This is a translation of a lecture delivered by Ustad Soroush Mahallati at the Fahim Institute in Qom, on the night of 6th Muharram.

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In the name of God, the Most Compassionate, the Most Merciful

All praise is due to God, the Lord of all the worlds. Peace and blessings be upon our Master and Prophet, the Chosen One, Abul-Qasim Muhammad (p). God the Exalted says in His noble Book:

“Do not think of those who are killed in the way of Allah as dead; rather, they are alive with their Lord, receiving provision.”

Respected audience, esteemed scholars, honorable seminary students, and all present: I extend my greetings and salutations to you and offer my condolences on the days of mourning for Aba Abdillah al-Husayn (a). The topic I wish to present in this session, in keeping with these sacred days and the scholarly atmosphere of this gathering, concerns a jurisprudential matter.

These types of discussions cannot be shared in every session or with all audiences; however, this gathering of scholars and thinkers calls for addressing a serious issue appropriate to the month of Muharram.

Who Is Considered a Martyr in Islamic Jurisprudence?

The issue is this: Who is considered a martyr (shahīd) according to jurisprudential criteria? Given that there are legal rulings related to martyrs in Islamic law, naturally this is a fiqhī discussion: what is the subject to which these rulings apply?

Of course, there are two distinct perspectives on this subject:

1. One is the jurist’s perspective, which outlines the criteria for martyrdom in relation to the application of certain legal rulings.

2. The other is a spiritual or metaphysical perspective, concerning the elevated status a martyr acquires — which lies outside the domain of jurisprudence.

The verse I recited at the beginning of my remarks refers to a truth that cannot be captured by fiqh: “Rather, they are alive with their Lord, receiving provision.” What kind of life is this for the martyr? What is the nature of the provision granted to them?
These are questions to be addressed in other fields of Islamic knowledge. However, the question before us is: What external (zāhirī) conditions are involved in defining martyrdom from a fiqh perspective?

Real vs. Constructed Categories in Fiqh

Before diving deeper, I would like to point out an important principle: Many subjects in Islamic jurisprudence have both genuine and constructed or false instances.

For example, consider the term “masjid” (mosque). It has a true and sacred meaning, but it can also have a false manifestation. In the Qur’an, God refers to such a false manifestation as Masjid al-Ḍirār (the mosque of harm) — a structure that was ultimately destroyed.

Though a mosque is typically a sacred place, there is a clear difference between a mosque that is “founded upon God-consciousness” and a mosque that is established to cause division and serve the enemies of God. This duality exists in the concept of martyrdom as well.

There is a comprehensive sermon from Amir al-Mu’minīn, Imam Ali (a) — narrated by the late Shaykh al-Kulaynī in al-Kāfī — in which the Imam points to events occurring in the Islamic community, describing how false Islam replaces true Islam.

He lists signs of this transformation. One of these signs is: “Their mosques, in that era, will be filled with misguidance and void of guidance.” That is, the function of the mosque becomes inverted — instead of being a source of guidance, it becomes a center of deviation.

The Imam continues listing such signs of societal inversion until he states: “They will call their slain ones martyrs.” In this society, despite all its corruption, the people label their dead as martyrs. It’s not that this society lacks mosques — it does have them, but they are false mosques. It’s not that people aren’t being killed — they are, but even those deaths are falsely labeled as martyrdom.

Imam Ali clarifies that these so-called martyrs are not true martyrs. Their mosque is fabricated, and so is their martyr. Not every person killed in war or conflict is a true martyr, especially when the cause they die for contradicts divine justice or the moral aims of Islam.

So, the question now is: Who is the true martyr, in contrast to these false or fabricated martyrs?

According to Islamic jurisprudence, a true martyr is defined by two essential elements:

1. Proper intention (ḥusn fāʿilī) – the righteousness of the doer.

2. Proper action (ḥusn fiʿlī) – the righteousness of the deed itself.

1. Righteous Intention (ḥusn fāʿilī)

The first pillar pertains to intention and motivation. When a person enters the battlefield and stands against the enemy, fighting and perhaps dying — what was the aim or motivation behind their presence?

This is where the actor’s intention becomes crucial. If someone fought in the very army of the Prophet Muhammad (p) but their goal was worldly gain or war spoils, that person, in truth, is not considered a martyr.

