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The Qur’an describes the Last Day as so intense that you cannot expect individuals to behave the way you have seen them behaving in this life.

on the Day you see it, every nursing mother will think no more of her baby, every pregnant female will miscarry, you will think people are drunk when they are not, so severe will be God’s torment. (22.2)

When the Deafening Blast comes––the Day man will flee from his own brother, his mother, his father, his wife, his children: each of them will be absorbed in concerns of their own on that Day (80.33-37)

We have warned you of imminent torment, on the Day when every person will see what their own hands have sent ahead for them, when the disbeliever will say, ‘If only I were dust!’ (78.40)

This world (dunyā) has relatively set patterns according to the Qur’an. People live and die. Nations rise and fall. Hardship is mixed with ease. But the Last Day does not conform to what we witness historically, sociologically and anthropologically in human society. There is no way that we can really extrapolate what we have witnessed here to what will happen there.

For example, we might admire one of our teachers because of their piety, knowledge, and self-restraint. But their knowledge of the Last Day is still primarily theoretical, their self-restraint has only been in regards to the relatively minor pleasures of this life, and all we really know of their piety is that which is outwardly visible. In truth, when faced with the realities of the Last Day, we do not know how they will respond.

In every mystical tradition, one finds stories about people in this world who have achieved the supposed end of the spiritual journey: the walī in Islam, the saint in Christianity, the boddhisatva in Buddhism, and the jīvamukta in Hinduism. But how can the end be achieved when the Qur’an describes the Last Day in terms that completely demolish the patterns we see in this world? If someone is peaceful, compassionate, knowledgeable and pious, those achievements are only in relation to this tiny part of creation. Only God knows what they will manifest on the Last Day.

Ayatollah Mutahhari wrote some words that help to elucidate this:

As a matter of principle, the status of individuals is in the hands of God; no one has the right to express an opinion with certainty about whether someone will go to Heaven or Hell. If we were to be asked, “Is Shaykh Murtadhā al-Anṣārī, in view of his known asceticism, piety, faith, and deeds, definitely among the inhabitants of Heaven?” Our answer would be, “From what we know of the man, in his intellectual and practical affairs we haven’t heard of anything bad. What we know of him is virtue and goodness. But as to say with absolute certainty whether he will go to Heaven or Hell, that isn’t our prerogative. It is God who knows the intentions of all people, and He knows the secrets and hidden things of all souls; and the account of all people’s actions is also with Him.

What is important to understand about the individual he is using to make his point is that in the middle of the 19th century, he was the primary marja‘ for the global Shi’i community. That means that millions upon millions of people relied upon his religious scholarship to properly practice their faith. As the online publication al-Sidrah put it:

al-Shaykh Murtaḍā al-Dizfūlī al-Anṣārī (1214-1281 A.H./1781-1864 C.E.) was the foremost marjiʿ of his time, completely transforming the fields of Shiʿi law and legal theory of his time. He is widely recognized as both an exemplary scholar, a pious sage, and a teacher of the greatest scholars of succeeding generations. His effect on modern Shiʿi intellectual and religious history can hardly be overemphasized.

Obviously, he was also deeply pious, and there are many saintly stories about him. But even so, we are still looking at it from the vantage point of this world. Only God can see from the vantage point of the Last Day.

In a very real way, when we start thinking that we can arbitrate who is a saint and who is not based on our this-worldly experience, we are making claims about the ultimate status of another individual based on an extremely limited grasp of Reality. If I am veiled from my own fate, then how could I have insight into the fate of another? If I am veiled from the acceptance or rejection of my own deeds, then how could I know the spiritual status of another individual’s actions?

Every religious tradition speculates about who is the real cream of the crop. Augustine for Catholics, Antony for Coptics, Ghazali for Sunnis, Shankara for Advaita Vedantins, Visvanatha Chakravarti for Gaudiya Vaishnavas – to each person embedded within their tradition, there is a clear superstar whose piety, knowledge, and character are proofs of their exalted status with the Divine. In the Roman Catholic tradition, the Magisterium of the Church can declare someone to be a saint, and thus their exalted status in eternity is known definitively while we are still in this world. But the Islamic tradition has no equivalent authority, so Muslims should be more cautious and thoughtful when they speak about “saints.”

