The Qur’an describes the Last Day as so intense that you cannot expect individuals to behave the way you have seen them behaving in this life.
on the Day you see it, every nursing mother will think no more of her baby, every pregnant female will miscarry, you will think people are drunk when they are not, so severe will be God’s torment. (22.2)
When the Deafening Blast comes––the Day man will flee from his own brother, his mother, his father, his wife, his children: each of them will be absorbed in concerns of their own on that Day (80.33-37)
We have warned you of imminent torment, on the Day when every person will see what their own hands have sent ahead for them, when the disbeliever will say, ‘If only I were dust!’ (78.40)
This world (dunyā) has relatively set patterns according to the Qur’an. People live and die. Nations rise and fall. Hardship is mixed with ease. But the Last Day does not conform to what we witness historically, sociologically and anthropologically in human society. There is no way that we can really extrapolate what we have witnessed here to what will happen there.
For example, we might admire one of our teachers because of their piety, knowledge, and self-restraint. But their knowledge of the Last Day is still primarily theoretical, their self-restraint has only been in regards to the relatively minor pleasures of this life, and all we really know of their piety is that which is outwardly visible. In truth, when faced with the realities of the Last Day, we do not know how they will respond.
In every mystical tradition, one finds stories about people in this world who have achieved the supposed end of the spiritual journey: the walī in Islam, the saint in Christianity, the boddhisatva in Buddhism, and the jīvamukta in Hinduism. But how can the end be achieved when the Qur’an describes the Last Day in terms that completely demolish the patterns we see in this world? If someone is peaceful, compassionate, knowledgeable and pious, those achievements are only in relation to this tiny part of creation. Only God knows what they will manifest on the Last Day.
Ayatollah Mutahhari wrote some words that help to elucidate this:
As a matter of principle, the status of individuals is in the hands of God; no one has the right to express an opinion with certainty about whether someone will go to Heaven or Hell. If we were to be asked, “Is Shaykh Murtadhā al-Anṣārī, in view of his known asceticism, piety, faith, and deeds, definitely among the inhabitants of Heaven?” Our answer would be, “From what we know of the man, in his intellectual and practical affairs we haven’t heard of anything bad. What we know of him is virtue and goodness. But as to say with absolute certainty whether he will go to Heaven or Hell, that isn’t our prerogative. It is God who knows the intentions of all people, and He knows the secrets and hidden things of all souls; and the account of all people’s actions is also with Him.
What is important to understand about the individual he is using to make his point is that in the middle of the 19th century, he was the primary marja‘ for the global Shi’i community. That means that millions upon millions of people relied upon his religious scholarship to properly practice their faith. As the online publication al-Sidrah put it:
al-Shaykh Murtaḍā al-Dizfūlī al-Anṣārī (1214-1281 A.H./1781-1864 C.E.) was the foremost marjiʿ of his time, completely transforming the fields of Shiʿi law and legal theory of his time. He is widely recognized as both an exemplary scholar, a pious sage, and a teacher of the greatest scholars of succeeding generations. His effect on modern Shiʿi intellectual and religious history can hardly be overemphasized.
Obviously, he was also deeply pious, and there are many saintly stories about him. But even so, we are still looking at it from the vantage point of this world. Only God can see from the vantage point of the Last Day.
In a very real way, when we start thinking that we can arbitrate who is a saint and who is not based on our this-worldly experience, we are making claims about the ultimate status of another individual based on an extremely limited grasp of Reality. If I am veiled from my own fate, then how could I have insight into the fate of another? If I am veiled from the acceptance or rejection of my own deeds, then how could I know the spiritual status of another individual’s actions?
Every religious tradition speculates about who is the real cream of the crop. Augustine for Catholics, Antony for Coptics, Ghazali for Sunnis, Shankara for Advaita Vedantins, Visvanatha Chakravarti for Gaudiya Vaishnavas – to each person embedded within their tradition, there is a clear superstar whose piety, knowledge, and character are proofs of their exalted status with the Divine. In the Roman Catholic tradition, the Magisterium of the Church can declare someone to be a saint, and thus their exalted status in eternity is known definitively while we are still in this world. But the Islamic tradition has no equivalent authority, so Muslims should be more cautious and thoughtful when they speak about “saints.”
I am willing to be proven wrong on this point, as this short writing is simply meant to articulate how I think and feel at this point in my spiritual journey. I do not mean to denigrate the exceptional piety or profound scholarship of any specific individual. Nor do I intend to push people away from aspiring towards perfection. I, for example, hold up certain individuals as exemplars of piety, selflessness, and spiritual insight. But I simultaneously uphold that I might be wrong about them, as only God knows their true selves. I will not be judged for trying my best to find spiritual role models and struggling to live up to their example – but I may be judged for usurping God’s sole right to determine their eternal fate by prematurely declaring them to be from amongst the spiritual elite (awliyā Allāh).
A Mercy Case 