Migration and Religion Christian Transatlantic Missions, Islamic Migration to Germany Chloe

Beihefte zum Daphnis

Herausgegeben von Barbara Becker-Cantarino – Mirosława Czarnecka Franz Eybl – Klaus Garber – Ferdinand van Ingen Knut Kiesant – Ursula Kocher – Wilhelm Kühlmann Wolfgang Neuber – Hans-Gert Roloff – Alexander Schwarz Ulrich Seelbach – Robert Seidel – Jean-Marie Valentin Helen Watanabe-O’Kelly

BAND 46

Amsterdam - New York, NY 2012 Migration and Religion Christian Transatlantic Missions, Islamic Migration to Germany

Edited by Barbara Becker-Cantarino Cover Photo: Persian Tile. Photo by Vicente Calabuig Cantarino

The paper on which this book is printed meets the requirements of “ISO 9706:1994, Information and documentation - Paper for documents - Requirements for permanence”.

ISBN: 978-90-420-3536-2 E-Book ISBN: 978-94-012-0811-6 © Editions Rodopi B.V., Amsterdam - New York, NY 2012 Printed in The Netherlands CONTENTS

Preface…………………………………………………………………………1

Barbara Becker-Cantarino: Religion and Migration: Christian Missionaries in North America, Muslim Populations in Germany……………………………………………………….5

Wolfgang Breul: Theological Tenets and Motives of Mission: August Hermann Francke, Nikolaus Ludwig von Zinzendorf……………………………………………41

Pia Schmid: Indians Observed: Moravian Missionary John Heckewelder’s Account of the History, Manners, and Customs of the Indian Nations (1819)….….……..…61

Ulrike Gleixner: Remapping the World: The Vision of a Protestant Empire in the Eighteenth Century……………………………………………………………………….77

Ulrike Strasser: From “German India” to the Spanish Indies and Back: Jesuit Migrations Abroad and Their Effects at Home…………………………..………………91

Cornelia Niekus Moore: “A Source of Praise”: The Wanderings of a Devotional Book....…………..111

Rebekka Habermas: Islam Debates around 1900: Colonies in Africa, Muslims in Berlin, and the Role of Missionaries and Orientalists..……………………………………..123

Claudia Breger: Christian Universalism? Racism and Collective Identity in Twenty-First- Century Immigration Discourses..…………………………………………155

David Gramling: “You Pray Like We Have Fun”: Toward a Phenomenology of Secular Islam………………………………………………………………………...175 Kamaal Haque: Iranian, Afghan, and Pakistani Migrants in Germany: Muslim Populations Beyond Turks and Arabs…….……………………………………………..193

Thomas Schmitt: Mosque Debates as Space-Related, Intercultural, and Religious Conflict…207

Karl Ivan Solibakke: Muslim Migration to Germany: A Response to Thilo Sarrazin, Deutschland schafft sich ab...………..…………………………………………………….219

List of Contributors…………………………………………………………237

Index ..……………………………………………………………………...239 PREFACE

Most of the essays in this volume had their origin in a conference organized as a Humboldt Kolleg at The Ohio State University in April 2011: “Migration, Religion, and Germany.” My research interest in radical Pietism and the teaching of a general education undergraduate course “The German Experience in America” lead me to organize this conference. I was most fortunate to find a partner in Georges S. Tamer (M. S. Sofia Chair in Arabic Studies at Ohio State University) who co-chaired the meeting. We decided to focus on the intersection of religion and migration, on Christianity and Islam: their religious organizations, religious cultures and rituals that played and still play an important role in migration and in the creation of new communities. Christian migration and religion have shaped in particular the United States but also the German-speaking territories of Central Europe during the religious wars in the wake of the Reformation. Religious organizations, fellowship in ethnic churches with its familiar linguistic and cultural content are still important for today’s migrants. They have also led, once again, to major clashes and controversies in the present political debate on Islam and Muslim immigration in Germany and in Europe. Given the wide and fascinating field of religion and migration and the heterogeneous, often eclectic nature of migration studies, we narrowed our focus, also in accordance with our own interests and backgrounds, to the historical period of Christian transatlantic mission out of Germany and to the new Islamic presence in contemporary Germany. This diachronic, transnational pairing may serve to show communalities and differences over time and space, can speak to each other, and take away the notion of uniqueness in the migration situation. Concentrating on Christianity and Islam regrettably leaves out other world religions that certainly also belong to this picture, and it does not claim to speak exclusively for the issues of migration and religion. On the contrary, it wishes to make a contribution to the ongoing discussion about the role of religion and migration. A first group of invited lectures at the migration conference presented and discussed recent research on the historical phase of

Chloe 46 2 Barbara Becker-Cantarino early German transatlantic migrations and colonization: on Pietists and Moravians in eighteenth-century North America, especially in Pennsylvania and Ohio, on Jesuit missionary work in “New Spain” (Mexico and California), and on the Halle mission networks in the West Indies. The second conference day began with a history of the debate over Islam in Germany introducing the sessions that addressed Muslim immigrants, from Turkey and the Near East, to Germany in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries and focused on the political and religious controversies and cultural clashes as well as efforts at resolution in Germany. Papers explored the theme of symbolic ethnicity and religious socialization in looking at Muslim immigration, Christian universalism, secular Islam, Mosque conflicts, and the controversy surrounding multiculturalism and integration with special consideration of Turkish immigrants in Germany. Central to the conference framework was the recognition that symbolic ethnicity and religious identity continue to influence how individuals react to, and how states or nations deal with, social and spatial mobility. Conference speakers (and contributors to this volume) come from a range of fields whose scholarship relates to the theme of migration, religion, and Germany: theology and church history, colonial history, history of education, literary and cultural studies, cultural geography, and linguistics. The present volume of essays resulting from the migration conference also pays tribute to the 200th anniversary in 2012 of the founding of the city of Columbus with its reference to eighteenth- century migration in Ohio. Since its modern statehood in the nineteenth century, Ohio has been a place of immigration. The foundations and infrastructure of Columbus (established in 1812) were laid by immigrants especially from central Europe and Germany to be extended by successive waves of immigrants from Eastern Europe, Latin America, and Africa (the Somali immigrant community in Columbus now numbers 35,000). During the nineteenth century, German immigrants literally built the city of Columbus and the present State of Ohio (established in 1803) — in the year Napoleon abolished the ancient Roman Empire of German Nation. Immigrant settlers from German lands helped build the city (and later the university) as craftsmen, artisans, stone masons, nursery men, bricklayers, farmers and dairy men, ministers and teachers, and not to forget also as maids, mothers, nurses, and caretakers. Today the early

Chloe 46 Preface 3 settlers from German-speaking countries are remembered in the historical suburb called “German Village” with its beloved Schiller Park named after the “poet of freedom,” Friedrich Schiller (1759– 1805), the most important author for German-Americans in the Midwest in the nineteenth century. Ohio State University, a land-grant institution established as the Ohio Agricultural and Mechanical College in 1872, changed its name to The Ohio State University in 1878, reflecting its broad-based liberal arts education with a wide range of study and an emphasis on research. The University was later patterned after institutions of higher education in Germany much as designed by Wilhelm von Humboldt (the older brother of Alexander) and developed into a major Research I institution of the “Big Ten.” Eighteenth-century migration before European settlers forged the modern state of Ohio after the Revolutionary War has been largely forgotten. It was the century of Native Americans’ struggle for survival, depopulation and dispossession in what was then the Backwoods of the old Northwestern Territory, today’s Western Pennsylvania and Ohio. The eighteenth century was also the century in which — starting around 1750 — Moravian missionaries began their missionary work in order to enable and to facilitate communication with Native Americans whom they hoped to convert to Christianity. For that missionary purpose (not for acquiring and possessing land, as did nineteenth-century century immigrants as settlers), the Moravians endeavored to live with and among Native Americans and, perhaps even more important, to learn their languages, their customs and lifestyle in order to establish mission congregations. Unfortunately, already by the middle of the nineteenth century people who settled on the lands in Ohio where “once Indians worshiped” and that had belonged to the Delawares had never even seen a Native American. Several essays in the present collection will take us back to religious missions and Native Americans in the eighteenth century. Central to the volume framework is the recognition that religion — belief systems, religious socialization and identity — continue to influence how individuals react to, and how states or nations deal with, social and spatial mobility. I wish to thank the Alexander von Humboldt Foundation for their generous support of the conference under their Humboldt Kolleg program. I am also grateful for the financial support from Ohio State’s College of Arts and Humanities, the Department of Germanic

Chloe 46 4 Barbara Becker-Cantarino

Languages and Literatures, The Mershon Center for International Security Studies, and the Department of Near Eastern Languages and Cultures. Many individuals have contributed to the success of the conference and the preparation of this volume, above all Georges Tamer with his energy, wit, and expert knowledge. Berit Jany and Thomas Stefaniuk provided professional assistance with the arrangements for the conference and the excursion to Schoenbrunn, Gnadenhuetten, and Zoar, early Moravian settlements in Eastern Ohio. Anna Grotans was always ready with support, Brenda Hosey with financial advice, and Ann Richards with logistics and planning of the conference. Last but not least, my thanks go to the contributors to this volume and to the all the participants at the conference, especially Kathleen Fisher of the American Friends of the Alexander von Humboldt Foundation.

Barbara Becker-Cantarino Columbus, March 2012

Chloe 46 B a r b a r a B e c k e r-C a n t a r i n o

RELIGION AND MIGRATION: CHRISTIAN MISSIONARIES IN NORTH AMERICA, MUSLIM POPULATIONS IN GERMANY

Abstract

Religion — Christianity — was an important factor in European transatlantic migrations; religion — Islam — is a major issue in the immigration debate in “post- secular” Germany (and Europe) today. Looking at Christianity and Islam, transnational and diachronic considerations reveal the communalities and differences in the effects of religion on migration over time and space, can speak to each other, and take away the notion of uniqueness. In this essay, I selectively summarize recent historical research on migration and religion with regard to the US and Germany. Secondly, I offer a brief overview of religion and migration in the early modern period focusing on transatlantic Christian missions from central Europe (German- speaking countries). Finally, I address the debate about the new Muslim migration in contemporary Germany with an eye towards the Turkish German community and to aspects of gender and religion. I argue that the same missionary impulse to spatial conquest and new community building is inherent in both, Christianity and Islam. While the modalities for migration have vastly changed over time, a traditionally Christian Germany has to negotiate now the ideas and interests of Islam’s religious functionaries and the religiosity of transnational Islamic communities.

Migrations of individuals and groups influenced by religion have occurred throughout history. Religion — Christianity — was an important factor in transatlantic migrations; religion — Islam — is a major issue in the im-migration debate in “post-secular” Germany (and Europe) today. Christian dissenters, refugees, and missionaries shaped in particular the United States, while religion also played a major role in the internal migrations in German-speaking territories of Central Europe during the religious wars in the wake of the Reformation. And although “the obituary for religion in modern societies has been written many times,”1 religious organizations and religious fellowship in ethnic churches with its familiar linguistic and

1 Charles Hirschman: The Role of Religion in the Origins and Adaptation of Immigrant Groups in the United States. In: Rethinking Migration: New Theoretical and Empirical Perspectives. Eds. Alejandro Portes, Josh DeWind. New York / Oxford 2007, pp. 391–418, here p. 392. 6 Barbara Becker-Cantarino cultural content are still important for today’s migrants. They have also led, once again, to major clashes and controversies in the present political debates in the US and Germany (and the EU). Today, the “return of religion” in immigration debates in Europe is fueled by the settlement of post-colonial migrants, mostly Muslim immigrants, and Islam is at the center of debates about immigration in Germany (and in most of Europe).2 This stems from the recognition that religion — organized religious groups, belief systems, and religious socialization and identity development — continues to influence how individuals react to, and how groups, countries, or nations deal with, social and spatial mobility. When looking at Christianity and Islam, transnational and diachronic considerations reveal the communalities and differences in the effects of religion on migration over time and space can speak to each other and take away the notion of uniqueness in the topic of migration research. In this essay, I selectively summarize recent research on migration and religion as it pertains especially to issues that have been raised with regard to the US and to Germany.3 Secondly, I offer a brief overview of religion and migration in the early modern period and focus on transatlantic Christian missions from central Europe (German-speaking countries). Finally, I address the debate about the new Islamic migration in contemporary Germany with an eye towards aspects of gender and religion. By this juxtaposition of Christian missions in eighteenth-century North America and Islamic migrants in contemporary Germany, I argue that the same missionary impulse of spatial conquest and new community building that was seminal for the establishment of the “Western world” is now also a driving force in Islamic migration to Germany (and Europe). While the modalities for migration have vastly changed over time, a mostly secular Germany (and Europe) are now faced with

2 Riva Kastoryano: Religion and Incorporation: Islam in France and Germany. Ibid., pp. 419-40, here p. 419. 3 A note on terminology: I am using here the names for the modern states. When speaking of the early modern period, the meaning of “German” is fluid; I refer to German-speaking lands in central Europe, mostly in the Holy Roman Empire, which after the Peace of Westphalia in 1648 consisted of a large number of increasingly independent (but not yet sovereign) principalities, bishoprics, and free imperial cities. Migrants from these areas would usually identify with their native town or region (Württemberger, Pfälzer) but in the British colonies they would be considered “German” (or “Dutch” for deutsch, deitsch) because of their different language.

Chloe 46 Religion and Migration 7 the ideas and interests of Islam’s religious functionaries and the religiosity of transnational Islamic communities within their countries and have to come to terms with Islam as a religion.

I Recent Research Perspectives on Migration and Religion

Until recently, the intersection of religion and migration had received little attention in research studies. Driven by sociological paradigms, migration research mostly examined economic, demographic, and political aspects as push and pull factors fueling migration and as causes and consequences of immigration. Many immigration theorists, especially in the US, have proceeded from the premise that market forces mainly determined migration activities and have concentrated on government policy and its effect on international migration. Historical studies have traditionally considered the role of religion in immigrant incorporation,4 focusing on the migrants and religious institutions, on the importance of religious identity and the preservation of language and customs, and on the successful integration of the second generation of immigrant groups in the United Sates.5 However, the rising number of Muslim immigrants in recent decades and the presence of Islam as an organized political movement have contributed to the growing interest in both religion and ethnicity in many quarters of North America and more recently also in Germany and throughout Europe. The events of September 11 have lent new interest and urgency to an investigation of the role of religion in migration and of belief systems in transnational migration and community formation. With the renewed presence of religion in the

4 Alejandro Portes, Josh DeWind: A Cross-Atlantic Dialogue. In: Rethinking Migration (fn. 1), pp. 3–28, here p. 17. 5 See, among many similar studies, J. P. Dolan: The Immigrant Church: New York’s Irish and German Catholics. Baltimore 1975; the excellent overview for the eighteenth century from a German perspective in Hermann Wellenreuther: Recent Research on Migration. In: In Search of Peace and Prosperity: New German Settlements in Eighteenth-Century Europe and America. Eds. Hartmut Lehmann, Hermann Wellenreuther, Renate Wilson. University Park, PA 2000, pp. 265–306; Charles Hirschman: The Role of Religion in the Origin and Adaptation of Immigrant Groups in the United States. In: International Migration Review 38 (2004), pp. 1206–1233.

Chloe 46 8 Barbara Becker-Cantarino general American population, research has not only turned to immigrants as individual human actors, but has also taken a fresh look at indigenous communities, at earlier arrivals in the host country, at the sending country, and at chain migration. Looking at the role of religion is especially pertinent for the historical phase of German transatlantic migrations. Since the era of the Reformation, religious persecution fueled migration. Refugees and dissenters emigrating across Europe and beyond have received considerable attention, especially flows of emigrants to Russia, the Balkan regions, and North America.6 Here migration meant emigration, leaving one’s residence or country for another and becoming an immigrant, newcomer or Neuländer (as for instance, in the British colonies) who would almost never be able or permitted to return to his native country, principality, or town. Emigration had a sense of finality about it. Unlike a sizable number of English subjects who, as convicted criminals, could be forced to emigrate — be deported to the colonies, notably Australia7 — citizens (Bürger) in the Holy Roman Empire wishing to emigrate legally from a town or principality needed permission, had to pay a departure tax (Abzugsgeld), forfeited their property and inheritance rights (for hefty taxes), and were not allowed to return. Mercantilist rulers considered people, their labor and taxes, as vital to their state’s economic welfare and prosperity; this demographic policy was meant to retain the subjects and attract young and productive men and families (Peuplierung). Only by the end of the eighteenth century did the Preußische Allgemeine Landrecht (1796) establish and regulate the right to emigrate, and other territories followed suit. It was the citizenship revolution in the wake of the Enlightenment and the French Revolution that gradually changed the restrictive migration policies in the nineteenth century.8 (Recent research has pointed out

6 See, e.g., Thomas Klingebiel: Huguenot Settlements in Central Europe. In: In Search of Peace and Prosperity (fn. 5), pp. 39–67; Mack Walker: The Salzburger Migration to Prussia: Causes and Choices. Ibid., pp. 68–76; and Andreas Gestrich: German Religious Emigration to Russia in the Eighteenth and Early Nineteenth Centuries: Three Case Studies. Ibid., pp. 77–100. 7 Roger Ekirk: Bound for America: The Transportation of British Convicts to the Colonies. Oxford 1990. 8 For changes in the nineteenth century, mostly affecting immigration controls in the emerging nation-states of Europe and in the US, see: Migration Controls in

Chloe 46 Religion and Migration 9 that migration within Germany from villages to small towns was more common, beginning in the sixteenth century, than formerly believed;9 here the migrants out to better themselves were mostly young, came from the lower classes, and sought work as servants, apprentices, and craftsmen. Later in the eighteenth century merchants, scholars, and aristocrats moved more frequently within and beyond their native lands.) Historical investigation has concentrated on religious problems and the social contexts that the emigrants fled from, on their ability to adapt to the New World, and on their “German” (or Irish, Dutch, Italian, etc., as the case may be) contribution to American culture, for example Leo Schelbert’s Swiss Migration to America: The Swiss Mennonites (1980) and Aaron S. Fogleman’s Hopeful Journeys: German Immigration, Settlement and Political Culture in Colonial America (1995). Eventual assimilation and integration, as pursued in Mark Häberlein’s studies on Lancaster, Pennsylvania,10 is the evolving pattern. There is new research focusing on Ethnographies and Exchanges, the title of a collection edited by A. G. Roeber,11 on Native Americans, and Christian encounters in early North America. By contrast and comparison, research on twentieth and twenty-first century migration has to consider vastly different political and social contexts and has to address a variety of mobile population groups and individuals, including migrant workers and Gastarbeiter, political migrants, asylum seekers, refugees and exiles, economic migrants, illegal migrants, reverse migrants, and victims of the sexual slave trade and forced child labor, as the chapters in Alejandro Portes and Josh DeWind Rethinking Migration: New Theoretical and Empirical

the North Atlantic World. Eds. Andreas Fahrmeier, Olivier Faron, Patrick Weil. New York / Oxford 2003. 9 Wellenreuther (fn. 5), pp. 269–92. 10 The Integration of German Immigrants in 18th Century North America: The Case of Lancaster, Pennsylvania. In: Atlantic Migrations: Regions and Movements in Germany and North America/USA during the 18th and 19th Century. Eds. Sabine Heerwart, Claudia Schnurmann. Münster 2007 (Atlantic Cultural Studies, 3), pp. 135–64. For a listing of the vast literature up to 2000 on German immigration to America in the eighteenth century, see Wellenreuther (fn. 3), pp. 29–30. 11 Ethnographies and Exchanges: Native Americans, Moravians, and Catholics in Early North America. Ed. A. G. Roeber. College Park, PA 2008. More on this and missionary encounters in the next section.

Chloe 46 10 Barbara Becker-Cantarino

Perspectives (2007) make abundantly clear. Global mobility has also enabled sizable streams of (business) travelers, tourists, mercenaries, adventurers, and retirees to stay in, return to, or fluctuate between their home and one or more other countries, to say nothing of aiding a new breed of terrorists. Research has focused on the influx of economic migrants, as e.g., in Christian Joppke’s Immigration and the Nation-State: The United States, Germany and Britain (2000), and on revised immigration policies from the 1970s to 2000 regarding deportation, residence permits and family reunion, as well as German asylum laws (that began very liberally) as in Christina Boswell’s European Migration Policies in Flux: Changing Patterns of Inclusion and Exclusion (2003). Since the 1990s Islamic migration to Europe has received attention in the discussion of religion and migration when the American political scientist Samuel P. Huntington in his detailed study Clash of Civilizations and the Remaking of World Order (1996) proposed the theory that that religious and cultural identities will be a major source of conflict in the post-Cold War era. Huntington also pointed out that some of the factors contributing to this conflict are that both Christianity (which has influenced Western civilization) and Islam are missionary religions, seeking conversion of others, are universalist religions claiming that only their faith is the correct one and that their values and beliefs represent the goals of existence and purpose in human existence. While in a similar vein, some American intellectuals have maintained this view like orientalist and political commentator Bernard Lewis in What Went Wrong? The Clash Between Islam and Modernity in the Middle East (New York 2002), until very recently in Germany intellectuals propagated, and politicians experimented with, the concept of multiculturalism in order to foster appreciation, acceptance of multiple cultures, and promotion of the maintenance of cultural diversity. But the controversy surrounding Thilo Sarrazin’s bestseller Deutschland schafft sich ab (2010; Germany Does Away With Itself)12 points once again to unresolved issues of migration and religion with people of different ethnic and religious groups.

12 More on this below in section III. See Karl Solibakke’s response to Sarrazin in this volume.

Chloe 46 Religion and Migration 11

The present discussion of religion recognizes that religion is not a fixed set of elements but a dynamic web of shared meanings used in different ways in different contexts.13 As Peggy Levitt has put it:

Religion is as much, if not more, about individualized, interior, informal practices and beliefs as it is about formal, collective manifestations of faith carried out in institutional settings. Since so many features of religious life are imagined, it is difficult to hold them constant or to determine where they begin and end. They are deeply felt but often difficult to express.14

Charles Hirschman summarizes the American experience: immigrants participate in a religious community, create new immigrant churches, temples, and mosques “in search for refuge, respectability, and resources”; in the nineteenth and twentieth century “this has helped generations of immigrants and their children to become American.”15 The ability to integrate is grounded in the state’s tolerance of religious organizations and practices – and the willingness and interest of the migrants is needed for a successful integration. The American state has been mostly a distant presence, processing immigrants carefully, but letting them fend for themselves in religious and also in most social matters. These chain immigrants were overwhelmingly Christians (and some of their bitter nativist, interdenominational feuds are largely forgotten). By contrast, the Western European states must now integrate a considerable population of Muslims into their society and political system. The focus is now also on religious interactions and interventions that may well counteract core beliefs present in state policy. The new Islamic presence in international politics and dominant stereotypes in the host countries vis-a-vis Muslim immigrants require more than a laissez- faire- attitude as major changes are occurring in the European and American religious landscape. Moreover, the question has to be posed: how will the new Islamic migrant populations in Germany (and in the EU) negotiate their religious heritage and faith and cooperate with the predominant Christian host population and tradition?

13 K. Gardner: Global Migrants, Local Lives. Oxford 1995. 14 Peggy Levitt: “You know, Abraham was really the first immigrant.“ Religion and Transnational Migration.” In: International Migration Review 37 (2003), pp. 847–73, here p. 869. 15 Hirschman (fn. 1), pp. 413-14.

Chloe 46 12 Barbara Becker-Cantarino

II Christianity, The Great Commission, and Transatlantic Migration

Exploration, conquest, and colonization of new lands within and beyond Europe in the name of Christianity were the hallmarks of progress and growth in the early modern period, in the era of religious wars, dissent, forced conversions, and forced transnational migrations.16 Alongside and intertwined with economic, demographic, and social aspirations, it was the idea of the Christian mission, the conversion of non-Christians, that accompanied, when it did not inform and fuel, this transatlantic expansion. The idea of a Christian mission received new impetus and urgency in sixteenth-century biblical interpretations propagating The Great Commission (Taufbefehl),17 the instruction of the resurrected Jesus Christ to his disciples that they spread his teachings to all the nations of the world. The theological tenet of The Great Commission is based on readings of, among other passages, Matthew 28:18-20, where on a mountain in Galilee Jesus calls on his followers to baptize all nations in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Whether the command of The Great Commission had only been addressed to Christ’s Apostles and had already been fulfilled, or whether it was a directive to all Christians in any age and place was a debated question, as was the date of the anticipated second coming inaugurating Christ’s reign in Christian eschatology. Prominent theologians, starting already with Calvin, preached what became known as Post-millennialism. The post-millennial position held that Christ’s second coming would occur only as the global population converted to Christianity as a result of evangelization. The age of peace then was still a progressing work of divine grace, but without the visible presence of Christ to take the place of a worldly ruler. Christ would appear at the end of the

16 Migration und kirchliche Praxis. Das religiöse Leben frühneuzeitlicher Glaubensflüchtlinge in alltagsgeschichtlicher Perspektive. Eds. Joachim Bahlcke, Rainer Bendel. Cologne / Weimar / Vienna 2008. 17 It is not known who coined the term “The Great Commission.” Scholars following Eduard Riggenbach: Der Trinitarische Taufbefehl (1903) maintain that the very concept did not exist until after the year 1650. Luther coined the word Missionsbefehl (command to mission) referring to this passage, Taufbefehl (command to baptize) the modern usage.

Chloe 46 Religion and Migration 13 millennium to lead his people into the heavenly city, the New Jerusalem. For post-millenialists, the Bible taught that evangelization and conversion of all “heathens” to Christianity has to come first and should lead to a change in lifestyle, society, and community through the keeping of divine law. This biblical interpretation lead to a more optimistic outlook on life in this world, and to a revival that was future-oriented. While The Great Commission became the center of Protestant missionary impetus in the seventeenth century, it should be remembered that the Christian church’s missionary outreach went back to New Testament times. It was extensive throughout the Roman Empire, and by the end of the first millennium had converted most of Europe. Since the late thirteenth century, Franciscans were sent as missionaries to the Near and the Far East, and the crusades represented, in our modern view, “sacred violence.”18 Since the sixteenth century the newly established Jesuits, a teaching order, and Augustinians, Franciscans, and Dominicans from Spain and Portugal were working in Asia and Africa. After the “discovery” of the New World, the Roman Catholic Church established a number of missions in the Americas under the aegis of the two colonial powers Portugal and Spain, where religion was an integral part of the state and evangelization was seen as having both economic and spiritual benefits. Wherever these powers attempted to expand their territories or influence, missionaries would soon follow.19 With the Treaty of Tordsesillas (1494), the two powers divided the world between them

18 See Jill N. Claster: Sacred Violence: The European Crusades to the Middle East, 1096-1396. Toronto 2009, as an example of the boom in studies both of individual crusades and of crusading as an institution of the European Middle Ages, no doubt reflecting the current interest in both post-colonial studies and revisionist history. 19 Spreading Christianity to the newly-discovered continent was a top priority, but only one piece of the Spanish colonization system. The influence of the Franciscans, considering that missionaries are sometimes seen as tools of imperialism, enabled other objectives to be reached, such as the extension of the Spanish language, and Spanish culture and political control, to the New World. One goal was to change the agricultural or nomadic Indian into a model of the Spanish people and society. Basically, the aim was urbanization. The Spanish missions achieved this by offering gifts and safety from enemies, and through religious persuasion; see Beatriz Fernándo Herrero: La Utopía de America. Teoría, Leyes, Experimentos. Barcelona / Madrid 1992.

Chloe 46 14 Barbara Becker-Cantarino into exclusive spheres of influence, trade, exploitation of natural resources, and colonization. During the early sixteenth century, the mission movement spread from the Caribbean to Mexico, Central America, parts of South America, and the Southwest United States. Spanish members of the Franciscan Order established and operated missions in California with the goal of spreading the Catholic faith among the local Native Americans. Catholic missions represented the first major effort by Europeans to colonize in the Americas; along with Christianity, the settlers introduced European livestock, fruits, vegetables, and industry into the colonized territories. A major difference between Iberian and the (much later) English colonization in North America was that the catholic Spanish and Portuguese encouraged intermarriage with the indigenous population, while in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries the English formed separate communities, and relied mostly on indentured servants and the slave trade for labor. Intermarriage with non-Anglos was looked down upon, with Native Americans it was refused, and marriage with Blacks was outlawed. The Roman Catholic colonial world order was challenged in the sixteenth century by religious dissent and by the colonial aspirations of Protestant countries. England and the young Dutch Republic, which had turned Protestant, established overseas trading posts and colonies beginning in the early seventeenth century (for example, with the founding of Jamestown in 1607 and of the colony New Netherlands dating back to 1615, which became British after the surrender of Fort New Amsterdam in 1664). While the Holy Roman Empire was not a colonial power, there was nevertheless keen interest in the discoveries and colonial enterprise. Already in the sixteenth century, as Ulrike Strasser reminds us, German Jesuits joined oversees missionary efforts and the German publishing industry played a leading role in disseminating and adapting information about Spanish discoveries for a Europe-wide audience as the German cosmographer Martin Waldseemüller coined the term “America” with his famous 1507 map.20 Consumed by religious factionalism and The Thirty Years War (1618-148), the German-speaking lands saw a period of widespread

20 Christine R. Johnson: The German Discovery of the World: Renaissance Encounters with the Strange and Marvelous. Charlottesville / London 2009, pp. 47–87 on cosmography in particular.

Chloe 46 Religion and Migration 15 conflict between Catholics and Protestants, instability, and forced internal and international migration when after the Peace of Augsburg (1555) a sovereign dictated the religion (cuius regio eius religio) for Catholics and Lutherans, but excluding Calvinists, Anabaptists, and all other sects. With the rise of Pietism within the Lutheran church at the end of the seventeenth century, the concept of a world mission to convert non-Christians gained prominence. In 1701 the Halle activist and theologian August Hermann Francke published the first vision of a Protestant world mission in which Europe and all other continents were included. Francke’s vision of an expanding Kingdom of God (on earth and before the end of the world) was rooted in a new theological approach to eschatology, as Wolfgang Breul shows,21 embracing the Great Commission as a call for a broad renewal of society’s morals and a global mission to non-Christians. The Pietist center in Halle provided the theological and organizational headquarters for German Protestant missionary activities beginning in the early eighteenth century. Ulrike Gleixner speaks of a “New Jerusalem” in Halle where missionaries were chosen and trained. Halle organized hundreds of supporters in a huge network that covered most Protestant areas in the Holy Roman Empire. This network provided financial benefits, patronage, social prestige, and organized assistance for overseas missionary work in Southeast India and North America. Lively correspondence and a mission journal printed in Halle provided an effective, internal communication system that assisted and at the same time controlled Pietist emissaries to German-speaking immigrants in North America, especially Pennsylvania.22 By the end of the eighteenth century, some 100,000 German-speaking immigrants had come to North America. Most of them were literate23 and had a religious education, albeit rudimentary, since Pietism encouraged and valued the individual believer’s ability to read and study scripture. In fact, German immigrants to eighteenth-century North America had the highest rate of literacy and their reading, writing, and publication of books, mostly devotional texts, was important for community

21 See Wolfgang Breul’s essay in this volume. 22 Thomas Müller Bahlke: The Beginnings of the Halle Correspondence with the Pennsylvania Lutherans. In: In Search of Peace and Prosperity (fn. 5), pp. 139– 55. 23 A. Gregg Roeber: The Problem of the Eighteenth Century in Transatlantic Religious History. In: Ibid., pp. 115–38, here p. 126.

Chloe 46 16 Barbara Becker-Cantarino formation and communication. As Cornelia Niekus Moore shows in “The Wanderings of a Devotional Book,”24 religious texts for lay readers played an important role in the communication network of missionaries and migrants.

III Moravian Mission Congregations: A Snapshot of David Zeisberger

The second major stimulus in Germany for transnational migration came with the missionary activities of the Moravians (also called Church of the Brethren or Herrnhuter Brüdergemeinde), religious refugees from the province of Moravia (now in the Czech Republic) whom Count Nicolas von Zinzendorf invited onto his estate in Saxony in 1722. Zinzendorf, a student of Francke’s, subsequently organized there with these migrants a new Protestant denomination. Inspired by Francke’s call for a “general reform” or renewal of society for the “salvation of souls,” Zinzendorf put forward a more far-reaching vision of toleration and mission. He asserted that the purpose of the mission was to touch the heart, not with theology but with the story of “the lamb and its redemption,” and to teach forgiveness and salvation in songs, sermons, and conversations, because “everyone knows ‘that there is a God’, since God had revealed it to all mankind”.25 This understanding of Christian religiosity led to rather novel social practices and religious rituals. Moravians lived in exclusive, economically autonomous communities of members who shared all work and property and addressed each other as brother and sister (a departure from the hierarchical systems of German Protestants and feudal principalities). They also developed and practiced alternative forms of family life: they lived, worked, and worshipped together in “Choirs” (members of a similar age, or of the same sex or marital status) of Little Boys, Little Girls, Older Boys, Older Girls, Single Brethren, Single Sisters, Married People, Widowers, and Widows. All marriages (as a mutual service contract) were arranged by the “Helpers” (church officials, mostly ordained ministers and their assistants), often by drawing lots.

24 See Cornelia Niekus Moore’s essay in this volume. 25 The Moravian Mission Diaries of David Zeisberger, 1772–1781. Eds. He2005, p. 52.

Chloe 46 Religion and Migration 17

The Moravians’ religious and cultural practices as well as their success in establishing flourishing congregations in Germany and the Dutch Republic provoked a vigorous, at times violent response by other religious groups and by secular authorities on both sides of the Atlantic.26 As a persecuted sect in Germany, they looked for governments who would tolerate their congregations; they obtained permission from the British Parliament to send missionaries from Germany to North America and to establish the mission settlement Bethlehem in Pennsylvania (1741), which was to become their main center for organizing and training missionaries to work with Native Americans. From there missionary couples set out to establish mission congregations with Native Americans and to live with them. Initially, Moravians taught and involved women in all aspects of religious, missionary, and congregational work.27 As declared pacifists, they did not use or possess arms, and refused all military service28 and oaths of allegiance to a feudal lord. Pacifism was a difficult stance in the violent conflicts between Native Americans and European land- grabbing settlers, mostly English and French, in North America. The Moravian mission congregation was a new type of settlement venture in the British colonies in North America: the missionaries included women (in married couples), and they lived in newly-established religious congregation settlements (not unlike Spanish missions in New Spain). The missionaries were not trained theologians but mostly educated lay people, and they learned native languages and translated religious texts and songs into Native American languages and published these. They learned about local Native American customs and lifestyle from native informants, drew up rules for communal living, provided a religious education, and celebrated Christian rituals (baptism and “love feasts,” ceremonial dinners) with their converts. English missionary societies like the United Society for the

26 Aaron S. Fogleman: Jesus is Female: Moravian and Radical Religion in Early America. Philadelphia 2007. 27 This changed after Zinzendorf’s death; see Beverly Prior Smaly: “Only Brothers should be accepted into this proposed council”: Restricting women’s leadership in Moravian Bethlehem. In: Pietism in Germany and North America, 1680–1820. Eds. Jonathan Strom, Hartmut Lehmann, James Van Horn Melton. Farnham / Burlington, VT 2009, pp, 133–62. 28 In 1749 the British Parliament approved a law that excused the Unitas Fratrum (including Moravians) from military service in the British Empire.

Chloe 46 18 Barbara Becker-Cantarino

Propagation of the Gospel (USPG), an Anglican organization founded in 1701, and the Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge (SPCK, founded in 1698) did not serve Native Americans but white Anglo settlers whom they supported with schools, Christian literature, education, and the sending (and funding) of Protestant ministers in colonial North America. English missionary societies did not establish communities for Native Americans, let alone live with them, and they only accepted (converted) Native Americans into “charity schools for Indians.”29 Moravian missionary work focused on the everyday, lived practice of religion, as becomes evident in Moravian missionary reports starting from the mid-eighteenth century, which are an invaluable mine of ethnological information, including descriptions of religious encounters and exchanges. For the historic contact period in the eighteenth century, they are the first valuable accounts written by Protestant clergymen about religion among North American Native populations, comparable to the Jesuits’ Relationes, in spite of some bias and pious jargon. By drawing on a multitude of oral sources, especially those provided by Native American informants, they elicited standard ethnographic information, mostly used in connection with their missionary work in order to enable and to facilitate communication with Native Americans. The life and writings of the early missionary David Zeisberger and his apprentice John Heckewelder,30 shows how religious conviction and faith fueled this transnational migration. Among the first generation of missionaries was David Zeisberger (1721-1808), who spent some sixty-two years as a missionary among Native American peoples.31 Zeisberger himself was a migrant without a homeland, repeatedly displaced by religious and colonial conflict. He was born in Zauchenthal (in the Carpathian Mountains of Moravia

29 See the interesting account by Laura M. Stevens: The Souls of Highlanders, the Salvation of Indians: Scottish Mission and Eighteenth-Century British Empire. In: Native Americans, Christianity, and the Reshaping of the American Religious Landscape. Eds. Joel W. Martin, Mark A. Nicholas. Chapel Hill, NC 2010, pp. 179–200. 30 See Pia Schmid’s essay in this volume. 31 Carola Wessel: Delaware-Indianer und Herrnhuter Missionare im Upper Ohio Valley, 1772–1781. Tübingen 1999; Edmund De Schweinitz: The Life and Times of David Zeisberger. Philadelphia: Lippincott, 1870.

Chloe 46 Religion and Migration 19 in today’s Czech Republic) in 1727; at age six he found refuge with his parents at Zinzendorf’s school in Herrnhut, was sent to Holland in 1738, escaped via England, and organized his passage to the British colony of Georgia (to join his missionary parents there). He assisted in building the settlement at Bethlehem (1739-41). In 1745 he lived among the Mohawks, learned the Onondaga Iroquoian language, and assisted the Pennsylvania German farmer-settler, lay minister, and judge Conrad Weiser (who had come with the Palatine refugees) in negotiating an alliance between the English and the Iroquois in Onondaga (near present-day Syracuse, New York). He was imprisoned (as a spy) in New York, and after his release was ordained as a Moravian minister in 1749, sent to work among the Lenape (Delaware) in Pennsylvania, and acted as interpreter in various locations in the thirteen colonies. When pressure from British settlers grew after the French and Indian War, he led the negotiations for permission to migrate with Native Americans and establish mission communities in Northeastern Ohio (Muskingum Valley), notably Schönbrunn in 1771. He was driven out in 1781, arrested, and held at Fort Detroit, while about one hundred of his Native American converts in Ohio were murdered by Pennsylvania militiamen in 1782, an event known as the Gnadenhütten Massacre. After his release, Zeisberger was forced to relocate to present-day Michigan and Ontario groups of Munsee in 1782. He founded New Salem (near Milan, Ohio) in 1786, which was ordered to be evacuated in 1791. He then established a temporary village near present-day Amherstburg, Ontario. In 1792 he secured permission to found a settlement along the La Tranche (Thames) River in Ontario. There, not far from modern Thamesville, under Zeisberger’s guidance the new colony of Schönfeldt (“Fairfield” as it was known in English) began to flourish (it was raised in 1812 by Americans, rebuilt by Moravians as a functioning mission, and in 1903 became the Moravian Indian Reserve, where descendants of the Zeisbergers still live today). By the end of 1793, there were 159 Native Americans in the Schönfeld community; four years later the number had risen only to 172. Meanwhile, in 1797 the Muskingum lands had been surveyed, and the Schönfeld Indians were pressured by the American government to return to these Ohio lands. In 1798 Zeisberger made the agonizing decision to return to Ohio (although it was agreed that two missionaries and most of the Native Americans would remain behind).

Chloe 46 20 Barbara Becker-Cantarino

In August 1798 he left Schönfeld and established the new mission community at Goshen (in present Goshen Township, Ohio), where he died ten years later. During these migrations and congregation-building activities Zeisberger developed a specific kind of enlightened tolerance, a dedication to and respect for the individual human being. Zeisberger’s psychological insight and practical skills, his down-to-earth attitude, linguistic and communicative skills, keen perception, and enduring curiosity in people, places, and his natural surroundings render his missionary and colonizing efforts as well as his ethnographic observation so interesting today. As was required, the Moravian missionaries kept records (diaries) of the rise, life, and problems of these mission congregations and reported to the Moravian Elders’ Conference in Europe. They communicated in letters among each other and with church officials in other missions, in Bethlehem, and in Germany. Printed extracts from these reports (Gemeinnachrichten) were circulated each year throughout the Moravian communities in Europe and America that became something like a globally acting group.32 Zeisberger chronicled his activities33 and he also composed an overview Native Americans in a manuscript entitled “Von der Indianer Gestalt und Lebensart” (Of Indian Manners and Way of Life) that is available only in a rather unsatisfactory translation as History of the Northern American Indians (published in 1910).34 Zeisberger wrote the History in the snowy winter of 1779–80 after the congregation had moved from Lichtenau to New Schönbrunn, when warned by John Ettwein (of the Elder’s Conference in Bethlehem) that

32 Gisela Mettele: Weltbürgertum oder Gottesreich. Die Herrrnhuter Brüdergemeinde als globale Gemeinschaft 1727–1857. Göttingen 2007. 33 Only a very small portion of the diaries and letters starting from about 1741 and covering the Ohio missions has been published: Herrnhuter Indianermission in der Amerikanischen Revolution. Die Tagebücher von David Zeisberger, 1772– 1781. Eds. Hermann Wellenreuther, Carola Wessel. Berlin 1995; for the revised translation: The Moravian Mission Diaries of David Zeisberger, see fn. 28. 34 See Christian Feest: Moravians and the Genre of Ethnographies. In: Ethnographies and Exchanges (fn. 11), pp. 19–30. The English title “History” is misleading, since it is not a cohesive historical narrative but a ethnological report; the published English translation is tinged with “improvements” due to racial and political notions of the late 19th century. I am presently working on an edition of the German manuscript.

Chloe 46 Religion and Migration 21 he had gotten “too deeply involved with the military and political events of the Ohio region” during “the great famine among the Indians caused by the war.”35 During this especially difficult time of constant threats against their lives, an unusually harsh winter with “deep snow” and famine for the congregation of “altogether 100 people” in Gnadenhütten and some “99 souls” in Lichtenau, Zeisberger may have written the manuscript “Von der Indianer Gestalt und Lebensart” to record the knowledge he had acquired from Native Americans for further teaching of missionaries.36 Zeisberger’s manuscript later served as the primary basis for the official Moravian history, commissioned by the Unity’s Elder’s Conference and written by Georg Heinrich Loskiel, who had never even traveled to America: Geschichte der Mission der evangelischen Brüder unter den Indianern in Nordamerika (1789).37 Zeisberger wrote from experience and retains a certain distance as an observer of his “Indian Brethren,” rarely writing as an advocate of the Delaware. Rather, he was more interested in reporting ethnographic detail, customs, and behavior. The vantage point is, of course, “European,” and he occasionally states this difference explicitly. At times there is a slight praise in this comparative view of Indians and Europeans: “Indians usually treat one another with kindness and civility. […] They are communicative but thoughtful. Of empty compliments they know nothing.”38 Zeisberger’s text is never disparaging or judgmental; rather he expresses at times bewilderment, and an inability to rationally and morally explain certain attitudes and character traits, as here in reference to Native American women: “Virtue one must not seek among the savages, but the grace of God is able to accomplish wonders among them. Not all [women] are equally bad. Some among them are sensible people and considerate, who act

35 Moravian Mission Diaries (fn. 24), p. 80, p. 510 note 1438 and p. 519; entry for 31 December 1779. 36 Zeisberger took the manuscript to Bethlehem in March 1781 when attending a synod called by Bishop Reichel, who probably took a copy of the manuscript back to Germany. Perhaps he wrote upon a request from Bethlehem, though he does not mention this in his diaries or letters of the period. 37 Loskiel’s work soon appeared in an English translation: History of the Moravian Mission among the North American Indians in Three Parts. London, 1794, and saw 13 editions published between 1788 and 1976. 38 David Zeisberger’s History of the Northern American Indians. Eds. Archer Butler Hulbert, William Nathaniel Schwarze. Columbus, OH 1910, p.115.

Chloe 46 22 Barbara Becker-Cantarino reasonably and have an eye to right and justice.”39 The section on “the Indians’ religion and mode of worship whereby they endeavor to please the Deity”40 is equally problematic from a modern ethnographic point of view. Zeisberger views this with Enlightenment eyes, calling it “unreasoning devotion,” and gingerly tries to intertwine Pietistic religious tenets with aspects of Native American practice as reported to him and as he understands it. He notes belief in a deity, absence of the idea of the devil and hell, belief in the mortality of the soul and transmigration, knowledge of the deluge and the creation of the world, and belief in spirits and subordinate deities. Only the section on “deceptive preachers, referring to French Catholic missionaries, ” is uncharacteristically judgmental: “They still preached in Gekelemukpechünk [Big Stillwater Creek, the Delaware headquarters] when the Moravians came. [...] The Indians who trusted them soon saw that they had been deceived and that they had been brought to starvation by the treacherous preachers.”41 Much more descriptive is the section on festivals and sacrificial feasts, burial customs, and some tribal ceremonies. It was on the level of ritual, song, and storytelling that the Moravian missionaries were most successful in their inter- cultural interactions, since Moravian theology and religious celebrations included such practices as the “Lovefeast” (a social gathering and mirthful religious service), “Kiss of Peace” (expression of brotherly affection and trust), and the “Litany of Wounds” (songs with realistic evocations of Christ’s passion). Zeisberger’s emphasis on empathy and on human and emotional bonds is coupled with his interest in and knowledge of their language: “They are able to express themselves with great clearness and precision, and so concisely that much circumlocution is required to convey the full meaning of their expressions.”42 But his point of departure and basis for comparison is always his European and Moravian outlook, as when he continues: “In spiritual things, of which they are totally ignorant, there was utter lack of expression. But since the gospel has been preached among them, their language has gained much in this respect.”43 Zeisberger had to

39 Ibid., p. 125. 40 Ibid., pp. 128–41. 41 Ibid., p. 136. 42 Ibid., p. 143. 43 Ibid., p. 143.

Chloe 46 Religion and Migration 23 justify his missionary efforts and he wrote for a specific audience, the Moravian Church Elders. A sense of change, loss, and displacement informs much of the comments on the sociopolitical organization:

Among Indians belonging to the Moravian congregation on the Muskingum River, there are some old people, who were in Philadelphia when the first houses were built there. They are able to relate how peaceably and agreeably the whites and Indians dwelt together, as if they had been one people, being ever ready to serve the other.44

Besides the touch of nostalgia for the good old days, Zeisberger addresses here the displacement of Native Americans, a politically inopportune question during the Revolutionary War when American authorities often considered them traitors and enemies. Zeisberger hinted at the effects of land hunger and imperial expansion that had started around 1750 and intensified after the French and Indian War when it reached the Ohio Valley.45 He seemed to have sensed the turmoil and uprooting of forced migration (that he experienced all his life) and that, as his first biographer De Schweinitz put it in 1870: “On the lands where his [Zeisberger’s] Indians worshiped, are communities of the Anglo-Saxon race that have never seen a native.”46 Much of this will appear bigoted and utterly exploitative to the post- colonial critic of today, such as for example, the vocabulary of “race,” talk of “the Savages” and of Native Americans as others, and the suppression of their voices. When the interactions between white settlers and Native Americans in Pennsylvania are interpreted by modern historians in terms of the emergence of race as defining difference after 1755,47 this view may well be enhanced by the English translations of selected Moravian documents from the late nineteenth century. On the other hand, for the ethnographer of today, they are a wealth of both ethnographic and cultural information that has largely shaped our understanding of Native Americans. To the scholar interested in migration, religion, and intercultural encounters,

44 Ibid., p. 27. 45 Eric Hinderaker: Elusive Empires: Constructing Colonialism in the Ohio Valley, 1673–1800. Cambridge, MA 1997, p. 136. 46 De Schweinitz (fn. 30), p. 676. 47 Jane T. Merritt: At the Crossroads: Indians and Empires on the Mid-Atlantic Frontier, 1700-1763. Chapel Hill, NC 2003.

Chloe 46 24 Barbara Becker-Cantarino

Zeisberger’s manuscript, letters, and reports contain much information gleaned from thirty-five years of intimate acquaintance with the Iroquois, Delaware, and their neighbors. And while he most probably had read some earlier ethnographic writings published by The Brethren in Germany, his somewhat hastily penned manuscript with several later additions was composed without bookish sources, most likely on the basis of (earlier) notes, certainly in conversation with Native Americans in the mission congregation. His excellent memory of events, places, and persons helped in transferring oral sources into an albeit fragmented textual system. Contrary to enlightenment skepticism and secularization, Zeisberger and the Moravians held fast to their belief in community, reform, and renewal through faith and used this as their vantage point. Of course, the history of Native American conversion cannot be separated from the brutal history of displacement, exploitation, and widespread extermination. Missionization was a tool of conquest that formed part of the “Native American genocide,” as George Tinker has argued.48 European immigrants and Christian missionaries rarely understood or reflected upon the fact that the colonies were carved out of Native American lands and taken away from Native nations by deceptive “trade” and violent force.49 The early Moravian missionaries like Zeisberger did however attempt to bring a new approach to overseas colonization, and to the establishment of mutually respectful and beneficial religious communities with Native Americans, albeit under Christian ethical rules. They tried to understand their culture and incorporated some of their ideas and practices. Thus the Moravian missionization itself was not a tool of conquest, but an effort at community building. Their pacifist views forbade the use of arms, even in self-defense. The mission congregation in the true spirit of the Christian faith might have become an alternative in colonial British America, but the warring factions over the possession of land, the French and Indian War and the Revolutionary War put an end to all such experiments. There were many incidents where Christians disrupted the lives of Native Communities and betrayed the trust of

48 George Tinker: Missionary Conquest: The Gospel and Native American Genocide. Minneapolis, MN 2003. 49 American historiography is still reluctant to acknowledge the expropriation. See Ned Blackhawk: Violence over the Land: Indians and Empires in the Early American West. Cambridge, MA 2006.

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Native Christians, but also many stories of “non-Natives, including missionaries, who proved useful to Native peoples […] and of Native American converts [...] tapping Christianity to oppose forces of destruction.”50 Communities and individuals negotiating mission- ization affected the country’s religious and political life. The migrant missionaries’ transnational religious practices were not only about organizational manifestations of faith. They were also about the alternative places of belonging that religious ideas and symbols make possible. For the missionaries and early settlers, who located themselves within a Christian lifestyle, colonial activities were informed more by religious identities and beliefs than by ethnic pride or solely economic motives. Like the Catholic missionaries in New Spain, Protestant missionaries believed they were doing the work of God because they identified as Christians, although their actions may also have been political. Zeisberger and his fellow missionaries were guided by their faith. Moravians in particular challenged traditional forms of Christian community, group formation, and ecclesiology. Their mission congregations in eighteenth-century North America represented an experimentation with new forms of religious asso- ciation and sociality in a colonial Christian context. The Christian missionary zeal inspired and legitimized the American expansion and colonization of the West in the nineteenth century and the sense of mission, particularly the mission of democracy, in American politics. This involved belief in what was termed “Manifest Destiny,” the notion that the United States was destined, even divinely ordained, to expand across the North American continent, from the Atlantic seaboard to the Pacific Ocean.51 The advocates of Manifest Destiny believed in three central tenets: the virtue of the American people and their institutions; the mission to spread these institutions, thereby redeeming and remaking the world

50 See the essays in: Native Americans, Christianity, and the Reshaping of the American Religious Landscape (fn. 30), here p. 3. 51 See, among a huge number of studies, Lawrence Davidson: Christian Zionism as a Representation of American Manifest Destiny. In: Critique 14 (2005), pp. 157– 69; Anders Stephanson: Manifest Destiny: American Expansionism and the Empire of Right. New York 1995. Sometimes Manifest Destiny was interpreted so widely as to include the eventual absorption of all of North America. Advocates of Manifest Destiny believed that expansion was not only good, but that it was obvious ("manifest") and certain ("destiny").

Chloe 46 26 Barbara Becker-Cantarino in the image of the US; and the destiny under God to accomplish this work, justifying expansion and migration. This had, of course, dire consequences for Native Americans since continental expansion implicitly meant the occupation of Native American land and “Indian removal.” The United States continued the European practice of recognizing only limited land rights of indigenous peoples, and expanded into the West through the legal — by American standards — purchase of Native American land in order to make more land available for homesteading by white Christian Americans, many of them new immigrants from Germany and Northern Europe. Indians were “encouraged” to sell their vast tribal lands and become “civilized” according to Christian notions, which meant (among other things) reorganizing around a Christian family unit rather than the clan or tribe. Aspects of Manifest Destiny, particularly the belief in an American “mission” to promote and defend democracy throughout the world, continue to have an influence on American political ideology. A strong sense of “mission,” albeit the mission of helping to build a free democracy, looms large in US foreign policy towards Islamic countries and is used to justify the invasion in Iraq and the war in Afghanistan. Remnants of the notion of Manifest Destiny appear to underlie the rhetoric of the “war on terror” against “the axis of evil” (President Bush) in the Islamic Middle East.

IV The New Islamic Presence in Europe and Germany

With Muslim chain immigration to Western Europe in recent decades, the politics of migration and religion have arisen in a new constellation. Have the tables been turned and is the Christian West now being “colonized” by a missionary Islam? Is Western secularism and its social order now threatened by Islam as a transnational political force? American political scientist Samuel P. Huntington argues that religious, cultural conflicts have been particularly prevalent between Muslims and non-Muslims, pointing to the “bloody borders” between Islamic and non-Islamic civilizations.52 This conflict

52 See the much discussed and highly influential: Clash of Civilizations and the Remaking of World Order. New York 1996. In his theory of civilizations, Huntington stresses the role of religions, their missionary impulse, and claim that only their faith is the correct one.

Chloe 46 Religion and Migration 27 dates back as far as the initial thrust of Islam into Europe, its eventual expulsion in the Spanish reconquista, the attacks of the Ottoman Turks on Eastern Europe and Vienna, and the European imperial division of the Islamic nations in the 1800s and 1900s. More recent factors contributing to a Western-Islamic clash, Huntington writes, are the “Islamic Revival” and demographic explosion in Islam, coupled with the stance of Western universalism — that is, the view that all civilizations should adopt Western values — that infuriate Islamic fundamentalists. Mostly because of their different religion, Muslim migrants in Germany experience the kind of anti-immigrant hostility that most groups perceived to be “others” encounter. Yet the ongoing conflicts in the Middle East and the rise of Islamic terrorism have further complicated the immigration debate. In the wake of the September 11 attacks, this debate has heated up, as Islam is seen in many quarters as an aggressive world religion. After all, Mohamed Atta and several al- Qaida members who masterminded these terrorist attacks lived in the Hamburger Terrorzelle (Hamburg terror cell) as students of a local college and attended a well-known mosque there. The attacks in America, and subsequent ones in Europe including two failed car bombs in Germany, had a profound effect on German security legislation (in the form of two Sicherheitspakete) and immigration policy.53 In 2002 noted German historian Hans-Ulrich Wehler commented that historians

can put the whole discussion into historical perspective. Islam is the only world religion that is still overtly and quickly expanding. Soon it will have overtaken Christianity. It is a militant monotheism that cannot deny its origin in a world of bellicose Arabic tribes. […] The Federal Republic doesn’t have a foreigner problem; it has a Turk problem. The Muslim diaspora is fundamentally incapable of integration.54

53 Peter J. Katzenstein: Sonderbare Sonderwege: Germany and 9/11 (2002): http://www.aicgs.org/site/wp-content/uploads/2011/11/katzenstein.pdf; accessed 10 January 2012.- For an up-to-date information about German policy see Dougles B. Klusmeyer, Demetriuos G. Papademetriou: Immigration Policy in the Federal Republic of Germany.: Negotiating Membership and Remaking the Nation. Oxford / New York 2009. 54 Germany in Transit: Nation and Migration, 1955-2005. Eds. Deniz Göktürk, David Gramling, Anton Kaes. Berkeley 2007, p. 224.

Chloe 46 28 Barbara Becker-Cantarino

Islam-inspired terrorism has added a new element to the immigration debate in Europe and Germany, and has revived old prejudices and fears of Islam as a threat to Christianity and Western civilization. Islamic militants appear as a growing threat to national security and Islam as a religion as attacking Western civilization. The attack “was organized in a diasporic culture,” as Bassam Tibi, orientalist scholar of Syrian descent who recently angrily retired from the University of Göttingen, maintaqins: “This act of terror was the militarized form of a value conflict.”55 Debates over Islam are not entirely new to Germany, as Rebekka Habermas shows in her essay in this volume.56 In the late nineteenth century German orientalists, missionaries, and representatives of colonial pressure groups started a debate about “the Muslim world,” a debate that involved linking Africa, Europe and the Ottoman Empire. It was informed by old religious traditions and prejudices combined with the political, academic and economic interests of transnational scholarly associations, colonial societies, and a worldwide network of missionary groups. A key question was the role of Islam vis-à-vis Germany, a question that is still a touchy subject. When the newly appointed Minister of the Interior Hans-Peter Friedrich in March 2011 said, “that Islam is part of Germany is a fact that cannot be proven by history,” this was considered “a slap in the face for Muslims” and reopened the immigration debate according to Der Spiegel.57 The news story was carried in the European press with this phrase as the headline but without in-depth coverage or analysis. The role of Islam — what it actually is and what role it has in Europe and Germany — is a contested issue with regard to Muslim immigration. Alongside the report on the Interior Minister’s statement, which was deemed politically incorrect, Der Spiegel prominently printed statistics on immigrants in Germany (taken from the 2007 micro-census): 18.4 percent of the German population as a whole (ca. 82 million) are immigrants, or almost 20 million people. Among immigrants and family members of immigrants 15.2 percent have

55 Ibid., p. 230. 56 See “Islam Debates around 1900: Colonies in Africa, Muslims in Berlin, and the Role of Missionaries and Orientalists “ in this volume. 57 As reported in Spiegel Online International, 7 March 2011; http://www.spiegel.de-/international/germany/0,1518,749477,00.html; accessed 10 January 2012.

Chloe 46 Religion and Migration 29 completed requirements for university entrance (compared with 15 percent of the non-immigrant German population), 9.6 percent have no secondary school diploma (1 percent from non-immigrant families); and 14.1 percent are unemployed (compared with 7.5 percent of non-immigrants). Such crude, opaque statistics are carefully selected by the news magazine critical of Chancellor Angela Merkel’s Christian Democratic coalition government. They emphasize once more that yes, Germany is a country of immigrants (Einwan- derungsland), and immigrants in Germany are discriminated against: Their unemployment rate is twice as high as that of German citizens though the immigrants are on average equally well qualified (that is, only equally likely to possess a university education) as Germans. On the other hand, the high percentage of immigrants lacking a secondary school diploma (9.6 percent) suggests a class problem involving a lack of opportunity for even basic qualification (in a country that values education and equal access [Chancengleichheit] very highly). It is the Christian Democratic government and its Free Democratic partner that have failed the immigrants, as much of the hype in the German press suggests. But things are not that simple. Migration has taken on a totally new dimension in the age of global communication (from TV to cell phones to the internet) and widely improved and available mobility. The transatlantic distance (covered in 2 to 6 months in colonial times) has shrunk to hours by plane. Germany is now in easy reach of Africa and the Middle East — if you can pay the fare. Regulating streams of migrants (as in Germany’s “guest worker” program initiated in the late 1950s with Italian and Spanish workers, then extending it to the Balkans and lastly to Turkey) is a thing of the past. The European Union has instituted free spatial movement for all citizens of its 27 member states (the Schengen agreement of 1992), but has not opened its borders to just anybody on the outside, while the US has an intricate (and ineffective) quota system and is frantically beefing up its “tortilla curtain” and border control to ward off illegal immigration.58 Yet the number of undocumented aliens is apparently huge and in the dark; migrant trafficking, human smuggling, and the sex trade further

58 See the somewhat clueless summary by Friedrich Heckmann: Illegal Migration: What Can We Know and What Can We Explain? In: Rethinking Migration (fn. 1), pp. 285–307.

Chloe 46 30 Barbara Becker-Cantarino complicate legal and illegal immigration. Economic and political factors still play a major role in this new mobility that will surely increase migration, but what about ethnic and religious factors? Academic theorists, politicians, and the populations of host countries disagree about the role and impact of the new mass migration and disagree even more on how to address it. Is migration and settlement a basic human right59 as Euro-American settlers in the US assumed (while establishing later a quota system for new immigrants)? Should there be open borders today or simply no borders and no nation states as some globalists argue for a transnational future? The governments of the EU and the US would hardly agree. And what about the rights and opinions of populations in the host countries? As far as Native Americans were concerned, such questions were not even on the horizon during the period of colonialism and westward US expansion. Today, host country populations have a voice collectively in their government’s policies, and more individually in the press and in local civic affairs — and so do immigrant groups, particularly in the US and in Europe. It is this multiplicity of voices, perspectives, and interests — political, economic, ethnic, and religious — that informs and complicates the migration situation and debate. Not all are equally articulate nor equally heard, and it is the Islamic migration that receives most of the attention in Europe, because of ethno-religious differences.60 Since the ethnic and religious composition of migrant groups is important, it should be noted that the new Islamic presence in Europe and Germany is as heterogeneous and multi-faceted as is Islam, or Christianity for that matter. There are now about 15 Million Muslims from the Mediterranean region, Africa, and Asia living in Western Europe.61 Owing to labor and chain migration and several waves of

59 See the discussion by David Miller ”Immigration and Territorial Rights” in his: National Responsibility and Justice. Oxford 2007, pp. 20130. Miller argues that there is no general right to migration, those who benefit from living in rich territorial states have responsibilities for the world’s poor, and discharging these responsibilities may sometimes involve taking in needy migrants. 60 See also Claudia Breger’s essay “Christian Universalism? Racism and Collective Identity in 21st-Century Immigration Discourses” in this volume. 61 Bassam Tibi: Europeanizing Islam or the Islamization of Europe: Political Democracy versus Cultural Difference. In: Religion in an Expanding Europe. Eds. Timothy Byrnes, Peter Katzenstein. Cambridge 2006, pp. 204–24, here p. 225.

Chloe 46 Religion and Migration 31 political refugees, an estimated 4.3 million Muslims (citizens and foreigners [Ausländer]) are presently living in Germany. This compares to 7.2 million registered foreigners residing in Germany and a total population of about 82 million by the end of the year 2011,62 altogether representing all major faiths and 152 different nations.63 Islam is the largest minority religion in Germany, with the Catholic and Protestant confessions being the dominant religions. While migrants from Turkey constitute the largest group of Muslims, it should be noted that about half a million Muslims immigrated from Arabic countries, and about half a million Muslims came from Iran, Pakistan, and Afghanistan. The latter populations consist of mostly well-off migrants, professionals, businessmen, political refugees, and persecuted Muslim minorities, a group that represents generally the better-off, more entrepreneurial, and more cosmopolitan segment of their home societies (Iran, Pakistan, Afghanistan).64 On the average highly educated and with considerable financial resources, they promote a secular Islam. They seem to follow what is deemed the classic story of religious minorities: immigration, acculturation, assimilation, and integration into “Western,” though not necessarily German, society. And they are by and large critical of (any) religious fundamentalism and are relatively detached observers of Islamic religious culture.

