“Islam Means Peace!”

So affirmed the flier of a conference organized in the U.S. that remains etched in my memory. And so affirm many books and websites you will find through an Internet search for the phrase.

You will also find an equally large number of websites and books that claim that this is a lie, that when Muslims make that claim they are practicing “taqiyya.”

Apparently “taqiyya” is some sort of intended dissimulation of the truth, which any Muslim saying anything positive or loving about Islam is accused of committing these days.

Mind you, if Muslims don’t say anything positive, they are then accused of terrorism. But I’ll leave that topic for another day.

I have read a good deal of literature written by some of the most significant figures of classical Islam over the past 20 years, and, to be honest, I have never come across the argument that the word “Islam” means “peace.”

I am not saying that the argument does not exist in ancient texts, and I am happy to stand corrected if anyone reading this begs to differ.

But what I’m saying is that “peace” does not seem to be the most straightforward meaning that Muslims have historically associated with the word “Islam.”

Quite simply, Muslims never felt the need to make that argument in the past. Perhaps Islam never found itself under as much pressure to align with global opinion about what it stands for until the present time.

Let us be clear. The etymological (linguistic) root of the word “Islam” is not “salam” (peace). It is the verb “salima,” which means to find security, safety or even a deeper sense of well-being.

The word “salam” is derived from that same verb “salima,” just like the word “Islam” is derived from it. But in the case of “Islam,” it is the so-called “Form IV” of the verb, “aslama,” from which it derives more directly.

So, in a sense, Islam is salam’s sibling, rather than its child. One child, Salam, goes on to express meanings of peace, well-being, good neighborliness and hospitality, whereas the other child, Islam, moves on to generate derivatives of power, such as submission and surrender, with the purpose of finding safety and security.

They are certainly close linguistic relatives, they influence each other mutually, but they cannot simply be merged.

At the end of the day, however, as linguistic debates fade in importance before the hard facts of life and history, people of faith tend mostly to be the product of their time.

Islam emerged in the seventh century, in a historical context heavy with political strife mingled with religious ideology.

It carved its way between the hammer of the “Christian” Byzantine Empire and the anvil of the “Zoroastrian” Persians.

As a product of its time, Islam took up this double challenge, standing both its political and religious grounds from the start.

Throughout its mainstream history, it was often co-opted by leaders with strong political agendas who also waived the religious ideology, alongside an uninterrupted line of a more peaceful, contemplative Islam.

However, in light both of its core meaning and of its founding history, it does not seem surprising that it is Islam’s undertones of conquest and subjugation that have been more prominent historically than its undertones of peace and well-being.

But let us take a quick look in the mirror.

Christianity’s message began at the opposite end of the spectrum. Jesus taught about an unseen kingdom, which could only be demonstrated visibly through the love of his followers for everyone, including their enemies.

Swords were to remain in their sheaths, and his followers were to bless those who cursed them and pray for their persecutors.

Those who were “of Christ” or “in Christ” (Greek etymology of the word “Christian”) embraced death rather than combat in Christ’s name for nearly 300 years.

Yet “Christian-ity” eventually gave way to “Christian-dom” after the faith conquered the political powers of the day, and with that shift, it nearly completely lost Christ himself.

If a first-century Christian met the average 11th-century European Christian waving their crusader ideology, they would likely not believe that they had met a Christian at all.

And as a 21st-century Christian, when I think of 18th-century colonialist triumphalism, wielding its supposed “Christian” ideology, I vainly search for any connection with the teaching and example of Jesus.

But the scary thought is that if I were the product of one of these eras, I would likely be endorsing the same ideologies of violence, power and dominance. Christianity without Christ is not Christian at all; it is merely Christendom.

Today there seems to be a growing contingent of Christians, Muslims and Jews who are sweating blood in their attempt to salvage or redefine their faith tradition from the hands of violent extremists.

In Palestine, to take one example, an increasing number of Muslims and Jews are struggling to recover the peaceful side of their faith from the conquering ideologies of Zionism and Jihadi Islamism.

Palestinian Christians, too, are attempting to salvage their faith from the onslaught of western Christian Zionism. And the battle is far from being won.

To go back to our main topic and conclude this brief pondering: Islam will mean whatever those currently struggling for its soul will be able to make of it in the decades ahead.

Right now, can you blame an Iraqi, Syrian or Egyptian Christian for having a hard time believing that Islam means peace, seeing as they are not sure that they will even survive the current jihadi onslaught against them and against their entire history and heritage?

But if people of good faith from all traditions are able to pull together against the current streams of religious extremism, then we will perhaps be increasing the possibility that some time down the line, our children will be able to affirm together that their faith traditions stand for peace.

As one who struggles to be faithful in following in the way of Jesus, I long to see the impact of his teaching on love and forgiveness penetrate all religious traditions, perhaps even contemporary Christianity!

And I hope that one day I will be able to affirm that Islam means peace. But for now, this will remain a hope and a prayer.

Martin Accad is director of the Institute of Middle East Studies (IMES) at the Arab Baptist Theological Seminary in Beirut. A version of this column first appeared on the IMES blog and is used with permission. You can follow him on Twitter @marzaatar and IMES @IMESLebanon.

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