Once confined to science fiction, such as The Matrix and Avatar, the idea of digital replicas is rapidly becoming a reality. With digital twin technology, engineers are creating virtual versions of objects, systems, and, perhaps soon, even humans. Already transforming industries, these digital counterparts hint at a future where the line between physical and virtual blurs even further.

In this piece, I would like to introduce a trending concept and explore its parallels with a divine principle that has been present since the beginning of humanity and has remained integral to the human experience. Have you heard of the “Digital Twin,” a new emerging concept in science that studies new, dynamic, and complex systems? Let’s examine why it receives a lot of attention and how it is utilized by researchers. In a nutshell, a Digital Twin is a virtual, dynamic, or live replica or representation of a physical object, system, or process that is used to simulate, predict, and optimize real-world performance. It continuously receives data from its physical counterpart through sensors and IoT (Internet of Things) devices, enabling real-time monitoring, analysis, and decision-making. It can also learn, absorbing knowledge from people, machines, and its environment.

For example, a wind turbine can be equipped with sensors that monitor key functional areas. These sensors collect data on factors such as energy output, temperature, and weather conditions. This information is then transmitted to a processing system, which updates a corresponding digital replica (twin) of the turbine. Once real-time data informs the digital model, it can be used to run simulations, diagnose performance issues, and explore potential areas for improvement. The ultimate goal is to generate insights that help optimize the performance and reliability of the physical system. Keep in mind that digital twins are an exact replica of the physical system, including all its features. Another example can be from healthcare, such as personalized medicine through patient-specific physiological models. For instance, cardiac digital twins simulate heart functions to plan interventions for arrhythmias or heart failure, so digital twins enable individualized modeling by continuously integrating real-time patient data.

Unlike traditional simulation systems, digital twins are dynamic and built around a continuous two-way flow of information. Object sensors send real-time data to the system processor, which analyzes it and then transmits insights or adjustments back to the physical object. This ongoing exchange enables digital twins to leverage up-to-date information across multiple domains, coupled with the computational power of a virtual environment. As a result, they can investigate more complex issues from a broader range of perspectives than standard simulations, offering greater potential to enhance products and processes. This technology is essential since it enables users to visualize and diagnose internal issues in physical objects or processes, without direct access or safety risks. It also streamlines design, testing, and implementation, significantly reducing time and cost across product and system development. Currently, the market is growing, with a projected value of $73.5 billion by 2027. It is being used in many applications, including manufacturing, healthcare, automotive, power utilities, and urban planning, among others.

Returning to our central theme, let us now turn our attention to the concept of the spiritual twin and the ultimate goal of human life. Just as digital twins are constantly monitored and refined to achieve optimal performance, we as humans are encouraged to live meaningful lives, continually reflecting on our actions and striving for self-improvement to reach the optimal state of the soul, known in Islamic tradition as Insān al-Kāmil.

We will now explore the conceptual parallels between the Digital Twin and theological and spiritual concepts, specifically reflecting the idea of a mirror self, recorded self, or spiritual counterpart. These concepts often focus on accountability, self-reflection, the unseen reality of our actions and intentions, as well as spiritual development. Let’s now cover them one by one:

1. Continuous data collection and the metaphysical record

Digital twins rely on continuous data streams from their physical counterparts, collected through sensors and connected devices. This data not only reflects current performance but also enables predictions about future states. In the spiritual realm, a similar concept appears in the continuous recording of human actions—a core belief across the Abrahamic faiths. In Islamic tradition, Angels known as Kiraman Katibin are believed to meticulously record every deed, spoken word, and even intention. On the Day of Judgment, these records—known as the Book of Deeds (Kitab al-A‘mal)—will be presented as undeniable evidence of one’s life choices (Qur’an 17:13–14). Christianity and Judaism hold parallel beliefs in the Book of Life or divine records (Revelation 20:12), which will be opened in the final judgment to determine eternal outcomes. Just as a digital twin stores and simulates every state of a system for analysis and accountability, these spiritual records capture the entirety of one’s moral and spiritual journey—comprehensive, immutable, and decisive in shaping one’s eternal fate.

2. Real time monitoring and muraqabah

A digital twin lives in constant dialogue with its real-world counterpart, watching every pulse of data, sensing every shift, and guiding the system toward its best performance. In the spiritual realm, our own “twin” exists within—the nafs, the inner self—shaped by every choice, word, and thought. In Islamic tradition, the practice of muraqabah—self-vigilance—is the art of keeping this inner twin aligned with truth and virtue. It is the quiet, steady awareness that God sees all, and that our hearts are mirrors reflecting our deeds. Just as a digital twin thrives on unbroken streams of feedback to refine the system, muraqabah thrives on continuous self-awareness, adjusting the soul in real-time, moment by moment, so that the inner self remains in harmony with its highest purpose.

3. Predictive simulation: Considering the consequences of actions

Digital twins allow system designers and managers to simulate what-if scenarios to predict future outcomes. For example, in healthcare, a digital twin of a heart may simulate how it would respond to a specific surgical procedure, helping avoid undesirable outcomes. Alike, spiritual traditions have long emphasized a similar predictive practice: reflecting on the consequences of one’s actions before committing them. For instance, in the Islamic tradition, the concept of muhasabah (self-accountability) encourages individuals to review their deeds regularly and anticipate their outcomes in the hereafter. The Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) said, “The intelligent person is the one who holds himself accountable and performs deeds for what comes after death.” (Tirmidhi).

In addition, other belief systems also have similar practices, such as the doctrine of “Karma,” which serves as a predictive framework in Buddhism. Every action (good or bad) is believed to carry consequences, shaping future experiences both in this life and in the cycle of rebirth. The Akashic Records concept in Hinduism, though more esoteric, holds that every soul has a detailed ledger of all its actions across time, accessible for spiritual insight and learning. This moral forecasting resembles how digital twins are used to avoid system failures and optimize future performance.

4. Optimization and calibration

A key function of a digital twin is not merely to monitor but to optimize the performance of its physical counterpart. Adjustments are made based on predictive insights to maintain system health and prevent breakdowns. Faith traditions focus similarly on self-purification and the constant struggle to refine one’s character. For instance, Islamic tradition has the concept of “tazkiyah”, which is the purification of the soul from negative attributes such as arrogance, greed, and envy, and the cultivation of virtues like humility, patience, and sincerity. This process is seen as essential for achieving spiritual excellence and eternal success. If we also examine the Sufi tradition, we can see an additional focus on the “heart.” The Sufi tradition describes the heart as a mirror that becomes clouded by sin but can be polished through remembrance of God (dhikr), charity, and good deeds. This mirrors how a digital twin helps maintain the clarity and accuracy of its system’s functioning. Finally, in Christian theology, sanctification is the process by which a believer gradually becomes free from sin and grows in holiness, guided by God’s grace.

5. Accountability and final judgment: The ultimate system review

Just as digital twins are used to assess the life cycle performance of a machine or system before final decisions are made (such as repair, replacement, or retirement), spiritual traditions emphasize a final, ultimate accountability. Across the Abrahamic faiths, the concept of a “Day of Judgment” serves as this ultimate review process. Each tradition emphasizes that no detail is overlooked and that records of one’s life—whether metaphorical or literal—are thoroughly examined before final outcomes are determined.

In Islamic Tradition, The Qur’an vividly describes this moment: “Read your record. Sufficient is yourself against you this Day as an accountant.” (Surah Al-Isra, 17:14). Good deeds and misdeeds are weighed, much like performance metrics of a system being evaluated. In Christian Tradition, the New Testament also emphasizes this final accountability. In the Book of Revelation, it is written: “And I saw the dead, great and small, standing before the throne, and books were opened. Another book was opened, which is the book of life. The dead were judged according to what they had done as recorded in the books.” (Revelation 20:12). This mirrors the idea of a complete system audit, where every action contributes to the ultimate decision—whether entry into eternal life or exclusion from it. Finally, in Jewish thought, God’s role as judge is central. On Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, it is believed that God opens the “Book of Life” and the “Book of Death” to inscribe people for the coming year, with Yom Kippur serving as the final seal of judgment (Mishnah Rosh Hashanah 1:2). This annual cycle foreshadows the ultimate Day of Judgment, where every soul must give an account. The Talmud notes: “All is foreseen, yet freedom of choice is given” (Pirkei Avot 3:15), highlighting both human agency and divine review.

Taken together, these traditions reinforce the analogy: just as a digital twin undergoes a final performance review before critical lifecycle decisions, human life is subject to a comprehensive, final accountability before God. In both contexts, nothing is left unexamined—the smallest details, whether a system’s performance metrics or an individual’s deeds, are accounted for in making the ultimate determination.

Let’s conclude by reemphasizing that while Digital Twin technology is a product of human ingenuity aimed at improving the management of complex systems, its core functions—continuous recording, predictive analysis, optimization, and accountability—have long been central to religious and philosophical understandings of human life. These parallels suggest that technology is, in many ways, catching up with timeless spiritual wisdom. While engineers and scientists work to perfect the performance of machines and healthcare systems, faith traditions have always called for the perfection of the human soul. In a time when technology increasingly shapes our existence, revisiting these spiritual concepts can offer a profound reminder: just as we strive to optimize the material world, we must remain vigilant in refining our character, purifying our intentions, and preparing for the ultimate “system audit” in the life to come.

One of the most fundamental laws of nature is known as the Second Law of Thermodynamics. Put simply, this law states that entropy, a measure of disorder or randomness, tends to increase over time. In everyday life, we observe this principle in the tendency of things to break down or decay: metal rusts, organisms age, and heat flows from warm objects to cooler ones until a balance is reached. In the language of physics, unless energy is supplied from outside, an isolated system will inevitably move toward greater disorder. This one-way drive toward disorganization reflects a fundamental directionality in the universe. Sir Arthur Eddington even remarked that the Second Law holds “the supreme position among the laws of nature,” so universally valid that if your theory contradicts it, you have no hope but “to collapse in deepest humiliation.” In other words, no process ever observed has violated this march toward higher entropy.