V The Controversy about Integration and Religious Values

When considering Islam in Germany, most people think of “Turkish Germany”: It is colorful, vibrant, and visible. Estimates put the

62 Statistisches Bundesamt Deutschland, Migration und Integration: http://www.destatis.de/jetspeed/portal/cms/Sites/destatis/Internet/DE/Navigation/ Statistiken/Bevoelkerung/MigrationIntegration/MigrationIntegration.psml; accessed 10 January 2012. – The most reliable, updated statistics can be found at the Statistische Bundesamt; however, the categories of Ausländer (non-citizens residing in Germany), nationality / ethnicity, and persons with Migrations- hintergrund (migration background) are fluid and rely on micro-samples, self- reporting, and a certain measure of interpretation. 63 Deutsche Welle, accessed12 January 2012, figures for 2009: http://www.dw-world.de/dw/article/0,,4121209,00.html; 64 See Kamaal Haque’s essay on the Muslim population in Germany apart from Turks and Arabs in this volume.

Chloe 46 32 Barbara Becker-Cantarino population with a Turkish “migration background” (Migrations- hintergrund) in Germany at about four million, by far the largest in Europe. It is clustered in a few big cities, most notably in Berlin with an estimated at 250,000 to 300,000, considered the third largest Turkish population after Istanbul and Ankara. Many are Turkish nationals, having lived in Germany well over eight years (the minimum time required to apply for citizenship) or much longer while many were born in Germany of Turkish parents and are choosing Turkish nationality over a German passport. This group’s ties to Turkey are strong and Turkish Prime Minister Erdogan insisted in a rally for Turks in Cologne in 2008 during an official state visit: “Nobody can expect from you that you subject yourself to assimilation. Assimilation is a crime against humanity.”65 On his latest visit in November 2011 to mark the fiftieth anniversary of the German-Turkish guest worker agreement, he demanded dual citizenship for Turkish migrants to Germany, and discouraged the learning of German (a basic knowledge of German is required for citizenship, as is English a requirement for naturalization in the US).66 Such pronouncements complicate integration. Premier Erdogan’s stance must also be seen within the difficult web of Turkish-European and Near Eastern politics, Turkey’s bid to join the EU, to negotiate Muslim fundamentalists, its role in the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, and its vying for a voice in the “Arabic revolution” in its neighboring Islamic states. Significant groups within the heterogeneous Muslim population in Germany belong to the growing number of immigrant diasporas that do not melt into the host cultures but rather maintain multiple ties with their places of origin. Religion offers important organizational, practical, and symbolic resources that strengthen both religious and ethnic community and people’s capacity to confront the challenges of everyday life. Because religions like Christianity and Islam see themselves as embodying universal and timeless truths, they also

65 http://www.spiegel.de/international/europe/0,1518,748070,00.html; accessed 5 January 2012. “Niemand kann von Ihnen erwarten, dass Sie sich einer Assimilation unterwerfen. Assimilation ist ein Verbrechen gegen die Menschlichkeit.“ 66 He also accused German foundations in Turkey of supporting financially the Kurdish organization PKK. http://www.dw-world.de/dw/article/0,,15504661,00.html.

Chloe 46 Religion and Migration 33 provide their members with moral guidelines and oblige them to live in accordance with these values. There can be no doubt that there is a secular Islam, above all in Turkey, as David Gramling in his essay argues: the conceptualization of a secular Islam is ultimately necessary for European and German discourses about religion and civic culture.67 Islam as a religion is an important factor when considering Muslim immigration in Germany as a series of interaction effects of religion and immigrant incorporation. Religion continues to be controversial in migration politics. When the Turkish Premier as representative of the sending country takes a political stance in the host country rallying the Turkish German community against assimilation with calls for the preservation of Turkish identity, culture, and tradition (“your eyes and ears have always been directed toward Turkey”), the German public wonders about Turkey and the role of Islam in Germany. (Imagine, the President of Mexico on a state visit organized a rally in the US to admonish the 12.5 million migrants with a Mexican passport — to say nothing about many more millions of American citizens of Mexican heritage — to act as representatives of Mexico and Catholicism). In the age of hyper-connectivity, the migrants are more than in the last few centuries connected to the sending country and its religious institutions. They can easily move back and forth and modern media enable daily immediate contact with the sending country. For Muslim migrants in Germany with their many religious factions and diverse social stratification, Islamic mosque associations educate and guide individuals, facilitate their departure, and oversee their life as immigrants in Germany. Here fundamental socio-religious differences appear, in education, family organization, the position of women, and sexual orientation. This contributes to the fact that segments within the Muslim population function like “parallel societies” (Parallelgesellschaften). A troubling issue arises from the fact that members of the Turkish community (in Berlin and in Germany in general) have the least education of all non-German ethnic groups. Almost 13 percent do not have any schooling, 61 percent are at primary school level, 10 percent do not go beyond the middle school, and only 16 percent have the

67 See David Gramling’s essay in this volume.

Chloe 46 34 Barbara Becker-Cantarino

Abitur (high school diploma). Almost one-third speak no German.68 Hidden in these statistics are a sizable number of illiterate or barely literate women because of fundamentalist Islamic restrictions on women. They were recruited by a Turkish-German father for marriage for his son from his home village; some women born in Germany into Islamic families are prevented by distrustful husbands, brothers, or fathers from attending German language programs or schools and from venturing out of the particular religious circle the family belongs to. Many Turkish-German girls are forbidden to participate in co-ed classes (and any physical education), and kept “pure” for an arranged marriage within the clan.69 Muslim women in Germany (and the West) face difficult decisions when confronted by fundamentalist Islam that excludes women from the public religious domain, the public sphere in general, and education (beyond some elementary religious instruction), and puts them firmly under male and family control. When the king of Saudi Arabia recently bestowed the right to vote on women (to be effective in 2015) he denied their request for a driver’s permit. King Abdullah was seconded by the country’s highest religious council, which warned that women driving cars “would provoke a surge in prostitution, pornography, homosexuality, and divorce” and that there would be “no more virgins” in Islamic countries within ten years of lifting the ban on women’s driving.70 Turkey and many Arabic countries are much less restrictive than Saudi Arabia, but “true” Islamic religious customs vary widely even within Turkey from urban academia to rural villages in Eastern Anatolia.

68 http://www.welt.de/politik/deutschland/article7222075/Tuerken-sind-die- Sorgenkinder-der-Integration.html; accessed 5 January 2011. 69 See Czarina Wilpert: Religion and Ethnicity: Orientations, Perceptions and Strategies among Turkish Alevi and Sunni Migrants in Berlin. In: The New Islamic Presence in Europe. Eds. Tomas Gerholm, Yngve Georg Lithman. London / New York 1988, pp. 88-106; and Sossie Andezian: Migrant Muslim Women in France. In: Ibid., pp. 196–218; new studies are now being done like Laila Prager: Die “Gemeinschaft des Hauses.“ Religion, Heiratsstrategien und transnationale Identität türkischer Alawi-/Nusairi-Migranten in Deutschland. Berlin / Munster 2010 (= Comparative Anthropological Studies in Society, Cosmology and Politics 7). 70 This was reported widely in the European press, as on 1 December 2011 in The Telegraph: http://www.telegraph.co.uk/motoring/news/8930168/Allowing- women-drivers-in-Saudi-Arabia-will-be-end-of-virginity.html.

Chloe 46 Religion and Migration 35

Immigrant Muslim women in Europe have spoken out against forced marriages, restrictions on education, movement, and dress for women as practiced in almost all Islamic societies and legitimized by religious custom in Europe. A burning issue are the “honor killings.” The Turkish women’s organization in Germany, Papatya, has documented forty instances of honor killings in Germany from 1996 to 2005. The newsmagazine Der Spiegel reported in 2005 that six Muslim women living in Berlin had been brutally murdered by family members during the previous four months and quoted a Turkish youth’s public comment on the latest victim: “She deserved what she got, the whore lived like a German.”71 These are of course extreme events that outrage the public and advocates of human rights. The Turkish Federation of Berlin (Türkischer Bund Berlin, TBB)72 issued a ten-point memorandum against intolerance toward women in 2005, and there are excellent efforts underway to improve schools (including Quran schools) for women and also for young men. But issues of family honor that involve honor killings, forced marriages, and restrictions on women’s education, citizenship, movement, and education are often defended as being required by religious practice. These issues belong to the taboos within Islamic immigrant communities in Europe that are legitimized by religious culture. The complications these religiously informed practices and their clashes with Western customs and values are the stuff of numerous, mostly melodramatic films and fictions that have been subjected to a host of readings by literary interpreters pushing a “Turkish turn” in German literature. However, when seriously discussed, opinions of what constitutes “true” Islam with regard to the role of women, women’s dress, marriage, family, and honor are sharply divided. Outspoken Muslim immigrants who dare to criticize religious practices in the Islamic community in Germany, like the anthropologist and writer Necla Kelek and the lawyer Seyran Ateú,

71 Jody K. Biehl: The Death of a Muslim Woman: “The Whore Lived Like a German.” Spiegel Online, 3 February 2005: http://www.spiegel.de/international/0,1518,344374,00.html; accessed 5 January 2012. 72 The TBB is an independent, non-partisan organization founded in 2001 to promote German-Turkish understanding, cooperation, and anti-discrimination: http://tbb-berlin.de/%C3%9Cber%20den%20TBB; accessed 5 January 2012.

Chloe 46 36 Barbara Becker-Cantarino square off with loyal defenders of fundamentalist Islam and even receive death threats. The self-made, prize-winning Ateú (who joined her Turkish mother and Kurdish father in Berlin in 1969, then left her family to pursue her education against the family's wishes) was critically wounded in her office by a man who was identified as a member of the nationalist Turkish Grey Wolves (which is responsible for several political assassinations and organized the assassination attempt on Pope Paul II in 1981). Ates was in hiding when her book Der Islam braucht eine sexuelle Revolution (Islam Needs a Sexual Revolution) was released in 2009 and she stated in an interview with The Guardian:

Almost no one in Germany wanted to speak openly about arranged marriages, genital mutilation, and honour killings. The hijab [veil] has led to strong political polarization since roughly 1998. It is fast becoming a matter of course to see it in the street.[…] These days we have to put up with hearing that the public debate over the subjugation of women in the Islamic community is more of an insult to Islamic women than a help. In Germany's recent past, in the kaleidoscope of cultures and religions in this multicultural society, many people have forgotten that human rights must come before religious practices. I do not say that as a critic of Islam — I don't know why people label me as such — no, I say it as a practicing Muslim and human rights activist, who lives in a democratic state and would like to continue to express her opinion freely.73

Ates wants to be understood and heard as a practicing Muslim and as a human rights activist. Yet she has been accused of “Islamophobia” and “defamation of religion.” (We only need to remember the death threats against Salman Rushdie and the Danish cartoonist accused of defaming Islam and now living in hiding and with body guards.) However, an open letter to the respected weekly Die Zeit titled “Justice for the Muslims”74 singled out for harsh criticism Ates and Nekla Kelek, author of Die fremde Braut. Ein Bericht aus dem Inneren des türkischen Lebens in Deutschland (The Foreign Bride: A Report From the Inside on Turkish Life in Germany, 2005) and Die verlorenen Söhne (The Lost Sons, 2006). The letter, signed by sixty

73 The interview appeared on 26 September 2009 and drew 259 readers’ comments in one day: http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/belief/2009/sep/26/germany-now- human-rights-religion/; accessed 12 January 2012. 74 http://www.zeit.de/2006/06/Petition: “Gerechtigkeit für Muslime“; accessed 12 January 2012.

Chloe 46 Religion and Migration 37 academics, all claiming expertise in migration research, was both a criticism of German integration policy (Integrationspolitik) and a call for an authoritative voice and interpretation of Islam in Germany (and the West). It caused the usual row over women’s and migration issues in the German press. Kelek’s succinct response pushed for a recognition of human rights violations under religious pretense: “Migration scholars knew about forced and arranged marriage, honor killings, and segregation in Islam […] by not researching these issues […] they have contributed to the suffering of others. It did not fit into their ideological concept of multiculturalism.” 75

VI Religion, Migration, and Multiculturalism

Recently, a disillusionment has set in regarding multiculturalism’s power to affect integration, tolerance, and reconciliation. German migration experts are not alone in this disillusionment. Ernesto Caravantes, the son of Mexican immigrants, sees multiculturalism as having failed America: he laments that the ideals of great men like Martin Luther King and Cesar Chavez have not been realized; rather, the activism of the 1960s introduced a multiculturalism that sought to unite people of different ethnic and religious backgrounds, but the opposite happened: ethno-centrism evolved and xenophobia was renewed.76 In the context of the Islamic migration to Germany and Europe, what is at stake seems to be equal respect for various facets of Islamic and Christian religious practice: human rights and democratic values, the basis for Western society, need to be considered. Cultural diversity, in which people of different ethnic and religious backgrounds live side-by-side in parallel societies, may indeed become problematic when it comes to conflicting religious and community values. Multiculturalism as a cultural mosaic is often contrasted with the concept of assimilation, but says little about interaction and values such as human rights. How can divergence affecting human rights — forced marriage, honor killings, persecution of the homosexual community — and unique sets of religious laws –

75 http://www.zeit.de/online/2006/06/kelek/replik; accessed 12 January 2012. 76 Ernesto Caravantes: From Melting Pot to Witches’ Cauldron: How Multiculturalism Failed America. Lanham, MD 2010.

Chloe 46 38 Barbara Becker-Cantarino the sharia versus the (German) legal code — exist side by side in a modern society? If the veil for a Muslim woman is likened to the crucifix for a Christian, as the German scholar Walter Schiffauer claims,77 why are Muslim men not required to don a veil in public? And since the “veil” means a total covering of a woman’s (not of a man’s) body, face, hands, and feet in fundamentalist Islam, how can that be equivalent to a piece of “jewelry” like the crucifix? And how can a woman wearing a burka safely drive a car and function independently in Western society? The ideology of multiculturalism lets German Gutmenschen (do- gooders) naively believe that different perspectives on religion, gender, and class can happily coexist without much conflict. They may “rub against each other” without integrating, according to the first-generation Persian-German Armin Nassehi, a sociologist at the university of Munich, who as an academic is securely above the fray of ghettoized women in fundamentalist Muslim families.78 Nassehi does concede that the “halfhearted immigration policy” in Germany has produced problems with the immigrant population, but he nevertheless believes that immigration has achieved a remarkable power of inclusion, a diversity of ways of life, and a pluralist society, as parallel societies treat each other with mutual indifference. Does this indifference also mean respect? And what about civic duties (like voting) and citizen interaction, the essence of a modern democracy? Some fundamentalist religious factors are stumbling blocks rather than stepping stones towards an acceptance of Islamic migrants in Europe, which seems to be the most secular area of the world. As Europe enlarges, transnational religious communities, defined as entities spanning state borders, run up against the secular European polity, argues Peter Katzenstein.79 Bassam Tibi continues this line of thinking, stating that Europe and Islam are in conflict, because European secularism and Islam are based on different world-views

77 Werner Schiffauer: Migration and Religion: A Special Relationship. 2006: http://www.kuwi.europa- uni.de/de/lehrstuhl/vs/anthro/inhaber/publikationen/publikonline/migration_and_ religion.pdf; accessed 11 January 2012. 78 “Diversity is always an enrichment.” Interview with Armin Nassehi, March 2011. http://www.goethe.de/lhr/prj/daz/mag/igd/en7217357.htm; accessed 12 January 2012. 79 Religion in an Expanding Europe (fn. 60), p. 1.

Chloe 46 Religion and Migration 39 and both need to adapt in their mutual encounter.80 He warns against an essentialism and reductionism that merely sees in Islam a “revolt against the West” and against the model of Europeanization and Western hegemony:

The contemporary continuing revolt is intensifying and reaches Europe via the wave of immigration. The emergence of political Islam as a transnational universal religion marks the arrival of a political vision that seeks to displace the West rather than live amicably with it. The Arabic-Islamic term hijra requires migrants — as believers — to proselytize.81

Orientalist scholar Tibi elaborates on Huntington’s theory of the “clash of cultures.” Have the tables been turned? Is Islam as a religion on a mission to conquer Christian Europe, to fulfill the ambitions of the Ottoman Empire, not conquering with an army but with Islamic migrants? Obviously, there is not one homogeneous empire or religion but a multifaceted Islam with a very visible and powerful fundamentalist group within it. Islamic migrants in Europe are perceived to belong to three major groups that might be called secular, traditional, and fundamentalist.82 There are many Muslims who practice Islam as a secular religion in community groups and integrate with other aspects of German in a way similar to other migrant groups. Second, there is a sizable number of families or clans who live according to and insist on preserving fundamentalist religious practice according to the sharia (male control over the family, restrictions on women from dress to education to civil rights, punishing homosexuals, advocating physical punishment and the death penalty, etc.). Most of these religiously grounded “customs” go against the requirements of a modern Western democracy and free citizenship, they divide also the Muslim groups and even families, to say nothing of Europeans marrying into or associating with members of this group. A third group of European Muslims insists on “Islamic law and jihad, along with Islamic terrorism, proselytizing non-Muslims”; this creates “social and

80 Europeanizing Islam or the Islamization of Europe: Political Democracy versus Cultural Difference. In: Ibid., pp. 204–24, here p. 205. 81 Ibid., p. 205. 82 See Emanuel Adler: Europe as a Civilizational Community of Practice. In: Civilizations in World Politics: Plural and Pluralist Perspectives. Ed. Peter J. Katzenstein. London / New York 2009, pp. 67–90, here pp. 84–86.

Chloe 46 40 Barbara Becker-Cantarino economic polarization in Europe and […] a Muslim underclass — which engenders a heavy dose of crime.”83 In the mutual interest of immigrant and host country populations it seems reasonable that the European countries should in their territories “make Muslims feel truly European, and European Muslims should join Europe’s community of practice, including the norms and values on which the practices are based”84 — and these values do include those of Christianity and democracy. Religion remains an important factor in today’s migration. Islamic migrants are making Europe the meeting ground of Islam and Christianity.85 It seems that an impulse of spatial conquest and new community building that was seminal for the establishment of the Christian missions in the colonial “Western world” is now also a driving force in Islamic migration to Germany (and Europe). While the opportunities for and ways of migration have vastly changed over time, a mostly secular Germany and Europe are now faced with the ideas, values, and interests of Muslim migrants, with the religiosity of transnational Islamic communities, and Islamic religious functionaries within their countries and have to come to terms with Islam as a religion.

83 Ibid., p 84. Islamic governments exhibit little interest in negotiating Western civic and religious values in their respective countries for migrants in their midst. 84 Adler (fn. 82), p. 86. 85 At this point, Islamic countries show few signs of accommodating Christians in their territory (“apostasy” [conversion] still means the death penalty in Iran and Pakistan for their own citizens; Islamist attacks on ancient Christian communities in their midst occur frequently). See “Religious Freedom – Christians and Lions,” The Economist, 31 December 2011.

Chloe 46 W o l f g a n g B r e u l

THEOLOGICAL TENETS AND MOTIVES OF MISSION: AUGUST HERMANN FRANCKE, NIKOLAUS LUDWIG VON ZINZENDORF

Abstract

Besides political and economic factors, a fundamental change in eschatological expectations was crucial for the inception of missionary work in Lutheran Protestantism. Spener’s new eschatological orientation within Lutheran theology provided important impulses for the missions of Halle and Herrnhut. His programmatic formulation of “hope for better times for the Church here on Earth” opened a window of opportunity and thus urged action in the present. August Hermann Francke’s interpretation of eschatology led to a comprehensive general reform that had its point of origin in Halle, and included missionary work among many other measures. In Herrnhut, the millenarian expectation raised by Spener came also to embrace a Philadelphian concept of a gathering of the pious from all denominations in a then beginning eschaton (the end time).

In the early seventeenth century there had already been isolated missionary impulses within European Protestantism. As early as 1618, the young theologian Justus Heurnius (1587–1652) had already published an appeal for a mission to convert the non-believers of India.1 Theologians of the Nadere Reformatie (Dutch Second Reformation), such as Gisbert Voetius (1589-1676) and Johannes Hoornbeeck (1617-1666), presumably influenced by the experiences

1 Justus Heurnius: De legatione evangelica ad Indos capessanda admonitio. Leiden 1618; facsimile reproduction: http://reader.digitalesammlungen.de/resolve/display/bsb10025187. Heurnius based his appeal on both the Great Commission of the Gospel of Matthew (Math. 28:19f.) and the first two petitions of the Lord’s Prayer. Jacob Richard Callenbach: Justus Heurnius. Bijdrage tot de geschiedenis des Christendoms in Nederlandsch Oost-Indie. Nijkerk 1897.

Chloe 46 42 Wolfgang Breul of Dutch merchants and trading companies,2 developed theories of missiology and even an elaborate mission doctrine.3 In 1664, Justinian von Welz (1621-1668) preached The Great Commission of Jesus Christ to the Protestant representatives at the Imperial Diet in Regensburg (Corpus Evangelicorum). He came from a respected Austrian noble family that had been forced to leave Styria because of their Lutheran faith. Von Welz had been ordained in the Netherlands by the radical spiritualist Friedrich Breckling for missionary service. Under the influence of a mystical-spiritualist piety (Luther, a Kempis, Arndt), Von Welz advocated a renewal of Lutheranism and discipleship, ascribing a crucial role to missionizing. He was, however, unsuccessful in his attempt to win support for his ideas from politicians and theologians at the Diet.4After his failed attempt to solicit support at the Diet, he subsequently travelled to Suriname, where he presumably died in 1666.5 Missionary impulses were also evident at the court of Ernst the Pious in Gotha, and in the writings of Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz.6 However, only at the

2 The Dutch East India Company (Vereenigde Oostindische Compagnie V.O.C.) was founded in 1602. 3 Gisbertus Voetius: Selectae disputationes theologicae. Vol. 3, Utrecht 1659. Vol. 4, Amsterdam Weyerstraet 1667. Johannes Hoornbeeck: De conversione Indorum et genti-lium. Leiden 1663. 2 vols., Amsterdam 1669; Johannes van den Berg: Die Frömmig-keitsbestrebungen in den Niederlanden. In: Geschichte des Pietismus. Vol. 1: Das 17. und frühe 18. Jahrhundert. Ed. Martin Brecht et al. Göttingen 1993, p. 97. 4 Von Welz did convince Johann Georg Gichtel; see Aira Võsa: Teosoofilise idee kandja varauusaegses Euroopas. Tartu 2006. 5 Justinian von Welz: Eine Christliche und treuhertzige Vermahnung An alle rechtgläubige Christen/der Augspurgischen Confession, Betreffend eine sonderbahre Gesellschaft /durch welche/nechst Göttlicher Hülffe/unsere Evangelische Religion möchte außge-breitet werden. Nürnberg 1664. Reprinted as: Der Missionsweckruf des Baron Justinian von Welz in treuer Wiedergabe des Originaldruckes vom Jahre 1664. Leipzig 1890; Fritz Laubach: Justinian von Welz und sein Plan einer Missionsgesellschaft. Diss. Tübingen 1955. 6 Leibniz’s interest in missions was focused on China; Rita Widmaier: Leibniz korrespondiert mit China. Der Briefwechsel mit den Jesuitenmissionaren (1689– 1714). Frankfurt 1990; Christian D. Zangger: Welt und Konversation. Die theologische Begründung der Mission bei Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz. Zürich 1973; Ignaz Cserpán: Leibniz und der Missionsgedanke. Diss. Vienna 1943; Hermann Wellenreuther: Pietismus und Mission. Vom 17. bis zum Beginn des 20. Jahrhunderts. In: Geschichte des Pietismus. Vol. 4: Glaubenswelt und Lebenswelten. Ed. Hartmut Lehmann et al.. Göttingen 2005, pp. 167, 184.

Chloe 46 Theological Tenets of Mission 43 beginning of the eighteenth century did a radical reemphasis on missionary efforts emerge with any force within Protestantism. There has been relatively little research into this beginning phase. In his overview of missionary activity during the emerging phase of Pietism, Hermann Wellenreuther remarked that the question of why missionary activity reemerged only in close conjunction with two of the primarily Pietist currents within Protestantism in the eighteenth century has received surprisingly little attention in scholarship. There has been little research on how missionary activity was prompted, influenced, or even shaped by the concepts, ideas, and examples of the seventeenth century.7 This article can, of course, hardly begin to fill this gap. That would require the examination of several aspects of the issue: the overseas expansion of European powers and accompanying economic factors, the impact of missions in Catholic- dominated lands since the sixteenth century, the influence of the Nadere Reformatie, and the transformation of economic world views in the seventeenth century, among others. What this article tries to do is to draw attention to one important factor for the emergence of missionary ideas, namely, the transformation of expectations about the future: eschatology in Protestant theology. In the following, I will introduce the theological background to missionizing as found in the works of August Hermann Francke, as well as Nikolaus Ludwig von Zinzendorf and the Moravian Brethren.

I Philipp Jakob Spener's New Approach to Eschatology

First, however, it is necessary to briefly address Philipp Jakob Spener and his new eschatological claims. The beginning of Pietism in Germany is often associated with the appearance of Spener’s Pia Desideria (1675).8 This reform treatise was truly an important

7 Wellenreuther (fn. 6), p. 167. 8 The criteria for the end of Pietism have been the topic of nearly two decades of intense debate in German scholarship, sparked by the concept of the four volume work: Geschichte des Pietismus. Göttingen, 1993-2005; Johannes Wallmann: Pietismus-forschung. Gesamt- und übergreifende Darstellungen und Aufsatzbände (I). In: Theologische Rundschau 76 (2011), pp. 222-254; Hartmut Lehmann: Erledigte und nicht erledigte Aufgaben der Pietismusforschung. Eine

Chloe 46 44 Wolfgang Breul milestone in the development of Pietism.9 This was not due to the severity of his criticisms touching on conditions within the Lutheran Church. There were certainly other seventeenth-century writings — especially within the context of the Thirty Years’ War —.that were more virulent and polemical in their accusations and disapproval than Spener’s. The Brandenburg pastor Joachim Betke (1601-1663) began criticizing the lack of Christian discipleship in Lutheran congregations in 1525, via a series of publications that became increasingly harsh and censorious of contemporary moral decline. They reached a climax in the treatise written in 1640, but published only posthumously: Excidium Germaniae (The Devastation of Germany). In the style of the prophets of the Old Testament, Betke blamed the predominant theology and the pastors for the religious war (which he vividly described) and its devastating consequences.10 Similarly comprehensive but not as acerbic in tone, Deacon Theophil Großgebauer (1627–1661) of Rostock also disparaged conditions prevalent in the Lutheran Church. In his Wächterstimme aus dem verwüsteten Zion (The Watchman’s Call from the Ruins of Zion), he questioned whether the Church still conformed to Christ’s will and that of the apostles; sermons were ineffective, he maintained, because the clergy lacked sufficient education and spiritual enlightenment, while, within the congregations, discipline was lax and inadequate.11

nochmalige Antwort an Johannes Wallmann. In: Pietismus und Neuzeit 31 (2005), pp. 13-20. 9 On the terminology of “Pietism,” see the titles in fn. 8; Wolfgang Breul: “Pietismus.” In: Enzyklopädie der Neuzeit. Stuttgart 2009, vol. 10, pp. 12–17. 10 Joachim Betke: Excidium Germaniae. H.e. Gründtlicher und warhafftiger Bericht/wer daran Ursach/daß zur Zeit des Alten Testaments/ das Judenthumb/ und zur Zeit des Newen Testaments/Deutschland/zum zehenfachen Sodom worden. Ed. Friedrich Breckling. Amsterdam 1666; Gerhard Dünnhaupt: Personalbibliographien zu den Drucken des Barock. Stuttgart 1990, vol. 1, p. 568. 11 Theophil Großgebauer: Wächterstimme Auß dem verwüsteten Zion. Das ist/Treühertzige und nothwendige Entdeckung. Auß waß Ursachen die vielfaltige Predigt deß Worts Gottes bey Evangelischen Gemeinen wenig zur Bekehrung und Gottseligkeit fruchte. Frankfurt a. M. 1661; see Jonathan Strom: Orthodoxy and Reform. The Clergy in Seventeenth-Century Rostock. Tübingen 1999, pp. 85–166 and 195-221; Thomas Kaufmann: Universität und lutherische Konfessionalisierung. Die Rostocker Theologieprofessoren und ihr Beitrag zur theologischen Bildung und kirchlichen Gestaltung im Herzogtum Mecklenburg zwischen 1550 und 1675. Gütersloh 1997, p. 116f.; Martin Brecht: Das

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In a profusion of writings during the last hird of the seventeenth century, Ahasver Fritsch (1629–1701) advocated reforms within the Lutheran Church, schools, universities, and the princely courts. Fritsch, the chancellor of the minor principality of Schwarzburg- Rudolstadt called upon his readers for moral improvement in several of his treatises, employing a catalogue of vices and virtues.12 In my opinion, the significance of Spener’s treatise lies not primarily in his recommendations for reform, although they included the Collegia Pietatis (conventicles), which were group meetings for personal edification. Rather, the essence of his new approach in this treatise is to be found in his attitude towards eschatology. Spener claimed in Pia Desideria that God had promised his church on earth “a better state.”13 He based this assertion on the fact that biblical

Aufkommen der neuen Frömmigkeitsbewegung in Deutschland. In: Geschichte des Pietismus. Vol. 1: Der Pietismus vom siebzehnten bis zum frühen achtzehnten Jahrhundert. Ed. Martin Brecht. Göttingen 1993, pp. 171–173. 12 Ahasver Fritsch: Aulicus peccans, sive tractatus de peccatis aulicorum. Acc. Ulrici de Hutten dialogus de aula, ante centum quinquaginta annos edita. Osterode 1682; Ahasver Fritsch: Scholaris peccans, Sive Tractatus De Vitiis Et Erroribus Scholarium. Cum Appendice De Vitiis Et Erroribus Moderatorum Iuventutis Scholasticae. Breslau / Leipzig 1679; Ahasver Fritsch: Praeceptor peccans, Beigabe zum Scholaris peccans. Breslau, Leipzig 1679. Susanne Schuster: Aemilie Juliane von Schwarzburg-Rudolstadt und Ahasver Fritsch. Eine Untersuchung zur Jesusfrömmigkeit im späten 17. Jahrhundert. Leipzig 2006; Hans Renker: Ahasver Fritsch. Ein pietistischer Pädagoge vor Francke und ein Vorläufer Franckes. Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte der pietistischen Pädagogik. Paderborn 1916; Dietrich Blaufuß: Cura Politica Christiana. Ahasverus Fritsch zwischen “Himmels Lust und Weltunlust.” In: Programm und Exempel. Ed. Hanspeter Marti. Engi / Schweiz 1991, pp. 138-151, reprinted in: Dietrich Blaufuß: Korrespondierender Pietismus. Ausgewählte Beiträge. Eds. Wolfgang Sommer, Gerhard Philipp Wolf. Leipzig 2003, pp. 413–32; Detlef Ignasiak: Hoher Staatsbeamter und kritischer Schriftsteller. Der Lebensweg des Rudolstädter Kanzlers Ahasverus Fritsch. In: Kleinstaaten und Kultur in Thüringen vom 16. bis 20. Jahrhundert. Ed. Jürgen John. Weimar / Cologne 1994, pp. 139-159; Brigitte Herpich: Bürgerliche Hofkritik und bürgerliche Karriere. Mitteldeutsche Kleinstaaten im 17. Jahrhundert aus der Sicht des Kanzlers der Grafschaft Schwarzburg-Rudolstadt Ahasverus Fritsch. In: Politische Tugendlehre und Regierungskunst. Studien zum Fürstenspiegel der frühen Neuzeit. Eds. Hans-Otto Mühleisen, Theo Stammen. Tübingen 1990, pp. 197–228. 13 Heike Krauter-Dierolf: Die Eschatologie Philipp Jakob Speners. Der Streit mit der lutherischen Orthodoxie um die “Hoffnung besserer Zeiten.” Tübingen 2005; Johannes Wallmann: Reich Gottes und Chiliasmus in der lutherischen

Chloe 46 46 Wolfgang Breul promises had not been fulfilled, and, more specifically, Spener defined this “better state” of the church as a “lack of public scandals.”14 Thus, “better” was not about a heavenly church, for such an “ecclesia triumphans” would be, according to traditional expectations, free of all faults, of all “blemishes and wrinkles.” Spener’s expectations for a better state of the church focused on the phenomenon of immanence (the presence of God in the world), and were aimed at a congregation of the faithful of this world that would tolerate no obvious shortcomings within their ranks. In such a church, Christians have achieved a certain degree of perfection but are nevertheless aware of their deficiencies.15 It is possible to achieve such a condition,” Spener maintained, “for it has been done in the history of Christianity. The original Christians led such holy lives.16 Spener’s arguments are remarkable in several ways. First, they represent a turning away from traditional Lutheran doctrine, which did not recognize an intermediate condition between the present and future “heavenly” worlds.17 According to conventional Lutheran doctrine, the old world would be annihilated with the commencement of the “dear last days” (annihilatio mundi), and a new heaven and new earth would materialize.18 Spener’s anticipation of a better state of the church here on earth avoided a direct reference to chiliastic expectations. The expectation of a millenarian reign of Christ on earth before the Last Judgment had been dismissed in Lutheran theology.19

Orthodoxie. In: Johannes Wallmann: Theologie und Frömmigkeit im Zeitalter des Barock. Gesammelte Aufsätze. Tübingen 1995, pp. 105–23; Dietrich Blaufuß: Zu Ph. J. Speners Chiliasmus und seinen Kritikern. In: Pietismus und Neuzeit 14 (1988), pp. 85–108. 14 Philipp Jakob Spener. Pia desideria. Ed. Kurt Aland, Berlin 1964, 3rd ed., p. 48. 15 Ibid., pp. 47–49. 16 Ibid., pp. 49–52. 17 Chiliasm had been explicitly rejected in the Augsburg Confession of 1530, the primary confession of faith of the Lutheran Church; see Article 17 “Of Christ’s Return to Judgment” in the Confessio Augustana. 18 Paul Althaus: Die Theologie Martin Luthers. Gütersloh 1994, pp. 349–354; Bernhard Lohse: Luthers Theologie in ihrer historischen Entwicklung und in ihrem systematischen Zusammenhang. Göttingen 1995, pp. 353–56; Ulrich Asendorf: Eschatologie bei Luther. Göttingen 1967, pp. 280-92. 19 Confessio Augustana, art. 17. On the topic “Chiliasm” in the early modern period, Richard Bauckham: Chiliasmus IV. Reformation und Neuzeit. In: Theologische Realenzyklopädie (1981), vol. 7, pp. 13745. The term ”chiliasm“ was used in texts from the sixteenth to the eighteenth centuries. The more recent

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Spener thus did not refer to chapter 20 of Revelation, which theologians have typically considered the locus classicus for chiliastic doctrine. Instead, he cited the promise of the conversion of the Jews20 from Paul’s Letter to the Romans (chapter 11) and chapters 18 and 19 of Revelation, which prophesy the fall of Babylon.21 Spener introduced his new approach to eschatology carefully, apparently in order to avoid an accusation of heterodoxy. This might also explain the haziness of Spener’s claims concerning his expectations for the better state of the church.22 Second, Spener’s “hope for better times” for the church here on earth is imbedded in the context of church reform. The desire for a realization of this “better state” obligated Christians to work towards the conversion of the Jews and the spiritual weakening of the Catholic Church, and to work to improve their own church. Spener stressed that the improvement of the church would be the result of a divine promise, and would certainly also occur without our assistance. He therefore avoided assertions about the righteousness of work (derived from man’s own actions) and Pelagianism (the belief that mortal sin did not taint human nature, and that man is still capable of choosing good or evil without special Divine aid). Nevertheless, the failings of Christians would certainly incur drastic punishments meted out by God, for true religion could not exist in an impure life.23 Spener’s “hope for better times” thus opened a horizon for contemporary Christians that gave their activism for church reform a positive direction and set an obtainable, realistic goal. Improvement was not about creating heaven on earth in the church, but about addressing gross public grievances and reforming the church. Third, Spener was cautious enough not to profess chiliasm, including the post-millennial variety, openly. He thus reserved the possibility of implementing his programmatic reforms within the

term “millennialism” and the important distinctions between Christian pre- and postmillennialism describe more accurately the theological position. 20 Spener (fn. 14), pp. 43 f. 21 In the Protestant tradition the text of Revelation was usually interpreted to be a reference to the Roman Catholic Church; ibid., pp. 43,23-44,16. Luther and many other theologians thought that these prophecies had already been fulfilled. 22 It remains unclear whether the improved state of the church is the cause or the result of the conversion of the Jews. The same is true of the anticipated fall of Babylon. 23 Ibid., pp. 45–47.

Chloe 46 48 Wolfgang Breul context of the church. Spener’s new eschatological approach opened up the prospect for a period of immanence that maintained the apocalyptic expectations of the Christian faith, expectations of a better state promised by God. Furthermore, this approach served the Christians as a phenomenon in this world, a point of reference for their activities within the church. The “Hope for Better Times for the Church on Earth” thus connected the end of times with worldly times, and provided an outlook on the future for the activities of the church. This was important for the development of a missionary culture within Protestantism as influenced by Pietism.24 The traditional Lutheran conception of time, with its expectation of Christ’s return, did not allow a long-term worldly timeframe for human activities. Spener’s prospect of better times created a space for this without giving the appearance of justifying works-righteousness. Involvement in the reform of the church was presented, as permitted based on trust in God’s promise. Consequently, only a detailed roadmap for a renewal of the Lutheran Church and all of Christianity was lacking. August Hermann Francke developed such a concept.

II August Hermann Francke’s Continuation

August Hermann Francke, the most important student of Philipp Jakob Spener, tacitly took up Spener’s concept and developed it further. But it is necessary to examine his activities in Glaucha, near Halle, in order to adequately appreciate his approach. On Spener’s recommendation, Francke was employed by the government of Brandenburg-Prussia beginning in early 1692. He served as professor of Greek and Oriental Languages at the newly founded university in

24 Spener had intended his reform program, especially the expectations and promises he cited, for discussion within a wide circle of theologian friends, representatives of the church, and politicians; Johannes Wallmann: Postillenvorrede und Pia Desideria Philipp Jakob Speners. In: Der Pietismus in Gestalten und Wirkungen. Festschrift Martin Schmidt. Ed. Heinrich Bornkamm et al. Bielefeld 1975, pp. 466–84, p. 471. (Reprinted in: Johannes Wallmann: Pietismus und Orthodoxie. Gesammelte Aufsätze. Tübingen 2010, vol. 3, pp. 22–39). By 1677, Spener had received ninety letters in response to his reform program. In this process, Spener deepened and expanded his arguments without concretizing them more; Krauter-Dierolf (fn. 13), pp. 3453. It is noteworthy that he was not accused of chiliasm in this early phase.

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Halle, while he was at the same time appointed pastor in nearby Glaucha.25 Francke, driven by his personal experience of conversion,26 had become a leader of the Pietist reform movement in central Germany, and had at his disposal an extensive network of students as well as supportive citizens and nobles. This network became the basis for his pedagogical and social innovations in Glaucha and Halle. With his organizational talent, his pedagogical abilities, and his diverse contacts, he was able, starting from very modest beginnings in the spring of 1695, to develop an elaborate system of schools of different kinds: an orphanage, a teaching college, and commercial enterprises to raise and coordinate the funding for his projects. Within the first few years, not only were over 1,000 pupils accepted into the school in Glaucha, but thanks to Francke’s close relationship with the new university in Halle, numerous students were recruited to teach in accordance with the Pietist spirit in the schools and orphanage. Thus Spener’s fundamental call for a theological education with attention to professional practice and lifestyle was realized. Within a decade, the institutions founded by Francke became the center of Pietism in the German Empire, and their influence extended far beyond Germany’s boundaries. Francke had drawn up plans for a far-reaching reform very early. Already in the autumn of 1695, only a few months after he began teaching the poor in Glaucha, Francke sent the draft of a plan for an institution dedicated to the education of young men to the Pietist Samuel Schumacher in Bern. The institution was to be a “work grounded not in mere speculation but rather in experience and practice which could benefit thousands of people and the entire Christian

25 There is no comprehensive biography of Francke according to the standards of modern scholarship; Gustav Kramer: August Hermann Francke. Ein Lebensbild. 2 vols. Halle 1880, 1882; Martin Brecht: August Hermann Francke und der Hallische Pietismus. In: Geschichte des Pietismus. Vol. 1: Der Pietismus vom siebzehnten bis zum frühen achtzehnten Jahrhundert. Ed. Martin Brecht. Göttingen 1993, pp. 439–539; Helmut Obst: A.H. Francke und die Franckeschen Stiftungen in Halle. Göttingen 2002. 26 Friedrich De Boor: Erfahrung gegen Vernunft. Das Bekehrungserlebnis A. H. Franckes als Grundlage für den Kampf des Hallischen Pietismus gegen die Aufklärung. In: Der Pietismus in Gestalten und Wirkungen. Festschrift Martin Schmidt. Ed. Heinrich Bornkamm. Bielefeld 1975, pp. 120–38.

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Church.”27 At a time when a single student instructor was teaching the very first classes at Glaucha in the most modest of circumstances, Francke was already thinking of a pedagogical institution for thousands of children and youths. Five years later, Francke, on the basis of his rapidly growing foundation, had developed these plans into a comprehensive concept of reform. He first referred to this project in 1700. A written draft from 1701 has survived, entitled: Project for a Universal Seminar or the Establishment of a Nursery in Which One Can Expect a Real Improvement in all Classes in and Beyond Germany, Indeed in Europe and All Other Parts of the World.28 Three and a half years later, Francke had expanded his Project into an extensive treatise and refined it considerably. He reworked this treatise, known in the field as the “Große Aufsatz” (Great Essay) for the last time in 1719.29 Francke’s treatise of 1701 aimed at a general reform extending beyond the borders of the German Empire into Europe and to other continents, thus including, in principle, the notion of missions on non-Christian continents. Like Spener, Francke sharply criticized the “spoiled condition in which not only the heathen and other peoples but also the so-called Christian people find themselves up until the present day.”30 Whereas Spener, however, directed his criticism at all estates of society,

27 “Nicht ein in der bloßen Speculation, sonder in praxi ipsa et Experientia fundiertes Werk zu viler 1000 Menschen Bestem für das angesicht der ganzen Christenlichen Kirchen legen könnte.” Rudolf Dellsperger: Die Anfänge des Pietismus in Bern. Quellenstudien. Göttingen 1984, p. 205. The report to Schumacher is no longer extant. Francke’s description suggests fundamental elements of his later plans (1701, 1704): the orientation of the reform program for all of the entire Christian world, the large number of persons involved, and the emphasis on the feasibility of the project. 28 Proiect zu einem Seminario Universali oder Anlegung eines Pflanz-Gartens in welchem man eine reale Verbesserung in allen Ständen in und außerhalb Deutschlands, ja in Europa und allen übrigen Theilen der Welt zu gewarten. In: August Hermann Francke. Werke in Auswahl. Ed. Erhard Peschke. Berlin 1969, pp. 108–15. 29 August Hermann Francke: Schrift über eine Reform des Erziehungs- und Bildungswesens als Ausgangspunkt einer geistlichen und sozialen Neuordnung der Evangelischen Kirche des 18. Jahrhunderts. Der Grosse Aufsatz. Ed. Otto Podczeck. Berlin 1962. 30 “Verderbten Zustande, in welchem nicht allein die Heydnische und andere Völcker, sondern auch das so genannte Christen-Volck sich biß auff den heutigen Tag befindet,” ibid., p. 1.

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Francke concentrated on the so-called “Lehrstand,” which, according to Lutheran tradition, included teachers, pastors, and university professors. The universities especially were failing to fulfill their original purpose, according to Francke. They should be like tree nurseries, tending saplings for God. Francke viewed universities as training grounds that as places of education for pastors and teachers, could be the source of either great usefulness or of great harm. His program for reform thus aimed to establish a “universal seminar,” an academic educational institution for all nations. This idea was by no means new, for the idea of an international, interdenominational society of scholars had increasingly circulated in academic circles since the early seventeenth century. The institution was to combine the traditions of antiquity and humanism with modern scientific interests. It was expected that such a national or universal seminar would lead to a comprehensive renewal of the church and society. In the utopian suggestions of Francis Bacon’s Nova Atlantis or the Christianopolis, erudite colleges or fraternities played a central role. But the idea was not restricted to mere utopian concepts. Numerous such scientific societies and academies were founded in the seventeenth century. The Académie Française (1635) and the Royal Society of London for Improving Natural Knowledge (1660/62)31 were influenced by such ideas, and in Brandenburg-Prussia, where Halle was located, there were plans in 1667 to create an international scholar-city drawing from all nations, sciences, and arts.32 This last plan failed, but in 1700 the Academy of Sciences, to which Francke was also appointed, was founded in the capital city of Berlin.33

31 Europäische Sozietätsbewegung und demokratische Tradition. Die europäischen Akademien der Frühen Neuzeit zwischen Frührenaissance und Spätaufklärung. Eds. Klaus Garber, Heinz Wismann. Tübingen 1996, 2 vols. 32 Friedrich Arnheim: Freiherr Benedikt Skytte (1614–1683), der Urheber des Planes einer brandenburgischen “Universal-Universität der Völker, Wissenschaften und Künste.” In: Beiträge zur brandenburgischen und preußischen Geschichte. Festschrift Gustav Schmoller. Leipzig 1908, pp. 65–99, pp. 85–90; Adolf Harnack: Geschichte der Königlich Preußischen Akademie der Wissenschaften zu Berlin. Berlin 1900, vol. 1, pt. 1, p. 1f. vol. 2, p. 3f.; Wolfgang Neugebauer: Zentralprovinz im Absolutismus. Brandenburg im 17. und 18. Jahrhundert. Berlin 2001, p. 100f; Hugo Landwehr: Die Kirchenpolitik Friedrich Wilhelms, des Großen Kurfürsten. Berlin 1894, pp. 345–50. 33 Franke was appointed a member in absentia; Leibniz und seine Akademie. Ausgewählte Quellen zur Geschichte der Berliner Sozietät der Wissenschaften.

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Thus, the idea of a comprehensive and universal reform had already developed by the seventeenth century and was widely promulgated in academic circles. Francke’s concept of reform drew on this tradition by placing a universal seminar at the center of his plans. In two ways, however, his approach was further developed along remarkable lines. First, from Francke’s perspective, this comprehensive reform has already begun. In the Project treatise of 1701, he stressed that: “a place already exists, a real beginning of all these seminars.”34 The draft for a universal seminar was no mere idea; it was not about “something which exists only as a figment of our imagination.”35 The places where its realization had already begun were the institutions in Glaucha and the university in Halle. The first steps toward the “appropriate universal seminar,” and thus towards an “expansive improvement of the public sphere, […] a planting of the true understanding of God in the entire world” had already been made.36 Francke’s concept was no longer a “u-topia” (no place – without a place). Second, Francke understood the beginnings undertaken in Glaucha and Halle to be God’s work. In the Project treatise of 1701, he avoided characterizing the nascent realization of the universal seminar as his own achievement or that of his colleagues. They were, according to him, simply “true servants of God,” or tools of God. The success of the institutions in Glaucha could be explained by the assertion that: “God himself is at work there,”37 as their extraordinary development from very modest beginnings demonstrated.

1697-1716. Ed. Hans-Stephan Brather. Berlin 1993, p. 347; Ines Böger: “Ein seculum [...] da man zu Societäten Lust hat.” Darstellung und Analyse der Leibnizschen Sozietätspläne vor dem Hintergrund der europäischen Akademiebewegung im 17. und frühen 18. Jahrhundert. Munich 1997, vol. 1; Werner Schneiders: Societätspläne und Sozialutopie bei Leibniz. Wiesbaden 1975 (= studia leibnitiana 7), pp. 58–80, esp. pp. 63–71, 74 f.; Carl Hinrichs: Die universalen Zielsetzungen des Halleschen Pietismus. In: Carl Hinrichs: Preußentum und Pietismus. Der Pietismus in Brandenburg-Preußen als religiös- soziale Reformbewegung. Göttingen 1971, pp. 38–41. 34 “Dass bereits ein Ort vorhanden, da ein würcklicher Anfang zu allen diesen Seminariis gemachet,” Francke, Werke in Auswahl (fn. 28), p. 110. 35 “Rem publicam Platonicam oder in bloßer Einbildung bestehende Sache,” ibid., p. 112. 36 “Rechten universal-Seminario; weit und breit sich erstreckende Verbesserung des gemeinen Wesens, [...] eine Pflantzung der wahren lebendigen Erkänntniß Gottes in der gantzen Welt,” ibid., pp. 110, 112. 37 “Daß Gott selbst mit im Werck sey,” ibid., p. 110.

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For just as it is the custom of the world to start things big which nevertheless have a bad end […], the opposite is God’s custom, to start his work small and unimposing, but to expand it all the more wondrously despite human thoughts and against the judgment of blind reason.38

God’s works grow like the mustard seed in the biblical parable to an unimagined greatness and so it had been with the schools and orphanage in Glaucha and the university in Halle. This was a risky assertion in the field of theology of history. For this reason Francke never published his project treatise or “Great Essay,” but circulated them in manuscript form among his supporters and patrons in Halle. With these statements, Francke was implicitly drawing on Spener’s “hope for better times.” For he, too, expected a fundamentally improved condition of the church, of Christianity here on earth, and, as in Spener, this expectation was linked to a call for action in the present. “Why had he done all this if not to show the path in which one can recognize his footprints and follow them in accordance with one’s own conscience and Christian vigilance?”39 Francke reinforced this call for the reform of international Christendom by seeing God himself at work, and tied the action to be taken to the reforms underway in Halle as the initial point of a comprehensive renewal. This was the “open door” (Revelation 3.8),40 which qualified contemporary time as the Age of Salvation.41 The eschaton (the final state) had already begun, in the present, and Halle was where it was taking place.

38 “Denn wie der Welt Brauch ist, ihre Dinge groß anzufangen, die doch ein schlechtes Ende nehmen [...,] so ist im Gegentheil Gotts Brauch, sein Werck klein und gering anzufangen, aber es hingegen über Menschen Gedencken und wider das Urtheil der blinden Vernunft desto herrlicher hinaus zu führen,” Francke, Aufsatz (fn. 29), pp. 5 f., 22-25, 40. 39 “Warum hat er [...] dieses alles gethan, ohne darumb, daß er die Spur gleichsahm zeiget, in welcher man seine Fußstapffen mercken und denenselben einfältiglich, doch sowohl mit sorgfältiger Bewahrung des Gewißens, als christlicher Vorsichtigkeit, folgen solle,” ibid., p. 61, 38–40. 40 Ibid., p. 85, 1. 41 “So ist itzt auch ein Tag des Heyls, und eine sonderbare Gnaden-Zeit, darinnen viel gutes gewürcket werden kann. Laßen wir die vorbey gehen, so kann eine Nacht drauff folgen,” ibid., p. 52, 25f.; 2 Cor 6.2: “Should one miss this opportunity, then one should fall victim to God’s deserved judgment like the people of Israel who marched through the desert”; ibid., p. 53, 3-15.

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These daring theological statements did not propel Francke to theological ruminations, rather, even more closely than Spener, Francke associated the new eschatological approach with a summons to action. In both the Project treatise and the “Great Essay,” Francke listed a plethora of shortcomings of the “works” in Halle, and made just as many suggestions to his patrons about how to correct these. The “open door” required that “servants of God” dedicate themselves to work, and that the more well-off support them. This call to action was directed primarily at Christianity within and beyond the borders of the German Empire, but the universal horizon included all nations in principle. Thus Francke reported, in his “Great Essay,” on the acceptance of Greek students in the Collegium Orientale in Halle and continued:

As it began with the admittance of a few Greeks [Greek students at the Collegium Orientale] and as it now continues with two Tatar boys, one should confidently proceed in the name of the Lord and gradually bring a few of every people here, to admit them hospitably and to win their souls with a pure preaching of the truth and its confirmation through blameless moral conduct.42

August Hermann Francke’s Project incorporated Spener’s new approach to eschatology, gave it focus, and made it realizable. He substantiated it by drawing its practical connections to the institutions in Glaucha and the University of Halle, focused it by seeing God’s hand in the developments at Halle, and made it operative by developing an abundance of steps and measures for promoting the work of God. From the universal horizon of this program of reform, it was only a small step to the first missionary efforts of Lutheran Protestantism. These began in 1706, with the mission of Halle to the Danish colony, Tranquebar, in southern India.

42 “Wie es aber mit Auffnehmung weniger Griechen angefangen, ist, und wie dergleichen auch an zwey Tartarischen Knaben geschehen, also sollte man getrost und im Namen des HErrn fortfahren, nach und nach von allen Nationen einige hieher zu ziehen, ihnen gütlich zu thun, und ihre Seelen durch lautere Verkündigung der Wahrheit und Beweisung eines unsträfflichen Wandels zu gewinnen,” ibid., p. 144, 4-8.

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III The Missionary Impulse of the Moravian Brethren

Nikolaus Ludwig von Zinzendorf observed the first years of the Halle mission from close proximity. As a youth, he attended the Pädagogium in Halle from 1710-1716. In accordance with his status as an imperial count, he sat near Francke and his wife at dinner in the institution. There he was able to hear reports of the early missionaries to the Danish colony mentioned above, and to meet them personally when they visited (Heinrich Plütschau, Bartholomäus Ziegenbalg, 1715). These experiences made a deep and lasting impression on the young Zinzendorf.43 Nevertheless, the later missions of the Moravian Brethren were clearly different from the Halle mission in the Danish colony. There were three important variances. First, the Moravian mission was initiated by a congregation acting independently of the large churches. The mission was closely tied to other activities of the Moravian Brethren, and involved the better part of their efforts. The Brethren considered themselves to be a “pilgrim congregation,” a nomadic fellowship whose work was not bound to a particular place. “From the very beginning the experience of homelessness was inscribed deep in the consciousness of the Brethren,” writes Gisela Mettele.44 Despite being few in number, the Moravian Brethren soon surpassed the Halle mission in Tranquebar; before Zinzendorf’s death, 226 missionaries had been dispatched. The congregational orientation also meant that the Moravian missionaries operated at some distance from authority. Second, the Moravian missionaries were almost without exception lay people. Even the first missionaries of the Brethren, Leonhard Dober and David Nitschmann, who were sent to the Caribbean Islands and the Danish colony of St. Thomas in 1732, had — like most of their successors — learned a craft or a trade (like pottery and carpentry) but had not studied theology. The Moravians upheld this

43 Gerhard Reichel: Der "Senfkornorden" Zinzendorfs. Ein Beitrag zur Kenntnis seiner Jugendentwicklung und seines Charakters. Leipzig 1914, p. 84 f. 44 “Von Beginn an war die Erfahrung der Heimatlosigkeit tief ins Bewusstsein der Brüdergemeine eingeschrieben,” Gisela Mettele: Weltbürgertum oder Gottesreich. Die Herrnhuter Brüdergemeine als globale Gemeinschaft 1727– 1857. Göttingen 2009, p. 44.

Chloe 46 56 Wolfgang Breul principle far beyond the beginnings of their missionary activities.45 Contrary to the Halle model, theological training was not a prerequisite for service in the mission; the Brethren were generally wary of theological erudition, and: “To know nothing except the crucified Christ!”46 was the credo of their missionary efforts. From a contemporary perspective, however, the most remarkable feature of the Moravian mission was its renunciation of sectarianism. Zinzendorf warned against turning “heathens” into “sectarians.” This term was used polemically within radical Pietism to refer to the members of the confessional Churches.47 Zinzendorf instructed the missionaries:

Mention no one except Jesus Christ, the crucified, to [the heathen] and leave them as much as possible in the dark [in der seligen Ignorantz] about the division of the Christian religion. If they, however, refer to it in some way, they [the missionaries] should remain neutral [impartialisch] in this question, speaking only the best of each denomination, and minimizing rather than exaggerating the differences.48

45 About 70 percent of the Moravian missionaries were craftsmen (1152). Of the remaining 321, 141 were teachers, 83 theologians, 53 merchants, 19 doctors, 11 administrators (Vorsteher), 9 students, and 5 pharmacists; cf., Theodor Bechler: Vor hundert Jahren und heut, Herrnhut 1900. Die Mission der Brüdergemeine am Anfang und Schluß des 19. Jahrhunderts. Herrnhut 1900, p. 25 f.; Carola Wessel: „Es ist also des heilands sein Predigtstuhl so weit und groß als die ganze Welt.“ Zinzendorfs Überlegungen zur Mission. In: Neue Aspekte der Zinzendorf-Forschung. Eds. Martin Brecht, Paul Peucker. Göttingen 2005, pp. 163–73. 46 1 Cor. 2.2. 47 Hans Schneider: Nikolaus Ludwig von Zinzendorf. In: Gestalten der Kirchengeschichte. Vol. 7: Orthodoxie und Pietismus. Ed. Martin Greschat. Stuttgart et al. 1982, p. 360; Hans Schneider: “Philadelphische Brüder mit einem lutherischen Maul und mährischen Rock.“ Zu Zinzendorfs Kirchenverständnis. In: Neue Aspekte der Zinzendorf-Forschung. Ed. Martin Brecht and Paul Peucker. Göttingen 2005, p. 27 f.; Wessel (fn. 45), p. 170. 48 “Niemanden als Jesum Christum den Gekreuzigten bey ihnen zu nennen, und sie so viel wie möglich in der seligen Ignorantz, daß die Christliche Religion in Partes [confessional Churches] gehe, zu erhalten, wo sie aber davon was mercken, in diesem Theil impartialisch zu erscheinen, von allen Abtheilungen [confessional Churches] nur das Beste zu reden, und den Unterschied eher zu verringern als zu vergrößern,” Nikolaus Ludwig von Zinzendorf. Hauptschriften. Ergänzungsband 7: Büdingische Sammlung (einiger in der Kirchen-Historie einschlagender sonderlich neuerer Schrifften), vol. 1. Ed. Erich Beyreuther. Hildesheim 1965, p. 186; cited from Wessel (fn. 45), p. 170.

Chloe 46 Theological Tenets of Mission 57

Zinzendorf associated the renunciation of sectarian character in the mission territories with eschatological expectations. He awaited with anticipation the dawn of a new age, the “Time of the Heathen.” The Moravian mission wanted their ranks to win the “first fruits,”49 the first ushering of heathen peoples into the apocalyptic congregation of Christ (Brautgemeinde). These claims indicate that Zinzendorf shared radical Pietism’s critical view of the church. In a groundbreaking essay, Hans Schneider has demonstrated how this aspect of Zinzendorf’s theology (among others) was influenced by the Philadelphians. The Philadelphian Society emerged in 1694 from a circle of English followers of Jakob Böhme, centered around the visionary Jane Leade (1624-1704).50 The name Philadelphians refers to the missives to the seven churches in the Book of Revelation (Ch. 2 f.)51 There the Christians of Philadelphia (Ch. 3:7 ff.) are described as being the true children of God, those who persevered, preserved the Word of Christ, and did not renounce his name. Around 1700, the Philadelphians interpreted these claims as referring to an epoch of Christianity: the age of “Philadelphia” was then dawning. The true Christians would soon be gathered together from the four winds (Matt. 24:31) into the apocalyptic bridal congregation of the Lamb of Christ (Rev. 21). The age of the confessional churches would end; they were doomed, for they dissected the Body of Christ with their doctrinal bickering. Thus, they were not to be called “churches,” but rather “sects.” However, the true children of God who lived in the different denominations would be gathered and “be as one” (John 17:21). Brotherly love (in Greek “philadelphia”) was already evident among these true Christians in the Protestant denominations for they were “non- partisan” and refrained from cantankerous fighting over dogmatic positions.

49 See, for example, 1 Cor. 16.15. 50 Donald F. Durnbaugh: Jane Ward Leade and the Philadelphians. In: The Pietist Theologians. Ed. Carter Lindberg. Malden, MA 2005, pp. 128–46; Nils Thune: The Behmenists and the Philadelphians. A Contribution to the Study of English Mysticism in the 17th and 18th Centuries. Uppsala 1948; Hans-Jürgen Schrader: Literaturproduktion und Büchermarkt des radikalen Pietismus. Johann Henrich Reitz' “Historie der Wiedergebohrnen” und ihr geschichtlicher Kontext. Göttingen 1989, pp. 63–73. 51 For the following section c.f.: Schneider, Brüder (fn. 46), p. 23; Durnbaugh (fn. 49), p. 128 f.

Chloe 46 58 Wolfgang Breul

The visions of Jane Leade were disseminated throughout continental Europe beginning in the mid-1690s, primarily by the Prussian privy councilor Dodo von Innhausen und Knyphausen (1641-1698) and the Amsterdam printer Loth Fischer.52 They influenced prominent representatives of radical Pietism and continued to have an impact after Leade’s death in 1704.53 Zinzendorf first came into contact with Philadelphian thought at the court of his later wife, Dorothea von Reuß-Ebersdorf. He himself traced his interest in this movement back to the congregation at the Ebersdorf residence: “I figure [rechne] Philadelphia from that very period.”54 The Philadelphian concept of a congregation reaching across denominational boundaries fit well with Zinzendorf’s own experiences. During his Grand Tour (Cavalierstour) of more than a year, from 1719-1720, he found true children of God also among the Catholics (Kardinal de Noailles). Likewise, the congregation in Herrnhut was composed of members of different denominations: in addition to Lutherans, Catholics, Calvinists, and the original Moravian Brethren, the Unitas Fratrum, it included separatists and spiritualists (Schwenkfelders), one of whom even served as an elder of the congregation. The congregation overcame tensions and conflicts and grew together as the result of an enthusiastic celebration of communion in August 1727. The congregational statutes from that

52 Dodo von Innhausen und Knyphausen supported Jane Leade financially directly in addition to subsidizing Loth Fischer’s translations and publications of her work; likewise, the married couple Johanna Eleonora and Johann Wilhelm Petersen, heads of the Philadelphia community in Germany, received a Prussian pension around the year 1700 due to Innhausen’s intervention; Markus Matthias: “Preußisches” Beamtentum mit radikalpietistischer “Privatreligion”: Dodo II. von Innhausen und Knyphausen (1641-1698). In: Der radikale Pietismus. Perspektiven der Forschung. Eds. Wolfgang Breul, Marcus Meier, Lothar Vogel. Göttingen 2010, pp. 189–210; esp. p. 200 f.; Ruth Albrecht: Johanna Eleonora Petersen. Theologische Schriftstellerin des frühen Pietismus. Göttingen 2005; Markus Matthias: Johann Wilhelm und Johanna Eleonora Petersen. Eine Biographie bis zur Amtsenthebung Petersens im Jahre 1692. Göttingen 1993. 53 Hans Schneider: Der radikale Pietismus im 18. Jahrhundert. In: Geschichte des Pietismus. Vol. 2: Der Pietismus im 18. Jahrhundert. Eds. Martin Brecht, Klaus Deppermann. Göttingen 1995, pp. 112–15. 54 “Ich rechne Philadelphia von derselben Zeit her,” Unitätsarchiv Herrnhut, Jünger-hausdiarium 1747 Jan 4, Beilage 19; cited from Schneider, Brüder (fn. 46), p. 22; Joseph Theodor Müller: Zinzendorf als Erneuerer der alten Brüder- Kirche. Leipzig 1900, p. 11f.

