Roots Of Knowledge ROK 😊

Why do we spend so much time on Arabic before studying the Islamic sciences? To get why this is so important, you have to look at what the goal actually is. We aren't just trying to "know things" about Islam; we’re trying to understand the Quran and the Sunnah at the source. But here’s the catch: that’s only possible if you’ve actually mastered the language the way it was understood when the Quran was first revealed. If your Arabic is shaky, your entire understanding of the religion is going to be shaky. It’s that simple. When you rely on a translation, you’re basically at the mercy of the translator. You’re seeing the text through their lens, their vocabulary, and their limitations. You might have the best intentions and ask all the right questions, but without the language, there’s always going to be a wall between you and the truth. You have no way to step back and verify if what you’re reading is actually what the text says. It’s the same problem we see today with people using AI to learn about Islam. They get an answer, but they have zero way to check if that answer is actually correct or just a "hallucination" by the algorithm. Relying on AI or Google for your theology is like trying to self-diagnose a serious medical condition online; it doesn't make you a doctor, it just makes you someone who knows how to type into a search bar. Plus, you’re ignoring the fact that these algorithms are controlled by people with their own biases. To the average person, someone who quotes translations and AI might sound like an expert, but they’re missing the most critical piece: the ability to verify. Studying the Quran and Sunnah has always been about a chain of people, upright men and women who dedicated their lives to making sure the Deen didn't get distorted. Arabic is the "anchor" for all of them. Whether it’s a scholar of Tafsir, Hadith, or Fiqh, the Arabic language is the standard they are all held to. It’s the one science that allows us to correct an author if they stumble. Historically speaking, you won't find a single real scholar who wasn't a master of the Arabic sciences first. At the end of the day, someone who’s read every English article on a topic might be able to give a remarkable speech about it, but they’re still just repeating what others have said. Only the person who has mastered the science through the Arabic language can really sit down and answer the deep, "why" questions that actually matter.

Understanding Divergence in Hanafi Fatwas It's a common point of confusion: if two Muftis are both "Hanafi," why do they sometimes give completely different answers? The reality is that a Fatwa isn't a monolith; it’s an adaptive legal verdict that depends heavily on the source material and the specific context of the person asking the question. The Fixed Core: Zahir al-Riwayah & relied upon the positions of the Mashaikh. Some issues are "settled law". These are matters found in the core works of the school's founders (Imam Abu Hanifa and his students). In these cases, you’ll find near-unanimous agreement among Muftis. Take Wudu, for example. If someone accidentally falls into a pool, climbs out, and wipes their head, is their Wudu valid for Zuhr? Because the Hanafi school doesn’t view a formal intention (niyyah) as a strict requirement for the validity of Wudu itself, every Mufti will give you the same answer: Yes, you’re good to go. This is the "relied-upon position" (Mufta bihi), and there's no real room for debate here. The confusion usually starts when we hit "new" territory issues, where the early founders didn't leave a direct script. This is where a Mufti has to bridge the gap between classical principles of the school and modern reality. 1. The Length of the Beard. This is a classic example of differing methodologies. > Some Muftis look directly at Hadith like the command to "lengthen the beard and trim the mustache" and derive a ruling based on the literal text that the beard must reach a certain length before being allowed to trim it. > Others look at these narrations through the lens of established Hanafi principles regarding body hair or general legal maxims, reaching a ruling that the aim of the beard is to have facial hair on the jaws. Both sides stay within the school's framework, but their starting points differ. One prioritizes the literal wording of the Hadith, while the other prioritizes the "legal spirit" and context. This leads to back-and-forth academic rebuttals, which is actually a healthy sign of a living legal tradition. 2. The "Prawn" Debate Then you have issues of biology and linguistics, like whether prawns are halal. The early scholars in Kufa or Baghdad didn't really deal with prawns; it wasn't a staple of their environment. Later Muftis had to decide: Is a prawn a "fish" (Samak)? > Some looked at general prohibitions on sea life, > while others consulted linguists who argued that Arabs traditionally categorized prawns as fish. Because the "Founding scholars" didn't discuss it, both views end up coexisting within the school. The "Spectrum" Solution For the average person, this can feel like the goalposts are constantly moving. A helpful way to look at it is through a 1–10 spectrum: > Level 10: Explicitly mentioned by Imam Abu Hanifa and his students or early Hanafis (e.g., Wudu). This would be categorical and agreed upon. > Level 1: A modern deduction based on linguistic or local context (e.g., Prawns or modern finance). The lower the number, the more a Mufti relies on their own research (Ijtihad) due to a lack of information about it in the core works. What Should You Do? Ultimately, if you aren't an expert, you aren't expected to navigate the "1 through 10" yourself. Your responsibility is simple but weighty: Follow the expert you trust the most. Religion isn't about "Mufti shopping" for the easiest answer; it’s about finding a scholar whose knowledge and integrity you rely on and sticking with their guidance.

