The Other is Me*

“Read! In the name of your Lord who created man from a clinging form. Read!”

The night these words were first voiced was the night a movement began. It was a movement about which many have heard, a movement that many carry forward today, a movement that many around the world distort, misunderstand or even fear. The night these words were first voiced was the night when the religion we now call Islam began.

Is it said that when the Prophet Muhammad first heard these words, he thought he had gone insane, and ran to his wife Khadijah, fearful of the meaning of his experience. Her response was to reassure him that his vision was real, and to encourage him to consult her Christian cousin Waraqah if he sought answers explaining what had transpired that night. It was at their first meeting that Muhammad’s role of prophet was first confirmed. The messenger of Islam was first endorsed by a Christian. I'm sure Fox News would love that fact.

So why do I share this story with you? Last night was one of the possible nights for Laylat-al-Qadr, or the Night of Power, what is perhaps one of the holiest nights of the year in the Islamic calendar. This night commemorates the revelation of that first verse: “Read in the name of your Lord who created man from a clinging form.” At first, this verse appears to be no more than a heavenly command. However, if we sit with its content for a moment longer, we see that it is a recognition of the unity of humankind. It is a divine reminder of our interdependent nature. We began as a clinging form. When we look beneath the surface-level command, we can see that the movement which began that night is more than a set of mandatory beliefs that have since become the center of media attention. It is a way of life that encourages people around the world and across cultures to fully embody compassion and ceaselessly work for universal justice.

I could spend hours speaking about the many ways in which Muhammad’s life reflects Islam’s origin as a movement seeking economic justice for the poor, or a peaceful community comprised of people from multiple faith traditions. But we’re not here for a history lesson. What I do feel is important to lift up about Islam in this space today is what it teaches us about difference. Islam teaches us that no matter who a person is, no matter what a community may believe, living faithfully means that we live with and for those around us, that we work for the good of all. What Muhammad’s leadership centuries ago teaches us is that there can be no “other” in society, that if a world in which inequality based on difference exists, it is not only unjust, but it is a violation of what was divinely intended. Islam’s emphasis on compassion and compassion is meant to remind us of our universally divine origin, so that we seek to live in ways that end the violent creation of the “other.” Unfortunately, our world has evolved to sustain oppressive systems that perpetuate the presence of this “other” in our mindset, thriving on a belief that difference is something to be feared, something that threatens our individual sense of comfort and safety. Islam seeks to end that fear; it seeks to break down the barriers that prevent us from becoming enriched by what we can learn from one another. This morning’s reading included a verse of the Qur’an that many involved in interfaith work know by heart: that we were made into different races and tribes so that we should get to know another. This verse has been quoted time and time again because it reminds us that our differences are intentional and they make our unity that much more beautiful.

Islam also teaches us that one of the ways in which we can begin to break down the barriers that prevent our natural unity is by attempting to put ourselves in the place of the Other. Today marks one of the final days of the month of Ramadan, during which the abstention from food and drink helps to develop greater compassion for the members of our human family whose lives have left them with no choice but to be hungry and thirsty. Interestingly enough, what my experience this month has taught me was the level of privilege that is reflected by my choosing to fast during this month. My practice of not eating or drinking was not something imposed upon me, but was a decision that I had the freedom to make. My choice to fast was a product of my privileged position, a position that I hold because I have benefited from systems that were designed to divide, otherize, and oppress. As Ramadan comes to a close, I am left with an uncomfortable combination of compassion and anger. My experience of fasting has kindled my compassion for anyone who struggles to find enough to eat, who may not know where or when they will find their next meal. But my experience of my choice to fast has pissed me off. It has reminded me that we live in a world dominated by structures that not only seek to separate us, but blind us to the real harm caused by that perceived separation. My anger this month has been fueled not only by my recognition of another’s suffering, but by the reality that this suffering is caused by the same fear-based and divisive systems that have granted some, including myself, freedom. This month has reminded me that the “other is me” not only because we come from the same divine origin, but also because my privilege depends on another’s oppression, yet I am constantly being conditioned to see no relationship between our different experiences.

Perhaps the most frustrating part of my experience has been my coming to realize that this conditioned mindset is the predominant attitude in our society. We do not have to look hard to find examples of our being blind to the divisive systems that privilege one by creating an “other.” It cannot be said enough, our criminal justice system is a divisive and biased structure that has manipulated our minds into believing that there are certain groups to be feared. Those of us who have read Michelle Alexander’s book, The New Jim Crow: Mass Incarceration in the Age of Colorblindness, know that our criminal justice system has evolved out of a slavery-era philosophy that black men, women, and children are allegedly of lesser value; that people of color are an “other” to be separated from the rest of us. And what is, in my opinion the scariest part of this horrific structure is that most of those who benefit from it have absolutely no idea how it has created and oppressed an “other” for the sake of their own sense of freedom.

I realize that I am painting a somewhat dismal picture of society, and so I want to share what I see is the best part about all of this otherizing – we are fighting it. And one of the methods we have used to fight it is perhaps the oldest tool we have, the reason many of us are here today: religion. Earlier I spoke of some lessons which Islam teaches around our natural unity, and how they can be helpful in ending the perpetuation of an “other” in our mindset. But Islam is not the only faith tradition that has justice and the end of this unnatural division at its core. The commitment to dissolving the barriers that prevent us from relating to another’s experience finds support in the principles and writings of many traditions, which leads me to believe that these religions are not only belief systems, but that they are also progressive social movements. Each religion is an attempt to bring about justice and equality by bringing an end to our fear-based division, our separation from the “other.” Mark Morrison-Reed describes this point perfectly in a reading from our hymnal. He writes:

“The central task of the religious community is to unveil the bonds that bind each to all. There is a connectedness, a relationship discovered amid the particulars of our own lives and the lives of others. Once felt, it inspires us to act for justice.”

