aqidah as believing something intellectually or holding certain ideas in one’s mind. What one cannot justify is the assumption that the contemporary meaning of ‘aqidah is identical with what our classical authorities had in mind when they used that word. Integrity demands that one acknowledges that an important shift in the meaning of this word has taken place during the centuries that separate us from the authors of our classical texts.

In light of this discussion, what is the significance of Iqbal’s opening statement in the preface to his major work? When Iqbal suggests that the Qur’an does not emphasize idea, he is saying that the Qur’an does not concern itself with matters of ‘aqidah – in the modern sense of the word. To put his claim in slightly different language, Iqbal is saying that the Qur’an does not concern itself with matters of belief, including religious belief. Obviously, this claim also applies to what is called a “creed,” insofar as a creed is understood to be a formalized expression of religious belief. Iqbal is saying that, instead of focusing its attention on matters of ‘aqidah, belief, or creed, the Qur’an focuses its attention on something else. This something else Iqbal calls “deed.”

An important caveat is necessary at this point. Notice Iqbal’s use of the word “emphasis,” which is crucial in interpreting his statement about the Qur’an. Iqbal is not saying that the Qur’an pays absolutely no attention to ideas. Given that Iqbal himself makes ample use of the Qur’anic text in discussing a wide range of ideas, it would be a blatant error on his part if he were to make such a claim. What he is saying is simply that the Qur’an does not emphasize ideas. In other words, the primary aim of the Qur’an does not consist in informing us as to which ideas we ought to hold in our minds and which ones we must not hold in our minds; yet, this fact does not mean that the Qur’an is entirely indifferent to ideas. Ultimately, it’s a matter of priorities. While the Qur’an does suggest many things that qualify as ideas, the primary aim of the Qur’an lies elsewhere, in the realm of “deed.” This is important for Muslims to understand because the priorities of the Qur’an are supposed to become our own priorities.

Let me elaborate. People’s faith expresses itself in a variety of historical forms; these historical forms, in turn, sustain and nourish their faith. The historical expressions of faith are many — symbols, myths, beliefs, doctrines, theologies, rituals, customs, laws, ethics, institutions, activism, music, poetry, calligraphy, architecture, and so on. The entire range of historical forms produced in the context of a given religion together constitute what Wilfred Cantwell Smith calls a “cumulative tradition.”

A cumulative tradition comes into being, and continues to expand and change, within the limitations of historical time. Historians can therefore trace the birth and growth of a religious tradition to the relevant individuals and groups acting within particular historical settings. What often remains elusive in such studies, however, is the quality of personal faith without which that tradition would never have emerged in the first place; as well as the role played by that tradition in sustaining and nourishing the personal faith of countless individuals and communities over hundreds or thousands of years.

Academic studies of religion tend to focus on cumulative traditions, even though religion is much more than its historical expressions. No understanding of religion can be complete without giving due attention to the quality of personal faith that gives birth to, and is maintained by, these historical expressions. In fact, any given cumulative tradition is necessarily imperfect when judged from the viewpoint of faith. In effect, the cumulative tradition is supposed to serve the faith of an individual or community; not the other way around. Even though faith can hardly thrive without a cumulative tradition, faith must take priority over all aspects of the cumulative tradition.

In other words, a given religion consists of both personal faith and a historically expressed cumulative tradition, but these two components do not enjoy the same value. From a religious viewpoint, it is indisputable that faith is primary; the cumulative tradition — including belief – is secondary.

To some extent, faith needs belief. While belief is based upon faith, it is also one of the many ways in which faith is sustained and nourished. Smith writes that “belief is one among many of the overt expressions of faith,” but then goes on to emphasize that belief is an important part of the apparatus that helps support and maintain the personal faith of an individual or a community.

Yet the term “expression” is inadequate, and in danger even of being misleading. For once the form has been set up, and especially once it is preserved by becoming incorporated into the on-going tradition, where it may serve for decades or even for millennia, it functions not only to express the faith of its formulator and then that of subsequent generations, but more importantly to induce and to nurture the latter, and to give shape to it . . . Great men contribute to a tradition new forms which express their personal faith; but that faith has itself in its turn been stimulated by earlier forms, so that all religious men, great and small, derive from (or we may better say, through) the forms of a tradition the faith by which they live their daily lives . . . (p. 17)

We can see that belief is clearly an important part of any historically contingent religious tradition. Since personal faith is supported and maintained by the various forms of the cumulative tradition with which it is associated, one could say that personal faith depends, among other things, on beliefs – at least to a certain degree. This partial dependence of faith upon beliefs can become problematic when, with the passage of time, some religious beliefs become untenable, i.e., difficult or impossible to maintain. Depending upon how closely the personal faith of an individual or community is tied with a particular set of beliefs, a weakening of beliefs will have varying degrees of negative consequences for personal faith.

And yet, we must not forget that belief is only one of the countless ways in which faith can express itself in history; as such, belief is only one of the countless sources from which faith can receive its nourishment. This means that when a particular set of religious beliefs becomes untenable as a result of historical change, faith does not immediately perish.

Consider the fact that faith is expressed in beliefs (ideas that we hold in our minds) as well as in practices (what we do, or how we live our lives). As certain beliefs become untenable, the continuing availability of certain religious practices can still nourish the personal faith of individuals and communities — at least for some time. Under these conditions, the importance of beliefs may decline somewhat as attention increasingly shifts in the direction of practices. The problem, of course, is that religious practices are no more immune to the pressure of historical change than are religious beliefs. As certain religious practices become difficult or impossible to maintain, we can expect the personal faith of individuals and communities to decline even further.

