In Xanadu: A Quest, William Dalrymple’s first book, is a work that amassed critical acclaim from the likes of Sir Alex Guinness (“The delightful, and funny, surprise mystery tour of the year”), and the doyen of modern travel literature Patrick Leigh Fermor (“…a most gifted book touched by the spirits of Kinglake, Robert Byron and Evelyn Waugh”), which must have made the twenty-two-year-old author’s head spin. It is by turns a very funny book. He changed his female traveling companion halfway but still managed to produce a work loaded with history and knowledge acquired when the author set off in the footsteps of Marco Polo from Jerusalem to the fabled city court of Kubla Khan in China. But those were early days and William Dalrymple has now become the chronicler of all things pertaining to the subcontinent of India, with doorstopper books to match. His Nine Lives is a personal favorite and amounts to research beyond the call of duty in which the writer sets off in search of the sacred in modern India. Again, marvelous writing as the author attaches himself to some of the adventurers within the life of the soul who have devoted their lives to extremes.

Music

After being made aware of World Music, we have been given a novel approach to Orientalism   through what has been termed “fusion.” Jan Garbarek is a Norwegian jazz musician who has felt an attraction to the music of the Orient. He is a saxophonist of great ability, an ability that that has enabled him to transcend common musical performance for he is able to assimilate the themes and rhythms of the East without seemingly imposing the conventions of the West. Any reader wishing to experience Garbarek’s music is advised to purchase the CD Madar, which has been released on the excellent German ECM label. Given that all musical appreciation is subjective, your correspondent suggests that this is currently the most exciting music on the planet. Grabarek plays tenor- and soprano saxophones on this recording, with Anouar Brahem from Tunis on the lute-like oud, supported admirably by the scintillating tabla of Ustad Shaukat Hussein from India. It is perfectly apparent that despite pessimistic and obviously conflicting academic views, East will meet West as sure as there exists any attraction between the sexes, and above all between musicians. Which medium could bring it about better than music, for some the highest of the arts?

For the general record-purchasing public the music of Asia more or less began with George Harrison who learned to play the sitar (“I started 15 years too late,” he said), and sang My Sweet Lord, his emotionally charged yearn for transcendence, with a brief intro on the instrument that beguiled everyone. The book that documents, in a fascinating way, all of the Asian music that revolutionized and widened the West’s appreciation of it is The Dawn of Indian Music in the West by Peter Lavezzoli, with an introduction by the master, Ravi Shankar. The author, himself a musician, tells of the violin virtuoso Yehudi Menuhin’s impassioned support of Indian classical music as early as 1955. Lavezzoli’s relentless research is a magnificent tribute and includes some fascinating and extensive in-depth interviews with classical, jazz and rock musicians who had willingly succumbed to the art of the raga. The interviews reveal that the rock musicians of the 1950s and ’60s were endowed with sensibilities that went beyond the norm and showed that they were not always interested in musical excitement based on a series of riffs and little else. David Crosby, who went on be a part of the successful Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young band, and Roger McGuinn of the Byrds, were both intelligent men who were at home with John Coltrane’s jazz and were also intrigued with the intricacies of Indian classical music. The sarod drone, the sitar’s first notes – like tin-foil blossoms cascading down – tinkles seductively to your ears. Then comes the pervasive backwash of delicate, reverberating sound the way an artist gives the foundation to a picture, followed by the pulsating ever-present sheets of sound. John Coltrane would have felt perfectly at home. The tabla player waits, resisting any urge to intrude until, there it is, the sudden opening, the sudden right moment, and with a decisive whack he was a part of it all. His insistent accents, punctuations, and singing taps made everything perfect. The sarod, the sitar and the tabla become instrumental friends. They literally hit a groove.

Lavezzoli’s book is a kaleidoscopic, dense appraisal for anyone with any interest in music of what can only be termed spiritual inspiration. This has to be the definitive work.

The Orientalists

Kristian Davies has produced a book of unsurpassed beauty. The Orientalists – Western Artists in Arabia, The Sahara, Persia & India is utterly irresistible. Published in 2005 and sold at an unbelievably reasonable $70, one will now need to consider spending around $200 for the cheapest on the market, then think in terms of $2,000 for a pristine copy. For anyone wishing to own great books, the outlay is worth it. There are 300 pages of text, and color plates in which to drench your eyes. We are not excused the debate around the theme that has raged for a while.

Orientalism has become the catchword for all that could be seen as negative. It is again, addressed here, that one finds the debate about blame apportioned to the West in respect of attitudes against all that is by definition “other.” On the one hand Mr. Davies rightly defends his position by presenting great works of art that are reason enough in themselves to make pointless all intellectual contention. One sides with Mr. Davies because – what the heck – who gives two figs for politics when one is confronted with such unsurpassed beauty? To be fair, however, one also reads something rather damning in The Brown Sahib (revisited) by Varindra Tarzie Vittachi in which he quotes from Lord Macaulay in 1835: “We must at present do our best to form a class who may be interpreters between us and the millions whom we govern, a class of persons, Indian in blood and colour, but English in taste, in opinions, in morals, and in intellect.” The West has looked down on the East, but then humans apparently need something or someone to look down on for reasons best known to their own inner worlds. The argument that an excess of Oriental color and physical voluptuousness is not without reason, however, and one can be startled by what appears to be an exaggeration of physical prowess or physical beauty. Then something otherwise commonplace is seen. The tiles portrayed, quite rightly, in many Oriental pictures are here at a level of gorgeousness beyond comparison. The carpets are sublime, and the camels magnificently haughty. Kristian Davies has given us a dream made apparent with additional essays on Arthur Rimbaud, Jean-Louis Burckhardt, Sir Richard F. Burton, Jean-Léon Gérôme, JamesTissot and Jane Digby el-Mezrab. The color plates, which dazzle and delight are by such painters as Gustav Bauernfeind, and the American James Fairman, together with the British painter David Roberts, Eugène Delacroix, and many, many more.

In the “footnotes of Ibn Battuta”

Tim Mackintosh-Smith gives us Travels with a Tangerine: A Journey in the Footnotes of Ibn Battutah. The title may suggest a less than adept juggler, but a Tangerine meant here is a person from Tangiers. Mr. M-S (he abbreviates his hero throughout to IB) has a way with words and once underway is hardly stoppable when his pen doth riotous flow. His knowledge of all things Oriental will astonish, he is mind-bogglingly informed about God and the world and, of course, Ibn Battuta. Book two within his IB trilogy is The Hall of a Thousand Pillars, and it is here that M-S, faithfully follows IB’s journeys in India, which started in 1332. Book three is Landfalls: On the Edge of Islam from Zanzibar to the Alhambra. There is a free-for-all exposition of IB’s Islamic acquaintances and, again, M-S shows the depth of his own reading and research on the ground (try foot-slogging around India and you will know what that means). This is premier-league travel writing, which also makes Tim Mackintosh-Smith an Orientalist of note.

Istanbul

There have been many books written about the city of Constantine, but probably the most famous in modern times is Strolling Through Istanbul by Hilary Sumner-Boyd and John Freely. These two American expatriate academics produced a book, first published in 1972, that the Times of London reviewed as “the best travel guide to Istanbul.” This book is exhaustive in detail and is meant for people who will be obliged to walk the walk and have little breath remaining to talk. Chapter for chapter, day by day, each city landmark is given an itinerary, with maps, that will appeal to visitors who will definitely wish to go beyond the Grand Bazaar (your correspondent remembers it before the Coca-Cola machines), although it is also described, of course. The Haghia Sophia is given elucidation, as is Topkapi, and an endless series of museums, monuments, palaces, bazaars, markets, mosques, streets and alleys, schools of religion and, quite obviously, the ubiquitous public baths. History is writ large and architecture larger still. One of the wonders is the Şehzade mosque, also known as the Prince’s Palace, which was created by Süleyman the Magnificent to commemorate his son who died at the age of only 22. Determination and well-worn-in shoes are called for because the book urges one to go forth and inspect a further Süleyman edifice, the Süleymaniye mosque complex, considered by the authors to be the most important Ottoman building in Istanbul. The book continues to be a fascinating read and there is little, if anything, of the history of the city that has been left out. This book is highly recommended as a proper guide for visitors with both physical and intellectual stamina that will probably not inform one of a good restaurant, but will get you deeply immersed in the history of one of the world’s most fascinating cities.

Published in 2016 by the American University in Cairo Press, and edited by the Turkish novelist and essayist Kaya Genç, An Istanbul Anthology – Travel Writing through the Centuries comprises a selection of vignettes by famous men and women of letters. Mark Twain remains true to character with his sardonic wit, while André Gide and Gustav Flaubert are dismissive to an extreme. Ernest Hemingway is positively lyrical (“…the Golden Horn with its minarets rising out of it slim and clean towards the sun…”), and also included are brief extracts from the writings of Hans Christian Anderson, Herman Melville, and many more. Lady Hester Stanhope tells of her experiences in the Cağaloğlu hamam, after which she awakens hungry and refreshed. Gérard de Nerval describes a Dervish lodge at Pera. Théophile Gautier offers a knowledgeable introduction to Ramadan in the city. Twenty-four writers are here, some with more than one piece included. This delightful little book contains a number of beautiful illustrations of seemingly antique vintage.