Chloe 46 Theological Tenets of Mission 59 year read: “Herrnhut [...] should have enduring love for all Brethren and children of God in all religions [i.e., denominations], neither judging, fighting, nor behaving in any way improperly towards those of a different opinion.”55 Everyone was to take communion with one another — a position practically unknown at this time. It is neither necessary nor possible to examine the influence of the Philadelphians on Zinzendorf and the Moravian Brethren more closely. My aim here is to outline the consequences for the Moravian mission: For one, the Philadelphian view of the Church was based on a millenarian eschatological expectation. In the dawning of the last days, true Christians from all denominations were to be gathered into the eschatological congregation of Christ. In this respect, Zinzendorf’s eschatology has a Philadelphian character. The expectation of a gathering of the true Christians in the last days provided a significant impulse for the Moravian mission. Furthermore, this concept of the church was closely related to a rejection of the confessional churches, which Zinzendorf polemically characterized as “sects,” “parties,” etc. The fact that the Moravian missions resolutely refrained from promoting a confessional identity and did not associate themselves with the large Protestant denominations is thus not a result of Enlightenment influences. Rather, it was rooted in the Philadelphian tendencies of Zinzendorf’s ecclesiology, in which we can also discern older mystical-spiritual traditions (Schwenckfelder, Jakob Böhme, and others). Finally, the third characteristic of the mission in Herrnhut, its lay orientation, is predominately a reflection of Philadelphian influences. The harsh rejection of theological discord and confessional identity served to downplay theological scholarship. In addition, a lay theologian stood at the center of the Brethren’s congregation. Other factors, like the charismatic experiences of the Brethren, their strongly Christocentric piety, and general Pietist traditions like the formation of conventicles were certainly also significant in fostering their lay orientation. Despite all their differences, the new approach to missionizing within Pietism described above had common roots. Ultimately, it was

55 “Herrnhut [...] soll inbeständiger Liebe mit allen Brüdern und Kindern Gottes in allen Religionen stehen, kein Beurteilen, Zanken oder etwas Ungebührliches gegen Andersgesinnte vornehmen,” Hans-Christoph Hahn and Hellmut Reichel: Zinzendorf und die Herrnhuter Brüder. Quellen zur Geschichte der Brüder-Unität von 1722 bis 1760. Hamburg 1977, p. 75.

Chloe 46 60 Wolfgang Breul

Spener’s new eschatological orientation in Lutheran theology that provided the impulse for the Halle and Herrnhut missions. His programmatic formulation of a “hope for better times for the Church here on earth” opened a window of opportunity and thus urged action in the present. In August Hermann Francke’s interpretation, this led to a comprehensive general reform that originated at Halle and included missionary work among many other measures. In Herrnhut, the millenarian expectation that Spener had legitimated led to the Philadelphian concept of a gathering of the pious from all Christian denominations in the then beginning eschaton.

Chloe 46 P i a S c h m i d

INDIANS OBSERVED: MORAVIAN MISSIONARY JOHN HECKEWELDER’S ACCOUNT OF THE HISTORY, MANNERS, AND CUSTOMS OF THE INDIAN NATIONS (1819)

Abstract

The experiences of missionaries are experiences of otherness. Missionaries can only be successful in their main enterprise if they perceive and understand these others in their otherness, or at least if they try to do so. Moravian missionary John Heckewelder (1743–1823) was an expert, profoundly knowledgeable about the ways of the Indians of the Eastern Woodlands, especially the Delaware tribe, towards whom he was well disposed. After a brief summary of Heckewelder’s life and his Moravian mission, this essay addresses questions of authorship, structure, and composition in Heckewelder’s Account of the History, Manners, and Customs of the Indian Nations (1819). It analyzes Heckewelder’s experience with Indians as others: how he described, presented, and interpreted them. Special attention is devoted to Heckewelder’s presentation of the Indian concept of property and to his description of the Indians’ treatment of captives.

This essay focuses on a work written by the Moravian missionary John Heckewelder (1743-1823). He was an expert on Indians of the Eastern Woodlands, especially the Delawares, and possessed a profound knowledge of their ways, having lived among them for many years. Via James Fennimore Cooper (1789-1851), who drew extensively from his research for the Leatherstocking Tales (from 1823), Heckewelder molded the nineteenth-century’s image of the noble as well as the degenerate Indian. His Account of the History, Manners, and Customs of the Indian Nations Who Once Inhabited Pennsylvania and the Neighbouring States (1819) was written at the request of the renowned American Philosophical Society, and was scholarly in purpose. Heckewelder’s personal experience, his “intimate knowledge […] of the languages and manners of various Indian nations,” and the extent of his cohabitation with them, the

Chloe 46 62 Pia Schmid committee specifically noted: “among whom he resided more than forty years,”1 recommended him for this early ethnographic project. Stressing that his History was “the result of personal knowledge, of what I myself have seen, heard and witnessed, while residing among and near them, for more than thirty years,”2 Heckewelder claimed scientific reliability. It was his experience as a missionary that both recommended Heckewelder as a scholar and legitimized him in his own eyes. The experiences of missionaries are always experiences of otherness. The nature of the task they undertake causes them to approach the experience of alterity with the aim of converting those others whom they encounter, meaning, making them non-others with regard to religion. Missionaries only can be successful in their main enterprise if they perceive and understand these others in their otherness, or at least try to do so. Clearly, as a missionary, Heckewelder engaged in a number of different binary oppositions: missionary versus heathen, European or settler versus Native American, white man versus black woman. Furthermore, it has to be taken into consideration that the contemporary British colonial society in North America never regarded Indians as being on the same level as white men, and ultimately considered them to be unpredictable, inscrutable and, at the very least, only partially comprehensible. Indians were others whose otherness had a distinctively negative connotation. Tsvetan Todorov has pointed out that America’s colonizers quickly confined alterity within a hierarchy where difference was understood as deficiency. Difference meant that Indians could not be equals

1 Report of the Historical and Literary Committee to the American Philosophical Society. Read, 9th January, 1818. In: Transactions of the Historical and Literary Committee of the American Philosophical Society, held at Philadelphia, for Promoting Useful Knowledge. Philadelphia: Abraham Small, 1819, vol. 1, pp. XI–XVI, here p. X. 2 John Heckewelder. History, Manners, and Customs of the Indian Nations Who Once Inhabited Pennsylvania and the Neighbouring States .1819. New and revised Edition with an Introduction and notes by the Rev. William C. Reichel of Bethlehem, PA. Philadelphia: Publication Fund of the Historical Society of Pennsylvania, 1876, p. XXIII. The first edition of 1819 has the title: An Account of the History, Manners, and Customs […]. We quote from the 1876 reprint, above. It is now also available under http://www.archive.org/details/histmannerscust00heckrich.

Chloe 46 Indians Observed: John Heckewelder 63 according to colonial logic. Difference and equality were mutually exclusive. In this way of dealing with alterity, “difference was corrupted into inequality,” legitimizing subjection and exploitation, or, following the same logic in the opposite direction, alterity was denied and “equality [was corrupted] into identity.”3 After a brief outline of Heckewelder’s vita and his Moravian mission, I will give a summary of his History, the context of its publication, and then investigate which experiences with Indians as others Heckewelder described, and how he interpreted them.

I Heckewelder and Moravian Missions

When Heckewelder, who travelled from England to America with his parents at the age of eleven, began to write his book on Indians in 1815, he could look back on fifty years of close contact with them. He spent fifteen of these years exclusively as a missionary, living among Indians in their settlements and as a walking missionary. Later on, he acted as an expert in Indian affairs, as a chief negotiator, as a land surveyor4 and as a justice of the peace. He did this on behalf of the Moravian Church, as an agent of the government, and as deputy and agent of the Society of the United Brethren for Propagating the Gospel Among the Indians (founded in Bethlehem, PA in 1788). One year after the publication of his History, he published a history of Moravian missions (A Narrative of the Mission of the United Brethren Among the Delaware and Mohegan Indians, from its Commencement in the Year 1740 to the Close of the Year 1808, Philadelphia 1820). He also wrote his memoirs, as was customary with Moravians. If one examines, his memoirs, the fifteen years between 1771 and 1786 that he spent among the Indians, and especially the years 1772- 1781, during which he lived at the Muskingum river (Ohio), clearly marked the most contented time of his life. Heckewelder ascribed this to the nature of his contact with the Indians. It is clear that he enjoyed living among them, since his writings express his love and devotion to

3 Tzvetan Todorov: The Conquest of America: The Question of the Other. New York 1999, p. 146. (La conquête de l’Amérique. La question de l’autre. Paris 1982). 4 Land surveys were necessary for contracts between white settlers and, later on, for contracts between some states and Indians to record the sale of land.

Chloe 46 64 Pia Schmid them. As far as his History is concerned, we can reasonably expect a certain degree of open-mindedness towards these strangers. The Moravians were a Pietist community founded in 1722 by Count Nikolaus Ludwig von Zinzendorf in Herrnhut, Saxony. The name derived from the homeland of the first settlers, religious refugees from Moravia. Missionary work began in 1732, when the first two missionaries set off for the Island of St. Thomas in the Danish West Indies (now the U.S. Virgin Islands). In 1733, two other missionaries left for Greenland. Moravian missionary activity among the North American Indians began in 1740, with the establishment of headquarters at the Bethlehem settlement in Pennsylvania in 1741.5 From its inception, the Moravian mission met with opposition from white settlers, especially traders, who “were afraid that Christian Indians could no longer be betrayed as easily and that land acquisition and trade in liquor would become more difficult.”6 In 1746, the settlement of Gnadenhütten was founded near Bethlehem. In 1755, conflicts between England and France escalated, becoming the French and Indian War, in which most heathen Indians fought on the side of the French, whereas Christian Indians remained neutral. Despite this, Gnadenhütten was attacked, eleven missionaries died, and shortly afterwards the whole settlement was burnt down.7 The events of the subsequent years determined the course of Moravian missionary work in North America. Indian mission congregations were set up following the Herrnhut model and flourished until their further development was hindered by external intervention. Non-Christian Indians and white Christians attacked the Indian mission congregations, either because they disliked the Moravians in particular, or because of general warfare in the area. Christian Indians were caught between the fronts and preferred to carry on peacefully instead of fighting.8 As more and

5 By 1760, the year Zinzendorf died, 226 missionaries had been sent to twenty- eight regions. Cf. Carola Wessel: Delaware-Indianer und Herrnhuter Missionare im Upper Ohio Valley, 1772–1781. Halle 1999 (= Hallesche Forschungen 4), p. 69. 6 Ibid., p. 70. 7 Ibid., pp. 70-72. 8 Ibid., p. 72. By 1772, 721 Indians had been baptized by Moravians. In 1775, 414 baptized Indians lived in the Ohio region; they were served by fifteen missionaries. Ibid., p. 73.

Chloe 46 Indians Observed: John Heckewelder 65 more white settlers went West after the Treaty of Fort Stanwix of 1768, the Moravians decided to establish new mission congregations at the Muskingum river (in Ohio) and to resettle all Indian converts at new sites, naming them Schönbrunn, Lichtenau, and Gnadenhütten. This last achieved tragic fame: during the American Revolutionary War, a massacre took place there on 8 March 1782. Ninety-six Christian Lenape (Delaware) Indians were murdered by colonial American militiamen from Pennsylvania. Although the Moravians later established new settlements further north, their missionary activities never fully recovered from this blow. Nevertheless, Moravian missionaries were quite successful in the eighteenth century, at least by comparison with other denominations. There were several reasons for this, foremost among them being that Moravian missionaries lived together with converts in special townships or settlements. This was attractive to the Indians: missionaries could provide them with access to white knowledge (writing, reading) and culture, as well as offering them protection against other whites (and non-Christian Indians). Besides, Moravians treated Indians as religious equals, since they believed “that God bestowed Souls on all Men without regard to colour or complexion.”9 In addition, Moravians had a specific understanding of their missionary work: this did not aim at converting whole nations, or baptizing as many non-Christians as possible, but focused on baptizing only those who they thought truly believed in the Savior.

II Heckewelder’s “Account of the History, Manners, and Customs of the Indian Nations Who Once Inhabited Pennsylvania and the Neighbouring States” (1819) – Structure and Date of Composition

Heckewelder structured his work to consist of forty-four chapters preceded by roughly twenty introductory pages.10 The initial chapter

9 Heckewelder, Narrative 1820 (fn. 6), p. 106. 10 The Account of the History is the first and, with nearly 300 pages, the longest part of the first volume of the “Transactions of the Historical and Literary Committee of the American Philosophical Society, held at Philadelphia, for Promoting useful knowledge.” In the second part, letters on the topic of the Indian language were published, the third part comprises works, phrases, and short dialogues in the Delaware language that were compiled by Heckewelder.

Chloe 46 66 Pia Schmid addresses Indian history, and continues with a description of their general characteristics. This must be regarded as the pivotal chapter, and I will return to it later on. The following chapters give accounts of tribal governments, education, languages and signs, manners, marriage and treatment of wives, respect for the aged, pride and magnanimity, after which there are chapters on war and warfare. Further chapters then deal with general aspects of everyday life, discussing food, dress, dances, medical treatment, but also scalping and physical appearance; yet later chapters consider the Indians’ faith, after which Heckewelder addresses various topics, such as drunkenness, funerals, friendship, and advice for travelers. In the last chapter, Heckewelder compares Indians and whites, and the fact that his book concludes with this topic gives us valuable insights into his point of view. In the introduction, Heckewelder wrote that he intended to inform “those who are desirous of knowing the true history of those people, who, for centuries, have been in full possession of the country we now inhabit; but who have since emigrated to a great distance.”11 His History “principally meant to show what the Indians of this country were previous to the white people's arrival, rather than what they are now.”12 He was aware that his views contradicted the prejudices towards Native Americans, the original inhabitants, fostered by those who saw themselves as civilized beings.13 Heckewelder took as a starting point, that: (1) the Indians were honorable people before the whites arrived, (2) contact with the whites had made them adopt their bad habits and traits, (3) the whites’ relationship with Indians was determined by prejudice, i.e., they believed they were superior. Lastly, although predominantly emerging from between the lines of the text, that (4), the whites had expelled the Indians from their native land. In the early nineteenth century, almost all Delaware Indians were expelled from Pennsylvania and Ohio, where Heckewelder had worked as missionary. This meant the definitive end of any attempts, fragile though these had been, at coexistence between the Indians and the white settlers. The mission to convert the “heathens,” as all non-

11 Heckewelder (fn. 2), p. XXIII. 12 Ibid. p. XXIX. 13 Ibid. p. XL.

Chloe 46 Indians Observed: John Heckewelder 67

Christians were called, played an essential role in this expulsion and displacement of Native Americans. Indeed, conquest and settlement on the part of the Europeans were justified as fair exchange following the logic “of the valuable gift of the gospel in exchange for Indian land.”14 As anthropologist Rachel Wheeler maintains: “By imagining that the Indians would gain a chance at eternal salvation and be rescued from their heathen ways, the Puritans justified their claims to Indian land.”15 However, Heckewelder did not explicitly link missionary work with the right to seize land, but only with white colonial settlement; indeed, Heckewelder harshly criticized early nineteenth-century American society, and the settlers who were at that point becoming a majority of the inhabitants in the land. This acceleration of ‘land grab’ was accompanied by vehemently anti- Indian propaganda, the main points of which implied that Indians were not civilized, that they insidiously attacked peaceful settlers, and that they were extremely cruel. Their savageness in warfare and especially their treatment of prisoners were key elements in establishing the negative image of Indians. The myth of the infamous Indian, who stealthily sneaks up on innocent settlers and scalps them from behind, far outlived the Indians themselves, in twentieth-century Westerns. That Indians worshipped idols, were superstitious, and had a casual attitude towards sexuality, since they married for a certain time rather than forever, were also aspects of these populations that were frowned upon. A second and later focus was on the image of the dissolute, dirty, and mostly drunken Indian, for example, Injun Joe in The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, who served as proof that Indians could not be civilized and were ultimately destined by God to die out, while the whites were predestined by divine will to rule America.16 This led to white Americans treating Indians with what, as Tocqueville noted in 1831, amounted to: “a total lack of empathy, a

14 Rachel Wheeler: To Live Upon Hope: Mohicans and Missionaries in the Eighteenth-century Northeast. Ithaca / London 2003, p. 29. 15 Ibid., p. 30. 16 However, there were also narratives depicting romantic images of the Indian in the tradition of the noble savage, as can be found in James Fennimore Cooper’s Leatherstocking Tales (1823) and, earlier, in French literature in Francois-René de Chateaubriand’s stories Atala (1801) and Rene (1802).

Chloe 46 68 Pia Schmid kind of mercilessness and cold egoism.”17 We can assume that Heckewelder had this contemporary attitude in mind as he wrote his book. The Delaware Indians, who originally inhabited the region around the river named after them, had fled from the white settlers, retreating further and further to the west and northeast during the eighteenth century, reaching, as well as other regions, the Muskingam river (a tributary of the Ohio River), where Heckewelder lived among them as a missionary. During the colonial wars, they entered into a variety of alliances with the English and French, above all because they wanted to prevent white settlers from intruding further into their territory, but also to gain support for their struggles with other Indian tribes. However, as Heckewelder points out, they were ultimately drawn into fighting the white men’s battles. They suffered a decisive defeat after years of conflict with the white settlers in the period following American independence. The Treaty of Greenville (1795)18 forced the Delawares and other Indian peoples to give up the greater part of their territories. All the land they then had left consisted of the reservations. In the years following the peace treaty, Heckewelder was called to survey land, and to mediate as an interpreter and spokesman for baptized Indians. In 1829, ten years after Heckewelder’s History was published, the United States forced the Delaware Indians to give up

17 Tocqueville is quoted from Urs Bitterli: Tocqueville und die Indianer. In: Überseegeschichte. Beiträge der jüngeren Forschung. Festschrift für Eberhard Schmitt. Ed. Thomas Beck et al., Stuttgart 1999, pp. 87–97, here p. 92. Tocqueville continues, stating: “Often during our journey we met up with honourable citizens, who told us in the evenings in their cosy homes that this world belongs to us […] as God did not endow native Americans with the ability to become civilized, he predestined them to die out.’ Satisfied by this way of reasoning, the American goes to church, where he repeatedly listens to the vicar telling him that all men are brothers.” (ibid.) 18 The Treaty of Greenville was signed at Fort Greenville (now Greenville, Ohio), on August 3, 1795, between a coalition of Native Americans and Frontiersmen, known as the Western Confederacy, and the U.S. following the Native American loss at the Battle of Fallen Timber. It put an end to the Northwest Indian War. In exchange for goods amounting to a value of $20,000 (such as blankets, utensils, and domestic animals), the Native Americans turned over to the United States large parts of modern-day Ohio, the future site of downtown Chicago, the Fort Detroit area, Maumee Ohio area, and the Lower Sandusky Ohio area..

Chloe 46 Indians Observed: John Heckewelder 69 their remaining land and move to the west side of the Mississippi.19 Even if we do not know to what extent the dispossession of Native Americans could be anticipated in the second decade of the nineteenth century, it is obvious that Heckewelder wrote in the midst of a historical situation that was determining the displacement of the Delawares and the Native American population generally. As mentioned above, this process was, accompanied by a good deal of propaganda against the Indians. Heckewelder made no secret of the fact that he did not approve of either dispossession or displacement and, as a logical consequence thereof, regarded the propaganda with great skepticism.

III Heckewelder’s Description and Perception of the Delaware Indians

Heckewelder addressed various aspects of Indian life. His relationship and experience with Indians will be examined on the basis of two passages chosen for the way they highlight Heckewelder’s attempt to come to terms with otherness.20 How did the white missionary Heckewelder perceive Indians? How did he reconstruct actions, practices, and attitudes, the meanings of which were not directly open to him as a white man, and was he able to “[entertain] the possibility of a different frame of reference,”21 i.e., did he reflect on how, for Indians, these aspects of life had a different meaning than they had for whites? In that respect, the material is not only interesting for what he wrote, but also by virtue of what he omitted. In chapter six, “General Character of The Indians,” Heckewelder relates an incident involving pasturing horses; it is a story about notions of ownership and the Supreme Being:

19 See: Delaware Indians, Ohio History Central. An Online Encyclopedia of Ohio History: http://www.ohiohistorycentral.org/entry.php?rec=584&nm=Delaware- Indians; accessed 12 December 2010. 20 Mary Drake Becker: Proto-Ethnologists in North America. In: New Perspectives on Native North America: Cultures, Histories, and Representations. Eds. Sergei A. Kan, Pauline Turner Strong. Lincoln 2006, pp. 261–84, here p. 264. 21 Ibid.

Chloe 46 70 Pia Schmid

Some travelling Indians having in the year 1777, put their horses overnight to pasture in my little meadow, at Gnadenhütten on the Muskingum, I called on them in the morning to learn why they had done so. I endeavoured to make them sensible of the injury they had done me, especially as I intended to mow the meadow in a day or two. Having finished my complaint, one of them replied: “My friend, it seems you lay claim to the grass my horses have eaten, because you had enclosed it with a fence: now tell me, who caused the grass to grow? Can you make the grass grow? I think not, and nobody can except the great Mannitto. He it is who causes it to grow both for my horses and for yours! See, friend! The grass which grows out of the earth is common to all; the game in the woods is common to all. Say, did you never eat venison and bear's meat? — 'Yes, very often.'— Well, and did you ever hear me or any other Indian complain about that? No; then be not disturbed at my horses having eaten only once, of what you call your grass, though the grass my horses did eat, in like manner as the meat you did eat, was given to the Indians by the Great Spirit. Besides, if you will but consider, you will find that my horses did not eat all your grass. For friendship's sake, however, I shall never put my horses in your meadow again.”22

The horses left to graze on Heckewelder’s — and yet not Heckewelder’s — meadow point to two subtexts in which the author deals with the Indians’ otherness. The first revolves around the notion of property, and, more precisely, the differing attitudes of whites and Indians towards property, a difference that whites exploited to the Indians’ disadvantage, as we know only too well today and which the author implicitly acknowledges critically. Even if Heckewelder, in this chapter, does not mention the Indians’ then current plight — the loss of their land by sale, treaties, or expulsion — the scene described does, in fact, reflect this issue. Two different notions of property are confronted in this scene. Heckewelder cannot comprehend how the Indians could simply let their horses graze on his meadow; the Indians, in contrast, are unable to understand how Heckewelder could declare the meadow to be his personal property, that is, not recognize their right to use it. In 1777, no conflict arose in Gnadenhütten at the Muskingham, because Heckewelder confronted the Indians with his complaint and they argued their case. On a larger scale, however, similar constellations of white claims to Indian land led to wars, to the expulsion of Indians from their domains and, in 1782, to the massacre at Gnadenhütten mentioned above. Heckewelder’s description of difference and what he says about the different notions of property suggest the following interpretation of the Indians’ actual plight: if

22 Heckewelder, History (fn. 2), p. 102.

Chloe 46 Indians Observed: John Heckewelder 71 they perceive the land as belonging to all, then they, in the end, cannot sell it, or, conversely, if someone buys it from them, then something is very much amiss. Time and again, Heckewelder gives voice to Indians’ complaints, in which they articulate that they had initially not minded placing land at the early settlers’ disposal, but that the whites were never satisfied and continued to demand more land than they needed, until they fenced in the land, made treaties and expelled the Indians.23 The second subtext is closely intertwined with the first. Heckewelder shows how, for the Indians, land cannot be possessed by anybody, and that this is fundamental to their religious convictions, in keeping with the idea of their God, Manitou. By writing that the Indians considered it their utmost duty, with which they gratefully complied, to worship this Supreme Being, he was stressing two things: their piety and their adherence to a monotheistic belief in the Manitou, the Supreme Being, the Great Spirit, i.e., only one God. Profoundly acquainted with the culture and language of the Delaware, Heckewelder must have known that Manitou was the singular of Manetuwak. In the Delaware worldview, these Manetuwak were invisible beings who were “in every animal, but also in plants and objects,”24 and to whom the almighty creator of the world, Kishelemukong, had confided their maintenance after his withdrawal from earth. Although he treated them elsewhere, Heckewelder did not mention these gods or spirits in the chapter on the “General Character of the Indians.” I suppose that this was an intentional attempt to underline the similarity of Indians and Christians. A good Indian, it would seem, complies with the first commandment — even if he is unaware of the fact — by worshipping one God. Manitou is, so to speak, almost God, almost Jesus. To overstate the point, ultimately there is no difference between the pious Native American and the pious white American, or, more generally, between Christians and Indians. Indians are virtually like Christians. They have only to be converted and baptized. Baptized Indians then would represent all the affirmative characteristics of the original Indians, which the other — heathen — Indians had lost in the course of their contact with whites.

23 See, for example, ibid., pp. 76, 335. 24 Wessel (fn. 5), p. 35.

Chloe 46 72 Pia Schmid

It is significant that Heckewelder takes a similarity between Indians and whites as his point of departure. By doing so he assimilates the Indians; they are no longer the others. This can be interpreted in two ways. On the one hand, he thus pursues his aim of increasing the acceptance of Indians as Native Americans and helping his contemporaries comprehend their ways. The majority of whites, as previously stated, despised Indians and by no means considered them their equals. If, however, the Indian God is almost like the Christian God, then native people lose their different nature. They are then actually no longer heathens, but essentially pious monotheists waiting to become real Christians. On the other hand, assimilation can be understood as a strategy of colonialism, however unwitting, as Todorov saw it. In contrast to slavery, which intends to possess, to exploit, and, in the end, to annihilate the strange/r, colonialism wants to understand, to get to know the strangers, the others, and hopes to exploit them more effectively by doing so. For a missionary this would not result in conquest and settlement of land or in gold, but in baptisms. Assimilation, as Todorov has shown, is a key praxeological approach in relating to the other, forcefully modeling the stranger’s image after one’s own.25 At the epistemological level, the otherness of the stranger is denied by this approach.26 Maybe the two sides are inextricably intertwined for the pious friend of the Indians and proto-ethnologist: he can promote a positive view of Indians only by accentuating their similarities with whites, and, as a missionary, he obviously focuses on notions of the divine, of faith. Whatever the circumstances, the scene with the Indians’ horses put out to pasture illustrates that Heckewelder tried to see his meadow through the eyes of the Indians.

IV The Treatment of Captives

For Heckewelder’s readers, the treatment of captives exemplified the epitome of barbarous Indian practices. Regarding such issues,

25 Todorov (fn. 3), pp. 185, 168. 26 Ibid., pp. 146, 168. As far as I can see, Heckewelder, by letting his Manitou virtually be God, is not applying one of Todorov’s two “great figures, which inescapably limit the room of relation to the other,” that is, “to degenerate equality into identity.” Todorov, p. 177.

Chloe 46 Indians Observed: John Heckewelder 73

Heckewelder could not rely on any understanding on the part of his readers, but he could also not ignore the matter. Therefore, one chapter dealt with “Scalping — Whoops or Yells — Prisoners” (chapter 27). He begins the section about prisoners with the confession: “I am now come to a painful part of my subject; the manner in which the Indians treat the captives whom they take in war. It must not be expected,” he continued, “that I shall describe here the long protracted tortures which are inflicted on those who are doomed to the fatal pile, nor the constancy and firmness which the sufferers display, singing their death songs and scoffing all the while at their tormentors.”27 Others had written enough about these “disgusting horrors,” and, as a Christian, he would not “endeavour to excuse or palliate them.”28 Nevertheless, Heckewelder attempted to relativize them, though diffidently, by stressing the fact that “those dreadful executions” were “by no means so frequent as is commonly imagined.” Indeed, captives were generally “adopted by the families of their conquerors in the place of lost or deceased relations or friends,”29 and they then belonged to their new families, in which they were treated amicably. He drew the reader’s attention to the fact that captives were hardly ever burnt or tortured to death, except when “it is thought necessary to revenge the death of their warriors slain in battle,”30 or when enemies had willfully murdered their women and children. Initially, Heckewelder played down the issue, stating that captives were seldom tortured to death and that Indians normally adopted their captives.31 Then, again, he tried to foster understanding for Indian culture by relating that only certain incentives led to the torture of captives (such as the desire for revenge).32 However, “it

27 Heckewelder, History (fn. 2), p. 217. 28 Ibid. 29 Ibid. 30 Ibid., p. 218. In this case, however, he continued by stating, “the first prisoners taken are almost sure of being sacrificed by way of retaliation.” 31 This again proves that Heckewelder can be regarded as a proto-ethnologist. As in the case of the previously mentioned mother who adopted her son’s murderer Heckewelder (fn. 2, pp. 105 f.), he attached importance to the fact that the institution of adoption had a specific function in Indian culture that differed fundamentally from whites’ understanding of adoption. 32 Heckewelder related further on that, “much depend(ed) upon the courage and presence of the warriors” (ibid.) and described scenes in which prisoners managed to escape their fate, i.e., death.

Chloe 46 74 Pia Schmid cannot but be acknowledged that the Indians are in general revengeful and cruel to their enemies.”33 The problem inherent in acknowledging this fact was that it brought Heckewelder very much in line with contemporary views on Indians that he did not agree with. The missionary solved this dilemma by resorting to a convincing interpretation that I quote here in full: Deprived of the light of the only true Christian Religion, unchecked by the precepts and unswayed by the example of the God of peace [the Saviour, PS], they indulge too much, sometimes, the violence of their passions, and commit actions which force the tear from the eye of humanity. But, upon the whole, are we better than they are?34 This is demonstrably a rhetorical question. The alterity expressed in their cruelty is ultimately due to the fact, he argues, that they are not Christians and, therefore, are ruled by their passions. According to the subtext, they cannot be made responsible for their behavior in the end. If we additionally take into account the prior episode, in which Heckewelder presented Indians in their worship of Manitou virtually as Christians, he seems to suggest that they were principally capable of controlling their passions by being baptized, i.e., by becoming true Christians. This he cogently argued in the Indians’ case: if they were cruel, then this was because they were not Christians yet, and because they were not Christians, they could not control their passions. Heckewelder could, however, only argue in this way by ignoring that the torture of captives was not motivated by passions at all, but rather had to do with a specific feature of Indian culture, ritualized torture, in which the individual prisoner was given the opportunity to prove his courage and his spiritual strength by enduring pain. The Delawares and several other Indian tribes were convinced, that “the torture victim’s stoic suffering” garnered not only respect and honor for his nation and for his tribe, but also “brought with it a chance of rebirth.”35 By failing to recognize the ritualized character of torture, Heckewelder did not notice that “the spiritual grammar [of Moravian religious culture, P.S.] was,” as Rachel Wheeler has shown, “not

33 Heckewelder (fn. 2), p. 106. 34 Ibid. 35 Rachel Wheeler: Women and Christian Practice in a Mahican Village. In: Religion in American Culture: A Journal of Interpretation 13 (2003), p. 37.

Chloe 46 Indians Observed: John Heckewelder 75 unlike that of native religious practice”;36 that in fact “the Moravian symbolism surrounding communion intersected in powerful ways with native rituals of torture.”37 Whereas Moravians attached a special significance to Christ’s gruesome death and worshipped his wounds, especially the pleura, in an emphatic blood-and-wound cult, the Delawares placed cultural emphasis, as previously described, on the ability to endure pain and suffering. The analogous aspect in the Christian religion made it potentially attractive to Indians. The Moravian Church, with its particular focus on Christ’s suffering, integrated ritualized torture according to the Indians’ way of thinking. The crucifixion of Christ virtually made an Indian of him, because of his exemplary and stoic endurance of ritualized torture. Why did Heckewelder ignore the ritualized nature of captives’ torture, and, even more importantly, why did he fail to recognize the similarity of the two beliefs’ spiritual grammar? Why did he not see that the Indians, by worshipping Manitou, were not only almost Christians, but that, from their point of view, Christ was practically an Indian because of his stoicism in suffering?38 It is obvious that, besides rituality, Heckewelder disregarded another key fact concerning the cruel treatment of captives although he must have been acquainted with this detail, as he was an expert on Indian culture. Gender played a role in the whole issue: in North American Indian culture, women decided what was to be done with the captives brought home by the warriors from war. Women decided if captives were to be adopted — an Indian custom, as Heckewelder was well aware — or be subjected to the ritual of torture, meaning ritualized killing, the rituality of which Heckewelder had overlooked. According to Indian culture, the dead family members demanded either the death

36 Ibid., p. 31. 37 Ibid., p. 37. However, in a revision of the Account of the History that was never published, Heckewelder “described the ritualized torture of an accused murderer, who, ‘while undergoing the most dreadful tortures,’ will ‘rehearse all vile acts of the kind he had committed during his life time, without showing fear of death’, employing ‘an haughty tone, and with pride’, hopes that ‘at his death, his soul may be permitted, to reenter the body of some unborn infant’.” Ibid., pp. 36 f. 38 We have to take into consideration that Heckewelder was well acquainted with Indians and their culture and had attempted to comprehend the cultural other, the strange, by exploring their ideas, i.e., the other’s cultural logic and its logic of action, for example, the fact that private ownership of land was unknown to the Indians.

Chloe 46 76 Pia Schmid or adoption of the captives; these were the only two ways of appeasing the spirits of deceased relatives.39 I would posit that the Indian women’s autonomy to decide between life and death was such a scandalous idea for Heckewelder, that it clashed so thoroughly with bourgeois notions of femininity, which constructed women as the “moral sex” to such a degree that, to put it in psychoanalytic terms, it had to be repressed. The fact that the Delawares conferred this power and duty on women rendered gender relations among them so different from his own tradition as to leave them beyond his comprehension. Here, Heckewelder, as a white middle-class man, reached the limits of his capacity to understand Indians, both as a missionary and as a subject of enlightenment. And we have to read his learned account as much within the context of enlightenment as within the context of bourgeois gender construction.40

39 “Captives were seized from enemy tribes to appease the deaths of family members. The power, and the obligation, to quench the crying blood of lost relatives belonged to women, who could appease the deaths, either by adoption of the captive, or by mandating torture and death.” Wheeler (fn. 35), p. 36. 40 I thank Barbara Becker-Cantarino for her comments on this essay.

Chloe 46 U l r i k e G l e i x n e r

REMAPPING THE WORLD: THE VISION OF A PROTESTANT EMPIRE IN THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY

Abstract

The entrance of Protestantism into the non-European mission is closely connected with Pietism, as the Pietistic concept of conversion shows a clear expansive dimension. In 1701 the Halle activist and theologian August Hermann Francke published his vision of a Protestant world mission. This idea of conversion was rooted in a millenarian idea of future, in which the kingdom of God would spread gradually. In the eyes of the Pietists the Danish-Halle mission in South-East India was a key component to the Protestant kingdom of God. The activists of the Halle orphanage published not only a promotional mission journal, but also built a network of hundreds of supporters from the elite of society, which financed the realization of this project. The shared vision was a Protestant Empire. The activities of the mission network effected social and spatial changes in Europe and India.

One central dimension of migration and religion is the missionary impetus of Christianity. Whereas the Catholic Church deduced their command for missionary activities from The Great Commission in the New Testament (Mt 28, 19-20), the Protestant churches understood this command to have been restricted to biblical times. However, the Protestant position changed fundamentally with the rise of Pietism at the end of the seventeenth century.1 The Pietist concept of conversion contained an expansive dimension in the strictly spatial sense. In 1701, the Halle activist and theologian August Hermann Francke (1663–1727) published the first vision of a Protestant global expansion, which included Europe and all other continents. Although, historically, this vision of an expanding Kingdom of God — on earth and before the end of the world — was rooted in a millenarian

1 Hermann Wellenreuther: Pietismus und Mission. Vom 17. bis zum Beginn des 20. Jahrhunderts. In: Glaubenswelt und Lebenswelten. Ed. Hartmut Lehmann. Göttingen 2004 (= Geschichte des Pietismus 4), pp. 168–93.

Chloe 46 78 Ulrike Gleixner concept, the Lutheran Pietists determined it to be a process without any apocalyptic dimension.2 Coincidentally, members of the Protestant elite, including scholars like Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz, were also committed to the imperative of a Protestant mission. This was especially the case after China opened up to Jesuit missionary activity in 1692.3 In the course of the eighteenth century, a transnational Protestant mission was set up at the initiative of the Danish king Fredrick IV (1671–1750). 4 The court of Denmark, in conjunction with the Halle

2 Udo Sträter: Der hallische Pietismus zwischen Utopie und Weltgestaltung. In: Interdisziplinäre Pietismusforschung. Beiträge zum Ersten Internationalen Kongress für Pietismusforschung 2001. Vol. 1. Ed. Udo Sträter. Tübingen 2005, pp. 19–36; Udo Sträter: Spener und August Hermann Francke. In: Philipp Jakob Spener – Leben, Werk, Bedeutung. Bilanz der Forschung nach 300 Jahren. Ed. Dorothea Wendebourg. Tübingen 2007 (= Hallesche Forschungen 23), pp. 89– 104; Johannes Wallmann: Pietismus und Chiliasmus. Zur Kontroverse um Philipp Jakob Speners “Hoffnung besserer Zeiten”. In: Johannes Wallmann: Theologie und Frömmigkeit im Zeitalter des Barock. Gesammelte Aufsätze. Tübingen 1995, pp. 390–421; Siegfried Wollgast: Zum Chiliasmus in der deutschen Frühaufklärung. In: Strukturen der deutschen Frühaufklärung 1680– 1720. Ed. Hans Erich Bödeker. Göttingen 2008, pp. 165–93. 3 Gerda Utermöhlen: Die Rußlandthematik im Briefwechsel zwischen August Hermann Francke und Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz. In: Halle und Osteuropa. Zur europäischen Aus-strahlung des halleschen Pietismus. Ed. Johannes Wallmann. Tübingen 1998, pp. 109–128; Wenchao Li: Leibnizens Plan einer protestantischen Mission in China. In: Neuzeit-liches Denken. Festschrift für Hans Poster zum 65. Geburtstag. Ed. Günter Abel. Berlin 2002, pp. 251-66; Thomas Fuchs: Aufbruch in fremde Welten. Die Formierung der pro- testantischen Missionsbewegung im 18. Jahrhundert. In: Das eine Europa und die Vielfalt der Kulturen. Kulturtransfer in Europa 1500–1850. Eds. Thomas Fuchs, Sven Trakulhun. Berlin 2003, pp. 185-204. 4 Johannes Ferdinand Fenger: Geschichte der Trankebarschen Mission. Grimma 1845; Daniel L. Brunner: Halle Pietists in England. Anthony William Boehm and the Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge Göttingen 1993; Harald Nielsen: The Danish Mis-sionary Society and Tranquebar. In: It began in Copenhagen. Junctions in 300 years of Indian-Danish relations in Christian Mission. Eds. George Oommen, Hans Ravn Iversen. Delhi 2005, pp.181–203; Geliebtes Europa / Ostindische Welt. 300 Jahre interkultureller Dialog im Spiegel der Dänisch-Halleschen Mission. Ed. Heike Liebau. Halle 2006; Heike Liebau: Das Hallesche Waisenhaus und die Tranquebarmission. In: Europäische Aufklä-rung und protestantische Mission in Indien. Ed. Michael Mann. Heidelberg 2006, pp. 125–42; Halle and the Beginning of Protestant Christianity in India. Vol. 3. Eds. Andreas Gross, Y. Vincent Kumaradoss, Heike Liebau. Halle 2006.

Chloe 46 Remapping the World: The Vision of a Protestant Empire 79 orphanage as the center of the Pietist missionary endeavors, and the Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge (SPCK) in London, established a Protestant mission in South-East India; this consisted of a system of churches, schools, and charitable institutions. The mission started in 1706, and the Danish court paid the salary of the missionaries. For the European side of the enterprise, the Pietist center in Halle provided a religious and communicative headquarters, where missionaries were selected and prepared, and where the first Protestant mission journal was edited. More importantly, the “New Jerusalem” in Halle gathered hundreds of supporters among the Protestant elite, organizing them into a vast network that covered most Protestant areas in the Holy Roman Empire. We are already familiar with the phenomenon of individual mission supporters from the Catholic missions.5 The Jesuits built complex networks to involve elites, however, there is no parallel for such systematic networking as the Protestant Pietists practiced. Two elements influenced the Danish king’s initiative: He was a Pietist, and Denmark maintained a colonial trading port in South-East India. In Europe, the port was called Tranquebar; its present name is Taragambadi.6 The European colonial model in India was not military conquest for settlement purposes, but a form of trade colonialism. Typical for the seventeenth century, Denmark bought the port in 1620 from Ragunada, the local ruler of the principality of Tanjore [modern Thanjavur], to establish a militarily protected trading post (Handelsfaktorei) for the purpose of commercially exploiting of the hinterland. In the typology of colonialism, this is referred to as informal.7 The Danish-Halle mission persisted from the beginning of the eighteenth century to the middle of the nineteenth century. The focus of my research is the extension and consolidation period of the German support network, which took place under the

5 Ronnie Po-Chia Hsia: Noble Patronage and Jesuit Missions. Maria Theresia von Fugger-Wellenburg (1690–1762) and Jesuit Missionaries in China and Vietnam. Rome 2006; Hermann Wellenreuther: Mission, Obrigkeit und Netzwerke: Staatliches Interesse und Missionarisches Wollen vom 15. bis in 19. Jahrhundert. In: Pietismus und Neuzeit 33 (2007), pp. 192–213. 6 Anders Nørgaard: Mission und Obrigkeit. Die Dänisch-hallische Mission in Tranquebar 1706–1845. Gütersloh 1988. 7 Jürgen Osterhammel: Kolonialismus. Geschichte, Formen, Folgen. 4th ed. Munich 2003, pp. 13–16.

Chloe 46 80 Ulrike Gleixner management of Francke’s son Gotthilf August Francke (1696-1769) between 1730 and 1770. My argument is that the activities of the network point to the underlying agenda of a worldwide Protestant empire.8 The distribution of the confessional space in Europe was consolidated with the end of the Thirty Years' War in 1648. But with the entry of Protestantism in the arena of global missionary activities since the beginning of the eighteenth century, non-European space became the new battlefield. The millenarian base of the missionary impetus not only drove the competition in economic ways, it also had an eschatological dimension. Only the true church could lead a way to the victorious kingdom of God. Thus, the question of confession pointed to that of universal salvation. The social elites of Catholicism and Protestantism played an important role in the global competition for souls. However, their financial, organizational and mental support system has not been adequately studied. The underlying empire concept prompted a whole set of mission activities that caused simultaneous transformations in Europe and India. The concept of a Protestant empire was the basis upon which the geographical, social and medial space rested. My interest in the European mission network in no way denies the extremely important role of cross-cultural communication for every Christian missionary enterprise. There exists lively research focused on local appropriation and indigenization of the Christian message, on cultural mediators and bilingual Indian interpreters, the result of which is seen in the concept of the Indianness of Indian Christianity. As a European historian, however, I am especially interested in the large group of imperial nobility, learned middle class, and high clergy within the Holy Roman Empire who supported the Protestant Indian Mission. None of them was ever in India. My research has benefited from approaches that emphasize the close connection between Europe

8 For the connection of missions and empire see Andrew Porter: Religion versus Empire? British Protestant Missionaries and Overseas Expansion. 1700–1914. Manchester / New York 2004; Missions and Empire. Ed. Norman Etherington. New York 2005; Wolfgang Reinhard: Globalisierung des Christentum. Heidelberg 2007 (= Schriften der Philosophischen Klasse der Heidelberger Akademie der Wissenschaften 41); Constructing Early Modern Empires. Proprietary Ventures in the Atlantic World 1500–1700. Eds. Louis H. Roper, Bart van Ruymbeke. Leiden / Boston 2007.

Chloe 46 Remapping the World: The Vision of a Protestant Empire 81 and its colonial enterprises, and conceptualize space as a floating category that reflects the entanglement of discourse and practice.

I Pietist Mission Networks

Since the Pietist movements had no central ecclesiastical institution, and their piety was determined by a communicative practice (oral and written),9 Pietists from the beginning cultivated the formation of smaller and larger networks. Such network structures have already been highlighted for radical Pietism, transatlantic Pietism, Halle and Moravian Pietism.10 Donald Durnbaugh even defines communication networks as characteristic of Pietism.11 In the early modern period, religious and economic networks often overlap. In the case of Halle Pietism, the mission network was simultaneously an economic network.12 The mission network organized and structured the flow of information (via letters and mission journal) and resources (money, emotional and religious support). Yet little research has been done about the mission network established by Halle as one of the supporting bases of the enterprise. The Halle archives contain the lists

9 Ulrike Gleixner: Pietismus und Bürgertum. Eine historische Anthropologie der Frömmigkeit Württemberg 17.–19. Jahrhundert. Göttingen 2005 (= Bürgertum Neue Folge. Studien zur Zivilgesellschaft 2); Ulrike Gleixner: Familie öffentlich und privat. Pietistische Kommunikation und die Korrespondenz der Familie Bengel. In: Alter Adam und Neue Kreatur. Pietismus und Anthropologie. Ed. Udo Sträter. Tübingen 2009, pp. 469–478. 10 Paul Raabe: Pietas Hallensis Universalis. Weltweite Beziehungen der Franckeschen Stiftungen im 18. Jahrhundert. Ausstellungskatalog. Halle 1995; Thomas Müller-Bahlke: The Mission in India and the Worldwide Communication Network of the Halle Orphan-House. In: Halle and the Beginning of Protestant Christianity in India. Vol. 1. The Danish-Halle and the English-Halle Mission. Eds. Andreas Gross, Y. Vincent Kumaradoss, Heike Liebau. Halle 2006, pp. 57–79; Gisela Mettele: Weltbürgertum oder Gottesreich. Die Herrnhuter Brüdergemeine als globale Gemeinschaft 1727–1857. Göttingen 2009. 11 Donald F. Durnbaugh: Communication Networks as One Aspect of Pietist Definition. The Example of Radical Pietist Connections between Colonial North America and Europe. In: Pietism in Germany and North America 1680–1820. Eds. Jonathan Strom, Hartmut Lehmann, James van Horn Melton. Farnham / Burlington, VT 2009, pp. 33–49. 12 Stephan Diller: Die Dänen in Indien, Südostasien und China (1620–1845). Wiesbaden 1999.

Chloe 46 82 Ulrike Gleixner of subscribers of the mission journal, which throws light on the network. This group included hundreds of supporters from the social elite who provided financial as well as spiritual and virtual patronage. And it is through the activities of this network that the Protestant expansive vision was put into practice. August Hermann Francke, followed much more systematically by his son Gotthilf August Francke, intensified the mission campaign. Over the course of forty years, the younger Francke wrote thousands of letters to supporters of the Halle orphanage in order to recruit them for the mission project, a connection to which was maintained for supporters by regular corre-spondence and the journal. The configuration of the mission network is at first glance star-shaped: Halle is at the center. But an analysis of the letters shows that many participants established new support groups in their own places of residence. Halle was the center of gravity, but many supporters became orbiting satellites, building small, new groups in their own spheres of activity. These satellites corresponded with Halle about their successful networking; they also sent the money they collected back to Halle, naming the donors and specifying the purpose of the funds. Considering the emotional intensity and the reciprocal services of this network, it can be classified as strong by any criteria.13 The Pietist institutions in Halle played a key role in establishing and moderating this vast network of supporters. Halle took over a strategic role in developing a cosmos of supporters and supervising the missionaries’ reports. Gotthilf August Francke continued editing the mission journal in Halle, sent booklets to potential supporters, and wrote letters to sponsors. Many answered, sending money to Halle, and, following the concept of patronage they continued to support the mission. A network developed, encompassing the elites of society: women and men of the imperial nobility, court officials, high-ranking military figures, churchmen and theologians, academics, city notables, and some merchants. It is worth noting that a high proportion of network members were women.

13 Mark S. Granovetter: The Strength of Weak Ties. In: American Journal of Sociology 78 (1973), pp. 1360–1380; Mark Casson: Networks in Economic and Business History: A Theoretical Perspective. In: Cosmopolitan Networks in Commerce and Society 1660-1914. Eds. Andreas Gestrich, Margit Schulte Beerbühl. London 2010, pp. 17–49.

Chloe 46 Remapping the World: The Vision of a Protestant Empire 83

From the hundreds of letters in the Halle archives, we can learn that the essential intention of the mission network was to establish “the Extension of the Kingdom of God.” This rhetorical figure reveals an explicitly spatial dimension to missionizing, one with a global perspective. I would argue that at the beginning of the eighteenth century, Pietism developed a vision of a “Protestant Empire” which was shared by many Protestants. This empire was not political and national, but spiritual, social, and cultural; it was, however, also colonial. The rhetorical deployment of “the kingdom of God” conceptualized Europe and India as belonging to one space. I would like to discuss four spatial perspectives that will exemplify the intervention of the missionary network, and exhibit its concept of a Protestant Empire.

II The Eschatological Space

The eschatological dimension of the Protestant mission — like every mission — called for a conversion of all non-Christians before the end of the world.14 This link between time and space produced a culture of intense activity within the network. Based on these millenarian roots, Pietists campaigned for a Protestant Empire with a global reach. Geographical proximity or distance were of no importance in the concept of a religious empire. Like a mantra or a password, the progress of the expansion of the “Kingdom of God” was communicated in the thousands of letters transmitted across the mission’s network. At the beginning of the century, August Hermann Francke, in his great essay, the Project zu einem Seminario Universali oder Anlegung eines Pflantz=Gartens (1701), expressed the global conversion and

14 For the millenarian perspective of Christian missions see: Die Verkündigung des Reiches Gottes in der Kirche Jesu Christi. Vol. 5. Von der Mitte des 17. bis zur Mitte des 18. Jahrhunderts. Ed. Ernst Staehelin. Basel 1959; Stephen Neill: Geschichte der christlichen Mission. 2nd ed. Erlangen 1990, p. 416, here p. 154; Hans-Dieter Metzger: Heiden, Juden oder Teufel? Millenniarismus und Indianermission in Massachusetts 1630–1700. In: Geschichte und Gesellschaft 27 (2001), pp. 118–48; George D. Winius: Millenarianism and Empire. Portuguese Asian Decline and the “Crise de Conscience” of the Missionaries. In: Theories of Empire. 1450–1800. Ed. David Armitage. Ashgate 1998, pp. 261– 275.

Chloe 46 84 Ulrike Gleixner education claim within churchly Pietism and Protestantism by naming a conversion space outside of Europe for the first time.15 Regardless of whether the Pietist activities took place within or outside the gates of Halle, dealt with the Jewish mission, or supported the Salzburg exiles, all these activities were components of the same project: the “universal" Christian reform.” As the subsequent director of the Halle institutions, August Hermann Francke’s son Gotthilf developed the project initiated by his father. The Protestant idea of social reform was applied to encompass both the European and non-European world rather than being a national project.

III The Space of Financial and Social Support

Patronage activities constituted the main topics of the network’s correspondence. The names of those who had donated and the amount of their donations were reported with tireless diligence. In addition to practical mission affairs, the correspondence also included religious and devotional reflections. But foremost were the references to the expansive dimensions: “The Kingdom among the pagans has to grow”; “the donation may serve the spread of His Kingdom”; “His Empire may spread out in all places and to ends of the earth.”16 The noble abbess of the Protestant monastery of Gandersheim, Elisabeth Ernestine Antonie of Sachsen-Meiningen17 (1681-1766) can serve as an example of both noble and ecclesiastical supporters. The devout Lutheran abbess conducted a 34-year correspondence with Gotthilf August Francke concerning the India mission. The collegiate foundation administrator (Oberhofmeister) and other noble canonesses were also involved. Besides other support activities, the abbess established a “widow foundation” in Meiningen (her birthplace), in Gandersheim (the abbey’s location) as well as in

15 Project zu einem Seminario Universali oder Anlegung eines Pflantz=Gartens, in welchem man eine reale Verbesserung in allen Ständen in und außerhalb Deutschlands, ja in Europa und allen übrigen Theilen der Welt zu gewarten (1701). In: Gratulationsschrift für Friedrich August Eckstein zum 50-jährigen Amtsjubiläum in den Franckeschen Stiftungen. Halle 1881, pp. 9–24. 16 Archiv Franckesche Stiftungen Mission (AFST M) 1J 14: 16, April 1733). 17 Meiningen was a small dutchy in Saxony.

Chloe 46 Remapping the World: The Vision of a Protestant Empire 85

Tranquebar in India. This example shows how in the Protestant empire, geographical space and social space overlap. Through the charitable activities of the abbess, Europe and India became one space. Like the majority of supporters, the abbess took part in other Pietistic projects such as the financial support of the Salzburg exiles in the U.S., the Halle orphanage, and the Halle mission to the Jews. The overseas mission is merely brick for building the “Kingdom of God.” All Pietist activities — in Halle, in Prussia or in India — were simply different components of the intention to build a worldwide Protestant empire. Alongside his other activities, Gotthilf August Francke also campaigned to obtain personal sponsorship for individual children in Tranquebar.18 From among these children, local mission workers were to be recruited. In 1730, the annual cost of supporting a child in the Mission came to 10 Taler. The abbess was also involved in this undertaking. On the anniversary of her installation as abbess (9 November 1730), she established a foundation of 20 Taler annually for the maintenance of two children at the mission. In the following years, she asked Francke in her letters about the progress “of my two black children.”19 Practical support was extended on the basis of the millenarian conception of space, according to which India and Germany were parts of one Empire.20 The religious discourse of space was converted into a practical spatial design. The organizing center in Halle succeeded in transforming the older form of patronage by aristocratic and clerical elites into a new construct. Previously, patronage had been limited to territory owned by the patron and to personal projects. It was now expanded to the Protestant Empire as a network-based enterprise. The earlier private patronage concept was adapted to the spatial concept of empire. The activities of the network: creating social foundations in India, building houses, financing the Indian schools and mission workers, as well as the support offered newly baptized children at the mission stations in India, transformed Indian social space as well. Education and social stability became possible outside of the existing social system in South India. The local

18 Preamble of: Sechs und zwanzigste Continuation Des Berichts Der Königlichen Dänischen Missionarien in Ost=Indien vom Jahr 1728 […], herausgegeben von Gotthilf August Francken. Halle 1730 (http://192.124.243.55/digbib/hb.htm.) 19 AFST M 1J 14: 14, Juli 1732. 20 AFSt/M 1 J 14: 41, 22. Nov. 1735.

Chloe 46 86 Ulrike Gleixner attraction of the mission lay in the education offered by the missionary schools. Indian missionary assistance allowed low caste groups to defend their interests and transcend their status. The social and economic activities of the mission constituted a new space for European-Indian cross-cultural contact, communication and work.21

IV The Space of Socialization (Vergesellschaftung)

Focusing now on the social transformation effected in Europe by these network activities, Max Weber’s term, socialization (Vergesellschaftung), permits the identification of another spatial consequence of the Protestant enterprise. In 1730, the supporters of the Tranquebar mission came from a wide range of the noble and functional elite, primarily the aristocracy, military nobility, high government officials and high clergy, including, as mentioned, a surprising number of noble women, consisting of middle class widows and the abbesses or canonesses of Protestant monasteries.22 In 1770, forty years later--as the diagram shows--the numbers of nobles had declined, and participation by the middle class had increased. The relatively high percentage of female supporters is consistent with the fact that women of high rank in Early Modern society were deeply involved in patronage activities as well as in religious affairs. Within the network, nobility and middle class equally engaged in the project. The practice of social support was closely related to the older culture of patronage-clientele relationships. Interactions within the network were no longer based on social differences, however, but on the idea of a new Protestant empire. In this respect, the structure shifted to a club-like model, which permitted class boundaries to become more permeable. That individuals who joined the network tended to be drawn from among pious Lutherans, Calvinists and even supporters of the Enlightenment (like the Duchess Philippine Charlotte of Braunschweig-Wolfenbüttel or her daughter Anna Amalie of Weimar) proves the connectivity among Pietist projects for large sections of

21 See Heike Liebau: Die indischen Mitarbeiter der Tranquebarmission (1706– 1845). Katecheten, Schulmeister, Übersetzer. Tübingen 2008 (= Hallesche Forschungen 26). 22 AFSt/M 3 L 1.

Chloe 46 Remapping the World: The Vision of a Protestant Empire 87 eighteenth-century society.23 In the second half of the eighteenth century, even enlightened scientific circles became interested in the missions.24 With the decline of the aristocratic elite and the rise of bourgeois classes, we see a social widening of the supporting field. In the eighteenth century, the mission activities caused a new socialization (Vergesellschaftung), one that transcended social and mental barriers.

V The Space of Media

The last aspect of a spatial shift to be addressed here is the transformation of space by the media. Many letters never reached their recipients in the overseas missions; many others were delivered after months of delay. The transfer of information was an unstable project. But this was probably not the main motive for why the older Francke started the first Protestant mission journal in 1710, only a few years after the first missionary arrived in Tranquebar.25 Rather, the reasons were threefold: first, the published Jesuit letters reached their peak in the late seventeenth century.26 Second, a Protestant mission journal could reach a wide readership in and outside of Germany, and

23 See also Matthias Frenz, Hansjürg Deschner: “Das Werck der Bekehrung.” Überlegungen zum Verhältnis von Pietismus, Aufklärung und Mission im frühen 18. Jahrhundert. In: Europäische Aufklärung und protestantische Mission in Indien. Ed. Michael Mann. Heidelberg 2006, pp. 33–55. 24 Andreas Nehring: Orientalismus und Mission. Die Repräsentation der tamilischen Gesellschaft und Religion durch die Leipziger Missionare 1840– 1940. Wiesbaden 2003; Ann-Charlott Trepp: Von der Missionierung der Seelen zur Erforschung der Natur. Die Dänisch-Hallesche Südindienmission im ausgehenden 18. Jahrhundert. In: Geschichte und Gesellschaft 36 (2010), S. 231– 56. 25 Missionsberichte aus Indien im 18. Jahrhundert. Ihre Bedeutung für die europäische Geistesgeschichte und ihr wissenschaftlicher Quellenwert für die Indienkunde. Ed. Michael Bergunder. 2nd ed. Halle 2004; Gita Dharampal-Frick: Wissenschaftliche Nachrichten. Frühe deutsche Indien-Berichte (1477–1750) – Bibliographie. In: Zeitschrift der Deutschen Morgenländischen Gesellschaft 134 (1984), pp. 23–67; Gita Dharampal-Frick: Indien im Spiegel deutscher Quellen der Frühen Neuzeit (1500–1750). Studien zur interkulturellen Konstellation. Tübingen 1994, p. 458. 26 Luke Clossey: Salvation and Globalization in the Early Jesuit Missons. Cambridge 2008, p. 200.

Chloe 46 88 Ulrike Gleixner facilitated information exchange and promotion. Thirdly, in editing the journal, Francke could control the news coming from India. The Halle mission journal exhibits a striking range of information, covering science, climate, theology, cultural anthropology, travel narratives, political conditions, reports of the mission work, descriptions of Catholic missionaries in the neighborhood and appeals for donations.27 The journal conferred the illusion that the reader was directly involved in the mission adventure. In 1730 the mission journal had around 500 subscribers. In 1770 its readership had increased by nearly half to 720. Subscription, however, does not necessarily reflect the total readership. Family, friends, colleagues and students would also read the journal. I would say that, on average, one subscription reached five or more readers. In order to reach subscribers effectively, the Halle Institution developed a complex distribution system for the journal. The center of the distribution system was central Germany; then came Brandenburg in the northeast, Brunswick and Hanover in the west, Mecklenburg in the north of Germany; the town of Nuremberg serves as the distribution point for southern Germany, that is, Bavaria and Württemberg. The journal was sent by mail or established trade routes to these primary distribution locations. Then people in close contact with Halle, satellites, drugstores and bookshops, served as sub-distributors. Other copies were sent from bigger places to smaller towns in the area: The city of Berlin, which received 93 copies, can serve as an example. 28 subscribers lived in the city of Berlin and received their journal directly (mainly people at the court and clergy). 21 copies were first sent to Berlin and then from there to different subscribers out of town (nearby and far away, even to Western Pomerania “Pyritz”). 44 copies, divided into packages, went first to Berlin, but had seven different towns as their final destinations (Baruth, Kolberg, Cottbus,

27 The journal was published from 1710 to 1770 in 108 series (Continuationen) entitled: Der Königl. Dänischen Missionarien aus Ost-Indien eingesandter Ausführlichen Berichten, Von dem Werck ihres Amts unter den Heyden, angerichteten Schulen und Gemeinen, er-eigneten Hindernissen und schweren Umständen. Beschaffenheit des Malabarischen Hey-denthums, gepflogenen brieflichen Correspondentz und mündlichen Unterredungen mit selbigen Heyden, Continuation 1–108. Halle 1710–1770: http://192.124.243.55/digbib/hb.htm.

Chloe 46 Remapping the World: The Vision of a Protestant Empire 89

Prentzlau, Potsdam, Stargard, Stettin). In these places, sub-distributors organized the final delivery. The editorial model of the journal — advertisement, success stories, and area studies — follows Pietistic media and communication patterns. Many letters received at Halle by Francke start with an account of the edifying and comforting effect the reader has experienced. The reader is given confirmation that God’s Empire in India continues to spread. In their reading experience, subscribers consult evidence of the usefulness of their financial and spiritual support. These reports of progress helped to consolidate the European Protestant identity.

VI Concluding Remarks

The Protestant network in Europe pursued the realization of a Protestant empire. Through the vision of a global Empire of Protestantism and resulting practices, the mission network fashioned society in Europe and in India over the course of the eighteenth century. Religious, cultural and social spaces in Germany and India changed through the activities of this network. What the case of the Halle mission exposes as fascinating is the entanglement of both societies in the mission. Through the network activities and the mission project in India, the two societies were connected. But the dynamics of this link were not necessarily the same everywhere. In South-East India there emerged a Protestant church, educational opportunities, and a system of social welfare. A new group of mediators between the two cultures was established, and cross- cultural communication was intensified. But the movement also shaped German society in several meaningful ways: The network activities merged Pietism with other reform movements in the eighteenth century in Lutheran and Enlightenment contexts. Through shared activities, the network practiced, in spite of strong class differences, a more horizontal culture than had previously dominated. The social base of the mission network increased within German society, and different social strata became involved. The society as a whole experienced a new form of socialization (Vergemeinschaftung). The Protestant mission movement was a civilian, society-organized, non-governmental, private project before the birth of a civil society in

Chloe 46 90 Ulrike Gleixner the political sense. The network developed an organizational structure, which was ultimately incorporated into the mission societies on the 19th century. The communication system was reinforced by a regularly published mission journal and by extensive correspondence within the network. Media played a crucial role. The empire-based nature of the project caused the network to anticipate that India had to change just as non-Protestants in the Holy Roman Empire had to convert. Luke Clossey has admirably shown the Jesuit construction of Christianity as a universal religion during the age of discovery.28 In the eighteenth century, the Halle mission network shaped Protestantism as a universal religion within a concept of Empire, creating a new competition between the Christian confessions and their respective visions of empire in the eighteenth century.

