Conclusion
The essence of religious faith lies in its provision of meaning to human existence. In its most radical dimension, as reflected in the three humanistic religions, it posits the sacrifice of life for God.
Ideologically, self-sacrifice was perceived as a religious act that ensures the survival and flourishing of faith and evokes intimacy with God. It was seen as the true embodiment of the “culture of devotion,” to adopt Frank Graziano’s notion in reference to popular saints of Latin America.1 However, self-sacrifice is not devoid of social elements. In sociological terms, a martyr is an individual who lives and functions in a specific social and cultural setting. In a situation of confrontation with another, stronger group, martyrdom is an effective tool in fortifying group morale, thereby ensuring future volunteers. Put another way, martyrdom may be seen as a manifestation of power politics.
Viewed historically, Judaism and Christianity, which preceded Islam, influenced the perception of death in Islam in many ways (for example, as testimony to the power of belief and the pleasures of paradise) but differed from it in patterns of martyrdom. Whereas the ideal of sacrifice in the first two religions was put into practice defensively – in Christianity in its early history and in Judaism for long periods thereafter – at the hands of oppressors in interrogation rooms and public squares, the ideal of sacrifice in Islam was put into practice offensively against unbelievers on the battlefield. Martyrdom in Islam elicited laudatory literature as a branch of military jihad aimed at elevating the word of God or, alternatively, repelling an external aggression against his believers.
Muslim history, which included periods of political and military quiescence, did not always adhere to the ideal of sacrifice. On the contrary, the ideal underwent erosion over time and lost its supremacy over other forms of death, such as death resulting from asceticism, illnesses, or natural disasters, although it remained a key ethos in Muslim tradition. It attracted renewed glorification in recent times by revivalist movements, both Sunna and Shiʿa, which viewed it as a means of verifying the moral superiority of Islam over other cultures perceived as hedonistic and as a lever for group cohesion and a demonstration of endurance in the face of political repression.
With this, the motif of martyrdom evoked varied interpretations, an indication of the multifaceted nature of modern Islamist thought and changing historical circumstances. Indeed, a careful analysis of ideological writing, side by side with evaluating the historical and political realties in which they were molded, reveals a diverse religious discourse on martyrdom: trends toward restraint alongside those typified by extremism and the elevation of death in anticipation of Islamic salvation. The Muslim Brethren in the 1930s and 1940s adopted communal jihad and preached altruism for the benefit of the community, but radical organizations from the 1950s onward promoted jihad and revolution against secular nationalism as conceptualized by Nasser and the Baʿth Party. A revolutionary ideology was implemented as well by the awakening Shiʿa against the Shah’s regime in Iran.
In parallel, the radicals upgraded the status of the simple believer from a silent voice to a sounder of the alarm and the bearer of a mission who holds the keys to the establishment of the Kingdom of God. In their perception, the true believer is committed to fight to the death against a corrupted and unjust regime, although his primary mission is to attack and kill without exposing himself to deliberate death. Moreover, civilians are excluded from the range of harm. These two parameters of the mujahid – circumstantial death and nonviolence against civilians – reflected a moral restraint on the basis of the theological prohibition of suicide and the killing of civilians in societies that were Muslim. These parameters also constituted the dividing line between the early radicals of the 1970s and 1980s and the 1990s and thereafter, who adopted “suicide” attacks or missions inspired ideologically by revolutionary Iran.
Fueled by a sense of humiliation, and nurturing an eschatological expectation of salvation, the awakening Shiʿa advocated initiated offensive martyrdom. The Iranian model was embraced and further developed by dissident Islamist movements mainly in ethnic-national conflicts, most prominently in Lebanon, Palestine, Chechnya, and Afghanistan. These movements waged a dual struggle: militarily against foreign occupation and politically over supremacy in their own communities. In these arenas “suicide” attacks were viewed as part of guerrilla warfare and as a weapon of the weak in their struggle against a foreign oppressor.
