Revisiting Highway 61
by Dr. Mazeni Alwi
The Hajj season came and went. In today’s fast-paced life with its glittering infotainment and distractions, it passed with the slightest of notice for many. In an age where organized religion has to constantly adapt and make concessions to modernity, some secular observers may find it is a fascinating spectacle, that such a religious rite has managed to survive the uniformizing banality of consumerist materialism. To others, it is simply the most visible anachronism of the modern age – God commanded his prophet to sacrifice his son, what could be more absurd than that? At this time of the year, newspapers and television seldom fail to show pictures of muslims slaughtering sacrificial animals and working away at their carcasses in commemoration of that sacrifice, too bloody and uncivilized for our sanitized view of things that animal lovers like Brigitte Bardot could hardly conceal their disgust.
This year, Hajj, the other “Hari Raya” that is finding itself increasingly relegated to insignificance came not long after a natural disaster that have left many shocked by the scale of its death and destruction as much as by its unexpectedness, and on top of that, the extraordinarily wide extent of its geographical impact. It also happened that the vast majority of those who perished were muslims. We have of course heard of the various positions held – a purely geological phenomenon that has nothing to do with God whatever one’s idea of Him might be, whereas at the other end of the argument, it is explained purely as divine retribution on a wayward humanity to beat us back into a life of virtuous religiousity. But whatever position one takes, of all the major tragedies, either natural disasters or those that result from human folly, we have never seen such a universal outpouring of concern and generosity for those who have suffered and lost.
For the first time perhaps, amid the distractions and a secure sense of hubris we accept that life is indeed fragile – almost in a flash, vast widespread destruction can be wreaked by something which is very much part of our environment, a source of livelihood and a place of leisure that has suddenly turned into awesome walls of crashing waters, destroying everything in its path. Was it is just a freak accident of nature or was it a foretaste of the infinite power of God, or wether that has altered our world-view at all, it must have been in the thought of many in our quieter, private moments.
In this secular age where organized religion, at least its ritualistic forms, is merely a cultural heritage and an identity thing that one readily jettisons as something nonsensical as one becomes a thinking mature person, the sense of life’s fragility may have jolted some of us back into accepting God into our consciousness and world view.
For the muslim believer Hajj does evoke that similar sense of human fragility and smallness in the face of God’s awesome presence – in the way that one feels vulnerable, dependent, and utterly alone when in actual fact one is among a sea of people all dressed in white on the plains of Arafat.
The central theme of Hajj is the commemoration of the drama in the encounter between man and God, as muslim pilgrims retrace the steps and re-live the saga of prophet Abraham and his family. The objective of reliving the drama is to re-affirm Abraham’s message of uncompromising monotheism (tauhid) and wholehearted submission to the one God (needless to say the muslims’ belief in this drama is purely rooted in faith in the scripture and prophetic tradition as this was all before recorded history).
In this post modern age whose temper is one of skepticism and cynicism towards sacred traditions, re-inforced by a sensibility that has seen too much images of death and violence, and in an age where we consume filet mignon and foie gras without having to make the connection with the slaughter of animals, the drama that Hajj re-lives each year may seem absurd- that God could have commanded his prophet to sacrifice a beloved son.
Today, with the hold of religion in the west is greatly weakened and the rest of the world rapidly secularizing, such anachronism may be peculiar to muslims. But generations ago, when the presence of God still loomed large in man’s consciousness, such notions of sacrifice was also current in the Christian world although the details may differ. Rembrandt immortalized the drama in his 1636 painting “Abraham’s Sacrifice” based on the story as narrated in the Book of Genesis. At the most crucial moment, as the son’s lithe youthful body lay stretched on the alter and his head covered in cloth, an angel pins Abraham’s arm, and the knife drops from his hand. In the Christian narrative, the son that God had commanded to be sacrificed was Isaac, “Then they came to the place of which God had told him. And Abraham built an alter there and placed the wood in order, and he bound Isaac his son and laid him on the alter, upon the wood. And Abraham stretched out his hand and took the knife to slay his son. But the Angel of the Lord called to him from heaven and said “Abraham, Abraham!” And he said, “Here I am”. And He said “Do not lay your hand on the lad, or do anything to him, for now I know that you fear God, since you have not withheld your son, your only son, from Me”. Then Abraham lifted his eyes and looked, and there behind him was a ram caught in a thicket by its horn. So Abraham went and took the ram, and offered it up for a burnt offering instead of his son. In the muslim tradition, the son in question was not Isaac but Ishmael, the son of his younger wife, Hagar. In the Quranic narrative the anguished and agonizing Abraham disclosed his predicament to his son, whom, to his surprise, readily submitted, “My son, I see in a dream that I shall sacrifice thee”. “My father, dost as thou art bidden, thou shalt find me among the steadfast”. As in other narrations of earlier prophets, the muslim scripture and tradition is silent on the details, but it parallels the Christian version in that Ishmael was saved by Abraham’s sincere devotion and obedience to God. In the end it was a sheep that was sacrificed and Ishmael went on to become a great prophet like his father. That was the basis for the sacrifice of animals during Eidul Adha.
In both the muslim and christian narratives, the moral of Abraham’s sacrifice is really about testing the limits faith and submission to God, for, it would be unthinkable that God would ask for a human sacrifice from his loyal servant. But still, such a notion must be profoundly unsettling if not illogical to the cultivated cynicism of the modern age such that it is fair game for someone like Dylan to write in his 1965 song, “Highway 61 revisited”, “God said to Abraham, “Kill me a son”, Abe said, “Man, you must be puttin’ me on” …. “well, where do you want this killin’ done?” “Out on highway 61”.
