Reclaiming Conviction:

A Call for Muslims to Rethink Modern Convenience

By Farhad Omar

When the Qur’anic verse from Surah Al-Mā’idah (5:3) was revealed to Prophet Muhammad صلى الله عليه وسلم on the plains of Arafah, it wasn’t merely the closing of a chapter. It was the divine declaration of completion: “This day I have perfected for you your religion, completed My favour upon you, and approved for you Islam as your religion.”

The weight of that proclamation reverberated through time. It meant that the guidance sent from the Creator of the heavens and the earth was now final. It meant the Ummah had been entrusted with a complete, sufficient, and dignified way of life. Yet, over the last few centuries, particularly post-colonial and post-industrial revolution, the Muslim world has seen a quiet substitution: conviction traded for convenience, and revelation replaced by imitation.

The Quiet Drift

One need not look far to observe how Muslims have, often unknowingly, detached themselves from the foundational worldview of Islam. This drift did not emerge organically. It was often the outcome of colonial conquest and hegemonic imposition, where foreign powers systematically replaced indigenous Islamic systems with secular Western alternatives. Colonisation wasn’t merely a matter of land and governance, it was the enforcement of a worldview alien to the Islamic fitrah. Legal codes, educational curricula, financial systems, and even notions of time were all recalibrated to reflect the coloniser’s image of modernity. This restructuring rendered sacred Islamic concepts peripheral, and often, obsolete in the public psyche. Modernity did not arrive empty-handed; it came bearing systems, frameworks, and temporal comforts that restructured not only how we live, but how we think.

We adopted Gregorian calendars and filed away the Hijri calendar to the margins of our consciousness, saved only for ritual observances like Ramadan and Hajj. The lunar Hijri system, rooted in the Prophetic migration and imbued with spiritual significance, has been replaced by a solar system that reflects imperial history, not sacred time. In doing so, we have not only changed the way we measure days and months, but have also severed our spiritual relationship with time as a creation of Allah. The Qur’an reminds us that Allah is the Creator of day and night, and that time is a divine trust: a field for sowing the seeds of our actions and a canvas upon which our accountability is recorded (Surah Al-Asr; Surah Yunus:5). By dissociating from this rhythm and adopting temporal systems divorced from revelation, we drift further from the sacred consciousness that every moment is an opportunity to remember Allah and realign our intentions. As Dr. Umar Faruq Abd-Allah writes, "the Hijri calendar was an embodiment of an Islamic worldview; sidelining it is symbolic of broader marginalisations of Islamic time and consciousness" (Abd-Allah, 2006).

In economics, we embraced interest-based systems under the illusion of necessity and pragmatism. Despite Allah declaring war on riba (interest) in unequivocal terms (Surah Al-Baqarah: 278-279), the Muslim world continues to operate within banking infrastructures that replicate Western capitalism rather than challenge it. The transition was neither neutral nor benign; it was part of the colonial agenda that supplanted Shari'ah-compliant economic systems with secular, exploitative financial models. The Ottoman Empire's fall and subsequent imposition of colonial governance in Muslim-majority regions dismantled centuries of Islamic economic thought and practice. In its place, interest-bearing loans and debt-driven development were promoted as prerequisites for 'progress.'

Classical scholars such as Imam Abu Hamid Al-Ghazali warned against this moral erosion, asserting that the unchecked pursuit of wealth leads to the corrosion of the soul and the breakdown of societal balance (Ihya Ulum al-Din, Vol. 2). More recently, Dr. Muhammad Nejatullah Siddiqi and Dr. Umer Chapra have reinforced the view that Islamic economics is rooted in justice, mutual cooperation, and the elimination of exploitation. As Chapra argues, economic justice in Islam aims not only for material distribution but also for spiritual elevation (Chapra, 2000).

Today, we justify participation in interest-bearing contracts as "part of the system," rationalising that survival in a global capitalist market requires compromise. Yet this compromise chips away at the foundation of tawakkul (reliance on Allah) and ethical consistency. It diminishes our capacity to imagine viable, values-based alternatives such as Islamic cooperative finance, zakat-funded development, or models like mudarabah and musharakah that distribute risk and promote shared benefit.

