At The Limit

18 Ramadhan, 1442

Reading Ed Feser's Five Proofs of the Existence of God makes me feel pretty darn stupid and quite clever all at once. I suppose it's the prof's remarkable ability to write so clearly about philosophical ideas that accounts for me managing to feel clever, and it's the fact that those ideas are right at the edge of what my limited brain can deal with that accounts for the sense of stupidity.

Both seem to me useful feelings; and it's the engendering of actual feelings in relation to the ideas expounded that is fascinating. I can't help but see signs in that phenomenon, as visible as all the signs that haunt creation.

Venturing Out

17 Ramadhan, 1442

We're just back from our first evening eating out in Ramadhan, followed by a bit of late-night shopping. It reminds me of the pattern we seem to follow in most fasting months: a period of inward adjustment followed by various encounters with the rich world outside ourselves. An apt metaphor for something, though I'm not entirely sure of what that something is. One to think about.

It's Complicated

16 Ramadhan, 1442

The difficulty facing any reader of a biography of the Prophet - peace be upon him - is in trying to keep up with the incredible complications involved in his leadership of the first Muslim community in Medina - which was, of course, not an exclusively Muslim community by any stretch of the imagination. The developing Message had to be applied to real world circumstances which are, as we all know, messy and ambiguous, even in fairly simple organisations, never mind entire cities and beyond. And all this in the face of possible, even likely, annihilation.

When I first encountered this astonishing narrative I found trying to keep up with the complexities of it both hard-going and fascinating at the same time (a bit like life itself.) Tariq Ramadhan does a fine job of simplifying the story by focusing on key episodes or thematic links to illuminate the events, or, rather, to illustrate how the leadership involved illuminated all aspects of the reality it had to deal with.

I suppose I must have read material related to the visit of the Najran Christians to Medina previously, but I'd never quite taken in its significance which is beautifully outlined in TR's account. He associates one of my favourite Qur'anic verses with the episode: Oh humankind! We created you from a male and a female, and made you into nations and tribes, that you may know each other. The gloss on the Arabic form related to knowing is particularly acute - taarafu expresses mutual knowledge based on a horizontal, equal relationship.

Salutary reading for fanatics of all stripes.

Marching On

15 Ramadhan, 1442

It's a sad and inevitable truth that I'm not getting any younger. I suppose this might be balanced against the possibility of getting a bit wiser, but there's precious little evidence of that.

Mind you, this is a truth shared with pretty much everyone else out there, which helps to reduce the sting just that little bit. Also being able to enjoy a fabulous full moon this morning walking across to work was powerful medicine for the aging soul.

Fit For Purpose

14 Ramadhan, 1442

I've managed four trips to the gym so far in the course of the fasting month and seem to have done myself some good on the new machine I've been using. Prior to my first trip this year I couldn't recall using the gym in Ramadhan before, but a quick check through posts written in previous years made me realise that I'd made a bit of a routine of doing so just a couple of years ago. Funny how one forgets these things.

What I hadn't forgotten from two years ago were my post-fasting month tribulations with a bad back, culminating in a crisis at the end of the June vacation with the worst attack of sciatic pain I've ever encountered. At the time I wondered whether my workouts had somehow provoked the problems later. I didn't think they had, to be honest, but I couldn't disregard the possibility.

What this means for me now is a certain useful tempering of my complacency over being in reasonably good shape. At my age these things don't necessarily last, and there'll be a time when any sense of being fit will be gone for good. So I'm enjoying it while I can in a measured sort of fashion - at least, I hope that's the case.

Signs Of Normality

13 Ramadhan, 1442

We went to Geylang this afternoon to pay our zakat at Darul Arqam. It felt good to re-establish this routine after last year's hiatus. There's no bazaar for Ramadhan allowed yet, but there is a sense of things beginning to get back to normal in terms of the crowds around. A bit worrying though in terms of the relative neglect of social distancing in the busier areas.

I suppose this is the way things gradually open up, but there are plenty of examples around the globe where complacency turned out to be extremely ill-founded. Somehow I can't see that happening here - but, of course, in itself that's a bit of a complacent comment to make.

At Ease

12 Ramadhan, 1442

A day of relative ease. Slept for some time after the Zuhor Prayer. A very large mercy in its small way.

