Tuesday, August 13, 2019

Hussain Abad, Quetta: the place, the people and their values

Faqir Jango of Hussain Abad, Quetta.
“We are who we are because of the places in which we grow up, the accents and friends we acquire by chance, the burdens we have not chosen but somehow learn to cope with. Real communities are always local-places in which people have put down roots and are willing to put up with the burdens of living together. The fantasy of virtual community is that we can enjoy the benefits of community without its burdens, without the daily effort to keep delicate human connections intact. Real communities can bear these burdens because they are embedded in particular places and evoke enduring loyalties. In cyberspace, however, there is nowhere that a sense of place can grow, and no way in which the solidarities that sustain human beings through difficult times can be forged”  
John Gray

"We have too many things, and too little gratitude."
Abdal Hakim Murad

Note: Short video on Hussainabad at the end.

Haider Surkhai. Faqir Jango. Shaukat Cowboy. Eechak. Seyyed Tawoos Agha. Babay Patayn. And so on. All these names are of the people whom we identified as our own, as the people of Hussain Abad, a neighorhood where we grew up in the 1970s and 1980s. Hussain Abad is a mostly Hazara mohalla (neighborhood) off the main Toghi Road in Quetta. I am not sure about the origin of the name; maybe it was named after the first person who set camp there; since the Hazaras belong to the Shia tradition of Islam, it is more likely that the mohalla was named after the third Shia Imam Hussain (AS), the grandson of the Prophet Muhammad (pbuh). Wallahu alam. God knows better. In this blog, I will reflect upon the old days in Hussain Abad---1970s and 1980s---some of its well-known residents and the customs and mores which defined the community then.
The residents of Hussain Abad were then commonly known by the Hazaras of other mohallas, especially by the slick Nichariites and the brash (or let's say blunt, brutally honest) Seyyed Abadis, as the “Shash Maina” which literally translates into “Six Monthers” or “Six month old”. For those readers of this blog who are not well acquainted with the Hazaras of Quetta and their ways, this appellation was both an honorific and a somewhat derogatory designation at the same time. The Hussain Abadis, having arrived into this world from the wombs of their mothers three months earlier than others of the species (hence the sobriquet “six monthers”!), were admired, or envied, for their precociousness, wit and wisdom, resourcefulness and other such qualities that usually define the better segments of a community. At the same time, and rather paradoxically, they were also the target of caustic taunts---especially of the irreverent Seyyed Abadis---for having not advanced beyond the age of six months, postpartum (post-birth)! In other words, they were often accused of immaturity. Those TNT-loaded barbs were especially lobbed at them by the Seyyed Abadi fans at the football (soccer) matches between the two teams during the All Hazara Football Championships often held in dry Quetta summers. Local elections for the provincial legislative assembly were the other such occasions for such a belligerent display of communal rivalry.

Hussain Abadis at Hanna Lake, Quetta, mid 1970s.
On a recent visit to Quetta, I went to check on the old mohalla of Hussain Abad, especially the street that we used to live in. Once there, I was totally lost: almost nothing of the old street could be seen! I had difficulty orienting myself and tried hard to locate the exact location where once stood the old house with the huge mulberry (shahthooth) tree---our house. Gone were the small wooden doors with sun-beaten dried paint that we children used to strip off the door surfaces mischievously. Those small doors with squeaky hinges and rusting bolt-type locks with chain latches that doubled as knocking devices were almost always half open; simple yet elegant, they never failed to remind one of the organic ("wood is always alive!" as someone has said) and unpretentious nature of not only the structures that they were meant to gate and protect, but also of the people who inhabited those quarters. In them one could see and feel what the Japanese call wabi-sabi. In place of them now stood wide metal gates fitted with high security prison grade remote operated locks and flanked by reinforced concrete walls into which the hinges that supported the thick, heavy gates sank deeply, as if trying to impress upon the mortal observer that both the structures and their residents were there to stay indefinitely, as in death-defying indefinitely. Forever! I just stood there, in front of one of those cold, lifeless monstrosities for a long time, thinking about the old times. In exact contrast to what occupied those spaces once, everything now looked so…inorganic, so un-charming, so arrogant, gaudy, nay, ugly!
As with the buildings, so with the people. Looking strangely, suspiciously, at me as I walked past them---still somewhat lost and confused---the cold, unfamiliar faces seemed equally unfamiliar to each other as well. The fruits of development, progress, or "taraqqee", I thought. Hence the booming market for NGOs and their armies of "community developers"!

As I turned the corner to get back on the main Yazdan Khan Road, my eyes suddenly caught sight of an abnormally thin man with an equally emaciated face half of which was covered with a scraggly beard. He was just standing there, almost motionless. He was clad in all white, head covered with a black and white keffiyeh, of the type that always reminds one of the great Palestinian freedom fighter, Yasser Arafat. His eyes that seemed to have lost their shine decades ago met mine and that brief moment during which we locked eyes seemed like a very long time: decades of memories quickly rolled down in front of my eyes, in that familiar yet strange space between us. Still looking at him, I halted once and then slowly moved closer to him until I was standing at an arm’s length from him. I knew the man. Yes. I had always known him. “Recognize me?”, I asked him. A few seconds passed. Nothing. His eyes were still searching for something. Finally, he extended his right hand to me and smiled, more with his eyes than with his mouth. I took his hand and told him who I was. He nodded once, twice and then doing it continuously, he squeezed my hand hard in his as the smile spread all over his face, the shine returning to his eyes. “Yes, I remember you. Yes, I do” he kept saying. This was Ahmed Ali, son of the late Haji (Mullah) Ghulam Ali who was a meticulous man, a rather brutal disciplinarian and a great teacher of Islamic subjects to the boys and girls of Hussain Abad. After a very long, long time, I had met Ahmed Ali, or Ahmed qun quni of Hussain Abad, as he was known to all of us.