2. Righteous Action (ḥusn fiʿlī)

In addition to pure intention, the act itself must also be righteous. Where did this action take place? In what context? Against whom? The very act must also be noble and commendable.

And in many real-world cases, these two — intention and action — become separated. Sometimes the intention is righteous — there is a sincere desire to seek God’s pleasure — but the act itself is not righteous. For instance, in some narrations it’s reported about certain soldiers in ʿUmar ibn Saʿd’s army on the Day of ʿAshura, that they said: “We seek nearness to God through the blood of Imam Husayn (a).”

Even those who killed the grandson of the Prophet had a form of “intention of closeness to God.”

Or take the Khawārij, whom Imam Ali (peace be upon him) describes in Nahj al-Balāgha as: “They sought the truth, but they erred.”

Their motivation was entirely different from that of Muʿāwiyah’s forces, who were after worldly power and wealth. So while the Khawārij had some level of sincere motivation, they failed in the action.

Judging Intent

Now, it’s not necessary to dwell too long on ḥusn fāʿilī (good intention) here. Ordinarily, when people fight in the ranks of the Muslim army, we assume good faith and righteous intent, unless clear evidence proves otherwise. We work with the principle of apparent righteousness, since we have no means of accessing hidden intentions — and even if we did, we are not commanded to investigate such internal matters.

Thus, what becomes more important is the second element — the righteousness of the action (ḥusn fiʿlī): Was the act itself — the cause and the field of engagement — legitimate? To determine this, we need clear criteria that define when an act of combat is actually praiseworthy and leads to martyrdom.

The Context of Jihad Determines Martyrdom

The concept of martyrdom must be understood in the light of jihad, according to the framework given by Islamic teachings. If jihad is deemed valid and just, then the one who dies in that jihad — giving up their life — has performed a righteous act and thus is granted the status of a true martyr.

So, before defining the individual as a martyr, we must define the field: What is the nature of this battlefield? Is it a battle for truth or falsehood? The criterion of righteous action depends on this.

With that background, I will now explain how our scholars, over time, have presented three distinct views regarding what constitutes ḥusn fiʿlī (the righteousness of the act) in martyrdom — showing an evolution of thought.

Stage One: View of Shaykh al-Mufīd (d. 1022 CE)

The first view comes from the revered Shaykh al-Mufīd, who defines martyrdom strictly as: A person who is killed in the way of God, while standing in the presence of the Imam of the Muslims.

In his exact words: “The one killed in the path of God in the presence of the Imam of the Muslims, if he dies in battle, he does not require ritual washing (ghusl).”

He doesn’t use the term “martyr” directly, but describes the person who is not to be washed before burial — a ruling applied to martyrs. However, notice that this “killed in the path of God” must also be: “in the presence of the Imam of the Muslims.” Now, if we try to interpret “Imam of the Muslims” today, we might interpret it broadly — including both infallible (maʿṣūm) and non-infallible leaders. But during Shaykh al-Mufīd’s time, this expression was not used in such a broad sense.

Therefore, all scholars close to Shaykh al-Mufīd’s time and familiar with classical fiqh conventions have interpreted this as a reference to the infallible Imam specifically. They provided a narrow interpretation of his ruling.

Stage Two: View of Shaykh al-Ṭūsī (d. 1067 CE)

Later, his student Shaykh al-Ṭūsī revised and expanded this definition in the second stage. In his book al-Nihāyah, he writes: “Whoever is killed in the presence of a just Imam, in his support, or in the presence of someone appointed by the Imam…”

Here, he retains the condition of a just Imam (like al-Mufīd) and adds that even one appointed by the Imam can qualify. So it is not necessary for the infallible Imam himself to be present on the battlefield. Rather, one fighting under someone appointed by the Imam may also qualify.

He then adds the ruling: “He is buried in his clothes.” This means no shroud (kafan) is needed — the same ruling given to martyrs. This marks a broadening of the earlier definition.

Stage Three: Broader Definition of Martyrdom

In this third stage, jurists ruled that martyrdom no longer requires the presence of an infallible Imam, nor does it require a representative appointed by the Imam. If the jihad itself is legitimate, and a person is killed in such a just war, then that person is a martyr.

