Your correspondent was musing just the other day. Enter one’s wife.

“Are you thinking, dear?” she asked.
“I am reflecting, receiving,” I replied.
“What about, then?” she asked anew.
“Atheists,” I replied, succinctly.
“Oh, Lord, must you?” she expostulated.

She is right, of course. Atheists and their reasons to be could be a matter of anxiety. The traditional three taboo themes at a gathering in Britain are politics, sex and religion, to which atheism has been seen to form a relationship. This quartet of human strife is what gets people all riled up, and the nicest party is likely to end up as a brawl unless etiquette prevails. I shall nevertheless attempt to give you the lowdown on those among us who would deny the existence of God. The real task, however, is to write a few thousand words without being rude.

First and foremost we must explain to one’s atheist acquaintances that the God they deny loves them. The species atheos, however, is a being sometimes relying on second-hand ideas and that because the thrust of his or her reasoning tends often to be about the mistakes made by other people! That is where they are coming from. Your average atheist is a creature possessing great guile and often a vast measure of sophistry. This may be sufficient for talking up a storm, but without the possibility of bringing other people and their errors into things there is a decided lack of acumen.

“See,” they will exclaim, “religion leads only to war. History proves it.”

To be fair, this reasoning does give credence to the cautionary advice to button up given by partying Brits. It means resting in faith and exercising an inability to leave each other alone. But there is no excuse! We have, indeed, and to our unmitigated shame, committed all of that mayhem. We often err, and after all, only God is good. The peoples of religion have sometimes reversed the dictum. To proclaim that war is justifiable because “God is on our side,” is otherwise to be understood if one were to suggest that we should, in fact, be on God’s side. One way is the way of submission and the other is expecting God to submit to us.

What is really of the essence is that we must provide for the atheists reasonable proof of the existence of God. Believers talk about God. But one seldom encounters someone who has offered a definition of the God some believe in or the God that some do not. Acceptance of our lack would require humility, which is closely related to submission and the guidance we seek.

One wonders at this point about blind faith and can only surmise that such people simply believe in ultimate goodness and they would be wonderful. One can’t really blame the atheist for his or her frustration. But on the other hand it is our atheist friend who would tell us that common sense and a rational attitude fostered by reason is sufficient unto the day. Criticism is of the past and if you have never made a mistake you are qualified to point a finger, accuse, belittle, denigrate, criticize and even kill. Thus personal responsibility is the name of the game.

Simplistic? Of course. It leaves little space for the philosopher, for those who would debate, for experts of all kinds.

Wind up and make an atheist go and he will speak and say lots of things that are curiously related to those uttered by those of the opposite persuasion. Nevertheless, we are concerned here with Who makes things and people and what keeps all of the universes up and running.

As an aside, one must add that both atheists and theists are often unable to resist playing to a crowd. A crowd has its own Eigendynamik and is prone to being rowdy. In other words, being a mob. Mobs are easily swayed. A clever speaker, one whose stream of consciousness is well under way, can wind up a mob and get a few laughs; but get a mob excited and it will be hard to contain. It is all about jumping from one verbal thrust to the next until a deep-rooted nastiness takes over. There is also something thrilling involved, which lacks any semblance of conscience.

But back to the Divine Spirit! Not only is the Divine Spirit the Who in this essay, it is also the prime mover, methinks, of every single aspect of human endeavor, and plenty more besides. God is, actually, and quite reasonably, a force that enables. We have been given free will, and even if we presume that God does not control us (some would say unfortunately) in the accepted sense of the word, He does enable us. By this reasoning it is God Who is instrument in permitting the atheist to say “I don’t believe there is a God.” To deny God thus means a denial of one’s own existence.

If one has ever countenanced the probability of a mystical experience one is at least showing an open mind. But mystical experience must be verifiable or the mystics will always be called liars. On the other hand, mystics seem generally unwilling to explain things and, anyway, don’t give a hoot about being called liars.

Atheists are unlikely to investigate anything that would appear to be unreasonable. Again, one can’t blame them, and true to the casting of the first stone story one shouldn’t blame them because they would be asked to admit a universal truth that places thought into a secondary position.

Contrary to common belief, mystics deal with absolute reality, which is perhaps why they are usually so reticent. Our mystics, the Prophets, told it like it is. The way it is can be what we are pleased to call our collective history, which is quite obviously an ongoing event. It is physically what Charles Darwin, a nice old gent who was misused by atheists and abused by theists, called evolution. The human mind, regardless of whether you accept it as biologically evolved or believe in its unique, unchanged state from the time of creation, has now become, you might say, uppity. It has seen itself to be the boss. Deep inner feeling, the whisper from the soul, as it is known within Islam, has become irrelevant. The ideal human would be one who is able to work, create, play one’s part in furthering the science of life for the common good – but with a feeling of patience, trust, and sincere submission.

