BOOK REVIEW: ‘The Road to Makkah’ by Muhammad Asad
My favourite Islamic writers are converts. I’ve always [wrongly] felt that they somehow have more legitimacy as Muslims. The word ‘Islam’ means ‘submission [to the will of Allāh]’ and is there better proof of submission than leaving one’s culture or birth religion — often with negative social consequences — for the pursuit of the Absolute?
Until this book, I thought what attracted me to the writings of converts was the discovery of which aspect of Islam brought them to the religion. But on reflection, it’s not that at all. What’s most insightful is their reason(s) for undertaking what can be such a difficult journey. Why do they, and more broadly, all of us seek change? The default answer in my mind is to become better but what is “better”? How do we measure quality of life: material wealth? Academic/professional qualifications? Relationships? “Happiness”?
Leopard Weiss wanted “better” but the means of achieving that were unclear. The devastation of World War 1 had led to widespread economic anxiety and moral decay in Europe. The youth, disillusioned by the scale of evil inspired by the older ‘moral’ generation abandoned religious canons that society had previously subscribed to. Amassing material wealth, at whatever cost, took precedence over all endeavours. 20-year old Weiss tried to stem his spiritual decline by immersing himself in fulfilling work — first art, then film, and finally, journalism. Still unsatisfied, he left for Jerusalem in 1922 to live with his uncle. To earn an income, Weiss wrote articles for European publications on Arab affairs. His job and journey for the spiritual fulfilment he desperately wanted took him across the entire Arabian peninsula and beyond. From the bazaars of Cairo to the Najd desert, from Isfahan to Bokhara, from Kabul to the Libyan interior. His wanderings with many guides, through many caravanserais, in the most remote of villages, exposed him to the most intimate aspects of Arabian and Bedouin life.
He recognised the tribal nature of Arab society, and the diversity of race and ethnicity amongst Muslim peoples — always left in awe at the sense of unity and community he felt between them. He sought to learn more about the theology that created peace and sameness where so much discrimination had previously existed. After many travels, he returned to Berlin. One day in the subway with his wife Elsa, he studied the people in his carriage and noticed in their eyes a sadness and emptiness that was inconsistent with their external appearance which suggested wealth and purpose in life. He couldn’t understand why their eyes betrayed such melancholy. When he returned home, he picked up an open copy of the Quran which happened to have the page turned to Surah At-Takathur. The first couple of verses [102:1–2] jumped out:
“You are obsessed with greed for more and more, Until you go down to your graves”
The words resonated. A 1400-year old message seemed to be so understanding of what he had just seen. Soon after, he met a friend and in front of two witnesses, accepted Islam (now named Muhammad Asad). Next he returned to Saudi Arabia to make the pilgrimage — his road to Makkah — where he stayed for years. It was a time of political and social change in Arabia. The British and French machinations to control Arab territory, and Ibn Saud’s conquests to creat the modern state were afoot. His deep affection for Islam, evident even before he accepted the religion, and acuity made him a confidant to all who met him. He aided Ibn Saud and the as-Sanussiya movement in Libya in their quest to establish Islamic states and repel colonialism. His essays in the Frankfurter Zeitung, a German publication, challenged western misconceptions of Islam and promoted the Arab cause against Zionism. He devoted himself wholly to Islam and causes in its favour.
His love of Islam and Arabia did not prevent him from recognising and constantly expressing the state of the decline that the Muslim world was in. He acknowledged that the success of western civilisation in creating and accumulating material wealth had given them (temporary) command of most of the world, so much so that the adoption western customs was viewed as a prerequisite to ‘development’. Muslims, unable to challenge such success, began to accept western culture wholesale — not discriminating between wealth as a means to an end, and wealth as an end in itself — an end which for every Muslim should be Allāh’s worship. Asad recognised that the science and technological advancement that has been the source of much progress isn’t owned by, or owed to, western civilisation. Science is aggregate, it is owned by all who have contributed to it which is often humanity in its entirety. The mathematics, medicine, art and astronomy that underlie modern science can often be traced to intellectual giants of the Orient, many of them in an early Islamic Arabia that hadn’t yet lost its intellectual dynamism, and fallen prey to orthodoxy. Asad preaches on the need to return to that time.
So why did Asad’s road lead to Makkah and not elsewhere? He did not articulate a single reason why he accepted Islam, just a series of experiences that afterwards made it impossible for him to not do so. My view is that he was ultimately drawn by its realism. We sometimes do a great disservice to Islam by referring to it as a religion. In today’s world, religion has largely been relegated to a solely spiritual and individual affair, to the point that its almost entirely a mental exercise. Islam however concerns itself with the spiritual and the temporal, the soul and the body, the individual and the society. It’s almost impossible to fulfill Muslim duties whilst isolated because we have communal obligations (such as giving the yearly charity, visiting the sick, communal prayers). Despite current popular belief, Islam discourages extremes. Asceticism, beyond a limit, is discouraged for worldly pleasures were placed to be enjoyed (in a prescribed manner). Seeking knowledge is an obligation on every Muslim and applying that knowledge for the betterment of the Ummah is rewarded — this rejects the orthodoxy that has drained Muslims of intellectual vigour and dissuaded them from technological innovations.
Islam doesn’t profess to lead to a utopia. Instead, gain and loss, status and hierarchy (not racial or cultural), are each attributed with their own virtues and lessons. Islam doesn’t ask you to aspire to sainthood. Instead it recognises innate human qualities (good and bad) and prescribes actions that elevate the good and suppress the bad, all the time with the recognition that perfection will not be achieved. The recognition of the imperfection of man is so critical to Islam because it leads to its ultimate aim: recognising that only Allah is Perfect and seeking proximity to that perfection. Ultimately, it was the draw of this religion of ‘the middle path’ that turned Leopold Weiss into Muhammad Asad.
Three other things stood out for me in Asad’s journey: his open-mindedness, loyalty and humility. It’s not often that one can abandon all prejudice and immerse themself in a strange culture, in a strange land. His devotion to his cause (seeking truth) meant he was willing to endure all forms of hardship to fulfill it. His humility gave him the patience to glean life lessons from king and pauper alike. Ultimately this humility, this understanding of the limits of his own intellect and knowledge are what led him to become one of the Muslimīn, those who submit.
