Beware the ‘I’ in idol
The only difference between the Arabic preposition ila (to) and the word for deity in Arabic, ilaah, is the final ha, the letter by which one exhales his breath. Thus, to seek a deity to worship is similar to seeking to release one’s breath: it is obligated by our very physiology. Otherwise, we risk suffocating from suffering.
“Look to your deity (ila ilahik)” Moses told Samiriyy when the latter created a golden calf, which he persuaded the Israelites to worship behind Moses back — even after he had delivered from the Pharoah. Indeed, the repetition of the “ila” sound in the Arabic verse is phonetically jarring — but, I would venture, also lends to a sort of pun. Why?
The suffix ka at the end of ilaah is the possessive pronoun “your” (singular second person)- as if this deity is exclusively Samiriyy’s, even though many of the Israelites also latched onto his idol. The calf seems to be pinned particularly to him. Moreover, the word produced, ilaahak, phonetically resembles the preposition ilayk (to yourself).
Thus, Moses is simultaneously telling Sammiry to look at his concoction and himself. The deity he creates is an extension of his own ego. Samiryy himself admits regarding the creation of the false calf: “Thus my ego seduced me.” Idolatry is nothing but the projection of one’s self and desires into materiality. We are possessed by dark, lower desires. But to subliminally convince ourselves that we aren’t, we indenture ourselves to something “higher” but nonetheless material. The Pharaoh’s baseness came from his boldness to skip the meditation of matter and directly deify himself.
Thus, as expiation for turning their back on Moses, God commands that the Israelites must efface their egos through voluntary death. But why is Samirry’s punishment different? Moses excommunicates him, saying: “You will be in this world saying ‘Don’t touch [me].’” While the meaning here is ambiguous, it is certain that he is barred from any sort of physical intimacy or interaction with other people. But why this instead of death?
The opposite of egoism is love and compassion. Touch is the medium by which human beings transmit those higher sensations, whose origins are from God, The Loving and The Subtly Kind. From a tap on the shoulder to a hug, there is a metaphysical energy that is transmitted from human being to human being, concatenating them into a sort of “firm edifice” (Surah Al-Saff). Love is the glue that holds this ummah. One if its manifestation is physical intimacy. Thus, we stand in prayer shoulder to shoulder.
But the ego segregates our self from others. “I am uniquely special,” we tell ourselves haughtily. Consequently, we deprive ourselves of the beauty of brotherhood and sisterhood that only sincere believers may experience. The egomaniac is often lonely. Even in Hell, the disbelievers will arrogantly blame each other. Samiryy’s excommunication is hence merely a physical realization of what he had done to himself spiritually.
As for the calf, Moses ordered for it to be burned and its ashes scattered into the sea. So too, the ego-ridden heart must be purified before it can return to its former state of peace (qalb saleem) — and thus enter the Garden. To quote Imam al-Ghazali, the heart is like a metal alloy. To remove it of impurities you have to heat it up. For those who stoke their fiery egos in the world, they require the fire of Hell to aheive that purity. But, the second fire is the fire of sincere repentance (tawbah). There are few things as powerful and heart-rending as the pangs of guilt — the famous Russian novelist Dostoevsky captures this best.
Only once we dissolve our egos can we experience the infinity of Allah’s grace — an infinity greater than even the sea.