As Dr. Siddiqi noted, "An Islamic economy must strive not only to be efficient but to be morally sound. When morality is absent, economics becomes a tool of dominance, not a framework for human flourishing" (Siddiqi, 1981).

In education, Islamic principles of adab (etiquette), hikmah (wisdom), and the pursuit of knowledge for the sake of Allah have been overshadowed by a framework of credentialism, standardisation, and GDP-driven outcomes. The shift did not happen in a vacuum, it was shaped by modern nation-state imperatives that recast education as a pipeline for economic productivity rather than spiritual growth. Education policy in much of the post-colonial Muslim world was engineered to serve economic agendas, prioritising technical skills and workforce readiness over moral character and the cultivation of the intellect and soul.

Where once scholars were revered for their taqwa and depth of understanding across disciplines, ranging from theology to cosmology, today, educational prestige is measured by institutional rankings, degrees, and job placement metrics. Ibn Jama’ah, in his treatise Tadhkirat al-Sami’ wal-Mutakallim, emphasized that learning is an act of worship and that the purpose of knowledge is to draw closer to the Creator. This sacred objective has been diluted by systems that treat education as an economic instrument, not a means of personal and communal transformation.

Sheikh Hamza Yusuf has rightly observed, "We've taken education, which was once a sacred trust and a spiritual journey, and turned it into job training." Echoing this, Professor Seyyed Hossein Nasr warns of a contemporary epistemic crisis: "We have reduced knowledge to information and wisdom to functionality. The soul of education has been lost in a sea of utility." When we pursue knowledge solely to fulfil market needs, we risk producing generations that are technically competent yet spiritually void. Islamic education, rooted in purpose, humility, and responsibility, must be revived if we hope to restore not just minds, but hearts.

Social hierarchies too have mutated. In traditional Islamic societies, honour was conferred upon those closest to Allah, those known for their humility, knowledge, service to others, and proximity to the Qur'an and Sunnah, not those with wealth, beauty, or social standing. However, in many parts of the Muslim world today, material indicators of success have become the new qiblah. Fame, designer brands, luxury cars, and the number of social media followers are now seen as measures of worth. This shift represents a deeper crisis of values, where spiritual excellence has been eclipsed by worldly appearances.

The prophetic criterion of value, “The most honoured among you in the sight of Allah is the one most God-conscious” (Qur’an Surah Al-Hujarat:13), is often sidelined in favour of metrics driven by ego and consumerism. Consider how Islamic celebrations are increasingly characterised by extravagance, competitive gifting, and curated imagery for online approval, rather than sincerity and remembrance of Allah. Or how prominent public figures, including some within Muslim communities, are elevated despite openly neglecting religious principles, simply because of their wealth or influence.

Modern examples abound: students prioritising degrees and careers not based on beneficial knowledge, but on income potential; professionals delaying or abandoning family, worship, and community for corporate success; influencers marketing lifestyles that glorify dunya at the expense of akhirah. As Imam Ibn al-Qayyim noted, "The love of this world is the root of every sin."

This is not a rejection of wealth or recognition. Islam encourages ihsan in all we do, but only when anchored in taqwa. The real danger lies in allowing material achievement to define our identity and displace our ultimate purpose: to worship Allah and seek His pleasure above all else.

The Myth of Modern Neutrality

The tragedy is not just in the drift but in the deception. Modern systems present themselves as neutral, objective, and universally applicable, but they are anything but. Every institutional model, whether in finance, education, or civic governance, carries with it a philosophical foundation and an implicit moral framework. These systems are not value-free; they are deeply entrenched in a worldview shaped by Western secular humanism, post-Enlightenment rationalism, and capitalist utilitarianism.

The Gregorian calendar, for instance, is not simply a chronological tool; it is anchored in the Christian theological timeline, specifically the birth of Jesus Christ as reinterpreted by post-Roman Catholic Europe. By supplanting the Hijri calendar, Muslims gradually shifted their temporal consciousness from sacred events, like the Hijrah of the Prophet ﷺ and the Islamic months designed around acts of worship, to secular, imperial milestones. This reorientation erodes a fundamental component of the Islamic worldview: time as divine trust and a means of nearness to Allah.