Thinking in Fiqh When a student spends most of their time studying fiqh through translations, they end up in a bit of a trap. They might be able to quote you any ruling in the book, but they struggle to actually strip away the words and see the "logic" behind it, the beautiful way everything in fiqh connects. You have to realise that the statements of the Fuqaha aren't just general advice; they are incredibly precise, crafted for very specific scenarios. If you haven't been trained to see that, you'll probably take a text at face value and try to apply it literally to any situation that looks similar. This issue becomes even clearer when they read fatwas on various websites. It’s challenging for them to see beyond the ink or pixels in this case. They might not realise that a fatwa is often tailored to specific points in a question or influenced by the unique circumstances of the questioner. On the other hand, a trained student reads between the lines. They can appreciate the multiple layers, the context, and the sheer depth of thought the author poured into the text. There is a massive difference between simply reading or translating a text and attaining Tafaqquh, a deep, intuitive understanding. You could call it "thinking in Fiqh." This is exactly why some students, and even graduates, freeze up when they’re asked a real-world question. If you haven't learned to "think in Fiqh," it’s nearly impossible to make sense of the nuanced positions held by senior experts. If you’re a graduate looking to develop this "Fiqh mindset," here is my advice: > Go back to everything you’ve studied and try to explain it to someone else. Teaching forces you to master the material yourself. When your student asks a tough question or misunderstands a point, don’t ignore it, write it down and take it to a senior scholar for clarification. > Try to study directly under an expert or, at the very least, watch their detailed lectures and videos. Pay attention not just to *what* they say, but *how* they arrive at their conclusions. Doing this will jumpstart the "Fiqh engine" in your mind, moving you from a passive reader to an inquisitive and insightful thinker InshAllah.

The Muslim 'Dunning-Kruger effect' Online The reality is that most people arguing online haven’t actually studied Arabic, let alone dedicated years to advanced Islamic sciences. Most of their 'knowledge' is just a superficial collection of random talks, books, and articles they’ve come across over the years. At best, they’re just quoting a translator or repeating something they heard in a video. Because they don’t have firm Usool or a proper methodology for research, they lack the ability to actually deconstruct an argument or build a solid case. They’re basically fighting with blunt tools. They might feel they are right, but they can't actually prove why their opponent is wrong or why their own position is sound. If people were honest enough to put a disclaimer on their status saying, 'I don’t know Arabic, and my understanding is based mostly on YouTube and English translations,' everyone would know exactly how to treat their opinions. Passion and sincerity are great, but they don't qualify you to speak publicly on complex subjects. The problem just gets worse when these people gain a following and start forgetting their own lack of qualifications. For experts to try and respond to every one of these comments is just exhausting, and honestly, most of the time, it's completely fruitless. It was once said: لا تجادل الأحمق فقد يخطئ الناس في التفريق بينكما "Do not argue with a fool, for people may fail to tell the difference between the two of you."

