We have lived with imitation forever. Dye pretended to be royal purple. Bronze pretended to be gold. Photography pretended to trap time. Every tool that extends human power also extends human pretense. The difference now is acceleration and opacity: an edit so swift that even conscience can’t keep pace, a polish so seamless it erases its own fingerprints. Authenticity, once a matter of manners and craft, begins to feel like a moral emergency.

The word “authentic” is often treated like a mood: earthy bread, unfiltered photos, a personality that “feels real.” But moods are evaporative. I want a definition that can weather automation. For me, authenticity means at least three things: a truthful intention, an accountable process, and a risk carried by a person—not just a model—at the end. If any one of those goes missing, I can still admire the product, but I struggle to trust the person behind it, even if that person is me.

I am a student of scripture and interpretation; the air I breathe is full of words—recited, argued, memorized, sung. Words are supposed to approach truth, not merely to resemble it. In my tradition we talk about sidq (truthfulness), niyyah (intention), ihsan (excellence), and amanah (trust). These are not ornamental ideas; they are disciplines of selfhood. AI does not cancel them; if anything, it intensifies their necessity. A tool that can impersonate excellence forces us to decide whether we want excellence to be an impersonation at all.

Consider the student essay. A model can outline, draft, tidy, and even simulate “voice.” The result may be correct, even insightful. But where does the student’s intellectual risk live? What has she actually learned to do under the skin? When the paragraphs look sturdy enough to lean on, she is tempted to stop building muscles and start leaning permanently. Authenticity, then, is not a refusal of assistance; it is the refusal to outsource the very thing that the task exists to train. If my course is meant to form judgment, then I can’t delegate judgment to a statistical system without hollowing myself.

Consider devotional art. I can train an algorithm on a hundred recitations and produce a voice that glides like a blade through silk. Does its perfection honor the text, or does it smuggle in a lie about effort? The beauty of breath is that it runs out. The realism of virtue is that it costs. A cloned voice can mimic the contours of humility; it cannot carry humility’s weight.

But the age of AI also disciplines my suspicion. I do not want to become a nostalgist for struggle merely for struggle’s sake, as if the only honest loaf is kneaded by hand and the only honest letter is scratched by a quill. Tools have always multiplied human meaning. A calculator doesn’t corrupt arithmetic; it frees the mind to do higher math. Spellcheck does not destroy literature; it rescues attention for the sentence. So the question is not whether to use AI. The question is whether, in using it, I remain willing to be the person responsible for what the work becomes.

To make that willingness practical, I’ve started practicing a small liturgy of making—four habits that help me stay answerable to myself:

Maksad — Purpose. Before I open a model, I ask: what is the task trying to shape in me? If the goal is recall, I read. If the goal is style, I draft with my own sentences first, however clumsy. If the goal is exploration, I might brainstorm with a model, but I mark the frontier as borrowed. Clarity of aim guards me from seduction by convenience.

Musyaratah — Guardrails. I decide in advance what lines I will not cross. I will not present machine-generated text as my own for graded work. I will not clone human voices without consent. I will cite sources I discover through a model just as if a friend had recommended them. Constraints, like rhyme in a poem, make freedom musical.

Muraqabah — Accountability. I keep a process log. It is not a confession booth; it is a checksum of the self. I note what I asked a model to do, what I adopted, what I altered, what I rejected. If someone asks how I made this, I can tell the true story of the making. The log is for my integrity, not for another’s approval.

Muhasabah — Reflection. After I “finish,” I step back and listen for the room tone of the piece. Does it sound like me—a me who has grown, yes, but still recognizably me? Could I defend the claim I have made without the screen? If the answer is no, the work may be excellent but not yet mine.

These habits are small, almost domestic, but they wage a quiet war against the slippage of authorship. A shortcut that hides itself is a lie; a tool that introduces itself can be a teacher.

