13. Is morality the central drama of your life – is it what gives purpose and meaning to your life? If not, what is (family, work, friendships, etc. are other possibilities)? Do you think morality is an appropriate goal for life?
During the bookclub discussion, the concept behind this question was rejected outright. Folks asked what I meant by morality being the “central drama” of a life. I explained that I meant that a quest to live a moral life could give you purpose and that a persistent, internal focus on ethics could provide meaning. They asked for an example of who would choose to live like that. I gave Brooks’s example of Dorothy Day of the Catholic Workers Movement. A convert, Day devoted her life to helping the poor.
The whole concept was considered so antiquated that it was dismissed by the group and they moved on to other topics.
Here’s my thing. My first career goal was to become a nun. Whenever I see those Peace Corps billboards that read: “Never have to start sentences with: ‘I should’ve'” I cringe with regret.
I light up with the idea that morality could be the central drama of my life. It sounds like just about the greatest goal my life could have. It sounds fulfilling and worthy and satisfying and wonderful. Not stifling. Not limiting. It feels like it opens up vast possibilities.
That’s what it sounds like.
But instead, I’m often too tired to give God my proper attention during prayer. I slack on even easy, routine Islamic duties for months or years on end. I’m cowardly when bravery is called for about really important things. And the moral failures of my earlier years keep me humble about the scales of my life thus far – and realistic about what I may succumb to in the future.
In short, I wish that morality were the central drama of my life. But I am selfish, and I value conveniences way too much (way too much), my capacity for patience is low, and I am caught up in my job and enjoying pleasant experiences.
Ramadan begins in a little less than a week, on May 5, with the first day of fasting being Monday, May 6. It is not an easy month. Some days feel like a grudging duty. Some days I don’t fast at all. It lasts a really long time. The practicality of eating without tasting in the wee hours of the morning when you really just want to be sleeping is one of the less glamorous aspects of Ramadan. Listening to people of other faiths, or no faith, who feel free to opine loudly on how it must be unhealthy to go without water – and you should therefore not do it – is really unhelpful (and. it. happens. every. year.).
Yet, Ramadan is also amazing. The experience of fasting provides a connection to God that makes you feel like morality really is the central drama of your life. Like you have discovered what really matters – more than anything else – and it’s your relationship with God. Those are the days that make it all worthwhile. The emotional succor resonates with your deepest needs and desires for spiritual satisfaction.
And so Ramadan is the time of year when I am the closest to feeling like I’m getting it right. The time of year when I feel like I am most living up to my potential – the potential I signed on for when I converted to Islam 31 years ago. Here we go.
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