Similarly, the global financial system rooted in compound interest and perpetual debt stems from Enlightenment-era economic thought. Philosophers like Adam Smith and Jeremy Bentham elevated market efficiency above moral restraint. Profit maximisation became a sacred principle, and ethical considerations were reduced to secondary or optional features. In contrast, Islam’s prohibition of riba and emphasis on risk-sharing contracts such as mudarabah and musharakah reflect an entirely different metaphysical view, one that prioritises justice, human dignity, and divine accountability.

Western education systems, too, promote a materialist epistemology. From John Dewey’s pragmatism to B.F. Skinner’s behaviourism, knowledge is measured by utility, not truth; success by outcomes, not virtues. This educational philosophy sidelines spiritual formation, viewing religion as either a private sentiment or an outdated relic. The Quranic model, by contrast, sees knowledge (‘ilm) as a sacred trust and a path to taqwa, not merely a means to economic mobility.

By adopting these structures wholesale, without critique or recalibration, we are not simply borrowing tools, we are internalising paradigms. We unconsciously begin to view our own Islamic tradition as outdated, in need of reform or rationalisation to fit into dominant frameworks. This cognitive dissonance fosters an inferiority complex that leads to apologetics, fragmentation, and a dilution of religious identity.

But Surah Al-Mā’idah verse 3 is a gentle yet firm reminder: Islam doesn’t require correction, our orientation does. The Qur'an provides a complete and timeless framework that speaks to the soul and intellect across all ages. It calls on us not to mimic dominant paradigms, but to offer a principled alternative rooted in divine wisdom. As Sayyid Qutb eloquently put it, “Islam is not a mere set of beliefs or rituals, it is a comprehensive system for the life of man, stemming from the sovereignty of Allah” (Fi Zilal al-Qur’an, 1963).

What the Prophet Left Behind

In his Farewell Sermon, the Prophet Muhammad صلى الله عليه وسلم declared:

“I have left among you two things; you will never go astray as long as you hold fast to them: the Book of Allah and my Sunnah.” (Malik, Muwatta’, Book 46, Hadith 3)

This wasn’t just a message to the crowd before him. It was a final transmission of trust and responsibility, an intergenerational handover of Islam’s two eternal reference points: the Qur'an and the Sunnah. It served not only as a safeguard against misguidance but also as an ideological anchor in an ever-changing world. The Prophet ﷺ foresaw that future generations would encounter distractions, pressures, innovations, and ideological seductions, and he offered the clearest possible compass: hold fast to revelation and to his living example.

The Prophet ﷺ did not establish institutions of wealth or power. He built human beings. He cultivated their hearts, refined their ethics, and ignited in them the flame of taqwa. His Sunnah was never meant to be a mere list of rituals, it was and remains a multidimensional code of life. As Imam al-Nawawi notes, "The Sunnah is the commentary of the Qur’an. In it is explanation, implementation, and lived practice of divine commands" (Sharh Sahih Muslim, Introduction).

Whether in economic justice, ethical leadership, or spiritual discipline, the Prophet’s life exemplified a complete system of guidance. His way offered equity without excess, humility without humiliation, strength without arrogance. He prayed with humility, governed with mercy, fought with restraint, and forgave with grace. His household embodied simplicity and gratitude, his marketplace dealings reflected fairness, and his foreign policy was grounded in dignity.

As Shaykh Abdal Hakim Murad has observed, "The Prophet’s Sunnah provides a civilisation-forming model, it is not just for the mosque, but for the street, the home, the market, and the courtroom" (Murad, Travelling Home, 2020).

To return to the Sunnah is not a nostalgic yearning for a lost past; it is a necessary act of spiritual reorientation. It is to reject the false binaries between tradition and relevance, between modernity and morality. The Prophet’s ﷺ model remains timeless because it is rooted in divine wisdom and human mercy. The further we drift from it, the more fragmented our ummah becomes; the closer we return to it, the more we realign with our Creator’s design.

What Can Be Reclaimed

This does not mean discarding modern advancements or romanticising the past. Islam is a religion of wasatiyyah (balance), and balance requires discernment. The Qur'an commands, "Thus We have made you a justly balanced nation" (Surah Al-Baqarah: 2:143). What must be reclaimed, therefore, is not the use of modern tools per se, but the terms of engagement, so that our adoption of technology, finance, time management, and education is always aligned with the values of tawheed, taqwa, and akhirah-consciousness.

