(Un)learning to change my condition
It was the first day of starting my undergraduate degree at university. I was very anxious. I never really did well in orientation programmes. For the most part, I struggled with making friends in a room and/or hall packed with students as far as I could remember. It was not even that long ago when I was so crippled with social anxiety as a young kid in primary school. I was shy to speak for a good deal of my life and tended to fear rejection from peers because... believe it or not, I was actually that weird kid. Consequently, reading books became the perfect crutch to make me feel comforted in a room when I felt alone and unwanted.
That is how I remembered feeling on this first day at university too. Except for this time, this would be the book that changed my world - From The Ruins of Empire: The Intellectuals Who Remade Asia (2012) by Pankaj Mishra. At this point in my life, I was merely at the beginning of realising my aspirations to be a historian. Somehow it would be fate the book landed in my hands as a gift.
From The Ruins of Empire was one of those history books that were page-turners for anyone and everyone who enjoyed lyrical nonfiction from start to end. Although its main premise was to showcase the rise of original thinkers in Asia in the advent of Western imperialism, I believed that it was also meant to show how different parts of Asia were being led by intellectuals who were committed to the spiritual elements of a political revolution.
Illustration by Joanna Neborsky for Hari Kunzru’s review for The New York Times.
Now, I know that the cynicism of today would caution me to not romanticise historical moments where political thought leaders instrumentalised religion to spread their ideas. But there was simply something so powerful about the narratives that the author had weaved together, made even more clear by dedicating each chapter to one thinker.
At the dusk of orientation day, I had just started reading the chapter on Jamal al-Din al-Afghani in the decline of the Ottoman Empire. In a way, Mishra wrote a new biography of this notable Muslim thinker that highlighted his enigmatic origin story. Today, Jamal al-Din al-Afghani is remembered as someone who formed the bedrock of a brand of political Islam that reverberated all across the world. Hari Kunzru described him as an “early apostle of pan-Islamism”, besides describing his hopes to “restore authenticity to a religion he saw as fundamentally rational, open to change and innovation, but which had become corrupt”.
To me (and maybe other readers), one of the most outstanding parts of the biography was how Jamal al-Din al-Afghani would often quote one Quranic verse in particular during his charismatic speeches. It was meant to inspire political consciousness and Muslim resistance toward the imperial West. The verse, as presented in this form, struck me with surprise about how we perceive God to be the most powerful entity to exist in our limited knowledge, but does not guarantee He is our unconditional Saviour:
“Verily, Allaah will not change the condition of a people as long as they do not change their condition themselves” [Surah al-Ra’d 13:11]
I went through a good deal of time thinking of this verse along the lines that Al-Afghani (and to a certain extent, Pankaj Mishra) have presented it in their worldview. Since coming across this page, I felt compelled that Islam could be the source of inspiration to build a radical praxis that could resonate with my spiritual body to come. The simplified version of Surah al-Ra’d 13:11 was so compelling and moving to me, that it made me even more dedicated to the history of political Islam. My captivation for the verse would manifest in how I framed my hopes and dreams for Malaysia through public history work. To the extent, I would even quote it out loud in public events. Astagfirullah, I do hope I am forgiven for the foolishness of my angsty young heart!
I try to be kinder to myself and how I approached this verse. After all, it has been the words I frequently returned as a reminder that I should never undermine the role of individual agency. But years later, I am now a Muslim woman - new to the tradition of Quran reading and Tafseer, and exploring the multitude of meanings behind verses like Surah al-Ra’d and their messages for humanity to look within and transform our worship and other spiritual priorities. This version of Surah al Ra’d 13:11 offers insight into what “condition” really means, and in a manner that has been corroborated by scholarly debates and contextual reading of the Quran in its entirety.