If we can accept that there is a primal force that could be likened to the fuel of the universe, we must be prepared to be unable to describe it because it is not of a physical nature. One might say it would be like trying to describe the appearance of wind, which does not actually have an appearance, but we can see its effect, like bending trees, or helping sailors. It is the same with the primal force! You can’t see it, but you can see, feel and experience its effect.

One must, of course, be prepared to believe that the Spirit is not just a bunch of molecules. What some seekers have done has been to sit still and watch what happens. This does not necessarily imply meditation but prayer may arise as a spontaneous burst of hope.

Imagine having a mind in abeyance. A mind that is modest, a mind that is no longer the boss. My mind, my servant! What atheist could argue with that?

The monotheist prophets, Abraham, Moses, Jesus and Muhammad, were appalled to see humans groveling before idols, bits of wood and stone constructs. They called for a return to the one universal common denominator we have; our life, our Spirit, our universal fuel, our dependence on life itself. I would ask you to please not confuse life with what people do. See life as that which enables people to do what they do. What they do with this life is a matter of personal capacity, and heaven help us!

It would be wishful thinking to suggest that atheists should investigate this unexplained, perhaps unexplainable energy. From a purely psychological point of view it is evident that humans “need to be right about something.” This “need” is likely to be fostered by the ego’s (self-esteem) fight against “losing,” which in turn could engender depression. Depression (if it has not become pathological) is fought against by the mind, and that in turn “strengthens” that which probably caused the depression in the first place. It could be worth remembering that any child leaving the womb brings genetic baggage that could – and history shows that the human condition has been pretty dismal – hinder the child from growing up well and healthy. In other words, the parents are to blame! Oh, dear, as it happens your correspondent has five children. And yet the parents are not really to blame because they are simply part of the chain. Thus, one could say that the best “laboratory” for research is the one you are living in, one’s self. After all, you don’t need lots of expensive equipment. You do not need an office or the need to commute. You are already there. But how is this relevant to prosocial behaviour following adverse experience? Well, in the pursuance of prosocial behaviour the participant feels “absolutely sure” that his or her attitude is correct. Experience fosters it. This “being sure” of something is of paramount importance to counter uncertainty, which is a large part of the human condition, and which leads to all kinds of often dubious endeavours. It is a widespread belief among most social groups that “doing right” is a good thing. It will make us acceptable; it will foster self-esteem. But above all the altruistic way will help one to feel right. We seem to need to prove a point about something, but actually it is all about how one feels. One wishes to feel good. One dreads feeling bad. People will go to many extremes in the pursuit of feeling good. The trouble is that the intellect tells some of us that we need a reason to feel good. There has to be an explanation. The ideal state, one may suppose, is to feel good for no reason whatsoever. That state of feeling good without reason could mean “no baggage.” But we know that having no baggage is not possible. We bring it with us into the world. Thus, genetic memory must be the point of investigation. An amusing take on altruism is about a person who has a deep feeling that money should be donated to a worthy cause. The mind switches in and argues that one is merely trying to placate one’s conscience. The deep feeling department struggles with the mind. Then, with a bit of luck, an even deeper deep feeling takes over and says “placate as much as you want, as long as you send the money.” Thus the ways of the Lord are indeed mysterious. The only real loss is to the value one places on one’s mind. This is a tricky business because one is then in the process of putting one’s mind back to where it belongs, as a servant and not a boss. It may be worth remembering that a new-born baby’s mind is anyhow in abeyance.

Carrying on and somehow making our way in life requires faith. The faith required is given through experience and that through something akin to basic research. (The world is our lab.) When learning to swim you must first experience the fact that water will support you. (You can do this in shallow water for starters.) Then having experienced the irrefutable fact that water will support you, you simply have to make a few movements to get somewhere. A slight problem is that one needs to place this knowledge into one’s memory bank, where it could be misconstrued and misused; but that is going a bit far at this stage. The second part of the need for faith through experience is when learning to live. To begin with, like the fact of learning to swim, we need to believe that life will support us, for it is made to do so. But believing that life will support us first needs irrefutable proof. This is difficult to attain. But one could simply plant a few potatoes and watch them grow into something edible. Common sense and a deep feeling for a possible answer to our existential dilemma could be given. It would, however, require a degree of modesty in respect of our needs.

