Spiritual journeys like the hajj must challenge body and soul
Yesterday I was published in the Guardian's Face to Faith column discussing the Muslim pilgrimage of hajj which is currently underway.
About 25,000 British Muslims will travel to Mecca this week to take part in the hajj. They will join almost 2 million Muslims, from around the world, including 214,000 from Indonesia and 15 from Argentina. All of them will begin and end their journey at the Kaaba, an enormous iconic cube, usually draped in black, that Muslims turn towards every day when they pray. Everyone dresses in the simplest of white clothing. The trappings of the material world are momentarily erased. Each person is simply a soul, undifferentiated by wealth, status or colour. You can no longer hide behind clothes, make-up or social status. It is a sobering experience to come face-to-face with the grim realities of the bare souls of others, as well as your own.
Each person enters a swirling ocean of humanity that circulates seven times around the Kaaba on foot. It is an amazing sight as blonde and brunette, black, brown and white, young and old walk side by side. The microcosm that each person represents finds its place in this most diverse representation of humans.
The pilgrims then move to a desert expanse known as Arafat to look deep into their own souls. The barren landscape shines a harsh light on the inner self. Arafat represents the starkness of the Last Day. It is a place to ask for forgiveness, and make peace with oneself and the Creator.
Without temporal distractions, new perspectives and priorities about living the good life emerge, along with firm resolutions about making change. Pilgrims return from the Hajj talking about a life-changing experience, which does seem to have long-lasting effects. Islamic tradition says that after reflecting at Arafat, the pilgrim leaves fully purified, as innocent as a babe, ready to start life anew.
The journey passes through the night towards Mina, a resting place that is also the backdrop for two symbolic actions. In Islamic narratives Abraham was so dear to God that he was called "the friend of God". He grew into old age longing for an heir. When he was finally blessed with a son, God asked him to give up his child. He personified his devotion to God by entrusting to God that which was most beloved to him. The pilgrims must each sacrifice an animal, to symbolise that they too are prepared to give up what they love most.
On his journey to sacrifice his son Abraham was plagued by, and eventually overcame, the Devil. Pilgrims exorcise their own devils by throwing seven symbolic pebbles at stone satans, one pebble for each flaw they wish to erase. People throw their pebbles passionately, and their intention to wipe away previous shortcomings is buried into their muscle memory and DNA. The symbolism of ritual has a ripple effect into real life, and this is one of the great lessons of the hajj.
The triumphant spiritual return to Mecca is accompanied by a sense of physical exhaustion. The hajj is an arduous journey that challenges both body and soul. Its power lies in this very fact: that it addresses both parts of the human being and pushes them to extraordinary lengths. The journey needs to be both physical as well as spiritual. The body and the spirit are integral and interconnected parts of the human being that need nurturing. They must both go on a real, symbolic and ritual journey together in order to make change. Today, sadly, the body has been separated from the spiritual domain. It is worshipped in its own right, rather than as an integral part of the development of our individual humanity.
Curled up in our armchairs, we imagine that reading self-help books will create radical and long-lasting change. Those who have been on a pilgrimage, whether on the Camino de Santiago in Spain, to the many Hindu holy places or on the hajj, will tell you that it is the endurance, ritual and symbolism of the physical journey that reveals the secrets of the human soul.
About 25,000 British Muslims will travel to Mecca this week to take part in the hajj. They will join almost 2 million Muslims, from around the world, including 214,000 from Indonesia and 15 from Argentina. All of them will begin and end their journey at the Kaaba, an enormous iconic cube, usually draped in black, that Muslims turn towards every day when they pray. Everyone dresses in the simplest of white clothing. The trappings of the material world are momentarily erased. Each person is simply a soul, undifferentiated by wealth, status or colour. You can no longer hide behind clothes, make-up or social status. It is a sobering experience to come face-to-face with the grim realities of the bare souls of others, as well as your own.
Each person enters a swirling ocean of humanity that circulates seven times around the Kaaba on foot. It is an amazing sight as blonde and brunette, black, brown and white, young and old walk side by side. The microcosm that each person represents finds its place in this most diverse representation of humans.
The pilgrims then move to a desert expanse known as Arafat to look deep into their own souls. The barren landscape shines a harsh light on the inner self. Arafat represents the starkness of the Last Day. It is a place to ask for forgiveness, and make peace with oneself and the Creator.
Without temporal distractions, new perspectives and priorities about living the good life emerge, along with firm resolutions about making change. Pilgrims return from the Hajj talking about a life-changing experience, which does seem to have long-lasting effects. Islamic tradition says that after reflecting at Arafat, the pilgrim leaves fully purified, as innocent as a babe, ready to start life anew.
The journey passes through the night towards Mina, a resting place that is also the backdrop for two symbolic actions. In Islamic narratives Abraham was so dear to God that he was called "the friend of God". He grew into old age longing for an heir. When he was finally blessed with a son, God asked him to give up his child. He personified his devotion to God by entrusting to God that which was most beloved to him. The pilgrims must each sacrifice an animal, to symbolise that they too are prepared to give up what they love most.
On his journey to sacrifice his son Abraham was plagued by, and eventually overcame, the Devil. Pilgrims exorcise their own devils by throwing seven symbolic pebbles at stone satans, one pebble for each flaw they wish to erase. People throw their pebbles passionately, and their intention to wipe away previous shortcomings is buried into their muscle memory and DNA. The symbolism of ritual has a ripple effect into real life, and this is one of the great lessons of the hajj.
The triumphant spiritual return to Mecca is accompanied by a sense of physical exhaustion. The hajj is an arduous journey that challenges both body and soul. Its power lies in this very fact: that it addresses both parts of the human being and pushes them to extraordinary lengths. The journey needs to be both physical as well as spiritual. The body and the spirit are integral and interconnected parts of the human being that need nurturing. They must both go on a real, symbolic and ritual journey together in order to make change. Today, sadly, the body has been separated from the spiritual domain. It is worshipped in its own right, rather than as an integral part of the development of our individual humanity.
Curled up in our armchairs, we imagine that reading self-help books will create radical and long-lasting change. Those who have been on a pilgrimage, whether on the Camino de Santiago in Spain, to the many Hindu holy places or on the hajj, will tell you that it is the endurance, ritual and symbolism of the physical journey that reveals the secrets of the human soul.
Labels: Hajj, The Guardian
posted by Shelina Zahra Janmohamed at 11:48
2 Comments:
Great news on getting in the Guardian, I agree that an element of physical challenge is good for the soul but I am not sure it needs to be mixed up with spiritual. I had to run for my life whilst climbing in the alps this year (I say run, but the snow was up to my knees so it was more like a waddle) and I think my mindset was changed by it.
I have no idea what a spiritual pilgrimage would be for me, the only pilgrimage I could imagine would be one dedicated to other people. In a lot of ways, I guess that is what I aim for - to join the ranks of the other people that have suffered altitude and exhaustion.
I've read the Guardian article and found myself thoroughly disgusted by most of the comments that followed. If these people have such an objection to articles about Islam, why don't they just read something else? I despise cricket that's why you won't find me trawling round cricket forums and fansites and commenting on what a waste of time it is.
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