You learn to appreciate the simple things when denied them.

Enrichment

11 Ramadhan, 1442

I'm making some progress in Tariq Ramadan's fine account of the life of the Prophet - peace be upon him - though not as much as I would like. I've arrived at the chapter on the Hijrah and TR's thoughts thereon have been particularly stimulating. Even though I've read the book before I didn't quite take in just how fundamental to the Hijrah was the way in which the nascent Muslim community was exposed to a major cultural shift and what was in effect a multi-cultural society (given the non-Muslim tribes resident in Medina) - and how much the community gained from that enrichment.

I've always had doubts about Muslim exclusivity and this confirmed those doubts. It seems to me self-evident that the faith was at its most vibrant when it lived cheek by jowl with complementary systems of thought and belief. And I wonder if something similar obtains in our own age.

Still Counting

10 Ramadhan, 1442

Every Ramadhan I seek to lose count of how many days I've fasted. And every Ramadhan I fail. I suppose putting the date at the head of all these posts doesn't help, but I'd still be aware of the number of days even if this were not my practice.

So, in some ways I'm happy to note that I've got through a third of the month. But basically I know it's inappropriately childish.

Still Challenged

9 Ramadhan, 1442

Fasting has now become somewhat more routine. But those moments still come - those moments when the tiredness hits and it's difficult to imagine going on much longer. Those moments don't last, of course, but they're very useful reminders of the fundamental weakness of the body when dealing with any kind of extreme.

It's difficult to feel anything other than deep humility when faced with such truths.

Still Learning

8 Ramadhan, 1442

Thought long and hard about drinking a cup of tea this morning. I'd finished a lesson at 10.00 am and had a bit of time to meditate on things after completing some IO marking for IB. When I say I thought long and hard I don't mean I had any intention of drinking the tea I was thinking about at that point in time. Maintaining the fast was unproblematic. And I don't mean I experienced any sense of immediate yearning. Far from it: I was perfectly content to think ahead to the tea I've just consumed this evening in the knowledge it would be a delightful experience to do that consuming; which it was, powerfully so.

The fast teaches patience. And it teaches appreciation. And it teaches the value of things - simple, everyday, ordinary, unexceptional things. These lessons are easily forgotten, until the lived experience of them.

Asking Questions

7 Ramadhan, 1442

Many non-Muslims perceive The Qur'an as an extremely dogmatic text. But even a cursory reading quickly points to the questioning nature of the Revelation. The reader is consistently challenged to observe and to consider; there's a sense of being caught in a fascinating debate in which the central issues relate to the deepest human concerns.

Tariq Ramadan is very good at explaining just how threatening this new way of seeing the world was to the establishment of the time. They recognised the questioning spirit of radical liberation, even when it came from one of their own, and they didn't like it at all. In some ways it's easy to understand the Quraysh's opposition to the Prophet - peace be upon him - and the Message. I suppose that at some level even a believer senses that surrender involves radical transformation of a kind that's not easy in a world that's always committed to more of the same.

Within Reason

6 Ramadhan, 1442

Spent a chunk of time over the weekend dealing with my marking for IB. Listening to a variety of Individual Orals from around the world has a certain novelty about it, at least for now. So the work wasn't exactly wearing, but did require focus and concentration.

However, I did find time to get on with at least some of my assigned reading for the holy month. Indeed, I sort of surprised myself with my progress in Ed Feser's Five Proofs of the Existence of God. I'd originally intended the book as part of my holiday reading last December, but it somehow got shouldered out of the way, I suppose at least in part because it's quite demanding. But this time the opening chapter The Aristotelean Proof proved straightforwardly accessible. I think this is because I've accustomed myself to Aristotelean terminology - the mediaeval version thereof - through my acquaintance with Prof Feser's work on Thomas Aquinas and found it quite natural to think in terms of potentiality and actualisation, terms central to this version of the Unmoved Mover argument. It's strange to think that an argument I found clumsy and almost unnatural when studying the Philosophy of Religion at university now seems so entirely convincing.

When I was finding my way back to a belief in God I put little store in unaided human reason as an approach to the Divine. I was wrong.

Something Found

5 Ramadhan, 1442

Got to the gym after breaking the fast. It felt right. Hoping to make this something of a routine this year. It adds another dimension to the experience of fasting. Useful to know that the tank hasn't been emptied out, even when feeling drained has become something of a default state.

