Ramadan 2023 Reflection #3: the world has rights over you

In the name of God, the Most Merciful, the Most Compassionate.

May this letter find you in a state of peace.

This Ramadan, I’ve been making an attempt to meaningfully engage with the Qur’an. Whilst many opt to - as tradition goes - recite the book in its entirety at least once over the course of the month, I humbly accept my limitations in the Arabic language and boldly assert the value in my own endeavours to draw guidance from the English translations.

In upholding a belief, especially one deeply rooted in scripture, it is paramount to develop a discourse with its content - an open dialogue, so to speak. My approach has mainly consisted of waking up an hour before fajr (dawn), scrambling together something to eat, praying, before setting up on the same corner of the living room sofa. I drape a yellow throw over the standing lamp to dim the harsh white into a warm glow, producing just enough light to illuminate my reading materials and notepad.

I’m reading The Clear Quran by Dr. Mustafa Khattab and cross referencing it with The Message of The Qur’an by Muhammad Asad, a towering, voluminous work that has a prominent position on my bookshelf. A friend sent me a PDF version of it years ago when I first began seriously looking into Islam as an adult, and despite its employment of quite archaic English, the detailed footnotes provides valuable linguistic and socio-historical context, making it a valuable companion. Though controversial to some, Asad’s attempts at a more rationalistic interpretation of verses is resonant to someone of my disposition who requires a big picture lens of concepts and events, and at the least provides an interesting perspective to grapple with.

As illuminating as the process has been so far, it is invariably a slow one. In the quiet moments of rumination afforded by these early mornings - streets empty and activity suspended in sleep - one theme has been prominent in my mind; the Quran’s injunction that the world has rights over us.

the duty of being

Today, the idea that we owe anyone anything feels to be increasingly rejected. With the backdrop of secular capitalism as the religion of the day and our celebration of individual freedoms to “live our best lives”, responsibilities beyond the self-serving are optional at best and a nuisance at worst. We don’t owe people - by any objective measure - our energy, respect or support. All must be earned. What we truly owe is what is transactionally obligated, and anything above is an act of goodwill - one which the recipient should presumably feel privileged to receive.

The Quranic view is in stark contrast to this way of thinking. The very basis of belief rests on the idea that everything we inherit or acquire in life is a trust (amana) from The Creator, and thus we will be held to account for. Our wealth isn’t our wealth. Our skills aren’t our skills. Our resources are not truly ours. The implications are far reaching, but primarily exposes a reality that might be unsavoury to our modern, progressive sensitivities - in our best forms, we are closer to servants than we are masters of our affairs. A bitter pill to swallow, but a mercy if we allow it to be.

As I’m awakened for the second time to my son crying; fighting off sleep and agitation, I am rudely reminded of his rights above mine. In this moment, I am his servant. My only choice in the matter is whether to be so lovingly or begrudgingly. Whereas my base level impulse, driven by exhaustion, might spur me to quieten his shrill cries so that I can get back to sleep, I’m aware that the overriding spirit in my efforts to provide safety, security and comfort in his vulnerable state is from a vast sense of duty. A duty to him, and a duty to the Divine source of his being.

increasing our sphere of responsibility

In my estimation, society hasn’t collapsed so far into degradation that obligation to your children is a rarefied virtue, though there are indeed instances where it appears that way. Yet, I am awestruck by just how expansive the Qur’an’s remit of who our dependents are in relation to my observed reality. In Chapter 2 (Surah Al-Baqarah/The Cow) and highlighted in numerous other points expounding on the subject of charity, God expresses the rights of the following people to a portion of our provisions:

1. Our parents (especially our mothers)
2. Relatives
3. Orphans
4. The poor
5. Refugees and the homeless

Having had the distinct misfortune of being a long-time Twitter user, I’ve seen the full gambit of complaints, frustrations or pure distaste for people in all the above categories, besides maybe orphans. You would have to be a real sick individual to hate orphans. I say this as someone who is far from perfect - most of us see helping others as a “nice-to-do” rather than a moral imperative. Some of us have even managed to intellectualise selfishness and distrust for others as virtuous.

It is fascinating to note that, Quranically, the wealth you set aside for charitable purposes is already considered their share. It’s a reminder that it isn’t by our own greatness and willpower that we earn our livelihood, but by factors often outside of our control (ultimately God but through market forces, upbringing, access to resources/education, innate ability etc.) Therefore we haven’t truly “earned” the full amount that lands in our bank accounts. The fact that your family, and subsequently the vulnerable and downtrodden must be provided for from your excess isn’t meant to be praiseworthy, but an act of purification; an ethical accounting practice to place blessing in the portion we do keep.

Expanding even further, the Qur’an informs us of the rights of our spouses, the natural environment, animals and strangers. Even enemies in battle have rights upon us in the conduct of war that we can glean an appreciation for in non-combative circumstances of demonstrating restraint, forgiveness and mercy.

the rights of the self

Another unique insight is the acknowledgement of the rights that aspects of ourselves have over us. It’s deep. Broadly, the Islamic understanding of what constitutes a human is the interconnected relationship of the immaterial soul/ego (nafs), spirit (ruh), intellect (’aql) and heart (qalb), housed within a material body. Each of these interacts, engages and influences each other, but none is to be neglected. They each have their rights. The body and its urges aren’t denegrated in favour of the spirit, or the intellect given precedent over the heart. Each is honoured, but simply called to be disciplined towards a righteous balance. This is why Islam doesn’t prescribe a monastic or overly ascetic life, or that of hedonism and materialism. Ramadan is more accurately viewed as a time of training, not of deprivation.

I hope to explore these concepts in future reflections as I tread further along in my reading, but I wanted to leave a parting thought for myself, primarily, and for anyone that cared to read this far. What unfulfilled right is niggling away at the back of your mind before distraction sets in? Is it checking up on your parent? Is it making better choices for your health? Is it taking the time to give money to the homeless person you see everyday? Let's start there.

Peace and blessings be upon you.