The atheist would keep us earthbound. Not a bad place to start, but there is more that can be revealed within the human frame. Unfortunately, I can only offer an experience, of which I have no right to expect anyone to believe. I once waited at a large, noisy railway station for the arrival of a Muslim man of some mystic experience. The man and two others seemingly floated the length of the platform after leaving their train. I lurked behind a pillar and when they had passed me I hopped on behind their group. The moment I was within their proximity (a bubble-like zone surrounding them) the hectic noise and clamour of the railway station faded away (no shouts or whistles and all of the rest that make up the noisy experience of a London railway station). We were, indeed, in a bubble. Like a fool I could not resist dropping back to see what happened. Of course, the clamour returned.

The “message” was obvious: I needed to experience something I could not explain. Many of my spiritual doubts fell away. The experience was not to be denied. Here was a reality that I had previously not anticipated. I feel truly grateful for knowing that there really are such things unexplainable. Such as the peace that passeth (beyond) all understanding. Or being in the world but (literally) not of it.

If this essay is of any worth the quest for God is quite logically not really in our own hands, and as the railway-station mystic was once heard to utter, “Don’t try to go faster than God.”

Time passes, and while all things grow old and die away, the eternal messages brought by Jesus and Muhammad – peace be upon them – are still with us, and they continue to impact our lives. Lawrence Brazier reviews a book featuring these two giants of human history, Jesus and Muhammad: Commonalities of Two Great Religions. The title speaks of the author’s purpose, which is to bring forward what is more often than not veiled from our eyes: the fact that “both were extremely pious … their inspiration, their receiving, were logically from the same divine source … shared a common concern and, of consequence, a common cause.” The book, according to Brazier, also points to “where salvation from our present plight could possibly be found” by comparing the pertinent parts of the Bible and the Qur’an. Brazier contributes to the good intentions of the book by writing a very positive, constructive, and good-willed review.

Time comes and goes, fading colors and washing away prosperity. Just like seeds, Fethullah Gülen writes, humans also sprout and flourish, and eventually “bend to one side.” While this seems like destiny, for Gülen, the length of our lives and vitality is relatively dependent upon our inner dynamism. We may blame our disintegration on the weakness of centrifugal force, the lack of ideals, an inability to stay focused on the target, or the failure to maintain sincerity, Gülen says; but he also points to the fact that we will wither and decay regardless of the cause, if we “are not focused, serious, and hardworking wholeheartedly”; if we “do not or cannot pursue progress with ever-broadening considerations”; and most importantly if we “are not determined to sail toward new depths.” For Gülen, remaining fresh is possible when we are not defeated by our carnality and we can move with resolve, seeking “more of the joy of belief, the pleasure of divine knowledge, and the delight of setting their hearts on God.”

And time moves on, leaving behind great memories. In this issue, Nahida Esmail brings us a memoir of resolve. She climbed one of the world’s iconic summits, Mount Fuji, in Japan. In this short memoir, Esmail takes us with her on the climb and teaches us what she learned during this exceptional experience.

Our aim is not the application of a supposed objectivity, ours is the aim of first “being” objective. Our investigation should be undertaken empirically. It may be possible that reason will result from the empirical endeavor. A philosopher may first need to be in the right state for philosophy. Could this be the reason to be? If, as Goethe maintains in Faust, “…round and round we go, our teachers lead us by the nose” – could it be that both teacher and pupil haven’t a hope of arriving at any verifiable answer? Must we unlearn rather than learn? We may well be concerned, here, with demystifying the mystic, which we hope will not irritate them. On the other hand, how could it?

We consider infinity. But we can’t define it. We are only able to use the word figuratively. Infinity is the stuff of the hypothetical, a word and little else. It was invented primarily for the use of poets, dreamers, thinkers and even scientists (not to mention mathematicians), in fact all of those who wrestle with a supposed meaning of life. But infinity cannot be pointed to in the accepted sense. It may be full of import as a word but it remains elusive as a fact. We have, therefore, given a name to something that may well not exist, or at best, something we can never know anything about. If God is infinite, we are left with what is nothing more than a concept, an idea claimed to have been made a fact by only a few of those sharing our worldly existence. It means, of course, that God is indeed unknowable. We consider time. Time is easier to define, mostly because we invented it, and that through our ability to recognize change. We have correspondingly chopped up our days into time, making the invention of the clock a forgone conclusion. To our utter detriment we are bound by time, physically, intellectually and above all else “emotionally.” We are able to think in terms of time and we imagine infinity, which in the slovenly thought of humans has somehow become associated with time, albeit as a vaguely assumed related element, somewhat in the way that opposites are related. Therein lies the rub.

The mystic would maintain (if so disposed) that time is engendered by thought.

