“Do know that contemplation and patience are from Allah, while hastiness and impetuosity are from Shayṭān… Contemplate and reflect before every action.”
-Prophet Muḥammad (ṣ)1
Every year, as the month of Muḥarram arrives, I see well-meaning friends and relatives congratulating one another on the arrival of the new Islamic year. But the beginning of the Islamic New Year is not like the new years of other cultures, as Islam is not a national identity, but rather a universal program for psychospiritual growth. In secular cultures, people congratulate one another on the coming of the new year. For the Islamic new year, we don’t. While it may come from a place of good intention, New Year’s celebrations on the Hijri calendar reflect an uninformedness about our Islamic history. Still, in an exhausting social climate, some ask why we ought to commemorate the tragedy of Karbalāʾ with such intensity. Yes, it was tragic, but many more people in history have been oppressively killed since. In reality, ʿĀshūrāʾ does not exist to entertain our emotions. ʿĀshūrāʾ exists to foster our growth in a way no other tragedy can.
The unique spiritual context underlying ʿĀshūrāʾ serves as a lens by which all other tragedies can be interpreted. Consequently, the grief we feel around the martyrdom of Imām Ḥusayn (ʿa) is a powerful driver for change. This is perhaps why we begin our Islamic New Year with grief. In most cultures around the world, people start the new year with joy, whether it is the Western New Year that begins on January 1st, Chinese Lunar New Year, or Nawrouz. The grief we experience at the start of our new year is a catalyst for important growth. By beginning with solemnity and deliberation, we set the tone for psychospiritual growth throughout the rest of the year.
Encouraged by Shahīd Murtaḍā Muṭahharī (d. 1979), opposite action is a practice that was introduced as a part of Dialectical Behavior Therapy (DBT) in 1993. In opposite action, the participant does the opposite of what their nafs wants in order to attain the higher satisfaction of self-ownership. This gently regulates the buzzing of the amygdala’s fight-or-flight response and allows your prefrontal cortex (which dictates judgment, impulse control, decision-making) to take the lead. This also has implications for the anterior mid-cingulate cortex, the part of the brain that dictates willpower and even the will to live. The AMCC is exercised only when one forces themselves to do difficult things. Even if the grief of facing the sacrifice of Imām Ḥusayn (ʿa) is overwhelming, the believer is doing the work necessary to grow. This means that beginning the Islamic New Year by striving in the way of Allah (swt) as exemplified by Imām Ḥusayn (ʿa) sets the tone for the rest of the year in a way that is cohesive with the design of Allah (swt) for your psychological growth.
This is beautifully demonstrated by the example of Ḥurr ibn Yazīd ar-Riyāḥī. The shame and grief he experienced inspired him to take opposite action and save his soul. He did the hard thing, and in doing so began to move through life with deliberation and became closer to Allah (swt), attaining martyrdom as a soldier of Imām Ḥusayn (ʿa). Contrast the example of Ḥurr (ʿa) with Shimr ibn Dhil Jawshan, who had fought alongside Imām ʿAlī (ʿa) and then had fought for Yazīd. Shimr was fighting for material gain, in stark opposition to his former values. This was because he had allowed his nafs to rust away, indulging in his desires without resistance. His indulgence stood in opposition to the grief of the tragedy of Karbalāʾ, and caused him to assume a lack of presence in his decision-making. By not starting with solemnity, Shimr ended up regretful at the end.
ʿĀshūrāʾ doesn’t just encourage growth personally; it also drives growth as a community. By participating in majālis, practicing laṭmiyyah, and other forms of social commemoration, we make it easier to make progress in incremental steps. Coming together to do the work makes it easier to practice and easier to commit to. We can see this reflected in broad practice, such as Shahr Ramaḍān or congregational prayer, but also in specific instances of spiritual demonstration, such as in the army of Imām Ḥusayn (ʿa). This touches on another theme of personal growth: while one can accomplish growth individually, it’s easier as a group.
Despite congregation helping the individual move in the direction of their positive growth, it can also be limiting if not met with thoughtfulness. We see this in the example of Kūfah. Many of the same people who welcomed Imām Ḥusayn (ʿa) also abandoned Muslim ibn ʿAqīl to be murdered by the forces of Ibn Ziyād. So yes, congregation is a powerful tool to reinforce behavior, but its merits extend insofar as the reinforced behavior is beneficial. How many members of the army of Yazīd felt empowered because they were in the majority? How many atrocities were accepted on the basis of the offenses of the majority? There may be no more apparent example of this than the man who said to a crying Lady Sakīnah that if he didn’t rip her earrings out, someone else would. Congregation is a good tool, but its usefulness is in amplifying conscious effort toward Allah (swt), which is the ultimate goal.
Be it in congregation or independently, we as Muslims seek growth throughout our lives and through the history of our divinely appointed role models, none more urgent than the tragedy of Karbalāʾ. Remembrance of the sacrifice of Imām Ḥusayn (ʿa) benefits us in our growth, psychologically and spiritually. By beginning our year with the commemoration of this event, we are inspired to move forward with deliberation. Whether seen in the example of Ḥurr (ʿa) and his contrast to Shimr, or recognized throughout the Islamic calendar, the theme is constant: the path to Allah (swt) cannot be walked on autopilot.
- Riwayat-ha Wa Hikayat-ha, Page 195; Dastan-ha-e-Mathnawi, Volume 2, Page 125. ↩︎