Hope

Passages

Every passage tagged with this emotion in the Vela corpus. Search the body text, narrow by source or register, click through to a book’s profile to see how the passage sits with the rest of the work.

Page 19 of 216 · 20 per page

• From The Battle for God (2000)

  That revolt was eventually put down by the government, but 1850 saw new uprisings in Yazd, Nairiz, Tehran, and Zanjan. The Babis created an atmosphere of utter terror. Political dissidents joined the revolt, as did local students. Even women, clad in men’s clothes, fought valiantly. The movement united all those who were dissatisfied with the regime. Mullahs who felt oppressed by the lofty mujtahids, merchants who resented the sale of Iranian resources to foreigners, bazaaris, landowners, and impoverished peasants all joined forces with the Babi religious enthusiasts. Shiism had long helped Iranians to cultivate a yearning for social justice, and when the right leader and the right philosophy came along, all kinds of malcontents found it natural to fight under a religious banner. 67 This time the government was able to quell the insurgents. The Bab was executed on July 9, 1850, the leaders were also put to death, and other suspects rounded up and massacred. Some Babis fled to Ottoman Iraq, and there the movement split in 1863. Some, following Mirza Yahya Nuri Subh-i Azal (1830–1912), the appointed successor of the Bab, remained faithful to the political aims of the rebellion. Later many of these “Azalis” abandoned the old Babi mysticism and became secularists and nationalists. As in the Shabbatean movement, the casting off of taboos, the discarding of old laws, and the taste of rebellion enabled them to break free of religion altogether. Yet again, a messianic movement provided a bridge to a secularist ideology. Most of the surviving Babis, however, followed Subh-i Azal’s brother, Mirza Husain Ali Nuri Bahaullah (1817–92), who abjured politics and created the new Bahai religion, which embraced the modern Western ideals of the separation of religion and politics, equal rights, pluralism, and toleration. 68 The Babi rebellion can be seen as one of the great revolutions of modernity. It set a pattern in Iran. There would be other occasions in the twentieth century when clerics and laymen, secularists and mystics, believers and atheists, would challenge an oppressive Iranian regime together. The battle for justice, which had become a sacred value for Shiis, would encourage later generations of Iranians to brave the armies of the shah to inaugurate a better order. On at least two occasions, a Shii ideology would enable Iranians to establish modern political institutions in their country. Yet again, the Babi revolution had shown that religion could help people to appropriate the ideals and enthusiasms of modernity, by translating them from an alien secular idiom into a language, mythology, and spirituality that they could understand and make their own. If modernity had proved difficult for the Christians of the West, it was even more problematic for Jews and Muslims. It required a struggle—in Islamic terms, a jihad, which might sometimes become a holy war. PART TWO Fundamentalism 5.

• From Vision Quest (1979)

  But Christmas night is always a bummer, because everything I’ve looked forward to is over. This Christmas night was different because of Carla and the deer, and because the thing I’ve been looking forward to most isn’t Christmas presents—it’s my match with Shute. Also, I’m just growing up. Carla and Cindy made yogurt all afternoon, Kuch and his dad were somewhere racing snowmobiles, and Otto hates Jesus Christ Superstar , so I went to the matinee alone. I half wanted to go alone anyway, but I called Kuch and Otto because since we were in grade school we’ve always gone to a matinee on Christmas Eve. Nobody except Carla understands why I like Jesus Christ Superstar so much. And even though she understands, she can’t get into it herself. I guess my reasons are pretty personal and fairly dumb. It’s just that I’ve always wanted to believe that story, and this movie version concentrates on some believable aspects. Christ is a guy who has committed himself to a goal none of his people clearly understands. He is disciplined and calculating in pursuit of the goal. He defines his whole reality as though the goal—eternal life for himself and everybody who believes in him—were really possible. He lives fierce and proud and then he dies. In the movie his is resurrected, but it’s okay because you feel like he deserves it. I don’t for a second believe Christ or anybody else lives on eternally, except maybe for a while as a memory or an artifact. But I do think a lot of people deserve to. I think old Jay Gatz in The Great Gatsby would certainly deserve to if he were a real person, and I think my mom and dad do. But that’s not the only reason I’m hooked on J.C. I know the characters in that movie. They’re real. In all my younger days in Sunday school I never heard one biblical story about characters I figured I knew. I didn’t even believe the living people in Mom’s church were real. But in the movie everybody yells and fights and cries and sweats and farts and probably fucks, and Judas has some noble qualities, and Simon is an archfreak and dancin’ fool who slobbers like the Sausage Man, and Jesus warns God he’d best take him soon before he changes his mind, and that poor fucking Pilate just wants to let Jesus off, but he can’t because it’s not part of the way things are defined. Pilate is a figure who really interests me. After I had seen J.C. a few times I ran across this book called The Master and Margarita at a garage sale. The cover implies it’s about the devil and supernatural stuff and I bought it for that interest. It is about the devil, but it turns out to be about a lot more, too. It’s mostly a satire on Russian artists’ unions, I guess. Anyway, Pilate is a character in it.

