Allah has sent us to take the servants out from the worship of the servants to the worship of the Lord of the servants, and from the injustice of religions to the justice of Islam, and from the narrowness of the world to the spaciousness of this world and the Hereafter.” [1]
These were the words of the esteemed Companion Rabīʿ ibn ʿĀmir when he stood before Rustum, the commander-in-chief of the Persian army, during the Battle of Qadisiyyah.
This declaration encapsulated the essence of Islamic activism — it was never about following trends, but reorienting hearts and societies back to Allah.
Today, activism remains a defining feature of young Muslims in the West. At rallies, fundraisers, and campus campaigns, students tirelessly mobilise for causes they believe in, carrying the weight of community leadership on their shoulders.
But as involvement grows, a sobering question is popping up: has activism become an escape from spirituality rather than an extension of it?
The youthful face of Islam
Islam has always been a faith carried forward by the energy of its youth.
Today, that legacy continues — not in the deserts of Arabia, but in university halls, student unions, and social movements.
A study conducted a few years ago revealed that Islam has the youngest demographic among major religions, with a median age of just 24. This is reflected in the vibrancy of Muslim spaces: from mosques to campus initiatives, and from charity drives to global campaigns.
Young Muslims today are not passive observers — they are leading the charge. Whether it’s organising Islamic seminars or mobilising for social justice, their presence is shaping the future of Muslim identity in the West.
But with this prominence comes a greater responsibility: to ensure that leadership is anchored in faith, not just momentum. Visibility and passion may inspire others, but without spiritual depth, they cannot be sustained.
The first generation of activists were carriers of a greater mission
The earliest generation of Muslims — those who stood beside the Prophet ﷺ in Makkah and Madina — were young men and women who shouldered responsibility far beyond their years.
- Ali ibn Abī Tālib, one of the ten promised Paradise, accepted Islam in his childhood.
- Mus’ab ibn Umayr gave up a life of privilege to become Islam’s first ambassador in Madina.
- Zayd ibn Hāritha, once a freed slave, became one of the Prophet’s closest and most loyal Companions.
The correct foundations
What distinguished these young Companions was their foundation.
Unlike secular activism, which is often driven by fluctuating societal norms or humanistic ideals, their actions were rooted in their aqīdah (creed) and guided by divine purpose.
They were not reacting to the world — they were responding to revelation. For a Muslim, activism is first and foremost a divine duty before a civic one.
When activism loses its spiritual root
Today, many young Muslims enter activism from a humanistic standpoint, aligning their causes with general notions of justice, equality, and human rights.
While these values are undoubtedly important, when activism lacks spiritual grounding, it risks becoming a pursuit of self-gratification rather than a means of serving Allah.
Without firm grounding in faith, activism becomes reactionary, driven by external events rather than a clear commitment to Islamic principles.
Re-establishing connection between people and Allah
The activism of the prophets was never reactive. It was not about chasing the latest social movements or gaining public approval. It was about re-establishing the connection between humanity and Allah.
Their interventions were never driven by cultural trends or a need to be on the “right side of history” but were instead motivated by divine instruction.
This distinction is critical.
The urgency of addressing social injustice should not overshadow the primary objective of guiding people back to Allah. Without this clarity, activism risks becoming directionless — a movement without a mission, an effort without an anchor.
University environment as a hub for Muslim activists
Few spaces have as much influence over young Muslims as the university campus.
It is often within these walls that students experience their first taste of leadership, advocacy, and organised activism. Universities have transformed into fertile grounds where ambitious young Muslims, poised at the cusp of their careers, emerge as activists and budding preachers.
For this reason, I believe universities retain their commendable stature, because the acquisition of a degree assumes a secondary role compared to the holistic transformation individuals undergo during these years.
Muslim student organisations
Islamic Societies (ISocs) and Muslim Student Associations (MSAs) hold a unique place in the modern Muslim student experience, shaping young leaders and fostering a sense of responsibility for the Ummah.
For many, activism begins here. What starts as organising a campus fundraiser, volunteering at a charity event, or speaking up on behalf of the Muslim community, soon evolves into a lifelong commitment to social change. Some go on to lead national organisations, campaign for political reform, or dedicate themselves to da’wah initiatives.
However, this same environment presents a double-edged sword. The rise of anti-Islam bigotry has further pushed young Muslims into public engagement. From Islamophobic policies to media misrepresentation, many feel an obligation to defend their faith in the public sphere. As a result, activism has become an almost default mode of expression for Muslim students.
But in the process of standing up for Islam, are we neglecting to embody it? Activism is essential. but never at the expense of one’s connection with Allah, our first and greatest responsibility.
Shaytān’s subtle influence
It is in moments of great intention that Shaytān is most strategic.
He does not always come in the form of blatant temptation; his craft is far more calculated than that. If he cannot lead a person to sin directly, he will settle for something far more subtle: misdirection.
Layered approach to corrupting us
Ibn al-Qayyim describes how Shaytān employs a layered strategy to corrupt believers, moving from one tactic to the next, using six distinct approaches:
- To make someone turn to disbelief (kufr).
- To make someone turn to innovation (bid’ah).
- To make someone commit major sins.
- To make someone commit minor sins.
- To make someone waste time by doing permissible things.
- To make someone do a good deed instead of a better one. [2]
It is the last category that concerns us most.
But how can a good deed lead to sin?
Shaytān understands that not everyone will fall into sin.
