Day: February 23, 2026

Ramadan as Ontological Discipline: FASTING IS FOR ME

Modern civilization fears emptiness. We are taught to keep filling: our stomachs, our schedules, our social media feeds, our identities. Silence is treated as failure. Hunger is treated as regression.

Ramadan arrives as interruption. It does not add something; it subtracts. And precisely in that subtraction, the secret of fasting is disclosed.

A Hadith Qudsi declares: “Every deed of the son of Adam is for him, except fasting. Fasting is for Me, and I Myself reward it.”

Why is fasting different?

For Muhyiddin Ibn ’Arabi, the distinction is not primarily ethical but ontological. Fasting is a negative act of worship: it is not an action, but the suspension of action. It is not self-assertion, but self-withholding.

This is why it is ascribed to God.

When we eat, we affirm our dependence. Eating and drinking are signs of our existential poverty. We live within a web of causes and needs.

By fasting, we do not become independent; rather, we become conscious of our limits. We stand before the contrast between the creature who is faqīr (utterly needy) and al-Ṣamad — the One who depends on nothing.

According to William Chittick in his studies of Ibn ʿArabi, fasting mirrors the divine quality of tanzīh (incomparability) because it is “the absence of action.” God does not receive nourishment; the fasting person suspends reception. In that emptiness, fasting reflects a trace of divine perfection.

Fasting also trains us to restrain anger. Anger is an egoic affirmation: “I have been wronged.” When someone says, “I am fasting,” he refuses to reinforce the claim that his ego stands at the center of reality.

From the perspective of wahdat al-wujūd (the unity of being), there is no effective agent but God. All events unfold as manifestations of His will. To restrain anger is to dismantle the illusion of autonomy.

From this arises sakīnah — existential stillness born from the realization that the self is but a shadow of Being.

A third layer is the suspension of desire. Bodily intimacy is lawful and sacred, yet fasting teaches that there is a higher orientation. The energy of love is not extinguished; it is redirected.

Fasting is tajarrud — the stripping away of sensory attachments for the sake of spiritual intensity.

The dead neither eat, nor drink, nor engage in physical relations. Fasting is a rehearsal of voluntary death. And whoever dies before dying discovers a deeper life.

When the hadith says, “I Myself reward it,” this is not merely a promise of recompense. It is a statement of encounter. The reward of fasting is Presence.

Fasting is unseen. It is hidden. And what is hidden is nearer to God than what is displayed.

If Ramadan merely makes us hungry, then we have not understood it. But if it makes us more aware of our poverty, quieter in our ego, and lighter in our attachments — then perhaps we have touched the secret of “for Me.”

There, tawḥīd ceases to be doctrine and becomes experience.

“Fasting is the art of emptying the self so that the Real may fill it.”

Note: A Pdf version can be accesses via this [link]

Jangan Katakan Ia Mati. Ia Hanya Tertimbun.

Kita hidup di zaman ketika semua orang ingin terlihat benar. • Benar secara moral. • Benar secara politik. • Benar secara agama.

Tapi ada satu pertanyaan yang jarang kita ajukan: Masihkah kita bisa merasa bersalah?

Al-Qur’an bersumpah atas satu hal yang mengejutkan: jiwa yang mencela dirinya sendiri. Itu artinya, kegelisahan batin bukan cacat. Ia adalah tanda kehidupan. Ketika kita berbuat salah lalu dada terasa sesak — itu bukan kelemahan. Itu alarm.

Masalahnya bukan karena manusia tak lagi tahu benar dan salah. Masalahnya: kita terlalu cepat membenarkan diri.

• Kita menyakiti, lalu menyebutnya prinsip. • Kita merendahkan, lalu menyebutnya iman. • Kita menutup telinga, lalu menyebutnya loyalitas.

Dan perlahan sesuatu yang lebih berbahaya dari dosa terjadi: Nurani berhenti bergetar.

Itulah titik kritisnya.

Itu adalah sistem alarm jiwa sejak Hari Alastu. Namun, ia tak dirancang untuk berbunyi selamanya jika terus diabaikan. Ketika dosa bertumpuk dan penyesalan tak kunjung datang, Allah akan mengecapnya. ’Khatamallahu ‘ala qulubihim’ (QS. 2:7). Alarm itu padam, bukan lagi sekadar terkubur, tapi mati sebagai peringatan terakhir yang diabaikan.

Bukan ketika orang jatuh dalam kesalahan. Tetapi ketika ia jatuh dan tidak lagi merasa apa-apa.

• Agama tanpa kritik diri berubah menjadi ego yang disucikan. • Ideologi tanpa refleksi berubah menjadi kebencian yang terstruktur. • Kesalehan tanpa muhasabah berubah menjadi kekerasan yang merasa suci.

Yang paling berbahaya bukan pendosa. Yang paling berbahaya adalah orang yang yakin dirinya selalu benar.

Namun ada kabar baik. Nurani jarang benar-benar mati. Ia hanya tertimbun. Tertimbun oleh kebisingan. Oleh pembenaran kolektif. Oleh tepuk tangan kelompok. Dan yang tertimbun selalu bisa digali kembali.

Satu pengakuan jujur. Satu permintaan maaf yang tidak dipublikasikan. Satu momen diam ketika kita memilih mendengar daripada menyerang. Itu bukan kelemahan. Itu kekuatan yang paling langka.

Di dunia yang sibuk menghakimi, orang yang berani mengoreksi diri adalah revolusioner sejati.

Jangan takut pada rasa bersalah yang jujur. Takutlah pada hari ketika kita tak lagi bisa merasakannya. Karena hari ketika nurani tak lagi terasa sakit, itulah hari yang paling seharusnya kita khawatirkan.

Catatan: Versi Pdf dapat diakses di [tautan] ini.