Mutual Reminding & Good Manners
SowSee Summary
About the Book
In this profound work, Imam Al-Haddad delves into the spiritual heart of Islam, offering a two-part guide on cultivating taqwa (God-consciousness) and refining personal character through mutual reminders and exemplary manners. Rooted in Qur’anic verses, Prophetic traditions, and insights from the righteous predecessors, the treatises provide practical guidance for navigating life as a devout believer.
The first treatise, Mutual Reminding, explores the importance of God-consciousness, obstacles to obedience, and the role of spiritual reminders in maintaining faith. The second treatise, Good Manners, emphasizes the necessity of spiritual discipline, purity, and etiquette on the path to divine proximity.
About the Author
Imam ʿAbd Allāh Ibn ʿAlawī al-Ḥaddād (1634–1720 CE) was a renowned Yemeni scholar, spiritual master, and poet of the Ba ‘Alawi tradition, known for his emphasis on balance between outward practice and inward purification. He authored numerous works, including The Book of Assistance (Risālat al-Muʿāwana), which provides practical guidance on faith, worship, and spiritual discipline. His teachings continue to inspire Muslims worldwide, emphasizing sincerity, devotion, and the pursuit of ihsan (spiritual excellence).
Insight 1: Taqwa is an Active Discipline
You might think of taqwa as simply “fear of God,” but it is far more dynamic and nuanced than that. Taqwa is an active, ongoing state of awareness—an anchoring presence that shapes every moment of your life. It’s not just about avoiding sin because of fear of punishment; it’s about living in constant mindfulness of God’s grandeur and mercy. Imam Al-Haddad writes, “The reality of taqwa is that your Lord never sees you where He has forbidden you to be, nor does He miss you where He has commanded you to be.” It is a spiritual posture, a way of being that permeates every action, word, and intention.
Imagine taqwa as the compass of your soul. Without it, you’re drifting—subject to the whims of temptation, distraction, and worldly desires. But with it, you’re aligned with a higher purpose. Taqwa is not passive. It doesn’t mean retreating to a corner and hoping you stay out of trouble. It’s active vigilance, a constant recalibration to ensure that your heart, actions, and priorities remain tethered to the Divine.
This isn’t easy. The Qur’an acknowledges this when it instructs: “So fear God as much as you are able.” Perfection isn’t required, but effort is. Taqwa demands introspection and a willingness to hold yourself accountable. When you mess up—and you will—it’s not about wallowing in guilt but about course-correcting. It’s saying, “I fell short today, but tomorrow I’ll strive harder.”
This process begins with humility. To live with taqwa is to admit your limitations and dependence on God. It’s realizing that you cannot navigate life’s complexities alone. You might think you’re in control, but taqwa reminds you that everything—your wealth, health, time—is on loan. When you embrace this truth, you stop grasping at illusions of independence. Instead, you surrender to God’s wisdom, seeking His guidance in every step.
Taqwa manifests in both big and small moments. It’s the decision to resist a lucrative but unethical deal at work. It’s lowering your gaze when tempted to look at something inappropriate. It’s choosing kindness when anger flares, because you remember the verse, “Indeed, God is with those who fear Him and those who do good.” It’s the whisper in your heart that asks, “Will this please God?” before you act.
But taqwa isn’t just about avoidance; it’s also about doing what’s right. It’s showing up for Fajr prayer even when the bed feels warm and the world is still dark. It’s giving in charity when no one is watching, not for recognition, but because you know God sees. Taqwa is both shield and sword—it protects you from sin and propels you toward goodness.
There will be days when living with taqwa feels like walking against the wind. The pull of the world is strong. People might scoff at your choices, dismissing them as overly cautious or unnecessary. But remember that taqwa is not about them—it’s about your relationship with your Lord. The Qur’an offers this promise: “Whoever fears God, He will make for him a way out and provide for him from sources he could never imagine.” Taqwa is not a restriction; it’s freedom—a liberation from the chains of ego and the fleeting distractions of this worldly life.
The beauty of taqwa is that it grows with practice. The more you cultivate this God-consciousness, the more it becomes second nature. Like a muscle, it strengthens with use. And the reward? It’s not just the avoidance of punishment; it’s a life imbued with peace, purpose, and proximity to God.
