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Al-Isfahani teaches that injustice (zulm) is the most ruinous vice a human can commit. He categorically condemns all forms of injustice and lays out the conditions for justice as a divine obligation.
By MAHMOOD SANGLAY
If Imam Raghib Al-Isfahani were alive today, his moral outrage would likely burn bright at the silence of so many Muslim leaders and scholars in the face of the Israeli genocide against the people of Gaza.
A translation of Al Isfahani’s timeless ethical treatise, Kitab al-Dhari’a ila Makarim al-Shari‘a was published recently, entitled The Art of Cultivating Noble Character.
Professor Yasien Mohamed’s translation foregrounds this seminal work as a vital and relevant text that offers value beyond theoretical exposition. It is a living moral framework that obliges human beings – and especially those in leadership – to embody divine virtues such as justice, wisdom, forbearance and courage. These are the very virtues absent from the conduct of today’s Arab rulers and their court scholars.
In a world drenched in the blood of Palestinian children and echoing with the cries of the dispossessed, al-Isfahani would not take refuge in theological abstractions. He would, instead, draw from the heart of the Quran and the soul of the Prophet Muhammad ﷺ to demand accountability, reform, and an ethical revival.
In his Dhari‘a, al-Isfahani defined vicegerency (khilafa) as representing Allah ‘by applying the noble virtues of the divine law, which are wisdom, justice, forbearance and graciousness.’ Leadership, in his moral universe, is not a position of privilege but a test of the soul. It demands self-governance before state governance. Yet today, rulers like Muhammad Bin Salman of Saudi Arabia, Mohammed bin Rashid Al Maktoum of the UAE, King Abdullah of Jordan, and Abdel Fattah El-Sisi of Egypt display a character more in line with political expediency and imperial complicity than with prophetic virtue. Their silence and normalisation with the Zionist regime is political betrayal and moral treason.
Al-Isfahani teaches that injustice (zulm) is the most ruinous vice a human can commit. In Chapter 5 of Dhari‘a, he categorically condemns all forms of injustice and lays out the conditions for justice as a divine obligation. His ethical vision demands standing with the oppressed, not feasting with the oppressor. And yet, these Muslim leaders extend handshakes and military coordination to the very architects of ethnic cleansing. They fail the ethical test of leadership and are indicted by the moral theology Al-Isfahani so clearly articulated.
From virtue ethics to public conscience
Al-Isfahani’s virtue ethics are not limited to personal piety. They extend to economic justice, political accountability and social cohesion. In Chapter 6, he emphasises the ethics of wealth acquisition and spending, decrying greed and calling for generosity and the nurturing of society. These teachings are incompatible with billion-dollar arms deals with Zionist allies or the hoarding of wealth while refugees languish in tents.
Moreover, al-Isfahani insists that wisdom must guide public discourse. In Chapter 2, he extols the value of ‘aql (reason), not as a cold rationality but as a means to discern right from wrong. Where is the reason in scholars who justify silence with pragmatism, or who twist religious rulings to suit tyrants? Where is the courage that Chapter 4 praises as a virtue that restrains the irascible faculty for the sake of truth and justice?
Scholars are shepherds, not court jesters
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Al-Isfahani was not a scholar who sought proximity to power. He disdained flattery and condemned scholars who misused knowledge to curry favour with rulers. His disdain for such intellectual corruption resonates today as many scholars, under the banner of officialdom, issue fatwas that nullify resistance and legitimise political betrayal.
Chapter 7 of Dharī‘a discusses the ethics of action (‘amal), insisting that righteous deeds must align with divine intent. There is no virtue in memorising scripture while ignoring its application. There is no nobility in invoking divine mercy while enabling massacre.
Today, Gaza’s shattered minarets and mass graves ask not just who fired the missiles, but who looked away. The Muslim world’s moral failure is not just in the corridors of Riyadh, Cairo, Amman, or Abu Dhabi – it echoes in every pulpit that preaches peace but fears the price of justice.
Al-Isfahani reminds us that character is not inherited, nor is virtue theoretical. It must be cultivated, habituated, and courageously enacted. His ethics challenge Muslims to transcend slogans and embody the prophetic model of mercy with justice, worship with service, and knowledge with courage.
To read The Art of Cultivating Noble Character in 2025 is not to engage an ancient manuscript. It is to be confronted by a mirror. Will we continue to avert our gaze? Or will we, finally, reclaim the ethical legacy that calls us to be vicegerents of justice?
Gaza is a site of war and the moral test of our time. And Al-Isfahani is not a distant philosopher. He is the ethical conscience knocking at the doors of our hearts, asking: Where are your virtues now?
