A series of moral, doctrinal, and social statements from the esteemed religious authority, Grand Ayatollah Shirazi, may his shadow remain (Words of Wisdom, episode number 4)

In the name of Allah, the Most Gracious, the Most Merciful

Introduction

Allah the Almighty states in the Holy Quran: "If you do good, you do good for yourselves; and if you do evil, it is for yourselves." (Surah Al-Isra, 17:7)

In this verse, Allah the Most High emphasizes that the ultimate effect and benefit of good deeds return to their doer, the one who performs them. A good deed, before benefiting others, is beneficial to the person who does it. Goodness and kindness take many forms and are not limited to just being kind to fellow humans; rather, they encompass a much broader scope that includes all of Allah's creations. This principle applies whether the kindness is directed toward humans, animals, plants, the earth, or even inanimate objects. Many traditions and sayings highlight this idea.

According to this principle, any act of kindness performed by a person—whether verbal, financial, or behavioral (such as mediating to reconcile differences)—whether for someone familiar or a stranger, a neighbor or someone distant, benefits not only the recipient but also the doer. The verse then points to the opposite: "And if you do evil, it is for yourselves." Bad actions, before harming others—be they humans, animals, plants, the earth, or inanimate objects—ultimately cause harm to the person who commits them.

The rule mentioned in this verse is one of Allah's natural laws (Sunnat al-Takwiniyyah). These natural (created) laws of Allah are unchangeable. Just as each metal has a specific density that determines its weight and volume—meaning equal volumes of different metals do not weigh the same—these laws are fixed and inevitable. The laws Allah has established in creation are constant and definitive. Through creation, Allah has decreed that goodness and evil return to the doer before affecting others.

In Najaf, there lived a learned man named Sayyid Mirza AbulHassan Shirazi, whom I have personally visited multiple times in Najaf, Samarra, and Karbala on various occasions. This esteemed scholar—who passed away over forty years ago and whose children and descendants reside in Iran—was both a knowledgeable scholar and a practicing physician. It was common in traditional religious seminaries for students to study medicine alongside religious sciences. This practice may have originated from the teachings of Amir al-Mu'minin, Prophet Ali (peace be upon him), who said: "Knowledge is of two kinds: knowledge of religions and knowledge of bodies; knowledge is of two types: the knowledge of faiths and the knowledge of the physical bodies."

By the latter, the Imam meant medicine and healthcare. Therefore, it has long been customary to find some medical books in the homes of scholars, and most of them had some basic knowledge of medicine. Among them, however, there were skilled physicians who practiced medicine professionally. Sayyid Mirza AbulHassan Shirazi, may Allah have mercy on him, was among this group.

He learned this knowledge from his teacher, Masih al-Atibba, who possessed extraordinary skill in medicine. The naming of his teacher is a fascinating and interesting story involving the late Mirza Abul Hassan. Masih al-Atibba, who was a student residing in Najaf, traveled to Iran to visit the shrines of Imam Reza (peace be upon him) and Lady Masoumeh (peace be upon her). This event took place approximately 100 years ago. He recounts that he prayed Dhuhr and Asr prayers in Tehran with only one qiran (the currency of that time), and he had nothing left of worldly possessions. It was barely possible to have one meal of lunch with that one qiran, but then there would be no money left for dinner. He was contemplating whether it would be better to endure hunger and have dinner at night, when someone behind him said: "Sir, don't look at me. I have a need. If possible, fulfill it for me, and if not, don't look at me because I am ashamed. I am hungry and have no money to buy anything." I suddenly came to myself and thought that perhaps I don't even have that much money.

This is called selflessness. Giving away all of one's belongings is selflessness, but sharing them with others is "mutual support." Selflessness is a prominent and characteristic form of kindness. As mentioned about the previous verse, kindness from God is never unanswered, but sometimes the result of kindness is delayed and sometimes it comes quickly. I took that coin, and without turning my face, I stretched out my hand behind the door, and the person took it and left.