So, ask yourself: How am I living with taqwa today? How can I remind myself, in the midst of life’s noise, that God is closer to me than my own jugular vein? This is not a one-time decision. It’s a daily, hourly, moment-to-moment commitment. And it’s worth it, because taqwa isn’t just the path to God—it’s walking knowing He is present.
Insight 2: Knowledge is the Light that Dispels Ignorance
There’s a reason why the first revelation to Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him, was the command to “Read.” Knowledge is the starting point of faith, the spark that illuminates the path to God. Without it, you’re like a traveler lost in the wilderness, stumbling without direction. Shaykh Ali ibn Abi Bakr, teaches that ignorance is the root of all evil, the fire that consumes the soul. He calls on you to seek knowledge, not as an intellectual exercise, but as a transformative tool to reshape your heart and life. “Ignorance is a fire that burns a man’s religion,” he writes, “and its extinguishing water is knowledge.”
Knowledge in Islam isn’t merely about facts or theories. It’s practical, actionable, and tied to your relationship with God. It begins with understanding your obligations—how to pray, fast, and worship correctly—but it doesn’t end there. True knowledge reshapes how you see the world, aligning your perspective with divine wisdom. It’s not just about what you know but how that knowledge transforms you.
Think of the ignorant heart as a dark room. It’s full of potential, but without light, it remains unused, untapped. Knowledge is the lamp that reveals what’s inside. It shows you the beauty of God’s creation, the wisdom in His laws, and the pitfalls of your own ego. Once illuminated, that room—your heart—becomes a place of worship, a space where divine awareness takes root.
But this kind of knowledge isn’t something you stumble upon. It requires effort, humility, and sincerity. You have to seek it actively, whether by studying the Qur’an, engaging with Prophetic traditions, or learning from scholars and righteous companions. The Prophet, peace be upon him, said, “Seeking knowledge is an obligation upon every Muslim.” This obligation isn’t a burden—it’s an honor. It’s your opportunity to draw closer to God.
Knowledge also equips you to combat the dangers of ignorance. Imam Al-Haddad warns that an ignorant person is vulnerable to neglecting their duties and committing sins, often unknowingly. How many times have you justified a wrong action simply because you didn’t know better? How often have you been blind to the spiritual consequences of your choices? Knowledge removes these excuses. It holds up a mirror to your life, showing you what needs to change.
Yet, knowledge is more than just a defense against sin—it’s a catalyst for good. When you understand the wisdom behind God’s commands, obedience becomes easier. When you learn about the Prophet’s, peace be upon him, life, his patience, and his love for humanity, you’re inspired to embody those qualities. Knowledge stirs something deep within you, a desire to not just exist but to live meaningfully, with purpose.
But beware: not all knowledge is beneficial. Imam Al-Ghazali cautioned against knowledge that leads to arrogance or distraction. True knowledge humbles you. It makes you aware of your limitations, your dependence on God, and your responsibility toward others. It drives you to act, to serve, and to worship with sincerity. As the Qur’an reminds you: “Indeed, the most fearful of God among His servants are those who have knowledge.”
This path of learning never ends. The more you know, the more you realize how much remains undiscovered. That’s the beauty of it. You’re constantly growing, constantly being refined. Every verse you study, every hadith you ponder, every moment spent in reflection draws you closer to God. It’s a process of unveiling, a journey toward the ultimate truth.
So, ask yourself: What steps are you taking to seek knowledge? Are you actively learning, or are you content with what you already know? Don’t let ignorance steal your potential. The Prophet. Peace be upon him, said, “When God wishes good for someone, He gives them understanding of the religion.” Let this be your guide. Seek knowledge, not for its own sake, but to illuminate your path, to draw nearer to your Creator, and to fulfill the purpose for which you were created.
In the end, knowledge isn’t just a tool—it’s a light. And in a world that often feels dark and overwhelming, it’s the light you need to navigate your way home.
Insight 3: Long Hopes are the Thief of Spiritual Urgency
You might think you have all the time in the world. Tomorrow feels guaranteed, and so does the day after that. But deep down, you know better. Death is not a distant concept—it’s an ever-present reality, closer than your own shadow. Imam Al-Haddad warns that “long hopes”—the belief that life stretches endlessly before you—are one of the most dangerous illusions you can entertain. They rob you of urgency, lulling you into spiritual complacency, and distracting you from preparing for the Hereafter.