But how might this apparent law of cosmic disorder relate to the idea of a single, unified Creator behind the universe? At first glance, the inevitable decay of all things culminating in the so-called “heat death” of the universe, a cold and lifeless equilibrium state, could evoke a sense of cosmic pessimism. Indeed, it has led some thinkers to bleak conclusions about meaning. Yet from the perspective of faith in an eternal and transcendent God, this very impermanence can serve as a powerful reminder of the Divine’s uniqueness and everlasting nature. Rather than undermining spiritual belief, entropy underscores the finite, contingent nature of the material world, which in turn points toward an absolute, necessary existence beyond it. This article explores the scientific and philosophical dimensions of the Second Law of Thermodynamics and highlights its intersections with the concept of divine unity across religious thought.

The Second Law of Thermodynamics tells us that energy transformations in nature proceed in a particular direction. This “arrow of time,” encapsulated by the concept of entropy, indicates that the amount of disorder in an isolated system (and in the universe as a whole) is always increasing. In practical terms, usable energy naturally flows from more concentrated forms to more dispersed ones like heat diffusing from a hot cup of coffee into the cooler surrounding air. This results in a steady loss of available energy to do work and a gradual slide toward disorder. Because of this law, many physical processes are irreversible: a hot cup of coffee will inevitably cool down over time, but it will never spontaneously heat itself back up.

As physicist and theologian Sir John Polkinghorne explains, the reason entropy must increase is essentially statistical: “There are just so many more ways to be disordered than ordered.” Over time, chaos overtakes structure simply because disordered arrangements are far more probable than highly ordered ones. Thus, given enough time, all processes in the universe tend toward outcomes such as biological death and material breakdown. This matches our everyday experience: our bodies age, machines wear out, and living things eventually die. From a scientific standpoint, it is only natural that order gradually yields to disorder as time progresses.

Scientists often refer to entropy’s inexorable rise as the “arrow of time,” because it gives time a definite direction. The past can be distinguished from the future by the fact that the overall entropy was lower in the past and will be higher in the future. The renowned astrophysicist Stephen Hawking identified this relentless increase in entropy as the key element that gives time its forward direction. This idea carries a profound existential weight, confronting us with the reality of mortality and decay. The philosopher Bertrand Russell, writing in the early 20th century, captured this sentiment of inevitable cosmic ruin in a famous passage:

“All the labors of the ages, all the devotion, all the inspiration, all the noonday brightness of human genius, are destined to extinction in the vast death of the solar system… Only within the scaffolding of these truths, only on the firm foundation of unyielding despair, can the soul’s habitation henceforth be safely built.”

Russell, emphasizing the certainty of the universe’s eventual heat death, paints a worldview devoid of any cosmic consolation. In purely physical terms, the Second Law’s long-range prediction is indeed stark: given enough time, stars will exhaust their fuel, matter will decay, and the cosmos will drift into a dark, cold, and lifeless expanse. This “heat death” scenario remains a serious scientific hypothesis for the ultimate fate of the universe.

The universe with a beginning

At this juncture, a profound question naturally arises: if the universe had existed eternally into the past, wouldn’t it already have reached this state of thermodynamic exhaustion by now? In other words, if entropy has been increasing forever, all usable energy should long ago have been depleted. The fact that we still see stars shining and life thriving today suggests that the universe has not existed indefinitely into the past; otherwise, it would have already run down. This line of reasoning leads us to consider the question of the universe’s beginning.

By the late 19th century, physicists recognized that the Second Law of Thermodynamics pointed toward a bleak future for the cosmos: eventual heat death. They also realized that if the universe were infinitely old, it should already be in that lifeless equilibrium state. Yet the universe clearly has not reached such a state, implying that it cannot have existed forever. In modern times, this insight has become part of a cosmological argument for a beginning of the universe. The philosopher William Lane Craig, for example, has invoked the Second Law as evidence in support of the kalam cosmological argument, which asserts that the universe must have a starting point. Craig writes that “the universe began in a state of low entropy (extraordinarily high order) and has followed the trajectory outlined by the Second Law ever since,” underlining that the cosmos has a temporally finite past.

This view accords with contemporary cosmology. Discoveries in astronomy during the 20th century, such as the expansion of the universe and the validation of the Big Bang theory, confirm that the cosmos had a definite beginning in time. Significantly, the Second Law’s arrow of time implies that the universe’s beginning was a moment of exceptionally low entropy. In fact, physicist Roger Penrose has calculated that the level of order at the Big Bang had to be unimaginably high; the universe started in an extraordinarily special state of arrangement. Such a low-entropy outset is so statistically unlikely that it cries out for an explanation beyond mere chance. It is as if the dice were loaded in favor of an orderly cosmos. The question naturally arises: Who or what “loaded the dice” at the inception of the universe?

Some scientists writing on thermodynamics have even openly reflected on this question. In their textbook Introduction to Thermodynamics: Classical and Statistical, Gordon J. Van Wylen and Richard Sonntag note that while science cannot definitively address the absolute origin of the universe, the Second Law “indicates in the direction of before (and continuing work of) a Creator.” In their view, the very fact that nature follows orderly laws (like entropy) is suggestive of an initial and ongoing act of creation. In other words, the cosmos has not been left to itself: an extraordinary order was present at the beginning, and the continued reliability of natural law can be seen as a sign of a sustaining power behind it.

The remarkable order at the universe’s birth is closely connected to what scientists today call the fine-tuning of the cosmos. Notable physicists such as Paul Davies have pointed out that the laws of nature appear to be finely adjusted to permit the existence of complex structures, life, and consciousness, an alignment that is difficult to attribute to pure chance. In his 1984 book Superforce, Davies remarks: “The laws that enable the universe to exist seem to be the product of exceedingly clever design. If physics is the product of design, the universe must have a purpose; and modern physics strongly suggests to me that this purpose includes us.” Many scientists and philosophers have echoed this amazement at how precisely the fundamental constants of physics and the initial conditions of the universe are set. This phenomenon of fine-tuning is often taken as evidence that the universe is not a random accident, but the result of purposeful intent.

A meaningful creation

From a spiritual perspective, the notion of a finely ordered cosmos aligns closely with the timeless belief that creation is intentional and meaningful, rather than a random occurrence. Many faith traditions echo a shared intuition that the harmony and balance we observe in the universe indicate the presence of a singular intelligent source. This divine wisdom within creation suggests that what science identifies as “order” and “laws” reflect an underlying purposeful design.

The belief in one God, an ultimate, singular power governing all existence is a central tenet across many monotheistic faiths. This belief suggests that the unity and coherence observed in nature’s laws reflect the will of a single, unifying Creator. The logic here is straightforward: if multiple independent divine forces governed the universe, disorder and conflict would likely prevail rather than the consistent harmony observed in physical laws. This consistency in the laws of physics from Earth to distant galaxies implies a single, unified source behind them. In philosophical terms, the universe behaves more like a kingdom governed by one sovereign than an empire divided among competing rulers.

The Second Law of Thermodynamics, universal and unfailing, can itself be viewed as part of this overarching cosmic order. It reminds us that all things in creation are subject to change, decay, and eventual dissolution. Everything in the material world is perishable; nothing shares the permanence of the ultimate divine reality. This aligns closely with the spiritual understanding in many religious traditions that all compound or material things eventually break down and fade away. Rather than being merely a grim observation, this scientific fact holds profound moral and spiritual lessons. It encourages humility in acknowledging life’s fragility and inspires us to seek what endures beyond physical existence.

Many spiritual traditions emphasize that observing the natural world can lead to profound wisdom and insight. Contemplating phenomena such as the stars, the cycle of life and death, or even everyday experiences like the cooling of a cup of coffee can provide perspective about our place in the universe and inspire reflection on realities beyond the physical. Through thoughtful observation, the universe reveals itself not just as a realm of matter and energy, but as a profound source of spiritual guidance and enlightenment.

Most religious worldviews also foresee an end to the cosmos as we know it; not as a meaningless collapse, but as a transition to a new order. In Islamic eschatology, for instance, it is said that at the end of time the heavens and earth will be rolled up, symbolically demonstrating absolute kingship over creation, before ushering in a new world. Similarly, Christian theology speaks of “a new heaven and a new earth” established by God beyond the end of our current universe. John Polkinghorne, reflecting on entropy from his dual perspective as a physicist and a priest, noted that while decay and death are intrinsic to this present world (and even serve a role in life’s development), the promise of a divinely renewed creation is that it will be free from decay. In a world to come, in Polkinghorne’s words, “a different material order not subject to decay may emerge.” In religious terms, this is the idea of resurrection or paradise: an existence in which the effects of entropy are abolished by divine decree. In the Islamic description of paradise, for example, it is a realm where people “will not taste death” anymore and will abide in an everlasting life. The notion of an existence not subject to entropy may lie outside the scope of physical science, but it is entirely within the scope of an omnipotent God.

A temporary universe

Seen through this broader lens, the Second Law of Thermodynamics the principle that our universe is winding down takes on a deeper meaning. Rather than implying that everything is pointless, it reminds us that this universe is temporary. It serves as a signpost directing the attentive mind beyond the physical realm toward the eternal. The interplay of order and disorder in nature, then, is not a sign of an absurd cosmos but part of a grander story. On the one hand, the Second Law teaches us to be humble and to recognize the impermanence of worldly things. On the other hand, the astonishing fine-tuning and lawful structure of the universe encourage us to consider the reality of a single, sustaining Creator.

Bridging scientific insight with spiritual understanding is a venerable endeavor. Centuries ago, scholars in various religious traditions asserted that studying nature is a way of learning about God, since the laws of the universe can be seen as manifestations of a divine order. The medieval Muslim thinker Al-Ghazali, for example, described the patterns in nature as part of God’s customary way of acting, and he encouraged believers to contemplate the natural world as a means to deepen their faith. In the modern age, many scientists and philosophers whether Muslim, Christian, or otherwise have similarly found that the discoveries of science resonate with the idea of a Creator. Figures like William Lane Craig, John Polkinghorne, Paul Davies, and Gordon Van Wylen come from different backgrounds, yet all have argued that the empirical evidence of a cosmic beginning, finely tuned laws, and life-friendly conditions makes sense in light of an intentional, intelligent origin. From a monotheistic viewpoint, all of these pointers ultimately direct us to the same conclusion: there is one underlying source behind reality. The conviction that all order (and even what we experience as “disorder”) is governed by a single cosmic will is a unifying idea found across many faiths. Through this lens, one can embrace scientific truth while also recognizing a transcendent meaning beyond it.

