The Sin That Takes Lying to Another Level

In the last article, we talked about lying — and we established that it is the key to every evil, that it plants hypocrisy in the heart, and that it slowly but surely fragments the interior life of the person who habitually practices it.

Now we move to something that takes the sin of lying and multiplies its gravity in a way that should genuinely make every Muslim pause.

False oath — swearing by Allah that something is true when you know it is not — or swearing in the name of Allah to do something you have no intention of doing.

Think about what that is for a moment. Lying is presenting a falsehood to another person. But a false oath is doing something far more audacious — it is invoking the name of the Creator of the universe as a witness to a lie. It is using Allah’s name as a tool of deception. It is taking the most sacred thing in existence — the name of Allah — and making it serve dishonesty.

False swearing is a greater sin as mentioned in the authentic tradition recorded by Abdul Azim and also in the tradition of Imam al-Ridha (AS) as quoted by Fazl Ibn Shazan. There is a report from Imam Ja’far al-Sadiq (AS) in the book Tuhaf ul Uqul: “False swearing causes destruction of the faith.”

Destruction of the faith. Not weakening. Not damage. Destruction.

What Exactly Is a False Oath?

An oath in Islamic law is the solemn invocation of Allah’s name as witness to the truth of a statement or the sincerity of a commitment. It is the verbal equivalent of saying — I am so certain of this, so committed to this, that I am placing Allah Himself between me and any deception.

That is an enormous thing to do. And Islam treats it as such.

A false oath — Yamin al-Ghamus, as the scholars call it — is an oath sworn on something the person knows to be untrue. The name comes from the Arabic root meaning to plunge or to drown — because this oath drowns the person in sin and then in the Fire.

Ayatollah Dastaghaib Shirazi explains that there are two main categories of false oaths to understand:

The first is swearing by Allah that a past event is true when you know it is not. “Wallahi, I never took that money.” “I swear by Allah, I was at home that night.” Invoking Allah’s name to confirm a lie you know you are telling.

The second is swearing by Allah to do something in the future with no genuine intention of fulfilling it. “Wallahi, I will pay you back next week.” “I swear by Allah, I will never do it again.” Using Allah’s name to make a promise you have no real commitment to keeping.

Both are false oaths. Both are greater sins. And both share the same devastating quality — they weaponise the name of Allah in service of deception.

What the Quran Says

The Quran addresses oaths extensively — and the picture it paints makes clear how seriously Allah regards the careless or dishonest use of His name.

In Surah al-Baqarah, Chapter 2, The Cow, Verse 224, Allah says:

This verse addresses a specific misuse of oaths — using them as an excuse not to do good. “I swore I would never speak to him again, so I cannot make peace between them.” Allah is saying: do not use My name as an excuse for sin or for abandoning what is right.

In Surah al-Maidah (Chapter 5, The Table Spread, Verse 89), Allah addresses the breaking of oaths — and prescribes a specific kaffarah (expiation): feeding ten poor people, or clothing them, or freeing a slave. If unable — then fasting for three days. The existence of this detailed expiation tells us how seriously Islam takes even an accidentally broken oath — let alone a deliberately false one.

And in Surah an-Nahl, Chapter 16, The Bee, Verse 91-92), Allah gives one of the most comprehensive commands about oaths:

The image of the woman who spins a strong thread and then unravels it is one of the most vivid in the entire Quran — a picture of pointless self-destruction, of wasted effort, of creating something solid and then deliberately dismantling it. That is what a false oath does to the fabric of trust, of faith, and of the soul itself.

What the Ahlul Bayt (AS) Taught

The Imams (AS) spoke about false oaths with extraordinary gravity — connecting it directly to the destruction of the most fundamental spiritual assets a believer possesses.

Imam Ja’far al-Sadiq (AS) said: “False swearing causes destruction of the faith.” Not damage. Not weakening. Destruction. The Arabic word used — hadm — means to demolish, to tear down completely. The false oath does not simply chip away at faith. It brings it down.

Why such severity? Because faith — iman — is built on a relationship of truth between the servant and Allah. Every act of worship, every dua, every salah is a communication between the believer and their Lord. When a person takes Allah’s name as a witness to a lie — deliberately, knowingly — they are not just committing an act of dishonesty. They are corrupting the very channel through which their entire spiritual life flows.

The Prophet (S) placed false oath in a category all its own. He said: “The major sins are: associating partners with Allah, disobeying parents, murder — and false oath.” In this particular narration, he listed false oath alongside the very sins that head this entire series. Its company in that list is telling.

And Imam Ali (AS) said something that captures both the gravity and the practical consequence: “Beware of false oaths — for they destroy the home.” Not just the soul. The home. The family. The household built on false promises collapses — not eventually, not theoretically, but practically, predictably, and often with devastating speed.

The Three Types of Oath in Islamic Law

Ayatollah Dastaghaib Shirazi helpfully distinguishes between different types of oaths, so we understand precisely what is and is not sinful:

Yamin al-Ghamus — The Drowning Oath:
This is the false oath we are discussing today — deliberately swearing by Allah on something known to be untrue. It is called the drowning oath because it plunges the person into sin and into the Fire. This is the greater sin.

Yamin al-Mun’aqida — The Binding Oath:
This is a genuine oath about something in the future — a sincere commitment made in Allah’s name. This oath is binding. Breaking it without genuine necessity requires kaffarah — expiation. But it is not a greater sin in itself — only in the deliberate breaking of it.

Yamin al-Laghw — The Idle Oath:
This is the casual, habitual use of Allah’s name in conversation — “Wallahi, you won’t believe this story” or “Wallahi, it was the best biryani I’ve ever had.” These oaths — where there is no real intention to invoke Allah as a formal witness — are considered by most scholars as not sinful in themselves, though they are discouraged because they habituate a carelessness with Allah’s name that can slide toward something more serious.

The distinction matters practically. Someone who casually says “Wallahi” in conversation is not committing a greater sin. But someone who says “Wallahi, I did not take that money” knowing full well they did — that is Yamin al-Ghamus. That is the drowning oath. And the difference between them is everything.

The Commerce of False Oaths — A Warning for Business

One of the most practically relevant discussions in Ayatollah Dastaghaib Shirazi’s chapter on this sin is the specific warning about false oaths in business and trade.

The Prophet (S) said: “A false oath makes goods sell but removes the barakah from the transaction.”

This is one of the most precise descriptions of how sin operates in economic life. The false oath works — in the short term. The customer believes the seller. The goods sell. The money changes hands. But the barakah — the divine blessing that makes wealth grow, sustain, and bring genuine happiness — has been removed. The money arrives, but it does not flourish. The business succeeds on paper but does not bring peace.

In our community — in markets, in businesses, in transactions between family members, in car dealing, in property sales — the casual use of “Wallahi” to make a deal, to convince a reluctant buyer, to assure someone of a quality that may not be fully true — this is among the most common forms of false oath in daily Muslim life.

The Imam (AS) warned about this specifically because the temptation in business to use Allah’s name as a sales tool is enormous — and the damage it does, spiritually and eventually materially, is equally enormous.

The Prophet (S) also said: “Three people will not be spoken to by Allah on the Day of Judgement, nor will He look at them, nor purify them — and for them is a painful punishment: the old man who commits adultery, the king who lies, and the poor man who is arrogant.” Some narrations add a fourth: the merchant who swears false oaths.

The merchant. Specifically. By name. Because the marketplace was and remains one of the places where Allah’s name is most casually and most frequently abused.

The Oath of Dissociation — A Warning Story

Ayatollah Dastaghaib Shirazi includes a striking account in this chapter that illustrates the gravity of false oaths in a uniquely Shia context.

There was a man who came to Imam Musa al-Kadhim (AS) and was accused of something he denied. The Imam, in a complex political situation involving the Abbasid caliph Mansur, suggested that the man take an oath of dissociation — swearing that if he was lying, he would be dissociated from the Prophet (S) and the Ahlul Bayt (AS).

The man took the oath — and died shortly afterwards.

The scholars who discuss this account are careful to explain that the Imam knew something about this man that others did not — and that the oath of dissociation from the Prophet and the Ahlul Bayt, taken falsely, carries consequences of a uniquely severe nature. Because in Shia theology, the Wilayah of the Ahlul Bayt is itself the most fundamental spiritual covenant — and to invoke dissociation from them falsely is to strike at the root of the believer’s connection to Allah.

This account is not presented to frighten but to illustrate — there are some things so sacred that using them carelessly or falsely carries consequences that arrive in this world, not just the next.

The Habitual Wallahi — A Gentle Warning

Let us speak directly about something that is extremely common in Muslim communities — including our own.

The word Wallahi — by Allah — has, in many of our cultures, become a conversational filler. It is used to add emphasis, to express surprise, to make a point more vivid, to win an argument. “Wallahi, he’s the best cook.” “Wallahi, I’m telling you, it happened.” “Wallahi, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

In most of these uses, there is no deliberate false oath — the speaker is not consciously invoking Allah as a formal witness to a deliberate lie. And as we noted earlier, scholars generally classify habitual idle oaths as discouraged but not sinful in the same category as Yamin al-Ghamus.

But there is a danger in the habit. The more casually we use Allah’s name, the less weight it carries in our own hearts. The person who says Wallahi twenty times in a conversation has — without realising it — trained themselves to treat Allah’s name as an ordinary word. And the person who has trained themselves to treat Allah’s name as ordinary is the person who, when the serious moment comes — when they actually need to make a genuine oath, when the temptation to use that name in service of a lie is real — has already eroded the internal barrier that should make that impossible.

The Quran’s command in Surah al-Baqarah, Chapter 2, The Cow, Verse 224 — not to make Allah a reason through your oaths — applies not only to deliberate misuse but to the gradual casualisation of something that should always feel weighty, always feel significant, always feel like what it actually is: the invocation of the Lord of all creation as your witness.

Guard His name. Every time you say it — mean it.

What About Oaths That Are Broken Unintentionally?

The Quran and the Ahlul Bayt are compassionate toward the person who makes a genuine oath and then finds themselves unable to keep it — not through deception but through genuine circumstance.

For such cases, kaffarah — expiation — is prescribed: feeding ten poor people, or clothing them, or freeing a slave. If none of these is possible, fasting for three days.

This expiation is not a punishment for weakness. It is a recognition that life is complex, that circumstances change, and that a sincere believer who made a genuine commitment and found themselves unable to keep it has not committed the same sin as the person who invoked Allah’s name knowing from the start that they were lying.

The tawbah from a false oath — from Yamin al-Ghamus — requires genuine remorse, the kaffarah of expiation, and, where the false oath caused harm to another person, making amends for that harm wherever possible. Because a false oath does not only offend Allah — it frequently defrauds, deceives, or harms the person to whom it was made. That person’s right must also be addressed.

The Connection to the Previous Sin

Notice the beautiful and sobering progression across the last two articles. Sin 17 — lying — established that the tongue is a weapon. That words, when untrue, destroy the internal life of the speaker and the trust of the community around them.

Sin 18 — false oath — takes that weapon and coats it in the sacred. It takes the most dangerous thing a tongue can do — speak falsehood — and wraps it in the name of Allah. If lying is a knife, false oath is that same knife held against the name of the One who created truth itself.

That is why the Imam said it causes the destruction of faith. Not because Allah is offended in the way a human ego might be. But because faith — iman — is fundamentally a relationship of truth. It is built on La ilaha illallah — a statement of ultimate reality. A person who uses that same reality as a vehicle for falsehood has not just broken a rule. They have struck at the very foundation of the structure they are supposed to be building their entire life on.

A Closing Thought

False oath sits eighteenth on this list — and it sits there as a warning about one of the subtlest and most serious ways we can dishonour the name of Allah in our daily lives.

Most of us will never bow to an idol. Most of us will never deny Allah outright. But many of us — in moments of fear, of financial pressure, of wanting to be believed, of needing a deal to go through — have reached for His name and placed it in service of something less than truth.

The Ahlul Bayt are asking us to make His name too precious for that. To feel the weight of Wallahi every single time it leaves our lips. To reserve it for moments of genuine, truthful, committed invocation — and to let it rest in dignified silence at every other time.

Because a name that is never cheapened is a name that retains its power. In our hearts, in our du’a, in our salah — when we say Allahu Akbar, we want it to mean something. And it will only mean something if we have spent our lives treating His name as what it is — the most sacred utterance a human tongue can produce.

May Allah guard our tongues from false oaths, make His name the most beloved sound in our hearts, and grant us the integrity to mean what we say and say only what we mean. Ameen.

A Home Sanctified by Heaven

The home of Imam Ali ibn Abi Talib (AS) and Sayyida Fatima al-Zahra (SA) was never merely a dwelling of clay and timber. It was, and remains, a sacred sanctuary whose dignity was established by the Almighty Himself — a bastion of purity, truth, and wilayah.

The Quran bears direct witness to the divine status of its inhabitants:

As recorded in the celebrated Hadith al-Kisa, the Prophet Muhammad (S) gathered Ali, Fatima, Hasan, and Husayn (AS) beneath his cloak and supplicated to Allah, declaring before the community that these five were the Ahl al-Bayt in the truest, most exclusive sense. This was no ordinary familial gesture; it was a public designation of spiritual and divinely appointed authority.

Sheikh al-Mufid, Al-Irshad, Vol. 1, Ch. 1; also cited in Allama Majlisi, Bihar al-Anwar, Vol. 35, pp. 206–211.

Fatima (SA): The Measure of Faith

The sanctity of this home is inseparable from the person of Fatima al-Zahra (SA). The Messenger of Allah (S) declared:

*” Fatima is a part of me. Whoever angers her angers me, and whoever pleases her pleases me.”*

These words transcend paternal affection. They bind the believer’s relationship with the Lady of the Worlds (SA) to their relationship with the Prophet (S) and, ultimately, with Allah. To honour her home is to honour the very axis around which faith turns.

Sheikh al-Saduq, Al-Amali, Majlis 24, Hadith 5; also in Bihar al-Anwar, Vol. 43, p. 45.

Three Nights, One Loaf: The Verse of Giving

If purity defined the identity of this household, then compassion defined its practice. The highest expression of that compassion is immortalised in Surah al-Insan:

The background of this revelation is narrated in detail in Tafsir al-Qummi:

Imam Ali (AS) had pledged to fast for three days. On the first evening, as the family sat before a modest meal of barley bread, a destitute man appeared at their door. Without hesitation, they placed their entire portion in his hands and broke their fast with water alone. The second evening, an orphan came; the third, a war-weary prisoner. Each time, the family surrendered their only food.

