What Barely Anyone Is Talking About...

There's a pattern playing out in Islamic scholarship that nobody wants to talk about.

Young students rush into Islamic studies with genuine intentions. They want to serve their communities. They want to understand their religion deeply. They want to guide others. All of this is beautiful. All of this is needed.

But something gets skipped.

They never pause to ask: who am I? What am I running from? What am I running toward? What drives me? What scares me? Where does my need for validation come from?

Very human questions that everyone must ask themselves. But especially students of knowledge.

They jump straight into academic achievement. Repition. Memorisation. Pleasing the teacher. Certification. Recognition. The title. The position. The respect.

And by the time they arrive at the destination—when they're finally recognised as scholars, when they have the platform, when people listen—they realise something unsettling: they need this. Not just want it. Need it.

The title isn't just a role anymore. It's their identity. The institution isn't just where they work. It's what holds them together.

And that dependency on the role quietly destroys the very thing Islamic scholarship is supposed to produce: free, courageous, innovative thinking.

When External Validation Becomes Your Foundation

Here's what happens when you build a career on a foundation you never examined.

You become excellent at reproducing knowledge. You can quote the scholars. You know the methodologies. You follow the protocols. You're technically proficient. You're institutionally approved. You're safe.

But you're not free.

Because deep down, you know that your sense of worth is tied to approval. Approval from your teachers. Approval from your institution. Approval from your peers. Approval from the community that recognizes you as a scholar.

And when your worth depends on approval, you cannot afford to take risks.

You cannot afford to ask questions that might upset the establishment. You cannot afford to challenge assumptions that everyone else accepts. You cannot afford to think differently, even when the situation demands it.

So you don't.

You administrate existing knowledge instead of pioneering new understanding. You repeat what's been said instead of saying what needs to be said for the time and the people you servce. You stay within the lines because the lines are what keep you safe, validated, recognised.

This is a psychological inevitability, not just a moral failure.

I’m not saying we transgress boundaries of creed or law set down by our forefathers in knowledge. Not at all. We adhere to those boundaries until our dying breath.

But there’s so much work to do for the Ummah, yet we are resistent to even the slightest bit of change in pace or methodology.

When you skip the foundational work of understanding yourself—your motivations, your fears, your insecurities—those unexamined wounds don't disappear. They follow you. They shape you. They limit you.

And the tragedy is this: the Muslim community doesn't need more administrators of existing knowledge. It needs pioneers.

The Questions Our Communities Are Asking

Muslims today are navigating challenges that previous generations never faced.

Questions about technology and ethics. Questions about mental health and spirituality. Questions about identity in diaspora communities. Questions about gender, authority, and tradition. Questions about how to apply timeless principles to contexts that are radically new.

These aren't questions you can answer by simply quoting classical texts. They require deep engagement with those texts, yes—but also creativity, nuance, courage, and the ability to think independently.

They require scholars who are secure enough in themselves to explore unfamiliar territory. Scholars who don't need institutional approval to validate their worth. Scholars who can sit with uncertainty, ask difficult questions, and offer guidance that's both rooted in tradition and responsive to contemporary reality.

But here's the problem: if you're psychologically dependent on your title, on your institution, on the validation of your peers—you can't do that work.

You're too busy protecting what you have. Too busy maintaining status. Too busy staying within acceptable boundaries.

The irony is brutal: the very pursuit of Islamic knowledge—which should liberate the mind and elevate the soul—becomes a cage when approached without proper self-foundation.

The knowledge that was meant to free you ends up trapping you.

What Classical Scholarship Actually Looked Like

This isn't how Islamic scholarship was supposed to work.

Look at the giants of Islamic intellectual history. Al-Ghazali didn't just master theology and philosophy—he underwent a profound spiritual crisis, left his prestigious position, and spent years in seclusion grappling with himself before returning to write his most important works.

Imam Abu Hanifah refused to accept the position of chief judge even under immense pressure from the Abbasid authorities. He was imprisoned and tortured for his refusal, choosing suffering over compromising his principles and independence.