13:11 لَهُۥ مُعَقِّبَـٰتٌۭ مِّنۢ بَيْنِ يَدَيْهِ وَمِنْ خَلْفِهِۦ يَحْفَظُونَهُۥ مِنْ أَمْرِ ٱللَّهِ ۗ إِنَّ ٱللَّهَ لَا يُغَيِّرُ مَا بِقَوْمٍ حَتَّىٰ يُغَيِّرُوا۟ مَا بِأَنفُسِهِمْ ۗ وَإِذَآ أَرَادَ ٱللَّهُ بِقَوْمٍۢ سُوٓءًۭا فَلَا مَرَدَّ لَهُۥ ۚ وَمَا لَهُم مِّن دُونِهِۦ مِن وَالٍ ١١
For each one there are successive angels before and behind, protecting them by Allah’s command. Indeed, Allah would never change a people’s state ˹of favour˺ until they change their own state ˹of faith˺. And if it is Allah’s Will to torment a people, it can never be averted, nor can they find a protector other than Him.
Upon reading more tafseers on this verse, I learned that it is actually one of the most well-known and important ones from the Quran. One could argue that Al-Afghani’s rhetoric might have been a contributing factor but it also teaches us a very important lesson about understanding our own “condition”.
Despite how Allah is the most blessed and exalted, in His perfect justice and wisdom, Allah does not actually change the condition of the people from good to bad or from bad to good, from ease to hardship or from hardship to ease.
As I understand it (and feel free to correct me if I am wrong), Allah is conditional in His Infinite Mercy and Compassion. He does not change our condition unless we change our condition ourselves! If we strive to keep ourselves in a state of righteousness and goodness, Allah will not be unjust to us. He will, however, change things for us in proportion to the ways we have changed for the worst.
That seems pretty sensible, no? Except, it left me feeling slightly unnerved to think, “What if it is the other way round? Will Allah ever come around to make my circumstances better?”
"They are tired", a painting by Alina Gordienko (Ukraine). Source: Saatchi Art.
Lately, I have been struggling to come to terms with my present state of life. Alhamdullilah, I have a rewarding job, loving friendships, a beautiful cat, and cosy home - it is the blessings I’ve longed for. Yet, my mental health could not be any more painful to deal with. I cannot understand why and where these thought bubbles of heartbreak and loss are coming to take all the barakah and rezeki I have today.
Despite the peace I have in my present, my mind is always telling me, “Psst! Netusha, don’t get too comfortable. What if someone waltz in and takes away all of this peace of mind you have now? It has happened in the past. Why won’t it happen now? Don’t get too relaxed. We need to be ready for the next storm.” And just like that, I find myself spiralling into a depression - imagining the worst possible scenarios (mostly centred on my fears of being too broken to be loved) even if they are not taking place. I send my mind onto a woeful journey of picking out “signs” that it is going to happen, only to inflict hurt upon myself and those around me.
Why do I keep doing this? Ya Allah, I’ve wept as I performed solat, asking Him when will He take away this constant battle with trauma because it makes me feel so alone and afraid. I am so terrified of losing all the goodness that has come into my life. Why am I always in such an exhausting condition?
Now that I reflect on Surah al-Ra’d 13:11 in this moment of immense vulnerability, I realise that perhaps I have been wrong about how I understood my own condition. Allah will not change my condition from good to more good. If such a thing were to happen, it would be because I decided to improve my condition to the point He can reward me with more blessings. If I were to make a pro and con list, I know for sure that my condition has been in goodness. MashaAllah, in leaps and bounds, goodness has showered me wherever and whenever. It is my mind and body, trapped in the shadow of the past, that are having trouble catching up to this new state of existence.
Maybe, just maybe, I am getting closer to (un)learning what it means to change my condition. I’ve decided to take up therapy more consistently again, read and learn more about taming a dysregulated nervous system, eating more mindfully and prioritising solat, dua and zikir even if work demands my time. Instead of fearing that I would fall out of my practice, I try to soothe myself by saying:
Trust that Allah is with you. He is all the Witness that you need. He sees you are trying. May He guide you through. Every time you fall, He will be there when you pick yourself up. So get up when you fall. Allah runs closer to those who even inches toward Him.
I cannot be certain that I will have my mental health completely figured out. But I can be certain in my faith that Allah is witnessing my efforts to change my condition for the better. Whenever I falter (or relapse), I pray to remain steadfast and not jeopardise my condition which is already better, only to invite that my mind and body can also be in the presence of goodness that is already here.
To end here’s a supplication that I’ve started to memorise. InshaAllah, my desire to change my condition will happen. The dua recited most by the Prophet SAW: