Mormons Invade the Arab World

Mormons are often the subject of conspiracy theories. Usually, however, those theories are confined to the United States and maybe to a lesser extant the UK, Canada and perhaps Mexico. Other places simply do not know enough of Mormons to extrapolate detailed conspiracy theories about them. Typically, in my own experience, we are confused with the Amish or the Jehovah's Witnesses or some such group. I recall once seeing an article in a German newspaper about Mormons around the time of the 2002 Olympics which included a photo of "Mormons" going to church. The picture showed a small log cabin with various people in pioneer dress entering. Where that picture came from I have absolutely no idea.

So imagine my surprise - to use an overly trite phrase - when today I read an article in Al-Majalla, an Arabic weekly news magazine from Saudi Arabia which has ties to The Economist, and discovered therein proof that Mormons were attempting to corrupt the youth of Morocco and make war against Islam.

In the March 23-29, 2008 issue (number 1467), on page 94 there is an article by Muntasir Hammada called The Arabic Maghreb . . ِA Christianizing Attack Cloaked in the Slogan of Religious Liberty. Maghreb, for those unfamiliar with the term, refers to the Arabic speaking portion of North Africa minus Egypt (and sometimes Libya). Mr. Hammada declares:

International evangelizing groups are undertaking a Christianizing assault aimed at the children of North Africa [. . .] Other groups attract youth from the region who are seeking to immigrate to the European shore from Mediterranean neighbors by distributing financial enticements which the missionaries offer to encourage the youth to apostatize from their religion in exchange for an entry visa to Europe . . .

[Note: all translations are my own]

The article goes on to say that Christian missionaries are attempting to entice the ignorant and the poor in Morocco and Algeria with promises of visas and money into embracing Christianity. It claims that these converts are then used as spies, for America and Israel, of course, and that many are reduced to slavery. Missionary tracts and visual aids are sneaked across borders into Muslim countries and fake companies and fake charities disguise evangelizing activities. To be fair, the article says that native Catholics and Orthodox are not involved. He pins the blame on evangelical protestants from Europe, but mostly from America.

After discussing various studies by Islamic scholars in the Maghreb which claim that hundreds of secret missionaries with American funding are infiltrating Morocco and Algeria, Mr. Hammada argues that most of the converts will return to Islam because these "conversions" (quotes in Mr. Hammada's text) were made under duress and therefore will never divert true Muslims. He concludes by wondering whether this phenomenon is part of a Western Strategy to create in the Arab World a Fifth Column that will dilute the strength of Islam. He notes with horror that representatives of what he calls the "Secular Current" have called for renaming the "Ministry of Waqfs (a type of Islamic charitable foundation) and Islamic Affairs" as the "Ministry of Religions." This, he concludes, is just the tip of the ice berg of what is being done in the name of "respecting the doctrines of 'Freedom of Belief,' and 'Freedom of Thought,'" phrases that conspiracy minded Muslims believe mean inevitable Americanization, destruction of their cultures and traditions, and the destruction of Islam.

It is in his discussion of the American-funded, doubly duplicitous spies masquerading as missionaries masquerading as charity workers that he makes the following statement:

In order to accomplish this work there have been here in Morocco for more than three years at least, Christianizing Americans, whose number has been estimated at around 900 Christianizers (according to 2006 statistics), undertaking concerted Christianizing assaults in the cities and villages under the guise of fictitious and real companies such "Global Education," which has been accused of spreading American Evangelicalism. Moroccan security reports, according to what appeared in the francophone "La Gazette Du Maroc", have revealed the duplicitous work these missionaries have undertaken: namely, Christianizing on the one hand and spying on the other hand for various countries, including Israel. (Moroccan censors note that on the side of a philanthropic shipment overseen by American forces in the city of Tantan (Southern Morocco) under the auspices of the administration for a school for elementary education, school supplies were distributed and placed in the container was a piece of paper bearing the name and address of a church in Salt Lake City, Utah in the United States for the Church of Jesus Christ of Last Day Saints!."

