Was there not a time, when scholarship was the pious pinnacle of all ambition, guided by a tradition passed down through generations of rigorous study, contemplation, and moral discipline? When the scholar was not a performer but a revered guardian of knowledge, and learning was not a marketplace but a sanctuary?
What happened?
How did this new breed of “scholars” emerge—figures whose influence is measured not by the depth of their understanding but by their follower count? Individuals whose words are shaped not by the gravity of truth but by the demands of engagement metrics. Whose ineptitude has purged the Ummah into a crisis of depth in thought and perception, in whose wake knowledge is diluted to information, sincerity is sacrificed for spectacle, and the pursuit of truth is replaced by the pursuit of popularity.
Knowledge, in our tradition, was introduced as a scared trust, to be cultivated like a garden, requiring patience, discipline, and toil. So when did it become reduced to bite-sized clips, emotionally charged blurbs, and neatly packaged euphemisms designed for maximum shareability; to be consumed like fast food—quick, cheap, and instantly gratifying? Instead of a wellspring of deep reflection, we now have a flood of shallow inspiration. Instead of engaging in structured study, the masses are content with fleeting moments of spiritual euphoria that fade as quickly as they rise.
This reductionist epistemology has dire consequences. From it emerges a culture whose spirituality is felt rather than understood, where scholars are followed for their charisma rather than their erudition, and where the true pursuit of knowledge—painstaking, often uncomfortable yet always humbling—is replaced with the easy consumption of feel-good religious content, much of which is now also AI-generated.
I saw a poster, recently, titled, “Mufti [so and so] Tour 2025 - Coming Soon to Your City!” Incidentally, a certain famous Dr. [someone] did a similar ‘tour’ and his social media accounts were updated with his daily activities, which included visits to the zoo, picnics, bungee-jumping, scuba-diving, etc. etc. A certain other Dr. [controversy] announced openly that he is now capitalizing on his millions of views and followers to turn his lectures into books, each becoming an instant bestseller before it is even published, yet barely meeting the rigour of noteworthy literature. Then, of course, we have a Shaykh [someone] who, having the surname ‘Al-Hakeem,’ believes himself truly to be wise and overflowing with wisdom, so much so that not only does he have a ready answer to every question, he charges upwards of a $100 for a half hour of ‘Counselling’ even though he has no qualifications in any of the respected fields of study.
Lecture tours, book signings, documenting vacations, waving to the crowd and taking selfies, making Instagram clips of virtually every moment of their 'halaal' lives, from barbecuing and playing with cats to hosting dinners and fundraisers, and so on and so forth. Do not be fooled by their cloaks and headcoverings of humility. These individuals not only earn large sums from their monetized accounts, they are actually paid, handsomely (oh, yes— in the thousands), for each appearance, and are further awarded fine accommodations, comforts, and accolades, with no expense spared. They are the prime invitees of any event, seeing as how they tend to attract large crowds, most with deep pockets. Perfect for when a local Masjid or organization wants to raise funds to clear its mortgage and debts or carry out renovations. One wonders what our predecessors might say upon seeing how the sacred institute of knowledge has now been industrialized. They certainly would be spinning in their graves as we speak.
You might ask, “Who are you to criticize? Do you know how many people have become Muslim because of these scholars? How many lives have been changed?”
Sure… Who am I to criticize? I have no title, accolade, degree, or rank. I am a student, and I believe I shall always remain so. But I do not need a piece of paper or the widespread popularity to accompany it in order to point out what is clearly wrong with this picture.
To your question, I have known people to become Muslims even by the words of atheists, strange as it may be to believe. It is Allah who guides to His religion, not a famous mouthpiece. And He, Almighty, can use whatever means He wishes. Millions more have been guided to Islam by the actions of tyrants, oppressors, and downright wicked and evil individuals. Arguably, these celebrities have achieved very little in terms of Da’wah to be given pedestals of honour. Kudos to those whose lives have been changed— but that does not make them saints. If Ustadh [someone] said a few nice things that softened your perspective of religion, are you going to drink his every word, regardless of the grievous errors and mistakes he makes, notwithstanding their shameless and immoral acts performed void of admission and coupled with bent jurisprudic justifications?
We ask… where is the line that distinguishes the ‘scholar’ from the ‘celebrity’? Does such a line even exist anymore? And can the so-called ‘learned man,’ who himself is unable to recognize that line, be truly learned? Other than having crammed facts, figures, and opinions, is there any true measure of knowledge imparted by these and other individuals who not only seem perfectly happy to bask in the limelight, they welcome it? Individuals who speak on the Qur’an from their own whims and interpretations, who have no foundation nor coherency in the requisite sciences and knowledges— are these the individuals you want teaching you the speech of your Lord?
