2015-01-02 - Friday Prayer - Changing our Mood by rejecting Kanud

Opening

السَّلَامُ عَلَيْكُمْ وَرَحْمَةُ اللَّهِ وَبَرَكَاتُهُ

اللَّهُ أَكْبَرُ، اللَّهُ أَكْبَرُ، اللَّهُ أَكْبَرُ، اللَّهُ أَكْبَرُ

I bear witness that Muhammad is the Messenger of Allah. I bear witness that Muhammad is the Messenger of Allah. There is none worthy of worship except Allah. اللَّهُ أَكْبَرُ، اللَّهُ أَكْبَرُ. I bear witness that there is none worthy of worship except Allah. I bear witness that Muhammad is the Messenger of Allah. I bear witness that Muhammad is the Messenger of Allah.

أَمَّا بَعْدُ — We ask Allah subhanahu wa ta'ala to put barakah in our time, to put barakah in our efforts, to accept all of our a'māl as khair and ṣāliḥ, to reunite us with our loved ones that have left us — إِنْ جَلَّ بِرَحْمَتِكَ يَا أَرْحَمَ الرَّاحِمِينَ.

Introduction: This Life Is About Toil and Striving

This life is about toil and struggle and striving and work — investments, working hard, and trying to get something back. But sometimes — actually, often times, more often than not — we become distracted. We lose focus and we need to be reminded about where we should really be investing.

And so there is a chapter of the Qur'an that I would like to remind myself about and to share with you today, which is chapter 100 — Sūrah al-ʿĀdiyāt. And on the surface, in my humble opinion, in my experience, when you read this chapter — it's a very short chapter — when you read it on the surface, it's difficult to understand what it's about, especially the beginning part of the chapter. But when you reflect deeply on it, it has profound messages.

And so Allah subhanahu wa ta'ala, He begins — and I want you to follow me in this narrative and try to think about the picture, if you will, to use metaphorical language — the picture that Allah subhanahu wa ta'ala is depicting for us, painting for us, constructing for us, so that we may take a lesson from it.

Sūrah al-ʿĀdiyāt: Verse by Verse

Verse 1 — The Panting Horses

I seek refuge with Allah. I swear by the horses — or, according to some of the Ṣaḥābah, by the camels. Ibn ʿAbbās preferred, and Allah ta'ala knows best, the horses. I swear by the horses that gallop and run so hard and so much that they are out of breath. Those horses that are loosed in battle — that have been running and raging and walking and traveling hours and hours and days trying to reach the battlefield — and when it is time to attack, their riders ride them hard. Those horses that have been pushed to the limit, they are required to do no less at the time of battle, and so as they're running and racing and charging, they begin to pant — hāh, hāh, hāh — like horses do.

Ibn ʿAbbās — he says this āyah and reads it: the horses running so hard and what you hear is — hāh, hāh, hāh — like that, the horses out of breath, having nothing to give but their riders are beating them, wanting them to give more because of what's at stake in the battle. When those horses are panting, beating them hard, because they've been asked to work overtime.

Verse 2 — The Striking of Hooves

The first verse talks about their panting — this verse talks about their hooves, their feet hitting the ground. فَالْمُورِيَاتِ قَدْحًا — what the feet of the horses beat the ground: they're running so hard, they're running so fast. And then there's a scene — what we call today the modern horseshoe. The bottom of the horse, the foot of the horse, is not just regular skin. There is iron under those hooves. And so that iron hits the rock, and when it hits the rock — what happens when you have two hard objects that clash against each other? Sparks emerge. It's like an ignition for a car — sparks fly, fire is ignited. And that is the rough translation of the second verse: فَالْمُورِيَاتِ قَدْحًا.

And when fire is ignited, when sparks fly because of those hooves hitting the ground so hard, the animal himself is overexhausted, and the earth itself — the material and chemical structure of the earth, the environment — is being altered as a result of that labour.

Verse 3 — The Dawn Raid

And when the attack comes in the dawn, in the early time — you know, in the old days, when there was military warfare, there were raids and attacks in the dawn. This still happens today — people are bombed in the dawn time, the early morning time. Images of the Iraq war come to mind: bomb strikes at night or in the early morning time. So what I'm referencing is that those مُغِيرَاتِ صُبْحًا — those attacks, those raids, those efforts at reaping the benefit — when it happens at صُبْح: why? Because most people have been sleeping at صُبْح, in the dawn time. But there are a select few that plan and work and invest and are active when other people are sleeping.

