Question: Salam Shaikh Mohammed Akram Nadwi, I hope you’re doing well, in shā’ Allāh. For some time, I’ve been reflecting on the signs of the end times—particularly the prophecies that our beloved Prophet Muḥammad ﷺ foretold regarding the wars and conflicts that would occur near the end of time. With the ongoing tragedy and oppression in Gaza and Palestine, we often hear references to the Malḥamah al-Kubrā (the great and final battle, sometimes called Armageddon) and the ḥadīth, “‘Umrān Bayt al-Maqdis Kharāb Yathrib”—meaning that when Jerusalem becomes prosperous and highly developed, it will signal the decline or desolation of Madinah. Looking at this Hadith and others, there seems to be a great deal of confusion and ambiguity surrounding these reports. Some scholars even claim that these prophecies are unfolding before our very eyes in the current era. My question is: How companions of prophet (sas) understood these ahadith ? what are the main lessons and benefits we should derive from these prophecies today? I would be deeply grateful if you could shed light on these questions and help us understand these predictions in their proper context—so we may take the intended lessons and reminders from them. Jazāk Allāhu khayran, Mohammad Sirajuddin
Answer: Wa ʿalaykum al-salām wa raḥmatullāh, May Allah bless you for your thoughtful question and your sincere concern to understand the Prophetic traditions in their proper light. Reflecting upon the signs of the end times (ʿAlāmāt al-Sāʿah) is indeed beneficial, provided that reflection is guided by sound knowledge, balance, and humility before revelation.
As for the ḥadīth that says “‘Umrān Bayt al-Maqdis Kharāb Yathrib”, meaning that when Jerusalem becomes prosperous, Madinah will fall into decline, and the reports about al-Malḥamah al-Kubrā (the great and final battle, sometimes called Armageddon), I have written a separate article in Arabic clarifying that this particular ḥadīth is weak. Because it is weak, it should not be used independently to establish its content, though it may be cited as supporting evidence for the general fact that near the end of time there will be widespread trials, conflict, and disorder.
The Companions of the Prophet ﷺ understood such ḥadīth not as predictions to decode or timelines to determine, but as moral and spiritual reminders. They did not busy themselves with calculating when these events would occur, nor did they try to identify who or where the signs would appear. Their focus was always upon what Allah required of them in their own time, to remain steadfast upon truth, to prepare for the Hereafter, and to avoid being distracted by worldly concerns. When they heard the Messenger of Allah ﷺ speak of the turmoil that would precede the Hour, their reaction was not speculation but repentance, fear of Allah, and an increase in righteous action.
The signs of the Hour are mentioned in authentic ḥadīth and alluded to in the Qur’ān, sometimes directly and sometimes symbolically. The purpose of mentioning them is not to enable us to predict the unseen or to identify specific individuals and places, but to warn and remind. These reports are not intended to give us factual precision about future events; rather, they aim to awaken our hearts and strengthen our awareness of Allah.
Their message is moral and spiritual: to instil fear of Allah, to encourage repentance, to inspire hope in His promise, and to strengthen patience during trials. They teach us that hardship is not permanent, that Allah’s help always comes to those who remain steadfast, and that the believers’ duty is to continue striving for truth regardless of the surrounding turmoil.
The language of Prophetic reports about the future is not like ordinary language. It is often symbolic and layered with meaning. Therefore, one should not rush to match every phrase with a modern political event or assume that a prophecy is being fulfilled today. Such claims are speculative and can easily mislead. The correct attitude is one of faith, balance, and discernment, to neither exaggerate interpretations nor neglect their lessons.
Ultimately, the purpose of these reports is not to satisfy curiosity, but to shape the believer’s moral and spiritual readiness. They call us to be alert, sincere, and steadfast, always prepared to meet Allah. The intelligent person is not the one who knows when the Hour will come, but the one who prepares for it with faith and righteous action. As the Prophet ﷺ said: “The intelligent one is he who holds himself accountable and works for what comes after death.” (Tirmidhī)
Therefore, the main lesson we should take from such aḥādīth is to remain conscious of Allah, to strengthen our trust in Him, and to stay steadfast in worship and moral integrity, no matter how dark the circumstances around us become. What benefits us most is not knowledge of when these events will occur, but how we respond, through taqwā, repentance, and sincerity in obedience.
May Allah grant us insight, patience, and steadfastness in these testing times, and make us among those who are alert to His signs and firm upon His path.
Question: Dr Amsha Nahid from Australia asked the following question: Assalamu ‘alaykum wa rahmatullahi wa barakatuh, Dear Shaykh, I read an article claiming that the word ‘Ummi’ in the Qur’an means “gentile” (non-Jew) or someone unfamiliar with the Law of Musa (2:78), not “illiterate.” I heard your YouTube Q&A explaining ‘Ummi’ beautifully, but could you please also clarify whether the Prophet ﷺ was able to read or write? May Allah reward you abundantly in this life and the next.
Answer: The description of the Prophet Muhammad ﷺ as Ummi is one of his unique and divinely appointed attributes. It was not a mere circumstance of birth or upbringing, but a deliberate distinction granted to him by Allah as part of the intellectual and rational miracle that supported his Prophethood. Allah made Ummiyyah an essential aspect of his prophetic identity, completing his attribute of risālah (messengership) and demonstrating that his knowledge, wisdom, and eloquence were entirely divine in origin, bestowed through revelation, not acquired through reading, writing, or study..Click Here To Follow Our WhatsApp Channel
The Prophet’s Ummiya was as essential to his Prophethood as the virginity of Maryam (ʿalayhā al-salām) was to the miraculous birth of ʿĪsā (ʿalayhi al-salām). Just as Maryam’s virginity was the clear proof that ʿĪsā was born without a father, the Prophet’s inability to read or write was the manifest proof that he did not compose or invent the Qur’an. Both miracles serve the same divine purpose: to establish beyond doubt that what occurred was entirely by Allah’s will and power, with no human influence or authorship involved.
Ordinarily, being unlettered is seen as a deficiency. However, in the case of the Prophet ﷺ, it became a mark of perfection and a sign of divine truth. His Ummiyyah was not a lack of learning but a form of miraculous independence from human means of knowledge. His understanding was not shaped by schools, books, or teachers. Rather, his heart was directly illuminated by divine revelation and wisdom. Through this, Allah demonstrated that true knowledge and guidance come from Him alone, not from human instruction. Allah Most High declares in the Qur’an: وَمَا كُنْتَ تَتْلُو مِنْ قَبْلِهِ مِنْ كِتَابٍ وَلَا تَخُطُّهُ بِيَمِينِكَ إِذًا لَارْتَابَ الْمُبْطِلُونَ “You did not recite any book before it, nor did you write it with your right hand. Otherwise, those who deny the truth would have doubted.” [Al-ʿAnkabūt 29:48]
This verse provides decisive evidence that the Prophet ﷺ neither read nor wrote before the revelation of the Qur’an. The verse also clarifies why this state was divinely decreed: so that no one could doubt the miraculous nature of the Qur’an or claim that he had derived it from previous scriptures or scholarly study. His Ummiyyah thus acted as a divine safeguard and a public proof of his truthfulness.