There certainly exists among them a common trait, a kind of mimicry that appeals to masses in much the same ways as actors, musicians, and other celebrities appeal. The posters, the announcements, the selfies, right down to the fonts used and how the individual 30-second clips are rendered. The markers used in media psychology to grasp, retain, and further influence the minds of content-consumers are exactly the same. The only difference lies in the semantics of the content produced, but in all other aspects they are the same, and equally bereft of meaning or intrinsic value. From the producer’s perspective (meaning the scholars themselves), they firmly believe that they are imparting knowledge. Yet one cannot help but marvel at the stupidity of that notion. At what point in the history of epistemology was it ever ascertained that knowledge could both be imparted and gained in 30-second or even 5-minute bits of content with ‘click-bait’ titles such as ‘5 tips to increase your Iman’ or ‘You won’t believe what Allah says in this Ayah’ or ‘10 best ways to bring Barakah in your business.’ Could an individual be tested in their grasping of the sciences after consuming these bits? Rather, we would ask… Why?
Why do you (you oh-so-wise scholars) find the need to reduce the integrity of learning, the sacred institute of knowledge, into consumable content? Pray tell, what is the wisdom here? Have you no other avenue to teach, if indeed teaching is your motivation? Can your creativity find no other approach than to mimic the conventional culture of Hollywood and social media?
These same individuals are typically the first ones to act (or rather react) when a tragedy befalls the Ummah. Almost overnight, each character suddenly becomes an expert philosopher, political analyst, spiritualist, psychologist, and eschatologist. Without any depth in thought, without any deliberation, careful observation, without any expertise in the field, no logic or coherency in their arguments. All of them, within an hour of any world event taking place, already have 10 videos uploaded explaining everything. They are also, incidentally, the go-to characters to be invited on talk shows to voice their ‘unbiased and expert’ views on the given ‘discussion.’
Am I wrong?
When October-7th took place, were not the aforementioned individuals, among several others, the first ones to ‘talk’ about it, and have been continuously ‘talking’ about it. When Bashar was overthrown, did not the same individuals praise the liberation, even going so far as to call the liberators ‘great’ and ‘praiseworthy.’ Meanwhile, in the eyes of the content-consumers, so long as someone is ‘talking’ about it, they are on the right path. They are true ‘defenders of Islam’ and anyone else is a ‘quietist defeatist’.
Oh yes, myself and others, among many of my teachers and peers have been labelled as such. I was even called a ‘Zionist sympathizer’ and a ‘closet Zionist’ for calling out the futility of the whole flag-waving, drum-beating, ‘Free-Free-Palestine’ crusade. As if by waving a flag and eating watermelons, the Antichrist will cede defeat and cease his endeavours to annihilate an entire culture and civilization.
Needless to say, I took no offence in the name-calling. Rather, I laughed— genuinely, as I personally find stupidity to be comical.
Returning to the subject.
There seems to be no distinction now between scholars and influencers, between knowledge and entertainment. Gone is the age when the scholar was known by his service, not his brand. The scholar of old lived in the service of his community; the scholar of today, it seems, lives in the glow of stage lights and camera flashes. Public speaking tours, high-priced lectures, curated social media personas—these have become the markers of success, overshadowing the true measure of scholarship; of intellectual depth, moral integrity, and a life devoted to God, not self-promotion.
The true blame to all this, this rise of celebrity scholars in our age, rests in the audience. After all, the showman’s showmanship is gauged not by his talent, but by the applause he receives. The greater the ovation, the stronger the urge to bolster the act. The fuel comes not from a desire to learn and teach, but from satisfying the positive feedback from the audience’s applause. In that regard, the stupidity, as mentioned, is shared by both the performers and those they entertain. Neither can these speakers measure the value of the so-called ‘knowledge’ they are imparting, nor can the masses evaluate the truth and wisdom in it, or lack thereof. And such a thing is simple enough to deduce. For the mistakes of these entertainers— as that is indeed what they are, having thrown the robe of honour in the bin— are seldom caught by the audience. Not only is the audience ignorant of the sciences, the truth value of every proposition made in every clip, video, post, and lecture, is determined not on the merit of what is spoken, but on the merit of the speaker’s renown, that is, ‘It is true because Mawlana [that-one] or Mufti [the-other-one] mentioned it.’