The community, early 1970s
Hazaras usually have (or used to have) a tag or appellation attached to their proper names, the leaving out of which often causes great inconvenience and even confusion in communication. Their use equally becomes the cause of embarrassment for both the speaker and the listeners, especially if the person referred to, or a relative of his, happens to be present among the audience. A paradox, a dilemma. This is because the appellatives are almost always some kind of humorous pun or negative comment on the person’s physical appearance, unusual habits, some peculiarity of character or anomaly in familial background etc.  For example, take this qun quni. It means talking in a peculiar way whereby the words are not pronounced full and are instead uttered in a semi- or un-chewed, mumbling manner making a twangy and buzzing sound. So, to qun qun is to half-speak words with a deep nasal twang that further makes sentences indistinct and speech fuzzy.  As a true blue Hussain Abadi, yours truly also had one of these tags attached to his name, one which specifically referred to a body part, to a sort of flaw in that part: his pair of jumbo ears! And so did many of my Hussain Abadi friends: Ibrahim, Zulfo, Sikander, Muhammad, Ghazanfar (Ghazzo), Samad and Raza. Nobody was exempt. Although I recognized Ahmed before he could open his mouth and utter something in that peculiar style of his that had earned him that label, I suspect he recognized me primarily because of my XL-sized, poppadum flappers!       

Hussain Abadi "Shash Mainas" in winter, early 1980s.
Hussain Abad was, first and foremost, a real community, that is, community in the old, traditional sense of that word. It was a different era. It was a time when the cancer of modern alienation and anomie, the logical products of modern lifestyles of hyper-consumerism and dog-eat-dog capitalistic individualism that are part and parcel of a vulgar worldview the defining characteristic of which is a business-school instrumental rationality with zero regard for moral-ethical means-ends consistency, this diseased value system had not yet taken root in the traditional Quetta communities and, therefore, the communities like Hussain Abad did not have any need for noisy NGO missionaries and sloganeering civil society activists----the "humanitarian" hustlers and "poverty alleviation" charlatans almost always pushing some Godless, neo-colonial agenda----to teach them about the benefits of community living or about "community development". In Hussain Abad in particular what that essentially meant was that neighbors cared for and shared with each other. Sharing was especially a big feature of community life in Hussain Abad then. There wasn’t a day when we would not send or receive something---dishes, chapati, paratha, fruit, halwa, shir birinj (dessert), kulcha, bosragh (cookies)----from the neighbors. The plates and bowls that were used for sending something never came back empty. This exchange of goodies would continue all year long, the items changing with the passing seasons and with the events that dotted the lives of all the families of the community. The bonds among the community members, and the mores that underpinned those bonds, were of such a nature that there were times when kids would actually go to a neighbor’s house with a request like the following: “My mother says that because of such and such reason, she has not had the time to cook something for dinner. Would it be okay to borrow some food from you tonight?” 

Haider Ali marhoom (Khuda biyamurza, RIP). Hussain Abad in the late 1970s.
In Hussain Abad, weddings, funerals, and all the other big events in life were always collective community events with everybody lending a hand and chipping in in one form or another. Happiness and grief were shared with equal readiness and generosity of spirit. Neighbors not only smiled with you when it was time to smile, but were also equal, caring partners in your grief and sorrow. There was Haider the butcher (aka Haider Surkhai, khudabiyamurz, may his soul rest in peace) who was a familiar face at all such events. He was both adored and feared by the children. A fast talking man with ruddy complexion, he would sometimes chomp on raw sheep or goat liver or kidney to the delight of the watching kids. There was Eechakk, a short man who never walked but always ran; it was so difficult to keep pace with him. A sort of handy man, he had an equally popular presence at all community events. There were babay Pataiyn (Pataiyn’s father) and babay Maqsood (Maqsood’s father, to some he was babay Najaf, his other son), the two general store owners of Hussain Abad. The former, a short and plump man with the voice of a giant, had the best roasted chick peas and peanuts and the latter, a lanky man with an angelic beneficence sold the best rewri (sticky candy coated with white sesame seeds), khinjakk or shinay (a local dried fruit of the berry family with oily rind) and kishta (sun-dried apricots). There were Salman the tandoor walla (naan or bread seller), and babay Barani, the tonga walla who used to take kids to school on his horse pulled carriage (tonga).


But if there is one personality who is justifiably qualified to be identified with Hussain Abad, to be the face of Hussain Abad so to speak, I would say that honor should go to Faqir Jango. There is so much to say about this doyen of Hussain Abad (at least to three generations of its residents!), but what brings to the mind of any Hussain Abadi who hears his name is a pair of sunglasses. And not just any sunglasses but a pair of classic RayBans: to say Faqir Jango is to visualize a pair of original Raybans Aviator with dark tinted glasses. This man, alive and kicking as I write these lines, with his unique communication style and his limitless store of witty anecdotes and original jokes, had the uncanny ability to engage people of different age-groups in hours long sometimes informative and often entertaining conversations. Except for the terribly freezing rainy-snowy winter days, on a typical evening in the decades of 70s and 80s in Hussain Abad, it would be impossible to miss the sight of Jango telling his jokes or narrating some anecdote, surrounded by boys and men of all ages. The usual venue for such live information sessions and verbal performances would be the street corner, in front of babay Maqsood’s general store. Years later, after I had left Quetta and after I had read enough about and by (via his illustrious student Plato or Aflatun) the wise old man of Greece, Socrates, I often thought of Faqir Jango and his captivated audience at that street corner in Hussain Abad. Definitely no Socrates to his captured flock, Faqir Jango had the same power to cast a spell, and the charm, too, of the Athenian sage.