At the very least, the jihad must be defensive in nature, and in such cases, the presence or permission of the Imam is not a condition.
So the question arises: Is defensive jihad in the time of occultation (ghaybah) legitimate or not? The answer: Yes, it is legitimate. Anyone who stands in defense against aggression toward Muslims and is killed in such a battle is considered a true martyr.

This third stage of development in the interpretation of martyrdom appears to have been established by al-Muḥaqqiq al-Ḥillī in his work al-Muʿtabar. He clearly states: “The condition for martyrdom is that the jihad must be legitimate (al-jihād al-sāʾigh).”

And “jihād sāʾigh” means permissible, just, or righteous jihad — even if the Imam or his appointed representative is not present. He explicitly writes: “It is obligatory to engage in jihad even if the Imam is not present.”

He also explains why this permissibility applies. This became the final word among the jurists, and this view was accepted again and again — even until our time.

Now, this leads us to a critical conclusion: If we accept the condition that offensive jihad (jihād ibtidāʾī) requires the Imam’s permission, as most jurists do, then:

• Anyone who engages in offensive jihad without the Imam’s permission is not considered a martyr under Islamic jurisprudence.

• The rules and honors of martyrdom do not apply to such a person.

However, in the age of occultation, since defensive jihad does not require the Imam’s permission, anyone killed in legitimate self-defense is indeed a martyr, as this is a just jihad. Shaykh al-Anṣārī, in his book al-Ṭahārah, makes this point very clear when he says: “Every person who is killed in a just war (jihad ḥaqq)…”

Thus, before we can determine whether someone who is killed qualifies as a martyr, we must first assess the nature of the jihad they were involved in.

If the jihad is just, then: “The one who is killed becomes a martyr.” But if the jihad is not just, then: “That person is not a martyr.” These are the foundations and premises of the discussion, which I’ve summarized here briefly.

The Challenging Question: What Makes a Jihad “Just”?

Now we arrive at a difficult and complex issue: What are the criteria by which we determine a jihad to be just?

There are some general rules:

• If the jihad is offensive, it requires the Imam’s permission.

• If it’s defensive, it does not.

But beyond these general rules, what about actual cases where war is occurring? Is every instance of resistance and martyrdom necessarily justified? Or is there a specific scope or definition that must be met? Sometimes, we’re faced with two options:

1. Engage in war, resist, and possibly be killed.

2. Pursue peace or a truce (ṣulḥ or hudnah) — that is, refrain from fighting.

In such situations, a person must decide: Should they stay and fight and risk death? Or should they accept peace, which may prevent unnecessary bloodshed?

So, in this case — where the two possibilities of war and peace exist — what is the criterion for choosing one over the other? Because if we say war is preferred, then the one who is killed is a martyr. But if war is not preferred, then the one who is killed is not considered a martyr.

This is the question that has deeply preoccupied our jurists: How can we define a reliable standard for what constitutes a “just” jihad? There are two primary viewpoints here.

View 1: Al-ʿAllāmah al-Ḥillī

Al-ʿAllāmah al-Ḥillī says: “Being killed in the path of God is always a desirable act.” He argues that we don’t need to assess whether there is an alternative to jihad, such as peace or truce. According to him:

• Wherever there is a legitimate field for jihad and a person stands firm and is martyred — that is the truth.

• Even if there is no necessity for jihad and reconciliation is possible, if someone resists, fights, and is killed, they are still a martyr.

So, there is no need to distinguish between: Jihad and non-jihad, War and peace, Obligation and non-obligation. In his view sometimes resistance and war are obligatory — in such cases, the person is definitely a martyr. Other times, resistance is not obligatory — a truce is possible. But even then, jihad does not lose its legitimacy — it remains permissible.

So, even in permissible jihad, if someone is killed, they are a martyr. Hence, there’s no need to invoke obligation or compulsion in order to qualify someone as a martyr. The foundation of ʿAllāmah Ḥillī’s view — presented in both his works Tadhkirah and Muntahā — is this:

In all circumstances, the contract of peace and cessation of war is always permissible, and it does not block the path of war. And since the path to war is never completely blocked, the path to martyrdom is likewise never closed.

This claim requires justification. Why did he say that jihad is always an open option, and we never reach a stage where peace becomes obligatory? According to ʿAllāmah, as long as the path to jihad is open, so too is the path to martyrdom — whether victory is possible or not.