Ali ibn Ibrahim al-Qummi, Tafsir al-Qummi, Vol. 2, commentary on Surah al-Insan, pp. 396–398. Also referenced in Allama Tabatabai, Tafsir al-Mizan, Vol. 20, pp. 112–117.

What makes this act extraordinary is not the volume of what was given, but the scarcity from which it was given. They did not offer surplus. They offered necessity. They gave away the very morsel their own children needed, trusting entirely in Allah’s provision.

The Lesson That Outlives the Loaf

The home of Fatima (SA) teaches a principle that no era can afford to forget: true faith is measured not by what one accumulates, but by what one is willing to release. Their generosity carried no conditions, no expectation of gratitude, no preference for one type of seeker over another. The poor man, the orphan, and the prisoner were received with identical warmth — because in the eyes of this household, every human being is a creation deserving of dignity.

Imam Ja’far al-Sadiq (AS) later reflected on the spirit of this verse, stating that the highest form of charity is to give *” while you yourself are in need of it, preferring the believer over yourself.”*

Sheikh al-Kulayni, Al-Kafi, Vol. 2, Book of Faith and Disbelief, Ch. “Al-Ithar” (Preferring Others), Hadith 3.

An Eternal Address

Centuries have passed, yet the door of that small house in Madinah remains open in the collective conscience of the Ummah. Every act of feeding a hungry stranger, every silent sacrifice made for one who cannot repay, echoes the barley bread placed gently into the hands of a needful visitor.

The home of Ali and Fatima (AS) was not merely where the hungry were fed last. It was where they were fed first — and the family chose, willingly and joyfully, to go without.

That is the standard. That is the legacy. And it belongs to no single age; it belongs to every soul that dares to open its door.

Introduction: A Narrative in Need of Correction

For decades, a particular narrative has dominated global discourse—one in which the West positions itself as the sole custodian of “humanity,” “enlightenment,” and “civilisation,” while condescendingly branding non-Western societies, and the Islamic world in particular, with labels of backwardness and stagnation. This narrative, repeated so often in academic halls, political speeches, and popular media, has calcified into assumed truth.

Yet behind this carefully maintained façade lies a fundamental confusion—one that conflates technological comfort with genuine human progress. True advancement is not determined by the sophistication of one’s machines or the abundance of one’s material conveniences. It is determined by the maturity of the spirit, the steadfastness of moral principles, and the depth of respect afforded to every human being. Technology, when severed from ethical grounding, inevitably degenerates into an instrument of plunder and violence.

As Imam Ali ibn Abi Talib (AS) declares in the Nahj al-Balagha:

“Knowledge is better than wealth: knowledge guards you, while you have to guard wealth.” (Sermon 147).

The Islamic civilisational project was, at its root, a project of knowledge in service of the soul—not knowledge in service of dominion.

Purity as Civilisation: The Islamic Standard of Hygiene

History speaks with clarity on matters that propaganda would prefer to obscure. In the Islamic world, taharat (ritual and physical purity) was never merely a recommendation; it was a religious obligation and a daily discipline woven into the fabric of law, architecture, and public life. Hundreds of public baths (hammams), sophisticated water-distribution systems, and hospitals (bimaristans) operated across cities from Baghdad to Córdoba to Cairo.

Shia jurisprudence, as codified in works such as Sheikh al-Tusi’s al-Mabsut and later Allamah al-Hilli’s Tadhkirat al-Fuqaha, devoted extensive chapters to the rulings of taharat, najasa, and the obligation of cleanliness as a precondition for worship—embedding hygiene into the very grammar of faith. Imam Ja’far al-Sadiq (AS) is reported to have said:

“Cleanliness is part of faith, and faith is with Allah.” (Bihar al-Anwar, vol. 73).

By stark contrast, early modern Europe languished in a prolonged sanitary crisis. Until well into the eighteenth century, water was widely feared as a carrier of “miasmas.” Bathing was avoided; filth was masked beneath layers of powder and perfume; superstition substituted for empirical inquiry. The gap was not one of intellect but of civilisational priority: one civilisation legislated cleanliness as worship; the other had not yet overcome the fear of water.

The Great Transfer: Andalusia, Sicily, and the Roots of the Renaissance

The European Renaissance and the so-called Scientific Revolution did not emerge in a vacuum. They were made possible by a massive, centuries-long transfer of knowledge from the Islamic world into Europe—principally through Andalusia and Sicily between the eleventh and thirteenth centuries.

Muslim scholars did not merely “preserve” the ancient legacy of Aristotle, Plato, Ptolemy, and Galen, shielding it from the amnesia of medieval Christendom. They critically reinterpreted it, corrected fundamental errors, extended its boundaries, and built entirely new applied disciplines upon its foundations. The translation movement centred in Toledo, Palermo, and later the great madaris was not passive copying; it was active, critical, creative scholarship.

Imam Ali (AS) counselled:

“A person’s value lies in what he does well.” (Nahj al-Balagha, Saying 81).

The scholars of the Islamic golden age understood this injunction as a mandate to excel—not in conquest, but in understanding.

Medicine and Surgery: Healing as Sacred Duty

The Qanun fi al-Tibb (The Canon of Medicine) by Ibn Sina (Avicenna) served as the primary medical textbook in European universities until the seventeenth century. Al-Zahrawi (Albucasis), in his Kitab al-Tasrif, described and illustrated more than two hundred surgical instruments and pioneered the use of catgut suture—a technique still foundational to surgery today. Ibn al-Nafis, in his Sharh Tashrih al-Qanun, described the pulmonary circulation of blood three centuries before William Harvey’s celebrated account.

In the Shia tradition, the ethic of healing carries particular theological weight. Imam al-Sadiq (AS) is reported to have stated:

“The best of deeds is to bring comfort to a believer and to remove his suffering.” (Al-Kafi, vol. 2).

Medicine, in this framework, was never a mere trade; it was an act of worship and communal responsibility.

The Exact Sciences: Algebra, Algorithms, and the Language of Numbers

From Muslim mathematicians, Europe received the very vocabulary and architecture of modern computation. The term algebra derives from al-jabr, the title of Al-Khwarizmi’s landmark ninth-century treatise. The word algorithm is itself a Latinisation of his name. The decimal positional system, including the concept of zero, was transmitted through Islamic scholarship, as were the foundations of trigonometry.

These were not marginal contributions. They constituted the mathematical infrastructure upon which the European scientific revolution was subsequently built.

Optics and the Experimental Method: Seeing Clearly

Ibn al-Haytham (Alhazen), in his monumental Kitab al-Manazir (Book of Optics), refuted the emission theory of vision inherited from Ptolemy and Euclid, demonstrated scientifically how light enters the eye, described the camera obscura, and—crucially—insisted on controlled experimentation and reproducible observation as the basis of natural philosophy. He laid the foundations of the experimental scientific method centuries before Francis Bacon and René Descartes received credit for its articulation in Europe.

This insistence on evidence over assumption resonates with the Quranic imperative, frequently cited in Shia tafsir such as Allamah Tabataba’i’s al-Mizan:

Astronomy and Chemistry: Mapping the Heavens, Transforming Matter

Muslim astronomers crafted intricate astrolabes, produced detailed navigational charts, and compiled star catalogues of remarkable precision. The very language of celestial science bears their imprint: zenith, azimuth, and nadir are Arabic terms adopted into every European scientific lexicon. Jabir ibn Hayyan, meanwhile, laid the groundwork for experimental chemistry, systematised distillation processes, and described the synthesis of key acids—transforming alchemy into a proto-discipline governed by method.

The Paradox: Knowledge Adopted, Spirit Abandoned

Here lies the civilisational paradox that the dominant narrative prefers not to examine. The West absorbed the Islamic scientific base and used it to engineer an extraordinary technological leap. But instead of coupling that leap with spiritual evolution, moral restraint, and justice, it channelled its newfound power toward colonial subjugation, the artificial suppression of other civilisations’ development, and the relentless extraction of their resources.

The result was a civilisation of astonishing mechanical capability married to profound moral poverty. Railways were built to carry plunder. Telegraph lines were strung to coordinate domination. The printing press, that engine of enlightenment, was deployed to disseminate racial hierarchies and justify conquest.

Imam Ali (AS) warned:

“The world is a carcass; whoever desires it must keep company with dogs.” (Nahj al-Balagha, Saying 131).

The warning was not against knowledge, but against knowledge hijacked by appetite.

Conclusion: Reclaiming the Measure of Progress

The Islamic world does not need to seek validation from a civilisational standard it helped to author. The contributions outlined here are not a plea for recognition; they are a corrective to a historical record that has been deliberately narrowed.

More importantly, they reassert a definition of progress that the modern world has largely forgotten: that a civilisation is judged not by the power of its engines but by the purity of its conscience; not by the reach of its armies but by the dignity it guarantees to the weakest among its people.

As Imam Ja’far al-Sadiq (AS) taught:

“The believer is the mirror of the believer.” (Al-Kafi, vol. 2).

True civilisation is not a monologue of superiority. It is a mirror held up in honesty—and in that mirror, the myth of a singular, Western-authored “progress” dissolves, revealing the many hands, many faiths, and many traditions that built the world we inhabit.

The question before humanity is no longer who invented what. The question is whether we will have the moral courage to build what we invent with justice, humility, and reverence for the human being.

It is not often that we pass by a graveyard, yet Imam Ali (AS) reminds us of the importance of preparing to meet our Lord in Sermon 219, which he preached after reading the verse in the Holy Quran which declared, ‘Engage your vying in exuberance until ye come to the graves’ (Holy Quran, Surah at-Takathur, Chapter 102, The Rivalry, Verse 1-2). Such was the Imam’s timely warning for those who were heedless. When we visit graves, we are reminded of our own inevitable fate. The following extract from a sermon by Imam Ali (AS) serves as a powerful and sobering reminder of the brevity of this life and the trials of the life to come, particularly for those who are arrogant and neglectful.

‘How distant (from achievement) is their aim, how neglectful these visitors are, and how difficult the affair is! They have not taken lessons from things which are full of lessons, but they took them from far-off places. Do they boast about the dead bodies of their forefathers, or do they regard the number of the dead as grounds for boasting about their own numbers? They want to revive bodies that have become lifeless and movements that have ceased. They are more deserving of being a source of admonishment than a source of pride and boasting. They are more worthy of being a source of humility than of honour.

They looked at them with weak-sighted eyes, descending into the depths of ignorance. Had they asked about them through their dilapidated homes and empty courtyards, they would have been told that they had returned to the earth in a state of misguidance, and that you, too, are heading towards them in ignorance. You trample upon their skulls, build upon their corpses, consume what they have left behind, and live in the houses they have vacated. The days that lie between them and you are also mourning you and reciting eulogies over you.

They are your forerunners in reaching the destination. They have arrived at the watering places before you. They once held positions of honour and possessed great pride. They were rulers and holders of high office. Now they have entered the place where the earth covers them from above, consuming their flesh and drinking their blood. They lie lifeless in the hollows of their graves, no longer growing, hidden and beyond discovery. The approach of danger does not frighten them, nor does the adversity of circumstances grieve them. They are unmoved by earthquakes and heedless of thunder. They have departed and are not expected to return. They exist, yet remain unseen. They were once united, but are now dispersed; they were together, but are now separated.

Their records are unknown, and their houses are silent—not because of the passage of time or the distance of place, but because they have been made to drink the cup of death, which has turned their speech into silence, their hearing into deafness, and their movements into stillness. It is as though they have fallen into a deep slumber. They are neighbours who feel no affection for one another, and friends who can no longer meet. The bonds of familiarity have worn away, and the ties of friendship have been severed. Each one of them is alone, even though they belong to a group; they are strangers, though once they were friends. They know nothing of the morning after night or the evening after day. The night or day on which they departed has become everlasting for them, a night that passes into no new day.

They have found the dangers of their place of abode to be far more serious than they had feared. They have witnessed signs far greater than they had imagined. The two destinations—Paradise and Hell—have been laid out before them, beyond the reach of fear or hope as they once knew it. Had they been able to speak, they would have been unable to describe what they had witnessed or seen.

Even though their traces have been erased and news of them has ceased, eyes can still draw lessons from them, discerning minds can reflect upon them, and attentive ears can hear their silent message. They speak without uttering a word, conveying this warning:

‘Handsome faces have been destroyed, and delicate bodies have been covered in earth. We have been wrapped in worn-out shrouds. The narrowness of the grave has overwhelmed us, and estrangement has surrounded us. Our silent abodes have fallen into ruin. The beauty of our bodies has disappeared, and our once-familiar features have become unrecognisable. Our stay in these strange abodes has grown long. We find no relief from our pain, nor any widening of our narrow confines.’

Let us reflect deeply on the words of Imam Ali (AS). As we walk the path of our lives, we must remain vigilant over ourselves, mindful of our actions, and conscious of our ultimate return to God. We must make the most of the present moment, for the opportunity to change, repent, and prepare for the Hereafter will not remain forever.

May God have mercy on our souls.

Editorial note: I have focused on grammar, clarity, and flow. As the central passage is presented as a quotation from ImamAli (AS), I have retained its substance but made some light editorial changes for readability. If this is intended for formal publication or religious study, I recommend checking the revised quotation against the original sermon and its published translation, particularly where the wording has been adjusted.

In an era increasingly defined by materialism and fleeting distractions, the lives of luminous scholars who balanced rigorous academic achievement with profound spiritual insight serve as vital beacons of guidance. Sayyid Muhammad Hasan Husayni, widely known as Aqa Najafi Quchani, was one such figure. A devout jurist, striving mystic, and self-disciplined scholar, his legacy extends far beyond his seminary teachings. Through his unique literary works, he provided a comprehensive roadmap for seekers of truth, illustrating the vital link between acquiring knowledge and embodying its spiritual fruits.

A Scholar Who Served the People

Born in 1295 AH in a village near Quchan, Iran, Aqa Najafi’s pursuit of sacred knowledge took him through the great centres of Islamic learning—from Isfahan to Najaf—where he studied under eminent masters like Akhund Khorasani. Yet, what truly set him apart was his decision to return to his hometown rather than seek fame in larger cities.