Jerusalem

One of my favorite books is by the now demised but still celebrated author, Amos Oz. In his revealing In the Land of Israel the writer undertook a tour of the Holy Land in the 1980s to interview Jews and Arabs of all kinds. This amounts to worldly wisdom strictly according to the status quo. Amos Oz, however, was a peacenik and he included an interview with an elderly person who was quoted as saying, “This land belongs to nobody but God, when both the Arabs and the Israelis realize that there will be peace.” What is most evident is the view from the ground, of the ordinary people of all political or religious persuasions. We read of the internal worlds of those inhabiting a land in conflict. Israel exists in a state of cause and effect. In an interview that your correspondent had with the now demised Teddy Kollek, the mayor of Jerusalem for 28 years, he said, “I don’t think Jerusalem is worth the loss of a single life.” Amos Oz’s interviews end for the most part in expressions of bitter resolve or a sheer sense of helplessness. Above all else this book is as good as it gets when one wishes to become acquainted with the turmoil that is prevalent in the land of Israel. The writing is superb, pithy, factual, and embarrassingly honest.

And so to bed, and what better read than The Middle East Bedside Book to help one end the day with a contented smile or two. Edited by Tahir Shah, we find a selection of proverbs by Abdesalam Tunisi, who suggests that “too many captains sink the ship,” which obviously rings a culinary bell. There are extracts from The Adventures of Hajji Baba of Ispahan (sic) as well as A Thousand and One Nights. Among The Saying from the Prophet Mohammed is one example that will give pause for thought at the end of Ramadan: “How many who fast who know nothing of fasting except its thirst, and how many pray who know nothing of prayer but its sleeplessness.” Quite understandably Tahir has included some of the writings by his famous father, Idries Shah, who contributes a bantering essay about British expats in Bahrain. The writer on all things pertaining to Sufism actually offers less spiritual wisdom but all the more of his Travel Notes, which can be fully enjoyed in his book Destination Mecca. There are stories galore, each under their own title, such as Chivalry and Teachers, Customs and Social Habits, Rituals and Human Nature, Eating Customs among the Turks and Arabs (including several recipes), Wisdom and Honor, most of which are taken from early manuscripts. Under “behavior” we read from Ibn Amru: the Prophet said “The most beloved of mine among you is whoever has the best manners.” Suffice it to say, this book is a gem.

Addendum

A force to be reckoned with is Alfred Guillaume’s The Life of Muhammad – a translation of Ibn Ishaq’s Sirat Rasul Allah. First published in Pakistan by the Oxford University Press in 1955, and now available in an edition of 1983, Guillaume’s work amounts to more than 800 pages of small print, which covers just about every aspect of the Prophet’s life. This work amounts to detail to the ultimate degree and should be on any serious Muslim’s bookshelf.

• The Orientalists – Part 1

Ethics in Ibn Bajja’s philosophy

In Ibn Bajja’s philosophy, beings are created in order to achieve a goal. This goal, if achieved, will lead them to happiness. One who realizes this goal is, thus, happy.⁴ This goal is to know God and to worship God properly. Continuous pleasure can only be attained by the intellectual knowledge of the Eternal One.5 In Ibn Bajja’s own words:

“The one, who knows God (the only one God, with no partners) truly, knows that the greatest suffering is in God’s displeasure and being away from Him, and that the greatest happiness is in God’s pleasure and being close to Him. To be close to God can only be achieved through knowing ones own self.” ⁴

According to him, one should be considered a human to the extent that he or she differs from other beings (animals, plants, etc.). Among different kinds of animate beings, only humans can perform actions through free will.⁶ This is possible only through using their intellect, and controlling corporeal pleasures, instead of being controlled by them or banishing them totally.⁴ Actions are human in nature insomuch as they lead to this goal. For example, eating is an animal action if it is done to fulfill desire. On the other hand, it is a human action if it is done to preserve strength to achieve spiritual blessings.² When someone breaks a stone only because they were hurt by it, this is an animal action. If they do the same action in order to prevent somebody else from being hurt, this is a human action.⁶

Ibn Bajja believes that reaching happiness is not obtained by sudden leaps but through gradual steps.4 One should give priority to spiritual forms over corporeal forms, and if possible, should not socialize with pure materialists or those who mix their spiritual form with the corporeal one, except in some indispensable situations. Otherwise, as in the case of today’s materialistic world, one can easily be distracted from thinking about critical questions that would normally come to each and every individual’s mind, such as who we are, where we come from, where we are going , why we exist, and how to know about God. Secondly, one should go beyond the spiritual forms to reach the intellectual level, and socialize with those who also seek intellectual forms.³

Rule of the “solitary individual”

The “solitary individual” (tadbeer al-mutawahhed) holds an important place in Ibn Bajja’s thought. The term “tadbeer” or governance in Ibn Bajja’s philosophy means the actions done towards an end. On the other hand, al-Mutawahhed means a solitary individual who lives in a society, but who is different, intellectually, from his or her peers.1 They are, thus, alone in their thoughts within the society.⁴ Al-Mutawahhed is free and active when exposed to various influences, and they achieve the highest moral virtues: a balance between spiritual and material aspects of life.⁴ Unvirtuous people, on the other hand, are passive under various influences, and make decisions under the influence of their corporeal pleasures or animal desires, but not through using their intellect, which is what makes them human beings.

Ibn Bajja classifies cities before he gives a recipe to the solitary individual on how to achieve happiness. The cities are classified as stressing the moral values of the society. The perfect or ideal city is based on love. The citizens of this city do not quarrel at all. All views are true and all actions are right. They eat properly. Hence there is no need for doctors or judges. Ibn Bajja supports his claim with the question, “Cannot the healthy body rouse itself to resist diseases whose obscure causes come from outside?”6 On the other hand, if there is any contention in a city, it results in the need for a judge who can establish justice. Similarly, if people get harmful foods, they will need a doctor who has knowledge of treatments. So in an imperfect city, there is need for a doctor and a judge. As Ibn Bajja puts it: “The more a city needs them, the more honorable is the rank of both these classes.” ⁶

The imperfect city, being based on temporary corporeal pleasures, is not suitable for the metaphysical essence of humanity. Still, the imperfect city inherits a way to a virtuous society through solitary individuals.4 If one is in an imperfect city which does not supply any method to obtain knowledge, and is morally corrupted, and if there exists a perfect city, one should migrate to it; thus, they can gain knowledge.¹ If there is no such option, he or she should protect themself from the corruptions of their present society, and simultaneously build a social project which will provide happiness to individuals, and begin converting the society into a virtuous one.¹ The solitary individual is in a state of transition. During this state, they continue their personal education, and at the same time help convert an imperfect city into a perfect one.⁴

Contemplative seclusions

The Prophet Muhammad, peace and blessings be upon him, provides a great example of a “solitary individual.” Before he started receiving revelations, he would retreat to the mountain cave of Hira. He continued these retreats later on, especially during Ramadan, the month of fasting, when he went into seclusion for ten days, and spent time in prayer. This tradition, or itiqaf, is still being observed throughout the Muslim world. We can argue that these seclusions and contemplative retreats paved the way for him to transform a an “imperfect city” (Mecca), that was mired in ignorance, paganism, violence, and immorality, to a community of believers who exceled in ethics, learning, and peace; this was the perfect city of Medina. Yet, the Prophet was not just a solitary individual. He engaged with society in all possible ways during and before his prophethood, as a tradesman in caravans, as a social activist in a league dedicated to protect and support the distressed (Hilf al-Fudul), as a peacemaker among tribes, and as a husband and father.

Conclusion

Ibn Bajja’s philosophy on the governance of a solitary individual finds perfect embodiment in Prophetic practice. Personal education and social life are two processes that co-exist, whether in a perfect or an imperfect city, and the Prophetic practice of seclusion is a perfect way of linking the two. The construction of a perfect city joins these two processes after a period of personal education which leads to personal perfection. The solitary individual is always on the way: he or she is reading, contemplating, observing and acting constantly, and he or she does this independently of the status of the society within which they live.