(to be continued…)

Hussainabad: The Video

Note: Many of the people mentioned in this blog post are no longer with us. By writing about them, it has not been my intention to show any kind of disrespect towards any of them or to make fun of or ridicule anyone. This blog post and others that will follow are an attempt by this blogger to recall times past and to try to show how things used to be then in Quetta. My aim is not to romanticize wholesale (not everything was perfect then!) but to tell stories about certain people and aspects of life in Quetta of the recent past. In keeping with Hazaragi tradition, the readers, especially the Hussain Abadi readers of this blog---the shashmainas---are requested to offer a fatiha, or prayer, for all the deceased mentioned in this blog post. May all of them rest in peace in their final abodes and may we have the wisdom, the good sense, to also see the true and the authentic, the good and the beautiful, in the imperfect past that we often disparage and hastily and unthinkingly chuck away as we, with equal haste, embrace everything new and glittering so uncritically and indiscriminately. Khuda Biyamurza, as we say.
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For the interested reader, more about the yesteryears,

Saturday, August 10, 2019

Verse 'N Voice: Kathleen Raine's Hymn


Millennial hymn to Lord Shiva
by Kathleen Raine


Earth no longer
hymns the Creator,
the seven days of wonder,
the Garden is over —
all the stories are told,
the seven seals broken
all that begins
must have its ending,
our striving, desiring,
our living and dying,
for Time, the bringer
of abundant days
is Time the destroyer —
In the Iron Age
the Kali Yuga
To whom can we pray
at the end of an era
but the Lord Shiva,
the Liberator, the purifier?

Our forests are felled,
our mountains eroded,
the wild places
where the beautiful animals
found food and sanctuary
we have desolated,
a third of our seas,
a third of our rivers
we have polluted
and the sea-creatures dying.
Our civilization’s
blind progress
in wrong courses
through wrong choices
has brought us to nightmare
where what seems,
is, to the dreamer,
the collective mind
of the twentieth century —
this world of wonders
not divine creation
but a big bang
of blind chance,
purposeless accident,
mother earth’s children,
their living and loving,
their delight in being
not joy but chemistry,
stimulus, reflex,
valueless, meaningless,
while to our machines
we impute intelligence,
in computers and robots
we store information
and call it knowledge,
we seek guidance
by dialing numbers,
pressing buttons,
throwing switches,
in place of family
our companions are shadows,
cast on a screen,
bodiless voices, fleshless faces,
where was the Garden
a Disney-land
of virtual reality,
in place of angels
the human imagination
is peopled with foot-ballers
film-stars, media-men,
experts, know-all
television personalities,
animated puppets
with cartoon faces —
To whom can we pray
for release from illusion,
from the world-cave,
but Time the destroyer,
the liberator, the purifier?

The curse of Midas
has changed at a touch,
a golden handshake
earthly paradise
to lifeless matter,
where once was seed-time,
summer and winter,
food-chain, factory farming,
monocrops for supermarkets,
pesticides, weed-killers
birdless springs,
endangered species,
battery-hens, hormone injections,
artificial insemination,
implants, transplants, sterilization,
surrogate births, contraception,
cloning, genetic engineering, abortion,
and our days shall be short
in the land we have sown
with the Dragon’s teeth
where our armies arise
fully armed on our killing-fields
with land-mines and missiles,
tanks and artillery,
gas-masks and body-bags,
our air-craft rain down
fire and destruction,
our space-craft broadcast
lies and corruption,
our elected parliaments
parrot their rhetoric
of peace and democracy
while the truth we deny
returns in our dreams
of Armageddon,
the death-wish, the arms-trade,
hatred and slaughter
profitable employment
of our thriving cities,
the arms-race
to the end of the world
of our postmodern,
post-Christian,
post-human nations,
progress to the nihil
of our spent civilization.
But cause and effect,
just and inexorable
law of the universe
no fix of science,
nor amenable god
can save from ourselves
the selves we have become —
At the end of history
to whom can we pray
but to the destroyer,
the liberator, the purifier?

In the beginning
the stars sang together
the cosmic harmony,
but Time, imperceptible
taker-away
of all that has been,
all that will be,
our heart-beat your drum,
our dance of life
your dance of death
in the crematorium,
our high-rise dreams,
Valhalla, Utopia,
Xanadu, Shangri-la, world revolution
Time has taken, and soon will be gone
Cambridge, Princeton and M.I.T.,
Nalanda, Athens and Alexandria
all for the holocaust
of civilization —
To whom shall we pray
when our vision has faded
but the world-destroyer,
the liberator, the purifier?

But great is the realm
of the world-creator,
the world-sustainer
from whom we come,
in whom we move
and have our being,
about us, within us
the wonders of wisdom,
the trees and the fountains,
the stars and the mountains,
all the children of joy,
the loved and the known,
the unknowable mystery
to whom we return
through the world-destroyer, —
Holy, holy
at the end of the world
the purging fire
of the purifier, the liberator!

Friday, August 9, 2019

Verse 'N Voice: The Twelfth Man


The twelfth man 
(Bharwan khiladi by Iftikhar Arif)

In the season of brightness
Countless spectators
Come to spur on
Their favorite teams,
Gather to inspire
Their own idols.

I stand aside
Alienated from it all
Deriding the twelfth player.

How different he is
That twelfth man!
Amid the game,
The noise,
The roar of acclaim,
He sits alone
And waits---
For the moment to come,
For the time to come,
For that incident to happen
When he too can play
With shouts of praise,
Tumultuous applause,
Words of support
Just for him,
And he'll be one of them
Respected like the rest of them.

But that rarely happens.
People still say
The bond between game and player
Is for life.
But even lifelong bonds can snap,
And the heart that sinks
With the last whistle
Can also break.

And you, Iftikhar,
You too are a twelfth player,
You wait for a moment,
For a time,
For an incident...

You too Iftikhar
Will sink___
Will break.