• From The Battle for God (2000)

  Senior mujtahids , such as Ayatollah Shariatmadari, were incensed by this use of the title of Imam, and it was firmly and officially stated that Khomeini was not the Hidden Imam. But whatever the official line, for millions of the Iranian masses, Khomeini was an Imam until the day he died. His life and career seemed clear evidence that the divine was present and active in history after all. Like the Revolution itself, Khomeini seemed to make an ancient myth an actual reality. Immediately before Khomeini’s return, Taha Hejazi published a poem that expressed the eager anticipation of many Iranians: “On the Day the Imam Returns” looks forward to universal brotherhood. No one would tell lies any more, there would be no need to lock the door against thieves, everybody would share their food with each other: The Imam must return … so that right can sit on his throne , so that evil, treachery, and hatred are eliminated from the face of time . When the Imam returns , Iran—this broken, wounded mother— will be forever liberated from the shackles of tyranny and ignorance and the chains of plunder, torture and prison . 8 2 Khomeini liked to quote the hadith in which the Prophet Muhammad, on returning from battle, announces that he is returning from the lesser to the greater jihad; the more difficult, crucial, and exacting struggle was not the physical, political battle, but the conquest of self and the implementation of justice and truly Islamic values in society. When he returned to Tehran, Khomeini must have reflected that the lesser jihad was now over and that the infinitely more arduous greater jihad was about to begin. T HE FUNDAMENTALIST REVIVAL in the United States during the late 1970s was far less dramatic. American Protestants did not need to take such extreme action. They were not, as were the Jews, still haunted by memories of Holocaust and genocide, nor were they, like the Muslims, victims of political and economic oppression. They felt alienated from modern secular culture, but their leaders, at least, enjoyed prosperity and success. This would later prove to be one of their problems. Despite their conviction that they were outsiders, Protestant fundamentalists were very much at home in America. Democracy was firmly established in the United States, and they were able to voice their views freely without fear of reprisal and use democratic institutions to further their cause. Nevertheless, by the late 1970s, as we have seen, fundamentalists were beginning to feel that instead of withdrawing from society as had been their policy for some fifty years, they should become politically active. They believed that they had a chance to make an impact and put America back on the right path. It had become clear that a substantial evangelical constituency could be mobilized on such issues as family values, abortion, and religious education. The old fears remained, but there was new confidence too.

• From Martin Luther (2016)

  12. Albrecht Dürer, All Saints altarpiece, 1511 (Bridgeman Art Library). I N THE AUTUMN of 1524, the biggest social uprising in the German lands before the era of the French Revolution began. The Peasants’ War started in southwest Germany as a series of local rebellions that gradually joined together, most areas adopting the “Twelve Articles of the Peasants,” drawn up by a furrier and a Lutheran preacher in Memmingen. Each demand, whether for the abolition of serfdom or the free hunting of game, was supported with biblical quotation, and the articles opened with the bold evangelical insistence that every community should be able to call its own pastor to preach the gospel. In the Twelve Articles, the key concepts of the Reformation—“freedom,” “Christ alone,” Scripture as the only authority—were applied to the peasants’ situation, creating a forthright program that found support all over Germany. Print played a powerful role: The articles were rapidly disseminated and they enabled the diverse peasant bands to unite, even though many areas formulated their own local grievances as well. It was not just expedience that caused the peasants to appeal to evangelical ideas: Many monasteries and Church foundations owned land and were among the most rapacious landlords, while the massive monastic tithe barns that stood in so many towns were a visual reminder of their economic power in an agrarian society. Evangelical “brotherhood” and the idea of the freedom of the Christian resonated with peasant insistence on the need for relations between lords and peasants to be regulated by Christian values, not property rights. 1 As the Twelve Articles expressed it in the article on serfdom, “It has hitherto been the custom for the lords to treat us as their serfs, which is pitiable since Christ has redeemed and bought us all by the shedding of his precious blood, the shepherd just as the highest, no one excepted. Therefore it is demonstrated by Scripture that we are free and wish to be free.” 2 Many have claimed that the peasants misunderstood Luther’s ideas, and that they conflated the spiritual elements of his message with their worldly concerns, but Luther’s advocacy of Christian freedom, his robust tone toward rulers with whom he did not agree, and the model of resistance that his stance at Worms represented, were inspirational.

• From Shunned (2018)

  This new perspective made me feel light and quietly determined. It was a message of self-responsibility: I as The Creator. Chopra’s writings about the power of our intentions put words to the truth of my own experience. Hadn’t I shaped and molded a new, compelling life for myself? It was the perfect thing to read at night, closing each day with fresh, affirming ideas about the never-ending nature of all things. On top of everything else I was doing, I started pursuing my undergraduate degree through night classes at DePaul University and volunteering one Saturday a month for various community projects. I felt a strong desire to give something back to the city that had taken me in. From an early age, I’d been taught the importance of making a contribution to one’s community by preaching and teaching, and now I felt the vacuum of an abandoned habit. Also, I wanted to deliberately place myself in environments that were different from my WASPy, white-bread world. My motives were as much self-preserving as they were charitable. This desire led me to a nonprofit group called Chicago Cares, which organizes all sorts of community projects in such a way that “busy professionals” can participate. Everything was hands-on. I selected a different project each month, taking my pick from environmental programs like maintaining a city park, sorting donations at a food depository, or working with seniors. I succeeded in filling my Saturdays and exposing myself to the underbelly of Chicago, compared to which my own situation seemed quite charmed. After several months of this full and intense lifestyle, I realized that, while I wouldn’t give up my volunteering, friendships, work, night classes, or soul searching, I could not handle the emotional demands of juggling so many men. My ego loved the adoration and variety, but the pace was exhausting. I missed the comfort and simplicity of monogamy. The pediatrician did me a favor and broke up with me soon after I moved. David, who’d confirmed his reputation as a real mensch, was consulted about how to further narrow the field. Steve also weighed in like the true friend and brother he’d become. They both agreed that the long-distance Houston romance could be shut down quickly and without a lot of fuss. Done. That alleviated some of the pressure right away. For several weeks, I continued carrying on with three men. I vacillated between needing to take care of my emotional well-being and wanting to spare feelings. I was haunted by fears of being alone, which weighed down the process with a much bigger significance than it warranted. “What do you want ?” Cindy asked me over the phone, exasperated by my indecisiveness. It was a simple question, the one question I’d forgotten to ask myself. Nothing in my upbringing had encouraged me to think that way. I was still caught in the delusion that to ask that question was selfish. And out of Cindy’s clear reminder came clarity.

• From Shunned (2018)

  Try to remember that God is the Great Artist. Artists like other artists.” Paulette thanked me and carried on with the class, but her voice receded into the background. At my core was the welcome bell tone of truth, and my mind was turning over a simple yet profound connection. God is the Great Artist. What an appealing, approachable image. I still spoke of God as a He, more out of habit than out of belief, and whether he was a he, a she, or a benevolent force was not something I was ready or able to define. But I could agree that everything I observed in the natural world showed evidence not necessarily of a creator, but of dynamism and artistry. This was a God, a Source, I could relate to. And if God is a Great Artist, and artists like other artists, maybe, just maybe, God liked and cared about me. It was my own private Sally Field moment. God likes me. He likes me! He really, really likes me! How different this was from the jealous old Jehovah of my former faith. This God could meet me in the field of creative expression, absent “shoulds” and rules and preconceived form. The very idea pierced a hole through my guilt and spiritual neurosis, a fresh breeze swirling through the sacristy. Could it be that simple? Was God truly a benevolent artist, up in heaven, donning a beret and painter’s smock, cheering me on? Years later I would see this as a morphing of the concept of God as a male personage, but at least this version didn’t give a damn about my sins—he just wanted me to take a shot with this fresh canvas. If so, and please let it be so , I thought, it changes everything. [image "Images" file=Image00000.jpg] After that, every escapade into the world held potential to touch the divine. I sat ten feet from Amhad Jamal as he pounded the ivories in a passionate tribute to Miles Davis and wondered how many angels were dancing on his shoulder. I shimmered and swayed with the crowd as B. B. King stroked Lucille and made her wail, lowering my head from time to time to sip a cold beer beneath the layer of smoke filling the bar. Walking through a Degas exhibit at the Art Institute, I was struck by his midlife transition from paint to bronze sculpture, drawn as he was by a strong internal directive, the call of spirit, to shift to a new medium. Watching Aretha Franklin belt out “Respect” in the summer breezes of Petrillo Music Shell, I decided that if there was such a thing as reincarnation, I wanted to return as one of her backup singers. There were lesser-known and esoteric attractions to enjoy, like Howard Levy’s funky harmonica, Béla Fleck’s jazz banjo, and the handmade jewelry and textiles on display in the street booths of the summer art fairs.

• From Shunned (2018)

  The more I thought about it, the stronger my desire became to delve into something, anything that might address a gnawing spiritual void. Listeners were promised insights into maintaining a feeling of connectedness and developing a new awareness of self and God. I’d spent my whole life going to services at the Kingdom Hall, constantly reading Bible-based literature that fostered a feeling of connection to God and spirit. The past year, I’d ripped myself away from those rituals and had not replaced them with anything consistent or satisfying. A delicate thread of hope and possibility slipped into my heart as I picked up the phone and, grateful for twenty-four-seven customer service, placed my order, happily paying extra for a rush delivery. Two days later, I got in my car and put the first tape into the console. From the first moment, the message captivated me. Christian terminology created an easy bridge into the concepts, which were ecumenical and inclusive. Marianne started with a prayer, but it wasn’t like any prayer I’d ever heard. I’d been taught to pray in a very exact way: always to Jehovah, through Jesus, invoking his name. Here, the prayer was more of a guided meditation that expanded further and further, to everyone and everything. Unsure how to approach God in my present circumstances, I hadn’t prayed in months. Even with open eyes, steering the car along familiar roads toward the expressway, I sensed with my whole body the “golden light” she described. Marianne was saying that fear comes out of the misguided perception that we are separate: from others, from love, from wholeness. A cool shiver of recognition pulsed down my spine, as though I were in the presence of a simple truth. It was startling to hear her say there is no such thing as an objective experience—everything is perception. Everything? Everything. Yes, that felt true, too. As I lapped up every irreverent word, she went on to explain that failure is a perception and the only true failure is a failure to learn, to get back up, and to love. She talked about the patience of the universe, how nobody gets to rush anybody—we each get to determine our own process and timing. When she said, “Nobody gets to look at you and declare, ‘You are finished,’” I cheered out loud and slapped the steering wheel with my hands. Hallelujah! I’d been searching for just such phrasing to say to my family but had been too muddled with guilt and confusion to find the right words. An accident on the expressway had slowed traffic to a crawl, and I didn’t even care. I was enthralled by Marianne’s voice, her optimism, and her matter-of-factness. She said a life that works, that is happy and clear, comes out of giving up the thought forms of fear—that we aren’t good enough—and seeing through the eyes of love. This is simple to say but not easy to do. Amen.

• From Shunned (2018)

  I’d been drawn to come that particular day after calling a prerecorded number for service times and learning the sermon was about the Lord’s Prayer. I hadn’t prayed since I’d left Portland, and wondered what this group might have to say about it. The senior pastor turned out to be female, something you would never see at the Kingdom Hall, where women were not allowed to speak “before the congregation.” I’d come to see that prohibition as wasteful of rich talents and neglecting an essential feminine perspective. The pastor asked the first-time visitors to raise their hands, and the audience was peppered with a few other hands beside my own. “Welcome,” she said, and I believed her. What stood out most was the absence of any dire predictions for the future or judgmental comments about nonbelievers. The pastor’s language was uplifting, hopeful, and inclusive. She described prayer as a compact formula for attuning the attitude and dwelled for a long time on the expression “Our Father,” showing that we are not alone even when we pray alone. “Our” can always remind us of the whole. “We’re all in this together,” she said. “It is a fact of metaphysics that we are interconnected. Every thought, every action, affects the whole.” She went on to discuss the role of self-responsibility. “There is really only one of us here.” I found solace in that idea, which was revolutionary to my way of thinking. She went on to describe the church as a family and a hotbed of humanity, how through living it is only natural that we will bump up against each other with our patterns and problems, how we are always presented with the choice to grow in our capacity to be in relationship. She didn’t spend a lot of time quoting Scripture and verse, but everything she said felt sane and Christlike. More than that, it felt grounded in love and acceptance. As she spoke of the challenges people encounter in relationships, she said something completely foreign to me: “There is no such thing as bad people, only unskillful behavior.” It didn’t make anyone wrong or assign blame or shame. I thought about all the ways I’d been pissy and unskillful with my family, and they with me, as I’d struggled to find my way, and I knew we had all done the best we could with one another. Tears filled my eyes as I realized anew the widening philosophical gap between my family and I, wishing with my whole being that they could open to this new way of thinking, too, not needing us to be part of the same religion to be together. Even if they insisted on rejecting my beliefs and lifestyle, did they have to reject me ? What did it matter, if we were all one anyway? It’s a grievous and harmful thing, I thought, to shun another person.

• From Shunned (2018)

  Maybe it was my time to go through a minor doubting phase. On my thirtieth birthday, I had found myself in the company of Virginia Ellis, a gray-haired woman of faith and distinction. She got a winsome look in her eyes and said, “I remember turning thirty. It was then I noticed—for the first time in my life—I had my own unique, original thoughts. It was a lovely time.” Perhaps that was what these new internal rumblings were—evidence of my maturity, an emerging ability to have my own credible and unique thoughts; thoughts that broadened me, thoughts that could transform my view of God and life and expand my horizons. The clutch in my belly loosened. After a lifetime of faithful service, I decided, a little bit of questioning was normal. Clearly, I was sitting at a spiritual plateau. Once I transcended it, I could reach new heights of spiritual conviction and awareness. In retrospect, I know that is exactly what happened, but not the way I imagined it that day. Vince concluded his sermon and left the stage. The clapping of the congregation rattled me out of my reverie. We were halfway through the two-hour meeting. Next would come a question-and-answer discussion of The Watchtower , led by another elder, Jerry Mendez. As I turned to the last page of that day’s Watchtower lesson, I felt something else nagging at me, another memory sprouting up. These memories stirred a sentimental loyalty. My encounter with Nick was not the first time I’d bristled at the prospect of destruction at God’s hand. I was four or five years old, wide-eyed and trusting. “Hurry and get dressed,” my mother said, as she placed my dress on the bed, next to Woody Woodpecker and a tattered coloring book. Usually she let me choose my own clothes, but circuit assemblies were special. We would spend all day Saturday and Sunday inside the Lincoln High School gymnasium. Members of ten congregations would be there, totaling close to one thousand people. In between prayers, sermons, and singing the kingdom songs, we would be reunited with old friends we hadn’t seen since the previous assembly, three months earlier. I followed instructions. She had selected my favorite dress, made of light green seersucker. I slipped on my white patent leather shoes and pulled a scratchy white wool cardigan from the dresser. From the bookcase I retrieved my Bible and songbook and a half-used spiral tablet and put them into my straw purse. A tube of cherry-flavored lip gloss and a fountain pen rattled against the plastic lining. With my purse in one hand, sweater in the other, I left in search of Randy. I found him in my parents’ room, standing in front of the dressing mirror, struggling to tie his tie. I sat down on my parents’ neatly made bed, just to the left of my brother. The closet door was open, and he had taken a tie from my father’s small collection.

• From Shunned (2018)

  Exposure to ideas like the Course in Miracles had created a new context for thoughts on love, heaven, and God. These were the types of questions that I could resolve only with time, inquiry, solitude, and a quality of faith that felt new and important to develop. I was uneasy about my lack of spiritual clarity, but I was willing to put in the time, trusting the answers would come. For now, I was happy enough suspending ossified beliefs about a jealous old Jehovah, an imminent Armageddon, and fixed ideas about what made a person good or bad. “I haven’t had a chance to sort out a whole new belief system.” Everyone at the table sat still, staring at me. “Listen,” I said. “I spent thirty-some years in one religion. You can’t expect me—at least I don’t expect myself—to have a whole new spiritual structure all figured out in one year. That’s crazy.” There was more silence. “All I know is that I used to be very unhappy. Besides my frustrations with Ross, there was an undeniable pull to feel a part of the world—to expose myself to all of it: career, people, politics, ideas, and religions. I understand the idea of that repels you, but it excites me. I feel like part of me is coming to life. And along the way I met someone and had a relationship. Big deal. I’m happy. Happier, anyway, than I was. To me, that counts for something.” The silence from the group held. “The downside of all this,” I said, “is obvious.” There was a crack in my brittle mask. I could feel my face twitch. I looked down and caught my breath. “The downside is the cost—the cost of my relationships with you.” A fly buzzed around and landed on a dirty plate. “I do hate that part, but I’ll accept it if I must.” “Well, as long as you’ve thought it all the way through,” Lory said, her voice riddled with sarcasm. “No regrets, huh?” Ove asked, watching me closely with his elder’s eye. “Only one,” I said, which caused everyone to perk up. “So many blessings came out of being raised a Witness. I really mean that. But I regret that I grew up in a religion that requires members in good standing to shun people who leave. Damn, why couldn’t we all have been Catholics or Methodists?” My attempt at levity fell flat. No one was amused. “I think we’re done here,” Dad said, and began to stack the dirty dishes. “Time to get organized.” The next little while was very awkward.