Even if Dylan later in his life were to embrace Catholicism and then convert to Judaism, the irreverent lines from the song pretty much sums up post-modernism’s posture towards the sacred. For Christianity, the lesson from Abraham’s sacrifice perhaps does not occupy a central place in its theology, hence it is spared much questioning, Dylan’s song not withstanding. But for Islam, the story of Abraham has become its principal message, the uncompromising belief and submission to one God (tauhid), such that it Islamized the rites of Hajj from pre-Islamic Arabia, incorporates it into one of the five pillars of Islamic worship, and it is celebrated as a major festival by muslims the world over. Everyday, muslims pay salutations to Abraham, the father of monotheism in their five daily prayers.
In today’s information age, Hajj is perhaps the most visible of Islam’s ritualistic devotions. The swirling sea of men and women clad in white around the Kaaba, the gathering on Arafat, etc may fascinate some observers. But I guess to many others, it is probably seen more in a negative light. We have long become familiar with criticisms from animal lovers like Ms Bardot, but it is the recurring tragedy like the scores of pilgrims crushed to death every now and then in stampedes while performing these rites that are most unsettling, and one may be forgiven for making the connection with the notion of Abraham’s sacrifice. Is the use of human sacrifice on September 11 in New York and subsequent terror acts in other parts of the world also part this notion?
Given that the muslim world is a world of poverty, disease, corruption, lack of civilized norms and behaviour, violence and bloodshed, dysfunctional societies and institutions – is Hajj the ultimate proof that violence and irrationality are in Islam’s DNA? May be it is time for some very serious introspection – has the edifying lessons of Hajj been lost on us because we are unable to penetrate into the heart of its symbolic rites?
The recent tragedy from the Tsunami disaster has thrown up some unpleasant things, apart from the enormous death toll. The most embarrassing for us was to learn that the oil-rich muslim states were the most miserly in terms of extending financial aid to the victims of the tragedy. This may not accurately represent the muslim character as individuals but the fact that it is widely reported in the international media leaves us something to chew on.
Hajj is really about the individual and one of the lessons from Abraham’s sacrifice is the taming of our ego, our pretentiousness and unbridled ambitions, our unchecked desires for wealth and power. These are our “Ishmaels”, those things we hold dear that we have to learn to “sacrifice” or purity. While Islam does not advocate excessive ascetism and the negation of the material world, one nevertheless should not be a slave to wealth and power. The pursuit of our ambitions and wealth must be within the parameters of ethics and not trample on the rights of others. With modern air travel and growing prosperity among some of us, might we risk turning Hajj or Umra (minor pilgrimage) into the most ironical symbol of conspicuous consumption when it is meant to be a once in a life time obligation? To cater for the demands of the well-heeled among us who bring along our appetites for KFC and Burger King to the Holy Land, already luxury, hotels and shopping malls are mushrooming around the Masjidil Haram, displacing convenient lodgings for the poorer pilgrims and what used to be waqf accommodations for students from around the world who came to study at the Grand Mosque.
If Hajj is about reaffirming the Oneness of God (tauhid) and mortal man’s relation to his Creator, its parallel message is how man should relate to his fellow beings, of treating others with respect and dignity. This message is imparted in the way all distinctions of race, skin colour and social class are abolished as the pilgrims gather at Arafat (wukuf) and circumambulate the Kaaba (tawaf). That great lesson of Hajj had a profound and transforming effect on the charismatic Black Muslim, Malcolm X. During his pilgrimage, he saw the true brotherhood of Islam and repudiated the reverse-racism of the Nation of Islam of America’s black muslims. The great humbling experience of Hajj is laying everything bare except for the 2 pieces of unsewn cloth, and being dissolved in a sea of people of all nationalities, and of seeing poor pilgrims from Africa or the subcontinent absorbed in their devotion despite their bare financial means and spartan existence.
Another of Rembrandt’s work from the same period that was inspired by the biblical narrative was “Abraham casting out Hagar and Ishmael”, showing Hajar being sent forth into the wilderness at the behest of Sarah, Abraham’s older and infertile wife. Ishmael was the little boy at her side, while Sarah was observing their departure from her window.
In the muslim traditions, Abraham was commanded by God to take Hagar to go and settle in the barren and uninhabited valley of Bakka (Makkah). This was the beginning of a series of what may seem as illogical commandments that culminated in the “sacrifice” of Ishmael. After Ishmael was born, Abraham was commanded to leave the mother and infant in that barren valley. With Ishmael crying of thirst, Hagar ran back and forth between the hillocks of Safa and Marwa in search of water. When she returned despairingly to her infant, she found gushing water in the sand where Ishmael had dug his heels as he was crying- this became the well of Zam-zam, the eternal spring that drew traders and settlers to the valley of Bakka, to worship at the house of God that Abraham and Ishmael later constructed. One of the obligatory rites of Hajj is Sa’ie, briskly walking between Safa and Marwa, the re-enactment of Hagar’s search for water for her thirsty infant. An insightful explanation as to its significance was given by the Iranian scholar Ali Shariati, all the more relevant given the stagnation and decay of the muslim world today. To him it symbolizes the need for man to utilize his intellectual faculty and physical ability, to strive to the utmost in meeting the demands of the worldly existence, while one’s faith in God is a source of hope and strength, as opposed to a fatalism that later crept into muslim culture.
These are the important lessons of Hajj that perhaps in our earnestness in fulfilling the physical rites, we may have overlooked the spiritual message behind its symbolism. Some introspection is perhaps in order. That muslim society today is characterized by poverty and decay, corruption, oppression of our own people, being dependent on others for knowledge and progress cannot be wholly blamed on history. It is as much a reflection of our failure to internalize the central message of Islam, of which Hajj has a lot to teach, especially on the relation between man and his Creator, on how we should behave among fellow man, and the dignified place of human effort alongside faith in God.
