Auteur: Erika van Nes

In this article I argue that apostates – people who renounce their family’s and their community’s religious beliefs – often regarded as heroes by outsiders, are in fact considered by their own in-groups and communities as having also given up fundamental moral principles: they have declared themselves immoral. This explains the conflicts between apostates and their families as well as the families’ fears about their position in the community.

The importance of groups

Humans are in essence social beings who have a basic need to feel included by other humans. Evolutionary psychologists have argued that this basic need is related to an evolutionary need for protection. Social psychological research has shown over and again that being included and accepted by others makes an individual feel better and happier, safer and stronger. The family, the most coherent human group, scores highest on entitativity, the degree to which groups regard themselves as coherent. Different groups form a community.

Group membership is always conditional

Group members have to adhere to written and unwritten rules of their group. If there is too much  disagreement and too often, the group may fall apart, with significant consequences for all of its members. Therefore, a member’s inclusion in a group (and the larger community) can never be unconditional: when a member  endangers the unity of the group because of their behaviour, by scorning, insulting or harassing other members, they will be reprimanded. These processes also occur within a family.

With the help of moral principles groups and communities distinguish between good and bad. In this way, members of a given group will know what sort of attitude is expected of them and what sort of activities they cannot engage in.

Individuals who due to their behaviour are considered immoral by other members of their group also constitute a danger for the group’s unity and cohesion. Young group members may copy the undesired behaviour, while others feel embarrassment and distress over the immoral conduct. Dissenting and deviant members, therefore, can be reprimanded, punished, stigmatized and, eventually, excluded from their group. In this context, family members often ask themselves what they did wrong, while trying to keep the behaviour secret.

A stigma-by-association

Yet an immoral individual can damage their in-group in another way: when members of other groups in the community learn about the immoral behaviour, they may believe all members of deviant’s group are immoral. In other words, the stigma of one member sticks to their fellow group members: a well-known social mechanism called ‘stigma by association’ or ‘courtesy stigma’. The result of a stigma-by-association process is that all associates, the members of the deviant’s closest in-group including children, risk social exclusion by other community members, and marriages and engagements with members of other families may fail.

In this way, deviants not only cause trouble and arguments within their families, they often also cause a stigma for the family in the community. In this latter situation, families are torn between their love for the deviant member on the one hand and  community pressure on the other. Thus, family members may see no other option than to break with the deviant, while other groups, such as friends and employers, in general  cut off the relationship more easily.

For example, recently Jeroen Rietbergen, a musician who worked for the Dutch TV programme The Voice, and also the brother-in-law of the owner of the broadcasting company, John de Mol, was publicly accused of transgressing important moral norms in his contacts with women. There were discussions on social media, the press and in talk shows. Because of the moral stigma-by-association, De Mol saw no other option than to stop the programme, fire Rietbergen and distance himself from his behaviour (which he did rather clumsily). Linda de Mol, in her tun, immediately ended her relationship with Rietbergen.

People may be morally stigmatized when they express non-conformist convictions. Although in western societies tolerance is an important social and moral ideal, societies have difficulty in coping with citizens who publicly renounce important but arguably multi-interpretable notions like ‘democracy’, ‘freedom’ or ‘equality’ and who, for example, disturb national commemoration rituals. Those who question these important notions, or the pre-determined interpretation, may be considered immoral (and labelled Nazi, extremist, communist, etc.), and face indignant and angry responses.

How is this related to apostasy?

In many publications the positions of Christian, Jewish and Muslim apostates both in the Middle East and Africa have been studied. There, the point of departure appears to be that the apostates and the families have a (minor) ideological dispute, which escalates because the families – the parents in particular – are needlessly ‘rigid’, ‘traditional’, ‘patriarchal’, or overly religious, and against the freedom of religion.

Yet on a closer look, in my view, it appears that apostates have similar conflicts with their families as do those considered as moral deviants, and the apostates’ associates appear to have a similar delicate position in their communities (although more research is needed on this). Other research has shown that in many communities, especially in the Middle East, being moral implies being ‘religious’, in the sense that individuals without religious beliefs are inherently immoral. In this context, believing family members still fear that the dissident member may not enter heaven, that they will lose ground.

