The Third Measure:
Rethinking Governance Through Balance, Wisdom, and Moral Anchoring
By Farhad Omar
I. Introduction: The Weight of Bread and the Burden of Power
In the dry heat of Madinah, the second caliph of Islam, Umar ibn al-Khattab, once walked the streets during a devastating famine. He found a woman boiling stones to quieten her hungry children, and he wept. That night, the leader of the Muslim world carried flour on his back, cooked bread with his own hands, and swore that he would not eat better than his people until the famine ended.
This moment is not merely a footnote in Islamic history—it is a mirror held up to all forms of leadership. Umar didn’t rely on technocratic advisors or populist grandstanding. He governed with the third measure: moral anchoring. In this one act of humility and ethical governance, he embodied the principle that leadership is not domination, but service.
In our modern world, we are witnessing a seismic struggle between two dominant governance models. On one end stands technocracy—governments run by engineers, economists, and data-driven bureaucrats. On the other is populism—rule by charismatic figures who claim to speak for "the people," often bypassing expert counsel. But both, in isolation, are incomplete. What we need today is a synthesis: a model of governance that blends technical efficiency, popular responsiveness, and a deep-rooted ethical framework that anchors governance to justice, trust, and service.
This is the call for a balanced governance model—a vision that finds its precedent not only in ancient wisdom but in prophetic leadership, one that speaks across time and culture.
II. The Rise of Technocracy: Efficiency Without Emotion
In the latter half of the 20th century, especially in East Asia, governance took on a distinctly technocratic form. Technocracy, from the Greek "techne" (skill) and "kratos" (power), is the idea that the state should be run by experts—engineers, scientists, economists—rather than politicians. Nowhere is this more evident than in modern-day China.
Since Deng Xiaoping's economic reforms, the Chinese Communist Party has favoured leaders with backgrounds in engineering and the sciences. Jiang Zemin studied electrical engineering. Hu Jintao was a hydraulic engineer. Even Xi Jinping, the current president, has a degree in chemical engineering from Tsinghua University. Their approach has transformed China into an industrial superpower with high-speed rail networks, sprawling megacities, and a growing presence in AI and green technologies.
This model has its merits. Technocratic governance ensures long-term planning, policy continuity, and data-informed decision-making. Infrastructure is built not based on election cycles, but strategic foresight. Poverty is reduced not by charity slogans, but by systemic transformation.
But technocracy also comes with limitations. It often sidelines public opinion, reducing citizens to data points. It lacks emotional intelligence. And most critically, it risks severing governance from moral accountability. When governance becomes an algorithm, humanity becomes secondary. The Uyghur crisis, the surveillance state, and suppression of dissent in China highlight the perils of governance that is high on efficiency but low on empathy.
Singapore, under Lee Kuan Yew, also adopted a technocratic style—meritocratic, rational, and results-driven. The city-state became a marvel of urban planning and education reform. But critics have pointed out the constraints on media, limited political pluralism, and a creeping sense of spiritual sterility in a society governed like a corporation.
Technocracy offers progress, but it must not become the only language of governance.
III. The Populist Turn: Emotion Without Strategy
In contrast to the calculated calm of technocracy, populist governance surges with emotional fervour. From the United States to Brazil, Hungary to India, the last decade has seen a global swing towards populist leaders who claim to embody the "true will" of the people.
Donald Trump, Jair Bolsonaro, Viktor Orbán, and Narendra Modi each represent variations of this trend. They bypass traditional institutions, disparage expert opinion, and amplify identity politics. Their strength lies in communication: they know how to speak the language of ordinary people, tap into cultural grievances, and ignite a sense of shared urgency.
In some ways, populism is a necessary corrective to technocracy. It reminds elites that governance is not a lab experiment; it is a living contract with the people. It reasserts the importance of dignity, tradition, and local values.
But populism, unchecked, becomes dangerously volatile. It prioritises visibility over viability, rhetoric over results, and division over dialogue. The American Capitol riots, the rollback of environmental protections in Brazil, and the suppression of dissent in India—all demonstrate how populism can quickly become demagoguery.