28 Clossey (fn. 27).

Chloe 46 U l r i k e S t r a s s e r

FROM “GERMAN INDIA” TO THE SPANISH INDIES AND BACK: JESUIT MIGRATIONS ABROAD AND THEIR EFFECTS AT HOME

Abstract

This essay explores the religiously motivated migration of Central European Jesuits to the Spanish Indies against the backdrop of early modern Germany's lack of colonial possession. These migrants played a crucial role in shaping German knowledge about foreign lands during this early stage of globalization. A first section focuses on the motivation, background, and spatial movements of the migrants themselves, stressing the strong allure of the masculine figure of the overseas martyr. The second part of the essay traces the impact of these Jesuit migrations on Germans “back home”, paying particular attention to printed missionary reports that familiarized readers with the colonial world and contributed to a broader, trans-confessional discourse about a distinct German identity in an increasingly connected world.

As central as Germany has been to the newer global histories of the modern period, the Holy Roman Empire of the German Nation has figured marginally at best in even the most recent accounts of the early modern world. On the one hand, these newer histories of the pre-modern world have sketched the dramatic acceleration of economic interconnectedness and cross-cultural contact in ways that continue to upend older teleologies of the rise of the West as well as more recent formulations of core and periphery. On the other hand, for most Europeans powers, the central plotline that secures them a firm place in these accounts remains that of colonial expansion: of an

Chloe 46 92 Ulrike Strasser outward imperial move fueled equally by a thirst for material possession and the aspirations of a religious civilizing mission. 1 Against this backdrop, Germany’s lack of formal colonial possessions in the early modern period seemingly obviated the need to pay attention to its role in shaping the new global order. While their neighbors were busily building centralized monarchies and overseas empires, the people of the Holy Roman Empire appeared mired in internal religious conflict and political particularism. Or so the reigning storylines would lead one to believe.2 Upon closer examination, however, it becomes clear that German engagement with the larger world in the early modern period was considerable and consequential for the formation of the European colonial order.3 Already in the sixteenth century, as Christine Johnson has shown in The German Discovery of the World, the German publishing industry played a leading role in disseminating and adapting information about the Iberian discoveries for a European- wide audience. It is thus no coincidence that it was a German cosmographer, Martin Waldseemüller, who coined the term “America” with his famous 1507 map.4 But early modern Germany was not only a crucial clearinghouse for “New World” information procured by others. Over time, a growing number of Germans themselves ventured abroad to help build the European overseas order and to furnish audiences back home with first-hand accounts of foreign lands by German actors and observers. This essay concerns itself with one particularly sizeable and prolific group of people in this category: German Jesuits who migrated to the Spanish Indies in the seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries. The

1 For an excellent overview of the newer world history literature up to the beginning of the 21st century, see Patrick Manning: Navigating World History. Historians Create a Global Past. New York 2003. 2 This early modern variant of Germany’s special path into modernity has been undone for domestic history brilliantly by Thomas A. Brady: German Histories in the Age of the Reformations. Cambridge 2009. 3 A note on terminology: the meaning of “German” is malleable and fluid in the early modern period. Unless specified otherwise, the term “German” is used throughout to refer to the German-speaking lands ruled by the Holy Roman Emperor, their inhabitants, and the cultural activities of those inhabitants. 4 Christine R. Johnson: The German Discovery of the World. Renaissance Encounters with the Strange and Marvelous. Charlottesville / London 2009, pp. 47–87 on cosmography in particular.

Chloe 46 Jesuit Migrations 93 migrations of these missionaries mark the first extended encounter between Germans and the people of the Spanish colonial Empire. Their writings in turn did much to shape the views of their German compatriots back home about the “Spanish Indies” and about the place of Germans in an increasingly connected world. The essay’s first section deals with the outward migration of German Jesuits that set in during the confessional age and was driven by religious factors. Here the Catholic male ideal of the heroic missionary-cum-martyr, which lured many a German into an overseas assignment, drives much of the story. The essay’s second section reflects on the effects of these migrations “back home” and on evolving ideas about what it means to be “German” at the threshold to modernity. Here a consideration of the first Catholic missionary journal in the early eighteenth century offers important clues. Taken together, the activities of these Jesuits and the reception of their writings suggest that German engagement with the emerging colonial order was not so much deficient than it was different in light of the Holy Roman Empire’s specific geopolitical position as an outsider to European expansion. In the German case, too, the encounter with the colonial world became a catalyst for thinking about national identity.

I Mission, Migration, and Jesuit Manhood, or In the Footsteps of Francis Xavier

What do we know about these first German migrants to the Spanish Indies — their motivation, backgrounds, spatial movements and activities abroad? The answer to all of these questions lies in the domain of religion. To begin with, it was only for religious reasons that the Spanish crown opened the door to German men seeking to make a home overseas. Spanish purity of blood rules spelled severe restrictions for non-missionary migrations to the Indies; according to a late seventeenth-century compilation of colonial laws, unlawful foreign traders faced the threat of the death penalty.5 The crown’s patronage obligations towards the papacy, on the other hand, demanded the admission of missionaries to provide spiritual care for

5 Luke Clossey: Salvation and Globalization in the Early Jesuit Missions. Cambridge / New York 2008, p. 145.

Chloe 46 94 Ulrike Strasser the souls in the newly colonized lands. Of the 3,814 Jesuits that Spain dispatched to the “New World” in the seventeenth century, no fewer than 1,000 hailed from the German-speaking lands of Central Europe. They could not have come in secular garb.6 Aside from the willingness of the Spanish crown to grant them admission, these German men owed their ability to travel to their membership in the still comparatively new Society of Jesus. The Jesuit order was unique in a number of ways that matter to the history of these German migrations. From its simple beginnings as a religious start-up company of sorts, the order grew rapidly into an enterprise of global scale. Numbering only ten men at the time of its foundation in 1540, it expanded to 1,000 members by 1556, the year its founder, Ignatius of Loyola, died. By 1615, the numbers jumped to 13,000 to reach an impressive total of 20,000 by 1700. Moreover, virtually from the get-go the Society’s members ventured into Asia, the Americas, and Africa and created one of the largest and most complex transnational networks of the early modern world, enabling an unprecedented type of religious mobility.7 Apostolic mobility, rather than traditional monastic stability, was indeed the order’s organizing principle. “The world is our house,” Jerome Nadal, the Society’s first secretary, famously explained the Jesuit sense of their apostolic missions. Members took an additional fourth vow, beyond the conventional three of poverty, chastity, and obedience, to be sent at a moment’s notice to any mission field of the pope’s choosing.8 If a Jesuit was by definition a missionary, he was also by definition a man. Not only a new religious but also a new masculine identity was forged in this organization. Intimately related to the Jesuits’ unique fourth vow and global understanding of missions, the Society became

6 Ibid., p. 153. 7 These numbers can be found in Jeffrey Chipps Smith: Sensuous Worship. Jesuits and the Art of the Early Catholic Reformation in Germany. Princeton / Oxford 2002, p. 3. On the Jesuit transnational network, see for example: Steven J. Harris: Mapping Jesuit Science. The Role of Travel in the Geography of Knowledge. In: The Jesuits. Cultures, Sciences, and the Arts, 1540 – 1773. Eds. John W. O'Malley et al. Toronto 1999, pp. 212-40. Markus Friedrich: Der lange Arm Roms? Globale Verwaltung und Kommunikation im Jesuitenorden: 1540 – 1773. Frankfurt a. M. et al., 2011. 8 John W. O’Malley: The First Jesuits. Cambridge, MA 1993, quotation by Nadal on p. 68.

Chloe 46 Jesuit Migrations 95 the first pre-modern order, per special exemption from the papacy, to categorically exclude women from its ranks. In Ignatius’ words, freedom from formalized care of women was imperative for Jesuits in order “to be ready at any time to go from one part of the world to another.”9 Although the de jure exclusion of women did not preclude close ties between Jesuits and individual women or time spent in mixed-sex milieus, it did establish the exclusivity of male homo- social bonds for the Society’s members and unequivocally gendered the Jesuit missionary as male.10 German men found missionary masculinity very compelling. For the year 1679, the Jesuit provinces gathered in the so-called German Assistancy registered 6,713 members out of total of 17,655 worldwide. This means that the German membership amounted to 38.02 percent, or the largest contingent of the order.11 While the German numbers reflect the high priority that the Jesuit leadership assigned to missionary work in the religiously troubled Holy Roman Empire, the order’s growing popularity among Germans themselves was also crucial to its recruitment successes there. Jesuit colleges quickly multiplied in the Empire and Jesuit pastoral work straddled the social gap between the imperial and princely courts to urban parishes and remote rural areas.12 Furthermore, German Jesuits soon set their eyes on still more ambitious territories of evangelization. We know of their religious desires from the hundreds of applications letters, extant in the Society’s Roman archives to this day, which Germans sent to the

9 Cited in Ignatius Loyola: Letters to Women. Ed. Hugo Rahner. Freiburg / New York 1960, p. 254. 10 Ulrike Strasser: “The First Form and Grace”: Jesuits and the Reformation of European Masculinity. In: Masculinity in Reformation Europe. Eds. Scott Hendrix, Susan Karant-Nunn. Kirksville, MO. 2008, pp. 45–70. 11 Clossey (fn. 5), p. 24. Johannes Meier calculates the proportion at 40% for different years. The German Assistancy encompassed ten provinces, many of them based in the German lands, others reaching far beyond German boundaries. See Johannes Meier: “Totus mundus nostra fit habitatio”: Jesuiten aus dem deutschen Sprachraum in Portugiesisch- und Spanisch-Amerika. In: Abhandlungen der Akademie der Wissenschaften, Mainz. Geistes- und sozialwissenschaftliche Klasse 2 (2007), p. 8. 12 See the classic but still relevant, multi-volume synthesis of Bernhard Duhr: Geschichte der Jesuiten in den Ländern Deutscher Zunge. Freiburg i. Br. / St. Louis, MO. 1907–1928.

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Society’s General to petition for an assignment to one of the order’s overseas mission. These applicants did not give up easily on their wish to work in “the Indies”.13 Repeat applications and rejections were part of the course; one German candidate tried his luck no less than fourteen times in the course of a twenty-one year period.14 What accounts for such dogged determination? The quest for redemptive suffering, or to save one’s soul by saving those of others under the most trying circumstances possible, was a prime motivator for applicants. This made the Indies a magnetic location. It also explains why the Protestant-embattled Empire was offered to applicants as a desirable alternative, or “a second India,” a land equally awash in lost souls and spiritual challenges as any of the coveted non-European mission. Jesuit General Vitteleschi, for instance, offered the following well-calibrated words of consolation when he turned down a German applicant for overseas work and told him to stay put instead: “Germany is a second India. There is a lot of work in Germany and no fewer opportunities for suffering than in the Indies.”15 Not surprisingly, the figure of the martyr, embodiment of the most extreme suffering and hero of his confessional community, held a particularly strong allure. Francis Xavier, the Society’s first overseas missionary and martyr, enjoyed great popularity among German Jesuits. One of his relics, an arm bone housed in the Jesuit church in Munich, was placed next to a plaque that boasted the inscription “120,000 baptized,” clearly linking his martyrdom to extraordinary spiritual gain.16 Xavier also made frequent appearances in the application letters as an inspirational figure in whose footsteps the

13 For an in-depth study of such letters, see Christoph Nebgen: Missionarsberufungen nach Übersee in drei deutschen Provinzen der Gesellschaft Jesu im 17. und 18. Jahrhundert. Regensburg 2007. 14 Anton Huonder: Deutsche Jesuitenmissionare des 17. und 18. Jahrhunderts. Freiburg i. Br. 1899, pp. 11-12. 15 Cited in Frank Pohle: Friedrich Spee und Franz Xaver – Poetische Reaktionen eines Daheimgebliebenen. In: “…usque ad ultimum terrae.“ Die Jesuiten und die transkontinentale Ausbreitung des Christentums 1540–1772. Ed. Johannes Meier. Göttingen 2000, pp. 13–35, quote p. 19, translation mine. 16 Clossey (fn. 5), p. 223.

Chloe 46 Jesuit Migrations 97 applicant sought to follow.17 He once declared Germans especially suitable for the missions, an endorsement that applicants for the overseas missions were happy to cite.18 Others claimed that they had made a vow during an earlier time of illness to Xavier, promising him to go work in the Indies if they were cured.19 Many applicants seemed to have considered Xavier’s feast day, December 3, an auspicious date for penning a letter. 20 As Jesuit deaths abroad began to multiply over time, other martyrs too became objects of intense devotion and emulation in the Empire. A new type of martyrology emerged that featured contemporary martyrs from all over the world. A famous example of this kind is Matthias Tanner’s Societas Jesu usque ad sanguinis et vitae profusionem militans (The Society of Jesus Fighting Until the Profusion of Blood and Life). Published first in 1675 and lavishly illustrated, it appeared in multiple editions. In a tour of four continents, from Europe and Africa to Asia and the Americas, Tanner paraded the Society’s dead missionaries, featuring detailed descriptions and graphic images of the killing of each man. Matthias Tanner’s text is emblematic of a Jesuit culture of commemorating martyrdom. From printed pages and painted images to the theatrical stage, the Society held up heroic examples of its own martyrs for admiration and emulation. Peter Burschel has aptly described the combined effect of these media of martyrdom as “a school of purposeful disciplining of fantasies” for Jesuits. Its alumni learned to imagine and desire their own martyrdom afar and to set their sight on locations where death for the faith was a likely occurrence.21

17 Friedrich Spee was among them. After his application failed, he poured his longing for the missions into a series of poetic works featuring Xavier. See Pohle (fn. 15), pp. 13–35. 18 Bernd Hausberger: Jesuiten aus Mitteleuropa im kolonialen Mexico. Eine Bio- Bibliographie. Oldenbourg 1995, pp. 91–92. 19 Eusebius Kino presents a famous example. Eusebius Kino: Kino Writes to the Duchess. Letters of Eusebio Francisco Kino, S.J., to the Duches of Aveiro. Ed. with an Introduction Ernest J. Burrus. Rome / St. Louis, Mo. 1965 (= Sources and Studies for the History of the Americas 1), pp. 1–4. 20 Clossey (fn. 5), p. 139. 21 Peter Burschel: Sterben und Unsterblichkeit: Zur Kultur des Martyriums in der frühen Neuzeit. Munich 2004, especially pp. 229–88, quote p. 262.

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Unlike Jesuits from other European countries, however, German applicants for the overseas mission initially confronted twin obstacles to their wish fulfillment. Domestically, the prolonged religious and political conflicts in the wake of the Reformation tied down the energies of German Jesuits. The Roman leadership was very reluctant to pull any missionaries from the “German India” until after the Peace of Westphalia in 1648. On the colonial stage, the Iberian crowns were leery of so-called foreign missionaries and at first tried to limit the admissions of non-Iberians to the overseas territories. Between 1600 and 1665, a mere thirty-one German Jesuits were allowed to go.22 Later in the century, chronic shortage of overseas missionaries and the forceful presence of an Austrian-born queen and her German confessor at the Spanish court led to a relaxation of policies, setting a quota of first one-third, then one-forth for foreign applications, and upping the total numbers to the above-mentioned 1,000.23 Still, years passed between a mission assignment and the missionary’s arrival. The travel route led the men from Genoa to Seville or Cadiz where they awaited clearance by Spanish immigration officials before they could board the ship across the Atlantic to Vera Cruz. From there horses or mules carried the missionaries to Mexico City, to spend more time preparing or waiting for further assignment in the Americas or the Spanish Philippines; the latter destination required another lengthy ocean journey on the annual Manila Galleon that departed from Acapulco in the spring.24 The men who did make it overseas were, in today’s parlance, a group of highly skilled migrants. Often the offspring of the urban, office-holding bourgeoisie or the lower nobility they had joined the Society on average at the age of nineteen, and then spent another decade and a half working towards an overseas assignment.25 The rigorous selection process itself required determination of any applicant. Just as repeated applications were the norm, the overall chances for ultimate success were rather slim; at the end of the day, a mere 11 percent to 22 percent of all applicants gained admission to “the Indies.” Alongside the religious prerequisites, a sturdy physical

22 Huonder (fn. 14), p. 14 23 Clossey (fn. 5), pp. 145-53. 24 Clossey, pp. 147–49. 25 On the social background, Meier. Totus Mundus (fn. 11), p 17. On the average age based on a sample of fifty-three Jesuits, see Clossey (fn. 5), p. 136

Chloe 46 Jesuit Migrations 99 constitution, psychological flexibility, as well as a talent for language acquisition were crucial for a successful application.26 To further increase their chances for selection, many relied not only on religious credentials but also built up skills that were rumored or known to be in short supply in the foreign missions. The result was an exceptionally well-educated group. Those who went to Spanish America include a series of well trained pharmacists-cum-physicians from Germany, such as Joseph Zeitler who was so popular in Quito as a city apothecary that he was kept on even after the dissolution of the Jesuit order.27 Several cartographers also hailed from German colleges with their strong tradition of natural sciences.28 One further finds linguistically talented Jesuits that codified local languages in dictionaries and works of grammar.29 Other brothers put their exceptional artisanal and artistic skills to use to build churches in the baroque style of southern Germany in southern America.30 German Jesuits also held a number of high offices in the Spanish overseas missions. Paul Klein of Bohemia became Jesuit Provincial for the entire Philippine province in 1708, encompassing the Philippines proper, the missions on the Marianas as well as the evangelization of the Caroline Islands that he himself had first mapped. In other words, he was at least nominally in charge of the spiritual welfare of many hundreds of islands housing thousands of

26 Meier, Totus Mundus (fn. 11), pp. 14-15. Calculations based on samples from certain provinces. 27 Renée Gicklhorn: Missionsapotheker. Deutsche Pharmazeuten im Lateinamerika des 17. und 18. Jahrhunderts. Stuttgart 1973. Sabine Anagnostou, Michael Müller: Joseph Zeitler — Auf den Spuren eines bayerischen Apothekers in Chile. In: Geschichte der Pharmazie 56 (2004), pp. 16–23. 28 David Buisseret: Spanish Colonial Cartography, 1450–1700. In: The History of Cartography. Eds. David Woodward and John B. Harley. Vol. 3/1: Cartography in the Renaissance. Chicago 2007, pp. 1143–1171, esp. p. 1148. 29 Reinhard Wendt: Mission in vielen Zungen. Der Beitrag der Jesuiten zu Erfassung und Klassifizierung der Sprachen der Welt. In:‘….usque ad ultimum terrae’ (fn. 15), pp. 53–67. 30 Meier, Totus Mundus (fn.11), pp. 23–24.

Chloe 46 100 Ulrike Strasser indigenous people across a vast expanse of the Pacific Ocean.31 German Jesuits further formed a sizeable and influential group among those working on one of the most challenging colonial frontier of the Spanish Empire: the North of New Spain or Mexico. In Baja California, 40 percent to 60 percent of missionaries were German in the mid-eighteenth century. Their official charge was to “reduce” indigenous peoples, that is to say: to convert the nomadic, resistant, and “pagan” indios roaming the borderlands into sedentary, docile, Christian subjects of the Spanish crown.32The coveted global mobility of these Germans, in other words, spelled coerced sedentariness for the Amerindians. While the main motivation of these men was religious in nature, their labors on the ground inevitably also played into the hands of the colonial authorities who enabled the missionary presence in the first place. But what of martyrdom whose prospect lured many Germans into the missions? As it happened, there were few truly dangerous areas in the Spanish Empire by the mid-seventeenth century to the disappointment of the German latecomers to this mission field. Opportunities for martyrdom flared up briefly with the colonization of the remote and resistant Mariana Islands in the Pacific from the late 1660s onward.33 As news of this new field reached Germany, a virtual run for the Mariana missions set in. In 1680, Eusebius Kino, en route to the Americas and soon to be Europe’s first cartographer of Baja California, commented on this trend and his dissatisfaction with his own destination:

In Germany the Jesuits have the highest regard for the Mariana missions and long to be sent to convert their inhabitants. More than two hundred aspirants are seeking entrance in the Upper German Province. Our Lord will not be deaf to such fervent pleas of the many who truly prefer to suffer and work generously for their Savior and for the salvation of these natives. […] All of us missionaries residing the past two years in Seville would

31 On Paul Klein see Ulrike Strasser: Die Kartierung der Palaosinseln: Geographische Imagination und Wissenstransfer zwischen europäischen Jesuiten und mikronesischen Insulanern um 1700. In: Geschichte und Gesellschaft 36 (2010), pp. 197–230. 32 Hausberger (fn. 18), p. 11, pp. 90–91. 33 Francis X. Hezel. From Conquest to Colonization: Spain in the Mariana Islands 1690 to 1740. Saipan 1989. Robert F. Rogers. Destiny’s Landfall. A History of Guam. Honolulu 1995, pp. 41-73.

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have considered it a special blessing had our superiors sent us to the Marianas. Obedience alone could lessen the disappointment which some of us experienced when assigned to New Spain as our destination.34

Two Germans among those waiting with Kino in Seville were in luck, so to speak: Carl Boranga from Vienna and Augustinus Strobach from Prague, both of whom had spent years working for an assignment in a place with the potential to make martyrs. They went on to the Marianas where they were killed during an uprising of the indigenous people against Spanish colonial rule in 1684.35In an unusual reversal of the customary flow of relics, which ran from Europe to the colonial periphery, their brethren shipped the remains of these men back to Europe where their bones were laid to rest in Prague and Vienna respectively.36 These bones were clearly of tremendous symbolic importance. Like the arm bone of Francis Xavier with its claim to “120,000 baptized,” the bones represented a claim, in this case, to Germany having acquired its own overseas martyrs even if they were never officially canonized.

II “Wander the Entire World While Merely Reading.” Missionaries Afar and Germans Back Home

More than bones traveled back from overseas missions to Germany. If one wanted to buy a map of Mexico in seventeenth-century Europe, Germany was actually the best place to find an exemplar.37 Family members and patrons of missionaries enjoyed shipments of tobacco or packages of parakeet feathers and “Indian” attire.38 Jewels from Peru, pieces of Mexican rattlesnakes, and other exotic curiosa found their

34 Kino (fn. 19), pp. 75. 35 Rogers (fn. 33), p. 67-68. 36 Duhr (fn. 12), vol. 3, pp. 356-60. Clossey (fn. 5), p. 221. Rudolf Grulich: Der Beitrag der böhmischen Länder zur Weltmission des 17. und 18. Jahrhunderts. Königstein 1981. 37 Clossey (fn. 5), p. 74. 38 Galaxis Borja: Jesuitenautoren und Amerikaschriften im Alten Reich (18. Jahrhundert). In: Expansion und Gefährdung. Amerikanische Mission und Europäische Krise der Jesuiten im 18. Jahrhundert. Ed. Rolf Decot. Göttingen 2009, pp. 67-82, here p. 68.

Chloe 46 102 Ulrike Strasser way into princely and scientific collections.39 These varied objects brought the world of the Spanish overseas Empire to Germany and helped forge imaginary and real ties to places and people half a globe a way. Of particular importance, however, was the appearance of an increasing number of printed texts by German overseas missionaries in the Holy Roman Empire. These writings included letters originally posted to family members, as well as works written in a more formal genre, such as mission reports, travel diaries or works of ethnography and natural history. German Jesuits in the Spanish Americas produced an especially voluminous body of scholarly work on their mission regions and the peoples they encountered. This outpouring is reflective of the Germans’ strong academic training and perhaps also indicative of the greater interest of German audiences in learning about the essentially unfamiliar world of the Spanish overseas Empire.40 As these texts spread behind the confines of the Jesuit order’s information network to reach much broader audiences, they brought not only new information about faraway lands, but also contributed to a growing discourse of what it meant to be German at a time of burgeoning nationalism. Although we are not used to thinking about it in this manner, German national identity was already defined in and through encounter with overseas territories during this phase of colonial expansion. What then does “German” mean when attached to these Jesuits and their activities? It is a slippery term resonant with national sentiments yet irreducible to proto-nationalism. In trying to unpack some of its meanings, it is necessary to distinguish between two different facets of the phenomenon: on the one hand, the significant fluidity of the concept with respect to the religious migrants themselves; on the other hand, attempts by observers back home to use the case of the missionaries to fix the concept’s meaning. An exploration of the second theme leads beyond the domain of religion per se to the domain of culture and politics more broadly. Whether a Jesuit from Prague, for example, should be counted as a German or a Czech could fuel long debates among nationalist historians in the modern period, precisely because there was no clear

39 Hausberger (fn. 18), p. 83. Clossey (fn. 5), pp. 191-2. 40 Hausberger, pp. 16-17.

Chloe 46 Jesuit Migrations 103 dividing line in the early modern age. To speak of a ‘German Jesuit’ in the seventeenth and first half of the eighteenth centuries could mean a number of things: a German-speaker who may well also have spoken Czech and preferred to write in Latin, as many German Jesuits did; a political member of the vast and unwieldy Holy Roman Empire; or simply a member of the Jesuit provinces belonging to the so-called German Assistance that happened to touch on parts of the world far from German lands proper, such as Maryland. Such ambiguity made repeated reclassifications possible. The above- mentioned Eusebius Kino, who was born in Trent, was claimed alternately as a German, Italian, Austrian, and, most recently, a founding pioneer of Arizona as well as Mexico.41 Migration and re-location further complicated the issue of what it meant to be a German Jesuit. Spanish immigration officials demanded that all passengers to Spanish Indies become subjects of the Spanish crown.42 The expectations of these officials and the prospect of easier assimilation had many German Jesuits hispanicize their names even before they boarded the ship for the Atlantic crossing. But others like the above-mentioned Paul Klein from Bohemia did so at a much later stage in their expatriate life and without any apparent outward pressure. Klein arrived in Manila already in 1682, but did not publish under the hispanicized name “Pablo Clain” until 1713, when suspicions towards “foreign missionaries” were much less pronounced and name changes much less frequent. His action hints at self-willed acculturation and integration. Moreover, Klein passed away in Manila after 35 years of service in the Philippines, a typical fate.43 Few missionaries ever returned home, instead spending the majority of their lives away from German lands and dying abroad. Not surprisingly, a number of them complained about forgetting their native tongue after years of overseas work.44 These examples illustrate that it is impossible to pinpoint a singular meaning of “German” in reference to this group of religious migrants.

41 For a critical as well as pragmatic approach to this term and on various classifications of Kino, see Hausberger (fn. 18), pp. 26–33. 42 Foreigners could not board without undergoing this naturalization process. Hausberger, (fn. 18), p. 32 and p. 41 43 Strasser, Kartierung der Palaosinseln (fn. 31), pp. 44 Hausberger (fn. 18), p. 30.

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Where we nonetheless see an overt attempt to fix the term’s meaning is in the Empire itself, notably in publications of missionary accounts for a broader, trans-confessional audience. The German publishing industry recognized early on that Germans were voracious consumers of overseas news, but could at first only cater to this audience through translated works and compilations of texts by non-German authors.45 In the early eighteenth century, the growing influx of missionary reports by German Jesuits promised German readers something novel: the seemingly unmediated experience of German participants in New World adventures. This was precisely the big selling point of the premier of the premier journal of Catholic missionary reporting, the Neue Welt-Bott or New World Messenger launched by the Jesuit Joseph Stöcklein.46 It was the first periodical publication to feature the writings of German overseas missionaries from all over the known (from a European point-of-view) world in the German language for a German audience. Published between 1726 and 1761, the Neue Welt-Bott comprises 812 texts arranged in 40 parts amounting to five volumes or 4,500 printed folio pages. Reports from the Spanish Indies formed the majority of materials, a total of 268 texts, or 203 from the Americas and 65 from the Pacific Islands. For good reasons, the journal first saw the light of day in Augsburg, nodal point in Germany’s national and transnational trade-network, center of the publishing industry and gateway for information from the Americas in particular.47

45 Johnson (fn. 4). Michael Harbsmeier: Andere Welten in deutschen Reiseberichten der Frühen Neuzeit. Frankfurt a. M. 1994. 46 Der Neue Welt-Bott oder Allerhand so Sehr als Geistreiche Brief / Schrifften und Reisbeschreibungen, welche von denen Missionaris der Gesellschaft Jesu aus Indien und andern weit-entfernen Ländern seit 1642 bis auf das Jahr 1726 in Europa angelangt seynd. Jetzt zum ersten male Theils aus handschriftlichen Urkunden, theils aus denen französischen Lettres edifiantes. Eds. Joseph Stöcklein, Peter Probst, Franz Keller. 5 vols. Augsburg / Graz 1726–1736 and Vienna 1748-1761. Thereafter cited as DNWB. For an in-depth discussion of this text and its relevance for German ideas about the colonial world, see Galaxis Borja and Ulrike Strasser: The German Circumnavigation of the World: Missionary Writing and Colonial Identity Formation in Joseph Stöcklein’s Neuer Welt-Bott. In: Reporting Christian Missions. Eds. Markus Friedrich, Alex Schunka. Wiesbaden (forthcoming). 47 On published Jesuit reports about the Americas in Germany, the most current and comprehensive study is Galaxis Borja: Jesuitische Berichterstattung über die

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While global in its coverage and focused on the heroic exploits of Jesuits around the world, Stöcklein’s Welt-Bott was not a text like Matthias Tanner’s theater of violence. Nor did Stöcklein aim mainly at a Jesuit audience or even an exclusively Catholic one. In contrast to Tanner the journal’s 4,500 folio pages contain only a single image of a martyr devoid of the graphic horrors. Wearing a scholar’s hat and raising his hand above an open book in an oratory gesture, Stöcklein’s martyr embodies learnedness and intellectual composure rather than sacrifice and spiritual resolve. The target audience clearly included the learned and not just the pious. 48 The journal’s textual content sent a similar message, combining the edifying with the educational. Its editor Stöcklein created what Benjamin Schmidt has called a “confessionally ambidextrous text” or a text that reworked confessional materials to straddle the Catholic/Protestant divide and reach a broader market of European consumers of print literature.49 Confessional polemic is virtually absent from the pages of the Welt-Bott. The vast majority of the texts are missionary letters rich in ethnographic and geographical material, but Stöcklein also included maps, images, scholarly commentaries, royal letters and other kinds of informative materials to heighten the journal’s appeal. In a general prologue, Stöcklein situated his collection in the genre of travel literature and praised the genre’s special value to Germans:

Everything that comes from foreign lands to Germany (Teutschland) tickles our appetite for knowledge more than do all domestic curiosities […] accounts of the world and of travels no doubt deserve pride of place; after all, a curious reader, without taking a step, can sit at home and wander the entire world merely by

Neue Welt. Zur Veröffentlichungs-, Verbreitungs- und Rezeptionsgeschichte jesuitischer Americana auf dem deutschen Buchmarkt. Göttingen 2011. 48 Renate Dürr: Der ‘Neue Welt-Bott’ als Markt der Informationen? Wissenstransfer als Moment jesuitischer Identitätsbildung. In: Zeitschrift für Historische Forschung 34 (2007), pp. 441–66; on the martyr image in particular, p. 454. 49 Benjamin Schmidt: Mediating Malibar: Geography in a Post-Reformation World. Conference Paper Delivered at Media of Reform Between the Local and the Global. William Andrew Clark Memorial Library. January 2009.

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reading these kinds of writings, whereby he can acquire an almost complete knowledge of the entire globe with no danger, costs or effort.50

Stöcklein made a conscious choice to print the text “in our common mother tongue” (in unserer allgemeinen Mutter-Sprach). He even streamlined the use of German orthography, in a pre-Humboldtian effort to advance the language’s uniformity, since he considered existing variations in German orthography indicative of “a lack of harmony” among Germans.51 Commercial motives also came into play in this decision to print in a single German idiom rather than in distinct dialects. The choice meant publishing in a German that bridged the confessional divides and appealed at once to the imperial book market with Frankfurt at its center and the Saxon market, dominated as it was by Protestant German print. The journal’s volumes in fact appear in the catalogues of booksellers and fares from Catholic as well as Protestant regions. The Neue Welt-Bott was on offer with regularity at the Frankfurt book fair while, south of the Main, it was sold in Regensburg in Johann Conrad Peez’ bookstore and in Linz at the Easter market. In Vienna, the book dealers Johann Schmid and the powerful Johann Thomas Trattner sold various installments of the journal, as did the Court bookseller Friedrich Bernhardi. The journal’s growing popularity earned the Neue Welt-Bott earned an entry in renowned book encyclopedias and a home in a number of private and public libraries in the Empire, such as Herzog-August-Library in Wolfenbüttel or the collection of the America-expert Christoph Daniel Ebeling in Hamburg. Of course, the journal was also widely read in male and female monastic houses of different religious orders throughout German lands. The Princess- Abbess of Essen had letters from the Neue Welt-Bott read at her court during meal times.52 What kind of German identity was presented to this diverse readership? Stöcklein’s journal presented Germans with a view of the world as hierarchically, between various peoples outside and within Europe, Christian and pagan, male and female. In so doing, he helped

50 Allgemeine Vorrede des Verfassers, DNWB, vol. 1, part 1, p. V. This and all subsequent translations are mine. 51 Vorbericht an den Leser, DNWB, vol. 1, part 1, pp. XI-XII. 52 Ute Küppers-Braun: Macht in Frauenhand: 1000 Jahre Herrschaft adliger Frauen in Essen. Essen 2002, p. 154.

Chloe 46 Jesuit Migrations 107 to create an awareness of the European colonial world order in the Holy Roman Empire. He also encouraged readers to reflect on the specific positionality of Germans in the colonial order. Teutsch is a key term throughout the journal and functioned as a marker for a symbolic ethnicity. What unites all those the text labels “German” — writers as well as readers — is a shared culture and language not a fixed location or ethnic origin. German denotes a cultural and linguistic community under construction. This community, so the journal’s subtext, is and should keep expanding across the globe given the cultural superiority of Germans vis-à-vis various others. Stöcklein, a heavy-handed editor by his own admission, selected and re-worked missionary letters to drive home the point.53 On one level, the letters emphasized the distinct qualities of Germans in comparison to other Europeans. Letters from the Spanish Indies thus described Spaniards as “vainglorious and boastful” or “cruel and greedy”54 whereas they stressed the excellent reputation that German missionaries enjoyed among the different national groups who worked overseas and the frequency with which German Jesuits held high office. Missionary letters also included references to the particular physical suitability of Germans for certain missions, for instance, likening the climate and geography of the region around Quito to the Alps.55 They praised the Germans’ religious zeal and willingness to sacrifice to the point of death alongside their more secular virtues, such as modesty, industry, and manual talents. When contrasted with Spanish power-holders, Germans, in anticipation of a nineteenth- century colonial trope, appeared morally superior, the better colonizers, as it were. But differentiating Germans from other Europeans and defining German identity in the process also entailed a comparison with the indigenous populations of the “Indies.” The same German letter- writers that offered pointed critiques of the Spaniards typecast

53 Stöcklein’s influence on the journal was long lasting. Even after the editorship changed hands in the wake of his death, Stöcklein’s successors worked within the main parameters established by the journal’s founder. See Borja and Strasser (fn. 46). 54 Letter by Michael Herre. DNWB. Vol. 3. Pt. 21. Nr. 438, f.64. 55 Excerpt of four letters by Franz Xaver Zephyris. DNWB. Vol. 2. Part 11. Nr. 283, f. 94.

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Amerindians in the same breath. The recurring tropes are those of Amerindians as “lazy,” “wild” and “uninhibited,” albeit somewhat educable. In other words, these missionary writings reproduced and elaborated discourses of European civilizational superiority familiar from other European countries for a specifically German audience. Readers could participate in contemporary debates about the nature and status of non-European populations via a textual tour of the world and without having to know any of the theoretical or philosophical texts that underwrote such debates among scholars. Whether a German reader perused the Neue Welt-Bott in his home in one of the Empire’s cities or on its borders in the confines of a convent in a rural area, he or she was able to undertake the same imaginary travels through and learn about a colonial order in which the superiority of German culture vis-à-vis others was never even in question. Benedict Anderson has done much to illuminate the importance of vernacular languages and print in the formation of the nation as “imagined community.” The focus of his inquiry rested on developments in secular society and national contexts.56 The case of German Jesuit writings in the Neue Welt-Bott shows that religious actors and texts, too, could be brought into the service of print media and vernacular literatures to construct a shared German national identity that was grounded in culture and language. These writings, while originating in a Catholic milieu, had an important secular afterlife. To name one striking example, the Weimar editors of Der Teutsche Merkur printed Jesuit accounts from Mexico in this widely distributed journal, in keeping with their editorial policy to counter political divisions within German society by reporting on the cultural accomplishments of Germans and reminding readers of shared German values.57 The case of Neue Welt-Bott further highlights the extent to which the national was defined and imagined through engagement with the global and through multi-directional differentiation from various ‘others’ inside and outside of Europe. For Germany, such engagement with the global commenced long before the beginning of formal colonial rule. German Jesuits played a key role in this respect.

56 Benedict Anderson: Imagined Communities. Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism. London 1999. 57 Galaxis Borja: Jesuitenautoren und Amerikaschriften (fn. 38), pp. 67-68.

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Catholicism’s global aspirations and, more specifically still, the Jesuit order’s transnational network enabled these Germans to migrate into the larger world and shape German knowledge about foreign lands. While the Empire’s lack of colonies inhibited the participation of Germans in overseas exploits, it also made the admission of German missionaries to the colonial holdings of other European powers the more exciting. When they subsequently delivered objects and stories to their compatriots back home, these representations of the colonial world carried an especially powerful aura of exoticism, adventure and German accomplishment. They left a lasting mark on how the Holy Roman Empire, and the German Nation that emerged from it, imagined itself and its place in the world.

Chloe 46 C o r n e l i a N i e k u s M o o r e

“A SOURCE OF PRAISE”: THE WANDERINGS OF A DEVOTIONAL BOOK

Abstract

In 1761, right before she died in childbirth, Charlotte Nebel, née Rambach, wife of a Lutheran pastor in Worms, Germany, completed a collection of meditations on the Passion of Christ. After her death, her husband, Henrich Nebel memorialized her by publishing her poetry, essays, and meditations. Her works show the influence of her famous father, Johann Jakob Rambach, a leading figure in Pietism and that of Nikolaus von Zinzendorf, and his emphasis on the Passion of Christ. Especially the meditations, entitled Der große Versöhnungstag (The Great Day of Atonement), had a wider appeal in Germany, in other places across the globe, in other languages, in other centuries. As will be shown, its long journey to other continents exemplified a combination of reader satisfaction, religious migration, and personal initiative. Every step in its long publication and republication process further exemplified the political and religious circumstances of the time. This article analyzes the trajectory across time and place and religious persuasions, until its most recent publication in 2009.

“The chain of events which caused its publication will be a source of praise.”1 Thus wrote Helen Douglas Mackenzie, the wife of an officer in the British colonial army in India, in 1847 after she had sent an English translation of Der große Versöhnungstag (The Great Day of Atonement) to a potential publisher in London. She was referring to the remarkable journey the book had made to reach her in far away India almost eighty years after its original German publication in 1761. Books are made to wander. The author’s writing is packaged into a handy octavo or quarto format and sent on its way to find its intended reading public, to entice the wary purchaser, and to inform

1 Mrs. Colin Mackenzie: Life in the Mission, the Camp and the Zenànà or Six years in India. 3 vols. London 1853, vol 1, p. 338. Second edition: Six Years in India. Delhi, the City of the Great Mogul with an Account of the Various Tribes […]. London 1857. References in this article are to the first edition.

Chloe 46 112 Cornelia Niekus Moore and/or delight the reader. After purchase, books may be found not only in bookcases everywhere, but also in the luggage of travelers, extending their journey across borders. This is what happened to Der große Versöhnungstag (The Great Day of Atonement) by Charlotte Rambach Nebel (1727-1761),2 first published posthumously in 1761. What made this final work of a pastor’s wife in Worms (Germany) appealing to an audience in the home country, in other places across the globe, in other languages, in other centuries? As will be shown, its long journey to other continents exemplified a combination of reader satisfaction, religious migration, and personal initiative. Every step in its long publication and republication process further exemplified the political, social and religious circumstances of the time. This article will analyze the trajectory across time, place and religious persuasions, until its most recent publication in 2009. Charlotte Rambach Nebel was the daughter of Johann Jakob Rambach (1693-1735), a professor of theology in Giessen and a leading figure in Pietism, a reform movement in the Lutheran church around 1700 that was to exert its influence on German religious life for generations.3 After the father’s early death, his colleague Henrich Nebel conscientiously published the manuscripts left behind by the famous scholar. In 1746 he married Rambach’s daughter, Charlotte, and when she died after childbirth in 1761, he set out to publish her works as well, one volume of poetry, one of essays, and her last work, a contemplation on the Passion of Christ. The first two volumes (poetry and prose) did not go beyond a one-time publication,4 but the third one was destined to have an enduring appeal that would last until

2 L. U.: Charlotte Elisabeth Nebel, geb. Rambach (15.6.1727–8.9.1761). In: All- gemeine Deutsche Biographie. Leipzig 1886, vol. 23, p. 347f. I thank the Herzog August Bibliothek, Wolfenbüttel, the Universitäts- und Forschungsbibliothek Erfurt/Gotha in Gotha, the Frankesche Stiftungen in Halle and the Library of Congress, Washington, DC for their help in finding often rare publications. I also thank Dirk Sangmeister (Cyprus) for calling my attention to this author. The name of the author is also spelled: Charlotta Elisabetha Nebelin or Rambachin, the last two letters of the last name being a feminine suffix. 3 See Ulrike Gleixner’s article in this volume. 4 Poetry: Charlotta Elisabeth Nebelin geborne Rambachin: Sämtliche Poesien. Ed. Henrich Christoph Nebel. Frankfurt / Leipzig 1763. Prose: Charlotta Elisabetha Nebelin geborne Rambachin: Erbauliche Betrachtungen über mancherley Wahrheiten unsers Christlichen Glaubens, nebst einer Sammlung aus andern geistreichen Schriften. Ed. Henrich Christoph Nebel. Frankfurt / Leipzig 1765.

Chloe 46 The Wanderings of a Devotional Book 113 this day. Henrich Nebel could count on finding readers. Religious and devotional literature still occupied a large part of the publishing market and continued to find a core of discerning readers experienced and interested in this genre.5 Furthermore, although they lived in the small town of Worms, he and his wife were well connected within the religious reform movement of their time. Charlotte’s sister and her husband were members of a religious conventicle in Frankfurt that counted as its members some of Frankfurt’s foremost citizens. One of them, Susanne von Klettenberg, was later immortalized by Goethe in Wilhelm Meisters Lehrjahre (Wilhelm Meister’s Apprenticeship) as was Charlotte’s sister in his Dichtung und Wahrheit (From my Life: Poetry and Truth; 1811-1833),6 but this emphasis on individual members overlooks the fact that it was also a gathering place for visitors who came to Frankfurt for that city’s commerce.7 In the last years of Charlotte’s life, the circle was influenced by the teachings of Nikolaus Ludwig von Zinzendorf, who emphasized Christ’s death on the Cross as the one and only saving grace, and thus a reason to rejoice.8 Poetry and prose that celebrated the crucified Christ as the Savior aided the contemplations of those influenced by von Zinzendorf.9 Charlotte Nebel’s third volume, Der große Versöhnungstag (The Great Day of Atonement, 1761) shows Zinzendorf influences, not only because of the theme but also in its language. It recounts the Passion of Christ in twenty-four chapters, each reflecting on one hour in the

5 Rolf Engelsing: Analphabetentum und Lektüre. Zur Sozialgeschichte des Lesens in Deutschland zwischen feudaler und industrieller Gesellschaft. Stuttgart 1973. 6 Johann Wolfgang von Goethe: Sämtliche Werke. Ed. Dieter Borchmeyer et al. Part 1, vol. 14: Aus meinem Leben, Dichtung und Wahrheit. Ed. Klaus-Detlef Müller, Frankfurt 1986, p. 370–71. 7 As told in the autobiography of Johann Andreas Claus (1731–1815): Lebenslauf eines vollendeten Dieners des Herren. In: Der Christliche Hausfreund 6 (1839). 8 Dietrich Meyer: Zinzendorf und Herrnhut. In: Der Pietismus im 18. Jahrhundert. Ed. Martin Brecht et al. Göttingen 1995, pp. 5–106. Zinzendorf’s influence and that of his followers (The Moravian Brethren) in the American colonies has been the topic of much study, e.g., Katherine Carté Engel: Religion and Profit. Moravians in Early America. Philadelphia 2010. See also: Pious Pursuits. German Moravians in the Atlantic World. Eds. Michele Gillespie, Robert Beachy. New York 2007. 9 Craig D. Atwood: Deep in the Side of Jesus. The Persistence of Zinzendorfian Piety in Colonial America. In: Gillespie and Beachy (fn. 8), pp. 50–64.

Chloe 46 114 Cornelia Niekus Moore last twenty-four hours of the life of Christ, from the arrest in the Garden of Gethsemane until the entombment.10 Throughout the ages, this has been a favorite topic of authors and artists, as it was in Charlotte Nebel’s time. In fact, many of the authors she mentions in her volume of essays had written passion literature in poetry as well as prose, including Charlotte’s father.11 What makes Charlotte Nebel’s work so appealing is the sympathetic way in which she approaches her subject. The story evolves in the very personal account by the author, addressing Christ in His final hours, giving a first-hand account of the action as it unfolds, meditating on what her mental eyes are seeing in a mixture of empathy, repentance, and rejoicing. The reader glides into this meditation as the written sentences pass before his/her eyes. Versöhnungstag went through two more printings (1765 and 1766). After that Henrich Nebel seemed to have lost interest in publishing his late wife’s work. The fact that he married again in 1768 may have had something to do with it.12 The promised editions of Charlotte’s letters and her diary did not occur. But Versöhnungstag had begun its journey, independent of the author or the editor. Unlike previous Protestant movements, Pietism took up the cause of Christian mission and migration, to spread the kingdom of God, as did Zinzendorf and his followers.13 Centers in Halle,14 Basel15 and later Berlin16 organized

10 Charlotta Elisabeth Nebelin: Der große Versöhnungstag. Zum heilsamen Gebrauch des Leidens und Sterbens Jesu Christi Auf die 24 Stunden eines jeglichen Tages angewendet. Ed. Henrich Christoph Nebel. Speyer / Leipzig 1763. 2nd and 3rd eds: 1765, 1766. 11 Johann Jakob Rambach: (fn. 38 and 39). 12 His second wife was the daughter of the local butcher: Johanetta Catharina Christina Scherer (1745–1826). I thank Margit Rinker-Olbrisch of the city archive in Worms for her information. 13 See the article by Ulrike Gleixner in this volume. 14 Thomas Müller-Bahlke: The Mission in India and the Worldwide Communication Network of the Halle Orphan-House. Halle and the Beginning of Protestant Christianity in India. Vol. 1: The Danish-Halle and the English-Halle Mission. Eds. Andreas Gross, Y. Vincent Kumardoss, Heike Liebau. Halle 2006, pp. 57– 79. Richard Pierard: The Influence of Pietism on Early English Missions in India. In: Alter Adam und Neue Kreatur. Pietismus und Anthropologie. Ed. Udo Sträter et al. Tübingen 2009, pp.499–509. 15 Wholeness in Christ. The Legacy of the Basel Mission in India. Ed. Godwin Shiri. Mangalore 1985. 16 Zwischen Wort und Tat. Beiträge zum 150. Todestag von Johannes Evangelista Gossner. Ed. Ulrich Schöntube. Neuendettelsau 2009. Klaus von Stieglitz: Der

Chloe 46 The Wanderings of a Devotional Book 115 missions as well as emigration, to start new communities in and to convert the original inhabitants of far-away lands. And in the cudgels of missionaries, emigrants and chiliasts, Charlotte Nebel’s volume found its place. A group of German farmers driven by failed harvests at home and chiliastic belief in Christ’s imminent return on Mount Ararat left their home state of Württemberg in 1816-1818 for southern Russia, lured by Czar Alexander’s offer of free land.17 One of the villages they founded south of the Caucasus was called Helenendorf. It was there in 1834, seventy years after its original publication, that a copy of Versöhnungstag was found in the possession of an old woman who had migrated there from Württemberg. To a visitor she declared it to be her favorite book. The visitor happened to be a young missionary of the Basel Mission that was supporting Protestant missions in the Caucasus, Africa and Asia. He recommended to the Basel headquarters that the book be republished. The old woman declared that she did not like to part with her copy, but she “brought this sacrifice, because of the blessings a new edition might bestow on many.”18 The new publication, edited by Wilhelm Köllner, was undertaken with the expressed intention for a wide distribution.19

unvollendete Auftrag. Mission am Beispiel der Gossner-Kirche in Indien. Stuttgart 1969. 17 After a difficult beginning, it was to flourish until the agrarian reforms of the early Soviet Union. See Ulrich Mohl: Schwäbischer Pioniergeist im Kaukasus - Die russlanddeutsche Kolonie Helenendorf. In: Schwäbische Heimat. 2002/3. Deutsche Siedler in Russland. In: Enzyklopädie der Migration in Europa vom 17. Jahrhundert bis zur Gegenwart. Ed. Klaus J. Bade. Paderborn 2008, p. 515. About the Basel Mission in the Caucasus see: Südrussland und Persien (Besonders Kaukasus 1820-1840). In: Führer zum Archiv der Baseler Mission. Basel 1980. 18 “Ihr ward dieses selten gewordene Buch so lieb, dass sie sich nicht gerne von ihm trennte, aber sie brachte das Opfer, als er ihr Hoffnung machte, es könnte vielleicht vielen zum Segen nochmals abgedruckt werden.“ (Foreword to the Basel edition of Versöhnungstag.) 19 Der Große Versöhnungs-Tag zum heilsamen Gebrauch des Leidens und Sterbens unsers Herrn Jesu Christi. Auf die 24 Stunden eines jeglichen Tages angewendet von Charlotta Elisabetha Nebelin geb. Rambachin. Durchgesehen und vervollständigt von Pfarrer W[ilhelm] Köllner nebst einem Vorwort von Missionar [Felician] Zaremba. Basel 1835. Wilhelm Matthäus Elias Köllner (1760–1835) was the first of a long line of pastors of that family who were active in the Basel mission. He died shortly after completing the revisions of Versöhnungstag. For Felician Zaremba see: Biographical Dictionary of Christian Missions. Ed. Gerald H. Anderson. New York 1998, p. 761.

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About his editing, Köllner wrote that he had only changed archaic expressions (veraltete Ausdrücke) and had shortened the lengthy prayers.20 But in doing so, he toned down the most egregious examples of Zinzendorf’s influence, namely the heavy emphasis on the wounds and the blood of Christ. By shortening the prayers the Basel editor diminished their meditative aspect. A frequent feature of meditations, namely, is the repetition of words and phrases as the meditator tries to find the right words to express the increasing intensity of the meditative experience. An extensive foreword about the discovery and republishing written by Felician Zaremba, a Polish nobleman and himself a missionary for the Basel society in the Caucasus replaced Henrich Nebel’s biographical account of the author. The book’s far-away discovery was deemed more interesting than the biographical account of the pastor’s wife in Worms with her failing health, her vacillations between rejoicing and repentance and her struggle to find enough time for meditation and the daily chores. Thus, cleansed of much of Zinzendorf’s language and of its meditative repetitiveness, and with a foreword hailing its interesting journey, the eighteenth-century editors presented their version to a new set of readers. They were proven right in its potential appeal. In the next thirty years, the Basel edition enjoyed five new printings (two in 1835, 1851, 1863, 1866). It was likely that with the worldwide distribution center of the Basel mission, Versöhnungstag would find its way into a wider world. It had been expressly republished for that purpose. And so it should come as no surprise that a British army wife, Helen Douglas Mackenzie, reports in her letters from India that she has just been handed a copy of the book by a German missionary, Mrs. Rudolph. Both Mrs. Rudolph and Mrs. Mackenzie were representatives of yet other groups of migrants, the former the wife of a missionary with ties to a Berlin missionary society, the latter the wife of an officer in the British colonial army. Mrs. Rudolph is mostly known through the comments of Helen Mackenzie: “A more perfect model of a missionary wife than dear Mrs. Rudolph I never expect to see. She was an excellent linguist, speaking several dialects, besides reading and speaking Hindostani perfectly. She was so indefatigable in teaching the orphan school, that

20 As quoted in the foreword to the Basel edition.

Chloe 46 The Wanderings of a Devotional Book 117 she never left the house but two evenings in the week.”21 Helen Douglas Mackenzie comes through loud and clear in her own account of life as a British army wife in Life in the Mission.22 She was a woman with strong opinions on various topics, including colonial policies, missionary activities, and religious dogma. During some times in her life, she was hard of hearing, but that did not stop her from quizzing the people she met on a variety of subjects and report the answers, often verbatim in her letters home. These later formed the basis of Life in the Mission. She read voraciously, traveled extensively and clearly believed in the British mission in India in which she participated by supporting her (somewhat pompous) husband in his army duties.23 For her the British presence in India could only be beneficial to the peninsula as it replaced a series of tyrannous reigns by foreign pagan dictators.24 She had also traveled extensively in Germany and was familiar with the current political, philosophical and religious trends there.25 On her way to help Mrs. Rudolph with the birth of her second child, she spent the two days traveling in a jhappan reading Ranke’s History of Prussia, which had just appeared in an

21 Life in the Mission (fn. 1), vol. 3, p. 15. 22 See fn. 1. 23 Helen Mackenzie wrote a highly flattering biography of her husband: Mrs. Colin Mackenzie: Storms and Sunshine of a Soldier’s Life. Lt. General Colin Mackenzie (1825–1881). 2 vols. Edinburgh 1884. Thomas Carlyle (also spelled Carlysle) gave a different view: “I enclose a letter from India which contains some rather interesting details of English Life at Loodiana. The Writer is a beautiful little deaf Lady who bestowed herself and fortune on that Capt. Mackenzie who was, after Lady Sale, our greatest Afghanistan Lion. I never saw such an instance of a woman loving a man ‘for the dangers he had passed’— The moment Capt. M. began his Tale, which he had to tell over at least once in every company; the little deaf wife, however occupied elsewhere, seemed to know by instinct, and would hasten towards him, and sit down with her ear within two inches of his mouth, and exhibit all the different phases of emotion which his narrative could possibly have excited in her at the first hearing—and all this without the least affectation in the world I really believe—she always struck me as a most sincere, natural little woman.” = Internet edition of The Duke- Edinburgh Collection of the collected letters of Thomas and June Welsh Carlysle. Vol. 23, pp. 46–48. 12 June 1848. 24 Esp. the foreword of the 1857 edition in one volume: Six years in India. Delhi: The City of the Great Mogul […] A new edition of “the Mission, The Camp, and the Zenana” by Mrs. Colin Mackenzie. London: Richard Bentley, New Burlington Street, 1857. 25 Helen Mackenzie. Storms (fn 23), vol. 2, pp. 12–22.

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English translation.26 Thus, when in August 1847 Helen Mackenzie undertook to translate a German religious work into English, she was anything but apologetic. As she wrote in a letter to a friend in far-away England:

Yesterday I sent off half of a translation I have been engaged in for some time past. It is of a German book called “Der Grosse Versöhnungs Tag” [sic] lent to me by Mrs. Rudolph, and consists of a meditation and prayer for each of the 24 hours of the last day of our Redeemer’s pilgrimage on earth. It is very simple and affecting and I found it so profitable thus to dwell on each portion of our adorable Saviour’s suffering for our sake, that I thought a translation of it might be useful to many at home. And if it be instrumental in leading any to see more of that love of Christ which passeth knowledge, what a cause of thankfulness it will be, and the chain of events which caused its publication will be a source of praise. […] Now in this remote corner of the East, it falls into my hands to be translated. May God give the increase.27

In these lines, Helen Mackenzie expressed what she considered most important, the “simple and affecting” way the content has been presented, its ability to engage the reader to “dwell” on the Passion, and not least of all its round-about way of travel and the multiple rediscoveries that brought the book into her hands. The language of religious literature is often formulaic, its references Biblical, its cadence rhetorical. Charlotte Nebel’s personal style had largely avoided this, indeed her language often bordered on colloquial speech patterns, only modified by the obvious respect she bore the suffering Christ. Helen Mackenzie stayed true to this kind of language, replacing German hymns with well-known English couplets. Like the Basel editor, she too had little patience with the original repetitions and she paraphrased what she considered redundant. Thus the work changed further from a series of intense

26 Life in the Mission (fn 1), vol. 3, p. 13. Leopold von Ranke: Memoirs of the House of Brandenburg and History of Prussia. Transl. Sir Alex and Lady Duff Gordon. London 1849, 3 vols. German title: Neun Bücher preussischer Geschichte. Berlin 1848. A Jhappan or Jampan is a sort of sedan chair with removable curtains and canopy. For a journey eight bearers are requisite with a head bearer who steadies it and holds an umbrella. Helen Mackenzie mentions only one bearer. Sadly Mrs. Rudolph died shortly after giving birth. 27 Life in the Mission (fn 1), vol. 1, p. 338.

Chloe 46 The Wanderings of a Devotional Book 119 meditations to a pious reader. Whereas the Basel editors had removed much of Zinzendorf’s expressions, the British translator was a Presbyterian, whose church of preference was the Church of Scotland. However, just like the German missionaries who worked in India under the auspices of the Church of England, Helen Mackenzie, who was well-read in theology, seemed to have found little she disapproved of in Versöhnungstag. The foreword does not emphasize that the author is a woman. But here was a woman translating another woman’s work that had previously been found in the possession of yet another woman. As a translator, Helen Douglas Mackenzie fit the prototype of her gender and of the time. Women had a long tradition as readers and translators of religious poetry.28 Translations of religious works were also encouraged as the Oxford Movement in the Church of England sought to encourage reading religious works to combat “national apostasy and to revitalize the Anglican Church.”29 As a translator from the German, Mackenzie’s efforts were part of a wave of similar translations, most notably of the German Classics, but also of philosophy and historiography.30 Some of these translators were women.31 Helen Mackenzie’s translation was, therefore, helped along to its publication by movements and traditions in the far-away home country. In one way, Helen Douglas Mackenzie did not fit the pattern. Increasingly missionaries and colonial servants whose profession led

28 Sherry Simon: Gender in Translation. In: The Oxford Guide to Literature in English Translation. Ed. Peter France. Oxford 2000, pp. 26–33. For American reading habits, see Mary Kelley: Crafting Subjectivities: Women, Reading, and Self-Imagining. In: Reading Women. Literacy, Authorship and Culture in the Atlantic World. Eds. Heidi Brayman Hackel et al. Pittsburgh 2008, pp. 55–71. See also: Brett C. McInelly: “I had rather be obscure. But I dare not.” Women and Methodism in the Eighteenth Century. In: Everyday Revolutions. Eighteenth- Century Women Transforming Public and Private. Eds. Diane E. Boyd and Marta Kvande. Newark 2008, pp. 135–158. 29 Peter France: Amateurs and Enthusiasts. In: The Oxford History of Literary Translation in English. Vol. 4 (1790–1900). Eds. Peter France, Kenneth Haynes. Oxford 2006, pp. 98–104. See also Kenneth Haynes: Christian Texts. In: Ibid., vol. 4 (1790–1900), pp. 443–50. 30 Including Thomas Carlyle (fn. 23) who wrote essays on and translations of the works of Goethe. See David Constantine: Literatures of Medieval and Modern Europe: German. In: The Oxford History (fn. 29), vol. 4, pp. 211–214. 31 E.g., Frances Anne Head who translated Klopstock. See David Constantine (fn. 30), p. 214.

Chloe 46 120 Cornelia Niekus Moore them to foreign soils and an acquaintance with foreign cultures would add to the body of translations from and into the languages they encountered. Helen Mackenzie did not do this. She expressly intended her translation of German material for “those at home” meaning Britain. Fascinated as she was with the foreign and exotic Indian locales, a fascination that shines through in her Life in the Mission, it was the fascination of the exotic surroundings and living conditions. Neither she nor the much revered Mrs. Rudolph (who spoke the local language) ever expressed any interest in translating Western documents for Indian consumption or vice versa.32 The translation appeared in 1858 in London: The Great Day of Atonement: or Meditations and Prayers on the Last Twenty-Four Hours of the Sufferings and Death of our Lord.33 Since the inception of the translation in 1847, Helen Douglas Mackenzie had become a published author with Life in the Mission in 1853. This publication, which went through several editions, is mentioned on the front cover of Atonement. Somewhat later she was also to publish the biography of her husband Colin Mackenzie, highlighting his career as an officer in the colonial British army.34 As could be expected, Atonement was soon on its way to the United States, where it was republished in Boston in 1859 and — with a slightly different title — in 1870.35 Since the Boston Publishers (Gould and Lincoln) added a list of their other publications on the last page of Atonement, we see the variety of Passion literature that was published at that time, and realize how well Nebel’s book fit into this then popular genre. In 2009, it was

32 On cross-cultural translations see: Translation East and West: A Cross-Cultural Approach. Eds. Cornelia N. Moore, Lucy Lower. Honolulu 1991. See also Nandini Bhattacharya: Reading the Splendid Body, Gender and Consumerism in Eighteenth-Century British Writing on India. Newark 1998. Indian women are largely absent from Mackenzie’s Life in the Mission. 33 The Great Day of Atonement or Meditations and Prayers on the Last Twenty- Four Hours of the Sufferings and Death of Our Lord [...] Translated from the German of Charlotte Elisabeth Nebelin. Edited by Mrs. Colin Mackenzie, Author of “Delhi, or Six Years in India” etc. London 1858 (1857). 34 See fn. 23. 35 The Great Day of Atonement or Meditations and Prayers on the Last Twenty- Four Hours of the Sufferings and Death of Our Lord. Translated from the German of Charlotte Elisabeth Nebelin. Edited by Mrs. Colin Mackenzie, Author of “Delhi, or Six Years in India.” Boston 1859. Edition of 1870: Gethsemane or Meditations and Prayers on the Last Hours of the Sufferings and Death of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. Ed. by Mrs. Colin Mackenzie. Boston 1870.