To test myself, I ran an experiment. I wrote two short reflections on the same passage: one with the gentle scaffolding of a model that proposed themes and metaphors, and one entirely alone, allowing only books and silence inside the room. The glossier one was not the one I thought. The “assisted” piece flowed and sparkled; it also lacked the knot in the string where my confusion had been tied. The solitary piece was messier; but in its hesitations I could hear a person who had wrestled, and whose voice—imperfect, specific—had weight. If writing is, among other things, a trail of thinking, then the overly smooth trail begins to look suspiciously like a sidewalk poured after the journey ended.

A friend challenged me: “But if the goal is to help readers, why not publish the better piece?” Because better is not the only category that matters. We need a second axis—call it answerability. A piece is answerable when a human being stands behind it and can truthfully say, “I did this much. I accept these consequences.” The reader deserves craft; they also deserve custody. Who is the custodian of the claim? If the maker is only a curator of model outputs, the answer grows indistinct. The words may be true; the accountability is blurry. In a world already allergic to responsibility, blur is not neutral. It is the solvent of trust.

The most common defense of seamless assistance is compassion: Let’s not gatekeep excellence. Let’s let more people sound good. I agree with the compassion; I resist the conclusion. True inclusion invites people to grow strong in their own voices, not merely to be dressed in a costume that fits a market taste. If we unwittingly define dignity as access to a convincing imitation, then we will populate our public life with expertly rendered masks. I do not think we can build a trustworthy civilization out of masks.

Of course, there are ways in which simulation serves mercy: a voice for someone who has lost hers, a predictive text that helps a non-native speaker write with less fear, an image tool that enables a person with limited mobility to tell visual stories. In such cases, disclosure is not self-sabotage; it is part of the dignity. “This is me, with help.” The sentence is humbler and truer than “This is me,” when the latter would be a lie.

Disclosure, in fact, may be the new politeness. We already accept labels that tell us what has been added: contains nuts, edited for clarity, color-corrected. Perhaps we need soft language for creative process as well: assisted outline, language polish, synthetic voice with consent. These are not apologies; they are invitations to trust. They let receivers calibrate their expectations without forcing creators into a permanent performance of purity.

Will some people game the new etiquette? Of course. People already counterfeit everything that is worth trusting. But an ethic does not need perfect compliance to be worthwhile. It only needs enough faithful practitioners to make the real visible again.

When I reach for examples, I keep circling back to the ancient contrast between spectacle and sign. Spectacle calls attention to itself: Look how astonishing this is. A sign points beyond itself: Look where this leads you. Much of our AI-driven culture is spectacular, and a little spectacle is fine—life without astonishment would be gray. But a life dominated by spectacle makes us shallow. We begin to prefer what dazzles over what guides. In my own studies, I try to remember that the most important truths rarely arrive in glitter. They arrive in the steady work of reality: caring for parents, reading primary sources, returning a borrowed thing on time, pronouncing a word as it was meant to be pronounced.

This is not an argument against beauty. It is a plea for the kind of beauty that costs a person something. There is beauty in a scale sung until the throat stings, in a paragraph rewritten until the music settles, in a calculation checked twice. The machine can sketch such beauty. It cannot suffer for it. And suffering—not dramatic, but patient, sustained—is often what turns the merely correct into the genuinely true.

What, then, should we do? We can enact authenticity at three levels: the self, the circle, and the commons.

At the level of the self, we can cultivate appetites that resist fakery. Appetites are trainable. If we binge on frictionless polish, our tongues forget the taste of labor. So we can fast a little from perfect surfaces. We can keep some imperfections on purpose—not as a performance of rusticity, but as a reminder that we are not machines. We can practice saying, when praised, “Thank you; I had help,” and letting that sentence be part of the beauty.

At the level of the circle—friends, classmates, colleagues—we can covenant for clarity. Agree on what kinds of assistance are honorable for a given task. Normalize process notes. Praise the growth that shows in the second attempt, not only the result that gleams in the first. The point is not surveillance; the point is shared courage.