Think about it: How many times have you delayed an act of worship, a moment of repentance, or a commitment to change because you believed tomorrow would be there? You tell yourself, “I’ll pray with more focus later,” or “I’ll give charity once I’ve saved enough.” But tomorrow isn’t promised. Long hopes are the thief that steals your present, leaving you unprepared when death inevitably knocks at your door.
Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him, said, “Be in this world as though you are a stranger or a traveler.” Travelers don’t get comfortable. They don’t unpack their bags and settle down in a place they know isn’t their final destination. Likewise, you are not meant to treat this world as your eternal home. The Hereafter is your true destination, and long hopes distract you from packing for that journey.
When you let go of long hopes, something profound happens: your priorities shift. Suddenly, the fleeting pleasures of this world lose their grip on you. You stop chasing status, wealth, and distractions because you realize they’re nothing more than glittering illusions. You begin to see time as your most valuable currency—not because it’s yours, but because it’s a gift from God. Every moment becomes an opportunity to draw closer to Him, to build your eternal abode.
Imam Al-Haddad describes long hopes as the root of procrastination. When you think you have time, you delay the work that matters. You push repentance to the back burner. You tell yourself there’s no rush to mend broken relationships or seek forgiveness. But procrastination is a cruel trap. As the Qur’an warns: “Until, when death comes to one of them, he says, ‘My Lord, send me back so that I may do good in that which I left behind.’ But no! It is only a word he is saying.” By the time you realize the urgency, it’s too late.
The cure for long hopes is simple, but not easy: Remember death. The Prophet. Peace be upon him, called it “the destroyer of pleasures”and advised reflecting on it often. This isn’t about being morbid or fearful—it’s about clarity. When you keep death in mind, you stop wasting time on trivialities. You start living with purpose. Each prayer, each act of kindness, each moment of gratitude becomes infused with meaning because you know it could be your last.
Detaching from long hopes also frees you from the anxiety of unfinished worldly ambitions. You no longer live for the endless “what ifs” or “somedays.” Instead, you focus on what you can do now—right here, in this moment. Imam Al-Haddad writes, “Shorten your hopes, and let your time stand before your eyes and your hope behind your back.” This mindset shifts you from passivity to action. You stop waiting for the perfect time to turn to God because you realize that time is now.
But beware—shortening your hopes doesn’t mean abandoning worldly responsibilities. Islam doesn’t ask you to neglect your family, your work, or your aspirations. Instead, it calls you to approach them with the right perspective. Serve your family, excel in your career, and pursue your dreams—but don’t let them consume you. Use them as tools to fulfill your higher purpose, not as ends in themselves.
So, how do you start living with shorter hopes? Begin by making death a part of your daily reflection. Recall those who have passed before you—relatives, friends, leaders. Ask yourself: What will I leave behind? What am I doing today that will outlast me? Use these questions to realign your priorities, and remember: Every moment is a chance to prepare for eternity.
This isn’t about fear; it’s about freedom. When you let go of long hopes, you stop clinging to the temporary. You become anchored in what truly matters: God, the Hereafter, and the legacy you leave behind. This clarity is your greatest asset. It turns your fleeting days into meaningful ones, ensuring that when your time comes, you meet it with readiness, not regret.
Insight 4: Sincerity is the Heart of Worship
Why do you do what you do? This question cuts deeper than you might think. Sincerity isn’t just about doing the right thing; it’s about doing it for the right reason. Imam Al-Haddad calls sincerity the axis upon which all acts of worship revolve. Without it, your prayers, charity, fasting, and even your daily kindnesses risk becoming hollow shells, devoid of spiritual substance.
Think of sincerity as the soul of your worship. You could perform the most magnificent outward acts—giving large amounts in charity, fasting for weeks, or praying all night—but if your intention is to impress others or satisfy your ego, those actions lose their divine weight. The Qur’an reminds you: “And they were not commanded except to worship God, being sincere to Him in religion.” Sincerity is not optional. It is the foundation of worship, the thread that connects your actions to God.