I am willing to be proven wrong on this point, as this short writing is simply meant to articulate how I think and feel at this point in my spiritual journey. I do not mean to denigrate the exceptional piety or profound scholarship of any specific individual. Nor do I intend to push people away from aspiring towards perfection. I, for example, hold up certain individuals as exemplars of piety, selflessness, and spiritual insight. But I simultaneously uphold that I might be wrong about them, as only God knows their true selves. I will not be judged for trying my best to find spiritual role models and struggling to live up to their example – but I may be judged for usurping God’s sole right to determine their eternal fate by prematurely declaring them to be from amongst the spiritual elite (awliyā Allāh).

sheykhe-ansari

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In my first semester in college (Fall 1997), I took an Ancient Philosophy course. I hardly remember it, but the other day I discovered a paper I wrote for it. I was shocked at how the thoughts I was thinking then mirror so much of what I think about these days, 22 years later. I don’t know if anyone will read this, but since my blog is very much an archive of my grapplings, I wanted to post it here with only a few minor edits. I may critique my younger self’s writing style and grasp of the source material, but I was thinking clearly about one of life’s great questions.

***

In the course of our lives, we are constantly forced to make moral decisions and quite often, we choose courses of action that do not embody moral excellence. Very often we are attracted to carnal desires, or even practicality, and they steer us away from choosing solely what we believe to be right and good. However, every so often we learn about a personality who embodies moral excellence; a person that we cannot help but think of as a great soul. One such person was Gandhi. He lived for unselfishness; for the hope of the suffering; for so much that we believe to be right and good. And had Aristotle, the great ancient philosopher, known of Gandhi’s life, he would have praised him for achieving moral excellence, a subject that was of considerable importance in his timeless philosophical work, the Nicomachean Ethics.

In the Nicomachean Ethics, Aristotle argues that pleasure and pain are the main factors that affect moral excellence; he states in Book II, chapter 3, “moral excellence is concerned with pleasures and pains.” However, it seems strange to associate the concepts of pleasure and pain, in terms of how they influence moral excellence, with the lives and actions of people like Gandhi. Don’t we usually think of people like Gandhi as personalities that have transcended the mundane world of pleasure and pain; personalities that have chosen to live for a higher ideal; personalities that are concerned more with others than themselves?

There is more, however, to Aristotle’s position. He states, “[Given that “moral excellence is concerned with pleasures and pains”] we ought to have been brought up in a particular way from our very youth, as Plato says, so as to both delight in and to be pained by the things that we ought.” In short, he believes that we should be taught to love what is good, and it follows from that that what is good brings us pleasure, because what we love undoubtedly brings us pleasure. However, Aristotle also believes that it is a necessary condition for excellent action to “choose acts for their own sakes.” It follows from that that for one to be morally excellent, one must choose actions of a moral basis solely because one believes them to be simply what is good and right. This creates quite a situation. At the same time Aristotle believes that the morally excellent person will find pleasure in what is good, but that same person must, in order to actually be morally excellent, choose the actions not because it will bring them pleasure, but simply because they are good.

I will argue that there is a refinement of Aristotle’s belief that avoids the conflict that his view faces, as well as fits better with our assumptions about the nature of morally excellent people, such as Gandhi. As I mentioned before, it seems strange to associate the concepts of pleasure and pain with embodiments of moral excellence, such as Gandhi. Aristotle undoubtedly believes that “excellence, then, is concerned with pleasures and pains…-let this be taken as said,” but, because of his belief in choosing the action for his own sake, he is in a bind. I believe that there is another factor, and I call that factor awareness of right action. Awareness of right action makes us want to choose what we believe is right, regardless of how it affects us. In other words, it makes us want to choose an action for its own sake; its own moral value. In Aristotle’s view, pleasure and pain were the only motivating factors in regards to moral excellence, but in my refinement, awareness of right action is also a motivating factor. What Aristotle believed to be a necessary condition for excellent action, I am now turning into an actual motivating factor within us.