Where technocracy forgets the people, populism forgets the process. It burns fast and bright, often leaving ashes where institutions once stood.
IV. The Forgotten Compass: Prophetic Models of Governance
Amid the oscillation between technocracy and populism, a third path has long existed—one rarely mentioned in Western discourse: the prophetic tradition of governance, exemplified in the life of Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) and the rightly guided caliphs.
In the Prophet’s model, governance was rooted in Shura (mutual consultation), Amanah (trust), Adl (justice), and Rahmah (mercy). Leadership was not a pursuit of power but a duty of service. The Prophet would listen to the poor, consult his companions before battle, and prioritize the public good over personal gain. He did not live in palaces, nor did he enrich himself from state resources.
The second caliph, Umar ibn al-Khattab, institutionalized this model. He established the Diwan (bureaucratic registers), created welfare systems, and personally ensured market justice. When a governor misused power, Umar would hold them accountable before the people. His governance fused technical administration, public accountability, and spiritual consciousness.
Similarly, Umar ibn Abdul Aziz, often called the fifth righteous caliph, implemented tax reforms, reversed corrupt land grabs, and increased stipends to the poor. Within two years, his policies wiped out poverty in the Islamic state to the point where no one needed zakat.
These were not leaders driven by data alone, nor swayed by popular moods. They were anchored in ethical governance, answering not only to the people but to God.
This model is not antiquated. In fact, it speaks to today’s crises more than ever: ecological collapse, moral confusion, institutional distrust. The prophetic model provides not just a what and a how of governance, but more importantly, a why.
V. The Case for Integration: Toward Balanced Governance
The governance challenges of the 21st century are too complex for any single model. Climate change, digital surveillance, pandemics, migration, inequality—these are multidimensional problems requiring holistic solutions. What we need is a triple-helix model: one that combines the analytical clarity of technocracy, the social responsiveness of populism, and the ethical depth of moral-religious governance.
This is not merely theoretical. Scandinavian countries, while secular, embed strong ethical considerations in their policy frameworks—universal healthcare, environmental protection, and equitable taxation. Their success reflects not just legalism or technocracy, but a cultural anchoring in justice and social welfare.
Likewise, emerging models in the Islamic world—such as ethical fintech, zakat-driven public works, and community-led education—offer glimpses of how prophetic values can integrate with modern structures. Even within non-Muslim contexts, the wisdom of these traditions can inform global governance discourses.
Ibn Khaldun’s theory of dynastic cycles warned us of the decay that follows when ruling classes become detached from the people and their responsibilities. Al-Farabi envisioned the “virtuous city” where rulers combined wisdom, justice, and moral clarity. These thinkers understood that governance is not just about controlling populations—it is about cultivating flourishing societies.
VI. A Personal Reflection: Lessons from the Journey
As someone who has lived in multiple governance systems—from the bureaucratic precision of Singapore to the communal ethos of Islamic institutions in Malaysia and the multicultural fabric of Australia—I have seen the benefits and shortcomings of each model.
In Singapore, I saw efficiency but felt the absence of spiritual and emotional spaces. In Indonesia, I witnessed vibrant community life often hampered by political instability. In Australia, I appreciate the freedoms, but worry about rising apathy and moral relativism.
It is from this vantage point that I yearn for a balanced governance model. One that respects expert planning, values public sentiment, but also holds itself accountable to a higher moral standard.
Leadership is not a title. It is a trust. And that trust must be held in balance between the head, the heart, and the soul.
VII. Conclusion: A Call to Rethink Leadership
If there is one lesson to take from Umar ibn al-Khattab’s burden of bread, it is this: governance is a moral act. It is not the domain of the smartest or the loudest, but of the most trustworthy.
Technocrats must learn humility. Populists must learn restraint. And we as citizens must demand a higher standard—one not just of results, but of righteousness.
The world is crying out for leadership that doesn’t just plan… or preach… but truly serves.
Balanced governance is not a utopian dream. It is a prophetic legacy—and it is time we reclaimed it.