For Aqa Najafi, the value of seminary learning was never rooted in personal prestige, but in service. His life was characterised by three distinct pillars:

1. Unwavering Seriousness in Study: He endured the hardships of the scholarly path to attain the rank of ijtihad, proving that deep understanding requires perseverance.

2. Integration of Study and Self-Cultivation: He believed that religious knowledge can only truly guide others if it is visibly reflected in the scholar’s character. Humility, honesty, and pure intentions were non-negotiable.

3. Profound Responsibility to the Community: By returning to Quchan, he showed that a scholar’s greatest impact often lies in teaching local students, resolving community disputes, and patiently guiding the everyday affairs of the people.

Two Journeys, One Ultimate Goal

Aqa Najafi’s enduring influence is largely captured in his two most famous works: Journey to the East (Siyahat-i Sharq) and Journey to the West (Siyahat-i Gharb). Read together, they form a complete curriculum for the spiritual and intellectual development of a believer.

Journey to the East: The Struggle for Knowledge

This work is a remarkable autobiography that chronicles the author’s life, educational hardships, and the scholarly environments of his time. For modern readers, especially students of religion, it provides a raw, human look at the sacrifices required to attain sacred knowledge. It also serves as a reminder of the scholar’s duty to document their experiences, ensuring that the wisdom of one generation becomes a resource for the next.

Journey to the West: A Vision of the Hereafter

While the first book deals with the worldly pursuit of knowledge, Journey to the West (also known as The Destiny of Souls After Death) confronts the ultimate outcome of that pursuit. Written as an imaginative travelogue, it takes the reader on a fictional journey into Barzakh—the intermediate realm between death and the Day of Resurrection.

Rather than relying solely on dense theological arguments, Aqa Najafi uses a fluid, intimate narrative to bring the abstract realities of the afterlife to life. In this realm, human deeds take on physical forms: a lie manifests as a terrifying creature, while sincerity radiates with light. Accompanied by a spiritual guide representing love and allegiance to the Ahl al-Bayt (AS), the reader is forced to ask a sobering question: If my journey into the grave began today, what would I take with me?

Preparing for the Unseen: Practical Steps for Today

The true value of reading about the afterlife is not merely to induce fear, but to inspire immediate, positive action in our daily lives. Reflecting on the Quranic mandate to “consider what we have sent ahead for tomorrow” (Surah al-Hashr, Chapter 59, The Banishment, Verse 18), Aqa Najafi’s teachings encourage a practical program for self-reform:

• Self-Accounting: Regularly auditing our intentions and actions. Are we careful with our words? Do we practice the ethics we preach to others?

• Restoring Rights: True readiness for the hereafter involves tangible actions, such as paying debts, correcting falsehoods, and seeking forgiveness from those we have wronged.

• Building Lasting Habits: Since the afterlife is intrinsically linked to our inner character, small, consistent acts of honesty, fairness, and mindful worship are of immense value.

Crucially, this reflection must be balanced with hope. While the Quran warns us of our responsibilities, it also assures us never to despair of God’s infinite mercy (Surah al-Zumar, Chapter 39, The Throngs, Verse 53).

A Legacy of Responsible Living

Aqa Najafi Quchani’s life and works remind us that true religious scholarship is not a passive accumulation of facts, but a dynamic force for moral refinement and social responsibility. Journey to the East teaches us the striving required to build our character, while Journey to the West reminds us of the eternal weight of our choices.

Ultimately, the greatest tribute to this remarkable scholar is not just in reading his books, but in applying their lessons. When a reader closes his book and decides to mend a broken relationship, repay a debt, or serve someone in need, the true legacy of Aqa Najafi Quchani continues to flourish.

Reference: The Islamic Centre of England

The Full Context: A Critique of Dehumanisation

The actual quote, found in Volume 9 of the Sahifeh-ye Imam, paints a vastly different picture. Khomeini stated:

“Those who talk about economy and see it as the foundation of everything, they imagine that the human being is an animal whose entire existence is eating and drinking... Those who see economy as the foundation of everything, they see the human being as an animal and an animal’s entire existence is sacrificed for its economy. A donkey’s entire existence is its economy.”

In this light, Khomeini was not telling people to ignore the economy. Rather, he was diagnosing a fatal flaw in the modern Western socio-economic framework. He argued that when a society elevates wealth and material production to the ultimate purpose of human existence, it strips humanity of its spiritual and moral dimensions, effectively treating people like beasts of burden.

The Western “Donkey System”

To prove this point, the documentary contrasts this Islamic philosophical framework with the realities of the “richest country in history”—the United States. Despite its immense wealth, the U.S. grapples with staggering systemic failures that highlight the hollowness of a purely materialistic model:

• Homelessness: Over 745,000 people experience homelessness on any given night, with hundreds of thousands living unsheltered on the streets.

• Medical and Student Debt: Over 100 million Americans are burdened by medical debt, and a staggering $1.8 trillion in student loan debt traps 43 million citizens, often for life.

• The Epidemic of Loneliness: The U.S. Surgeon General has officially declared a loneliness epidemic, highlighting a society where individuals frequently die alone, disconnected from community and family ties.

In a system where a hospital bill can cause bankruptcy and human worth is determined by a credit score or productivity, the “donkey system” Khomeini warned about is vividly manifested.

Resilience Under Pressure: Iran’s Economic Reality

The video also addresses the genuine economic struggles within Iran, arguing that Western critics conveniently omit the devastating impact of decades of crippling international sanctions. Since the U.S. withdrawal from the JCPOA and the re-imposition of maximum pressure campaigns, Iran has been largely cut off from global banking and trade. According to the UN Human Rights Council, these sanctions have severely restricted access to life-saving medicines, affecting thousands of children with cancer and patients with rare diseases.

Despite this economic warfare, Iran has maintained a strong push for self-reliance. Today, Iran produces 97% of its medicines domestically and exports pharmaceuticals globally. This resilience aligns with the very principle Khomeini championed: a nation that stands on its own feet retains its dignity, whereas a nation entirely dependent on foreign masters loses it.

The Political Weaponisation of the Truncated Quote

The truncated quote continues to be a staple for opposition figures, most recently used by Reza Pahlavi during a 2026 CPAC speech to attack the Islamic Republic. Yet, his proposed “Iran Prosperity Plan” envisions opening Iran’s markets to generate trillions for the Western economy, treating the nation not as a sovereign state with human citizens, but as an “untapped market” for foreign shareholders. Ironically, this vision perfectly embodies the exact “donkey” philosophy Khomeini warned against—reducing a nation’s entire existence to its economic utility for foreign powers.

Conclusion: Two Visions of Humanity

Ultimately, the debate over this quote boils down to two fundamentally different views of human nature. The Western capitalist model dictates that you are what you earn, what you own, and what you consume. The Islamic perspective counters that a human being’s value is derived from their faith, their principles, their sacrifices, and their moral character.

Ayatollah Khomeini’s warning was never about neglecting the economy; it was about protecting human dignity from a system that would turn men and women into beasts of economic burden. For the readers of Islamic Digest, this is a vital reminder that true economic justice cannot be achieved when material wealth eclipses the spiritual and human core of society.


Reference: Mohsen Johari

Allah has His own ways—unchanging patterns—through which He tests people and reveals their true nature. One of these ways is to separate those who are sincere from those whose faith is merely an outward show.

For many people, a large following is a cause for celebration. When many people gather around an idea or ideology, it seems as though victory has already been achieved.

But Allah is not like a human being. He is not limited by our perspective; He is not biased, and He does not measure truth by the number of its supporters.

The Test Within the Gathering

When people gather around religion, and the voices against Islamophobia and the persecution of Muslims grow louder, we may perceive this as an obvious success. But it is precisely at these moments that Allah may test people—to separate the sincere from the insincere, the wheat from the chaff:

There are well-known people who may be living their last days. We do not know the unseen and cannot judge who is destined to die and when. But we know something else: trials are capable of revealing what a person has long hidden behind beautiful words and social masks.

Striving and Staying Back

Allah says:

Beyond the Outward Symbol

Look at the hijab. Many women wear it—and that is wonderful. But can we judge a person’s sincerity based solely on their outward appearance?

Allah’s way is also manifested in the fact that a familiar religious symbol acquires a new social meaning. In Azerbaijan, the hijab was a common element of religious life for many. But under pressure, it gradually becomes a symbol of protest—not only against the enemies of religion, but also for freedom of conscience, dignity, and the right of a person to determine their own life path.

The Test Extends Further

And here, something deeper is happening: Allah is testing not only religious people, separating the sincere from the insincere. He is also revealing the essence of those who call themselves liberals, democrats, and defenders of freedom.

Who truly stands for freedom of religion? And who defends freedom only when it aligns with their own beliefs? Who is genuinely against oppression, and who simply uses beautiful slogans when it is convenient?

Our perspective is limited: we see only individual events and judge based on external signs. But Allah sees the whole picture—our intentions, hidden motives, and what is yet to be revealed.

The Wavering Hearts

The Most High says:

A Final Reflection

That is why we should not rush to conclusions, evaluating what is happening only by today’s events. What seems to us like a defeat may turn out to be a trial that reveals the truth.

And what looks like a victory—is a test that reveals true intentions.

Ultimately, trials not only show who has remained true. They reveal who and for what they were standing alongside the truth in the first place.

Muhammad-Husayn Behjat Tabrizi, known to the world by his pen name Shahriar, holds a singular place in the history of Iranian poetry. Writing with equal mastery in Persian and Azerbaijani, his verses carried a spiritual depth that transcended language and generation. Among his most celebrated works is the poem “Ali (AS), O Bird of Mercy” (Ali ey Homay-e Rahmat), which became one of the most beloved poetic dedications to Imam Ali (a) in the Persian-speaking world.

It was this very poem that, decades before any official meeting, planted the seed of a profound admiration in the heart of a young teenager.

A Fourteen-Year-Old and a Poem That Changed Everything

Ayatollah Sayed Ali Khamenei, the Supreme Leader of the Islamic Revolution, recalled that he first encountered Shahriar’s poetry at the age of fourteen or fifteen, recited by a religious orator during a gathering. The experience left an indelible mark:

“We had heard many poems dedicated to the Commander of the Faithful (AS), but this work was different from everything we had heard before. It had both an extraordinary beauty of language and completely new images.”

Moved by what he heard, the young Ali Khamenei made his way to the library of the Holy Shrine of Imam Reza (AS) in Mashhad, where he found a collection of Shahriar’s poems and immersed himself in the poet’s wider body of work. That early encounter became a lifelong reverence.

Two Unusual Conditions

Years later, while serving as President of Iran, Ayatollah Khamenei travelled to Tabriz on an official visit. According to the recollections of the renowned Azerbaijani poet and religious orator Muhsin Asgari, a literary evening was arranged in the President’s honour. But Ayatollah Khamenei set two unusual conditions that puzzled the organisers:

First, he insisted that Shahriar himself be invited.
Second, he demanded that he, the President, enter the hall before the poet arrived.

The reason behind these conditions remained a mystery — until the meeting began.

“He Didn’t Want Shahriar to Stand”

When Shahriar’s arrival was announced, Ayatollah Khamenei rose from his seat, walked to the door, and personally greeted the elderly poet.

“Then we understood why he had set such a condition,” Asgari recalled. “He didn’t want Shahriar to stand up when he arrived. On the contrary, he wanted to stand up and greet the poet himself.”

After warmly welcoming Shahriar, the President said:

“One of my life’s desires was to meet you. And today, praise be to God, I have been able to do so.”

He then seated the poet beside him, and the evening of poetry and conversation began.

A Question About Fatima Zahra (SA)

During the gathering, Ayatollah Khamenei posed a thoughtful question to Shahriar: why, among his many works dedicated to Imam Ali (AS), Imam Husayn (AS), and Imam Mahdi (AS), had he not come across a poem about Fatima Zahra (SA)?

Shahriar replied that he did indeed have such a work, and proceeded to recite a poem about the night burial of the Prophet’s daughter (S). In it, Shahriar painted the grief-stricken silence of Medina and conjured the image of Fatima Zahra (SA) — a woman who bravely defended her rights and stood firm against injustice.

The Poem That Started It All: “Ali, O Bird of Mercy”

The poem that first captivated the young Khamenei remains one of the crown jewels of devotional Persian poetry. Its opening verses are among the most widely recited lines in praise of Imam Ali (AS):

علی ای همای رحمت تو چه آیتی خدا را
که به ماسوا فکندی همه سایه‌ی هما را

دل اگر خداشناسی همه در رخ علی بین
به علی شناختم من به خدا قسم خدا را

به خدا که در دو عالم اثر از فنا نماند
که علی‌گونه باشد به جز او که را که را

چو علی گدا نباشد ملک گدا نصیبش
که به تیغ فقر گردد سر پادشاه را

A translation of the opening couplets:

O Ali, O Bird of Mercy, what a sign you are of God,
That you cast upon all else the shadow of the Homa bird of grace.

If the heart knows God, it sees Him wholly in the face of Ali —
Through Ali, I swear by God, I came to know God Himself.

By God, in both worlds not a trace of annihilation remains
For one who is like Ali — and who, and who could ever be?

If Ali is no beggar, then the kingdom is the beggar’s due,
For with the sword of poverty, he strikes down the head of kings.

These verses, with their daring imagery and theological depth, are precisely what struck the young Khamenei as “completely new” — a poet who spoke of Imam Ali (AS) not in inherited metaphors, but in visions no one had dared to shape before.

“Not Only a Poet, but a Wise Man”

Ayatollah Khamenei also spoke with great admiration of Shahriar’s celebrated Azerbaijani epic, “Heydar Baba Salam” (“Greetings to Heydar Baba”), calling it:

“An exceptional work. It combines the beauty of language, the purity of feelings, wisdom, and the amazing power of artistic imagery. Therefore, Shahriar can be considered not only a poet but also a wise man.”

The Leader also drew particular attention to the spiritual dimension of Shahriar’s later life, noting that the poet devoted the last three decades of his years to self-purification, study of the Holy Quran, and spiritual practice — a testament to the inner journey that gave his verse its unmistakable sincerity.

A Legacy in Verse and Memory

Shahriar passed away on 18 September 1988. In his honour, the Islamic Republic of Iran designated the anniversary of his death — 27 Shahrivar — as the National Day of Persian Poetry and Literature, ensuring that the voice of the man who called Imam Ali (AS) the “Bird of Mercy” would echo through every generation that follows.