I went to the Marvi school — one of the theological schools in Tehran, which today has been around for more than two hundred years — and rested in my room. After a little while, someone came to the school and asked me, "Sir, do you know medicine?" In those days, only a few scholars studied medicine. Moreover, diseases may not have been as widespread as today. On the other hand, there were also few doctors at the time. I told him, "Yes, I know medicine." I thought to myself that wherever I go, they would likely give me lunch, and I did know a bit about medicine.

Without knowing where he was taking me, I went with him. After some time, we reached a large palace, the owner of which I had heard of before and knew was one of the prominent figures of that time in Tehran. As I entered the palace, fear overcame me, and I regretted coming. I had come hoping for a meal, but I had little knowledge of medicine. I feared that in such an important place, I might fail to treat the patient, go without food, and face some disaster. I was worried about the outcome and was very frightened. I had no choice but to seek the intercession of the Ahl al-Bayt (the family of the Prophet) and prayed that no harm would come to me.

When we reached the palace, I saw the owner, a well-known figure, sitting upset on a couch. He said, "I have a daughter who is ill, and the treatments from the city's doctors have not worked. You also examine her; perhaps you can find a cure for her."

The patient was the daughter of a famous person, and the doctors had been unable to cure her. Moreover, she hadn't eaten anything or spoken for several days. All this increased my fear and anxiety. I thought to myself that I should prescribe something that wouldn't be dangerous, something like borage flowers or milk thistle, so if, God forbid, the girl died, the doctors would know that my medicine wasn't the cause of her death. With that panic and fear, I prescribed some medicine for her and was about to leave when the owner of the palace said, "Please stay; let's see how the patient's condition develops." This remark only increased my fear. If I left, they might not find me again. They might even catch me! And now, if I stay here, what if the patient's condition worsens? What should I do?

While I was lost in these thoughts and worries, it wasn’t long before they came to tell me that the patient was hungry. She hadn’t had an appetite for several days, and this was a sign of improvement. Her father, overjoyed, his face brightened, and he asked me, “Have you had lunch yet?” It was already long past lunchtime, but since many scholars in the past were ascetic and, if they ate one meal like lunch, they would skip the other meal (like dinner), or vice versa, and were not much concerned with worldly pleasures, I thought perhaps he asked me this because of that. Otherwise, it would have been an unusual question. In any case, I remained silent and didn’t say that I hadn’t eaten lunch.

He ordered them to take me to the kitchen, and there I saw various kinds of colorful dishes. With just that one coin, I could have gotten a simple meal.

My fear faded, and I ate a little. I felt relieved knowing that the patient's condition had improved. After leaving the kitchen, the owner of the house asked me to stay there for a few days. I stayed for two or three days in the palace until the patient fully recovered. During that time, they took me by carriage to visit the shrine of Hazrat Abd al-Azim al-Hassani (peace be upon him), and overall, I had a pleasant time.

The owner of the palace asked me where I lived, and I told him I was a student from Najaf. He said, "I’ll arrange a house here for you with all the amenities and a servant. If you ever want to move your family to Tehran, it’s yours. Otherwise, whenever you come to Tehran, this house will be at your disposal." He also said, “From today, I’ve given you the title ‘Christ of the Physicians’ because you cured a patient whom the doctors of Tehran could not treat, using only a simple remedy.”

The late Sayyid Mirza Hassan Shirazi highly praised his medical practice, saying he was very successful in medicine. That physician said, "From that day on, my life changed for the better. I expanded my studies in medicine, and I gained great fame in both Iraq and Iran. He attributed all the changes in his life, the house, and the life he found, to that one coin he gave away in the path of God."

The Wing of a Mosquito
God Almighty gave him the world in exchange for a single coin. Indeed, in the eyes of God, the world is less valuable than the wing of a mosquito — and not even the whole mosquito, just its wing. Therefore, it is fitting for a person to decide that they should never withhold any act of kindness from their fellow humans, animals, plants, or trees, no matter what they have. At the end of the book on marriage, the scholars discuss the rights of plants, which itself carries a sense of obligation.

The certain value of such acts of kindness, even if they do not receive a response in this world, will be rewarded in the eternal realm of the Hereafter, where the response will be many thousands of times greater in the presence of the Generous God.

May God's peace and blessings be upon Muhammad and his pure family.