On Pronouns and God
Having shared Dr. Shadee’s remarks on Rashida Tlaib, I was asked recently about the topic of pronouns and God and how the pronoun “he” can be reconciled with a deity that is fundamentally beyond and above the construction of gender. I ended up writing slightly more than originally intended, and am thus providing it here in hopes that it perhaps can assist others struggling with the topic (respectfully, I have found many treatments of the topic lacking, particularly in the aftermath of the “Tlaib controversy”).
There are two general causes, as far as I can tell, that motivate concerns related to the application of “gendered” language to God. The first, and this strikes me as a more easily resolvable concern, comes from a place of Christian theological assumption. In my experiences, this is a common misconception that has to be worked through among young people and converts who have been influenced by Christian theological narratives of God being “the father” and the concomitant question of Jesus’ (‘alayhis salam) divinity as a male member (or consubstantiation) of the trinity.
Muslim assumptions do not track along the same lines, namely because we refuse anthropomorphism from the outset and have a stronger (and certainly more profound, correct, and truthful) notion of God’s oneness in tawhid. This is largely why Muslims have never had a problem with using a masculine generic pronoun to refer to Allah without simultaneously making gender-based assumptions. Without the baggage of divine incarnation, the question of gender is eliminated at the root as gender requires corporeality, reproductive organs, etc. all of which we reject (this is partly why I quoted a discussion of this from Shaykh Abdul Hakim Murad that addressed this dynamic). Accordingly, Muslims struggling with the question of gender for this reason can, I think at least, find comfort in receiving a proper treatment of our ‘aqida and understanding the divine oneness of Allah and what it entails with respect to such debates today.
The more complicated motivation, which is certainly a growing concern today, is one of gender privileging as this typically comes out of contemporary gender studies with litany issues related to the supposed patriarchal normativity of theological traditions and religion as an instrument for maintaining a particular social order that instantiates male privilege. In this reading, the use of the masculine generic “He” for God becomes the ultimate offense, an indication of just how steeped religions are in advancing beliefs that enthrone the male and disempower the female. It should be noted that these ideas are now dogma in many religious studies departments, and the project of reimagining theology as “non-gendered” is an active one among those writing about faith and belief.
Common responses to this appeal to the gendered nature of Arabic as a language, further arguing that because no gender neutral pronoun exists (at least in a way that would not concurrently carry gendered implications in other contexts) we are left with pronouns that correspond in grammatical exactness to their referents (in other words, we are at the mercy of the limitations of Arabic). This is of course true to a certain extent — chair, for instance, is masculine, table is feminine, etc., and the word “Allah” (which some scholars have argued is derived from al-ilah) happens to be grammatically masculine, and that’s why huwa is used (whereas the ruh and nafs are feminine, etc.). But this answer is not entirely satisfying, and I think at times risks skirting the issue at hand (something that more astute observers will recognize even as it satisfies others).
And I will here offer a few general points tied to the question of pronouns and language. The pronoun “he” in English has historically served as both a masculine and a generic pronoun, as is true in many other languages. In German, for example, there is “he,” “she,” and “it,” like in English, but also a generic pronoun “man” meaning “one,” in the sense of a random person or individual. This is clearly derived from the noun Mann (“man”) and is pronounced exactly the same way. All subsequent agreement referring back to “man” is automatically masculine: “One (“man”) should take care of his soul,” etc. Everyone understands this to be generic and the “man” could just as well be referring to a female rather than a male. This is what it means for it to be generic.
In Latin languages (and in German), as in Arabic, any mixed group would automatically be referred to by the masculine plural rather than the feminine plural form. Similarly, “les étudiants” [m.] (الطلاب) can refer to a group of exclusively male students or, more typically, to a mixed-gender group. “Les étudiantes” [f.] (الطالبات) can only be used to refer to an exclusively female group. Given this, we can say that it is only the feminine pronoun that is specifically gendered, whereas the “masculine” pronoun is, in effect, both masculine and generic. One may think of “huwa”/”He” for Allah as falling under this generic aspect of the “masculine” pronoun, but when one understands the way that the masculine pronoun doubles as both gender-specific and generic, while the feminine pronoun does not, the matter becomes more readily understandable (and less vexing, I would hope). Now I suppose a feminist hermeneutics of suspicion can interpret this negatively (the default is the male, and that’s problematic, etc), but that is a question of interpretation, and one could just as easily posit the reverse, namely, that women have gender specific pronouns which lend themselves to distinction in a manner that masculine pronouns do not.