And in the memory of those who witnessed that evening in Tabriz, one image endures above all others: a President rising from his seat, walking to the door, and standing in quiet reverence before an old poet — because some debts of the heart can only be repaid by rising.

To understand the "purity of feelings" and "amazing power of artistic imagery" that Ayatollah Khamenei referred to, one only needs to look at the opening verses of Shahriar’s masterpiece, "Heydar Babaya Salam." Written as an address to the mountain overlooking his childhood village, the epic captures the poet's longing for his youth and his reflections on the fleeting nature of life:

Heydar Babaya Salam (“Greetings to Heydar Baba”) is a monumental epic poem consisting of over 100 stanzas. Written in 1954, it is a deeply nostalgic masterpiece in which Shahriar looks back on his childhood in the village of Khoshgenab near Tabriz. “Heydar Baba” is the name of the mountain that overlooks his birthplace, serving as a silent, eternal witness to his youth, his people, and the passage of time.

The poem is considered the pinnacle of Azerbaijani literature in Iran and was instrumental in reviving the literary Azerbaijani language in the region.

Because the full epic is over 100 stanzas long, the opening stanzas are the most famous and widely recited. They perfectly capture the poem’s emotional depth, blending breathtaking nature imagery with profound reflections on mortality and memory.

🏔️ Excerpts from Heydar Babaya Salam

Stanza 1
Heydərbaba, ildırımlar şaxanda,
Sellər, sular şaqqıldayıb axanda,
Qızlar ona səf bağlayıb baxanda,
Salam olsun, şövkətizə elizə,
Mənim də bir adım gəlsin dilizə.

Translation:
Heydar Baba, when the thunder resounds across the skies,
When floods roar down the mountainsides,
And the girls line up to watch it rushing by,
Send my greetings to the tribesmen and the village folk,
And remember me and my name once more.

Stanza 2
Heydərbaba, kəkliklərin uçanda,
Kol dibindən dovşan qalxib qaçanda,
Baxçaların çiçəklənib açanda,
Bizdən də bir mümkün olsa yad əylə,
Açılmayan ürəkləri şad eylə.

Translation:
Heydar Baba, when pheasants take flight,
And the rabbits scurry from the flowering bush,
When your gardens burst into full bloom,
May those who remember us live long,
And may our saddened hearts be gladdened.

Stanza 3
Bayram yeli çardaxları yıxanda,
Novruzgülü, qarçiçəyi çıxanda,
Ağ buludlar köynəklərin sıxanda,
Bizdən də bir yad eyləyən sağ olsun,
Dərtlərimiz qoy dikəlsin dağ olsun.

Translation:
When the March wind strikes down the bowers,
Primrose and snowdrops appear from the frozen earth,
When the clouds wing their white shirts,
Let us be remembered once again,
Let our sorrows rise up like a mountain.

Stanza 4
Heydərbaba, gün dalıvı dağlasın,
Üzün gülsün, bulağlarin ağlasın,
Uşaqların bir dəstə gül bağlasın,
Yel gəlende ver gətirsin bu yana,
Bəlkə mənim yatmış bəxtim oyana.

Translation:
Heydar Baba, let your back bear the mark of the sun,
Let your streams weep and your face beam with smiles,
Let your children put together a bouquet,
And send it to us when the wind blows this way,
So that, perhaps, our sleepy fortune be awakened.

Stanza 5
Heydərbaba, sənin üzün ağ olsun,
Dört bir yanın bulaq olsun bağ olsun,
Bizdən sonra sənin başın sağ olsun,
Dünya qəzov-qədər, ölüm itimdir,
Dünya boyu oğulsuzdur, yetimdir.

Translation:
Heydar Baba, may your brows be bright,
May you be circled by streams and gardens,
And after us, may you live long.
This world is full of misfortunes and losses,
The world is replete with those bereaved of sons and orphaned.

Stanza 6
Heydərbaba, yolum səndən kəc oldu,
Ömürüm keçdi, gələmmədim gec oldu,
Heç bilmədim gözəllərin necə oldu.
Bilməz idim döngələr var, dönüm var,
İtkinlik var, ayrılıq var, ölüm var.

Translation:
Heydar Baba, my steps never crossed your pass,
My life was spent, becoming too late to visit you.
I know not what became of all those beautiful girls.
I never knew about dead ends, about paths of “no return.”
I never knew about separation, loss and death.

Reference: Shia News

Qom, Azam Mosque – Weekly Lecture on Morality

In his weekly lecture on morality at the Azam Mosque in Qom, Grand Ayatollah Abdullah Javad Amoli drew on the sayings of Imam Ali (AS) from Nahj al-Balagha (The Path of Eloquence) to explore how tawhid must manifest not only in a person’s beliefs but in every dimension of daily life.

Tawhid: The Price of Paradise

Ayatollah Javad Amoli opened by reframing what it means to be a true monotheist:

“Tawhid is the price of Paradise. A monotheist is not simply someone who believes that God is one. It is someone in whom tawhid is reflected in their actions and behaviour, who does not see the world separately from its Creator, and who sees their entire life in the light of the words: ‘There is no power and might except in Allah.’

Monotheism, he stressed, is not a static creed but a living orientation – one that colours how a person works, relates, and responds to the world around them.

Knowledge Without Action Becomes Ignorance

Turning to the inseparable link between knowledge and practice, Ayatollah Javad Amoli quoted Imam Ali (AS):

“Do not turn your knowledge into ignorance, nor your certainty into doubt. When you know, act; when you are certain, decide.”

He elaborated:

“A knowledgeable person who does not act according to their knowledge turns it into ignorance. If knowledge has no consequences, it becomes like ignorance.”

The message was clear: learning in Islam is never an end in itself. It is a trust that demands embodiment.

The Needy as a Messenger of Allah

Ayatollah Javad Amoli then addressed how tawhid must shape social relations. If someone comes seeking help – whether material, scientific, or social – one must never treat them with contempt. If you are able to help, help. If not, politely decline and direct them to someone who can.

He cited the saying:

“The needy is a messenger of Allah.”

This perspective, he explained, can revitalise society and make it truly civilised: a person sees the one who comes to them for help not as a burden, but as someone through whom a divine responsibility is directed towards them.

Dignity and the Confrontation of Injustice

Speaking about confronting oppression, Ayatollah Javad Amoli quoted Imam Ali (AS):

“He who is humiliated will not reject humiliation.”

He urged the congregation to maintain their dignity and never passively accept oppression. He then recalled another saying:

“Return the stone to where it came from.”

He explained its meaning:

“Do not throw the first stone, because initiating oppression is unacceptable. But if someone throws a stone at you, immediately return it. Live courageously – that is, with dignity, skill, and bravery.”

Lady Maryam (SA): An Example for the Entire Believing Community

In his closing remarks, Ayatollah Javad Amoli addressed the position of women in the Quran, citing Lady Maryam (SA) as the supreme example:

“The Quran distinguishes between the concepts of ‘women,’ ‘men,’ and ‘people.’ When it comes to Lady Maryam (SA), she is presented not simply as a role model for women. The Quran says that Allah brought Lady Maryam (SA) as an example to those who believed. It does not say that Maryam (SA) is an example only for women. Therefore, Maryam (SA) is an example for righteous and believing people – a role model for the entire believing community.”

Thus, spiritual perfection in the Quran is not limited by gender. Lady Maryam (SA) stands as an example of faith, steadfastness, and devotion for every believing person – male and female alike.

This article is based on the weekly morality lecture of Grand Ayatollah Abdullah Javad Amoli at the Azam Mosque, Qom.

Reference: Shia News

Introduction

There are figures in history whose true stature only becomes apparent long after they have departed this world. Their influence, like seeds buried deep in soil, requires the passage of seasons before it breaks through the surface and bears fruit for all to see. Allameh Sayyid Muhammad Husayn Tabatabaei (may God be pleased with him) stands as a towering example of such a figure—a man whose contributions to Islamic thought, spiritual cultivation, and cultural revival were so vast that centuries may pass before their full dimensions are comprehended.

This article draws upon reflections delivered at a commemorative gathering marking the anniversary of Allameh Tabatabaei’s passing, exploring why he remained largely unrecognised in his own time and how his quiet, determined work reshaped the intellectual landscape of the Muslim world.

The Veil of Contemporaneity: Why Greatness Goes Unseen

The speaker at the memorial identified several reasons why figures of Allameh Tabatabaei’s magnitude remain obscure during their lifetimes. The first is what he termed the “veil of contemporaneity” (hijab al-mu’asarah)—the paradox that those living alongside a great soul are often the least equipped to perceive his greatness. Familiarity breeds a kind of blindness. Minor quirks or unconventional habits become magnified, while the luminous peaks of knowledge, virtue, and spiritual attainment remain hidden from those closest in time.

The second reason concerns the nature of time itself. Just as a sapling requires years before it yields fruit, the effects of a great scholar’s work may not manifest for decades. The Quranic verse beautifully captures this reality:

Only after the tree has borne its fruit do people look back and marvel at the one who planted it.

The third factor is the concealment that comes with sincerity. Many of the spiritual stations and inner qualities of such men were deliberately hidden—shared only with a handful of trusted disciples, sometimes under solemn oaths of secrecy until the master’s death. The fourth is the intangible nature of cultural work itself. Unlike political victories, whose effects are immediately visible, cultural and intellectual transformations operate through layers of mediation, their ultimate impact becoming apparent only after long intervals.

Allameh Tabatabaei possessed all four of these characteristics simultaneously. He lived in an era that could not fully appreciate him; his work required generations to ripen; his spiritual attainments were veiled by profound humility; and his primary field of endeavour—cultural and intellectual renewal—produced no immediate, tangible spectacle.

The Landscape Before His Arrival

To understand what Allameh Tabatabaei accomplished, one must first understand what he found. When he arrived at the Qom seminary, the institution was a young sapling itself—newly planted and desperately in need of a skilled, devoted gardener. The speaker, himself a student of Allameh, recalled that over ninety percent of all academic activity in the seminaries revolved around jurisprudence (fiqh) and its principles (usul). While these disciplines are essential, they represented only a fraction of what an Islamic society needs to sustain itself intellectually and spiritually.

There was no formal course in Quranic exegesis (tafsir). There was no systematic instruction in rational philosophy or theology to equip students with the tools of argumentation and critical thought. There was no structured program of ethical and spiritual training for those destined to guide communities. In essence, the pillars upon which Islam rests—the Book, the Prophetic tradition, and the intellect—were only partially represented in the curriculum.

The broader society, meanwhile, was suffocating under intellectual repression. Foreign cultural influence was steadily eroding the Islamic identity of the educated classes. Students and intellectuals were being diverted from their heritage through colonial educational frameworks. Without intervention, the speaker noted, the Islamic character of the society was condemned to dissolution.

A Threefold Revolution in Learning

Allameh Tabatabaei described his own assessment of the situation in words the speaker heard directly from his lips:

“When I came to Qom, I studied the academic condition of the seminary and reflected on the needs of the Islamic society. I found little correspondence between what was needed and what existed.”

His response was decisive. He resolved to establish three courses: a class in Islamic philosophy, a class in Quranic exegesis, and a class in ethics and spiritual development. This decision, the speaker emphasised, was comparable in courage and strategic wisdom to the political revolution later led by Imam Khomeini. Others had attempted similar reforms before and failed. Even Imam Khomeini himself had taught philosophy and mysticism four decades earlier but had been forced to discontinue those lessons due to hostile conditions. Allameh Tabatabaei was stepping into a space littered with the remnants of previous, unsuccessful attempts.

Yet he persisted. He understood the obstacles. He knew the resistance he would face. But he relied upon God alone and began.

The Man Behind the Mission

The speaker painted a vivid portrait of Allameh Tabatabaei’s material circumstances during those early years. Picture a cleric freshly arrived from a rural area, wearing a coarse, dark-blue cotton turban, living in a two-room rented house costing eighty tomans per month. He had no reception room to host visitors. When a student came to his door with a question, Allameh would step outside, place his hands on either side of the doorframe, lean his head out, and ask what was needed—never once inviting the visitor inside, not out of rudeness, but because there was simply no space.

For years, his livelihood depended on modest royalties from his writings. He carried significant debts unknown even to his closest family members, including his son-in-law, the late Ayatollah Qoddousi. When asked about accepting patronage, Allameh reportedly said he would prefer to earn three tomans a day through his own labour rather than present his needs at anyone’s door or become dependent on any household or institution.

This was the man who undertook to revolutionise Islamic culture. No wealth. No institutional backing. No public fame. Only an unshakeable trust in God and a vision of what the Ummah required.

Cultural Work as the Root of Revolution

The speaker drew a direct line between Allameh Tabatabaei’s intellectual labour and the Islamic Revolution that would later transform Iran. Every revolution, he argued, is ultimately the fruit of prior cultural preparation. The people who rose in 1979 were people who had been nourished—however partially—by Islamic thought, values, and identity. That nourishment had been cultivated over years by scholars like Allameh Tabatabaei.

The revolution required a leader of extraordinary wisdom to channel those cultural forces in the correct direction, and God granted the nation Imam Khomeini. But without the cultural groundwork, no leadership could have produced such an uprising. Likewise, the survival of any Islamic society depends not on political structures alone but on the continued growth and dissemination of its intellectual and spiritual culture.

This is why the speaker insisted that Allameh Tabatabaei’s work was not merely academic. It was an act of civilisational preservation and renewal. In a time when colonial powers sought to sever Muslim societies from their intellectual roots, he replanted those roots with patient, scholarly devotion.

The Legacy Still Unfolding

More than four decades after his passing, Allameh Tabatabaei’s influence continues to radiate outward through countless intermediaries—through the students he trained, the texts he authored, the philosophical and exegetical traditions he revived, and the spiritual ethos he embodied. His Tafsir al-Mizan remains a landmark in Quranic scholarship. His philosophical teachings produced generations of thinkers. His ethical gatherings shaped the inner lives of those fortunate enough to attend them.

Yet, as the speaker reminded his audience, what has been recognised of Allameh Tabatabaei remains a small fraction of what there is to recognise. Many of his spiritual secrets remain sealed. The full scope of his influence on contemporary Islamic thought has yet to be mapped. He belongs to that rare category of souls whose true biography will be written not by a single generation but by many.