One would notsuggest that God did notmake the world in six days, as given in the Quran and the Bible, but it did give us a concept of time laid down in Holy Writ. We could, however, rightly suggest that our metaphysical makeup is created on a different plane of existence, perhaps even to the extent of timelessness. Our counted hours and days can be used in everyday life but one could also suggest that for the mystic the knowledge of time, as given in the stories of the Creation, is assimilated but nevertheless tucked away safely in some remote recess of the mind.

We have been given the notion of the Beginning as something necessary for the telling of a story, something to hang our emotional hats on. Just as our scientific thinkers send their minds spiraling into space, religious thinkers send their minds spiraling to a point where there is also nowhere left to go – which must please God no end. Our thinkers, both religious and scientific, are apparently trying to arrive at the same thing.

Although the concept of infinity in the limited time and space of our material existence is the product of our imagination, somehow serving a literary need, it appears to be alien to our natures. “In the Beginning” sounds like writing off infinity thus binding us to time in a single stroke. Our lack of satisfaction, or equanimity, comes from the emotional goulash we call the Human Condition. This, put bluntly, is the “state” we are in. It is a state that requires comfort, pacification, assurance, a sense of safety and wellbeing. The root of the Human Condition, it seems, is Existenzangst. Meaning that which we engendered by being, and continue to be, disobedient to God. It means that all humans, to one degree or another, however deeply but not without reason, are emotionally insecure. The result has been struggle, poverty, war and all the rest that makes up our appalling history.At best it is a wrestle with matters of the mind.

To accept infinity we would have to stop thinking about it. It could well be that we are not sufficiently emotionally mature to simply believe that there was no beginning in a secular sense and that there is no end. Psychologists would tell us that our ideas find no parallel in our feeling. Our feelings, or our emotions, balk at infinity. We recoil at the notion. We can’t “picture” it. Thought is often a mundane rehash of past events, the result of experience.

But how to arrive at what for many is a mystic state? The process of simple acceptance may well be something akin, at an emotional level, to the situation described by the American drawing teacher, Betty Edwards, in her book Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain. Ms. Edwards claims that a switch from one side of the brain to the other is required for achieving the inner focus enjoyed by those able to draw well. The switch is achieved, apparently, by simply “looking” patiently and waiting for the magic to take place. At some point during the switchover process a certain limbo situation occurs through which a mild panic can arise. This suggests a brief loss of control and is surely akin to the need for faith. The limbo period is beyond all that we can categorize. It can add to our sense of insecurity but could well lead to the need for a leap in the dark as an act of faith.

If we can accept that all of the universes have always existed we may have achieved an advance in the human condition. The acceptance, of course, is beyond a state of emotion and although there is bound to be a struggle, a certain degree of bravery is required, similar to the aforementioned leap in the dark.

Before the Fall, irrespective of whether one considers it a metaphor or fact, there was no religion. Before the Fall there was no need to “know.” Why did we need to know? Were we bored? We have considered reason, the reason why and the reason, period. Firstly, we should remember that the very first command given to us was not to approach the “tree.” The question is what was this tree? While in Christian tradition it has been understood as “knowledge,” in the Islamic tradition it is understood as an awareness of some of their human potentials which, when primed by faith, are meant to serve higher purposes, but with no such training may lead humans to evil.  One possible answer why God gave this command is the fact of duality implied by an Adam and an Eve. Duality, unlike the Oneness of God, obviously offered the possibility of variance. God, therefore, attempted to cover all the angles and said that duality (the entire reason for debate, methinks) should not be investigated. In investigating duality our heroes were bound to realize the possibilities of the same. We then took a downhill path, which has turned our lives into an uphill struggle.

There is another explanation for God making error or sin “possible” in the first place. We read that God made the heavens and the earth and the various animals and fishes and the day and night and, well, all the rest. This enormous output of many different things means, of course, that God differentiated. Differentiation implies duality and choice because God so chose. When Adam was created he was made in God’s own image. Therefore Adam also had choice. To ask why one may make a wrong choice is about as sensible as asking why God didn’t give fishes the capacity to live out of water. In other words, God wasn’t really aiming at “perfection”, He simply saw it as being good and also maintained that the suitable element for His creations was not always the same. And just as fishes do well to remain in their own element, Adam and Eve would, apparently, have done just as well to remain in their own, God-created, element.