The Second Law of Thermodynamics and the spiritual principle of divine unity are not opposing explanations of reality, but complementary ones. Entropy’s increase teaches us about the physical fate of our universe, yet it can also be understood as a signpost to deeper truths. It exposes the mortality and finiteness inherent in the world, even as it invites us to reflect on what might be eternal. In the seemingly cold fact of cosmic decay, one can discern a gentle reminder: “Everything besides the One is perishing.” Seeing traces of a higher order amidst cosmic disorder is part of a holistic quest for truth, merging the scientific and the spiritual. By synthesizing insights from physics with insights from faith, we gain a richer understanding of our place in the cosmos. Ultimately, beyond the visible flux of the material universe lies a transcendent order that gives the cosmos meaning a reality which, according to the world’s great spiritual traditions, has been there all along and will endure when the stars themselves have faded.

References

• Polkinghorne, J. (2011). Believing in God in an Age of Science [Interview: “Holes in the Net”]. Vision Magazine.
• Craig, W. L. (2016). “Excursus on Natural Theology (Part 13): 2nd Scientific Confirmation of the Beginning of the Universe.” ReasonableFaith.org.
• Van Wylen, G. J., & Sonntag, R. E. (1971). Introduction to Thermodynamics: Classical and Statistical. John Wiley & Sons.
• Davies, P. (1984). Superforce: The Search for a Grand Unified Theory of Nature. Simon & Schuster.
• Russell, B. (1903). “A Free Man’s Worship.” (Reprinted in Mysticism and Logic and Other Essays).

My name is Sueda, but I’m also Sue.

I speak English, Turkish, French, and Arabic.

My blood is Turkish, my accent is American, but my heart? Undecided.

In a world where names and ages attempt to define individuals,

I find myself struggling not to be confined within the limitations of a few pages.

My story runs deeper than the surface; it is an intricate tapestry woven across three distinct countries, shaped by unseen battles and quiet transformations.

I was often looked at as a fool for believing my dual identity could be free, but we live in a world where, if they can’t place you in a box, they simply label you as “other.”

Born in Turkey, my childhood carried the scent of distant lands long before I understood what longing was. The world pulled me into new places, new skies, new songs…

and with every move, I found myself both losing and finding pieces of who I was meant to be.

Change did not ask for permission; it swept through my life like a storm, teaching me that home is not always a place; sometimes it’s a memory, a voice, a feeling tucked deep within the soul.

I grew up learning that survival often meant adaptation, and that in trying to belong everywhere, I sometimes felt like I belonged nowhere at all. In my attempt to mold myself into something “acceptable,” I let parts of myself blur the vibrant colors of my identity muted in exchange for a quieter, safer existence.

It took years stretching years to understand that belonging was never about fitting in. It was about standing firm in the soil of who I truly am.

My path has gifted me wisdom that no classroom or map ever could. If you asked me to name myself with a single word, I would hesitate, because I am too many things to be reduced to just one word.

Still, if I had to choose, I would say: unique.

Because my identity is not static. It is alive growing, stretching, breaking, healing

a testament to the resilience born of a life lived between borders and beyond definitions.

I grew up understanding that home isn’t always a place. Sometimes it’s a memory.

Sometimes it’s a wound.

Trying to belong became a silent war inside me. I bent myself into shapes that weren’t mine.

I softened parts of myself that were never meant to be dulled.

And somewhere along the way,

I lost so many pieces of me, shattered them against the cold walls of acceptance, left them behind on the altar of belonging.

But now I see it, those pieces were never meant for this world to understand.

They were fragments of something eternal. I’ve realized that I don’t belong to a city, a nation, or a label.

I belong to Heaven.

My soul was never meant to fit in a place built by human hands. It was crafted for something far beyond.

As I continue down the winding path of self-discovery, I know now that my essence cannot be confined by a few words, or tucked neatly into a nationality, or captured by a language.

I belong to every place I loved,

I belong to every culture that has shaped me,

I belong to every language that has found its way to my tongue.

I am from three countries, not one.

I am from three cultures and four languages.

I am from Turkey, Africa, from every silent prayer and every loud dream. I am not fighting my duality anymore — I am embracing it.

My name is Sueda, but I’m also Sue.

I speak English, Turkish, French, and Arabic.

My blood is Turkish, my accent is American, but my heart?

A dot is a whole, without parts and sections, not divided, single. As such, it symbolizes oneness and unity. A true scholar is the one who is aware of this whole and can see it in its entirety. Such scholars, if they want, can open and expand that whole in their mind through reasoning. The one who has just started to talk about that whole and has questions about it is not yet master of that knowledge. Both because he or she could not comprehend the whole all at once, and because they spoke where they should have been silent…

Here, we have delved into the field of thought of two philosophers: Descartes and Wittgenstein. Descartes (1596–1650) sought knowledge about which there could be no doubt. That knowledge, he decided, was the fact that he existed and that he could think. The fact that we think, that is, that we are thinking individuals, is self-evident beyond any doubt. So, each of us can say: “I think, therefore I am.” That is, my existence is an indisputable fact. From this point of view, he tried to show that we can reach the truth and answer metaphysical questions, especially the existence and unity of God. These reasonings formed the basis of Descartes’ philosophy.

Wittgenstein (1889–1951), on the other hand, argued that even if we have knowledge of certain facts, they cannot be put into words. To him, to exist is the greatest mystery and the most obvious miracle. Language can express the relations between beings, but when it comes to the question of what being is or why there is something instead of nothing, it gets bogged down, unable to move forward, helpless. Wittgenstein said, “What we cannot speak about we must pass over in silence” [1]. This famous quote, as it were, summarizes his philosophy and points out the limit he has reached by thinking.

So, what is this “dot” that gathers all the knowledge? Just as we know with certainty that each of us has a “self,” we can also clearly recognize that this self does not exist by itself. Rather, it exists because of the One upon whom everything depends, who grants existence and all attributes to everything. That One is unlike His creations, He cannot be contained or limited, and therefore cannot be comprehended in the same way that everything else can [2]. The foundational knowledge upon which everything rests—likened to a single dot—is the knowledge that God exists and is absolutely unique.

Every scientific discipline and philosophical school of thought seeks to uncover a system that is internally consistent. Scientific research begins with the assumption that such a comprehensive and coherent system exists. Contradictory scientific theories are unsettling for scientists. This is why physicists, in particular, view the pursuit of an “ultimate theory”—one that unifies all phenomena under a single framework—as the highest goal and its realization as the greatest scientific achievement. The starting point of knowledge and the final point of its destination is to affirm the existence and unity of God.

Consolidation of knowledge

Perhaps at no other time have the answers to the questions of truth and knowledge appeared so deeply at odds with one another as they do today. This widespread confusion, according to German philosopher Max Scheler (1874–1928), stems from the fragmentation of knowledge. As scientific disciplines gain independence under the influence of the principle “knowledge for the sake of knowledge,” they become increasingly isolated and alienated from one another. This “crisis” in Western thought, which affects the whole world, is closely linked to the breakdown of unified knowledge through specialization. An adage attributed to Caliph Ali, “Knowledge was a single dot, the ignorant multiplied it,” sheds light on the core problem discussed in this article.

Although the “multiplication of knowledge” is seen as progress today, it also potentially brings along a great danger. This danger lies in the detachment of knowledge from its divine source and its confinement to materialistic sciences, where causes are idolized – causes which are merely veils over God’s will and actions. Whether we call them nature or the laws of physics, they can never replace God as the true source behind all things.

It has almost become the norm to discredit physicists as scientists if they believe in God. Believing physicists, however, see the laws of nature as manifestations of God’s will, in line with the Qur’anic verse, “He is the one who makes the rain fall” (ash-Shura 42:28). Yet many physicists feel pressured by the scientific community to avoid attributing anything to God. For example, when speaking about rain, an extraordinary blessing from God, they often avoid any mention of the Creator and instead say, “Rain is a natural phenomenon, it consists of condensed water vapor falling to the ground under the influence of gravity.”

Science explains the mechanisms behind why rain falls, identifying specific physical causes. Religion, however, has declared from the very beginning that rain is a mercy. In this sense, the religious perspective is more encompassing and more humane. Both science and religion have their rightful place. Science seeks to discover the laws operating in the universe and explains events through them. But who established these laws in the first place? Scientific inquiry is like assembling the pieces of a vast puzzle. God Almighty, out of His mercy, has created the universe in a way that can be understood. Yet in the face of infinite knowledge, is it not an act of arrogance to take pride in merely discovering a few of its pieces—and to assume that we know, or can ever know, everything?

The universe becomes more meaningful when we explain it not only through the lens of “atoms,” but also through reference points that lie beyond what is visible. The true essence of all things is rooted in the Beautiful Names of God, which transcend the material world. In order to understand the truth of things, we must begin by asking, “What is being?” It is the human being who poses this question and who is capable of finding the answer. It is mistaken to treat the sciences as absolute truths that exist independently of human understanding. In reality, the paradigms that people adopt shape the direction of scientific inquiry and often form its very foundation.

When we say, “Rain is an embodiment of mercy,” the meaning of all we’ve discussed becomes clearer. It is our Lord who sends the rain, allowing us to feel His mercy and care through it. He expresses His compassion to a newborn by providing milk through the mother. At the heart of these events is not simply the material process, but divine mercy. Material elements and causes are merely mirrors reflecting the manifestations of that mercy in the physical world. When explaining rain, it is essential to recognize the One who created not only the elements such as clouds, the sun, and the sea, but also the properties that make rain possible, like evaporation and condensation. Just as these physical causes serve as veils over the deeper reality behind rain, a similar pattern appears when we examine life and living beings through the lens of biology. In the intricate systems of life, where wisdom, mercy, and compassion are clearly visible, we witness the manifestations of many of God’s Beautiful Names, such as the All-Knowing, the All-Powerful, and the Provider, along with the divine attributes on which these names are based.

The laws and principles that operate in nature and appear as causes in the creation of living beings are, in fact, screens that help us perceive the wisdom behind creation. The perfection, order, harmony, and precise balance revealed through human discovery not only astonish the mind but also serve as interpreters of sacred truths. Science gains true value when it nurtures curiosity and the search for truth, when it deepens faith, and when it serves humanity and upholds virtue.

