DENY THYSELF
How the ancient wisdom of fasting can provide satiating inner transformation.
We live in an age of excess. Even with the glaringly obvious gaping divides among the “haves” and ‘have-nots” (not to mention a disappearing Middle Class), we are overloaded with consumption. Social Media has not helped with this overwhelm where we can easily scroll through our screens and are bombarded with glittering images of mirrored lives served up on a plated algorithm de jour tempting us to be more, do more, have more. Modern attempts at satisfaction can end with us feeling more empty than before.
One solution? An ancient practice that has been recently co-opted by fitness gurus and neo-philosophers alike: Fasting. But before we get into why we should consider this panacea, let’s look further at the problem.
Perhaps we can blame some of this glutinous behavior as a reaction to the inertia of the pandemic lockdowns, the need for diversion during unrest, the youth, (everyone else does), or better yet—those insufferable Boomers!
Since the 60s, the societal pendulum has swung so far towards individual gratification that we're left grappling with the consequences of a culture steeped in hedonism. The sexual revolution, epitomized by publications like Playboy, promised liberation but delivered disillusionment. Now, with free, ubiquitous online porn we’ve built a Playboy Mansion on steroids, a Metropolis with whipping stations and underground dungeons in place of grottos.
It’s no mistake that Heffner co-opted the “grotto” for his property’s open-air sexcapaids. Grottos were traditionally places of worship, meditation, and prayer.
While it’s justifiable to rally against stifled oppression, the creative chaos of freedom has garnered casualties. It’s okay to want balance. It’s okay to need both freedom and structure. As many great thinkers and philosophers have opined, a healthy psyche (and by extension—society) is a balance between chaos and order.
It’s not just about instant gratification through sex. It’s also about money. And who doesn’t want more of it? There isn’t inherently anything wrong with wanting to provide well for yourself. It’s the excess—the flaunting of the power that comes with a lot of money. Look no further than the Kardashians. We could fund all the foreign wars and secure the border if just two out of six of those infamous siblings teamed up and redirected their earnings. This focus on flaunting wealth is not just regulated to Hollywood either; it’s infiltrated the kids’ carpool pickup line with moms subtly competing with their overpriced kicks and Stanley cups. It’s present in pre-teens striving for their first partnership on TikTok by gyrating in unison to a Taylor Swift song.
In our modern era, excess has become synonymous with success. At the heart of this culture lies a dangerous undercurrent of selfishness—an insidious force that erodes the fabric of society from within. Modernidy’s spiritual community hasn’t helped this. The New Age movement’s navel-gazing and self-aggrandizing principles preaching the “I AM” gospel have left us on an unending search for self. Yet, as Plato warned in his Allegory of the Cave, true enlightenment comes not from self-serving pursuits but from transcending one’s ego.
And what does the ego want? More. Always more.
To combat this, many ancient traditions recommend fasting. The Catholic tradition of Lent uses privation, prayer, and almsgiving to emulate the 40 days Jesus prayed and fasted in the wilderness. In Islam, the month of Ramadan is similarly marked by fasting from dawn until sunset, as Muslims abstain from food, drink, and other physical needs to purify the soul and cultivate self-discipline. And, in the Jewish tradition, Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, is observed with a 24-hour fast, symbolizing repentance and spiritual cleansing. Hindus, pagans, even non-religious groups like Stoics, all have high regard for self-denial as a path towards betterment.
Overindulgence in sex, drugs, food, media, gossip, shopping, anger, victimhood, laziness… whatever our vice, we know it can be our undoing eventually. And therein lies the problem. The self-decaying happens at such a subtly slow pace that we don’t think we’re hurting ourselves. We rationalize it. We justify our little pleasures like toddler security blankets. Self-denial isn’t fun. It’s hard. But there is a great reward in doing hard things. By willingly embracing periods of abstention, whether from food, media, or other vices, we open ourselves to a profound shift in perspective—one that transcends the superficial trappings of materialism and self-indulgence.
The rewards for fasting are not just physical, either. The aim is to empty oneself to be less distracted, to be a vessel for God. That is why spiritual fasting involves intentional prayer and giving oneself to the community, whether it’s your own family, town, or a global charity.
The act of voluntary self-sacrifice ultimately creates empathy and is a powerful reminder of our shared humanity. For it is through struggle and sacrifice that we unlock the true depths of our potential and emerge, transformed, out of the dark, and into the light.