Had the Prophet ﷺ been known to read and write, the unbelievers could have alleged that he had access to previous texts or the teachings of scholars, and that he had drawn upon them to compose the Qur’an. But the Arabs of his time, his family, his tribe, and even his enemies, knew with certainty that he had never read a book or written a line in his life. When he came forth with the Qur’an, unmatched in its linguistic mastery, depth of knowledge, and perfect consistency, they were left with no explanation except divine revelation. In the authentic hadith, the Prophet ﷺ said: إنا أمة أمية، لا نكتب ولا نحسب، الشهر هكذا وهكذا “We are an unlettered nation; we do not write or calculate. The month is like this and this,” meaning sometimes twenty-nine and sometimes thirty days (al-Bukhārī and Muslim).
The term Ummi in Arabic is well-established as referring to one who neither reads nor writes. Yet, while reading and writing are the means by which human beings normally acquire knowledge, the Prophet ﷺ received perfect, comprehensive, and divinely protected knowledge directly through revelation. His intellect, understanding, and insight were not the products of study or scholarship; rather, they were divinely granted and safeguarded from error.
In other words, his Ummiya was not a shortcoming but a miracle. Through it, Allah showed that the Prophet ﷺ attained perfect understanding and the highest form of knowledge without the conventional means. He became the teacher of all teachers, the source of divine guidance for humanity, though he had never studied under any human instructor. Ibn Taymiyyah (rahimahu Allah) described this with great clarity, saying: “His lack of writing, despite achieving all the purposes and benefits of writing, was among his greatest virtues and most magnificent miracles.”
This means that although the Prophet ﷺ did not possess the ability to read or write, he attained and conveyed knowledge more perfectly than any scholar, philosopher, or writer could ever hope to do. His message transformed nations and guided humanity for all generations, a clear proof that his wisdom was not humanly acquired but divinely bestowed.
Some have raised the question of whether the Prophet ﷺ might have written his name at the Treaty of Hudaybiyyah. Reports differ: some scholars considered that if he did so, it was a momentary miracle rather than an acquired skill, while others said that he merely pointed to the place where his name was to be written. In either case, this does not alter the fact that the Prophet ﷺ was not a reader or writer by training or habit, as explicitly affirmed in the Qur’an and established by the consensus of scholars.
In Islam, sexual conduct is not merely a matter of private morality, but it is tied to theological principles, ethical commitments, and social responsibilities. At the centre of this ethical framework stands the institution of marriage, a divine covenant designed to protect individual dignity, familial integrity, and social cohesion. In this context, zina (unlawful sexual intercourse) is not simply an individual moral lapse, but a serious violation of both divine law and communal ethics. Among the most severely condemned transgressions in Islam is adultery (zina al-muhsin), which is a violation of the sacred bond of marriage as well as a challenge to the moral order established by the divine will.
The Qur’anic response to zina is unambiguous and stern. In Surah al-Nur, Allah (SWT) declares: “The woman and the man guilty of illegal sexual intercourse, flog each one of them with a hundred stripes. Let not compassion withhold you in a matter decreed by God, if you believe in God and the Last Day” (24:2).
This verse not only explains the legal punishment for fornication—100 lashes—but also the theological imperative behind it. The phrase “if you believe in God and the Last Day” connects the enforcement of this legal ruling to one’s sincerity of faith, thereby framing adherence to divine commands as a litmus test of genuine belief. The directive not to allow pity to hinder the execution of this penalty further reflects the gravity with which Islamic law approaches violations of sexual ethics.
In addition to detailing the punishment for this sin, the Qur’an seeks to proactively prevent it. Surah al-Isra’ warns: “And do not even approach unlawful sexual intercourse. Indeed, it is ever an immorality and is evil as a way” (17:32). The imperative “do not approach” (lā taqrabū) reflects a preventative moral paradigm, one that obligates believers to avoid circumstances that could facilitate unlawful sexual conduct. This may include solitary interaction with non-mahrams, immodest interaction, or media that stimulates sexual temptation. Through this, Islam constructs an ethical perimeter around sexuality, seeking not merely to curtail the sin but to eliminate the preconditions for it.
The Sunnah of the Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) reinforces the Qur’anic stance. In a well-known hadith narrated by Abdullah ibn Masʿūd, the Prophet stated: “The blood of a Muslim who testifies that there is no god but God and that I am His Messenger is not lawful to be shed except in three cases: a life for a life, a married person who commits adultery, and one who abandons his religion and separates from the community” (Reported in al-Muwatta’, al-Muntaqa, 2/656).
Here, adultery is listed among the gravest capital offenses, a judgment that has been unanimously upheld by classical jurists across the Sunni schools. It is important to note that the severity of the penalty, death by stoning for the muhsan (married offender), is accompanied by stringent evidentiary conditions. According to Islamic legal theory, conviction requires either the voluntary confession of the offender, repeated four times, or the testimony of four upright male witnesses to the act of penetration itself. These conditions underscore the tension between legal deterrence and procedural protection in Islamic criminal jurisprudence.
Beyond its legal strictures, Islam views adultery as a profound moral and social evil. The act is not simply a private sin; it carries with it disastrous consequences for families, communities, and ultimately the moral order of society. Islam’s emphasis on ḥayāʾ (modesty), ʿiffah (chastity), and ukhuwwah (social brotherhood) positions sexual integrity as foundational to the health of the ummah (Muslim community).
When zina occurs, it shatters the covenant of marriage, referred to in the Qur’an as a mīthāq ghalīẓ (solemn and weighty contract) in Surah al-Nisa’ (4:21), thus violating not only the rights of a spouse but the sanctity of a divine trust. It often brings with it the trauma of betrayal, emotional devastation, illegitimate offsprings, and the erosion of moral values. Adultery thereby represents a collective harm against the integrity of the Muslim family and the ethical coherence of society at large.
Throughout Islamic intellectual history, scholars have shown remarkable consensus in classifying zina as one of the kabā’ir (major sins). Jurists such as Imam Abu Hanifah, Imam Malik, Imam al-Shafiʿi, and Imam Ahmad ibn Hanbal developed comprehensive jurisprudential frameworks that treated adultery as both a crime against God (ḥadd) and a betrayal of communal norms. The great theologian and ethicist Imam al-Ghazali emphasized in Iḥyāʾ ʿUlūm al-Dīn, that the heart darkens with sin, and among the most corrosive sins to the heart and soul is adultery, which destroys the moral sensitivity of the believer.