The twelfth man by Iftikhar Arif translated by Brenda Walker (1989)



Tuesday, June 4, 2019

TGB: Eid al-Fitr







Prayer on the Occasion of the End of Ramadan
 
"O Lord we thank Thee at the end of this month of trial and of blessings for all that Thou have given us and also all that has been denied us for we become aware of Thee both through Thy gifts and through all privation which is only a reflection of Thy Transcendence. In fasting we have worn the armor of the purity of Thy Presence against all the vicissitudes and dispersions of the world. We have died to the world to live in Thy Will.

Our fast was not only the rejection of food and drink and even the purification of our minds of evil thoughts. It was certainly all of these things according to what Thou hast willed in Thy Sacred Law. But it was even more than that a rejection of all that is other than Thee, for to fast is to put aside everything but Thy Countenance and to live in Thy Presence. It is ultimately to remember Thee and to invoke Thee through Thy Sacred Name.

With the help of the shroud of purity which this holy month has made to descend upon Thy servants, we have come to see the world of Thy Creation not as separation and veil but as signs and portents of Thy Wisdom and Beauty. In the practice of spiritual poverty symbolized by the fast and actualized also by it we have emptied the vessel of our humble existence of ourselves and have been blessed to have it filled with the nectar of Thy Presence as the cosmos was made resplendent by the descent of Thy Word, the Holy Quran, during this month.
Now that we bid farewell to this blessed month and join in celebrating this feast which makes us aware once again of the blessings of life and the food which nourishes and sustains it, enable us to maintain in the days, weeks and months that follow an element of the purity and detachment of Ramadan. Allow us to live in the world in such a way as to be also in Thy Presence. Endow us with the vision of creatures in their inwardness, as they exist before Thy Majesty and as they reflect Thy Beauty and not solely in their outward aspect as veil and separation. May we live throughout the year and in fact all the years of our lives in Thy Sacred Name in such a way that we retain the purity of fasting during the holy month of Ramadan along with the celebration of the goodness and beauty of Thy creation and of Thy gifts during this great feast, the ‘id al-fitr, which crowns a month when we have tried to live according to Thy Will and to perform the acts of worship Thou hast willed for us. May we always live according to Thy Will and in Thy Sacred Name."

Seyyed Hossein Nasr, Studies in Comparative Religion, Vol. 16, No. 1 & 2 (Winter-Spring, 1984). © World Wisdom, Inc.
Truth.     Goodness.      Beauty.

Eid Mubarak to all the readers of the posts on this blog. (Dervaish) 
Eid Prayer by S.H. Nasr

Wednesday, May 29, 2019

Education: old and new

  
“Ignorance is the greatest tragedy….The learned man is alive among the dead; the ignorant is dead among the living.”             Imam Ali (AS)
“Learn what you are and become it.”          A Pindaric injunction

"If the advocates of compulsory education were sincere, and by education meant education, they would be well aware that the first result of any real education would be to rear a race who would refuse point-blank the greater part of the activities offered by present day civilized existence...life under Modern Western culture is not worth living, except for those strong enough and well enough equipped to maintain a perpetual guerilla warfare against all the purposes and idols of that civilization with a view to its utter transformation."
                                                                   Ananda K. Coomaraswamy
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Words come into existence because there is a felt need to describe or explain something. The word education is no exception. Etymologically speaking, the term “education” derives from the Latin root “ex” which means “from” or “out of”, and “ducere” which means “to lead” or “to guide”. So, what we have is, “to draw from” (something) or “lead out” (something). Before the rise of the secular age of modernity, which first arose in the West and then spread everywhere, this “something” always had a religious meaning and connotation. In other words, the “leading out” or “drawing from” always presupposed a source and for the faithful this source was what the human carried deep within him or her. All education was the “drawing out” of, or from, what we already carried within our being, which, for a Muslim, was placed there by the Divine Creator through His “breath” at the time of creation. This primordial “breath” is what we know as our fitrah. According to the Islamic tradition, the names that God taught the first human being, Adam, is the quintessential form of knowledge according to which that created being sees things “as they really are”: “And He taught Adam the names of all things” (Qur’an 2:31). In Islam, the gravest sin, the “fall of man”, or the primordial man’s expulsion from Heaven, is often explained in terms of forgetfulness and heedlessness in this world in which we now live. True learning and teaching, or real education, is therefore nothing if not a constant reminding and remembering of the “names of all things” that we carry within our being.

We have similar notions in other religious traditions, both in the east and in the west. For example, Plato’s theory of education, known as anamnesis, literally translates as “remembrance” or “recollection”. In the Chinese Confucian and neo-Confucian traditions, this recollection takes the form of a search for, or recovery of, one’s “lost heart”, or one’s lost humanity. The whole of this eastern tradition is founded on the cultivation of ren and on becoming a ru. The former can mean anything from the human heart to the most elevated of virtues and the latter as “realized man”, “virtuous man”  or  “perfect man”---a being who “is conversant with earth and heavens” or what in the Islamic tradition is called Al-Insan al Kamil.  And in the Christian tradition, Christ’s saying is well known: “The Kingdom of Heaven is within you”, which points to the same reality that is in the center of man’s being.
For a traditional Muslim, this “remembrance”, the “leading out” and search, always means remembering that fitrah of his being which he keeps forgetting. The leading out means coming out of ignorance, darkness, and other vices that serve as veils over the essential virtues all of which are inherent constituents of that fitrah. In other words, this traditional form of education was once meant to bridge the distance between the aspirant and the source of all virtues within him, to bring him closer and closer to him-self, so to speak. This leading forth towards his true nature was often done through the efforts of a wise teacher, starting with the parent---the immediate teacher, almost always the mother---who herself or himself was a self-realized individual. The task of such an instructor was often described in colorful language, for example, as someone who would “dust” the souls of the students or someone who would “polish” their souls. This model of education was profoundly ethical and geared towards not only the intellectual growth of the pupil but also his or her spiritual self-realization; its aim was training the pupil in the art of living wholesomely, which was inclusive of, but not limited to, learning vocational skills for earning a livelihood.