Verses 4–5 — The Dust Cloud and Charging Into Battle

When these horses that are being overworked, the earth that is being transformed, the activity that happens when most people are sleeping but are being driven by a select few — فَأَثَرْنَ بِهِ نَقْعًا — when the dust that comes from those animals, the dust that comes from that work, that combat, that effort, that striving, the dust when it raises up and becomes clouds: you can imagine what this is like. You find a skirmish or a battle in a valley somewhere and it becomes so dusty and so cloudy it's difficult to see your opponent, or it's difficult to see the rest of your army, because of the dust and the dirt that's been kicked up because so many people are raging and battling and there's a struggle. And the result of that struggle physically causes or inhibits vision. That's why the dust emerges — it becomes cloudier. All of a sudden, you can't see. Your vision is obstructed. Your goal is just — you're prevented from seeing what's most beneficial for you, and oftentimes what's harmful as well, because of that activity. The hustle and bustle. The traffic. In fact, there are so many competitors that are there, there's a cloud that emerges, and that cloud — which in reality is composed of the dust that you kicked up, that your horse kicked up, that you caused — produces blindness. It's that cloud that emerges and impedes vision.

فَوَسَطْنَ بِهِ جَمْعًا — and when in the heat of the battle, those horses, those individuals on those horses, those people that are so motivated, so active — when they jump into the midst of the battle, they don't just fight on the periphery. In spite of their tired horses. In spite of the flames and the fire that's ignited. In spite of the fact that they are blinded by the dust that's become clouds. In spite of that, rather than let it stop them, they jump into the middle of the battle and they attack and they fight and they strive and they struggle. They put themselves in harm's way.

I mean, if you're in the middle of battle and you can't see because of the clouds, you can't see your companions that are supposed to protect you — and you protect them — you can't be standing in front of the enemy. Yet despite that, you're grabbing a sword and you jump into the heat of the battle. You can't see, but you don't care about that. What's at stake is so important in your mind that you jump into the middle of it.

Allah says: I swear by these things that happen — not just that they happen; He is not just painting a picture. He is saying: I swear by the seriousness, the craziness, the reality of these things.

The Deep Meaning of the Metaphor

What is it about horses? What is it — why did Allah ta'ala use the example of horses being tired? Because it is more powerful to talk about the instruments that the human being uses to work for the dunyā than it is to talk about the human being himself. We work so hard for the dunyā that — forget tiring ourselves — we tire out the horses. We overwork our instruments for this dunyā. We wear out and tear up those benefits, those blessings that Allah has given us, that we are supposed to use to survive and to benefit. We tear those up to get more.

In the end, that's why the horses are panting. That's why Allah ta'ala calls our attention to that. Now look at what you do to yourself. Look at what you do to the animals that are subjugated to serve you, and the environment that is put there to benefit you. You cause chemical changes to the environment from the excessive labor of those that are under your care, because you toil and struggle and focus so much on this dunyā.

And that toil and struggle that you cause, and that harm that you cause that animal, the alterations and the transformations that you cause to the environment — they make up such a cloud that it blinds you and blinds all of those around you from being able to see properly, from being able to perceive accurately, from being able to discern what is right from what is wrong. Your desire to get more and more clouds your spiritual compass that is supposed to direct you to what's right and to discern what is evil from what is good. And because you are blinded in such a way, you cast yourself into the midst of that material struggle — with your tired beast and all of your worked-up and torn-up and ripped-up machinery — and that cloud doesn't call you to say: let's take a break, let's reassess, perhaps we should proceed with caution. The fact that I can't discern my enemy from my friend because of this cloud — perhaps that should be a moment where I take a break and let everything subside. No, no, no — فَوَسَطْنَ بِهِ جَمْعًا — in spite of that, you rush, you charge on, you continue.

The Main Point: The Human Being Is Kanūd

I swear by all of these things that are depictions. The point is not to look at the horse — the point is to look at the riding of the horse. The point is not that it's a battle. Allah is not talking about jihād — why? Because the sūrah is not a madanī sūrah, it is a makkī sūrah. So the point is not battle at all, or at least the point is not a physical battle, although the depiction and illustration is of some scene of battle. But there is no mention of jihād, righteousness or goodness or evil — it's just horses and animals kicking up dust. So it is the khaḍm and bass of the material jungle that Allah is calling us to look at.

إِنَّ الْإِنسَانَ — I swear by these characteristics, these habits, these behaviors — I swear by these things — لِرَبِّهِ لَكَنُودٌ — that the human being, in general, in general, is kanūd.

