Discussion and debate have always been part of the Islamic scholarly tradition. Muslims differ in their jurisprudence, political views, solutions to modern problems, and theological matters such as the role of reason in knowing and experiencing God. Within Sunni Islam, the major schools of thought are Shafi’i, Hanafi, Maliki, and Hanbali. Within Shi’i Islam, you have the Twelvers, the Seveners, and the Fivers, who are all named after the number of Imams each branch recognises. Perhaps one of the biggest debates within Islamic discourse is who succeeded Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) as leader of the Islamic faith. Muslims also deal with the sensitivities of Sunni-Shia relations; Sunni-Shia romantic relationships are not always received in a positive light. Family members, immediate and extended, debate with each other till they can arrive at a détente, if at all.

Debates and questions have also been raised in relation to everyday matters, such as whether food can be consumed if alcohol is an ingredient used during the cooking process. Another example is shaking hands with someone of the opposite sex if they are not mahram^[1]. These kinds of debates can take place in good spirits, as Muslims strive to practise their faith to the best of their ability. However, some debates can cause more discomfort than is necessary. I’d like to talk about an encounter with a fellow Muslim brother that illustrates how even seemingly insignificant debates can serve as a lesson for how we engage with others who disagree with us or question our preferences.

I have been a student at the University of North Carolina (UNC) for about three years now. As an international student, it is always helpful to search for a community, whether defined by religion, race, or simply common interest. UNC has all these, including a visible Muslim community. The crowd is rather young; it is difficult to form any meaningful connections with students who are much younger than I am and are from different generations with different life experiences. Not far away in Durham is Duke, a private research university with a more vibrant Muslim life. Graduate Muslim students are also more visible there, and so I have made a habit of going there for Friday prayers when I can. A shuttle bus connects UNC and Duke, making it convenient for me.

I was waiting for the bus to arrive from Duke and when it did, a Muslim brother whom I bump into on campus from time to time, alighted. I’ve seen him at the campus musalla^[2], rode on buses with him, and prayed behind him during the Ramadan tarawih prayers. After we greeted one another, he asked where I was going. I said​,​ “​T​o Duke.” He asked me why. I told him I was heading there for Friday prayers. He started to look perplexed. He became curious and sought to understand why I was going to Duke and not UNC instead for Friday prayers. I told him I simply liked going to Duke. Still not satisfied, he persisted in asking me why. After this repeated several times, he eventually left, with a dissatisfied look on his face.

I shared the above encounter as an example of how even the most mundane dimension of Islamic practice can provoke uneasy discussions. We certainly had a difference in opinion about propriety vis-à-vis who we pray with. The interchange was an opportunity for both of us to manage this difference in opinion. He seemed to struggle with accepting my choice of location for prayer, which perplexed me. Out of curiosity, I googled what Muslims might say about praying in different mosques. I came across a search result about praying in a mosque which follows another school of thought. A questioner was asking whether it was allowed to pray behind a Hanafi Imam. The short answer was ‘yes’. If schools of thought can differ respectfully as to how one prays and see no issue with praying in a mosque different from your own school of thought, praying in a different mosque, especially of the same school of thought, is not a problem. Furthermore, Islam as a religion is flexible when it comes to where we pray, although the mosque is more desirable. The place should of course be clean.

In Singapore, the Muslim community, though a minority, do have differences in opinion about worship. The Islamic Religious Council of Singapore (MUIS) has stepped in to offer advice on how to deal with these differences. One example is timely: the ongoing plight of the Palestinians in Gaza. In November 2023, MUIS developed a guidebook for various segments of the Muslim community to allow them to process what is going on in Gaza. While the conflict is not solely religious in nature (it is also territorial), Muslims are understandably upset that their brothers and sisters are being oppressed. The guidebook sought to emphasise “Islam’s rejection of all forms of oppression, no matter the perpetrator” (Asia News Network, 2023). While the advice is not directly linked to matters of worship, it does mention how to express sorrow and grief in a way that “rests on Islamic values” (Asia News Network, 2023). Such advice was given against the backdrop of MUIS’ concerns that apocalyptic religious texts had begun to appear on social media. MUIS understood Muslims’ anger at what is happening in Gaza, advising them on how to process this anger rather than admonishing them that they are not proper Muslims if they are too emotional. MUIS also cautioned against some Muslims’ dismissal of young people as naïve and uninformed just because of the way they strive for social justice (Asia News Network, 2023). MUIS’ implicit overall message was that Muslims all have the same goal of practising their faith to the best of their ability. Some may feel more strongly than others about social justice causes but this need not be a source of division and conflict within the Muslim community.