Similarly, Ibn Taymiyyah and Imam al-Shatibi underscored the systemic consequences of sexual immorality. For them, zina represents a breakdown in the preservation of lineage (ḥifẓ al-nasl), one of the five higher objectives (maqāṣid al-sharīʿah) that Islamic law is intended to protect. Thus, the prohibition is intended to safeguard one of the pillars of social order.
In summary, adultery in Islam is not simply a private moral error. Rather, it is a violation of divine law, a betrayal of marital trust, and a corrosive force within the moral and social order of Islamic civilization. Both the Qur’an and Sunnah address it with exceptional clarity and seriousness, placing it among the most major sins. The legal consequences serve to punish, deter, uphold justice, and to preserve the sanctity of the family as the cornerstone of a healthy society.
In an era increasingly shaped by moral relativism and the trivialization of sexual ethics, the Islamic perspective on adultery offers a coherent and an ethically rigorous alternative. It affirms that human dignity, fidelity, and responsibility are not archaic ideals but enduring values that lie at the heart of divine guidance and human flourishing.
Question: Assalamo Alaikum, I pray Almighty to find you in good health. Of late, I was studying up. It was Al-Bayan wa-Al-Tabyeen of Al-Jahiz (775-868 A.D.). An erudite para stuck me up. I was, indeed, at a loss. I could not skip it over. However, I, with your genial and benign help, hope to explore this uphill task. Al-Jahiz writes: ’’خبَّرنی أبو الزُّبیر کاتب محمَّدِ بن حَسَّان، وحدّثنی محمد بن أبان ولا أدری کاتب مَن کان — قالا: قیل للفارسیّ: ما البلاغۃ؟ قال: معرفۃ الفَصۡل من الوصل۔ وقیل للیونانیّ:ما البلاغۃ؟ قال: تصحیح الأقسام، واختیار الکَلام۔ وقیل للرومیّ: ما البلاغۃ؟ قال: حسن الاقتضاب عن البداہۃ، والغَزارۃ یَوۡمَ الإطالۃ۔ وقیل للھندیّ: ما البلاغۃ؟ قال: وضُوح الدّلالۃ، وانتہاز الفرصۃ، وحسن الإشارۃ۔ وقال بعضُ أھل الھند: جِمَاع البلاغۃ البَصر بالحُجّۃ، والمعرفۃُ بمواضع الفرصۃ۔ ثم قال: ومن البصر بالحُجۃ، والمعرفِۃ بمواضع الفُرصۃ، أن تدَعَ الإفصاح بہا إلی الکنایۃ عنہا، إذا کان الإفصاحُ أوعَرَ طریقۃً۔ وربما کان الإضرابُ عنہا صفحاً أبلَغَ فی الدَّرَک، وأحقَّ بالظَّفَر۔ (الجاحظ: البیان والتبیین: جلد ۱، صفحہ ۸۸)
Answer: Wa ʿalaykum as-salām wa raḥmatullāh, May Allah bless you for your dedication to deep reading and reflection on al-Bayān wa al-Tabyīn, a seminal masterpiece in Arabic rhetoric and adab. The passage you have cited from al-Jāḥiẓ (vol. 1, p. 88 in many editions) is indeed one of the most profound discussions in early Arabic thought on balāghah (eloquence). Below is an annotation and commentary on the quotations you shared, unpacking their rhetorical, linguistic, and philosophical implications.
In this passage, al-Jāḥiẓ records how thinkers from different cultural traditions, Persian, Greek, Roman, and Indian, defined balāghah (eloquence). He uses their sayings to explore how diverse civilizations conceptualized the art of effective speech, persuasion, and stylistic precision. He then concludes with his own nuanced reflection on the nature of eloquence: that true rhetorical mastery sometimes lies in subtlety, indirection, and restraint rather than in explicit statement.
قول الفارسيّ: “معرفۃ الفَصْل من الوصل” “Eloquence is the knowledge of what should be separated and what should be joined.” The Persian’s definition focuses on syntactic and logical precision. In Arabic rhetoric, faṣl wa waṣl (separation and conjunction) refer to the judicious use of connectives and pauses in discourse. Knowing when to link ideas and when to let them stand apart reflects mastery of logical structure and stylistic clarity. This definition sees eloquence as discernment, the ability to balance unity and distinction within speech, ensuring that form reflects thought accurately. This resonates with Aristotelian logic and the grammatical sophistication of Persian chancery prose (inshāʾ), where rhetorical grace arises from structural harmony.
قول اليونانيّ: “تصحيح الأقسام، واختيار الكلام” “Eloquence is the correction of divisions and the choice of words.” The Greek definition emphasizes method and diction, the proper organization (taṣḥīḥ al-aqṣām) of discourse (dividing arguments coherently) and lexical selection (ikhtiyār al-kalām). This echoes Greek rhetorical theory, particularly Aristotle’s Rhetoric, where effective speech rests on logical division (diairesis) and apt word choice (lexis). The concern here is logos, clarity through structured reasoning and stylistic appropriateness.
قول الروميّ: “حسن الاقتضاب عن البداہۃ، والغزارة يوم الإطالة” “Eloquence is graceful impromptu brevity, and abundance when the occasion requires length.” The Roman’s definition joins spontaneity and abundance, two opposing but complementary rhetorical virtues. Iqtidaab ʿan al-badāhah means to speak concisely and elegantly on the spur of the moment; al-ghazārah yawma al-iṭālah means to display richness and depth when elaboration is required. This mirrors Roman oratorical ideals (e.g., Cicero, Quintilian): the eloquent speaker must be both ready in improvisation and ample in discourse. Eloquence is adaptability to context, knowing how much to say and when.
قول الهنديّ: “وضوح الدلالة، وانتهاز الفرصة، وحسن الإشارة” “Eloquence is clarity of meaning, seizing the opportunity, and elegance of gesture (or allusion).” Here, the Indian thinker defines eloquence as a union of semantic clarity, timeliness, and nonverbal grace. Wuḍūḥ al-dalālah, intelligibility; the message must be immediately comprehensible. Intihāz al-furṣah, opportuneness; rhetorical timing is crucial. Ḥusn al-ishārah, refinement of hint or gesture; eloquence extends beyond words to communicative intuition. This reflects a more psychological and pragmatic view of rhetoric, close to Indian aesthetic theories of dhvani (suggestion) and rasa (emotive flavour).