Notes

1. This sentence (German: “Wovon man nicht sprechen kann, darüber muss man schweigen,” is the last sentence of Wittgenstein’s Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus and expresses a reflection on the limits of language and the possibilities of meaningful speech. Ludwig Wittgenstein, Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus Logisch-philosophische Abhandlung, London: Kegan Paul, 1922, (8th Edition: 1960), p. 188.
2. Whatever comes to mind, God is different from him. Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him, said, “Think of God’s creations, and do not think of His Person,” (Kanz al-Ummal, 5705).

“Home.” It’s a word that is thrown so lightly around in our daily conversations yet always carries weight regardless of the circumstance. It’ll be the end of my text message to my mother letting her know that we have dinner ready. It’ll be at the beginning of my groans on the days when work has kept my eyes heavy in the morning. It’ll swish around in my father’s mouth when he talks about a home I’ve only known through blazed childhood memories and the home he can never seem to forget. To me, home could be the library I lived across the street from growing up in Ellicott City, where I spent hours in the cubby with the window looking over the budding garden and reading Junie B. Jones. I had only realized this visiting for the first time a decade later and tracing everything with my fingers all over again, seeing little kids with piles of books similar to mine a decade ago. It’s complicated when the first home means something different for everyone in an immediate family. It’s a small edge of the feats we decided to take on immigrating to America from Turkey before I had gained consciousness of myself or anything around me, and when both my parents only kept small flip phones.

We started making our new home, in a place with rent that costed a mere 250 dollars and groceries from food stamps. As far as my memory goes back, my parents have constantly been learning and teaching. I can remember students reading red books stamped with gold shiny letters intently lined up on our couches, later myself learning the great works of Said Nursi. I remember endless debates that were heftier than the accumulating heap of laughing sunflower seed shells on the coffee table. Our unfortunately pale-colored couches framed exquisite masterpieces from the artistry of spilling cold tea. The soggy tea leaves became weathered with contemplation and companionship. Sohbets [1] that charted unimaginable webs of thought with dew drops of loving jokes laced in between. I could’ve sworn my mother’s brilliance was fueled half by black tea that perhaps ran slightly over brewed, and the other half by the love she felt for her sister on the other end of the table.

After long nights of banter, my mother taught Pre-Algebra to a classroom of kids with most of them dawning ankle monitors under their sweatpants. They called home the part of Baltimore that was blockaded from the rest of the world, their struggles were hard to even discuss amongst my parents. She hugged those bright students so dearly when the world had shunned them in the corners of redlined [2] Cherry Hill. In spite of these burdens, I witnessed people immensely close to their souls and their faith. One of her student’s mother tightly grasped her hand in prayer. I dawdled in conversation and laughs in the laps of students who lost family members to gang violence yet had pure reciprocation for a stranger. Unconditional reciprocation can be difficult to find and demands truly compassionate and amiable character, especially in the hyper-individualized atmosphere we find ourselves in today. We have much to learn from each other in tactical knowledge and what we can foster in our souls. 

Gradually, I began learning as well. I mapped out my lines in Geometry the way I imagine my mother has done in the classroom, how I danced between the lines! My learning was almost constant from Geometry class to reading endless books after school to Saturday school. I spent the mornings of my Saturday’s learning about religion, how Abu Bakr (may God be pleased with him) protected the Prophet (peace be upon him) from snakes in the Cave of Thawr. I was in the car ride home from Saturday school when our conception of home had changed permanently and suddenly. The way in which under later realization was ultimately inevitable but at the time felt world bending.

In the backseat of our car, I was under the fog of the summer heat when I heard “BREAKING: Soldiers block off Istanbul bridges. Turkish military attempting coup.” which somehow bubbled through my post-schooling fatigue. What followed only felt like a blur and slowly boiled up to our new understanding of our “home country,” always in my introduction to strangers when they ask where I am from. Turkey is only lived through two summers growing up yet is stitched between my whole American experience. Only a myth that I have longed for and remember in hazy fragments of my young eyes. It is not a place I know by any means no matter how much I stacked books of Turkish history from the library on my bedroom floor or trace my village on Google maps. Somehow this home mapped out every facet of my experience. I spent college years on and off Twitter watching the fate of my country twist and turn. Street interviews of people calling us terrorists and myself using google translate to fully understand their sentiments. Between studies of Sociology and the American Civil Rights movement, I meticulously translated court documents. I became an interpreter in conferences with lawyers for young people who never imagined becoming a refugee. My lifelong friends are people who may never see their parents again but taught me all the new lingo and fixed my pronunciation. They memorialized their home in snapshots showing me the lives that they left behind. I found myself surrounded by people who knew my home country better than I ever could have, and others who were classmates that didn’t even know what language my home country housed, and yet still felt desire to mock my identity. I’ve spent my youth proving I’m not a terrorist to them and my third grade English teacher and half of my own people.

The corruption festering in my home country by my own people is what deeply wounded many of us the most. Nevertheless, we built our own havens, homes to countless brothers and sisters. We held our sisters who broke down over relatives rotting in jail cells in the same buildings we learned how to place our tongue in the right ways for reading Qur’an. Our ribs became tight with laughter in late hours after tarawih in the same place we held bake sales to send help back to our country. The buildings change, we are told to not ever go back to grandma’s village over the phone, and we go to new places to continue our toil. I felt frustration when classmates talked so dearly of their grandmother’s house realizing they are not clouded with a mystical dream when trying to reminisce of the same.

Yet I began to let go of this subtly hummed yearning that has plagued me and accept love where it finds itself in different stemmed and split paths. This is only through realizing people as close as your neighbors are piecing together these branches of pathways over years of displacement from family and attempting to map out belonging. We hold each other in the pain of this journey, eventually realizing we have found it within each other. Belief houses many pillars of love and perhaps we need to be reminded that the souls we connect ourselves with transcend anything tangible such as land, or even time. Surely, land is critical. The dilemma of which land is mine has burdened me for years. Those students in Baltimore have their lives altered immensely due to their redlined land. Generations are loved for centuries over land. Blood is tragically spilled over land. Standing for your land can mean seeking justice for your people which is absolutely necessary. In circumstances of injustice, know that you are never alone. You might be forced to carry your home in your blood and your heart. Love may not be able to reach us in our “home country” and home may not be hammered shut there.

For those of us who never lived in the same place for longer than two years. For those us of who will never know our home country more than the legends and history we read in books. For those of us who have been called slurs by people in the melting pot you were born in: Home is in you and me. Home is tucked under the heaps of sunflower seed shells as they are smiling because they were breathed into conversations of love. Home is in the undevoted passion of learning and teaching and repeating under unimaginable circumstances. Home is my sister fixing my hijab before prayer. Home is my mother gardening in the way her mother taught her. Home is in the salam from the person you haven’t seen in years but know you are always welcome in their embrace. Home is the teacher that made you feel seen when classmates mocked who you were. Home is in the houses of people who have their whole family trapped in Turkey but remind you their door is always open. No matter how much they tried to strip us from our home, or no matter how much they have deformed our homes into a succumbing cavity, our glaring feat is that we have found it within each other. So, they will curse us and the buildings and those we cherish, and we will love beyond it all.

Notes

• Sohbet in Turkish (originally sohbah in Arabic) means companionship, informal conversations mainly on matters of belief and religion.
• Redlining is known as the structural restriction of resources and services from a community in a discriminatory manner, and has historically heavily impacted predominantly lower income and African-American communities in the United States.

The Ancient Romans, centuries ago in their ornate dwellings of grand and timeless stone, held a religious belief; a consolatory certainty toward the existence of Genii Loci – ‘the spirit of place.’ [1]. An echo of home preserved by a connection to place that penetrates below the surface and grasps the spirit; a deity of personal comfort, a fragment of our soul that occupies the place where we reside. A home from within.

We, as humanity, thrive on the notion of belonging and similarity. Despite our cunning individuality, we each conform to the parallel status of our innate condition, born and grown from the same roots of our externalised world. And it is from this universal cognizance that we develop a perpetual state of comfort, an internal recognition of the significance of place, a personal construction of an integral home.

But how do we discern the ambiguous margin between place and home?

What is it about a certain location that incites the bond between a person and a place, the soul and the city?

To truly uncover humanity’s instinctive affinity with an identified home, we must first explore the structural integrity from which a place, or house is fabricated. Our focus on place is usually centralised around superficiality, the verdant grass, the ancient, evergreen trees. But what is it about these seemingly ordinary elements that manifest into the internal spirit of home? May it be how we exchange with these fabrics of place? May it be how the grass gently caresses the soles of our feet like plush carpet, moulding to our every step, or how the monumental gums align above our heads like a roof, an underlying inflection of our homely connection?

This connection between person and place was made particularly apparent to me in the words of William Sturmn Sax:

“People and the places where they reside are engaged in a continuing set of exchanges; they have determinate, mutual effects upon each other because they are part of a single, interactive system” [2].

I believe it is within these exchanges that a person and a place fuse into one distinct reality; a constant resonance of home like light reflecting from two opposing mirrors, engaging in an eternal conversation within which each refraction enhances the last. Could it be that we are the Genii Loci which inhabits a place; our place, colouring the surface with personalised perceptions while our souls remain hidden like true light buried within, constructing in confidence the essence of our familiarity?

Sydney is home to over five million individuals, a precise nexus intricately constructed by the sense of home manifested by this thriving population. Sydney presents to all a particularly superficial beauty, like the surface of the ocean. A void of azure which seemingly offers its deepest secrets to any individual who decides to unlock the rolling waves, delivering themselves openly in an act of sheer transparency. Albeit those who have familiarised themselves with this deceptive sea, know all too well the unending extent of this same ocean and the unknown depths that lie beneath – all the concealed magic that stirs below.

And it is this magic that remains solely visible to those who uncover the spirit within the city; those who reply to the walls that talk, travel down the eternal corridors and open each sealed door.

Corridors

There are ten primary traffic corridors which traverse Sydney, a delicate web connecting us and our secret lives to the intricate flow of humanity. The ‘orbital network’ [3]- as it’s colloquially known – 110 kilometres of seemingly straight and straight forward corridors; trajectories leading us further and further into the vibrancy of Sydney’s arterial heart.

These corridors, the infinite connection of cultures, personalities and livelihoods, guide us through the maze of our lives. We travel them frequently; unconsciously, merely perceiving them as modes of transport, as gravel or asphalt tamed to the natural level of the earth. Yet in actuality these roads are the liminal spaces that allow us to exist between two destinations; where we are and where we desire to be. They lead us to intersections, demanding decisions which define our prophesied destination:

Stop.

