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France is not the greatest place to practice your first ever Ramadan.
Apart from the extended hours of daylight in summer and the general disapproval that comes with practicing a Muslim ritual in a predominantly Catholic country, there are other criticisms one must face. As if going a whole day without food or water was not enough, in France I was also called upon to constantly justify why exactly I would want to punish myself in such a ridiculous manner.
At first I stammered to explain. I would usually try to mumble something about making living arrangements easier with Hebbat, or that I was curious and wanted to learn more about islamic culture. This was hiding the truth somewhat however. I already had at least 18 other good reasons to be doing the Ramadan, so why didn't I list off some of them?
I had a niggling sensation that there was something deeper.
Its easy to understand why a French-person finds the concept of Ramadan so alien. They are a pleasure loving race. We are often baffled by the kilos of cheese, the gallons of wine and the cartons of cigarettes they consume, seemingly without remorse or consequences. But for the French, there is nothing more natural: life is for living and flailing oneself is bad for the health. Indeed it is just such a guilt free appreciation of the finer things in life that seems to enable them to get away with it.
"So", I wondered repeatedly, "if Ramadan is not necessary, then why on earth am I doing it?"
In the end I boiled it down to the question of suffering. What seemed crazy to the French was that I was voluntarily imposing a regime of suffering upon myself. But isn't the shining pride of our modern civilisation a general reduction in the amount of suffering, not just for humans but for all creatures?
The more I thought about this paradox, the more I was surprised by the ideas that bubbled up. As far as I could reason it, a certain amount of voluntary suffering is actually good for your health. Just think of the exercise and fitness programs most people impose on themselves. Could I argue that practicing Ramadan is no different than going to the gym everyday? This curious contradiction between suffering and well-being seemed to pervade all aspects of fitness. Even if you consider the most mild form of exercise: stretching, where in order to gain any benefit of flexibility you are instructed to extend until you feel a "mild discomfort".
"But," I protested vainly to myself, "how can suffering possibly be good for you?"
It wouldn't be until a few days later that a dear friend gave me a very important clue.