This understanding of education based on a non-modern understanding of the nature of man may be termed as “integral education”. Its fundamental aim is educating the whole being of man and is not just limited to providing him with some skills and techniques needed for earning a livelihood. It is in sharp contrast to secular-modern pedagogical theories and practices that are often utilitarian in nature with purely materialistic ends. Mainstream modern theories of education start with a tabula rasa or a “blank slate” conception of the human being, like a brand new hard disk of a computer that needs to be formatted and filled with data and information!  There is no “recollection”, no “remembering”, no “leading out” and “recovery of the lost heart”, but the task is often to fashion a new being out of nothing, a being who serves worldly institutions and interests, from the bureaucracies of the state to the modern, capitalistic factories. The “compulsory” in compulsory education stresses those values and skills that make students ready for the modern office or factory and their impersonal and alienating bureaucracies, as both Karl Marx and Max Weber have shown in their sociological tomes.   
This brings us to the question of means and ends. What are the ends of education? What means are required to achieve those ends? While for traditional education the issues of ends and means were clearly defined by religious doctrine and practice, by a holistic combination of theory and praxis, modern education is marked either with the confusion of the two, or defined in purely mundane and materialistic fashion. In these conceptions, ethics is often reduced to technical issues with mechanistic solutions, as add-ons (called “professional ethics”, for example) according to the whims of the majority or some such consensual formula since religion is no longer considered as a source of values for ethics and morality. In short, this is an instrumental view of education, operating with a reduced vision of man, as if man lived “by bread alone”. Truth here is irrelevant; there are no meaning giving certainties; there is no moral tuition in the old sense because in this system of worldly cost-benefit calculations, there is no higher purpose, only worldly goals and targets and self-seeking strategies to achieve them. It’s a Cartesian and Laplacian mechanical universe. The story is told of a famous exchange between Napoleon and the great French scientist and mathematician Pierre-Simon Laplace. Upon hearing about the scholar’s work, Napoleon said to him:  “M. Laplace, they tell me you have written this large book on the system of the universe, and have never even mentioned its Creator.” Laplace, who definitely was a master of diplomatic tact, was, nevertheless, stiff as a martyr on every point of his science and philosophy. He drew himself up and answered bluntly to Napoleon:  Je n'avais pas besoin de cette hypothèse-là. ("I had no need of that hypothesis.")  (this version from Wikipedia)


The old system taught that one’s main purpose in life was to live in accordance with first principles, to search for and know Truth, to go beyond oneself, or to transcend oneself. In fact, traditional pedagogies always tried to fulfill that deep yearning for transcendence that lies at the center of our heart. This was not at the cost of our worldly vocations that are always necessary since we have to live and sustain ourselves and those who depend on us in this world; it was because classical education, both in the east and in the west, meant at the same time grappling with deeper existential questions of our origin and end---who we are, where we have come from and where we are going----a necessary struggle that would result in the salvation or deliverance of the human being. Knowledge in traditional Islamic world meant knowledge of God, first and foremost. Says a famous Hadith, the saying of the Prophet of Islam (pbuh): “I seek refuge in God from a knowledge that has no benefit.” Ultimately, no knowledge can be beneficial for our final and most important ends in life if it ignores or is cut off from the knowledge of God. Modern education is often about “consumption” of information, career planning, (CV)-resume building and self-marketing!  As C.S. Lewis once noted, “Education without values, as useful as it is, seems rather to make man a cleverer devil.” The famous Muslim sage, Mawlana Jalaludin Rumi, has said that reason (aql) serves humanity that is educated but in the absence of moral tuition and inculcation of values this reason is just like a candle that serves a thief while he is stealing!. The great Indian art historian and proponent of traditional/religious education, Ananda Coomaraswamy, stressing the importance of religious values, sensibilities and what in the Muslim tradition would be called tarbiat once said: “From the earliest times, Indians have thought of the learned man, not as one who has read much, but as one who has been profoundly taught.”  Through his numerous articles and books, he demonstrated that there is no essential link between literacy and culture and he used to caution the blind enthusiasts of modern education on the Indian sub-continent by arguing that, “We overlook that ‘education’ is never creative, but a two-edged weapon, always destructive, whether of ignorance or of knowledge depending upon the educator’s wisdom or folly. Too often fools rush in where angels might fear to tread.”
It is interesting to recall that in societies that have yet to be affected completely by modernity and its forces that operate in all domains of life, education is always conjoined to or appended by another term which is rooted deeply in the soil of religion. We used to say taleem o tarbiat or ilm o maarifat not long ago in a country like Pakistan. Now it is just education. This truncation or reduction is very telling. It is not just a matter of convenience or simplified language. The language itself reflects monumental changes within. It is because of a much deeper degeneration in thought patterns or modes of understanding which are in turn reflection of an impoverished mode of being since knowledge always depends on one’s mode of being, as Aristotle has said. Modern languages are now less and less symbolic and more and more concerned with exteriority, suitable only for expressing the simple, the obvious and external, and lacking in complexity, sophistication or elegance that are required to express interiority or our rich, inner universe. The modern obsession with efficiency, productivity and convenience etc. which we see everywhere nowadays is in fact a tendency to turn quality into quantity, something about which I have written in a separate blogpost here.