In some families the conflicts and arguments with the apostates, after attempts to talk ‘sense’ into the ‘deviant’, lead to a break of the relationship with the apostate. When families give in, this is often on condition that if it should leak out in the community, they have all to face the consequences.

The case of Lâle Gül

A case in point is that of Lâle Gül (23), a university student, who in 2021 published her novel Ik ga leven (‘I will live’), about her youth in a conservative Turkish Muslim immigrant family in Amsterdam. In her novel she ridicules what she sees as the superficial Islamic religious notions and empty rituals. In numerous interviews, Gül repeatedly stated that she now considered herself not merely an apostate, but rather an atheist and an Islamophobe.

Apart from her apostate ideas, she also lashes out at her mother, whom  she subsequently calls ‘Carbuncle’ in her book, and she describes in quite explicit terms  the secret and forbidden sexual relationship she had with Freek, a Dutchman.

Many members of the majority Dutch society, politicians and journalists, hailed her as having ‘liberated’ herself from her ‘backward’ and ‘rigid’ Islamic background, comparing her to authors from protestant and catholic backgrounds before. Gül was considered a courageous heroine – even more so when she received threats from people within the Turkish Muslim minority community.

In the meantime, there was much less interest for the fate of Gül’s family members, her associates. In interviews Gül herself mentioned how her parents, brother (20), younger sister (10), uncles and minor cousins were harassed by phone calls and degrading comments from the Turkish Muslim community both in the Netherlands and abroad. Gül’s little sister and brother had begged Lale not to appear in public anymore and draw negative attention to herself and their family – which she refused.

In our multicultural society there are many groups with differing moral norms. When an apostate leaves one group, people from other groups, especially the majority, tend to applaud the apostate’s ‘courage’. Yet these outsiders often tend to forget about the fate of the apostate’s former group members who almost inevitably will suffer from the stigma.

Questions

1. Do apostates and their families merely have a difference in opinion or is there more to it – as argued in this article?
2. Is it possible to be an apostate of ‘communism’, ‘liberalism’ or ‘democracy’? Do you agree that this sort of apostasy includes giving up important moral beliefs?
3. How can members of other communities make apostates feel welcome in their new (moral) community?
4. Do you think there is enough attention for the fate of the apostate’s associates?
5. What sort of impact could the lack of interest for the fate of the deviant’s associates potentially have?
6. What could we in our community do?

About

This summary belongs to a more extensive article of Robert Ermers, which can be found here: Apostasy in Terms of Moral Deviance.

Last year, we published the book Religious Exclusivism and Social Inclusion? A Religious Response, which is available Open Access (for free). People asked for an additional discussion guide to bring the outcomes of this research to a wider audience. We agreed to that, and are happy to present a discussion guide which offers you summaries of all contributions, accompanied by questions for discussion. We hope this stimulates people, in all different contexts, to discuss these matters thoroughly and make them actual and relevant for their own situations. Every week we publish another summary of a chapter of the book, and questions for discussion.  If you want to use the whole conversation guide at once, it can be downloaded here: Conversation guide.

In this article, I develop a humble exclusivism. The guiding motif is to conceptualize an exclusivism that avoids (what I have dubbed) Dawkinsianism (after Richard Dawkins’s unwarranted claims that he and his fellows possesses absolute truth). A ‘humble’ exclusivism pursues its truth claims in an epistemically modest, that is a reflective and self-critical, fashion while still remaining recognizably exclusivist.

The definition of (religious) exclusivism

I distinguish between exclusivism regarding salvation and an exclusivism regarding truth: holding the belief that Jesus is the Christ is the only true description of reality is a form of truth-geared exclusivism, holding the belief that Jesus is the Christ and is the only way to salvation is a form of salvation-geared exclusivism. Both forms are related but need to be distinguished from each other. I focus here solely on the former, on the claim that the home religion is true and other religions are false.

