of the remembrance of God within it, so much so that in its prayer, sermon, and other rites He ordained an amount of takbīr—proclaiming “Allāhu akbar”—not found in any other prayer. The Law has further established in it—especially in the Greater ʿEid (ʿEid al-Aḍḥā)—manifest acts of exalting God and the descent of mercy that secure the well-being of His servants, as indicated by His words: “And proclaim the pilgrimage to humankind; they will come to you on foot and on every lean camel, coming from every distant ravine, so that they may witness benefits for themselves” (Q 22:27–28).

Thus the natural pleasures that are broadened for the soul on that day become an aid that enables it to profit from the distinctive acts of worship appointed for it. But when the soul is granted those same pleasures—or even part of what belongs to God’s festival—on some other day, its yearning for God’s festival slackens, the love and reverence it once held for it fade, and the impact of the righteous deeds performed therein is diminished; the souls thereby incur a manifest loss.

At the very least, imagine two men: one concentrates all his concern for the festival on what is prescribed, while the other divides his attention between that and something else. Necessarily you will find the one devoted exclusively to the prescribed rites more attentive to them than the one who mixes them with others. Whoever fails to perceive this does so out of heedlessness or indifference; anyone who knows even a little of the inner wisdom of the Sacred Law will grasp it.

As for the sense of waning desire, everyone feels it; indeed, we find a man