by Ibrahim Essa
“Mohamed Mansour’s father sent him to a town near Sohag called Balasfoura to be educated since it had a mosque that was equipped to teach Islamic learning. At the time students came there from all over southern Egypt to study under Sheikh Ali Badr, who was a Malikite and a Sufi. Mansour spent ten whole years in the institute, working diligently and very enthusiastically. Under his sheikh he completed courses in the legal precepts of the Imam Malik and was taught the main works of Quranic interpretation—al-Kashif, al-Baydawi, the two Jalals, the main books on the sayings and doings of the Prophet and his Companions—al-Nawawi’s Forty Hadiths, the Sahih of Bukhari and the Sahih of Muslim, and many books on the theory of monotheism, on the Arabic language, morphology and syntax, rhetoric and logic, poetry, literature, philosophy, history, law, and a large number of books by Sufi masters. He excelled in all of this in a way that amazed his colleagues at the time, and his sheikh was also very impressed.”
Hatem closed the book and turned to the priest.
“But Father, as the great-grandson of his brother,” he asked, “don’t you think your great-grandfather exaggerated a little when he talks about his brother’s genius and mastery of Islamic learning? For the story to end in triumph, when Mohamed Mansour turns into Sheikh Mikhail Mansour, does he really need to be an eminent and devout scholar, so that his conversion is a crushing victory for Christianity?”
“Firstly, there’s a consensus on his Islamic learning in all the biographies written about him, even by his Muslim colleagues,” Mikhail replied. “Secondly, Mawlana, he was called Sheikh Mansour. In other words he acquired this title, which means that he led people in prayer, preached in a mosque, and taught in a school. In fact he and some friends of his opened a school.”
Sheikh Hatem opened the book and began to read: “In 1893 he had the idea of researching Christianity, prompted by his zeal and desire to promote Islam. He studied a book called Truth Revealed by Rahmatullah Kairanawi, which responds to Christian criticism of Islam, and he asked Sheikh Ali Badr for permission to try to convert Christians to Islam and to debate with them. Sheikh Ali Badr didn’t approve of the idea and quoted the expression: ‘We are bound by promises not to harass Christians and Jews.’ He was worried his disciple might become arrogant and conceited. Mansour discussed it with him, arguing that spreading Islam and debating non-Muslims who disagree with Islam were the duties of all Muslims, based on the Quranic verse: ‘Call to the way of your Lord with wisdom and fair counsel, and debate with them in the fairest manner.’ Sheikh Ali Badr said, ‘Yes, that’s true, but I’m worried you might waste your time on things other than improving yourself and purging yourself of flaws. We have to be tough on ourselves and on our inclinations, and carry out what God has commanded.’ Mansour did not like this reply, so he remained silent.”
Hatem put the book on his lap and addressed Hassan didactically.
“There are three points to note here, Boutros,” he said. “First, his age. He started looking into Islam and Christianity at the age of twenty-two, which is a very young age. It’s true that in the old days men used to mature early but Sheikh Mansour, although he had acquired much learning, was still inexperienced.
“The second thing is that he had a very arrogant attitude from the start, when he tried to convert Christians to Islam. It’s very possible that his brother added this aspect for dramatic effect, since it suggests that Mikhail had discovered Islam’s Achilles heel, but, generally speaking, arrogance undermines learning and that holds back a young man who has convinced himself that he knows everything.
“So what’s the third thing, Boutros?”
Hassan didn’t answer, though it didn’t take much effort to see that he was upset that Hatem was making fun of him.
“Okay, Father, what’s the third thing?”
The priest looked irritated, as if he wanted the evening to end.
“What is it, Mawlana?” he asked.
“Sheikh Ali Badr, his teacher, knows very well that the kid isn’t mature enough or knowledgeable enough to venture into the uncertain world of comparative religion. The sheikh’s worried he might get confused. He realizes that he’s alarmingly enthusiastic and that his learning is not well grounded. Besides, he himself is reluctant to turn religion into a contest.”
Hatem turned to Hassan and said: “I tell you, people really should obey their teachers.”