Imam Al-Haddad emphasizes that sincerity begins with purifying your intentions. Before you act, pause and ask yourself: Why am I doing this? Is it to seek God’s pleasure, or is it for recognition, praise, or some hidden benefit? This kind of self-interrogation requires brutal honesty. It’s not comfortable to confront your ego, but it’s necessary. Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him, warned: “Actions are judged by intentions, and every person will receive what they intended.” Your outward actions may be seen by others, but God sees your heart.
What makes sincerity so challenging is that it requires constant vigilance. Your intention can shift subtly and silently, even in the middle of a good deed. You might start praying solely for God but find yourself hoping someone notices your devotion. You might begin a charity project with pure motives but later enjoy the admiration it brings. Imam Al-Haddad describes this as the insidious nature of ostentation a disease of the heart that contaminates your worship. He advises that sincerity is not about being flawless but about continually realigning your heart toward God.
Sincerity also demands that you act consistently, whether in public or private. A truly sincere person doesn’t alter their behavior based on who is watching. They pray with the same focus at home as they do in the mosque. They give in charity as eagerly when no one is looking as they do when an audience is present. The Prophet, peace be upon him, described this state beautifully: “The best of you are those who worship God as if they see Him, for though you do not see Him, He sees you.” When you internalize this awareness, sincerity becomes second nature.
But sincerity isn’t just about avoiding ostentation; it’s also about letting go of the need for validation or reward. You give for the sake of giving, not for gratitude. You serve because it’s right, not because it elevates your status. When you remove worldly expectations, you find freedom. Imam Al-Haddad teaches that sincerity turns ordinary actions into acts of worship. A mother feeding her child with love, a worker performing their job with integrity, or a student seeking knowledge with humility—all these become sacred when done for God’s sake.
The beauty of sincerity is that it transforms the mundane into the meaningful. Even small acts, when done with pure intention, carry immense spiritual weight. A single coin given in charity with sincerity can outweigh a fortune given for show.
Remember, sincerity doesn’t mean perfection. It means striving, returning to God again and again, and asking Him to purify your heart. The Qur’an promises: “Indeed, the sincere will have a great reward with their Lord.” Let this be your motivation. When sincerity becomes the heart of your worship, every action—big or small—becomes a bridge to God, bringing you closer to Him with every step.
Insight 5: The Love of This World is the Root of Sin
You are not here forever. This world—its pleasures, distractions, and allure—is temporary. And yet, how easily does your heart cling to it? Imam Al-Haddad identifies love of this world as the root of every sin. It is the gravitational pull that tethers you to fleeting desires, dragging you away from your ultimate purpose. Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him, warned: “The love of this world is the head of every sin.” It’s a bold claim, but one that holds up under scrutiny when you reflect on your own choices and struggles.
What happens when your heart becomes entangled in the world? You prioritize material wealth over spiritual wealth. You obsess over status, possessions, and pleasures, often at the expense of your faith. You tell yourself that these pursuits are harmless or even necessary, but Imam Al-Haddad challenges you to look deeper. He writes that love of the world blinds you, making you forget the Hereafter. When your focus is fixed on accumulating, achieving, and enjoying, how often do you pause to consider the state of your soul?
The danger lies not in the world itself but in how you relate to it. The Qur’an doesn’t command you to reject the dunya entirely—it commands you to master it. “Do not forget your share of this world,” it says. This verse reminds you that worldly pursuits are permissible, even necessary, but they should never dominate your heart. The real issue arises when you let the world own you, when your identity and happiness are tied to what you possess.
Imam Al-Haddad describes the heart’s capacity as finite. When you fill it with the dunya, you leave little room for God. Imagine a vessel. The more you pour in attachments to wealth, status, and indulgence, the less space remains for faith, worship, and gratitude. This isn’t just a metaphor; it’s a spiritual reality. The Prophet, peace be upon him, described it clearly: “The servant says, ‘My wealth, my wealth.’ But is there anything truly yours except what you eat and consume, wear and wear out, or give in charity that endures?”
To detach from the dunya, you must first understand its true nature. The Qur’an lays it bare: “Know that the life of this world is but play, amusement, adornment, boasting among you, and competition in wealth and children. Like rain whose growth pleases the tillers, but then it dries and turns yellow, becoming stubble.” This world is an illusion, a fleeting test. Its pleasures are temporary, its trials inevitable. It’s not a destination but a journey, a bridge to the Hereafter.