Kanūd is a very interesting word, and it is that word that I want us to reflect on. And what I want all of us — myself included — perhaps to have a conversation with our family members this weekend and tonight about is: what is it that we are doing that makes us kanūd?

What Is Kanūd?

We asked about the Prophet ﷺ's explanation — peace and blessings be upon him — what is kanūd? And a report was mentioned in which it is said that the kanūd — the human being who is kanūd — in Arabic, the kanūd is the person who يَضْرِبُ عَبْدَهُ — he beats the slave. You know, the horse is beaten so badly, the horse is so tired, he is panting — hāh, hāh, hāh — he has been worked so much for that master. The master has been infuriated. The horse is tired, is beat down. But the master's objective is the only thing that matters — not whether the car needs an oil change or new tires, or whether the house needs to be repaired, or the kids need lunch. No — the investment, the company, anything that matters is the business.

The kanūd is the one who يَضْرِبُ عَبْدَهُ — not just that he beats his servant, but he beats him in order for the slave to work harder for the objectives and the purposes and the wishes of the master.

وَيَمْنَعُ رِفْدَهُ — and he doesn't give his gifts. If he goes to the store, the kanūd goes to the store to get a gift from somebody, and he buys a gift, and then he says: this is a really nice gift, I will take it for myself, I will not give it. I had a family member who was not Muslim — one day they got me something, a little gift, and on the gift was a small piece of candy. Can you imagine? And I mean small — it was bitten off. Not that they bought a small piece of candy — it was the remains of a piece of candy. Their family said: what is this? And they said: I bought it for you, but it looked so good I had to try it and I couldn't stop myself from eating it. Kanūd — he doesn't give the gift that he was supposed to give in the first place. وَيَسْتَجِيدُ دَخِيلَهُ — he is so stingy that nobody benefits from his gifts.

On the surface it may be a bit hilarious, but when you think about it, Allah ta'ala is not joking. And then — the last thing: وَيَأْكُلُ وَحْدَهُ — and he eats alone. He doesn't share his food. It doesn't matter that he has a family — he eats alone, because he doesn't want to share. But also he eats alone because he's so disagreeable that nobody wants to eat with him. Even if he does have family, nobody wants to sit with him, nobody wants to be around that kind of person.

The Kanūd Counts His Losses

إِنَّ الْإِنسَانَ لِرَبِّهِ لَكَنُودٌ — yes, he is kanūd, he is ungrateful to his Rabb. Why? Because, as is mentioned in the tafsīr of Poverty — from many reports of the Salaf — they explain that the kanūd is the person who counts his losses. He counts what he lost and is completely ignorant of, or heedless of, or doesn't care about, the benefits and the niʿam and the blessings that Allah has given him.

And that is the power of this metaphor, this picture in Sūrah al-ʿĀdiyāt of the battle — because at the end of the battle, when the dust and the cloud settles, what is it that every commander does? When the battle's over, he counts his losses. He wants to know the number of injured, who's died — he wants to know the dead first, before you even assess the victory. You see what you've lost first.

That is one of the powerful points about the metaphor: Allah ta'ala is telling us that the human being — by choice, by choosing to listen to that side of his or her nature — chooses to count their losses and ignore their gains. That is kanūd. Choosing to look at the glass half empty instead of half full.

Exiting the Madhab of the Kanūd: Stories of the Pious

The Story of ʿUrwah ibn al-Zubayr

My wife pointed out to me a very beautiful story, which I'll share with you and end on. It is the story of the son of Asmāʾ bint Abī Bakr. Asmāʾ was the sister of ʿĀʾishah. Asmāʾ's son was ʿUrwah ibn al-Zubayr. He had an event in his life where he lost his foot — his foot had to be amputated. And on the same day that he lost his foot, one of his sons was killed. So on the same day, he lost one of his sons — and he had seven sons, and the one that Allah ta'ala called back was the most favored, the one that was closest to his heart.

So ʿUrwah ibn al-Zubayr recalls this āyah as he is remembering his losses, and he says — on the same day — he says: Yā Rabb, You gave me seven sons and You took the most prized, the one that was closest to my qalb. And You gave me four limbs, and on the same day You called back one of them also. Yā Rabb, reunite me — and I am translating the meaning of this — reunite me with both of them in Jannah. Reunite me with both of them in Jannah.

This is the first step to exiting the madhab of the kanūd — the first step to exiting the path of the kanūd — because the kanūd only remembers the losses and does not remember that what he loses today in reality is a gain and can be turned into a gain tomorrow.