• From Shunned (2018)

  The more I thought about it, the stronger my desire became to delve into something, anything that might address a gnawing spiritual void. Listeners were promised insights into maintaining a feeling of connectedness and developing a new awareness of self and God. I’d spent my whole life going to services at the Kingdom Hall, constantly reading Bible-based literature that fostered a feeling of connection to God and spirit. The past year, I’d ripped myself away from those rituals and had not replaced them with anything consistent or satisfying. A delicate thread of hope and possibility slipped into my heart as I picked up the phone and, grateful for twenty-four-seven customer service, placed my order, happily paying extra for a rush delivery. Two days later, I got in my car and put the first tape into the console. From the first moment, the message captivated me. Christian terminology created an easy bridge into the concepts, which were ecumenical and inclusive. Marianne started with a prayer, but it wasn’t like any prayer I’d ever heard. I’d been taught to pray in a very exact way: always to Jehovah, through Jesus, invoking his name. Here, the prayer was more of a guided meditation that expanded further and further, to everyone and everything. Unsure how to approach God in my present circumstances, I hadn’t prayed in months. Even with open eyes, steering the car along familiar roads toward the expressway, I sensed with my whole body the “golden light” she described. Marianne was saying that fear comes out of the misguided perception that we are separate: from others, from love, from wholeness. A cool shiver of recognition pulsed down my spine, as though I were in the presence of a simple truth. It was startling to hear her say there is no such thing as an objective experience—everything is perception. Everything? Everything. Yes, that felt true, too. As I lapped up every irreverent word, she went on to explain that failure is a perception and the only true failure is a failure to learn, to get back up, and to love. She talked about the patience of the universe, how nobody gets to rush anybody—we each get to determine our own process and timing. When she said, “Nobody gets to look at you and declare, ‘You are finished,’” I cheered out loud and slapped the steering wheel with my hands. Hallelujah! I’d been searching for just such phrasing to say to my family but had been too muddled with guilt and confusion to find the right words. An accident on the expressway had slowed traffic to a crawl, and I didn’t even care. I was enthralled by Marianne’s voice, her optimism, and her matter- of-factness. She said a life that works, that is happy and clear, comes out of giving up the thought forms of fear—that we aren’t good enough—and seeing through the eyes of love. This is simple to say but not easy to do.

• From The Battle for God (2000)

  By this date, the Iraqi government, responding to pressure from Tehran, had expelled Khomeini from Najaf and he had taken up residence in Paris. Here he was visited by a delegation from the recently revived National Front, who issued a statement that both they and Khomeini were committed to restoring the 1906 constitution. On December 2, as Muharram approached, Khomeini gave orders that instead of holding the usual passion plays, rawdahs , and processions in honor of the martyrdom of Husain, the people should demonstrate against the regime. The radical potential of these pious ceremonies had reached its apotheosis. On the first three nights of Muharram, men put on white shrouds to symbolize their readiness for martyrdom, and ran through the streets, defying the government curfew. Others shouted anti-shah slogans through loudspeakers from the rooftops. The BBC claimed that seven hundred people were killed by the police and army in these few days alone. 76 On December 8, six thousand people gathered at the Behest-e Zahra cemetery in south Tehran, where many of the revolutionary martyrs were buried, crying “Death to the shah!” In Isfahan, twenty thousand people marched through the streets, and then attacked banks, cinemas, and a block of flats inhabited by American technicians. On December 9, on the eve of Ashura, Ayatollah Taleqani, who had just been released from prison, led a magnificent peaceful march, which wound through the streets of Tehran for six hours; between 300,000 and a million and a half people took part, walking quietly, four abreast. There were other peaceful demonstrations in Tabriz, Qum, Isfahan, and Mashhad. 77 On Ashura itself, there was an even bigger march in Tehran, lasting eight hours, in which almost two million people participated. The demonstrators carried green, red, and black flags (symbolizing, respectively, Islam, martyrdom, and the Shiah) interspersed with banners reading “We will kill Iran’s dictator!” and “We will destroy Yankee power in Iran!” There was growing confidence that, united as never before, the people of Iran would really manage to get rid of the Pahlavi state. 78 Many felt as though Imam Husain himself was leading them into battle that Ashura, and that Khomeini was directing them from afar, like the Hidden Imam. 79 At the end of the demonstration, a resolution was passed: Khomeini was invited to become the new leader of Iran, and Iranians were urged to band together until the shah was overthrown.

• From The Battle for God (2000)

  On September 4, the last day of Ramadan, there was a massive peaceful demonstration in Tehran. The crowds prostrated themselves in prayer in the streets, and handed out flowers to the soldiers. For the first time, the army and the police did not open fire, and on this occasion—a highly significant development—the middle classes began to join in. A small group of marchers processed through the streets of some of the residential districts, shouting: “Independence! Freedom! and Islamic Government!” On September 7, a huge parade marched from North Tehran down to the Parliament building, carrying large pictures of Khomeini and Shariati, and calling for an end to Pahlavi rule and for an Islamic government. 72 Lay thinkers such as Shariati, Bazargan, and Bani Sadr had prepared the Western-educated elite for the possibility of modern Islamic rule. Even though their views were different from those of Khomeini, the middle-class liberals could see that he had grassroots support that they could never command, and were willing to join forces with him to get rid of the shah. Secularist rule had been a disaster in Iran, and they were ready to try something different. Once he had been deserted by the middle classes, it was all up for the shah, and he must have realized the danger. At 6:00 a.m. on Friday, September 8, martial law was declared and all large gatherings were banned. But the twenty thousand demonstrators who had already started to gather in Jaleh Square that morning for another peaceful rally did not know about this. When they refused to disperse, the soldiers opened fire and as many as nine hundred people may have died. After this massacre, the crowds raged through the streets, erecting barricades and burning buildings, while soldiers fired at them from their tanks. 73 At 8:00 a.m. on Sunday, September 10, President Carter called the shah from Camp David to assure him of his support, and a few hours later, the White House confirmed that this telephone conversation had taken place, reaffirmed the special relationship between the United States and Iran, and reported that though the President regretted the loss of life in Jaleh Square, he hoped that the political liberalization which the shah had just begun would continue. 74 But after the Jaleh Square massacre, not even the support of the Great Satan could save the shah. The oil workers now came out on strike, and by late October, production had dropped to 28 percent of its former level. The guerrilla groups, who had been quieter in recent years, began once again to attack military leaders and government ministers. On November 4, students pulled down the statue of the shah at the gates of Tehran University: on November 5, the bazaar closed, and students attacked the British embassy, the offices of various United States airlines, cinemas, and liquor stores. 75 This time, the army did not intervene.