If victory is possible, then standing firm and resisting is obligatory, and those killed are martyrs. But even if victory is not possible, and we know that the entire Muslim army will be annihilated, still, we are not obligated to accept a ceasefire.

He argues that even with certainty of defeat and death, if Muslims knowingly stand their ground and are all killed, this war remains legitimate, and all those killed are martyrs. So what is the logic behind this? This is the central point of disagreement that originated with ʿAllāmah and continued across generations of jurists.

ʿAllāmah Ḥillī defends the value of martyrdom in all scenarios, whether:

• Jihad is obligatory or not,

• Peace is possible or not.

He believes that standing alone and resisting, even in hopeless conditions, constitutes legitimate martyrdom and is virtuous and desirable. He provides two main proofs in his works:

First Proof:

The Qur’anic verses that command fighting (qitāl) and encourage jihad are absolute (muṭlaq) in nature. They do not state: “Fight only if you are likely to win.” Rather, they command fighting regardless of whether victory is anticipated or not.

Therefore, the virtue of martyrdom is not limited to those who enter war hoping for victory. Even if someone enters battle knowing they will be killed, they still fall under the praise of the verses that glorify those who struggle in the path of God.

Second Proof:

Imam al-Ḥusayn (a) entered a battle where he knew he would not achieve victory, and that he and his companions would be killed. At the very least, by the night of ʿĀshūrā, he explicitly informed his companions of their fate.

So, the Imam’s action itself is a binding proof (ḥujjah). It shows that if a person knows they will be killed, and they still choose to stand and resist, then they are still a martyr.

This concludes the second portion of the discussion, which still serves as preparation for the third stage of inquiry.

Stage Three: Scrutinizing the Two Proofs

Now we enter the third stage, which involves critiquing and discussing these two proofs. Dear ʿAllāmah — if you rely on the unqualified Qur’anic verses that encourage jihad, even when there is certainty of defeat, then why do you not consider jihad obligatory in all such cases?

You say:

• When there is a chance of victory → jihad is obligatory.

• But when there is certainty of defeat → jihad is only permissible (jāʾiz), not obligatory.

Yet if the verses are absolute, then they should imply obligation in both cases. So what changed? Why do you now say that in some scenarios jihad is not wājib, only permissible? ʿAllāmah Ḥillī answers: “We have other evidences that also invite us to peace.”

These additional evidences limit the obligatory interpretation of the jihad verses. Among them is this Qur’anic verse: “And do not throw yourselves into destruction with your own hands.” (Surah al-Baqarah 2:195)

So now we are faced with two groups of verses:

1. Verses that encourage jihad.

2. Verses that command us to preserve our lives — implying peace and truce.

The outcome of this is that in such situations, both options are permitted — what scholars call takhyīr (discretion).

• When the army of Islam has a real chance of success, the verse “Do not destroy yourselves” no longer applies.
  Only the command to jihad applies → so jihad becomes obligatory.

• But in cases where victory is impossible, and there is room for reconciliation, then the believer has two choices:

  • Stand and fight, risking death → following the verses that encourage jihad.

  • Sign a peace treaty and preserve life → following the verse about avoiding destruction.

Therefore, this becomes a case of permissible discretion (takhyīr).

Conclusion of This Dispute

This is the core disagreement among our jurists. Unlike many other jurisprudential disagreements that are based on ḥadīth reports, this debate is not rooted in narrations. No side has cited a specific ḥadīth to support their view. The entire discussion revolves around Qur’anic verses.

And ʿAllāmah Ḥillī reconciles these verses through the principle of takhyīr — where both fighting and peace are legitimate options in cases of certain defeat.

This interpretation based on discretion (takhyīr) — allowing both fighting and peace — presents a serious problem: Can we really interpret these two sets of verses (those commanding jihad and those warning against self-destruction) as reconcilable through takhyīr? Can they truly be harmonized in this way?

One major issue is that the verse “Do not throw yourselves into destruction” (lā tulqū bi-aydīkum ilā at-tahlukah) — which ʿAllāmah interprets as a permissive text allowing for peace and self-preservation — does not use the language of permissibility. It uses the language of prohibition.

If the verses encouraging jihad indicate obligation, then this verse indicates prohibition — particularly in situations of insufficient military power. So how can one say that self-destruction is “permissible”? If something is truly a case of destruction, how can it ever be considered allowed?

