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Turkey’s decision to change the former cathedral into a mosque flies against the pluralist instincts of Islam’s founders.
The
recent decision by the Turkish government to reconvert the majestic
Hagia Sophia, which was once the world’s greatest cathedral, from a
museum back to a mosque has been bad news for Christians around the
world. They include Pope Francis, who said he was “pained” by the move, and the spiritual leader of Eastern Christianity, Ecumenical Patriarch Bartholomew, who said he was “saddened and shaken.”
When contrasted with the joy of Turkey’s conservative Muslims, all this
may seem like a new episode in an old story: Islam vs. Christianity.
But
some Muslims, including myself, are not fully comfortable with this
historic step, and for a good reason: forced conversion of shrines,
which has occurred too many times in human history in all directions,
can be questioned even from a purely Islamic point of view.
To
see why, look closely into early Islam, which was born in seventh
century Arabia as a monotheist campaign against polytheism. The Prophet
Muhammad and his small group of believers saw the earlier monotheists —
Jews and Christians — as allies. So when those first Muslims were
persecuted in pagan Mecca, some found asylum in the Christian kingdom in
Ethiopia. Years later, when the Prophet ruled Medina, he welcomed a
group of Christians from the city of Najran to worship in his own
mosque. He also signed a treaty with them, which read:
“There
shall be no interference with the practice of their faith. … No bishop
will be removed from his bishopric, no monk from his monastery, no
priest from his parish.”
This
religious pluralism was also reflected in the Quran, when it said God
protects “monasteries, churches, synagogues, and mosques in which the
name of God is much mentioned.” (22:40) It is the only verse in the
Quran that mentions churches — and only in a reverential tone.
To
be sure, these theological affinities did not prevent political
conflicts. Nor did they prevent Muslims, right after the Prophet’s
passing, from conquering Christian lands, from Syria to Spain. Yet
still, the early Muslim conquerors did something uncommon at the time:
They did not touch the shrines of the subjugated peoples.
The
Prophet’s spirit was best exemplified by his second successor, or
caliph, Umar ibn Al-Khattab, soon after his conquest of Jerusalem in the
year 637. The city, which had been ruled by Roman Christians for
centuries, had been taken by Muslims after a long and bloody siege.
Christians feared a massacre, but instead found aman,
or safety. Caliph Umar, “the servant of God” and “the commander of the
faithful,” gave them security “for their possessions, their churches and
crosses.” He further assured:
“Their churches shall not be taken for residence and shall not be demolished … nor shall their crosses be removed.”
The Christian historian Eutychius even tells us
that when Caliph Umar entered the city, the patriarch of Jerusalem,
Sophronius, invited him to pray at the holiest of all Christian shrines:
the Church of the Holy Sepulcher. Umar politely declined, saying that
Muslims might later take this as a reason to convert the church into a
mosque. He instead prayed at an empty area that Christians ignored but
Jews honored, then as now, as their holiest site, the Temple Mount,
where today the Western Wall, the last remnant of that ancient Jewish
temple, rises to the top of the Mount, on which the Mosque of Umar and
the Dome of the Rock were built.
In
other words, Islam entered Jerusalem without really converting it. Even
“four centuries after the Muslim conquest,” as the Israeli historian
Oded Peri observes, “the urban landscape of Jerusalem was still dominated by Christian public and religious buildings.”
Yet
Islam was becoming the religion of an empire, which, like all empires,
had to justify its appetite for hegemony. Soon, some jurists found an
excuse to overcome the Jerusalem model: There, Christians were given
full security, because they had ultimately agreed on a peaceful
surrender. The cities that resisted Muslim conquerors, however, were
fair game for plunder, enslavement, and conversion of their churches.
In the words of the Turkish scholar Necmeddin Guney,
this legitimatization of conversion of churches came from not the Quran
nor the Prophetic example, but rather “administrative regulation.” The
jurists who made this case, he adds, “were probably trying to create a
society that makes manifest the supremacy of Islam in an age of religion
wars.”
Another scholar, Fred Donner, an expert on early Islam, argues that this political drive even distorted records of the earlier state of affairs. For example, later versions of the aman
given to the Christians of Damascus allotted Muslims “half of their
homes and churches.” In the earlier version of the document, there was
no such clause.
When the Ottomans
reached the gates of Constantinople in 1453, Islamic attitudes had long
been imperialized, and also toughened in the face of endless conflicts
with the Crusaders. Using a disputed license of the Hanafi school of
jurisprudence they followed, they converted Hagia Sophia and a few other
major churches. But they also did other things that represent the
better values of Islam: They gave full protection to not only Greek but
also Armenian Christians, rebuilt Istanbul as a cosmopolitan city, and
soon also welcomed the Spanish Jews who were fleeing the Catholic
Inquisition.
Today, centuries later, the question for Turkey is what aspect of this complex Ottoman heritage is really more valuable.
For
the religious conservatives who have rallied behind President Recep
Tayyip Erdogan in the past two decades, the main answer seems to be
imperial glory embodied in an absolute ruler.
For
other Turks, however, the greatness of the Ottomans lies in their
pluralism, rooted at the very heart of Islam, and it would inspire
different moves today — perhaps opening Hagia Sophia to both Muslim and Christian worship, as I have advised for years. Another would be reopening the Halki Seminary,
a Christian school of theology that opened in 1844 under Ottoman
auspices, went victim to secular nationalism in 1971, but is still
closed despite all the calls from advocates for religious freedom.
For
the broader Muslim world, Hagia Sophia is a reminder that our tradition
includes both our everlasting faith and values, as well as a legacy of
imperialism. The latter is a bitter fact of history, like Christian
imperialism or nationalism, which have targeted our mosques and even
lives as well — from Cordoba to Srebrenica. But today, we should try to
heal such wounds of the past, not open new ones.
So,
if we Muslims really want to revive something from the past, let’s
focus on the model initiated by the Prophet and implemented by Caliph
Umar. That means no shrines should be converted — or reconverted. All
religious traditions should be respected. And the magnanimity of
tolerance should overcome the pettiness of supremacism.
Mustafa Akyol, a contributing Opinion writer, is a senior fellow on Islam and modernity at the Cato Institute and the author of the forthcoming book “Reopening Muslim Minds: A Return to Reason, Freedom, and Tolerance.”
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