“Suicide” attacks in ethnic and national conflicts between Muslims and non-Muslims engendered a debate in Islamic circles during the 1990s over religious legitimacy regarding both the self-inflicted death of the perpetrator and the killing of civilians. Whereas critics renounced “suicide” acts as unfit for reward in paradise, others viewed these acts as the epitome of faith in God, highlighting the issue of protecting Muslim territory and people or of regaining occupied Muslim territory. They depicted the notion of defensive jihad as instilling a sense of urgency and, as such, outside the bounds of ethical rules of warfare outlined extensively in Islamic judicial literature (as, for example, the acceptability of armistice, the just treatment of noncombatants, or the avoidance of an indiscriminate use of arms). Typically, Shaykh Muhammad Husayn Fadlallah, the late spiritual leader of Hizballah in Lebanon, ruled: “There is no difference between dying with a gun in your hand or exploding yourself. In a situation of struggle or holy war, you have to find the best means to achieve your goals.”2
Relating “suicide” acts to the concept of jihad – which was identified primarily with the duty to reaffirm the superior morality of Islam – also engendered a reliance on earlier legalist traditions that explicitly prioritized martyrdom over the sanctity of life. The context of infidel occupation also loosened restraints regarding harming civilians, women, farm workers, and others who were depicted as supporting the military effort of the enemy morally or materially and, moreover, inhabiting occupied Muslim land.
Islamist movements that carried out “suicide” attacks, and their supporters from the mainstream religious spectrum, were careful to emphasize that this weapon does not constitute a systematic or mass modus operandi but is implemented in emergency situations only and within specific Islamic parameters. Defending the faith and the homeland was a central theme, with its operative parameters conforming to the geographical borders of the specific entity in conflict. The geographic parameter, side by side with a calculated martyrdom, also signified the distinctive difference between these religio-national movements and the al-Qaʿida organization that emerged in the early 1990s.
Al-Qaʿida replaced territorial and calculated martyrdom with a transnational and sweeping martyrdom aimed at the entire West and its allies in the Arab Muslim world. This concept of global jihad, which fostered perpetual war between Islam and its enemies, was reinforced by the elements of a charismatic leadership, operational mobility, and a new human reservoir in the Western European Muslim diaspora and elsewhere.
Al-Qaʿida’s strategy of global jihad against the “new Crusade” inflamed the imagination of the Muslim masses although it failed to gain a footing in Islamic discourse. A variety of Islamic sectors, communal and militant alike, perceived al-Qaʿida’s universal vision as utopian and as eroding the meager resources of the Islamists in their struggle against the modern state. Nevertheless, the emergence of al-Qaʿida infused the phenomenon of martyrdom with new vitality, culminating in the September 11, 2001, attacks in the United States.
Besides constituting an effective tool of guerilla warfare, “suicide” attacks also functioned as a political statement in the name of divine authority, projecting the option of protest and resistance over that of compromise and rapprochement. Furthermore, “suicide” attacks constituted an important pedagogic medium by which the perpetrators brought the ideological platform of their movements into the street and into the homes of the public. Their dramatic death, followed by the exhibition of their written and recorded wills prepared prior to embarking on their mission, conveyed a message of piety, power, determination, and commitment. Commemorations of their exalted altruism took place in a variety of venues: printed memoir texts, funeral and burial ceremonies, songs, graphics, audiovisual tapes, and the Internet.
These means of instilling the ethos of self-sacrifice constituted an important aspect of popular culture, which, in situations of confrontation, can become a tool in political struggles, or “wars of position” in Antonio Gramsci’s wording.3 Methodologically, this type of culture may be termed a culture of resistance aimed at influencing the masses or at demonstrating broad oppositionist trends to the powers that be.4 Popular culture can thus reflect political events and power struggles no less accurately than can the study of politics or diplomatic history.