The nature of this verse is such that if the act is indeed a form of destruction, then one must avoid it. You cannot say, “it’s fine to destroy oneself” — that contradicts the very subject matter of the verse, which is hālakah (ruin or annihilation). This verse, therefore, cannot support permissibility.

The Second Problem

But there is a second issue as well. Let’s return to the beginning of this discussion: What kind of jihad are we talking about here? The kind in which we lose all our forces, where Muslims are slaughtered, and no real damage is inflicted on the enemy — Can this truly be called “jihad ḥaqq” (legitimate jihad), as Shaykh al-Ansārī calls it? Is this the same as the “jihad sāʾigh” (permissible jihad) mentioned by Muḥaqqiq Ḥillī? Can such a course of action really be considered legitimate?

Some may respond emotionally: These people are lovers of martyrdom. They choose this path voluntarily. No one has forced them. There’s no obligation. If someone desires martyrdom, let them choose it — what harm is there in that? Why block the path of martyrdom for those who desire it?

The argument continues: Whoever wants to stand and be martyred may do so. Whoever doesn’t, may walk away. Since standing and resisting here is allowed, this becomes legitimate jihad, and hence, the person becomes a martyr.

But here lies the central crux of the matter: What kind of jihad is this? On the one hand, ʿAllāmah Ḥillī calls this a case of destruction (halākah). Yet simultaneously, he says it is a valid application of jihad. So what exactly is the nature of this jihad?

Two Areas of Discussion

There are two lines of analysis here:

A technical Usūlī (legal-theoretical) issue: ʿAllāmah Ḥillī attempts to weigh the verses of jihad against the verse “lā tulqū”. He concludes that the result is takhyīr — discretionary choice. But this interpretation violates foundational legal principles.

The verse “lā tulqū” should be interpreted as a qualifying restriction (qayd) that limits not only the command to jihad but all legal obligations in the Qur’an. For example, fasting is a clear obligation in the Qur’an. Yet if fasting becomes a means to self-destruction, it falls under the ruling of “lā tulqū”, and thus is no longer obligatory. This is exactly what scholars say about the principles “lā ḍarar” (no harm) and “lā ḥaraj” (no undue hardship). This — tahlukah — is even worse. It is the final, fatal degree of harm.

This argument has been made by many scholars, and the first jurist who addressed it systematically was Muḥaqqiq Karakī, in his book Jāmiʿ al-Maqāṣid. (Though I have his notes here, I won’t read them now due to time.)

Beyond the technical debate, there is a more practical concern: People often argue that “being a lover of martyrdom” is noble, and that we shouldn’t block the path of those who voluntarily seek martyrdom. They are willing to sacrifice, even if their death won’t affect the outcome of the war.

But the issue here is: First, define what it means to be a “lover of martyrdom.” We’re going in circles. We’ve returned again to the term “martyrdom.” Put differently: Before celebrating the desire to be martyred, we must first clarify: Is this kind of death even considered martyrdom?

This would be an example of misapplying a general rule in a doubtful case — You claim it’s martyrdom, but how do you know?

If it truly is martyrdom, then yes — loving it, seeking it, embracing it — all of that is virtuous. But what proof is there that this type of death is actually martyrdom? The verse “lā tulqū” explicitly frames such actions as destruction, not martyrdom. So what basis do you have to say it is martyrdom?

Resistance to This Interpretation

Many who carry a strong revolutionary spirit are offended when this verse — “Do not throw yourselves into destruction” — is cited in the context of military resistance or warfare. They say: “This verse has nothing to do with jihad and fighting the enemy.”

But why not? On the contrary, this verse is not only clear and comprehensive, but our Imams (‘a) have themselves cited it in political struggles. It cannot be brushed aside as irrelevant. Let me offer two examples where the Imams (‘a) explicitly referred to this verse:

Example 1: Imam al-Riḍā (‘a)

During the reign of Ma’mūn, when the Imam was forced to accept the position of Crown Prince, he initially refused. But then Ma’mūn threatened him with death. Imam al-Riḍā (‘a) is reported to have said — as narrated in Wasāʾil al-Shīʿah, vol. 17: “God has forbidden me from throwing myself into destruction.” (قَد نَهاني اللهُ أن أُلقِيَ بِيَدي إلَى التَّهْلُكَةِ)

Meaning: “If rejecting the position of Crown Prince would lead to my death, then this verse tells me not to resist to that point. I will accept the position, but on my terms.”