• From The Battle for God (2000)

  When Borujerdi died in March the following year, the post of Marja was not filled. A group of ulema argued that Shiism should become more democratic, and that it was not realistic to expect one man to be the Supreme Guide in this complex new world. Perhaps the new leadership should consist of several maraji , each with his own specialty. This was clearly a modernizing move, and this group of reformist ulema included several clerics who would later play a key role in the Islamic Revolution: Ayatollah Seyyed Muhammad Bihishti; the learned theologian Morteza Motahhari; Allameh Muhammad-Husain Tabatabai; and the most politically radical Iranian cleric, Ayatollah Mahmoud Taleqani. In the autumn of 1960, they held a series of lectures, and the following year published a volume of essays that discussed ways of bringing the Shiah up to date. The reformers were convinced that, because Islam is a total way of life, the ulema should not be so wary of intervening in politics. They did not envisage clerical rule, but believed that when they felt that the state was becoming tyrannical or indifferent to the needs of the people, the ulema should stand up to the shahs, as they had done at the time of the Tobacco Crisis and the Constitutional Revolution. They argued that the curriculum of the madrasahs should be revised, to dilute the heavy concentration on fiqh . The clergy should also rationalize their finances: at present, they relied too much on voluntary contributions, and, as the people tended to be conservative, this inhibited them from making fundamental changes. The importance of ijtihad was stressed. Shiis must come to terms with such modern realities as trade, diplomacy, and war if they were to be of real service to the people. Above all, they should listen to their students. Young people in the 1960s were better educated, and would not swallow the old propaganda. They were drifting away from religion because the vision of Shiism they had been given was lifeless and old-fashioned. Before the youth culture had fully developed in the West, the Iranian clergy were already aware of the need to revise their view of the young. Their reform movement involved only a handful of ulema; it did not reach the masses, and made no attempt to criticize the regime. It was concerned solely with the internal affairs of the Shiah. But it did lead to a great deal of discussion in religious circles and predisposed more of the clergy toward change. 42 Suddenly, however, the ulema were taken by surprise when a hitherto unnoticed cleric hit the headlines, and took a far more radical stance. By the early 1960 S , more and more students were drawn to the course in Islamic ethics taught by Ayatollah Khomeini at the Fayziyah Madrasah in Qum.

• From The Battle for God (2000)

  Rooted in a principled determination to transcend selfishness, compassion can break down political, dogmatic, ideological and religious boundaries. Born of our deep interdependence, compassion is essential to human relationships and to a fulfilled humanity. It is the path to enlightenment, and indispensible to the creation of a just economy and a peaceful global community.” The charter was launched on November 12, 2009, in sixty different locations throughout the world; it was enshrined in synagogues, mosques, temples, and churches as well as in such secular institutions as the Karachi Press Club and the Sydney Opera House. But the work is only just beginning. At this writing, we have more than 150 partners working together throughout the globe to translate the charter into practical, realistic action. But can compassion heal the seemingly intractable problems of our time? Is this virtue even feasible in the technological age? And what does “compassion” actually mean? Our English word is often confused with “pity” and associated with an uncritical, sentimental benevolence: the Oxford English Dictionary, for example, defines “compassionate” as “piteous” or “pitiable.” This perception of compassion is not only widespread but ingrained. When I gave a lecture in the Netherlands recently, I emphatically made the point that compassion did not mean feeling sorry for people, but the Dutch translation of my text in the newspaper De Volkskrant consistently rendered “compassion” as “pity.” But “compassion” derives from the Latin patiri and the Greek pathein, meaning “to suffer, undergo, or experience.” So “compassion” means “to endure [something] with another person,” to put ourselves in somebody else’s shoes, to feel her pain as though it were our own, and to enter generously into his point of view. That is why compassion is aptly summed up in the Golden Rule, which asks us to look into our own hearts, discover what gives us pain, and then refuse, under any circumstance whatsoever, to inflict that pain on anybody else. Compassion can be defined, therefore, as an attitude of principled, consistent altruism. The first person to formulate the Golden Rule, as far as we know, was the Chinese sage Confucius (551–479 BCE), who when asked which of his teachings his disciples could practice “all day and every day” replied: “Perhaps the saying about shu (“consideration”). Never do to others what you would not like them to do to you.” This, he said, was the thread that ran right through the spiritual method he called the Way (dao) and pulled all its teachings together. “Our Master’s Way,” explained one of his pupils, “is nothing but this: doing-your-best-for-others (zhong) and consideration (shu).” A better translation of shu is “likening to oneself”; people should not put themselves in a special, privileged category but relate their own experience to that of others “all day and every day.” Selected titles available from Karen Armstrong In the Beginning Jerusalem The Battle for God A History of God The Case for God The Great Transformation: The Beginning of Our Religious Traditions Holy War: The Crusades and Their Impact on Today’s World The Spiral Staircase: My Climb Out of Darkness Twelve Steps to a Compassionate Life

• From The Battle for God (2000)

