The Balkans, a region where Christianity and Islam have come into close contact since before World War Ii, is an interesting study in legal pluralism. The millet system, under which distinct ethnic-religious communities including Muslims were granted partial institutional autonomy, was at that time a convenient legal paradigm to accommodate minorities within the new national states being created. However, the communist regimes that succeeded the War in the Balkans eradicated legal pluralism in favor of a uniform legal order. As a consequence, the authority to employ shari'a in Muslim communities in this region was abolished under communism.

The political changes occurring in the Balkans after communism was dismantled in the 1990s did not bring back the shari'a courts in most of the Balkans. However, Greece, having escaped these radical political shifts, retained a continuous legal regime that included some legal autonomy granted to the Greek Muslim population that survived a population exchange with Turkey at the end of the Greek-Turkish war of 1919-1922. As a result of the Lausanne treaty, the Muslim population of (Western) Thrace in Greece was granted a special minority protection regime that applied shari'a law to Muslim Greek citizens residing in that region of Thrace. However, shari'a is only applied to certain disputes of family and inheritance law by the local Mufti in Western Thrace who has special jurisdiction over these matters.

The tradition of Kemalist secularism (laiklik) in Turkey is often cited to distinguish Turkey as an exceptional case among predominantly Muslim countries. While it is true that the Turkish Constitution, laws, and legal opinions approach the relationship between the state and religion very differently than those of Iran, Saudi Arabia, Egypt, or even Indonesia, it would be wrong to underestimate the role that religion plays in the formation of Turkish legal norms, including citizen understanding of those norms. There is a wealth of literature describing the nature of Turkish secularism and its evolution. A number of both quantitative and qualitative studies inquire about the preference for Shari'a among Turkish voters. The typical question asks whether respondents favor the establishment of a Shari'a state. Over the past fifteen years, these surveys have received response rates ranging between five and twenty-five percent in favor of such a state. However, these results are extremely problematic, because they do not provide any context or meaning for “the establishment of a Shari'a state,” either for those who favor it or for those who oppose it. This study begins to unpack the range of possible meanings attributed to Shari'a within Turkey, both among voters and among intellectuals, as a framework forfuture empirical studies and as a basis for deeper understandings of the role of Islam within Turkish law and politics.

On Valentine's Day, 1989, novelist Salman Rushdie was driven into hiding in England by a fatwa issued by the Ayatollah Khomeini in Iran decrying his 1988 novel, The Satanic Verses, as “blasphemy against Islam” and demanding Rushdie's execution. Twenty years later, Yale University Press refused to publish cartoon representations of the Prophet Muhammad in political scientist Jytte Klausen's book, The Cartoons That Shook the World. That book analyzed the controversy spawned by a Danish newspaper's publication of the cartoons in 2005 and the republication of the cartoons in several European newspapers in 2008, which led to protests by Muslims around the world. In 2010, Terry Jones, a Christian pastor in Florida, announced plans to publicly burn a Qur'an on the anniversary of the September 11, 2001, terrorist attacks on the United States. Under protest, he cancelled his book-burning plans for the 9/11 anniversary, but he made good on his promise six months later in March 2011, in an incident whose online video dissemination around the world is said to have motivated riots in Afghanistan that resulted in the deaths of twelve people. Throughout this period, with the regularity of a drumbeat, the Organization of Islamic Cooperation (OIC) (formerly the Organization of the Islamic Conference), a coalition of majority Muslim nations at the United Nations, introduced resolutions each year—first in the Human Rights Council (HRC) from 1999 forward and then in the General Assembly from 2005 forward—on “combating defamation of religions” at the UN and in wider global discourse.

Some years back, around 2013, I was asked to write an article on the uses of the Bible in African law. Researching references to the Bible and biblical law across the African continent, I soon learned that, besides support for arguments by a few states in favor of declaring themselves “Christian nations,” the main use was in emerging debates over homosexuality and same-sex relationships—almost exclusively to condemn those relationships. In January 2013, the newly formed African Consortium for Law and Religion Studies (ACLARS) held its first international conference at the University of Ghana Legon. There, African sexuality debates emerged forcefully in consideration of a paper by Sylvia Tamale, then dean of the Makarere University School of Law in Uganda, who argued pointedly, “[P]olitical Christianity and Islam, especially, have constructed a discourse that suggests that sexuality is the key moral issue on the continent today, diverting attention from the real critical moral issues for the majority of Africans . . . . Employing religion, culture and the law to flag sexuality as the biggest moral issue of our times and dislocating the real issue is a political act and must be recognised as such.”

Nineteenth century jurists sought to make law a science like any other. They believed that the law was not an unprincipled mass of archaic and contradictory rules, nor an extinct body of Latin words that should be venerated in a church reliquary and seldom studied. Rather, they said that it was time for law to take its place in the university and to be dissected under the microscope of scientific analysis. It was by these methods that law's fundamental axioms would be uncovered—which would in turn explain the relationship of all its parts to the whole. And with the right set of principles, new data could be effortlessly incorporated into an ever-growing scientific taxonomy of the law.

