When Muhammad bin Saud and Muhammad ibn Abd al-Wahhab met in Ad-Diriyyah, a marriage between Islam and politics seemed to be destined.

For the next centuries, the House of Saud would go on to conquer the Arabian Peninsula, with the two emblematic swords – force and religion – diligently serving its needs in times of war and peace from the Emirate of Diriyyah to the modern Saudi Arabia.

Raised in a prominent religious family, bin Saud understood that more than brute force, the union of man can only be achieved with the rule of God. He thus went on a quest for an identity.
In 1744, the Ottomans found their rule weakened in the Arabian Peninsula by a rising movement. The new force swept Najd with astonishing confidence, yet to finish his enterprise, bin Saud would find himself a few more times unto the breach. Soon, the Emirate’s territory was expanded to modern Kuwait and northern Oman; six decades later, Mecca and Medina would both fall under Al Saud’s control – the first time after five centuries of Ottoman rule.

From that definitive moment onward, religion became the root of Saudi Arabia; it established communal routines that centered around family, gave legitimacy to Al Saud’s monarchial regime, and lined Saudi society along the rules of God and His Prophet; a life fulfilled means not simply the satisfaction of earthly desires but the devotion to God. But this Republic of a nation would soon find itself trembling in unforeseen challenges.

From the seizure of Masjid al-Haram in the winter of 1979 to the ill-fated clash between traditionalism and modernity, Islam’s faults and promises had troubled Saudi Arabia. The pillar of Saudi society was at times shaken, fostering divisions along every sect of society. The enclosed Kingdom became a mystery enshrouded in divinity and conformity in a world driven by scientific rationalism and the desire for equality and individuality. The line of culture became blurred, and the people was equated to their government, inviting critiques and misunderstandings from those peeking from the outside.
The pressure for transformation gave this country an urgency to rethink its identity and reconstruct its economy; its de facto leader – Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman – wishes to catch the last train of global modernization and may well succeed in his endeavor, yet the limits of human endeavor – as bin Saud recognized centuries ago at Ad-Diriyyah – lie in its confrontation with God. Prince Mohammed may steer this country in its economic rebirth, but the true manifest of transformation is not skyscrapers in Riyadh but the individual Saudi’s recognition that there is a plurality in the way of life; that faith doesn’t hinder but empower men and women in their pursuits – such is the lesson from Al-Diriyyah.

In the faded sand castle, across layers of high walls and the labyrinthian ruins, an enormous Saudi flag dominated the Riyadh skyline. In this nation’s desire for change – its frustration, anxiety and hope all alike – Al-Diriyyah stood solemnly in eternal observance. It reminds Saudis of a collective past and a future for them to determine, if they so choose.

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My name is Daniel Yang and I’m from Beijing, China. I study political science at Stanford University in the United States.