Death is the one appointment none of us can cancel, yet it remains the one we most desperately avoid confronting. In a world saturated with material ambition, entertainment, and relentless distraction, the Islamic practice of remembering death — dhikr al-mawt — has become deeply unfashionable, even among those who profess faith. One Islamic scholar shared something striking: his 82-year-old father, a man so physically vigorous he could beat most men at tennis, confessed that only in his ninth decade did he feel genuinely mortal for the first time. Eighty-two years of life, and the reality of death had only just registered. That single admission exposes the deepest illusion of human existence — that despite seeing death around us constantly, we somehow believe, deep in our hearts, that we are the exception. Islam cuts through that illusion with mercy and precision, teaching that the remembrance of death is not morbid but clarifying — not a source of despair but the most powerful anchor for a life of genuine purpose, faith, and spiritual direction.
The Illusion of Permanence: When This World Becomes Everything
The materialist teaches that life is a random accident — we are born, we live, we die, and that is all. Yet paradoxically, the materialist also lives as though death will never arrive: building grand homes, accumulating wealth, chasing comfort, as though this Earth is an eternal dwelling. Islam identifies this confusion at the very root of human suffering — the catastrophic mistake of treating the temporary as permanent, and the journey as the destination. The Prophet Muhammad ﷺ, whose guidance remains the clearest light for humanity in all matters of faith and purpose, gave us one of the most profound descriptions of our true relationship with this world:
“What have I got to do with this world? I am like a rider on a journey who has taken rest underneath the shade of a tree, and then continues on his journey.”
— Prophet Muhammad ﷺ (Tirmidhi)
- The shade is real — but it is not the destination. The rest the desert traveller takes is necessary; without it he would collapse before reaching his goal. But no wise traveller pitches a permanent tent under that tree and declares he has arrived.
- This life is provision, not the prize. What we truly need from this world is the provision of righteous deeds — the only currency that holds value in the Hereafter.
- Our destination is clear: Paradise is the goal to strive toward; the Hellfire is the outcome to fear and flee; the Day of Judgment is the reckoning through which every soul must pass.
- Allah will weigh our deeds. On that Day, neither wealth, status, nor worldly achievement will carry any weight — only what was done sincerely for His sake.
- Heedlessness is the default, not the exception. Most people, as the Quran confirms, are deceived by the life of this world — seduced into thinking the resting place is the destination.
Investing for What Lasts: Deeds, Intention, and the Life to Come
The deeper problem is not that people do no good in this world — many are generous, kind, and hardworking. The real crisis is one of orientation and intention. A person who deposits money into a basic account gets back only what they put in. A person who invests wisely earns a return on top of it. In precisely the same way, deeds done purely for the dunya yield only worldly reward — they are spent the moment this life ends. The only investment that carries forward is one made sincerely for the sake of Allah, in accordance with His revelation and the Sunnah of His Messenger ﷺ. Islam does not demand we abandon this world; it demands we use it wisely — the way a pilgrim gathers provision for the road ahead, not the way a hoarder mistakes the caravanserai for home.
“The true meaning of life is not life itself — the true meaning of life is the end of life.”
— From the lecture “Don’t Forget About Death”
When a believer truly internalises this reality, everything shifts. The frantic race to accumulate loosens its grip. Prayer becomes more urgent, not less. Charity stops being an afterthought and becomes a deliberate investment in the only account that will remain open after death. Time — the most finite resource any of us possesses — is no longer squandered on things that will not survive the grave. Islam does not call us to withdraw from this world in despair or asceticism; it calls us to engage with it fully, purposefully, and wisely — always with our eyes fixed on where this road ultimately leads. Brothers and sisters, we do not know when death will arrive. Most will not see eighty-two, and even those who do may find, like the scholar’s father, that the realisation of mortality comes far too late to act upon it. The moment to remember death, realign our intentions, and begin investing in the Hereafter with every prayer, every act of kindness, and every sincere turning back to Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala — that moment is now.
