The Veil of Success

Since childhood, we are taught that knowledge is acquired through learning. From that early age until forty, this remains largely true. But after forty, if one is fortunate enough to undergo a spiritual awakening, something profoundly different begins to unfold. One must first pass through the process of unlearning before becoming capable of truly learning anew. In technical terms, this may be described as the de-westernization of knowledge followed by its Islamization.

The relentless race for success begins at a very young age. For some, it continues until death, while for others-more fortunate-it gradually slows after forty, as they become increasingly inclined toward spiritual realities. This marks the transition from matter to spirit; yet the true elevation lies beyond even this, in the ascent from spirit to Divine Light (nūr). As one climbs this ladder, truths begin to emerge that stand in stark opposition to conventional worldly wisdom-so much so that they often defy explanation to those who have not undergone a similar transformation.

We observe a common phenomenon that appears inexplicable unless examined deeply. Many people-though not all-who sincerely embrace the spiritual path suffer losses in their worldly, material, or financial pursuits in one form or another. Many find their ambitions unfulfilled. On the surface, there appears to be no contradiction between worldly success and spiritual elevation; yet at a deeper level, the two often stand in quiet opposition, though exceptions always exist, for in the realm of God there are no rigid formulas.

The paths of self-glorification and God's glorification, in many cases, diverge from one another. When I pursue glory for myself, I engage in actions that enhance my personal grandeur, strengthen my confidence, and reinforce my sense of autonomy. If I succeed in this pursuit, I begin to feel independent, self-sufficient, and detached from any need for a higher power. It is therefore unsurprising that many who ascend this ladder of success lead lives indifferent to religion.

On the other hand, when I seek God's glory, I must strip myself of all that reflects my own majesty. If I remain sincere on this path, I am made to undergo experiences that render me small, weak, and utterly dependent upon God in every moment, every action, and every deed. It is no coincidence that my desires are repeatedly shattered, and my efforts to build an empire for myself crumble to dust-until I willingly and joyfully embrace a state of desirelessness.

The modern mind is justified in asking: why is this so? Enlightenment signifies the lifting of the veils between the self and God. If I succeed in fulfilling grand ambitions, my ego is strengthened, and my distance from God increases as the veils grow thicker. I become increasingly convinced that I have no need for God. Conversely, if I fail in my pursuit of grandeur, my ego softens, the veils begin to thin, and I draw closer to truth-until I do not merely believe but experience the reality that I am nothing without God.

If the ultimate purpose of religion is to instill Tawḥīd-the Oneness of God-to the extent that one experiences His majesty and splendor beyond text, belief, theory, and words, then which state is more desirable: success or failure? Which condition renders a person more receptive to ma'rifah (gnosis)?

This question evokes the figure of Pharaoh during the time of Moses (عليه السلام). Why did he claim divinity? Because he lived a life devoid of hardship-his ambitions were fulfilled with precision, his authority remained unchallenged, and he was spared even minor afflictions. His heart had never been broken. Yet a heart that has never broken cannot attain worth in the sight of God. As Allama Iqbal reminds us:

"Do not guard your heart too carefully; it is a mirror. If it breaks, it becomes more precious in the sight of the one who shapes mirrors."

Thus, the well-known Sufi saying-"God dwells in broken hearts"-is not mere poetic sentiment, but a profound truth illuminated by spiritual wisdom.

Yet the discussion does not end here. We have merely arrived at a crossroads between two paths. So far, the portrayal of spirituality may seem austere, even discouraging to the novice. But there is, without doubt, light at the end of this tunnel. What, then, is the promise that awaits the seeker?

The path of purification does not impose endless suffering. Once the traveler is refined and relinquishes personal desire, two profound transformations occur. First, he attains an inner peace that transcends all expression. Second, he becomes aligned with the Divine plan, wherein God supports him in every endeavor and shields him from failure-because there is no longer any conflict between his will and the Divine Will. At this stage, we are reminded again of Iqbal's words:

"Raise your selfhood to such heights that before every decree, God Himself asks you: 'Tell Me, what is it that you desire?'"

Now the believer's life is illuminated with meaning and vitality. He becomes an active participant in the unfolding of Divine purpose. His existence acquires depth, direction, and positive consequence. He fulfills both the horizontal dimension-rights of people-and the vertical dimension-rights of God. He becomes worthy of being called God's vicegerent, a living instrument through which Divine will manifests.

An inquisitive mind may still ask: why is such a person only elevated after enduring hardship? Because now his actions are purified from ego, desire, greed, and the impulses of the nafs (lower-self). The spirit has triumphed over the self. Having conquered the inner battle, he is entrusted with a role that echoes the example of the "Walking Qur'an"-a title attributed to the Holy Prophet ﷺ.

Such a servant of God becomes capable of reshaping history. Time and space yield to his presence, allowing him to leave an enduring mark upon humanity through divinely guided contributions. It is individuals of this caliber who produce works such as Asrār-e-Khudī (Secrets of Selfhood) and Rumūz-e-Bekhudī (Secrets of Selflessness). The patience they once bore during times of hardship blossoms into fruits whose sweetness benefits both Creator and creation.

However, the stark reality remains that very few transcend this stage. Many remain trapped in bitterness and despair when life refuses to conform to their desires. In search of relief, people turn to temporary escapes-therapy, medication, travel, indulgence, entertainment, or, tragically, self-destructive habits. Unable to discern meaning within their trials, they attempt only to forget them.

Here lies a subtle truth the modern mind must grasp: the difference between such individuals and God's chosen ones is not intelligence-it is humility. The intelligent often remain ensnared in cycles of emptiness and indulgence because they refuse to surrender control. The humble, however, relinquish their will and allow the Divine Will to flow through them. Though difficult, this surrender ultimately gives birth to profound beauty from the depths of destiny.

While numerous examples from the lives of saints could be cited, none surpasses that of the Holy Prophet ﷺ himself.

One of the most painful episodes of his life occurred in Ṭā'if, where he was rejected and subjected to cruelty. Yet he responded with patience and did not curse his oppressors. In return, he was granted an honor unparalleled in human history. Jibrīl (عليه السلام) appeared before him, conveying that God Himself wished to receive him. He was then taken on the celestial journey, transcending the heavens, where he experienced a closeness to God beyond all human comprehension. It was the pinnacle of Divine Love-granted at a moment when his heart was most deeply wounded.

Today, humanity is gripped by anxiety over escalating global conflicts. People search desperately for solutions to this immense crisis. In this context, we recall the insight of Reynold A. Nicholson, one of Iqbal's teachers, who remarked after the devastation of global war:

"If the world seeks to save humanity and instill the spirit of love, its universities must open their doors to Rumi and Sa'dī."

It is in this very spirit that Iqbal declares:

"You are overpowered by the thought of the West, while your cure lies in the burning spirit of Rumi."

And perhaps the tragedy of our age is not that we do not know this truth, but that we refuse to live it. The veil of success continues to blind us, even when we recognize it as a veil. Until it is lifted-not in theory, but in the quiet surrender of the self-the distance between us and God remains intact.

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