In 1968, Islamic philosopher Seyyed Hossein Nasr published Nature and Man, a series of lectures in which he argued that most modern societal issues stem from a disconnect with the natural world. The culprit, he suggested, was a reliance on secular science that sought to dominate rather than harmonize with nature. Continuing down this path, he warned, could only lead to our own destruction. Nearly 60 years later, Nasr’s warning still rings true.
Take, for example, how we eat: Industrial farming methods, which became the norm (particularly in the United States) by the latter half of the 20th century, contribute to over 35% of global greenhouse gases. These farming practices, which encourage efficiency and volume over resilience, have degraded soils and reduced biodiversity, making already fragile farm ecosystems even more susceptible to the effects of climate change.
Nasr’s solution to such modern problems was to reestablish a “spiritual sense of nature,” seeking to see the divine in the natural world. In viewing nature from a symbolic perspective we can more clearly understand our place in the cosmos: “Because of the intimate connection between man and nature,” he wrote, “the inner state of man is reflected in the external order (96).” For example, Surah Fussilat uses the imagery of barren land as a reminder to man that just as Allah (swt) brings new life to fields that go fallow in the winter or during times of drought, we too will be brought back from the dead for judgement:
وَمِنْ ءَايَـٰتِهِۦٓ أَنَّكَ تَرَى ٱلْأَرْضَ خَـٰشِعَةًۭ فَإِذَآ أَنزَلْنَا عَلَيْهَا ٱلْمَآءَ ٱهْتَزَّتْ وَرَبَتْ ۚ إِنَّ ٱلَّذِىٓ أَحْيَاهَا لَمُحْىِ ٱلْمَوْتَىٰٓ ۚ إِنَّهُۥ عَلَىٰ كُلِّ شَىْءٍۢ قَدِيرٌ ٣٩
And among His signs is that you see the earth devoid of life, but as soon as We send down rain upon it, it begins to stir ˹to life˺ and swell. Indeed, the One Who revives it can easily revive the dead. He is certainly Most Capable of everything.
(Fussilat, 39)
Ramadan, a time when we are focused on reflection and revelation, is an excellent opportunity to consider the spiritual nature of food. Throughout the Quran, we are instructed to contemplate the symbology of what we eat. This applies not only to our understanding of what is Halal, but also—and more to Nasr’s point—the symbols of the divine inherent in the foods we eat and their production:
Let people then consider their food: how We pour down rain in abundance and meticulously split the earth open ˹for sprouts˺, causing grain to grow in it, as well as grapes and greens, and olives and palm trees, and dense orchards, and fruit and fodder— all as ˹a means of˺ sustenance for you and your animals.
(Abasa, 24-32)
For those who work the land and tend to crops and livestock, living by the ebb and flow of the seasons, contemplating the spiritual aspects of food production is likely an easier task. But how can consumers establish a deeper understanding of the food we eat, if we are not the ones on the farm or in the garden ourselves?
The best approach may be to not only think about what we eat, but when and where we are eating. Seasonal eating is the idea that one should strive to eat mainly what is local and in season. While “seasonal eating” is a recently popularized buzz term, the practice is as old as humanity itself. Prior to widespread and consistent food preservation methods like canning, freezing, and refrigeration that enabled food to be saved and shipped, most produce was eaten as close as possible to the time and place it was harvested. In this way, food directly connected eaters with changes in the natural world throughout the year, as seen in traditional Native and European American harvest songs or the centuries-old seasonal food rhymes (called Baromashi) of Bengal.
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Across much of our modern world, consumers and farmers alike have had to forgo local, seasonal food in exchange for speed, convenience, and corporate greed. While some places have built seasonality into their food culture, for many, eating seasonally requires a concerted effort. This could include looking for local produce displays at supermarkets, shopping at farmers markets, and subscribing to a community supported agriculture (CSA) program directly from a farm. Organizations like the Slow Food Movement offer resources to empower consumers to adapt their food choices, which can also be useful for planning environmentally and socially responsible iftars.
Proponents of seasonal eating suggest that tracking down local food is worth the effort: In addition to connecting eaters with growers that understand the natural cycles of food production, trying to eat seasonally is beneficial to physical health and can combat climate change by reducing the emissions involved in food shipping (though how much it helps is debated).
In addition to thinking about the food we eat from a spiritual perspective, we must also remain aware of our duty to others: Systematic oppression often makes accessing healthy food at all – let alone purchasing in-season produce direct from a farm or farmers market – an especially difficult task for some. During Ramadan, we should be particularly mindful of supporting the most vulnerable among us. By working to make sure that good food is accessible to all, we are also fulfilling our Islamic obligation to seek justice.
Nasr concludes Nature and Man with this parting wisdom: “He who is at peace with God is also at peace with His creation, both with nature and with man (136).” As we seek guidance and renewal this Ramadan, we should take a moment to contemplate the spiritual dimensions of our food consumption, how it connects us to the rhythms of nature, and how we can help others enjoy the same.