Give Way.

Turn Right.

Turn Left.

And it is from these imposed decisions that we connect with our evolving existence, the pathway that allows us to reach our identity, our home.

We often overlook the importance of the journey, seeing it only as a means to an end. Yet, it is through this placid ignorance that we lose the inexplicably exquisite nature of our motion and how it is enabled by means of our city’s corridors. We too easily miss the interrelationships of our city, and how each movement, whilst spinning us into a new orbit, paradoxically unites the culture of our city in a humble union. And although we may not feel this connection, we contribute to it daily – fortuitously. It is through this unconscious action that we are able to define the place that surrounds us, and as we engage within it, we become the pinnacle on which its definition depends. Ironically, it defines us.

I remember the first time I drove alone in Sydney; a tense yet inadvertently emotional rite of passage. I remember the exact feeling, as if my movement had conversed with the road and I was no longer travelling upon a meaningless path; but rather a tailored ellipse in which I, and those surrounding me, were destined to orbit. The roads which had captured my earliest memories seemed remarkably dissimilar to my experience that day, as the control of my palms upon the wheel countered my memories in an act of solidarity to the road. The veins that stemmed on the back of each tightly clenched hand were a map; a personal directory that guided my journey, manifesting the essence of my familiarity onto the corridor I pursued through the city; oblivious of my fate, but keenly aware of the incipient feeling which continued to flourish like a star gaining energy over time, expanding its brightness, a North Star.

We each remain for much of our lives, blissfully unaware of our beginning; the moment in time that binds us to this seemingly eternal corridor we pursue. But it is through this unconscious orbit that we define the place we know; the initial construction upon which our future comfort lies, accumulating as we spin toward our next destination, whilst seemingly strengthening our bond to the last. Corridors, the guiding orbits to our suburbs, suburban rooms; the basis of our eternal home.

Living rooms

As a young child, I would spend an undeniably unhealthy amount of time within the confining walls of my bedroom, my own area of familiarity which I never desired to abandon. Being secluded within this space, I became hyper-aware of my surroundings; especially the sounds which arose directly outside the sealed entrance of my room. I would watch as shadows danced along the small slit where the door sat just above the ground, becoming all too familiar with the creak of the floorboards as someone would set their foot to the right of the final step. It was far from an annoyance, though. Rather, it was a comfort.

As much as I valued my time concealed away, I knew I was never far from the familiarity of the people I love. To hear that creak was, in my mind, equivalent to the salty scent of the coastal suburbs, or the ceaseless shrill of car horns in the city, a definitive reminder of the culture and connection that surrounded me. A reminder that, even from within the personally tainted confines of those four ivory walls, I was part of a greater home.

Like my sanctuary, each suburb within the greater Sydney region is incontestably unique. They each reflect their own sense of culture, art and experiences that are offered to each individual who occupies them. It is within this distinction that we find we are able to uncover our own sense of belonging, as the vibrancy of the city initiates an inflection which penetrates our souls; provides colour to our identity. Though our city is not divided as a result of this definition. It is rather bound by these disparities, creating interconnecting rooms of the vast home which we move through. Instilling a greater sense of personal comfort within a universal world of familiarity.

The characteristics of each suburb are like fragments that fuse to the grand mosaic of home, like small aspects of a person which define a greater portion of who they are; or better yet, who they will become.

There’s a small suburb situated ten kilometres south-west of Sydney city, called Earlwood. It exists as a place of residence only to a small portion of the population. The narrow streets, lined with shops connected from wall to wall and mounted by red-brick apartments seem to have become achromatic at the ever-progressing hands of time, making them an anomaly in comparison to the industrialised jungle only minutes away.

Though, further within the suburban landscape and enclosed by the sparse line of bordering bush, a small mosaic lies amongst the green gums. It pays a tribute to the area’s Traditional Owners, the Bediagal People [4]. With its message of Respect, Unity, Peace spelled out in glittering fragments of glass and tile, it releases ancient light upon the world that surrounds it, illuminating the sacred path from cultural past to present. And it is within those small fragments of glass that a never-ending refraction of stories, experiences and lives, embedded deep within Indigenous culture of the city are freed. Though the monument remained concealed from the wide eyes of city-goers, its mere existence builds the walls of the city, the room, and gives light to the people within it.

The Earlwood monument, like a window within a room, provides this light to an era previously silenced by the ever-progressing hands of time, expanding our view of what now is, only justifiable to the notions of what once was. It communicates to us an unending conversation between past and present, what we have built and what we have erased.

These connections which we discover in our suburban rooms surround us with inflections of our identity. They remind us that the beauty of Sydney is illusory for those who are yet to be initiated into its deeper secrets hidden beyond the light of the trees, the earth, the seas. For me, Sydney’s resonances are as familiar as the creak outside my bedroom door which gave me that familiar sense of home. I know my Genii Loci, the transcendent value of the light within, the artefacts of Sydney that remain buried within the ground, enlightening our modern society with the emulation of the Eora Nations’ overlooked eternal past. A past from which our Sydney is entirely structured upon, the source, the foundation of home.

Foundation

A foundation, by definition, is ‘an underlying basis or principle,’ something which contributes to the holistic feature of a construction in our world, a structure which remains hidden despite its stark value. A symbol of importance; a beginning but never an end. The foundation of our world can be simplified into a record of organisms, into the layers of prehistoric rock that pile below our feet, preserving the only remnants of a life before ours. But it is not upon these withered bones that the skeleton of our world is constructed. It is through our own intangible experience, the manifestation of our culture, that moulds our city and seeds the roots of an eternalised home. The foundation upon which we survive is the perennial core of our existence.

Standing amidst the oasis of Sydney’s Botanical gardens, surrounded by lush and vibrant vegetation whose roots span far below my feet, I am presented with a view of pristine beauty, a direct line of sight leading to The Sydney Opera House.

Sharpened sail-shaped shells appear to have risen through the ground, piercing the air, capturing the essence of our city within their gentle yet structured curves, a superficial symbol of our modern innovations, which conceal the apparent void buried in the rock and dirt beneath. Polished concrete blankets the grand concourse, ostensibly smoothing over the rough aggregate of its innate form, rendering it suitable for white habitation in place of an honoured civilisation of 65,000 years that rests idly beneath.

Centuries ago, amidst the green gums and dwarfed underwood, a small tidal island broke the surface of the sea, located on the tip of the eastern arm of Warrane, a place later known by colonists as Sydney Cove. The isle, singularly inhabited by the Gadigal people [5] who identified it as their rightfully claimed land, was strewn with oyster shells, their serrated edges guarding the island from foreign footprints, sealing the enduring cultural past that manifested beneath. It remained attached to the fertile mainland by a corridor of piled rock, a guiding early foundation between the ancient land and its eternal meanings.

Upon the blooming grass of the tidal island in the late 1700s, a squared red-brick hut planted itself, covering the dense silica soil that had flourished through layers of eroding sandstone. The structure was an outlier amongst the spanning foliage, enforcing a status of infiltration despite its supposed homage – a small sentiment to the monumental man after whom it was honourably named. Bennelong Hut: the first plantation of colonised industry on sacred soils, an infestation disguised as the growth of mutuality, the catalyst of a new era from which a superficial Sydney would sprout upon the true culture of Indigenous roots cultivated to the earth’s core. The hut, though, gave name to the land which had been nurtured by those who had imprinted it incipiently, a universal resonation with the ranging tract of land now known as ‘Bennelong Point.’

And as the lights dim amongst the prosperous sociability of contemporary living in a place now known as Barangaroo, the gloom of the night comes alive with these spirits of the past. It is to this genesis of our city that we owe our home, as we connect with each layer of the foundation which piles below our feet. For it is not our familiarity to the place in which we reside that incites our homely cognizance, but rather our connection to its roots, the fabrication of an eternal foundation inherited by the timeless influence of the past. The Genii Loci of Sydney; the first inhabitants of this land.

Epilogue

It is through this revelation of our city, the identification of our roads as our corridors, the creation of our suburbs as our rooms and the enlightenment of the past as our foundation, that we construct a place capable of an eternalised comfort which lends itself to our souls, a place which we truly know as home so that we may truly know ourselves.

And at the very end of it all, we are only left to disassemble the walls, rip up the carpet and reveal the foundation that lies beneath; to rebuild all that has been erased. We must reconstruct the place we know.

To know home, we must travel beyond home.

References

1. Jiang, Z., & Lin, D. (2022). Genius Loci of Ancient Village from the Perspective of Tourists Experience: Scale Development and Validation. International journal of environmental research and public health, 19(8), 4817. https://doi.org/10.3390/ijerph19084817
2. Sax, W. S. (1991). Mountain goddess: Gender and politics in a Himalayan pilgrimage. Oxford Univ. Press.
3. Chung, Jen & Rebhuhn, Carrie & Yates, Connor & Hollinger, Geoffrey & Tumer, Kagan. (2019). A multiagent framework for learning dynamic traffic management strategies. Autonomous Robots. 43. 10.1007/s10514-018-9800-z.
4. UBC Web Design. (2010). Bediagal people. Australian Monuments, Statues, Dedicated | Monument Australia. https://monumentaustralia.org.au/themes/culture/indigenous/display/107851-bediagal-people
5. Aboriginal history and the Gadigal people. (2013). City of Sydney. https://www.cityofsydney.nsw.gov.au/history/aboriginal-histories

Bediuzzaman Said Nursi, the great sage of the twentieth century, divides his life into three distinct phases: Old Said, New Said, and Third Said. In his 40s, Old Said undergoes a profound spiritual transformation while actively seeking solutions to the challenges faced by believers in society, thus becoming New Said. New Said, deeply influenced by the truths of faith, becomes primarily focused on matters of faith. In his final decade, Third Said dedicates himself to preparing for the journey beyond this life [1].

Bediuzzaman shares an imaginary event that played a pivotal role in his transformation into New Said. Although not a dream in the traditional sense, the images he witnessed in this dream-like state, or vision, held significant spiritual insights. However, he describes this experience as an “imaginary event” to avoid stirring jealousy in others.

Bediuzzaman states, “O world-adoring one charmed by the worldly life and ignorant of the meaning of your nature as the perfect pattern of creation!” [2].