At the end of the day, knowledge alone doesn’t guarantee piety. Real Taqwa is found in a person's yaqeen and conviction in Allah, not just in their books or words on the pulpit. People can scream all day about how they’re the ones representing the Truth, but if it doesn’t show in every single area of their life, it’s just a skilled performance. The worst type of scholar is the one who has studied everything but still refuses to submit to his Rabb, both inwardly and outwardly. And honestly, it’s even worse when they try to manipulate their followers into thinking they’re somehow superior to everyone else. If the knowledge doesn't lead to humility and actual submission, then it’s just become a veil between them and Allah Al-Manfaluti writes "Falsehood can never defeat the Truth in open combat; for Truth is a reality, while falsehood is but a void. It is only overcome when scholars are ignorant of the Truth's inherent power, when they despair of its victory, and when they neglect to proclaim it or call others toward it." لا يستطيع الباطل أن يصرع الحق في ميدان؛ لأن الحق وجود والباطل عدم، وإنما يصرعه جهل العلماء بقوته، ويأسهم من غلبته، وإغفالهم النداء به، والدعاء إليه.

The Prophets of Allah are not subjects for jokes. Regardless of what others share, Muslims must not forward or promote memes and Al videos that trivialise their status. Protecting our reverence for the Messengers is essential to our faith. Desensitisation leads only to sin.

The 'Academic Hoarder' It is strange that this was written over a hundred years ago about the state of students in Egypt. I’ve seen similar critiques from Sheikh Tahir ibn Ashur about the state of education in Tunisia, and the system in the Subcontinent isn't far off either. We have to remember that seeking knowledge is supposed to be a means to an end. It’s meant to give us access to the works of our scholars so we can protect people’s faith and, ultimately, help them get closer to Allah. It was never meant to be about spending all our time defending a specific group or a select few scholars. Al-Manfaluti writs: "To what end does the student study grammar and morphology if they remain incapable of reading correctly from any book or newspaper? To what end do they study the sciences of rhetoric if they cannot discern the secrets of speech, identify the facets of eloquence, or grasp the intent behind various linguistic styles, or if they fail to express themselves with a clarity that conveys their own goals and purposes? And to what end do they study logic if they cannot distinguish between a sound argument and a flawed one in every walk of life simply because the textbook examples have changed and the 'Subject' is no longer 'Man' and the 'Predicate' is no longer 'Rational Animal'? It is truly staggering that the illiterate craftsman understands that knowledge is for action, he only learns carpentry to build doors and chests and blacksmithing to forge locks and keys, while the student remains ignorant of this essential truth. The student cares for nothing in their education except the hoarding of rules and information, even if they are utterly unable to wield that knowledge or benefit from it when the situation demands." علام يتعلم الطالب النحو والصرف إن عجز عن أن يقرأ صحيحا في كل كتاب وكل صحيفة، وعلام يتعلم علوم البلاغة إن عجز عن معرفة أسرار الكلام وأوجه بلاغته وفهم المراد من مختلفات أساليبه وعن البيان بيانا فصيحا يضمنه ما يشاء من أغراضه ومقاصده، وعلام يتعلم المنطق إن عجز عن التمييز بين فاسد القضايا وصحيحها في كل مناحيه ومذاهبه، وإن لم يكن الموضوع الإنسان، ولا المحمول الحيوان الناطق. عجيب جدا أن يفهم الصانع الأمي أن العلم للعمل فلا يتعلم النجارة إلا ليصنع الأبواب والصناديق، والحدادة إلا ليصنع الأقفال والمفاتيح، وأن يجهل المتعلم هذه القضية الضرورية، فلا يهمه من العلم إلا الاستكثار من المعلومات والقواعد، وإن عجز بعد ذلك عن التصرف فيها، والانتفاع بها في مواطنها.

Beautiful gem from Surah al-Kawthar I was just looking into Surah al-Kawthar and found something really interesting I wanted to share. There are actually only two places in the entire Quran where the verb 'a’ta (to give) is used with 'Allah' as the one doing the giving [The subject]. In both cases, the Prophet (peace be upon him) is the recipient. The first is in Surah ad-Duha, where Allah promises to give to him until he’s satisfied. Then, just four Surahs later [in order of chronological revelation according to the majority of tafseers] in Surah al-Kawthar, Allah fulfills that promise by saying He has already given him the 'Kawthar'. It’s such a powerful sign of the honour Allah gave him. Even the word Kawthar itself is incredible, it implies an abundance so vast there isn't really a substitute word for it in structure and meaning. that I’m actually trying to compile more details like this for a project to show the linguistic beauty (balagha) of the Quran to people who don't know Arabic. There are a lot of "popular facts" out there about this Surah, but honestly, much of it feels like wishful thinking or just a coincidence. I'm trying to stick to the deeper, more solid insights like this one.