But detachment doesn’t mean neglect. You’re not called to abandon your responsibilities or live as an ascetic. Islam encourages excellence in worldly matters—whether in work, family, or community—but always with the Hereafter in mind. Imam Al-Haddad advises you to use the dunya as a tool. Earn, but don’t be greedy. Build, but don’t be arrogant. Enjoy, but don’t let enjoyment distract you from your purpose.
Ask yourself: What owns your heart? Is it your career, your possessions, your reputation? These are not inherently bad, but they become dangerous when they consume you. Imam Al-Haddad warns that love of the world leads to spiritual blindness. You stop seeing the bigger picture. You delay repentance, prioritize the temporary, and risk facing the Hereafter unprepared.
The antidote is detachment. This doesn’t mean abandoning the world; it means holding it lightly. It’s a shift in perspective. You engage with the world, but you don’t let it define you. You use it to fulfill your obligations, but you remember that it’s temporary.
Start small. Reflect on your attachments. Are you living to impress others, to hoard wealth, or to chase fleeting pleasures? If so, reorient yourself. Use your time, wealth, and talents for eternal gain. Give in charity, support your family, and serve your community—all for the sake of God. Let your heart find peace in remembering Him, not in the false security of material things.
The world will try to own you, but you have a choice. You can rise above it, seeing it for what it truly is: a tool, a test, a means to an end. Love God more than the world, and the world will fall into its rightful place—as a servant, not a master. When you detach from the dunya, you free your heart to pursue what truly matters: God’s pleasure and the eternal peace of the Hereafter.
Insight 6: Spiritual Discipline Shapes Character
Discipline. It’s a word that carries weight. It’s the framework upon which you build every success, every virtue, and every meaningful transformation. Imam Al-Haddad emphasizes that spiritual discipline is not just a means to an end—it is the path. If you want to shape your character, draw closer to God, and navigate life with purpose, discipline is non-negotiable. Without it, your intentions remain aspirations, your goals mere dreams. With it, you create a structure that guides you toward your highest potential.
Character isn’t formed in the abstract. It’s carved out of the choices you make each day. When you guard your senses, maintain purity, and engage in acts of remembrance, you are actively training your heart to align with divine will. These actions may seem small, but they are transformative. Every time you lower your gaze, hold back a harsh word, or rise for prayer when it’s inconvenient, you are reinforcing a new pattern of behavior. Over time, these patterns become your character.
The Qur’an reminds you of the stakes: “Indeed, those who have believed and done righteous deeds will have a good state.” Righteous deeds don’t happen by accident. They are the result of discipline—the daily, consistent effort to live according to God’s commands. Imam Al-Haddad writes that spiritual discipline is about more than avoiding sin. It’s about actively cultivating good habits that lead you closer to God. These habits include prayer, fasting, charity, and self-reflection.
But let’s be honest: discipline is hard. The path of least resistance always seems more appealing. It’s easier to scroll on your phone than to read the Qur’an. It’s more comfortable to stay in bed than to rise for Fajr. It’s simpler to react with anger than to respond with patience. Yet, these moments of discomfort are precisely where character is forged. Each time you choose discipline over ease, you strengthen your will, your faith, and your relationship with God.
Imam Al-Haddad advises that discipline begins with small, consistent actions. Start by committing to the basics: pray on time, recite Qur’an daily, and engage in regular dhikr (remembrance of God). These acts may feel routine at first, but they are profound. Each one draws you closer to God and builds the foundation for greater spiritual growth. As you strengthen these habits, you’ll find that they spill over into other areas of your life. Discipline in worship leads to discipline in relationships, work, and personal development.
But beware of perfectionism. Discipline is not about never failing—it’s about getting back up when you do. Imam Al-Haddad reminds you that the journey to God is a process. There will be days when you fall short, when laziness or distraction gets the better of you. Don’t let these moments derail you. Return to God with humility and renew your commitment. The Qur’an assures you: “Indeed, God loves those who are constantly repentant and loves those who purify themselves.”
Spiritual discipline also requires guarding your heart from distractions. Imam Al-Haddad teaches that what you consume—through your senses, thoughts, and interactions—shapes your inner state. Be mindful of what you watch, listen to, and engage with. Surround yourself with people who inspire you to be better, who remind you of God. Avoid environments that pull you away from your values. Discipline is not just about what you do; it’s about what you avoid.