Chloe 46 The Wanderings of a Devotional Book 121 published again, as a photo-copy of the Boston 1758 publication.36 Before we applaud this printing as a revival of Christian meditative literature and the writings of Charlotte Elizabeth Nebelin, we better note the caveat of the American publisher. It will print a copy only when the book is ordered. A copy is also available as a google book on the internet. Still, these modern publications give access to an author who never left her native Germany, but whose meditative musings on the Passion of Christ wandered from continent to continent and provided its readers, especially women with “simple and affecting” meditations.37 The works of Charlotte’s father, Johann Jakob Rambach had taken a more direct route from the continent to Britain, but the publication history of (for instance) his Meditations on the suffering of Christ, resembles Nebel’s. Rambach’s Meditations on the Sufferings of Christ, actually a collection of meditations that had been published separately before, went through several German editions, until it was translated into English in 1759.38 Like the works of his daughter, later editions of Rambach’s work were often shortened, abridged and abstracted to keep up with changing tastes in the new century.39

36 Whitefish, MT 2009. On the front cover, the translator/editor is erroneously listed as Colin Mackenzie. 37 A French translation came out in 1946, translated by G. Bouttier, a Lutheran pastor and himself the author of a prayer book. It is illustrated with prints by Albrecht Dürer, thereby facilitating its original purpose of meditation. Its title: Méditations sur la Passion: Les 24 heures du Grand Jour de la Rédemption. Strasbourg 1946. 38 The basis for the English translation was the Jena edition of 1750 with an introduction by Johann Philip Fresenius (1705–1761), superintendent in Frankfurt, and an energetic adversary of the Zinzendorf influences among his Frankfurt parishioners. Johann Jakob Rambach (1693–1735): Betrachtungen über das gantze Leiden Christi. Jena 1750. Identical publ. 1754. Although he is not given credit, the publication may have been based on editions executed by Henrich Nebel. English translation: Considerations on the sufferings of Christ, 3 vols. London 1759. Fresenius’s foreword is included in the English edition that appeared in London 1763. Other editions: London 1820, 1827. 39 Pious aspirations for the use of devout communicants […] extracted from the English edition of the three vols of the Rev. Mr. J. Rambach. London 1760. Also: Meditations on the Sufferings of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ […] an Abridgment. Ed. Jonathan Gray. York 1819. This is the edition that is presently available as a reprint from Kessinger Publications (Whitefish, MT). In the 1827 edition, Benson is credited as the editor, whereupon J. Gray protested that it was

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The first American edition: Meditations and Contemplations on the Sufferings of Our Lord and Saviour went back to the 1763 English edition and was published in 1811. to be followed by a Germantown, PA edition in 1833.The sample is rather small, but it should be noted that Rambach’s works were also published by small presses in places that had close ties to the German missions. One generation later, Charlotte Nebel’s Atonement was published in a city with a large German population but not necessarily associated with German missions. The great German migrations to the new world had begun, the assimilation of the German emigrants as well. Their books in the original and in translation followed the paths they had trodden.

based on his own work: Mr. J. Gray’s Remarks on the Publication of a new Edition. York 1827.

Chloe 46 R e b e k k a H a b e r m a s

ISLAM DEBATES AROUND 1900: COLONIES IN AFRICA, MUSLIMS IN BERLIN, AND THE ROLE OF MISSIONARIES AND ORIENTALISTS

Abstract

Around 1900 German orientalists, missionaries and representatives of colonial pressure groups started a debate about the so-called Moslem world. This debate created new spaces, connecting Africa, Europe and the Ottoman Empire: It equally shaped and was shaped by old and newly invented religious traditions and it made and was made by changing coalitions between political, academic and economic interests of transnational scientific associations, local African societies and by worldwide organized missionary groups. Above all this debate shows surprising connections to current discussions and thereby provides an insight into the ongoing German discussions about modern migration and the role of religion.

The German Empire took a far greater interest in questions of religion than we long believed, since contemporaries like Max Weber focused so intently on secularization. What is more, religion played such an important role that at certain times it even took center stage, as in the “culture wars” referred to collectively — and inadequately — as Kulturkampf in earlier research. These conflicts included the debate about anti-Semitism and the pilgrimage disputes, arguments over the Maigesetze, and accusations against ostensibly sexually crazed Jesuits.1 A considerable body of research now exists about these large

1 I thank Roman Loimeier (Göttingen) for his reading and suggestions, and as always, Tobias Mertke and Karolin Oppermann for many corrections. See David Blackbourn: Wenn ihr sie wieder seht, fragt wer sie sei. Marienerscheinungen in Marpingen. Aufstieg und Niedergang des deutschen Lourdes. Reinbek b. Hamburg 1997; Helmut W. Smith: German Nationalism and Religious Conflict. Culture, Ideology, Politics, 1870–1914. Princeton 1995; Culture Wars. Secular- Catholic Conflict in Nine-teenth-Century Europe. Eds. Christopher Clark, Wolfram Kaiser. Cambridge 2003; Uffa Jensen: Gebildete Doppelgänger. Bürgerliche Juden und Protestanten im 19. Jahrhundert. Göttingen 2005.

Chloe 46 124 Rebekka Habermas and small battles between Protestant, Catholic, and Jewish forces.2 Until now, however, it has been largely overlooked that Imperial Germany engaged in disputes not only about Catholicism, Protestantism and Judaism, but also Islam.3 As this essay will show, it was in the German empire that interest in Islam began to grow, and the first so-called Islam debates took place. Perhaps the most important debate over Islam of the empire took place in the first decade of the twentieth century, a dispute that in some ways bears an uncanny resemblance to present-day discussions about Islam. Then, as now, attention focused primarily on the possible dangers Islam might pose; then, as now, the potential for violence in Islam stands at the heart of the debate.

2 Manuel Borutta: Der innere Orient: Antikatholizismus als Orientalismus in Deutschland, 1781–1924. In: Religion und Grenzen in Indien und Deutschland. Eds. Monica Juneja , Margrit Pernau. Göttingen 2008, pp. 245–273; Manuel Borutta: Genealogie der Säkularisierungstheorie. Zur Historisierung einer großen Erzählung der Moderne. In: Geschichte und Gesellschaft 36 (2010), pp. 347–76. See the standard work by Michael B. Gross: The War against Catholicism. Liberalism and the Anti-Catholic Imagination in Nineteenth-Century Germany. Ann Arbor 2004; cf. the overview in: Rebekka Habermas: Piety, Power, and Powerlessness: Religion and Religious Groups in Germany 1870–1945. In: Oxford Handbook of Modern German History. Ed. Helmut Walser Smith. Oxford 2011, pp.457–84. 3 Available essays on the Islam debate include Holger Weiss: German Images of Islam in West Africa. In: Sudanic Africa 11 (2000), pp. 53–93 and same: Variations in the colonial representation of Islam and Muslims in Northern Ghana, ca. 1900–1930. In: Journal of Muslim Minority Affairs 25 (2005), pp. 73–95; also Per Hassing: Islam at the German Colonial Congresses. In: The Muslim World 67 (1977), pp. 165–74. Hassing admittedly does not explore the role of the debate in the history of the German Empire, but rather, colonial representations of Islam. Suzanne L. Marchand: German Orientalism in the Age of Empire. Religion, Race, and Scholarship. Washington, D.C. 2009, touches on this when discussing the Orientalists Hartmann und Becker, also Sabine Mangold: Eine “weltbürgerliche Wissenschaft.” Die deutsche Orientalistik im 19. Jahrhundert. Stuttgart 2004; and Andrew F. Walls: Africa as the Theatre of Christian Engagement with Islam in the Nineteenth Century. In: Journal of Religion in Africa 29 (1999), pp. 155–74, on Islam debates in nineteenth-century England. Cf. also Roman Loimeier: Afrika in der deutschen Islamwissenschaft. In: Das Unbehagen in der Islamwissenschaft. Ed. Abbas Poya, Maurus Reinkowski. Bielefeld 2008, pp. 119-35. At the last minute I was also able to consult the important volume by Alexander Haridi: Das Paradigma der ‚iranischen Zivilisation’ — oder die Begründung der deutschen Islamwissenschaft durch Carl Heinrich Becker (1876–1933). Würzburg 2005.

Chloe 46 Islam Debates around 1900 125

Part one of the essay explores precisely how this debate unfurled in Imperial Germany, and examines who was responsible for promulgating which positions, and thereby for creating very specific notions about Islam and about Muslims. I argue that these debates were rooted in a fundamental consensus containing many elements of classic Orientalism, yet also struck new chords with their focus on religion. My second thesis, to be developed in part two of the essay, is that these debates were influenced by an academic climate specific to Germany, a series of novel large-scale German research projects, the status of missions at the time, and the unique colonial situation of Imperial Germany around 1900. In a third and final section, I consider whether today’s debates appear in a different light when viewed against this historical background, and, in conclusion, ask if it is possible to interpret them as the religious assessments of a society that views itself as secular, yet is more rooted in colonial-historical traditions than we have thus far acknowledged.

I Islam Debates

The central Islam debate of the German Empire reached its first critical point in 1905 when the Colonial Congress addressed the topic “Islam as a Problem.” 4 It was here for instance that Julius Richter, a representative of the Berlin Missionary Society, delivered a lecture on “Islam as a danger for our African colonies,” and Dr. Froberger, the provincial superior of the White Fathers from Trier, asked: ”What cultural value does Islam have for colonial development?” The Colonial Congress had convened for the first time in 1902 as a meeting of citizens interested in colonial affairs, and had been so successful that additional meetings were scheduled for 1905 and 1910. In 1905, more than 2000 men and women gathered in the Berlin Reichstag, where scholars, colonial public officials, missionaries, and members of associations devoted to colonial matters delivered speeches about pertinent colonial topics. In attendance were prominent members of the German Colonial Society, headed by their

4 In 1910 Becker published an essay with this title that also served as an editorial in his new journal. Carl H. Becker: Der Islam als Problem. In: Der Islam 1 (1910), pp. 1–21.

Chloe 46 126 Rebekka Habermas chairman Johann Albrecht zu Mecklenburg, but also other representatives of the high nobility and the cultural and political elite of the German Empire, together with the most important business people and bankers in colonial trade.5 A total of some 100 organizations and associations took part in the event, including various missionary societies and representatives of missionary orders. Islam remained an important topic after this Congress as well. In 1906 several missionaries published articles in national daily newspapers on the pressing issue of how to gain control over the dangers posed by “Mohammedanism,” which appeared to be continually spreading in the German colonies.6 The debate reached a second critical point in 1910 when, together with various missionaries, the most prominent German Orientalist at the time Carl Heinrich Becker used the Colonial Congress as a platform for a lecture about the “Spread of Islam.” At the Congress Becker also proposed a resolution in which he evoked the “serious danger” of an increasingly aggressive Islam. At the same time — and probably influenced by precisely these debates — Max Weber started becom- ing interested in Islam.7 Other German scholars also published some initial ideas on how to use surveys as the basis for larger-scale research projects on the contemporary situation in the Muslim world.8 In addition, a growing number of newspapers focused on “Mohammedans” as they were called at the time. In short, not only scholars and representatives of colonial or missionary associations began to develop an interest in Islam; instead, it increasingly became the focus of broader public interest. What exactly were these debates about, and who shaped them? Holgar Weiss has contended that the discussions were dominated by

5 Hassing (fn. 3); Weiss 2000 (fn. 3), pp. 60 f. and on the Colonial Congresses also Rathgen: Deutsche Kolonialkongresse. In: Deutsches Koloniallexikon. Ed. Heinrich Schnee. Leipzig 1920, vol. 1, p. 309. 6 Die Haussa in den Schutzgebieten Kamerun und Togo. In: Deutsche Reichszeitung. Bonner Stadtanzeiger of 9 October1906. 7 Max Webers Sicht des Islams. Interpretation und Kritik. Ed. Wolfgang Schluchter. Frankfurt a. M. 1987. Weber plays a role here insofar as Becker belonged to the circle of friends around Max Weber. 8 Weiss (2000, p. 92 f., fn. 3) looks at Becker‘s studies from 1908, and also empirical studies by Martin Hartmann that are based on a survey reprinted in the 1911 announcements of the Seminar for Oriental Languages and entitled “Zur Islamausbreitung in Afrika.”

Chloe 46 Islam Debates around 1900 127 two clearly delineated positions: missionaries on the one side, who underscored primarily the negative implications of Islam; and on the other side researchers like Carl Heinrich Becker, who emphasized the positive effects of Islam.9 Indeed, at least at first glance it does look as though two different basic perspectives on Islam had developed in the debates. Missionaries often equated Islam with enslavement, the slave trade, slave traders and polygamy10 — a line of argument frequently and vigorously pursued in the 1880s, and going back at least as far as the campaign waged in the 1880s by Cardinal Lavigerie, the founder of the White Fathers. Missionaries further claimed that Muslims were particularly fanatical “anti-colonial, politically destructive vermin”11

9 See Weiss 2000 (fn. 3). 10 Amandus Acker: Über einige Mittel zur allmählichen Abschaffung der Sklaverei. In: Verhandlungen des Deutschen Kolonialkongresses 1902 zu Berlin am 10. und 11. Oktober 1902. Berlin 1903, pp. 452–59, here p. 456; W. Schmidt: Die Behandlung der Polygamie in unseren Kolonien. In: Verhandlungen des Deutschen Kolonialkongresses 1902 zu Berlin am 10. und 11. Oktober 1902. Berlin 1903, pp. 467–79, here p. 467; Julius Richter: Der Islam. Eine Gefahr für unsere afrikanischen Kolonien. In: Verhandlungen des Deutschen Kolonialkongresses 1905 in Berlin am 5., 6. und 7. Oktober 1905. Berlin 1906, pp. 510–27, here p. 519; Erich Schultze: Soll Deutsch-Ostafrika christlich oder mohammedanisch werden? Eine Frage an das deutsche Volk, zugleich ein Wort der Aufklärung über die Gefahr der Islamisierung unserer größten Kolonie und den einzigen Weg zu ihrer Rettung. Berlin 1913, p. 52 ff. 11 The Catholic Hubert Hansen uses this phrasing in one of his articles. Hubert Hansen: Welche Aufgaben stellt die Ausbreitung des Islam den Missionen und Ansiedlern in den deutschen Kolonien? (mit anschließender Diskussion). In: Verhandlungen des Deutschen Kolonialkongresses 1910 zu Berlin am 6., 7. und 8. Oktober 1910. Berlin 1910, pp. 652-73, here p. 659. On this kind of rhetoric cf. also Schmidt 1903 (fn. 10), p. 471; Richter (fn. 10), p. 519: “Ein islamitisches Afrika ist deshalb eine beständige Gefahr; [...] Zündstoff der religiösen Erhebung, des Dschihad, kann jeden Augenblick zu lodernden Flammen des Glaubenskrieges angefacht werden;” also Josef Froberger: Welches ist der Kulturwert des Islam für koloniale Entwicklung? (Koreferat.). In: Verhandlungen des Deutschen Kolonialkongresses 1905 zu Berlin am 5., 6. und 7. Oktober 1905. Berlin 1906, pp. 527-38, here p. 531; Karl Axenfeld: Die Ausbreitung des Islam in Afrika und ihre Bedeutung für die deutschen Kolonien. In: Verhandlungen des Deutschen Kolonialkongresses 1910 zu Berlin am 6., 7. und 8. Oktober 1910. Berlin 1910, pp. 629-38, here p. 635: “Schon der ostafrikanische Aufstand von 1905 hatte einen zwar verborgenen, aber starken islamischen Einschlag.” The same negative argument concerning Islam and its effect on the business world can be found in Martin Hartmann: Islam, Mission, Politik. Leipzig 1912, pp. 30–31.

Chloe 46 128 Rebekka Habermas who were also quite gullible to boot. Finally, Muslims were represented as unreliable workers and “brake shoes” on economic development. 12 Finally, missionaries warned that the German nation had reason to fear the rapid spread of Islam in at least three of its colonies: first and foremost in German East Africa, but also in Togo and Cameroon.13 In contrast to these primarily negative attributions, orientalists like Carl Heinrich Becker and Julius Lippert stressed that Islam had made “a considerable cultural contribution in Africa.”14 Becker wrote for example that Islam had helped transform “savages” into “human beings,” in that “it has led them out of an ethnic collectivism into individualism,”15 especially since Arabs are “superior to the black population as a race and a culture.” 16 Though missionaries and Orientalists did evaluate some things differently,17 they nonetheless had more in common than it seems at first glance. Moreover — and this is my second point — unlike Holgar Weiss I contend that the importance of this debate cannot be reduced to the notion that one side emphasized the positive effects and the other the potential dangers of Islam. Rather, the real significance of the debate consists in the fact that here, Islam itself is put on the agenda. Before this time Islam had received no special attention in either relevant travel reports or in adventure stories à la Karl May, nor in high-profile public debates, let alone become a controversial topic outside scholarly circles. Up until this time the

12 Hansen (fn. 11), p. 658. 13 Axenfeld 1910 (fn. 11, p. 629) writes of “planlosen, aber in ihrer Gesamtwirkung überaus erfolgreichen Vorstösse[n] des nordafrikanischen Islam;” Richter (fn. 10, p. 512) likewise postulates the danger of a “Vordringen[s] der Araber.” 14 Carl H. Becker: Staat und Mission in der Islampolitik. In: Verhandlungen des Deutschen Kolonialkongresses 1910 zu Berlin am 6., 7. und 8. Oktober 1910. Berlin 1910, pp. 639–51, here p. 645. 15 Ibid. 16 Ibid., p. 647; also Carl H. Becker: Der Islam und die Kolonialisierung Afrikas. In: Internationale Wochenschrift für Kunst und Technik 4 (1910), pp. 227-51, here p. 246: “Es kann kein Zweifel darüber bestehen, daß die Zivilisation des Islams, der des Negers überlegen, der unsrigen aber unterlegen ist.” On Becker‘s ideas about “Islamic civilization” see Haridi (fn. 3), pp. 30–79. 17 Scholars claimed in particular that their knowledge was objective and therefore true: “Ich sprach als neutraler Gelehrter, als objektiver Forscher, nicht als Anwalt der Mission[.]” is Becker’s response to the accusations of a mission representative in a debate at the Colonial Congress of 1910. Hansen 1910 (fn. 11), p. 671.

Chloe 46 Islam Debates around 1900 129 general public had encountered the “Orient” primarily in the form of harem descriptions, reports of lazy or selectively lascivious Orientals or long-since declined high cultures, and Islam had hardly been the focus of intensive study beyond academic circles.18 Let us begin with the commonalities between scholarly and missionary viewpoints. Wherein do they lie? First, researchers and missionaries alike equated Islam with slavery and the slave trade, just as in the discussions of the 1880s that were shaped so decisively by Cardinal Lavigerie.19 Both missionaries and scholars like Carl Heinrich Becker claimed that the east African slave trade was in the firm grip of Arab hands.20 It goes without saying that both groups

18 In their style of argumentation and professional identity, academic Orientalists did not fail to underscore the difficulties involved in analysis. The few researchers interested in contemporary phenomena worked more on non- religious areas such as economic or social aspects of the “Arab world.” In contrast to the missionaries, they also took an interest in diverse political, social and religious structures. They tried to take into account what “infinitely complex relations” existed in Islamic countries that were “defined only in part by religion,” to use Hartmann’s words. Cf. Hartmann 1912 (fn. 11), p. 37. For this reason, their explanations also differ; Becker for instance frequently cites economic interests. In “Materialien zur Kenntnis,” for example, he claims that Indians are interested in the spread of Islam for economic reasons, so that as cloth merchants they might sell more fabric. After all, he points out, Islam has strict clothing requirements, and the Islamic population will therefore need a great deal of fabric. Cf. Carl H. Becker: Islamstudien. Vom Werden und Wesen der islamischen Welt. vol. 2 (reprint of the Leipzig 1932 edition), Hildesheim 1967, p.71. 19 Gustav Warneck: Die Stellung der evangelischen Mission zur Sklavenfrage. Gütersloh 1889, and the study by Rebekka Habermas: Wissenstransfer und Mission. Sklavenhändler, Missionare und Religionswissenschaftler. In: Geschichte und Gesellschaft 36 (2010), pp. 257–84; on the actual elimination of slavery in German East Africa and the less than honorable role played by the German government, cf. Jan-Georg Deutsch: Emancipation without Abolition in German East Africa, c. 1884–1914. Oxford 2006. A more detailed differentiation of various positions within the developing field of Islamic Studies around 1900 would doubtless reveal important differences between individual scholars; cf. for example Haridi (fn. 3), pp. 69–79. Without wishing to deny these differences, even a more detailed investigation would still show that Hartmann and Becker share the same basic axioms of an “Islam” that is distinguished by being “fanatisch, kulturlos, despotisch und faul” (Haridi, fn. 3, p. 78). 20 Carl H. Becker: Materialien zur Kenntnis des Islam in Deutsch-Ostafrika. In: Der Islam 2 (1911), pp. 1–48, also Becker 1967 (fn. 18), p. 73: “Sklaven wurden gekauft und geraubt, und es begannen jetzt jene in Westafrika schon früher

Chloe 46 130 Rebekka Habermas were morally outraged over this alleged fact, since slavery — in the picture they painted of themselves — was alien to the very core of civilized societies, a view that conveniently overlooked not only the past, but contemporary European practices as well.21 Both groups also shared the idea that particularly in Africa, Islam was a superficial religion for gullible people with a proclivity for magical practices. Like the missionaries, Becker and other Orientalists never tired of stressing the importance of amulets and other magic objects, and worked diligently to describe as precisely as possible different forms of witchcraft, which they understood to be typical phenomena of African Islam.22 A third shared assumption — and one that carried a menacing undertone whenever it was evoked — concerned the supposedly ubiquitous impulse of Islam to spread throughout all of Africa, but especially in German East Africa and in northern Togo. 23 Thus Carl Heinrich Becker writes that “the fact — the spread of Islam [RH] — is irrefutable.” This putative spread seemed particularly threatening because it was felt to increase the chance of uprisings. Behind this belief was the notion that anti- colonial uprisings could be traced directly to Islamic propaganda.24

bestehenden Verhältnisse, die zur Antisklavereibewegung und schließlich zur Besetzung und Aufteilung Afrikas führten.” 21 Cf. the impressive work by Deutsch (fn. 19), who reconstructs both the Reichstag debates and practices in German East Africa. Deutsch also shows how tightly the German colonial government and to some extent also the missions clung to slavery; and most importantly, that the end of slavery was by no means the outcome of German or European policies, but “a result of the prolonged struggle between owners and slaves, in which slaves tried to make the best of the limited choices and opportunities available to them” (p. 242). 22 Becker 1967 (fn. 18), p. 97 thus writes: “Kein Zweig der islamischen Wissenschaften ist für das Verständnis der großen Rolle, die der Islam in Afrika spielt, so wichtig wie die Geheimwissenschaft, die Magie im weitesten Umfang des Wortes.” A different debate concerns the emphasis that Becker and others placed on the idea that in Africa there was no form of Islam like that found in the Koran. They stress the diversity of different practices and the idea that nowhere do these adhere strictly to the Koran; cf. Schultze 1913 (fn. 10), p. 9 f. 23 Schultze 1913 (fn. 10), pp. 15 ff. Becker (1967, fn. 18, p. 71) is also a good example, in that his second question already addresses the “spread and character” of Islam, and its spread is affirmed. 24 The quote is from Becker 1911 (fn. 20), p. 10. Becker (1967, fn. 18, pp. 108 ff.) stresses on the one hand that Islam had played no role in the 1905 uprising in German East Africa, yet then goes on to present a document in extenso that establishes precisely that connection. Becker argues in a similarly slippery

Chloe 46 Islam Debates around 1900 131

Again, this conviction was shared by missionaries25 and scholars alike.26 Additional shared basic assumptions also existed, and while these may be less obvious at first glance, they are certainly no less important for the argument as a whole. There was general agreement for instance that blacks should be regarded as inferior not only to European Christians, but also to the African Muslim population. Missionaries and Islam researchers agreed on this point since both groups used a model of civilization in which the categories of race and religious belief were linked.27 At work here is the notion that on the one hand, Islam was just as superior to animistic religions as “Arabs” were to “Africans.” On the other hand it also becomes clear that that Africans per se were presumed not to be Muslims, and that Islam was a non-African religion. Finally, missionaries and researchers were in agreement insofar as they both ascribed to

fashion in an article in Koloniale Rundschau. Carl H. Becker: Ist der Islam eine Gefahr für unsere Kolonien? In: Koloniale Rundschau 1 (1909), pp. 266-93: “Aber örtlich begrenzt, z. B. auf Westafrika, ist der Islam eine gewisse Gefahr.” (p. 284). “Alles in allem genommen ist der Islam im Sinne des islamischen Staatsideals keine politische Gefahr weder in West- noch in Ostafrika, wenn man darunter eine Bedrohung des deutschen Besitzes versteht. Zweifellos aber birgt diese Lehre einen Brennstoff, der zu einer lokalen Gefahr werden kann. Ihr kann man nur durch schonende Behandlung der religiösen Gefühle und zweitens durch eine sorgfältige Beobachtung des religiösen Lebens und seiner führenden Männer begegnen.” (p. 285). 25 See Hansen 1910 (fn. 11), p. 655, who postulates that “islamische Propagandatätigkeit eine vorwiegend politische ist, und zwar mit ausgesprochen antieuropäischer Tendenz”. 26 See Hartmann 1912 (see fn. 11), p. 34: “Predigt der Islam Feindschaft und Haß gegen alle Andersgläubigen [...]. Das ist eine schwere Gefahr […].;” also p. 44: “Es liegt unzweifelhaft in dem Wesen des Islam als ecclesia militans eine politische Gefahr”. 27 Cf. Hansen 1910 (fn. 11), p. 655; Becker 1910 (fn. 16): “Man sage nicht, das sei törichter Aberglaube, den es auszurotten gilt: es sind die natürlichen Denkformen des Negers. […] Der Kultus des Islam, der weder Bilder noch Sakramente kennt, führte zu einer Magie des Wortes […] So öffnet sich der Neger unter dem Formalismus seines Denkens ganz naturgemäß dem Islam.” (p. 236) “Aber der Islam bietet dem Neger noch andere Vorteile. Er dringt vor, indem er sich den Sitten anpasst [...]. Der Neger kopiert alles, was er bei anderen sieht, die er für ihm überlegen hält” (pp. 238); Schultze 1913 (fn. 10), p. 13: “Der Neger, dessen Animismus vor dem Eindringen des westlichen Geistes zerbröckelt wie die Mumie an der Zugluft, sucht nach einem neuen Fundamente für seine haltlos gewordene Existenz, und der Islam bietet sie ihm dar.”

Chloe 46 132 Rebekka Habermas

Muslims an extremely restricted agency: Muslims, it was assumed, acted either almost reflexively out of economic motives, or because they had fallen prey to a magical form of religious belief, but not because they as Muslims were human beings endowed with intelligence and the ability to act rationally or even analytically.28 To summarize my main argument: aside from some minor differences that will be discussed shortly, especially concerning the issue of fanaticism,29 the Islam debate was not so much a dispute between scholars and missionaries as a debate informed by a consensus that an ontological and essentialist difference existed between the Muslim and the Christian world. According to this consensus the Muslim world was defined by the slave trade, superficial and magic elements of faith, polygamous practices, the complete absence of agency, and the fact that Islam threatened to overrun the African colonies and then all of Europe. At the same time it was presumed that Africans by definition were inferior to Islam, and therefore could not really be Muslims themselves. This also helped solidify a particular image of European civilization, one that did not include slavery, polygamy and superstition.30 What’s more – and herein lies a further importance of the debate — the religious dimensions of issues addressed in Orientalism debates now came to the fore.

28 In this regard an interesting comparison can be made with English and French research at that time, that takes a very different approach. Also noteworthy is an article by the missionary Klamroth, in which he recounts a religious discussion with a black “Mohammedan,” and at least allows him to speak as a theological conversation partner. Martin Klamroth: Religionsgespräche mit einem Führer der Daressalamer Mohammedaner. In: Allgemeine Missionszeitschrift. Beiblatt 40 (1913), pp. 65–80. 29 Unlike missionaries, scholars of Islam deemed it necessary to make frequent claims that the “Mohammedan” could quickly turn toward fanaticism; cf. Becker 1909 (fn. 24), p. 287: he argues here that everything possible must be done “daß er keine fanatische Färbung erhält.” On Hartmann’s ideas about fanaticism, see Haridi (fn. 3), pp. 75. 30 Concerning slavery, cf. Deutsch (fn. 19), who sketches the importance of German colonial rule in upholding slavery.

Chloe 46 Islam Debates around 1900 133

II Orientalisms and the Role of Missionaries

The Islam debate at the beginning of the twentieth century was thus part of a long and unique tradition of Orientalism described by Edward Said, a tradition characterized first and foremost by its ontological and epistemological differentiation between Orient and Occident. This tradition gave rise to a discourse of “dominating, restructuring, and having authority over the Orient,” 31 but Said also underscored another side of Orientalism, namely, “that European culture gained in strength and identity by setting itself off against the Orient as a sort of surrogate and even underground self.” 32 In contrast to what Said wrote in 1970, we know today that this form of Orientalism existed not only in England and France but also in Germany. Here, too, we can trace a growing fascination with the exotic world of barbarous, fanatical, irrational and lascivious men and women of the Orient. At the same time, the Orient was widely admired because of its long and venerable cultural traditions. The educated middle class broadened its horizons, which had previously stopped with ancient Greece and Rome, discovered the tales of the Arabian Nights, examined the life of Christ, and started

31 Gottfried Hagen: German Heralds of Holy War. Orientalists and Applied Oriental Studies. In: Comparative Studies of South Asia, Africa and the Middle East 24 (2004), 145–62, here p. 146. For a critique of Said‘s failure to fully appreciate the German tradition, cf. Nina Bermann: Orientalismus, Kolonialismus und Moderne. Zum Bild des Orients in der deutschsprachigen Kultur um 1900. Stuttgart 1997. Bermann takes issue with Said‘s claim that the German Orient was an almost entirely scholarly and classical one. She emphasizes the importance of Karl May, for example, and the scope of the public debate about the “Oriental question,” as does Marchand (fn. 3); on Said’s lack of resonance in German-language Arabic Studies, cf. Roman Loimeier: Edward Said und der Deutschsprachige Orientalismus. Eine kritische Würdigung. In: Wiener Zeitschrift für kritische Afrikastudien 1 (2001), pp. 63–85. On the continuation and critical discussion of Said’s work from a German perspective, cf. Hagen (see above); Jennifer Jenkins: German Orientalism. Introduction. In: Comparative Studies of South Asia, Africa and the Middle East 24 (2004), pp. 97–100; Suzanne Marchand: German Orientalism and the Decline of the West. In: Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society 145 (2001), pp. 465–73, here p. 465: “[…] focused on the languages of the ancient world. German orientalism helped to destroy Western self-satisfaction, and to provoke a momentous change in the culture of the West: the relinquishing of Christianity and classical antiquity as universal norms.” 32 Edward Said: Orientalism. New York 1994, p. 3.

Chloe 46 134 Rebekka Habermas archaeological digs in Troy and later in Baalbek in present-day Lebanon.33 In the newly established field of Arabistik, scholars began to collect and translate Arabic manuscripts, and even the Social Democrat August Bebel devoted himself to the study of the “Mohammedan-Arabic Cultural Period.”34 Travelers including Duchess Hahn-Hahn and Ida Pfeiffer discovered the world of the Ottoman harem,35 and almost every young person in the German Empire — together with more than a few adults —followed the battles that Karl May’s Kara ben Nemsi Effendi waged against Bedouins, Arab soldiers and the “savages” of the North African deserts.36 As influential as these forms of Orientalism were, and although the Islam debate was certainly part of this tradition, the debate also marked an important shift in emphasis since its focus was limited to the religious aspect of what was understood to be the “Orient,” namely Islam. Unlike the stories of Karl May, the Arabian Nights or the popular Orient motifs of contem-porary paintings, this discussion was not about harems, Bedouin chiefs, the desert or pyramids; it was exclusively about Islam, which now assumed central importance. There were many different reasons for this new focus on religion: in addition to the increased importance of religion in general in debates of the German Empire, we need to mention first and foremost the importance of missionaries in all extra-European matters, an influence has often been underestimated up until now.37

33 See: Das große Spiel. Archäologie und Politik zur Zeit des Kolonialismus (1860–1940) [Ein Ausstellungsprojekt des Ruhrlandmuseums auf Zeche Zollverein, Mai–August 2008]. Ed. Charlotte Trümpler. Cologne 2010. 34 August Bebel: Die mohammedanisch-arabische Kulturperiode. Stuttgart 1889. The work was republished in 1999 by Wolfgang Schwanitz in Berlin. 35 On female travelers to the Orient cf. Annegret Pelz: Reisen durch die eigene Fremde, Cologne / Weimar / Vienna 1933; Annette Deeken, Monika Böse: An den „süßen Wassern Asiens.” Frankfurt a. M. 1996. 36 Bermann (fn. 31). May‘s Orient Cycle appeared 1881–1888. Cf. Andrea Polaschegg: Der andere Orientalismus. Berlin 2005. 37 On this topic cf. Habermas (fn. 19). Islam had been put on the agenda already in the 1880s by the French cardinal Lavigerie, who was also the founder of the Catholic missionary order “The White Fathers.” Lavigerie initiated a campaign against slavery and for a holy war against Muslim Arabs, who were charged with involvement in the African slave trade. He and an entire missionary propaganda apparatus argued that Islam as a religion permitted and supported slavery, and

Chloe 46 Islam Debates around 1900 135

What enabled missionaries to play such a prominent role, and thereby effect a shift in focus toward religious topics in the long tradition of Orientalism debates? One reason is as obvious as it is important: in Imperial Germany, missionaries were often the most crucial “men on the spot,” the only people with empirical expertise in religious practices in areas outside of Europe. From time to time colonial civil servants also pursued amateur scholarly studies, but academic scholars of Islam only rarely arrived on the scene to collect material. German researchers in particular seldom left their armchairs prior to World War I.38 Aside from Carl Heinrich Becker, who traveled to Egypt and the Near East,39 and Martin Hartmann, who visited China and Russia,40 German scholars of Islam who left Europe remained the exception. As a result, those who were interested in the current situation around 1900 had to rely on books by their Dutch, English and French colleagues41 or studies done by missionaries42 and

that the entire slave trade in Africa was dominated by Arabs. The logical conclusion of this line of argument was a holy war against Islam. 38 Becker’s “Materialien zur Kenntnis des Islam in Deutsch-Ostafrika” (fn. 20) is an example for this. A look at the footnotes, and the fact that Becker himself conducted no research in German East Africa, show how much he benefited from the work of the mission. See also Becker 1910 (fn. 14), p. 639: “Bis vor kurzem hat der Islam in unseren Kolonien nur die Mission interessiert. Die Mission hat nicht nur der Wissenschaft ein erdrückendes Tatsachenmaterial über die gewaltige Expansion der Religion Mohammeds im dunkeln Erdteil vermittelt, sie hat auch zuerst die Regierung auf das Bedenkliche dieses Vorganges und auf seine Gründe aufmerksam gemacht.” On this issue, see Schultze 1913 (fn. 10), p. 17: “Zurzeit ist der Forscher noch darauf angewiesen, sich aus Missionarsberichten und gelegentlichen Notizen und Erkundigungen ein nur allzu mangelhaftes Bild [about Islam in German East Africa, RH] zu konstruieren”. 39 Cornelia Essner, Gerd Winkelhane: Carl Heinrich Becker (1876–1933). Orientalist und Kulturpolitiker. In: Die Welt des Islams 28 (1988), pp. 154–77. 40 Marchand (fn. 3), pp. 356 ff. 41 Hartmann, for example, was heavily influenced by French research of the time; cf. Hartmann 1912 (fn. 11), pp. 101 ff. 42 Hartmann makes repeated references to his disputes with representatives of the mission (Mirbt, Richter, and Simon). He also refers to works by the missionary Klamroth, whose publications include a 1910 study of East African Islam in the Allgemeine Mis-sionszeitschrift, and a 1913 article entitled “Religionsgespräche mit einem Führer der Daressalamer Mohammedaner” in Beiblatt der Allgemeinen Missionszeitschrift. Martin Klamroth: Ostafrikanischer Islam. In: Allgemeine Missionszeitschrift 37 (1910), pp. 477-93; also Klamroth 1913 (fn. 28).

Chloe 46 136 Rebekka Habermas perhaps the occasional work of individual colonial civil servants and other amateur scholars. In contrast to French and English researchers, German scholars devoted themselves almost exclusively to investigating the extra-European past. In Göttingen, Marburg and Tübingen, the universities with the main professorships in Oriental Studies, they studied ancient and medieval manuscripts, searching for similarities and differences; they compared Arabic poems with Greek inscriptions or worked on linguistic analyses of preferably dead languages.43 German professors had a particular fondness for ancient textual sources, and as a rule knew almost nothing about the contemporary Muslim world. Because of this concentration on the past, most German Orientalists had no empirical experience whatsoever with the contemporary societies and were correspondingly dependent on missionary expertise if they wished to address contemporary issues. The focus on the past also had other, epistemological consequences. Not only were contemporary societies by and large ignored, the past itself was studied only through a very selective body of texts, namely, texts with a particular theological, literary or philological quality that had been carefully defined in advance according to the standards of nineteenth- century European philology. Those parts of the Muslim world that stood outside this particular written tradition were deemed unworthy of serious research. This meant that many parts of Africa, whose recorded written traditions did not meet the standards of European philology, never entered the purview of Oriental Studies. Though often lamented,44 the almost complete lack of information about African Islam in the past or present did not deter people from writing long articles and even books about Islam, or from claiming to

43 See Mangold (fn. 3) on the history of German Orientalism; cf. Marchand (fn. 3) and Polaschegg (fn. 36). 44 Becker 1967 (fn. 18), p. 74 writes for example: “Leider fehlt es an einer Statistik, ja selbst an dem Versuch einer solchen. Nirgends findet man auch nur oberflächliche Angaben über die einzelnen Bezirksämter in zusammenhängender Form; über die Zahl der Moscheen, der Koranschulen und Gemeinden gibt es keinerlei Nachrichten. Mühsam muß man sich aus Missionsberichten und gelegentlichen Notizen und Erkundigungen ein nur allzu mangelhaftes Bild konstruieren.” Cf. Becker 1909 (fn. 24), p. 293: “Bisher hat noch in keiner unserer Kolonien ein wirklicher Kenner des Islam Forschungen angestellt. Eine genaue wissenschaftliche Aufnahme des Islam und seiner lokalen Gestaltung ist aber die Voraussetzung jeder ernstlichen Islampolitik.”

Chloe 46 Islam Debates around 1900 137 understand complex interconnections better than the local missionary experts, even though the sole sources of information came from these very missionaries. To sum up: the concentration on Islam, and thereby on religious issues, in debates that before 1900 had revolved more generally around prevailing forms of Orientalism, is due to an increased general interest in religious topics, but is also largely due to the prominent role that missionaries played in this area, since they were often the only people who collected material on site and reported on the contemporary situation outside Europe on the basis of this empirical material.45 This unique position of the missionaries also explains why Orientalists working on contemporary topics and missionaries agreed on fundamental points in their evaluations: the analyses of both groups were based on the very same empirical material.

III New Research Projects and Old Ideas

The German academic community long viewed this division of labor — missionaries on location and Islam scholars in their armchairs — as unproblematic, since only a handful of researchers even worked on contemporary societies and used the empirical material of the missionaries, but in 1900 this changed. Around the turn of the century an increasing number of voices began to openly criticize the practice of “armchair scholarship” and to argue for increased attention to the contemporary situation.46 At the same time, a number of researchers called for new and modern methods of investigation such as surveys that would allow them to make detailed inquiries onsite, with the expectation that these would produce a more reliable data base than

45 Another important factor is that the very concept of world religions developed at the beginning of the nineteenth century, and with it the effort to describe these respective religions accurately as self-contained entities. This development occurred in, of all places, Oriental Studies. Cf. Tomoko Masuzawa: The Invention of World Religions. Or, How European Universalism Was Preserved in the Language of Pluralism. London 2005. 46 Marchand (fn. 3, pp. 333 ff.) writes that toward the end of the nineteenth century the concentration on philological methods decreased, and as a result, the propagation of a “useful” discipline was no longer seen as the ultima ratio. In 1913 the journal “Welt des Islam” was founded, the first journal to address also the contemporary situation; cf. Mangold (fn. 3).

Chloe 46 138 Rebekka Habermas what had been possible until now with the missionaries. At the time, surveys were considered the most reliable method possible of collecting data not only in the developing social sciences, but also among national economists and even attorneys. Surveys were felt to be invested with great scientific authority because their standards were believed to reflect the same notion of objectivity as the natural sciences.47 These demands for new research methods did not fall on deaf ears. Around 1910 at least four research projects were initiated, all concentrating on Islam in the African colonies of the German Empire and working consistently with surveys. Becker started his investigation in 1908, and in 1911 Hartmann followed by sending surveys to Togo, Cameroon and German East Africa. Several years before Becker, the Protestant missionary Martin Klamroth had begun his own research in German East Africa;48 and in 1910 the World Mission Conference commissioned Diedrich Westermann, a former missionary of the North German Mission, to undertake a similar project using surveys,49 which he did beginning in 1913.50 How useful were these survey-based projects that Islam scholars hoped would enable them to gain their first scientifically-grounded

47 Irmela Gorges: The Social Survey in Germany Before 1933. In: The Social Survey in Historical Perspective, 1880–1914. Eds. Martin Bulmer, Kevin Bales, Kathryn Kish Sklar. Cambridge 1991, pp. 316-39; Andrew Zimmermann: Anthropology and Antihumanism in Imperial Germany. Chicago 2001; Rebekka Habermas: Die deutschen Großforschungsprojekte zum „Eingeborenenrecht” um 1900 und ihre Folgen. In: Zeitschrift der Savigny-Stiftung für Rechtsgeschichte. Germanistische Abteilung 128 (2012), [forthcoming]. 48 Cf., Schultze 1913 (fn. 10), p. 17; Becker 1967 (fn. 18), here the chapter entitled “Ein Missionar über den Islam in Deutsch-Ostafrika”, pp. 116–21; also Martin Klamroth: Der Islam in Deutschostafrika. Berlin 1912. His work is based on both his own observations and on surveys he distributed. 49 The World Missionary Conference convened in Edinburgh in 1910. 1200 delegates from Europe, the USA and several non-western countries — all associated with Protestant missions — met here to discuss mission-related matters; see Brian Stanley: The World Missionary Conference, Edinburgh 1910. Grand Rapids 2009. Cf. also Westermann’s contemporary report on the conference: Diedrich Westermann: Die Edinburgher Weltmissionskonferenz in ihrer Bedeutung für die Mission in den deutschen Kolonien. In: Jahrbuch über die deutschen Kolonien 4 (1911), pp. 128–33. 50 All of the projects were based on surveys sent to missionaries und colonial officials in Africa, whose task it was to collect new data about Islam in the colonies. Weiss 2000 (fn. 3), p. 73 ff.

Chloe 46 Islam Debates around 1900 139 insights into contemporary Islam? Did they unearth new results that altered the debate? Was it really possible to cast the practices, ideas and rites of the different facets of African Islam in a new light? Did the research yield results that called into question previously-held essentialist and ontological assumptions? Did this research dismantle the usual equation of Islam with the slave trade, fanaticism and superficial religious practices to reveal different connections, or did it only serve to reinforce existing fears about unrest fueled by Islam and about the further spread of Islam in Africa? First, we need to note that neither Becker’s nor Hartmann’s research was ever published. So although it is possible that they arrived at some new insights, these had no effect whatsoever. The only studies to ever see print were those done by the two missionaries Klamroth and Westermann, though it should be mentioned that Westermann made use of Hartmann’s material. Second, it is clear that while the individual surveys differed greatly in length and sometimes thematic focus (Westermann’s survey contained almost a hundred questions, Becker’s in contrast only three, and Hartmann’s ten), the basic line of questioning in all the surveys barely deviated from the one taken in earlier articles that had been written without the help of detailed surveys. All researchers concentrated on precisely those issues that had been on the agenda since the Colonial Congress of 1905 at the latest: of primary interest were the spread of Islam and its propaganda mechanisms.51 Hartmann’s choice of title for his work conveys the importance of these questions about the spread of Islam, and with it the spread of threat and fear, as clearly as Westermann’s: one study is called “A Questionnaire on the Spread of Islam,” the other “A Survey Concerning the Spread of Islam in West Africa.”52 To be sure, Westermann took a far keener interest in the organization of Islamic rituals, and he wished to learn more about daily life under

51 See Martin Hartmann: Zur Islamausbreitung in Afrika. In: Mitteilungen des Seminars für orientalische Sprachen 14 (1911), pp. 159–62, on question five about propaganda; also Becker’s survey reprinted in Weiss 2000 (fn. 3), pp. 92 f.. Here, two of the three questions refer to propaganda and its spread. The third question even posits a connection with “islamisch religiöse[n] Unruhen.” 52 Hartmann (fn. 51), p. 162; question ten in the survey refers specifically to this connection.

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Islam and about Muslim views of the Christian mission.53 His work also had certain aspects that we look for in vain in Hartmann or Becker: he wished to know for example how the colonial government helped support Muslims. Ultimately, however, the surveys show no essential differences. All researchers hoped to discover more about the most important Islamic practices and about how Islam was spreading. Further, and of greater importance: the surveys reveal the same basic assumptions that we find already in the debates of earlier years. Instead of questioning those assumptions in order to gain new insights and knowledge about the contemporary situation of Islam, the studies were organized in such a way that questions about the spread of Islam and/or how to stop it clearly dominated.54 It therefore comes as no surprise that for all their presumed scientific authority, these new studies tended merely to confirm assertions that had already been made about the character and status of Islam. Westermann reinforces the notion found in earlier debates that Islam tends toward superficiality,55 then emphasizes that Islam is spreading, though he admits this cannot be claimed for each and every region.56 He also voices a “suspicion of human trafficking” connected

53 See the unpublished survey “Fragebogen über die Ausbreitung des Islams in Westafrika” by Westermann, Mitteilungen. In: Die Welt des Islams 1 (1913) no. 1, pp. 45 f. Under the rubric “3. Sittlich, Religiös” the following questions are posed: “18. Wie beurteilen die Mohammedaner die Missionstätigkeit der Christen? 19. Was haben die Mohammedaner am Christentum am meisten auszusetzen? […] 21. Verbreiten die Mohammedaner Verleumdungen über die Christen und christlichen Gebräuche?”. 54 Diedrich Westermann: Die Verbreitung des Islams in Togo und Kamerun. Ergebnisse einer Umfrage. In: Die Welt des Islams 2 (1914) no. 2/4, pp. 188- 276, here p. 244: “Um Unterlagen für die Beurteilung einer künftigen Ausbreitung des Islams zu gewinnen, wird man vor allem Mittel betrachten müssen, denen der Islam sein bisheriges Wachstum verdankt.” 55 His inquiries revealed that the Haussa, a “tribe” in northern Togo known for its economic power, were also a people who merely imitated a few religious customs, and therefore only nominally supported the character of Islam. Ibid., p. 190: “[D]ie Zugehörigkeit zum Islam lediglich durch das Nachahmen einiger religiöser Bräuche;” also p. 194, where we read: “Geschriebene Amulette sind viel im Gebrauch;” cf. also p. 204 on the district of Kete Kratschi. 56 Ibid., p. 207: “Eine Propagandatätigkeit des Islams findet nicht statt.” The same was claimed for Lomé and Atakpame; likewise, in Mangu-Jensi no “actual propaganda activity” (eigentliche Propagandatätigkeit, p. 213) could be observed. In Cameroon, however, there were ostensibly areas in which Islam had slowly spread (cf. p. 233).

Chloe 46 Islam Debates around 1900 141 with Islam.57 Finally, he writes about the possibility that uprisings could occur, though he does acknowledge that an “attempt to shake off one’s yoke […] is not yet an Islamic uprising.”58 Aside from this admittedly surprising rejection of a direct link between Islam and fanaticism, the new survey-based projects failed to produce any actual new insights. Even if at that time the research methods were felt to reflect great scientific dignity, we can hardly claim that knowledge was advanced. Instead, these studies provided only variations on themes that even without the help of empirical studies had already been discussed years earlier.59

IV Contributing Factors

Here at the very latest, this look at the Islam debates of the German Empire raises a series of questions. Why did a debate take place at all at this point in time? When and why did it end, or rather: when did the key topics shift enough that it becomes necessary to speak of a new discussion? Or did the debate remain by and large the same as when it began around 1900, and as it continued after 1910 despite new research—still characterized by the same essentializing and ontologizing, and by the familiar equation of Islam with the slave trade and superficial belief? Around 1900 numerous factors contributed to the interest in Islam. Only two years earlier Kaiser Wilhelm II had traveled to the so-called Holy Land, accompanied by great media fanfare, to present himself there as the flesh-and-blood successor to the crusaders and, as such, a Christian and a pilgrim. This image also helped serve as a reminder that Christianity must defend itself against Islam.60 On that same

57 Ibid., p. 241. 58 Ibid., p. 244 f. 59 Weiss 2000 (fn. 3), pp. 89, comes to the opposite conclusion, and claims that this research had only “scratched the surface” (nur die Oberfläche) of the respective societies. 60 For a detailed study of this trip to the Orient, including the role of the media, see Jan Stefan Richter: Die Orientreise Kaiser Wilhelms II. 1898. Eine Studie zur deutschen Außenpolitik an der Wende zum 20. Jahrhundert. Hamburg 1997; also Schwanitz (fn. 34); Horst Gründer: Die Kaiserfahrt Wilhelms II. ins Heilige Land 1898. Aspekte deutscher Palästinapolitik im Zeitalter des Imperialismus. In: Weltpolitik, Europa-gedanke, Regionalismus. Festschrift für Heinz

Chloe 46 142 Rebekka Habermas journey Kaiser Wilhelm II had also described himself to great public effect as the “friend of 200 million Muslims.”61 In addition, toward the end of the nineteenth century the Armenian massacres gained an increasing amount of attention; Pietists in particular, but later also Catholic circles were eager to interpret them as the result of Islamic aggression.62 At least as far as Bismarck, the German Empire had maintained friendly relations with the Ottoman Empire, repeatedly sending them both financial and military advisors, but events in the Ottoman Empire did not start the German debates about Islam. Rather, the sudden interest in Islam was due primarily to events in the colonies; it started with numerous uprisings in African colonies that could be traced back to Islam. Already in the mid-nineteenth century Great Britain had been shaken by uprisings in India that were presumably provoked by Muslims,63 but it was not until the late 1880s that comparable threats were felt in the German Empire. In August 1888, the violent conflicts that broke out in the protectorate of German East Africa were allegedly started by fanaticized “Mohammedans.” In October of 1888 at the first People’s Assembly in Cologne, “holy

Gollwitzer zum 65. Geburtstag am 30. Januar 1982. Ed. Heinz Dolliner, Horst Gründer, Alwin Hanschmidt. Münster 1982, pp. 363–88. Cf. also the unpublished MA thesis by Nicolas Bilo: Der „Kreuzzug der Liebe”. Palästinabilder in Reiseberichten anlässlich der Kaiserreise 1898. Göttingen 2011. 61 This was the wording of a toast at a ceremonial banquet in Damascus, or at least was quoted this way by the European press; cf. Richter 1997 (fn. 60), p. 86. 62 The German public, however, remained noticeably quiet about the Armenian massacres, and unlike England, for example, did not use them as an opportunity to decry Turkish Muslims as fanatical religious knights. Margaret Lavinia Anderson: “Down in Turkey, far away”: Human Rights, the Armenian Massacres, and Orientalism in Wilhelmine Germany. In: The Journal of Modern History 79 (2007), pp. 80–111, explains this reticence by noting that the Armenians had received most of their support from Catholics (if we leave aside Pietist initiatives); the lack of protest against the massacres was thus related to the denominational dispute in Wilhelmine Germany. 63 Cf. Mervyn Hiskett: The Development of Islam in West Africa. London 1984, p. 208; for an overview of English and French policies concerning Islam cf. Rüdiger Sesemann: “Ein Dialog der Taubstummen”: Französische vs. britische Wahrnehmungen des Islam im spätkolonialen Westafrika. In: Afrika Spectrum 37 (2002), pp. 109–39.

Chloe 46 Islam Debates around 1900 143 war” was declared against Islam64 so that Africa would not fall victim to the “crescent moon.”65 Sparked by events in the colonies and initiated primarily by the Catholic cardinal Lavigeri, the first major Islam debate had begun.66 In 1906, in turn, rumors circulated in the German colony of Togo about a Mahdi by the name of Malam Musa. Mahdi were Islamic scholars believed to possess supernatural powers, and some Muslims believed they were capable of liberating Muslims from the domination of non-Muslims, thereby ending an unjust regime. In Togo the German colonial government was able to render Mahdi Malam Musa “harmless,”67 but already in 1907, conflicts between German colonial troops and rebels of another Mahdi were reported in northern Cameroon. In 1908 reports spread about dangerous Muslims from German East Africa who, spurred on by letters from Mecca, threatened to band together. German newspapers were soon full of the so-called Mecca Letter Affair, giving fresh fuel to discussions about the importance of Islam. It was assumed that the Maji-Maji uprisings in German East Africa, which were clearly directed against colonial rule, had a direct connection to the Mecca Letter Affair, so attention now focused once again on the ostensibly fanatical character of Islam.68

64 Heinrich Loth: Kolonialismus und „Humanitätsintervention”. Kritische Untersuchung der Politik Deutschlands gegenüber dem Kongostaat (1884–1908). Berlin 1966, p. 47. 65 Alexander Merensky, Mohammedanismus und Christentum im Kampf um die Negerländer Afrikas. In: Allgemeine Missionszeitschrift 21 (1894), pp.145–62, here p. 153. 66 Cf. the master’s thesis by Friederike Szamborzki: “Die armen Schwarzen und ihre schlimmsten Feinde.” Die „Araber” — Debatten der deutschen Antisklavereibewegung im ausgehenden 19. Jahrhundert. Unpublished Master’s Thesis. Göttingen 2009. On contributing factors, cf. Habermas (see fn. 19). 67 Peter Sebald: Togo 1884–1914. Eine Geschichte der deutschen „Musterkolonie” auf der Grundlage amtlicher Quellen. Mit einem Dokumentenanhang. Berlin 1988, p. 468; see Thea Büttner: Die Mahdi-Erhebungen 1907 in Nordkamerun im Vergleich mit antikolonialen islamischen Bewegungen in anderen Regionen West- und Zentralafrikas. In: Studien zur Geschichte des deutschen Kolonialismus in Afrika. Eds. Peter Heine, Ulrich van der Heyden. Pfaffenweiler 1995, pp. 147–59, here p. 148. 68 Several uprisings that took place in English and French West African colonies were likewise interpreted as anti-colonial rebellions inspired by an increasingly dangerous Islam. Michael Pesek: Kreuz oder Halbmond. Die Deutsche Kolonialpolitik zwischen Pragmatismus und Paranoia in Deutsch-Ostafrika 1908–1914. In: Mission und Gewalt. Der Umgang christlicher Missionen mit

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The effectiveness of this paradigm based on the equation of Islam with fanaticism and uprising can be seen in a whole series of measures taken in those regions of the African colonies with particularly large Muslim populations. In Togo for instance that was the north: there, governor Zech instituted a so-called backcountry blockade, which meant nothing more than that Muslims living in the region were not to be bothered by missionaries. The blockade was not lifted in Togo until 1912. It was thought that the local population needed protection from the missionaries, lest the efforts of those missionaries provoke a violent backlash among Muslims.69 The colonial government of course wanted no such thing. Aware that the stability of the colonies depended not only on effectively suppressing possible uprisings, but first and foremost on effective governance, economic well-being and a contented population, the colonial government also realized that these things could be achieved only by working with, not against, the Muslims. What’s more, German district offices and governors depended on Muslims, since a stable government in particular, but also large segments of the colonial economy in many African colonies were heavily influenced by Muslims. They were indispensable as translators and middlemen, since oftentimes they could read and write while non-Muslims could

Gewalt und die Ausbreitung des Christentums in Afrika und Asien in der Zeit von 1792 bis 1918/19. Eds. Ulrich van der Heyden, Jürgen Becher, Holger Stoecker. Stuttgart 2000, pp. 97–112, sees a direct connection here to the Islam debate. Cf. also the connections to the uprisings drawn by Weiss (2000, fn. 3); see also Weiss: Islam, Missionaries and Residents. The Attempt of the Basel Missionary Society to Establish a Mission in Yendi (German Togo) before WWI. In: Mission und Macht im Wandel politischer Orientierungen. Europäische Missionsgesellschaften in politischen Spannungsfeldern in Afrika und Asien zwischen 1800 und 1945. Eds. Ulrich van der Heyden, Holger Stoecker. Stuttgart 2005, pp. 173–86. 69 Both the Catholic and Protestant missions protested vehemently against this restriction of the area where they might work. They had some success in taking their concerns to the German press, which reported on how strongly the policies of the district leaders worked against the Christianization of Africa. Cf. for example the Deutsche Reichszeitung: Bonner Stadtanzeiger of 9 October 1906, where an article entitled “Die Haussa in den Schutzgebieten Kamerun und Togo” reports on how missionaries were stopped from traveling into the back country (fn. 6).

Chloe 46 Islam Debates around 1900 145 not.70 In addition, they dominated important branches of trade and trade routes such as the important connection between East and West Africa.71 In some regions such as northern Togo, they dominated the entire economy. Which threats were actually posed by Muslims and which were posed by Protestants or other religious groups in the local population is of course a different question. What was really at stake in these and numerous other uprisings in the colonies, and what role religion played in hem, is certainly also more complicated. Even today we still do not know much about the place of Islam in colonial power systems.72 What we do know, however, is that even if religion did play an important part in anti-colonial movements, no simple causal relationship existed in which the spread of Islam stands in direct correlation to the proliferation of anti-colonial revolts. Alone the fact that African colonies were characterized by religious plurality that included numerous Islam, Christian and other local movements makes it clear that we can draw no such simple conclusions. Moreover, colonial systems of power varied greatly from region to region, and at times relied on the local chiefs, the local population and the

70 It was also believed that Muslims were more polyglot and therefore mastered not just one but a number of different local languages. Without them, neither a station leader nor a governor could communicate with the local population, nor could court sessions be held, tolls be collected, or chiefs controlled. On the importance of these intermediaries see Trutz von Trotha: Koloniale Herrschaft. Zur soziologischen Theorie der Staatsentstehung am Beispiel des “Schutzgebietes Togo.” Tübingen 1994, pp. 176 ff.; and on the individual case of district official Hans Gruner and his administrative activity, see Gesa Hollermann: Kolonialer Alltag eines Bezirksbeamten. Dargestellt anhand eines Tagebuches des Kolonialbeamten Dr. Hans Gruner in der Zeit von 01.04.1910- 31.07.1910. Unpublished MA thesis, Hannover 2000. 71 Viera Pawlikova-Vilhanova: Crescent or Cross? Islam and Christian Missions in Nineteenth-Century East and Central Africa. In: Mission und Gewalt. Der Umgang christlicher Missionen mit Gewalt und die Ausbreitung des Christentums in Afrika und Asien in der Zeit von 1792 bis 1918/19. Ed. Ulrich van der Heyden, Jürgen Becher. Stuttgart 2000, p. 79-95. 72 See Paul E. Lovejoy, J. S. Hogendorn: Revolutionary Mahdism and Resistance to Colonial Rule in the Sokoto Caliphate, 1905-6. In: Journal of African History 31 (1990), pp. 217–44 on revolutionary Mahdism; Klaus Hock: Jihâd — Mahdismus — Sklaverei. Eine islamische Tradition der Gewalt im Zentralsudan? In: Mission und Gewalt. Der Umgang christlicher Missionen mit Gewalt und die Ausbreitung des Christentums in Afrika und Asien in der Zeit von 1792 bis 1918/19. Ed. Ulrich van der Heyden, Jürgen Becher. Stuttgart 2000, pp. 67–77.

Chloe 46 146 Rebekka Habermas governors.73 All we know for certain is that the relationship between Islam and anti-colonial uprisings was not the same in any two regions. The situation may have varied widely from one African colony to the next, but London, Paris and Berlin feared all of these uprisings equally, and all three colonial powers repeatedly saw them as directly related to Islamic propaganda.74 While reports from the African colonies thus provided a starting point for the Islam debate in Imperial Germany, it was the specific constellation at the start of World War I that marked a decisive shift in that debate, though not an end to it. (This turning point occurred with World War I.) The familiar equation of Islam with grotesquery, slave traders, dull-wittedness, and fanaticism by no means disappeared from the debate in 1914, but now it was judged differently. In October of 1914 and thus shortly after the outbreak of World War I, Max von Oppenheim, an amateur archeologist and student of Michael Hartmann, wrote a memorandum in which he combined some of the pan-Islamic ideas then circulating in Islamic countries in a way that appealed to German and Ottoman interests alike. He developed the idea that Islam might be used to incite Muslims against the British, French and Russians.75 In concrete terms, he proposed that first, all Muslim prisoners of war — primarily those Muslims from Algeria and Morocco who were fighting for

73 Some of the uprisings learned from Mahdism a universal language that transcended blood relations, locality and pre-colonial government structures and that could provide a revolutionary impulse, while other uprisings developed it out of class structures and other religious traditions. What we do know is that the pluralistic religious traditions were quite diverse, both from one colony to the next and within individual colonies. Some indigenous groups allowed Muslims to hold positions of honor even if they excluded them from affairs of state, while others privileged the Catholic missions; cf. Patrick J. Ryan: Ariadne auf Naxos. Islam and Politics in a Religiously Pluralistic African Society. In: Journal of African Religion 26 (1996), pp. 308–29, on the role of Islam in multi-religious societies in Africa. 74 In addition, since colonial borders had been drawn cutting directly across historical borders, and since different regions were connected by numerous transportation routes (caravan routes), uprisings frequently affected more than one colonial government. 75 In contrast to other interpretations, Marchand (fn. 3), pp. 438 ff. stresses that Max von Oppenheim and the German side were by no means the only ones to develop this policy. She emphasizes that in this case Turkey tried just as hard to promote its interests.

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France, and Indians fighting for England, but also Russian Tartars76 — be placed in camps near Berlin built especially for them, and cared for so well that they developed a positive image of Germany. Second, in the camps they would be provided with relevant propaganda materials that cast the war against the French, English, and Russians as a jihad, just as sultan caliph Mehmed Reschad had stated in a fatwa of 14 November 1914.77 In this fatwa the caliph had called for a “holy war” against entente, which clearly played to Turkish interests, but of course suited German interests as well. Oppenheim reasoned that as soon as the prisoners of war realized the necessity of jihad, they could be sent back into the war (step three) — but this time on the side of the Ottoman Empire. In addition, they could be dispatched to the English and French colonies in their home countries to instigate jihad against the colonial powers. The German military command actually did open such so-called “crescent moon” camps in Brandenburg, where they housed some 12,000 prisoners of the Muslim faith during the war, and using newspapers they wrote themselves with the aid of some Orientalist scholarly expertise, tried to convince them of the necessity of jihad. Prisoners heard lectures on the topic “What afflicts the Islamic people?”78 and the camp newspaper El Dschihad defamed British and French colonial rule in Arabic, Tartar and Russian.79 At the hastily established “News Source for the Orient” in the Foreign Office, scholars of Islam wrote propaganda poems and appeals intended to show both the greatness of Islam on the one hand and the ignominy of

76 These Muslims came primarily from the French colonies of Algeria and Tunisia, from West Africa, India, and from Russian areas that had fought for entente; for their numbers see Gerhard Höpp: Muslime in der Mark. Als Kriegsgefangene und Internierte in Wünsdorf und Zossen, 1914–1924. Berlin 1997. 77 Original wording republished in Margot Kahleyss: Muslime in Brandenburg — Kriegsgefangene im 1. Weltkrieg: Ansichten und Absichten. Berlin 2000, p. 15. 78 Höpp (fn. 76), p. 73. Cf. also Christian Koller: Von Wilden aller Rassen niedergemetzelt. Die Diskussion um die Verwendung von Kolonialtruppen in Europa zwischen Rassismus, Kolonial- und Militärpolitik (1914–1930). Stuttgart 2001, pp. 125 ff. 79 Kahleyss (fn. 77), p. 19.