Intensive commemorative campaigns constructed an ideal image of the martyrs as chosen by God, projecting charisma on the basis of moral and ascetic conduct, social altruism, courage, and dissidence, yet also based on the attributes of divine grace and spiritual powers. Islamic martyrologists, mainly Sunnis, who were charged with the production of popular martyrdom literature, were not satisfied with perpetuating an ethical type of martyr only but sought to project a martyr with such Sufi attributes as karamat as well, revealing an awareness that a heroic death in battle was insufficient to establish authority and secure the devotion of the Muslim activist who seeks religious arousal. Moreover, by positioning the martyrs as conduits of divine blessings and as mild ascetics, their affiliated movements aimed at elevating the purity of their motives beyond any doubt or criticism, thereby also enhancing their own public appeal. Eventually, the expropriation of sources of guidance and authority from other cultural agents, in this case Sufis, led to a more interactive relationship between radical Islam and mysticism, in modern times, than is assumed in the scholarly literature.
Retrospectively, modern Muslim radicals who cherished the ethos of battlefield martyrdom shared what Max Weber defined as the “ethics of ultimate ends,” which tends to project a set of exalted ideas in the name of justice. In such a perception, religion represents the means of ultimate order, thereby enabling the proper handling of the disorder of modern times.5 Moreover, in this view, according to anthropologist Clifford Geertz, religion not only encourages self-sacrifice but also demands it.6
Such a mindset also fostered a direct link between a return to the golden age of early Islam and the restoration of the pure and powerful community, which is characterized by devotion and a sense of superiority.7 The rehabilitation of Islam as a system of governance, in this thinking, may take a long time, but it will occur in the end: every new difficulty is merely a passing episode in the victorious march of the truth.8 Historical evidence supporting this outlook was cited by al-Qaʿida’s al-Zawahiri in the form of the Crusader occupation of Syria and Palestine, the French occupation of Algeria, and the British occupation of Egypt, which lasted decades or more but were eventually terminated by the Muslims.9
Additionally, Muslim radicals upgraded the status of jihad and self-sacrifice in Islam, perceiving them as a vital condition for a correct and innate understanding of the religion and for the reestablishment of its supremacy. In this perception, relinquishing jihad meant self-destruction. However, it was here that the radicals differed in approach.
For early radicals, as in Egypt and Syria in the 1960s and 1970s, self-sacrifice revealed a measured jihad subject to moral restrictions because of the nature of the environment in which it was to be implemented – namely Muslim society. It was directed against local regimes only, and the death of the perpetrator was circumstantial, not deliberate. For later radicals in ethno-national conflicts, such as in Lebanon, Palestine, and Chechnya in the 1980s and 1990s, self-sacrifice demonstrated an assertive jihad against an infidel occupier through “suicide” operations that implicitly targeted civilians as well. However, their discourse also revealed an awareness of the dilemmas – and their attempts to resolve them – regarding the affinity between martyrdom and self-immolation and the issue of targeting civilians. Lastly, for al-Qaʿida and Salafi-jihadists, martyrdom meant a sweeping jihad against the Crusader West and its Arab-Muslim allies, including in Iraq and Saudi Arabia, without reservations or apologetics and without differentiation between enemy soldiers, prisoners of war, and civilians.
Of the three radical narratives, only the ethno-national one gained wide theological backing from the broad center of the Islamic spectrum: the Muslim Brethren and the religious establishment. Jihad and martyrdom in ethno-national conflicts, including “suicide” attacks, did not evoke internal Muslim strife (fitna). Moreover, they targeted defamed entities that were defined throughout twentieth-century Islamic historiography as infidel and repressive, with jihad against them viewed as equal to the jihad waged by the believers in early Islam.10 The two other narrative poles were excluded from the realm of sanctity in that they advocated mere violence. Domestic jihad, as espoused by the Egyptian Jihad and other radical movements, was dismissed as constituting a modern version of the Kharijites of early Islam – that is, outside the consensus – whereas the global jihad of al-Qaʿida was denounced as apostasy.11
The renunciation of domestic jihad against Arab regimes reflected the primacy of the legalist orientation, which advocated daʿwa, or communal activity, whereas the renunciation of cosmic jihad against the Christian West reflected the primacy of territorial Islam, which focused on upgrading its status within a defined political community. According to the Muslim Brethren and similar groups, daʿwa – namely preaching, education, and persuasion – alone has the ability to broaden the influence of Islam. It also explains the secret of the strength of these groups and their ability to survive over the years in comparison with the weakness and marginality of their adversaries.
