Gratitude vs. arrogance; wealth is a test
Tonight's story comes from Surah Al-Kahf, the same surah that gave us the Sleepers in the Cave and Dhul Qarnayn. But this is not about prophets or kings. It is about two ordinary men, neighbors, whose different attitudes toward wealth led them to very different ends. It is a story that could happen in any neighborhood, in any time, and the lesson it carries is as sharp today as it was when the Quran first told it.
Allah presents to us a parable: two men, each given a garden. But one man's gardens were extraordinary. The Quran describes them in vivid detail: "We presented to them a parable of two men: We granted to one of them two gardens of grapevines, and We bordered them with palm trees and placed between them fields of crops."
Imagine it: two lush gardens, one beside the other, thick with grapevines hanging heavy with fruit, ringed by tall palm trees, and between them, fields of golden grain. A river ran through both gardens, watering everything. Every crop produced its full yield, nothing failed, nothing withered. It was a paradise on earth.
The owner of these magnificent gardens grew proud. Very proud. He looked at his abundance and saw in it proof of his own greatness rather than Allah's generosity. He began to believe that he deserved his wealth, that it was his by right, that it would never end.
His companion, his friend and neighbor, was a believer. He may have had less in worldly terms, but he had something the rich man lacked: gratitude and awareness of Allah.
One day, the rich man invited his friend to see the gardens. He walked through the rows of grapevines, showed off the heavy fruit, pointed at the flowing river, the tall palms, the perfect fields. And as he surveyed his kingdom of green and gold, he said something that revealed the sickness in his heart.
"I do not think that this will ever perish," he declared, sweeping his hand across his vast property. In other words: this is permanent. This will last forever. I will always have this.
Then he went further: "And I do not think the Hour will ever come." He was denying the Day of Judgment itself. His wealth had made him so confident that he thought he was beyond accountability.
And then, the worst part: "And if I should be brought back to my Lord, I will surely find something better than this in return." Even if there is an afterlife, he said, someone as successful as me will surely get an even better deal there. His arrogance was complete. He thought his wealth proved that he was favored, that success in this world guaranteed success in the next.
His believing companion listened to all of this with a heavy heart. Then he spoke, and his words are among the most powerful in the Quran:
"Do you disbelieve in He who created you from dust, then from a sperm-drop, then fashioned you as a man? But as for me, He is Allah, my Lord, and I do not associate anyone with my Lord."
He reminded his friend of where he came from: dust. No matter how rich you become, you started as nothing, you were created by Allah, and you will return to Him. Your wealth does not change that basic reality.
Then the believer gave him advice that shines like gold: "If only, when you entered your garden, you had said, 'Ma sha'Allah, la quwwata illa billah,' which means, 'This is what Allah has willed. There is no power except through Allah.'"
This is the key phrase, the hinge on which the entire story turns. Ma sha'Allah, la quwwata illa billah. If only the rich man had looked at his gardens and said these words, acknowledging that everything he had was from Allah and that he had no power of his own, the story might have ended differently.
The believer continued: "If you see me with less wealth and fewer children than you, perhaps my Lord will give me something better than your garden and will send upon your garden a calamity from the sky, and it will become a smooth, dusty ground, or its water will become sunken into the earth, so you will never be able to seek it."
He warned his friend: this could all disappear. Allah who gave it can take it away. The water that flows can sink underground. The garden that blooms can turn to dust. Nothing in this world is permanent.
The rich man did not listen.
And then it happened. The Quran says: "And his fruit was encompassed by ruin." A disaster struck. Some scholars say it was a fire from lightning, others say a storm. Whatever it was, the gardens were destroyed, completely. The grapevines, the palms, the crops, all of it, turned to ruin. The fruit lay rotting on the ground. The structures collapsed. The river dried up or sank away.
The rich man stood among the ruins of his paradise and wrung his hands. "Oh, I wish I had not associated anyone with my Lord!" he cried. But it was too late for the gardens. The wealth he had worshipped was gone, and all the arrogance that came with it was revealed as hollow.
The Quran then delivers the moral with devastating clarity: "And he had no company to aid him other than Allah, nor could he defend himself. There, authority belongs entirely to Allah, the True. He is best in reward and best in outcome."
In the Shia tradition, this parable is deeply connected to the teachings of the Ahlul Bayt about wealth and humility. Imam Ali (AS), despite being the leader of the Muslim world, lived in extreme simplicity. He patched his own shoes, ate barley bread, and gave away any extra wealth to the poor. When asked why he lived so simply despite having access to the treasury, he said: "How can I sleep with a full stomach when I know there are hungry people in my community?"
Imam Sadiq (AS) taught: "Wealth is not what you own but what you give. The hand that gives is above the hand that takes." The rich man in the parable held onto his wealth tightly and identified himself with it. When it vanished, he had nothing. The Ahlul Bayt taught that true wealth is what you send ahead to the next life through charity, kindness, and gratitude.
The beautiful phrase "Ma sha'Allah, la quwwata illa billah" is one that Muslims say every day. When you see something beautiful, say it. When you receive a blessing, say it. When you achieve something, say it. It is a reminder that everything, every single thing, comes from Allah. And it is a shield against the arrogance that destroyed the garden owner.
Tonight, as you look at the blessings in your life, whether small or large, practice saying these words. Not as a magic formula, but as a genuine acknowledgment that you are not the source of your blessings. Allah is.
"Wa lawla idh dakhalta jannataka qulta ma sha'Allahu la quwwata illa billah" "If only, when you entered your garden, you had said, 'This is what Allah has willed. There is no power except through Allah.'" -- Al-Kahf (18:39)