قول بعض أهل الهند: “جِماع البلاغة البصر بالحجة، والمعرفة بمواضع الفرصة” “The essence of eloquence is insight into argument and awareness of the proper moment.” This further elaboration condenses eloquence into two intellectual faculties: al-baṣr bi’l-ḥujjah, perceptiveness in argument, the capacity to discern the strength of proof. al-maʿrifah bi-mawāḍiʿ al-furṣah, knowledge of opportune occasions, or rhetorical kairos. This definition aligns with philosophical rhetoric: eloquence as wisdom in persuasion, the ability to apply reason and timing effectively, echoing Aristotle’s ethos and kairos.
تعليق الجاحظ: “ومن البصر بالحُجَّة، والمعرفة بمواضع الفرصة، أن تدع الإفصاح بها إلى الكناية عنها، إذا كان الإفصاح أوعر طريقةً. وربما كان الإضراب عنها صفحاً أبلغ في الدرك، وأحق بالظفر.” “And part of discernment in argument and awareness of the proper occasion is that you should refrain from explicit statement and instead employ allusion when directness would be rougher in manner. Indeed, sometimes turning away from the matter altogether achieves understanding more effectively and ensures greater success.” Here al-Jāḥiẓ synthesizes the foreign definitions into an Arabic aesthetic principle: Eloquence lies not merely in clarity, but in strategic concealment (kināyah) and restraint (iḍrāb ʿanhā ṣafḥan). When explicitness (ifṣāḥ) would offend taste or subtlety, indirection conveys more and persuades better. This is the ethos of classical Arabic rhetoric, where taʿrīḍ, ishārah, and kināyah are higher forms of expression than crude directness. Thus, eloquence becomes both an intellectual and moral discipline, knowing not only what to say, but what not to say, and when.
I was trained as an `alim in Nadwatul Ulama, Lucknow India. I also did a doctorate in the University of Lucknow where I recently gave a lecture on how Muslim women should go about recovering their public authority as Islamic scholars. In short, what I study is focused on the traditional Islamic sciences of tafsir (Qur’an commentary), hadith, fiqh. However, my preparation for these subjects entailed considerable exposure to Arabic and Urdu literature, philosophy and history, and scholarly critique in these disciplines. It has helped me greatly that I did so because it improved my ability to think and write in Arabic and Urdu. Regrettably, I could not benefit from the same preparation when it comes to thinking and writing in English.
Literary criticism and history have been particularly helpful to me because these disciplines taught me to be attentive to the detail of diction and structure, and to the importance of historical context, in the classical works that I studied. I have written extensively on fiqh, usul al-fiqh, tafsir, Arabic grammar, rhetoric (balaghah), logic, and hadith. It is not practical to describe how I study and learn in all these subjects. I think it can be useful for me to set out how I am working on the largest of my current “work in progress”. This is an analysis of the method of Imam Muslim in his selection and arrangement of Prophetic hadiths in his famous Sahih. Necessarily, such analysis entails comparison with the method of Imam Bukhari. The work involves the closest attention to the wording not only of the hadiths themselves, but of the scholarly apparatus around the text, and, very particularly what is left out of the apparatus, what is suggested in the apparatus in respect of Imam Muslim’s assessment of the value of the text and the narrator.
In order to begin to do this kind of work, the student must have a clear understanding of the historical context. In this case, we need to know what Imam Muslim was trying to do, why he was trying to do it, who he was addressing, and then how his work was received by his contemporaries and subsequent generations. It is not enough simply to pick up an edition of his Sahih and read it as if it was clear what the book meant to achieve. We have to distinguish later editions from the original: for example, the original did not have the chapter divisions and headings found in the most well-known edition by Imam al-Nawawi.
To understand what Imam Muslim is doing the historical context is decisively important. Hadith collections of different kind and quality were in wide circulation. Muslim felt the need for corrective scholarship to provide the Muslim community with a secure corpus of texts reporting the hikmah of the Prophet. To supply that need he developed a particular and consistent methodology to determine the degree of reliability or non-reliability of the hadith texts and their narrators. At the same time Imam Bukhari developed a somewhat different but also consistent methodology for the same purpose.
So, when I read the Sahih of Muslim, I look for 1- the hadiths available to Muslim which he did not present and 2- the reasons for which he omitted them; then I look for variation in his choice of hadiths and narrators from the choice of Imam Bukhari. Thereafter, I look into the details of each text and each isnad and try to work out Imam Muslim’s rationale for the order in which he presents them and the value he puts on them. In all this process there is need for very meticulous attention to the words used, for example when different terms are used for “narrated”. Eventually, after a lot of patient study, it is possible for me to understand and explain the differences in method between the two Sahihs. From study of these differences I am able better to appreciate the scholarly professionalism of these great hadith experts and the religious seriousness of the purpose of their professionalism: they were concerned with accuracy because the soundness of Islamic law and the rightness of Islamic practice depended upon it.
It is much easier to sustain disciplined habits of reading and scholarly integrity when writing if we can keep in mind the high purpose of effort in Islamic studies. The effort affects not only the conduct of the individual and the consequence in the hereafter, it also affects the conduct of the community and the consequences for it.
There is no reliable information about Dajjal that is sufficient responsibly to change your behavior or your policies. What, then, is the point of the Prophet’s giving any information, however limited, about Dajjal? The answer must begin by reflecting on what need people have to know something about such matters.Click Here To Follow Our WhatsApp Channel
Essentially human life should be oriented to the judgement of God hereafter. The whole value of human life is not ascertainable from within that life: the reason is that the conditions antecedent to that life are not within the grasp of the creature (ghayb), and all the good and harm consequent to that life are not in the grasp of that creature (mostly ghayb). Human beings naturally have an instinct for self-importance so that the end of their life must in some way, in some sense, be comparable or be parallel to the life of the whole.
In other words, attention to one’s own judgement hereafter can be distracted into concern and anxiety about the last day of the whole world. Accordingly, instead of worrying about the quality of their intentions and actions as will be made manifest (zahir) to them hereafter, people worry about the end for everyone. That is the main outcome of efforts to know something about the end time: you neglect your own end and what you can do presently to prepare for that end. Suppose that the Israelis decide to destroy the Haram and al-Aqsa mosque in Jerusalem in order to build their own temple.
An irresponsible speaker may interpret such an event as “a sign” of the end times; to support this interpretation he or she will have to reinterpret many other, preceding events and imagine many consequent events in order to fit with the idea that this is the end times. All this effort distracts people from their responsibility to respond in the right way to the Israeli decision. Instead they feel everything is coming to an end, everything is in God’s hand, there is nothing for us to do except affirm our iman and pray a lot. That is what I mean by the distracting function of all discussions of this nature.
Let us consider what happens after you have spent an hour or two listening to a learned person discoursing about the various sound and unsound hadiths about the Dajjal? Do you think differently about yourself? Do any of your intentions change? Do any of your actions change, whether related to worship or to business in the world? The answer is no.
