Considering how much music has dominated the last year of this blog (it's not just about Proust) it seems like this should be a post about the wonderful Driver-By Truckers album American Band. We're taking a brief break from our Discography discussion so that everyone can recharge their batteries and listen to new music before kicking off again in September. Instead, I want to take a few moments to talk about something that's increasingly important to me, although also something that I don't talk about very much: faith. This is not an attempt to tell people what to believe, because if I know anything at all it's that I don't know much of anything at all. Faith is obviously a deeply personal experience, and I can assure you that I don't know anything more than anyone else about this particular subject. Rather, I want to record some of my thoughts for later reflection (see, Proust has impacted me).
I'm in the middle of my second Ramadan. In the popular imagination Ramadan is mainly a time of fasting and feasting. In regards to the latter, my feasting mainly consists of heating up in the microwave what everybody else here at Bleak House ate three hours earlier. The fasting is easier than I thought it would be, and some of that relates to the fact that I did it last year and simply knowing that I was able to do it made it immeasurably easier this year. Truthfully, I could also be more diligent in my fasting. I fast every day, but technically I'm supposed to start before morning prayers, which in this yankee hellhole is around 3:30 a.m. Instead I usually start my fast by 5:30 a.m. and then break it at 8:30 p.m., which is still a long slog, although, again, not quite as long as it is supposed to be. Essentially, I'm supposed to be fasting around seventeen hours a day and instead I fast for fifteen hours. Anyone who knows me can tell you with complete certainty that I don't like rules, and maybe this plays a role in my decision to not start fasting at 3:30. I mean, it would be difficult, but fasting from 5:30 on is already a challenge and I'm sure I could make 3:30 work. No matter my faith, I'd be that guy in the back of the church/mosque/synagogue/temple turning to the poor soul next to him and saying, "You know that's just a metaphor, right?" This doesn't mean that I'm not serious and sincere in my faith because I am, and I battle with my own skepticism and inherent rebellious nature all the time. One of the things that I'm always cognizant of is the great temptation to exist only on the surface level, which happens way too often in religion. Sure, you're supposed to fast during Ramadan, but you're also supposed to spend hours every day praying, meditating and reading the Quran, and, to me anyway, that is far more important than the fasting. Still, I do both, and the hours that I spend every day working through Nasr's Study Quran is probably what inspired this post.
This last semester one of my friends who knew about my faith, and, again, I don't share things like this very easily, asked me to come talk to her class. I grudgingly agreed, mainly due to the fact that it was a request from a close friend. One of the first things we discussed was why Islam? You could certainly ask that question about any faith, obviously, but in today's world, and especially in today's U.S., it may seem like an odd (and not particularly well-considered) choice. Well, first off, it wasn't about any great concern about the next world. Truthfully, I never worry about things like that, and not because I'm oblivious, but rather because I think that if you lead a good life in this world then things will take care of themselves in the next. And with that in mind, what led me in my mid-50s to make this decision was the sincere desire to be a better man. I felt that I needed to be a better father and boyfriend and titular step-father and friend and son and brother and uncle and nephew (I'm sure I'm forgetting a category, and a category at which I routinely failed). OK, so why Islam? Part of it was doubtless all the time I've spent in the Middle East and the broader Islamic world. Simply put, it's been my experience that Muslims much more routinely walk the walk and not just talk the talk. Having said that, I think there are a thousand paths of God (no matter how you define God, he/she/it/they). There are certain specific aspects of the faith I can identify that drew me to it. For example, I've always identified with the Islamic view of Jesus, who is a remarkably well-respected and beloved prophet (arguably the second most important prophet in the faith) but who is not considered the son of God, not because there's something wrong with him but rather because Muslims don't believe that anyone is the son of God. There also is much less hierarchy in Islam and a much less powerful and intrusive priesthood; mainly it's just you and God, and a structure wherein you stop and pray five times a day, meditating upon the transcendent. There are other aspects of the faith that I can't really quantify as easily. In my trips around the world I've spent time in churches and synagogues and Hindu temples and Buddhist temples and Jain temples, and it's only in mosques that I've felt a true sense of serenity. Why? Who knows? Nevertheless I've always felt that. So, for reasons both specific and more ethereal I was drawn to Islam.