Let me digress for a moment to make a point about the relative importance of beliefs and practices within a given cumulative tradition. In certain historical contexts, the former may receive more attention than the latter, giving rise to an apparent opposition between “orthodoxy” (correct belief) and “orthopraxy” (correct practice). Commenting on this important point, Smith writes:

Every great religious movement has had many expressions. We can observe that, of these, one or a few tend at times to be singled out for special emphasis and centrality—probably never to the exclusion of all others, although it can happen that the others come to be interpreted then in terms of that central one. These may then be seen less as immediate expressions of the fundamental faith than as secondary expressions of the primary expression . . . . (p. 17)

Smith goes on to say that while Christians tend to take “monotheism” primarily as a “doctrine” (i.e., a matter of belief), Jews and Muslims tend to take it primarily as a “moral command” (i.e., a matter of practice). For Jews and Muslims, says Smith, monotheism is “less a metaphysical description than an ethical injunction.”

It is often claimed, in light of this observation, that Judaism and Islam are religions of orthopraxy while Christianity is a religion of orthodoxy. Such sweeping labels can be misleading. The difference, insofar as it actually exists, is not that of exclusive commitment but of relative emphasis (as Smith correctly notes). While in many contexts Jews and Muslims emphasize monotheism as an ethical imperative and Christians focus on its doctrinal subtleties, the reverse is also true. The oneness of God  has an obvious doctrinal importance for Jews and Muslims, and it has a profound moral and practical importance for Christians. It would be wrong to say, therefore, that Christians don’t care about practice, or that Jews and Muslims don’t care about beliefs. Perhaps the distinction can be articulated as follows: The moral command flows from the doctrine in one case, and the doctrine emerges from the moral command in the other case (though even this formulation is not absolute by any means). We should note that there is a growing emphasis on “discipleship” in contemporary Christianity, which represents, at least partly, a shift of emphasis away from issues of doctrine.

In short, the relative significance of right belief and right practice can vary from one tradition to another, and even from one period to another within the same tradition. Regardless of such variations, the fact remains that both orthodoxy and orthopraxy act as forms of expressions, and as sources of nourishment, for people’s faith.

Let’s return to the question of the relationship between faith and belief. To reiterate, at any given point in history, personal faith is expressed in the form of certain beliefs and, in turn, the resulting beliefs help sustain the personal faith of individuals and communities. As history moves on, however, societies inevitably change in both small and dramatic ways. Consequently, many beliefs that used to be effective sources of nourishment for personal faith in the past tend to become increasingly untenable; they lose their ability to attract the allegiance of a person’s mind and intellect. Such beliefs become increasingly ineffective sources of nourishment for people’s faith, leading to what may be called a “crisis of faith.” In the face of such a crisis, the personal faith of both individuals and communities tends to lose its strength and vitality to varying degrees, depending on the severity of the crisis. Typically, religious individuals and communities struggle with the crisis and eventually discover or create new historical forms; among other things, they are able to formulate fresh and more credible beliefs through which to express their personal faith. These new beliefs then replace the older ones as effective sources of nourishment for personal faith at both individual and communal levels.

The loss of a particular set of religious beliefs is not unique to the modern period. The history of any cumulative tradition will show that beliefs tend to change all the time, that it is perfectly normal for one set of beliefs to disappear while giving way to another set of beliefs. Consequently, the loss of a particular set of religious beliefs does not mean the end of faith; rather, it represents a challenge that has been successfully met countless times in history. As religious individuals and communities face this challenge with courage and perseverance, their cumulative tradition undergoes a process of renewal and revival.

The word faith word is derived from the Latin fides, which means “trust, confidence, reliance.” The word fides, in turn, comes from the Latin root fidere, ”to trust.” The same root is also found in the word fidelity. Even though the word faith is sometimes inaccurately used as a synonym for the modern sense of belief, the word fidelity still carries the original sense of loyalty. The word hi-fi (an abbreviated form of high fidelity) is a case in point.

Based on its etymology as well as usage, we can say that faith is not primarily a matter of holding certain ideas in one’s mind, i.e., it is not a matter of believing per se. Rather, faith denotes a particular kind of attitude or orientation that is characterized by trust, loyalty, and commitment. As such, faith is a way of being in the world, a way of relating to oneself and others, a way of living. It is not believing something; it is being someone. According to Wilfred Cantwell Smith, “Faith is deeper, richer, more personal. . . . It is an orientation of the personality, to oneself, to one’s neighbour, to the universe; a total response; a way of seeing whatever one sees and of handling whatever one handles . . . ” (p. 12).

One way to overcome the confusion between faith and belief is to think of the word faith as denoting an attitude of faithfulness. When we hear someone say “Tom is a faithful husband,” we know that it does not mean “Tom believes that his wife exists.” Rather, the sentence means “Tom is loyal to his wife.” Similarly, the statement “I have faith in God” does not mean “I believe that God exists.” Rather, it means “I trust God” or “I live a life of commitment to God.”

If it is true that the essence of religion is faith, rather than belief, then we can expect this to be reflected in the language of religious scriptures. Consider the Christian scripture, for example. In the Greek New Testament, the words pisteuo and pistis appear many times. The former is a verb and the latter is a noun, both denoting an attitude of trust, confidence, commitment, and loyalty, i.e., faith. Yet, these two words are often rendered in English translations of the New Testament as believe and belief, respectively. This rendering is highly problematic, since it transforms the New Testament’s emphasis on a particular kind of practical attitude into the somewhat passive notion of holding an idea in one’s mind.

Below is the transliterated Greek text of a frequently quoted New Testament verse, John 3:16.

Notice the word pisteuon and how it is rendered into English in two different translations.

For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life. (King James)

For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life. (NRSV)

In the King James translation (1611), pisteuon is rendered as “believeth.” Given that in the early seventeenth century the word belief still meant something very similar to faith, this translation was quite adequate. However, when the New Revised Standard Version (1989) uses the word “believes,” the translation can no longer be considered accurate, since the meaning of the word belief in 1989 differs significantly from its meaning in 1611.

But this is not entirely the fault of the translators. Part of the problem is that contemporary English treats the word faith only as a noun. If it were possible for the word faith to be used as a verb in contemporary English, we would have been able to say sentences like “I faith” or “I am faithing” or “I have faithed.” In that scenario, the modern translators of the New Testament would have rendered the relevant part of John 3:16 as follows: “everyone who faiths in him . . . .” It is unfortunate that the English language does now allow this usage; for faith is not a thing that we possess but is a quality of how we live, act, and be in the world. In other words, faith refers to a sort of practice or activity more than it refers to an entity or an idea. For this reason, the notion of faith is best expressed using the active language of verbs, and less so through the relatively passive language of nouns.

