in this regard, to the point that you would think the person being chronicled was himself one of the exemplary early generations, emulated for their knowledge and deeds, their renunciation of the world, and their scrupulous piety.

The Shaykh (may Allah have mercy on him) used to say, “What rejoices us is that, even if this world were carrion, Allah would still permit us to take from it enough to satisfy our bare need.” He would warn his son against hoarding wealth and being obsessed with it under the pretext of almsgiving, or of building schools and ribats (charitable lodges), arguing that money is like saltwater: the more you drink, the thirstier you become. “Allah,” he said, “has not obligated a servant to accumulate wealth so that he may give it away in charity; and, more often than not, once a person amasses money he will not hand it over to others.” (1)

He also said, “I am more capable than anyone of becoming the richest of people, yet I have turned away from the world because I know that once a servant is tainted by it, he will not be saved—except for the one whom Allah protects.”

The Shaykh would keep no more than a month’s worth of expenses and would distribute anything beyond that to needy students, the infirm, and the widows among his relatives. He would declare, “By Allah, if I had even a single day’s provision I would not take a salary from the university; but I am compelled to do so, for I do not know how to earn with my own hands, and I am an old, weak man.”

Nor would he sell the books he authored. He would say, “Knowledge that we toil over, sold while I am still alive? Impossible. I provide the knowledge, someone else provides the money, and the books are then distributed to people free of charge. I realize that some copies will reach those who do not deserve them, but they will also reach those who cannot afford to buy them.” (2)