Sadly, this is something many madrasas suffer from. Just because someone can explain a text doesn't mean they are the right person to study under. The teacher you should look for is one who can infuse the subject directly into your heart Al-Manfaluti writes: "Most teachers of Arabic eloquence in schools are scholars but not literary artists. A language student's need for a teacher who infuses them with the spirit of the language, inspires them with its secrets, and entrusts them with its core and essence, is far greater than their need for a teacher who merely instructs them in its technical tools and mechanics. In my view, there is no difference between a teacher of good character and a teacher of eloquence: just as a student of good character only benefits from a teacher of perfected character and refined manners, so too the student of eloquence only benefits from a teacher who is himself truly eloquent." فأكثر أساتذة البيان في المدارس علماء غير أدباء، وحاجة طالب اللغة إلى أستاذ يفيض عليه روح اللغة ويوحي له بسرها، ويفضي إليه بلبها وجوهرها، أكثر من حاجته إلى أستاذ يعلمه وسائلها وآلاتها، وعندي أن لا فرق بين أستاذ الأخلاق وأستاذ البيان، فكما أن طالب الأخلاق لا يستفيدها إلا من أستاذ كملت أخلاقه، وحسنت آدابه، كذلك طالب البيان لا يستفيده إلا من أستاذ مبين. -النظرات

An illness many students suffer from- "untouchable legends" syndrome Instead of inspiring the student to follow in the footsteps of great scholars, the student feels small and thinks, "I could never be like them," Al-Manfaluti writes: "O seeker of knowledge, let your aspirations be high. Do not look upon the history of great men with a gaze that instills awe and dread in your heart, lest you shrink and diminish like a terrified coward listening to a tale of war or a myth of the jinn. Beware of letting despair seize your strength and courage, causing you to surrender with the helplessness of the weak, sighing: 'Where could I find a ladder to climb to the heavens, that I might reach the celestial dome and sit among those great men?'" فيا طالب العلم كن عالي الهمة، ولا يكن نظرك في تاريخ عظماء الرجال نظرا يبعث في قلبك الرهبة والهيبة فتتضاءل وتتصاغر كما يفعل الجبان المستطار حينما يسمع قصة من قصص الحروب، أو خرافة من خرافات الجن، وحذار أن يملك اليأس عليك قوتك وشجاعتك فتستسلم استسلام العاجز الضعيف، وتقول من لي بسلم أصعد عليها إلى السماء حتى أصل إلى قبة الفلك فأجالس فيها عظماء الرجال. Why is this the case?

Sorry I won't be able to have livestream today See you tomorrow night inshaAllah

The second possibility is to treat Khamideen as an adverbial state (a haal) for the people themselves. If you read it this way, the verse is saying they were turned into harvested crops while their life-force was simultaneously dwindling away like a dying fire. There is also a third, really interesting answer. Some suggest that the two words actually merge into a single, unified concept that doesn't have its own specific name in the language yet. It’s similar to how we use collocations in English, take "Sweet and Sour," for example. We use those two separate words together to describe a very specific flavor profile that doesn't have a single-word name of its own. In this sense, the fate of these people is a "mixture" of being both Haseedan (cut down like stubble) and Khamideen (burnt out and cold). I believe there’s definitely room to dig even deeper here, like asking why the Quran uses Ja’alnaa (We made/turned them) instead of using direct verbs like Hasadna (We harvested them) or Akhmadna (We extinguished them). But honestly, that’s a whole other conversation. It would require a full survey of how often those specific words appear across the Quran, which might take us a bit off-track from the main point here. In summary, all these nuances are built into the language in a way that translations just can't catch. A translation is like a single snapshot, but the Arabic is more like a high-definition movie with all the "camera angles" and emotions intact. For someone who really knows the language, these words bring the scene to life in a way that is incredibly vivid and, honestly, pretty terrifying. I’m just trying to give a glimpse here of how big the gap is between knowing these nuances and just reading a basic translation. May Allah tala accept our little efforts If you found this useful share and let me know a word in the Quran you'd be interested in seeing discussed