Since the English word belief allows itself to be used as a verb — believe, believes, believed — it is tempting (and sometimes unavoidable) to use it as a substitute for the word faith in certain contexts. As already mentioned, the use of belief as a synonym for faith posed no significant problem before the seventeenth century, since the meanings of the two words overlapped to a very large extent. In the twentieth century, however, this usage has led to a plethora of confusions and misunderstandings.

But notice what happens when the New Testament verse quoted above is translated into Arabic.

Here, the Greek word pisteuon has been rendered as u’minu, which is one of the verb forms of the Arabic word iman (faith). It can be seen that the Arabic translation of John 3:16 is much more faithful to the original Greek than is the English rendering of NRSV. In both Greek and Arabic, the respective words for faith have corresponding verb forms, allowing these two languages to convey the dynamic and active quality of this concept. In sharp contrast, the notion of faith as a verb cannot be directly and concisely expressed in contemporary English, forcing English speakers to use an entirely different word — belief. The unfortunate outcome of this is a virtual conflation of faith and belief. (The problem highlighted here with respect to the New Testament applies to English translations of the Qur’an as well.)

As mentioned earlier, Wilfred Cantwell Smith has contended that the modern conflation of faith and belief has generated a distorted view of religion. Now that we have looked at both of these terms in some detail, we can begin to appreciate Smith’s insight into the nature of this distortion.

If we approach religion primarily in terms of belief (in the modern sense of holding certain ideas as true), then we are likely to judge the value of religion on the basis of its cognitive elements alone, i.e., on the basis of religious ideas. This approach allows the so-called “New Atheists” to argue that religion is false because its truth-claims do not hold up to scientific scrutiny. These critics of religion are right in assuming that the essence of religion is faith, but the problem lies in how they define faith. For many of the “New Atheists” and their disciples, the word faith essentially means “believing without evidence.” If the essence of religion is faith, and if faith is “believing without evidence,” then it is clear that religion is something fundamentally irrational, especially when we compare it with science.

But the notion that faith is essentially “believing without evidence” is seriously flawed. As we have seen, faith is a kind of attitude and orientation towards oneself and others; it is not, primarily, the holding of certain ideas in one’s mind — with or without evidence. In other words, it is true that the essence of religion is faith, but it is not true that the essence of faith is giving intellectual assent to particular truth-claims expressed as propositions (and to do so “without evidence.”). This means that the value of religion cannot be judged on the basis of its cognitive elements alone.

And yet, religion’s cognitive elements are not entirely irrelevant to any judgment as to the value of religion. This is because while faith and belief are two different concepts, they are not unrelated by any means.

Modern “believing” . . . is placed in relation to, contra-distinction from, knowing. Let us consider this briefly, for everyday usage. For the man in the street, may we not say that knowledge involves two things: (a) certitude, and (b) correctness, in what one knows. To use quite unsophisticated terms, in ordinary parlance one knows whatever one knows when there is a close positive relation of one’s ideas both to the inner conviction and to objective truth. At this same level . . . there is the common-sense notion of believing. This is similar to knowing in that it is thought of as conceptualist, as in the realm of ideas in one’s mind (even, of propositions). It differs from knowing in that it involves one or other of again two things, and perhaps both: (a) lack of certitude; (b) open neutrality as to the correctness or otherwise of what is believed. (p. 35)

Notice that Smith is not presenting a philosophical analysis of the metaphysics of belief and knowledge. He is, on the contrary, telling us how these words are actually used by contemporary English speakers.

We can appreciate Smith’s insight by performing a simple exercise. Take any proposition and add the phrase “I believe” at the beginning; then say the sentences out loud and notice how the meaning changes. For instance: “Today is November 6″ is a simple proposition, but “I believe today is November 6″ contains rather significant elements of uncertainty on the part of the speaker, an acknowledgement of the possibility of error, and an openness to alternative possibilities. The first sentence is an expression of knowledge; one is saying what one knows to be true. The second sentence is an expression of belief; one is saying what one believes to be true. Even though the first sentence does not actually begin with “I know,” this phrase is tacitly implied due to the very straightforward and matter-of-fact structure of the sentence. When I am completely sure about something, I just say it without any qualifications; but when I am not completely sure, I qualify my proposition with “I believe.”

But what is Smith’s larger point? What is the purpose of all this linguistic hairsplitting? As suggested earlier, the modern meaning of belief is in sharp contrast to its premodern meaning. Smith wants us to appreciate how a disregard for this difference has contributed to a serious misunderstanding of the nature of religion and religious life.

Consider the question “Do you believe in God?” Given that the modern sense of the word “believe” involves the holding of certain ideas in one’s mind, the question seems to suggest the following sense: “Do you hold the idea of God in your mind?” Or, alternatively, “Do you think there is a God?” Either way, since belief is understood as a habit of thought, believing in God appears to be a matter of keeping a particular thought in one’s mind, viz., the idea that God exists.

Notice the difference this makes. Today, believing is seen as a matter of having a particular thought, which is a mental activity. Before the seventeenth century, believing was understood as a matter of having a relationship, which is the activity of the whole person as well as a person’s state of being. In the premodern period, therefore, the question “Do you believe in God?” would have meant something like “Do you love God?” Or, alternatively, “Do you live a life of devotion and service to God?” The contrast between the two meanings is hardly trivial.

With this background, we can also appreciate that while the modern usage of the word belief suggests a significant distinction between believing and knowing, this was not the case in the premodern period. Since belief was understood in terms of love and loyalty, the issue of the existence or non-existence of God was irrelevant to the notion of belief. This is because the question “Do you love God?” has nothing to do with whether or not God actually exists; to ask about one’s relationship with God already presupposes God’s reality.