References

1. Köroğlu, Burhan. 1996. “Ibn-i Bacce’nin Ahlâk ve Siyaset Düşüncesi,” (The Ethical and Political Thought of Avempace), Divan, 1, 45-46.
2. Sharif, M. M. 2004. “A History of Muslim Philosophy,” Pakistan Philosophical Congress, 3, 508-526,. http://www.muslimphilosophy.com/hmp/index.html
3. Al-Allaf, M. 2003. “The Solitary Being (al-Mutawahhed): Definitions and Dimensions of Ibn Bajja (Avempace) Philosophy,” The Essence of Islamic Philosophy, ILC-Classic.
4. Aydınlı, Y. 1997. Ibn Bacce’nin Insan Görüşü, (The Human in the Thought of Ibn Bajja), Marmara Üniversitesi Ilahiyat Fakültesi Vakfı Yayınları.
5. Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, Ibn Bajja, http://plato.stanford.edu/
6. Dunlop, D. M. 1999. Ibn Bajjah’s Tadbiru’l-Mutawahhid (Rule of Solitary), Ibn Bajja Texts and Studies II, Islamic Philosophy (77), Strauss Offsetdruck.
7. Sahih Bukhari, 3, 33(260).
8. http://www.lastprophet.info/en/chronology/index.php

Walking into a regular salad bar for lunch, one anticipates nothing more than a short and simple exchange of civilities and of course a mixed salad. But there are instances where the wisdom one may receive from the man behind the counter has more variety than the salad.

Busy New Yorkers generally eat lunch at their desks. This is New York, after all, the city where “time is money” and lunch minutes are counted. This meal can be a quick coffee and a sandwich on the go or perhaps a bowl of warm soup. To cater to this eating tradition, there are countless “delis” all over the city where you can dash in and grab a bite to take out for your lunch. One popular trend is to order a freshly-made salad. Many delis are especially-equipped with a glassed-in counter housing a myriad of salad components laid out in bins – carrots, cucumbers, broccoli, tomatoes, beets; you name it, they are all there, for after all, this is New York, where there is something for everyone. You call out your desired ingredients, and a friendly server mixes them up for you, and then packs it up in a plastic bowl for you to take back to your desk.

I buy my “compose-your-own” tossed salad from a salad bar on 60th Street at Lexington Avenue. I always eagerly anticipate the selecting of my ingredients to make a salad just as I want it for that particular day. Let’s see, shall I have tofu or chickpeas today? Will I dare to eat some fresh onions? Shall I toss in a few almonds for flair? The events of my day may be running in total chaos, but I can certainly be in control of my salad.

At my salad bar, the server behind the counter who assembles all my selected ingredients and tosses them together is a young, rotund black fellow with a smile and accent as broad as the Hudson River. I always enjoy my few minutes with him each day, for his smile seasons the pleasure of the tasty lunch to follow.

Today while I was waiting in line, Tony was busy mixing up a salad for the girl in front of me, and I heard him say a few words to her in Arabic. I discovered through their conversation that she was an Egyptian.

Listening to him speak with her, I assumed that he was one of the many African-Americans who have embraced Islam. When it was my turn, I said to Tony, “Oh! I am so impressed! Do you know Arabic? Have you become a Muslim?”

He looked at me, smiled and replied: “No, I am not a Muslim. But I am currently trying to learn Arabic. You know that story of the Tower of Babel in the Bible? It tells us that a whole lot of trouble was caused because people just can’t seem to understand each other. So I thought if I could learn the language of this faith and of these peoples who are certainly in need of having us better understand them, then that would be a positive step to better communication. I look at all the religions in our world, and I thought too, if I could learn to recite a few prayers in Arabic, I would be able feel my own faith in a deeper way.”

His words astonished me. I anticipated a simple, polite exchange of civilities, and instead I received a gift of unexpected, profound perception. As I watched Tony mix my salad, my thoughts tossed up in all directions like the lettuce leaves. I was led to think of many things while I waited for him to finish.

I thought of Queen Cleopatra reciting her line in Shakespeare’s play, “…My salad days, When I was green in judgment, cold in blood…”

I thought of those green salad leaves and my commitment to vegetarianism as a hope for a more respectful communication with our planet.

I thought of the events of that story of the Tower of Babel from the Chapter of Genesis, the first book of the Old Testament of the Bible. I recalled that it related how the people of the earth became so skilled in construction that they decided to build a city with a tower that would reach to heaven. I remember how God came to look at their tower and decided it would only lead the people away from His Infinite Wisdom. Just what had displeased the Lord so in this Tower of Babel construction project, I wondered? Was it because the people were so presumptuous that they could make a building so tall it would pierce the top of heaven? I thought about the construction site of a new skyscraper now rising on Manhattan’s skyline that I had passed on my way to the deli. I wondered about the boastful modern Babel builders of today who vie to make a name for themselves by trying to build the tallest building in the world, yet still do not manage to reach heaven in their earthly ways. I asked myself too, if these buildings of our new world were leading us closer or farther away from God, just as they had in the Old Testament.

I thought about the Twin Towers that used to grace lower Manhattan, and their tragic story.

I also remembered how in the story of Babel all the men on the earth at that time still spoke one language. I recalled in the text how, in reaction to their prideful building of that Tower, God thwarted their plans. He confused their language, causing them to speak different languages so they would not be able to understand each other, and how He also scattered the people of the city all over the face of the earth. I thought about how this story pertained to my life as a cross-cultural communicator and language instructor. I wondered if it was an illusion to think that all the languages of the world could ever come together in one humanity of communication, or rather are we condemned to remain mute among each other?

I thought of all the towers of incomprehension we build in our lives, not just with words, but with thoughts and deeds. I thought of how the outer words of speech and writing create not only beautiful literature, but also in many instances doubts, confusion and arguments.

I then thought of the Sufis and their Language of the Heart, and wondered if that could be the only true language all the peoples of the world could potentially share. I thought of how the Sufis speak and act with a Divine Gift of the language of the heart, where every outer word is a linguistic reflection of their inner peaceful quest for beauty and praiseworthy actions.

I thought about the true Sufi masters, who are not reclusive residents of monasteries, but who live in our midst and go about their business on their quest for finding the oracle of the heart. They are on the Sufi path, which may lead right through your neighborhood. This Sufi may be a shoemaker, a shop clerk, a lawyer, a photographer….or a salad fixer in a Manhattan deli.

But in the end, all these thoughts in my mind circled back to the simple wisdom of Tony’s words. His efforts honored the hope of the verse in the Qur’an which states: “We created you nations and tribes that ye may know one another” (49:13).

Yes, we need to try to give a chance to understanding those around us, whose languages and customs we do not know, so that we can know one another. Tony showed me that there are many individuals making just this effort. As he tossed my salad, I thought of the salad of our world, sometimes raw, sometimes cooked; sometimes flavored with ingredients both savory and spicy, a bowl of mixed greens of both incomprehension and the concord of many paths and peoples.

When he had finished tossing, Tony, with his ever-present bright smile, handed me my container of prepared salad with a flourish. I looked at all the diverse ingredients which had come together to make a salad like none other before it, all now mixed together in delicious harmony. As I took it from his hands, I knew I would be sustained this day not only by the green leaves of nature’s bounteous garden, but also by the green leaves of his salad of hopeful humanity, this salad which Dr. Martin Luther King called our “inescapable mutuality of existence.”

Katharine Branning is the Vice-President, Library, French Institute Alliance Française in Manhattan and author of a series of essays on Turkey, Yes, I Would Love another Glass of Tea. She is also the curator of the exhibit “Song of Stones” dedicated to Seljuk art held in New York and Washington DC.

When a professor of Turkish language and literature is met by Turkish hospitality during a short stopover, she realizes how much the world is in need of small

I was sitting at my desk, listening to professor Adalet’s lecture on Turkish morphology. It’s was my third year in the undergraduate program and I loved my major; Turkish language and literature. The university I attended, though a modest one, was the best of the state universities in my country, Albania.

Adalet Hodja—that’s how we, her students, addressed her in Turkish—was a lovely lady, passionate in teaching, and proud of her Turkish heritage. From the first day she came to our country, she traveled to all major cities photographing everything unusual that caught her eye. She was most fond of the Ottoman prints in architecture, cuisine, cultural customs and the Albanian language.

To make her lectures enjoyable, she used to season them with interesting anecdotes from daily life or with jokes from Nasreddin Hodja— a funny Turkish folkloric figure, also well known by Albanians. Even at times, she used to relate delicious recipes from south eastern Turkey where she came from.

That day, the long discourse on how the words in Turkish have changed forms from past to present was about to lull us into sleep when Professor Adalet, very wisely, dropped the topic and started relating to us something special that had happened to her.

“Years ago, we were traveling from Erzurum, an eastern city where my in-laws live, to Bolu, a cute city in the Black Sea region where my husband and I worked as instructors at Abant University. My husband was driving, and I was trying, as hard as I possibly could, to keep our three children entertained. It was a hot summer day, and traveling crammed inside a small car wasn’t the best way to spend it. The children were getting hungry, so I proposed a break. Judging by the road signs, the closest city where we could find a decent restaurant was two hours away, and since my children were growing impatient, we decided to stop at the first çeşme (a water fountain by the road).”

“In Turkey, such water fountains are built by philanthropists,” Adalet hodja explained.. This made sense, considering even a cup of coffee is cherished for 40 years in Turkey, so building a water fountain to satisfy the thirst of people was a greater, more cherishable deed.

“Not long after that, we saw a çeşme by the side of the road. A big oak tree nearby was shading the flow of water, a vast field was covered in clovers, three cows were grazing, and a white stucco house was gleaming under the sun at a distance… What could be more inviting?

We got out of our car and after washing our hands with cold water, we sat down on clovers under the tree, feeling refreshed.”

Adalet hodja took a deep breath with unmatched pleasure, as if she was extracting the air of that summer day from wherever it was stored in space and time.

“I was about to lay out the picnic table cloth and the food we had taken for the trip, when I noticed a woman hurrying toward us from the white house. Her dress, her headscarf tied from behind, her sunburned face, all spelled local.

“We felt a little uneasy sitting on a property without asking first, so I readied myself to apologize. When the woman got closer, we noticed that she was carrying a tray covered with a clean white cloth.

“‘Welcome!’ she said with sheer delight before I could mutter my apologies, and then handed the tray to me in slightly embarrassed manner.

‘We would like to invite you in,’ she said pointing to the white house, ‘but my husband and his brothers are painting the house today.’

“‘Please, forgive us;’ she said timidly. You are Tanri misafiri (a guest sent by God), and I wish we could have properly accommodated you. Please pardon us,’ she said apologetically and left the tray in my hands kindly wishing us to enjoy our meal.

“I thanked her in return in the way most pleasing way, saying ‘Allah razi olsun,’ may God be pleased with you.

“I opened the tray to discover fresh baked pita bread, still warm and plump, and juicy white grapes.”

Our teacher swallowed hard to keep the tears but I was pretty sure she must have wept then, holding that tray.

“I swear to God,” she concluded, “only food from paradise would have tasted that good.”

She looked at her watch and declared the class dismissed. I looked around and saw that my classmates were deeply impressed with her story as well.

Generosity and hospitality were prevalent, highly esteemed values among Albanians, too. We were happy to see that small acts of kindness were appreciated elsewhere. It is after listening to such stories that you say to yourself: “With good people around, the world is a nice place to be.”

Katharine, “Kadriye,” Branning was one of the passengers on a Turkish Airlines flight to New York on September 9, 2011, a flight which could not reach its destination that inauspicious day. Taken from her book Yes, I Would Love another Glass of Tea: An American Woman’s Letters to Turkey, the following is one of her imaginary letters to Lady Mary Montagu who lived in Turkey three centuries ago.

Unbelievably, about an hour out, the Kaptan came back on the intercom and stated in Turkish that we needed to return to Istanbul yet again. The entire cabin groaned and grumbled, and I began to doubt that I would ever get home that day. Only this time, his voice sounded odd, and he said, very vaguely, that we needed to return because “All American airspace has been closed.” I was immediately seized with panic, for I knew that something very, very terrible must have happened, for American airspace has never been closed in our entire history.

You certainly survived some dangerous scrapes on your travels, both on route to Turkey and on the return trip home to London. In one of your early letters, you relate a hair-raising crossing of the Alps, where your carriage almost plummeted over the precipice into the Elbe. The hazards of snow and Tartars awaited you at every turn on the road after that, and your boat almost capsized during your Channel crossing on your return home. I would like to relate to you the story of a difficult travel experience I had, one of an eventful return to my homeland after a stay in Turkey.

This trip started out on a warm and crisp late summer morning in Istanbul. It was the last day of a glorious voyage to eastern Turkey, where I saw some of the wildest beauty known to man: from the white snowy peak of Noah’s Mount Ararat to the deep cobalt blue of Lake Van and to the intense dark emerald green of the Kaçkar Mountains. It was a day when I felt particularly blessed because I had been lucky enough to witness such stunning examples of nature, God’s most loving gift to man. It was a day with a crystal clear sapphire sky and bright sun. It was the morning of September 11, 2001.

The return trip home announced itself like so many others before it. I traveled the familiar road to the airport filled with an infinite sadness to be leaving Turkey at the end of an intense time of learning, joyful play and living history, mixed with anticipation of the happiness of being reunited with loved ones at home. Candy, halvah, bonjuk blue bead trinkets, lokum, and Turkish coffee were purchased in the duty-free shop; and the last copies of the newspaper Hürriyet were tucked into my carry-on bag. As I passed through the first, second, and third security checkpoints, I commented to myself how thorough these Turks were when it came to ensuring security in this often volatile point of the world. I felt safe.

There was a delay of almost 2 hours before we could leave, due to the proverbial and mysterious “engine problems.” Finally we took off, but after only one hour out in flight, the pilot (“Kaptan”) came on the intercom to tell us that we needed to head back to Istanbul because the pesky problem was apparently still not cleared up. The stewardesses stored away the food service carts, seatbelts were fastened, and we returned, deplaned, and waited another two hours in the same embarkment area. A Turkish Airlines (THY) employee finally announced that a new plane had been found and that we would be heading out shortly. Once again, off we took, convinced that surely this time, all problems were behind us.

Unbelievably, about an hour out, the Kaptan came back on the intercom and stated in Turkish that we needed to return to Istanbul yet again. The entire cabin groaned and grumbled, and I began to doubt that I would ever get home that day. Only this time, his voice sounded odd, and he said, very vaguely, that we needed to return because “All American airspace has been closed.” I was immediately seized with panic, for I knew that something very, very terrible must have happened, for American airspace has never been closed in our entire history.

About a half an hour later, the Kaptan came back on, still in Turkish, and said that it looked like the problem was that a “big building in New York City has suffered some kind of attack.” And then I knew in the pit of my stomach what that “big building” had to be: it could be none other than the one I see day and night from my window of my apartment, standing like a sentinel for the whole world to see: the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center. And I knew somehow that the assault was not a mere accident, but had to have been a terrorist attack.

At last the plane landed back in Istanbul. The cabin hostess made an intercom message requesting that everyone remain in their seats. The Kaptan came on and gave a message in Turkish, and then made another one in English so that the few Americans on the plane would be able to finally understand what was going on. He spoke very clearly and slowly, not because his command of English was weak, but because he was searching for the right words to communicate his message as gently and carefully as possible. In a voice obviously trembling with emotion, he said: “Dear Ladies and Gentlemen. I must inform you of some very sad news. There has been a terrorist attack on the big building in New York City, the World Trade Center. It is very, very bad, and many people have been hurt. To all the American people on this plane, I want to say I am so so sorry for you and your country today.” And then we heard him sob. To hear that sob made me realize how intense it must have been for him, an ever-gracious Turkish host, to announce that news to us, his “guests” in his aircraft home. The Kaptan must have felt devastated that a plane, object of his livelihood, had been used as an instrument of destruction. He was surely heartbroken, too, because he already knew the terrorists were fellow Muslims. His soft sob made the imagined bang of the crash in my ears all the more loud, and the whole incident became very real for me, although at the time, I had no idea that the Towers were to fall and that the terrorists were allegedly Muslims.

Because of those engine problems, we had been saved the fate of so many others who were flying home to America that day. Instead of being stranded, the few Americans on that Turkish Airlines flight that day had the great fortune, in the midst of all the ensuing chaos, to be returned to a country that would open its arms and take care of them.

When we stepped off the plane and came into the airport terminal, there stood in front of us a platoon of people of all kinds, lined up in total silence. The entire airport staff had gathered there to wait for us: some were officers dressed in suits and ties, some wore THY service uniforms and ties, some were baggage handlers in their grey tunics; there were the char women in their pink aprons standing attention next to their cleaning carts, police officers with their thick black leather belts, food service attendants in their white paper hats, security clerks in their black blazers, and so many others in a blur of colors and clothes. It seemed as if the full airport had come forth to form this very human wall to surround us with their protection. After that point everything became a slow motion blur, as if I were about to faint or as if I were underwater, with people moving towards us but no sounds coming from their mouths. But I do remember clearly all the hands coming forth – those famous magic Turkish hands that appear whenever there is a need – taking us by the elbow and guiding us to the baggage claim area. I do not recall what was said to me at this point; all I remember were their eyes – and it was the sadness that I saw in those eyes that made me realize the gravity of the situation. I distinctly remember, however, a grey-haired, handsome man in a charcoal suit with a walkie-talkie in his hand, who came up to me. In perfect English he said, “Please do not worry, you are being taken care of. We will be taking you by a van to a nearby hotel to stay. It is very beautiful and nice, do not worry. You will stay there for the time it takes for things to normalize and for you to go home again. Do not worry. We will take care of you. But know that when you go into your room and turn on the television, you will see images of a brutality never before seen, and that you will be very upset. There will be someone at a table in the lobby, a health worker, who will be there for you to speak with if it all becomes too much for you. Good luck and God bless you.” And to this day I can still see the sharp dark features of the unshaven face of the skinny man in a ragged black suit coat who stuck out his hand to whisk away my suitcase and to load it in the van for me.

When the few Americans on that flight arrived at the hotel, we were ushered to our rooms with the hushed consideration usually reserved for funeral services. After I entered that room, in that indeed very beautiful hotel, sat down on the edge of the bed and saw those images on the television screen, I knew that the grey-haired man had not exaggerated. I learned of the story of the “attack on the big building in New York.” I learned that it was done in the name of Allah, the most Merciful and the most Compassionate.