· Reclaim sacred time: Begin by reintroducing the Hijri calendar into our daily lives, not as a formality but as a mindset. Use it in homes, mosques, schools, and public discourse. Marking significant Islamic dates such as Ashura, the Hijrah, and the Day of Arafah helps restore a rhythm of time that is in sync with Allah’s commands. Dr. Umar Faruq Abd-Allah notes that disconnecting from the Hijri calendar is akin to “removing ourselves from the flow of sacred history,” thus losing our spiritual sense of orientation (Abd-Allah, 2006).

· Reclaim ethical finance: Support or build alternatives to interest-based banking that perpetuate debt and exploitation. Instead, revive instruments such as waqf (endowments), zakat (obligatory charity), qard al-hasan (benevolent loans), mudarabah (profit-sharing), and musharakah (joint ventures). Islamic economist Dr. Umer Chapra argues that justice is the defining spirit of Islamic finance, and must be restored to the heart of our systems (Chapra, 2000). Examples like the Akhuwat Foundation in Pakistan and modern Islamic cooperatives in Indonesia show that ethical, Shariah-compliant financial models can be scaled and impactful.

· Reclaim meaningful education: Revive systems that honour adab, cultivate hikmah, and reconnect learners to the purpose of knowledge, not just its utility. Historically, institutions like Al-Qarawiyyin, Al-Azhar, and the Nizamiyyah madrasahs produced scholars who were as well-versed in theology as they were in medicine, astronomy, and philosophy. Today, we must push beyond test scores and technical skills to nurture the soul alongside the intellect. As Ibn Qayyim al-Jawziyya said, "The purpose of knowledge is action. If knowledge doesn’t lead to action, it is a proof against you, not for you" (Miftah Dar al-Sa’adah).

· Reclaim our definitions of success: In a digital era dominated by metrics of likes, shares, and net worth, we must re-anchor our sense of worth in akhlaq (character), sabr (patience), and ikhlas (sincerity). Honour those who embody prophetic character, those who quietly uphold justice, humility, and mercy, rather than those who chase algorithm-driven fame. Imam Al-Shafi'i once stated, "Whoever seeks knowledge to act upon it, his knowledge will benefit him. But whoever seeks knowledge merely to be known, it will increase him in pride" (Diwan al-Shafi’i). This principle applies not only to scholars but to leaders, entrepreneurs, and content creators alike.

A Global Call to the Ummah

The global Ummah, with its rich diversity and access to tradition, is at a crossroads. We can either continue on the trajectory of secular modernity into post-religious confusion, or we can chart a new path rooted in our spiritual DNA and prophetic inheritance. The intellectual and spiritual tools exist within our tradition, centuries of scholarship, ethics, governance models, and community structures that reflect divine wisdom. What is needed now is the will to act, the courage to question our adopted norms, and the humility to return to the Qur'an and Sunnah not as artefacts of the past, but as blueprints for the future.

Our future as a dignified Ummah depends not on assimilation into global consumer culture, nor on blind resistance to change, but on a deliberate rediscovery of our authentic principles. If Islam has been perfected, then our task is to perfect our submission, to embody the Qur’an in action, and to build institutions, economies, and societies that reflect its values.

This is a call to scholars and students, parents and policymakers, artists and activists: review your goals. Ask whether your pursuits reflect the pursuit of Allah’s pleasure or the approval of man. Reassess your ambitions, are they rooted in service to the Ummah, or in a race for personal gain? And most of all, revive within yourselves and your communities the desire to build an Islamic civilisation that is intellectually vibrant, spiritually conscious, socially just, and globally relevant.

Let the verse from Surah Al-Mā’idah echo once again in our hearts, not as history, but as a living mandate: a call to reawaken what was completed. Let us walk forward with one eye on the present, and the other firmly anchored in prophetic light.

Because the greatest betrayal of a perfected religion is not to deny it, but to live as if it is insufficient.

Farhad Omar is a writer, educator, and content creator at Farhad Omar Studios. He explores the intersections of faith, modernity, and society through reflections, podcasts, and op-eds.

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