The shift from the premodern to the modern meaning of the word belief did not occur overnight; instead, it took place very gradually over a couple of centuries. But now that it has occurred, we can appreciate the rather stark difference between the two meanings by putting them together side by side. Smith writes:

Let’s begin with the word belief. In modern usage, Smith says, believing “is the holding of certain ideas” and, as such, represents “an activity of the mind.” At this basic level of denotation, the question of certainty or truth does not arise.

What does it mean to hold an idea in the mind? Upon introspection, we can easily notice that our mental life is always in a state of flux. Thoughts appear in the mind, give rise to other thoughts, and then disappear. The process, however, is not random. Whether or not we are consciously aware of them, certain thoughts tend to occur repeatedly over an extended period of time, until they establish themselves as tracks or pathways in the mind. These, in turn, form mental patterns along with most of our everyday thinking tends to flow. This suggests that while our mental world does not remain static from one moment to the next, in the long-run it does develop certain patterns that may be described as stable, if not permanent. With sufficient introspective skill, we can learn to notice these patterns, though it takes extraordinary effort to recognize the subconscious thoughts that are responsible for creating these patterns in the first place.

Insofar as our habitual patterns of thought allow themselves to be articulated as ideas, we may call them beliefs. In other words, a belief is an idea that we hold in our mind over an extended period of time. It is essentially a thought in the head, though a relatively stable one.

In addition to the denotative meaning of belief as an idea held in the mind, Smith demonstrates that the contemporary usage of this word suggests two significant connotations. When these connotations are taken into account, it becomes clear that the modern meaning of the word belief represents a concept that is in opposition to what most people think of knowledge. According to Smith, the commonsense meaning of the word knowledge involves both certitude and correctness, neither of which is part of the commonsense meaning of belief.

Consider the impression we convey when we start a sentence with “I believe,” as opposed to “I know.” In the former case, the speaker implies a lack of full confidence in what he/she is about to assert, while allowing that the audience has every right to disagree. In the latter case, the speaker is not only completely sure but also assumes that the truth of what he/she is about to assert should be obvious to other people. According to Smith, the phrase “I believe” is intended to give the impression of an “open neutrality as to the correctness or otherwise of what is believed.”

To reiterate, when I begin a sentence with “I believe,” I am implying one or both of the following qualifications: (1) this is my current opinion or position, but I may be wrong and I may change my mind in the future; (2) I am okay with the fact that there are many people who do not share my views, since the issue is open to multiple interpretations.

We should also keep in mind that the phrase “I know” is often left unsaid; for the very absence of “I believe” frequently implies “I know,” even when the latter phrase is not actually uttered. For example, notice the difference between “I believe it is raining” and “It is raining.” In the latter sentence, “I know” is tacitly implied.

To appreciate the significance of the difference between “I believe” and “I know,” consider the famous exchange between the Swiss psychologist Carl Jung and a BBC reporter that took place during an interview in 1959. John Freeman, the interviewer, asked: “Dr. Jung, do you believe in God?” Jung said: “Believe? I don’t need to believe—I know.”

This exchange nicely illustrates what Smith means when he emphasizes the modern distinction between believing and knowing. When faced with the question “Do you believe in God?” most people are likely to respond with “yes,” “no,” or “may be.” A philosopher or theologian may demand that the word “God” is defined before they can give an answer. Carl Jung, however, recognized that the most problematic word in the question was not “God” but rather “believe.” In effect, Jung gave an answer that offered much more than what the interviewer had asked (or hoped) for. Jung said, essentially, that we “believe” only when we do not “know,” and that if we “know” then there is no need for us to “believe.” What is called believing is merely an inferior substitute for those who don’t (or not yet) have the real thing, i.e., knowing.

Two of the most fundamental questions with which human beings must grapple are as follows: “How should I live?” and “How do I know?”

The first question is obviously more urgent than the second, for we cannot put the business of living on hold while we try to figure out what is the best way of living. However, the urgency of the ethical question does not diminish the importance of the epistemological question. While doing what we believe is the right thing, lurking in the background is the constant challenge of justifying our actions, primarily to ourselves. That means being conscious and critical about how we know what we know.

In effect, since we tend to live in accordance with what we know and use what we know to justify how we live, the question of ethics (“How should I live?”) is inseparable from the question of knowledge (“How do I know?”).

Notice that there is an important presupposition underlying each of these questions. The first question assumes that there are good and bad ways of living; the second assumes that what we know can be true or false. When we ask the practical question — “How should I live?” — we are hoping to find an answer that will help us choose what is good and avoid what is bad. Similarly, when we ask the epistemological question — “How do I know?” — we are hoping to find an answer that will help us choose what is true and avoid what is false.

But thinking in terms of good/bad and true/false also points to a deeper presupposition, i.e., that there exists an objective standard that makes such judgments possible in the first place.

Today, some people argue that no objective standard exists that can ground our judgments of good/bad and true/false. I don’t think that they actually believe this; I think what they are really concerned about is that a great deal of exploitation and oppression in history has been legitimized by appeals to some objective standard, and that this has made them suspicious of all such claims. I share their concern and suspicion, but I don’t think that we can so easily dispense with the very concept of an objective standard. We do, however, need to proceed with great caution.

At the risk of making a circular argument, I would like to suggest that an objective standard does exist, and that it is known as “reality.” Following Charles Peirce, I would define “reality” as that which is what it is regardless of what anyone thinks or feels or believes about it. In other words, reality is what is independent of all its actual or possible representations. It is the ultimate referent of “objective.”

In principle, then, the objective standard that helps ground our judgments — both ethical and epistemological — is reality. Thus, something is good or true insofar as it is in harmony with reality; it is bad or false insofar as it conflicts with reality. This implies that the value of our judgments depend on the degree of our acquaintance with reality. In other words, both the ethical question (“How should I live?”) and the epistemological question (“How do I know?”) presuppose that the nature of reality is either known or is knowable, at least to the degree that allows us to make some tentative judgments. In effect, our ethics and epistemology are inevitably grounded in the way we answer the ontological question, i.e., “What is real?”

It is at the intersection of these three fundamental human concerns — ethics, epistemology, and ontology — that the concepts of faith and belief acquire their full significance.