In the end, spiritual discipline is an act of love. It’s your way of showing devotion to God, of prioritizing His pleasure over fleeting desires. And it’s not just about the Hereafter—it transforms your experience of this world, too. Discipline brings clarity, focus, and peace. It helps you navigate life with intention, knowing that every action has meaning and every moment is an opportunity to draw closer to God.
So, where do you start? Begin with one act of discipline today. Maybe it’s waking up for Tahajjud, reading a page of Qur’an, or holding your tongue when provoked. Commit to it. Be consistent. Over time, these small acts will compound, shaping your character and elevating your soul. Discipline isn’t easy, but it’s worth it. It’s the bridge between who you are and who you’re meant to be. And on the other side of that bridge lies God’s pleasure, the ultimate reward.
Insight 7: The Power of Mutual Reminders
You are not alone on this journey. Faith is a communal affair, a shared endeavor where believers lean on and lift each other. Imam Al-Haddad emphasizes the importance of mutual reminders, the sacred act of encouraging one another in truth, patience, and righteousness. This practice isn’t just a nice-to-have; it’s foundational to living a life of purpose and spiritual growth. The Qur’an enjoins you: “And remind, for indeed, reminders benefit the believers.”
Why do reminders matter? Because life is noisy. The world is full of distractions, temptations, and trials that pull your focus away from God. No matter how strong your faith, there are days when you feel weak, when the weight of the world makes you falter. On those days, the gentle nudge of a reminder can reawaken your soul. It’s like a compass, redirecting you toward your ultimate purpose.
Mutual reminders are not just about words; they’re about actions and presence. When you see someone living with sincerity, patience, and humility, it inspires you to do the same. Their example becomes a living reminder of what it means to live in alignment with God’s will. Imam Al-Haddad teaches that when believers come together to share knowledge, encouragement, and wisdom, they create a ripple effect. Your reminder to someone today might be the catalyst for their good deeds tomorrow.
The Qur’an offers a profound example of this dynamic in Surah Al-Asr: “By time, indeed, mankind is in loss, except for those who have believed, and done righteous deeds, and advised each other to truth, and advised each other to patience.” These verses link your personal salvation to your ability to support others. Belief and action are not enough—you must also help others stay firm in their faith and practice. This is a collective responsibility, a shared bond that strengthens the community as a whole.
But let’s be real: giving and receiving reminders can be challenging. No one likes to be told they’re falling short, and it’s not always easy to approach someone with advice. This is where wisdom, humility, and sincerity come in. Imam Al-Haddad advises that reminders should be given gently, with kindness and a clear intention to benefit the other person. It’s not about proving your superiority or criticizing someone harshly; it’s about inviting them back to what is best for their soul.
Mutual reminders are also a two-way street. Be open to receiving them as much as you give. When someone offers you advice, resist the urge to be defensive or dismissive. See it as a gift, an opportunity to grow. The Qur’an praises those who are receptive to guidance: “And those who heed advice will be guided by it.” This humility not only strengthens your relationship with God but also deepens your connection with others.
In practice, mutual reminders can take many forms. It might be as simple as a text message reminding a friend to pray or a heartfelt conversation about overcoming a spiritual struggle. It could be attending a study circle together, sharing a powerful Qur’anic verse, or simply living in a way that reflects your values. Every reminder, no matter how small, has the potential to spark change.
So, how can you make mutual reminders a part of your life? Start by building relationships rooted in sincerity and trust. Surround yourself with people who uplift you and hold you accountable. Be proactive in offering encouragement, but always check your intention. Are you speaking to help, or to elevate your ego? And when you’re on the receiving end, be grateful. Remember, a true friend is someone who guides you toward God, even when it’s uncomfortable.
Mutual reminders are not just about keeping each other on track; they’re about building a community of faith. Together, you remind each other of what truly matters, helping each other navigate the distractions and challenges of life. This shared commitment strengthens your bond with God and with one another. When you remind someone, or are reminded yourself, you participate in a sacred exchange—one that echoes into eternity.
Imam Al-Haddad’s teachings remind us of the transient nature of this world and the eternal significance of the Hereafter. By cultivating taqwa, refining our manners, and supporting one another with spiritual reminders, we align ourselves with the purpose of creation: worship and proximity to God.