Catholics and Muslims. Awkward partners

An often vexed relationship

ONE of the last statements by Pope John Paul before he went into hospital on February 1st was an apparently banal but in fact pointed remark about the European Union. The EU, he said, “remains willing to welcome other states, who are ready to accept the requirements for admission.” In Vatican-speak, this was more than a tautology; it referred to Turkey, due to start talking entry terms in October. The pope was overruling Cardinal Joséph Ratzinger, his German aide, who said last August that Turkey should seek partners elsewhere because its Muslim faith was “in permanent contrast” with Europe's Christian legacy. But the pontiff was also saying that entry had a price: religious liberty in Turkey.

Similar arguments over the terms for a happy co-existence are being faced by many of Europe's churches as they consider Islam's fast-rising profile in a continent where most people, albeit loosely and lazily, call themselves Christian. Cardinal Ratzinger's sharp words were in line with a nervousness about Islam watering down Europe's “Christian heritage” that has become palpable among Teutonic churchgoers, especially after last November's murder by an Islamic radical of Theo van Gogh, a Dutch film-maker.

As the pope hinted, the climate in Europe may also be affected by events in other places where the two religions meet. Father Justo Lacunza Balda, a Vatican expert on Islam, predicts a “challenging” time ahead for Christian-Muslim relations in Europe and beyond. In its stance towards Islam, Vatican diplomacy has tried to defend Christians where they are at risk from conflicts, such as in Nigeria and Sudan. It has also distanced itself from American foreign policy, in the hope of shielding Christians in places like Iraq.

Mr Lacunza Balda says Europe's Christians should protect Muslims from discrimination - but that European Muslims should also speak out for Christians in Islamic countries. Some of the plainest expressions of concern about Christian-Muslim relations have come from clerics with an active interest in dialogue with Islam. In Lyons, for example, a left-wing Catholic priest, Father Christian Delorme, has spent two decades talking theology with Muslims and backing their demands for a better economic deal. Recently he spoke out against “neo-fundamentalism” in French Islam - and was denounced on Muslim websites as an interfering paternalist. Meanwhile Cardinal Jean-Marie Lustiger, archbishop of Paris, defended France's secular regime against proposals to change it to accommodate Muslims. There is a risk, the cardinal said, of Islam becoming a “state religion” by the backdoor.

Keith Clements, secretary of the Geneva-based Conference of European Churches, which groups over 100 Protestant and Orthodox religious groups, says his members must gear up for a sometimes difficult dialogue with Muslims of all stripes, from moderates to militants. “There is always a temptation to choose partners with whom you already agree - but we mustn't ignore the others, or say polarisation doesn't exist,” he says.

Existential angst is nothing new for Europe's Christians. They have often fretted over when to shrug their shoulders, and when to take a stand, as societies grow more secular, more liberal in sexual and social behaviour and less interested in going to church. In most European countries, except secular France, Christian churches have inherited a privileged link with the state. Most Danes and Norwegians belong to their state churches; Germans, Swedes and Finns are encouraged to pay taxes to a church of their choice. In Catholic countries such as Ireland and Poland, church and nation are linked in the minds of many. Such legacies are not just hangovers, says Grace Davie, a British sociologist. They reflect the fact that many Europeans want a Christian church available - at times of grief or celebration - even if they rarely darken its doors.

Europe's churches have long been wondering if they should rest on these ancient privileges, or if instead active Christians should become a small, more effective minority that can make its voice heard on issues it cares about. Now, the rapid rise of European Islam is sharpening their dilemma. Will Christians and Muslims lobby together in causes ranging from “social justice” to moral conservatism? Or will they be competing for a privileged place in the public arena? Some have suggested, for example, that to curb Islamist militancy European states should train Muslim clerics and reduce the influence of foreign-trained firebrands. But such talk sounds explosive to French citizens who want to keep state and religion apart. It also upsets those who think that, if there is any “state religion”, it must be Christian.

This reflects a big difference between the two faiths. For quite a few Christian churches, ties to the state are a vital crutch, without which they would be jaded and weak. On the other hand, in many Muslim countries state oversight is seen as desirable for the opposite reason: to restrain, or at least channel, the zeal of a fervently religious public. This difference may only aggravate tensions between a religion that in Europe is small but growing and one that is big but declining.

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