Shariah vs Law (2)

A well-dressed man was caught stealing bread from a market in a city governed by secular law. The court processed him swiftly. His lawyer argued that the man had lost his job, had children to feed, and stole out of desperation. But the judge, bound by strict penal codes, said, “Theft is theft. Circumstances do not change the crime.” The man was sentenced to six months in prison. Society moved on, satisfied that justice had been “served.”

Meanwhile, in a small village where Shari’ah was upheld with both its legal and ethical principles, a barefoot teenager was found guilty of the same act—stealing bread. Before passing judgement, the Qadi (judge) ordered a thorough investigation. It was revealed that the boy’s father had died, his mother was sick, and they hadn’t eaten in two days. The Qadi turned to the community and said, “If a child must steal to eat, the guilt is not his—it is ours.” He fined the wealthiest shopkeepers in the town and ordered that a portion of their charity be used to feed the boy’s family regularly. The boy was forgiven, fed, and educated.

This anecdote underlines a core truth of Shari’ah: it is not merely about punishing crime—it is about addressing the cause, healing the wound, and reviving dignity. While man-made laws often stop at punishment, Shari’ah reaches for justice in its full moral depth.

Judge Abdel-Qadir Oudeh highlights several essential features that distinguish the Islamic Shari’ah from man-made legal systems, and he focuses in particular on three outstanding qualities: Comprehensiveness, Loftiness, and Permanence. These are not mere adjectives, but foundational attributes that reveal the divine nature of Shari’ah and its capacity to guide both individuals and societies.

By Comprehensiveness, Oudeh means that the Shari’ah addresses all areas of human life—spiritual, moral, personal, familial, societal, legal, and political. There is no realm that escapes its guidance. It is not restricted to the courts or mosques, but extends to homes, markets, streets, and parliaments. It governs belief and behaviour, rights and responsibilities, intentions and actions. This quality makes Shari’ah a full civilisation-building system, not just a set of religious obligations.

Loftiness, as used by Oudeh, refers to the superior moral and spiritual foundation of the Shari’ah. It is lofty because it was revealed by Allah—the Most Wise, the Most Just—and it calls human beings to the highest standards of justice, mercy, honesty, and dignity. Unlike many man-made laws, which may be shaped by political compromise, lobbying, or utilitarian thinking, the Shari’ah is rooted in eternal values and moral clarity. Its laws are not crafted to serve elites or economic agendas, but to uplift the soul and establish divine justice on earth.

Lastly, Permanence signifies that the Shari’ah is not subject to the instability of human fashion, ideology, or political change. It is not up for revision every time public opinion shifts or a new party gains power. The permanence of Shari’ah stems from its divine origin and the timelessness of its principles. While it allows for interpretive tools to address new realities, the core values and legal framework remain intact and unshakeable.

Together, these three characteristics—Comprehensiveness, Loftiness, and Permanence—form the bedrock of why Oudeh believes the Shari’ah is categorically different from secular law. It is not just law—it is light.

Judge Abdel-Qadir Oudeh explains that the legislative process in Islam is fundamentally different from that of human-devised legal systems. In secular systems, legislation is driven by societal needs, political trends, and shifting public opinions. Laws are crafted, debated, amended, and repealed by human assemblies, often influenced by lobbying, ideology, or economic interests. As such, the authority of the law is ultimately human.

In contrast, the Islamic Shari’ah derives its legislative method directly from divine revelation. The primary sources are the Qur’an and the Sunnah of the Prophet Muhammad ﷺ. These are not open to cancellation or arbitrary revision, for they represent divine will, not man-made conjecture. In addition to these sources, Islamic jurists utilise tools such as ijmā‘ (consensus) and qiyās (analogical reasoning) to apply existing rulings to new circumstances. This structure allows for flexibility while remaining faithful to the original sources.