The Imam then made clear: “If this is how it is, then do what you must. I will accept the role, but I will not appoint or remove anyone, nor interfere in administrative affairs.”

This was a direct invocation of the verse in a political context.

The second example I want to present comes from Imam al-Sajjād (a) in his Risālat al-Ḥuqūq (Treatise on Rights), specifically under the section on the right of the ruler (ḥaqq al-sulṭān). Shaykh Ṣadūq transmits this in Man Lā Yaḥḍuruhu al-Faqīh, where it states: “The right of the ruler is that you know that you have been placed as a trial for him…”

The Imam continues: “…and that you do not oppose him such that he becomes angry with you.” Don’t put yourself in a position to incur the wrath of the ruler. This clearly implies that the ruler in question is a tyrant (jāʾir).

Then the Imam warns: “…so that you do not throw yourself into destruction (fa-tulqīya bi-yadika ilā al-tahlukah).” Though not a direct quote of the verse, it’s clearly referencing it, and the language is drawn from the verse itself. Don’t do anything that might lead to your own destruction at the hands of the ruler. The Imam continues: “…and you will then share responsibility for whatever evil befalls you.”

Meaning: If harm comes to you, not only is the tyrant ruler to blame, you are too — for failing to practice taqiyyah and unnecessarily putting yourself in that situation.

If we reflect on this verse — “Do not throw yourselves into destruction” — we find that it applies to:

• Political matters

• Social issues

• Personal actions (e.g., eating something harmful, taking a dangerous journey)

All of these can be forms of self-destruction. Now, back to the main question: Is standing one’s ground before an enemy, while knowing with certainty that it will result in death, and achieves no tangible outcome or benefit, truly martyrdom?

• Is this honorable?

• Is this desirable?

• Does this have moral worth (ḥusn fiʿlī)?

• Or is this in fact a case of destruction (tahlukah)?

These are serious questions that require thought. If we are to define the boundary between martyrdom and self-destruction, we must examine this issue deeply. It was in this context that the jurists (fuqahāʾ) stood in opposition to ʿAllāmah Ḥillī.

In fact, there was consensus among them that ʿAllāmah’s position —that such deaths were martyrdom — was incorrect. They said clearly: This is not martyrdom; this is destruction.

Let me now share ʿAllāmah’s actual phrasing. He wrote: “If he so chooses, he may fight until he meets Allah as a martyr.” (إن شاءَ قاتَلَ حَتّى يَلقَى اللهَ تَعالى شَهيدًا)

And he cites the Qur’anic verse: “Fight in the way of Allah those who fight you…” (وَ قَاتِلُوا فِي سَبِيلِ اللَّهِ الَّذِينَ يُقَاتِلُونَكُمْ)

In other words, he may stand and fight until martyred.

But Ṣāḥib al-Riyāḍ (r) responds to ʿAllāmah Ḥillī with the following: “Yes, the desire to meet Allah as a martyr is indeed commendable — but only when it is legitimate.”

Longing to meet one’s Lord is beautiful, being ready to ascend spiritually is praiseworthy — but it must be based on legitimate grounds.

When Muslims are on the battlefield and actively fighting — “They kill and are killed” —then yes, this is jihad. It is natural for jihad to involve battle and loss.

But in a situation where no such necessity exists, where — to use Ṣāḥib al-Riyāḍ’s words — the actual necessity is for peace and reconciliation, how can one argue that standing and dying in hope of martyrdom is desirable?

If the interests (maṣlaḥah) of the Islamic community demand ending the war, how can ʿAllāmah argue: “No problem, continue the battle anyway. It doesn’t matter if it contradicts the greater interest. We are lovers of martyrdom.”

These are not proper grounds.

This is one of the areas where our scholars rightfully introduced the concept of maṣlaḥah (communal interest) into jurisprudence.

Fuqahāʾ are often hesitant to invoke maṣlaḥah in legal rulings, but in the context of jihad, they made an exception. They rejected the claim that one may disregard the public interest by saying: “I am a lover of martyrdom. I already performed the ghusl for martyrdom. I said goodbye to my parents and friends. I prayed and asked Allah for martyrdom. I cannot retreat now.”