Then he turned to the confused priest.
“Okay then, Father,” he said, “tell me how Sheikh Mikhail found out about Christianity in Sohag?”
“The first person he spoke with was a dyer called Mikhail, but when he brought up the subject the man told him he didn’t know anything about religion. He told him to go and ask one of the priests who would know, and he directed him to an Orthodox priest called Dean Menkerios, who wasn’t very convincing. Menkerios sent him to a blind cantor but the cantor didn’t want to talk to him. He told him the only person who could answer his questions was the Evangelical priest. Then he started asking around and going to the Evangelical church in the evening, especially to hear a priest called Mikhail Abadir, who was the pastor of the Evangelical church in Alexandria and came to proselytize in Sohag.”
“That was the second Mikhail he’d met, Boutros.”
Neither the priest nor Hassan paid any attention to Hatem’s remark, and Mikhail resumed the story, helped along by brief glances at a copy of the book that he had pulled off a bookshelf a little earlier.
“Then he often mixed with Christians, and his bookcase filled up with Christian books,” the priest continued, “and some Muslims began whispering that he was sympathetic toward Christianity. They couldn’t say this in public because it wouldn’t have been believed of someone like him—an accomplished scholar who was a devout Sufi who fasted by day and got up at night to pray.4 Then many people became suspicious of him and kept an eye on him. They condemned him for mixing with Christians and going into their homes. He was as discreet as possible and always secretive about going to Christians’ houses, which he usually did under cover of darkness. Then he asked the Evangelical Church to baptize him, and the church prevaricated out of fear. It finally accepted his request but he hadn’t expected the church to be so unenthusiastic. He explained the situation to the Coptic Catholic priest there, who was an acquaintance, and the priest said he could arrange for the Coptic Catholic Church to baptize him right away. The priest wrote to the Catholic patriarchate in Cairo to tell them about the case, and the patriarchate asked the priest to send Sheikh Mansour to them. Mansour handed his school over to his partner, left everything, traveled hastily to Cairo, and joined the Coptic Catholic Church there. That was in late 1894. He chose to be called Mikhail and was baptized.”
“All that took place within just a year,” said Hatem. “That’s much quicker than I thought. And of course Sohag was in uproar and his family was devastated, and it was a big disaster and a scandal.”
“Definitely. His mother started wailing and screaming and sobbing and weeping, as well as his sisters and his aunts, as if he had died, and the house filled up with men and women paying their condolences. His father went to Cairo to look for him and found him in the Coptic Catholic Patriarchate. He told him the rumors about him in Sohag, and Mansour replied that everything he had heard was no doubt true. This struck his father like a thunderbolt: he was crushed by grief and almost went crazy with anger. He threatened him, and he implored him with tears, but this only confirmed Mansour in his faith and made him more committed to Christ his redeemer.
“In August 1895 he traveled to Rome with a Catholic delegation and, dressed in Islamic dress, he had an important meeting with Pope Leo XIII. The pope called him forward, blessed him, and asked God to strengthen him in his Christian faith. He gave him a collection of valuable pictures and other gifts. The visit impressed everyone in Rome who saw him or heard of him and a posse of journalists sought him out in the hotel where he was staying in Rome. He was also photographed several times on his way to the Vatican, wearing his t
urban and caftan.”
“Of course it all became a big show,” said Hatem. “And Mohamed Mansour realized that his visit to the Vatican in his caftan, his turban, and his Azhar uniform would turn him into a dashing hero, with his conversion striking a painful blow in this religious struggle. We’ve often seen that scenario in our own lives, Father.”
He threw a copy of the book onto Hassan’s lap and said, “That’s a picture of him on the cover in his turban and caftan! In other words, his importance lies in the clothes he’s wearing, not in him seeing the light and converting to Christianity.”
“Of course what you say is hurtful, Mawlana, but understandable in the context of your own position,” Mikhail replied.