One should liken these motivating factors (pleasure/pain, and awareness of right action) to three different voices in one’s head. One voice, pleasure/pain, says, “How will this action affect me? Will it give me pleasure? Will it give me pain?” As one listens to the voice, one may be aware of the way one was raised, and how that upbringing may predispose them towards morally superior action, but that is not what is important according to pleasure/pain. What is salient is simply how that action will affect the doer, and naturally, one will want to choose the actions that give one the most pleasure. However, the other voice, that of awareness of right action, says, “How will this action affect others? Is it right? Is it the most elevated action I can choose, based on my moral sentiment?” This voice also is aware that the doer may be naturally disposed towards morally superior action, and that those actions consequently may be pleasurable, but that is not what is salient. What is salient is simply how that action will affect others, and what is morally superior. Then, in order to decide what action they will perform, one must decide between the two voices, or arrive at a compromise.

The decision that one arrives at can both determine and illustrate the moral excellence of the doer. Gandhi undoubtedly had one voice that said, “If you dedicate your life to these high ideals and the service of humanity, you will surely have some pleasure, but there are many other options that are a lot more pleasurable.” The other voice said, “This is the highest form of unselfishness you can achieve. You can do so much good by pursuing this course.” So he had to weigh those two voices, and obviously, the latter came out on top. Pleasure was going to be present in his life, but he consciously chose to put awareness of right action over pleasure. He made it his priority, and therein lies his moral excellence. It was not that his moral excellence was determined by his choosing his actions for their own sake.

One might object that it is impossible for one to truly have awareness of right action, that it is actually pleasure. Aristotle believes that we should be raised in a way that makes us actually desire good actions, and derive pleasure from them. If this is true, then what we believe to be good could actually become pleasure itself, and therefore one could in no way distinguish the goodness of an action from the pleasure derived from that action. Therefore, there would only be one voice in our head, pleasure/pain. Sometimes, I am sure that the two voices meld into one, such as when we give a quarter to a homeless person. We want to for moral reasons, and it is completely pleasurable because it makes us feel charitable and it is insignificant amount of money for us. However, many times we do actually have to weigh pleasure and morality when we make decisions. When people are offered veal, they many times explicitly have to confront the two voices: “Veal tastes really good and I am really hungry” vs. “I do not want to eat veal because of moral reasons”. Then, pleasure/pain are quite distinct from awareness of right action.

The other objection that may be raised is one of an epistemological basis: how can we actually know if we are choosing actions for their own sake or if we are choosing them for our own pleasure? However, I am interested in the practical, and I therefore have to assume that what we think we know is justified and accurate. Other wise, there can be no further talk of practical moral excellence, and we are then no closer to understanding how to be morally excellent than when we started. If one truly believes that a certain action is morally superior to another action, and one decides to choose that action because of his moral sentiment, then he must go with that, even though his decision may be epistemologically ungrounded.

By refining Aristotle’s view, the nature of moral excellence has become clearer, but, in the end, what most matters is the actual real life pursuit of moral excellence. Almost everybody has the option of dedicating themselves to the homeless, but most do not. Why is this so? There are still many questions left to explore, and many issues left to tackle with but keep in mind that this is not like mathematics, especially when explored on a practical level. The real value of asking these questions lies not in its pinpoint accuracy, but its ability to motivate elevated action, for actions really do speak louder than words. Just look at Gandhi.

[All Aristotle quotes taken from: A New Aristotle Reader, ed. J.L. Ackrill (Princeton, Princeton University Press, 1987) pp. 378-380]

01/00/1998. File pictures of Mahatma Gandhi

 

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because of you

i can see the light in the darkness

when a people are surrounded by their oppressor

when a loved one’s body is wasting away from disease

when the wrongdoer goes free and the patient suffer

when a tragedy wipes away the happiness of a family

 

when death finally comes

as it always does

 

in all situations

my Imam

i see you

i see your headless body on the ground

i see your sister crying over you

i see your son carried away in chains

and i know

that your Lord hears all prayers

and is always with us

forever

 

because of you

hope can never die

ya Husayn

Imam_hussein-Ashura-Karbala_(30)

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A peasant tied his cow in the stable, in its place;

A lion ate his cow, and sat there with grace.

