The Tangible Sunnah: Crafting Akhlāq - part one
ب ح ص س
It started with a single step. It always does. The will-to-action that accompanies and manifests intention. Nobody ever changed anything with a good intention alone; life needs action, and even risk, for important things to set in motion.
On a threateningly moist autumn day, ten-year-old Abdullah¹ stepped out of the vehicle and headed toward the bridge crossing the North Fork Snoqualmie River with his travel companions and chaperones. He had been training for weeks for his first ten-mile hike, walking laps at home when he couldn’t get outside. In fact, it had been just over a year since his first real hike caused him to well up with shame: he had forgotten breakfast and nearly fainted halfway up the hill, having to be carried by the adults present. But this time, he had garnered enough experience with the basics to know he could conquer this challenge.
Unlike previous attempts, he now knew to wear socks, tie his shoes tight, and carefully evaluate his footing on wet stones, things an experienced hiker would take for granted, but a young boy may struggle to grasp until he learns their utility. Yet he was bringing something new from these experiences that could not be so easily covered on a pack list or field manual: the desire to achieve.
So many young people today struggle with this. Comforts widely available in our homes and beckoning from within our pockets provide rapid-fire dopamine bursts our brains are not built to understand or reason with. We now have access to feeling a momentary sense of achievement, belonging, and arousal without being forced to take any of the risks inherent in the real thing. Yet these generated experiences are not only fleeting, but they also tend to backfire. A big win against online opponents reminds us of our misplaced potential to excel in the real world. Algorithms create self-accentuating tribes along political and cultural lines. And lustful content results in the paradox of youth foregoing real-life courtship while feeling more alone than ever.
Where the digital world pulls us apart, real-life experiences teach us what we are truly capable of, both individually and communally. They help mold us from an anonymous, subdued lump of clay into a permanent configuration, be it wicked or unimpressive in form, or a masterpiece. In fact, we are already created with many of our characteristic predilections in place, though they take time to fully manifest. Some of us are born impatient, needy, or quick to anger, while others are inclined toward contentment and generosity. Likely, we are all given a mixed bag of akhlāq (sing. khuluq): the character makeup with which we are born or encultured.
The question of whether these traits are permanent or flexible has been discussed among Islamic scholars for centuries. There is no doubt that every legally responsible human being is capable of virtuous action, whether in line with or despite his natural inclinations. Rather, the discussion centers on whether those deep-seated inclinations can truly change. The most balanced answer is that, while some natural traits are inflexible, we are capable of and responsible for improving our character as much as possible.
A person who is naturally stingy practices giving to others and intends to uproot stinginess. A timid person faces his fears to build bravery. One quick to anger practices responding with forbearance, cooling the latent fire within. Opportunities for self-refinement remain until one has transformed all transient flaws into virtues that beautify and enrobe him in light.
Among the beautiful forms of art that reflect this process is driftwood sculpting. The artist first studies the warped and knotty nature of the wood’s grain, then imagines how to shave it down to reveal its unique internal character. In removing the rough exterior layers of sun-bleached wood with disciplined scrapes of a knife or chisel, the once misshapen and unimpressive hunk decreases in volume while increasing in beauty. Burls, twists, and crevices remain part of the piece’s unique character; nowhere is the wood forced to be what it is not. Finally, the true nature of the wood is revealed, supple yet delightfully peculiar in form, realizing both the vision and skill of the artist.
With sufficient practice and guidance, the human being becomes the crafter of his own akhlāq. He improves in skill and finesse, realizing which techniques are most potent and applicable to his own struggles. He does not cut haphazardly or forget his vision and intent toward refinement. Oftentimes, he learns from a mentor skilled in directing apprentices of the inward struggle. But the journey continues until every rough edge has been shaved and smoothed, and the inner grain of one’s individualized human potential is exposed and illuminated. Perfecting this craft is the quest of passion and the test of true aptitude.
Abdullah returned from this particular hike exhausted, yet content that his real journey was now underway. It is an experience well-trodden and knowable to all, yet one that few seem to give importance in today’s age of comfort and convenience. It is true human craftsmanship. It is lofty purpose. It is the way of the fityān.
Name has been changed to protect identity.