  We have seen that after the Yom Kippur War of 1973, the Kookists in Israel had been convinced that the Jewish people were engaged in a war against the forces of evil. The war had been a warning; redemption was under way, but if the government was determined to promote policies that would impede the messianic process, they themselves must take the initiative. Somewhat to their surprise, they had found secularist allies, who did not share the vision of Rabbi Kook, but who were equally determined to hold on to every inch of occupied territory. People who were neither Kookists nor observant Jews, such as the army chief of staff, Rafael Eitan, or the nuclear physicist and ultranationalist Yuval Ne’eman, were willing to work with the religious Zionists to secure the occupied territories for Israel. In February 1974, a group of rabbis, hawkish young secularists, Kookists and other religious Zionists who had served in the IDF and fought in Israel’s wars formed a group which they called Gush Emunim, the “Bloc of the Faithful.” Shortly afterward, they put together a position paper outlining their objectives. The Gush would not be a political party, competing for seats in the Knesset, but a pressure group, working to bring about “a great awakening of the Jewish people towards full implementation of the Zionist vision, realizing that this vision originates in Israel’s Jewish heritage, and that its objective is the full redemption of Israel and the entire world.” 1 Where the early Zionists had cast religion aside, the Gush insisted on rooting their movement in Judaism. Where secular members of the Gush could interpret the word “redemption” in a looser, more political sense, the religious activists who had adopted Rabbi Kook’s holistic vision were convinced that messianic redemption had already begun, and that unless the Jewish people were settled in the whole of Eretz Israel there would be no peace for the rest of the world. From the start, Gush Emunim posed a challenge to secular Israel. The position paper emphasized the failure of the old Zionism. Even though Jews were engaged in a fierce struggle for survival in their land, we are witnessing a process of decline and retreat from the realization of the Zionist ideal, in word and deed. Four related factors are responsible for this crisis: mental weariness and frustration induced by the extended conflict; the lack of challenge; preference for selfish goals; the attenuation of Jewish faith. 2 It was the last cause—the weakening of religion—which, in the view of the religious members of the Gush, was crucial. Divorced from Judaism, Zionism, they believed, could make no sense. At the same time as the Kookists sought to conquer the occupied territories from the Arabs, they were also engaged in a war against secular Israel.

• From The Battle for God (2000)

  The old law would be abrogated, and actions that had once been forbidden and sinful would become holy. At first, Shabbetai wanted nothing to do with Nathan’s fantasy, but gradually he was won over by the power of the young rabbi’s eloquence, which, at least, gave him some explanation for his peculiarities. On May 28, 1665, Shabbetai declared himself to be the Messiah, and Nathan immediately dispatched letters to Egypt, Aleppo, and Smyrna announcing that the Redeemer would soon defeat the Ottoman sultan, end the exile of the Jews, and lead them back to the Holy Land. All the gentile nations would submit to his rule. 51 The news spread like wildfire, and by 1666, the messianic ferment had taken root in almost every Jewish community in Europe, the Ottoman empire, and Iran. There were frenzied scenes. Jews started to sell their possessions in preparation for the voyage to Palestine, and business came to a standstill. Periodically, they would hear that the Messiah had abolished one of the traditional fast days, and there would be dancing and processions in the street. Nathan had given orders that Jews were to hasten the End by performing the penitential rituals of Safed, and in Europe, Egypt, Iran, the Balkans, Italy, Amsterdam, Poland, and France Jews fasted, kept vigil, immersed themselves in icy water, rolled in nettles, and gave alms to the poor. It was one of the first of many Great Awakenings of early modernity, when people instinctively sensed the coming of major change. Few people knew much about Shabbetai himself and fewer still were conversant with Nathan’s abstruse kabbalistic vision; it was enough that the Messiah had come and that at long last hope was at hand. 52 During these ecstatic months, Jews experienced such hope and vitality that the harsh, constricted world of the ghetto seemed to melt away. They had a taste of something entirely different, and life for many of them would never be the same again. They glimpsed new possibilities, which seemed almost within their grasp. Because they felt free, many Jews were convinced that the old life was over for good. 53 Those Jews who came under the direct influence of either Shabbetai or Nathan showed that they were ready to jettison the Torah, even though that would mean the end of religious life as they knew it. When Shabbetai visited a synagogue wearing the royal robes of the Messiah, and abolished a fast, uttered the forbidden name of God, ate nonkosher food, or called women to read the Scriptures in the synagogue, people were enraptured. Not everybody succumbed, of course—in each community, there were rabbis and laymen who were appalled by these developments. But people of all classes, rich and poor, accepted Shabbetai and seemed to welcome his antinomianism. The Law had not saved the Jews and seemed unable to do so; Jews were still persecuted, still in exile; people were ready for new freedom.

• From The Battle for God (2000)

  Throughout we have seen that religion has often helped people to adjust to modernity. Shabbateanism, Quakerism, Methodism, and Islamic mysticism helped Jews, Christians, and Muslims prepare for major change, and gave them a context in which they could approach the new ideas. Americans who had no time for the deism of the Founding Fathers of the republic were prepared for the revolutionary struggle by the Great Awakening. Muslims also developed an appreciation for such modern ideals as the separation of religion and politics by means of the dynamic of their own spirituality. Indeed, in Europe, too, secularism and scientific rationality were both at first seen as new ways of being religious. Some of the more recent movements we have considered have also been modernizing. Hasan al-Banna, Shariati, and even Khomeini all sought to bring Muslims to modernity in an Islamic setting that was more familiar to them than the imported ideologies of the West. Only thus could they “return to themselves” and help those who had perforce been left out of the modernizing process to make sense of such institutions as representative government and democratic rule. This was also an attempt to relocate modernity within the ambit of the sacred. Premodern religion had always seen mythos and logos as complementary. Islamic reformers would site the pragmatic tasks of government within a religious and mystical framework. This was also part of the fundamentalist rebellion against the hegemony of the secular. It was a way of bringing God back into the political realm from which he had been excluded. In various ways, fundamentalists have rejected the separations of modernity (between church and state, secular and profane) and tried to re-create a lost wholeness. Religious Zionists were “revolting against the revolt” of the secularist Zionists, who had declared their independence of religion. They wanted to have more God and more Torah in the Holy Land than had been possible in the Diaspora. Khomeini and Shariati both insisted that it was impossible to exclude the sacred from politics; Qutb condemned the Godlessness of the secularist regime in Egypt, which he designated jahili. Those who had not fully imbibed the secular rationalism of modernity were still aware of the Unseen dimension of existence and wanted it reflected in the polity. They did not see why that should make them less modern, though they tacitly recognized that this would mean a break with some of the old conservative aspects of premodern religion. The fundamentalist reformation of the faith meant that an activism that had hitherto been seen as irreligious was now presented as crucial. Religious Zionists and fundamentalist Christians and Muslims all insisted on the need for dynamism and revolutionary transformation in keeping with the forward thrust and pragmatic drive of modern society.

