蜜芽传媒

Good morning.
At this point in the Muslim year we observe a day known as Ashura. This is commemorated by fasting, and often by a variety of other rituals as well.
When I lived in Turkey, my local mosque had its own way of marking the day, which involved songs, and commemorations of an event with which Ashura is indelibly associated: the tragic death of the Prophet Muhammad鈥檚 grandson, Husayn. In Turkish literature this is a central theme: the poet begins by recalling the beautiful days of Husayn鈥檚 childhood, and how he used to climb on his grandfather鈥檚 back when the Prophet was bowing in prayer. This golden past made Husayn鈥檚 demise years later still more poignant.
Bereavement is one of the most wounding of emotions. It is very much in the news, but we can still lament the loss of saints who died centuries ago. The rawness might fade, but the loss still hurts.
Religion helps many, by insisting on eternal life. The miracle of consciousness within us is not part of this world of clay, but will go on forever. And in that paradisal forever, in some unimaginable way, we are assured that will see our loved ones again.
But religion can tell us something which is perhaps even more strange. We poor humans experience time as a linear movement, as though we are travelling across a map made of time. The past is behind us, with all those tragedies which we cannot change, while the future lies ahead.
But theologians tell us that things are not so simple. God is outside time, and hence every instant in history is His present moment. The childhood joy of Husayn is just as much a present reality for God, as is our present-day sense of loss at his absence.
It鈥檚 a disorienting thought. But some modern science and philosophy is claiming something similar. So-called eternalists hold that the present which we currently experience is not the only actual one, but that there is an almost infinite number of present moments, all equally real.
This sounds like one of those cases where scientists are proposing something even stranger than what the theologians believe. But what can I make of it? I am only in my present, at this moment on November 13; I have no access to other present times, when my loved ones are still alive and well.
That鈥檚 sadly true. But I find it oddly comforting. Husayn is in his grave. So are many others whom I have loved. But my mortal perception of these things is simply my own limited perception. From another point of view, whether I choose to call it religious or scientific or both, I can be reassured that those golden, dead days, are still actual and alive. A strange thought, but one which does reassure and comfort me.