 

The peasant went to the stable, seeking his cow;

Groping in the night, he got there somehow.

 

He was patting the body of the lion thereof;

Its back and its side, below and above.

 

“If he has more light, his gallbladder would burst,

And his heart would melt,” the lion thought at first.

 

“He’s stroking me like this? Isn’t he bold?

He thinks that I am his cow in his hold.”

 

God says, “You fool, where is your shame?

Did not the mount collapse at My Name?

 

Had We sent down a book on a mountain, you would see;

That the rocks divide, shatter, and then flee.

 

If Mount Uhud had been acquainted with Me,

Rivers of blood would have gushed from its knee.

 

So heedless you are from a truth so deep,

You’ve heard it from your parents, so you take it so cheap.

 

If this knowledge of yours were without imitation,

You would be an angel, free of limitation.”

 

[poem recited by Sayyid Hashim Haddad (on left in picture) at his first meeting with his disciple Sayyid Muhammad Husayn Husayni Tihrani (on right), trans. by Tawus Raja in Liberated Soul]

Sayyid_Hashim_Haddad_1

The Prophet ﷺ was reportedly asked: “Which of our companions are best?” He replied: “One whose appearance reminds you of God, and whose speech increases you in knowledge, and whose actions remind you of the hereafter.”

 

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I had the first surgery of my life a week ago, to repair an injury to my left knee.

This morning was the first time I was capable of leaving the house, to get a cup of coffee. Even though it was a slow and awkward journey on my crutches, it was a thrilling experience.

I have always striven to be grateful for what I have been blessed with, but you can never truly be as grateful for something as when it is taken away. You just can’t.

Had I ever thanked God in my entire life for my left knee?

Sure, I have thanked God for my health many many times, in many different ways. And fear of losing my health has even driven me deeper into reliance upon and hope in God’s generosity.

But had I ever thanked God for my left knee?

For all the sports I played when I was younger, all the jumping around on stage with a guitar or stomping away on the hi-hat pedal, all the adventures I have gone on, all predicated on my left knee functioning properly?

Did I ever thank God for my left knee?

For the ability to make prostration smoothly during prayer, sit on the ground relatively comfortably during a sacred gathering, or go back and forth between Safa and Marwa without pain?

Had I ever thanked God for my left knee?

For all the walks I have been on with my wife or son or friends or parents, strolling around, taking in the sights, lost in conversation?

Had I ever taken the time, even once, to say thank you to my Creator for giving me a left knee in the first place and preserving it from major damage for 40 years?

No.

So even though it is a too little too late, thank You, God, for my left knee.

And my right knee too 😉

ما شاء الله لا قوة إلا بالله

salowalk-1024x659.jpg

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after all is said and done

after 20 years of effort and choices

the plain truth is

i have been given that which is uncountable

and so what i have done

is insignificant

as an expression of true gratitude

and what i should not have done

means i owe even more thanks

for the forgiveness without which i am lost

so whichever way i turn

there is the Generous starting back at me

and all i can do is bow down

offer inadequate praise

and submit

to the Lord of ‘Ali

اللهم صل على محمد و آل محمد

IMG_1615

 

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Now that we are approaching the middle of the month of Ramadan, it is a good time to candidly reflect.

Shaytan hasn’t whispered in our ear for almost two weeks, and our nafs ‘ammārah (selfishness) is weakened by the rigors of fasting. In the last third of the month, many of us like to disconnect and find more privacy, but before we do that, it is a good time to take stock of ourselves in relation to the wider community of which we are a part. If we can’t speak purely and clearly and honestly at this time of the year, then perhaps we should all live lives of silence.

For this reflection, I want to highlight the disunity of the Muslim community and one of its primary causes. Many otherwise pious Muslims have isolated themselves within imagined communities of sanctity and grace. Whether it is the Sufi who is at home in Istanbul and Abu Dhabi, or the Shi’i who shuttles between Qum and Karbala, or the Salafi who only finds comfort in Makkah and Madinah, we create boxes of who is “in” and who is “out” and only spend time with those we believe are “in.” We speak about how pious so and so is, how Shaykh such and such wrote some great text, and refuse, either through silence or avoidance or just plain ignorance, to engage the Other.