One is reminded of the Old Testament fathers who ruled over the tribes and gave them hundreds of rules and regulations by which the people were to govern their lives. They had, it would seem, literally an answer for everything. Everything of this world, that is. The rules and regulations laid down were as good as a manual for living. One could see that the Old Testament people would need good memories or lots of scrolls and tablets at home, or access to a priest who was able to receive advice clearly from God. But memory is illusive, not to be trusted, it even goes haywire when we go to sleep. Moreover, we rarely have time to stop in any given situation and start thumbing through our manuals with a sort of “Wait, before you punch my nose, I should like to point out that on page 2356, chapter 700…”

But how to return to common sense, mentioned above as Logic, and is it the same as the true gut feeling, as our American colleagues may put it? Must we return to a reason that is not dependent on mind? Must we return to a common sense that is so common that we need not learn anything? Could we come to realize that forgetting is possibly more useful than remembering? Of course we couldn’t. The realization itself would require remembering. Attentive readers will have a nagging feeling about “common sense”, especially since I have offered no explanation, and I offer here only analogy. Some years ago I was translating from the German Heinrich Harrer’s Das Buch vom Eiger, which was to be combined with his The White Spider, to make a new edition. At one point Harrer asked me, a non-mountaineer, “How can you write about mountaineering if you are not a mountaineer yourself?” I am afraid my answer was rather glib, and I was only able to offer, “I do not need to get shot to know that a bullet hurts.”

Unfortunately, not common sense but common sensory is whatour world is probably all about. One might suggestthat perception felt is better than perception thought. The Qur’anic and Biblical texts run parallel and the story of the fall of Adam, the first prophet, is persistently similar. Adam and Eve acquired sensory knowledge by disobeying God, the ultimate provider. They didn’t actually need sensory capacity. Knowledge (read mind) and the flesh together can lead to an altered state that is a matter of imagination and what comes after. Knowledge is learning, thus the stuff of memory. Life, we would be pleased to believe, is innate, the stuff of pure energy, again to be seen separate from emotion, which is reliant on memory.

God has been called many things throughout human history: The One, The All, The Creator. But nobody has ever called God “The One Almighty Common Sense.” Common sense is what everybody claims to be aware of, but we often do not listen to it, even when it is nagging away at the back of our minds. A key moment, therefore, is when we decide on an action. Do we obey or go, again, our own way and not His? The mystic is receptive by getting out of the way. The channel remains open.

A mystic thus requires no morality. Quite obviously, morality is only required because we who are dissociated from God lack it. How wonderful would be a world not requiring morality. One hardly needs philosophy to tell us that immorality doesn’t make sense. Morality, at best, indicates making the best of things. We make mistakes and attempt to correct them. This writer does not believe that humans are innately evil, but does believe that the world is ungovernable without feeling, and that “feeling,” again, is not to be confused with emotion – it could perhaps be translated as the purest form of reason. It just isn’t expressed mentally, that’s all. On these terms one may contend that believing in God is not unreasonable. Let us embrace science, academe, philosophy, and all that would advance us in this world. After all, for the time being it is the only world we have.

In conclusion, one may return to Schopenhauer’s “Before we think – we live.” This is hard to refute and we must conclude that “life itself,” not the way we express it in our everyday world, but the Spirit must be the clue. Moreover, Schopenhauer’s claim makes slight work of the notion offeredby Descartes: “I think, therefore I am.” And when Nietzsche informed us that “God is dead” we may assume that he was simply having a bad day.

But what of our investigation of the mystic state mentioned at the beginning. The mystic state of no-mind is apparently received and not acquired through effort. It is apparently acquired by stepping aside! Getting out of the way, as Krishnamurti would have it! Thus to seek God is difficult and not to seek God is wrong, which leaves us with patience, trust and sincere submission, for somewhere out there, or in there, is a thing called grace.

The material aspects of Austria are also entirely evident. Other than a few shabby streets in the larger urban areas, there are no slums, no ghettos. Austria is home to the best water in the world, as well as some of the best medical services and surgeons. Austrians are tough minded and diligent. From a material point of view Austria has it all. Moreover, they probably donate more per capita to charity than any other nation in the world. Germany, of course, is much the same.

Above all, Austria is a tidy country of great beauty; like a gigantic golf course landscaped by a hand from above. Where else would a refugee wish to head for if not an earthly paradise?

When the United Nations decided to cut, by more than half, the funds needed to maintain its refugee camps in the Near East, its members were apparently unable to foresee the consequences. The more than fifty percent saved has now resulted in costs amounting to three or four times the supposed savings. With little hope of a decent existence, the refugees fled the camps, bound for Europe. Hundreds of thousands have come. In response, the politicians talk, and the tax payers groan. Without volunteers there would have been little chance of helping the refugees at all. But the challenge is not really about giving –  it is about how!

We added our names to the list of those offering accommodation and got caught up in a bureaucratic muddle to end all muddles. Our idea was to have a neat little family – one husband, one wife, one child. We were informed that personal wishes were not part of the deal, something we were bound to admit was fair enough.