“Father, that might wash with our young friend here, but it won’t wash with me or with you. There are hundreds of stories, and no one knows how true or accurate they are, but they’re about monks and priests who have converted to Islam, and there are hundreds of them, not just one. That doesn’t prove anything. Arguing about whose religion is best, and whose religion can win over more people of the other religion, is enough to drive anyone crazy. It’s the kind of thing that religious adolescents care about. It doesn’t need to be a reason to feud. Besides, in your great-grandfather’s book about his brother it says that he switched from being a Catholic to being an Evangelical, doesn’t it?”
The priest took it as a rhetorical question and didn’t answer. But apparently Hatem was expecting a reply, so he replied after a pause.
“When he came back from Rome, he didn’t find in the Catholic Church the teachings and principles he had found with the Evangelicals when he started exploring Christianity. So he decided to go back to the Evangelical Church, which had its headquarters in Ezbekiya,” he said.
“So he remained undecided even in his new religion,” said Hatem, “because people who chop and change from one sect to another are undecided and they counteract their uncertainty by being extremely enthusiastic, to convince themselves rather than convince anyone else. Let me read you what your great-grandfather said about him. Listen.”
With that, he opened the book and began. “He once visited me in a house where I was living near al-Azhar with a group of Azhar students. They gathered around him and talked about many things. One of them said, ‘We are are very distant from the Christians. Do you really believe that Christ was a god?’ As soon as the student finished his sentence, Mikhail Mansour stood up straight and made a speech that was so full of enthusiasm and so defensive about the divinity of Christ that I was worried that he might be in danger.
“His brother speaks about his enthusiasm and his sincerity with pride. But as far as I’m concerned this suggests someone who is troubled, not someone pious who has seen the right path and is at peace. The man was obsessed with spreading his new faith and with confrontation, and not a confident believer. In fact, he saw himself as a man with a mission, and this clearly involved an unhealthy dose of mania. That doesn’t mean I’m knocking him, because I think he should be free to do as he likes, but to turn his story into an epic of heroism is quite unjustified. His brother, who was Your Grace’s great-grandfather, wrote this: ‘Another time he came to see me with the late Atiya Hanna, who was editor of the magazine al-Murshid, and they met me with a group of students who were coming out of al-Azhar, and one of his acquaintances asked him, “Don’t you ever regret what you did when you converted to Christianity?” And he replied, “No, but I did regret the time I spent far from Christ and His grace, before I converted.” And one night when the church had a meeting in Ezbekiya, about seven hundred people gathered outside, including many of the country’s worst criminals and thugs, and shouted that they wanted to kill him and that they wouldn’t leave till they had killed him. The missionaries were afraid for his safety and advised him to escape through the back door of the church but he refused. He stood on the pulpit, bared his chest, and shouted, “If anyone wants to kill me, they should step forward, because I am no better than the one who died for my sake, and I have no idea why these people have turned up outside.’”
“Your grandfather is proud of his brother in this scene, but the question is: Why did those criminals, as he put it, go there? Of course, they weren’t exactly criminals. They were Muslim extremists and fanatics who wanted to teach Sheikh Mikhail a lesson—counter-extremism in response to Sheikh Mikhail’s extremism. Do you know why? Because the man wasn’t content to live in the spiritual peace he said he had found through Christ, his savior and redeemer. He turned his conversion into a battle against his old religion. He held meetings in the Ezbekiya church with Muslims by the dozens, it’s said, or by the hundreds, to promote Christianity at a time when he was still studying Christianity in the Catholic schools.
“Read what your grandfather said about his brother: ‘When the newspaper el-Liwa el-Masri attacked missionary activity and missionaries because of him and suggested taking tough measures to silence people promoting the Bible, he went himself to the offices of el-Liwa, met the late Mustafa Kamel Pasha and asked him to put an end to el-Liwa’s campaigns. Mustafa Kamel Pasha replied, “We are resisting you by writing and if that doesn’t work we’ll do it with fire and steel.” Mansour replied, “You can’t force us to be silent and to stop evangelizing, and we will meet your fire and steel with Christ’s love and we will overcome you.” Once a group of people from al-Azhar also attacked the evangelical movement and he wrote an open letter to the Sheikh of al-Azhar and the Grand Mufti of Egypt that was published in the newspaper Misr, saying the ulema should be prevented from slandering and libeling, and pointing out that spreading the gospel was one of the most sacred obligations in Christianity and that it could not be ignored. He signed this letter “Mikhail Mansour the convert.”’
