Calling for a new dialogue between Islam and Christianity
By Rashid Shaz

Abstract
This article critiques prevailing models of Muslim–Christian dialogue that rely predominantly on theological reconciliation and argues for a broader, trust-based engagement rooted in shared ethical and civilizational responsibility. Drawing upon the Qur’anic conception of prophetic unity, early Islamic pluralism, Vatican II reforms, and post-9/11 political realities, it contends that theology alone cannot sustain meaningful dialogue in a post-Christian, post-colonial world. The paper proposes a multi-level framework that integrates historical critique, ethical solidarity, and global justice concerns, concluding that interfaith dialogue must evolve into interfaith cooperation if humanity is to confront contemporary global crises.
Keywords
Muslim–Christian dialogue; People of the Book; Qur’anic pluralism; Vatican II; post-secularism; global ethics
Introduction: The Crisis of Representation
Formal Muslim–Christian dialogue often presupposes a binary opposition between Islam and Christianity, Muhammad and Jesus—as if sacred history itself were divided into rival camps. For a Muslim who believes simultaneously in both Jesus and Muhammad, such a framework is inherently flawed. Representing the “Muslim side” cannot entail relinquishing Jesus, who remains integral to Islamic faith (Qur’an 2:136; 3:84). Islam does not encounter Jesus as an external theological problem; it encounters him as an internal article of faith.
Methodologically, this article employs a historical-critical and comparative theological approach, supplemented by post-secular political analysis, to interrogate prevailing models of interfaith dialogue and to propose an expanded, ethics-centered framework. Islam understands itself not as a rupture in sacred history but as its continuation—affirming a lineage of prophets rather than superseding them (Rahman 1980).
The Qur’anic notion of Ummah Muslima encompasses all prophets and their faithful followers—Abraham, Moses, Jesus, and Muhammad alike. Yet over time, Muslims have effectively monopolized the term “Muslim,” narrowing it from its original meaning of submission to God per se into a marker of confessional exclusivity. This semantic contraction has reshaped interfaith perceptions and hardened boundaries that were once far more porous (Izutsu 1966; Smith 1964).
People of the Book and the Qur’anic Worldview
In the lifetime of the Prophet Muhammad, Jews and Christians were not perceived as the religious “other.” Rather, they were recognized as Ahl al-Kitāb—participants in a shared Abrahamic inheritance. Ironically, the Qur’an reserved the category of unbelief (kufr) primarily for pagan Meccans, despite their blood ties to the Prophet (Donner 2010).
Few Qur’anic verses articulate this worldview more powerfully than 22:40, where monasteries, churches, synagogues, and mosques are mentioned together as spaces in which God’s name is remembered abundantly. The verse does not merely tolerate religious plurality; it sanctifies it. Sacred space, here, is not monopolized but shared.
Early Islamic history corroborates this ethic. The Prophet’s treaty with the Christians of Najran guaranteed the protection of their religious institutions, while his instructions to Muʿādh ibn Jabal in Yemen emphasized respect for Jewish religious autonomy (Ibn Saʿd; Hamidullah 1987; Watt 1956). Social intimacy followed theological recognition: shared dietary practices were permitted, and interfaith marriages explicitly allowed (Qur’an 5:5).
The Qur’an goes further, affirming an affective closeness that is rarely acknowledged in later polemics:
“You will surely find the nearest of them in affection to the believers those who say, ‘We are Christians’” (Qur’an 5:82).
Early Islam, then, did not imagine itself as a closed confessional system anxiously guarding its borders, but as part of a wider moral community bound by belief in God and accountability before Him.
Historical Ruptures and the Emergence of Dialogue
Had history unfolded differently—absent the Crusades, colonial domination, and modern geopolitical violence—formal Muslim–Christian dialogue might never have become necessary. These events did more than redraw political maps; they reshaped memory itself. They distorted historiography, wounded collective psyches, and generated enduring stereotypes that still haunt contemporary discourse.
In this context, modern categories such as Islamophobia and Islamic terrorism reveal far more about political fear than theological substance. Dialogue today thus arises less from doctrinal curiosity than from historical necessity.
The Catholic Church’s declaration Nostra Aetate (1965), which acknowledged the possibility of salvation beyond the Church, marked a watershed moment in Christian self-understanding. It represented a decisive break from earlier exclusivist soteriology and reoriented the Church toward engagement with other faiths (Vatican Council II 1965; O’Malley 2008). Yet many Muslims failed to recognize the revolutionary nature of this shift—perhaps because Islamic theology itself had, by then, narrowed its own universal horizons through expansive doctrines of abrogation (naskh) (Burton 1990; Rahman 1979).