Ours is a world of numbers, plans, diagrams, flowcharts, strategies, targets and policies. Modern school systems, even when they are functional, are now part and parcel of vast bureaucracies and teachers are not much different from number-crunching desk clerks in the numerous matrix-like mega-machines of industrialized societies. Teachers everywhere now spend more and more time on mind-numbing paper work, documentation and filling standardized forms, making and using a range of quantitative rubrics and templates, than on actual qualitative teaching and learning. Teaching is now just another routinized, salaried “job” ---exchange of hours for dollars---rather than, even as opposed to, a committed, life-long, qualitative vocation as it once was.
To reiterate, education that can truly be called qualitative and integral will always have a deeply ethical and spiritual character. Anybody with a rudimentary understanding of the history of peoples in different traditional civilizations can attest to the validity of that claim. Education so conceived in traditional cultures as taleem o tarbiat or ilm o amal in Islamic societies, always involves some form of interiority, of spiritual training and self-realization. This is primarily because of the very different conception of man---his origin, end and his ultimate purpose in life. I cannot overemphasize this point about the true nature of man; only by asking who we are, what our origin is and what our end is, by seeking answers to and by understanding these deeper issues, can we make education truly ethical and transformative. Seyyed Hossein Nasr, the doyen of Islamic intellectuality, has written that, “…how we choose to live in this world---how we act and think and how we develop the latent possibilities within us---depends totally on the answer we provide for ourselves to this basic question of who we are. For human beings live and act for the most part according to the image they have of themselves.” 

In the classical Islamic world, for example, among other ways of developing the latent potentialities of a student, a traditional madrassah education that always stressed the importance of tarbiat and marifat (and hence also amal or practice) would often employ a two-step process. This usually meant a long and arduous regimen of exercises, both cerebral/intellectual and otherwise, essentially to develop humility and to sharpen the skills of discernment. Typically, the first step in this process would be that of takhlia, which was an emptying out of all the negative traits and tendencies of the ego (self) in the student. This was followed by tahlia which was meant to adorn the emptied self of the student with (positive) virtues. A well taught and integrally educated student would be someone who had undergone a rigorous training process during which he or she was emptied or cleansed of the limiting and suffocating elements of the self and adorned with the re-awakened or realized virtues, all of which would shine through the words, acts and the whole being of the pupil. In certain countries of East Asia, especially in Japan and Korea, but also in China, school kids still perform a lot of similar chores like cleaning, including cleaning toilets and common areas, taking care of plants like weeding and watering, assisting school staff and community elders and so on. All of these demanding activities are meant to inculcate humility and to sensitize the students to the importance of community, co-operation or collective effort for responsible, harmonious and healthy living. In these societies, the young are made aware of the fact that no man is an island, and that a rugged, highly individualistic type of morality will eventually result in both the destruction of the individual and the society to which he or she belongs. Seen as a form of tarbiat, these tasks temper the negative and petrifying tendencies of the untrained self in the young.

I have mentioned the word madrassah above. What I have in mind is not what we hear about or see nowadays. It is unfortunate that this term madrassah has now acquired totally negative connotations and even considered by many, Muslims and non-Muslims alike, a kind of extremist producing factory, an efficient assembly line the only function of which is to churn out violent terrorists and suicide bombers. But in the traditional world of Islam a madrassah was an almost sacred place of learning and teaching, learning not only about the world but also from the world; it was once a sanctuary of art, of the sciences, philosophy, theology, and so on. The fate of this word in our time is similar to that of another important Islamic concept, “jihad”, also an essentially spiritual concept but which is now so sullied that it is anything but. The reasons for the degradation of these terminologies are complex and many, something that I will discuss separately in the future, inshallah.


It is, therefore, with this idea of education, as taleem o tarbiat, as ilm o amal, that non-modern cultures see their end product as attainment of freedom by the student and this freedom is nothing if not spiritual liberation. This liberation fundamentally means the subsuming of the self into Self, of the lower self into the higher self, and is quite different from the modern ideas of quantitative "education as freedom" or "education as power". For example, take the case of freedom that is claimed to come from education. What is this freedom? Whereas in traditional cultures, authentic education means freedom from the self, in secular-modern settings it is often freedom of the self. This is a crucial point of difference, and has been observed by many non-modern thinkers including the French classicist and linguist Ghislain Chetan who has rightly pointed out that in the modern system,

"...pupils are locked into the narrow framework of their egos and a sort of autocracy is encouraged. This tends to make young people gradually insensitive to things other than their own opinions, the expression of their own personality and individual freedom" and that "...the most formidable of all prisons which confine the youngster is his own self--a cell bound on all sides, as it is with every other individual. The student is therefore prevented from breaking out of the cell lest he lose what is called freedom, but which in reality is the worst of all slaveries." (2011, p.123)
Similarly, “education as power” or “knowledge as power” can have two very different meanings, depending on the way education/knowledge is understood. The classical traditions of humanity, from Greek to Hinduism to Far Eastern Chinese and Japanese to Christianity and Islam, all religious traditions have stressed the importance of “knowing thyself”. In their often differing worldviews, power and domination over the self (khud shinaasi, self-control, and self-domination) is seen as the most noble path to true liberation and its opposite, power and domination over others without any ethical moorings or without any responsibility (in the sense that Francis Bacon meant when he declared, "knowledge is power"---over others, including nature), is seen as the logical outcome of an education that is inattentive to, or neglectful of, the self, an education that is cut off from ethical instruction and practice.

