NO country in the world suffers from more existential angst than Pakistan. Fifty-eight years after its creation, instead of getting on with life, we are still trying to figure out the holy purpose behind its creation, the holiness of it being taken for granted.

A normal democratic republic, an Islamic republic, a state modelled on the first caliphate or a state dedicated to perpetual militarism — we can’t seem to make up our minds. From each side of the political or intellectual spectrum, differing and, for the most part, ponderous interpretations.

From the left comes a debased form of secularism — debased because, having managed to turn secular into a dirty word, no one dare subscribe to the tenets of secularism openly; from the right theocracy and mediaevalism dressed up in the garb of democracy.

No surprises if amidst this confusion much violence is done to the personality of the country’s founder, Mohammad Ali Jinnah, each side of this existentialist debate bending him to its own purposes. That Jinnah’s outlook on life was pretty secular is obvious to anyone not ignorant or tendentious. The mullahs at least were clear on this point, knowing perfectly well what they were dealing with, which is why they did not just oppose Jinnah but positively hated him.

But then Jinnah, for all his avowed modernism, was no Mustafa Kemal. His speeches are peppered with references to Islam and, in any case, there was no escaping the fact that the two-nation theory, the basis of the demand for Pakistan, was rooted in religion: that Hindus and Muslims were two separate nations.

There we have it: the very nature of our birth containing the seeds of controversy. Liberals say the matter was settled once and for all by Jinnah’s August 11 (1947) speech to the Constituent Assembly in which he set out a secular creed for the new state. They place too heavy a reliance on this single speech because, as Wolpert points out in his biography, the contents of this speech, a throwback to the original Jinnah of the 1920s and 30s, ran counter to the spirit of the Pakistan movement.

Muslim separatism had paved the road to Pakistan — two religions, two nations, two countries — while here Jinnah was saying that in the new state religious differences would not matter, that everyone would be an equal citizen regardless of caste or creed. Jinnah of course was right in stressing this. But even as he spoke one of history’s biggest migrations was already underway — Hindus fleeing Pakistan, Muslims fleeing India — and mass killings on both sides breaking out in the name of religion.

Hindus and Muslims were not the only ones to blame. If ever an historical event of seminal importance was bungled, this was it, Mountbatten, the last British viceroy, hastening partition, bringing it forward by almost a year, and in so doing inviting bloodletting and anarchy. This was not a dignified withdrawal of British power. It looked more like a grand scuttle.

Against the backdrop of what was actually happening on the ground, Jinnah’s August 11 speech was thus less a declaration of policy, as liberals like to believe, as a cry of despair. The religious underpinnings of the two-nation theory, added to the passions generated by partition, almost guaranteed that the new state, instead of moving towards a secular polity, as Jinnah wanted, would become a playground of religious hype and demagoguery.

Still, whatever the genesis of Pakistan — and it bears repeating that Pakistan was born amidst strife and convulsion — bigger men at the helm could have made corrections to the country’s course and given it a new sense of direction. But the only big man around was Jinnah and he was sick and dying. After him came a succession of lesser men, utterly incapable of drawing a line between the religious and the political, between the sacred and the profane.

Thus was born the contradiction which continues to plague Pakistan till today. Muslim separatism was a sound enough basis for fighting a rearguard action against the threat of Hindu domination. But the threat averted and Pakistan secured, Muslim separatism was no longer a relevant factor in the new state, as Jinnah tried to explain to the Constituent Assembly. Overwhelmingly Muslim, the last thing that needed protection in Pakistan was Islam. The task that awaited its leadership and people was to break the shackles of the past, look ahead and build a modern, progressive state.

Alas, this proved a difficult undertaking and the leadership, caught up in other things — like subverting the rule of law and clinging on to power — was not up to it. But there was a convenient alibi. The greater its failures on the political front the more the readiness to raise the banner of Islam.

It wasn’t enough that we were Muslim. We had to make a declaration of our faith at every turning on the road. The Constituent Assembly should have framed a constitution. Instead, it passed the Objectives Resolution, a collection of sonorous platitudes. Pakistan needed hard work and honest leadership. What it got instead was political intrigue and incompetence degenerating into authoritarianism and outright nonsense passed off as state ideology.

Not that General Zia was the first to exploit religion for dubious purposes. But he was so assiduous in harnessing the forces of religion to buttress his illegitimate rule, that his became the ultimate con act, false piety shoved down the throats of a hapless people. The people might have been forgiven for wanting justice, the rule of law, the fruits of progress and development. Instead they got ‘piety’ by the shovelful. Pakistanis used to have a great sense of fun. They started wearing long faces during the Zia years.

Zia made the Objectives Resolution a part of the Constitution. For what purpose, it is hard to figure out. He enacted other ‘Islamic’ laws like the Hudood Ordinances which far from doing any good have only pushed Pakistan further down the road of bigotry and fanaticism.

We should have got rid of this baggage long ago. We are still carrying it. Musharraf had a chance to turn a new page but he’s largely blown it, his rhetoric more impressive than anything he may have done.

Pakistan doesn’t need an Islamic reformation. We don’t need to rediscover the true meaning of Islam. Such endeavours are fraught with risk because the moment you enter the realm of faith you are on the mullah’s turf and there is no beating him at his game. Disputation is his bread and butter, dialectical hairsplitting the one thing he thrives on the most.

When Islam came to the subcontinent there was a clear demarcation between the spiritual and the temporal: saints and divines spreading the faith; rulers ruling according to the dictates of power and expediency. The same is true of Pakistan today: power exercised arbitrarily without recourse to law or constitution. Fine. But why must we add to this muddle by injecting religion into politics and, in the process, instead of working for the glory of religion making a mockery of it?

A line between the sacred and the profane ensured the rise of European civilization. Drawing this line was a necessary condition for the Renaissance. Our path towards the sun and the light can be no different.

And it’s not as hard as it might appear. Hudood laws: get rid of them and Pakistan immediately becomes a better place. Remove Zia’s constitutional amendments and the Constitution becomes a clearer document.

The next step is a bit harder: the army curbing its ambitions and Musharraf putting his self-proclaimed popularity to the test of a genuine election. Just these steps and no more, and Pakistan’s existential angst — the debate about the meaning of Pakistan — comes to an end. We can then turn to the less heroic task of making the country actually function.