At the level of the commons—publishing, platforms, institutions—we can ask for policies that assume human dignity. Tools can include visible provenance, watermarks that are hard to forge, and optional toggles for disclosure tags. Prizes and journals can reward accountability statements as well as elegance. The goal is not to penalize assistance, but to refuse the disappearing act. When a culture asks “How was this made?” as naturally as it asks “Is this good?” life becomes harder for counterfeits and easier for craft.

But what if the counterfeit is harmless? someone might ask. If the cloned voice soothes a child to sleep, who is harmed? I do not want to be severe; I have been soothed by small mercies that were not entirely honest. Yet the harm of habitual imitation is cumulative. If we allow simulation to become the default texture of care, we teach ourselves to accept gestures without givers. We risk raising a generation comforted by performances of presence rather than presence itself. The harm will appear, like all deep harms, as hollowness.

One evening, after too much thinking, I returned to the same recording that had tricked me. I played it on purpose, knowing it was synthetic. I listened for the seams and could not hear them. The vowels warmed, the consonants glinted, the pauses landed as if the singer had lungs. I tried to be angry and failed. The file was not malicious. It was simply better than my ear. So I did something awkward and good: I put the phone down, sat on the edge of the bed, and recited alone. The room was ordinary. My tone wavered and my breath ran short. But a small confidence visited me: this sound, for all its ordinary, was not pretending to be anything. It was mine to be judged for; mine to improve; mine to offer.

Authenticity will always be partly aspirational. We declare we are telling the truth and then we learn how to do it. We promise to disclose and then we forget and begin again. But aspiration is not hypocrisy; it is training. The self is a muscle, not a statue. Every day I decide which parts to exercise: the instinct for polish or the instinct for presence. In the age of AI, the instinct for polish will have irresistible help. So I must nourish the other instinct with choices that keep me answerable—choices that keep a person at the center of the work.

I still love the tremor in a human voice. I love the penultimate draft that isn’t smooth yet but already honest. I love the awkward sentence that finally learns to walk by itself. I love the breath that runs out and then returns. In a future crowded with convincing performances, these small loves feel like the last quiet luxuries we can afford. Perhaps the test of our intelligence will not be how perfectly we can imitate ourselves, but how bravely we can remain ourselves while we learn to live with perfect imitation.

So here is my working creed, shyly offered to anyone else who wants to stay real without becoming a Luddite:

Use the tools, but don’t let them use your courage.

Disclose your shortcuts, and let the truth become part of your style.

Keep a little friction in the craft; let it remember you.

Accept the cost of carrying your claims.

And when the clone sings beautifully, sing anyway. The world does not merely need correct sounds. It needs responsible singers.

“Nobles” is a title used for the “fortys,” or some among the “fortys” included in the “men of the Unseen.” According to verifying Sufi scholars, these are the heroes of altruism who have completed their ascension toward God by going down among the people to guide and spiritually educate them. They think of nothing other than guiding people to God; they encourage hearts always to do good, and they erect spiritual barriers before evils. They try to confront possible misfortunes through prayers and supplications and they are ready to sacrifice themselves for the good of people or to prevent disasters. Their hearts always beat with feelings of self-sacrifice, compassion, and tender care for others. Since they have dedicated their lives to the happiness of others, they live a life overburdened with the troubles of others and sigh for them. Even if there are times when they feel happy at the news of others’ happiness, they are always sorrowful because of what they have witnessed or heard concerning the sufferings of people. In respect of their mission, they are heirs to the Prophets.