I stayed there for a week, unable to get personal news of the tragedy, with only the droning reports of CNN and those never-ending images of the impact of the crash played over and over as if one time was not enough to gouge it in your memory forever. Was my husband safe? Was my assistant, who crossed under the Towers every morning on her commute in from New Jersey, lying flattened under the tonnage? How was everyone in my downtown neighborhood, now closed off from the world, coping with the tragedy? Over and over again as I saw those images of that hole ripped in the sky, I felt as if a hole had been ripped in my heart. When I saw those crushed beams, I felt as if my own bones had been crushed. I clearly remember the next morning when I went out of the hotel to get some air, there fluttering in front of me on a giant flagpole was the Turkish flag – its red color symbolizing the blood of its own fallen – at half mast. It was then that I understood that this tragedy was not one that had just struck my city, but it was affecting the entire world as well.

One night that week when I couldn’t sleep I got up to write a letter. I did not know exactly to whom I should address it, but I just felt that writing a letter would help me in that moment of stress, for putting emotions to paper seemed the only possible outlet for my grief, as the shock of it all had pushed my tears way down deep inside of me. At least for that moment in time, I could control something in the world: the flow of words onto paper in my own proper universe.

One morning about eight days later, the hotel staff called to say that we were to be ready to leave in an hour: the US airspace had opened and that we were being sent home. We were to be picked up at the hotel by a special THY van and taken to the airport.

Before leaving, I went to the front desk of the hotel to ask what I owed them for all the expenses I had incurred staying there: the luxurious room, the breakfasts, the vain phone calls, and faxes home. I did not know the protocol of such a situation, but I wanted to make sure I had taken care of everything. The young woman at the front desk just looked at me, bowed her head, and whispered, “You owe us nothing.” I could not bear to look at her, overwhelmed by the hotel’s charity, the intensity of this tragic event and my incapacity to thank her for the role she played in my well-being. I could not speak but handed to her the envelope with the letter I had written on that night I was unable to sleep. She looked at the addressee, visibly moved, and then back at me, and quietly said “Thank you.” And it was only then that my tears started to fall, as if all the immeasurable solace and tender consideration provided over the past week made the horror of the event suddenly too much to keep inside.

We piled in the busses and arrived at a still-hushed airport and boarded the flight to New York City, mirroring the same steps of a week prior. No one talked much on that 11-hour flight home: everyone was either too frightened to be in the cursed skies, in one of these apparatus now associated with an instrument of mass destruction, or quite simply because we were all apprehensive about what we would find once at home. The city I found when I arrived that night was as quiet as the plane. The former glorious view onto the World Trade Center from my Greenwich Village apartment was now filled with a billowing, yellow-grey cloud, glowing in the day from the sun reflecting off all its dust and in the evening from the giant high-intensity lights set up at the site. The furnishings of my home were covered, that day and for many months to come, with the pulverized dust of those fallen Twin Towers and the ashes of its 3,000 victims. Each day as I cleaned it away, day after day for months, I ceremoniously repeated prayers and recited Scripture for all of those innocent souls reduced to the dust I was wiping away.

New York City healed, the United States healed, and I healed. We are still living the consequences of that ignominious event up to this day, some small, some large, some local, some international. In many ways, I wonder if the recovery from that day was for me harder than most Americans. Although I personally suffered no loss of life in the crash, I still felt a tremendous loss to my city and in my faith in my fellow man. I felt betrayed by Islam, this faith that had earned a special respect in my heart; I felt betrayed that several fanatics of this religion I considered so pure and so noble had tarnished it beyond apparent forgiveness. I could not believe that the Islam I knew, through my studies, through my life shared with Muslims, through the many Muslims I had met in Turkey, those who believed in a God, the most merciful, the most compassionate – could be anything like those who had done this act. When I saw the dangerous turn my grief was taking – veering towards doubt, bitterness, and deception – I knew it had to stop. It was then that I made a vow. I perhaps could not control the outcome of all the events in the world, I reasoned, but I could control my immediate sphere, the orbit around me that I influence. It is said that perhaps everything in life happens in order to help us live. And so from the horror of that day, I told myself that I needed to recommit my efforts to support understanding between people and religions and that I needed to continue more than ever my dedication to fostering cross-cultural relations. It made me realize that if a person like me, who had such respect for Islam, was feeling such negative emotions against Muslims, what must the average American be thinking? I needed now to be a bridge-builder more than ever.

The Turkish part of my 9/11 story has one last chapter. About five months after the incident, I returned to work after my lunch break one day, and the front desk receptionist handed me a very large wooden box. A THY envelope with my name on it taped to it. The letter was from the New York director of Turkish Airlines, extending his wishes for my well-being and telling me that he desired to offer this token of appreciation on behalf of the THY staff for my letter, the one I had addressed “to Turkish Airlines and the People of the Republic of Turkey” and left at that hotel desk months before and which had finally come into his hands. It was inconceivable to believe that after all that had already been done emotionally and materially for me, that the warm arms of the Turks were continuing to surround me with compassion and goodness.

Inside of that giant box, encased beautifully in an elegant walnut and glass frame, was a large, oval plaque in silver. On this plaque, inscribed in fine cursive calligraphy, was the iconic message “Maþallah” which translates as “how beautifully God created” and is used by Turks to mean “may God protect you from all evil.”

Yes, Turkey – this magnificent and most generous of nations – has shown me that I must never doubt the infinite goodness of my fellow man.

Sincerely,

Turning to the path that Bosnian identity has followed in the New World, we must first recognize that ethnic identity and religion can intersect at different angles. Over the course of my encounters with members of the Bosnian community, I have come to observe that Bosnian refugees consider themselves Muslims in a cultural sense, a sense they said was generally devoid of actual practical content. This suggests a conception of ethnic identity perceived to be one and the same thing as religious identity. This “culture=religion” formulation may help explain, at least in part, the rather scarce presence of Bosnian Muslims in American mosques in cities where Bosnian refugees have resettled (This, however, should not be construed to mean that one can express piety only by going to the mosque; the role and function of mosques in American society would itself require another essay). The relative indifference of important segments of the Bosnian population toward religious practice is additionally due to the lack of understanding and focus on the suffering of Bosnian Muslims during the 1992–1995 war in Bosnia-Herzegovina. The influence of recent memories of not having been treated fairly by the international community-including the Muslim world-during the war, it was reported to me, plays a role in the scarce presence of Bosnian Muslims in the greater American Muslim community.

Among Bosnian refugees in the city of Syracuse, statements by both the refugees themselves and the officials of the Islamic Society in Syracuse confirm the actualization of the “culture=religion” identity formulation amongst Bosnians in Syracuse. Some young Bosnians, for example, do not attend in big numbers at the otherwise compulsory congregational Friday prayer performed in the multinational Syracuse mosque. My own observations and the remarks of the officials from the Islamic Society confirm that no more than ten per cent of the Bosnian Muslim population attends the Friday prayer. Nevertheless, these same youth convey the unease they feel when their identity as Muslims is questioned (especially by non-Muslims in the workplace, at school et cetera). Bosnians have recently launched a mosque of their own in the eastern part of the city; however, leading members of the community told me the number of attendees in Friday prayers since the facility opened about two years ago is far less than they would have liked. However, attendance of commemorative events and bajram (eid) celebrations is remarkably more sizeable.

At the same time, some Bosnian Muslims have expressed discontent regarding the prevailing formulation in which religion is perceived as a cultural décor. There are sincere efforts by some members of the Bosnian population toward an authentic religious identity filled with actual content. Included among such efforts are the weekend classes offered at the Bosnian mosque, in particular for young Bosnian children, in which the essentials of faith, practical information about prayers, and similar topics are taught. But I have also been privy to conversations in which concerns were being raised that some young Bosnians have for some time been, to use their word for it, “Americanizing”: They are not as respectful toward their elders any more, they come home late, and drink-all of which suggest to the concerned that there are dangers ahead which might arise from experiments with American notions of freedom. Though one could argue that these notions do not necessarily or always imply these behaviors, it is important to recognize that Bosnian youth are growing up in an individualistic culture that includes values and practices which parents might find to be at odds with their own upbringing back in Bosnia. Coupled with the lack of adequate parental supervision over children due to demanding work schedules, this clash of values is a cause of concern for a youth that is not given the guidance to navigate through the intricacies of becoming American. In addition, a Bosnian friend of mine, who is currently a professor of political science, reminded that the refugees will soon face another hurdle: the increasing inability of young Bosnians to speak the Bosnian language. He claims that Bosnian children in particular speak only English among themselves, raising the probability that in a generation or two, the Bosnian language may become rare among Bosnians themselves.

Refugees from Srebrenitza living in Syracuse seek to keep the memory of the Srebrenitza massacre of 1995 alive. They publish booklets in English and Bosnian languages, issue bumper stickers (‘Never Forget Srebrenitza’), and hold commemorative ceremonies on the anniversary of the event. Bosnian Muslims concerned about the future of Bosnian identity in the New World see these activities as vital in terms of constructing a collective Bosnian consciousness in America.