“This suggests to me that he was looking for a religious war because he was uncertain and maybe even sick. He wasn’t seeking the kind of spiritual peace that he would have found as soon as he felt he had made the right choice. In this he was like dozens of other people who have switched from one idea to another and have become more hostile to the original idea than they are supportive of the new one.”
Hatem turned to Hassan. “Do you understand what I’m saying, Hassan?” he asked.
“You’ve got it in for Sheikh Mansour and you want to make him out to be sick because he converted to Christianity,” Hassan replied, trying to argue back with equal force.
“Indeed,” Hatem quickly retorted, “but I’d also like to say that there are plenty of sick Christians who’ve converted to Islam, and mind you don’t think that I don’t respect the suffering and torment the man went through, but at least he had studied both Islam and Christianity and had worked hard to find out what was true from what was false. Whereas you, Hassan, what have you done to become a real Christian? Have you studied or did you just come and see Father Mikhail here?”
He looked at the priest, who had premonitions of scandal and a nightmare if Sheikh Hatem decided to expose him.
“So tell me, Father, do you know who this young man is, sitting with us tonight?” asked Hatem, looking toward Hassan. “I mean, he came to see you with some other young men who wanted to convert, for you to encourage them or lecture them, or teach them something that you obviously didn’t teach them because Hassan’s as ignorant about Christianity as he is about Islam. But do you know who he really is? Or did he come through other people or through a website, and you don’t know who his family are?”
The priest tensed up. He felt he might be in grave danger at any minute. But Hatem took him by surprise and changed tack completely.
“How did your great-grandfather come to convert after his brother?” he asked.
“He gave him the Bible and he read it,” said Mikhail. “His heart found peace in belief in the Redeemer and Savior.”
“As simple as that!” said Hatem.
Hatem stood, picked up some of the Bibles that filled the bookcase, and put them all on Hassan’s lap and in front of him on the small round table, knock
ing over the brass teacups that were sitting there. A church servant had brought the cups in when they were deep in loud conversation some time earlier but no one had paid them any attention or drunk from them. Hatem ignored it when the tea spilled on the floor and neither Hassan nor Mikhail seemed to notice the tea or the cups.
“Off you go then. Read the Bible and we’ll see what you’ve understood, Hassan. Nothing at all, would be my guess. Just like the only parts of the Quran that millions of Muslims know are the parts they need to say their prayers, and they don’t understand what the verses or even the words mean. Faith isn’t in the Quran or the Bible. If we gave a copy of the Quran to a Christian and they read every chapter, do you think they would end up Muslim? Faith is in your mind or in your heart, and if you’re not very intelligent or if your heart is sick, then there can be no faith, but just obedience, imitation, and submission, or else it comes down to madness or something done for material gain. The problem with your grandfather, Father, and with those that were with him, was that he continued to describe his brother as Sheikh Mikhail, as if his value didn’t lie in his Christianity but in being a sheikh when he converted at the age of twenty-two.”
As the priest came out to say goodbye, Hatem thanked him cheerfully for putting up with the strain and the nervous pressure. He said that he had no intention of blackmailing him or disclosing Mikhail’s secret, and that he had his own reasons for wanting to keep it a secret. But he suggested Mikhail stop meeting young converts in the church, in case the meetings led to conflict in the town as Mikhail could end up in serious trouble if people found out what he was up to.
“But Sheikh Mikhail was a Catholic and then an Evangelical. So how come you, the great-grandson of his brother, became Orthodox?” Hatem asked the priest.
“In my early youth, Mawlana,” he replied. “So who is Hassan’s family then?”
“The best thing that ever happened to you in your life, Father,” Hatem said, “is that you don’t know who his family are. Keep it that way, I beg you.”