Why Muslims and Christians Must Embrace Religious Pluralism

In an era of escalating global tensions, where religious identities often fuel division rather than unity, it's time to confront a uncomfortable truth: the exclusivist claims at the heart of both Islam and Christianity are not just outdated—they're hypocritical. As Shabbir Akhtar, a self-professed Muslim philosopher, provocatively argues in his 2003 article "The Dialogue of Islam and the World Faiths: The Role of Speculative Philosophy," Muslims who deride Christian notions of salvation being limited to the Church are guilty of the same narrow-mindedness they condemn. By highlighting this irony, Akhtar doesn't just expose mutual failings; he opens the door to a more inclusive, pluralistic approach to faith. In this op-ed, I contend that embracing religious pluralism isn't a betrayal of one's tradition but a necessary evolution for peace and mutual understanding in our interconnected world. Drawing on Akhtar's insights, we must move beyond dogmatic exclusivity to foster genuine interfaith dialogue, lest we perpetuate the very divisions we claim to abhor.

Akhtar's argument begins with a bold acknowledgment of Islam's orthodox claims. He asks, rhetorically yet pointedly: "Why should anyone today deny the orthodox Muslim claim that Islam alone can provide the whole truth about life? Why should anyone deny the traditional claim that the Qur'an is a unique repository of all theological truth?" These questions, he notes, often offend Muslims, especially when posed by fellow believers or the so-called "Orientalists"—Western scholars accused of misrepresenting Islam. Yet, Akhtar doesn't stop at self-defense. He turns the mirror inward, observing how Muslims eagerly mock parallel Christian exclusivism. The Christian doctrine of "Extra ecclesiam nulla salus" (outside the Church, there is no salvation) is ridiculed as racist, implying that a loving God would confine grace to prosperous Western communities. But here's the irony Akhtar uncovers: Muslims employ a "specifically Christian reason" to reject Christianity, arguing that divine love must be universal. If that's the case, then Islam's own claims of exclusivity—salvation primarily through submission to Allah via the Qur'an and Prophet Muhammad—appear equally arbitrary and limited.

This mutual accusation game, as Akhtar puts it, reveals that "narrow-mindedness at least is always ecumenical in scope." Both faiths profess a God of infinite mercy and love, yet both traditions have historically interpreted divine grace as a zero-sum proposition: my path is the only true one, and yours is deficient at best, damnable at worst. From the Islamic perspective, the Qur'an (Surah 3:85) states that "whoever desires other than Islam as religion—never will it be accepted from him." Christianity echoes this in John 14:6, where Jesus declares, "I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me." These texts, revered as divine revelations, have justified centuries of proselytization, conflict, and colonialism. Think of the Crusades, where Christian armies sought to "reclaim" holy lands from Muslims, or the forced conversions during the Spanish Inquisition. On the Islamic side, the concept of dar al-harb (house of war) versus dar al-Islam (house of peace) has fueled conquests and, in modern times, extremist ideologies that view non-Muslims as perpetual outsiders.

But Akhtar's provocation isn't merely destructive; it's constructive. As a Muslim philosopher, he advocates for "speculative philosophy" as a tool for navigating religious pluralism. This isn't about diluting faith but enriching it through rational inquiry and dialogue. Speculative philosophy, in this context, draws from the Islamic tradition of kalam (theological discourse) and falsafa (philosophy), thinkers like Al-Ghazali and Ibn Sina who grappled with reason and revelation. Akhtar suggests that Muslims can acknowledge the Qur'an's uniqueness without denying truths in other faiths. Similarly, Christians might interpret Jesus' exclusivity not as a literal gatekeeping but as a metaphorical call to universal love. This approach aligns with modern pluralists like John Hick, who proposes that all religions are culturally conditioned responses to the same divine reality. By engaging in such speculation, we avoid the trap of relativism—where all truths are equal and none matter—while rejecting absolutism that breeds intolerance.

Critics might argue that pluralism undermines the core of religious identity. For devout Muslims, questioning the Qur'an's supremacy could erode the ummah's cohesion; for Christians, it might dilute the Gospel's message. Akhtar himself notes the offense such questions provoke, even among fellow Muslims. And in a world where religious extremism thrives on certainty—witness ISIS's caliphate dreams or Christian nationalists' culture wars—pluralism might seem like surrender. But this fear is misplaced. History shows that rigid exclusivism often leads to violence, not vitality. The 30 Years' War in Europe, pitting Catholics against Protestants, killed millions in the name of doctrinal purity. Today, interfaith conflicts in places like India, where Hindu nationalism clashes with Muslim minorities, or the Middle East, where Sunni-Shiite divides persist, demonstrate the human cost of unchecked dogmatism.

Moreover, pluralism isn't alien to these traditions. Islam's  so called Golden Age in Andalusia saw Muslims, Jews, and Christians collaborating in philosophy and science, producing luminaries like Averroes. Christianity's ecumenical movements, from Vatican II's embrace of other faiths to the World Council of Churches, show a capacity for openness. Akhtar's irony—that Muslims use Christian logic against Christians—highlights a shared ethical foundation: the belief in a just, loving God. If we truly believe in divine universality, why not extend that to recognizing partial truths in other paths? This doesn't mean syncretism or abandoning one's faith; it means humility. As the Qur'an advises in Surah 49:13, humanity was created in diverse nations and tribes "that you may know one another." The Bible echoes this in Galatians 3:28, proclaiming unity beyond divisions.

To make this shift, we need practical steps. Educational reforms should prioritise interfaith studies, teaching children not just their own scriptures but respectful engagement with others. Governments and religious leaders must promote dialogues like those at the Parliament of the World's Religions, where Akhtar's ideas could find a platform. In the digital age, social media amplifies echo chambers of hate; countering this requires amplifying voices of pluralism. Imagine a world where a Muslim scholar like Akhtar debates a Christian theologian not to convert but to understand—fostering empathy over enmity.

In conclusion, Akhtar's essay is a wake-up call: the game of mutual exclusivist accusations benefits no one. By conceding that "two can play at this game," he invites us to stop playing altogether. Religious pluralism, grounded in speculative philosophy, offers a path forward—one that honors the depth of our traditions while embracing the breadth of human experience. In a fractured world, this isn't optional; it's imperative. If God is truly merciful and all-encompassing, then our faiths should reflect that boundlessness. Let's choose dialogue over division, pluralism over prejudice, and build a future where narrow-mindedness is the exception, not the ecumenical norm.

Adis Duderija ( AI assisted)