This mode of thinking dominated both European and American legal jurisprudence in the mid- to late-nineteenth century and the early twentieth century, although it went by different names. One fundamental thread ran throughout—the law was not unprincipled, but logical. It could be reasonably explained and rationally ordered. This paper demonstrates that Rabbis Isaac Jacob Reines and Moses Avigdor Amiel, two important Jewish thinkers living at the turn of the twentieth century, saw Jewish law, or halakha, in the same light. Although Reines and Amiel may not have been directly influenced by secular jurisprudence, many of the elements of this classical legal science provide an interesting parallel to the answers these two thinkers gave to some of the oldest problems of Jewish law. Most notably, the way in which Reines and Amiel explained the connection between the Torah's oral and written components, as well as the way in which they asserted the internal coherence of halakhic jurisprudence, was similar to the legal formalism of their contemporaries.

In Kenya, debates about sexual orientation have assumed center stage at several points in recent years, but particularly before and after the promulgation of the Constitution of Kenya in 2010. These debates have been fueled by religious clergy and by politicians who want to align themselves with religious organizations for respectability and legitimation, particularly by seeking to influence the nation's legal norms around sexuality. I argue that through their responses and attempts to influence legal norms, the religious and political leaders are not only responsible for the nonacceptance of same-sex relationships in Africa, but have also ensured that sexuality and embodiment have become a cultural and religious battleground. These same clergy and politicians seek to frame homosexuality as un-African, unacceptable, a threat to African moral and cultural sensibilities and sensitivities, and an affront to African moral and family values. Consequently, the perception is that homosexuals do not belong in Africa—that they cannot be entertained, accommodated, tolerated, or even understood. Ultimately, I argue that the politicization and religionization of same-sex relationships in Kenya, as elsewhere in Africa, has masked human rights debates and stifled serious academic and pragmatic engagements with important issues around sexual difference and sexual orientation while fueling negative attitudes toward people with different sexual orientations.

In order to understand the changes that occurred in the Buddhist Sangha (monastic community) in Sri Lanka during and after colonialization by the British, it is first necessary to understand the situation of Buddhism prior to colonialization as well as the relationship of Buddhism to secular power and the idea of civil law.

Location is crucial to understanding the position of Buddhism in Sri Lanka. Sri Lankan Buddhism definitively changed the Indian model's relationship of the Sangha to the political order. From the earliest times Sri Lankan Buddhism was connected to kingship and to the geographic space of the island of Sri Lanka, in a way that seems unique in Buddhist history. In Sri Lanka the Buddhist king was not answerable to a ‘god’, but was elected by the Sangha and other high ministers and was required to patronize the Sangha and enforce social stability.

In his critique of Clifford Geertz, Talal Asad claims that religion is not just a symbolic system but a system of power, in many cases, one that is totalizing in character. Asad's argument can be demonstrated in Sri Lanka, where the implantation of a ‘secular government’ during colonial times by the British profoundly altered the relationship between Buddhism and the inhabitants of Sri Lanka. The modern idea of religion as divorced from power succeeded in dislodging the influence that Buddhism had over Sri Lankan politics, but only for a short time.

Here is a model for “legal theology,” a way of learning and teaching about God that arises in and responds to the desire to understand the significance of law: a son is moved to ask “what is the meaning” of the law followed by his father, and the father is commanded to explain by teaching about God's deliverance. There are three similar commands in Exodus (Exodus 12:26, 13:8, 13:14), linked in tradition, where sons wonder and fathers are commanded to explain how a particular law signifies God's redemption. These four commands in Exodus and Deuteronomy indicate a method for legal theology.

While histories of ideas in premodern perspectives habitually understood history as divisions of fixed periods, modernists tend to narrate these histories in terms of flowing streams curving through timelines, intersections, and junctions. Crucial moments, accordingly, are turns and returns, shifts and orientations. I am not sure what it takes to diagnose and proclaim an intellectual turn or how to affirm or refute such a phenomenon, but I take the audacious risk and argue that the last couple of decades have seen a “legal turn” in the study of religions—a renewed focus on legal aspects of religion that includes legal concepts, theories, and practices.

In the summer of 2011, Dutch teacher Duran Renkema was dismissed from the orthodox Reformed school in Oegstgeest because he had left his wife and family, and decided to openly live together with his boyfriend. In the court case that followed, the judge ruled that the publicly funded denominational school did not have the right to dismiss a teacher who otherwise functioned well, merely because of his sexual identity. In collecting funds so it could take the case to the Equal Treatment Commission, the Dutch gay rights organization Coc emphasized that this was the first time that a teacher at a religious school publicly dared to contest his dismissal.

Although the teacher himself also initially threatened to put the issue before the Equal Treatment Commission (ETC), he later withdrew the case, stating, “my family, partner and I need rest to come to terms with what happened.” He indicated that he hoped that “the discussion and dialogue in the Reformed churches will not come to a halt here, but that they will take this opportunity to show the gay community in the Netherlands that the message in the Bible is one of love.