What kind of reasoning is this? If the public interest of the Muslim community lies in ending the war, what value is there in someone claiming: “But I love martyrdom”?

As Ṣāḥib al-Riyāḍ says, you must first establish the legitimacy of the act of martyrdom. If the situation calls for ending the war, then to claim that standing one’s ground and dying is “commendable” is merely begging the question.

Who said that dying in this case is a ḥasan (praiseworthy) act?

He continues with another powerful point: Sometimes, refusing to end the war causes more harm to Islam itself. Someone may claim they are dying “in the way of Allah”, but if this obstinate refusal to accept peace damages Islam, then this is no longer fī sabīl Allāh.

Because the essence of martyrdom is to die in God’s path. But if you’re blocking God’s path — and in this case, the path of God is accepting the ceasefire —then your action contradicts the very meaning of shahādah.

Then comes an astonishing expression from Ṣāḥib al-Riyāḍ: “It may lead to the disbelief (kufr) of their progeny.” (قَد يُفضي إلى كُفرِ ذُرِّيَّتِهِم)

He is speaking to the lovers of martyrdom, warning: You are also responsible for the future of your children.

If you refuse the ceasefire, even when it is clearly in the interest of the Muslim ummah, and instead you insist on continuing the war, then what happens?

• They (the enemy) will retaliate.

• They will kill.

• They will dishonor.

And the consequences — the trauma, the loss, the despair — will fall upon your future generations. You will be responsible for their disbelief, for their abandonment of religion. That is what “qad yufḍī ilā kufr dhurriyyatihim” means.

This decision to continue fighting is not just personal. You can’t say: “All my companions went and were martyred. I can’t stop now.”

Even Ṣāḥib al-Riyāḍ’s own son, Sayyid Muhammad Mujāhid, was raised in the same atmosphere of revolution and war — yet still, his father emphasized this principle of responsible action and communal welfare.

After him, Ṣāḥib al-Jawāhir (may God’s mercy be upon him) continued the same line of argument. In response to those who claimed that any battle could be called “qitāl fī sabīlillāh” and that one should be passionately in love with martyrdom, he echoed the earlier scholars, saying: “Yes, love of meeting Allah is commendable—but only when it is legitimate (mashrūʿ).”

It is indeed noble for a person to be prepared for union with God, and of course, the best kind of union is that which takes place on the battlefield—as Imam ʿAlī (‘a) says in Nahj al-Balāghah. But then Ṣāḥib al-Jawāhir adds: “The discussion concerns those cases of necessity and communal interest (maṣlaḥah) which may outweigh even the value of being killed as a martyr.”

Sometimes, the welfare of the Muslim community, or specific urgent circumstances, dictate that war must be avoided—and in such cases, avoiding war takes precedence over being martyred.

This is a significant point: even our traditional jurists, who generally resist using maṣlaḥah in legal rulings, easily accept it here. They acknowledge that this matter is not a devotional issue (‘ibādī)—it must be calculated rationally.

He then says: “You may say, ‘I want to be killed (as a martyr),’ but have you considered that this insistence on continuing war may lead to the collapse of Islam’s core?” (الَّذي قَد يُؤَدّي إلى ذَهابِ بَيضَةِ الإسلامِ)

By refusing to accept peace and insisting on continuing the war under the slogan of martyrdom, you may be causing irreversible damage to the very foundation of Islam. We must return to the original question: just because something is called martyrdom (shahādah), does not mean it truly is “fī sabīlillāh” (in God’s path). Sometimes the label of martyrdom exists, but the reality is not a death in the path of God.

It might lead to the destruction of Islam and even—again echoing earlier scholars—“the disbelief (kufr) of their descendants.” (وَ كُفرِ ذُرِّيَّتِهِم)

Have you thought about the impact your so-called resistance and refusal of peace might have on future generations?

This is why the opinion of ʿAllāmah Ḥillī, who claimed that the desire for martyrdom justified war even when it wasn’t obligatory, was completely rejected by the jurists over the past eight centuries. All of them—whether Muḥaqqiq Ḥillī, Ṣāḥib al-Riyāḍ, or Ṣāḥib al-Jawāhir—left that view behind.

Only one issue remains: the second argument made by ʿAllāmah Ḥillī.