Conclusion

In an age that rewards visibility, immediacy, and spectacle, the life of Allameh Tabatabaei stands as a profound counter-testimony. He demonstrates that the deepest transformations are often the quietest, that the most enduring revolutions begin not in streets but in classrooms, and that a single sincere soul, armed with nothing but knowledge, humility, and reliance upon God, can alter the trajectory of a civilisation.

The tree he planted continues to yield its fruit in every season. It remains for those who come after to look up at its branches, trace them back to their root, and offer gratitude for the gardener who tended them in obscurity.

This article is based on a commemorative address delivered by Ayatollah Mesbah Yazdi in honour of Allameh Sayyid Muhammad Husayn Tabatabaei (d. 1981), the renowned Quranic exegete, philosopher, and mystic of the twentieth-century Islamic world.

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Grand Ayatollah Jafar Subhani, speaking at the opening ceremony of the new academic year at the Imam Sadiq (AS) Institute, highlighted the indispensable role of Kalam (Islamic theology) and divine philosophy in contemporary Islamic scholarship. He stressed that without a robust theological foundation, achieving a profound understanding of the Quran or providing reasoned answers to modern ideological questions is impossible.

The Supreme Value of Theology and Philosophy

The value of any science is primarily determined by its subject matter. While chemists study the properties of substances and botanists study plants, there are sciences whose subject is existence itself: the existence of God, His divine attributes, the structure and levels of existence, and the fundamental questions of faith.

Because of this, Kalam and divine philosophy occupy a uniquely elevated place among the sciences. In fact, Kalam is often referred to as Fiqh al-Akbar (the “Great Jurisprudence”) because it serves as the very bedrock of the religious sciences. Just as a building cannot stand without a solid foundation, religious knowledge relies entirely on a firm foundation of faith and theology.

Bridging Quranic Concepts with Reason

In the Shia scientific tradition, Kalam is deeply intertwined with philosophy. Ayatollah Subhani noted that without mastering these disciplines, correctly grasping certain Quranic concepts becomes exceedingly difficult.

To illustrate this, he cited verses that speak of God’s “closeness” to humanity and His “presence” among people. At the same time, core Islamic doctrine asserts that God is not a physical body, does not occupy a specific spatial location, and is not limited by direction or time. How, then, should believers understand the Quranic descriptions of His closeness?

The precise, nuanced answers to such profound questions are found within the frameworks of Kalam and philosophy. Therefore, anyone seeking a deep, accurate understanding of the Quran’s meanings must be well-versed in the fundamentals of these sciences.

Countering Modern Scepticism

Ayatollah Subhani also issued a stark warning against complacency, cautioning against the mistaken belief that intellectual attacks on religious foundations are a relic of the past.

“Do not think that attacks on the foundations of faith and theology have ended,” he urged. “These doubts continue to exist and, from time to time, reappear.”

He identified Kalam and divine philosophy as the primary tools for countering atheistic and ideological doubts. Today’s challenges extend beyond mere questions of faith, touching upon religious precepts, ethics, and various other areas of Islamic knowledge.

Following the Legacy of Imam Sadiq (AS)

As a historical precedent, the Grand Ayatollah pointed to the legacy of Imam Sadiq (AS), who purposefully trained a generation of students capable of engaging in high-level intellectual discussions and providing reasoned arguments to defend the foundations of Islam. Among his most prominent students was the renowned theologian Hisham ibn Hakam, who famously participated in rigorous debates with representatives of various philosophical and religious schools.

A Call to Seminaries and Students

Drawing on this rich history, Ayatollah Subhani stressed that this principle is just as relevant today. It is impossible to answer modern doubts without specialised knowledge and sound, logical arguments.

He called upon spiritual and educational centres (seminaries) to actively train specialists across various fields of theology and philosophy. Concluding his address, he urged students to dedicate themselves seriously to the study of Kalam and divine philosophy, emphasising that these sciences are vital for two primary missions: unlocking the deepest meanings of the Quran and mounting an intellectual defence of the foundations of the Islamic faith.

There is a quiet whisper that often visits the hearts of believers in times of distress or uncertainty:

“If my fate has already been decreed, and the pen has dried, what is the point of praying?”

This fatalistic mindset creates a false dichotomy between divine decree (Qadar) and human effort, leading many to believe that supplication (Duaʾ) is somehow redundant if an outcome is already written. However, the teachings of the Ahl al-Bayt (AS) dismantle this paradox, revealing that prayer is not an act of rebellion against destiny, but rather a fundamental mechanism within it.

The Wisdom of Imam al-Kazim (AS)

The Seventh Imam, Musa ibn Ja’far al-Kazim (AS), addressed this exact spiritual dilemma with profound clarity. It is narrated from him:

«عَلَيْكُمْ بِالدُّعَاءِ، فَإِنَّ الدُّعَاءَ لِلَّهِ، وَالطَّلَبَ إِلَى اللَّهِ، يَرُدُّ الْبَلَاءَ وَقَدْ قُدِّرَ وَقُضِيَ وَلَمْ يَبْقَ إِلَّا إِمْضَاؤُهُ، فَإِذَا دُعِيَ اللَّهُ عَزَّ وَجَلَّ وَسُئِلَ صَرْفَ الْبَلَاءِ صَرَفَهُ.»

“Hold fast to supplication, for supplication to Allah and asking from Allah can repel an affliction even after it has been determined and decreed, with nothing remaining except for it to be carried out. Then, when Allah, Mighty and Majestic, is called upon and asked to avert the affliction, He averts it.”
(Usul al-Kafi)

The Imam teaches us that an affliction may reach the very brink of manifestation—where it seems inevitable and “nothing remains except for it to be carried out”—yet a sincere plea to the Almighty can halt it in its tracks. How is this possible without breaking the laws of reality?

Dua Itself is a Cause

To understand this, we must shift our perspective on how the universe operates. We live in a world governed by cause and effect. If you are thirsty, water is the cause that quenches it. If you are in the dark, a lamp is the cause that brings light.

Similarly, Allah has placed Dua itself as one of the spiritual causes within His cosmic order. Just as physical laws govern matter, spiritual laws govern the unseen. When you raise your hands, you are activating a divinely established mechanism. This aligns perfectly with the timeless wisdom of Imam Ali (AS), who famously commanded: “Repel the waves of affliction with supplication” (Ghurar al-Hikam).

Reconciling Medicine with the Divine Healer

This principle extends beautifully into our daily lives, particularly regarding health and sustenance. Some mistakenly believe that relying on natural means (like taking medicine or working for a living) contradicts reliance on Allah (Tawakkul).

However, the Islamic worldview teaches that natural causes depend entirely upon Allah; Allah does not depend upon natural causes. Allah is Musabbib al-Asbab (The Originator of Causes). He created medicine, gave it its chemical capacity, and allowed that capacity to produce an effect.

Therefore, when medicine cures an illness, there is no contradiction between a doctor saying, “The medicine worked,” and a believer saying, “Allah healed me.” The medicine is merely the veil; Allah is the Actor. As Prophet Ibrahim (AS) declared in the Holy Quran:

Taking the medicine is the fulfilment of a physical cause; making Dua is the fulfilment of a spiritual cause. We take the medicine, but we ask the Creator of the medicine for healing. We make the effort, but we ask the Granter of Success for our outcome.

Destiny is Not a Cage

Ultimately, the heart of Imam al-Kazim’s (AS) teaching is a profound redefinition of destiny. Destiny is not a rigid, static cage that traps us; it is a dynamic, living relationship between the Creator and the created. The Quran itself hints at this fluidity, stating:

Dua is not outside destiny. It is one of the very means Allah has placed within destiny by which an affliction can be turned away. The decree that “an affliction will strike” was always conditional upon the decree that “if the servant prays, the affliction will be averted.”

When we pray, we are not trying to change the mind of a reluctant God. Rather, we are participating in the unfolding of a merciful divine plan. So, raise your hands with certainty. The pen has not dried on your capacity to ask, and the door of the Cause of Causes is never closed.

Every day, millions of Muslims around the world utter the phrase SubhanAllah (Glory be to Allah). It flows from our lips in moments of awe, in times of distress, and during our daily prayers. But what does tasbih truly mean? Is it merely a repetitive phrase, or does it hold a deeper transformative power?

The Quran itself gives us perhaps the clearest explanation of tasbih. In Surah As-Saffat, Allah says:

And in Surah Al-Isra:

These verses function almost like Quranic definitions of tasbih. At its core, tasbih is tanzih: the active recognition that Allah is above every deficiency, limitation, comparison, and false description. In simple words, Allah is not like His creation and is not limited as created things are.

Beyond “Glory Be to Allah”

When we say SubhanAllah, we are saying much more than a simple translation of “Glory be to Allah.” We are declaring that Allah is far above anything unworthy of Him and above every limited idea we may form of Him.

We know that Allah sees, hears, knows, and has power—but He does so in a manner that befits His Majesty, not in the limited, physical, or temporal way that His creation does. Reciting tasbih protects our theology. It shields us from the subtle trap of anthropomorphism—imagining the Creator like the created.

The Connection Between Tasbih and Salah

Allah beautifully connects tasbih with our daily prayers (salah). In Surah al-Hijr, He commands:

In salah, tasbih should be deeply conscious. When we lower our foreheads to the ground in sujūd and say, Subhana Rabbiyal A’la wa bihamdih (Glory be to my Lord, the Most High, and praise be to Him), we are physically embodying a profound spiritual truth. We recognise that while Allah is entirely free from limitation, we are in absolute, humble dependence upon Him. Sujud gives our bodies the language to express the tanzih of our hearts.

Tasbih and Sabr: Restoring Perspective

Life is filled with trials, and Allah intimately connects tasbih with sabr (patience). In Surah Ta-Ha, He advises the Prophet (S):

Why does tasbih breed patience? Because it restores our perspective. The person troubling us is not absolute. The difficulty standing before us is not absolute. Even our own human understanding is painfully limited. SubhanAllah reminds us that Allah is above all of that. When we remember His absolute perfection and control, our worldly anxieties shrink, and our trust in Him expands.

The Living Tasbih: Lessons from the Ahl al-Bayt (AS)

The Ahl al-Bayt (AS) did not just teach tasbih as a theological concept; they lived it. The legacy of tasbih in the Shia tradition is most famously encapsulated in the Tasbih of Sayyida Fatimah al-Zahra (SA).

Following the birth of Imam Husayn (AS), the Prophet Muhammad (S) taught his beloved daughter a specific formula of remembrance: 34 times Allahu Akbar, 33 times Alhamdulillah, and 33 times SubhanAllah. This was not just a set of words, but a spiritual anchor meant to be recited after every obligatory prayer and before sleep.

The Imams of the Ahl al-Bayt (AS) placed immense emphasis on this practice, elevating it to the highest ranks of worship. Imam Ja’far al-Sadiq (AS) stated regarding its value:

“The tasbih of Fatimah al-Zahra (SA) after every obligatory Salah is more loved to me than praying a thousand rak’ahs every day.”

He also highlighted that this specific form of frequent remembrance is the perfect embodiment of what Allah commands in the Quran.

Furthermore, in the profound supplications inherited from the Ahl al-Bayt, such as Dua Kumayl by Imam Ali (AS) or Dua al-Sabah, the Imams constantly begin with phrases of tanzih and tasbih (e.g., Subhanaka ya Allah). They teach us that before we ask Allah for anything, we must first clear our minds of any limited or flawed conceptions of Who we are asking.

Conclusion: A Way of Life

Ultimately, tasbih is not merely something we recite with our tongues; it is something we learn to live. It is a continuous process of correcting how we think about Allah, humbling ourselves in prostration before Him, and facing the trials of life with greater patience, trust, and divine perspective.

The next time the words SubhanAllah leave your lips, pause for a moment. Remember His absolute perfection, your humble dependence, and the profound reality that your Lord is exalted, immensely above all limitations.

We live in an age of labels. Titles, affiliations, appearances and reputations travel faster than truth. Yet Islam teaches us a quieter, steadier method of knowing people: judge character by deeds, not by claims. We cannot see into another person’s heart or measure the sincerity of their faith — that belongs to Allah alone. But what we can, and sometimes must, assess is what is observable: Are they truthful? Do they honour their word and fulfil trusts? Are they just in their dealings? Do they respect the rights of others? How do they behave when angry, when their interests are threatened, or when they hold power over someone weaker?

The Heart Belongs to Allah; the Deeds Belong to Us

Allah reminds us that outward eloquence and pleasing appearances can conceal very different interiors:

Only Allah knows what the breasts conceal (Quran, Surah al-Fatir, Chapter 35, The Originator, Verse 38). That is precisely why He has commanded us to weigh what is manifest. The Quran describes the true believers not first by their feelings or their claims, but by their conduct: “Those who are faithful to their trusts and their pledges” (Quran, Surah al-Mu’minun, Chapter 23, The Believers, Verse 8). Faith, in the Quranic vision, is something that shows.

Labels Are Not Evidence

Religious identity and outward acts of worship have their proper and honoured place — but they are not automatic certificates of honesty, trustworthiness or good character. A person may pray, fast, perform Hajj and fill the mosques, yet none of this alone tells us how they will behave in a business contract, a marriage, or a dispute.

The Ahl al-Bayt (AS) made this unmistakably clear. Imam Ja’far al-Sadiq (AS) advised:

“Do not look at people’s much praying and much fasting, for a person may become so habituated to them that he would feel uneasy if he abandoned them. Rather, test them by truthfulness of speech and by fulfilling trusts.” (Al-Kafi)

And the Prophet Muhammad (S) said:

“There is no faith for one who has no trustworthiness, and no religion for one who keeps no covenant.” (Bihar al-Anwar)

Worship that does not refine how a person treats others has not yet reached the heart it is meant to purify.

This Is Not Judgementalism — It Is Discernment

Let us be careful here. Islam forbids suspicion, spying and fault-finding:

We should neither search for people’s faults nor assume the worst of them. But thinking well of others does not require naivety. Goodwill and prudence can coexist. The Quran itself instructs us to verify: “If a wicked person brings you any news, verify it” (Quran, Surah al-Hujuraat, Chapter 49, The Chambers, Verse 6). Verification is not hatred; it is wisdom.

Trust should be informed by demonstrated trustworthiness. Not suspicion, not blind credulity — but observation over time. Consistent behaviour is a language of its own, and a reassuring label should never deafen us to what it is telling us.