Dorothy L. Sayers once lamented the “lost tools of learning”. In her famous 1947 Oxford lecture with the same title, she lambasted the disjointed, compartmentalized and reductionist pedagogical culture of her day. One wonders what her assessment of our present pedagogical condition of education-as-algorithm would be, were she alive today. This is a condition where her tools of learning are increasingly dictated and dominated by the non-human, by the dehumanizing machines, where the classroom is replaced by YouTube videos and the teachers and instructors by "like" seeking, solipsistic social media influencers. But it was the poet T.S. Eliot who best captured the same sense of loss and decay in his poem “The Rock” that I have cited elsewhere in one of my earlier blogposts, and with which I want to end this one, too.
The Rock       by T.S. Eliot
The Eagle soars in the summit of Heaven,
The Hunter with his dogs pursues his circuit.
O perpetual revolution of configured stars,
O perpetual recurrence of determined seasons,
O world of spring and autumn, birth and dying
The endless cycle of idea and action,
Endless invention, endless experiment,
Brings knowledge of motion, but not of stillness;
Knowledge of speech, but not of silence;
Knowledge of words, and ignorance of the Word.
All our knowledge brings us nearer to our ignorance,
All our ignorance brings us nearer to death,
But nearness to death no nearer to GOD.
Where is the Life we have lost in living?
Where is the wisdom we have lost in knowledge?
Where is the knowledge we have lost in information?

The cycles of Heaven in twenty centuries
Bring us farther from GOD and nearer to the Dust.
Note: In this blogpost and elsewhere I use the word “man” (and all the subsequent gendered pronouns) in its old, conventional sense, meaning man as homo, mensch or as insan, all meaning person, which is inclusive of both the sexes of the species. No “sexism” or gender bias is intended. 

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Monday, May 20, 2019

On the significance of fasting


“Detachment is not that you should own nothing, but that nothing should own you.”                                                                                                  Ali ibn Abi Talib (AS)

“Everything which is more than necessary to man is hostile to him”
                                                                 Sextus the Pythagorean 

Contrary to how secular modernity sees and understands a human being, traditional religions, including traditional Islam, have always maintained that the human is not just a material being, not just an evolved psycho-physical phenomenon or a body-soul duality at best and a mere collection of organs, of atoms and molecules, at worst, for example, the mechanical contraption or "machine" of Rene Descartes  or the "lumbering robot" of the militant neo-atheist Richard Dawkins, that noisy evangelist for Neo-Darwinism.  Like all authentic religions, traditional Islam also sees man and woman as a specially created being, as a creature that is half-human-half-angel, so to speak. The special creature that we call al-insan, implies a Creator. This creature has been placed as Allah’s representative on this earth. As the servant (abd) and vicegerent or deputy of God on earth (Khalifa Allah fil Arz in Arabic) with immense responsibilities towards the Creator and towards all His creation, including the non-human world of nature, Islam sees him or her as a special and elevated entity (Ashraf al Makhluqat). In the Holy Qur'an, we learn that when God created Adam from clay, He breathed into him and thus he became alive: “And when He had made him upright and breathed into him of His spirit” (Qur'an 38:72).

It is this “breath” that makes man and woman (al-insan) special. In the Islamic intellectual tradition, especially in its Irfani and Sufi manifestations, this “breath” also means that the human beings have a primordial nature (called fitra in Arabic) which they carry within themselves and which they often forget or neglect in the world of facades and constant flux in which they live. Over the ages, Muslim sages, the hakims (or hukuma), have defined this fitra as that original, pure and uncorrupted state of human nature where one is attracted to or leans naturally to tawḥīd and sees all reality authentically, "as they actually are in themselves." It is the forgetting (nisyan), or the neglect (ghafla), of this fitra that is the main cause of a Muslim going astray in this world. The core message of Islam, repeated in all its rituals is, therefore, a constant reminder to the believers of this special nature within them. This kind of understanding of the very nature of the human being is central to everything that mindful Muslims think about and do. The Muslim fasting in the holy month of  Ramadan, just like all other Muslim rites, for example, the canonical daily prayer, zakat (alms giving), Hajj pilgrimage to Mecca, has its essential meaning---its raison d’être---in this particular understanding of the nature of the human being.


We are, then, body, soul and Spirit. Briefly, what this means is that we are both material and non-material, or spiritual, in our “construction”. In major Islamic languages like Arabic, Persian and Urdu, this means that we are jism (body), nafs (soul) and Ruh (Spirit or Intellect). The capital “S” and “I” in the last item are intentional and they signify the sacred quality of this particular faculty that human beings carry within them according to the Islamic religious tradition, meaning that he/she is not only a profane, terrestrial being but also has the sacred within. There is a hierarchy here, from the lower (body and psyche) to the higher (Spirit), or from the lower (carnal or passional) self (nafs) to the higher self. It is this hierarchy within us that Islamic praying and fasting are concerned with.


There is a famous proverb of medieval origins according to which, “There is no culture without asceticism.” Any good dictionary will tell us that asceticism means “self-denial”, “renunciation of the worldly or the mundane” or some other similar definition. For ages religious traditions have strived to inculcate in man and woman virtues like patience, contentment, self-denial or self-restraint, moderation and so on.  Fasting has been a quintessential ascetic practice in these old religions, so much so that in some religions there is even a fasting of the tongue, of speech. Muslim fasting in the month of Ramadan (sawm in Arabic) which is obligatory for all adult and healthy Muslims also has the same goal of realizing these virtues.
  
Fasting as a spiritual practice means two things: to abstain from or to restrain our bodily desires, and then to go beyond, or to transcend our lower self and re-connect with our higher self on that inner hierarchy mentioned above. Austerity and asceticism viz-a-viz these desires are the tools or techniques for the disciplining of the lower self or for truly “culturing” the self, in other words. Fasting is an act of interruption into our increasingly routinized, monotonous and forgetful lives. As an act of self-denial, it disturbs us, but in doing so it actually awakens us and reminds us of what we have forgotten or have been neglecting: our primordial nature, the fitra, that we carry within us. In fact, authentic Islamic education, always called taleem o tarbiat, has its aim exactly this same awakening of the inner self, the remembering and recollection of the forgotten fitra that was placed in us at the time of our creation. This has a parallel in other old, authentic religious traditions. For example, in Platonic terms, this is what has been called anamnesis which literary translates as “recollection” or generally as remembrance.