Nukaba (The Custodians)

Nukaba are the saints who are always together with people, correcting their faults, and guiding all toward good with mildness and kindness. Although the term is used for those in the Sufi Orders of Rifai [1] and Badawi [2] who have completed their spiritual journeying and have begun the mission of guiding people to God, according to the verifying Sufi scholars they are the purified souls whose spiritual profundity and discovery transcend their scope of learning and sight and who always observe the spiritual domain or realm of existence; by God’s leave, they are able to penetrate the hearts of people and what occurs to them. They carry out the duty of some sort of translation between the physical and metaphysical realms, interpreting existence in accordance with their capacity and in consideration of the understanding levels of their audience, and persistently try to find ways to God through everything. In their view, the universe is a meaningful book which contains messages within messages, with all its parts making up the words, sentences, and paragraphs. In these ever-wakeful souls and truth-voicing tongues, the truth expressed herein shows itself:

The universe is a supreme book of God throughout,
whatever letter you study, you see its meaning is God.

Awtad (The Pillars)

Awtad are the four “men of God” who are so close to one another that one cannot do without the other. They make their spiritual journeying and carry out their duties under the shadow of the missions of Enoch, Elijah, Jesus, and Khadr, upon them and our Prophet be peace. According to the particular mission of each, they have the titles ‘Abdu’l-Hayy (The Servant of the All-Living), ‘Abdu’l-‘Alim (The Servant of the All-Knowing), ‘Abdu’l-Murid (The Servant of the All-Willing), and ‘Abdu’l-Qadir (The Servant of the All-Powerful), and they reflect the spiritual content of Prophets Adam, Abraham, Jesus, and Muhammad, upon them be peace and blessings, or represent the reflections of their truths. Their connection with God is through the lenses of the Archangels Gabriel, Michael [3], Israfil [4], and ‘Azrail [5], upon them be peace. They each correspond to a pillar of the Ka‘ba, which signifies the door or stairway to that station.

Muhyi’d-Din ibnu’l-‘Arabi is of the opinion that the pillars are the seven saints who carry out their duties according to a hierarchy that exists among them.

Some call all the saints of God—including the nobles, custodians, and pillars—the “men of God” in the sense that they are heroes of the truth with certain spiritual power. Their most distinguishing attributes are their deep reverence for God and their feeling of awe before Him; being overwhelmed by the manifestations of the All-Merciful; arousing God’s existence and omnipresence in the minds of those who see them; sobriety and dignity coming from their constant awareness of God’s company; being deeply ashamed of certain ordinary human acts and states—even though they are not religiously forbidden; being aware of God in everything in a different wave of sensation; self-forgetfulness when they are aware of God; continuous self-supervision and attributing to Him whatever gifts and blessings they are favored with; and remaining unknown by others. With respect to their being unknown, they are called “the men of the Unseen” or “the army of God.” In one of his poems, Sultan Mehmed the Conqueror [6] refers to those men who are endowed with a sacred spiritual power and asks for their prayers in carrying out the duty of serving God’s Word.

With respect to these men’s being able to make the Divine mysteries felt in the hearts of others, they are called “the men of conquest”; because of their being unknown or being known only by a few, they are known as “the men of the Unseen.” In regard to their generally living in ecstasy, they are called “the men of power,” and because they approach everyone with gentleness and tolerance and return evil done to them with good, they are “the men of kindness.”

Ghawth (The Helper or the Means of Divine Help)

Signifying help, coming to the aid of others, and giving spiritual help, the term ghawth is used by the Sufis to denote saints of the highest rank.

A person who has attained this rank has been honored with a particular Divine favor and, by God’s leave, hurries to the aid of those in difficulties. Those who do not have this capacity cannot be regarded as ghawth; any poles (qutb) who cannot be mirrors to reflect Divine help to others are not called ghawth.

One who combines the spiritual status of being a ghawth with the rank of being a qutb is called al-ghawthu’l-a‘zam (the greatest helper), and if the one who has been primarily favored with the rank of being a qutb is also honored with being a ghawth, he is called al-qutbu’l-a‘zam (the greatest pole). Each of these titles has aspects particular to itself.