I have benefitted from Shaykh ibn Uthaymeen (one of the most respected Salafi scholars of the 20th century), from Shaykh Habib Ahmad Mashhur al-Haddad (one of the most respected Sufis of the 20th century), and Ayatollah Khomeini (one of the most respected Shi’is of the 20th century). More than that, I have benefitted from Thomas Merton (a famous Catholic monk of the 20th century), A.C. Bhaktivedanta Swami (a famous Hindu monk of the 20th century), and Carl Sagan (a famous atheist astrophysicist of the 20th century). They are all “my teachers,” one way or another, and for their role in my life I am grateful, even though I never had the opportunity to meet any of them.

Deep down, I may have some sort of imagined hierarchy in my mind about who is “closest” and who is “farthest” from The Creator (al-Khāliq), The Originator (al-Bāri’), The Fashioner (al-Muṣawwir). But when I get real with God, I know that I don’t know. All I know with certainty is that God created them and us, and will perfectly assign all of us our next-worldly situations. All I know is that they are human beings who live on the planet Earth, I am a human being who lives on the same planet, and we are all going to die just like they already have. I have met good people who are absolutely convinced that one of them, or a group of them, are certainly better than the others. So much so that it would actually cause a type of physical discomfort to imagine that they might be wrong, and the person they see as misguided is actually the closest to God.

The fact of the matter is that each of us are bound by material conditions to act. And that imagined hierarchy is what determines, to a certain extent, how we choose to act. So if I think that so and so is the highest, I will try to emulate them, and if I think such and such is the lowest, I will avoid them. That is something we are bound to do, and The Merciful Benefactor (al-Rahmān) is not going to judge us for it. But we err when we unjustifiably make claims about “our teachers” that give them a status in eternity that they may not have. And we compound that error when we use that claim to set ourselves off from others in the belief that we are “in.”

I say this because I have seen really good people do it. As far as I can tell, it is a spiritual challenge especially for those who have committed themselves to serious study and practice of Islam. It often comes from people who, in the next breath, will say that they know nothing and everyone is better than them. But their actions speak louder than their words. It is very clear who they think is the salt of the earth, and that they are honored by their connections to them.

It is better to simply do our best and leave the rest to Allah. If you believe following Habib ‘Umar (a contemporary Sufi leader) is necessary for you to prepare for the Last Day, then Allah bless you and guide you. If you believe that following Ayatollah Sistani (a contemporary Shi’i leader) is the best way to emulate the Sunnah, then Allah bless you and guide you. If you believe that following Shaykh Salman al-Ouda (a contemporary Salafi leader) is the safest way to Allah, then Allah bless you and guide you. If you believe that Seyyed Hossein Nasr (a contemporary Perennialist leader) has it all figured out, then Allah bless you and guide you.

But just please please please don’t highlight your personally necessary choice of teachers in communal settings where it is not necessary. And please please please be willing to try something different. Try studying with someone else’s teacher. Read someone else’s books. Go on someone else’s pilgrimage tour. Speak in someone else’s masjid or summer program.

And if you are fearful of the repercussions of this, both in terms of income and reputation, ask yourself this – “Am I sincere enough with God that if I lost this position and no one listens to me anymore and I make no income from it, I will still carry on because I am doing it for God?”

If the answer is yes, then you have nothing to fear.

If the answer is no, then you shouldn’t be opening your mouth to teach Islam in the first place. Go get another job, and figure out your heart before you die.

When Musa came back from the mountain and grilled Harun for allowing the community to build the golden calf while he was absent, Harun said:

“I was afraid you would say, ‘You have caused division among the children of Israel!'” (20.93)

If a prophet himself was afraid of breaking up the community over idol worship, then what exactly are we afraid of by increasing our engagement with those Muslims who have different teachers than us as their sanad (link) to the Prophet Muhammad and wasīla (means) to understanding the Holy Qur’an?

اللهم صل على محمد و آل محمد

PlanetOrbits

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