Humanity’s failure to recognize that they are intricately woven with Divine Names, Attributes, and Qualities often leads them to become infatuated with the material world, essentially worshipping it. The absence of this sensation results in heedlessness. With the light of faith, individuals can recognize the presence of the Creator, Owner, and Lord of everything, including themselves. When they search, they discover what they are seeking.

He initiates the description of his transformation with the following words:

“I found myself a traveler going on a long journey. My lord who set me making this journey gradually gave me some of the sixty gold coins He had allotted to me. This went on for some time, and after a while I arrived at an inn that provided some entertainment. In one night I spent ten gold coins on gambling and entertainment, and in pursuit of fame. The next morning, I had no money left. Nor could I do trade and buy provisions I would need at my destination. All I had left was pain, sorrow, and regret left by sins and illicit pleasures. While I was in this wretched state, a man suddenly appeared and said to me: ‘You have lost all you had and deserve to be punished. Moreover, you will go on to your destination with no money’” [3].

The events narrated by Bediuzzaman are symbolic, reflecting his self-examination and the lessons learned from the imaginary sins he distanced himself from in real life.

Recognizing the squandering of one’s resources is painful, and facing bankruptcy is sorrowful. Being unprepared for the journey and failing to see oneself as a traveler are also distressing aspects of this realization.

The word “suddenly,” emphasized in the text, highlights the necessity of experiencing unexpected events to prompt awakening and change.

The Greek term “metanoia” signifies a shift in mindset or paradigm, a transformation of the heart, and a spiritual change into a new state [4]. During such a spiritual transformation, the methods used to shed light on one’s blind spots, refine one’s perception, and guide one’s reasoning heart frequently involve startling and bewildering changes or hardships.

Bediuzzaman continues, “‘But if you use your mind, the door of repentance is not closed. When you gradually receive the remaining fifteen gold coins, keep half in reserve and use it to buy what you will need at your destination.’ My soul did not agree, so the man said: ‘Save a third of them then.’ Still my soul balked. The man insisted: ‘Then a quarter.’ I saw that my soul could not abandon its addictions, so the man turned away indignantly and disappeared” [5].

Someone with sound judgment experiences remorse, recognizing their mistakes as a sign of wisdom. The greatest fault lies in not acknowledging one’s own faults. Failing to rectify mistakes when the opportunity arises only results in self-inflicted damage. The ego that indulges in its desires disregards well-intentioned advice and forfeits the chance for mercy.

With a sound heart, one can acknowledge their errors and learn from them. Those who refuse to learn from their mistakes are destined to repeat them. Understanding that the past cannot be changed does not negate the importance of regret; it signifies the humility of a healthy heart.

In Christopher Nolan’s film Inception, the protagonist, Cobb [6], grapples with painful memories of his wife and seeks to alter them. The song Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien by Édith Piaf, featured in the film, hints that Cobb cannot confront the truth, and returns home without sincere regret [7].

“At once, I found myself on a high-speed train travelling through a tunnel. I was alarmed, but there was no escape. To my surprise, I saw very attractive flowers and tasty-looking fruits alongside the track, hanging out from the sides of the tunnel. I foolishly tried to pick some of them. But all around them were thorns that, due to the train’s speed, tore at my hands and made them bleed. They cost me very much” [8].

Indulging in unlawful and transient pleasures while realizing their fleeting nature brings both pain and parting. What is consumed fails to satisfy, what is abandoned holds no value, and what extinguishes does not bring gratification. Encountering endings and separations wounds the heart.

Things perceived by the eye but difficult for the mind to comprehend are often tests. Wisdom, fortified by reason and experience, considers the consequences of choices and the fate of desires. It guides one towards making sensible decisions, avoiding risks where the potential loss outweighs any gain. A sound conscience gently whispers, “Is it worth it?”

“Suddenly an attendant came and said: ‘Give me five cents and I’ll give you as many flowers and fruits as you want. With your hands all cut up, you are losing a hundred instead of five cents. Besides, there is a punishment for picking them without permission’” [9].

The price of lawful pleasures is light and sufficient for enjoyment. Staying within limits brings contentment. True satisfaction arises from recognizing the blessings and the benevolence of The All-Generous. The All-Merciful satisfies our souls, The All-Wise our intellects, and The All-Compassionate our hearts.

“Depressed by this condition, I looked out the window to see when the tunnel would end. But there was no end in sight. The tunnel’s walls had many openings into which passengers were being thrown. Suddenly I caught sight of an opening just opposite me with a gravestone on either side. When I peered out, I made out my name, ‘Said,’ written in capital letters on a gravestone. I gave a cry of bewilderment and repentance” [10].

Life in this world resembles a tunnel, and humanity rides a speeding time train with a new carriage added each year. There is no escape, and the only exit leads to one’s own grave. Sometimes, the grave looms in the distance, while other times, it’s very close.

One who encounters the journey’s end without adequate preparation experiences profound sorrow and astonishment. “A cry of bewilderment and repentance” reflects the genuine shock of a person who has awakened.

Preparing for death stands as one of life’s most crucial objectives. Filmmaker Andrey Tarkovsky also underscores that art’s purpose is to ready individuals for death, unveiling the deepest recesses of their inner selves [11].

“Unexpectedly, I heard the voice of the man who had advised me at the inn, asking: ‘Have you come to your senses?’ I replied: ‘Yes, but I’ve been left powerless, and there is nothing I can do.’ He told me to repent and trust in God, to which I replied that I did” [12].

When faced with the consequences, reason regains its foothold. Individuals inevitably confront the severe repercussions of their desires and choices, at times testing the limits of their endurance. Even if the conscience has not transgressed beyond redemption, there is still hope.

Helplessness invokes Divine mercy. The advisor, the person who provides guidance with wisdom, compassion, and sincerity for the individual’s well-being, may not reappear but calls from a distance. Offering a second chance, he proposes two actions in two words: repentance and trust. The fortunate interlocutor, making a wise choice and sparing himself the murmurs of his ego, declares, “I did,” meaning both actions. Death becomes the catalyst for awakening.

“Then I woke up and I found myself transformed into the New Said; the Old Said had gone away” [13].

Repentance from the depths of the heart cleanses one’s past, while trust purifies one’s future. The mind, with its ability to traverse time, often preoccupies individuals with past regrets and future anxieties, disconnecting them from the present moment. A person with sound judgment, realizing the extended journey and the opportunity at hand, embraces repentance and trust, concentrating on the central point that intersects with eternity and conceals profound secrets, constantly renewing themselves. One who glimpses the journey’s end is no longer the same as before.

Knowledge alone cannot renew a person; true transformation requires confronting reality. Just as angels thrive on light, knowledge finds its manifestation in actions as meanings are assimilated. Satisfying one’s soul requires grasping the significance of life’s experiences, not merely the words themselves.

Viewing oneself as a traveler fosters awareness and preparation. Our journey, originating in the Realm of Spirits and continuing through the mother’s womb, persists in this world. It encompasses childhood, youth, old age, the transition from the confines of the body to the Intermediate Realm, and the return to a new body through resurrection. The journey toward a life where death is conquered endures, marked by the relinquishment of everything, including life itself. When the time comes, individuals realize that what must be returned is an entrusted gift.

Now is the time to invest in “moments” without sudden departures. As Bediuzzaman expresses, “A guest has to consider the journey” [14].

Notes

1. Bediüzzaman Said Nursî, Sözler, İstanbul: Şahdamar Yayınları, 2010, s. 346; Bediüzzaman Said Nursî, Şuâlar, İstanbul: Şahdamar Yayınları, 2010, s. 518.
2. Bediüzzaman Said Nursi, The Words, New Jersey: The Light, 2013, p. 341.
3. Ibid.
4. Peter M. Senge, The Fifth Discipline: The Art and Practice of the Learning Organization, New York: Currency Doubleday, 1990, p. 13.
5. Nursi, Ibid, p. 341.
6. “Cobb” phonetically resembles words in languages like Sanskrit, Hindi, and Urdu that mean “sleep.” For instance, the Persian word “hab” means sleep.
7. Jason T. Eberl ve George A. Dunn (ed.), The Philosophy of Christopher Nolan, London: Lexington Books, 2017, p. 134.
8. Nursi, Ibid, p. 342.
9. Ibid.
10. Ibid.
11. Andrey Tarkovski, Mühürlenmiş Zaman, Ter. Füsun Ant, İstanbul: Agora Kitaplığı, 2008, p. 32.
12. Nursi, Ibid, p. 342.
13. Ibid.
14. Bediüzzaman Said Nursi, The Gleams, New Jersey: Tughra Books, 2013, p. 331.

I have given myself approximately two hours, 12 minutes, and 14 seconds to write this essay. The amount of time it takes me to get to work and back on the train.

Now, I have eight seconds less.

I never timed how long it took to write a sentence. I am a slightly above average typist, but the speed of writing a sentence depends nearly entirely on whether the order of strung words is already sitting in my head in queue. When I have to think about the right way to say something, or what I am going to say, it inevitably takes longer for it to travel from my globular cerebrum to the page. Also, words like “inevitably” cause me to pause for a half a second to remember how to spell it. It doesn’t fly off the keyboard like the words, “fly” or “keyboard.”

I just wasted an extra second-and-a-half misspelling “keyboard” and having to move the cursor back to correct it. Then my brain focused on the misspelled word rather than what my next cogent thought might be. A mistake compounded. 186 words down and seven minutes and 32 seconds in.

I wonder how much time I waste per day on mistakes, distractions, mis-turns. Are there people who don’t get distracted or make mistakes? People who can stay on task with superhero laser focus? Who doesn’t spend time pontificating about how long it takes to write a single sentence or the derailment of a thesis when a writer trips over her words and spends more time questioning whether the word “keyboard” would carry the same brevity if it didn’t have the “y”?

I imagine there are people like that. The people whose bios read like five peoples’ lives smashed together. People who manage to earn multiple advanced degrees, and who hold high positions in multiple industries. People who publish dozens of books. Who achieve some incredible feat that requires intense focus and training, and who somehow still manage to maintain a marriage and family. People who do not get distracted by social media dings and a dragonfly catching some pollen on a nearby blooming tomato plant. Those people have always fascinated me. Although, behind every successful family person (so often, a man) is most certainly an unsung hero (so often, a woman) who enables their craft by taking care of absolutely everything else for them. Distraction avoidance by proximity.