Chloe 46 148 Rebekka Habermas entente on the other. These were to be dropped by balloon on enemy troops.80 In what way did this large-scale propaganda offensive alter attitudes toward Islam? We can trace two distinct and at first glance contradictory shifts in conceptions of Islam, together with one very clear difference regarding the Islam debate participants. The new tenor in terms of content is easy to see: it was only logical that if — as the relevant literature of German agencies put it — the “sympathies and interest of the people for Germany”81 were to be awakened in Muslims, it was necessary to move away from the traditional, negatively charged, essentializing view of Islam as a religion of cruelty. Comments about the gullibility of Muslims and their affinity for the slave trade, about their lack of civilization and fundamental inferiority were no longer voiced. On the other hand, Max von Oppenheim’s suggestions could also draw on convictions that had been forged in the Islam debate prior to World War I.82 Becker’s relevant work on the topic, “Germany and Islam,” should be mentioned in this connection,83 but also other pre-war publications84 by scholars who had linked Islam with fanaticism but at the same time worked with positive attribution, not least because they felt it necessary to cooperate with Muslims in the colonies if uprisings were to be avoided. Thus, Von Oppenheim’s memorandum took up a line of argument from the debate after 1900 that characterized Islam as barbarous, but nevertheless — or perhaps for this very reason — called for a conciliatory attitude toward Muslims.85 The propaganda

80 Höpp (fn. 76), p. 22. Various studies show that this propaganda was far from successful; cf. Hagen (fn. 31), pp. 150 ff.; also Höpp (fn. 76) and Kahleyss (fn. 77). 81 Politisches Archiv des Auswärtigen Amtes, Bonn, R21252, Bl. 131, quoted in Höpp (fn. 76), p. 70. 82 Hagen (fn. 31), p. 150. 83 Carl H. Becker: Deutschland und der Islam. Stuttgart / Berlin 1914. See also Hagen (fn. 31), p. 154. On the dispute between Becker and the renowned Dutch Orientalist Christian Snouck Hurgronje, cf. Marchand (fn. 3), p. 443. 84 Hagen (fn. 31, p. 154) notes that although academic Orientalists did not devise the idea of jihad, they had been quite compliant in helping put it into practice. Höpp (fn. 76, p. 31) explicitly mentions several of its opponents: Georg Kampffmeyer and the journalist Harry Stuermer, also the Dutch Orientalist Christian Snouck Hurgronje. 85 There were ostensibly good reasons for this view, and not just in the German colonial government that depended on the Muslim population in the colonies.

Chloe 46 Islam Debates around 1900 149 offensive of 1914 thus did not signal a complete break with prewar argumentation, but it did mark a noticeable shift toward a less disparaging assessment of Islam. This change in terms of content becomes even apparent when we take another factor into account: that the second and most important group, the missionaries, who had shaped the debates of the prewar years and whose judgments had at times been even more explicitly negative than those of Islam researchers, now fell increasingly silent. Their silence clearly has to do with the fact that in this new propaganda apparatus there was no place for the mission.86 The reasons are obvious: Christian missionaries were by definition already completely unsuitable candidates for legitimizing jihad; further, because of the government’s sometimes pro-Muslim colonial policies already in the years before World War I, missionaries had little desire to act on behalf of the state in this matter.87 On the contrary, at least as early as the backcountry

Many scholars of Islam had close ties to the government and therefore took colonial interests into account, sometimes offering massive support. Even before 1914, many of these scholars also worked at state-supported educational institutions: Hartmann for instance was at the Seminar for Oriental Languages in Berlin, and Becker taught at the Hamburg Colonial Institute, a newly-founded institute with close connections to colonial interests. Carl Heinrich Becker later became State Secretary and finally Prussian Minister of Science, Art and National Education (Volksbildung); he like many others had close ties to the “News Agency for the Orient.” On Martin Hartmann und Carl Heinrich Becker, see Marchand (fn. 3), pp. 353 ff. and also Mangold (fn. 3), pp. 254 ff. On the close relationship between Islamic Studies and colonial institutions and interests, see also Haridi (fn. 3) pp. 79–84. 86 We search in vain for missionaries in the propaganda apparatus or news agency, or among the scholars who undertook projects in the camps beginning in 1915. On the research done in the “crescent moon camps,” see Kahleyss (fn. 77), pp. 33 ff. Research was conducted here by Frobenius and the Viennese anthropologist Rudolf Pöch, but also by legal ethnologists. Carl Stumpf also recorded the songs and music of the prisoners for scholarly purposes. 87 Though the missionaries did not maintain their distance from colonial governments as a matter of principle, they did take a decidedly different position concerning Islam. Here once again it is necessary to distinguish very carefully between individual missionary societies, and also between missionary orders and missionary societies. For an overview, see Klaus Bade: Antisklavereibewegung in Deutschland und Kolonialkriege in Deutsch-Ostafrika 1888–1890. Bismarck und Friedrich Fabri. In: Geschichte und Gesellschaft 3 (1977), pp. 31–58. The positions taken ranged from sometimes open critique--of individual officials‘ sexual behavior, for example — to full support, as in the case of the North

Chloe 46 150 Rebekka Habermas blockade in Togo, open conflicts about policies concerning Islam had developed between the mission and the colonial government. Missionaries who were suspected of working primarily for the “arousal of Muslims, which could lead to political unrest,”88 could hardly be won over to the idea of jihad, even if it was in the name of weakening the wartime enemy.89 In short, the mission that to some extent had written far more disparagingly about Islam insofar as it drew a sharper distinction between “us” and “them,” and had openly opposed some conciliatory tendencies in the colonial government and scholarship on Islam, even writing a letter of protest against the idea of peaceful coexistence, no longer had a voice in the Islam debate during World War I. This in turn reinforced tendencies in the direction of an upward revaluation of Islam. To summarize: the Islam debate started because of events in the colonies, and shifted with World War I as a result of changed foreign policy constellations. Both in terms of content and the circumstances surrounding its origins, the Islam debate thus provides one more

German Mission that helped establish a cotton project in Togo based on the concept of folk culture (Volkskultur); Zimmermann (fn. 47). 88 Westermann 1914 (fn. 54), p. 246. 89 Seen against this background, it comes as no surprise that the paradigm “fanaticism equals Islam” led to a difference in the positions of missionaries and scholars even before the war. Precisely because the fanaticism argument had prompted colonial governments to adopt a policy of conciliation toward Muslims in the colonies, missionaries were unable to share the government point of view: Islam posed the most difficult challenge to their missionary work, since they saw in Islam an opponent who was almost impossible to convert. To them, peaceful coexistence with Muslims seemed almost inconceivable, so even though they saw the serious dangers posed by these “Mohammedans,” they could not see their threatening fanaticism. The mission‘s sometimes openly hostile attitude toward Islam intensified even further when steps were taken like the introduction of a backcountry blockade in northern Togo; by imposing this blockade, the general governor of Togo Zech acted just as the British colonial government had done in northern Nigeria and parts of Sudan. In order to counter the idea that the mission might encourage agitation among Muslims, missionaries had always been very cautious in their journal contributions to claim that “Mohammedans” per se had a fanatical tendency. The backcountry blockade also helps to explain why missionaries like Westermann, a member of the North German Missionary Society that in turn was quite active in Togo, had no interest in characterizing Muslims as fanatics, since it was this very attribution that the colonial agencies had used as an argument to keep missionaries out of northern Togo. Cf. Weiss 2000 (fn. 3), pp. 60 ff. on these connections.

Chloe 46 Islam Debates around 1900 151 indication that Imperial Germany — and even its culture of debate-- had transnational connections. Moreover, the Islam debate shows that religious issues were on the agenda after 1900 as well, and that religious figures were deeply involved in formulating these topics. It turns out that even World War I was not without some unusual religious components. Finally, the debate demonstrates that Imperial Germany engaged not only in negotiation processes with Protestants and Catholics, but also with the question of how to judge Islam.90

V Continuities and Changes: The Islam Debates of 2000

Discussion of Islam took place not only in the early twentieth century. It also continues in the twenty first century with some of the same, or similar, essentializing tendencies found in the debates of 1900. The Criminology Institute of Lower Saxony, for instance, recently published a report that draws a connection between Islam and a strong

90 It also became clear that in this debate Catholicism and Protestantism had more in common than expected, even though arguments and metaphors were used in the Islam debate that Protestants had used against Catholics in the earlier Kulturkampf. In the Kulturkampf, too, one denomination had been defamed as having particularly strong tendencies toward fanaticism and superstition (Catholic) and another, the Protestant, had tried to present itself as a rational force. Gross (fn. 1) has done an excellent job of showing what a key role these attributions, and with them an anti-Catholic line of argument, played in public discourse in the German Empire. Borutta (2008, fn. 2) proposed the thesis that Catholicism had become “Orientalized” at the end of the nineteenth century, i.e., that anti-Catholic rhetoric had used orientalizing stereotypes. The same cannot be said of the Islam debate, insofar as Catholics used the same negative ascriptions as Protestants in reference to the “Orient.” I take issue with Borutta’s view of the Kulturkampf as a dispute only between two Christian denominations, since it obscures two crucial aspects of the Kulturkampf. First, it overlooks the fact that battles were also fought from within the respective denominations. In the Islam debate we thus find anti-Catholic elements even in the arguments of Catholic missionaries. Second, Borutta overlooks that the Kulturkampf also involved battles over the definitions of “sacred” and “secular” and the boundaries of different denominations. Similarly, in the Islam debate we have a dispute that also involves a struggle from within Catholic circles over the position of the church; in other words, more was involved than purely anti- Catholic propaganda.

Chloe 46 152 Rebekka Habermas violent tendency among young men.91 Welt online summarized the results of this study with the short formula: “Muslims — More Religious = More Willing to Use Violence.”92 The generally more liberal Tagesspiegel summarized the findings under the heading “Allah macht hart.” From Allah to Terror?, the title of a book published in 2002, is even blunter.93 In addition to equating violence with Islam, contemporary debates also include a second theme of the early twentieth-century debates: the idea that Islam poses a threat. A 1996 lecture given in Wetzlar for instance was entitled “Islam as a Danger for Germany.”94 In 1909 the Islam scholar Carl Heinrich Becker had at least used a question mark in his title: “Is Islam a Danger?” In 2008, German television programs such as “Nachtcafé” discussed the question, “Kebab, headscarf, Koran — how Muslim is Germany becoming?”,95 and in recent years a wide range of non-fiction books have addressed the fear that “soon the majority will be Turks.”96 Noticeably missing today, compared with the debate around 1900, is the third equation of Islam with slavery;97 so too is the notion.— especially popular among missionaries — that Islam and polygamy are closely linked. Instead, today we often read about a connection between Islam and the repression of women. The headscarf, it is argued, is both the specifically Muslim expression of a misogynist attitude and an assault on civil rights, and therefore Muslim women must be freed of this yoke. At least this narrative of liberation recalls the imputations of slavery from 1900.

91 Dirk Baier, Christian Pfeiffer, Susann Rabold, Julias Simonson, Cathleen Kappes: Kinder und Jugendliche in Deutschland: Gewalterfahrungen, Integration, Medienkosnum. Zweiter Bericht zum gemeinsamen Forschungsprojekt des Bundesministeriums des Inneren und des KFN, KFN- Forschungsbericht, no. 109, 2010, p. 116: “Bei jungen Muslimen gehe die zunehmende Bindung an ihre Religion mit einem Anstieg der Gewalt einher,” in the summary of this study, quoted by Patrick Bahners: Die Panikmacher. Die deutsche Angst vor dem Islam. Eine Streitschrift. Munich 2011, p. 263. 92 Ibid., p. 267. 93 Ibid., p. 78. See also Hans Peter Raddatz: Von Allah zum Terror? Der Djihad und die Deformierung des Westens. Munich 2002. 94 Quoted from Bahners (fn. 91), p. 61. 95 Ibid., p. 84. 96 Ibid., p. 150. 97 Egon Flaig‘s thesis is an exception. See Flaig: Weltgeschichte der Sklaverei. Munich 2009.

Chloe 46 Islam Debates around 1900 153

Even so, we can by no means speak of a simple continuity thesis. As we know, the situation is far more complex, since in addition to surprising continuities we also find obvious differences between the debates of 1900 and those of today. First, the debate in Imperial Germany was due to events — both real and in some cases merely imagined — in Africa. Today’s debates in contrast draw on perceptions of what is happening primarily in Arab countries but also in Germany itself, and on the events of September 11. Second, current debates receive far more attention than they did a century ago — not only because the increased media presence guarantees that news reaches more people more quickly, but first and foremost because of a geopolitical landscape that, while historically evolved, cannot be compared with the situation around 1900. Third, the debates of 1900 — differences of opinion notwithstanding — were anchored far more solidly in a broad social consensus. Though many an Islam researcher and missionary disagreed, just as colonial civil servants or attentive newspaper readers by no means agreed on everything, people in the German Empire nonetheless shared certain fundamental concepts that found expression in the debate: regarding the division between Orient and Occident, for example, or in the model of civilization that placed Christians above Muslims and put animistic systems of belief on the lowest rung. The positions taken today in assessments of Islam differ from one another far more fundamentally, so that it is no longer possible to speak of an essentialist basic consensus. What’s more, essentializing and ontologizing as modes of argumentation have themselves become the object of diverse critiques, which has led to an even further differentiation of positions when it comes to judging Islam. Notably, these differentiations owe less to new empirical research projects like those of the Arabistik professorships in Göttingen, Tübingen or Berlin; nor do they come out of studies done by religious experts. Instead, these new analyses of Islam, its significance, and its structural characteristics have often been performed in the very place where Imperial Germany located the “Orient.” Here we need only recall the work of literary scholars like Edward Said or anthropologists like Talal Asad. These obvious and important differences between 1900 and 2011 notwithstanding, we must also acknowledge that connections exist — connections I would like to mention in the form of two contradictory concluding remarks. First, numerous arguments still mounted today

Chloe 46 154 Rebekka Habermas can be traced back to the missionaries and Islam scholars of the late nineteenth and early twentieth century. It was they who decisively shaped the debate on Islam over a hundred years ago with their many strongly-held views about the attributes of Islam; these same attributions continue to be of key importance in present-day debates. This also means that contemporary society, which views itself as a secular society, employs more religiously motivated modes of argumentation than its secular self-image might lead us to believe. Second, then as now, these lines of argument have their origin in a surprisingly close and enduring connection between the German Empire and Africa, something long overlooked by historians. This in turn means that global interconnections have a variety of different religious aspects, and that even in self-proclaimed secular societies these aspects exert influence and help to shape the society’s debates — in Imperial Germany and today.

Translated by Elizabeth Bredeck

Chloe 46 C l a u d i a B r e g e r

CHRISTIAN UNIVERSALISM? RACISM AND COLLECTIVE IDENTITY IN TWENTY-FIRST-CENTURY IMMIGRATION DISCOURSES

Abstract

Starting from the notion of a “postsecular society” in current German debates about immigration, this essay investigates links between racism and collective identity in German debates about immigration that took place in the context of an academic as well as broader public return to “premises” during the 2000s. It explores this emerging episteme of (not always strictly religious) faith and affirmation through the newly popular philosophies of Stanley Cavell and Alain Badiou. In juxtaposing their in many respects divergent theoretical models, it develops a concept of critically affirmative reconfiguration and argues that it enables productive responses to ongoing political affirmations of collective identity. The case study is the topos of “Christian universalism,” which has been used, in significantly different ways, both in conservative and mainstream articulations of national identity (Sarrazin; “headscarf” legislations) and in Badiou’s radical counter-figuration.

I Introduction: The “Postsecular” Condition

At the intersection of historical contexts and contemporary configurations explored in this volume, it seems crucial to begin with the question of how we can conceptualize the role of religion today.1 In his 2001 speech “Glauben und Wissen,” Jürgen Habermas introduced the notion of “our postsecular society,” in reference to both the September 11 bombings and the response of the majority in Western society, where the attacks seemed to have “offset vibrations

1 In revising this piece for publication, I am drawing on feedback both at the “Migration, Religion, and Germany” conference at OSU in April 2011 and my West European Studies presentation at Indiana University, Bloomington, the prior week. I am indebted to the organizers (Barbara Becker-Cantarino, Georges Tamer, and Bethany Dusseau) and participants of both events, as well as to Benjamin Robinson’s insightful comments on the written draft of my talk.

Chloe 46 156 Claudia Breger of a religious chord.”2 Later, he defined the “postsecular society” as one that is “epistemologically attuned to the duration of religious communities.”3 Quoting Hans Joas’ rewording of the concept, Hent de Vries has elaborated on this idea. Contemporary societies, he spells out, are “postsecular” less in the sense of being marked by a sudden increase in religiosity or a shift in the nature of the secular state than by a shift in the state’s “‘secularist self-understanding’” and the “‘mindset of those who, previously, felt justified in considering religions to be moribund.’”4 Like the “postmodern” or “postcolonial” the “postsecular” is, then, not to be understood primarily in terms of historical periodization; rather than the end of secular modernity, it indicates the fissures in modern identities. I find de Vries’ insistence on this point helpful insofar as it provides a corrective to the notion — implied, for example, in Habermas’ account — that modern European society ever was coherently secular in a way radically different from the rest of the world, the US included.5 The suggestion of permanence that runs through de Vries’ articulation of the postsecular condition, however, can cause us to underestimate the significance of the observations Habermas made in fall of 2001. Elsewhere, I have suggested that we have been experiencing an actual historical shift regarding the status of religion and the theological, in both contemporary scholarship and society.6 Perhaps, it is too easy to categorically describe this “religious turn,” which was foregrounded, but not exclusively occasioned by the

2 Jürgen Habermas: Glauben und Wissen. Friedenspreis des Deutschen Buchhandels 2001. Frankfurt a. M. 2001, p. 10. All translations from German- language sources are my own. 3 Jürgen Habermas: Zwischen Naturalismus und Religion. Philosophische Aufsätze. Frankfurt a. M. 2009, p. 146 (highlighted in the original). 4 Hent de Vries: Introduction. In: Political Theologies. Public Religions in a Post- Secular World. Eds. Hent de Vries, Lawrence E. Sullivan. New York, 2006, pp. 1–88, here 2 f. 5 See, e.g., Habermas (fn. 3), p. 121. 6 Claudia Breger: Religious Turns. Immigration, Islam, and Christianity in 21st- Century German Cultural Politics. In: Konturen: Interdisciplinary Journal for German Cultural Analysis 1. (http://konturen.uoregon.edu/vol1_Breger.html). On the ‘Turn to Religion’ in philosophy already see Hent de Vries: Philosophy and the Turn to Religion. Baltimore 1999. See now also Daniel Weidner: Thinking beyond Secularization: Walter Benjamin, the ‘Religious Turn,’ and the Poetics of Theory. In: New German Critique 111 (2010), pp. 131–48.

Chloe 46 Christian Universalism? 157

September 11 attacks, as “the return of religions.”7 Certainly, it is not a turn back towards premodern scenarios. In further pursuing the contemporary postsecular condition, this contribution nonetheless starts from the historical diagnosis that in the twenty-first century, religion has reassumed a more prominent role than it had, to be more specific, in West Germany after the student movement, in programmatically secularized East Germany or post-Atatürk Turkey. It has reassumed this role both in the life of many people (of Christian and Jewish as well as Muslim faith)8 and on the contemporary political stage in Germany, as well as Turkey and other parts of more or less secular Europe. In mainstream German discourses of immigration, this new prominence is indicated in a twofold way. First, twenty-first century debates around immigration have shifted the focus of attention from categories of nation (the Turkish Gastarbeiter) to those of religion. Fueled also by transnational discourses on September 11, 2001, the figure of otherness dominating the public stage has become the ‘Muslim,’ and ‘Islam’ more generally.9 Secondly, references also to Christianity play a crucial role in recently reheated debates about immigration — for example in the post-secular topos of “Christian universalism” on which I focus specifically in this contribution. Between the Swiss referendum against minarets, the electoral success of Geert Wilders in the Netherlands and the German controversy around Thilo Sarrazin’s Deutschland schafft sich ab,10 the terms of mainstream discussion have become increasingly confrontational all across central Europe in the last few years. To be

7 Navid Kermani: Wer ist Wir? Deutschland und seine Muslime. München 2010, p. 15 (my emphasis). 8 For the Christian side see, e.g, Jytte Klausen: The Islamic Challenge: Politics and Religion in Western Europe. Oxford 2005, p. 138. With respect to Turkish- German communities, Faruk ùen: The Historical Situation of Turkish Migrants in Germany. In: Immigrants & Minorities 22 (2003), pp. 208 f. specifically notes the correlation between the growth of observance and the length of an immigrant’s stay in Germany (p. 224), suggesting that in addition to larger transnational trends, immigrant experiences inflect the observed increases in religious commitment. 9 See Kermani (fn. 7), 35. 10 Thilo Sarrazin: Deutschland schafft sich ab. Wie wir unser Land aufs Spiel setzen. Munich 2010. On Sarrazin, see also Karl Solibakke’s contribution to this volume.

Chloe 46 158 Claudia Breger sure, we should not prematurely identify the hysterical War-of- Cultures rhetoric also in German feuilletons with the overall situation in a country which, in many respects, has become much more “cosmopolitan” (weltoffen) in the past few decades.11 Nonetheless, this rhetoric does have both referents and effects. Statistic data indicate a significant rise of anti-immigrant and specifically anti-Islamic attitudes in Germany even since 2008. When Sarrazin’s bestseller was published in September 2010, a majority of Germans across the political spectrum indicated their support for his anti-immigrant position.12 More generally, 58.4 percent of Germans polled by the SPD-affiliated Friedrich Ebert-Stiftung in 2010 were in favor of “severely restricting” (erheblich einzuschränken) Muslim religious practice, and 55.4 percent indicated that they could “well understand” anti-Arab racism (gut verstehen, dass manchen Leuten Araber unangenehm sind).13 Importantly, this prominence of anti-Islamism does not throughout translate into positive (majority German) attitudes towards Jews: Although the available data tend to be more complicated in that attitudes are measured through statements relating to either the Holocaust or Israeli policy, the figures are disconcerting as well.14 Finally, the terrible news coming in from Norway as I

11 Kermani (fn. 7), p. 48, 54; see similarly Zafer ùenocak: Deutschsein. Eine Aufklärungsschrift. Hamburg 2011, p. 39. 12 The statement that Sarrazin “hat recht” drew consent from 59% of FDP voters (vs. 25%: he is ‘not right’), 51 (vs. 27) % of CDU/CSU voters, 52 (vs.27) % of Linkspartei voters and 43 (vs. 35) % of Social Democrats. Only among Green Party affiliates, a majority disagreed with Sarrazin (34 vs. 47%). See: http://www.openpr.de/news/463082/Meinungsumfrage-zur- Buchveroeffentlichung -von-Thilo-Sarrazin-Hohe-Zustimmung-fuer-Sarrazin-in-der-Bevoelkerung.html. 13 Martin Kaul: Deutschland, stillgestanden! In: die tageszeitung, 14 October 2010 http://www.taz.de/1/politik/deutschland/artikel/1/deutschland-stillgestanden; accessed 3 April 2011. 14 In 2008, for example, 35.6% agreed to the statement “Given Israeli politics, I can well understand that people don’t like Jews” (gut verstehen, dass man Juden nicht mag; Andreas Zick, and Beate Küpper, and Andreas Hövermann: Die Abwertung der Anderen. Eine europäische Zustandsbeschreibung zu Intoleranz, Vorurteilen und Diskriminierung. Berlin 2011, p. 65). See also Zick and Küpper: Antisemitismus in Deutschland —Resistente Ressentiments”: http://www.migration-boell.de/web/diversity/48_2171.asp/. Apparently also based on 2008 data, this article highlights that the poll targeted the German majority population, not (Muslim) immigrants.

Chloe 46 Christian Universalism? 159 finalize my contribution in late July 2011 also finds some resonance in these German statistics: Christians of both major denominations have scored even higher on various racist items than non-Church-affiliated Germans.15 Looking at such data, one could be tempted to cynically conclude that in the postsecular society, religious identification has, in some respects, become a cover-up for plain racism. I do not want to settle for such a simple explanation, however, as little as for the opposite one according to which current hostilities are in fact fueled by actual religious conflict. Instead, I will further explore the role of religious references in contemporary immigration discourses by taking an analytical step back, and investigating it as part of a broader return to what Wolfgang Böckenförde calls “premises” (Voraussetzungen). For the former German supreme court judge, liberal society needs a “connecting ethos, a sort of ‘public spirit’” (verbindendes Ethos; eine Art ‘Gemeinsinn’) which is fed by “lived culture” (gelebten Kultur), the sources of which he specifies as “Christianity, Enlightenment and humanism.”16 While Böckenförde’s original pleas to that effect date to the 1960s and 1970s,17 and thus underline that these ideas were present also in twentieth-century discourses, they have developed a renewed resonance and increasing influence in the twenty-first century — not least in Habermas’ writings, who has consistently opposed the interpretation that the democratic state needs any religious foundations for its legitimation, but now asked whether it might require them as resources for civic solidarity.18 On the most general level, I argue that the 2000s have brought larger epistemological as well as political shifts, which are indicated, for example, by Navid Kermani’s recent description of contemporary society in terms of a “discovery and construction of that which is

15 See Kaul (fn. 13); also Zick and Küpper (fn. 14), and the controversy initiated by Annetta Kahane’s respective findings: Micha Brumlik: Gott und die Welt: Aufklärung erbeten. In: die tageszeitung, 5 July 2011; http://www.taz.de/1/debatte/kolumnen/artikel/1/aufklaerung-erbeten. 16 Quoted from Joachim Frank: Freiheit ist ansteckend. Interview mit Ernst- Wolfgang Böckenförde. Frankfurter Rundschau, 1 November 2010: http://www.fr-online.de/kultur/debatte/-freiheit-ist-ansteckend-/- /1473340/4795176/-/index.html; accessed 3 April 2011. 17 See Ernst-Wolfgang Böckenförde: Staat, Gesellschaft, Freiheit. Frankfurt a. M. 1976; Habermas quotes an essay from 1967 (fn. 3), p. 106). 18 Habermas (fn.3), pp.106-107.

Chloe 46 160 Claudia Breger counted as one’s own” (was als das Eigene gilt), or, in Zafer ùenocak’s more critical words, the “attempt at assuring identities” and a “subtle fundamentalizing of the self-image of occidental civilization.”19 Fueled by September 11 and the following wars as well as neoliberalism’s regimes of social insecurity in the globalizing world, longstanding discontents within the postmodernist episteme have facilitated a revival of gestures of affirmation and closure with respect to collective identifications. In both academic thought and broader public consciousness, these trends have displaced the emphasis on critical reflexivity that has been associated with postmodernism, and more generally with the liberal legacy of the enlightenment, especially in its self-distinction from its ‘fundamentalist other.’20 While recent scholarship convincingly insists on the contradictions inscribed in these self-descriptions of ‘enlightened society,’21 my point is that even on the level of self- description, the rhetoric of reflexivity, and liberal neutrality, may have lost its (relatively) dominant status. The twenty-first century gestures of closure replacing it, for example in contemporary German immigration discourses, often have religious reference points, without therefore necessarily constituting primarily, or strictly, religious utterances. This over-determination, I suggest, underlines why the term “postsecular” may in fact be a good fit for their conceptualization also in de Vries’ sense.

II Gestures of Affirmation, Love — and Hatred

In academic discourse, the epistemological ‘conversions’ at stake are indicated, for example, by a recent wave of interest in the (itself also not recent) philosophy of Stanley Cavell,22 who offers a non-naïve —

19 Kermani (fn.7), p. 15; ùenocak (fn.11), pp. 43 f.. 20 See William Rasch: Enlightenment as Religion. In: New German Critique 36 (2009), pp. 109–-131, here p. 117 (on Habermas). 21 E.g., Rasch (fn. 20); also, e.g., Michael Warner: Is Liberalism a Religion? In: Religion. Beyond a Concept. Ed. Hent de.Vries. New York 2008, pp. 610–17. 22 Admittedly, my data for this trend diagnosis are mostly as phenomenological as Cavell’s philosophy itself. In my (Indiana University, Bloomington-centered) academic world, Cavell suddenly seems to have assumed center-stage everywhere — in interdisciplinary theory reading groups, German studies guest

Chloe 46 Christian Universalism? 161 and, in fact, procedurally still reflexive — plea for the affirmation of premises from within the post/modern condition of a loss of stable foundations of identity. Cavell does so by way of “proclamatory presentism.”23 While acknowledging that the “gap” between “mind” and “world” cannot simply be filled with “God” or “universals” any longer (as traditional philosophy did), Cavell nonetheless turns also against the skeptical denial that it could be filled at all: With Wittgenstein he shovels, so to speak, some soil into the gap by advocating “the appreciation and acceptance of particular human forms of life, human ‘convention,’” or “shared forms of life.”24 Starting from the premise that it “is imperative that our experience of the world make sense,” Cavell’s phenomenological philosophy thus advocates “a mode and mood of acceptance and acknowledgement,” of “affective receptivity” and “‘faith.’”25 The reference points for these gestures of affirmation are provided by a rather intricate mesh of ‘premise topoi.’ In The Claim of Reason, Cavell alternatingly specifies the “shared forms of life” at stake as anything ranging from baseball rules and tribal customs to “those forms of life which are normal to any group of creatures we call human” — that is, universals, after all.26 The difference between these mundane and religious, local and global forms is spanned by the way Cavell conceptualizes the legitimating force of experience: The (sense of) evidence it provides is in part based on a model of individual bodily perception, but simultaneously collectivized through the authority, or: equally-taken-for-granted-status, with which he endows both horizontal community coherence and historical continuity.27 In other words: If we are, as Cavell advocates, not to disrupt “the texture

lectures as well as the film and performance studies interests of my graduate students. 23 Hent de Vries: Introduction: Why Still Religion? In: Religion. Beyond a Concept. Ed. H.d.V. New York 2008, pp. 1–98, here p. 78. 24 Stanley Cavell: The Claim of Reason. Wittgenstein, Skepticism, Morality, and Tragedy. Oxford 1979, p. 109, see p.83. 25 Cavell (fn.24), p. 60 (emphasis in original); de Vries (fn 23), p. 33; Rick Anthony Furtak: Skepticism and Perceptual Faith. Henry David Thoreau and Stanley Cavell on Seeing and Believing. In: Transactions of the Charles Peirce Society 43 (2007), pp. 542–61, here pp. 542, 545. 26 Cavell (fn. 24), p. 111. In different context, he also speaks of “our [...] need of God” (Stanley Cavell: Must We Mean What We Say? Cambridge 1976, p. 266). 27 See Cavell (fn. 24), pp. 99–100, 107, 119, 122.

Chloe 46 162 Claudia Breger of our lives,” even the “tyranny of” baseball “convention” becomes the “tyranny of nature” in that we give the authority of changing the rules exclusively to the “master” of the game who knows how to “better serve its essence”28 — changing its essence, or opting for a different game, do not seem to be options. Crucially, I am not trying to short-circuit Cavell’s highly complex philosophy with the political developments briefly sketched above. However, precisely the points where Cavell, in contrast to the majority of politicians and journalists on the contemporary scene, self- reflexively turns back on his own procedure, might help to circle some of the issues at stake. Thus, he comments on the anxiety attached to the process of drawing a boundary around “our world,” which necessarily implies an act of exclusion, be it of the ‘other’ culture or the “lunatic[...]” who is not attuned to apparently universally shared judgments.29 Of course, this is a very old insight. In the cultural studies scholarship of the later twentieth century, it was developed in the Foucauldian direction of analyzing procedures of exclusion and discipline. In contrast, Cavell and the twenty-first century work drawing on him overall opt for the gesture of nonetheless affirming the community. At the end of the chapter I have been quoting from, however, Cavell acknowledges that the affirmation of “what I do” becomes a “thin” answer in response to a child’s imagined questions about “What is God?” or “Do you love black people as much as white people?”30 Faced with the possibility that his “foregone conclusions” about such matters could be “merely conventional” after all, Cavell reopens the gap between “my culture’s criteria” and “my” own “words and life” for a moment by suggesting to “ask why we do what we do.”31 Since Cavell does not detail the process of this investigation, we might turn, for example, to the work of Sara Ahmed, whose alternative phenomenological approach more fully integrates a critical perspective on the “cultural histories and memories” which shape different individual and collective experiences and emotions.32 With respect to twenty-first-century European political discourses, Ahmed

28 Ibid., p. 110, 123, 121. 29 Ibid., p. 90, 112, 115. 30 Ibid., p. 125. 31 Ibid. 32 Sara Ahmed: The Cultural Politics of Emotion. Edinburgh 2004, p. 7.

Chloe 46 Christian Universalism? 163 has spelled out how the politics of “love for one’s own kind” is closely intertwined with a politics of racism, where the Muslim “other,” specifically “the figure of the ‘veiled/Muslim woman,’” comes to stand in for what must be excluded for the sake of the nation.33 In this sense, the prevalent trope of “their” hatred (of Western society) against which “we” need to protect “ourselves” presents a displacement of the negative feelings hidden in the politics of affirmation.34 But does this conclusion not throw us back into the critical paradigms of the twentieth century — and, in that sense, fails to answer the challenge that the new, twenty-first century epistemologies might entail? Certainly not in every respect. Ahmed’s methodological insistence on “affective economies,” and her reading of “racism as a politics of hatred,” allow to engage, for example, ùenocak’s disconcerting observation that the Berlin Republic has become a “republic of resentment” (Republik der Ressentiments) in a way that transcends the analysis of ideologies or discourses at the center of late twentieth-century cultural studies.35 However, Ahmed’s (in many ways successful) attempt at fusing paradigms of critical reflexivity with the new phenomenological approaches results in ambivalence specifically about the “good” feelings that have been foregrounded by the “affirmative turn” in scholarship.36 In what follows, I hope to theoretically disentangle that ambivalence by looking more closely at the “good” — as well as “bad” — feelings at stake. Starting from (as such, simple) questions of how precisely the love or acceptance of what exactly is bound up with an exclusion of which “other” in currently influential configurations of collectivity, I suggest how dominant configurations of affirmation and hatred can be challenged, short of the utopian solution of not excluding anyone. The concept of configuration itself will be unfolded more fully in the last part of my contribution. I arrive there by way of dissecting a contemporary political topos that can be seen in analogy with Cavell’s layering of particularist and universal reference points: my title-giving argumentative cluster of ‘Christian universalism.’ As I show, this

33 Ibid., pp. 123–125, 132. 34 See ibid.; Kermani (fn. 7), p. 49. 35 Ahmed (fn. 32), p. 44; ùenocak (fn.11), p. 134, see p. 40f.. 36 Sara Ahmed: Happy Objects. In: The Affect Theory Reader. Eds. Melissa Gregg, Gregory J. Seigworth. Durham, London 2010, pp. 29–51, here p. 50.

Chloe 46 164 Claudia Breger topos surfaces in very different political camps; however, we can distinguish significantly diverging configurations.

III Christian Universalism: Conservative and Mainstream Configurations

On the conservative end of the political spectrum, universalism functions as an imperial claim to worldwide validity for one’s own tradition more than the claim that this tradition actually implies a move of transcending cultural particularity. For example, Sarrazin fetishizes particular collective identity to the degree that he openly declares the irrelevance of universal problems of climate change in the face of what he declares to be an imminent loss of German identity.37 While thus primarily defined as national, Sarrazin’s affirmed collectivity receives its (fraught) contours as a tradition of secularized Christianity. Drawing on Necla Kelek’s Islam-critical writings, he articulates a claim to the “universal validity of the Enlightenment,” to the effect of underlining that it be ‘our’ “duty” to see “Muslim countries with Western eyes.”38 At the same time, Sarrazin’s introductory overview of European history ascribes a primarily negative function to the Enlightenment, namely that of eroding “culture” as defined by the purpose of legitimizing “authority and hierarchy through a religious superstructure or a commonly accepted canon of values;” his narrative suggests that this erosion quasi- logically resulted in twentieth-century totalitarianisms.39 In the end, Sarrazin’s regardless use of the enlightenment as a source of legitimation for contemporary culture wars comes with the explicit acknowledgment that his insistence on secularized Christian values is, in fact, “fundamentalist” itself.40 Obviously, this is not the paradox of

37 Sarrazin (fn.10), first pp. 17-19. Sarrazin’s Social Democrat background underlines that the political distinctions pursued here cannot necessarily be located along the left-right spectrum of modern party politics. The notion of conservatism, however, seems to capture Sarrazin’s patterns of argumentation. 38 Sarrazin (fn. 10), pp. 270 f.. 39 Ibid., p. 25, see 29 f.. 40 Ibid. p. 274; see 33, 268, 273, 276 f.. This constitutes a difference in rhetoric also vis-à-vis Kelek’s writings that have insisted, if contradictorily, on the individualist character of Christian versus the collectivist one of Muslim

Chloe 46 Christian Universalism? 165 liberalism that has been cited in recent critical debates, namely the structural problem that liberalism, defined as willingness to subject all beliefs to debate, becomes a religion itself by exempting its core assumption from questioning.41 Rather, there is no liberalism involved in Sarrazin’s unabashedly particularist affirmation of Christian universalism; he makes no, not even a “disingenuous claim to neutrality.”42 Less crusader-ish in emphasis, but in important respects still similar are the mainstream affirmations of cultural identity that became the basis for the “headscarf” legislation passed in different German states in the 2000s. I have commented on these debates in detail elsewhere,43 but the piece of relevance to my argumentation here is the topos of “Christian-humanist” tradition variously used in this context. In the 2003 ruling on the case of the teacher Fereshta Ludin, the federal Supreme Court had affirmed her right to wear a headscarf in the classroom, but explicitly based this decision on the absence of respective regulations in the individual German states. The thereby encouraged new laws subsequently produced in a number of Bundesländer followed two different models. The Berlin legislation basically reproduced the 2004 French “Law on Laicity,” which had banned all “clearly visible” (ostensible) religious symbols from the classroom (if only on the teacher side in Berlin).44 While the French legislation was highly controversial for its implicit asymmetry (as indicated by its popular designation as the affaire foulard), the crux of the other German laws, from Baden-Württemberg and Bavaria to

societies (the latter trope is nonetheless quoted by Sarrazin, fn. 10, p. 288; on Kelek see my earlier piece; fn. 6). 41 See Warner (fn. 21), here p. 613. 42 Rasch (fn. 20), p. 111. 43 See Breger (fn. 6), for details and a fuller documentation of the following. 44 In the public discourse surrounding the German legal affairs, Alice Schwarzer has prominently argued a respective laicist anti-veil position. The “We” affirmed here (not without racist slippages, but explicitly opposed to “Islamism” rather than Muslims) is a Western/European rather than national one. With its roots in the French Revolution, this “We” has, in Schwarzer’s progress narrative, in the 2000s successfully incorporated the feminist challenge for which Schwarzer’s name stands: “‘Freiheit, Gleichheit [...] Geschwisterlichkeit’ [...] Dahinter wollen wir nicht mehr zurückfallen” (Alice Schwarzer: Für ein Burkaverbot. Die große Verschleierung. Für Integration, gegen Islamismus. Ed. Alice Schwarzer. Cologne 2010, pp. 228–237, here p. 237).

Chloe 46 166 Claudia Breger

Hesse and Lower Saxony, is that they are much more openly asymmetrical. In variations, these new regulations outlaw “outward appearances/behavior which can create the impression [...] that a teacher acts against human dignity, equal rights [...] or the liberal- democratic constitution,” while explicitly exempting “representation[s] of Christian and occidental educational and cultural values or traditions”45 or “Christian and humanistically shaped traditions.”46 In a distinction since upheld by various German courts in legal follow-up battles, “tradition” functions as the secularized substrate of “religion proper” here, on which the modern, religiously ostensibly neutral state is premised (à la Böckenförde). More distinctly than in Sarrazin’s account, the universal validity claims of this tradition are based also on a universalizing content element in these argumentations: the coupling of Christianity with secular humanism. Notably, the tradition at stake is specified as “Christian” and not “Judeo-Christian.” I highlight this since critics have (correctly) problematized other contemporary usages of the rhetoric of Judeo- Christian foundations, warning that it implicitly erases the history of European anti-Semitism and the Holocaust.47 The fact that none of the headscarf laws explicitly exempts Judaism along with Christianity, however, points to the complementary danger of Judaism’s disappearance in contemporary culture war rhetoric. At best, the Jewish elements of German tradition are ambiguously included in the wording ‘Christian and occidental’ used in several of the laws. In any case, the dichotomy ‘West versus Islam’ remains unaffected by the universalizing gestures involved, and their imbrication with particularity is only partially different from Sarrazin’s. The claim to

45 Baden-Württemberg: Gesetz zur Änderung des Schulgesetzes vom 01.04.2004. At: Universität Trier: Kopftuchverbot für Lehrkräfte in Deutschland: http://www.uni-trier.de/index.php?id=7524#c8466. 92; accessed 12 December 2007). 46 Hessen: Gesetz zur Sicherung der staatlichen Neutralität. Vom 18. Oktober 2004. At: Universität Trier: Kopftuchverbot für Lehrkräfte in Deutschland: http://www.uni-trier.de/index.php?id=7524#c8466. 92; accessed 22 December 2007. 47 E.g., Philipp Blom: Es gilt, die Welt wieder ohne Gott zu denken. In: Frankfurter Rundschau 6 March 2011; http://www.fr-online.de/kultur/debatte/es-gilt--die- welt-wieder-ohne-gott-zu-denken/-/1473340/7765466/-/index.html; accessed 3 April 2011.

Chloe 46 Christian Universalism? 167 neutrality is made, but, again, not simply “disingenuously” so (as, perhaps, in the laicist regulations); rather, it is explicitly qualified by the affirmation of local tradition. Human Rights Watch has identified these new German laws as discriminatory and called on the EU to review them.48 As far as I can ascertain, this has not happened, which may indicate shifting standards regarding the status of religion in the postsecular state in Europe overall. In a recent lawsuit, for example, the European Court of Human Rights at the appeal stage explicitly allowed crucifixes in Italian public schools. In terms of policy, this does not directly affect Germany; in terms of legal rhetoric, however, it implies a reversal of the 1995 German Supreme Court legislation that had outlawed Bavarian classroom crucifixes because these resonate as explicitly religious symbols, not just cultural heritage.49 To be sure, the Bavarian state fought back even then by verbally redefining its crucifixes as cultural heritage, but now this local move has been underwritten on the European level. Nicely indicating the topical “mesh” of Christian universalism at stake through ungrammatical word duplication, the commentator for the NZZ marvels about how the crucifix in 2011 “somehow” embodies all of occidental tradition with its values of peace, humanity, freedom, equality “somehow.”50

IV Christian Universalism: A Radical Counterfiguration

Meanwhile, more full-fledged universalist positions seem to have become a domain of the left. Whereas in the 1990s, paradigms of difference dominated the academic field, scholars ranging from Judith Butler to Paul Gilroy have in the 2000s revisited their earlier critiques

48 Human Rights Watch: Discrimination in the Name of Neutrality. 26 February 2009; http://www.hrw.org/en/node/80829/section/1 accessed 25 March 2011. 49 Bundesverfassungsgericht. 93, 1 May 16, 1995; Kruzifix; http://sorminiserv.unibe.ch:8080/ tools/ainfo.exe?Command =ShowPrintVersion&Name=bv093001; accessed 23 December 2007. 50 Justus Wenzel: Aufwertung und Abwertung: Das Kruzifix als religiöses und kulturelles Symbol im weltanschaulich neutralen Staat. NZZ 25 March 2011; http://www.nzz.ch/nachrichten/kultur/ aktuell/aufwertung_und_abwertung_; accessed 3 April 2011.

Chloe 46 168 Claudia Breger of universalism and conceptualized alternative humanisms.51 Whereas Butler and Gilroy integrate an emphasis also on the ongoing impact of socio-symbolic differentiations — in particular, racism — into these new pleas for humanism, other scholars have rather polemicized against the postmodern politics of difference. Alain Badiou, for example, another philosopher who has found broader resonance in the 2000s, emphatically criticizes liberal/leftist “culturalist ideology and the ‘victimist [victimaire] conception of man’” referring “back to race, religion, or gender” along with the mainstream articulations of culturalism that governed, as he words it, the “sorry affair of the foulard.”52 As indicated here, Badiou criticizes also the French Law on Laicity as “relentlessly discriminatory”; in demanding cultural assimilation from “foreigners” as a precondition for tolerance, it attests to “French identitarian fanaticism.”53 The irony, and specific relevance of Badiou’s critique for my argument, is that these quotes are from his monograph entitled Saint Paul: The Foundation of Universalism. In other words, Badiou’s radical universalism comes in a Christian name also. To be sure, Badiou begins by declaring that Paul is not actually the “saint” announced on the book cover; for him, the “poet-thinker’s” legacy is about “restoring the universal to its pure secularity, here and now.”54 The way in which Badiou develops this argument marks his distance from Cavell’s conservative phenomenology — but within a shared philosophical horizon: Badiou also contributes to the twenty-first century trend pursued here. He, too, emphasizes “belief” and “affirmation;’”55 and his universalism is not about neutrality, either. Nonetheless, it is unfolded as a more inclusive concept through its emphasis on the topos of universal (Christian) equality. The difference in content is developed through a contrast in theoretical frame: Whereas Cavell, in a nutshell, situates “us” in historically developed “worlds” of collective identification (that is, in realms of narrative continuity), Badiou develops his intervention as explicitly anti-

51 Judith Butler: Precarious Life. The Power of Mourning and Violence. New York 2004; Paul Gilroy: Postcolonial Melancholia. New York 2004. 52 Alain Badiou: Saint Paul. The Foundation of Universalism. Palo Alto 2003, pp. 6, 8. 53 Ibid., p. 8. 54 Ibid., pp. 1–2, 5. 55 See ibid., pp. 15, 89.

Chloe 46 Christian Universalism? 169 narrative (and, in that sense, explicitly builds an element of rejection into the conceptualized process of affirmation). Thus, he turns against Paul’s Christian “fable” and locates the “truth” of his thinking in the “general idea of a rupture,” or: a performative “gesture” separated from the “content of the fable.”56 In short, Badiou champions Paul’s revolutionary Christianity as a “pure event” of “declaration” authorized neither by God nor by tradition but presumably by itself: as an act with “no other force than the one it declares.”57 The trouble with Badiou’s approach is that such a claim to pure performativity cannot be sustained theoretically (or, for that matter, practically).58 Even explicitly “unauthorized,” counter-conventional or ‘revolutionary’ speech acts win their force not just from the act itself,59 but, in one way or another, draw on established topoi, or cultural narratives, that they variously reconfigure. A closer look at Badiou’s text demonstrates this. When he specifies that Paul turns “away from all authority other than that of the Voice that personally summoned him,” this qualification presents the secular thinker, who is unwilling to call the “mysterious voice” God,60 with the problem of finding another name for it: Who or what is authorizing revolutionary universalism? In contouring his own project, Badiou eventually has to accept some of Paul’s names at least as metaphorical stand-ins.61 As he feels the need to engage in some detail with accusations regarding Paul’s anti-Semitism and misogyny, Badiou’s universalism certainly remains entangled in the Christian narratives it calls upon.62

56 Ibid., p. 2, 6; see also 31. 57 Ibid., p. 48, 53. 58 For detail on the following, see Breger: An Aesthetics of Narrative Performance. Transnational Theater, Literature and Film in Contemporary Germany (forthcoming). 59 On this point see already Butler in: Excitable Speech. A Politics of the Performative. New York 1997 (against Derrida), pp. 141–159. 60 Badiou (fn. 52), p. 18, 17. 61 For example, Badiou accepts the names of “lord” and “servant” as ostensibly “absolutely” different from those of “master and disciple” (ibid., p. 63). 62 See ibid., pp. 101–106.

Chloe 46 170 Claudia Breger

V Reconfigurations, or: Critically Affirming German Immigration Histories

My point, however, is not the (general) suspicion that the “promise of universal love depends upon and produces the very exclusions and enmities it claims to be overcoming,” as David Nirenberg has cautioned with respect to other recent theoretical calls upon Christian political theology.63 In criticizing Badiou’s approach along with Cavell’s, I also do not intend to imply that it be inconsequential whether we draw on one or the other in conceptualizing contemporary political configurations. Rather, positioning them against one another allows me to more fully articulate the theoretical grounds of my own intervention: I argue that a productively complicated engagement with the current politics of affirmation, and rejection, begins where we displace both Badiou’s premises of radical discontinuity and Cavell’s premises of unconditional continuity with an alternative model of narrative as a process of critical-affirmative reconfiguration. In epistemological terms, this model of narrative reconfiguration is based on a premise both, in fact, share: that the process of constituting identity (Cavell) or truth (Badiou) unfolds as a series of performative acts (Cavell, after all, starts from Austin’s speech act theory). But the crucial point, I hold, is that we make — principally: equal — conceptual room for both continuity and discontinuity in imagining this process. In different contexts, it is variously undertaken under the banners of heresy or more or less faithful repetition, and produces a myriad of different combinations of difference and similarity in reiterating available topoi and tropes.64 By, further, describing this process in the framework of rhetoric (that is, in terms of acts undertaken by agents with intentional

63 David Nirenberg: The Politics of Love and its Enemies. In: Religion. Beyond a Concept. Ed. Hent de Vries. New York 2008, pp. 491–512, here 512. 64 Therefore I cannot simply accomplish my conceptual goal with Hans-Georg Gadamer’s phenomenological hermeneutics (Wahrheit und Methode. Grundzüge einer philosophischen Hermeneutik. 4th edition Tübingen 1975). Although Gadamer acknowledges the rupture with tradition (performed by the enlightenment) as a precondition for the hermeneutical endeavor (p. xxi), he is unapologetic about privileging the gesture of (deliberately) adopting tradition over that of criticizing, or even understanding it on historical grounds (p. xxv, see 252, 278). This normative preference comes with a (Hegelian-Heideggerian) emphasis on heteronomy, i.e., the individual’s “belonging to” “history” (261),

Chloe 46 Christian Universalism? 171 purposes as well as unconscious motivations, and a range of effects, often differing from both purposes and motivations), I can underscore its ethical dimension. As an act I am involved in (never as a sovereign player, but with varying degrees of agency), narration involves (with Badiou) making commitments, or (with Cavell) drawing boundaries in delineating what I believe, rather than finding paradoxical closure in perpetual postmodernist reflexivity. However, it also includes the challenge to account for, and (often, if not continuously) rethink these beliefs in terms of their mundane configuration in ongoing socio- symbolic struggles, rather than grounding them in the authority of more or less mysterious voices (Badiou) or existing experiences (Cavell). In more concrete terms, and returning to the scene of contemporary European immigration, this model enables reconfigurations of contemporary narratives of collective identity to, based on my own values, more egalitarian effect. As indicated above, I do, in fact, suspect that for that purpose, Badiou’s secularized Christian narratives offer more promising starting points than the discussed conservative and mainstream uses of Christian universalism. Badiou’s emphasis on rupture over historical reconfiguration, however, causes the Christian reference points of his universalism to remain simultaneously disavowed and too immediately present. Despite his secularizing intention, Badiou, by going back all the way to Paul, short-circuits a complex history of thought in the course of which European universalisms won significant distance from the religious traditions that do form part of their genealogy.65 The mundane “sources” — or configurations — created in that space of history do not just contribute to making European universalisms “acceptable” for different religious communities today in the name of the “explicit religious neutrality of the European project.”66 More radically, they allow for rethinking the genealogy of this project as a “melting pot” (thus Habermas)67 of

which puts severe constraints on imaginations of critical agency vis-à-vis dominant cultural formations. Habermas’ notion of “translation” (fn. 2, p. 29, fn.3, pp. 115 f.) for the secularizing process of adapting traditions is more useful, but still privileges similarity over difference. 65 Habermas (fn. 2), p. 21; see (fn. 3), p. 107, 111; ùenocak (fn. 11), p. 45. 66 Habermas (fn. 2), p. 21; Kermani (fn. 7), p. 137. 67 Habermas (fn. 3), p. 149. As we might want to remember, the assimilationist implications of this metaphor have been widely criticized for the context of

Chloe 46 172 Claudia Breger legitimizations from different traditions: It includes “a long and intensive history of contact (Berührungsgeschichte)” between Arab philosophy, Islam and the secular enlightenment, from Averröes (as well as his Jewish counterpart Maimonides) to Lessing, Goethe and Kant, whose doctoral certificate begins with the opening formula of most Koran suras.68 Underlining this history of contact easily demonstrates the absurdity of much contemporary German anti-Islamic rhetoric, prominently including the backlash against the (avowedly Christian) Bundespräsident’s acknowl-edgment that “Islam does belong to German culture.”69 To be sure, if this rhetoric follows an affective rather than a rational logic,70 simply de-constructing it may not accomplish very much in the heated debates of the present. Here it is crucial to understand the process of narrative re-configuration not solely in terms of discursive rearrangements (although it includes those), but as a realm of experiential worldmaking in which feelings circulate, and can be reattached to different objects.71 Thus, the challenge is to counter Sarrazin’s narratives of Islamic takeover, in which the charge of anti-Christian discrimination in contemporary Turkey is ridiculously backed up with the circumstance that “in the early Middle Ages, Asia Minor was purely Christian,”72 with affectively forceful alternative stories — stories which affirm not only the interplay of Muslim, Jewish and Christian traditions throughout later medieval and early modern Europe, but also, simply, the legitimacy and productivity of historical change as such. With respect to more recent history, this includes a call for narratives that (sometimes perhaps as unpretentiously as Yasemin

twentieth-century American immigration histories. Nonetheless, it may provide a useful counterpoint to newly essentializing European insistences on cultural difference. 68 ùenocak (fn. 11), p. 33, 106, 181; see also Kermani (fn. 7), p. 37. In passing, Kermani also points to Islamic universalisms (p. 115). 69 The new minister of the interior, Hans-Peter Friedrich, bluntly claimed there was ‘no historical evidence’ for Wulff’s acknowledgment (quoted from Blom, fn. 47). 70 See ùenocak (fn. 11), p. 135. 71 From the narratological angle, see recent cognitive work as summarized, e.g., in David Herman: Basic Elements of Narrative. Chichester 2009; also Ahmed (fn. 32), pp. 5–12. 72 Sarrazin (fn. 10), p. 272.

Chloe 46 Christian Universalism? 173

Samdereli’s recent film comedy Alamanya — Willkommen in Deutschland; 2011) affirm the significance of fifty years of postwar immigration for our understanding of (contemporary) German culture. Or stories that — like, for example, Emine Sevgi Özdamar’s Die Brücke vom Goldenen Horn (1998) and Seltsame Sterne starren zur Erde (2003) — lovingly recall the history of twentieth-century political laicisms and atheisms: those crucial pieces of modern Turkish, East German and left-wing West German history that are erased where Turkish immigration is identified with Muslim immigration, and majority German culture with Christian tradition. Affirming these parts of our histories does not mean to disregard twenty-first century mainstream shifts towards new declarations of faith in both Turkey and Germany. It does, however, help to remember that no political claim can be authorized by recourse to any unbroken, homogeneous tradition (as little as it can be authorized through the fantasy of a complete break with history), and thus to forestall the amnesia that accompanies much confrontational debate in the political realm, and even some scholarship of the affirmative turn. As I hope to have shown, productively engaging with and in the new, postsecular condition does not require forgetting the conceptualizations of identity “as a complex, internally contradictory and dynamical construct” that have been provided by late twentieth- century discussions in postcolonial as well as gender studies.73 Instead, it means imaginatively reconfiguring identity in the realm of affective controversy.

73 ùenocak (fn. 11), p. 136.

Chloe 46 D a v i d G r a m l i n g

“YOU PRAY LIKE WE HAVE FUN”: TOWARD A PHENOMENOLOGY OF SECULAR ISLAM1

Abstract

Despite the commonplace nature of such terms as “secular Judaism” and the near synonymous relationship between modern secularism and classical liberal Christianity, there exists little discourse about “secular Islam.” One speaks of the “dynamic tension between Islam and secularism” or of split identities and loyalties between the two poles, but almost never of the possibility of secularity and Islam existing together, unproblematically, within the same civic subjectivity. While critiquing the distinction between secularity and laicism in the Turkish context, the article pursues a provisional, phenomenological explication of this dilemma and suggests why a conceptualization of secular Islam is ultimately necessary for European and German discourses about religion and civic culture.

Allow me to begin with a bit of self-disclosure, and a bit of participant-observation. While I was living in Ankara, Turkey (2008– 2010), a colleague of mine invited me to his home one Friday evening for a “bite to eat” —which, in Turkey, meant a 5000-calorie blow-out that would completely throw off my post-Christmas dieting regimen. Mehmet (as I will call him) and I had students in common; I had met his wife Lale a few times before, and we had all hit it off nicely. And so I threw my diet to the wind and accepted their kind invitation. I arrived with a few other mutual colleagues. We met his 13 year- old son and were encouraged to give him advice about the world. Then the son was summarily shooed back to his bedroom for the night to do homework, which is when Lale, Mehmet’s wife — who for me was the spitting image of Ankara cosmopolitan chic: a staunch Republican Kemalist, a feminist with no headscarf or any other

1 The title to this essay is a direct reference to Ayúe Saktanber’s essay “’We Pray Like You Have Fun’: New Islamic Youth in Turkey between Intellectualism and Pop Culture.” In: Fragments of Culture: The Everyday of Modern Turkey. Eds. Deniz Kandiyoti, Ayúe Saktanber. London 2002, pp. 254–76.

Chloe 46 176 David Gramling demonstrably modest sartorial choices, and a person with ten times more nervous energy and social intuition than I could ever hope to have — set the table (all twenty platters of it) for a party of eight, without anyone noticing she was no longer among us, in the foyer of their little apartment. By the time we the guests had taken our first bites of delicious food at the dining room table, the rakı (anise-flavored liquor) had been poured, and most of the guests were getting out their first cigarettes. And this is how we spent the next five hours: sitting, smoking, jumping up from the table in genuine excitement — or feigned disgust — about something someone had said about U.S. President George W. Bush, or Turkey’s Prime Minister Recep Tayyip Erdo÷an. By 10 o’clock, there was no more foreign policy left to talk about, and most of the men had moved into the salon for a third nightcap and to start dozing inconspicuously in recliners or on the sofas. Meanwhile, the women had taken the opportunity to adjourn to the kitchen for more wine, and more cigarettes, and some nominal tidying up. And so I said to myself: should I sink into a recliner along with the other men? Or, go find out what the news is among the women in the kitchen? I sheepishly let myself through the kitchen door — and was greeted with outstretched arms and a glass of the reserve red wine that the hostess had been saving — for when the men, predictably, would doze off in the salon. And what happened next is why I have been telling this story. After I had sufficiently demonstrated that I could be in the women’s social space without disrupting its aura and texture, everyone just went back to telling stories, and taking me in as an honorary confidant(e) for the evening. Now: I had concluded, early in the evening — badly concluded, it turns out — that I was in the home of a secular, perhaps antireligious family that staked its understanding of leisure, pleasure, and virtue on an epicurean cosmopolitanism that was fundamentally at odds with Sunni Islam as I understood it. It was my first year living in Turkey and I was prone to such categorical misinterpretations. So there we were, in the smoky kitchen, all pretty tipsy at 11pm and still holding full glasses of wine, and the most startling thing happened in the room. Someone mentioned Allah, in more than a rhetorical way. I can’t remember who did first. But I don’t think it was me.

Chloe 46 Toward a Phenomenology of Secular Islam 177

Now, one might imagine that the invocation of Allah — not as a conversational device, as in “Allah Allah!” (“For God’s sake!”), but rather as a divine Being — i.e., that Allah for whom there is no other Allah but Allah, the most Gracious, the most Merciful — one might imagine that there would occur some shift of habitus, some affective, or sociolingual reorientation in this particular kitchen at this particular time. That we would be called to some kind of order, of piety, of moderation, or observance. This did not happen. What did happen was that all of the participants in the conversation leapt to their feet, one by one, wineglass and cigarette in hand, in spontaneous, ecstatic praise for what Allah had done for her today. For the joy and pleasure in the world, including the current moment of conviviality, that Allah had deigned to confer upon us. Bits of Koranic ayats were recited and explicated, ostensibly not for my benefit alone. Lale took particular interest in assuring us that humans were meant to pray to the sky with open hands and smiling faces, rather than quietly and demurely in a church pew. And pity him or her — and this is where Lale turned to me — who was not born into such circumstances so as to be able to take daily refuge in this particular plentitude and grace, of an Allah who merely supported secular individuals in their bid to enjoy the quotidian delights of the temporal world, of an Allah who, had no interest in the guilt and suffering of individuals, which — for Lale — the Christian God seemed to require. Now, I had myself become well- accustomed by this point in my time in Turkey to praising Allah out loud in a more or less secular way, at work or with friends, for this or that serendipity in my daily life. But never had it taken this particular shape: of the absolute, ecstatic — and yet pragmatic, secular, and tipsy — gratitude that I witnessed in that kitchen.