Since those honored with these exalted ranks represent the shadow of Haqiqa Muhammadiya (the Truth of Muhammad) [7], they are in the company of the Prophet, upon him be peace and blessings, with respect to being mirrors to certain Divine truths. Because of this, they have a reflective part in the holy Prophet’s universal mission of being a mirror to God, which is expressed by Süleyman Çelebi as follows:

(God said to the Prophet): I have made your essence a mirror to Me,
and inscribed your name together with Mine.

The status described by Haqani in, “The Ultimate Truth has made him a mirror to Him / He has made him a mirror to His peerless Being,” primarily and with all its comprehensiveness, belongs to the master of creation, upon him be peace and blessings, who is the greatest of the perfect or universal men [8]. Each of the other perfect or universal men has a relative, particular part in this great honor.

The Sufis maintain that in every century there is a helper or means of Divine help (ghawth) who is the leader of all the contemporary men of God, the door among people to the attainment of Divine assistance, the moderator of the spiritual realm or domain of existence, and the pivot of Divine gifts and blessings. If a helper is also a pole, his title is the greatest pole, and his rank is the status of the greatest pole.

Such a hero of spirituality who is honored with this rank has such capacities that not only ordinary people like us, but also those who have reached the final point of spiritual journeying are unable to perceive them. This rank is the most comprehensive mirror to the Divine Names, the essence of existence, and the greatest focus of the Truth of Muhammad. By virtue of this distinction, and by God’s leave, such a one is an authority entitled to represent the implementation of the Divine decrees under the leadership and protection of Haqiqa Ahmadiya (the Truth of Ahmad) [9] and in the light of the Lamp of Muhammad [10], upon him be peace and blessings.

The scholarly people of sainthood mention the names of such great saints as ‘Abdu’l-Qadir al-Jilani [11], Abu’l-Hasan al-Harakani [12], Shaykh al-Harrani [13], and Imam Rabbani [14], as those who have attained this rank in the history of Islam. These personages, who have combined the rank of being a pole with that of being a helper, are mentioned with the titles of “the greatest pole,” or “the greatest helper.” As they represent the status of being the greatest pole, they are also called “the pole of the poles.”

With respect to being the representatives of spiritual perfection, they are also regarded as the true heirs to the duties of Prophethood and the special, most distinguished representatives of succession to Prophet Muhammad, upon him be peace and blessings. It is undeniable that the purification of the carnal soul, refinement of the heart, and spiritual struggle all have an important part in the attainment of this rank. However, it should also be borne in mind that this rank is a special gift of God which He accords to whomever He wills. God Himself declares: That is God’s grace. He grants it to whom He wills. Surely God is of tremendous grace (62:4).

This elevated rank has sometimes been represented by a single individual, sometimes by a collective personality formed around God’s good pleasure through a sincere brother/sisterhood, and selfless unity and solidarity, or, quite possibly, by a community of Muslims which serves the true faith and the Qur’an purely for God’s sake.

Qutb (The Pole)

Qutb is the title of one who is the focus of the views of the earth and heaven’s inhabitants, the perfect vicegerent of God, the Ultimate Truth, the heir of the master of creation, upon him be peace and blessings, and the perfect, universal man who always exists among humankind.

After the pride of humanity, Prophet Muhammad, upon him be peace and blessings, this rank was represented by the first four Rightly-Guided Caliphs in order of succession, who were true successors to the duties of Prophethood. They were followed by the greatest scholars or the founders of Islamic Schools of Law, who had the capacity to deduce new laws from the Qur’an and the Sunna, the greatest saints, and the saintly scholars.

Together with the rank of helper, the rank of pole is also the greatest of spiritual ranks. While a helper is primarily distinguished by coming to the aid of others who are immured in difficulties, a pole may also be favored with the rank of helper and become a source of spiritual radiance and a reflector of God’s gifts. Being heir to the Truth of Muhammad, a pole represents a reflection of the master of creation, upon him be peace and blessings, under his guardianship in the age where he lives, and is a successor to him in his duties as a spiritual master.