There is one last point that I still need to make, and that point relates to the original context of Netanyahu’s speech, i.e., the Palestinian initiative to get United Nation’s recognition for a Palestinian state. It is precisely this possibility, this “threat,” that motivated the Israeli Prime Minister to visit the United States in the first place and to speak not only with the US President but also address the US Congress. There may not have been such a flurry of diplomatic initiatives if the United Nations’ recognition of Palestine were not a real possibility that his government genuinely feared.

If your opponent advises you not to use a particular strategy, you can be sure that that’s precisely the strategy you need to use!

This is what Netanyahu said about the Palestinian initiative:

The Palestinian attempt to impose a settlement through the United Nations will not bring peace. (Applause.) It should be forcefully opposed by all those who want to see this conflict end. I appreciate the president’s clear position on these — on this issue. Peace cannot be imposed. It must be negotiated. (Applause.)

Notice the word “impose.” According to the dictionary, the word “impose” means to force (something unwelcome or unfamiliar) to be accepted or put in place. To paraphrase Netanyahu, Palestinians are trying to force a settlement of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict in a way that Israel is unwilling to accept. If anyone wants to see the end of this conflict, Netanyahu says, they must oppose the Palestinian initiative since it “will not bring peace.” This is because, he goes on to emphasize, “Peace cannot be imposed. It must be negotiated.”

I find this to be a very convincing statement, and I don’t know if any rational person would disagree with Netanyahu on this issue. A peaceful settlement of any conflict must be one in which the needs of both parties are satisfied, so that both parties have equal stakes in ensuring the success of the settlement. In contrast, any settlement in which the needs of one party are met at the cost of the needs of the other party will never lead to a lasting peace. Sounds like a perfectly fair and just principle.

Several problems arise, however, as we look at this matter closely.

First, whenever there is a conflict between two unequal parties — especially when one of them is many, many times more powerful than the other — it makes perfect sense to use the word “impose” with respect to the stronger party, but it makes no sense to use it with respect to the weaker one. If anyone has been “imposing” its will in the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, it can only be the party that has the ability to do the “imposing.” For the stronger party to blame the weaker one for trying to “impose” its own brand of settlement is not only unjustifiable, it is also disingenuous. This use of the word “impose” distracts the audience from the issue of the difference in power between the two sides. The Israeli-Palestinian conflict can neither be understood nor resolved if the issue of unequal power is kept off the table. In many ways, the entire conflict is about power. The belief that it’s a conflict between equal parties is itself the result of an unfair exercise of power; such an assumption is not conducive to a just settlement.

Second, consider the word “negotiation” which is used by Netanyahu in contradistinction to “impose.” The Israeli Prime Minister is adamant that you cannot unilaterally “impose” a settlement and thus achieve peace. You must, on the contrary, enter a process of “negotiation” with the other side and arrive at a mutually agreed-upon settlement, for only such a settlement can produce peace. The two concepts are mutually exclusive. If you are trying to “impose” your will, you are obviously not trying to “negotiate,” and vice versa. As a general principle, most people would agree that it is always better to “negotiate” than to “impose.”

Yet, the text of the same speech reveals the main reason why the two decades worth of “negotiations” between the Israelis and the Palestinian have been unsuccessful: the Israelis are not truly ”negotiating,” mainly because they are the stronger party and can get away with “imposing” their will. As the Israelis continue to “impose” their will, Palestinians are being asked to give up more and more of their rights through “negotiation.” If it’s true that “imposing” is the exact opposite of “negotiating,” then Israel is guilty of “imposing” its own version of the settlement for several decades while blaming the Palestinians for not “negotiating” (i.e., for not being sufficiently submissive).

In reality, there is no such thing as “negotiation” unless there is a relative parity between the two sides. In cases where one side is significantly stronger than the other, we need a third-party, a mediator, to ensure that no bullying or “imposing” takes place. This is precisely the principle on which our legal systems are based. If a stronger party, such as a government agency or a corporation, is perceived as “imposing” its will on a weaker party, such as an individual or a group of individuals, the latter cannot possibly have any hopes of receiving justice through direct “negotiation,” and must, therefore, take its case to a third, objective party, i.e., the courts. At least in theory, the courts are supposed to act in an impartial way and to ensure that no one’s rights are violated. In other words, the disparity of power between the two sides in a given conflict is precisely the reason why we have set up legal systems in the first place. A conflict between unequal sides is the breeding ground for injustice, for unfair consequences are likely to result through one side “imposing” its will without the other side’s consent. Given the tendency of unchecked power towards corruption, the impartiality of the judiciary is meant to level the playing field by empowering the weaker party, so that genuine “negotiation” can become possible.

In the case of “negotiations” between the Israelis and Palestinians, the problem is that the mediator has traditionally been United States, a superpower that is hardly a neutral party in this conflict. If it is true, as Netanyahu says in the same speech, that “Israel has no better friend than the United States,” then this “special relationship” between the two countries already puts an end to any hope that the US can act as an impartial mediator. Consequently, Palestinians have every right to take their case to an authority that they believe is capable of acting impartially, i.e., the United Nations. They would do so not to ”impose” their will on Israel but to ensure that Israel is not able to “impose” its will on the Palestinians.

Third, Netanyahu is demanding the Palestinians to follow a principle that he would himself find unacceptable should it be applied consistently. Take a look at the history of this conflict. The state of Israel came into being not through a process of “negotiation” but as a result of a unilateral declaration that was, literally, “imposed” on an unwilling population against their will.

According to Netanyahu, the problem has always been the Arabs’ refusal to accept a “Jewish state.” He said the following in the same speech:

In 1947, the U.N. voted to partition the land into a Jewish state and an Arab state. The Jews said yes; the Palestinians said no.

