The Beginning of Knowledge and the First Duty

Man passes through the pathways of life and casts his gaze upon a lofty palace—its windows gleaming beneath the sunlight, its gardens flourishing as though watered from the springs of imagination. He cannot help but wish: if only that palace belonged to me; if only my hand could reach its keys, so I might dwell there as a noble prince, comfort encircling me from all sides, wealth sheltering me above and below.

He walks on and sees abundant wealth—stored in vaults, recorded in accounts, or flowing like a torrent through people’s hands. He yearns for it as the thirsty yearn for cool water, hoping that some share might fall to him, whether large or small.

His ears hear of a mighty king—powerful and prestigious. In heedlessness of the truth, his soul wishes that he too might be elevated to such a throne, and that necks might bow to him as they bow to the king.

He beholds a luxurious car—elegantly crafted, gliding smoothly, racing the wind, barely touching the ground. His heart is drawn to it like a bird to its nest, and he imagines himself behind its wheel, commanding it as a rider commands his steed.

Yet what of him when his mother places before him a simple dish of food, prepared with her weary hands, her face beaming with joy merely at his presence? Then his heart beats with gratitude, a warmth of love washes over him, and he nearly kisses the very hand that cooked for him—even if the meal be modest and meagre.

And what of him when a generous man awards him a prize, or a king grants him a small plot of land, or a friend consoles him with a kind word? In such moments, he does not merely see the gift, but sees the hand that gave, and the heart that strove to bring him happiness. He rises in thanks, his soul filled with appreciation.

How vast the difference between his gaze in the two states!

In the first, he sees nothing but wealth, status, and possessions—eyeing them as a predator eyes its prey. He does not ask: for whom? or how? or why? He only asks: how do I seize it? how do I possess it? how do I increase it? To him, the world is a pasture, life a booty, people competitors, and all things in the universe fair game for plunder.

In the second, he sees the world around him as a blessing. He perceives himself as the object of mercy and affection. He rejoices in what he is given not because it is ownership, but because it is an expression of love and a manifestation of generosity. He does not stop at merely receiving the blessing; rather, he considers gratitude the first obligation, a natural behaviour, and the means by which the blessing is preserved and prolonged.

What a difference between the ignoble man, who sees only his own hand and values nothing except what he can take by force, and the noble man, who sees all of existence as a gift, life as generosity, and every passing moment as a new reason to be grateful.

Indeed, the beginning of knowledge is to recognise the blessing: to become conscious that you have received, that you have been granted, and that what you possess is not a certainty or a right, but a grace.

And the first duty—before you act, before you plan—is to pause, raise your gaze upward, to where neither hand nor eye can reach, and say with sincerity: al-ḥamdu li-llāh.

In this way, a person realises that the life of the heart is not measured by the abundance of possessions, but by the purity of feeling. If the eye cannot behold the blessing in small things, it will not see it in palaces, nor in crowns, nor in all the treasures of the earth gathered together.

Hearts filled with gratitude do not know poverty, even if their sustenance is little, nor do they feel lost, even if their paths are narrow. Such hearts dwell in the majesty of serenity, rising above the noise of desires, for they are connected to the heavens, content with what God has decreed, and thankful for what He has bestowed.

The poet said, sensing the depth of blessing and the value of acknowledgement:

> He increases in favour, and I increase in thanks—
That has ever been His way, and mine!

And Dib‘ al-Khuzā‘ī said:

> I shall surely thank Nūḥ for the favour he granted—
A gratitude that leaves the tongues of Arabs speechless!

Al-Buḥturī said:

> If I do not earnestly thank you for your blessings—
Then may I never attain another that warrants gratitude!

And ʿAmmārah ibn ʿUqayl said:

> I shall thank you for what you have granted me—
So long as my tongue moistens to speak!

And Abū Tammām said:

> If I were to deny the goodness you have done—
Then I would be more deserving of baseness than you are of generosity!

And as was said of the one who feels overwhelmed in thanking the benefactor:

> If every hair on my body became a tongue—
Spreading your praise, it still would not suffice.

This, then, is the ultimate purpose of knowledge: to perceive grace, to be ashamed of ingratitude, and to teach ourselves—before every other form of knowledge—how to lift our gaze to the heavens and say with sincerity, without pretence or show:

“Rabbi awziʿnī an ashkura niʿmataka allatī anʿamta ʿalayya wa-ʿalā wālidayya.”
(“My Lord, enable me to be grateful for Your favour which You have bestowed upon me and upon my parents.”)

https://t.me/DrAkramNadwi/6557

Disclaimer: This article was translated by AI. Original post: https://t.me/DrAkramNadwi/6557