[parentheticals and exclamation point in original; note also that the author uses the Muslim form of Jesus' name, Issa, instead of the Christian name for Jesus, Yasu'a, he also says last day instead of last days]

To say I was startled is an understatement. I have never run across the Mormon Church in an Arab publication ever. Period. I have seen some literature published by the Church in Arabic and two websites about the Church in Arabic, one of which I had a hand in establishing, yet never have I run across Mormons in a purely Arab context. I did, incidentally, hear a rumor that the Egyptian paper, Al-Ahram, ran a really biased article on the Church, but still. Arab news sources are generally Mormon-free zones. I wholly suspect that these school supplies were nothing more than school supplies. I feel confident in saying that no attempt was made to subvert the youth of Morocco in the name of the "Church of Jesus Christ of Last Day Saints," which I am sure is related the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints somehow.

Let me say, however, that I have no doubt but that there is truth in some or even many of his accusations in general. During my mission, I met various protestant Christians who admitted to sneaking Christian books and pamphlets into China, Turkey, and various other countries. I read a blog by a girl who was with the Peace Corps in Morocco who admitted to sharing Christian literature with people in Morocco, a deed strictly forbidden, I might add, by the Peace Corps. The Mormon Church, however, only goes in the front door. It is counterproductive and immoral to do missionary work on the sly.

So some of his accusations do not surprise me greatly. It is mostly his style and his habit of using insinuation that disturbs me. He implies that these Christianizers, as he calls them contrasting them with Muslim missionaries, are funded by the Western and part of a conspiracy to dilute the Arab World and weaken it. He calls Christian converts a "Fifth Column," though he contradictorily asserts that there are no real converts just confused teenagers who have been tricked by Westerners into betraying their "Mother Religion", as he calls it. They will return in the end.

This led me to think about cultural dialog and the missionary spirit generally. Mr. Hammada undoubtedly is well-read and well-educated. He can easily distinguish amongst the various branches of Christianity, unlike some Arab writers I have read who make the same error Americans do when they discuss Islam, namely, lumping a diverse and often dissenting mosaic of faith traditions and cultures into something called "Islam." However, he stills find it licit to see the worst in those outside his tradition and see only the best in those with whom he agrees. Standford did a fascinating study on this showing that people are more critical if they are told that the person whose speech they are watching belongs to a different party, whereas they accept those same things said by a person who they are told belongs to their party.

I have written earlier about the concept of listening more than speaking and of the importance of seeking to understand before speaking. This seems a prime example of that error, only seen from the other side of the looking glass, which makes it so much more apparent. It is easy to see the exaggerations, the fear-mongering, the over-simplifications, and so on when one's culture is the one being dissected by an outsider. It is much more difficult to see this fallacy when looking out and assessing another culture. It is healthy, I believe, for everyone to read a critique of their own culture from an outsider. One should not head, necessarily, these criticism. That is not the point. The point is to understand both how others perceive you and to understand how people often misconstrue and misunderstand others. This will lead to self-reflection in the way we criticize and evaluate others. We can also learn the unintended consequences of our own thoughtlessness.

As I shared this article and my thoughts about it with a coworker, he responded with a critique of missionary work and evangelizing. He feels, if I understood him, that while he cannot accept total cultural relativism of the utterly permissive strain, he is uncomfortable with the idea of trying to convert others to your point of view. I am intrigued how secularists often see such a stark contrast between religious and secular ideologies as if trying to convert someone to liberal democracy or secularism were any less evangelistic than religious missionary efforts. I asked him if felt we should therefore accept Female Genital Mutilation or ritualized murder both of which are still practiced in some parts of the world. He said he didn't and recognized where I was going. His struggle, he said, was where to find those universal values by which to judge which acts are licit and which illicit.