I

Already in 2002, the sociologist Ayúe Saktanber (Middle East Technical University) had written a fascinating ethnographic piece “We Pray Like You Have Fun” on the self-stylization of young pious Muslim youth movements in Turkey, and how they have represented their subalterity vis-a-vis their secular counterparts over the course of the 1970s to 1990s. It was this particular evening in Ankara that alerted me to the fact that a corollary, complementary position-taking

Chloe 46 178 David Gramling was afoot in Turkish Islam as well: “You Pray Like We Have Fun” was the operational principle of the Islam of Lale’s kitchen — where Epicureanism, gossiping, and indiscretion were as much of an expression of worship as they were hindrances to the same in the eyes of others. By this time I had, of course, written a dissertation in Germanistik on Turkish-German fiction and film, and had been through pretty much every monograph and article on how Muslim identities are apprehended in American and German Germanistik — and not one of these scholarly sources had prepared my conceptual imagination for the kind of Koran-schooling I received in the smoky haze of the women’s post-dinner dedikodu (gossip). It is certainly not my immediate goal today to try to identify or categorize the kind of expression of belief — whether one considers it secular, pragmatic, compelled, devout, wayward, socially normative, agnostic or otherwise — that was reanimated in that kitchen. But I do think it is time for European (and US American) public discourse on Islam to make categorical room for it. There have been many homologous instances of secular Islamic practices that I have been party to since that evening in Ankara, but these practices are peremptorily misrecognized in German public discourse about Islam, primarily because they don’t meet the predominant, indeed hegemonic, rhetorical constraints of the Islamdebatte. Let me just mention a few other anecdotal examples of secular Muslim subjectivities (by which I do not necessarily mean irreligious subjectivities): — A 17-year-old pupil of mine in Berlin-Wedding who wore a headscarf to class but also tended to wear halter tops to show off her new belly-ring. — Or a pious young German-Palestinian male student, also in Berlin, and his formerly irreligious wife, having a multifaceted, patient, pragmatic conversation about whether she should get her Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles tattoo removed, and whether tattoo-removal was perhaps as haram (sinful) as tattooing itself. These newly-weds then embarked on a bit of “fatwa shopping,” debating to which Shi’i jurisprudent they would seek consular recourse: whether Ayatollah Chomeni, Sistani, or Fadlallah. In the end, the young man decided that Fadlallah would be the best ayatollah to consult, because he was more progressive on women’s issues and “was the most like Kant” in

Chloe 46 Toward a Phenomenology of Secular Islam 179 his critiques and reasoning about the social world. (The young man was a philosophy student at a Berlin university.) — Or a young sociology student of mine who wears the full headscarf of modernist pious Islam in all of her MySpace pictures, but is otherwise known as something of a sartorial rock star in student circles because of her transgender fashion repertoire — including tweed jackets, bolo ties, fedoras, and Burbury scarves — and whom I have never seen wearing a headscarf except in Internet images. — Or a young male colleague in Istanbul who insists that Islam is the best world religion, simply because its requirements are so easy to remember and fulfill — (“Just five things,” he says, holding up the fingers of one hand) —and because it is “less expensive than a psychotherapist.”

Now, if and when the Islamdebatte (Islam debate) in Germany, or in the United States for that matter, encounters any of the phenomena of temporal subjectivity that I have just described — if and when Enlightenment fundamentalists like Monica Maron or Henryk Broder, or right-centrist reformists like Necla Kelek or Wolfgang Schäuble, confront these phenomena on their horizon of possibilities — the discursive conceit that arises to apprehend these practices is most often one of inveterate conflict, of split subjectivities, split allegiances, of the “tension” between secularity and Islam, or a tension between secularism and Islamism. Almost exclusively, the German public debate on Islam registers such hybrid expressions of the sacred and profane as arrested dialectics, as developmental confusions, as false consciousness, or as cognitively incommensurable, pragmatically unlivable instantiations of the human condition in extremis — which will, eventually, need to resolve into a more stable form, or from which one will necessarily have a kind of “coming out” experience into post-Muslim self- identification. Public critique of Islam in Germany rests increasingly not on the meaning of Muslim practices, whether secular or pious, but on the normative evaluation of those practices2 — i.e., on a discourse that is exclusively attentive to the perceived macro-political

2 Judith Butler: The Sensibility of Critique: Response to Asad and Mahmood. In: Is Critique Secular? Blasphemy, Injury, and Free Speech. Eds. Talal Asad, Wendy Brown, Judith Butler, Saba Mahmood. Berkeley 2009.

Chloe 46 180 David Gramling implications of everyday personal routines in the “European provinces of the Muslim world.”3 And it seems Jürgen Habermas is quite alert to this problem when he writes the following in his “Dialectic of Secularization” (2008):

On the one hand, people who are neither able nor willing, to divide their convictions and vocabulary into profane and sacred, must be able to take part in public opinion using religious language. On the other hand, the democratic state should not precipitously reduce the polyphonous complexity of the diversity of public voices, because it is unable to know if, in so doing, it might cut off society from already scarce resources for the development of identity and sensibility.4

And then, perhaps, comes the securitarian underbelly of that thought, as formulated by Jan Roß in his essay on Ernst Jünger’s tarry with Islam in the 1990s: “What about that grey zone in which inner reservations hide behind external inconspicuousness, where the consent to the rules of play in an open society appear to be mere lip service, where things are spoken differently within than without, differently in German than in Turkish, or when a general suspicion strikes those of us who don’t speak Turkish?”5 Zafer ùenocak muses about this same dynamic of suspicion, affect, and epistemic aporia, though in a more cynical, pragmatic vein: “You know, the Germans and the Turks actually get along quite well together. They hardly know anything about us, barely notice us. We on the other hand know them very well. We play a kind of hide-and- seek. Our relationship is enlivened by an unspoken tension. [...] But they take notice of only those things that they can put into words. This is how we can protect ourselves from them.”6

3 Brian Silverstein: Islam and Modernity in Turkey: Power, Tradition and Historicity in the European Provinces of the Muslim World. In: Anthropological Quarterly 76 (2003), pp. 497–517. 4 Jürgen Habermas: Die Dialektik der Säkularisierung. In: Transit Deutschland: Debatten zu Nation und Migration. Eds. Göktürk, Deniz, David Gramling, Anton Kaes, Andreas Langenohl. Konstanz 2011, p. 342, my translation. 5 Jan Roß: “Ernst, the Moslems are Here!” In: Germany in Transit. Nation and Migration 1955–2005. Eds. Deniz Göktürk, David Gramling, Anton Kaes. Berkeley 2007, p. 222. 6 Zafer ùenocak: Dialogue about the Third Language: Germans, Turks, and their Future. In: Atlas of a Tropical Germany. Ed. and Trans. Leslie A. Adelson. Lincoln 2000, p. 34.

Chloe 46 Toward a Phenomenology of Secular Islam 181

Clearly, one of the problems in the public debate, and the “structures of feeling” that tend to self-reproduce in predictable and normative ways, is — as Habermas points out — the translingual instability of our conceptual vocabularies. Not only are there various, contradictory meanings of “secular life,” there is also the question of “secular versus secularism,” and also of “secularism versus laicism.” In this case the unfortunately predominant operating principle assumes — and here I am citing the political scientist Taha Parla from Bo÷aziçi University in Istanbul — “that ‘laicism’ is merely the linguistic form secularism has taken within the Francophone tradition, both in language and history, and that secularism as a word belongs to the Anglophone tradition. [...] Laicism, however, is a narrower term, denoting a phenomenon that may not be non-, ir- or anti-religious.”7 And indeed this laicism, laıklık in Turkish — as opposed to secularism — has always meant that the Turkish state maintains a very robust and managerial relationship to religious life in Turkish society, ever since the abolition of the Caliphate. The Republic of Turkey has, consequentially, never been nor purported to be a secular state, but rather a laicist one, one that makes no bones about actively promoting and disseminating an orthodox Kemalist doctrine of Sunni Islam. And so the decades of hand-wringing in German feuilletons about purportedly self-contradictory aspects of Turkish civic identity in matters of religion have ultimately been “barking up the wrong discourse,” so to speak. So one task that a “phenomenology of secular Islam” in the German civic context would have to set out for itself is to forgo the notion that laicism is just the Francophone and Turkophone linguistic and historical translation of secularism, and then to allow these two conceptual systems to be co-present and mutually critical in future discussions. For its part, secularism has come to mean an equally difficult bundle of somewhat incommensurable things — all of which arose exclusively in the Christian ecclesiastical tradition. The Latin saeculum, for epoch or century, was the spatio-temporal gap between the First and Second Comings of the Messiah. According to Augustine in The City of God,

7 Taha Parla and Andrew Davison: Secularism and Laicism in Turkey. In: Secularisms. Eds. Janet R. Jakobsen, Ann Pellegrini. Durham, NC 2008, pp. 58– 75, here p. 60.

Chloe 46 182 David Gramling the holy Church was nothing more than a strange wanderer on the earth, never at home in the saeculum of the unredeemed world. And although David Biale notes in his wonderful new monograph on secular Judiasm Not in The Heavens that the Hebrew word olam carries a similar spatio-temporal, heilsgeschichtliche (salvation- historical) meaning as saeculum — and perhaps even the Arabic oulmanee might also warrant comparison in this regard — it is clear that the ecclesiastical provenance of saeculum presents serious limitations to how we might apply the word secular to Muslim subjectivities.8 Nonetheless, we have inherited a very broad, contradictory, and useful palette of applications for the word secular: Mark Lilla9 explains it as the Great Separation — i.e. the divorcing of the divine sword from the temporal sword, for which Luther, particularly, and not-so coincidentally, in his On War with the Turks (1528), emphasized the distinct symbolic offices of the two swords. Other notions of secularization have referenced the appropriation of church property for civic use in the French Revolutionary context. In the Turkish Republican period, too, the Aghia Sofia has been a highly visible mythic synechdoche of secularization, because the former Ottoman mosque (which had, also formerly, been a patriarchal Orthodox basilica before 1453) was transformed into a state-run museum. There is a popular Turkish Islamic pop song by Esࡤref Ziya called “Aya Sofya” that laments the loss of the former mosque to its current secular function. Certainly, the chiastic structure of seculatio that this song performs — on the one hand the seculatio of Islamic pop music, and on the other the secularization of the Aya Sofya — warrants detailed critique. And, of course, the tradition of philosophical atheism and antitheism belong to the category “secular,” as political theorists in the 17th century began to use “secular” to imagine a world without religion. But secular also means the activities and comportment of a pious person or clergy-member living outside of monastic seclusion. Until the seventeenth century at least, seculatio referred to the spiritual protocols and banal procedures of leaving the monastery. In this sense, secular in the medieval vocabulary could not be divorced from

8 See David Biale: Not in the Heavens: The Tradition of Jewish Secular Thought. Princeton 2011. 9 Mark Lilla: The Stillborn God: Religion, Politics and the Modern West. New York 2007.

Chloe 46 Toward a Phenomenology of Secular Islam 183 religious engagement with the temporal world. Yet, the word secular — originating in a deeply pious metaphysics — was eventually allowed to signify a world opposed to religion.

II

The thought experiment that inspired this line of argumentation was the question: what does it mean to say “secular Islam” — instead of, say, the “dynamic tension between secularism and Islam” or even merely “the relationship between secularism and Islam.” And this thought experiment required that I bear all of these contradictory senses of secularism, secularity, saeculum, seculatio, laicism, and laıklık in mind, and not to privilege just one of these, merely for the convenience of national-structuralist analytical consistency. The idea of secular Judaism is old hat by now, as it has come into wide use as an ethnic communitarian descriptor, but also in the sense of the Polish socialist revolutionary Isaac Deutscher in his essay “The Non-Jewish Jew,” which claimed that “the Jewish heretic who transcends Jewry belongs to a Jewish tradition” — including, therefore, every antireligious and irreligious Jew from Spinoza to Streisand. So with Judaism, we have both an ethnocultural and rabbinical affordance for “secular Judaism.” 10 Secular Catholicism also has a rather well-studied tradition and a relatively unproblematic status in public and scholarly discourse. Catholic scholar Thomas Beaudoin bases a theory of secular Catholicism on the example of Paul’s personal "cultural complexity" and his endeavor to "hold disparity together." For Beaudoin, "Secular Catholics find their Catholicism returning at some level that cannot be dispensed with, but do not or cannot make of it a regular and central set of explicit and conscious practices."11 And yet, despite ample quotidian evidence of the diverse ways communities and individuals practice a secular Islam, there is no discursive affordance for such a concept; it belongs to our

10 See Biale (fn. 8), p. 1. 11 Tom Beaudoin: “Paul of Tarsus and Catholicism Today: A Response to Cardinal Rodriguez and Father Schreiter.” Lecture at the Graduate School of Religion and Religious Education, Fordham University, New York City, 26 March 2009. http://www.nplc.org/events/25_beaudoin.php . Accessed 11 April 2011.

Chloe 46 184 David Gramling vocabularies in only the most precarious and/or coercive ways. Indeed the rare instances in which this pairing of words is used in the press is when it is wielded by antireligious, Enlightenment fundamentalists who understand the “Islam” part of “secular Islam” as referring not to a modulated faith practice, but rather to those secular people who, against their better interests, find themselves living in a Muslim society — in which case “secular” is understood to means irreligious. A case in point is the so-called Secular Islam conference of 2007, held in St. Petersburg, Florida. While sounding rather promising on a conceptual level, the event was sponsored by a certain “Institution for the Secularization of Islamic Society” and broadcast in full on Fox News’ Glenn Beck Show. The umbrella funder for the event was an outfit called the Center for Inquiry, whose mission statement declares that the center is committed to: — an end to the influence that religion and pseudoscience have on public policy, — an end to the privileged position that religion and pseudoscience continue to enjoy in many societies, — an end to the stigma attached to being a nonbeliever, whether the nonbeliever describes her/himself as an atheist, agnostic, humanist, freethinker or skeptic.12 So clearly, in these cases, “secular Islam” is used with the intention to disarticulate “Islam” from the “secular Muslim,” and to do so, whenever possible, in English, German, or French — rather than Arabic, Turkish, or Persian. And the few instances of its use in Germany come, as I said just a moment ago, from latter-day Enlightenment fundamentalists like Monica Maron, who wrote in her 2010 essay “Die Besserfundis”:

What is going on here? Why does Enlightenment suddenly count as fundamentalist? What moves our enlightened, tolerant colleagues in the editorial offices to question the legal guarantees for our individual freedom? Who are they, that they deny the right of secular or devout Muslims to criticize their culture and religion? 13

12 Center for Inquiry. Mission Statement. http://www.centerforinquiry.net/. Accessed 11 April 2011. 13 Transit (fn. 4), p. 352, my emphasis and translation.

Chloe 46 Toward a Phenomenology of Secular Islam 185

Here we see one of the few uses of “secular Muslim” in German social discourse, and how it is tactically embedded in a highly polarized public drama revolving around one’s position-takings on the Necla Kelek versus Yasemin Karakasoglu dispute. 14 In a 2010 interview I conducted with Judith Butler in Ankara, upon her visit for the International Meeting Against Homophobia, I posed the following question about Europe’s perennial aversion to thinking Islam in a secular light:

State secularism has an intricate and violent history in Republican Turkey. Yet on the personal level, the civic trait of “being secular” has for generations meant a willingness to carry out one’s public affairs regardless of your interlocutor’s faith practice. Thus it is often understood as a kind of “siblingship” (kardeúlik) across differences, rather than as an identification with atheism. Nonetheless, the story of twentieth-century Turkey is often told as a great battle between religious people and secular people. This narrative fails to recognize the vast swaths of this society who are both secular and religious, and have no need to explain the coexistence of these two principles within their own subjectivity. But it seems to me that European and American observers seldom conceptualize “secular Islam” in the way they are willing to do with “secular Judaism” and “secular Christianity.” Where do you suppose this unwillingness comes from, to whom is it of the greatest use, and whose responsibility is it to change the narrative?

Butler responded:

I think secular Islam is, for most people in the US and even in Europe, an unthinkable combination. And this is nonsensical, given how often we refer to the secular Jew, which is understood as utterly possible. We even can talk about secular Catholics now, apparently. I always thought you could only talk about “fallen” Catholics, but I guess you can talk about secular Catholics now. And a lot of that just depends on what kind of government structure or civil life you’re committed to, and where and how you place religion in your life. But it is a presupposition in the Netherlands, in Belgium, and the UK, that a particular combination of secularism and religion can work with Judeo Christian religions, but that it cannot work with Islam, that Islam will attack and override and engulf and destroy whatever is left of secularism. And this strikes me as a paranoid assumption, an ignorant assumption, and one that persists in misunderstanding the various ways in which Islam is actually lived. 15

14 Ibid., pp. 317–22. 15 David Gramling with Judith Butler. Published in Turkish as “Homofobi adlı ruhsal bozukluk.” Bir+Bir. 4. English transcription available as: “Do Not Give them Your Photographs: On Militarism, Secularism, and Homophobia: An Interview.” On the Website of KAOS GL, accessed 11 April 2011:

Chloe 46 186 David Gramling Despite the precarious, coerced, and inchoate status of the term “secular Islam,” Muslim seculatio covers a gamut of practices that are and always have been proliferating and changing shape. And this is why I am pursuing not a sociology or history of secular Islam, but a phenomenology of it — roughly in the tradition of Chantepie de la Saussaye, whose 1887 Lehrbuch der Religionsgeschichte understood the phenomenology of religion to be a critical task, attending to the meanings and manifestations of religious practices, in terms that are consistent with the symbolic habitus of worshippers themselves — a task that therefore does not approach religious practice in the social functionalist and macro-political terms that come so naturally to Monica Maron, Henryk Broder, and others. And in pursuing a phenomenology of secular Islam, one would have to take care neither to overstate, nor underrecognize, important, historical distinctions — like that between secular Islam and Islamic pop culture (or Green pop), or among other things that might look like secular Islam but are perhaps better described otherwise: For instance, while a pious Shi’i Muslim who grew up in the 1990s was often raised in the midst of more or less well-established Islamic social institutions, and therefore might have a detailed, highly literate, regulatory approach to orthodox practice, that person’s grandparent, who is no less pious, but who was raised in the post-colonial absence of national religious governmentality, might appear to have a more laissez-faire, individualist habitus of devotion. But this intergenerational phenomenon, often described under the interpretive rubric of “a resurgence of political Islam in the 1990s” might not be so much attributable to the relative secularity of various generations, as to the fact that the elder generation was reared in the absence of an Islamically inflected socio-political and institutional apparatus — may see the only true orthodoxy in the Din Muhammadi (the emulation of the prophet), and would therefore be skeptical of or indifferent to the kind of government sponsored imams and mosques that became commonplace after 1970. In terms of a phenomenology of Muslim seculatio, it is instructive to look to the Lebanese case, and what Lara Deeb calls the “leisurely Islam” of Shi’i South Beirut, where a young pious generation is becoming accustomed to the

http://www.antihomofobi.org/arsiv/2010en_judith_butler_interview.htm.

Chloe 46 Toward a Phenomenology of Secular Islam 187 shifting social mores of the new coffeehouse culture in the neighborhood of Al-Dahie.16 Or to look at the predominant trend among devout young men and women in Turkey to filter their faith practices through the fiction of Gabriel Garcia Márquez, Jorge Luis Borges, the music of Pink Floyd, New Age Music, video games, geek talk, etc. (See Saktanber)17 Or one may look to Germany, where, in the city of Lehrte, the children’s song “Ringlein, Ringlein, du musst wandern” has been translated for public-school Islam curricula as “Pilger, pilger, du musst wandern” (Pilgrim, pilgrim, you must travel).18 All of these practices indicate a lively, transnational, intertextual, hybrid counternarrative of seculatio in the making. And yet German public discourse continues to rely on critical frameworks that hinder a phenomenology of hybrid secular Islams — frameworks that make it more or less discursively impossible at the moment to think “secular Islam” as anything but a duplicitous oxymoron. And I’ll give only two more examples of such frameworks before concluding: The following imagery comes from a 1997 essay by Thomas Kleine-Brockhoff called “Deutschland, deine Islamisten,” concerning large stadium-size meetings of Milli Görüsࡤ (National Perception) enthusiasts in North-Rhine Westphalia:

As if an invisible hand were showing the way, the masses streamed through the gates of the Westphalia Stadium. No authority need intervene, everyone seems to know where they are headed. Women to the left, men to the right. No questions. No protest. Today, order reigns supreme in the sold-out stadium, Islamic order. Were there no advertisements for ‘Brameier Bundesliga-Bettwäsche’ and the command ‘Borussia — just do it’ one could imagine oneself way back in Turkey.19

Regardless of what “way back in Turkey” might mean, I am concerned about the veiled suggestion of fascist socialization that whittles its way into Kleine-Brockhoff’s figural vocabulary. Here, the diorama he presents, without any knowledge of the language the

16 Lara Deeb: “Leisurely Islam: Youth Negotiations of Morality in Shi’ite South Beirut.” Keynote Address to the Southwest Graduate Conference on Middle Eastern Studies. University of Arizona, 30 March 2011. 17 See fn 1. 18 Arnfred Schenk: Allah on the Blackboard. In: Germany in Transit (fn 5), p. 233. 19 Ibid., p. 206.

Chloe 46 188 David Gramling participants of this event speak, relies on tropes of the concentration camp, and of the mass Nazi youth rallies of the 1930’s, which Turkish religious organizations in Germany have apparently inherited here against their will. With Katrin Sieg, one might describe this as a kind of imposed “ethnic drag” in reverse. 20 We see such a metonymy as well in Bassam Tibi, the Leitfigur of Euro-Islam, who wrote in 2002: “We must Westernize the Islam practiced here (den hier praktizierten Islam), just as Germany was Westernized after 1945.”21 Somewhat unalarming on the surface, this assertion however places Islam in a homologous symbolic position as National Socialism, and obscures the extent to which both Germany and Islam had been in intense negotiation with “Westernization,” at least a century before 1945. Such predominant elisions and metonymies hint at why Fazil, a young male interlocutor of the poet Ka in Orhan Pamuk’s 2002 novel Snow, speaks back to his Turkish-German exile “author” as follows:

“I don’t want you to put me in into a novel like that.” “Why not?” (replies Ka.) “Because you don’t even know me, that’s why! Even if you got to know me and described me as I am, your Western readers would be so caught up in pitying me for being poor that they wouldn’t have a chance to see my life. For example, if you said I was writing an Islamist science-fiction novel, they’d just laugh. I don’t want to be described as someone people smile at out of pity and compassion.”22

III

In conclusion, I’d like to bundle up the foregoing observations into a short list of axioms, which might guide us toward a viable, sober, and politically relevant phenomenology of secular Islam: 1. We must learn to remain wary of the hermeneutics of the headscarf: Sartorial choices have never been a reliable indicator for relative piety and secularity, alluring as they are as a totalizing cipher of biopolitics. The wide range of styles of headscarves in use today indicates an equally wide range of social, generational, geographic, familial, and situational affiliations, not just of modes of observance.

20 Katrin Sieg: Ethnic Drag: Performing Race, Nation, and Sexuality in West Germany. Ann Arbor, MI 2002. 21 Transit Deutschland (fn. 4), p. 304. 22 Orhan Pamuk: Snow. Trans. Maureen Freely. New York 2004, p. 445.

Chloe 46 Toward a Phenomenology of Secular Islam 189

What one wears on one’s head (or elsewhere) should serve as only a tertiary criterion for piety and/or seculatio. What its wearer thinks, says, or does not say about the sartorial is far more consequential, and the patent aversion among non-Muslims to pursue or imagine the latter amounts to a wholesale intellectual failure. 2. Which “secular”, whose “secular”? Until scholarly and public discourse comes to resolution about which secular is meant in, say, a text like the “Dialectic of Secularization,” then a phenomenology of secular Islam must maintain a stereoscopic view to all the meanings of secularity and laicism: ranging from the secular state’s management and administration of religious orthodoxy (as in Turkish laicism); to seculatio (how religious individuals sojourn through the temporal world (a more Certeauian approach to quotidian practices); to secularization, as in how states and individuals appropriate formerly religious property (whether that property be a building, symbol, icon, or utterance). The ecclesiastical provenance of the “saeculum” will always necessarily present meaningful symbolic frictions when applied to Muslim subjectivities. 3. Secular does not mean critical; critical does not mean secular: Butler, Brown, and Asad released a promising set of essays in 2007 under the title Is Critique Secular?:Blasphemy, Injury, and Free Speech. A great deal of effort during the symposium event upon which the book was based, particular from the feminist Christian scholar Amy Hollywood, was devoted to demonstrating that religious people, indeed very pious people, have always been among the vanguard of critique, despite Marx’s perseverations to the contrary. Critique — in a Kantian, Marxian, and Adornian mode — among middle and lower-middle class Muslims in Turkey is as vibrant in daily life as it is effaced in Western representations.23 In addition to that fact, it is important to maintain an awareness that there a broad gamut of secular practices that are patently acritical or uncritical, and are not any less secular as a consequence. Secularity must not be considered as co-extensive, dependent on, or legitimated primarily by its putative capacity for “critique.” 4. Euro-Islam is patently deceptive: A critique or program of secular (and/or pious) Islam can be beholden to no supra-local, i.e.

23 Michael M. Meeker: The New Muslim Intellectuals in the Republic of Turkey. In: Islam in Modern Turkey. Ed. Richard L. Tapper. London 1991.

Chloe 46 190 David Gramling national or supra-national, place-deixis, as in the case of Bassam Tibi’s “hier praktizierten Islam” (Islam practiced here) above, nor to Euro-Islam; because even the most autochthonous Muslims in Europe (those, say, who rarely leave Berlin-Wedding) negotiate their identity as Muslims through what Saktanber calls a “panoramic narrative” that will always be multilocational (through travel, family, pilgrimage, and mediation). German Muslim practices (both pious and secular) will be affectively invested in Libya, Turkey, Saudi Arabia, and the Philippines, just as they are in Berlin. (One might consider comparing the necessity of Muslim transnationalism to that of Jesuit transnationalism, based perhaps on Ulrike Strasser’s analysis in this volume in her essay “Mission, Migration and German Manhood: Central-European Jesuits in the Spanish Indies.”) So, programmatic interpretations that attempt to geographically corral Islam into Euro- Islam and other “geographic” Islams are always already obscuring the everyday habitus of those to whom those interpretations are supposed to attest. 5. Turkey has never been secular and secularist at the same time. We need to gently let go of the notion that Turkey is and has been the ultimate vanguard experiment of secular Islam, and that Turks are the symbolic embodiment of the relative commensurability of secularism and piety. This is rather an ethnicized, symbolic labor into which several generations of Turks in Germany have now been conscripted, primarily because of a mis-understanding of the meaning and implementation of laicism in Turkish Republican history on the part of Western Europeans. 6. Secularism isn’t safe. Safety isn’t secular. In a phenomenology of secular Islam — or secular Anything for that matter — “secular” may not serve as the symbolic handmaiden of the “securitarian.” Given that the vast majority of systematic global militarization since World War I has taken place under the missionary sign of the “secular,” the equation of the “secular” with the “secure” must be rigorously disarticulated at all levels of social life. 7. “I suggest that we begin to interrogate the difficulty of thinking of Islam non-politically.”24 This thought, from the anthropologist

24 Jeremy Walton: “Islam and the Compulsion of the Political.” On the Website: The Immanent Frame: Secularism, Religion, and the Public Sphere. Accessed 11 April 2011:

Chloe 46 Toward a Phenomenology of Secular Islam 191

Jeremy Walton, meditates on the recent uprisings in Egypt in spring 2011. The “compulsive” politicization of Islam among Western observers preemptively obscures how Muslims variously conceive of the relationship between faith and politics, and also of the possibility of a seculatio that is provisionally indifferent to its perceived macro- political import. And, as luck would have it, one of the responses I received from my recent Facebook query “What do you think secular Islam is?” goes in a similar direction as Walton wants to guide us in. And to a great extent, this response flies in the face of everything that I have said thus far, and is perhaps all the more important for that reason. In any case, I feel it is thus most appropriate here to give a secular, and devout Muslim, writing in her third language of English, the last word on the subject:

Actually [secular Islam] is the Islam that it should be & the Islam as it meant to be. Islam is not a political concept, it is a religion that is meant to regulate people's lives. Yet, as a result of Our Prophet's being the political leader of his community — which was inevitable at that time if you consider the situation he was in — and later on the Calips (sic) and their interference with religion, Islam got closer to politics, indeed, politics get closer to Islam. Anyway, my point is that Islam is actually secular. You would see my point if you consider the great Islam Ulemas. They did not interfere with their country's politics. Even, there are rulers who gave up their right to rule after deciding on being devoted Muslims. While Islam tells you how you should clean yourself in many details, it lacks giving details about how to rule a country — because it is secular.”25

I close with these thoughts from one devout and worldly young Muslim woman in 2011, and suggest that the vernacular conceptual ambiguities she presents to us may clear the way for a further, critical, and painstaking phenomenology of “secular Islam.”

//blogs.ssrc.org/tif/2011/02/23/islam--Ǧand--Ǧthe--Ǧcompulsion--Ǧof--Ǧthe--Ǧ political/. 25 I thank Nurulhude Baykal for this contribution.

Chloe 46 K a m a a l H a q u e

IRANIAN, AFGHAN, AND PAKISTANI MIGRANTS IN GERMANY: MUSLIM POPULATIONS BEYOND TURKS AND ARABS

Abstract

Discussions of the Muslim population in Germany often focus on those of Turkish, and to a lesser extent, Arab descent. This is logical, since the Turkish- and Arab- German populations are the two largest Muslim groups in Germany. The focus on these two groups, however, elides significant distinctions within the population of Muslim migrants in Germany. In this essay I focus on three less-discussed groups: Iranian, Afghan and Pakistani migrants. All three of these groups differ, above all, from Turkish migrants in Germany, because their departure from their home countries was occasioned, on the whole, more by political and religious and less by economic factors. Iranians and Afghans fled revolutions and wars in their countries, while the Pakistani community in Germany includes many Ahmadis, a heretical sect of Muslims according to the Pakistani constitution. Thus, the Pakistani-German community, in particular, presents a fascinating picture of a minority-within-a- minority in Germany. This essay provides an overview of the history and current status of these three distinct groups of Muslim migrants in Germany. In addition, I discuss how popular perception of these communities often subsumes them into the larger Turkish-German community.

When the Muslim population of Germany is discussed, writers generally focus on the Turkish, and, sometimes, the Arab populations in the country. This is, of course, understandable, given the sheer numbers involved. Of the estimated five million Muslims in Germany, the largest group (slightly less than three million people) consists of Turks and those of Turkish background, while another large group numbering perhaps half a million is composed of people of Arab descent.1 Indeed, the perception of Muslims is Germany today is often conflated with an image of Turks. I, therefore, want to

1 Muslimisches Leben in Deutschland im Auftrag der Deutschen Islam Konferenz 2009, p. 69; http://www.deutscheislamkonferenz.de/SharedDocs/Anlagen/DE/DIK/.

Chloe 46 194 Kamaal Haque focus on three different groups of Muslims in Germany: those of Iranian, Afghan and Pakistani descent. These three groups differ specifically from Turkish migrants in Germany, in that their departure from their home countries was occasioned, on the whole, more by political and religious and less by economic factors. Iranians and Afghans fled revolutions and wars in their countries, while the Pakistani community in Germany includes many Ahmadis, a heretical sect according to the Pakistani constitution. I provide an overview of the history and current status of these three distinct groups of Muslim migrants residing in Germany. My goal here is less to present a new analysis on the state of Muslim populations in Germany than to make available in English information on population groups in Germany that have been almost completely excluded from reports about German Muslims in English-language sources.2 Before beginning my discussion of Iranian, Afghan and Pakistani Germans, I need to mention a methodological issue that makes exact statistics impossible. Among other sources, I am drawing on reports from both the German Federal Office of Migration and Refugees (Das Bundesamt für Migration und Flüchtlinge) and the German Islam Conference (Deutsche Islam Konferenz, DIK).3 Numbers of registered foreigners in Germany are easy to come by; thus we can say with confidence that, as of 2009, the most recent year for which statistics are available, more than 52,000 Iranian nationals were living in Germany.4 Numbers of German citizens with the relevant “migration background,” that is, in American terms, Germans of Iranian ancestry, are more difficult to obtain, since such statistics are not officially collected and the population must be estimated by means of surveys. Furthermore, changes in German citizenship law that went into effect in 2005 have resulted in more German residents of non-German ethnicity becoming German citizens. As a result, the number of registered foreigners among these communities has decreased. This

2 One exception is: Germany in Transit: Nation and Migration, 1955-2005. Eds. Deniz Göktürk, David Gramling, Anton Kaes. Berkeley 2007. Göktürk, Gramling and Kaes do include information on and texts by Iranian-Germans in their sourcebook, but the aim of their book is not to discuss these populations as a whole. 3 See fn. 1, 4 and 22 for complete bibliographical information for these reports. 4 Ausländerzahlen 2009, p. 14. Bundesamt für Migration und Flüchtlinge: http://www.bamf.de/SharedDocs/Anlagen/DE/Downloads/Infothek/Statistik/.

Chloe 46 Muslim Populations Beyond Turks and Arabs 195 issue affects members of any ancestry in Germany, not just the Iranians, Afghans, and Pakistanis I discuss in this article.

I Iranians in Germany

The presence of Iranians in Germany dates back to the seventeenth century, when the Persian Empire first sent diplomats to the courts of Europe. The first substantial group of Iranians living in Germany, however, consisted of students in the new Federal Republic of Germany, post-World War II, as well as merchants established in the Speicherstadt in Hamburg dealing in Persian carpets. The first political refugees arrived after the 1953 CIA-supported coup that deposed Muhammad Mossadegh as Prime Minister and returned the Shah to power.5 A much larger number of political refugees came to Germany in the wake of the 1979 revolution that created the Islamic Republic of Iran. Germany has continued to be a destination for those seeking to leave the Islamic Republic in the last thirty years, including prominent exiles such as the writer Abbas Maroufi. Estimates of the Iranian population in Germany range from 100,000 to 150,000 persons.6 The ratio of Iranian nationals to Germans with an Iranian “migration background,” to translate the commonly used German term Migrationshintergrund, ranges from one to two to one to three. In many ways, the Iranian population in Germany differs from that of other population groups from Muslim majority countries. One difference is age. Iranian-Germans have a higher percentage of their community between the ages of 25 to 64 than any other community from a Muslim majority country, except for the Central Asian Republics. Furthermore, the percentage of members of the community over the age of 65 is second only to the Turkish population in Germany.7 Also, with an average age of immigration to Germany of twenty-four, first generation Iranian Muslims in Germany have the highest age of immigration of any Muslim group. By contrast, first

5 K. Amiri: Die iranische Minderheit. In: Ethnische Minderheiten in der Bundesrepublik Deutschland. Ein Lexikon, Eds. Cornelia Schmalz-Jacobsen, Georg Hansen. Munich 1995, p. 211. 6 Muslimisches Leben in Deutschland (fn. 1), p. 69. 7 Ibid., p. 105.

Chloe 46 196 Kamaal Haque generation Turks in Germany arrived, on average, at the age of seventeen.8 Other significant differences between Iranians in Germany and other Muslim communities in Germany concern religion. One difference, not surprisingly, is that Iranian Muslims are overwhelmingly Shi’a (95 percent of the population, compared to 7 percent of all Muslims in Germany).9 The largest Shi’a mosque in Germany, and the center of Shi’a in Germany is the Islamisches Zentrum Hamburg on the Außenalster. It is also the fourth-oldest mosque in Germany, the construction of which began in 1961.10 The greatest difference between this group and others is in terms of religious identification, however. The population of Iran today is composed of 98 percent Muslims (90 percent of whom are Shi’a); the Iranian-German community is, however, just under 50% Muslim.11 This is not entirely or even mostly due to an exodus of non-Muslim Iranians since the 1979 Revolution, although that has certainly occurred. Thus, we do find higher numbers of members of other religions in the Iranian-German community than in Iran (13 vs. 2 percent), yet the greatest cause of this relatively low number of Iranian Muslims in Germany is due to the fact that almost 40 percent of Iranians in Germany declare that they have no religion.12 Furthermore, of those almost 50 percent who identify themselves as Muslims, 55 percent answer in surveys about how religious they are that they are either “eher nicht gläubig” (rather not religious) or “gar nicht gläubig” (not at all religious).13 These percentages are more than double those of any other group of Muslims based on nationality and ancestry. It should come as no surprise, then, that Iranian Muslims are more likely than all other Muslim populations in Germany to say they never pray (55 percent), to say they do not adhere to Islamic dietary and beverage restrictions (75 percent), and to say they never attend religious services (almost 75 percent). In addition, Iranian-German women are the least likely group to wear a headscarf (only 2 percent report ever donning one, compared to up to

8 Ibid., p. 120. 9 Ibid., pp. 97 and 307. 10 Amiri (fn. 5), p. 216. 11 Muslimisches Leben in Deutschland (fn. 1), p. 87. 12 Ibid. 13 Ibid., p. 147.

Chloe 46 Muslim Populations Beyond Turks and Arabs 197

35 percent for other Muslim populations in Germany).14 The authors of the report Muslimisches Leben in Deutschland (Muslim Life in Germany) explain this discrepancy between the Iranian population and other populations in Germany:

This could be due to the socio-demographic and socioeconomic composition of Iranian migrants in Germany. Since 1979, the political and economic elite have belonged to those migrating, since they, often democratically- and secular-minded, have been victims of political persecution since the Islamic Revolution. The other groups of migrants from Iran, who decided to emigrate to Germany for other reasons, for example, because of the Iran-Iraq War (1980-1988), were also predominately composed of intellectuals and opponents of the Iranian religious regime.15

Indeed, it has often been said that the Iranian-German community’s distance to religion goes back to the presence of a prominent mosque and religious center in Hamburg. The Islamische Zentrum Hamburg is often seen, by both Iranian exiles and Hamburg’s Verfassungschutz (Constitutional Protection Agency, a special constitutional police force) as being a mouthpiece of the government of the Islamic Republic of Iran.16 Given the prevalence of intellectuals and opposition figures in the Iranian German community, it may not be surprising, therefore, that another significant difference between it and other Muslim communities in Germany is its level of education. Iranian Germans are more likely than any other Muslim group to have achieved what

14 Ibid., p. 148-9, 153, 162, 195. 15 Ibid., p. 139-140: “Dies könnte an der soziodemographischen und sozioökonomischen Zusammensetzung iranischer Migranten in Deutschland liegen. Seit 1979 befindet sich die politische und ökonomische Elite des Iran unter den Migrierenden, da sie – oftmals eher demokratisch und säkular eingestellt – nach der islamischen Revolution zu Opfern politischer Verfolgung wurde. Auch die Migrantengruppen aus Iran, die sich aus anderen Gründen zur Wanderung nach Deutschland entschlossen, bspw. wegen des Krieges zwischen Irak und Iran (1980-1988), setzten sich vornehmlich aus Intellektuellen und Oppositionellen gegen das iranische religiöse Regime zusammen.“ 16 Verfassungsschutzbericht 2010. Hamburger Landesamt für Verfassungschutz, pp. 58-61. (http://www.hamburg.de/contentblob/2898794/data/verfassungsschutzbericht- 2010-nur-text-fassung.pdf)

Chloe 46 198 Kamaal Haque studies refer to as “hohe Schulbildung” (high-level of education), usually defined as having attained the Abitur or Fachhochschulreife (college entrance diplomas) in either Germany or another country. Indeed, Iranian Germans — whether self-identified as Muslim or not — have the highest level of educational attainment of any group in the studies. This is in contrast to the other Muslim communities, all of whom have educational attainment levels lower than the average in Germany.17 It is thus not surprising that one of the earliest Iranian German organizations founded was the Vereinigung der Iranischen Ärzte und Zahnärzte in der Bundesrepublik Deutschland (known as VIA; Association of Iranian Physicians and Dentists in the Federal Republic of Germany).18 This association founded in 1961 awards annually the Avicenna Prize to members of the Iranian German community for exceptional service to the medical or scientific profession.19 According to 2009 statistics from the Bundesärztekammer (German Medical Association), there are 1,100 Iranian physicians in Germany.20 This number has been higher than 1,500,21 but has fallen in recent years likely because of the changes in citizenship law I discussed earlier that make it easier for foreigners to gain German citizenship and therefore not be counted in the statistics as foreign. The number of Iranian physicians is but a tiny percentage of the 325,000 physicians in Germany, but this is the highest number of physicians from any Muslim majority country and the sixth-highest total of foreign physicians in Germany overall, behind Austria, Greece, Russia, Poland and Romania. This total is also the highest of any non-European nation. There are many prominent representatives of the Iranian-German community. Perhaps best-known is the poet SAID,22 who is the only Iranian-German to win the main Adalbert-von-Chamisso prize (in

17 Muslimisches Leben in Deutschland (fn. 1), pp. 216-7. 18 http://www.kanun.org/. 19 http://www.kanun.org/index.php? 20 Ergebnisse der Ärztestatistik zum 31. Dezember 2009, Bundesärztekammer: http://www.bundesaerztekammer.de/downloads/Stat09Tab10.pdf. 21 Ärztestatistik zum 31. 12. 2000: ibid. 22 SAID was born 1947 in Teheran, came to Munich as a student in 1965, returned to Iran in 1979, but sees no possibility for a new beginning under the mullahs’ regime and lives now in Germany as an exile, according to his personal web site, hhtp://www.Said.at.

Chloe 46 Muslim Populations Beyond Turks and Arabs 199

2003), awarded yearly to a German-language writer or writers who are not native speakers of German (the Iranian-German Subadeh Mohafez has won the Chamisso Förderpreis (support prize), a smaller award based on the same criteria. SAID previously won this award, as well).23 Other well-known Iranian-Germans include the writers Navid Kermani, Abbas Maroufi, and Bahman Nirumand and the film director Sohrab Shahid Saless (who died in 1998 and who had left Germany for the U.S. in the last years of his life). Perhaps better- known in Germany today, however, are Shermine Shahrivar, whose 2004 election as Miss Germany made headlines not only in Germany but throughout the Iranian diaspora24 and Jasmin Tabatabai, an actress who has appeared in, among others, the 2009 film Baader-Meinhof- Komplex. Tabatabai, in an interview with the Financial Times Deutschland has called the Iranian German community "’Assimilierungsweltmeister’: Meist gut integriert, mit einer hohen Akademikerquote und dem Ehrgeiz, nicht aufzufallen“ (’world champions of assimilation:’ mostly well-integrated with a high percentage of college-educated members and the ambition to not stand out).25 This self-depiction of the Iranian-German community may not reflect the reality of life in Germany for many of the members of that community, however, as I will discuss later.

II Afghan-Germans

A second comparatively little-known group of Muslims in Germany is the Afghan-German population. This group differs from the Iranian German community in several aspects, although its size is similar. Best estimates of the community range from just under 100,000 to around 125,000.26 The largest groups live in Frankfurt am Main and Hamburg. Indeed, Hamburg is believed to have the largest Afghan population of any European city, a fact that has earned the city the

23 http://www.bosch-stiftung.de/content/language1/html/14778.asp 24 Germany in Transit (fn. 2), p. 16. 25 David Böcking: Aufstand der Assimilierungsweltmeister. In: Financial Times Deutschland, 18 June 2009: http://www.ftd.de/politik/deutschland/:exiliraner-in- deutschland-aufstand-der-assimilierungsweltmeister/528586.html. 26 Muslimisches Leben in Deutschland (fn. 1), p. 69.

Chloe 46 200 Kamaal Haque nickname of “Kabul in Europe.”27 Like the Iranian-German community, Afghans did reside in Germany prior to World War I, but their numbers were miniscule. Afghan residents in Germany were above all students and carpet merchants. Unlike the Iranian population, the numbers of Afghans in Germany remained low throughout the post-war period, numbering only 1,600 in 1978, the year before the Soviet invasion in Afghanistan.28 Large-scale Afghan immigration begins in 1978 and is, according to Micheline Centlivres- Demont, divided into three phases.29 The first phase of Afghan immigration started in 1978, when communists took over the government in Kabul, and continued through 1989, when Soviet troops left the country. This first phase sees the traditional elite of the country flee: the royalty, but also educated professionals, intellectuals and civil servants. The United States, not the least because of its help in funding and supplying the mujahedeen, was the desired destination, though Germany also saw its share of refugees.30 The second phase of prolonged Afghan immigration begins in 1989 and ends in 1996 when the Taliban conquer Kabul. This phase sees many of the previous pro-Communist elements of the country leave.31 The third phase begins in 1996 with Taliban control. This wave of emigration includes what is left of the small middle-class, but also includes many religious minorities (ie., Shi’a, but also small population of Hindus and Sikhs), who fear for their lives under the rule of the Sunni Pashtun Taliban.32 Ethnic minorities also flee. These trends have continued even after the fall of the Taliban and the established of a new government under Hamid Karzai. The Afghan-German population reflects these phases I have just mentioned, though with a different emphasis. While early

27 Marije Braakman: Roots and Routes: Questions of Home, Belonging and Return in an Afghan Diaspora. M. A. Thesis, University of Leiden 2005, p. 29. 28 Erwin Orywal: Die Afghanische Minderheit. In: Ethnische Minderheiten in der Bundesrepublik Deutschland. Ein Lexikon. Eds. Cornelia Schmalz-Jacobsen , Georg Hansen. Munich 1995, p. 36. 29 Micheline Centlivres-Demont: Die afghanische Diaspora in Europa. Trans. Amin Farhang. In: Afghanen im Exil: Identität und politische Verantwortung. Ed. Ralph Frieling. Iserlohn 2000, p. 38 30 Ibid. 31 Ibid. 32 Ibid.

Chloe 46 Muslim Populations Beyond Turks and Arabs 201 immigration consisted of mostly Sunni Pashtuns from the ruling classes, the population has become more heterogeneous over time. Over 60 percent of the Afghan population has been in Germany between eight and twenty years, meaning they arrived between 1989 (the second phase of Afghan immigration) and 2001 (end of the third phase).33 By the year 2009, the average Afghan immigrant had been in Germany for just under eleven years. By contrast, the Iranian immigrants in Germany are distributed much more evenly with regard to time. Though average residence in Germany is fourteen years, only about forty percent of Iranians have been in Germany for between eight and twenty years.34 More frequently than the Iranians and Pakistanis, Afghans initially arrive in Germany seeking asylum. Afghans have been under the top ten asylum-seeking nationalities since 1989, when the largest influx of Afghans to Germany began. The percentage of asylum seeks in Germany who are Afghans has increased over time. Whereas between 1995 and 2005, the percentage of asylum seekers from Afghanistan fluctuated between 3 and 7 percent of the asylum-seeking population, by 2010, Afghans accounted for 14 percent of all asylum seekers in Germany, making Afghanistan the country with the most asylum seekers.35 The percentage of asylum seekers from Iran, by contrast, has remained between 3 and 6 percent in the past fifteen years.36 The composition of these Afghan asylum seekers reflects the third phase of Afghan immigration. Whereas earlier Afghan migrants included large numbers of the ethnically dominant Pashtuns, current asylum seekers are 56 percent Tajik and 17 percent Hazara, compared to only 12 percent Pashtun.37 By contrast, the most recent estimate of the ethnic composition in Afghanistan is 42 percent Pashtun, 27 percent Tajik and 9 percent Hazara.38

33 Ausländerzahlen 2009 (fn. 2), p. 14. 34 Ibid. 35 Das Bundesamt in Zahlen: Asyl, Migration, ausländlische Bevölkerung und Integration, pp. 20 f.: see Bundesamt für Migration und Flüchtlinge: http://www.bamf.de/SharedDocs/Anlagen/DE/Publikationen/Broschueren/bunde samt-in-zahlen-2010.pdf?__blob=publicationFile. 36 Ibid. 37 Ibid., p. 28. 38 C. I. A. World Factbook. Washington, D. C. 2009. http://www.credoreference.com/entry.do?id=9278433.

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Because of the large number of asylum seekers among the Afghan- German population, many Afghans have trouble finding appropriate employment. An article from Der Spiegel reports: “Kaum ein Afghane übt in Deutschland einen Beruf aus, der seiner Ausbildung entspricht” (hardly any Afghan in Germany practices the profession for which he has been educated).39 There is a generational difference here. The Afghan-German population that has been in Germany since prior to 1989 does differ from more recent Afghan immigrants in this regard. Like the Iranian population, the Afghan German population has founded organizations for the community and even publishes a German language newsletter. Nevertheless, the visibility of these organizations is low. Unlike the fairly large number of somewhat prominent Iranian-Germans, few Afghan Germans are well-known. One exception is Burhan Qurbani, a director whose 2010 film Shahada has won many prizes and been critically acclaimed. Qurbani himself was born in Germany in 1980 to parents who arrived in 1979, so his family belongs to the minority of the Afghan German population that came to Germany in the direct aftermath of the communist takeover of Afghanistan.

III Pakistani Germans

The third group I would like to address is the population of Pakistani Germans. Their numbers are smaller than those of the two other communities I have discussed. Estimates for this group are between 50,000 and 70,000 migrants.40 Unlike the Iranian and Afghan German communities whose largest populations are in Hamburg, the Pakistani Germans are concentrated in Frankfurt and environs. A very significant difference between this group and other Muslims communities in Germany is its religious composition. One third to one half of the Pakistani German population are Ahmadis. Ahmadis consider themselves Muslims and are contained in statistics of the Muslim population of Germany as such, though much orthodox Shi’a

39 Alia Begisheva: “Wir haben die Nase voll vom Krieg.” In: Der Spiegel, 11 October 2001: http://www.spiegel.de/politik/ausland/0,1518,161915,00.html. 40 Muslimisches Leben in Deutschland (fn. 1), p. 69.

Chloe 46 Muslim Populations Beyond Turks and Arabs 203 and Sunni theology classifies Ahmadis as heretics. There are four million Ahmadis in Pakistan out of a total of 170 million inhabitants.41 Thus, Ahmadis comprise a little under 2.5 percent of the Pakistani population. They are much more frequently represented among Pakistani Germans, above all, because they are persecuted in Pakistan. The Pakistani government declared Ahmadis non-Muslims in 1974 and changed the constitution to reflect this. These changes were followed by presidential decrees in 1984 that worsened the situation of Ahmadis in Pakistan.42 Today, Ahmadis in Pakistan are discriminated against. Just one example of this is the form that every Pakistani must sign to receive a passport. It states: “I consider Mirza Ghulam Ahmad an impostor prophet. And also consider his followers, whether belonging to the Lahori or Qadiani group, to be non- Muslims.”43 This is a direct reference to the founder of the Ahmadiyya. It is not surprising, then, that many Pakistani Ahmadis have left the country and settled elsewhere, including in Germany. Ahmadis currently compose 1.7 percent of the German Muslim population, with the overwhelming majority of these being of Pakistani origin.44 A particular point of pride for the Pakistani German community is the fact that the national poet of Pakistan, Muhammad Iqbal, studied in Germany and received his Ph.D. from the University of Munich. Today, in recognition of this, there is a monument to Iqbal in the Schwabing neighborhood. The Pakistani German community is not often represented in the media or the arts. Exceptions include the 1985 film Drachenfutter (Dragon Chow) and the novelist Sarah Khan. In 2006, a Pakistani German Realschüler (middle school student) named Asad Suleman made headlines when, as the head student representative at his school, he spoke out in favor of the school’s

41 A Mosque by Any Other Name. In: The Economist, 13 January 2010: http://www.economist.com/node/15266768?story_id=15266768. 42 Michael Nijhawan: “Today, We Are All Ahmadi:” Configurations of Heretic Otherness between Lahore and Berlin. In: British Journal of Middle Eastern Studies 37 (2010), p. 430. 43 Mohammed Hanif: Why Pakistan’s Ahmadi Community is Officially Detested. BBC News, 16 June 2010: http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/programmes/ from _our_own_correspondent/ 8744092.stm. 44 Muslimisches Leben in Deutschland (fn. 1), p. 97.

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German-only policy banning other languages on the school grounds. This policy was declared racist by many Turkish-German groups.45

IV Shared Characteristics

I would now like to turn to what unites these communities, both in their perceptions and interactions with the ethnic German population. One similarity among members of these three communities is their interactions with Germans. All three communities have members, who, on average, spend less time with ethnic Germans than they would like. Approximately 60 percent of Iranian Germans would like more contact with ethnic Germans; the number among Afghan and Pakistani Germans is almost 75 percent.46 The majority of all three groups lives mostly in neighborhoods with a majority of ethnic German residents,47 yet the communities differ in how frequently their members, on average, have contact with ethnic Germans. While approximately three quarters of Pakistani and Afghan Germans report having frequent contact with ethnic Germans, both in their daily lives and in the group of friends, less than 60 percent of Iranian Germans report the same.48 This is a surprising finding, since one common assumption is that higher levels of education would result in more integration and the Iranian German population is the most-educated of any Muslim population in Germany. A second commonality among groups is the “Where-are-you-from moment,” the repeated questioning about a person’s origins on the basis of appearances. Thus, an Afghan-German physician is quoted in Marije Braakman’s study of the Afghan German community as saying: “Even those people that are too old and sick to get up… the first or second question they ask is ‘Where are you from?’ In the beginning, I answered them patiently. Now I am fed up with this question. I just tell them that it isn’t important for the diagnosis.”49 Jan Schütte, the director of Drachenfutter, has his main character, the

45 Jörg Lau: Deutschstunden. In: Die Zeit, 1 February 2006: http://www.zeit.de/2006/06/Schuldeutsch. 46 Muslimisches Leben in Deutschland (fn. 1), p. 275. 47 Ibid., p. 292. 48 Muslimisches Leben in Deutschland (fn. 1), pp. 270, 272. 49 Braakman (fn. 26), p. 86.

Chloe 46 Muslim Populations Beyond Turks and Arabs 205

Pakistani asylum seeker Shezad reply to the question by saying “Klein Flottbek,” the neighborhood in Hamburg where he was living. Of course, this answer is usually unsatisfying for the interrogator and the question, “but where are you really from?” often comes up, as evidenced in the following particularly delightful exchange from the autobiography of a Pakistani-German named Hasnain Kazim who is currently the Spiegel correspondent for South Asia. The book is entitled Grünkohl und Curry: Die Geschichte einer Einwanderung (Kale and Curry: The Story of an Immigration):

Oft folgt, nachdem ich “Hamburg” gesagt habe, schon die Nachfrage: “Aber ich meine, woher kommen Sie richtig? Wo ist Ihre Heimat?” Ich verstehe, was diese Leute wissen wollen, und ich setzte meine Antwort wie beschrieben fort. Früher habe ich auf Hamburg beharrt. Nur um den Fragesteller zu ärgern. Manche konnte man so in Verzweifelung treiben. “Ja, sag ich doch: aus Hamburg. Ich komme richtig aus Hamburg. Meine Heimat ist Hamburg.” Ich sagte “Hammbuich,” das klang glaubwürdiger. “Schon klar, aber wo liegen Ihre Wurzeln?” “Meine Wurzeln? In Oldenburg, da bin ich geboren. Und in Stade, da bin ich größtenteils aufgewachsen.” “Ja, natürlich, verstehe, aber ich meine das Herkunftsland Ihrer Familie.” “Herkunftsland meiner Familie? Also, jetzt werden Sie aber sehr persönlich, wieso wollen Sie das denn wissen?” Ich genoss das. 50

(It often follows, after I have said “Hamburg” [for where the author comes from], “I mean, where do you really come from? Where is your home?” I know what these people want to know and I continue to answer as I describe below. I used to insist on “Hamburg” in order to annoy the questioner. You can drive some of them crazy this way. “I told you already: from Hamburg. I really do come from Hamburg. My home is Hamburg.” I said “Hammbuich,” that sounded more believable. “I understand, but where are your roots?”

50 Hasnain Kazim: Grünkohl und Curry. Die Geschichte einer Einwanderung. Munich 2009, p. 132.

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“My roots? In Oldenburg. I was born there. Und in Stade; I mostly grew up there.” “Of course. I understand, but I mean your family’s country of origin.” “My family’s country of origin. But now you’re becoming quite personal; why do you want to know that?” I enjoyed that.)

This exchange, though usually in a shorter form, is frequently found in narratives from members of the various Muslim communities in Germany (and not just in them). This repeated questioning of their “true” identity often leads members of these Muslim communities in Germany to a complicated relationship to the country in which they live and, for many, in which they were also born. As an Afghan German named Habib poignantly puts it: “In name, in your passport and abroad, you are German, but inside Germany again you are a foreigner. A German foreigner.”51 Burhan Qurbani, currently one of the most widely-known Afghan Germans, expressed despair at not being accepted as a German by his fellow Germans: “I’m seen as the Afghani who made the film about integration, and that hurts a little […] Of course, I am German […] I have Afghani roots, I can’t deny that, but mostly, I am German.”52 As Germany continues becoming more multicultural in the decades ahead, one hopes that this unwillingness to decouple ethnicity and nationality by many ethnic Germans will end and that the Iranian, Afghan and Pakistani German populations will come to be seen as integral parts of a new multiethnic Germany.

51 Braakman (fn. 26), p. 86. 52 Michael Slackman: With Film, Afghan-German Is a Foreigner at Home. In: The New York Times 17 October 2010: http://www.nytimes.com/2010/10/18/world/europe/18germany.html?sq=qurbani &st=cse&adxnnl=1&scp=1&adxnnlx=1312298785- lxWhaWEcy8vJuYGwvQz4zA.

Chloe 46 T h o m a s S c h m i t t

MOSQUE DEBATES AS A SPACE-RELATED, INTERCULTURAL, AND RELIGIOUS CONFLICT

Abstract

The debate about a new mosque in Manhattan to be located near Ground Zero echoed around the world in 2010. Since the end of the 1980s, plans for new mosques have been highly contested in the western world. The main aim here is a comparison of different mosque conflicts, with a focus on German examples. “No mosque in our town!” is, with its variants, a common slogan of local neighbors and citizen action groups in Germany when a new mosque is to be built. So it is only a minor exaggeration to state: “No new mosque in Germany without a local conflict.” Also, since the late 1980s, inconspicuous mosques in Germany have been increasingly replaced by buildings that combine traditional elements of Islamic architecture (minarets, domes) with modern western and postmodern forms. This analysis differentiates at least three aspects of these conflicts: (1) spatial aspects, e.g., questions of town planning, but also the relevance of the built environment for personal and collective identity, (2) interethnic and intercultural aspects, e.g., the relation between the establishment and outsiders, and (3) interreligious aspects, e.g., the mutual conceptualizations of Islam and Christianity or relations between Islamic organizations and a “secular” state. It also considers how these conflicts escalated through the interaction of both structural and accidental factors, in particular: anti-Islamic discourses, social polarizations, and an accumulated potential for interethnic conflict in residential areas with a high number of migrants.

In 2010, plans to build a mosque in Manhattan made international headlines and became a leading topic in newspapers and news programs on radio and television. The message was that Muslims were planning to build an Islamic center in close proximity to Ground Zero. Protests were immediately heard. Ground Zero, the site in Manhattan where the Twin Towers were destroyed, serves more than any other place as a symbol of the global history of the past decade. The vehement protests in the U.S. against the construction of the mosque are, for one, a sign that mosque conflicts are always symbolic conflicts, and, second, that questions of spatial proximity can serve to

Chloe 46 208 Thomas Schmitt exacerbate such conflicts. In 2009, the referendum against minarets in Switzerland caused a stir all over Europe, and the same can be said of the consolidation of far-right political parties with anti-Islamic programs in the Netherlands, and to some extent also in Denmark. In recent years, a mosque project in the “cathedral city” of Cologne in Germany has given rise to street protests, public meetings and letters to the editor, yet in 2008, Germany's largest mosque to date opened in Duisburg amid public celebrations and a positive media fanfare. About ten years ago, I conducted a study of mosque conflicts in different German cities.1 This study adopted the perspective of conflict theory and attempted to integrate aspects of political geography and space-related conflict research,2 investigations of intercultural conflict and violence3 and research by scholars of religion. In what follows, I will present selected results, with reference in some cases to my earlier publications.4 In Germany, the debates relating to the mosque in Cologne- Ehrenfeld have aroused public interest beyond the local region in recent years. But during the 1990s, a number of mosque conflicts received publicity in the national media, in the big daily newspapers, in Die Zeit, in Bild, in Der Spiegel, and in daily television news reports. In 1997, even the American magazine Time reported on the bitter feud in Duisburg over a request made by two mosques for permission to use loudspeakers for the call to prayer.5 At the

1 Thomas Schmitt: Moscheen in Deutschland. Konflikte um ihre Errichtung und Nutzung. Flensburg 2003 (= Forschungen zur deutschen Landeskunde Vol. 252). This study is available at: http://www.mmg.mpg.de/fileadmin/user_upload/pdf/Moscheen_in_Deutschland. pdf. 2 See Jürgen Oßenbrügge and Gerhard Sander: Zum Status der Politischen Geographie in einer unübersichtlichen Welt. In: Geographische Rundschau 46 (1994), pp. 676–83. 3 See, for example, Wilhelm Heitmeyer and Reimund Anhut: Bedrohte Stadtgesellschaft. Weinheim 2000. 4 See in particular, Thomas Schmitt: Umstrittene Orte. Debatten um Moscheen in Deutschland. In: Wohnen — Arbeit — Zuwanderung. Ed. Frank Meyer. Münster 2007, pp. 175-191. See also Sabine Kraft und Thomas Schmitt: Islamische Sakralbauten und Moscheekonflikte in Deutschland. In: Die alte Stadt 3 (2008), pp. 264–80. I am grateful to Sabine Kraft for allowing me to use my parts of the text here. 5 See Jordan Bonfante: No Rest in the Ruhr? In: Time Magazine, 24 February1997.

Chloe 46 Mosque Conflicts 209 beginning of the 1990s in the small town of Bobingen near Augsburg (in southern Germany), the city council refused to grant a local Muslim community building permission for the construction of a minaret, arguing that it would be in violation of building codes. When reports of the conflict appeared in national media, this small town suddenly found itself confronted with an image of itself as a xenophobic, provincial Bavarian village.6 No one at the time thought that, fifteen years later, much more ferocious debates over the building of mosques would flare up in Germany's big cities. If we compare the conflicts of the 1990s with more recent ones, we find that the arguments put forward by supporters and opponents of such projects have remained almost unchanged. Why are current conflicts over the building of mosques so passionate, and why do they attract so much attention in the media? There is no single answer to this question; rather, the widespread escalation of mosque conflicts can be attributed to a bundle of different factors. Moreover, both supporters and, perhaps even more so, the declared opponents of building mosques come from very heterogeneous social, religious, cultural and ethnic backgrounds. Opponents range from worried, middle-class residents of the neighborhoods implicated to neo-Nazi sympathizers. It seems that the high rates of escalation can be attributed to a combination of local concerns (on the part of both supporters and opponents), and the larger symbolic or representative function of the local conflict. Mosque conflicts are symbolic and symptomatic conflicts over the integration of immigrants and the status of Islam in Western societies. They are also conflicts about group recognition and hierarchy in the urban context. This local focus makes mosque conflicts different from other potential social conflicts relating to Islam, such as the question of whether Islam should be taught in German schools. Analytically, three different aspects of mosque conflicts can be distinguished: the space-related and urban development aspect, the ethnic and cultural aspect, and the religious aspect. Conflicts over the building of mosques derive much of their energy from the meeting and

6 This is how national media reports were perceived in the local press; see Schwäbische Allgemeine Zeitung, 22 January 1993: “Jetzt liegt Bobingen sogar unter dem Meeresspiegel.”

Chloe 46 210 Thomas Schmitt overlapping of these distinct concerns, and these different aspects are interwoven in complex ways when the conflicts actually occur.