Exclusivism and situations of cognitive ambiguity

Next, I ask what makes religious exclusivism wrong. Is it that it implies truth claims of that sort? Yet, this can hardly be the case since we always make truth claims. For example, we make such a claim when we reject the opinion that the earth is flat. If the criticisms that religious exclusivism is elitist, imperialist, and so on implies this, then they are mistaken. Furthermore, we have to emphasize the right and the importance of making truth claims against postmodernist denigrations of truth and in light of the emergence of conspiracy theorizing.

Exclusivism is thus not wrong because it implies truth claims. Yet, it can become wrong. This is the case when it is applied in the wrong kind of situations. For example, in situations of (cognitive) ambiguity it is wrong to be exclusivist. It is, for example, wrong to be exclusivist about the traffic light being green while not being in a good position to judge it.

What holds for exclusivism in general holds for religious exclusivism as well: It can become wrong when applied in the wrong situations, for instance in situations of cognitive ambiguity. And religious beliefs are formed under a significant amount of cognitive ambiguity. In religion, we do not have the kind of cognitive certainty we have in other domains of inquiry. The reason that religious exclusivism is wrong is thus that it pursued in the wrong kind of situation, in a situation of cognitive ambiguity.

This is a strictly epistemic claim that does not touch, say, the ‘certainty of faith’. The latter implies, for example, a certainty of the heart, of tradition, of (mystic) intuition, or whatever. But those kinds of certainties are different from a strictly cognitive certainty. Given this distinction, it makes sense to suggest that we are certain about our faith although we are cognitively ambiguous about it.

In this strictly epistemic sense we are uncertain about our religious beliefs. This is the same kind of uncertainty that characterizes many important questions in human life, such as the question whether there is meaning to human life and, if so, what it is. Suggesting that religious beliefs are formed under conditions of cognitive ambiguity does not diminish the value of the religious realm.

Dialogical communication and religious exclusivism

In situations of cognitive ambiguity, we should dialogue with the other party. In contrast to situations in which we are certain, for example about the proposition that the earth is round, we should treat the other as a (cognitive) peer, and try to learn from them in situations of uncertainty. Dialoguing provides our best chances to arrive at the truth.

Yet, dialoguing is ruled out by religious exclusivism as defined above: If I consider another religion to be false then I will not learn from it. After all, we do not wish to learn from falsity. If we wish to maintain an exclusivism in religious affairs, we should thus (re-)conceptualize it so as be capable of dialoguing. In order to do that, we need to avoid  considering religions that differ from our own religion to be false.

The way to do that is to abandon the logical principle of bivalence. This principle implies that there are only two truth values, true and false. A declarative sentence is either true or else it is false. This is an exclusive alternative. Thus, religious beliefs that differ from the ones I regard to be true (usually my own) must be false by necessity. Yet, if they are false, I should not dialogue with them. Bivalence thus rules out dialoguing – which, as we have seen, is mandatory in situations of cognitive ambiguity, such as is the case in religion.

A justificationist frame of reference: broken superiority, humble exclusivism

As a solution, I propose to substitute the search for bivalent truth values with that of justification (in a philosophical, not a theological sense). Unlike bivalent truth, justification can be pluralized. It allows me to maintain the conviction that I am justified to hold my Christian beliefs whereas you may be justified to hold your different, say, Buddhist beliefs. Although I disagree with your beliefs, I do not think that they are false in the above sketched sense. Viewing things in such a way opens the way to dialoguing. Since we agreed that exclusivism should be (re-)conceptualized so as to allow for dialoguing, we should re-conceptualize it along justificatory lines.

The difference between a religious exclusivism (re-)conceptualized along justificatory rather than bivalent lines is one of attitude. Whereas the latter attitude believes that it possesses the truth, the former is more modest, thinking that its right to be exclusivist is a relative one (e.g., relative to its context of justification). As a consequence, it will propose its exclusivism in more humble ways than the former: it proposes a humble exclusivism.

The humble exclusivist believes that their religious beliefs are superior to competing ones (otherwise they would not believe in them). Yet, the superiority they claim for them is a broken one. A broken superiority is opposed to a Dawkinsianist, triumphalistic one: the holder does not pretend to possess The Truth and refrains from calling their own tradition ‘the illuminated way’.