It seems quite clear, at least to this observer, that the hyphenated identity term “Bosnian-American” is on its way to becoming the standard description to use in relation to Bosnians in the United States. The exact referent of that term will become clearer based on certain issues including (but certainly are not limited to), on the one side, the scope, nature, and effects of their feelings toward America, and on the other, their choice between cultural or practical religion.

Fethi Keles is an Adjunct Instructor of Anthropology at Syracuse University.

ENIAC had cost around $500.000 and was capable of 5000 simple operations per second. Today, basic personal computers (PC) cost around $500 with enough processing power to perform millions of operations per second. An average PC is enough in terms of computing power for everyday use like word processing, checking emails, and computer games. However, some areas in scientific research require computers at the frontline of current processing capacity, called Super Computers. Twice a year, the TOP500 project, which started in 1993, ranks and publishes details of the 500 most powerful super computers in the world. The IBM Roadrunner, located at Los Alamos National Laboratory, was announced as the fastest supercomputer in the world as of May 2008.

In computing, “flop” (Floating Point Operations Per Second) is a measure of a computer’s performance which is similar to calculations per second. The IBM Roadrunner had cost $133 million and had a peak performance of 1.7 petaflops, which is around 1.7×1015 operations per second. The Roadrunner was delivered on 21 tractor-trailer trucks to its current location. Supercomputers are an essential component of research in areas like computational biology, fluid dynamics, structural mechanics and cancer research, which requires high computing power.

While computers get faster every year, their computing power is way behind when compared to a human brain. They consume hundreds of times more energy than a brain. It is estimated that a computer will be able to simulate a human brain in seven years, yet we are decades away from expecting a computer that can think like a human and make decisions. The brain is one of the most miraculous parts of the human body, full of mysteries. It works more efficiently than any machine developed in the last 50 years of the computer history.

However, the human brain is not the only body part which has an incredible computing power. In 1994, Leonard M. Adleman, a professor at the University of Southern California, introduced the idea of using DNA (Deoxyribonucleic Acid) to solve computational problems [3]. This idea then led to a new field of science, called DNA Computing, which combines two disciplines, biology and computer science, to build the fastest and smallest computers ever. DNA is known as the blueprint of life, with unique properties such as self-assembly, molecular recognition, minute size and high information density.

Computationally challenging problems have known solutions, but enormous amounts of resources (time and/or cost) are required to find the optimum solution. Some problems, such as optimization, can be solved by generating many possible solutions, and then selecting the optimum one. Standard computing methods can generate or test a possible solution one at a time. On the other hand, parallel computing methods can carry out this process simultaneously for thousands of possible solutions.

Similarly, enzymes can work in parallel for replicating and repairing DNA strands. They can even work on the next strand before the first one is replicated. An enzyme can replicate a DNA strand 500 times in a second, which is equal to 0.001 MIPS (million instructions per second). The computations in DNA can reach to 1014 MIPS, while a modern computer runs at an average of 1000 MIPS. DNA computing is not only faster in processing, but also much more efficient in energy consumption. The energy consumption of a DNA operation (on one strand) is about 1010 times less than the energy consumption of an operation on modern computers.

The Traveling Salesman Problem (TSP) is one of the most studied problems in computational mathematics. Here is an example of the problem: a traveling salesman needs to visit 20 cities once, with predefined starting and ending locations, and certain rules. The complexity of the TSP problems increases exponentially with the number of cities, so problems with only hundreds of cities will take thousands of years to solve by modern computers. If there are 18 factorial possible paths in this problem, it will take 2 whole years for a computer with 100 MIPS of processing power to generate the possible paths and find the correct answer. However, all possible paths can be generated in a very short time by using DNA computing. A simplified version of the Traveling Salesman problem presented by Adleman involves the following scenario:

A salesman wants to visit the cities (Figure 3) Monroe, Gainesville, and Conyers, starting from Athens, and arriving at Atlanta last. Each city should be visited only once. The cities are not fully connected. While some cities are connected to another in one direction, others are connected in both directions. Our objective is to find the shortest route to visit all cities once. The solution for this problem is a travel from Athens -> Gainesville -> Monroe -> Conyers -> Atlanta.

When we convert the problem to a molecular language, each city is coded as a single-stranded DNA molecule with 8 nucleotides. We can think of nucleotides as bytes in computer programming, which will take the value 0 or 1. Nucleotides exist as four bases: adenine (A), thymine (T), guanine (G) and cytosine (C). All cities are coded with eight nucleotides as follows:

City Code

Athens ATGC CATG

Gainesville TCAG GTCA

Monroe GACT TGAC

Conyers CGTA ACGT

Atlanta AGCT TAGC

Connections between two cities are coded with the last 4 nucleotides of the departure city and the first 4 nucleotides of the arrival city. For example, the connection between Athens (ATGCCATG) and Monroe (GACTTGAC) is coded as CATGGACT. The complementary codes for connections (the Watson-Crick complements), where every C is replaced by a G, every G by a C, every A by a T, and every T by an A, and connection codes are given below:

Connection Code Complementary Code

Athens – Gainesville CATG TCAG GTAC AGTC

Athens – Monroe CATG GACT GTAC CTGA

Gainesville – Atlanta GTCA AGCT CAGT TCGA

Gainesville – Monroe GTCA GACT CAGT CTGA

Monroe – Conyers TGAC CGTA ACTG GCAT

Conyers – Atlanta ACGT AGCT TGCA TCGA

Conyers – Monroe ACGT GACT TGCA CTGA

The mixture for performing reactions will include DNA strands and their complements for 5 cities and 7 connections between cities in our example. If an Athens molecule (ATGC CATG) encounters the complement strand of an Athens-Monroe (GTAC CTGA) connection in the mixture, a hydrogen bond will be formed between strands (Figure 4). Other strands will continue forming bonds for valid connections between cities, building a complete travel path with the help of DNA ligase. There needs to be enough copies of each DNA strand to generate all possible travel paths.

ATGC – CATG

| | | |

GTAC – CTGA

Polymerase Chain Reaction (PCR) will be used to make multiple duplicates of DNA strands containing Athens (start) and Atlanta (end) cities. The result of PCR will be the amplification of correct travel from Athens to Atlanta, which makes it easy to separate. PCR is a method by which a few strands of DNA can be copied into millions in a very short amount of time. This also makes PCR a very important method to increase small amounts of DNA found in blood or hair samples, which could be enough to carry out analysis and reveal a person’s identity in forensic science.

Electrophoresis follows the PCR process to sort the resulting paths according to their sizes. Since every city is coded with 8 nucleotides, the correct path should include exactly 40 nucleotides representing a full path for 5 cities. The gel electrophoresis process uses an electric field to separate DNA strands by size as they travel through a gel matrix. The speed of DNA molecules differs by their size, which results in the sorting of the molecules by size. After this step, DNA strands starting with the code of Athens, ending with the code of Atlanta and with a size of 40 nucleotides are separated from the mixture.

The last step will be reading the code and removing the DNA strands that didn’t contain all the cities. Adleman used a common method known as affinity purification for the separation process. Finally, the mixture has the DNA strands with the correct travel path, starting from Athens and arriving to Atlanta, and traveling through every city once. All the laboratory work looks complex for this simple problem, but as a new concept for computing, it is revolutionary. In its ability to perform parallel computations, DNA computing shows great promise over traditional computing approaches.

Data density is another unique advantage of DNA. Billions of DNA strands can be stored in a regular laboratory tube. A DNA strand is composed of bases A, T, C and G spaced evenly, 0.35 nanometers apart from each other. The data density of DNA is around 106 GB (gigabytes) per square inch, which is 100,000 times larger than the data density of today’s storage technologies (7 GB per square inches). Moreover, DNA is a durable and strong molecule; the information stored within it can be kept for thousands of years in the right conditions. In 2008, 80% of the woolly mammoth genome, several thousand years old, has been identified from tufts of frozen woolly mammoth hair [4].

DNA is also created with remarkable mechanisms such as built-in error correction. The double stranded nature of DNA provides a double check on pairing. Error repairing enzymes are always ready to search for anomalies during the DNA replication process. It results ina ratio of one error per billion replications. DNA is located and protected at the center of each cell with a perfect balance. The miraculous architecture of DNA has waited for thousands of years to be understood by humans and be used for the benefit of the world. Further studies on DNA might open new opportunities to help researchers in solving technologically challenging problems.

Acknowledgment: This article was produced at MERGEOUS [5], an online article and project development service for authors and publishers dedicated to the advancement of technologies in the merging realms of science and religion.

Halil I. Demir is a postdoctoral scholar in the area of Informatics, and lives in Iowa.

References

[1] ENIAC, Image Credit: Wikimedia, http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/4/4e/Eniac.jpg

[2] IBM Roadrunner, Image Credit: Wikimedia,

http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/c/c7/Roadrunner_supercomputer_HiRes.jpg

[3] Leonard M. Adleman (1994-11-11). “Molecular Computation of Solutions to Combinatorial Problems.” Science, 266 (11): 1021–1024.