Why then should anyone bother to prepare a discourse on this subject? The answer is that a great deal of misinformation and misguidance is circulated about Dajjal and to large numbers of people, and these people then project this misinformation and misguidance onto present situations in order to discern “signs of the coming of Dajjal”. In consequence not only are these people distracted from their responsibilities as practicing Muslims, they become partisans of one body of misinformation and consider themselves superior in understanding and better prepared than the partisans of another body of misinformation. In reality both are equally misguided and misguiding. Worse, they will interpret normal events and conditions (good or bad) in a symbolic way and consequently hopelessly misjudge the proper response to those events and conditions.
So, the responsible way, in my opinion, to discuss such matters is: (a) to distinguish clearly between the reliable and unreliable sources of information; (b) to state as clearly as possible the attitudes and actions in response to that information which are commended or commanded by God’s Messenger; and (c) to make clear to people how to manage this information in their everyday worship, supplication, and action.
Surah An-Naziat: In the opening line, the words are related to the verb naza,meaning to drag away or strip out forcibly. Other common words in Arabic derived from the same root include meanings like struggle, death struggle, the agony of death. Connected here with garqa, destruction and drowning, wa-n-naziati garqa brings to mind an irresistible power carrying life to its end. But that is not explicit. The next line wa-n-nashitati nashta brings to mind a rushing release of energy, of unstoppable momentum. The third verse wa-s-sabihati sabha evokes the ordered serenity of the heavens – the celestial bodies are at rest in obedience to the Creator’s will, and so they float unresisting in their vast and complex orbits, supported and carried by the command of God. This evocation of the sheer immensity and infinitude of the power at God’s command is explanatory of the fourth and fifth verse, fa-sabiqati sabqa fa-mudabbirati amra: and so the out-strippers outstrip and they compel the affair to what God has ordained for it. The scale here is not of the particular but of the whole – all life, all existence, is being rushed forward to the conclusion ordained for it. It cannot be deflected or delayed. Human beings have no more power over the matter than they have over the orbits of sun and moon – rather, all our existence is subject to the complex harmonies of those orbits.
Human beings are deluded by their freedom of will, the freedom to obey or disobey. That freedom is true and real. The delusion is that, precisely because freedom of will is true and real, human beings come to think too highly of their own agency. So someone will plant a seed in the ground and say “Look, I grew this.” But the entire ordered universe, and all the conditions and rules governing its existence and operation, must pre-exist that human effort of planting a seed before the human action can bear any fruit. The plant’s debt to the human effort is negligible, as compared to its debt to the Creator of everything. But humans forget; they even forget that they did not create themselves. Some become proud of their agency and say “Look, what I have achieved! look at my fine deeds! look, how great a force for good in the world I am.” Yet, the reality is that even if the deeds are good, their full outcome will not be good. To be among those who have no cause to fear or to grieve, a person’s good deeds must come out of and be combined with belief in God and the Last Day. In other words, human beings cannot be saved by their good deeds alone, but they can, if God wills, be saved by their realization of their indebtedness to God (so that they are humble and thankful) and by their realization of their accountability before God (so that they are fearful and strive to avoid disobedience and the sins that flow from it). If you have any doubt that mere human power intending good but not surrendering to the guidance of God, can realize good in the world, then reflect on what Western powers have achieved. Reflect on whether even the promise of leisure and autonomy (which, sadly, is what people mean nowadays by “the good life”) has been achieved. Reflect on the state of the earth and its resources. In spite of their colossal excesses of wealth, their intellectual, military and technological superiority, the Western states have not been able to secure even an easy material life for their own citizens, let alone for others outside their borders – and, for most people, there is no question of greater ease of heart and mind, or reliable improvements in fairness and justice. Rather, we see increasing stress and frustrated rage, distrust, antagonism, together with a savage self-centredness expressed in extreme concentrations of wealth and power on one side, poverty and helplessness on the other. Instead of being free, people are slaves to the tyranny of a political-economic model that is destroying the resources of the whole world, and people have no resources of will with which even to slow down, let alone stop, that destruction.
It is easy to recognize the pharaonic cast of mind in great tyrants or tyrannical systems, and the cruelty of the states and nations governed by them. But Pharaoh is, as this surah affirms, only an example, a teaching device. We are meant to learn about, and look for, that disposition in ourselves, in how we value ourselves, in how we relate to our neighbours, to our human and natural environment. A poor individual who has no power in the world may think himself safe from the disposition of Pharaoh, and say: “I am too weak and too poor to be in any danger of that.” In fact, weakness and poverty are not shields against the pharaonic disposition. The root of that disposition lies not in the abuse of power but in the failure to appreciate that whatever power we may have, great or small, it is a gift and favour from the Creator. The pharaonic attitude is to be convinced that whatever you have, you deserve better and more – the attitude is essentially thankless, therefore incapable of being content. In a weak, poor person such thanklessness may be hidden, covered up by a sullen, unspoken resentment. In the rich it is plainly visible and viciously ugly – that is why we find that already hugely wealthy individuals and nations cannot stop themselves from wanting even more. Now if a turn of events makes the poor, weak person rich and powerful, what can restrain him from the same cruel insatiability, unless it is remembrance of his indebtedness before God and his accountability to Him?
The modern world and its disposition is, fundamentally and perhaps incurably, pharaonic. So, we are told, it is “a jungle out there”; it is kill or be killed, a battle for survival that only the fittest win. So, we are told, it is the impersonal force of competition that regulates the affair, not God. This is a lie. If there is any jungle left in this world, we do not see in it any “law of the jungle” in the sense of a restless, relentless, destructive competition with a few winners taking all. On the contrary, what we see, in reality, is a beneficent co-existence of innumerable and diverse species of animate and inanimate creatures. If all these creatures were conscious, we would be right to describe their behaviours as disciplined by mutual and reciprocated restraint and respect. It is, overall, a balanced system that favours life and its diversity. The “law of the jungle”, if there is such a thing, is not cut-throat competition, it is co-existence and co-operation; not a malevolent greed for hegemonic dominance, but a constraining of needs and appetites so that there is both living and letting live. The pharaonic individual looks at the world and sees scarcity of resources and a struggle for each to grab as much as he can at the expense of others; the believer, if he is a believer, should know better than this. In reality there is a super-abundance of resources in the world; there is scarcity only in the will to share and distribute them with fairness and justice.
That is why in this surah the obvious question is asked. It is obvious, but it needs asking because we are forgetful: Is the creation of man greater or the creation of the heavens and earth that comprise man’s liveable environment? If the answer is obvious, and it surely is obvious, then why is it that humans strut about like petty pharaohs, proclaiming their autonomy and mastery, the sufficiency of their powers of cunning and contrivance, as if there were no boundary to their mastery of themselves or to their capacity to manipulate nature and control events?