Finally (I need to get back to my other more official writing), what do I think the faith means? If I spend hours every day during Ramadan praying and meditating and reading the Quran, what have I learned? As I said earlier, one of the reasons why I wanted to include this post is to create a time capsule that I can revisit in the future as my faith continues to evolve. It's not as if I haven't read the Quran before, because I have several times, but I also think that with every reading my views crystallize. My views will doubtless be different next year, and maybe someday I'll figure this all out, although I suspect no one ever truly figures out the answer when you're talking about faith. If you think you've figured it all out then it means you've probably failed at your quest. As I've been re-reading the Quran it really struck me how many times, when discussing those who are going to Paradise, they are described as those "who believe and perform righteous deeds." I've even started counting them, and I'll have a final, although probably incorrect, number soon; at this point suffice it to say that it is repeated dozens of times. For example, when I spoke in my friend Kelly's class one of the question was would I be willing to share a specific surah from the Quran, and I identified surah 103, sometimes called "The Declining Day." As the Quran progresses the surahs (chapters) get shorter and shorter, and surah 103 in its entirety is: "By the declining day, truly mankind is in loss, save those who believe, perform righteous deeds, exhort one another to truth, and exhort one another to patience." I like this surah because when I think about living my life I can definitely focus on those four aspects. Although the specific language varies, it comes back again and again to the notion of faith and righteous deeds. The other days I was swapping emails with my friend Kathy and she she pointed out, "yeah, but the problem is what constitutes a righteous deed, and everyone has a different answer." Which, of course, is the key point, and I told her (and you indirectly) that I can only give my own personal answer. I think righteous deeds happen a hundred times a day, or at least the opportunity for a righteous deed presents itself a hundred times a day. In Islam we're taught that good deeds are weightier, more powerful, more substantive than evil deeds; essentially, they're not equal. Good is more powerful than evil, which is why good deeds are worth more, attain more merit, than evil deeds. In surah 41 it says, "The good deed and the evil deed are not equal. Repel by that which is better; then behold, the one between whom and thee there is enmity shall be as if he were a loyal, protecting friend." Or, in surah 23, "Repel evil by that which is better." Muslims, although we are enjoined to stand up for what is right and to fight oppression, do not believe in an eye for an eye. So, this is how I think about it: a hundred times a day you come into contact with someone, a loved one or a friend or some anonymous character. How do you interact with them? Do you "repel by that which is better"? Do you treat them better than they treated you, even by a small amount? Do you try and be of service? Do you try and make their lives better, even for that one second that you're in contact? Islam is a complex and fascinating religion, and you only need to read Nasr provide two pages of small print commentary on one sentence to understand that, but I think how we interact with each other is a much simpler matter. When push comes to shove (and hopefully there won't be a push or a shove) I would argue that all religions have a similar message - and, for that matter, this brings me back to certain aspects of the Meditations of Marcus Aurelius - and if we all could just master this one simple principle life would be a lot easier. This is where I am right now, and I'm sure I'll have a more sophisticated answer next year, although maybe not a truer one.
OK, now back to pontificating on music or Proust or foreign travel.
I'm in the middle of my second Ramadan. In the popular imagination Ramadan is mainly a time of fasting and feasting. In regards to the latter, my feasting mainly consists of heating up in the microwave what everybody else here at Bleak House ate three hours earlier. The fasting is easier than I thought it would be, and some of that relates to the fact that I did it last year and simply knowing that I was able to do it made it immeasurably easier this year. Truthfully, I could also be more diligent in my fasting. I fast every day, but technically I'm supposed to start before morning prayers, which in this yankee hellhole is around 3:30 a.m. Instead I usually start my fast by 5:30 a.m. and then break it at 8:30 p.m., which is still a long slog, although, again, not quite as long as it is supposed to be. Essentially, I'm supposed to be fasting around seventeen hours a day and instead I fast for fifteen hours. Anyone who knows me can tell you with complete certainty that I don't like rules, and maybe this plays a role in my decision to not start fasting at 3:30. I mean, it would be difficult, but fasting from 5:30 on is already a challenge and I'm sure I could make 3:30 work. No matter my faith, I'd be that guy in the back of the church/mosque/synagogue/temple turning to the poor soul next to him and saying, "You know that's just a metaphor, right?" This doesn't mean that I'm not serious and sincere in my faith because I am, and I battle with my own skepticism and inherent rebellious nature all the time. One of the things that I'm always cognizant of is the great temptation to exist only on the surface level, which happens way too often in religion. Sure, you're supposed to fast during Ramadan, but you're also supposed to spend hours every day praying, meditating and reading the Quran, and, to me anyway, that is far more important than the fasting. Still, I do both, and the hours that I spend every day working through Nasr's Study Quran is probably what inspired this post.