Then there are the incredibly lucky distractors. The guy who first stuck his mouth under a cow’s udder and was able to convince others to do the same. I’m sure it wasn’t ingenuity or intention that led to that act. It was probably misguided curiosity, or procrastination, getting distracted from what he was supposed to be doing. I have done weird things when I’m on a deadline and don’t feel like completing the task at hand. Like clean the bathroom. Of course, when I have to clean the bathroom, I do something else, like write an essay about distraction.

What does it mean to commit an act that is the opposite of distraction? To focus and complete a task? To slap procrastination squarely in its ugly face and keep at the task at hand until it is baked and ready? It is so easy to wish for things. To create a wish list, even, of all the things you want to complete. Do the laundry. Meal prep for the week. Outline that article. Finish that strategy deck. Complete the degree. Advance to the next level at work. Write the next Great American Novel.

It is even easy to start things. It is much easier to hit the start button on the dish washer than it is to wash by hand, dry and put everything away. I have so many first sentences. Though, to be fair, it’s easier to write one stellar sentence than 300 pages of them.

The man stared down at the crimson blood dripping from his fingertips.

The fuchsia dress glimmered in the sunlit porch where she was about to create the best memory of her life.

Angled just right, he wouldn’t have to face the hunger that snarled his stomach all winter.

Those are decent sentences. It’s a lot easier to hold your attention on (and my own for long enough to write) these singular, standalone sentences than it might be to expand each into full length novels. The pressure to create identifiable yet compelling characters, to embed enough plot twists to maintain the attention span of a culture that officially loses focus in less time than a goldfish. It’s a lot of pressure. It’s much easier to write first sentences on word documents that I then file into a “works in progress” folder on my desktop and rarely look at again. There is satisfaction in filing things.

More than 21 minutes have ticked away in my toiling. 778 words down. I now have one hour, 51 minutes and 26 seconds until I reach my self-imposed deadline. About halfway to the low end of the word count.

I paused to sneeze and my eyes caught the morning sun reflecting off the buildings out of my periphery as my train whizzed by on its way from suspiciously sleepy suburbs to the frenetic city. I spent (wasted?) at least two distracted minutes staring out the window, my thoughts wandering beautifully but even less disciplined than this rambling piece. Now I feel like a naughty school girl who daydreamed rather than listen to her history teacher babbling about some Civil War battle that was probably rife with inaccuracies. History is written by the victors, after all.

But also, aren’t the day dreamers the ones who create greatness? The one who didn’t follow the path they were supposed to and discovered new land. The CEO who leaves at least two hours each morning to just think so she can make sound decisions and innovate. The kid who was allowed to play make believe rather than complete eight pages of worksheets each night and grew up to invent a mega power brand like a Lego or the immutable Muppets.

Shouldn’t we all be encouraged to focus less and get distracted more? Tune out of the status quo, blow the arbitrary deadlines and protocols, and spend more time staring at the ingenuity of light refracting on the side of a grey, cement building or the gradation of cloud layers. The way a lone sparrow hops on the front of its feet, pecking at paper scraps on the ground in search of its next sustenance. The sharp whinny of the neighbor’s dog straining to smell a distant fox it cannot see but knows is there.

What is life if not the amalgamation of a million little observations? A hundred thousand fleeting moments of beauty and terror that were captured when we weren’t on deadline, head-down, trying to focus and be productive and get the thing done. Life happens when we are distracted. A thousand sweet kisses. A few hundred bear hugs. A dozen moments of sheer exhilaration. Hopefully not more than a couple of moments of total devastation.

Can you go to the edge of Earth, of life if you’re worried about the end goal? Can you truly explore the depths of human emotion and experience if you are trying to drive efficiencies in your workflow or manage through protocols? Doesn’t full attention at all times drain our souls?

Perhaps we should instead launch an anti-focus movement. We can celebrate the people who land on an epiphany while procrastinating. The wanderers who stumble upon something wonderful and surprising when they should have been somewhere else. We can honor the exceptions to the rule rather than the rule. The stream of consciousness wisdom not unlike this essay, rather than the impeccably formed narrative arc.

Despite the misgivings coming through the pores of this pixelated page, I consider myself a very focused and productive person; in other words, largely non-distractable. I have always outputted, on average, slightly more than my peers. I was often the first to finish tests in school. I complete more work in my hamster-in-a-wheel office life than colleagues. I have side hustles that leave people asking me regularly, “how do you find the time?”

This is the moment where I might provide a much-anticipated update on word count and time invested, but sadly I cannot because my morning train ride ended, and I spent eight hours toiling away. I had a surprising burst of new energy to keep writing upon my return train trip, but I went back and added some words above that weren’t there this morning, so it’s a bit of a tossup now in terms of time spent. I am 1468 words in and have spent about one hour and 50 minutes on this potentially inane essay.

But also, that’s a potentially impressive rate of more than 700 words an hour. Not my best. But also, not someone’s worst by any measure.

How do I get what I get done when I do focus?

The answer is, I move quickly.

I don’t always get everything right, but I don’t necessarily make more mistakes than the average Joe, either. I’m sure if I slowed down, I wouldn’t make hardly any mistakes. I wouldn’t spell “keyboard” wrong at the very least. But what’s the fun on taking it so slow that you pay close attention to everything? That feels like driving the golf cart over the Ferrari, choosing the steamed vegetables over the creamy, potato gratin. Sure, there are consequences to moving quickly. But also, isn’t life more fun that way? And if life is short, shouldn’t it be fun? Should we all choose the potato gratin?

I recognize I have devolved into talking about the selling points of potato gratin rather than on how one can focus to complete a task.

Before I concur with my own purported point, I will state for the record that potato gratin deserves its own, dedicated essay.

My train is pulling into the station momentarily and I am rounding the corner on nearly 1700 words, which means that I have nearly accomplished my mission. That is, of course, assuming any of this makes any sense. If not, I just gave you a good, ten-minute distraction. You’re welcome.

Memorization is an important tool in human development. We memorize for school, learning languages, or for stage performances. Despite criticisms that memorization often comes without understanding and lacks proper contextualization, there is a consensus that it has a role in the preservation of knowledge. Below, we explore two divergent worlds of fiction – the dystopian universe of Fahrenheit 451 and the enchanting reality-bending journey in Yesterday. This is followed by a section on the practice of memorizing classics and holy scriptures given as examples to unearth the common thread that binds these narratives to the essence of memorization.

Fahrenheit 451, penned by Ray Bradbury, thrusts us into a society where books are outlawed, and knowledge is sacrificed at the altar of conformity. Guy Montag’s rebellion against book-burning parallels a timeless struggle to preserve wisdom, echoing the sentiments of those who commit the Quran to memory amidst adversities. Meanwhile, Yesterday introduces Jack Malik, who grapples with reconstructing the Beatles’ legacy from the recesses of his memory. This cinematic exploration mirrors the efforts of those dedicated to safeguarding the Quran’s verses, reminding us of the enduring power of memorization in preserving cultural and religious treasures.

Fahrenheit 451

Fahrenheit 451 is a 1953 novel by the US science-fiction writer Ray Bradbury. It has twice been made into a film, in 1966 and 2018. It is a dystopian novel, meaning one describing a fictional future state which is the opposite of utopia. It is a future American society in which the masses are pleasure-seeking and anti-intellectual. Reading books is banned, as it may lead to critical thought. The central character, Guy Montag, is employed as a “fireman.” However, in this dystopian future, “fireman” means “book-burner.” The purpose of the fire service is not to put out fires; it is to start them in order to burn books. The punishment for reading books, or for having them in your house, is to be sent to a mental hospital. The books are burned “for the good of humanity.”

This central element of the plot of Bradbury’s book was inspired by the book-burning of Nazis in 1933. Books that did not conform with Nazi ideology were destroyed. It had a precedent in 18^th century CE Germany. Germany was, at that time, a collection of individual states. Those people demonstrating for a unified Germany – especially students – burned books which they considered anti-national or anti-German.

The novel’s title Fahrenheit 451 refers to the supposed temperature at which book paper spontaneously combusts, although in fact the temperature is around 450°C, much higher.

Drugs are administered to the people, and they are fed information by huge television screens. In this way, the government ensures the people fall in line with its policies.

One day, while the fire service are searching the house of an old lady, before finding books and then burning them, Montag glances at some pages of a book and, on a whim, steals it. Over the next year, he steals dozens of books and hides them in his own house. He reads them and tries to memorize them in order to preserve their contents, before the physical books are burned.

He enlists the help of Faber, a former English teacher, and from him learns the way books attempt to describe and explain human existence.

The fire chief eventually learns that Montag has been hiding books, and leads a crew to Montag’s house, where they find the books, and burn the house down. As a result, Montag starts to question the government policy of book-burning. Having been exposed as a book-hoarder, he has the choice of returning to his job or fleeing.

Knowing the consequences of being caught, he escapes to the countryside, where Faber lives. There, he meets like-minded people who spend all day memorizing and reciting books, so that they are preserved and it does not matter if the printed copies are burned.

Yesterday

Yesterday is the title of a 2019 film, written by Richard Curtis, and based on a story by Jack Barth. The plot revolves around the character of British Indian Jack Malik, who is a struggling singer-songwriter. He is about to give up singing in clubs, but his manager and childhood friend Ellie tries to persuade him to persevere.

One night, after a freak cycle accident with a bus during a mysterious global blackout, he finds that he is the only person who knows who the Beatles were. It is as if the Beatles and all their music had never existed.

This is of course music to Jack’s ears. Jack racks his brain to try to remember all the songs on all the Beatles albums, and their lyrics. His first source for research is, of course, Google. However, in this alternative world, a search for “Beatles” only finds the insects – beetles. He googles for the title of their 1967 record Sergeant Pepper, but only finds capsicum peppers. He is seen trying desperately to piece together the dense lyrics of the Beatles classic Eleanor Rigby. He frantically tries to remember whether it is Eleanor or Father McKenzie who was darning socks.

Nevertheless, he reconstructs enough of the Beatles’ catalogue to become a smash hit overnight playing their songs to audiences who have never heard them before.

Eventually he meets two elderly Beatles fans who say that they know that the Beatles – not Jack – wrote all the songs. Nevertheless, they are happy that Jack is keeping the songs alive, albeit in a stripped-down voice-and-guitar version.

Ultimately, Jack decides that he needs to tell the truth, and confesses, during a performance at Wembley Stadium, that he did not write the songs.