[4] Miller, W (et al). 2008. “Sequencing the nuclear genome of the extinct woolly mammoth”, November, Nature.

[5] Mergeous, http://www.mergeous.com

“Philosophy considers force to be the point of support in social life, and life as the realization of self-interest (as its goal) and conflict (as its principle).”1 When Said Nursi wrote this sentence in The Words, he was looking at the Cyclops-like aspect of the European philosophy of his time, which totally excluded spirituality from the interpretation of the relationship between humans and the universe. There was only one eye on that face which concentrated solely on the materialist side of the creation. Said Nursi called this face “philosophy”; he was opposed to nineteenth century materialist philosophy, but rather favored one that was open to metaphysics and the spiritual as well as to the rational, an approach that he would later call “the marriage of the mind and the heart.”

This materialist philosophy, which considers “power” to be the point of support in social life, actually shaped the social and political movements of the twentieth century. Those individuals who were empowered with personal and financial resources built production facilities and had the less powerful individuals in society work for them in exchange for little remuneration. Capital thus quickly accumulated in the hands of an increasingly prosperous minority, whereas the majority of the members of the “developing” society were barely able to make a living. Mercy seldom descended from the narrow top of the pyramid to the base-and envy and resentment rose in dark clouds from the wide base to the top. Power became the main determining effect in social life, as individuals or groups tried to realize their self-interests to the degree that their “power” allowed them to.

When there was a conflict between interests, might was used as the arbitrator. Revolutions simply shifted the building blocks of the pyramid, but the shape of the pyramid always remained the same. “Natural selection,” a misconception thought to be observed in nature, became the very basis of civilizations. The political arena always had its actors whose pockets were full and waves of ordinary people were merely directed, explicitly or implicitly, in what they should do with their lives. Nations with less economic power became oppressed, their lands and resources were looted, and their futures were thrown into a deep, dark well of uncertainty. The world saw the bloodiest wars of all times as humanity descended to the lowest of the lowest, “asfal al-safilin.”

There has not been any single event in the course of social history which has not been motivated by a system of thought. The intellectuals of the last century tended to strip human beings of their inner dimensions and consider them as a piece of walking/talking machinery. This machine was supposed to produce goods constantly in order to satisfy the increasing needs of mankind. Simultaneously, the circle of the needs extended itself to the farthest point of the imagination, until there was no way that circle could be encompassed. Most of these needs took the shape of carnal desires, and the machine became dedicated to gratifying these desires. Relations between individuals and their families, in neighborhoods and within countries, started to deteriorate. Divorce, domestic violence, deceit, murder, and other crimes-enough to make anyone with a heart grow mute-began to seem and sound normal to the general public. Thus, the machine began to annihilate itself and its surroundings. Bediuzzaman Said Nursi brought the matter to public attention at that time with the following words: “Force calls up aggression, seeking self-interest causes battles over material resources, and conflict brings strife.”2

Since life was considered to be the realization of self-interest, the self became the center of all interests. Individualism was raised as the banner of victory, while the bonds that connected selves together began to disappear. “Country, religion, family, ideas of civilization, all the sentimental and historical forces that stood between cosmic infinity and the individual, providing some notion of place within the whole, have been rationalized and have lost their compelling force.”3

Contrary to accepting power as the fabric of social life, such as it has been in the past two centuries, the Holy Qur’an accepts “rights” to be the constant point of support in social life. The first Caliph of Islam after the Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him, the honorable Abu Bakr, stated this Qur’anic approach in his first speech to the public: “The weakest among you is the strongest in my eyes until his rights have been delivered to him, and God willing I will accomplish that; and the strongest among you is the weakest in my sight until he delivers the rights to their real owner, and God willing I will pursue that.”4

One of the five pillars in Islam is the prescribed alms, zakat. According to the Qur’an, every Muslim with adequate financial resources is obligated to give one-fortieth of his wealth to people in need. This portion of the wealth of the rich is considered a right that is given to the poor from God. This is a very interesting point, because the Qur’an draws a circle around the rights of the powerless within the circle of the powerful. In so doing, the Qur’an effectively silences brute force and allows “rights” to speak instead. Thus, the Qur’an teaches and commands believers to practice “giving precedence to the common interests of the community over one’s own interests.” The fact is that all unrest in human social life proceeds from two sources or attitudes: “Once my stomach is full, what do I care if others die of hunger?” and “You work, I will eat.”5 These statements symbolize a world where labor and capital confront each other and zakat, as a moral imperative, is abandoned; yet mankind has been advised to use charity as a form of purifying alms that is essential to the establishment of social welfare and order.

Human rights, huquq al-ibad, are a very important issue in the Qur’an. A devout believer who has pursued a virtuous life in this life may be pardoned for all their sins. However, the violation of the rights of others is excluded from this pardon, for such a violation must be resolved between the person who violated the rights and the one whose rights has been violated. The “others” here can be Muslims or non-Muslims and they can be of any race, ethnicity, belief, or worldview, in fact, anybody whom God has created. An anecdote from the time of the third Caliph, Umar is noteworthy here. It occurred in the city of Hims (Syria) in 635. The Muslim army was in retreat and leaving the city at the approach of a huge Roman army. The commander of the Muslim army ordered his men to reimburse the people of the city for the taxes that had been collected. The tax collectors told the Christian population of the city that the Muslim army would not be able to protect the city against the Roman army, and that since the taxes had been collected in payment for the protection of the city, the army no longer had any right to keep the taxes.6

The Qur’an does not leave the individual by themselves in the universe. “Does man think that he will be left uncontrolled (without purpose)?” (Qiyama 75:36). Human beings have the willpower and determination to choose between evil and good. Humans are responsible for their choices as well as their actions, and they will be held accountable for every deed they commit. This very fact should urge everyone who hears this message to adjust their standing within the community. The Qur’an commands each soul to uphold righteousness and forbid evil. This command is not limited only to the person’s interactions with the rest of the society. Rather, each person is also responsible for their own physical and psychological being. Nobody can commit suicide, harm their own body, or fall into despair or cut themselves off from society.

From a Muslim’s point of view the holy books that preceded the Qur’an also hold “rights” to be paramount within the community for the establishment of justice and harmony; the Qur’an states, “And we have sent down to you (O Muhammad) the Book (the Qur’an) in truth confirming the Scripture that came before it” (Maida 5:52). If we want to live in a safer and a happier world, where every human being’s rights are secured, the followers of the Holy Scriptures should refer to the enlightening realm of the revelation, advocating “right” rather than “might” as the criteria for any decision that affects the destiny of humanity. Rights have to be promoted at every level of society, and this cannot be done without taking the metaphysical dimensions of the individual into consideration. Looking at how people all around the globe are returning to the warm home of religion and how members of different faiths are striving to understand each other, one can hear the joyful celebration of the marriage between the mind and the heart and can see rights sitting on their throne supported on the shoulders of might.

Notes

1. Nursi, Said, The Words, The Light, Inc., NJ: 2005 p. 146-7.

2. ibid. p. 146-7.

3. Bloom, Allan, The Closing of the American Mind, Simon & Schuster Inc., 1988, p.85

4. Hz. Muhammed (s.a.s.) ve Hayati (Prophet Muhammad and His Life), Diyanet Yayinlari, Ankara: 1996, p. 435, Turkish Religious Council Publications, p. 435

5. Nursi, Said, The Letters, 22nd Letter, Truestar, London: 1995, p. 74.

6. Belazuri, Futuhu’l-Buldan, Beirut, 1987, p. 187.

The Madina Charter is a constitution that essentially established the Madina city-state. The Charter was the first written constitution in Islam and arguably the first constitutional law in society. Before Prophet Muhammad’s arrival from Makka, Yathrib (later known as Madina) had a population of 10,000 that was organized into approximately 22 tribes. Approximately half the population was Jewish and half was Arab. Regardless of religion, tribes sought power through military dominance over other tribes, with the numerous alliances forged between warring tribes greatly contributing to the aggression. Constant warfare was taking a toll on the tribes. While some sought external military assistance for the conflicts, many were making preparations for the enthronement of a leader from one of the tribes. However, it was unclear whether each tribe would acquiesce to the leadership of a single leader from one of the tribes and if such a leader would be able to establish political organization, create military defense for the city, reconcile tribal hostilities, and define local rights and obligations as well as address the issues of the growing immigrant refugee population from Makka.

God’s Messenger was requested by the tribes in Yathrib to act as a third-party mediator to try and help resolve the on-going conflict between them. He had a reputation for being an able mediator as he had helped to resolve conflicts in Makka and was able to fill the leadership void that existed in the area. It was also common practice of Arabs at that time to refer their conflict to outsiders, and the Prophet had already been given the title, “The Trustworthy” by the residents of Makka. Finally, while drafting the Charter, he consulted the leaders of each tribe, thereby demonstrating his willingness to listen to the needs of all tribes.