This last semester one of my friends who knew about my faith, and, again, I don't share things like this very easily, asked me to come talk to her class. I grudgingly agreed, mainly due to the fact that it was a request from a close friend. One of the first things we discussed was why Islam? You could certainly ask that question about any faith, obviously, but in today's world, and especially in today's U.S., it may seem like an odd (and not particularly well-considered) choice. Well, first off, it wasn't about any great concern about the next world. Truthfully, I never worry about things like that, and not because I'm oblivious, but rather because I think that if you lead a good life in this world then things will take care of themselves in the next. And with that in mind, what led me in my mid-50s to make this decision was the sincere desire to be a better man. I felt that I needed to be a better father and boyfriend and titular step-father and friend and son and brother and uncle and nephew (I'm sure I'm forgetting a category, and a category at which I routinely failed). OK, so why Islam? Part of it was doubtless all the time I've spent in the Middle East and the broader Islamic world. Simply put, it's been my experience that Muslims much more routinely walk the walk and not just talk the talk. Having said that, I think there are a thousand paths of God (no matter how you define God, he/she/it/they). There are certain specific aspects of the faith I can identify that drew me to it. For example, I've always identified with the Islamic view of Jesus, who is a remarkably well-respected and beloved prophet (arguably the second most important prophet in the faith) but who is not considered the son of God, not because there's something wrong with him but rather because Muslims don't believe that anyone is the son of God. There also is much less hierarchy in Islam and a much less powerful and intrusive priesthood; mainly it's just you and God, and a structure wherein you stop and pray five times a day, meditating upon the transcendent. There are other aspects of the faith that I can't really quantify as easily. In my trips around the world I've spent time in churches and synagogues and Hindu temples and Buddhist temples and Jain temples, and it's only in mosques that I've felt a true sense of serenity. Why? Who knows? Nevertheless I've always felt that. So, for reasons both specific and more ethereal I was drawn to Islam.
Finally (I need to get back to my other more official writing), what do I think the faith means? If I spend hours every day during Ramadan praying and meditating and reading the Quran, what have I learned? As I said earlier, one of the reasons why I wanted to include this post is to create a time capsule that I can revisit in the future as my faith continues to evolve. It's not as if I haven't read the Quran before, because I have several times, but I also think that with every reading my views crystallize. My views will doubtless be different next year, and maybe someday I'll figure this all out, although I suspect no one ever truly figures out the answer when you're talking about faith. If you think you've figured it all out then it means you've probably failed at your quest. As I've been re-reading the Quran it really struck me how many times, when discussing those who are going to Paradise, they are described as those "who believe and perform righteous deeds." I've even started counting them, and I'll have a final, although probably incorrect, number soon; at this point suffice it to say that it is repeated dozens of times. For example, when I spoke in my friend Kelly's class one of the question was would I be willing to share a specific surah from the Quran, and I identified surah 103, sometimes called "The Declining Day." As the Quran progresses the surahs (chapters) get shorter and shorter, and surah 103 in its entirety is: "By the declining day, truly mankind is in loss, save those who believe, perform righteous deeds, exhort one another to truth, and exhort one another to patience." I like this surah because when I think about living my life I can definitely focus on those four aspects. Although the specific language varies, it comes back again and again to the notion of faith and righteous deeds. The other days I was swapping emails with my friend Kathy and she she pointed out, "yeah, but the problem is what constitutes a righteous deed, and everyone has a different answer." Which, of course, is the key point, and I told her (and you indirectly) that I can only give my own personal answer. I think righteous deeds happen a hundred times a day, or at least the opportunity for a righteous deed presents itself a hundred times a day. In Islam we're taught that good deeds are weightier, more powerful, more substantive than evil deeds; essentially, they're not equal. Good is more powerful than evil, which is why good deeds are worth more, attain more merit, than evil deeds. In surah 41 it says, "The good deed and the evil deed are not equal. Repel by that which is better; then behold, the one between whom and thee there is enmity shall be as if he were a loyal, protecting friend." Or, in surah 23, "Repel evil by that which is better." Muslims, although we are enjoined to stand up for what is right and to fight oppression, do not believe in an eye for an eye. So, this is how I think about it: a hundred times a day you come into contact with someone, a loved one or a friend or some anonymous character. How do you interact with them? Do you "repel by that which is better"? Do you treat them better than they treated you, even by a small amount? Do you try and be of service? Do you try and make their lives better, even for that one second that you're in contact? Islam is a complex and fascinating religion, and you only need to read Nasr provide two pages of small print commentary on one sentence to understand that, but I think how we interact with each other is a much simpler matter. When push comes to shove (and hopefully there won't be a push or a shove) I would argue that all religions have a similar message - and, for that matter, this brings me back to certain aspects of the Meditations of Marcus Aurelius - and if we all could just master this one simple principle life would be a lot easier. This is where I am right now, and I'm sure I'll have a more sophisticated answer next year, although maybe not a truer one.
OK, now back to pontificating on music or Proust or foreign travel.
No comments:
Post a Comment