In Every Act — Visible and Hidden
Imam al-Nawawi did not open his book with a ruling, a story, or a biography. He opened it with a question that cuts to the centre of everything: why are you doing what you are doing?
Before a single hadith is quoted, before a single deed is described, he places this chapter — on sincerity (ikhlas / إِخْلَاص) and intention (niyyah / نِيَّة) — at the very beginning. And that placement is itself a lesson. It tells you that in this religion, the inner life comes before the outer act. The heart comes before the hand. The why comes before the what.
The Three Quranic Foundations
Imam al-Nawawi opens this chapter not with hadith but with three ayat from the Quran — each one shining a different light on the same truth.
First Ayah — The Only Command That Matters
“وَمَا أُمِرُوا إِلَّا لِيَعْبُدُوا اللَّهَ مُخْلِصِينَ لَهُ الدِّينَ حُنَفَاءَ وَيُقِيمُوا الصَّلَاةَ وَيُؤْتُوا الزَّكَاةَ ۚ وَذَٰلِكَ دِينُ الْقَيِّمَةِ“
“And they were not commanded except to worship Allah, sincere to Him in religion, inclining to truth, and to establish prayer and give zakah. And that is the correct religion.”
(Surah al-Bayyinah, 98:5)
The word that carries everything in this ayah is mukhliseen (مُخْلِصِينَ) — sincere, purely devoted. Notice the structure: they were commanded to worship — but the command is not just about the act of worship. It is about the condition of the worshipper’s heart while doing it. Prayer without sincerity is movement. Zakah without sincerity is a transaction. Fasting without sincerity is hunger.
Allah did not say “they were commanded to pray and give zakah and fast.” He said they were commanded to worship Allah with pure sincerity — and then prayer and zakah are given as examples of what sincere worship looks like in practice.
This ayah is the foundation of the entire chapter: the deed is the body, but sincerity is the soul. A body without a soul is a corpse. An act without sincerity is its religious equivalent.
Second Ayah — Allah Does Not Want Your Sacrifice. He Wants You.
“لَن يَنَالَ اللَّهَ لُحُومُهَا وَلَا دِمَاؤُهَا وَلَٰكِن يَنَالُهُ التَّقْوَىٰ مِنكُمْ“
“Their meat will not reach Allah, nor will their blood — but what reaches Him is your taqwa.”
(Surah al-Hajj, 22:37)
This ayah was revealed in the context of the sacrifice of Eid al-Adha — one of the most visible, most communal acts of worship in Islam. And Allah says directly: I do not want the meat. I do not want the blood. What reaches Me is the taqwa — the God-consciousness, the sincerity, the inner turning toward Me — in your heart.
In the modern world, this ayah speaks to something urgent. We live in a time of visible religion — of documented prayers, photographed charity, announced fasts, and shared pilgrimages. The sacrifice is posted. The donation is public. The good deed is recorded. And Allah says: none of that reaches Me. What reaches Me is what is happening inside — beneath the performance, behind the camera, in the private space of the heart where only you and I exist.
This does not mean the act is worthless. It means the act is the carrier — and what it carries is either taqwa or emptiness. The same sacrifice, offered by two people standing side by side, can be entirely different in Allah’s sight — because what is inside the two hearts is entirely different.
Third Ayah — He Already Knows
“قُلْ إِن تُخْفُوا مَا فِي صُدُورِكُمْ أَوْ تُبْدُوهُ يَعْلَمُهُ اللَّهُ“
“Say: Whether you conceal what is in your chests or reveal it — Allah knows it.”
(Surah Aal-Imran, 3:29)
This ayah is the quietest of the three — and perhaps the most powerful. It does not command. It does not describe. It simply states a fact: whatever is in your chest, hidden or shown — Allah already knows it.
Imam al-Nawawi placed this ayah here deliberately. After establishing what sincerity is (first ayah) and what Allah accepts (second ayah), he closes with the reason why pretending is pointless: you cannot deceive the One you are worshipping. The audience for your deeds is not the people in the room. It is not your community, your family, or your followers. It is Allah — and He sees the chest, not just the hands.
This ayah is both sobering and liberating. Sobering — because there is no private corner of the heart where Allah is not present. Liberating — because it means the person who does good in secret, with no audience, no recognition, and no applause, is not losing anything. Allah saw it. And with Allah, nothing sincere is ever lost.
Why This Chapter Comes First
Imam al-Nawawi was one of the greatest scholars Islam produced. He did not arrange Riyad al-Salihin carelessly. He chose to begin with this chapter — on sincerity and intention — because he understood something that modern life constantly threatens to make us forget:
You can be very busy with religion and have very little of it.
You can pray every prayer and have no prayer. You can give enormous charity and have no charity. You can recite Quran daily and have no Quran — in the sense that matters, in the sense that reaches Allah. Because if the intention is wrong — if the heart is performing for people, for reputation, for habit, for social belonging — then the deed has the shape of worship without its substance.
The chapter on sincerity comes first because intention is not the preparation for the deed — it is the deed’s most essential ingredient. Without it, you are building a house without a foundation. It may stand for a while. It will not stand forever.
Every hadith that follows in this book — every story, every ruling, every description of a righteous act — is only understood correctly through the lens of this chapter. The three men in the cave (Hadith 12) moved a boulder with sincerity, not with the size of their deeds. The Prophet ﷺ sought forgiveness a hundred times a day (Hadiths 13 & 14) — not out of guilt, but out of sincere turning toward Allah. Ka’b ibn Malik (Hadith 21) was saved by a single honest moment — because that moment was pure.
Everything in this book is a story about sincerity. This chapter simply tells you that before you read the stories.
Three Questions to Open With
- When I perform my most regular act of worship — the one I do every day — when did I last stop and ask myself: why am I doing this, really?
- Is there an act of worship in my life that I would stop doing if no one could ever know about it?
- What would change about the way I live if I truly, deeply believed that Allah knows what is in my chest — right now, in this moment?