In another example, MUIS (2021) issued a fatwa (ruling) addressing concerns about a deviant religious teaching from a self-styled prophet who had ‘spiritual wives’ and averred that gambling was allowed in order to help the needy (The Straits Times, 2020). In short, MUIS noted that his teachings were deviant, but it explained why they were deviant and it also defined what characterised a deviant teaching. The fatwa also discussed how MUIS determined the status of a teaching. The self-styled prophet may be deemed a bizarre example of a difference in worship, but it is a difference nonetheless, and MUIS responded to it without being incendiary. At the same time, it took a firm stance on this teaching which it deemed to be against Islamic practice.

Perhaps the most salient example of differences in worship within Muslim communities lies in the realm of Sunni-Shi’i relations. Globally, the majority of Muslims are Sunni, with significant Shi’i populations in countries such as Iran, Iraq, and Lebanon. Shi’is in Singapore live within a Sunni-majority Muslim community. For the most part, Sunni-Shi’i relations in Singapore are harmonious. For example, iftars gathering Sunnis and Shi’is every Ramadan are a tradition. Religious authorities in Singapore value the contributions of Shi’is to the Muslim community. When MUIS was being established in 1970, Javad Namazie, a Shi’i legal practitioner, oversaw the process. Relations are also not marred by overt anti-Shia sentiments in a way that they are in neighbouring countries such as Malaysia (Al Jazeera, 2019) and Indonesia (The Diplomat, 2021). However, Sunni-Shi’i disagreements do exist in Singapore. In an article two years ago, I wrote about my interviews with a few Sunni-Shi’i married couples, asking them how they navigated differences in belief (Alatas, 2022). In short, it takes a lot of compromise before couples and their families are able to accept one another. The couples, aware that Sunni-Shi’i relations in any Muslim society are a sensitive topic, suggested that Islamic education in Singapore do more to educate Muslims about Shi’i beliefs, their socio-political life, and their history in Singapore.

The repercussions of my encounter with the Muslim brother are mild in comparison to the issue of how to practise one’s faith in the context of another’s oppression, the danger of deviant teachings being propogated, and intrafaith relations. Yet these examples share one theme: The importance of respectful communication. I never expected to be questioned for praying at a different place. I never thought it mattered where you prayed. We are all praying in the direction of Mecca with fellow Muslims. Where we pray does not relate to whether our prayers will be accepted. Our sincerity during the few minutes of prayer is more important. Perhaps this is me being idealistic, since Muslims around the world have varying opinions on how to even pray in the first place. What should our hand position be? What should our feet position be? What kind of style should we use to recite the Quran? These are questions difficult to ignore, as I have witnessed during congregational prayer. Two men on either side of me may hold their hands differently.

My encounter with the Muslim brother was a test for how we engage with someone who disagrees with us, or does not understand our preferences. I can understand his desire to pray with people he knows, but I also have a desire to pray with a community I feel comfortable with. Neither of us are wrong. The cliché “agree to disagree” applies here. Muslims should be able to disagree politely and respectfully with one another about religious issues no matter how trivial they are, especially if we are not contravening the fundamental tenets of the faith. The goal of healthy disagreement with each other is not to eliminate differences in worship or perspectives on how to practice one’s faith. That is not an attainable goal. What is attainable is a healthy co-existence where we are able to disagree with one another and not feel a strong sense of discomfort or even hatred towards other Muslims. Muslims in Singapore may not experience intrafaith violence to the degree that they do in parts of the Middle East. Yet, absence of violence should not be the only barometer for how well we get along. A better indicator would be the ability to respect one another’s beliefs without a sense of self-righteousness or superiority. This applies to me too: If I had more time to engage the Muslim brother, I would have explained why I like going to Duke. Maybe I owe him that explanation, even if his tone struck me as condescending. Another alternative is to not engage in such a conversation if one senses unnecessary tension. Disengaging can also be done politely, which is also what I could have done.

¹ Mahram is a term in Islamic jurisprudence referring to a person with whom marriage is prohibited due to close familial ties.
² A space apart from a mosque used for prayer in Islam.

Imad Alatas is currently pursuing his PhD in Sociology at the University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill. His main research interests are in gender and religion, topics on which he has written for Singaporean and Malaysian publications.