It took about four weeks before a man from a refugee agency knocked at our door. He brought with him a young woman and two children from Afghanistan. The woman was an attractive 32-year-old; the children were lovely. The little boy, aged seven, was delicately serious. The little girl, aged three, was tiny, her face reminding me of a Burgundy grape. She was also a bundle of determination on two legs. Their father was still lost in a crowd of ten-thousand currently getting ousted from Hungary and being ushered, without ceremony, through Croatia and Slovenia. After four days we got a call that he was on his way to us and his arrival was about par for the course, which means nobody knows anything until it happens. He brought a ten-year-old boy with him. Romana and I had visions of collusion. We felt put upon (something we were to regret). Our house is not that big and already our ideal three persons had become four, and then five. It turned out that the ten-year-old boy was separated from his parents a full month prior. Our man had taken care of him as they trudged and bussed the last hundred miles to the Austrian border. Endless telephone calls finally located the boy’s parents, down-country at a camp near Klagenfurt, in Carinthia. A trip was made, and the boy was reunited with his parents.

As a writer living in Austria, I am bound to be writing about the current influx of refugees. I will be ashamed if I find myself attempting any sort of stylistic flourish; there is obviously no fun to be found in the matter. Mr. Hemingway’s reporting mode would be most appropriate. The winter is coming. They sleep on the earth, wrapped in a blanket. There is frost on the blanket at dawn. They shiver, waiting for the sun. This is what Mr. Hemingway called the “real” and “true,” given in a writing style that is no style at all.

But I can afford to be lighter now because our guest family has integrated with amazing speed and is doing well. Romana switched into high gear and got her network of lady friends into the deal. Stuff arrives daily. There are now more clothes than any family could reasonably need. We heard the funny story of our neighbor, Inga, informing her husband, Franz, that he needed a new anorak. This was news to Franz, but our man from Afghanistan got rigged out for the winter. The flow of cakes has accelerated, with no end in sight. Toys arrive for the children. I’m running around putting up shelves and rails to hang things on. Romana took on the paperwork and within a week the young boy, Milad, was attending school, going in stone-cold, without a word of German. The little girl, Setahesh, is now attending kindergarten. Their dad, Nazar, and mum, Shaima, are amazed at how things can change so quickly. They have asylum-request cards, but acceptance is by no means guaranteed. The cards bear their names and dates of birth. The family name is given incorrectly. Dates of birth are often unknown and guessed at. Many of those getting registered say, “1st of January,” and then add an approximate year. The paperwork seems somehow pointless, but the people do get a lot of government support.

These people are Shia Ismaili Muslims, of which Romana and I have not the slightest knowledge. It is enough to know that the Ismailis are persecuted by extremists. The horror stories about life in Afghanistan are sobering, indeed.

Everyday life at our house has been reduced to pure logic, when and where possible. Cultural differences are largely ignored. Shaima had a toothache and I was quick to point out that the pain is definitely the same the world over. We slowly instill the idea that there is little fun to be had at our house, but from here they can build their lives. Shaima is a sensational cook who, to my delight, uses tons of spice. Her meat is placed in the oven in onion water, which makes it wonderfully tender. Our meals are now sublime.

What has become evident is that we, Romana Madar and Lawrence Padar, have achieved the status of family chiefs. Seldom have we experienced such deference and seldom felt so grand. I get the feeling that I should be exercising gravitas. We are aware that families in Afghanistan are almost tribal, and run strictly on hierarchal lines. There is a distinct danger of Romana becoming a sort of ersatz tribal mum. Lord knows how I shall cope with such unaccustomed respect. Our own children, who are all grown up, keep a wary watch. They have, anyway, always considered us to be a bit daft.

Since Romana and I are retired we are all thrown together each day. Shaima speaks a little broken English, Nazar a bit of simple German. Finding a Quran on our shelves must have been baffling, not to mention my suddenly muttered “Allah” when I bang a knee. We have come to terms and get along well. Although we are Christians, our openness to Islam has helped.

We have adopted an Inshallah attitude. Trusting in God, in Life, in Anticipation.

“By the way,” Romana said the other night, “did you know that Shaima is pregnant?”

I sighed, stroking an imaginary beard.

Focus is the key – that and good intentions. Being laid-low by fasting helps us to do what we always know is right for us. I read from a mystic source about a man being asked if he loved humanity.

“I do, indeed,” he said.

“Then why,” asked the mystic, “do you treat yourself so badly?”

Today, there are 1.6 billion Muslims fasting – and me, a non-Muslim. Of course, there are plenty of other non-Muslims who undertake the fast. The Christian fast would have been perfectly accommodating, but Lent somehow simply came and went. There would appear to be less emphasis placed on fasting among Christians.