Heavy Demands

4 Ramadhan, 1442

It's getting easier - at least, that is, in terms of the physical effects of the fast. The general grunginess I've been feeling in the final hours of the afternoon has gradually eased. I've experienced this before, but didn't take for granted it would happen, so I'm delighted things are going in that direction.

What doesn't get easier, though, is the battle to find my better self. He's in there somewhere, and occasionally emerges, but I'm always afraid the inferior version will forgetfully subdue him. I just need to remind myself to keep watch, keep trying, keep patient.

Learning

3 Ramadhan, 1442

Learning solitude, patience, contemplation, watchfulness. The Prophet - peace be upon him - as a shepherd, in his youth. A list that invites contemplation in itself.

In Focus

2 Ramadhan, 1442

Have embarked on my key reading for the holy month: Tariq Ramadan's The Messenger - The Meanings of the Life of Muhammad. It's my favourite of the short biographies, though I suppose it's more meditational-devotional than strictly biographical. TR nails his purpose in the engaging introduction: These two dimensions - the man's humanity and the Prophet's exemplarity - serve as the focus of our interest... Nicely put, and exactly what I need as my focus in these days.

Challenged

1 Ramadhan, 1442

I knew the first day of fasting was going to be tough when I looked at my timetable and the attendant to-do list for the day. And tough it was. But my thoughts are with those whose first days were even tougher.

And, in truth, in some ways being busy is a mercy. It stops you dwelling on things and makes you just get on with it.

So just to say, Selamat Berpuasa, especially to those who are challenged at this time.

Of Concern

It's a salutary exercise to devise a list of nations in the news, when that news isn't at all good news. And it's especially disturbing when the nations in the list lie in close proximity to one's own location.

Coverage of events in Myanmar does not make for happy reading. To be honest, it rarely has over the last few years, despite the signs of some kind of open democracy beginning to develop. Indeed, it's the disappointment over the crushing of such signs that adds to the pain of reading.

But perhaps some kind of hope lies in the courage and resilience of so many of the 'ordinary people' there - who turn out, as so often is the case, not to be so ordinary after all.

Not So Predictable

Back in early January I found myself mildly irritated by the surplus kgs upon my person, which I had been unable to shed despite having hit the gym for some five or six weeks. Now, in early-ish April, I'm happy to report that I'm a smidgeon under my fighting weight and looking forward to what the fasting month may bring in terms of a further refinement of this old body of mine. Having said that, I'm finding that age brings along with it quite a few surprises in terms of things not always going in the directions they would have when I was a younger man.

Indeed, that unpredictability is part of the excitement and mild trepidation of mentally preparing for fasting. I've got a feeling that the first few days - starting from Tuesday - might be more of a test than usual, and, I must say, that would be no bad thing. Actually my plan is to get to the gym by Friday, but I'm ready to re-think that proposal in the light of lived experience.

Spinning Gold

Gave a spin to The Decembrists' The Hazards of Love this afternoon and wondered why I don't do this more often. One of the few cohesive, coherent concept albums - with possibly the best final track of any. Chris Funk's pedal steel on the gorgeous The Hazards of Love (The Drowned) is to die for.

So Long

It's the anniversary of Mum's death. Nine years ago.

To be honest I didn't realise just how long until a couple of days ago when I happened to be looking back to blog posts from April 2012 in an arbitrary manner and was a wee bit shocked to realise she left this world in that month. If I'd been asked how many years it had been I think I might have guessed around five.

Strange thing, time. Not really our element, though we're lucky to be granted it.

21CSM

Since we're now in the 21st Century and I'm more than a little schizoid it's time to announce that fact to the world. Sometimes ex-students come up with great gifts. Thanks, Siddharth!

A Bit Of A Change

I found myself on a new machine this evening in the gym. This was as a result of my breaking the elliptical trainer over the weekend. Well, I didn't exactly break it, but a bit fell off when I was last on board and it's now under repair.

