by Alan McGuire
In our consumerist societies, where individualism is pushed in our faces by influencers everyday, and our communities feel increasingly more superficial and fraying, ancient traditions can offer surprising renewal.
Lent and Ramadan are two such traditions. Though they come from different faiths, they share a deep spiritual and social purpose: a time of fasting, reflection, and recommitment to higher values. Both invite all of us, equally, to step back from excess, reconnect with community, show solidarity with the poor, and resist the pull of selfish consumption. They are fundamentally democratic and socialist cultural practices. Yet in today’s world, these traditions are often reduced to private religious exercises.
Self-denial for a period of time, to help us reflect on a higher power than ourselves, holds the potential to become a radical practice, allowing us to refocus on what is important. Stripped of its stereotypes, the core practices of Lent and Ramadan – fasting, almsgiving, and repentance – can be helpful to any part of society looking for societal and spiritual renewal.
Lent is often remembered as starting the day after on Shrove Tuesday (Pancake Day!) on Ash Wednesday. Here begins a time when people may fast, give up a habit, pray, read scripture and try to get closer to God. This is done 40 days until Easter, leading to Christ’s ultimate sacrifice: giving his life. For Christians it represents the 40 days that Jesus fasted in the desert alone, rejecting the temptations that the devil was offering.
Lent’s original meaning was one of profound reflection, sacrifice, and solidarity. It’s just that now in our postmodern world, we look at this tradition through the ideological lenses of the day, which these days are more or less tinted by a Thatcheriteindividualism. For centuries, its practices and significance were laced with a spirit of resistance. A communal pilgrimage on an individual level that challenged the temptation of Capital and gluttonous living, whilst also acting as time to stand back and appreciate the meaning of being an individual human in a community with others.
This encapsulates the original meaning of Jesus’s mission before people were even called Christians, which was a radical challenge to the existing order that championed people over wealth. Even within Christianity, Christian Socialism and more recently those movements inspired by liberation theology point to a faith that champions the poor and critique injustice. Lent is a small but important part of that spirit. We should remember that the radical roots of faith should not be confined to church pews or stereotypes of right-wing American evangelicals.
Islam and social solidarity
Muslims should also not be reduced to the terrible Islamophobic stereotypes that the Western media reduces them to today. Ramadan is the ninth month of the Islamic lunar calendar and is observed by Muslims worldwide as a period of fasting, prayer, and spiritual reflection. It commemorates the first revelation of the Quran to the Prophet Muhammad and is considered one of the Five Pillars of Islam. From dawn to sunset, Muslims fast from food, drink, smoking, and other physical needs, using the time for self-discipline, increased worship, and acts of charity. The fast is broken each evening with iftar, a communal meal, and the month concludes with Eid al-Fitr, a celebration of gratitude. Ramadan emphasises not only personal piety but also social solidarity, reminding participants of the struggles of the less fortunate and reminding Muslims of the values of compassion and self-control.
Lent and Ramadan give us time to reflect on an ethical framework which is not foreign to humans but can easily be forgotten or hi-jacked for more sinister ends. With these traditions we can begin to think about the importance of others less fortunate than us, the state of the planet, and why we need social action to change the world. It’s a modern form of repentance, not only a personal turning away from sin but a collective process of reflection. Here we are asked to confront the broader societal habits that keep the system reproducing itself. By framing it in a collective language, sins stop being individual moral failings and are seen as situated in context, highlighting visible structural problems in society that can be addressed.
Fasting is a political act of abstinence
Traditionally, fasting has been about denying oneself physical comforts. But what if we reimagined it as a form of political resistance? Consumerism thrives on the exploitation of workers and the planet. Choosing to abstain from engaging in this, as much as possible, is a form of activism. Mindless consumption is a luxury many don’t have. Thus, a conscious withdrawal from the capitalist system, from the big companies that increase inequality and carry out actions that harm the planet and its people, is a political act.
Whether it’s boycotting McDonald’s/Coke etc, refusing to support brands that are supplied by sweatshops, or simply stepping back from the digital wasteland of Twitter, this kind of behavior change challenges the foundations of late capitalism. We cease to be a part of its reproduction. Both traditions remind us that true freedom is not found in consumption but in self-restraint and solidarity.
Furthermore, Lent and Ramadan can also be a time to rethink our practice as activists. Almsgiving in its modern sense is one-off charity work or donations. Yet, a more radical interpretation could be to see almsgiving as a deliberate act of redistribution. A rephrasing of the manner in which we reallocate resources and empower grassroots movements. Campaigning to divert funds from luxury indulgences to support local cooperatives, community organising, or supporting organisations that combat economic inequality. Learning from the Ramadan practice of zakat—the structured redistribution of wealth—ensures that fasting and almsgiving are not just a personal obligation but a communal one to uplift those in need.
This is not about shunning charity but about starting conversations about how we dismantle structures that hoard wealth, and what charity should be: solidarity.
Filling the spiritual void on the Left
While the Left has historically fought for material and ethical justice, it often overlooks the more spiritual dimensions. Today’s capitalism feels as though it has replaced meaningful community bonds with ‘likes’, a consumerist race to the top and the never ending pursuit of self-actualization.
By learning and reimagining the origins and purpose of both Lent and Ramadan, the Left has a chance to rediscover the collective dimension. It’s an opportunity to recoup and reorientate our struggles in both practice and nature – just the body and mind but the communal spirit. By re-engaging with these traditions, not only in a religious sense but as communal practices of resistance, the left can reconnect with something it has lost: a sense of the sacred. Capitalism has de-sacralised Christmas – why can’t we resist and reverse that ideological destruction?
By reclaiming the transformative potential of wisdom traditions, the left can counter the growing appropriation of religious discourse by conservatives and combat stifling stereotypes that keep people from engaging with one another. It’s not only about opposing the misuse of faith but reclaiming the history of radical Christianity. We must offer a compelling spiritual alternative,one that resists the hollow promises of the dying American dream. Instead, we need to build bridges of empathy, collective purpose, and enduring community.
Lent and Ramadan are not just relics of the past. They are blueprints for a future beyond consumerism, alienation, and greed. In them, we find not just personal discipline, but collective renewal. This is not about returning to the past, nor about converting to any faith. It is about recognising that across cultures and history, people have turned to practices of fasting, reflection, and redistribution to resist systems of exploitation and reclaim their sense of community.
In a world that feels increasingly different, these traditions offer us something we have arguably lost: a life where we are not simply consumers, but caretakers of one another.