In my efforts, I have one advantage: I am a senior citizen! No office awaits me. No traffic jams. No heavy labor. In theory, I am in a perfect position to undertake the outer and inner fast. No food, alcohol, or nicotine during the daylight hours; these are the basic requirements. The inner fast means the subjugation of bad thinking, arguing, philosophizing, and sex.

The day drags on! At around noon, the pangs of hunger are insistent. I need a diversion. But where? What to do? Devout Muslims spend these difficult parts of the day in prayer. I, on the other hand, have been known to simply sit around, being quiet. My wife frowns.

The evening comes and at the proscribed moment – when the sun has set – it is time to eat. But how awfully vulgar, to await the moment with ravenous fervor. One’s eyes stray to a clock at ever-decreasing intervals. The mind has only one fixed object. The mouth waters. I feel that I deserve this break in the fast. Then comes the first nudge of shame, for I have slogged through this first day with dogged determination. I have succeeded, but the entire day has been of the mind. Perhaps, later, there will be more of a feeling of inner sincerity. As mentioned above, the experts and the experienced know that relief, which generally means freedom from the demands of the body, comes after about three days. It is a physical fact. Nevertheless, it is best not to forget that God is behind everything.

Pre-dawn on the second day. I am too lazy to get up to drink water. Common sense tells me that it should be otherwise. I slump back onto my pillow. Since I have not even had water for breakfast, this will be another long day.

Many years ago I enjoyed a daydream about equanimity, which for me meant a quiet mind. I read of the mystic who said that he was walking around, feeling quite happy, with nothing much on his mind. What a wonderful condition that must be. Envy is my lot and it simply adds to the confusion. In my daydream I pictured a desert riad, the sublime architecture of which makes my stunned mind the place of dreams. There will naturally be the prerequisite inner courtyard. There will be a colonnaded walk around the divine fountain, which gurgles ever so discretely. I am wearing a robe and soft slippers. I walk sedately among the columns, murmuring a few verses from something or other – perhaps even from the Quran. It would be the time for finer feelings to emerge and for the passions to diminish as I slowly lose myself. I suppose that I would dwindle into nothing, to then be confronted with the possibility of seven demons entering my inner world to replace the one’s I had been rid of.

In the everyday world, of course, the vast majority of Muslims do not possess a riad and they do not have the energy to murmur anything at all beyond a fervent wish for the clock to show a different face, so to speak. Still, there are plenty of devoted souls out there, doing their best to survive the onslaught of a secular existence, which is insistently temporal. It is said that by four in the afternoon, the cigarette smokers are going out of the minds. I am grateful that smoking makes me ill.

I understand what Jiddhu Krishnamurti has called the folly of wishing to repeat pleasure. More of the same does not necessarily mean more pleasure because we are talking sensory overload. What in Arabic are called nafs can be comfortably translated into English as appetites. My nafs lead me on. My tongue is a sponge-like nuisance, saturated with saliva. I must be diligent though! A slip in awareness will have me slathering into a cream cake in no time. I remember reading about an ascetic in India who martyred his desire by holding a succulent bunch of grapes next to his mouth as he marched along in the customary 40 Celsius heat of the subcontinent.

The fourth day, my wife’s birthday. One feels inclined to celebrate. We do celebrate and I half promise to add an extra day to the fast to compensate for my misdemeanor. But to be fair, she is not exactly a lady of unprecedented desire; her nafs seem modest compared to mine. If anyone is to blame ’tis I.

Day six. Or is it? I’m losing track. We are too active in the world. An invitation to visit a daughter means that she will cook for us and one can hardly refuse. We eat and drink. I am to eventually count four alcoholic drinks during the month.

Aesthetics loom large in my mind, and I am convinced that God in His mercy has led my mind to such finer thoughts. I loved reading about Shibui, the Japanese concept of rightness, or appropriateness. Like many people I first read about Shibui in James Michener’s Iberia, which is perhaps the definitive travel book about the Iberian Peninsula. Michener also mentioned the Spanish notion of Duende, which describes, or imbues, an almost Zen-like quality to something. It is about grace, but not so much in a religious sense, but all the more in respect of something being graceful. Duende has found, I believe, an up-to-date expression in ‘zone,’ from ‘flow’ psychology. If you are in the zone, everything flows.

The next day and I have stopped counting. I am feeling slightly well. That ‘feeling slightly well’ appeals to me as a figure of speech; it sounds like an original concept. I am able to breathe freely from my stomach. This means wellness for me. I am happy to have thoughts about creativity. They may be just thoughts, which are usually a nuisance, but at least they seem creative as opposed to being damaging. The mystic, again: ‘You can do anything you like in this world as long as you don’t hurt anybody.’ Thoughts arising in this way are also a blessing because I am not thinking anything of a bloodcurdling nature. God is good.