Part 2/2 The Imagery of The Quran Lost in Translation Written by Liaquat Zaman Now, if we turn to the word Khamideen, there is something really interesting here from a purely linguistic perspective. Originally, the Arabs used this word to describe the way a fire dies out, specifically that moment when the heat in burning wood has completely cooled off. You have to imagine, for the people of that time, this was just a part of daily life. Every house was lighting fires to cook, stay warm, or just to see in the dark. So, the whole process, the way a fire starts, roars, and then eventually gets extinguished, was a really common reference point for them. So, when the Quran describes a whole town as being Khamideen, it’s shifting your focus to what I call the "morning after." It’s that eerie silence after a massive destruction. It is like walking onto a site after a huge fire has finished; all you see is charred wood, some smoke still drifting up, and you’ve got that heavy smell of cold ash in the air. Just that one word makes you visualize the horrific intensity of whatever must have happened to leave things in that state. It’s pretty graphic, especially when you put it next to Haseedan. The mufassireen (the scholars of Quran) actually point out a linguistic twist here. The word Khamideen comes from Khumood, which the Arabs normally used for wood or coal,not humans. This is an example of the Quran "coining" new meanings for old words. It’s like Salah or Zakat; the words existed before, but the Quran repurposed them. If you took a time machine back and listened to the ancient Arabs, hearing these words used this way would have been really striking. When people try to translate Salah into English, they usually just say "prayer," but that doesn't quite work because "prayer" in English carries a lot of Christian baggage. It’s the same struggle here. The Quran takes a word meant for wood and applies it to people by using a specific grammatical form (the sound masculine plural) that is strictly for humans. It creates this terrifying mental image of human bodies charred right to the core, with smoke rising from them. Like I mentioned with Haseedan, there’s a debate on whether this is a literal description or a metaphor. One way is: "We made them like extinguished wood," and the other is: "We made them into extinguished bodies." Some linguists even wonder if the "fire" here refers to the actual punishment they faced, or if it’s a way of describing how their arrogant behavior was finally silenced. Maybe both apply. An issue that is really important, and you’d only know this if you know the root Kh-M-D, is that this specific form is what we call laazim (intransitive). Most translations say "extinguished," but that makes it sound like someone else came and put them out. The laazim meaning is more like the fire just... faded away on its own until there was nothing left. It gives a much stronger sense of being totally helpless and discarded. Grammarians have pointed out that the verb Ja-a-la (We made/turned) cannot take more than two objects. In this verse, the first object is clearly Hum (Them), but that leaves us with both Haseedanand Khamideen. Because the grammar doesn't easily allow for both to be direct objects at the same time, scholars have proposed a few different ways to look at it. First, you could look at it from a purely descriptive angle. In this view, Khamideen acts as an adjective (Na’at/Sifa) for Haseedan. This gives you the image of crops that weren't just harvested and left there, but were actually burnt to ash afterward, a kind of double destruction. It’s worth noting that this all works if we treat Haseedan as an invariable noun. In Arabic, certain words function similarly to a Masdar (a root-word/verbal noun), meaning the word itself doesn't change form whether you are talking about one person, two people, or a whole group, regardless of gender. By treating it this way, it acts as a fixed description for the entire town.

Another beauty from manfaluti : "How great is the misery of this nation and how severe its affliction! Its very preachers have become in need of others to enlighten the path of dawah for them, and to teach them how to embody patience and endurance for its sake. If only I knew when they will learn, and then, when they will find true guidance." ما أعظم شقاء هذه الأمة وأشد بلاءها، فقد أصبح دعاتها في حاجة إلى دعاة ينيرون لهم طريق الدعوة، ويعلمونهم كيف يكون الصبر والاحتمال في سبيلها، فليت شعري متى يتعلمون، ثم متى يرشدون.