Self-evidently, there are boundaries. When shall we admit it? On the Day when the first trumpet sounds out, and the second follows it. On that Day hearts beat in agony and eyes are cast down. No strutting about then, for sure. But here and now, there is need for an effort to remember indebtedness and accountability. Many are not at all ready for that, not at all disposed to the necessary humility and fear before God. Human beings can make alterations in what has been given them; also, they can destroy, but they cannot create, life. So it is that they, forgetting that their lives were given them, cannot believe that after death there is another life. It makes no sense to them; it cannot make sense without the effort of belief in God and the Last Day. It is for that effort that God gave human beings freedom of will. But do we use it for that purpose? Surely it will take but a single shout and they will be awake. Awake to the reality that was always obvious, but too late then.
The opening verses of this surah are often read as referring to the winds. There is some sense to this interpretation. It is true that humans build windmills, and they do use the wind to drive sailing boats. Nevertheless, unlike earth, water and fire, the wind cannot be touched, cannot be grasped. We cannot get hold of it. So it serves as a figurative way to bring to mind the subtlety and immensity of God’s power, to which we are subject. The winds can be fertilizing and life-giving, and the winds can also be fiercely destructive – there are many examples in the Qur’an of both. In the poetry of many languages, the wind is associated with what cannot be controlled, with that which is truly free. So it serves as a figurative way to bring to mind that the out-strippers will out-strip us; we cannot outrun the winds, or outrun the arrow of time, or escape the inevitable ordained for each of us and the whole creation. Yet, bear in mind also the subtlety, the fineness, of wind and how that is combined with its power to bring (from our point of view) benefit or harm on individual occasions. The winds can be seen, figuratively, as forces greater than ourselves and utterly independent of us; a familiar, natural phenomenon which is, nevertheless, on the border between the visible and the invisible.
The surah recalls compactly the story of Pharaoh and God’s messenger, Musa, `alayhi s-salam. Consider the grounds for the self-confidence of Pharaoh: he picked up Musa as a helpless child, brought him up in his own household, his own world and culture. And the people of Musa were the slaves of Pharaoh, whose people felt free to kill off the Israelites’ menfolk and let live their womenfolk and use them as they pleased. Indeed, Pharaoh was great in the land; perhaps also, he did great things, like provide law and order even if through tyranny. Musa himself seems to feel some debt to him; for sure he is in fearful awe of Pharaoh, and God has to strengthen his resolve to face him. Now God is God of Pharaoh as well as God of Musa. There is only one God, and He is the most merciful of the merciful. So it is that the command to Musa is to go and present to Pharaoh the opportunity to mend his ways, to alter his perspective, to waken to reality. That opportunity is available to all human beings until they are in the jaws of death. It is a choice of relationship with God: between unbelief and thankfulness; between arrogance and humility; between proud rebellion and fearful obedience. But to benefit from that opportunity, the human being must have a will to grow in the grace and favour of God. We may not expect to do so without an effort to rid ourselves of the stains of unbelief, thanklessness, pride and arrogance, and an effort to live with an eye to the Day of accountability. That Day is rushing towards us, just as it was rushing towards Pharaoh. He was secure in his position in the world, convinced of his own cunning and power and his right to power, and he was wrong absolutely on every single count.
In the drowning of Pharaoh and his earthly power there is a lesson indeed for one who fears [God and the Last Day]. After the question I mentioned earlier, Are you harder to create or is the heaven that He built?, the surah reminds us of the scale of what we have been given: the boundless canopy of the heavens, the onward thrust of time cycling through day and night, the secure and traversable, fertile earth providing for people and their livestock. The whole of this will pass and give way to the Day when we shall take full note of all that we did and all that we intended, and having done so we shall know why we have merited the Garden or the Fire. Even our own death, let alone, the ending of the world, seems very far away to us, when we look from the here and now. But the surah states emphatically that, looking back from that Day, the whole life of the world will seem a very short span indeed, the twinkling of an eye. Many of us can confirm that: when we look back over our lives, we find ourselves saying “It seems like it was only yesterday that I started doing such-and-such, though in fact twenty years have passed since then.”
They ask you about the Hour… People do still ask this question, as if it was an event in the world, like the date of an examination or a job interview. It is not. Rather, it is the event of the ending of the world – there is no “when” about it. We know only the certainty that it will be, just as we know with certainty that we will die, but we do not know exactly when. Our not-knowing is a mercy from God, so that, being uncertain how long we have, we can more strongly taste our freedom of will and so better value our time, and make better use of it to grow in humility and fear of God.
Question: Assalamu alaykum wa rahmatullahi wa barakatuh, Shaykh. I hope you are well. Alhamdulillah, I greatly benefit from your Sunday classes. I had a quick question, if that’s okay. What is your opinion regarding men wearing gold-plated watches? Please feel free to respond whenever it’s convenient for you. Jazakallahu khayran for your continued guidance and teaching.
Answer: Salam, Wa alaykum assalam wa rahmatullahi wa barakatuh. Alhamdulillah, may Allah reward you for your kind words and your eagerness to learn.
Regarding your question about men wearing gold-plated watches: The ruling depends on the nature and amount of the gold plating. If the watch is merely coloured to resemble gold, or the plating is so thin that no actual gold can be gathered from it, even if it were to be scraped or melted, then, according to many jurists, there is no harm in wearing it. In this case, it does not come under the prohibition of gold for men, as it is not genuinely gold in substance but only resembles it in appearance.
However, if the plating consists of an actual layer of gold that could be collected if removed, then the watch would be considered to contain real gold, and in that case it would be impermissible for a man to wear it, as it falls within the general prohibition of gold for men found in authentic ahadith.
That said, even in the case where the plating is insignificant and technically permissible, it is generally preferable to avoid such items. This is because they may give the appearance of wearing gold, leading others to suspect that one is wearing genuine gold, or to imitate him in doing so. Caution and avoidance of doubtful matters is always closer to piety.
The surah ”Surat al-`Ankabut”begins with the question: |a hasiba n-nasu |an… It is not right to translate hasiba as ‘think’/‘imagine’ or ‘suppose’/‘conjecture’. The meaning here is ‘reckon’, ‘calculate’, to use reason to weigh up options in order to come to a judgment about the value of this or that option. The opening verses makes it clear that people tend towards what is a miscalculation, namely that by declaring their faith, by saying that they have believed in God and His Messenger, they have assured their salvation. They have not.
The miscalculation is to say ‘we have believed’ and to expect nothing to follow from that by way of rights and duties, by way of material and immaterial alterations in all our thoughts and intentions, and in all our actions from the smallest to the largest, from very private, individual preferences to collective powers and policies, social and economic structures of public consequence. The miscalculation is to think of faith as a proclamation, a gesture in words or in rituals or both, when it is in reality a commitment to a way of life that differs radically from the way of life of those who do not have faith in God and His Messenger.