How many of these consumers actually seek deep, structured learning? How many are willing to sit for hours, pouring over texts, struggling with difficult concepts, and allowing their understanding to be challenged? Or do they prefer the easy path—the viral clip, the motivational speech, the speaker who tells them what they already want to hear?
Don’t blame the enemies of Islam. This is not the doing of the Zionists, or the Freemasons, or the Illuminati, nor is the doing of misguided, spineless rulers and normalizing governments and states. We, as an Ummah, have openly endorsed this culture of superficiality by capitulating to our own desires and appetites. We delight in taking ‘selfies’ and sharing clips that glorify the drab of our mundane lives in exchange for a fleeting sense of gratification, something to make one feel good about themselves, uplift their ‘self-esteem,’ as it were. We applaud speakers who are engaging but shun those who deliver the hard, ego-shattering truth. To that effect, we demand entertainment over education. We crave inspiration but cower from discipline. And if learning is reduced to mere inspiration, what happens when the inspiration runs dry?
Is it any wonder, then, that people now follow scholars the way they follow celebrities? That they defend their favourites with blind loyalty, as if religious truth were a fan club, and disagreement were a personal attack? This is not scholarship. This is not the tradition of the great minds that shaped our intellectual heritage. It is, at best, a diluted version of it. At worst, it is a betrayal of it.
There is no shame in making knowledge accessible through innovative means and mediums. There is no harm in sustaining educational efforts through financial means. But there is a fine line between funding a noble cause and turning religion into a business. When scholars begin to tailor their messages for mass appeal, when difficult truths are avoided to maintain a marketable image, when knowledge is sold like a product—what remains of its sanctity?
The scholar is meant to be a guide, not an entertainer. A servant of the people, not a brand ambassador. Yet, too often, the pressure to remain relevant, forces these so-called scholars to soften their messages, to avoid controversy, to say what pleases rather than what is true. The fear of losing an audience becomes greater than the fear of losing sincerity. The quest for influence begins to overshadow the quest for enlightenment.
This is the danger of commodification. The scholar has become a performer, the audience has become a consumer, and knowledge has become a transaction rather than a sacred trust. Above all, this modern scholar has forgotten what it means and entails to teach, nurture, and guide.
O’ people of Nabi Muhammad…
Have some shame.
Have some self-respect.
You were not gifted Islam to feel good about yourselves by consuming the curated words of celebrities with the gilded titles of Dr., Shaykh, and Mufti. If you truly want knowledge, seek it at the feet of those who understand the virtue of safeguarding knowledge from worldly dissemination. Commit yourselves to rigorous study, effort, and consistency. Knowledge is not a product to be dispensed through mouthpieces like vending machines. You will not acquire Islam from five-minute feel-good videos, nor will you learn from grand lecture-tours and theatric talks. These people do not teach… they entertain; and that is all they are good for. Rather, seek out those precious gems hidden from the limelight, protected from the allure of modern personage and popularity. Take from them the sciences, disciplines, and arts, so that you may one day become a scholar yourself, and not just another entertained consumer.
For we are indeed in a crisis— perhaps the most detrimental crisis of all. We are at risk of turning Sacred Knowledge and Wisdom into just another form of digital entertainment. Profitable, popular, and utterly hollow. We are no longer defined as a people whose sole purpose of existence was the pursuit, preservation, and transmission of knowledge. We are awed, not by the axioms of our predecessors, but by the mundane discoveries of our enemies. We marvel, not at the wisdom of our exemplars, but at the inventions and gadgetry of our foes. If this persists, what will remain of our intellectual and spiritual tradition, as we continue reducing it to catchy slogans and curated aesthetics?
Scholars must resist the pull of fame. The audience must resist the lure of superficiality. And we, as a community, must ask ourselves… do we seek truth, or do we seek spectacle? The answer to that question will determine the fate of this Ummah.
I have presented my arguments. Make your judgments as you see fit. In truth, I do not care for anyone’s opinion or criticism of my words. Those with a bitter taste in their mouths can suck on a sugar cube if it soothes them.
The choice is yours... You can, like livestock, follow such individuals and continue to entertain yourselves. Or you can, like the Muslims you were meant to be, pursue the path of knowledge and learn from the exemplars of Islam.
In the end, may He, Almighty, Most Merciful, Most Benevolent, accept from you and from us. Final judgment rests with Him, and Him alone. We are, after all, journeying to the same destination. The only thing that will distinguish each individual is the manner of their arrival.
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