When I first started teaching Islam, there was no road map. In 2001, I served as a visiting assistant professor of Islamic and Middle Eastern Studies at the University of Iowa, the first full professor of Islam in the state’s history. I was in my 20s and finishing my thesis when the attacks of September 11th happened. Suddenly, I found myself trying to explain a 1,400-year-old religion to students watching the Twin Towers collapse on live television.
The teaching of Islam in American universities has never been more widespread, diverse, or troubled. This is the story of the past two decades: the field has grown dramatically, changed in terms of who teaches it, and now finds itself under increasing political scrutiny.
That experience at Iowa State shaped everything that followed. I find it my mission not only to introduce students to the theological, historical, and cultural breadth of Islam, but also to help them break away from the simplistic caricatures they absorb from the media and politics. Islam is not monolithic. It is not synonymous with horror. Like Christianity or Judaism, it is a faith defined by controversy, diversity, and adaptation.
These classroom lectures eventually became the basis There is no god but Allah: the origins, evolution and future of Islamfirst published in 2005. I hope this book will serve both general readers and college classes. To my surprise, it quickly became a popular text for Islamic teaching in the United States and beyond. It has been translated into dozens of languages, used in seminaries and world religions courses, and read in mosques, churches, and synagogues.
Twenty years later, the face of Islamic studies in American universities looks very different. In 2001, few institutions offered specialized courses on Islam outside of theology departments. Today, there are hundreds of such courses, spanning history, political science, gender studies and literature. The rate of diffusion is astonishing—albeit uneven. Some courses are rigorous and rooted in language and text, while others are more ad hoc, responding to student needs and global events.
Another profound shift is who teaches Islam. For much of the history of modern religious studies in the United States, Christian professors taught Christianity and Jewish professors taught Judaism, but it was rare to find a Muslim professor teaching Islam. In nearly two decades of studying this subject, I have only had one Muslim professor. This situation has changed dramatically. Today, Muslim scholars hold teaching positions across the country, and new professional associations, such as the International Association for Quranic Studies, of which I am a member, are cultivating networks of Muslim scholars who bring academic expertise and life experience into the classroom. This diversity expands the variety of issues and perspectives that shape the field, although it also forces universities to confront new debates about authority, representation, and bias.
At the same time, the teaching of Islam—like many areas in the humanities—is now under unprecedented political pressure. Across the country, state governments have taken action to limit what universities can and cannot teach and to ban diversity, equity and inclusion programs. Recently, Middle Eastern studies programs at elite universities such as Columbia University and Harvard University have faced political scrutiny from the Trump administration and Congress, with some lawmakers accusing the universities of bias. In today’s climate, teaching about Islam may feel like an act of rebellion. Professors frequently self-censor, aware that scattered lecture notes can lead to outside activity or even threats. Ironically, at a time when understanding Islam is needed more than ever, the institutions best equipped to provide such education are being undermined.
However, this is precisely why teaching Islam in universities is more important than ever. At a time when Islam has faded from the headlines but remains entangled in the debates that define our time—from authoritarianism to surveillance to religious pluralism—the classroom is one of the few places where one can engage with the faith on its own terms. The role of the professor is not to purify or defend Islam, but to demonstrate its richness, contradictions, and ongoing transformation.
Fully updated 20th Anniversary Edition there is no god but god I try to support the next generation of teachers and students in this mission. The new foreword reflects what has changed since 2005—the Arab Spring, the rise of digital Islam, the ebb of the “war on terror”—and what has not happened: Islam’s enduring struggle to reconcile tradition and modernity, authority and pluralism.
More than two decades of teaching have convinced me that education about Islam cannot be incidental, tied only to moments of crisis or violent headlines. It must be ongoing, interdisciplinary, and grounded in serious scholarship. It must move beyond political science courses on terrorism and foreign policy, beyond theological seminars comparing sacred texts, and into the broader humanities and social sciences. It must be centered on Muslims’ own lived experiences.
A classroom is not a mosque. But it is one of the few spaces where young people can confront their assumptions, grapple with complexity, and imagine new ways of understanding the role of religion in the world. This was my belief in 2001, when I walked into a lecture theater in Iowa just days after September 11th. I still believe this today.
The classroom may not be a mosque, but it is still one of the few places where the richness, contradictions, and humanity of Islam can be experienced.