• From The Battle for God (2000)

  But in 1967, history took a hand. On Independence Day 1967, some three weeks before the outbreak of the Six Day War, Rabbi Kook was delivering his usual sermon at the Merkaz Harav yeshiva. Suddenly he emitted a sobbing scream, and uttered words that completely broke the flow of his speech: “Where is our Hebron, Shechem, Jericho and Anatoth, torn from the state in 1948 as we lay maimed and bleeding?” 88 Three weeks later, the Israeli army had occupied these biblical cities which had previously been in Arab hands, and Rabbi Kook’s disciples were convinced that he had been inspired by God to make a true prophecy. By the end of this short war, Israel had conquered the Gaza Strip from Egypt, the West Bank from Jordan, and the Golan Heights from Syria. The holy city of Jerusalem, which had been divided between Israel and Jordan since 1948, was now annexed by Israel and declared to be the eternal capital of the Jewish state. Once again, Jews were able to pray at the Western Wall. A mood of exultation and near-mystical euphoria gripped the entire country. Before the war, Israelis had listened on their radios to Nasser vowing to throw them all into the sea; now they were unexpectedly in possession of sites sacred to Jewish memory. Many of the most diehard secularists experienced the war as a religious event, reminiscent of the crossing of the Red Sea. 89 But for Kookists the war was even more crucial. It seemed conclusive proof that Redemption was indeed under way and that God was pushing history forward to its final consummation. The fact that no Messiah had actually appeared did not worry the Gahelet; they were moderns, and perfectly prepared to see the “Messiah” as a process rather than a person. 90 Nor were they disturbed that the “miracle” of the war had a perfectly natural explanation: the Israeli victory was entirely due to the efficiency of the IDF and the ineptitude of the Arab armies. The twelfth-century philosopher Maimonides had predicted that there would be nothing supernatural about the Redemption: the prophetic passages that spoke of cosmic wonders and universal peace referred not to the Messianic Kingdom in this world but to the World-to-Come. 91 The victory convinced Kookists that it was now time to mobilize in earnest. A few months after the victory, rabbis and students held an impromptu conference at Merkaz Harav to find ways of foiling the plan of the Labor government to relinquish some of these newly occupied territories in exchange for peace with their Arab neighbors. For Kookists, the return of even one inch of the sacred land would be a victory for the forces of evil. And they found, to their surprise, that they had secular allies. Shortly after the war, a group of distinguished Israeli poets, professors, retired politicians, and army officers had formed the Land of Israel Movement to prevent the government from making any territorial concessions.

• From The Battle for God (2000)

  62 Shariati was not entirely fair to the Usuli doctrines of “Safavid Shiism.” They had arisen in response to a particular need, and, though they had always been controversial, they had expressed the spirituality of the premodern age, which could not permit the individual too much freedom. 63 But the world had changed. Iranians who had been affected by the Western ideals of autonomy and intellectual liberty could no longer submit to the rulings of a mujtahid as their grandparents had done. Conservative spirituality had been designed to help people accept the limitations of their society and submit to the status quo. The myth of Husain had kept the passion for social justice alive in the Shiah, but his story and the story of the Imams also showed how impossible it was to implement this divine ideal in a world that could not accommodate radical change. 64 But this no longer applied in the modern world. Iranians were experiencing change to an alarming degree; they could not respond to the old rites and symbols in the same way. Shariati was attempting to reformulate Shiism so that it could speak to Muslims in this deeply altered world. Shariati insisted that Islam was more dynamic than any other faith. Its very terminology showed its progressive thrust. In the West, the word “politics” derived from the Greek polis (“city”), a static administrative unit, but the Islamic equivalent was siyasat, which literally meant “taming a wild horse,” a process implying a forceful struggle to bring out an inherent perfection. 65 The Arabic terms ummah and imam both derived from the root amm (“decision to go”): the Imam, therefore, was a model who would take the people in a new direction. The community (ummah) was not simply a collection of individuals but was goal-oriented, ready for perpetual revolution. 66 The notion of ijtihad (“independent judgment”) implied a constant intellectual effort to renew and rebuild; it was not, Shariati insisted, the privilege of a few ulema, but the duty of every Muslim. 67 The centrality of hijrah (“migration”) to the Muslim experience implied a readiness for change, and an uprooting that kept Muslims in touch with the newness of existence. 68 Even intizar (“waiting for the return of the Hidden Imam”) suggested a constant alertness to the possibility of transformation and implied a refusal to accept the status quo: “It makes [man’s] responsibility for his own course, the course of truth, the course of mankind, heavy, immediate, logical, and vital.” The Shiism of Ali was a faith that compelled Muslims to stand up and say “No!” 69 The regime could not permit this kind of talk, and in 1973 the husainiyyah was closed down. Shariati was arrested, tortured, and imprisoned.