To be honest, I was quite narked when I saw our PE guys had put a sign on it saying it was out of bounds because it's the only thing I use in the gym now that I can't do weights (because of my iffy right arm - that's gradually getting better - thanks for asking.) But the machine I shifted to, next door to the elliptical trainer, also has pedals and is similar in some respects, so it turned out not to be too difficult to make the switch. And the novelty of doing something a bit different turned out to be quite enjoyable. In fact, I pedalled for a full hour (rather than my usual 50 - 55 minutes) since that seemed to be the automatic setting for the machine.

I still don't have a clue how to read the various bits of data the machine chucks out, even after my 60 minutes, but I suppose I'll learn, given the fact I'll probably be spending a fair bit of time on it.

Two Damon Albarn Moments

In the course of a pretty busy day I found the good sense to allow myself not just one but an actual couple of moments with Damon Albarn - both in relaxed mode. The first was Gorillaz associated, but unusually for our 2D friends out on the street. The second was a throwback to the great days of Blur, but sort of Blur-enhanced.

The funny thing is that when I first started listening to Mr Albarn I thought of him as a bit of a fake, despite his obvious musicality. I suppose it was the slightly overdone accent. Now he strikes me as being one of the few musos who's entirely, honestly, himself. Not easy in his line of work, I'd imagine.

Sheer Genius

Having been pontificating as to how Kipling is not a Premier League writer, despite his many gifts, I happened to read his short story Mary Postgate today which went a small way to blowing my theory apart.

Put simply: it's brilliant. Surely one of the finest short stories in English. I thought Kipling couldn't 'do' women, but the psychological depth in these few pages belies that judgment. And the ending is so daring, yet so true.

We are confronted with the intensely gratifying pleasure of hating the Other in the most extreme form, and we must helplessly empathise in a way that is deeply upsetting.

Making Connections

This is a bit odd. Yesterday I made reference to Dickens in relation to my on-going reading of Kipling's short stories with regard to what I think is something of a gap in the weight of achievement between the two writers. But the reference was also made with a sense of their similarities. Then today, when reading RK's The Village That Voted the Earth Was Flat, a crackingly exuberant farce, reminiscent of Dickens on absolutely top comic form, I came across an overt reference to the 'senior' writer: 'I don't dive after Dickens,' said Ollyet to Bat and me by the window, 'but every time I get into a row I notice that the police court always fills up with his characters'. As is often the case in his tales Kipling here is very much self-aware in his literariness, and it's interesting to see him overtly name his great precursor in this overtly Dickensian tale.

I find I can devise a literary triangle with RK and CD at two of the corners. The third corner of my triangle is the rather more modern English novelist Angus Wilson, who has written on both of them. Wilson's introduction to Dickens in Penguin's The World of Charles Dickens is possibly my all time favourite general volume to any major writer - a lovely book, and one that hugely excited me when I embarked on reading Dickens. And I'm now excited about getting my hands on Wilson's The Strange Ride of Rudyard Kipling, his highly rated account of Kipling's life in relation to his writing. I'm hoping it might make some sense of the many contradictions in Kipling's work and explain why for all his brilliance he falls short of real greatness in the final analysis.

But this will have to wait, I'm afraid. This is not a year in which I'll be expanding my library.

In Short

As I mentioned last Friday, the idea of finishing The Man Who Would be King: Selected Stories of Rudyard Kipling ahead of Ramadhan was at one time in my mind. But it's now highly unlikely I will do so. And I must say, this is of no great concern as my enjoyment of reading the tales is so intense I'll be happy to get back to them in the later part of May.

The last six I've read have all been really top notch: The Maltese Cat, 'The Finest Story in the World', The Ship That Found Herself, Mrs Bathurst, 'They' and 'Wireless'. How astonishingly varied is that list. How wonderfully inventive is the writer. No wonder so many of his contemporaries admired the 'genius' of the man - Henry James and James Joyce to name but two (and what big names they are.)

But I've also felt something of the limitations of that genius, even when its fruits are so impressive. There's a sense in which the brevity of the tales works to RK's advantage. For all his brilliance there's nothing that points in the direction of matching, say, Dickens, in terms of delivering something that sustains the moments of brilliance. I don't think he was capable of maintaining coherent thought on the big questions; but on a small canvas there's no matching the magic of his skewed vision and its attendant insights.

Sheer Folly

I started the day celebrating the folly of others, and ended it with a keen sense of my own. A good way to acknowledge this Great Day of Fools. Evidence that despite divisions of race, religion, nationality and the like, we are much the same.