He claimed: “Well, look at Imam al-Ḥusayn (‘a)—he stood firm. We want to follow his example. We want to act like Ḥusayn, fight like Ḥusayn, and die a Ḥusayn-like martyrdom.”

But the scholars replied: First, understand what Imam Ḥusayn actually did, and in what circumstances he did it.

Yes, he is a role model (uswah), no doubt. But in what context did he act? The major scholars outlined multiple possible interpretations of his situation. They said: “Yes, the action of Imam Ḥusayn is authoritative (ḥujjah), but actions—unlike words—are open to multiple interpretations. We do not know for certain the full reality of what occurred.”

Let me quote from “Jāmiʿ al-Maqāṣid” to conclude the discussion. I apologize that the talk has gone on a bit long—I tried to be as brief as possible.

The words of Muḥaqqiq al-Karakī directly respond to ʿAllāmah Ḥillī, who tried to turn Imam Ḥusayn’s stand into a universal rule—arguing that it is always permissible to refuse peace, always justified to continue war, because Imam Ḥusayn did so.

But al-Karakī says: “As for the action of Ḥusayn (a), we do not know that the benefit (maṣlaḥah) at the time was actually in accepting peace, and that he abandoned it.”

Our whole discussion is about respecting maṣlaḥah. But how do you know Imam Ḥusayn acted against maṣlaḥah? We presume that if the benefit truly lay in peace, then choosing martyrdom instead is neither legitimate nor truly martyrdom. But what if Imam Ḥusayn knew that the path of peace was not open?

• What if he knew that Yazīd (may Allah curse him) would not honor any truce?

• What if he knew that the cause of truth would be weakened to the point of confusion?

• What if he knew that Yazīd was openly corrupt, far worse than his hypocrite father?

In such a case, an infallible Imam might see jihad as obligatory, even if he knew it would lead to his martyrdom.

Thus: “The action is open to interpretation (faʿl is not a qawl). It has no ‘tongue’ (it doesn’t speak clearly). It has no universal application (it lacks iṭlāq).”

We cannot generalize from his example that anyone in a seemingly similar situation is justified in standing and repeating his slogans.

Ṣāḥib al-Jawāhir also says: “It is possible that what happened with Imam Ḥusayn was because the only path left was that of martyrdom, given his knowledge that he would be killed in any case.”

That is evident from his actions. He knew.

These are the points the scholars have made. Of course, to analyze these issues properly would require multiple, ongoing sessions, to understand the verses of the Qur’an in depth, to study the action of Imam al-Ḥusayn carefully, and to examine how these elements relate to one another.

Some of these young people, who perhaps aren’t aware of the scholarly background and history of these issues, often speak out in emotional atmospheres. They are passionate and eager to always pursue what they perceive as purely “revolutionary action.”

To them, I say this: If you don’t know Ṣāḥib al-Jawāhir, or don’t wish to accept him, if you don’t know Muḥaqqiq Ḥillī, or don’t want to acknowledge him, if you don’t accept Ṣāḥib al-Riyāḍ—since, after all, the chapter on Jihād isn’t discussed in every book, and only a smaller number of jurists have treated it comprehensively— then at the very least, I encourage you to consider the statement made by the Supreme Leader (Ayatollah Khamenei) in his own discussion on muhādanah (truce or peace treaty). His analysis has been published, and in that context he addresses precisely this same issue that we’ve been discussing.

That statement alone is sufficient for these individuals. He says about the action of Imam Husayn (‘a): “It was a specific ruling for a specific event.” (“Qaḍiyyah fī wāqiʿah”)

This means: There is no general rule or universal application in it. That is, we must derive our religious obligations based on general proofs, broad principles, and unrestricted rulings (ʿumūmāt wa iṭlāqāt). But if we ignore those generalities and take a single action, which itself is dependent on very specific historical circumstances, then cut that act off from its context, and suddenly create a general rule from it that we apply to all times and conditions. At the very least, one should pause and reflect before doing that. Do a little bit of study.

If someone isn’t willing to refer back to the classical books, or doesn’t have the background to understand them, or doesn’t believe in them, then at the very least, refer to the contemporary discussions and scholarship that are available today.

In any case, I am not here trying to apply this directly to our current social or political conditions.

My goal was simply to show the many dimensions this issue carries, and to suggest that anyone who wants to speak about it should be mindful of those complexities before offering an opinion.