We lose our true sense of being, we become disoriented and scattered as a result of the forgetfulness of that primordial nature, the continual remembrance and recollection of which makes us what we are meant to be: that special creation of the creator God. Modern life is often neglectful, if not outright contemptuous, of the virtues of restraint, self-denial and contentment (ridha) mentioned above. Modernity, which entails modern lifestyles, is often about the elevation and celebration of all forms of the lower passions of the human soul. Most of what makes up its ethos border on the extreme: extreme forms of materialism, extreme consumerism, even hedonism and real and virtual narcissism, often in the name of individuality, expressiveness and originality. All this heedlessness is very disorienting and which sully the psyche, or the inner life of the individual, and through extension affects society of which the individual is always a part. In such contexts, fasting becomes an orienting and a deeply cleansing practice. We nourish and replenish our inner life by temporarily denying material nourishment to our outer life. By being intentionally blind to our lower self, we begin to see our true, higher self. By “starving” the animal or the animal-like in us, we feed and nourish the truly human in us, to use a strong and explicit imagery. And that is perhaps what the above proverb means when it says what it says about asceticism and true culture. 

In addition to the spiritual, there is also an equally important social aspect to fasting. Religious rituals like fasting remind the Muslim believer of the plight of the needy and the destitute in society and sensitize him and her to the importance of charity and alms giving, all of which are the duties of a Muslim believer but which have been forgotten. Ramadan is, therefore, a month of solidarity with the less fortunate in this world and an attempt to re-awaken compassion, re-establish social harmony and equilibrium in communities. Muslims, forgetful as everybody else in their daily lives, begin to see anew the utter importance of life’s essentialities like food, drink and other material things of this world, things that we take for granted most of the time; with their renewed awareness they begin to see them as blessings, as gifts of God. It is for these reasons that Muslims welcome this holy month of fasting that provides them with a special opportunity for spiritual renewal and social rejuvenation. 

Just as Ramadan starts with the sighting of the new moon, it comes to an end with the sighting of the new moon of the next month in the Islamic lunar calendar. This sighting, much awaited by all but especially by children heralds the start of the great feast of Eid al-Fitr celebrated for three continuous days and which is one of the two great festivities in the Islamic world. The Muslim faithful, after one full month of self-denial and abstention from food and drink, re-experiences all the blessings of life with a reinvigorated mindfulness. In this way, both the faithful and his and her faith are revivified every year in this holy month of fasting.
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Note: In this blogpost and elsewhere I use the word “man” (and all the subsequent gendered pronouns) in its old, conventional sense, meaning man as the generic/gender-less/gender-inclusive homo, or as insan, which is inclusive of both the sexes of the species. No “sexism” or gender bias is intended.
The TAO: The step out of your self


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Monday, May 13, 2019

Short, Short: Bandagi

“No time cometh on you but is followed by a worse.”    Hadith

"We have now sunk to a depth at which the restatement of the obvious is the first duty of intelligent men."           George Orwell

Note: Bandagi (Arabic, Persian and Urdu) derives from banda, a created being implying a Creator, here specifically meaning being Allah’s banda. To be Allah’s banda, is to be both His servant (abd) and vicegerent (khalifa) in this imperfect, created world.

In the believers’ universe, God was once the presiding idea, the quintessential orienting Idea---the Compass, the celestial and terrestrial GPS---that mattered most in his or her life. All reality, all thoughts and actions, referred, or referred back, to this concrete Reality, to this Source, for their meaning and efficacy, for their very existence. The world of the believers was theocentric (God-centric), through and through: they saw God everywhere and in everything.

Now, we live in an age of content-less forms, of deceptive images that make us believe that our fantasies and fancies are more real than reality itself. It is an age of bumper-sticker “philosophies” that emanate from the depths of our unexamined and corrupted self, our inner hells. The Idea, the Sacred, is not even anthropocentric (human centered) anymore; it is outright machine-centric, or thing-centric. We make and invent things and then the same things become our measure, the measure of the human as such. This ontic degradation and epistemic bankruptcy is clearly visible in the non-symbolic, reductionist language that many people use nowadays with such novelties as “input”, “output”, “feedback’, “brainstorming”, “interface”, “networking” and so on. The young, in particular, are constantly instructed that the brain is nothing but a “computer”, the very thing that was created by that brain in the first place! In the popular American documentary series called The American Family the character Ashley asks the doctor, "Why doesn't God get a computer so he can figure all this out?"

Drowning in the tsunami of our own creations---the technologies, machines and gadgets that so entice and encapsulate us---we seem to be glorying in our incapacity to resist them, as many contemporary sages have argued. Warns Marty Glass: "the Internet stands as the final perversion, inversion, of God, of the Sacred....Heaven is Cyberspace, the Creator is the Scientist, the Altar is the Screen, the theology is computer technology, the monks are the nerds and hackers, Holy Writ is the Program, the Priests are the Consultants, Salvation is Being On-Line, and Paradise is the Information Age...Money, machinery, and people: One at last." 

“And now we’re blind. We lost our sight.
There’s darkness where there once was light.
It’s still the Garden, we’re still there,
It lies about us everywhere,
But all we see now, all we find,
Are the facts and figures in our mind.

The given world was not enough:
We looked for more, discovered stuff
Behind, beyond what eyes could see,
And called that stuff reality.

The world that instruments reveal,
A world we cannot see or hear,
Wonder, love, respect, revere,
That’s where we live now: our reward.
The angel with the flaming sword,
The exiles in their maze of lies
Who feverishly specialize
In finding ways to numb their pain---
Both are us. We toil in vain.

What’s human suffering but the price
Of discontent in paradise? ”
                                              
                                         (Brief by Mary Glass)


The World on Fire

  The World on Fire “To put the world in order, we must first put the nation in order; to put the nation in order, we must first put the fa...