In challenging the radical circles, Brethren spokesmen emphasized that the basis for bringing about change in society and in the state is the principle of gradualism rather than hastiness – a policy of patience rather than an impulsive reaction. Theological support for this stance was cited by the Brethren in the Prophet’s activity in Mecca, which was typified by preaching, in light of the weakness of the community of believers. This is the reality in the modern era as well, and thus communal work is the right path.12
The extent to which the daʿwa strategy embraced compromise in religious ideals is a topic for separate discussion.13 However, clearly, it gained a superior place in Islamist discourse, heightening an awareness of the importance of diligent “field work” and the establishment of physical networks rooted in the community rather than in virtual spheres or politics as an agent of change. The reinforcement of the option of communal jihad over revolutionary jihad led to an erosion in the status of militant martyrdom but did not abolish its importance as a component of guerrilla warfare and a symbolic repertory of defiance and opposition. This was especially true in ethno-national conflict arenas still struggling for political viability and deeply involved in state building.
1 , Cultures of Devotion: Folk Saints of Spanish America (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007).
2 Fadlallah quoted by Ranstorp, “Terrorism in the Name of Religion,” p. 55.
3 and (eds.), Selections from the Prison Notebook of Antonio Gramsci (New York: International Publishers, 1971), pp. 238–239.
4 See, e.g., and , “Popular Culture, Rational History and the Question of Power in Palestine and Israel,” Journal of Palestinian Studies33/4 (Summer 2004), pp. 6–9.
5 , “Politics as a Vocation,” in and (eds.), From Max Weber: Essays in Sociology (New York: Oxford University Press, 1946), pp. 120–123.
6 Geertz, The Interpretation of Cultures, p. 126.
7 Some Muslim radicals advocated the restoration of the “textual community,” which evolved around the core scriptures – the Qurʾan and the Sunna – depicted by these radical circles as the “hard religion,” while making selective use of judicial literature produced thereafter. See, e.g., Muhammad Abu Halima, who was involved in the World Trade Center explosions in New York in 1993, cited in , “Terror in the Name of God,” Current History100 (November 2001), p. 359. The term “textual community” is taken from , The Implications of Literacy: Written Language and Models of Interpretation in the Eleventh and Twelfth Centuries (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1983), p. 90. See also , Myth and Reality (New York: Harper & Row, 1975), pp. 21–38; Qutb, Maʿalim fi’l-tariq, pp. 11–19.
8 See, e.g., al-Zawahiri quoted in al-Sharq al-Awsat, December 8, 2001.
9 Ibid; Also al-Suri, Daʿwat al-muqawama al-Islamiyya, pp. 922–923.
10 See, e.g., the rulings of Shaykh ʿAbd al-Halim Mahmud in his Fatawa, Vol. 2, pp. 111, 113.
11 Jedda Arab News, October 29, 2001; Le Monde diplomatique (Paris), November 2001.
12 Al-Mukhtar al-Islami, October 14, 2006, p. 36; also , “Islam Divided between Salafi-Jihadi and the Ikhwan,” Studies in Conflict and Terrorism33/6 (May 3, 2010), pp. 467–487.
13 See, e.g., , “The Metamorphosis of the Egyptian Brethren,” International Journal of Middle East Studies37 (2005), pp. 373–395; , Faith in Moderation: Islamist Parties in Jordan and Yemen (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006); , Making Islam Democratic: Social Movements and the Post-Islamist Turn (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2007), mainly pp. 1–15, 194–197; , “The Struggle over Political Order in Egypt: The 2005 Elections,” Middle East Journal60/2 (Spring 2006), pp. 257–279; , “Freiheit und Staat im islamistischen Diskurs,” in Islam und Moderner Nationalstaat (Paderborn: Wilhelm Fink Verlag, forthcoming).