Mark Morrison-Reed is absolutely right. The task of religion and the religious community is to bring us to a place of recognition and appreciation that we are all bound together – there can be no Other. When we come to realize that there is no Other in a just society, our faith compels us to work for the change needed to uphold our bonds, to end the division that has violated our inherent connectedness. Whatever tradition or philosophy it is that inspires us, whether it is Islam, Unitarian Universalism, Hinduism, Christianity, or the wisdom of our humanist predecessors, our faith gives us the ability, and thus the responsibility, to heal the wounds that our inherited fear of difference has caused. Through our faith, we have the ability and responsibility to understand and to teach that when we view someone as the “other,” we violate their inherent worth and deny our natural unity. Otherwise, we forget and damage that interconnected existence that is our true nature and purpose; we forget that we are a part of each other and that each and every one of us is essential to our shared experience of the holy.

The power of the religious community to break down barriers and bring an end to the creation of the Other can only be trumped by one thing: the power of the interreligious community. If the function of religion is to bring an end to the unnatural division in our society, than interfaith engagement and cooperation are crucial practices for any person of faith. Think about it: how can a socially progressive movement claim to bring justice for all if it excludes among its allies any who may believe differently from its vision? When we create the interreligious community, we initiate the process of moving away from seeing certain groups as the “other,” beginning with faith traditions that are vastly different from our own. When we allow ourselves to learn and appreciate the wisdom inherent to different traditions, and the importance of need for others’ stories to expand our hearts and minds, we challenge ourselves to grow in new ways. When we are open to learning what and why another person loves differently from us, we become aware of the ways in which we have unknowingly tried to distance ourselves from segments of our human family. We learn how we have become too comfortable in our own story. When we open ourselves to understanding the uncomfortable truths behind another’s suffering, we acknowledge the power and privilege that we possess, which could be used to either perpetuate or end injustice. The interreligious community, with its ability to, as Rabbi Heschel describes it, encourage “mutual enrichment and enhancement” is essential to this process.

All of this can sound complicated and daunting, but the reality is that interfaith cooperation is so within our nature, that children are perhaps the most capable of modeling it. My favorite book these days is the children’s book Mira and the Big Story, which describes one girl’s experience with “the Others.” The book tells the story of two villages, each of which has their own belief about how they came to live in their valley, and both of which see the other village as wrong. One day, Mira sneaks over to visit the village of the “Others,” only to find that they are exactly like her. When she shares her experience with a wise man in her village, he provides her with a third story of how both villages came to be, one which describes them as having come from the same, single source. After hearing this story, Mira says words that brought me to tears the first time I read them:

“If this story is true, than no one owns the valley and we all belong here. If this story is true, the people across the river are not Others. They are like us. If this story is true, we are all connected to each other and to everything else – the river, the trees, the sky, the ocean, the animals. If this story is true, we have wasted too much time being enemies.”

We have wasted too much time being enemies. We have spent too much time seeing difference as a threat to our own selves, and not as a gift that invites us to fully live into our innate capacity to connect and evolve through cooperation. One perspective cannot, and should not, know all that there is to know- we all need each other to show us what pieces we as individuals are unable to see. Imagine what peace we could bring if we made the move from seeing differences as threats to celebrating differences as reflections of the incomprehensibly beautiful nature of the divine. Imagine if we took that lesson from the Qur’an at heart: that we were created differently so that we “should get to know another.” We were created not to separate from one another, not to protect ourselves through division; but to connect to each other. We were created to grow by appreciating the value of those lives which we have not lived ourselves.

Mira and the Big Story teaches us that interfaith cooperation is a natural and necessary way for us to bring an end to the creation of the “Other.” It is unfortunate, however, that religion has developed a bad track record featuring its own acts of otherizing, with many traditions adopting practices in exclusivism that describe others as sinners so that some can be saved. Much of religion has been altered by a westernized philosophy that focuses on individual salvation, and encourages a fear of anything that threatens one’s sense of comfort and safety in an oppressive system. It is unfortunate; but it is not permanent, and there is a new movement brewing. There is a new movement that realizes religion is not meant to be a barrier that separates one people from another through such fear. There is a new movement that views religion as a force that is meant to help us break down those barriers and encourage us to love, to act in ways that honor the inherent rights of all, not simply some. And we have a responsibility to be a part of it. We have a responsibility to recognize the innate human need to connect, with a goal of achieving universal salvation. We have the responsibility to create the interreligious community. For when we enter into real relationship with the members of different faiths, or of no faith, we honor our origin – what that first revealed Sura calls our initial, clinging form. When we come together as an interreligious community that sees fullness in our diversity, we can bring lasting change and heal the wounds of our violent separation. If we are willing to be with one another, willing to know one another as being part of the same miraculous creation, we can unite in an understanding that our mission is justice, and that our faith is action. When we see ourselves as being of the same miracle, we can love our differences. We can realize that our differences are necessary for us to depend on and relate to one another; we can cease wasting our time as enemies, and begin valuing our time as one clinging form.

*Delivered at the First Unitarian Church of Philadelphia (August 4, 2013)