Thankfully, the kind of hunger that springs from sheer helplessness has reached us mostly through the war and famine stories of our elders, or through the pages of novels. Meanwhile, the deprivation unfolding in parts of Africa — almost at our doorstep — and farther away in the Far East and South America scarcely troubles the rest of the world; it passes before our eyes like scenes staged on a film set.
When hunger, as described in the stomach-cramping depictions of Knut Hamsun, stems from injustice in human distribution and utter helplessness, it provokes rebellion. (Indeed, the tragedy endured by the protagonist of his novel culminates in rebellion against God.) But the hunger of the fasting person is not like this. Even if one possesses every means, one remains hungry because Allah has willed that this feeling to be experienced. It is a chosen hunger. Therefore, it leads not to rebellion, but to empathy.
Just as those who have never fasted have no real understanding of hunger, even in fasting — which may be considered a kind of demonstration of true hunger — the anticipation of magnificent iftar tables can prevent us from fully grasping the condition of the truly hungry. Nevertheless, the close relationship between arrogance and every form of satiety is interrupted by fasting. The weakened state of the fasting person disciplines the potential within to transgress limits. If you encounter those who, despite fasting every Ramadan for years and years, have not attained the humility of knowing their bounds, try thinking this: What if they had never fasted at all?