The Limits of Theology-Centered Dialogue
From Nostra Aetate to post-9/11 anti-war movements, Muslim–Christian relations have undeniably evolved. The mass protests against the Iraq War revealed something unexpected and deeply instructive: Muslims could find genuine allies among secularized Christians without resolving theological differences. Solidarity emerged not from shared doctrine, but from shared outrage at injustice (Ali 2002; Asad 2007).
This experience exposes a central limitation of theology-centered dialogue. While theological engagement remains valuable, it cannot function as the sole—or even primary—axis of interaction. Initiatives such as A Common Word Between Us and You (2007) represent sincere and sophisticated attempts to identify shared theological ground, emphasizing love of God and love of neighbor. Yet despite widespread endorsement, such initiatives have produced limited practical outcomes. Their diplomatic restraint often avoids difficult questions—religious freedom, conversion, church construction—thereby softening precisely those tensions that require honest engagement (Volf 2011).
Moreover, in a post-Christian—indeed, post-secular—world, elite theological dialogue risks social irrelevance. Christianity today is not a unified creed bound by Nicene consensus but a fragmented landscape of belief, doubt, and cultural memory (Taylor 2007).
Post-secular here denotes societies in which religion has neither vanished nor retained hegemonic authority, but now coexists—uneasily and creatively—with secular rationalities (Taylor 2007; Habermas 2010).
Message and History: A Methodological Distinction
A renewed Muslim–Christian dialogue must therefore confront a foundational methodological distinction. For Muslims, Islam as divine message is non-negotiable—though always open to reinterpretation. Islam as historical experience, however, including its juridical, political, and cultural formations, remains fully open to critique.
The same intellectual honesty must apply to Christianity. Jesus, like Muhammad, occupies a non-negotiable space at the heart of faith. What followed them—the councils, creeds, laws, and empires shaped by human hands—cannot claim the same immunity from historical evaluation.
Before searching for a “common word” between religions, each community must first clarify its own foundations. The Qur’an on one side and the recorded teachings of Jesus in the canonical Gospels on the other offer a more transparent basis for engagement than later theological accretions layered over centuries of power and contestation.
Trust Before Debate
Certain Qur’anic verses—those concerning jizya or alliances with Jews and Christians—are frequently perceived as troubling. There is no need to hide or apologize for these passages. They must be read historically, ethically, and contextually. The Qur’an contains no mandate for executing apostates or prohibiting church construction. Such rulings emerged from specific juridical histories and remain open to reinterpretation (Abou El Fadl 2001; Saeed & Saeed 2004).
Yet even principled debate cannot flourish in an atmosphere of mistrust. Military interventions in Muslim-majority regions, the persistence of colonial imaginaries, and cultural provocations—such as caricatures of the Prophet Muhammad framed as free speech—have steadily eroded goodwill. In such a climate, even the most sincere theological discussion risks becoming another rehearsal of suspicion (Said 1997; Mamdani 2004).
Trust, therefore, must precede theology.
Shared Ethical Responsibility in a Global Crisis
Humanity today stands at the convergence of multiple crises: ecological collapse, energy depletion, extreme inequality, democratic erosion, and corporate capture of media and education (Bauman 2000; Klein 2014). No single nation, civilization, or religious tradition can reverse these trajectories alone.
Interfaith dialogue must therefore mature into ethical and civilizational cooperation. Believing communities—Muslim, Christian, and others—must move beyond inherited antagonisms toward moral solidarity. What is required is not theological uniformity, but a shared commitment to human dignity and planetary survival.
Conclusion: From Dialogue to Solidarity
The Qur’anic call remains as urgent today as ever:
“O People of the Book, come to a word common between us and you” (Qur’an 3:64).
To worship none but God is not merely a theological affirmation; it is an ethical refusal to absolutize power—political, economic, or imperial. Obedience to God thus becomes resistance to domination.
This shift from dialogue to solidarity carries important implications for interfaith institutions, educational curricula, and global civil-society initiatives, which must move beyond symbolic encounters toward sustained ethical collaboration. Whether Muslims and Christians can unite around this moral imperative will determine not only the future of interfaith relations, but the fate of humanity itself.
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