Series: Hajj Does Not Return as It Began (5)
Prof Dr. Faid Mohammed Said
In the Islamic religious experience, Hajj is not viewed merely as a geographical journey, but as an experience of reshaping the human being from within. Therefore, the real question that confronts the pilgrim after completing the rites is not: What did I see? Rather, it is: What changed within me? Has worship transformed into a lasting effect upon my awareness, behaviour, and relationship with God, people, and life itself?
From here emerges the issue of dhikr (remembrance of God) as one of the deepest themes in understanding Hajj, and worship in general. In Islam, dhikr is not simply repeated words, nor a vocal ritual tied to specific seasons. Rather, it is a concept connected to the inner structure of the human being: to awareness, perception, spiritual presence, and the ability to free oneself from heedlessness, in which a person may spend their life without truly recognising themselves, their purpose, or their relationship with their Creator.
Whoever reflects upon the rituals of Hajj notices that dhikr nearly fills every detail of the journey. The pilgrim moves between the talbiyah, glorification, supplication, and praise, as though Hajj seeks to rebuild the relationship between the human being and the word itself. Here, the word is not merely a sound, but a means of awakening the heart and reordering the inner self. For this reason, the Qur’an repeatedly links Hajj with remembrance of God. Allah says:
“Then when you depart from Arafat, remember Allah at al-Mash‘ar al-Haram.” (Al-Baqarah: 198)
And He says:
“And remember Allah during appointed days.” (Al-Baqarah: 203)
Yet the real problem does not lie in the absence of dhikr from people’s lives, but in the fact that remembrance can sometimes become a mechanical practice detached from awareness. Religious words, when repeated without inward presence, may lose their transformative effect and become more of a linguistic habit than a spiritual experience. Thus, the question, “Is my heart truly present?” becomes central to understanding the meaning of dhikr, and perhaps even the meaning of worship itself.
Modern human beings live in an unprecedented state of mental distraction and inner exhaustion. The continuous flow of information, digital noise, the speed of life, and consumerist tendencies all contribute to making a person physically present while spiritually absent. In this sense, dhikr in Islam can be understood as an attempt to restore existential attentiveness; that is, returning the human being to their inner centre and liberating them from constant fragmentation.
Remarkably, the Qur’an does not present dhikr as merely an additional act of worship, but as a source of human tranquillity itself:
“Indeed, in the remembrance of Allah do hearts find tranquillity.” (Ar-Ra‘d: 28)
Tranquillity here does not mean the absence of difficulties, but the ability to preserve inner balance amidst the disturbance of the external world. Thus, one person may live in material abundance yet remain deprived of peace, while another may endure hardship yet possess a profound spiritual stability.
In this context, the talbiyah in Hajj can be understood beyond its immediate ritual meaning. When the pilgrim says, “Labbayka Allahumma Labbayk” (Here I am, O Allah, here I am), it is not merely a verbal response, but a symbolic declaration of reordered priorities. It is as though the person announces, even if temporarily, that God must occupy the centre of life, not its margins. Therefore, the true value of the talbiyah is not revealed merely at the moment it is uttered, but in the person’s ability after Hajj to remain responsive to God through their ethics, decisions, relationships, and way of dealing with worldly life.
Early scholars of Islamic spirituality and moral refinement understood that one of the gravest afflictions of worship is ghaflah (heedlessness). In its deeper sense, heedlessness is not simply forgetfulness, but the loss of awareness of presence, when a person lives detached from life’s greatest questions: Why do they live? Where are they heading? What is the meaning of their existence? Hence, the Qur’an repeatedly warns against heedlessness as an existential state that affects both vision and conduct:
“And do not be among the heedless.” (Al-A‘raf: 205)
Thus, true dhikr is not measured merely by the number of words uttered, but by the extent of its impact upon the human being. Remembrance that does not soften the hardness of the heart, reduce selfishness, or elevate moral awareness remains incomplete in its educational purpose. For this reason, the aim of dhikr in the Islamic experience was never to transform a person into a being detached from life, but rather into someone more conscious, more compassionate, and more balanced in dealing with themselves and others.
Likewise, dhikr is not exclusive to pilgrims or sacred places. The central principle in Islam is that a person can build their relationship with God anywhere. One of the most profound meanings of seasons of worship, therefore, is that they do not seek to create a temporary spiritual moment, but rather to shape a renewed human being capable of carrying the impact of worship into everyday life.
Perhaps the greater problem is not that people do not remember God, but that many have lost the ability to inwardly savour meaning. Religious language, when detached from contemplation, becomes memorised words, while its true purpose is for words to become awareness. For a person to say, “Allahu Akbar” (God is Greater), while reassessing the things that dominate their fears and concerns. To say, “Alhamdulillah” (All praise is due to God), while recovering the sense of gratitude that has eroded under the pressure of familiarity. And to say, “SubhanAllah” (Glory be to God), while reflecting upon human limitations, the vastness of the universe, and the greatness of the Creator.
In the end, the question Hajj poses to the human being is not simply: Did you perform the rites? Rather: Have you become more present with God? For the essence of true spiritual transformation does not begin with the movement of the body, but with the awakening of the heart.
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