Our thoughts, intentions and actions are judged in some respects, necessarily (because we all live on the same earth under more or less similar conditions), by the same criteria that apply to the thoughts, intentions and actions of non-believers – criteria like accuracy, efficiency, profitability, pleasure, and suchlike. But, because we claim that we have faith in God and His Messenger, we are also and always subject to another criterion, namely whether we have measured up to the standards in thought and deed that are commanded and commended by God and His Messenger. Most strikingly, believers can never be sure – in the way that it is possible to be sure in respect of the ‘secular’ criteria just mentioned – that they have pleased God. Believers can only know that they have made effort, they can never know that they have succeeded. This uncertainty, when combined with a firm faith in God’s word, in His promise to judge us by the best of what we tried to do and to forgive our failings and sins, is the foundation of humility and cautious reserve when we make judgments about others or about ourselves, when we make plans and take decisions for ourselves or for others. The certainty that God will judge us, combined with uncertainty as to what that judgment will be, is the foundation of the desire to remember God and be remembered by Him, to never abandon Him and never be abandoned by Him. It is also the foundation of tolerance and respect in all human relationships and in all transactions with the non-human world.
Those who say ‘we have believed in God and His Messenger’ are affirming that God created them and created the world, that God is good and loves the good, that He cares for His creatures and accordingly provides for them not only their sustenance, their means of survival, but also the means of their salvation, the guidance communicated by His Prophets and Messengers and the Books that they brought to mankind. But those who do not want this affirmation to be tested, who do not want the rights and duties that are concomitant with this affirmation, are in effect saying that, after the creation of themselves and of the world, they have no further need of God. It is as if they said: ‘You made the world, and each of us. Thank you very much. We will take it from here. We appreciate your gifts, now leave us be to make our own way as we see fit to do.’ The assumption behind this familiar posture is that we are, though mortal and limited in our powers, self-sufficient.
This assumption — of which we are rarely conscious and which we almost never articulate – has serious consequences for our d‚n, our way of life. It reduces ‚m~n, our faith, to something that we might write on our identity papers, as we write our family name, place of birth, gender, and the like. But God has made it clear throughout His Book, and quite explicitly in this surah, that He does not judge our faith as it is written on our identity papers, but as it is impressed and imprinted on our bodies and minds through the manifold processes of our human effort in the whole of our lifetimes, be they short or long. He has promised that He will judge us by the best of what we tried to be and do, and that He will forgive us the rest. We depend on that promise, but we cannot make that promise come true simply by declaring that we are Muslims, and showing some level of attachment to certain of the symbols of being Muslim, such as diet and costume.
The surah takes its name from the mention, in the middle of the surah, of the frailty of the spider’s web. I have explained elsewhere that the names of the surahs of the Qur’an are a convention that developed as a useful shorthand to refer to one surah rather than another. These names are not part of the Revelation and do not carry its authority – by contrast, the forms and order of words and passages within surahs and the arrangement of the surahs, do carry the authority of God because they were settled at the end of the lifetime of the Messenger of God, salla l-lahu alayhi wa-sallam, under the supervision of Jibr‚l,alayhi s-salam. So we should not suppose that the titles indicate the theme(s), or indicate a special focus or perspective on the theme(s), of the surahs to which they are attached. However, because the reference to the spider’s web occurs in the middle of the surah, separating/connecting the two main sections (vv. 1-40, vv. 42-69), this title perhaps does have a significance that is worth dwelling upon.
A spider’s web (v. 41) is indeed a frail thing, and we can easily brush it aside. But a bird’s nest, or the nests that ants build, are also easily destroyed, and these could have served the purpose if the purpose was only to indicate frailty. The spider’s construction (bayt) is not made out of bits and pieces of material it gathers from the world around it (like a bird’s nest, for example). Rather, the spider builds its ‘house’ from material spun out from within itself. There are general patterns in the webs of different species of spiders, but no two individual webs are identical, albeit similar. Each web carries the impress of the individual effort of the spider that built it and is conditioned by the specificity of its circumstances (its ‘history and geography’, we could say). Thus, the bayt of the spider offers us a likeness of the delusion of self-sufficiency which afflicts many of mankind (v. 39 mentions Korah, Pharaoh and Haman as famous examples of this delusion).
The spider is not the target of criticism. Like all non-human animate creatures, it is glorifying God in its effort of life, and this effort is its worship. It is not glorifying itself (like the humans mentioned by title or name, of whom God says: fa-’stakbaru f‚ l-|ar‡). In reality, the material substances within the spider’s body, the inherited know-how individually applied as web-building competence, the material existence of the objects from which the spider suspends the master-thread around which it hangs the other threads, are all givens, preceding the spider’s constructive effort, as are the creatures for whose entrapment the particular web is particularly scaled. That is not to mention the existence of the universe and its adherence to principles of symmetry and geometry, to the ‘laws’ that constrain the relevant physics and chemistry of wetness and dryness, of toughness and flexibility, of lightness and stickiness, etc. The spider’s effort of construction is not self-dependent at all, though it might believe so if it were possible for a non-human creature to be Pharaonic in disposition.
Great pyramids to house the self-important dead and impress the living; hierarchies of wealth and status, ponderous and cruel machinations to manipulate and control the labour of others, to concentrate wealth and power – all these are causes and effects of the delusion of self-sufficiency, of the falsehood of self-dependence, of the self-centred belief that God has so endowed mankind that certain human beings (if they have the cultural ambition) can somehow be as if gods, despite their mortality, and that God is very impressed with them for this ambition. It is hard to think of any foolishness greater than the foolishness of trying to impress God, either with one’s sin or with one’s holiness.
As God makes clear to us in this surah – and our present emergencies make clear to us in the planet-wide breakdown of systems that sustain life and what is so precious and necessary to us of variety and beauty ,and which we should wish to preserve or improve for future generations – this boastful human self-centredness is a life-destructive delusion. Any and all of our human efforts are dependent on given conditions and antecedent circumstances. We are obliged to acknowledge these givens with gratitude — the human arts and sciences that merely express ‘wonder’ do not count as gratitude. Meeting this obligation orients and scales our energies so that the harm we are capable of does not become attractive to us. If it does we come to believe the harm to be good (or necessary for a future good) and commend it to others, or even coerce others also to believe that it is good. Refusing this obligation guarantees that we are drawn to what is harmful as if it were beneficial. Consequences follow. That is the sunnah of God, and the sunnah of God cannot be altered. The affirmation and declaration of faith must be tested and proven before it can be rewarded with the approval of God. If it were otherwise, we could not appreciate (the relative) freedom of thought and action that is the expression of our particular dignity and status in the creation.