Where Discernment Saves Us

Understanding this spares us much misjudgement, disappointment and harm:

• In friendship — we choose companions whose conduct matches their counsel.

• In marriage - the most binding of covenants — we look beyond piety-performances to patience, honesty and how anger is handled.

• In business — we entrust money and partnerships to those with a record of fair dealing, not merely a pious reputation.

• In community and religious affairs — we give responsibility to those whose justice survives the test of power and personal interest.

Imam Ali (AS) captured the essence: a person’s deeds are his truest witness. What he does when nothing is at stake for him — and what he does when everything is — reveals him more honestly than any title he carries.

The Mirror: Begin With Yourself

Most importantly, the same standard must begin with ourselves. Before examining whether another person’s conduct reflects the values they profess, we should examine our own. Our labels, affiliations and acts of worship must never become substitutes for honest self-accounting.

Imam Ali (AS) said:

“Take account of yourselves before you are taken to account, and weigh yourselves before you are weighed.” (Nahj al-Balagha)

So the questions turn inward: Am I truthful? Am I trustworthy? Do I keep my promises? Do I respect the rights of others? Am I just even when justice goes against my interests? Does my conduct reflect the values I claim to uphold? He whose own faults occupy has little leisure for hunting the faults of others.

In Closing

Leave what is in the heart to Allah.
Look to character and deeds in our dealings with people.
Be neither suspicious nor naive — and begin with yourself.

By Ayatollah Sayyid Mojtaba Hosseini Khamenei
October 1, 2026

Editor’s Note: The following message was issued today by the appointed Leader of the Islamic Revolution, Ayatollah Sayyed Mojtaba Hosseini Khamenei, on the occasion of the 33rd National Prayer Conference held in Mashhad. It marks his first major address on the topic since assuming leadership.

In the Name of God, the Compassionate, the Merciful

Paying heed to the sublime matter of “establishing prayer” (iqamat al-salat)—and in particular, holding the National Prayer Conference—is one of the necessary, imperative measures that has taken shape in the country since the early 1370s AHS (1990s). This achievement is due to the dedicated efforts of the mujahid, people-oriented scholar, teacher of the Quran, and accomplished preacher, Hujjat al-Islam wal-Muslimeen Qara’ati (may his successes continue).

The special attention that our exalted, martyred Leader (may God elevate his noble station) devoted to this matter, along with his important, continuous, and emphatic recommendations in his messages to the 32 conferences held thus far, further calls attention to the importance of this course of action.

The Profound Depths of Prayer

Undoubtedly, speaking or writing about prayer is a matter befitting divine revelation and the words of the Holy Prophet (S) and the Infallible Imams (AS). The pen of someone like myself is far too humble to write anything regarding the profound depths of the spiritual teachings of prayer. However, the identity and requirements of an Islamic society, and the duties of those who serve it—particularly the Leader of the Islamic Revolution—make it necessary for me to remind myself, the people at large, and also our officials of a few points in this regard.

Prayer (salat) is one of the most beautiful of the magnificent blessings bestowed by God, the Glorious and Exalted. It is the supreme institution, symbol, and pillar of religion, serving as the connecting thread that allows each of us to establish a close, direct connection with the infinite, eternal divine source.

This elixir of salvation and prosperity, accompanied by the foundation of a life of spiritual purity (hayat tayyibah), serves as both a solid, continuous support and an inexhaustible spiritual reserve for human beings in the struggle against the devil within (nafs) and the devils of the world. It is also a flowing spring of love, hope, kindness, and tranquillity. The descent of blessings and an abundance of divine provisions come and increase by establishing prayer and seeking forgiveness.

A Pillar of Righteous Governance and National Struggle

However, the obligation of prayer is not merely an individual duty. According to the teachings of the Quran, establishing prayer is the first outcome and sign of righteous governance, as affirmed in the verse:

This verse appears immediately after the verse containing the promise of divine assistance for those who help Almighty God and about their jihad in the blessed Surah al-Hajj. This demonstrates that the establishment of prayer—which serves as a firm pillar for the remembrance of God (dhikr), hope, and trust in Him—plays a pivotal role in jihad, triumph, and victory on the battlefields, especially the battlefield that the Iranian nation is currently facing.

A Collective Responsibility

Today, as the dear people of Iran’s material means and power are more fully prepared than ever before, every member of this nation that has risen up is being addressed in this frequently repeated divine command to establish prayer (aqimu al-salat).

Furthermore, all influential individuals in society—including fathers, mothers, families, teachers, friends, professors, intellectual elites, public figures, and celebrities—as well as all culture-shaping institutions and bodies, including mosques, Friday Prayer congregations, schools, universities, Islamic seminaries, IRIB, those active in cultural and social affairs, the Basij, and especially those who are in contact with adolescents and young people, bear a greater responsibility in this endeavour.

Paving the Way to Islamic Civilisation

Establishing prayer in all its stages of development and levels of perfection throughout a society and country that has raised the banner of the true Islam of Prophet Muhammad (S) and takes pride in Islamic governance is one of the most crucial affairs.

It is an essential prerequisite for paving the way to transition from the stage of the Islamic movement and Revolution to that of an Islamic society. Only after this will attaining the stage of Islamic civilisation become possible.

The firm establishment and widespread, universal observance of prayer, followed by a collective effort to perform it in the best manner, are the two main pillars of the endeavour to achieve this important objective. Furthermore, helping mosques to be more active and implementing other measures aimed at increasing the quantity and enhancing the outer quality of congregational and Friday prayers are necessary preludes to attaining this goal.

In all these respects, the role of the congregational and Friday prayer leaders is particularly significant. They must serve as a refuge for the people and be a listening, receptive ear for their concerns and grievances.

I am hopeful that through divine grace and the special favour and prayers of our Master, Imam Mahdi (may Almighty God hasten his noble reappearance), our dear nation and country will be successful and their actions will be accepted in the matter of establishing prayer and benefiting from its spiritual graces and blessings.

Sayyed Mojtaba Hosseini Khamenei
Mehr 9, 1405 (October 1, 2026)

Reference: IRNA English

Prophet Musa (peace be upon him) knew what it meant to experience a dramatic and terrifying change in circumstances. From a life of ultimate privilege as a royal prince in the palaces of Egypt, he suddenly became a fugitive, forced to flee into the desert and face an entirely uncertain future. His commitment to justice and his defence of the oppressed had brought him to a situation where he could no longer rely on the security, wealth, and advantages he had once known.

He arrived in the land of Madyan as a complete stranger. He had no wealth, no family network, no shelter, and no certainty of what lay ahead. Yet, instead of allowing his exhausting circumstances to break his spirit, Musa (AS) turned his heart entirely to Allah.

Sitting in the shade, exhausted and hungry after helping two women water their flocks, he made a profound supplication recorded in the Holy Quran:

The Depth of the Supplication

This dua expresses a profound recognition: Allah knows what we need, knows what lies ahead, and is the One whose wisdom and choice ultimately direct our lives. Musa (AS) was not merely asking for a specific, limited solution. He was placing his absolute need before the One who knows the full reality of his situation. He acknowledged that Allah’s wisdom extends far beyond human understanding, and that the goodness he desperately needed might come from a direction he could not yet perceive.

In his monumental exegesis, Tafsir al-Mizan, the great Shia scholar Allamah Tabatabai highlights the sheer vulnerability of Prophet Musa (AS) at this moment. Having been raised on the finest royal food in Pharaoh’s palace, Musa was now so stripped of worldly means that, according to narrations cited in the Tafsir, he was essentially asking Allah for just a piece of bread to eat

Yet, because of his total submission and beautiful reliance on Allah, the response was miraculous. Through this very supplication, Allah granted him far more than bread: He granted him safety, a home, a righteous spouse, and eventually, the mantle of Prophethood

The Ahl al-Bayt (AS) on Surrendering to Allah’s Plan

The Ahl al-Bayt (AS) have continually drawn our attention to this specific verse as a spiritual lifeline for believers facing despair.

Amir al-Mu’minin, Imam Ali (peace be upon him), frequently quoted this very supplication of Prophet Musa

He used it to teach his followers the essence of Tawakkul (trust in God)—that a believer does not dictate to Allah how their problems should be solved, but rather opens their hands to whatever “good” (Khayr) the Almighty chooses to send, knowing that Allah’s choice is always superior to our own limited planning.

When we reach a point of such confusion, anxiety, and exhaustion that we can hardly see how to move forward, this verse becomes a powerful remedy. In the Shia hadith collection Al-Mahasin, it is narrated that Imam Muhammad al-Baqir (AS) specifically recommended reciting this verse of Prophet Musa when a person feels trapped, helpless, or overwhelmed by anxiety, depression, and sadness.

It is a spiritual anchor when the storms of life threaten to pull us under.

Similarly, Imam Ja’far al-Sadiq (AS) taught that this Quranic verse is highly effective for seeking sustenance (rizq) and ease in difficult affairs

When our plans collapse—whether in our careers, marriages, or personal goals—and our options seem entirely uncertain, we are taught to echo the words of Musa (AS).

Reconnecting, Not Giving Up

There is a crucial lesson here for our modern lives. Turning to Allah with this supplication is not giving up. It is not an abandonment of effort. Rather, it is the act of reconnecting with the Divine when our own ability to chart the way forward has reached its absolute limits.

We continue to make the halal efforts we can, just as Musa (AS) made the effort to help the women at the well and seek shade. But we do not arrogantly imagine that our limited understanding must determine the outcome. We entrust our affairs to Allah, ask Him to guide our choices, and remain completely open to the goodness He sends.

When you feel overwhelmed, when your carefully laid plans have collapsed, or when you cannot see a clear path ahead, let the words of Prophet Musa (AS) remind you:

The path forward is rarely a straight line that we can draw ourselves. Sometimes, it is a path illuminated only by the light of our sincere submission to the Lord of the Worlds. When the way forward is hidden, the door to Allah’s infinite mercy is wide open.

The Most Universal Sin on This Entire List

Of all the greater sins we have covered so far — murder, usury, gambling, sodomy, false accusation — there is one that every single reader of this article has committed. Without exception. Without a single doubt.

Lying.

Not once. Not twice. Many times. In small ways and sometimes large ones. In moments of fear, of convenience, of self-protection, of wanting to appear better than we are. With deliberate calculation and sometimes without even thinking. To strangers, to colleagues, to friends — and sometimes to the people we love most.

Lying is the most democratic sin in existence. It crosses every culture, every religion, every age group, every social class. And yet here it sits — the seventeenth greatest sin — classified by the Ahlul Bayt in the same list as murder, Shirk, and usurping orphans’ property.

Why? What is it about lying that places it in such grave company?

By the end of this article, the answer will be undeniable.

What Is a Lie?

This sounds like a question with an obvious answer. But Islamic scholarship is precise where common sense is often lazy.

Lying is classified among the greater sins in the narration of Fazl ibn Shazan from Imam Ja’far al-Sadiq (AS). The famous scholar Shaykh al-Ansari writes in his book Makasib al-Muharrama: “Common sense suggests lying is haram; all the revealed religions also say so — particularly Islam. The Quran is explicit in this regard. The corpus of hadith, the opinion of the majority of jurists, and reason all verify this.”

A lie, in its essence, is a deliberate statement of something you know to be untrue, made with the intention of creating a false belief in the listener. Three elements — deliberate, known untruth, and intention to deceive. This is what distinguishes a genuine lie from a mistake, from a story, from a metaphor, from a misunderstanding.

And it is this deliberate, intentional quality that makes lying so serious. Because a lie is never just an incorrect statement. It is a choice — a conscious decision to replace reality with a fabrication. Every time a person lies, they are making an active decision about truth. And the Ahlul Bayt teach that those decisions, accumulated over a lifetime, shape the very nature of the soul.

What Does the Quran Say?

The Quran addresses lying from multiple angles — and the picture it paints is consistently severe.

In Surah at-Tawbah (Chapter 9, The Repentance, Verse 77), Allah describes what happens to the heart that chooses lying:

Hypocrisy in the heart — nifaq — as a direct consequence of lying. We saw this same connection in the article on music, where the Prophet (S) said that music causes hypocrisy to grow in the heart. Here Allah Himself makes the connection explicit: lying plants hypocrisy in the heart. The gap between inside and outside — between what is and what is presented — begins with the first lie and grows with every one that follows.

In Surah al-Imran (Chapter 3, The Family of Imran, Verse 61), Allah curses the liars directly. In Surah al-Ghafir (Chapter 40, The Believer, Verse 28), a believing man from Pharaoh’s court argues: “Allah does not guide one who is a transgressor and a liar.” In Surah az-Zumar (Chapter 39, The Companies, Verse 3), those who lie about Allah are described as among the most unjust of all people.

And in Surah at-Tawbah (Chapter 9, The Repentance, Verse 119), Allah gives the antidote in a single, luminous command:

Be with the truthful. Not just be truthful yourself — but surround yourself with truthful people. Make truthfulness your community, your standard, your atmosphere. Because the company of the truthful protects and the company of liars corrupts.

What the Ahlul Bayt (AS) Taught — And the Language Is Extraordinary

The Imams (AS) spoke about lying with a consistency and a clarity that leaves nothing ambiguous. And they connected it to something that goes far beyond mere dishonesty — they connected it to the very structure of faith and disbelief.

The Holy Prophet (S) said: “Beware of lying — for lying leads to wickedness, and wickedness leads to the Fire. A man keeps telling lies until he is recorded with Allah as a great liar.”

That progression — lie, wickedness, Fire — is described as a path. Not a single catastrophic fall but a journey taken step by step. Each lie makes the next one easier. Each act of wickedness that follows a lie makes the next wickedness feel more natural. The person doesn’t suddenly become a great liar. They are recorded as one — because Allah has watched every small lie, every convenient untruth, every gradually lowered threshold.

Imam Ja’far as-Sadiq (AS) said something that stands as one of the most profound statements in all of Shia literature on this topic:

“Lying is the key to every evil.”

The key to every evil. We saw in the gambling article that alcohol is the key to the room of all evils. Now the Imam tells us that lying is the key itself. These statements work together — lying is the instrument, alcohol is the door, and Ghina is the invitation. Together they describe a spiritual ecosystem in which evil flourishes when these three things are present and collapses when they are removed.

