In a world driven by an insatiable pursuit of more, our relentless quest for possessions paradoxically leaves us emptier than ever. The Netflix documentary The Minimalists captures this profound contradiction: we own unprecedented amounts, yet happiness seems perpetually elusive. Amidst overflowing closets and rooms cluttered with gadgets, a deeper, urgent question surfaces: What do our possessions truly say about us, and can Islam's timeless wisdom guide us out of this maze of consumption?
Joshua Fields Millburn and Ryan Nicodemus, the central figures in The Minimalists, provide a compelling answer by stepping away from excess and embracing simplicity. Their journey mirrors a fundamental message Islam has advocated for centuries—the rejection of israf, or wasteful excess. The Quran succinctly warns:
"Eat and drink, but do not be excessive. Indeed, He does not like those who commit excess." (Qur'an 7:31)
When our lives revolve around endless consumption, we risk losing our core selves. August Strindberg vividly illustrates this spiritual danger in his autobiographical novel Inferno, where excess, whether in alcohol, knowledge, or material goods, eventually corrodes the human soul (Strindberg, August, Inferno, Norstedts, 1994). Similarly, Joshua and Ryan discovered that excessive material pursuit transformed their lives into hollow routines—endless cycles devoid of meaning.
The Swedish concept of lagom—"just the right amount"—aligns closely with Islamic principles of moderation. Islam neither endorses asceticism nor indulgence but instead prescribes a balanced, purposeful life. Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) embodied this balanced ethos, teaching gratitude and contentment as central virtues:
"Whoever wakes up secure in his home, healthy in his body, and with food for the day, it is as if he has the entire world at his feet." (Al-Bukhari, Sahih al-Bukhari)
This simple yet profound message echoes minimalist philosophy: true fulfillment arises from appreciating basic blessings rather than accumulating endless luxuries.
Islam articulates this balance through the concept of ummatan wasatan, or the "middle community." It allows enjoyment of worldly pleasures without becoming enslaved by them. This tension between worldly responsibilities and deeper emotional truths is also explored in Esaias Tegnér’s classic Frithiof’s Saga, where Frithiof struggles to harmonize external duties with internal desires (Tegnér, Esaias, Frithiof’s Saga, H.A. Nordström, 1825). Like Frithiof, we face the daily challenge of balancing our material lives with higher spiritual and ethical purposes.
In a powerful moment from The Minimalists, Joshua and Ryan confront the remnants of their former lives—homes filled with expensive furniture, closets bursting with designer clothes, and shelves cluttered with the latest technology. Yet they recognize their internal emptiness. Modern society relentlessly convinces us we need the newest phone, fastest car, or largest television, but paradoxically, the more we possess externally, the less ownership we seem to retain over our internal selves.
Selma Lagerlöf captures a similar dynamic in Gösta Berling’s Saga, portraying characters whose lives unravel through unchecked desires, only to rediscover meaning in simplicity and genuine human connections (Lagerlöf, Selma, Gösta Berling’s Saga, Frithiof Hellbergs förlag, 1891). Islam reinforces this insight, positioning gratitude as a cornerstone of spiritual well-being:
"If you are grateful, I will surely increase you [in favor]." (Qur'an 14:7)
Crucially, this promise of "more" refers not to material wealth but to the inner tranquility and deep satisfaction that gratitude fosters.
The Islamic tradition elegantly balances the enjoyment of life's beauty with a vigilant resistance against material dominance. Prophet Muhammad consistently underscored this moderation, rejecting both extreme asceticism and unbridled consumption. Selma Lagerlöf’s beloved character Nils, from The Wonderful Adventures of Nils, illustrates a similar philosophy. Through his transformative journey across Sweden, Nils learns the profound beauty of simplicity and gratitude (Lagerlöf, Selma, The Wonderful Adventures of Nils, Albert Bonniers förlag, 1907). Similarly, Islam encourages believers to appreciate the world's beauty mindfully, without becoming consumed by it:
"Who has forbidden the adornments of Allah, which He has brought forth for His servants?" (Qur'an 7:32)
Islam thus invites us to savor life’s pleasures responsibly, always aware of their temporary nature and secondary importance.
Today, amid global excess, perhaps it’s time we pause and reconsider our trajectory. Like Frithiof, are we caught in an internal struggle, endlessly battling external pressures and internal desires? Both Islam and minimalism offer liberating alternative paths where we rediscover joy in life's simple pleasures, break free from the prison of perpetual consumption, and find authentic freedom within our souls.
The profound wisdom of the Qur'an, echoed by the modern voices of minimalism, challenges us to shift our focus from accumulating possessions to cultivating meaningful experiences, deep connections, and heartfelt gratitude. Perhaps this represents the most revolutionary message of our time—that true fulfillment arises not from acquiring more, but from appreciating and needing less. Like the journeys of Nils Holgersson and Gösta Berling, our true adventure is inward, a quest to reclaim our authentic selves beyond the superficial comforts of the material world.