Oudeh emphasises that Islamic legislation is not reactive to public demand but proactive in preserving divine justice, human dignity, and spiritual well-being. Its method is built not on political majority, but on moral truth. Even when juristic tools are used, they operate within a strict framework of divine boundaries, ensuring that no law can contradict Allah’s commands.

Thus, the method of Shari’ah legislation reflects both divine authority and legal precision. It is not about responding to political pressure, but about interpreting and applying timeless guidance to ever-changing realities.

In his discussion on “The right of rulers to legislate,” Judge Abdel-Qadir Oudeh addresses a sensitive yet significant topic within Islamic governance: whether political authorities have the right to enact legislation under Shari’ah, and if so, to what extent. Oudeh clarifies that rulers do not have the authority to create laws that contradict or replace what Allah has already legislated through the Qur’an and Sunnah. Legislative sovereignty, in his view, belongs to Allah alone, and human leaders are merely custodians tasked with implementing divine law.

However, Oudeh does acknowledge two specific forms of limited legislation that are permissible for rulers within the bounds of Shari’ah: Executive Legislation and Regulatory Legislation.

Executive Legislation, according to Oudeh, involves making administrative decisions necessary for the execution of divine laws. These are practical, procedural regulations—such as determining the working hours of courts, appointing officials, or managing state infrastructure—that do not affect the core rulings of the Shari’ah. They are tools for implementation, not for altering divine commands.

Regulatory Legislation, on the other hand, refers to the creation of rules that ensure the preservation of public interest (maṣlaḥah), provided they do not contradict explicit Shari’ah principles. For example, rulers may enact traffic laws, commercial codes, or health regulations, as long as these are consistent with Islamic ethics and do not overstep divine boundaries.

Oudeh firmly states that such legislation must remain subordinate to the Shari’ah and subject to scholarly scrutiny. If a regulation violates the Qur’an or the Sunnah, it is invalid—regardless of how useful or popular it may appear. The role of rulers, therefore, is not to replace God’s law, but to manage its application with wisdom, justice, and fidelity to its divine source.

Judge Oudeh, in his exposition on “The ruling of rulers who exceed the limits of their rights,” firmly asserts that any political authority that goes beyond the bounds granted by the Shari’ah is engaging in a form of rebellion—not against the people, but against Allah Himself. Such overreach, especially when it involves legislating in contradiction to divine law or abolishing parts of it, is not merely a political offence; it is a theological transgression.

Oudeh explains that in Islam, the ruler is not sovereign in the legislative sense—Allah alone is the supreme legislator. The moment a ruler claims the right to replace, suspend, or contradict Allah’s laws, he steps outside the legitimate bounds of his role. This act, in Islamic jurisprudence, is categorised as ṭughiyān (tyrannical transgression) or even kufr (disbelief) depending on the nature and intention of the legislation.

However, Oudeh also reminds the reader that judgment regarding a ruler’s belief or disbelief must be handled with precision and should not be taken lightly. While some forms of overreach may be due to ignorance or misjudgement, others—especially when done knowingly and persistently—may nullify the legitimacy of the ruler’s authority in Islamic law.

In conclusion, according to Oudeh, rulers who knowingly exceed their authority by contradicting divine legislation are not merely unjust—they may be disqualified from leadership in Islam altogether, and their laws carry no legitimacy in the eyes of the Shari’ah.

Judge Abdel-Qadir Oudeh argues that most rulers in the Muslim world do not stay within the limits imposed upon them by the Islamic Shari’ah. Instead of seeing themselves as guardians of divine law, many have assumed the role of autonomous lawmakers—crafting rules based on personal interest, political convenience, or foreign influence.

Oudeh laments how many of these rulers have taken it upon themselves to legislate in domains that belong solely to Allah. They introduce laws that contradict Islamic teachings, marginalise the Shari’ah, and treat divine commandments as if they are optional or outdated. This overstepping of bounds, he asserts, is not just a technical error—it is a betrayal of their trust as leaders and a grave deviation from Islamic principles.