Why is lying the key to every evil? Because almost every other sin requires lying to sustain it. The person committing Zina lies to their spouse. The person dealing in Riba lies about the nature of their transactions. The person stealing lies about what they have taken. The person who broke a family tie lies to themselves about why they were justified. Lying is not just a sin among sins — it is the scaffolding that holds most other sins in place.

The Inner Destruction of Lying

Ayatollah Dastaghaib Shirazi discusses something that is among the most spiritually important aspects of this sin — what lying does to the inside of the person who lies, not just to the relationships around them.

Imam Ali (AS) said: “The person who lies loses the beauty of his character.” Not his reputation. Not his relationships. His character. The internal architecture of who he is begins to crumble.

This is something anyone who has lied habitually recognises — though they may not have words for it. There is an internal cost to lying that goes beyond the fear of being caught. Something in the self becomes unreliable. The person begins to lose track of what is true and what is fabricated. They begin to lose trust in their own perceptions because they have spent so long manipulating those perceptions for others. The inner life becomes as distorted as the outer presentation.

The Ahlul Bayt described the truthful person as someone whose inner and outer life are aligned — what they feel, what they think, and what they say are one. That alignment is called sidq — truthfulness — and it is one of the highest stations of the believer. The liar is the precise opposite — a person fragmented, whose inside and outside have been deliberately separated. And that fragmentation, sustained over time, produces exactly the hypocrisy that Allah described in Surah at-Tawbah.

The Types of Lying — More Than We Think

One of the most important contributions of Ayatollah Dastaghaib Shirazi’s discussion of this sin is how broadly he defines what constitutes lying. Because many of us have mentally categorised certain kinds of untruth as acceptable — and the Ahlul Bayt challenge almost every one of those categories.

Lying about others. This is the most obvious form — saying something untrue about another person. It can be malicious and deliberate or casual and careless. Both are lying.

Lying about oneself. Presenting oneself as more pious, more knowledgeable, more generous, more capable than one actually is. This is perhaps the most socially acceptable form of lying — the carefully curated social media profile, the inflated CV, the exaggerated story told at a dinner table. But the Ahlul Bayt considered self-aggrandisement through falsehood as serious as any other form of lying.

Lying in promises. Making commitments one has no intention of keeping. The Prophet (S) described this as one of the three signs of the hypocrite — along with breaking trust and lying in speech.

Lying in praise. Praising someone for qualities they do not have — telling someone their work is excellent when it is mediocre, calling someone generous when they are known for their stinginess, complimenting for the sake of social lubrication rather than truth. The scholars were careful to distinguish this from genuine, heartfelt encouragement — which is not lying. But empty, flattering praise that creates false impressions is a form of falsehood.

Lying to children. This is one the Ahlul Bayt specifically warned about. The Prophet (S) once saw a woman call her child with the promise of something she was not actually going to give him — a casual, thoughtless domestic lie. He told her firmly: “If you had not given him what you promised — a lie would have been written against you.” The habit of lying to children — broken promises, hollow threats, convenient untruths to manage behaviour — plants the seed of dishonesty in the very people we are supposed to be raising toward truth.

Joking lies. Some people habitually exaggerate, fabricate, or distort in the name of humour. The Ahlul Bayt drew a clear line here. A story everyone knows is fictional — a parable, an analogy, a clearly fictional narrative used to illustrate a truth — is not a lie. But a false statement presented as true, even in jest, even to get a laugh — is still a lie. And the Prophet (S) warned specifically against the person who “lies to make people laugh.” The laughter is real. So is the sin.

Are There Exceptions? When Is It Permitted to Lie?

This is the question almost everyone asks — and the Ahlul Bayt addressed it honestly and specifically.

Yes — there are narrow, well-defined circumstances where an untruth is not only permitted but may be obligatory. The scholars identify three main categories:

To save a life. If telling the truth will directly result in someone being killed or gravely harmed — an innocent person being handed to an oppressor, a persecuted believer being handed to their enemies — lying to protect them is not only permitted; it is required. The principle is that human life outweighs the prohibition on lying.

To make peace between people. If two Muslims are estranged from one another and a well-intentioned person conveys slightly adjusted versions of each person’s words to the other in order to rekindle their relationship — the scholars permit this. Not to deceive for personal gain, but to restore what was broken. The Prophet (S) specifically mentioned this exception.

Between spouses in matters of love and affection. The scholars permit a husband telling his wife she is the most beautiful woman in the world, or similar expressions of love and devotion that may not be literally true but are expressions of genuine feeling rather than deceptive statements of fact. These are understood as the language of love, not deception.

Outside these narrow exceptions — the prohibition is firm. And even within them, the scholars caution against allowing exceptions to become habits, or allowing the concept of “good intentions” to expand indefinitely to justify whatever lie is convenient.

Truthfulness and the Ahlul Bayt — The Living Example

One of the most beautiful dimensions of this topic in Shia tradition is how the Ahlul Bayt themselves embodied sidq — absolute truthfulness — as a way of being, not merely a rule to follow.

Imam Ali (AS) is famously recorded as never having told a lie in his entire life — not in childhood, not in the heat of battle, not under political pressure, not even when the truth cost him everything. His commitment to truth was so absolute that it shaped his entire character — and it is precisely this quality that made him, in the Prophet’s (S) description, “with the truth and the truth with Ali.”

The Quran in Surah at-Tawbah (Chapter 9, The Repentance, Verse 119) commands us to be with the truthful — and the scholars of tafsir, including Allama Tabatabai in Tafsir al-Mizan, explain that the truthful ones referred to in this verse are specifically the Ahlul Bayt (AS). Being with the truthful is not just about honesty in our own speech. It is about attaching ourselves to the people whose very being is rooted in truth — and allowing that attachment to reshape us.

This is why the Imam said: “A true Shia of the Ahlul Bayt is known by their truthfulness.” Not by their black clothing in Muharram. Not by their attendance at majlis. Not by their recitation of ziyarat. By their truthfulness. By the alignment of what they say with what is real. By the fact that when they make a promise, they keep it. When they make a claim, it is true. When they speak about someone, it is fair and accurate.

That is the Shia the Imams described. And that description begins and ends with truth.

The Road Back — Tawbah From Lying

For those of us who have lied — habitually, casually, or in specific moments we regret — the path of tawbah from this sin has some specific requirements.

Remorse and resolution are the starting points, as with all tawbah. But because lying frequently involves harming others — creating false impressions that affected their decisions, their trust, their lives — genuine tawbah often requires more than an internal turning toward Allah.

Where a lie caused material harm — a financial loss, a damaged reputation, a broken relationship — making amends wherever possible is part of the tawbah. Not always easy. Not always possible. But the intention and effort matter enormously to Allah.

And the practical commitment that follows tawbah from lying is simply this: tell the truth. Even when it is uncomfortable. Even when it costs you something. Even when the lie seems harmless. Build the muscle of truthfulness in small moments so that it is there in the large ones.

Imam Ali (AS) said: “Accustom your tongue to truthfulness and do not accustom it to lying — for lying is a base characteristic.” Accustom. Train. Habituate. Truthfulness, like everything else in the spiritual life, is built through practice — one honest moment at a time.

A Closing Thought

Lying sits seventeenth on this list — and its placement here, after music and singing, is quietly profound. Sins 15 and 16 were about what we fill our ears with. Sin 17 is about what comes out of our mouths. The Ahlul Bayt are building a picture of a complete human being — whose inputs and outputs are both aligned with Allah, whose interior and exterior are both rooted in truth.

The liar lives in a permanent state of internal fragmentation — managing versions of reality, maintaining fabrications, trying to remember what they told whom. The truthful person lives in a kind of interior freedom that the liar cannot access. What they think, what they feel, and what they say are one thing. There is nothing to maintain, nothing to manage, nothing to fear being exposed.

That freedom — the freedom of sidq — is what the Ahlul Bayt were pointing toward when they made truthfulness not just a rule but a way of being. A complete, integrated, internally coherent way of existing in the world.

“Be with the truthful.” It is perhaps the simplest, most actionable command in the entire Quran. And it begins with the most ordinary, everyday choice: to say what is true, even when what is untrue would be easier.

May Allah make our tongues instruments of truth, our hearts free from the fragmentation of dishonesty, and our characters worthy of the company of the truthful — the Prophet, the Ahlul Bayt, and all who walked in their footsteps. Ameen.

Yet no reflection on the lady of Qom would be complete without the voice of another great luminary of the holy city. We therefore open with a beloved, widely shared video clip of the late Ayatollah Muhammad Taqi Misbah Yazdi (may his soul be sanctified), in which he speaks with tender urgency about visiting her shrine — a luminous prelude that prepares the heart for the deeper discourse that follows.

A Luminous Prelude: Ayatollah Misbah Yazdi’s Call to the Shrine

In the clip, Ayatollah Misbah Yazdi speaks with the warmth of a loving father, urging the believers of Qom not to let a single day pass without connecting to Hazrat Masumeh (SA):

“If I were you, I would get up right now and go to the shrine [of Hazrat Masoumeh]. I would recite the Ziyarat. I would also pray a two-Rak’at prayer of Surahs Yasin and Ar-Rahman. And I would say, ‘Intercede for us on your behalf; our understanding [of you] falls short.’”

He then recommends that believers never forget to seek intercession (tawassul) through Hazrat Masumeh (SA): to send her greetings every morning, and — if possible — to go to the shrine, say the greetings, kiss the doors and walls of the courtyard, and return. “These actions will certainly have an effect on your success,” he assures.

Why does such simple devotion carry such weight? Because, as Ayatollah Misbah Yazdi explains, “Love for Hazrat Masoumeh (SA) is a ray of God’s love. Just mentioning her name brightens and illuminates one’s heart.” So generous is her spiritual court that even if one merely pleads there in the heart, they are rewarded for having asked.

With gentle candour, he then holds a mirror before us:

“If we have listening ears and seeing eyes, [the Ahlulbayt] are constantly saying, ‘Come, we are ready to help.’ But by our [implied] state, we say, ‘No, we don’t need anything. Don’t trouble yourselves. We’ll handle it ourselves.’”

And how much does this divine generosity cost? “How much money must we spend? Nothing,” he smiles. “Go there for a few minutes each day and say, ‘Dear Lady (Bibi Jan), we are supplicants.’ When have we ever gone [to them] and not received an answer?”

It is precisely this question — when have we ever gone and not received an answer? — that finds its profound theological answer in the words of Ayatollah Javadi Amoli, to which we now turn.

A Lineage of Light and the Promise of Paradise

Ayatollah Javadi Amoli notes that Hazrat Fatima Masuma (SA) belongs to the pure lineage of the Prophet Muhammad (S) and is among the ultimate guardians of his divine legacy. Her spiritual position is so exalted that the eighth and ninth Imams, Imam Reza (AS) and Imam Javad (AS), spoke explicitly about the virtue of visiting her shrine, urging believers to seek out her grave.

The Imams (AS) did not merely suggest this visitation; they attached a divine guarantee to it. It is narrated from Imam Reza (AS):

“Our sister Fatima Masuma will be buried in Qom. Whoever visits her will enter Paradise.”

Similarly, it is narrated from Imam Javad (AS):

“My aunt Fatima Masuma will be buried in Qom. Whoever visits her will enter Paradise.”

When Paradise Yearns for the Believer

However, Ayatollah Amoli draws a crucial theological distinction regarding how human actions relate to the hereafter. Not every good deed leads a person to Paradise in the exact same manner. Some righteous actions merely provide a person with the opportunity or eligibility to enter Paradise. Other actions, however, elevate the soul to such a degree that Paradise itself becomes their undeniable destiny.

This is why Imam Reza (AS) and Imam Javad (AS) stated that whoever visits Fatima Masuma (SA) attains Paradise. She is among those who possess the highest levels of Wilayah.

When a person establishes a genuine spiritual connection with the Ahl al-Bayt (AS) and strives to walk their path, the spirit and taste of Wilayah gradually manifest within their own soul. They draw closer to Allah, eventually becoming a true Wali of Allah (a Friend of God). When a person reaches this station, a mystical reversal occurs: it is no longer the believer who is desperately striving to reach Paradise; rather, Paradise strives for them.

Ayatollah Amoli points to beautiful narrations mentioning that Paradise yearns to meet the great companion Salman al-Farsi. In fact, the yearning of Paradise for Salman is far greater than Salman’s yearning for Paradise!

Why does this happen? Because Paradise is the natural result and manifestation of correct faith, flawless character, and righteous deeds. Faith, morality, and good actions are the very manifestations of a person’s spiritual and practical life. Therefore, it is the exalted human soul—perfecting itself through these divine attributes—that effectively creates its own Paradise.

The Condition for Complete Reward: Arifan bi-Haqqiha

While the physical act of visiting Qom carries immense merit, Ayatollah Javadi Amoli emphasises that knowing the true status of Hazrat Fatima Masuma (AS) is the condition for receiving a complete and guaranteed reward.

Speaking about how to obtain the highest reward for this Ziyarat, he highlights a famous hadith from Imam Reza (AS):

“Whoever visits my sister Fatima Masuma, knowing her true right (arifan bi-haqqiha), is guaranteed Paradise.”

This profound statement implies that Hazrat Fatima Masuma (SA) possesses a special spiritual right and cosmic status that some pilgrims deeply understand, while others do not.

Many visit her shrine recognising her only by her biological ties—as the sister of an Imam, the daughter of an Imam, and the aunt of an Imam (AS). While such a visit is deeply meritorious and brings reward in accordance with the person’s understanding, it remains incomplete. Only the one who realises the true, elevated spiritual status of this noble woman—visiting her with a heart that comprehends her divine right—attains the complete reward and the absolute guarantee of Paradise.

A Ziyarat Taught by the Imam Himself

Ayatollah Amoli highlights another vital point that elevates the Ziyarat of Hazrat Fatima Masuma (SA) above many others.

Throughout Islamic history, numerous Ziyarat-Namas (supplications recited during a visit) were composed by later scholars for the descendants of the Prophet (S) and the Imams (AS). However, the text of the Ziyarat-Nama of Hazrat Fatima Masuma (SA) holds a unique authenticity: it was transmitted directly from the lips of Imam Reza (AS).

The Ayatollah recounts a beautiful historical incident involving Saad al-Ashari, one of the great hadith scholars and prominent figures of Qom, who had the honour of meeting Imam Reza (AS). During their meeting, the Imam (AS) turned to him and said:

“O Saad! In your land, there is a grave belonging to us.”

