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It was in 1798, Jenkins observes, that the army of the French Republic "seized Pope Pius VI and carried him into exile, an event that many took to mark the end of the papacy." Play with the numbers of that year and you get 1978. Who in the shadow of Pius VI's ignominious fate was foreseeing the installation of John Paul II? And yet, as Jenkins reminds us:
That particular trough in Christian affairs also turned into an excellent foundation, from which various groups built the great missionary movement of the nineteenth century, the second evangelical revival, and the Catholic devotional revolution. Nothing drives activists and reformers more powerfully than the sense that their faith is about to perish in their homelands and that they urgently need to make up these losses further afield, whether overseas or among the previously neglected lost sheep at home.
In this book as elsewhere, Jenkins is very good on the dynamics of immigration and diasporas. In his treatment of Christian communities in Europe, he notes that non-European immigrants are "set apart from the old-stock population by many aspects of belief and practice," a bit of an understatement, perhaps. This theme takes on greater prominence, of course, in his account of European Muslims.
Some readers will complain that Jenkins is far too optimistic about the trajectory of Islam in Europe. That would be true if he were pretending to the kind of certainty the doomsayers radiate. As I read him, he is suggesting alternative possibilities. Yes, there is a real possibility that the "ultras," as he calls them, will flourish, with devastating consequences all around, but it's also possible—and, in Jenkins' view, more probable—that the "Christian-Muslim encounter" in 21st-century Europe will not be so apocalyptic.
A growing population of observant Muslims could reinforce the secularist prejudices already dominant among European elites. In turn, this might foster a degree of rapprochement between Christians and Muslims, who might form a united front in certain contexts. On the other hand, there is evidence of a marked asymmetry in the way European elites treat Islamic demands, Islamic controversies, and so on in comparison to their Christian counterparts, in part motivated by fear. (See Paul Berman's essay, "Who Is Afraid of Tariq Ramadan?", in the June 4 issue of The New Republic.)
Among the doomsayers one of the strongest arguments is demographic. If Europe's indigenous population, characterized by "subreplacement fertility," lacks even the will to reproduce itself, isn't the discussion pretty much over? (See for example Mark Steyn's essay, "It's the Demography, Stupid," in the January 2006 issue of The New Criterion.) Jenkins doesn't devote as much attention to this question as might be expected. He does point out that birth rates among Muslims are dropping steeply in many areas.
On the one hand … . On the other hand. Does this boil down to mere temporizing? No. There's no embarrassment in saying we don't know how the European secularist-Christian-Muslim tensions will play out. We have far too many people running around proclaiming with dogmatic certainty what will or will not happen—often with the implication that if you're not on board with the prediction, you are in denial, you're weak-minded, you just can't face facts.
Sometimes the charge may be true, but often it is not, and Christians in particular should be wary of such claims. After all, we have a long history of failed predictions, ends of the world that turned out to be nothing more than twists in the road, fizzled apocalypses, half-baked Antichrists. (How many popes have been cast in that role down through the centuries?) Something bad is always happening somewhere, wickedness is at large, and now and then the darkness flowers in such a spectacular fashion that it seems to blot out the sun. Predict trouble and you can never go wrong, as long as you are suitably vague about the specifics.
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