The delusion of self-dependence is persistent in human nature, and as believers we have a particular duty to be vigilant against it and to alert others to it by speech and example. Pharaoh and Korah and Haman were arrogant about their know-how (in respect of ordering a state and material resources, building complex structures, making money, manipulating the minds of others) and this arrogance made their ignorance and error incurable. God says: ‘So we took each one in his sin (dhanb): and of them was he over whom We sent a hurricane; and of them was he that was overwhelmed by the Shout; and of them was he whom We made the earth to swallow; and of them was he whom We drowned. It was not for God to wrong them, but they did wrong themselves.’
The religion of Islam is not merely a set of rituals but a comprehensive way of life that prepares the believer for the Last Day. It calls upon individuals to see themselves as answerable for how they have lived, including how they conceive of God and how they conduct themselves in the world. In Islamic practice, prayer exemplifies this unity of the inner and outer life: Muslims are not encouraged to close their eyes in prayer but to keep them open, and they pray throughout the day, even in public spaces if necessary. Thus, the inner life is never separated from the outer; rather, the outer must reflect the truth of the inner. This principle demands that in every aspect of practical life—speech, conduct, and action—the believer must be deliberate, responsible, and mindful of divine accountability.
Allah, in His mercy, has made this responsibility not a burden but a harmony of duty and joy. Actions may be both enjoyable and responsible: food, for instance, serves the dual purpose of nutrition and pleasure. Likewise, the enjoyment of sexual intimacy carries with it the responsibility of marriage, which forms the foundation of family life. The family, in turn, links past and future generations and serves as a testing ground for the believer’s commitment to model a righteous life for others, ensuring that they too may stand safely answerable on the Day of Judgement. To abandon oneself heedlessly, as though Allah does not see both the inner and outer being, as though His will applies only in heaven and not on earth, is to join the ranks of the musrifīn—those who transgress and are condemned.
The modern world is undergoing profound transformations that have shaken the very core of human relationships, particularly within the institution of the family. Rapid technological progress, shifting gender roles, and evolving moral landscapes have introduced unprecedented challenges, leading to fragmentation and redefinition of this foundational social unit. The family is, in its essence, a shield of protection—a fortress in which each member supports the other. It embodies close kinship, mutual responsibility, affection, and a shared destiny. It is a living system of connected emotions and cooperative actions, where harmony nurtures human flourishing. When these bonds remain intact, the family serves as the nucleus of social stability; when they weaken, the fractures extend far beyond the household, disturbing the broader social fabric.
Familial disintegration is not merely a private misfortune; it is a profound societal ill. It often arises when parents fail—either together or individually—to fulfil their natural roles. This failure weakens intergenerational bonds, fosters emotional estrangement, and can ultimately lead to the collapse of familial unity. Such ruptures dismantle the structure upon which future generations depend.
A central driver of familial breakdown in the modern era has been the deliberate separation of sexual relations from procreation and responsibility. The widespread availability of contraceptives, the normalisation of abortion, and the cultural detachment of intimacy from its natural purpose—namely, the creation and nurturing of life—have undermined the very meaning of family. The relationship between man and woman, originally intended as a partnership in nurturing future generations, has been stripped of its sacred purpose and reduced to an arena of individual gratification. This distortion has been further fuelled by ideologies that portray such separation as a form of liberation, particularly for women. Yet rather than elevating their dignity, it has often commodified them, reducing their worth to physical allure and neglecting their profound role as mothers, nurturers, and moral anchors for generations to come. Women have been drawn, often forcefully, into a worldview that equates independence with detachment from familial bonds—a perception that has caused harm, hardship, and, in many cases, exploitation.
Since the mid-twentieth century, concentrated efforts have sought to encourage women to abandon their domestic roles in pursuit of economic independence. While their integration into the workforce has brought material benefits, it has also contributed to the diminishing value of motherhood and caregiving. Childbearing is increasingly perceived as a burden—resented, postponed, or even stigmatised. Many women who prioritise their families face social pressure to conform to prevailing economic and cultural expectations. This shift has disrupted the natural rhythm of family life. Children, during their formative years, are frequently placed in external care, deprived of the love and attention essential for their healthy development. The result is a generation raised amidst digital distractions and detached from parental guidance. As both parents work, their time and emotional investment in their children often diminishes, with games, electronic entertainment, and artificial diversions replacing meaningful engagement. This neglect fosters alienation, emotional emptiness, and behavioural instability among children, weakening their sense of belonging and eroding their willingness to share in family responsibilities and joys.
The effects of this neglect are profound and far-reaching. Children deprived of secure attachment often struggle with low self-esteem, heightened anxiety, poor concentration, and unstable emotions. Instead of developing strong moral character, they cultivate inner turmoil, excessive sensitivity, and social withdrawal. Some harbour resentment, envy, and an enduring sense of inadequacy, which, carried into adulthood, manifest as anger, alienation, and fractured relationships. Collectively, these struggles contribute to broader societal issues, including violence, mistrust, and the erosion of social cohesion.
The disarray afflicting the modern family is not solely social; it is deeply moral and spiritual. Modern civilisation, in many respects, has attempted to wage war against human nature and the divine wisdom that governs it. The Qur’ānic reminder:
“كلا إن الإنسان ليطغى، أن رآه استغنى، إن إلى ربك الرجعى”
“No! Indeed, man transgresses when he sees himself self-sufficient. Indeed, to your Lord is the return.”
offers a profound reflection on this predicament: human beings, deluded by a false sense of independence, overstep the natural bounds set by their Creator, only to find themselves in deeper turmoil.
Faith emerges as both diagnosis and remedy for this crisis. It restores the proper hierarchy of values, reminding men and women alike that their union is not a contest for dominance but a covenant of shared responsibility. It reaffirms the dignity of motherhood and fatherhood—not as relics of a bygone era but as vital callings essential for the survival and prosperity of civilisation. Through faith, the meaning of family is preserved, and the path towards a stable future is illuminated.
To navigate the chaos of the modern age with purpose, three principles are essential. First, sexuality must be reoriented towards its natural, life-giving function. This does not demand the denial of pleasure but its alignment with its ultimate purpose: the continuity and nurture of life. Second, societies must reassess policies and cultural trends that undermine the household. Economic structures should support—rather than penalise—families where one parent, often the mother, chooses to devote herself to caregiving. Third, spiritual and moral education must be revived to counter the corrosive ideologies of hyper-individualism and consumerism, which reduce relationships to transactions and children to afterthoughts.
Faith, family, and the future are inseparable threads in the fabric of civilisation. When faith is marginalised, the family weakens; when the family weakens, the future becomes fragile and uncertain. To secure a future that is harmonious, resilient, and imbued with enduring love, humanity must return to its natural principles—not in blind nostalgia, but in wise restoration. The family is not a relic of the past; it is the womb of the future. Only by honouring its sacred purpose can we build a civilisation worthy of its name.