By virtue of the special gifts with which he is honored, and by virtue of having been equipped with a special capacity in accordance with his duty, a pole is, like the North Star, a singular, chosen one upon whom the views of all the inhabitants of the earth and heavens are focused. This mysterious power station, which is always open to the metaphysical realms, has effects on the human outer and inner faculties that resemble the spirit’s control of the body. This power of penetration comes from this person’s knowledge of God; this knowledge of God originates in God’s Knowledge, Which in turn is an Attribute of the Divine Essence. With respect to his own essence, or when left to his own devices, a pole is like a drop of water—but a drop that contains the entire reflection of the sun by virtue of God’s favors upon him. Such a one is nothing but an atom, but that atom reflects all of the heavens. For in their essential nature, poles are nothing—they are zero—but they are equipped with such essential values and qualities that they reflect eternity.

With one of their eyes always scanning the physical dimension of existence, poles constantly observe the realms beyond with the other eye, in unceasing pursuit of the radiance of recognition or knowledge of God. They weave the spiritual lacework of existence with the silky threads of wisdom that pour into their hearts and

give them to those around them. Like the sun, they always give off light and illuminate all that is around them. And like a surging ocean, they bubble over from within and diffuse life into hearts.

Since poles have fully developed their innate capacities, they are heroes of extraordinary performance. They are perfect persons whose hearts are mirrors to the Archangel Israfil, and whose power of speech mirrors Gabriel, and whose power of attraction mirrors Michael, and whose power of repelling mirrors ‘Azrail. By virtue of this, they are each, in one respect, a focus of creation as a mirror to all realms, vicegerents of God in their age, special students and representatives of the Truth of Muhammad, rays of the first manifestation of existence beyond time, and luminous, transparent means for the conduction of Divine mysteries to all hearts. Being heirs to the Prophet, they establish new rules to acquire and deepen in knowledge of God and the Religion. The Shi‘a attribute this rank only to ‘Ali and the eleven Imams who descended from him through the Prophet’s beloved daughter, Fatima, and the last of whom is the Mahdi [15]; this is a restriction. God may accord this honor to whomever He wills among His servants who have been endowed with the necessary capacity and He may make Himself known through them.

The Sufi scholarly saints mention two types of pole, one being “the pole of guidance” and the other being “the pole of existence.” The “pole of guidance” represents the spirit of Prophethood as the owner of the greater rank of pole, while the “pole of existence” stands for the inner dimension of the Seal of Prophethood with the title of the Seal of Sainthood. The scholars who have expert knowledge of the matter hold the opinion that although in the same period there may be more than one pole of guidance, there can only be one pole of existence. The axis of whichever great angel honored with special nearness to God or whichever illustrated Prophet he journeys around, or the rug-seat of whichever saint he occupies, the Pole of existence always turns toward the light of the existence of the Pole of Prophethood, upon him be peace and blessings, and toward his spiritual assistance.

Although there are Sufi scholars who mention some people as the Poles of existence who have existed since the Prophet Adam, upon him be peace, this view has not received much acceptance. The majority of the experts in this matter agree that in every age the Pole of existence is mentioned with the title of ‘Abdullah (the

Servant of God) and ‘Abdu’l-Jami‘ (the Servant of the One Who Has All Excellences in the Infinite Degree).

All the information given so far is based on the spiritual discovery and observation of some talented saints. For this reason, more or less space can always be assigned to the subject. There may even be those who say different things on this matter. God knows best. Therefore, what I should finally do is to entreat God Almighty,

saying: “Our Lord, take us not to task if we forget or make mistakes! Our Lord, forgive us, then, our sins, and blot out from us our evil deeds, and take us to You in death, in the company of the truly godly and virtuous.”

O God! Show us truth as being true and enable us to follow it, and show us falsehood as falsehood and enable us to refrain from it. And bestow blessings and peace on the sole owner of the subtle essence and meaning of being Muhammad, the sun of the heavens of mysteries, the object of all lights, the pivot of the Divine Majesty, and the axis of the sphere of the Divine Grace and Beauty, and on his Family and Companions, the stars of guidance and the springs of assistance.