Here, the Israeli Prime Minister is referring to the United Nations resolution 181, also known as the “Partition Plan,” that was adopted on November 29, 1947. The resolution was adopted by the General Assembly, not by the Security Council. As such, it was a non-binding recommendation, which meant that its legal status depended on acceptance by the relevant parties. It so happened, as Netanyahu informs us, that the Arabs categorically rejected the resolution. Consequently, according to Netanyahu’s own standards, such a resolution should never have been implemented. Since only one party to the conflict accepted it and the other did not, the resolution had obviously failed to meet the needs of both parties. To implement such a resolution meant that one party would have to “impose” it on the other, unwilling party.

But isn’t “imposing” something that Netanyahu dislikes a great deal? That depends on who is doing the “imposing.” While the Israeli Prime Minister abhors the Palestinian initiative to “impose a settlement,” he seems to have no objection against Israel having “imposed” (its own interpretation of) the “Partition Plan” on an unwilling population.

This brings me to my final point. Netanyahu knows his history but is playing games with logic; yet, truth has a tendency to make itself known, loud and clear. To repeat his statement: ”The Palestinian attempt to impose a settlement through the United Nations will not bring peace.” How does he know? Netanyahu is implying, inadvertently and unconsciously, that the Palestinian attempt to impose a settlement through the United Nations will not bring peace just as the Jewish attempts to impose a settlement on the basis of a United Nations resolution have failed to bring peace. Yet, he would not dare to make that comparison. His implied but unacknowledged reasoning goes like this: The Palestinian attempt in 2011 to “impose a settlement” will not work because Israel is unwilling to accept it; this is almost identical to the case that the Israeli efforts to impose a settlement since 1947 have failed to work because the native Palestinians have been unwilling to accept it. What can we infer from this line of reasoning? Both sides must accept a settlement in order for it to work. This is a compelling argument, except that it goes against everything that Netanyahu publicly stands for. The argument is present in the very structure of his reasoning, but he won’t acknowledge it mainly because he is a politician.

In effect, it is grossly illogical for Netanyahu to accept the legitimacy of the Jewish state on the basis of a UN resolution while denying the feasibility of the same process in case of the Palestinian state. Here, Netanyahu’s reasoning runs into what must be the bane of all political discourse — consistency. If it’s wrong for the Palestinians to seek a unilateral settlement through the United Nations, why has it been right for the Israelis to claim that privilege since 1947?

Let’s read the above statement once again, and this time let’s look for unacknowledged assumptions:

In 1947, the U.N. voted to partition the land into a Jewish state and an Arab state. The Jews said yes; the Palestinians said no.

The connotations of this statement are clear as daylight: In 1947, when the Jews said “yes” to the UN resolution, they were making the right choice; when the Palestinians said “no” to the same resolution, they were making the wrong choice. This is the plain sense meaning of Netanyahu’s statement. Now the question that remains unanswered, and even unmentioned, is this: Why? Why was accepting the “Partition Plan” a good thing and rejecting it was a bad thing? It was, after all, a human document that was produced through imperial politics and much arm-twisting. If a group of people thought that the recommendation of the UN General Assembly did not meet their needs, what could possibly be wrong with rejecting it? Netanyahu does not answer this question explicitly, and neither does any of the other pro-Israel commentators who keep referring to the UN resolution of 1947 as if it were as sacred and infallible as the tablets of divine law.

It is crucial to understand this aspect of Netanyahu’s reasoning. What, exactly, made the Jewish choice right and the Palestinian choice wrong?

Let me suggest two possible assumptions, one of which must underlie the Israeli Prime Minister’s reasoning. Netanyahu either believes that (a) the UN is a legitimate authority and its resolutions should always be accepted by all parties; or he believes that (b) you should accept the UN resolutions if they are in your interest and reject them if they are not.

If we assume the former, then it contradicts Netanyahu’s position against the Palestinian initiative. Obviously, if Netanyahu believes that the UN is the legitimate authority in international conflicts, then he should have no objection against the Palestinians taking their case to the UN. In fact, he should be eager to accept whatever the UN decides. If the UN General Assembly gave the right verdict in 1947, it can give another right verdict in 2011.

If we assume the latter, then it contradicts Netanyahu’s position that the Palestinians made the wrong choice when they rejected the UN resolution back in 1947. Obviously, if Netanyahu believes that you should only accept those resolutions that are in your own interest, then he cannot criticize the Palestinian choice since they had found the UN resolution 181 to be against their interest.

As we can see, both of my attempts to answer the “why” question run into irresolvable contradictions, suggesting that there are some deep problems with Netanyahu’s reasoning. But is it really possible that a leader of this stature is illogical in his thinking? I find such a conclusion difficult to accept.

Thankfully, we don’t have to believe that Netanyahu is being illogical. Here’s my solution.

The Israeli Prime Minister believes that his nation is unique and special, so much so that the difference between right and wrong does not depend on any moral or legal principles, but entirely upon whether or not something is in the immediate interest of his people. Consequently, (a) the Palestinian choice in 1947 was wrong because it was against the interest of Israel; similarly, (b) the Palestinian initiative in 2011 is wrong because it is against the interest of Israel. In both cases, the interest of the Palestinian people does not count.

I know that this sounds really harsh, but I can’t think of any other way of explaining Netanyahu reasoning. He is either inconsistent and therefore illogical; or he is fully consistent and therefore a racist. I will go with the latter option, since I find it hard to believe that a Prime Minister of Israel is unable to think logically.

Let us now return to the text before us.

In his speech to the US Congress on May 24, the Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu repeatedly emphasized that his country has always sought “peace” with the Palestinian people. The fact that this highly desired “peace” has not yet been achieved after more than sixty years is not due to Israel’s fault. Rather, this lack of “peace” is the result of the stubbornness of the Palestinians, their irrational hatred for the Jewish people, and their preference for conflict. Here is what Netanyahu said:

If the benefits of peace with the Palestinians are so clear, why has peace eluded us? Because all six Israeli prime ministers since the signing of the Oslo Accords agreed to establish a Palestinian state, myself included; so why has peace not been achieved?

Because so far, the Palestinians have been unwilling to accept a Palestinian state if it meant accepting a Jewish state alongside it.

You see, our conflict has never been about the establishment of a Palestinian state; it’s always been about the existence of the Jewish state. (Applause.) This is what this conflict is about. (Extended applause.)