Imam Shafi'i revolutionised Islamic jurisprudence not by simply inheriting his teacher's methodology, but by critically engaging with it, developing his own approach, and having the courage to articulate legal principles that challenged established norms of his time.

Imam Malik refused to compromise his principles even when the Caliph pressured him. He was beaten for it. He didn't back down.

These weren't just intellectuals. They were individuals who had done the hard, internal work of building genuine conviction, courage, and independence. Their scholarship flowed from that foundation.

They could take risks because their sense of worth wasn't tied to institutional approval. They could think independently because they knew who they were outside of their titles. They could challenge power because their confidence came from within, not from external validation.

The argument of ‘they were qualified to pioneer, we are not’ is valid to some degree, but we can still develop their works and produce new knowledge by building on their foundations. The likes of Imam al-Suyuti and Mulla ‘Ali al-Qari are prime examples of this.

That's the standard. That's what real scholarship looks like.

And we've drifted far from it.

The Path We're Not Taking

Here's what should happen before someone steps into the role of scholar:

Self-examination. Real, uncomfortable, honest self-examination. Why do I want this? What am I afraid of? Where do I need validation? What parts of myself haven't I dealt with? What trauma am I carrying? What insecurities am I avoiding?

Character development. Not just intellectual training, but the cultivation of courage, humility, emotional intelligence, and inner strength. The kind of work that makes you resilient, grounded, and secure in yourself.

Spiritual maturity. The ability to sit with uncertainty. The capacity to handle criticism. The strength to stand alone when necessary. The wisdom to know when to speak and when to stay silent.

This isn't optional. This is foundational.

Because if you skip this work and go straight to academic achievement, you end up with scholars who are brilliant but fragile. Knowledgeable but constrained. Technically proficient but spiritually limited.

You end up with people who can tell you what the classical scholars said but can't tell you what to do now. People who can answer questions from the past but struggle with questions from the present.

And the community suffers for it.

What We Actually Need

We need scholars who have done the inner work.

Scholars who know themselves well enough to recognise when their ego is driving their decisions. Scholars who are secure enough to admit uncertainty. Secure enough to say “I don’t know” in public, like Imam Malik. Scholars who can handle being wrong without collapsing. Scholars who don't need titles to feel valuable.

We need scholars who can take calculated intellectual risks because their worth isn't tied to always being their version of right. Scholars who can ask new questions because they're not afraid of challenging the status quo—whilst maintaining to the boundaries, of course. Scholars who can offer fresh approaches because they're free from the need for constant institutional approval.

We need scholars who are grounded enough to stand alone when necessary, humble enough to learn from anyone, and courageous enough to say what needs to be said even when it's uncomfortable.

This isn't about credentials. You can have every degree, every certification, every endorsement—and still lack the inner foundation that real scholarship requires.

True scholarship in the Islamic tradition has always demanded not just intellectual rigor, but spiritual maturity, emotional intelligence, and the courage to think independently when circumstances require it.

The question is: are we creating that? Or are we creating a generation of scholars who know a lot but can't move freely because they're chained to approval, status, and institutional validation?

The Choice Ahead

If you're entering Islamic studies—or if you're already in it—ask yourself:

Have I done the work of understanding myself? Do I know what drives me? Have I confronted my fears, my insecurities, my need for validation? Am I building my confidence from within, or am I seeking it from external sources?

These aren't comfortable questions. They're not easy questions. But they're necessary questions.

Because you’ll enter powerful positions one day. And as the saying goes, with great power comes great responsibility.

The Muslim community doesn't just need more people with degrees or ijāzāt. It needs thinkers. Courageous voices. Scholars who are secure enough in themselves to offer the innovative, contextually relevant guidance that our times demand.

The path forward requires a fundamental reorientation. Self-discovery before scholarship. Character development before credentials. Inner strength before institutional status.

Only then can you engage with the sacred texts and traditions as a free, thinking individual. Only then can you offer your community what it actually needs.

That requires doing the hard work first. The unglamorous, internal work that nobody sees and nobody certifies.

But it's the only work that produces the kind of scholars we actually need.