The sad tale, not without the odd unintentionally humourous moment, of poor innocent Lisa Bauer, who converts to Islam and lives to regret it (via):
Looking back, I suspect that one of Islam’s greatest attractions lay in how well it complemented my personality at the time. I was very shy. Islam values modesty, especially in women. I thought I was worthless. Islam teaches that humans are nothing before the majesty and power of Allah. I feared other people and new experiences. Islam counsels women to stay safe and protected inside the home. For these reasons, Islam was almost certainly the worst religion I could have chosen—it reinforced the weakest aspects of my personality. Indeed it sacralized them, telling me that my flaws were just what the Almighty Creator of the Universe most cherished in me. Instead of encouraging me to attack my weaknesses, it bid me to be proud of them. [...]
As it happens, my sexual attitudes had always been fairly conservative, so I found no difficulty in embracing Islam’s rigorous “no sexual contact outside of marriage” rules. This went by the wayside once the imam started to take an interest in me (religious hypocrisy when it comes to sex—what else is new?). Ironic as this may seem now, Islam’s rigid sexual mores were one of its great attractions for me. I loathed the way some men, especially those with money, authority, or fame, took advantage of women. Restricting sex within the bounds of marriage would provide a safeguard against that, I imagined. Of course, as I learned very painfully, marriage does nothing to prevent men from treating women as objects. The power differential between spouses in a traditional Islamic marriage is so great that the woman is essentially her husband’s slave. Yet I still harbored, even cherished, my idealized Western notion of marriage as a partnership between two essentially equal spouses. From this sprang my reluctance to place myself “under the control of a man” in marriage. Yet I truly never conceived what that might actually mean until I experienced it for myself....
Sadly, I was genuinely grateful to have what I did of this man. Time and again I thanked Allah for guiding me to him. I had convinced myself that he was the best I could hope for, indeed better than I deserved. He wasn’t physically abusive (leaving aside his enthusiasm for anal sex), and he seemed interested in me. Despite his warnings that this was all just a “good time” to him and that I shouldn’t get too attached, in my loneliness and vulnerability I think I eventually convinced myself that I felt real love for him.
Not to worry though: atheist redemption arrives in the shape of Richard Dawkins, and our heroine sees the light:
I suppose that I am angry at myself for not seeing through the whole charade far earlier...
Amen to that.
Update: links to parts 1 & 2 here.
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