So, instead, he convinces a person that they are doing enough; that their external activism, social work, and public roles are sufficient replacements for personal spiritual obligations.
This is why activism, if unchecked, can become a form of spiritual escapism.
It feels noble. It feels productive. But it can become a refuge from confronting one’s own shortcomings. Instead of reflecting on missed prayers, a struggling heart, or a weakening connection with Allah, some immerse themselves in communal causes, seeking external validation while avoiding self-accountability.
This is how sincerity becomes fragile
One might assume that because they are serving others, they must be in good standing with Allah.
But what happens when the crowds disappear? What happens when the work slows down?
If activism is the only thing keeping a person connected to Islam, what remains when the platform is gone?
Spirituality cannot be outsourced
A Muslim’s greatest duty is not to raise awareness but to first raise themselves. The Salaf understood this deeply.
Ibn Qudamah warned,
Beware of being preoccupied with rectifying others before you rectify yourself.
Busy yourself with rectifying your heart within you and purifying it from blameworthy traits such as greed, envy, ostentation, and vanity before rectifying what is outside of you.” [3]
Public service is not a substitute for personal worship, nor can it replace the pursuit of moral rectitude. The early Muslims never viewed leadership as a source of identity, it was a responsibility they feared rather than sought after. They understood that one’s private relationship with Allah is the foundation upon which all public efforts must stand.
Ibn al-Jawzī poignantly reminds us,
If you want to know your value with your Lord, look to how He is using you and what actions He has kept you busy with.”
This is the deception of Shaytān — to make us mistake movement for progress, activism for piety, and leadership for spiritual success. But none of these hold weight if they are not built on a personal, unshakable connection with Allah.
The question is not whether activism is good or bad, nor whether one should partake in it or not. It is whether it is built upon the right foundations.
Prioritising self-rectification
Public leadership while privately neglectful
If activism is to remain sincere, it must be built upon the firm ground of self-purification.
Before the Prophet ﷺ was a messenger, the Messenger, he was a worshipper. Before he stood before the Quraysh, he spent nights in solitude in the Cave of Hira. His mission began with inner reform before it became public change.
This is the model of true leadership, sall Allāhu ʿalayhi wa sallam.
Yet today, how many activists spend more time on a campaign strategy than they do on their prayer mat? How many are more disciplined in their event planning than they are in waking up for Fajr? This is not an attack; it is an invitation to reflect.
The great Companion, ‘Umar ibn al-Khattāb, advised,
Learn before you lead.”
He understood that leadership without grounding is a liability. The danger is more than just misguidance; it is the false confidence of believing one is already on the right path, simply because they are engaged in a noble cause.
Public leadership means little if one is privately neglectful. It is easy to be visible in a movement; it is far more difficult to be invisible in worship.
Ask yourself, would you still serve Islam if there was no recognition attached?
The deception of doing good
Define sincerity
Despite its noble intent, activism can paradoxically become a form of spiritual escapism — where individuals immerse themselves in external causes while neglecting their inner devotion.
Activism often comes with a sense of glamour, visibility, influence, and public recognition. The validation it brings can be intoxicating, making one believe that public deeds alone are sufficient.
But sincerity demands more than a visible presence; it requires a devotion that is stronger in private than it is in public!
Think about it like this
If a person’s fervent activism, though beneficial in serving others and fostering communal transformation, becomes their sole offering to Allah — eclipsing even the most fundamental religious duties — they may unknowingly find themselves sinking.
Shaytān cunningly deceives them into believing they are anchoring others, when they are being swept away themselves! This intricate spiritual crisis is a recurring pattern among many young Muslim activists today.
The conversation that inspired this
Doing key work but struggling to pray on time
To illustrate how subtle this issue can be, let me share a conversation that inspired this series.
A senior member of an Islamic society — despite their dedication to various student-led initiatives — admitted struggling with consistency in performing their five daily prayers.
His honest admission humbled me. It reminded me that even those who lead and inspire others sometimes need reminders themselves.
How activism became escapism for them
In his case, activism had become a form of spiritual escapism — an outlet for religious energy that allowed him to feel connected to Islam while quietly neglecting its core obligations.
Alhamdulillāh, this individual recognised their struggle, set a plan, and sought support. And today, they are thriving, both spiritually and in their activism. But not everyone has access to such individualised support.
Perhaps others are going through a similar time?
That is why I wrote this series. Not to criticise, or to single out individuals, but to speak to those who may be silently navigating the same delicate balance between their personal relationship with Allah and their public responsibilities.
The purpose is to offer something different from the conventional advice often given to students — topics like gender interactions or maintaining sincerity. While those discussions are important, there is a missing conversation; one that must take place before all the others.
A conversation about foundations and mindsets.
Here’s what is to come
In the following three articles, I aim to offer practical guidance for student activists to address these issues. While the advice is universally relevant, my focus remains on a particular niche within this niche: students.
I have observed that the religiosity of Muslim students spans a wide spectrum across universities. For many, their first real spiritual awakening happens not through personal worship, but through the pull of social activism, diverging from the traditions they were taught at home.
Though this series is rooted in student activism, its lessons apply long after graduation. Every stage of life brings new causes, and new risks of forgetting the One we serve.
May Allah guide us all in balancing our responsibilities to the Ummah with our personal obligations to Him.
Source: Islam21c
Notes
]1[ al-Bidāya wa al-Nihāya
]2[ Madārij al-Sālikīn
[3] Mukhtasar Minhaj al-Qāsidīn, 1-20