Beyond that, you have languages that don’t designate gender at all, like Persian and Turkish, and — at least in pronouns — Urdu (all three, in fact, use a very similar او / o / وه for both “he,” “she,” and “it” all together). By current feminist standards, these three cultures maintain stronger notions of gender differentiation despite the fact that the languages don’t distinguish gender, while liberal Western societies have leveled gender differences to a large extent despite the fact that all of them (to my knowledge) do have distinct masculine and feminine forms — most of them more than in English, since you often have feminine forms of every noun and adjective, like “students” or “intelligent,” which you don’t have in English (anymore).
One might argue that the third person generic “it” in English provides a way out of this seemingly difficult question of pronouns. However, such an alternative would introduce an entirely new set of problems given that the pronoun “it” is normatively used to refer to inanimate and unintelligent beings. Seeing as how Allah is infinitely wise, knowledgeable, and is of course living (al-Hayy), such a referent would seem to me to be a rather blasphemous way to speak about God.
Therefore, in any language containing both animate and inanimate pronouns, you will necessarily be circumscribed within the pronoun choices that are employable for animate beings. If these are gendered, then you can’t get away from using a gendered pronoun for God. Of course translating into a language like Turkish, Persian, Urdu “solves” this problem because you only have one choice of pronoun.
This is why I don’t find the argument of linguistic limitations entirely persuasive — if a third person gender neutral pronoun existed in Arabic akin to “it” in English, it would certainly not be used in reference to Allah ‘azza wa jal.
So what we are left with is a pronoun choice that is undoubtedly deliberate, and this puts us in different territory than other religious traditions, which is at least partly a feature of how we see revelation and scripture. Christians of all (or at least many) stripes, for example, see the Bible as divinely inspired in spirit. Where they differ internally is whether that divine inspiration extends to the Bible in word. It is on account of this disagreement that some liberal denominations engage in projects of revision to “update” the biblical text to accord with its supposedly divine spirit, which of course reflects the subjectivities of a given day and age (today’s being “gender inclusivity”).
By comparison, we, as Muslims, see revelation as the ultimate truth, and speak of the Quran as God’s words (kalam Allah). Accordingly, the Quran sets the discursive context for subsequent discussion of God and belief, and it is in this very context that Allah has elected to refer to Himself using the pronoun huwa and not hiya.
There are, in my mind at least, an infinite set of possible questions and responses that can continue to be debated tied to this topic, some that will be satisfactory to a questioner and others less so. God, for example, could have elected to be referred to using the feminine form of a term that does not currently exist in a manner that does not assume gender, or perhaps could have ensured that the language of revelation always accommodated a feminine third person pronoun that would be employed primarily (or, perhaps, interchangeably with the masculine) to refer to Him. But He did not. Revelation doesn’t give a definite reason for this pronoun choice (or for any linguistic convention in the Quran/Sunna for that matter), so we accept it on faith and speak of God only as He has spoken of Himself (i.e., with masculine pronouns and masculine verb and adjective agreement). This is a case where we need to humble our nufus and have taslim before Allah’s word, such taslim being what Islam is all about in the first place.
And to be clear, this question would and certainly could be extended well beyond the question of God. The Quran and Sunna make use of masculine generic referents frequently (“man” for humanity, “mu’minun” — and many other masculine plurals — for believing men and women, etc.) whereas the feminine plural (i.e., “mu’minat,” etc.) is necessarily gender-specific in composition and meaning. To view all of this as morally disagreeable and off-putting is to put revelation itself on trial — a trial that, in ‘apparent’ victory, will result in vanquish, both in this life and the next.
In a world of where the rational is sacred, I suspect this conclusion will not be satisfying to some, but it need not be so difficult to assume. Scholars never saw tawaqquf (suspending judgment) as a flaw as far as I can tell, and when prompted for instruction that none could give other than him, the Prophet (pbuh) replied with the instruction to say “I believe in Allah” and then to remain steadfast (‘amantu bi’l-Lah, thumma staqim). As Ramadan approaches, perhaps we can recommit ourselves to such a posture.
Indeed, Allah Knows Best.