I Space and Urban Development

The monopolization of parking spaces during Ramadan, loud events at the mosque, noise from cars coming and going, and the muezzin call, which people assume will be audible in public: these commonly heard objections put forward by local residents belong in the category of space-related and urban development concerns. Here, people who live in close proximity to the planned mosque articulate their own particular space-related interests, and their desire to avoid disturbances and inconveniences of any kind. Comparable arguments are familiar from other space-related conflicts about the construction of buildings devoted to social, industrial, and commercial enterprises. It is possible to draw parallels between these mosque conflicts and the local ecology conflicts of the 1980s and 1990s, not only because of the procedural structures and forms of protest used by the mosque opponents (such as signature gathering, demonstrations), but also because of the way they express their underlying concerns, for instance, at public meetings. In addition to concerns about urban comfort, mosque opponents are driven by the fear that the area they live in will become “orientalized.” A further argument is that the “foreign” architecture of the mosque is too different from local (or, in broader terms, Western) urban architecture, and will not fit into its surroundings and environment as required by the building code. Cultural space arguments evoked in connection with mosque- related conflicts must be considered separately from fears of loss stemming from alteration to the familiar environment. People like to argue that in Germany, as part of the Christian West, a church tower and bells are allowed, but not a minaret and muezzin; the latter belong to the Islamic Orient. This a form of normative territorialization in which a normative significance is uncritically attributed to geographical constructs such as the “Orient” and the “West.”7 But

7 See Benno Werlen: Sozialgeographie alltäglicher Regionalisierungen. Vol. 2: Globalisierung, Region und Regionalisierung. Stuttgart 1997 (= Erdkundliches Wissen 119).

Chloe 46 Mosque Conflicts 211 references to an ostensibly permanent “order of things” that immobilizes cultural and geographical spaces which are only allegedly unalterable8 cannot constitute a serious reason for refusing to allow the construction of a mosque. The supporters of mosques also employ legal arguments. They refer, for instance, to the constitutional right to religious freedom, which must also be applied to the interpretation of building regulations. Representative mosques can be seen as an enrichment of the urban landscape, and they contribute to a more effective integration of Muslims. Speakers on behalf Muslim groups emphasize that, for them, the approval of representative mosques would be an overdue sign of recognition of the Muslim minority by the majority society. In this sense, describing conflicts over the construction of mosques as recognition conflicts or symptomatic expressions of the struggle for recognition of a marginalized group is justifiable.9

II Religion-related Aspects

At first glance, it would seem that religious aspects of the mosque conflicts could be subsumed under ethnic and cultural concerns. However, many lines of conflict implicating religious or theological issues, such as the evaluation of Islam from a Christian point of view, are to be found within Christian churches and German majority society, so that the terms “ethnic and cultural” in the usual sense can hardly be applied to these lines of conflict. On the other hand, some immigrants with biographically Muslim backgrounds have, in recent years, argued at a national level against the construction of new mosques, because they reject the dominant form of Islam. Two religion-related arguments have a significant place in debates over the construction of mosques. One argument centers on the perceived relationship between the religion of Islam or Islamic

8 Herbert Popp: Theoretische Reflexionen zur sozialgeographischen Forschung im Islamischen Orient. In: Geographische Zeitschrift 3 (1999), pp. 133–136. 9 Thomas Schmitt: Moscheen in deutschen Städten. Konflikte um ihre Errichtung und Nutzung. In: Stadt und Region. 53. Deutscher Geographentag Leipzig. Tagungsbericht und wissenschaftliche Abhandlungen. Eds. Alois Mayr, Manfred Meurer, Joachim Vogt. Leipzig 2002, pp. 338–48.

Chloe 46 212 Thomas Schmitt organizations and a state seen as secular or a secular society.10 The second argument concerns the relationship between the two religions of Islam and Christianity. Opponents of mosque associations claim that Islam is an anti-democratic, totalitarian religion (relationship 1), as well as being an anti-Christian religion (relationship 2). Christian supporters of the construction of mosques like to refer to the “brotherhood of the Abrahamic religions” of Christianity, Judaism, and Islam (relationship 2), and to the basic right to freedom of religion, which includes the public use of religious symbols (relationship 1). The relationship between Islam and Christianity has been full of tensions since the establishment of Islam in the seventh century, although traditional Islamic theology has in general painted a more positive picture of Christianity than can be said of the historically important Christian views of Islam. In the Lutheran Augsburg Confession of 1530, Islam was rejected as a false doctrine. But in addition to the “hard” readings, there are today more friendly conceptions of the reciprocal relationship between Christianity and Islam, or between the Islamic and the Western world; for example, the declaration by the Second Vatican Council of the Catholic Church speaks of Muslims “with esteem”11 and emphasizes those things that the Islamic and Christian faiths have in common. On the other hand, traditional Islamic theologies can be an ideological obstacle preventing any serious dialogue between Muslims, and Jews, Christians, the followers of other religions, or even non-believers.

III Functions and History of the Minaret as a Symbol

Religion-related conflicts regularly involve discussions about the “correct” interpretation of religious symbols, such as headscarves or minarets. It is not uncommon for both Muslims and non-Muslims to argue that there is only one correct interpretation of such symbols. The headscarf can thus be a sign of self-determined religiosity (a

10 On the pitfalls of the term secularity and different interpretations of secularity, see Heiner Bielefeldt: Muslime im säkularen Rechtsstaat. Vom Recht der Muslime zur Mitgestaltung der Gesellschaft. Bremen 1999. 11 Nostra Aetate, Declaration on the Relation of the Church with Non-Christian Religions, promulgated on 28 October 1965, by Pope Paul VI.

Chloe 46 Mosque Conflicts 213

Muslim position), a sign of the oppression of women, or an expression of belonging to an extremist form of Islam (the classic argument of many non-Muslims). It is easy to overlook the fact that in the course of their history symbols can take on many different meanings, sometimes even contradictory meanings. This is clearly the case with regard to the history of the minaret, which I will examine more closely here because of its importance for the understanding of mosque conflicts. The English word minaret is derived from the Arabic word menara, which originally referred to a lighthouse. A minaret (like practically any building or part of a building) can have different functions and take on different meanings; it is hard to draw a clear line between the functional and symbolic aspects of a building. Church towers and minarets both have an acoustic function. Since the seventh century, the muezzin has called the faithful to prayer from the elevated platform of the minaret, like bells in Christian church towers already did before this period. The shape of the minaret was inspired by the Christian church tower, but also by secular towers such as lighthouses.12 The minaret has a deictic function when it is used to denote the place of prayer, and functions as pars pro toto for the mosque, or even for the religion of Islam in general. During the period when Islam was expanding, the minaret in the conquered lands was a kind of victory tower that symbolized the power of the new movement,13 just as Christian church towers have at times had a similar function. In the Ottoman Empire, the number of minarets on a mosque was an indication of the rank of its donor. But these political meanings of the minaret are subordinate to its spiritual meaning: the minaret is an expression of the power of the faith.14 In the course of the expansion of Islam, minarets took on a variety of external forms in different geographical regions. In the Maghreb and in Andalusian Spain, the square tower dominated, while narrow, round, pointed minarets were built in the Ottoman Empire. Besides these common

12 Robert Hillenbrand: Manara, Manar. In: The Encyclopedia of Islam. New Edition. Leiden 1991, vol. 6, pp. 361-368. 13 Annemarie Schimmel: Künstlerische Ausdrucksformen des Islams. In: Der Islam III. Ed. Ahmed Muniruddin Stuttgart 1990 (= Die Religionen der Menschheit 25,3). 14 Michael von Brück: Gutachten über die theologische Bedeutung eines Minaretts für den muslimischen Glauben (unpublished report). Munich 1993.

Chloe 46 214 Thomas Schmitt shapes, there are many regional variations that give expression to different conceptions of architecture and art. The meaning of a religious symbol varies depending on the social context, and on whether the meaning is derived from an internal or an external perspective. In the baroque and post-baroque European reception of oriental culture, the minaret was seen as a symbol of the attractive, elegant, exotic world of Islam. Today, it regularly appears on the title pages of Western magazines as a symbol of the fundamentalist threat posed by Islam, or of ethnic and cultural changes in the West as a consequence of Muslim immigration. In mosque debates, Muslims who are first generation immigrants sometimes say that for them the minaret is a symbol of home: its familiar shape reminds them of their country of origin, of the places where they spent their childhoods. I have mentioned above that Muslims in Germany describe being allowed to build mosques with a minaret as an expression of social recognition and a sign of being granted equal rights. This desire for recognition is sometimes regarded as the expression of territorial ambitions on the part of the Muslims, and the conflict is thus interpreted as a conflict over dominance. It would be plausible to assume that some Muslims would subscribe to this symbolic meaning of the minaret, but in local conflicts this does not necessarily apply to the members of the local mosque association. Summing up the consideration of symbolic meanings of minarets, it can be concluded that intercultural conflicts may be aggravated when cultural symbols are interpreted from a one- sided perspective without recognizing that symbols can have complex, and sometimes even contradictory, meanings.

IV Recent Developments in Mosque Conflicts

There have been conflicts over the construction of mosques for more than a decade in many Western societies: Europe, the US, and also in Australia. If the arguments I have analyzed with respect to mosque conflicts in German cities, going back in some cases to the early 1990s, are compared with recent debates in Germany or Switzerland, it is obvious that there is a high degree of continuity. In a way, the public debates that have taken place since the September 11 attacks over the status of Islam in Western societies were anticipated by local

Chloe 46 Mosque Conflicts 215 mosque conflicts of the 1990s. There are only slight changes to be observed in the arguments used. For example, whereas the opponents of mosques in the 1990s mainly referred to Iran when they wanted to demonstrate the inhuman side of Islam, in later debates it was rather the Taliban regime in Afghanistan or Sharia practices in Muslim states in Africa that provided them with ammunition. At the national level, the political culture in several countries of central Europe has seen the rise of far-right parties that have decidedly anti-Islamic views or even anti-Islamic programs. In a vicious circle, this tendency is fed by local mosque conflicts, or at least they serve to encourage it, while the local conflicts are then aggravated by it. In Germany, such parties have become established at the level of the states, for instance in the case of Pro NRW (a right wing group in North-Rhine Westphalia who is lobbying for an EU law to hold a referendum about minaret construction across the twenty-seven member bloc), but have not yet attained any noticeable foothold at the federal level. Threats from Islamic extremists are not simply fabrications, as recent experience has shown, and in some cases potential attackers have become radicalized politically and religiously when attending certain mosques. Supporters of the construction of mosques should therefore be careful not to deride the fears expressed by local residents. Rather, they should show how, and to what extent, the local mosque association is in conformity with the constitution, is willing to engage in a dialogue with non-Muslims, and is networked with other social groups and institutions in the area or the city. The example of a mosque inaugurated during 2008 in Duisburg shows that a new mosque can be supported by local institutions and civic organizations. In this case, lessons learned during the fierce disputes in Duisburg over a request for permission to use loudspeakers for the call to prayer obviously had a lasting effect.

V Outlook

Since the Middle Ages, German urban society has hardly been homogeneous with regard to religion, as exemplified by the medieval

Chloe 46 216 Thomas Schmitt synagogues in Cologne, Worms, or even Brandenburg an der Havel.15 But only with the emancipation of the Jews in the nineteenth century were large, representative synagogues built alongside Christian churches. Around 1800, most synagogue buildings were hardly bigger than ordinary houses, but in the course of almost a century after the construction of the Dresden synagogue by Gottfried Semper in 1837, more and more synagogues were built. The architects followed the building styles of the period, from late baroque to classicism and historicism to the development of a special “Moorish” style that was intended to show the independent character of the Jewish faith in Christian Europe by deliberately using “foreign,” oriental stylistic elements.16 If in Germany today, an increasing number of non- Christian sacred buildings are being built — not only mosques but also synagogues and a small number of Hindu and Buddhist temples — this must be seen as an expression of normalization. After the forced homogenization of the religious cityscape during the Third Reich, when most synagogues were burned down, Germany is returning to the plurality of pre-war times.17 For decades, people have accepted the ubiquitous commercialization of the European cityscape with very little criticism, while the religious symbol of the minaret meets with resistance. The Norwegian scholar Johan Galtung has suggested three fundamental steps for positively transforming social conflicts like the disputes over mosques.18 First, it is important for both parties to examine their perceptions of each other and their images of themselves, and each party must try with empathy to identify the other's interests. Secondly, conflict transformation requires non-violent action, and, thirdly it requires creativity with regard to divergent goals, interests and contradictions. In processes connected with the planning and construction of mosques, creativity can indeed sometimes be observed. The state government of North Rhine-Westphalia, for instance, helped to finance the building of a

15 See Helmut Eschwege: Die Synagoge in der deutschen Geschichte. Wiesbaden 1988 (orig. Dresden 1980). 16 Nachum T. Gidal: Die Juden in Deutschland von der Römerzeit bis zur Weimarer Republik. Cologne orig. 1988, pp. 246–49, see also Helmut Eschwege (fn. 15). 17 On this section, see Schmitt (fn. 4). 18 Johan Galtung: Die andere Globalisierung. Perspektiven für eine zivilisierte Weltgesellschaft im 21. Jahrhundert. Münster 1998, p. 192.

Chloe 46 Mosque Conflicts 217 social center that was integrated in the new Duisburg mosque. Because of this concept, developed by the mosque congregation in close cooperation with the city of Duisburg, the mosque project had an integrating effect on the local area. Today, the building has become a popular meeting place. Not from an architectonic point of view, but with respect to this function of social integration, the Duisburg project can serve as a model for other cities.

Chloe 46 K a r l I v a n S o l i b a k k e

MUSLIM MIGRATION TO GERMANY: A RESPONSE TO THILO SARRAZIN’S DEUTSCHLAND SCHAFFT SICH AB

Abstract

Thilo Sarrazin's bestselling diatribe against the Muslim population in Germany, Germany is Doing Away With Itself (2010), has generated opprobrium from the political elite and a mass following among the population at large. Basing his arguments on demographic trans-formations substantiating fears about a reduction of the indigenous population, Sarrazin decries the rising dominance of Muslim migrants in Germany, who purportedly reproduce at a much higher rate than the national average and prey on the country’s shrinking social benefits. At the same time, he limns Germany’s transformation from an industrial society to an information provider and services economy, presaging that this change poses educational, political, social and economic challenges as the native population ages and its industries struggle to surpass global competitors.

Thilo Sarrazin’s Deutschland schafft sich ab (Germany is Doing Away With Itself)1 scaled the German bestseller charts in the final quarter of 2010 with a disquieting denunciation of the country’s Muslim community that has not only spawned a large following among the population at large and excessive media coverage, but has also earned opprobrium from the country’s intellectual and political elite. Citing statistics that substantiate fears about an impending decrease in the indigenous population in Germany, the author decries the pecuniary indolence of migrants, specifically those of Muslim origin, who prey on the country’s diminishing welfare benefits. At the same time, in a post-Hegelian posture he limns Germany’s pre- and post-war transformation from an Industriegesellschaft (industrial society) to a globally positioned Wissenswirtschaft (knowledge

1 Thilo Sarrazin: Deutschland schafft sich ab. Wie wir unser Land aufs Spiel setzen. Munich 2010, 1st edition.

Chloe 46 220 Karl Ivan Solibakke economy), maintaining that this change enjoins educational, political, and cultural pressures as the nation comes of age, its economy strives to safeguard its world markets, and most high-end industries struggle to stave off competition from low-wage competitors. At face value, Sarrazin’s group-based enmity goads xenophobic sentiment, especially when he insists that the land of his grandchildren and great- grandchildren should neither be largely Muslim, nor Turkish and Arabic be spoken among broad demographic constituencies within Germany, nor women wear veils, nor the daily rhythm of the country’s European way of life be punctuated by the prayer call of the muezzin. Emphasizing that he will not condone becoming a stranger in his native environment, Sarrazin substantiates an innate fear of the other that is weighing heavily on the German, if not the European, collective psyche today. Politics, social principles, technology, cultural theory, educational philosophy, and financial projections are inextricably interwoven in Deutschland schafft sich ab; and the amalgam of textual and diagrammatic-empirical data serves to blur the issues at stake and render Sarrazin’s arguments opaque for a mass readership. Even so, when the former politician and long-time stalwart of the technocratic wing of the SPD2 alleges that German economic growth is projected to lose intensity in 2020, he conjures up the trauma of torpor and vulnerability in a nation that equates its collective ethos with economic potency. That was the vision in 1949, when the country was founded, and those were the circumstances in 1989, when the Soviet Union collapsed, the wall toppled and East Germans were beckoned to embrace West German affluence. That was also the logistical challenge in 1955, when the first of several migration efforts witnessed an influx of foreign laborers to service the industrial upsurge in postwar Germany and offset a corresponding deficiency in the work force. Hailing from Italy, Greece, Turkey, Morocco, Portugal, Tunisia and Yugoslavia, these migrants, euphemistically labeled as Gastarbeiter or guest workers, were injected into the national labor force on the basis of Anwerbevereinbarungen (communiqués of recruitment), which were initiated by the

2 For background information on Sarrazin’s political and administrative career see Die Sarrazin Debatte. Eine Provokation — und die Antworten. Ed. Patrick Schwarz. Hamburg 2010, pp. 42–109.

Chloe 46 Response to Sarrazin 221 originating countries of the guest laborers to obtain hard currency. Subsequently, sociologists have categorized five phases of migration to Germany that paralleled modifications to government policies following the economic and political consequences of granting the relatives of foreign laborers relocation privileges in the 1960s, the revocation of the Gastarbeiter program in the wake of the economic recessions in 1974 and 1976 as well as the onus of violent assaults on the homes of migrant populations between 1992 and 1994.3 Lasting from 1991 to 2000, the fifth phase in the history of migration to Germany witnessed extensive legal reforms in response to the country’s reunification and its annexation of the five states that once comprised the territory of the German Democratic Republic. Today, twenty years after unification, there are more members of the migrant population opting to exit the country than aliens pursuing economic integration, although the upsurge in political asylum seekers has not been insignificant in recent years. At the same time, while open European borders have led to demographic interdependence and mobility among human resources, the flow of goods, services and industrial nomads has become a geo-political impediment to Turkey’s full membership in the European Union. Apparently, Europeans are reluctant to open the floodgates to Middle Eastern immigrants attaining access to the continent through Turkish portals. To exacerbate these underlying fears, the recent political events in Tunisia and the subsequent influx of asylum seekers from Northern Africa have provoked a state of emergency on the Italian island of Lampedusa. In both cases, the sanctity of the nation’s wealth and its social contentment seem to be at stake here, especially when collective upheavals and the monetary scarcities plaguing the African nations along the Mediterranean basin have been added to the list of anxieties confronting the European Union today.4 Accelerated economic globalization under the aegis of neoliberalism, new global flows enabled by developments in information technology, human migration from the global South to the global North, and political

3 See Hirashi Yano: Migrationsgeschichte. In: Interkulturelle Literatur in Deutschland. Ed. Carmine Chiellino. Stuttgart 2000, pp. 1–18. 4 See the chapter (Globalisierung und Regionalisierung) detailing the challenges migration engenders after globilization and regionalization have become economic challenges in the latter half of the twentieth century in Heinz Kimmerle: Interkulturelle Philosophie. Hamburg 2002, pp. 23–40.

Chloe 46 222 Karl Ivan Solibakke developments since September 11 help us recognize how porous national borders are and that they may have been so since the inception of the nation-state. The following responds to Sarrazin’s dystopic scenario5 by referencing three areas that impact Germany’s position as a global power: culture, ethics, and politics. Inviting comparison with the racial theories and collective elitism that propelled Nazi dogma, Sarrazin pinpoints a high level of intelligence and epigenetic principles as the primary criteria for assuring the country’s preeminence in the twenty-first century. Clearly apprehensive about an impending loss of social substance in the wake of immigration from Muslim regions, what are the most significant attributes circumscribing German culture in the years ahead and what norms is Sarrazin bringing into play to set Muslims apart from other, less intractable migrant populations?6 Likewise, if Muslims tend to sequester themselves, and that is a reproach that is often alluded to when vilifying migrant populations, could that trait exemplify a response to pressures brought to bear on foreign interlopers by Western cultures? Arguing from a migrant perspective, it might be worthwhile to ask at what point assimilating foreign elements becomes appropriation, in order to cosset chauvinistic aspirations? Moreover, does mandating cultural uniformity to comply with national aspirations today guarantee lasting protection from xenophobic retaliation in the years ahead? Finally, as Europe braces itself to rescue Greece, Ireland and Portugal from the threat of impending insolvency, one that could easily destabilize or even topple the European currency zone, can Germany afford to regulate its national identity, mandating policies that decouple the country from European economic strategies and endanger demographic mobility by espousing ethnic uniformity? Ultimately, there is uncertainty as to what Deutschland is doing away with and to what extent its migrant populations, or more specifically its Muslim communities, as Sarrazin would contend, are accountable for the country’s imminent collapse.

5 For a detailed discussion of Sarrazin’s apocalyptic stance and how his arguments can be positioned within the chronology of ultra-conservative discourse in Germany from Oswald Spengler to Botho Strauß, see Volker Weiß: Deutschlands Neue Rechte. Angriff der Eliten — Von Spengler bis Sarrazin. Paderborn 2011, pp. 107–31. 6 Sarrazin (fn. 1), 16.

Chloe 46 Response to Sarrazin 223

Despite a moral responsibility for two world wars, the ruthless destruction of millions of Jews and other minorities as well as extensive collateral damage on the domestic front, the new German state was emboldened by a resurgence of economic contrition in 1949, as it went about rebuilding its industries, redefining its role in world politics and repositioning its stance toward the concert of states on the European continent. Supported by American investments, the commercial successes that the nation was able to muster during the heady years of the Wirtschaftswunder (economic miracle) led to its rapid rehabilitation. Only in the mid 1960s and more specifically in the aftermath of social unrest in 1968 were culpability and remorse for the victims of the Nazi regime catapulted into the public eye. By then, however, Germany had established itself as an economic giant and a vehicle for European commercial strength, and this bolstered ethical support for its exculpation from the crimes perpetrated during the Nazi years. When Thilo Sarrazin, writing forty years after the 1968 revolts, projects that the ratio of employed and retirees will level off at 1:1 in 2050, crippling Germany’s Gross National Income and transforming post-war affluence into the ignominy of national poverty, he invokes the specter of fiscal and moral bankruptcy. At first glance, his concerns pinpoint demographic and structural weaknesses. As he claims, demographic projections forecast a decline in the indigenous population in Germany, which is eschewing its obligation to bring a new generation of offspring into the marketplace, at the same time as migrant populations are growing at exponential rates and jeopardizing the genetic integrity of the German homeland. Beneath the surface, however, his argument rests on the assumption that indigenous populations are intrinsically homogenous, well-educated and always keen to uphold national norms as well as to espouse values consistent with the country’s cultural elite. By the same token, migrant populations, especially those of Muslim origin, are censured for infusing inferior genetic material into the social fabric and resisting, compromising or even debasing the intelligence level of their adopted environment. No astute analysis of the prevailing national conditions would corroborate the irreconcilable differences that are at the core of Sarrazin’s case against the Muslims, nor is the indigenous population as culturally uniform as Sarrazin’s point of departure would suggest. Indeed, pursuant to the Second World War West Germany managed

Chloe 46 224 Karl Ivan Solibakke to absorb substantial immigrant populations from the East, which, while ostensibly possessing German heritage, also introduced a variety of cultural practices into the country, contributing to the diversity of customs flourishing in the largely disparate regions between Hamburg in Northern and Munich and Freiburg in Southern Germany.7 The emphasis on education, intelligence and socialization raises the specter of Sarrazin’s second primary concern, which encompasses Germany’s structural transition from an industrial giant to a service provider, from a production based economy to one dependent upon on nonmanufacturing industries, i.e., technology transfer, capital investment markets and a broad assortment of state-of-the-art customer services. The commercial significance of this change of paradigm highlights, as he insists, the need for superior educational, political, and sociological standards, if the wealth of the German nation is to endure in today’s global jungle. However, due to an innate inability — Sarrazin presumes a disavowal — to be subservient to the fundamentals of the German state recalcitrant migrants should be subjected to control measures, which would provide reassurance that their acculturation conforms to national standards. To this end, he calls for a sophisticated practice of surveillance, guaranteeing that the educational goals of the collective are neither ignored nor recanted. Regular visits to the homes of migration populations would ensure compliance with nutritional and hygienic standards on a practical level, while compulsory supervision would instill social and cultural behavior that adheres to national objectives.8 Since more than four million Muslims are officially registered in Germany today, and the assumption is that as many as two million more are residing in the country, Sarrazin’s demographics envision exponential growth in this segment of the population. Consequently, even rudimentary applications of his extensive control measures would pose financial and administrative challenges in urban areas that are already experiencing financial and administrative hardships.

7 Statistics show that by 1960 a quarter of the population of West Germany consisted of Vertriebene (expellees) from the Eastern territories of the former German Empire. See Axel Schildt: Modernisierung im Wiederaufbau. Die westdeutsche Gesellschaft der fünfziger Jahre. In: Die Kultur der 50er Jahre. Ed. Werner Faulstich. Munich 2002, p. 13. 8 Sarrazin (fn. 1), pp. 230–37 and 326–30.

Chloe 46 Response to Sarrazin 225

Sarrazin’s case against the Muslims in Germany, and it should be emphasized that the group is heterogeneous and multilayered, encompassing first, second and even third generations whose socializations are partially or completely determined by having been born, raised, educated or employed in Germany, is strongly reminiscent of the islamophobic sentiment resonating across Europe today.9 Positing that Muslim migration to and within Europe is only tolerable when the migrant community is successfully assimilated into its new environment, he bases his arguments on prejudices that champion Western norms and disparage alien influences. In terms of what he presumes to be the advanced state of European civilization, Sarrazin also takes for granted that the ideals and values advocated by Muslim cultures represent a step backward from time-honored social models in the West. Moreover, he links the regressive state of Muslim societies with their strong ideological resolve, ranging as he has stated publicly from non-aggressive, but dogmatic observance of religious practices to the zealous violence of Jihad, and with an uncanny conviction that these manifestations of purpose fluctuate without forewarning between mulishness and blatant acts of terrorism.10 Imagined or real, and the many uncertainties behind how collective perceptions are projected by the media might help to clarify some of the glaring ambiguities handicapping Sarrazin’s logic, his socio- cultural anamnesis argues from the standpoint of the indigenous, who are apprehensive that their birthrights are being eroded. Above all, the entitlement to circumscribe collective identities by selecting and regulating the cultural artifacts validating national objectives seems to be imperiled by migrant communities that refuse to adapt to or to advocate for the traditional tenets of Western culture. Without a doubt, the dialectics of remembering and forgetting form the basis for cultural supremacy, as Bassam Tibi argues in Europa ohne Identität (Europe without Identity). Originator of the term Leitkultur (guiding culture), Tibi claims that the values underwriting cultural supremacy should stem from enlightened paradigms, which arise out of and

9 For a historical survey of islamophobic sentiment in Europe which arose during the era of the crusades, and for a comprehensive assessment of Sarrazin’s position within that tradition see Achim Bühl: Islamfeindlichkeit in Deutschland. Hamburg 2010, pp. 14–134. 10 Sarrazin (fn. 1), p. 268.

Chloe 46 226 Karl Ivan Solibakke reinforce Western democratic principles, laicity, enlightened morals, human rights and the framework of civil society.11 Accordingly, the lasting temporality of a national ethos or its predisposition to extend beyond the lifetime of its arbiters rests in its ability to materialize an archive of collective memory that draws lines between civil and clerical models, the indigenous and the exogenous, as well as national and immigrant interests. Moreover, the expectation is that European cultures align themselves with a uniform set of secular values and traditions, subsuming their ideological differences into a common archive that might or might not be deeply indebted to theological beliefs, but which repudiates the practical implementation of religious dogma. Hence, to sustain the sweeping demand for laicity since the nineteenth century, these religious ingredients have been tempered by profane values. Forming an archive that balances out all of the criteria needed, myriad artifacts have been sorted through to determine which should be foregrounded and what surplus elements thrust aside, so that immediately recognizable cultural practices can be proliferated and normative modes of memory constituted. Since future generations reflect on the past almost inevitably as it is has been handed down within the memory codes prescribed by the cultural elite, it is only with political and institutional resolve that prevailing archives are reassessed and recalibrated. Even then, however, the process of re-selection entails supplementing and substituting, so that the revised archives become yet another space, in which remembering and forgetting are proscribed by cultural metonymies. As might be expected, Tibi’s Leitkultur is Eurocentric and exclusive, rather than inclusive or global in scope, and his trajectory, a hybrid entity entitled Euro-Islam, adapts Muslim identities to the ideals championed by Western cultural ideals. In analogy to Sarrazin’s parochial demands with respect to Muslim integration in Germany, Tibi perpetuates a friend-foe dichotomy, in which the differences between the opponents can no longer be negotiated on the basis of positional parities. Rather, submission to the prevailing Leitkultur guarantees its perpetuation, albeit the permeability driving global transformations today might warrant revisions of blind allegiances to formerly inflexible codices.

11 Bassam Tibi: Europa ohne Identität. Leitkultur oder Wertebeliebigkeit: Die Krise der multikulturellen Gesellschaft. Munich 1998, p. 154.

Chloe 46 Response to Sarrazin 227

Not unlike Tibi’s eclectic strain of Euro-Islam, Sarrazin’s approach to the Muslim community affords little impetus to transform different memory spaces and archives into something new that is negotiated between the parties, into the kind of sublation that allows contesting cultural paradigms to meet halfway and mold an interstitial space.12 Isolating a specific ethnicity from other migration constituents in Germany, Sarrazin’s group-based enmity stigmatizes the Muslim minority as one of the most potent threats to maintaining an unadulterated status of German and European cultural identities.13 On the one hand, he echoes characteristics that have been drawn from the standard classifications usually alluded to when condemnations are levied against the group: besides a value system that is considered to be incontrovertibly incompatible with Western mores, it is assumed that Muslims possess a proclivity for excessive religiosity with an ensuing advocacy of parochial or fundamentalist doctrines as well as an innate hostility toward anything alien to its own cultural archive. These generic attempts to defame Muslims originate from misapprehensions about the group’s inability or unwillingness to be integrated into the social mores regulating Western civil society. Fundamentally, Sarrazin’s arguments dovetail educational and economic considerations when he insists that unsuccessful integration is the result of as well as promotes sub-par levels of collective acumen and a glaring lack of intelligence, and ultimately the systemic deprivations of the ethnicities impact the economic sector negatively, leading to the threat of social imbalance on a national level. As a cultural factor intelligence is one of the central themes in Deutsch-land schafft sich ab, and, perhaps more than any other, it has generated debate in almost every assessment of the book since its pre- publication excerpts appeared in the illustrated daily Bild at the end of August 2010. Appropriating eugenic theories and notions of racial hygiene that were propagated by the Swedish economist, sociologist, politician and Nobel laureate Gunnar Myrdal, Sarrazin’s friend-foe dichotomy segregates the social framework into two opposing groups: those who are genetically sound and intelligent, or as Sarrazin would claim, German natives in general, and those whose genetic material is

12 Homi Bhabha: The Location of Culture. New York 1994, p. 5. 13 See Hilal Sezgin: Deutschland schafft mich ab. In: Die Sarrazin Debatte (fn. 2), pp. 183–91.

Chloe 46 228 Karl Ivan Solibakke less suitable for the national gene pool, i.e. the members of the Muslim population.14 Clearly, the practical implications of his policies might not lead to the sterilizations that took place in Sweden between 1935 and 1976, but there is still cause for apprehension.15 Despite the fact that Sarrazin admonishes Germans to produce children, singling out potential mothers among those who have successfully completed an advanced degree from a higher institution of learning, irrespective of the misogynic undertones of his demand, the contrasting solution necessitates that Muslims limit the size of their families, either indefinitely or until their progeny have achieved an intelligence quotient that is commensurate with native levels. Besides the obvious concern about how to institute and monitor population control in an equitable manner, questions remain as to whether the Muslim population could achieve the kind of intelligence that Sarrazin envisions rapidly and, more specifically, what that intelligence embodies, ‘nobler’ social competencies or simply adjustments to the Muslim gene pool. Fundamentally, Sarrazin equates intelligence with cultural competencies, with a clear conformity to the traditions and the roles that can be adopted within a menu of cultural practices, most of which are passed on from one generation to the next during the socialization process at home or in the community. However, with an eye to the plight of the many assimilated Jews who suffered annihilation during the Nazi regime, we might ask, once again, whether acquiescence to cultural uniformity today guarantees protection from xenophobic retaliation tomorrow? If, as his thinking implies, phylo- and ontogenetic processes determine the conditions for social and economic intelligence, then this evolutionary process has already molded numerous generations of indigenous Germans. Notwithstanding Sarrazin’s admonitions to impose an immediate behavioral codex on the Muslim community, one that is amenable to the social behavior and values he esteems, it is uncertain as to what equitable and ethical measures should be adopted to ensure that the gene pool of the Muslim population is reconditioned to approximate his standards.

14 Sarrazin (fn. 1), p. 92. 15 See Achim Bühl: Von der Eugenik zur Gattaca-Gesellschaft? In: Auf dem Weg zur biomächtigen Gesellschaft. Chancen und Risiken der Gentechnik. Ed. Achim Bühl. Wiesbaden 2009, pp. 38–40.

Chloe 46 Response to Sarrazin 229

In effect, Sarrazin pinpoints Islamic heritage as the primary impediment to integrating the Muslim population into Germany’s socio-economic context, but beneath his friend-foe argument social dynamics appear to be more decisive than genetic factors for charting and regulating the parameters of any given milieu.16 Supporting this assumption are the shifting profiles of younger generations in Germany, whose impulsive behavior — not-withstanding their ‘positive’ genetic makeup — is indicative of the economic instabilities facing the European Union today, as well as the recent revolutionary currents in the Arabic world, ostensibly instigated by the economic uncertainties of emerging generations lacking confidence about their financial well-being in future years. Frank Schirrmacher has pointed out that the gist of Sarrazin’s reasoning is desperation, since the demographic conflicts within Europe and on its periphery are far more volatile than the political pundits can obviate through legislation.17 Analogously, his eugenic theories give little credence to today’s global predicaments, which are more multifaceted than genetic solutions could remedy. Ultimately, the arguments for and against genetic as opposed to social determinants gravitate toward economic concerns, and these form the bedrock of Deutschland schafft sich ab, as the following argues. Identifying economic constraints, Sarrazin’s theories leave the generic behind to focus on issues that are plaguing German financial stability today. For example, a below-average integration of Muslims into the national labor force, a corresponding dependence on transfer payments (Kindergeld) to offset an above-average fertility rate and an affinity for spatial segregation reinforces what is seen as the group’s desire to extricate itself from the larger social fabric in which it is embedded and initiate parallel communities grounded on fundamentalist creeds. Despite the general appeal for laicity, the fundamentalism that has beleaguered both the Western and Middle Eastern worlds for the last 25 years tends to undermine the division of politics and religion. It is one of the primary principles underlying modern secular societies after functional, as opposed to essentialist, principles became popular and were promulgated in the closing years

16 See Achim Bühl: Islamfeindlichkeit in Deutschland, p. 152–53. 17 See Frank Schirrmacher: Ein fataler Irrweg. In: Sarrazin. Eine Deutsche Debatte. Issued by Deutschlandstiftung Integration. Munich / Zurich 2010, p. 26.

Chloe 46 230 Karl Ivan Solibakke of the eighteenth century. However, the disjunction of these spheres was never fully substantiated in all parts of the globe, if one concedes that in their most drastic implications the laws governing Sharia and terrorist activities are both politically and theologically motivated. Were we to chart the power relations across the globe, we would have to acknowledge that political theologies represent a crude attempt to protect the collective from what is perceived as an overwhelming adversary. In keeping with the emergence of radical Islamic movements, a clandestine re-theologizing has also found foothold in the West, although most of the Western nations consider themselves less predisposed to rally around dogmatic doctrines. All the same, the case has been made that capitalism and free market economies established themselves in the industrialized countries as cult religions, replacing many other legitimizing discourses. The best of all worlds conjoins the Deity’s financial plan with the welfare of the nation and his sibyl is the entrepreneur. Seen in this light, Sarrazin becomes the prophet of an economic theodicy that brands anyone posing a threat to the nation’s commercial redemption as malevolent. This moral sentiment colors his derision of the Muslims, which he identifies as the primary danger to the inviolability of Germany as an economic power.18 Grounded on a fundamentalist worldview, he places economic success and collective affluence at the vortex of the precepts in accordance with which civil societies measure their moral worth. The belief in capitalism, free market economies and the wealth of the nation emerged in the eighteenth century, and as an ideal it is one of the originating discourses of post-Enlightenment cultural models. During the period of European transformation in the late eighteenth century, the predominance of metaphysical discourses wanes and is supplanted by art and literature in Germany, by economics in England and by politics in France. As Bernd Witte has successfully argued, these new discourses were also acknowledged as the primary insights influencing public communication at the outset of the nineteenth century.19 In England, Adam Smith’s theory of liberal market

18 For a positive appraisal of Sarrazin’s theses see Necla Kelek: Ein Befreiungsschlag. In: Sarrazin. Eine deutsche Debatte (fn. 17), pp. 32-38. 19 See Bernd Witte: Politics, Economics, and Religion in the Global Age: Walter Benjamin’s Critique of Violence and Capitalism as Religion. In: Symposium 65 (2011), pp. 5-15.

Chloe 46 Response to Sarrazin 231 economy, introduced and outlined in his Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations, transformed moral sense philosophy into a dynamic model for social and commercial success. Appearing in 1776, just two years after Goethe’s Werther, it represents a canonical approach to the evolution of European social and cultural memory. In direct correlation to Goethe’s theory of the absolute productivity of the artistic genius, Smith proposes the theory of the absolute productivity of the economic subject, modeling his theory on a rapidly industrializing and imperial England grasping for world supremacy.20 Smith’s fundamental notion of market economy optimism is a metaphor borrowed from religious discourse, since those striving for personal gain adhere to economic motives. Ultimately, these serve the welfare of society by tempering their behavior to promote mutual gain: “and he is in this, as in many other cases, led by an invisible hand to promote an end which was no part of his intention.”21 Anchored in the public consciousness, the image of the invisible hand becomes a watershed for the secularization of religiously circumscribed beliefs founded on the prosperity of the collective. What had been abridged to a metaphor in Adam Smith’s economic theory, the invisible hand that regulates commercial activities has been reconstituted as a secular paradigm that possesses the same mystical appeal as metaphysical doctrines or fundamental dogma. On the strength of this analogy capitalist economies take on theological attributes, since the implication is that the wealth of nations becomes a correlative to the grace of the Deity. By the same token, subservience to the one interpretation makes the inverse just as plausible. If the wealth of the nation is imperiled, then the collective is endangered by a fall from grace and the invisible hand, nothing more and nothing less than the Deity’s beneficence, is retracted. The effects of this capitalist worldview had already become apparent in the nineteenth century. In Lutezia, a collection of articles that appeared in 1856, the German-Jewish intellectual Heinrich Heine was among the first to examine the disintegration of meaning and loss of relevance that the political system endures in the wake of economic

20 Ibid., p. 7. 21 Adam Smith: An Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations. Oxford 1976, p. 456.

Chloe 46 232 Karl Ivan Solibakke pressures. Alluding to conditions in the French capital during the Juste Milieu, he sketches a social order in which the dynamics of economic gain and the rise of free market conditions lead to a weakening of political power and moral principles. To his dismay, Heine acknowledged that a collective based on the principle of expanding capital was not a temporary manifestation of the restoration period, but an essential feature of global modernity. The dissolution of moral and aesthetic values, more specifically, their substitution by a religion of money as well as a focus on secularization and rationalization to comply with national economic objectives, established itself as a motive in Heine’s prose works in the mid 1830s. His analysis of these conditions in the Romantic School, in essence a criticism of the nascent market structures impacting the commercial sector, is particularly cogent: “The great multitude believes in money only. Does the religion of the present consist in the metamorphosis of God into money, or of money into God?”22 Undoubtedly rhetorical in nature, this question suggests that the adoration of the golden calf has been recuperated in modern civil societies, transforming itself into a mythical belief that commands the ideological canon of the collective, as well as many other activities related to it. Twenty years later Heine repeated his indictment, portraying the developments in France during the reign of Louis Philippe in terms that help to put Sarrazin’s economic projections into a post-modern perspective.

The laurel trees have lost their value, the divine powers are no longer fashionable in France, and the French are busily exploiting the world, and their God and emperor is now money. And money is a very strong emperor. And money is an omnipotent God, who makes those who wish to blaspheme him quiver for fear.23

The money cult substitutes the notion of the Deity with the expansion of wealth and places profits at the hub of all civil activities, and at the same time, it initiates a process that destroys the moral fabric of the collective as well as any tolerance for alterity or the proximity of the other. Money as the communal sacrament of the Deity is a harsh

22 Heinrich Heine. The Romantic School. Trans. by S. L. Fleishman. New York 1882, p. 178. 23 Heinrich Heine. Lutezia. In: Düsseldorfer Heine Ausgabe. Vol. 16, p. 277.

Chloe 46 Response to Sarrazin 233 verdict about the unhealthy social climate that Sarrazin’s Deutschland schafft sich ab verifies for Germany today. If capitalism has assumed the attributes of a sectarian crusade, then the consequence is that its rules determine the principles governing the existence of all human beings and their intimate dealings with one another. Moreover, economic aspirations take on a ritual dimension that is nothing less than theological in scope, especially when affluence becomes the central credo of the collective order. In keeping with the cult of money, the social theories of an embittered politician and banker link material contributions to the collective and the wealth of the nation into a trajectory that transforms prosperity into a fetish and financial advantage into an expression of moral strength. Nonetheless, it signifies a secularization of dogma that is as parochial as the principles of Sharia or Jihad, since no other transcendent state can possibly be as benevolent as affluence. The unremitting production of national wealth, the grasping hand as opposed to the helping hand, with which humans compensate for survival instincts at the cost of all other living beings, has ravaged any hope for embracing unfamiliar cultural traditions and for amity and reconciliation within the body politic. Many uncertainties remain with respect to Sarrazin’s cultural and national assumptions, given the economic projections that he forecasts for his nation. In closing, the focus will be placed on one question: What is Germany doing away with? Midway through Deutschland schafft sich ab Sarrazin indicates that his Archimedean point is the Western value system, which amalgamates democracy, cultural and religious freedom, as well as the individual pursuit of prosperity and personal fulfillment. As far as can be gleaned from the text, Sarrazin’s cultural derivations hark back to Kant, Herder, Goethe und Schiller, the period of German Enlightenment, in which the idea of the state — intrinsically virtuous and guided by reason — outweighed its pragmatic and practical organization — at that time, nothing more than a large assortment of despotic principalities. It is worth noting that by the end of the European transformation period in 1790 the ideal of the state as a cultural entity had become a vessel for the aesthetic as opposed to the political aspirations of a privileged intelligentsia. Formerly the initiators of the Sturm und Drang movement that proclaimed the genius of the artist sui generis and the consequence of his worldview, the more seasoned among the

Chloe 46 234 Karl Ivan Solibakke intellectual caste were compelled to parse out the legal from the moral and ethical norms in the critical years immediately following the French Revolution.24 Their motivation for doing so had two trajectories. On the one hand, they were unable and unwilling to condone the violence and the abolition of civil rights during the reign of terror in Paris. Consequently, they were obliged to advance a social model, in which the objective is the idea of the state in its rarefied form, rather than one that condones revolution to realign social relations and reallocate wealth. On the other hand, the socio-cultural tenets of the Weimarer Klassik were couched in idealistic as opposed to real objectives, and their fidelity to eternal values preambles many of Sarrazin’s singularly aseptic assertions about German cultural ideals and civil society. With respect to the latter, it was Hegel’s Philosophy of Right that codified the ethics of a civil society, one in which individual needs are linked to the wealth of the state and its methods for distributing profits.

When civil society is in a state of unimpeded activity, it is engaged in expanding internally in population and industry. The amassing of wealth is intensified by generalizing (a) the linkage of men by their needs, and (b) the methods of preparing and distributing the means to satisfy these needs, because it is from this double process of generalization that the largest profits are derived. […] This results in the dependence and distress of the class tied to work of that sort, and these again entail an inability to feel and enjoy the broader freedoms and especially the intellectual benefits of civil society.25

Freedom and intellectual satisfaction, deliverance from the inexorable mechanism that the economic process has imposed on society, are only possible by mobilizing a consensus on cultural traditions no longer beholden to the interests of any one authority, but which call upon all that has been made transmissible through the ages. Without appealing to the wisdom embedded in these traditions and referencing a broad spectrum of cultural artifacts, human rights would either be reduced to empty phrases or subject to derision by theocratic regimes. Only in an open dialog between the ethnicities, on the basis of which tolerance for the other becomes negotiable, can we possibly find equitable solutions for the political, social and economic challenges

24 See Jean-François Kervégan: Das Recht und der Staat. In: Handbuch Deutscher Idealismus. Ed. Hans Jörg Sandkühler. Stuttgart 2005, p. 172 f. 25 Hegel. The Philosophy of Right. Trans. by T.M. Knox. Oxford 1942, p. 149 f.

Chloe 46 Response to Sarrazin 235 that are, as Hegel suggests, more often than not the effect of finite resources. A perspective that allows the other to maintain its legitimacy as the other and not be subordinated to the majority was championed by the Heinrich Heine in the nineteenth century, who argued for a recalibration of collective memory on the basis of a sensitivity to the liminal space that migrant diasporas occupy. Heeding Heine’s reproaches and embracing the spirit of his missive, can twenty-first century Germany profit from actively integrating the other and modify its national aspirations to embrace ethnic heterogeneity? Thilo Sarrazin, who was compelled to resign from the Board of the German Federal Bank in September 2010 for voicing anti-Muslim sentiments and for arguing that all Jews share the same gene, has not taken sufficient note of the moral accountability that emboldens post-war policies and discourse on human rights. Without doubt, his position on Muslim migrants to Germany as well as members of the Muslim community residing in the country is subject to misinterpretation by an indiscriminate readership unable to recognize when fears breed intolerance and blind adherence to economic entitlements unleashes apartheid.

Chloe 46 CONTRIBUTORS:

Barbara Becker-Cantarino, Ohio State University

Claudia Breger, Indiana University, Bloomington

Wolfgang Breul, Johannes Gutenberg University Mainz

Ulrike Gleixner, Herzog August Bibliothek, Wolfenbüttel; Technische Universität Berlin

David Gramling, University of Arizona

Rebekka Habermas, Georgia Augusta University Göttingen

Kamaal Haque, Dickinson College

Cornelia Niekus Moore, University of Hawaii

Pia Schmid, Martin Luther University Halle-Wittenberg

Thomas Schmitt, Max Planck Institut, Göttingen

Karl Solibakke, Syracuse University

Ulrike Strasser, University of California, Irvine

Chloe 46 INDEX

Adler, 39, 40 Becker-Cantarino, Barbara, 4, 77, Afghan, 193, 194, 199, 200, 201, 237 202, 204, 206 Benjamin, Walter, 230 Afghanistan, 26, 31, 117, 200–202, Berlin, 32–34, 36, 38, 46, 50, 51, 215 78, 88, 114, 116, 118, 123, 125, Africa, 2, 13, 28, 29, 31, 94, 97, 127, 128, 134, 138, 143, 146– 115, 123, 124, 129, 130, 133– 148, 153, 158, 178, 190, 203, 139, 142, 144-147, 153, 154, 237 215, 221 Bernhardi, Friedrich, 106 Ahmad, Mirza Ghulam, 203 Bethlehem, PA 17, 19–21, 62–64 Ahmadis, 193, 194, 202 Betke, Joachim, 44 Albrecht, Ruth, 58, 121, 126 Beyreuther, Erich, 56 Alexander, Czar, 115 Bhabha, Homi, 227 Amerindians, 100, 108 Biale, David, 182, 183 Anderson. Benedict, 108, 115, 142 Bielefeldt, Heiner, 212 Ankara, 32, 175, 177, 178, 185 Bismarck, 142, 149 Asad, Talal, 153, 179, 189, 203 Bitterli, Urs, 68 Asia, 13, 31, 94, 97, 115, 133, 172, Blackhawk, Ned, 24 205 Blaufuß, Dietrich, 45, 46 Ateú, Seyran, 36 Böckenförde, Wolfgang, 159, 166 Atwood, Craig D., 113 Boehm, Anthony, 78 Augustine, St., 181 Bohemia, 103 Baalbek, 134 Böhme, Jakob, 57, 59 Badiou, Alain 155, 168, 169, 170, Borja, Galaxis, 101, 104, 107, 108 171 Bornkamm, Heinrich, 48, 49 Balkan, 8 Borutta, Manuel, 123, 124, 151 Basel, 83, 114–116, 118, 144 Boston, 80, 120 Bavaria, 88, 165 Boswell, Christina, 10 Beaudoin, Thomas, 183 Braunschweig-Wolfenbüttel, Bebel, August, 134 Philippine Charlotte, 86 Becher, Jürgen, 145 Brecht, Martin, 42, 44, 45, 49, 56, Becker, Carl Heinrich, 76, 124– 58, 113 132, 135, 136, 138–140, 148, Breckling, Friedrich, 42, 44 149, 152, 155 Breger, Claudia, 30, 156, 165, 169, 237

Chloe 46 240 Index

Brethren, 16, 21, 24, 55, 58, 59, 63 Eschwege, Helmut, 216 Breul, Wolfgang, 15, 44, 58, 237 EU, 6, 11, 30, 167, 215 Britain, 10, 120, 121, 142 Faulstich, Werner, 224 Broder, Henryk, 179, 186 Feest, Christian, 20 Brunner, Daniel L., 78 Fischer, 58 Brunswick, 88 Flaig, Egon, 152 Bühl, Achim, 225, 228, 229 Fogleman, Aaron S., 9, 17 Burschel, Peter, 97 Francke, August Hermann, 15, 16, Bush, President, 26, 176 41, 43, 45, 48–55, 60, 77, 78, 80, Butler, Judith, 22, 167, 169, 179, 82–84, 87, 89 185, 189 Francke. Gotthilf, 84 Cadiz, 98 Frankfurt, 106, 113, 199, 202 Cameroon, 128, 138, 140, 143 Frenz, Matthias, 87 Caucasus, 115, 116 Friedrich, Hans-Peter, 28 Cavell, Stanley, 155, 160–163, Friedrich, Markus, 96, 106 168, 170, 171 Fritsch, Ahasverus,45 Chiellino, Carmine, 221 Froberger, Josef, 125, 127 China, 42, 78, 79, 81, 135 Galtung, Johan, 216 Clossey, 87, 90, 93, 95–98, 101, Gardner, K., 11 102 Genoa, 98 Cologne, 32, 142, 208, 216 Georgia, 19, 237 Cooper, James Fenimore, 61, 67 German East Africa, 128, 129, 130, Czech Republic, 16, 19 135, 138, 143 Danish West Indies, 64 Gestrich, Andreas, 8, 82 Deeb, Lara, 186, 187 Gicklhorn, Renée, 99 Delaware, Indians, 19, 21, 24, 61, Gilroy, Paul, 167 63–69, 71 Glaucha, 48, 49, 52, 54 Dellsperger, Rudolf, 50 Gleixner, Ulrike, 15, 81, 112, 114, Denmark, 78, 79, 208 237 Deschner, Hansjürg, 87 Gnadenhuetten, OH, 4 Deutscher, Isaac, 95, 183, 234 Gnadenhütten, Moravian Mission, DeWind, Josh, 6, 7, 10 19, 21, 64, 65, 70 Dharampal-Frick, Gita, 87 Goethe, 113, 119, 172, 231, 233 Diller, Stephan, 81 Gossner, Johann Evangelista, 114 Dresden, 216 Göttingen, 28, 136, 153, 237 Duisburg, 208, 215, 216 Gramling, David, 28, 33, 180, 185, Durnbaugh, Donald F., 57, 81 194, 237 Dürr, Renate, 105 Greece, 133, 198, 220, 222 Ekirk, Roger, 8 Greschat, Martin, 56 England, 14, 19, 63, 64, 78, 118, Großgebauer, 44 119, 124, 133, 142, 147, 230, Grulich, Rudolf, 101 231 Häberlein, Mark, 9 Erdogan, Premier, 32

Chloe 46 Index 241

Habermas, Jürgen, 155, 156, 159, India, 41, 42, 54, 77–85, 88–91, 160, 171, 180, 181 98, 111, 114, 116, 117, 119, 120, Habermas, Rebekka, 124, 129, 142, 147 138, 237 Iqbal, Muhammad, 203 Hagen, Gottfried, 133, 148 Iranian, 193–199, 201, 202, 204, Hahn-Hahn, Ida, 134 206 Halle, 15, 41, 48, 49, 51–56, 60, Iraq, 26, 197 64, 77, 78, 81, 82–89, 112, 114, Iroquois, 19, 24 237 Jesuits, 79, 91–100, 102–108, 123, Hamburg, 27, 106, 141, 196, 197, 190 220, 221, 224, 225 Joas, Hans, 156 Haque, Kamaal, 31, 237 Johann Albrecht zu Mecklenburg, Haridi, Alexander, 124, 128, 129, 126 132, 149 Johnson, Christine, 15, 92, 104 Harris, Steven J., 94 Joppke, Christian, 10 Hartmann, Martin, 124, 126, 127, Jünger, Ernst, 180 129, 131, 132, 135, 138, 139, Kabul, 200 146, 149 Kant, 172, 178, 233 Hausberger, Bernd, 97, 100, 102, Karakasoglu, Yasemin, 185 103 Karant-Nunn, Susan, 95 Hazara, 201 Kastoryano, Riva, 6 Heckewelder, John, 18, 61–76 Katzenstein, Peter,27, 31, 39 Heckmann, Friedrich, 30 Kazim, Hasnain, 205 Hegel, Georg Wilhelm Friedrich, Kelek, Necla, 36, 37, 164, 179, 234 185, 230 Heine, Heinrich, 143, 231, 232, Kermani, Navid, 157-160, 163, 235 171, 172, 199 Helenendorf, 115 Kervégan, Jean-Francois, 234 Herder, Gottfried, 233 Khan, Sarah, 203 Herre, Michael, 107 Kimmerle, Heinz, 221 Herrero, Fernándo, 13 Kino. Eusebius, 97, 100, 101, 103 Herrnhut, 19, 41, 56, 58–60, 64, Klamroth, 132, 135, 138, 139 113 Kleine-Brockhoff, Thomas, 187 Hesse, 166 Klettenberg, Susanne von, 113 Heurnius, Justus, 41 Klingebiel, Thomas, 8 Heyden, Ulrich van der, 88, 143, Knyphausen, Botho von, 58 144, 145 Köllner, Wilhelm, 115 Hezel, Francis X., 100 Krauter-Dierolf, Heike, 45, 48 Hillenbrand, Robert, 213 Küppers-Braun, Ute, 106 Hirschman, Charles, 5, 7, 11 Lancaster, PA, 9 Hoornbeeck, 41, 42 Lavigerie, Cardinal, 127, 129, 134 Huntington, Samuel P., 10, 27, 39 Leade, Jane, 57, 58 Huonder, Anton, 96, 98 Lebanon, 134

Chloe 46 242 Index

Lehmann, Hartmut, 7, 17, 42, 43, Muskingum, 19, 23, 63, 65, 70 77, 81 Myrdal, Gunnar, 227 Leibniz, Gottfried, 42, 51, 78 Nadal, Jerome, 94 Levitt, Peggy, 11 Nassehi, Armin, 38 Libya, 190 Native Americans, 3, 9, 14, 17, 18, Liebau, Heike, 78, 81, 86, 114 19, 21, 23–26, 30, 66–69, 72 Lilla, Mark, 182 Nebel, Charlotte, 111-122 Linz, 106 Nebgen, Christoph, 96 Loimeier, Roman, 123, 124, 133 Nehring, Andreas, 87 London, 51, 79 Neill, Stephen, 83 Loskiel, Georg Heinrich, 21 New Netherlands, 14, 42, 157, 185, Lower Saxony, 151, 166 208 Ludin, Fereshta, 165 New World, 9, 13, 92, 94, 104 Luther, Martin, 12, 37, 42, 46, 47, Nirum, Bahman, 199 182, 237 Nitschmann, David, 55 Mackenzie, Helen Douglas, 111, Nørgaard, Anders, 79 116–121 North America, 5, 7, 8, 9, 14, 15, Manifest Destiny, 25, 26 17, 25, 26, 62, 64, 69, 81 Marburg, 136 Norway, 158 Marchand, Suzanne L., 124, 133, Ontario, 19 135–137, 146, 148, 149 Oppenheim, Max von, 146, 147, Maron, Monica, 179, 184, 186 148 Maroufi, Abbas, 195, 199 Orient, 123, 128, 133, 134, 141, May, Karl, 118, 128, 133, 134, 167 147, 149, 151, 153, 210 Mecklenburg, 44, 88, 126 Ottoman, 27, 28, 39, 123, 134, 142, Meier, Johannes, 58, 95, 96, 98, 99 146, 182, 213 Melton, James Van Horn, 17, 81 Özdamar, Emine Sevgi, 173 Merkel, Chancellor Angela, 29 Pakistani, 193, 194, 202, 203, 204, Merritt, Jane T., 24 206 Mettele, 20, 55, 81 Pamuk, Orhan, 188 Mexico, 2, 14, 33, 97, 98, 100, Parla, Taha, 181 101, 103, 108 Pashtun, 200, 201 Meyer, Dietrich, 113, 208 Pennsylvania, 2, 3, 9, 15, 17, 19, Miller, David, 30 23, 61, 62, 64, 65, 66 Mohafez, Subadeh, 199 Peschke, Erhard, 50 Mohl, Ulrich, 115 Petersen, Johanna Eleonora, 58 Moore, Cornelia Niekus, 16, 120, Pfeiffer, Ida, 134, 152 237 Philadelphia, PA, 17, 19, 23, 57, Moravian Brethren, 43, 55, 58, 59, 58, 62, 66, 113 113 Philadelphian Society, 57 Moravian Mission, 16, 20, 21 Philippines, 98, 99, 103, 190 Mossadegh, Muhammad, 195 Pope Paul II, 36, 39 Musa, Malam Mahdi, 143 Porter, Andrew, 80

Chloe 46 Index 243

Portes, Alejandro, 6, 7, 10 Schönbrunn, Moravian Mission, Portugal, 13, 220, 222 21, 65 Prager, Laila, 34 Schönfeld, Moravian mission,20 Qurbani, Burhan, 202, 206 Schrader, Hans-Jürgen, 57 Raabe, Paul, 81 Schütte, Jan, 204 Raddatz, Hans Peter, 152 Schwarz, Patrick, 220 Ragunada, 79 Schweinitz, Edmund De, 19, 23 Rambach, Johann Jacob, 111, 112, Semper, Gottfried, 216 114, 121, 122 ùenocak, Zafer, 160, 163 Reichel, Gerhard, 21, 55, 59, 62 Seville, 98, 100, 101 Reschad, Mehmed, 147 Sezgin, Hilal, 227 Reuß-Ebersdorf, 58 Shahid Saless, Sorab, 199 Roeber, A. G., 9 Shahrivar, Shermine, 199 Roß, Jan, 180 Smith, Adam, 94, 123, 124, 230, Rudolph, Mrs., 116–118, 120 231 Russia, 8, 115, 135, 198 Solibakke, Karl Ivan, 10, 157, 237 Sachsen-Meiningen, Elisabeth Er- Southeast India, 15 nestine von, 84 Spain, 2, 13, 17, 25, 94, 100, 214 SAID, 198 Spanish America, 99 Said, Edward, 133, 153, 198 Spanish Indies, 91, 92, 93, 103, Saktanber, Ayúe, 175, 177, 187, 104, 107, 190 190 Spener, Johann Jakob, 41, 43–15, Samdereli, Yasemin, 172 53, 54, 60, 78 Sandkühler, Hans Jörg, 234 Spengler, Oswald, 222 Sarrazin, Thilo, 10, 155, 157, 158, Stephanson, Anders, 26 164, 166, 172, 219–235 Stevens, Laura M., 18 Saudi Arabia, 34, 190 Stieglitz, Klaus von, 114 Saxony, 16, 64, 84 Stöcklein, Joseph, 104, 105, 106, Schäuble, Wolfgang, 179 107 Schelbert, Leo, 9 Strasser, Ulrike, 14, 95, 99, 103, Schiffauer, Werner, 38 104, 107, 190, 237 Schildt, Axel, 224 Sträter, Udo, 78, 81, 114 Schiller, Friedrich, 233 Strauß, Botho, 222 Schimmel, Annemarie, 213 Strom, Jonathan, 17, 44, 81 Schirrmacher, Frank, 229 Tabatabai, Jasmin, 199 Schmid, Pia, 18, 106, 237 Tajik, 201 Schmidt, Benjamin, 48, 49, 105, Taliban, 200, 215 127 Tanner, Matthias, 97, 105 Schmitt, Thomas, 68, 208, 216, The Great Commission, 12, 13, 42, 237 77 Schneider, Hans, 56, 57, 58 Tibi, Bassam, 28, 31, 39, 188, 190, Schoenbrunn, OH, 19 225–227 Tinker, George, 24

Chloe 46 244 Index

Todorov, Tsvetan, 62, 63, 72 Welz, Justinian von, 42 Togo, 126, 128, 130, 138, 140, Wendt, Reinhard, 99 143–145, 149, 150 Wessel, Carola, 19, 20, 56, 64, 71 Tranquebar, 54, 55, 78, 79, 84, 86, Westermann, Diedrich, 138, 139, 87 140, 150 Trattner. Johann Thomas, 106 Wheeler, Rachel, 67, 74, 76 Troy, 134 Wilders, Geert, 157 Tübingen, 136, 153 Wilhelm II, 141 Turkey, 29, 31–33, 142, 146, 157, Wilpert, Czarina, 34 172–181, 185, 187, 189, 190, Witte, Bernd, 230 220, 221 Wittgenstein, Ludwig, 161 United States, 6, 7, 9, 26, 30, 32, Wolfenbüttel, 106, 112 33, 156, 178, 185, 214 Worms, 111–114, 112–114, 116, Utermöhlen, Gerda, 78 216 Vera Cruz, 98 Württemberg, 81, 88, 115, 165, Vienna, 27, 104, 106 166 Voetius, Gisbert, 41, 42 Xavier, Francis, 93, 96, 97, 101 Vries, Hent de, 156, 160, 161, 170 Yano, Hirashi, 221 Waldseemüller, Martin, 14, 92 Zaremba, Felician, 115, 116 Wallmann, Johannes, 43, 44, 45, Zeisberger, David, 16–24 46, 48, 78 Zeitler, Joseph, 99 Weber, Max, 86, 123, 126 Zephyris, Franz Xaver, 107 Wehler, Ulrich, 27 Zinzendorf, 16, 17, 19, 41, 43, 55– Weiss, Holger, 124, 126, 127, 128, 59, 64, 111, 113, 114, 116, 118, 138, 139, 141, 144, 150 121 Weiß, Volker, 222 Ziya, Esࡤref, 182 Wellenreuther, Hermann, 7, 9, 20, 42, 43, 77, 79

Chloe 46