The Story of the Old Sheikh

And he said some days passed, and he went and visited the Khalīfah. And in the presence of the Khalīfah was an old sheikh — a very old man — and his face was deformed and damaged so much so that he was blind and had bruises all over his face. The Khalīfah said: Do you know this sheikh? He said: No. He said: Did you hear his story? He said: No. He said: You should listen to the story of this sheikh — he has a profound story.

So the sheikh narrated his story to ʿUrwah ibn al-Zubayr. He said: One day I was in a valley, and I was the wealthiest man of that valley — of the people that lived in that valley. I had the largest family, the most money, the most camels, and the most precious and beautiful of wives. And one day, a flood came — a sayl — a flood came and took everything away. And when ṣubḥ came again — and again note the reference of ṣubḥ: when ṣubḥ came, all I had was my infant child, my ṭifil, and one camel. That's all I had left. Everything was taken.

Again, when the dawn emerges, we tend to assess our losses — the madhab of the kanūd starts. And my camel, he said, started to run away. So I ran after him. And as I ran after him, he said, I heard the crying of my infant son behind me. I heard him screaming. And I turned around only to witness the head and face of my infant son being devoured by the jaws and teeth of a wolf. The head of my child being eaten and chewed by a wolf. And so I turned and I ran towards my child, but it was too late — the wolf had already taken the head of my child.

And when I turned back to the camel — the only thing I had left — as soon as I turned around, the hoof of the camel — and again, note the metaphor of the foot from the Qur'an — the hoof, the foot of the camel, struck him in the face. The camel kicked him right in his face. And he said: the damage to my face and the blindness that ensued as a result was from that kick, from the hoof of that camel — instead of beating on the ground, when he turned around, it caught him in the face. Perhaps the camel didn't mean to do it. Perhaps because the camel decided to run, it lifted its leg up and kicked him. Who knows — that's not the point.

And he said: I lost everything. But I said — Alhamdulillāh. He exited the madhab of the kanūd. Alhamdulillāh — praise be to Allah — for the One who left me with a heart that is full of Īmān, and left me with a tongue that can still praise Him.

Yes, he lost — but he also recognized his blessings, his gains. That was his story that he told to ʿUrwah ibn al-Zubayr. And both of them are examples for us — the son of the Ṣaḥābiyyah who himself was from the Tābiʿīn, and the sheikh whom we do not know — both of them are acting against this āyah:

That the human being is kanūd against his Rabb. And that attitude of being kanūd — eventually it will put the human being in a position where, on the Day of Judgement, that kanūd characteristic will be a testimony against that man or that woman. That shahīd will be a witness against him.

And all of this is because he loves the dunyā so much. خَيْر here means māl, means dunyā — because he loves wealth, because he loves the dunyā, because he loves what he perceives to be what is khayr and what is good in his individual, limited, material, worldly best interest. That love, that ḥubb, is so powerful that he destroys the horse to get to the battlefield — that he tears up the world to get what he wants — that despite his cloudiness, he gets into the midst of the battle. And when all is said and done, all he does is count his losses instead of his gains.

Closing Duʿāʾ

Yā Rabb, we ask You to eliminate the ṣifah of kanūd from our hearts. Yā Rabb, we ask that You empower us and our loved ones and our children to be those who remember the benefits of Īmān and who remember to remember You at the time when other people are sleeping and other people forget You. Yā Akram al-Akramīn.

وَالْحَمْدُ لِلَّهِ رَبِّ الْعَالَمِينَ

Alhamdulillāh. Alhamdulillāhi Rabbil ʿĀlamīn. Waṣ-ṣalātu waṣ-ṣalāmu ʿalā Sayyidinā Muḥammad wa ʿalā ālihi wa ṣaḥbihi ajmaʿīn.

Ūṣī wa ūṣīkum bi taqwā Allāh.

Waṣallū ʿalā Sayyidinā Muḥammad wa ʿalā ālihi wa sallimū taslīmā.

The Ṣalāh

Closer together, shoulder to shoulder please — leave no spaces or gaps to make space for our brothers and our sisters that are in the back to join the jamāʿah, to join the ranks, inshāAllāh.

السَّلَامُ عَلَيْكُمْ وَرَحْمَةُ اللَّهِ — السَّلَامُ عَلَيْكُمْ وَرَحْمَةُ اللَّهِ

أَسْتَغْفِرُ اللَّهَ