A (conservative) religious critic may now retort that we should insist on possessing The Truth. If we fail to do so, we are disloyal to our prime task as believers, namely to witness God as God, absolute as He is in His glory.

This critic confuses theology with epistemology. Although, theologically, we are obliged to witness to God, we should be very careful how we cash in that claim epistemologically. Immediately identifying one’s own truth claims, or that of one’s tradition,  with The Truth can be ‘demonic’ (Paul Tillich). It claims absolute validity for that which by its very nature is not absolute and, by Christian understanding, fallen:

Following Paul, we see through a glass, darkly, and know only in part (after 1 Cor 13:12).

Questions

1. What is a humble exclusivism?
2. Why is it necessary?
3. What speaks for it from a Christian point of view?
4. What makes identifying one’s own religious truth claims with The Truth ‘demonic’?

About

This summary belongs to a more extensive article of Dirk-Martin Grube, which can be found here: A Humble Exclusivism? Reconstructing Exclusivism under Justificationist Rather than Bivalent Parameters.

Last year, we published the book Religious Exclusivism and Social Inclusion? A Religious Response, which is available Open Access (for free). People asked for an additional discussion guide to bring the outcomes of this research to a wider audience. We agreed to that, and are happy to present a discussion guide which offers you summaries of all contributions, accompanied by questions for discussion. We hope this stimulates people, in all different contexts, to discuss these matters thoroughly and make them actual and relevant for their own situations. Every week we publish another summary of a chapter of the book, and questions for discussion.  If you want to use the whole conversation guide at once, it can be downloaded here: Conversation guide.

‘I killed God and buried Him.’ That is what Jason Walters said after he was deradicalized. Walters is an ex-Jihadist who was part of the so called ‘Hofstadgroep’, a radical Muslim terrorist group in the Netherlands. Raised in a Christian family he converted to Islam when he was twelve years old and quite rapidly radicalized at the age of 19 through contact with the Hofstadgroep. He was – in his own words – a Jihadi seeking to become a martyr. In the course of his arrest in 2004 he wounded five police-offers with a hand grenade. He spent nine years in prison and during that time, through a process of study and reflection, he became deradicalized. When asked how that was possible, he answered: because ‘I killed God and buried Him.’ According to Walters, the only way to part with extremism was to abandon his faith in one God. For him, believing in one God and being a faithful inclusive citizen of a democratic society simply do not go together; monotheism always leads to exclusion and violence. (Interview with Jason Walters on the ‘De ongelofelijke podcast’, August 9, 2019; and in ‘Argos’, September 29, 2018).

The question is, is that true? Does believing in one God always lead to the religious and social rejection of the religious other, to the extreme extent of religiously inspired violence? That is not a question only to be addressed by Muslims like (previously) Jason Walters, but by all worldviews. If one considers one’s own worldview as true and as the only good for society, it automatically seems to imply that there is no room for other views and opinions in the public space. So, do we have to sacrifice peace for the sake of religious purity or do we have to compromise our faith or worldview for the sake of an inclusive and peaceful society? That is the dilemma that seeks our attention. Is it impossible to be religiously exclusive and at the same socially inclusive and does it matter?

Exclusivism and inclusivism

Exclusivism and inclusivism can refer to three different areas and it is important to understand what these are.

• They can relate to (eternal) salvation: is there only and exclusively salvation through Jesus Christ, or are Judaism and Islam equal ways of salvation. This points to the classical way of describing the Christian view of other religions as exclusivism, inclusivism and pluralism.
• They concern the question of truth and falsehood. If a certain belief is true, it therefore logically excludes the opposite view. The view of a round earth excludes the belief that it is flat. The prophet Muhammad is either God’s messenger or he is not and Christ is either the divine Son of God or he is not.
• They describe ways of living together in society and whether all people are and can be equally included, or whether some should be excluded because of certain beliefs or behaviours and if so, how.

All three areas somehow interlock.

When we explore the relationship between religious exclusiveness and social inclusion, it is not simply choosing between the two, but looking at what kind of exclusivity and inclusivity we wish for. Total inclusivity is not possible or desired, at none of the three interpretative levels of exclusivism/inclusivism mentioned above (salvation, truth and social relations), and the same is true for total exclusion.