Notes

• Sayyid Ahmad ar-Rifai (1119–1183), the founder of the Rifai Order, and one of the greatest Sufi masters in the history of Islam, was born and lived in southern Iraq. He also had profound knowledge of Islamic religious sciences, including especially jurisprudence and Hadith. (Tr.)
• Sayyid Ahmad al-Badawi (1200–1276) was one of the most outstanding Sufi masters, to whom the Badawi Order is attributed. He was born in Morocco. When he was six years old, his family emigrated to Makka. He spent the greatest part of his life in Tanta, Egypt. He was also well-versed in Islamic sciences. (Tr.)
• Michael is the Archangel who supervises the earth with its grass, plants, and animals, and represents or presents to God their glorifications and praises of Him. (Tr.)
• Israfil is one of the four Archangels. He will blow the Trumpet just before the end of the universe and for the resurrection of the dead. (Tr.)
• ‘Azrail is the Archangel charged with taking the souls of human beings. He is the angel of death. (Tr.)
• Sultan Mehmed the Conqueror (1432–1481) was the seventh Ottoman Sultan, and conquered Istanbul. (Tr.)
• Haqiqa Muhammadiya (the Truth of Muhammad): This term is essential to Sufism. It may be translated as the “reality of Muhammad” as God’s Messenger, the most beloved of God, the best example for all creation to follow, the embodiment of Divine Mercy, and the living Qur’an or embodiment of the Qur’anic way of life. (Tr.)
• For a detailed analysis of the perfect or universal Man, see M. Fethullah Gülen, Emerald Hills of the Heart – Key Concepts in the Practice of Sufism, Tughra Books, NJ, 2004, Vol., 2, pp. 289–302. (Tr.)
• Haqiqa Ahmadiya ( the Truth of Ahmad) is the term used to designate the reality or the essence or the truth represented by the personality of Prophet Muhammad, upon him be peace and blessings, before his coming to the world and after his departure from the world. In one respect, it signifies the unparalleled sainthood of Prophet Muhammad. (Tr.)
• The Lamp of Muhammad signifies the light of Muhammad’s Messengership or the light of Islam or the way of Prophet Muhammad, upon him be peace and blessings. (Tr.)
• ‘Abdu’l-Qadir al-Jilani (d. 1166): One of the most celebrated Sufi masters. A student of jurisprudence and Hadith, he became known as “the pole” of his age and the “the greatest means of Divine help.” Among his well-known books are Kitabu’l-Ghunyah, Futuhu’l-Ghayb, and Al-Fathu’r-Rabbani. (Tr.)
• ‘Ali ibn Ahmad Abu’l-Hasan al-Harakani (963–1033) is one of the most celebrated saints. He was born and lived in Harakan near Bastam in Iran. He lived as a poor farmer. He was martyred in fighting in Kars, a city in the farthest northeastern Turkey, and was buried there. (Tr.)
• Shakyh Hayat ibn Qays al-Harrani (d. 1185), is one of the most outstanding saints in the history of Islam. He was born in Baghdad and lived in Harran near Urfa, in southeastern Turkey. (Tr.)
• Imam Rabbani, Ahmad Faruq al-Sarhandi (d. 1624): The “reviver of the second millennium.” Born in Sarhand (India) and well-versed in Islamic sciences, he removed many corrupt elements from Sufism. He taught Shah Alamgir or Awrangzeb (d. 1707), who had a committee of scholars prepare the most comprehensive compendium of Hanafi Law. His work Maktubat (The Letters) is very famous and widely known throughout the Muslim world. (Tr.)
• The Mahdi, literally meaning one who guides to truth, is the title of the blessed person whose coming toward the end of time to re-establish the truth of Islam and justice on the earth was promised by God’s Messenger, upon him be peace and blessings. (Tr.)