The trouble is, however, or as Shakespeare called it, "the rub," is that there can be no universal standards without a God. Appeals to common humanity and the need to live in harmony have some merit, but only some. One could argue that no stealing means that everyone can securely own and use property and thus if all obey that we can live in some measure of peace. No murdering, of course, is essential for us to trust one another. The difficulty, however, seems to be that none of these have any emotional efficacy. If, as we are told, man is merely an animal and the mores we follow are dictated by the necessity of living together, then there is really nothing wrong with these acts per se, merely associated social opprobrium and therefore, if I can get away with it, then why not lie, cheat, and steal for my own benefit. In this system, the individual has no intrinsic worth, he is a creature in a society who must obey for the benefit of all. Of course, it is argued - and I believe rightly - that it is in our own self interest to cooperate. Working together is a social good in and of itself. However, this system does nothing to stay the hand of those who think they can "get away with it." Religion comes at this same problem from a completely different angle arguing that there are eternal verities and laws which man must obey regardless of whether he can "get away with it." I will discuss in some future article the contrasting frames of reference that make cross-cultural dialog so difficult, but not today.

However, by rejecting the last hope of the secular humanists, i.e. morals derived from social science, we are left with either anarchism or theism as the only alternative that I can reasonably see. Please, correct me if there are other options! It seems that we are left with eternal conflict between ideologies. As a libertarian, I advocate a vibrant market of ideas where everyone, no matter how odious his words, can try to convert people to his banner. I do not, however, believe that truth will inevitably win out, nor that there will come an end to strife amongst the various parties of this world. I do not even believe any one group (my own faith included) has a monopoly on truth.

The American poet James Russell Lowe said:

Truth forever on the scaffold, Wrong forever on the throne, --
Yet that scaffold sways the future, and, behind the dim unknown,
Standeth God within the shadow, keeping watch above his own.

I used to think he was speaking of martyrs whose ideals would eventually come to fruition and the rest of the poem, "The Present Crisis," is a romantic paean to tragically fighting on the side of right, though its "chosen heroes" often suffer as Christ did. This implies, sadly, that wrong will, at least in this world, be "forever on the throne." This constant babel of ideas and values will not cease while the world stands. Truth will be forever on the scaffold and wrong forever on the throne of this world. We are left as strangers and pilgrims in a hostile world.

Lehi said there must be opposition in all things and we learn further that the greatest gift given to man is his agency. If, then, we make agency the highest goal, we must maximize freedom. Freedom to disagree, freedom to hate, freedom to believe, freedom not to believe. We must be free to think that someone else is wrong -- something our politically sensitive times finds distasteful and which has lead to some strange bedfellows as Western liberal secularists go to great lengths to defend conservative Muslims, while at the same time attacking conservative Christians. I believe fiercely in what the Muslim theologians call "Ta'jil," which refers to delay of judgment until the Day of Judgment when only God would judge and make clear those things we now disagree about. Jesus said the same thing: Judge not! So my humble advice comes from the Desiderata of Max Ehrmann --often erroneously ascribed to that prolific author Anonymous:

Go placidly amid the noise and haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible without surrender
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story.

Avoid loud and aggressive persons,
they are vexations to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain and bitter;
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.

Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs;
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals;
and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself.
Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love;
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment
it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.

You are a child of the universe,
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be,
and whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful.
Strive to be happy.

Laus Clamitatis: The Praise of Failure

While speaking to a mouse whose house his plow had just overturned late in the autumn of 1785, Scottish poet Robert Burns wrote his most famous misquotation:

The best-laid schemes o'Mice an' Men
Gang aft agley
An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain,
For promis'd joy.

Some thing in his brogue makes it difficult for folks to remember this quote accurately, though strangely no one ever struggles with Auld Lang Syne, another product of Burns' prolific and pilfering pen. Still, I should not be sidetracked by linguistic pursuits. I have a story to tell.

Burns, as many poets, being a disillusioned romantic, only tells half the truth. The bleak half. Men's schemes do often go "agley," but not always to man's detriment. We are fortunate, in fact, that our plans do not always work out, for man is a myopic, tendentious, and narrow beast whose dreams, born of the detritus and debris of a cluttered subconscious, are too insular to befit truly the majesty of opportunities available in this world. Ways, as Frost said, lead to other ways and we cannot return and I believe we are the better for it. We must move forward. That is the only way to travel. Regrets and other attempts to live in the past fail. Always. It is a fundamental law of the universe. Time flows onward.