Surprised and seeking clarification, Saad asked:

“Do you mean the grave of Fatima Masuma, the noble lady of the Prophet’s household?”

The Imam (AS) replied, “Yes.”

Following this confirmation, Imam Reza (AS) personally taught Saad al-Ashari the specific words, etiquette, and spiritual focus required to properly visit this great woman.

Conclusion

Together, the voices of these two great scholars form a complete path of love. Ayatollah Misbah Yazdi ignites the longing — rise now, greet her every morning, kiss her doors, and say, “Bibi Jan, we are supplicants” — while Ayatollah Javadi Amoli unveils the reason behind it all: the shrine in Qom is not merely a historical monument, but a living sanctuary of Wilayah, where the perfected soul draws the mercy of Heaven downward.

As believers travel to Qom, they are invited to look beyond mere familial lineage and recognise the divine light Hazrat Fatima Masuma (SA) carries — so that, like Salman, they may become souls for whom Paradise itself eagerly waits, and so that they may never be among those who went to her door and returned unanswered.

In our modern era, it is easy to feel invincible. We carve our own “mountains” in the form of towering skyscrapers, advanced infrastructure, and global economies. Yet, the Quran frequently directs our gaze to the ruins of past civilisations to remind us of a profound spiritual reality: material strength cannot protect a society that has decayed from within.

The story of the Prophet Salih (peace be upon him) and his people, the Thamud, is one of the Quran’s most striking narratives. It is not merely a historical account of destruction; it is a timeless manual on power, gratitude, social responsibility, and the terrifying moment when the opportunity for repentance finally runs out.

The Illusion of Security

The people of Thamud were not a primitive or powerless tribe. They lived in the region of al-Hijr and possessed a thriving, sophisticated civilisation. The Quran highlights their remarkable architectural skill:

They enjoyed abundant gardens, springs, and flourishing date groves. However, instead of these blessings inspiring gratitude and worship, they bred arrogance, a sense of superiority, and rebellion. God sent Prophet Salih to remind them of their true purpose:

The message was clear: our time on earth and our use of its resources must be anchored in justice, faith, and respect for the rights of others.

The She-Camel: A Test of Greed and Complicity

As a divine sign, the people of Thamud were given a she-camel. Prophet Salih instructed them to respect her and allow her an allotted share of their water. This was a profound test of their greed: would they surrender a portion of their worldly advantage in obedience to God and recognise the rights of another creature?

Their practical answer was no. The most wretched among them hamstrung and killed the animal. But here lies one of the most chilling lessons of the story. The Quran notes that while a specific individual committed the act, the entire society was held accountable.

Imam Ali (AS) profoundly commented on this event, noting that although one man committed the physical crime, the rest of the people were destroyed because they approved of it. This establishes a heavy principle of social responsibility in Islam: silence, support, or public approval of open corruption turns the sin of an individual into the collective burden of an entire society.

The Three Days of Respite

After the she-camel was killed, the people were not struck down immediately. Prophet Salih gave them three days of respite:

Why the delay? Divine punishment is never an emotional outburst of anger or revenge. Allah gains nothing from the suffering of His creation. Rather, terminal punishment is the execution of ultimate justice—it only occurs when the proof has been completed, the warnings ignored, and the door of opportunity entirely squandered.

Even during those final three days, instead of waking up and repenting, a faction of the elites plotted to assassinate Prophet Salih and his family by night. Consequently, the punishment arrived—a terrifying Cry and Earthquake that left them lifeless in their fortified homes, as if they had never lived there.

The Contrast: The People of Jonah

To understand that Allah’s mercy always precedes His wrath, the Quran contrasts Thamud with the People of Prophet Yunus (Jonah). When the people of Yunus saw the impending signs of divine punishment, they didn’t double down on their arrogance. They awoke, believed, and collectively changed their course. Because of their sincere and timely repentance, God lifted the punishment from them.

This teaches us a vital rule: hardship and warning are only effective if the heart is still soft enough to listen. Once the final decree arrives—or when the soul is forced into belief at the moment of death, like Pharaoh drowning in the sea—repentance is no longer accepted, because submission is born of compulsion, not genuine spiritual awakening.

Wake-Up Calls for Today

The destruction of earlier nations corresponded precisely to the sources of their pride. The Thamud relied on their mountain-carved homes, so they were destroyed by a cry and earthquake from within those very mountains. What, then, are the “mountains” we rely on today?

The story of Thamud warns us that natural resources, wealth, and technology are not absolute shields. Warnings do not always take the form of supernatural miracles. Widening social divisions, the normalisation of corruption, the oppression of the weak, and the silencing of sincere critics are often the alarm bells ringing in our own societies.

The ultimate lesson of Prophet Salih’s people is that God always grants an opportunity before the end. But opportunities do not last forever. A wise believer—and a wise society—does not treat divine wake-up calls as bad luck, nor do they delay repentance until the collapse is inevitable.

As long as the door of repentance remains open, the shadow of punishment can still become the dawn of salvation—if we have the courage to change our course before it is too late.

Reference: Islamic Centre of England

Pause. Look inward.

There is a moment — fleeting, almost invisible — when the tongue trembles on the edge of a sentence that would tear someone down. A colleague receives praise. A peer is elevated. A name is spoken with admiration in a gathering, and something tightens in the chest. The words form effortlessly: “But did you notice how they…”

In that moment, the Quran and the Ahl al-Bayt (AS) ask us to stop. Not to suppress the feeling with shame, but to turn the gaze inward and ask the hardest question a believer can ask:

“What is really going on inside me?”

The Anatomy of the Impulse

The urge to speak negatively about another person rarely begins with them. It begins within us — in a wound, a fear, a quiet comparison we did not consent to but cannot seem to stop.

Sometimes the other person has done nothing wrong. What disturbs us is the attention they receive, the credit they are given, the admiration that seems, in our private calculus, to have been taken from our own account. We begin to feel, irrationally, that their gain is our loss.

Sometimes we have grown comfortable — resting on old achievements, old reputations, old positions in the eyes of others. Then someone rises, and instead of awakening us, their ascent unsettles us.

And sometimes there are unresolved wounds. They hurt us once. They overlooked us. They left words unspoken that we needed to hear. And now their success reopens a scar we never properly tended.

So we begin to search. We scrutinise. We minimise. We look for one flaw, one misstep, one sentence we can twist — anything to level the ground beneath their feet.

The Quran names this impulse with unflinching clarity:

The verse does not merely forbid envy. It redirects the heart. Ask Allah of His bounty. Do not measure your portion against another’s. Your sustenance, your honour, your light — these are written for you, not borrowed from them.

The Mirror We Refuse to Look Into

Amir al-Mu’minīn, Imam Ali ibn Abi Talib (AS), spoke with a precision that cuts through every excuse we build around our envy:

“The envious person has no rest.”
(Nahj al-Balāghah, Short Saying 212)

And in another narration attributed to him:

“Envy devours good deeds just as fire devours wood.”

Think about that image. Not a small candle. Not a gentle warmth. Fire consuming wood. The years of prayer, of charity, of patience, of quiet goodness — all of it reduced to ash by the slow, invisible burning of resentment toward another human being’s blessing.

Imam Jaʿfar al-Sadiq (AS) warned of the same spiritual erosion when he defined ghibah (backbiting) not as an abstract sin but as a visceral act:

“Backbiting is that you mention about your brother something which he would dislike. If it is in him, you have backbitten him. If it is not in him, you have slandered him.”
(Al-Kāfī, Vol. 2, Kitāb al-Īmān wal-Kufr)

Notice the Imam’s language: your brother. Not your rival. Not your competitor. Not the one who “took” what was yours. Your brother. The one whose dignity is entrusted, in part, to the silence of your tongue.

The Quran makes this imagery even more staggering:

The flesh of a dead brother. Someone who cannot defend himself. Someone who is not in the room to say, “No, that is not who I am.” This is what we consume when we tear a person down in their absence. The Qur’an does not soften the image. It is meant to sicken us into silence.

Humility Is Not Humiliation

One of the quietest lies the ego tells us is this: If I acknowledge their worth, I diminish my own.

This is a confusion between humility (tawāḍuʿ) and humiliation (dhull). They are not the same. Humility is the voluntary lowering of the self before truth. Humiliation is the forced lowering of the self by fear. One is chosen; the other is suffered. One enlarges the soul; the other shrinks it.

Imam Ali (AS) drew the distinction beautifully:

“He who humbles himself before the truth is elevated by it, and he who is arrogant before it is abased by it.”

To say, “Yes, they did well. Yes, they earned this. Yes, I can learn from them,” is not to kneel. It is to stand fully upright in the presence of truth. It is to say that your own light is secure enough that another flame does not threaten it.

Imam al-Sajjad, Ali ibn al-Ḥusayn (AS), in the breathtaking Dua Makarim al-Akhlaq (The Supplication for Noble Moral Traits) from the Sahifah al-Sajjadiyyah, prays:

“O Allah, bless Muhammad and his Household, and do not raise me among people a degree except that You lower me within myself a like degree. Do not cause me to be outwardly elevated except that You cause me to be inwardly humbled a like measure.”

The Imam — the fourth Imam, the ornament of the worshippers — asks Allah that every external elevation be met with internal humility. Not because elevation is wrong, but because the soul that rises without humility becomes brittle. And a brittle soul is the first to crack when someone else rises beside it.

When the Wound Is Real

The reflective pause must also be honest. Sometimes the urge to diminish another person is not mere envy. Sometimes someone did hurt us. They wronged us, dismissed us, broke a trust. And now we watch them praised, celebrated, elevated — and the wound screams.

This is not a failing. This is a human wound asking for tending.

The Quran does not ask us to pretend the pain is absent. It asks us not to let the pain become a weapon in someone else’s direction:

And then, immediately after acknowledging the right to justice, the verse opens a higher door: But whoever pardons… Not because the hurt was small. Because the soul that pardons is refusing to let the hurt define its next act.

Imam al-Husayn ibn Ali (AS), on the day of Ashura, facing the very people who had murdered his family, his companions, his infant son — did not curse. He prayed. He said:

“O Allah, if You have withheld from them the truth, then guide them. And if You have guided them, then increase them in guidance.”

If the Imam of Karbala could withhold the curse at the hour of his greatest agony, then perhaps — perhaps — we can withhold the cutting remark at the office, the whispered criticism at the gathering, the sly undermining in a message to a friend. Not because the hurt is small. Because we refuse to let it make us small.

The Generosity of the Tongue

There is a hadith from Imam Muḥammad al-Baqir (AS) that reframes the entire question:

“The most beloved of deeds to Allah, the Mighty and Majestic, is that a believer bring happiness to another believer.”
(Al-Kāfī, Vol. 2)

To bring happiness. Not merely to withhold harm. Not merely to stay silent. To actively, deliberately, generously bring joy. To say, in the gathering where someone’s name is mentioned, “Yes, and what they did was remarkable.” To send the message. To make the phone call. To be the one who says publicly what the ego would rather keep buried.

Imam Ali (AS) said:

“The noblest of people is the one who is most generous to them.”
(Nahj al-Balāghah)

Generosity here is not only wealth. It is the generosity of the tongue. The generosity of the gaze. The generosity of refusing to look for the flaw when the whole room is looking for the virtue.

And Imam al-Ridha (AS) counselled:

“The servant is not a true believer until he wishes for his brother what he wishes for himself.”
(ʿUyūn Akhbār al-Riḍā)

Not merely tolerating their success. Wishing it for them. Wanting the praise to reach them. Wanting the door to open for them. Wanting their light to be seen. Because their light does not steal from yours. Light is not a finite currency. It multiplies.

Rising Above: The Noblest Act

The Quran, in Surah al-Hujurat, gives a principle so simple it is almost embarrassing in its clarity:

Perhaps they may be better than them. Five words that should silence every mocking sentence before it leaves the mouth. You do not know what Allah has placed in them. You do not know the private worship, the hidden charity, the silent tear at 3 a.m. You do not know the rank they hold with their Creator. And so you do not mock. You do not diminish. You do not search for the crack.

Imam Ali (AS) summarised the entire ethic in a single line:

“People are of two types: either your brother in faith, or your equal in humanity.”
(Nahj al-Balāghah, Letter 53)

There is no third category. Not your rival. Not your threat. Not the one whose rise justifies your resentment. Your brother. Your equal. And you do not eat the flesh of your brother. You do not pull down your equal. You make room.

There Is Room

This is the final truth, and it is the one the ego fights hardest:

There is room.

There is room for their light and yours. There is room for their name to be spoken with praise and for yours to be spoken with praise. There is room for them to rise and for you to rise. The sky does not run out of stars. The garden does not run out of blooms.

The Quran reminds us:

Allah’s accounting is precise. No one’s portion is stolen by another’s. No one’s rank is diminished because someone else is honoured. The Divine ledger does not run out of ink.

And so we arrive at the place the reflection began:

To recognise another person’s worth when our own ego would rather diminish it is an act of humility.

To celebrate another person’s light without feeling threatened by it is an act of generosity.

To do so when we have been hurt is an act of strength.

And to rise above the impulse to pull another person down is to be noble.

Imam al-Sadiq (AS) said:

“A believer is the mirror of a believer.”
(Al-Kāfī, Vol. 2)

A mirror does not compete with the face it reflects. It does not resent the face for being beautiful. It simply shows. And in showing, it serves.

Be the mirror. Not the stone.

A Closing Dua

From the Sahifah al-Sajjadiyyah of Imam Ali ibn al-Husayn (AS):

“O Allah, bless Muhammad and his Household, and make me one who is satisfied with what You have apportioned for me, and who is content with what You have given me, and who does not look with envy at what You have bestowed upon another.”

And from our own hearts, tonight, in the quiet:

O Allah, if there is a name I am reluctant to praise, help me praise it. If there is a light I am tempted to dim, help me shield it. If there is a wound I am using as an excuse to tear someone down, help me heal it. Make my tongue a source of mercy, not a weapon of envy. Make my silence a shelter for others’ dignity, not a space where resentment festers. And make me, O Allah, among those who are great enough to let others shine.

We do not become smaller by allowing another person to shine. We become greater by having the humility, the generosity, and the nobility to let them.

And there is room for their light and ours.