So the real obstacle to “peace,” from Netanyahu’s perspective, is not that Israel is unwilling to recognize a Palestinian state; the real obstacle is that the Palestinians are (and have always been) unwilling to recognize Israel as a Jewish state.

Is this claim true? Netanyahu has been a member of Israel’s Likud Party since 1988, and the Likud party’s official Platform includes several provisions that may appear to be inconsistent with his position regarding Israel’s willingness to accept a Palestinian state. Here are a few samples of what the Likud Party believes:

The Jewish communities in Judea, Samaria and Gaza are the realization of Zionist values. Settlement of the land is a clear expression of the unassailable right of the Jewish people to the Land of Israel and constitutes an important asset in the defense of the vital interests of the State of Israel. The Likud will continue to strengthen and develop these communities and will prevent their uprooting.

The Government of Israel flatly rejects the establishment of a Palestinian Arab state west of the Jordan river.

The Palestinians can run their lives freely in the framework of self-rule, but not as an independent and sovereign state. Thus, for example, in matters of foreign affairs, security, immigration and ecology, their activity shall be limited in accordance with imperatives of Israel’s existence, security and national needs.

Jerusalem is the eternal, united capital of the State of Israel and only of Israel. The government will flatly reject Palestinian proposals to divide Jerusalem, including the plan to divide the city presented to the Knesset by the Arab factions and supported by many members of Labor and Meretz.

Can Netanyahu reconcile his own position with that of the Likud Party regarding the question of a Palestinian state? The answer to this question is in the affirmative, but with certain qualifications. Yes, a Palestinian state is quite acceptable to Israel (1) so long as this state does not include the West Bank or East Jerusalem; (2) so long as it is understood that this state will be neither independent nor sovereign; (3) so long as it is agreed that this state’s “foreign affairs, security, immigration and ecology” will remain under Israeli control; (4) so long as Israel gets to decide precisely where the borders of this state will be drawn; (5) so long as the Palestinians accept that their state will be completely de-militarized; and (6) so long as it can be ensured that this state will be “without control of its airspace.” This last point is from Netanyahu’s 2009 speech, in which he first announced his embrace of the two-state solution.

Israel and its Prime Minister are indeed willing to accept a Palestinian state — provided that the six conditions mentioned above are satisfied. Looking at the conditions, however, one must ask the obvious but crucial question: What kind of state would that be?

I would like to suggest that in Netanyahu’s use of the word “state,” we are faced with yet another Orwellian situation.

The Israeli Prime Minister frequently mentions “Jewish state” and “Palestinian state” in the same sentence or the same paragraph, implying through this juxtaposition that he has in mind a single, straightforward definition of the word “state” that applies equally to the two cases. A casual listener is likely to assume that both phrases refer to the same, unproblematic concept of “state,” with the only difference that the “state” happens to be “Jewish” in the first case and “Palestinian” in the second case. In view of the six conditions that Israel wants to apply to any future “Palestinian state,” however, such an assumption would be a serious error. But notice how the speaker encourages his audience to accept that assumption as true.

Two years ago, I publicly committed to a solution of two states for two peoples — a Palestinian state alongside a Jewish state.

The phrase “two states for two peoples” suggests that there will be parity between them. An even stronger impression is created by the word “alongside,” which evokes a visual image of equality, and perhaps of cooperation. As we have seen, however, Netanyahu has absolutely no intention of allowing a Palestinian “state” any kind of parity or equality vis-a-vis Israel. He is merely conveying a vague but positive idea because it makes his position appear more rational and altruistic than it actually is.

The Israeli Prime Minister then goes on say:

We seek a peace in which they’ll be neither Israel’s subjects nor its citizens. They should enjoy a national life of dignity as a free, viable and independent people living in their own state. (Applause.) They should enjoy a prosperous economy, where their creativity and initiative can flourish.

These remarks are supposed to show the speaker’s generosity and sincere goodwill towards the Palestinians, while reinforcing the assumption that the meaning of the word “state” is perfectly stable. Notice the succession of emotionally positive words that Americans are especially likely to find appealing: national, life, dignity, free, viable, independent, own state, enjoy, prosperous, creativity, initiative, flourish. Yet, in light of the conditions that must be fulfilled before Israel will allow a Palestinian “state,” an attentive and critical listener should be able to see through Netanyahu’s rhetorical screen of smoke and fog.

In using the word “state,” Netanyahu is performing a sleight of hand, a magical trick. When Netanyahu utters the phrase “Jewish state” he has one particular definition of “state” in mind, but when he uses the phrase “Palestinian state” he is implying an entirely different definition. Using the same word twice, so close to each other, while implying — but not acknowledging — two drastically different meanings is nothing short of deliberate deception. Only a politician can pull this off so effectively.

Since the meaning of the word “state” is so unstable in Netanyahu’s text that it doesn’t remain the same even within a single sentence, we have every reason to be suspicious of his claim that Israel is willing to recognize a “Palestinian state” but the Palestinians are unwilling to accept a “Jewish state.” According to the Israeli Prime Minister’s own position, there is no comparison between the “state” that he wants to have for the Jewish people and the “state” that he is offering to the Palestinian people. The two entities — one real and the other proposed – are so different from each other that they cannot possibly belong to the same category or be given the same title. If we take a car and remove its engine, seats, doors, wheels, tires, and windshields, is it still okay to call it a car? After we take into account the full impact of the debilitating conditions that Israel wants to impose, we cannot escape the conclusion that “state” cannot be the right word to describe whatever it is that the Palestinians are supposed to receive with gratitude. Perhaps “slave colony” would be a better substitute.

As we notice the deceptive way in which Netanyahu uses the word “state” with two incompatible meanings, the hollowness of his claim becomes apparent. It is not the case that the Palestinians are unwilling to accept a”Jewish state.” What they are unwilling to accept — and quite rightly so — is the Israeli concept of what a “Palestinian state” should look like. They are refusing to be content with eating bread crumbs off the floor and are demanding a seat at the dinner table just like everyone else. Netanyahu’s insistence that the Palestinians are being unreasonable is tantamount to the claim that the few crumbs they are getting are as nutritious as the seven course dinner that he himself is enjoying at the table. They are both “food,” aren’t they?