We should therefore keep living life, because we never know where it will take us. Try not to fail, of course, but if, after failing, we pick ourselves up, bruised and bloody though we may be, even these failures may be stepping stones and not grave stones.

* * *

It had been a weekend of feverish preparations. I'd read two complete books and countless websites and articles to get ready. I had written three condensed reports. I had learned the proper protocol and consulted everyone I could. Still, sweaty and shaky, my mind in a haze, I was admitted to Her Royal Highness's presence.

The ups and downs of fate that had brought me to have an audience in the private chambers of a Saudi princess are a testament to the importance of not giving up. I have failed as often as I have succeeded and am ashamed to admit that I have let my failures too often weigh heavily upon me. Pride is damning. It was pride that kept me from admitting that I had failed at my attempts to graduate from Princeton all alone. It was a destructive selfishness that drew me in upon myself to the point that I could not see beyond my own misery. It was pride that put me in the position to fail in the first place, because I had said to myself: sink or swim I'll go it alone. Still, there is something to learn in our failures, for in them we can see revealed our weaknesses. A weakness hidden, especially from oneself, is a dangerous minefield. We require signposts to warn us of our own pitfalls.

Fate, fortunately, had something else in mind. It brought me to Maryland to the home of my brother. In the year and some months since then, I have learned more than in any comparable period of time save only my mission, a likewise difficult and sometimes painful experience. I got a job much to quickly for a college drop out by using (or abusing) contacts. A few emails to an old boss put me in touch with my current boss working at a medium-size non-profit in DC which specialized in the Arab World. It is a stressful job that requires me to leave my comfort zone on a daily basis, but in time, the absolute necessity of a paycheck kept bringing me back and I found my comfort zone expanding and some of my former confidence, broken by scholastic failures, returning. I am reminded of what Alma and Amulek taught the Zoramites: sometimes terrible circumstances force us to be humble and humble people are meek and meek people are open to learn. So, stressed as I was, I endured.

I have learned a great deal about office life and my circumstances force me to deal with the same people day after day, something I am typically loathe to do. I used to rotate cafeterias and restaurants at school lest any of the workers or fellow diners get to know me and start talking to me. This is not to imply that I am somehow gregarious now, but I have improved. I have learned one of the key lessons of life: I am not that special. My circumstances are not so unique that the laws of life and the world do not apply to me. It is pride that says: I do not need to abide by the rules of others. It is arrogance to assume that we can travel our idiosyncratic path and not follow the same "rules of the game" as others.

After nearly a year in this position I received a breathless phone call:

"Are you still interested in doing that project on King Faisal we talked about?" my coworker said as her slight Texan drawl sneaked through a few vowels.

"Sure," I said, "but this is a very time consuming assignment. I'm not sure I can do it and still work here and help get things ready for the Gala."

"No, that's fine. I understand. The Princess would like to meet with you."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"The Princess would like to meet with you and hire you to research her father. Can you meet with her tomorrow?"

There was a moment of silence until I found the bottom of my jaw and finally responded with a yes. A moment later and a phone call from my boss repeated the above conversation and added that I was to devote the next ten hours to preparing.

I left off work early and walked to clear my thoughts. I called every family member I could reach and was buoyed by their boisterous yeses. I walked vaguely in the direction of my apartment, 20 miles away, following the roads under which ran the subway. DC is a strange city. It has both depth and superficiality all stacked one on top of the other. There is beautiful architecture that uplifts and exalts and the most base, perfunctory soviet-style concrete that does not even deserve to be called architecture all of which is intermingled and interpolated. I walked for miles and could not bring myself to enter the stifling tombs of the Metro underground. My thoughts fly more freely in the open air.