Ramadan seems to be going fairly normally. I no longer have ravaging pangs of hunger. I only occasionally have the desire for an ice-cold beer. That Muslims don’t drink alcohol at all doesn’t seem to help. I have lost a couple of kilograms, however. Common knowledge has it that a one-liter carton of milk weighs one kilogram. Thus, the loss of ten kilograms in body weight can be easily fathomed as not dragging ten cartons of milk around with you. I have read extreme stories of people losing 15 or even 20 cartons.

More diversions. I have just been reading bits of art philosophy: ‘If you can’t use it, it is probably art.’ Thebest quote, however, comes from Shaker philosophy: ‘Don’t make anything unless it is necessary and useful; but if it is both necessary and useful don’t hesitate to make it beautiful.’ Shaker furniture is exquisite; the epitome of minimalism coupled with elegance. Yet looking at it makes me feel sad. Perhaps this is the message: you are not supposed to look at it and be made happy; you are supposed to be happy with or without beautiful possessions. God would have it so.

We drove through a small town this afternoon. A large man strolled casually, obliquely across the road in front of our car. His insouciance was insulting. Anger flared within me. I slowed but gunned the engine as we passed him. If there were minus points to be acquired I acquired the maximum. Sudden anger. Afterwards I sat and gazed, fairly emptyheaded, feeling an awful sense of nothingness. It would lift, I knew. Perhaps sleep would diminish the dull gloom.

I remember the three days in Herat on the border between Afghanistan and Iran. I was rotten with diarrhea and barely able to move from my mud-built room to the muddy hole in the floor ten yards away. I was extremely weak and perhaps even a little delirious. The mosquitoes seemed as big as small birds. You could easily see them coming. I emptied my body until there was nothing more to empty. I was still very young; a skinny youth. It was at times like that, when the situation was dismal, that I laughed. It all seemed so ridiculous, suffering diarrhea in Herat in a mud-built hotel.

“What?” I remember saying to myself. “Are you going to die here?” Then I laughed, perhaps slightly hysterically. It was fifty years ago and in those days I had been able to lift everything I owned in the world with a little finger.

Visitors, again. I ‘borrow’ one cigarette, eat one small thing on a cocktail stick, and drink half a glass of water (with the cigarette) and one small cup of black tea. The visitors fortunately refused wine. I am convinced that hospitality should be shown so that guests are not embarrassed or feel unwanted. A lovely excuse. I don’t feel too bad but I know the time is coming when a more serious attitude will have to set in. My Muslim friends would be appalled at my shortcomings.

Today I am feeling listless. When one puts one’s appetites (those naughty Arabic nafs) on hold, they sulk. This sulking reflects on my own mood; I, too, sulk. Thus listlessness is my portion. What it really means is that I have previously been functioning through the willing energies of my appetites. This would be okay regarding work, but not the finer aspects of one’s life. Confusion is the result and one’s own small blobs of chaos will be added to an already chaotic world. Ramadan is about personal responsibility.

I sinned inwardly, romping into a philosophical debate. Felt the nafs having a field day. I really must get quiet, but it is so very difficult for a writer to acquire grace. In the case of a writer it can only come despite himself. On the other hand, isn’t that always the case? God is not only great, He is wily.

By day 20, I know that writing a journal is not exactly useful for achieving the aims of the fast. I write now after Eid-al-Fitr, the celebration marking the end of Ramadan. Intellectual activity may be wrong, but I can’t help feeling sorry for myself, which loves to write, and the millions of poor Muslims who have little opportunity to be free of the material forces raging around our planet. I have also come to realize that good intentions are of the essence.

I stagger through the last ten days of this month of fasting. For a brief period I experience what Christians call ‘the peace that passeth all understanding.’ This experience and other experiences, according to the lights of the recipient, come during the so-called ‘night of power,’ when God’s grace is poured down from the heavens. These are the blessings that make Ramadan such an inspiring endeavor.

This year has been pretty much a disaster for me. There have been no Muslim brothers and sisters nearby. One friend sends the traditional apology for mistakes made during the year.

I am reminded of a past Ramadan and an Eid-al-Fitr celebration in Indonesia. The Muslims and I awaited the arrival of three imams. They arrived and a mind-stilling hush fell over the gathering. I felt an opening, a slight tingle above my heart. The crowd formed a shuffling line and we approached the three imams to beg forgiveness. The imams begged forgiveness in return. Then each person stood next to the imams to eventually form what became a large circle of human forgiveness. It was astonishing to realize the obviousness of an apology that benefits not one but both parties. I had felt a part of it all. Nobody had questioned my right to be there.

Inner worship is a prayer that prays of itself. Something inside a person – the soul – begins to pray. Submission is obviously a must.