Thus, in Netanyahu’s view of history it is the Palestinian people who have been the single most important obstacle to “peace.” He finds it incredible and pitiful that they have missed so many golden opportunities for improving their lot.  In his own words:

In 1947, the U.N. voted to partition the land into a Jewish state and an Arab state. The Jews said yes; the Palestinians said no.

In recent years, the Palestinians twice refused generous offers by Israeli prime ministers to establish a Palestinian state on virtually all the territory won by Israel in the Six Day War. They were simply unwilling to end the conflict.

Let’s try to recognize the unacknowledged assumptions behind these statements.

Netanyahu is claiming that for more than sixty years the Palestinian people have been consistently acting against their own best interests. This assertion raises important questions: Why have the Palestinians preferred “conflict” over “peace” for so long? Why did they miss so many opportunities to establish their own state? Why have they behaved in such self-defeating ways?

Netanyahu does not answer these questions directly, but the sentence at the end of the last quote may offer us a clue to his thinking: “They were simply unwilling to end the conflict.” Note the connotations of the word “simply.” We often use this word to express a sense that a given phenomenon is beyond our capacity to fully grasp or explain; that it is just the way it is — there is nothing anyone can do about it and there is no point in asking why it is so. It simply is.

Hence, to say that the Palestinians were simply unwilling to do the right thing is meant to suggest that they had no reasonable grounds for the choices they made. They simply made them — as if they were simply incapable of rational thinking or they were simply ignorant of what was happening around them or they were simply caught up in their stubborn hatred for the Jewish people. Netanyahu’s use of the word ”simply” is also intended to absolve Israel of any and all responsibility, since everyone knows that Israel has sought nothing but “peace” with its neighbors. In other words, whatever may be the explanation for the puzzling behavior of Palestinians, it is absurd to even think that it could have any causal connection with anything that Israel had done or was doing to them.

Read the sentence again: “They were simply unwilling to end the conflict.” I can see at least three unacknowledged assumptions underlying this sentence: (1) continuing their conflict with Israel was never in the best interest of the Palestinian people; (2) the Palestinians were always fully aware that continuing their conflict with Israel was not going to help them get what they wanted; (3) the decision and power to either continue the conflict or to end it immediately was always and entirely in the hands of the Palestinians. Once these tacit assumptions have been brought to light, the speaker’s message becomes crystal clear: The Palestinians could have ended their misery at any time, simply by choosing to end their conflict with Israel, but they simply did not. Incomprehensible as this behavior may appear to Israelis and Americans, the regrettable fact is that the Palestinians are simply their own worst enemies.

Once again, we can notice the imperial arrogance in Netanyahu’s tone and choice of words, as well as his contempt for the non-European gentiles. In his view, the Palestinian people are so bereft of commonsense that each time they are offered an opportunity for statehood they deliberately squander it without any good reason. By not giving any explanation for the behavior of the Palestinian people over more than sixty years, while describing that behavior as completely stupid and self-defeating, Netanyahu is relying upon, and perpetuating, the old Orientalist dichotomy between a rational West and an irrational East. The irony is that the same dichotomy was used in the nineteenth century by European gentiles to justify their own disdain for the Jewish people!

There is an additional significance to Netanyahu’s use of the word “simply” — it suggests that the whole Israeli-Palestinian issue is itself very “simple” (as opposed to complex, multidimensional, or contested). This reading is consistent with his view that the entire credit for seeking “peace” goes to the Israelis and the entire blame for maintaining the conflict belongs to the Palestinians. Apparently, the Israeli Prime Minister is convinced that his own way of interpreting the problem is the only rational way of doing so, which is why he sees no point in trying to understand the predicament of the Palestinian from their viewpoint. He can find no valid reason why, as he puts it, the Palestinians are “unwilling to end the conflict.” It does not occur to him that Israel’s “offers” of statehood may have been “generous” from the Israeli viewpoint but they were not so from the Palestinian viewpoint. I am allowing these people to eat all the bread crumbs that fall from the table, and they do not find this generous? What’s wrong with them?

A close reading of Netanyahu’s own words can help expose the real causes behind the continuing conflict in the Middle East. First, his refusal to make any effort to understand the Palestinian perspective – or to even entertain the possibility that they may have legitimate grievances and demands — indicates his unwillingness to treat his neighbors as equal human beings; the same conclusion can also be reached by looking at the six conditions he wants to impose on any future Palestinian state. Second, his inability to comprehend why any Palestinian in their right mind would reject Israel’s “generous offers” of statehood indicates his unwillingness to empathize with the very people who are supposed to be his negotiation partners.

It seems to me that if the stronger party in a given conflict refuses to empathize with the other side’s viewpoint, and if that stronger party also insists on treating the weaker side with contempt, then I need not look anywhere else to explain why the conflict is not coming to an end.

One last point. Notice the phrase “territory won by Israel in the Six Day War” in the passage quoted above. Netanyahu’s nonchalant use of the word “won” in relation to “territory” is quite significant in that it reveals, perhaps inadvertently, an otherwise unacknowledged element of imperialist and colonialist thinking. In premodern times, it was indeed the case that kingdoms and empire could “win” new territories through war and conquest; moreover, this was believed to be a legitimate enterprise by the colonizing empires of Europe well into the twentieth century. However, with the end of the Second World War and the establishment of the United Nations, and especially with the signing of the Fourth Geneva Conventions in 1949, acquisition of land by means of conquest is no longer considered a legitimate way of expanding one’s dominion. This legal reality makes Netanyahu’s phrase “territory won by Israel” an illegitimate euphemism for “territory occupied and annexed by Israel in violation of International Law.” More ominously, Netanyahu’s total lack of self-consciousness as he said the words “territory won by Israel” suggests certain dangerous assumptions on his part, including “ends justify means” and “might is right.”