I thought about a lot of things. I was planning to return to school. I was planning to buy a better car. I had a kinds of things in the works. I had plans, dang it. Of course, I had had plans before. I had planned to graduate Princeton and get a nice quiet academic job. I had planned to work for the CIA. I had planned to travel the world. I had had plans. Yet, here I was, despite all those plans, walking down the streets of DC contemplating a job offer that had never crossed my radar.

I had been recommended to work for a princess of Saudi Arabia as a researcher to help find materials to found an archive dedicated to her father, the late King Faisal of Saudi Arabia, was died in 1975. It was not, in my original understanding at this time, to be a very exciting job. Still, a princess is a princess and an invitation to a royal audience is to not be accepted or rejected lightly.

A strange thought occurred to me in my wanderings in and amongst the impressive array foreign embassies along Massachusetts and Connecticut Avenues. I looked back over my past many years and then recalled something my boss, who is Mormon, said. She said that she thought God had placed me here for this job. That she and I met many years ago in passing at BYU, where I worked for a summer, just to get me to a place where I could work here and get hired by the Princess. Now, I believe in the scriptures, but there are things in them that I don't understand or concepts that I still struggle to accept. One of these has been the concept that God is operative in all aspects of our lives. On the surface I can accept it, but when I think about the thorny territory of human agency versus divine fiat, I struggle.

As I walked, I thought this just might be true. God had given me some scattered and completely random experiences that were beginning to come together. I had worked during my time at USU at the USU Special Collections and Archives where I processed and created new collections. I spent time assisting with book collections, photo collections, and even some limited time with the people who repair manuscripts and books, though I cannot claim any expertise. I had met Mona in passing only once, but both of us remembered the meeting and then we wind up in DC at the same time, me needing a job, and her needing to fill a job with someone with knowledge of the Arab World. At Princeton, though I did not graduate, I had worked in the map archives translating and cataloging maps of the Middle East and Europe. My gift for research and my penchant for calligraphy are what brought me to the attention of HRH Princess Haifa who asked me do some research. Though my initial efforts were at best abortive, I nevertheless must have made an impression.

So, here I am, about to meet with a princess for an amazing job opportunity. I, a little farm boy from Utah who isn't even sure his farm qualifies as a farm, full of doubt and prevarications, am about to go into the service of a world-famous princess to work on a project that will last for generations. I was admitted to her suite in DC with my boss and a coworker who also works for the Princess. I would say she is not what I expected, but I cannot honestly say what I expected a princess to look like. My only knowledge of princesses comes from tabloids about British royalty and Disney cartoons. She is a remarkable woman of grace, with graying curls and a Mona Lisa smile. I managed to introduce myself and fumblingly handed my report to her for her review. She introduced me to her two teenage sons who shortly excused themselves to visit stores in the area.

I had anticipated talking more and while I would normally have described myself as one nonplussed by celebrity and royalty - I did, after all, once meet Charles Grodin! Yet I was totally plussed. I spoke as clearly as I could and she complemented my research up to that point as my coworkers smiled at me and I turned beet red. It is not an easy thing to endure a compliment. We discussed details of my project and when I stumbled, my coworkers helpfully filled in the conversation.

It became clear to me that I had underestimated the project for which I was being tasked. I had expected a job that would take several months and involve culling newspaper archives and a few libraries, but Her Royal Highness quickly asked whether I would be able to visit every country His Majesty King Faisal had visited, and those countries which had relations with Saudi Arabia in order to acquire a thorough collection of all primary documents relating to his life.

I said yes. I said yes!! What was I thinking. Who agrees to that? I just said I was capable of creating an archive of the entire life of one of the most important political figures of the twentieth century. I am utterly insane. I am giving up school, a settled apartment, any chance of a long term relationship for the next year at least, all for a project I'm not sure I can do!!!

Her Royal Highness graciously thanked me and expressed her confidence saying she had finally met someone in whom she had confidence to do the work she needed done. The conversation turned to other matters, but I wanted out. My mind was whirring at the prospect of what I had just agreed to do, to become. Before we left, it was agreed that I would come to Riyadh in May for an exhibit on the life of King Faisal and there see the archives as they existed now in order to assess what needs to be gathered to complete the records.

