Reflections on the Concept of Success

The majority of people—if not all—speak about success, whether in the form of a wish, a claim, or envy of others.
While there is no doubt that success is a goal for many seekers, when we talk about success, we must consider several important premises:

First: The word “success” is a neutral and contextual term:

If we say that “success” is a neutral and contextual word, we likely are not straying from the truth.

Its neutrality means that success does not necessarily lead to happiness, nor does it always bring about goodness or righteousness. In fact, success can sometimes accompany the opposite.

For example, someone who succeeds in creating a cure for a terminal illness may find happiness and certainly has done something good and righteous. However, someone who succeeds in developing biological or chemical weapons that kill innocent people—even if he appears pleased—has not achieved goodness or righteousness; rather, he has brought about evil and corruption. Hence, the neutrality of the term lies in the fact that not every successful person is happy or content, and not every success yields benefit or goodness.

Its contextuality means that success varies according to reference points.

In modern capitalist culture, for example, success is often measured by wealth, fame, or influence.

Meanwhile, in moral frameworks, success is tied to integrity, righteousness, and useful impact.

In psychology, success is seen as self-actualization and achieving psychological and social balance.

Thus, the material, religious, or social context can define the nature of success.

Second: The measure of success is an evaluative, subjective standard:

This means that the criteria for success are not universally objective. A single event can be interpreted in entirely opposite ways—each side considering it a success for itself.

For example, take the story of the People of the Trench:

The king may have viewed himself as successful for eliminating his enemies, including the boy he failed to kill multiple times, along with the group of believers. But the boy might have seen himself as the successful one—he managed to expose the king’s weakness in front of a massive crowd, paving the way for the people to break free from the tyranny of ignorance imposed by the king and his court. Though he lost in the short term, he succeeded in the long run.

There was a Castilian king named Sancho who pursued a policy of continuous pressure against the Islamic state in Andalusia. Though he was repeatedly defeated in battle by the army of Cordoba, and his castles, fortresses, and cities were destroyed, when asked about the benefit of a war full of losses, he said: “I am preparing the ground for those who come after me. The Arabs will not be able to maintain a strong army while also preserving their luxurious way of life. If we exhaust them in one area, they will overextend in another. And when they overextend in one, they will inevitably fall short elsewhere.”

And indeed, that is what happened. The Muslims could not sustain both military strength and the success of their civilization and luxury. They prioritized the latter over the former, and in the end, lost both.

The point is: what some considered a failure for King Sancho turned out to be a long-term success.

Third: Success is the byproduct of context:

To explain: if we take those we most often regard as successful figures and strip them of their context (environmental, temporal, and geographic), the outcomes would change drastically.

For example, if we took Einstein and placed him in Zambia, Laos, or Peru, would we still have seen the iconic Einstein? And how many Einsteins have lived and died without anyone ever hearing of them?

When we read the biographies of great individuals, we find that they did not descend from the heavens in their extraordinary form, as some ignorant people like to imagine. Rather, they existed within a context that enabled them to appear as they did—rightfully so—but even then, this same context may have overlooked others who helped them reach such heights, despite possibly being more knowledgeable than them.

When I first began my pursuit of knowledge, I studied Qur’anic modes of recitation (qirā᾽āt) and exegesis (tafsīr) for four years under our master, the noble Ahmad Nu῾man Bakri, may Allāh be pleased with him, sanctify his soul, and illuminate his grave. He was a simple blind man who taught with contentment, yet he was a fountain of knowledge in Qur’anic sciences and tafsīr, well-versed and deeply hāfīẓ. And yet, only a very small number of people ever heard of him.

Later, when I moved to Cairo, I met the big-name scholars—the ones constantly sought after, whom people tried to draw near to through volunteering acts. But when I approached some of them, hoping to gain from their knowledge, I found them to be far less than what I had already learned during my time in obscurity. I was astonished at how qadar (Allah’s destiny) lifts and lowers people!

What changed was the context—the first scholar was in Tama, a town in Upper Egypt hardly seen on the map, while the second was in bustling Cairo, the meeting point of rivers, marvels, and opportunities.

I once had a discussion with a wise friend about how much we had accomplished during our stay in the United States, compared to others whose names quickly gained fame. I told him: such judgment is not objective—you cannot compare Zayd the immigrant to ῾Amr the native-born. I gave him a few basic details:

• ῾Amr the native-born holds citizenship by birth, giving him rights from the very start, while Zayd the immigrant may spend ten years, at best, to obtain that citizenship and its accompanying rights.
• ῾Amr the native-born speaks the language natively, whereas Zayd learns it through study and practice—a vast difference in time and fluency.
• ῾Amr is a child of the state’s system, and the system promotes him. Zayd, however, is an outsider, standing at the gates of that system, often without entry.
• ῾Amr the native found Zayd serving his needs, and so he started near the top of the ladder and only had to climb one rung. Zayd, by contrast, found no one to serve him, starting from the bottom, making it unlikely he would catch up with ῾Amr.
• What the public expects from ῾Amr and considers a success is not the same as what they expect or recognize as success from Zayd.

If Zayd were to bring the knowledge of the whole world, people might see it as something normal and ordinary. But if ῾Amr memorized two lines from “Ṣawt Ṣafīr al-Bulbul” (The Sound of the Nightingale) [which is a traditional Arabic poem], they would consider him the literary master of his time.

We return again to the matter of context, and I say: context can even vary for the same person—it may elevate him in one setting and lower him in another.

Take Vincent van Gogh, for example: he lived a miserable, wretched life. During his lifetime, he sold only one painting and was considered mentally ill.
After his death, his paintings sold for millions of dollars, and he became a symbol of tragic genius in modern art.

Take Ibn Taymiyyah: during his life, he was imprisoned multiple times by political authorities, fatwas were issued against him, and he was harshly attacked by the scholars of his time. Yet after his death, his books spread far and wide, his ideas were adopted by renewal movements, and he became the center of scholarly debate—admired by some and disliked by others.

Therefore, success depends—often greatly—on the context that allows it.

Fourth: Success between outer appearance and inner reality:

In many cases, we only see the outward image of success. We see someone successful in a particular field—whether materially or artistically—and we become impressed by that appearance, without looking into the deeper reality of things. But the truth is, apparent success must be reflected in the inner reality; otherwise, the joy of success is lost, and success itself becomes a heavy burden.

True success is when both the form and the substance, the outer and the inner, are aligned.

When we look at many people regarded by the public as models of success in various fields, we find that many of them lived miserable inner lives that do not reflect their outer success. Here, I will mention non-Muslim examples, so no one assumes that their failure was due to religious restrictions:

• Ernest Hemingway, the American Nobel Prize-winning author:
  Despite his achievements, he lived a life of misery, became an alcoholic, entered psychiatric treatment, suffered from depression, and ultimately committed suicide by shooting himself.
• Marilyn Monroe, the American icon of beauty and cinema:
  She lived a troubled life filled with miscarriages, depression, and failed relationships. It is believed she committed suicide by overdosing on sedatives.
• Robin Williams, widely seen as a beloved comedic actor and Oscar winner who brought laughter to millions and had a fortune worth millions. In reality, he suffered from depression and a form of dementia, and he took his own life in 2014.

Even among Muslim politicians and rulers, if one looks closely at their lives, one would see that what appears to be success is something quite different—something not to be envied.

Therefore, real success is to live in the pleasure of Allah, with inner peace, doing good to others as much as you can, and not betraying the purpose for which you were created or destined.

Dr. Khalid Naṣr