The salience of rights talk in Western cultures has generated constructive responses from various religious traditions. This article contributes to this religious hermeneutic by turning to the first-generation Spanish theologians of the sixteenth-century School of Salamanca, Francisco de Vitoria and Domingo de Soto, as important resources for Christian rights talk. These late scholastic thinkers made the image of God doctrine, as transmitted by Thomas Aquinas, the basis for affirming the worth and human natural rights of Amerindian peoples. To highlight the contemporary relevance of the school, the article engages Nicholas Wolterstorff's recent work on rights and his twofold critique of a capacities approach to human dignity and a virtues approach to justice. The School of Salamanca not only addresses the important concerns raised by Wolterstorff but uniquely offers a view of rights inextricably linked to human capacities and Christian virtue that highlights both the patient and agential dimensions of justice. They provide a critical theological challenge to the dominant secular liberal view of rights in a way that Wolterstorff's account does not.

Something unexpected has been happening in Africa—and not just Northern Africa, the locus of democratic revolutions since January 2011, when a winter's discontent produced an early Arab Spring. Over the last several years, several sub-Saharan African nations have held democratic elections, produced new constitutions, and even partitioned themselves in relative peace, despite the often dire predictions of foreign governments, media, and election-monitoring organizations.

In many cases, the constitution and reconstitution of these states has been accomplished by means of the referendum vote—sometimes viewed as the anti-democratic purview of special interests in the developed West, but having greater respect and utility as a tool of democracy in the developing South. Kenya produced a new constitution in 2010 by a referendum that has been lauded by international observers for its peaceful process and outcome. The Kenyan referendum followed general elections in 2007, whose results were marred by violence in early 2008. The nearby countries of Zambia and Tanzania are currently in the process of constitutional reform, drawing lessons from Kenya's unexpectedly harmonious proceedings. In all three countries, the constitutional review processes have raised, among other issues, questions of legal pluralism, religious freedom, and relations between the Christian majority and Muslim minority.

When the federal court declared Arkansas' “equal time” statute (requiring that public school science teachers present both creation and evolution “theories” in the classroom) unconstitutional, many citizens concerned with “keeping religion out of the schools” were relieved. A second look at that controversy, the parties involved, and the court's opinion, however, reveals an unsettled atmosphere. For a great many Americans in the Protestant evangelical tradition, the Arkansas experience was only the first round of a long legal fight, the opening battle of a war of worldviews. The matter is far from settled, not only because of similar “equal time” laws now being drafted, passed, or challenged, but because the advocates of such legislation have learned from the Arkansas failure: the earlier bill was not carefully worded, their position was not properly presented, and the trial judge was allegedly biased. The battleground has moved of late to Louisiana, where a new version of creation-science legislation is being attacked and defended, but McLean v. Arkansas Board of Education remains as the most recent full trial in the controversy.

In our time there has occurred a plague of claims and law suits against clergy and churches as a result of alleged clergy wrongdoing. Many of these cases have to do with sexual misconduct. Knowing that the individual clergy are likely to have very limited financial resources, claimants have joined churches and church officials in their lawsuits under theories of negligent selection, negligent assignment, or negligent supervision of clergy. These negligence theories have led to pre-trial discovery requests for confidential church records and clergy personnel files. This has created a serious dilemma for the churches involved, and in particular for the Roman Catholic Church whose canon law mandates the non-disclosure of records kept in the church's secret archives. This article will focus on the conflict between the civil procedural rules creating a right to pre-trial discovery and the free exercise rights of a church to select, evaluate and assign clergy without fear of disclosure of confidential information relied upon in the process.

From the nineteenth-century exhortations of legal ethics pioneer David Hoffman to the current pop culture provocations of Al Pacino, the story of the legal profession has been told through the religious imagery of the priesthood. While this analogy certainly has a bit of rhetorical flourish at its core, it reflects the widespread perception of the unifying, central role that the law plays in modern American society. Past eras may have looked to religion as the common framework under which everyday existence proceeds, but the law has long since usurped it. So while priests, as administrators providing access to that unifying framework in their role as mediators between God and man. were once essential figures in the collective life of society, today their place has been taken by lawyers, who provide access to our common framework of legal rights and privileges.

The claim that talmudic law is a religious legal system has long been, and continues to be, put forward by both traditional scholars of Jewish law and contemporary academic researchers.

The question of whether talmudic law is a religious legal system most certainly did not engage the Sages of the Talmud, but addressing it will help us grasp the nature of talmudic law. Furthermore, juxtaposing talmudic law to Biblical law will help us delineate the concept of religious law, and shed light on certain developments in the evolution of Jewish law.

Let us consider what this claim entails. Sometimes the assertion that a given legal system is a religious legal system merely seeks to indicate that it is part of a certain religion or was created within the framework of that religion. Such an assertion does not provide any information about the nature of the said system, just as the phrase “French law” says nothing more than that the system is used in France.