I was then hit with the next in a line of many shocks that day: Prince Turki, brother of Princess Haifa and former Ambassador to the United States would like to meet with me. He, too, was impressed with the preliminary research sketches I had done and my plan for the archives. After a nervous lunch during which I managed to pronounce all Italian menu items as French and the French items as Italian, I was escorted to the suite of HRH Prince Turki there to discuss some more details. He had a dignified bearing and way of being silent that bore into my soul as I sat on the couch. We discussed much of what I had discussed with Princess Haifa, but this time I was all alone, save for the Prince's British secretary. We discussed his father, the King, and what he would like to see. He promised to have his people send me copies of all materials already gathered and then he asked me to draft an employment agreement, an agreement, not a contract, because, "Agreements are between friends and we are friends." It's the same legally, I suppose, but words are important in Arab culture in a way we utilitarian Americans struggle to grasp as we casually throw words around ignorant of their history and their impact.

The rest of the day and the days following have been amazingly normal. Normality seems miraculous when juxtaposed with the miraculous. So now I am preparing myself for a job that will take me to nearly every part of the world, from Texas to Paris, from Cairo to Moscow and, of course, here in Washington, DC. All this because I failed at college. Had I not dropped out, I would undoubtedly be in a comfy but staid tenure-track position having missed out on a great opportunity because I had never failed.

Meditations Part I

The purpose of these missals will be entirely personal and whether I have an audience or not is frankly unimportant. Words are the central and consuming pursuit of my life. The Word, the Logos, in all its shades of meaning semantic, christological, philosophical, and so on. These are the private musings of one who finds it easier to write than to speak. Words come bubbling up inside of me and will have an outlet. This will include dialogues, essays, fictions, poetry, and the unthought-out meandering jeremiads of my mind.

I have called this site Mormon Meditations because I am a Mormon, a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. My purpose is to explore my experience and my beliefs through my writings. Often I have had the experience that not until my words are cogently written down do my ideas begin to crystallize. I am hoping through these writings to explore and understand my own experience.

However, I will not confine myself to "Mormon" specific targets, but will range upon the whole spectrum of my experience including my diagnosis some years past with Asperger's Syndrome, my personal interests in history, religion, language and linguistics, culture, literature, philosophy, physics, and current events.

I invite readers to comment and challenge my ideas so that I will be forced to reconsider them. Without opposition, there is no growth and with growth, there is slow decay and death. I follow the philosophy of the Muslim scholar Ibn Hanbal who said (and I am paraphrasing) I believe my beliefs are correct, but I am aware they could be wrong. I believe my opponents' beliefs are incorrect, but I am aware they could be correct. Truth, as I once heard it said, is larger than any one man's conception of it and as we grope and fumble in the darkness of this world, we all stumble over the truth occasionally, but fall more frequently into error. I subscribe somewhat resignedly to the Weltanschauung of Alexander Pope:

Know then thyself, presume not God to scan
The proper study of Mankind is Man.
Placed on this isthmus of a middle state,
A Being darkly wise, and rudely great:
With too much knowledge for the Sceptic side,
With too much weakness for the Stoic's pride,
He hangs between; in doubt to act, or rest;
In doubt to deem himself a God, or Beast;
In doubt his mind and body to prefer;
Born but to die, and reas'ning but to err;
Whether he thinks to little, or too much;
Chaos of Thought and Passion, all confus'd;
Still by himself, abus'd or disabus'd;
Created half to rise and half to fall;
Great Lord of all things, yet a prey to all,
Sole judge of truth, in endless error hurl'd;
The glory, jest and riddle of the world.

Still, there is hope -- the final thing that remains to man after he loses everything else. Hope remains when all else flees. It is the basis for faith and charity and the sustainer of the soul. I will write a great deal about hope; a topic that has occupied me lately. Until later...