Escape. Over time and with experience, I’ve come to believe that escaping is convenient. Of course, not when you’re in a hostage situation or caught in a toxic, three-ring-circus relationship. Let’s be specific: it’s convenient to escape pain. More specific: it’s easier—or, I’d say, more expected—to grab hold of religion as a way to let go of suffering. Because, why not? Why should I give a damn about the Duniya when Deen is all I need? But… but—is this really Deen you’re holding on to?
Let’s take a teenager as an example to make things more relatable. This teenager is going through a serious half-of-quarter-life crisis. He just had a breakup, his friends are getting acceptance letters for international student exchange programs, he’s doing just okay academically, and his best friend apparently has a rich uncle who brings him the latest PS5 games. So, yeah, he’s existentially exhausted and wants a way out—or, more precisely, a source of validation for his feelings. Now comes the all-time-renowned, tried-and-tested method: Islam is all I need.
But what happens when he has truly tried it? It starts testing him. Fast-forward a few months, maybe even weeks, and he feels emotionally and socially drained. His assumedly strong Emaan becomes a part of his life instead of being the origin of his life. The teenager is using his devotion to Allah to justify his feelings, to reassure himself that he’s the "bigger" person. Ironically, he starts feeling smaller. His Ibadat narrows his vision—in scientific terms, it becomes “tunnel vision.” He’s unable to ponder, quite the opposite of what Allah has instructed him to do. The saddest part? He’s unable to feel the Rehmah of his Rab. His connection with his Rab is driven by personal goals—his Hawa —which locks him in a spiraling comfort zone.
The ending you probably saw coming: the teenager either becomes a fanatic or a rebel. No in-between.
Of course, the teenager is just one small part of this dilemma about how religion is used. On a broader level, television dramas often (read: literally all the time) portray a character’s spiritual journey by showing their faith only at rock-bottom moments. It makes me wonder if people use Islam just as a catalyst to find eternal peace in life, a plot device in their personal story. But the Quran offers a much different perspective:
ٱلَّذِينَ يَذْكُرُونَ ٱللَّهَ قِيَـٰمًۭا وَقُعُودًۭا وَعَلَىٰ جُنُوبِهِمْ وَيَتَفَكَّرُونَ فِى خَلْقِ ٱلسَّمَـٰوَٰتِ وَٱلْأَرْضِ رَبَّنَا مَا خَلَقْتَ هَـٰذَا بَـٰطِلًۭا سُبْحَـٰنَكَ فَقِنَا عَذَابَ ٱلنَّارِ ١٩١
“They are those who remember Allah while standing, sitting, and lying on their sides, and reflect on the creation of the heavens and the earth and pray, ‘Our Lord! You have not created all of this without purpose. Glory be to You! Protect us from the torment of the Fire.” (3:191)
Allah asks us to observe and interact with the Duniya around us. He doesn’t expect us to constantly engage in the obvious acts of worship or to disconnect from the world. Your Rab doesn’t want you to stop desiring the good in this life. In fact, He wants you to explore and learn about various concepts that might seem disconnected from orthodox religion, like learning foreign languages (yes, languages other than Arabic), climate change, pet psychology, quantum physics, sustainable marketing, houseplants—to name a few.
When one truly embodies Eeman, the famous idea of balancing Deen and Duniya fades away. Everything you do is for Allah, because of Allah. Your religion doesn’t just become a part of you; it becomes entirely you. It doesn’t exhaust or restrict you with tunnel vision; it inspires you to look around. So, even if the world is falling apart, you know you are held by the Mightiest Hold. The Ultimate Refuge.
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