Monotheistic Dilemma?

All world views or social imaginaries are to a certain extent exclusive in the first and second sense of the meaning. As a perceived expression of truth based on a certain world view or interpretation of good and bad – either in terms of the present time or eternity – they exclude other options. Still, it is sometimes argued that monotheistic religions are particularly problematic You simply don’t compromise with God. This leads to the dilemma of whether believers should follow the divine laws of the religious community or the laws of their country of residence. It is obvious that monotheism in itself cannot be blamed for this problem. Different forms of polytheism can be as intolerant as monotheism, while even radical monotheism knows many peaceful expressions, such as life in monasteries, the Amish communities, and pacifistic Salafi Muslims, among others. Therefore, the core tension is the tension between exclusive truth claims on the one hand and the desire for a peaceful pluralistic society on the other.

That, however, is a challenge of being human, not simply of being religious. According to Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, people try to overcome the complexity of life by dividing the world into good (us) and evil (the other). He argues precisely that the only way to overcome this dualism is monotheism, for God transcends our particularity. As creator he is universal and not just our God, but the God of all. (Sacks, Not in God’s Name, pp. 194, 195, 205)

Apostasy

One of the most exclusive forms of religious and social exclusion is the required death penalty for apostasy or idolatry. In all three monotheistic religions, Judaism, Christianity and Islam, it is considered an (almost) unforgivable act should believers decide to leave their faith and their faith community, and is liable to capital punishment. Exploring texts on apostasy, such as Deut 13 and 17 in the Jewish and Christian traditions, and certain ahadith or juridicial texts (fiqh) in Islam, can help to address the difficult issue of exclusion and inclusion. If the death penalty is the response God requires, then inclusion is undesirable in cases like these. But is that really the case? Do these and other exclusive texts show that inclusion is not the ultimate goal, or should we explore other ways of interpreting them? Are we able to engage in dialogue with people of other monotheistic traditions on these difficult situations? And what is the impact of the kind of society we live in? The history of Judaism, Christianity and Islam reveals that at different stages punishment of apostasy has been present in all three religions. How do we approach these challenges?

It might appear that inclusive holy texts are more helpful in this, and to a certain extent that is true. Inclusive texts underline what we have in common and might provide ways of living together. However, if we do not address the difficult questions in exclusive texts, they will always haunt us, since they also somehow represent the inspired voice of God.

Questions

1. Can you give examples of exclusion and inclusion? To what of the three different areas as mentioned above (salvation, truth and social relations) do these relate?
2. S. O’Grady, a scholar of religion, said in an interview: ‘Monotheistic religions have intolerance built into the system. By definition this one God is a jealous God, whether He is called Jahweh, Allah or Father. There is no room for competitors, tolerance is impossible.’ (Dutch Newspaper Nederlands Dagblad, February 6, 2021, p17.) What would be your response to this and why
3. What would be necessary if you want to live together with people of other religions in your society? Is that possible and why or why not?
4. Jonathan Sacks speaks as a Rabbi when he says that believing in God the creator can overcome dualism. How could that help you and your community in relating to people who do not share your faith or worldview?
5. Christianity emphasizes that God became human in Jesus Christ for the sake of every sinner. What kind of effect does that have on your relationship with people who are not Christian believers?

About

This summary belongs to a more extensive article of Bernhard Reitsma, which can be found here: Exclusion versus Inclusion; Searching for Religious Inspiration.

Last year, we published the book Religious Exclusivism and Social Inclusion? A Religious Response, which is available Open Access (for free). People asked for an additional discussion guide to bring the outcomes of this research to a wider audience. We agreed to that, and are happy to present a discussion guide which offers you summaries of all contributions, accompanied by questions for discussion. We hope this stimulates people, in all different contexts, to discuss these matters thoroughly and make them actual and relevant for their own situations. Every week we publish another summary of a chapter of the book, and questions for discussion.  If you want to use the whole conversation guide at once, it can be downloaded here: Conversation guide.