One of my favourite passages from manfalootis al-Nadharaat: إن كثيرا من الفقراء لم تمتد يد الفقر إلى رءوسهم، كما امتدت إلى جيوبهم، فهم يدركون كما يدرك الأغنياء، ويفهمون كما يفهمون، وكما أن في أغنياء الجيوب فقراء الرءوس، كذلك في فقراء الجيوب أغنياء الرءوس. "Indeed, many of the poor have not had the hand of poverty reach their minds as it has reached their pockets. They perceive as the rich perceive, and they understand as they understand. Just as among the 'rich of pocket' there are those who are 'poor of mind,' so too among the 'poor of pocket' are those who are 'rich of mind.' "

There is nothing you can do to pay for what your Mother has done for you A man came to ‘Umar [ibn al-Khattab] and said: 'I have an elderly mother who has reached such an old age that she cannot relieve herself except that my back serves as her mount. I perform her ablutions (Wudu) for her while turning my face away [out of modesty]. Have I fulfilled her right over me?' ‘Umar replied: 'No.' The man said: 'Have I not carried her on my back and devoted my very self to her?' ‘Umar said: 'Indeed, but she used to do the same for you while she prayed for your life to continue, whereas you do this for her while you wait for her to depart [death].' عن زرعة بن إبراهيم، أن رجلا أتى عمر، فقال: «إن لي أما بلغ بها الكبر، أنها لا تقضي حاجتها إلا وظهري لها مطية، أوضئها، وأصرف وجهي عنها، فهل أديت حقها؟ قال: لا. قال: أليس قد حملتها على ظهري، وحبست عليها نفسي؟ قال: إنها كانت تصنع ذلك بك وهي تتمنى بقاءك، وأنت تصنع ذلك وأنت تتمنى فراقها — البر والصلة لابن الجوزي – ابن الجوزي

2/2 The scholars of balagha raise an important question in regards to this word in the verse in question, does this sentence structure fall under Tashbeeh [Simile] or Majaz Lugahwi [Metophor]? Without getting into the debate I just want to point out that if the Tashbeeh or Majaz is considered then we can translate it as follows: Tashbeeh: ...'We made like 'Haseedan'... Majaz: ....'We' made them Haseedan'.... The first gives the meaning of their resemblance being almost identical to Haseedan [Harvest fallen crops / remaining harvested stubs ] The second illustrates the drone-view of an apocalyptic event, resembling the way the farmer strikes lifeless crops without them being able to fend for themselves. If we consider the social connotations of Haseedan and its derivatives in early Arabic society, we find layers of meaning to which a non-Arabic reader is often oblivious. Idioms such as Hasad al-Sayf (The Harvest of the Sword) or Hasa’id al-Lisan (The Harvest of the Tongue) illustrate this. To an early Arab, there was a specific shame in being 'mown down'; it suggests that their high towers and elevated social status were as easily sliced as a thin blade of grass. This dimension of language can only be acquired when students engage with classical poetry and writings from the early years. Sufficing with a dictionary or books of tafsir would not provide such depth and richness. Here are some translations from the Quran[dot]com website: They kept repeating their cry until We mowed them down, ˹leaving them˺ lifeless. — Dr. Mustafa Khattab, The Clear Quran Then, this continued to be their cry till We turned them into stubble, totally extinguished. — T. Usmani and that cry of theirs did not cease until We made them burnt-offstubble. — M.A.S. Abdel Haleem And this their crying ceased not till We made them as reaped corn, extinct. — M. Pickthall And that cry of theirs ceased not, till We made them as a field that is mown, as ashes silent and quenched. — A. Yusuf Ali ...We mowed them down,... ...We turned them into stubble... ...We made them burnt-offstubble ...We made them as reaped corn... ...We made them as a field that is mown.... The richness is clearly not captured for the English reader. The word 'Khamideen' .....