The methods God’s Messsenger made use of in the creation of the Charter are similar to trends that have emerged in modern conflict resolution techniques. These methods provide an important source for understanding the concepts of mediation and conflict resolution in Islam, and subsequently, can also offer effective means with which to approach dialogue with and within Islamic societies and among non-Islamic societies.

The Charter, which was the first declaration of the area of Madina as a city-state, established rules of government and addressed specific social issues of the community in an attempt to put to an end the chaos and conflict that had been plaguing the region for generations. The Charter outlined the rights and duties of its citizens, provided collective protection for all citizens of Madina, including Muslims and non-Muslims, and provided the first means of seeking justice through the law and community instead of via tribal military actions.

The Madina Charter, which contains 47 sections in total, addresses the power structures that contributed to the conflict in Yathrib. The Charter expressly identified the parties involved in the conflict; the first 23 sections of the Charter address the Muslim immigrants from Makka and the Muslims of Yathrib, while the second half of the document is directed towards the Jews of the community. Prophet Muhammad also identified immediate physical issues in Yathrib. In the second section, the people of Yathrib are defined as one community to the exclusion of all others. Prior to this proclamation, the boundaries of Yathrib were indistinct, each tribe occupying a certain territory, with the whole of the tribal territories in the area not being considered as one, united city. Once Yathrib was established as an integrated community, The Prophet addressed issues of community justice and protection. The Charter established the course of law for Yathrib. The right to seek justice was shifted from individuals to the central community. The Prophet’s arrangements for community justice and protection encouraged collective responsibility. The Madina Charter was also the first acknowledgement of religious divisions within the Yathrib tribal system. Though he did little to change the organization of inter-religious tribes, the Prophet called upon the deeply instilled values of Islam and Judaism to fortify the agreement. These stipulations enabled the participants of the agreement to look once again beyond tribal alliances, thus making tribal lines indistinct.

Along these same lines, the Charter focused on relationships rather than group dynamics: the Madina Charter eliminated tribal hostilities by realigning residents, shifting the focus from militaristic rivals to allied religious followers. In the event of religious dispute, the document continued to decree that the participants of the agreement must act in good faith with one another Finally, interaction goals, including specific desires to maintain one’s sense of self-identity, were left intact by shifting the alliance from tribes (which were hostile) to religion, enabling participants to abandon tribal hostility without loss of face.

Before the Charter, Yathrib was a community of constant tension between independent, hostile tribes. The Prophet addressed these power struggles by establishing common goals that would serve the whole community. The Charter specifically advises mutual influence with the declaration that the Muslims and Jews “must seek mutual advice and consultation, and loyalty is a protection against treachery.” The Charter binds the parties of the agreement to helping one another against any attack on Yathrib. It dictates behavior for a specific instance of mutual influence. If the Jews “are called to make peace and maintain it they must do so; and if they make a similar demand on the Muslims it must be carried out.” Also, reference to a higher authority was repeated in both sections. The Charter also explicitly pronounces that future disputes “must be referred to God and to Prophet Muhammad.” The participants had placed a power that was external to their group that they would be able to draw upon in the event of their own power being or seeming insufficient. The power of the agreement was uniquely balanced due to its direction towards God. The Madina Charter addressed potential power complications by focusing the participants on their interdependence. The Madina Charter prohibited independent contention by participant groups that claim God’s protection, and states that the peace of believers is as one. Once again, the idea of being one community was emphasized and the participants of the agreement were made to recognize their power as a unit.

The solutions presented in the Madina Charter can be applied to questions concerning dialogue and conflict of today’s world: the Charter was created to address problems present in and created by a pluralistic society, the main characteristic of today’s globalized system. The constitution of the Charter created a federal-type structure with an authority that was centralized in matters of state security, yet provided the tribes a certain level of autonomy in social and religious issues. Prophet Muhammad only made final decisions in cases where tribes could not resolve disputes between themselves, and these decisions were based on the laws laid out by the Charter. The Madina city-state, while granting every citizen equal rights, protection against oppression, and a voice in the government, declared itself a brotherhood of believers, extending financial help to its citizens. Laws were also enacted to punish criminals, such as prohibiting help being given to a murderer. Finally, as prescribed in the teaching of the Qur’an, freedom of religion was guaranteed for each member of the community.

For a peaceful world, individuals must live within the boundaries of the lawfully created universe. In this modern age of science and technology, the Madina Charter could be a source for answers to questions about how to live together and how to solve and prevent conflicts between groups based on differences in culture and belief. The Madina Charter represents the principles of law and good and right reason, which is higher than any individual man. On the charter, God’s name comes first, as God represents the highest good and the highest principle of right reason. Thus, the Madina Charter can be a good model of ways to create and sustain dialogue in a pluralistic society, and of ways to build and conduct political and social relationships among different groups.

And this world’s life is naught but a play and an idle sport and certainly the abode of the hereafter is better.
An‘am 6:32

Mr. B was an old medallion maker who took great pride in his art and craftsmanship. He had been making medals since his youth and he never missed any opportunity to boast about his fine engravings and embellished handiwork. As he had indisputably proved his worth in the small city in which he lived, in these last years of his life he was enjoying the pleasure of choosing his own assignments. He would create medals only for the more glorious events in which many people had worked and struggled, in which more time and money had been spent: he would only make medals for occasions that influenced more lives.

The reason for his inclination to the more important jobs was not financial. While trying to find original designs for these medals, Mr. B often found himself imagining how the winner of the event wanted to have the medal, how this person had endlessly practiced, sacrificing emotional and carnal desires; and here, the medal maker was sitting above the entire crowd, designing and polishing that object which was the goal of all this effort. He almost saw himself as a mythical figure, a ring-giver, who with great ease was able to give all the contenders a motive to live, and one who would give immense happiness to a few.

In this way, Mr. B too gave a special meaning to his own life and he would perhaps have gone on living this way if it weren’t for that pesky invitation he had one day received. He read the whole letter in a single breath; at first he could not decide if he should be happy or worried. This was a summon to a competition between all the medal crafters throughout the country; once and for all it would establish the person who made the most handsome, most elaborate, most original medal designs. Mr. B didn’t even read the awards; he only glanced at the deadline and rules. At that very moment he instantly knew that he would join the contest, even though this could jeopardize his position in his small city. If he didn’t join, everybody would think that he had already accepted defeat. On the other hand, deep inside, he knew that winning this contest was extremely difficult. He had had the chance to see the medals prepared by other artists in other cities during his visits and he often found their work to be superior to his own in a way that is only evident to the eye of a professional. He found himself profoundly hating whoever had come up with the idea of this contest. For a few days he silently walked the streets of his small city. Then he closed himself in his workshop and didn’t come out for a whole week; this left him only enough time to pack up and travel to the capital city with the new medal he had made.

On the day of the contest all the best medal makers in the country filled the finest room of the palace in the capital city. The artists, one by one, came forward and presented the best work of their lives to the head of the committee. All of the medals were spectacular pieces of skill and artistry. However, Mr. B didn’t even peek at any of them: he had developed a series of superstitions while he was preparing for this competition. He had started to believe that seeing any other medal in this period might harm his belief in himself, and this would inevitably affect his chances of winning. Moreover, he never once looked at his own medal after he had put it in its container in his workshop. He somehow thought that the initial place it was made had a spirit and the medal should see the daylight again only here at the competition. Mr. B slowly walked through the crowd to the committee to present the greatest achievement of his life; his heart was pounding and his movements were almost rehearsed and automated. He briefly introduced himself and left the medal for the detailed examination of the shrewd and astute group of experts.

The results were to be announced the following day and until that time Mr. B couldn’t bring himself to think of anything but the contest, even though he genuinely tried to enjoy the many delights the capital city offered. The award ceremony was dazzling; at the end the three best medal makers of the country were to be declared. Just before the names were read, Mr. B finally made peace with himself and decided that even if he were awarded third place, he would still be content. However, his name wasn’t read for third best. All of this was happening too fast. He felt an instant joy that he wasn’t third and calmly realized if his name was going to be called now, it would mean that he is even better than what he had decided to settle for. At the same time, he intuitively knew that there were only two awards left and his chances were much less each time a name was read. While contemplating this fact, the second best medal maker was called: it wasn’t him. Mr. B wasn’t thinking anymore. He could only feel a certain pity for himself and a slight envy for the second best medal maker. He glanced at the entire room filled with best medal makers of the whole country. He should have worked harder, or he should have known his place; he shouldn’t have deluded himself with such pretense! He had a feeling that everybody was looking at him now; then his name was called, he stood up and among the tumultuous applause and cheers he walked up to the stage. There, Mr. B was given a golden medal for his achievement in medal making. The moment he saw the medal around his neck, he felt a funny understanding in his heart.

Years passed. As an ironical finale, the players, the medal makers, and the medal maker who made the medals for the medal makers ended up with the same fate; they were buried in the same row in the same cemetery. Their eyes opened to larger truths and their hearts constantly going over the lives they led, occasionally when they remembered the vainness of the games they had played, they couldn’t help bitterly smiling.