He also critiques the apathy of scholars who remain silent in the face of such violations. Oudeh believes that when both rulers and religious authorities abandon their responsibilities, the society falls into spiritual and legal disarray. The core problem, then, is not just that rulers exceed their limits—it is that they do so unchecked, unchallenged, and often unrepentant.

Oudeh’s tone in this section is both mournful and confrontational. He is not merely diagnosing a problem—he is issuing a warning: when those entrusted with power ignore divine limits, they pave the way for tyranny, corruption, and the decay of moral order.

Judge Abdel-Qadir Oudeh paints a sobering picture of the Muslim world—one marked by moral decline, legal fragmentation, and a severe detachment from the comprehensive implementation of Islamic Shari’ah. He describes the "present situation," as a condition in which Islamic societies have drifted far from the foundational principles of Islam, allowing secular laws to dominate, injustice to spread, and divine commands to be sidelined or even ignored. This is not merely a political or legal failure—it is a collapse of Islamic integrity and consciousness.

Oudeh does not place the blame on one group alone. He breaks down the shared responsibility across four main segments of society:

1. The Public:
   The general Muslim population, according to Oudeh, carries responsibility because they have either accepted the situation with passive silence or, worse, become complacent in their faith. They have not demanded reform nor defended the Shari’ah as a complete way of life. Their detachment from knowledge, worship, and Islamic identity has weakened their ability to resist deviation and falsehood. In short, the ummah has allowed itself to be spiritually domesticated.

2. Islamic Governments:
   Oudeh criticises Islamic governments for failing to uphold and implement the Shari’ah. Rather than being models of justice, many have become agents of Western legal systems, prioritising global approval over divine obedience. By abandoning their duty to rule with what Allah has revealed, they have opened the gates for tyranny, confusion, and cultural decay.

3. Heads of State:
   Leaders and presidents, in Oudeh’s view, are especially culpable. They have the power to enact or repeal laws, and their failure to prioritise the Shari’ah is a direct betrayal of their trust. These figures often legislate based on personal interest, political alliances, or international agendas—treating divine law as a mere accessory rather than the foundation of governance. Their negligence, says Oudeh, is more dangerous than their ignorance.

4. Islamic Scholars:
   Perhaps most severely, Oudeh rebukes the scholars who have chosen silence over truth. When scholars refrain from advising rulers, from educating the public, and from standing up against injustice, they become complicit in the corruption. Their silence is not neutrality—it is a betrayal. Oudeh believes that when those entrusted with sacred knowledge abandon their duty, the entire structure of Islamic civilisation begins to rot from within.

In sum, Oudeh’s analysis is not simply about blame—it is about moral accountability. Every layer of society, from the individual to the scholar to the state, plays a role in either upholding or abandoning Islam’s legacy. Change, he insists, will only come when all four awaken from their neglect and return to the Qur’an and Sunnah as the basis for law, life, and leadership.

The concluding message of Judge Abdel-Qadir Oudeh’s work is both a warning and a call to reform. He does not claim that Islam is flawed or incapable of addressing modern needs; rather, he insists that the failure lies with Muslims themselves—in particular, those who ignore the comprehensive nature of Shari’ah, those who rule by secular ideologies, and those who possess religious knowledge but choose silence over truth.

Oudeh argues that Islamic civilisation is not in decline because of external enemies, but because of internal decay—rooted in abandonment of divine law, neglect of moral responsibility, and cowardice in the face of power. He calls upon every layer of society—from the average Muslim to the scholar and the ruler—to reclaim their responsibility toward Allah's guidance and to resist the temptation to dilute Islam into a symbolic tradition without legal, social, and ethical substance.

His conclusion is not defeatist—it is revivalist. He believes that true justice, progress, and unity can only emerge when Muslims return wholeheartedly to the Qur’an and the Sunnah, not as slogans, but as systems of life and law. The Islamic Shari’ah, he maintains, is not an obstacle to modernity; it is the only enduring framework that preserves human dignity, ensures divine justice, and aligns society with its Creator.

[Part 1]

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