The state does not act in the name of religion, which is better for religion
At a Washington conference on Afghanistan's future, scholar Mustafa Akyol offered a paradox that quietly unsettles conventional wisdom: where the state most aggressively enforces religious devotion, the faithful are fewest, and where belief is left to conscience alone, it tends to run deepest. Drawing on the contrast between Turkey's secular framework and Iran's theocratic apparatus, Akyol invited his audience to consider that coercion and conviction are not allies but adversaries — and that the long history of faith may ultimately favor freedom over force.
- A striking statistical inversion — 65% of Turks fast during Ramadan under no legal obligation, while only 40% do so in Iran where religious police enforce compliance — forces a reckoning with what state power actually does to belief.
- Across Iran and Afghanistan, the experience of religion as an instrument of state control has driven entire generations, including vast diaspora communities, toward irreligion rather than deeper faith.
- When governments rule explicitly in the name of Islam, Akyol warns, they inevitably reduce a living tradition to a factional tool, turning theological disagreements into contests over citizenship and belonging.
- Indonesia and Bosnia offer a quieter counter-model: Muslim-majority societies where faith is practiced freely, energy flows toward development rather than doctrinal enforcement, and pluralism holds without fracture.
- Akyol's argument lands as both an empirical claim and a moral one — that separating state from religion is not a concession against faith, but perhaps the most reliable condition for faith to genuinely take root.
Speaking at a Washington conference on Afghanistan's future, Mustafa Akyol posed a paradox that cuts against common assumptions about religion and state power. In Turkey, where no government machinery enforces Islamic practice, roughly 65 percent of citizens fast during Ramadan. In Iran, where religious police conduct spot checks and the state exists to ensure compliance, only 40 percent do. The numbers seem backwards — until they don't.
Akyol, a senior fellow at the Cato Institute, has long studied how faith flourishes or withers depending on the political conditions around it. In Turkey, women who choose the hijab do so by conviction rather than legal mandate, and that distinction, he argues, produces a religiosity that runs deeper. The Iranian diaspora tells the other story: many who fled the Islamic Republic left their faith behind too, having experienced religion not as a path freely chosen but as an instrument of control imposed from above.
The problem with states that rule in the name of religion, Akyol observed, is that they inevitably transform faith into a tool of faction. Whichever Islamic tendency holds power defines orthodoxy for everyone else, and those who dissent lose not just a theological argument but their standing as full citizens. Theological disputes that might otherwise remain personal become matters of enforcement, with real losers.
The alternative he pointed toward is not secularism as indifference, but pluralistic democracy as a kind of protection — for believers and nonbelievers alike. Indonesia and Bosnia stand as working examples: Muslim-majority societies where people practice freely, without state dictate or fear of discrimination, and where energy flows toward education and development rather than doctrinal combat.
What Akyol was ultimately describing is a separation that serves both democracy and faith at once. The data from Turkey and Iran suggest this is not merely philosophical preference but something measurable in how people actually live their beliefs. The deeper question he left hanging was whether Muslim-majority societies will recognize that pluralistic governance, far from diluting faith, may be the very condition under which faith takes root most honestly.
Mustafa Akyol stood before an audience in Washington, DC, at a conference on Afghanistan's future, and posed a paradox that cuts against much of what the world assumes about religious devotion and state power. In Turkey, a country with no official religion and no government machinery devoted to enforcing Islamic practice, roughly 65 percent of citizens fast during Ramadan. In Iran, an Islamic republic where religious police conduct spot checks and the state exists partly to ensure compliance with religious law, only 40 percent of people fast. The numbers seem backwards until you sit with them for a moment. Then they begin to make a different kind of sense.
Akyol, a senior fellow at the Cato Institute, has spent years studying how religious faith actually takes root and flourishes—or withers—depending on the political soil in which it grows. What he has observed in Turkey, where women choose to wear the hijab without legal mandate, is a kind of religiosity that runs deeper because it emerges from conviction rather than coercion. The contrast with Iran and Afghanistan, where authorities enforce religious observance, reveals something counterintuitive: the harder a state pushes people toward faith, the more likely they are to push back, or to drift away entirely. The Iranian diaspora, he noted, contains many people who have become irreligious precisely because they experienced religion as something imposed from above, as an instrument of state control rather than a path chosen freely.
Turkey itself is far from a model of perfect governance. The country has struggled with deep political polarization and has at times veered toward authoritarianism. Yet on the question of religion, Akyol argued, Turkey has gotten something fundamentally right: the state does not claim to act in the name of religion, and this restraint actually serves religion better. When governments rule explicitly in the name of Islam, he observed, they inevitably transform Islam into a tool for their own purposes. An Islamic state becomes the state of whichever Islamic faction holds power, leaving other segments of the Muslim population feeling excluded or oppressed. The theological disputes that might otherwise remain matters of personal conscience become matters of state enforcement, and the losers in those disputes lose not just a debate but their standing as full citizens.
The alternative, Akyol suggested, lies in inclusive democracies where religious majorities coexist with religious minorities and secular citizens, all protected equally under law. He pointed to Indonesia and Bosnia and Herzegovina as working examples—nations with Muslim majorities where people practice their faith freely, without state dictate and without fear of discrimination. In such societies, Muslims do not spend their energy fighting over fatwas or defending their right to worship. They can direct their attention toward education, economic development, and investment. They become more productive not because they are less religious, but because their religiosity is not entangled with the machinery of state power.
What Akyol was describing, in essence, is a separation of powers that serves both democracy and faith. When the state steps back from the business of enforcing belief, people are free to believe more authentically. When religion is not weaponized by government, it can flourish as something chosen rather than imposed. The data from Turkey and Iran suggest this is not merely a philosophical preference but something measurable in how people actually live. The question for the Muslim world, as Akyol framed it, is whether it will learn this lesson—whether it will recognize that pluralistic governance, far from weakening faith, might be the very thing that allows faith to take root most deeply.
Citações Notáveis
Iran's authoritarian approach has made many people feel distant from religion, even becoming outright irreligious, as seen in the Iranian diaspora— Mustafa Akyol
When governments rule in the name of Islam, they end up making Islam serve them, creating states that represent only one Islamic faction and leaving others feeling discriminated against or oppressed— Mustafa Akyol
A Conversa do Hearth Outra perspectiva sobre a história
Why does enforcement seem to backfire? Shouldn't a state that mandates religious practice produce more observance, not less?
Because enforcement turns faith into obedience. When the government polices your fasting or your clothing, you're no longer choosing to worship—you're complying with law. People resent that. Over time, especially in diaspora communities, they reject the whole thing.
But couldn't the higher fasting rate in Turkey simply reflect cultural habit rather than genuine belief?
That's possible. But Akyol's point isn't that Turkish fasting is necessarily deeper—it's that the freedom to choose produces at least as much observance as coercion does, while also avoiding the alienation that comes with enforcement. The system itself doesn't breed irreligion.
He mentions Indonesia and Bosnia as models. What makes them different from Iran?
They're democracies with Muslim majorities, but the state doesn't claim religious authority. Muslims practice freely, minorities are protected, and the government stays neutral on theology. That neutrality actually protects religious life.
Does separating state and religion mean the state ignores religion entirely?
No. It means the state doesn't enforce it, doesn't privilege one interpretation over others, and doesn't use religious law as a tool of governance. Religion can flourish in public life—in schools, communities, families—without state coercion.
What happens to the people who lose in theological disputes under this model?
They're still citizens with full rights. Under an Islamic state, the losing faction often faces discrimination or exclusion. Under inclusive democracy, everyone worships—or doesn't—according to conscience.