Some people who convert to Islam prefer to call it a reversion becauseeveryone is born in a natural state of Islam – submission to the will of God –and rather than converting away from something they assert that coming toaccept Islam is reverting to that human original state. In my case this is doublyso.
My parents converted to Islam shortly before I was born, however since Iwas not brought up with a clear sense that I had to be a Muslim, I didn’t acceptIslam until after I had spent some time searching for the truth. True that as achild I took part in their Islamic practices such as fasting Ramadhan, but aftermy father died (when I was five) my mother allowed me from the age of 13 notto join in prayers if I did not want to. In my mind, I was waiting until I was oldenough to make up my own mind which religion, if any, to choose.
At the age of 16 my mother remarried to an Egyptian and I lived with them inLondon for two years. I felt by then that I needed to be able to identify, explainand justify my purpose in life. I started reading books that had belonged to myfather on philosophy. There were many, some on principles of logic, others onlanguage and meaning, etc. My approach was to read a book until I felt that Icould no longer accept what it proposed. This led me to put down manybooks unfinished.
I particularly remember a book entitled “Teach YourselfPhilosophy”, which started by saying that the study of philosophy didn’t hope find any answers, but that through it we could enjoy exploring the questions.I really didn’t think that this attitude was a healthy way to help me search fortruth.
After some reading and asking several questions about Islam from others, Ifound that I really couldn’t find satisfying answers to my questions. Myphilosophy of life took shape and I concluded that I was a convinced agnosticwhose purpose in life was to continue the process of discovery of the universe.
Up till the age of 21, I followed this philosophy sincerely. At that point, while Iwas studying at the University of Manchester, my motivation started to slip. Ifound myself, though sure about the accuracy of my evaluation of how theworld is and how life is, unable to translate that into a motivation to act. Lifewas simply easier if I followed the crowd in the various pursuits of pleasures.
So, what if the purpose of life is to learn? Why do I have to work at it? As mymotivation ebbed, so did my academic results. So, in the summer vacation, Iresolved to review my philosophy of life.Partly, in an effort to avoid being influenced by emotional considerations, I wasdue to spend the year in Germany as part of my degree. For the summer, Iwas living on my own in Hamburg. During this time, I wrestled with thesequestions trying to reach some answers. In the middle of this, I had thisprofound dream.
I was sitting with a group of people on an embankment overlooking a wideopen plain. At the foot of the embankment was what appeared to be a set oftrain lines stretching off into the distance to the left and right although from ourvantage point we could only see a short way down the tracks. As we sat on thebanks, we were debating whether these were in fact train tracks and whetheror not a train would ever come along them. After a while, one person in thegroup wanted to show how confident he was that these were not train tracksand that no train would come. So, he sat himself down in the middle of thetracks. I went to go and reason with him.A few moments later a huge train rushed along the tracks and within a momenthad disappeared off into the distance. Shocked, I went to look for the man whowas so confident in his assertion that no train would come. He haddisappeared, clearly the train had scooped him up and away into the distance.
I returned to the others sitting on the embankment and asked them if they saw
what happened to this man.After a few comments they started saying to one another that, since they haveno evidence now that the train exists that it may or may not exist. “Did you notsee it?” I asked, amazed at them. “Maybe, but we can see nothing now, so wecannot be sure that these are really train tracks or that any train uses them”was the reply. “What about the person who was sitting on the tracks?” I asked.
“I cannot see him” came the reply, “so how do I know he was ever there?Prove it to me!” As they continued the debate, I was in despair at their evidentdenial of facts simply because the facts are not right in front of their eyes all ofthe time.
At that point I woke up. I realised at that point, that this dream reflected thefruitless discussions of the philosophers which I had spent so much timeobserving, if not engaging in. I realised that sometimes certainty comes fromsingle events which don’t get repeated when you want them. The dreamechoed strongly the situation of someone believing strongly in God yet unableto persuade others of the existence of God and unable to produce theevidence on demand.God is unseen but there are clear proofs to those whocare to look and listen.
Partly as a result of this dream and other reflections, I recall making a littleprayer for the first time in many years saying, “God, if you exist then guide me.”Over the following couple of months, I continued to wrestle with the questions Ihad in my mind about life, God, revelation and such issues.
One issue that Ifelt was crucial was the necessity of revelation to guide people to goodconduct. Eventually I realised that for people to even engage in a serioussincere attempt to achieve good conduct, including trying to learn right fromwrong, they had to first accept the moral need to do so. Revelation isnecessary for at least this reason. For without it there is no demonstrableconnection between what is and what we ought to do.
Striving to achieve a good understanding of what is right and wrong is itself thecore moral good which we must all attend to. This is of course a circularargument, for those who insist that there is no moral good and no moral badthat there is no God to judge such things, for such people there is nomotivation to even try and find out what is right or wrong.
So, we have two clearpossibilities, either accept that there is moral right and moral wrong andimplicitly a judge thereof, or deny that there is any moral accountability andthen have no need to strive to direct your life to doing good. Both positions areself-reinforcing.
At that point, understanding this dichotomy, I decided that I, as a human being,could not live the kind of pointless life that the second option implied. Neithercould I sit on the fence any longer. I concluded on one evening, while on myown in my student room, that I believed in God, that based on what I knew ofdifferent religions, Islam made far more sense than any other belief system. Iwrote down the testimony of faith in Islam – the Shahadah – on some paper andsigned it. I was now a Muslim.
Over the next month or so I read the Qur’ān (in English) with the attitude of “If Icannot find anything in here that I know to be wrong then I will stick with it. Therest of the material is debatable”. As I read, I became more and moreconvinced of my decision and could find nothing to make me doubt. Over thefollowing years I have continued to think carefully about everything I acceptand make progress based on sound reasoning.
Sometimes, I have mademistakes, but I still maintain that life is about learning. Mistakes are just part ofthe way we progress. The key though, to good learning, as with good thinking,is first to acknowledge that being good is about morals. Having moralsrequires us to believe that God exists as the ultimate judge of what is morallygood. Who else could possibly be qualified?
My life had changed and I have never looked back since without saying“Alhamdulillah…I am a Muslim.”