The fact that Jack can reconstruct most of the Beatles’ songs shows their popularity. John Lennon of the Beatles claimed in a 1966 newspaper interview that the Beatles were more popular than Jesus. His exact words are often misquoted:

“Christianity will go. It will vanish and shrink. I needn’t argue about that; I’m right and I’ll be proved right. We’re more popular than Jesus now; I don’t know which will go first – rock ‘n’ roll or Christianity. Jesus was all right but his disciples were thick and ordinary. It’s them twisting it that ruins it for me.”

This prompted a backlash in the USA – but not in the UK – where Christians protested by burning copies of the Beatles’ records. It is debatable whether the statement – that the Beatles were more popular than Jesus – was true in 1966. According to one source¹, the world population in 1966 was 3.4 billion, with 1.2 billion Christians. However, what Lennon and everyone else overlooked was that Jesus is and was a revered prophet of God in Islam, with 577 million Muslims in 1966.

Memorizing the classics

It is appealing to speculate how much of the classics of the arts could be reconstructed if all physical archives – written, painted or recorded documentation of them – were lost. This is essentially what a lot of science fiction is about – asking the question: “What if?”

Many plays could probably be reconstructed, if all copies were burned, from the memory of actors who had appeared on stage in those plays (although any one actor may not have memorized all the parts of any play).

Similarly, people often memorize favorite poems, and give recitals of these, and those poems could perhaps be reconstructed from people’s memories.

Musicians like Jack Malik regularly play songs and, as in Yesterday, could reproduce many of them. Similarly, orchestral conductors, players and opera singers could reconstruct classical music.

Art students are often taught by being made to reproduce works of art in galleries, as part of their instruction.

Less likely to be reconstructed are whole books, as they are not performed. People often like to memorize favorite extracts from books, in the same way that they memorize poetry. However, it is rare for anyone to memorize a whole book.

Memorizing the Quran

In the tapestry of religious practices, memorization stands as a vital thread, weaving the fabric of devotion for many who follow a certain faith tradition. For Muslims, beyond mere rituals, it extends to the profound task of committing the entire Quran to memory, a pinnacle achievement recognized by the title “hafidh.”

The Quran is the one book where we could be certain that there are enough people in the world today who know it by heart in order to be able to reconstruct a written version of it.

The Quran was revealed to Prophet Muhammad (pbuh) by the Angel Gabriel (Jibril) in pieces over a period of 23 years. He lived in 7^th century CE Arabia in a time when many people were not literate, and it is widely accepted that Muhammad himself could not read or write.

The Quran was preserved in two ways. First, the Arabs preserved their histories, genealogies, and poetry by memory alone. Muhammad would memorize the verses as they were revealed. In this sense, we can say that Muhammad was the very first hafidh (person who has memorized the whole Quran). When Muhammad repeated the verses of the Quran, his followers naturally preserved the words by memorizing them, and thus his followers were the earliest hafidhs. Memorization required no expensive raw materials (in an age when there was no paper in the Muslim world). Memorization was also considered more secure – a manuscript could easily be destroyed (as in the science fiction of Fahrenheit 451), but if the Quran was to be memorized by many hafidhs, it would never be lost.

The Arabic word hafidh means both “memorizer” and also “guardian,” a reference to the fact that the original Quran is being guarded by being memorized by so many people. In the Quran, God (Allah) states that the Quran will not be corrupted: “Surely We revealed the Message, and We will surely preserve it” (15:9).

“Those who reject the Reminder when it has come to them – it is an invincible Book. Falsehood cannot approach it, from before it or behind it. It is a revelation from One Wise and Praiseworthy” (41:41-2).

Second, the Quran was preserved through writing. Whenever any revelation took place, it was written down at once on tablets, palm branches, or animal skin, primarily by Zaid bin Thabit, who was the main scribe out of the 42 scribes of the revelation. Muhammad set the order of the chapters under the guidance of Gabriel and ordered his companions to maintain that order. Abu Bakr, the first caliph of Islam, compiled the Quran, and Uthman, the third caliph, made numerous copies and sent one copy to each state capital. Two of these original copies still exist: one in the Topkapi Museum, Istanbul, Turkey, and the other in Tashkent, Uzbekistan. Even after Uthman collected and organized a written version of the Quran, recitation (from memory) of the Quran was still honored and encouraged.

Hafidhs

Hafidhs are highly respected within the Islamic community, and are tested on their knowledge. For example, in one test they are asked to continue the recitation of a passage taken randomly from the Quran. As they do not know which passage will be chosen, they must know the whole text in order to be sure of passing. In another test, a would-be hafidh might be asked to recite verses containing a specific word or phrase. Most hafidhs have studied as children in Islamic schools (madrasahs), being instructed in tajwid (rules of recitation) and vocalization as well as committing the Quran to memory. Indeed, the ending of Fahrenheit 451, where people are trained and checked in their memorization of books bears a striking resemblance to Quran classes in madrasahs.

During the holy month of Ramadan, tarawih prayers are read in mosques every evening. Tarawih prayers include Quran recitation. Any hafidh who stumbles is sure to be corrected by another hafidh.

It is impossible to give a precise figure for the number of hafidhs in today’s world. One figure often quoted is 10 million. Over the past centuries, it must run into many millions.

Conclusion

In the intricate mosaic of Islamic devotion, the art of memorization emerges as a profound practice that transcends linguistic and cultural barriers. Whether reciting surahs, embracing duas, or embodying the Quran in its entirety, the commitment to memory stands as a testament to the depth of faith. In the footsteps of Prophet Muhammad, hailed as “the walking Quran,” countless individuals embark on the journey of becoming hafidhs, not merely as guardians of words but as beacons illuminating the path of righteous living.

1. Christianity in View (2022). Statistics and forecasts for world religions: 1800-2025. Christianity in View. http://christianityinview.com/religion-statistics.html

A holistic perspective on the universe reveals one common feature at all levels of existence: cooperation. From cells and tissues in our body to communities helping one another, cooperation is a key dynamic in biological life and for the survival of our society. In this article, we will see some examples of how this phenomenon unfolds in nature and in our lives.

Cooperation in our body

Let’s start with what is nearest to each of us: our body. The body comprises cells, and tissues consist of cells that perform similar functions. The term “tissue” originates from a Latin word meaning “to weave,” as cells making up tissues are sometimes interwoven. When groups of tissues collaborate, they form organs. Examples of organs include the heart, lungs, skin, and stomach. When organs work together, they constitute systems. For instance, the heart, lungs, blood, and blood vessels collectively form the circulatory system. The human body encompasses eleven systems: muscular, respiratory, digestive, integumentary (skin), skeletal, circulatory (or cardiovascular), excretory (or urinary), reproductive, nervous, lymphatic, and endocrine systems. Each system has a distinct function, contributing to a complex system where countless organs and tissues work harmoniously for survival and well-being. The specific functions of each organ are interdependent, akin to a well-coordinated orchestra relying on each instrument playing its part.

The remarkable functioning of the human body is a testament to the incredible cooperation among its organs. Each organ plays a specific role, and their interdependence ensures the body’s survival and well-being. From the circulatory system delivering life-sustaining resources to the liver’s detoxification efforts, the kidneys’ fluid regulation, the lungs’ oxygen exchange, the immune system’s protection, to the brain’s control center role, every organ contributes to the intricate symphony of the body.

Organ systems are now well understood to be tightly interlinked, responding coordinately to internal and external demands, dynamically maintaining the body’s homeostasis. Homeostasis, a self-regulating process, allows the organism to maintain internal stability while adapting to changing external conditions. Close interactions among systems are crucial for protecting organs and promoting health. While such interactions are beneficial, they may also contribute to pathologies affecting multiple organs.

Communication between organs primarily occurs through two main systems: blood vessels and nerves. Nerves can directly establish connections between organs, while signaling factors transferred through the blood circulation can selectively affect specific organs expressing specific receptors or due to the organ’s proximity to the blood vessel connection. Analogously, diverse human communities should have appropriate communication methods to understand each other better and in the correct way.

Most physiological functions originate from the communication between organs. While studies have focused on reciprocal interactions between pairs of organs and diseases affecting them, crosstalk between two organs may involve mechanisms beyond those two organs. Systemic homeostasis maintenance and responses to nutritional and environmental challenges require the coordination of multiple organs and tissues. For instance, communication between the heart and kidneys in cardiorenal syndrome may involve the brain, adrenal glands, and bone marrow. Mechanisms facilitating organ crosstalk operate at the system, tissue, cell, and molecular levels. Although vital organs generally function in coordination and harmony, dysregulation of these communication lines contributes to human pathologies, including obesity, diabetes, liver disease, and atherosclerosis. Sudden or chronic dysfunction of one organ can cause disorder in another organ. For example, kidney dysfunction can adversely affect the hematological system, and acute kidney injury leading to uremia can result in a hepatorenal syndrome. Similarly, when there is a problem between two communities, other communities should be involved to solve the problem, and the interaction should start at the smallest part of the community from each human.

Cooperation in society

Our planet hosts a diverse and continually expanding global population. Nearly 8 billion individuals inhabit 195 countries, marking an unprecedented level of interconnectedness. While this diversity enriches our world with cultural exchange, it also presents a host of intricate problems. The world grapples with a multitude of complex and interlinked issues, including climate change, poverty, inequality, political instability, global health crises, migration, displacement, resource scarcity, education, access to information, the rise of nationalism, and wars. The diversity among nations, each with its distinct identity and challenges, serves as a testament to humanity’s capacity to establish unique societies and governance structures. Despite many obstacles arising from diversity, we have to find ways to promote global cooperation and resolve common problems.

One good example of such cooperation took place in my neighborhood when the war first broke out in Ukraine. The Ukrainian church hosted an event and I participated with my other Muslim friends to show solidarity for the difficult times they were going through. As we donated our aid materials, they were very pleased with our presence, and we, in turn, experienced the relief of sharing people’s concerns. After some time, there was a massive earthquake in Turkey, and many people were injured or died. There was a great need for many aid materials. During that period, even though we didn’t make any requests, our Ukrainian brothers and sisters managed to collect as much aid as they could among themselves and brought it to us in a truck. Later, when the war broke out in the Middle East, an interfaith dialogue program was organized in a synagogue, seeking to understand the harsh realities of war and promoting unity among the Muslim, Christian, and Jewish communities. We also participated in that event. During the gathering, individuals from diverse religious backgrounds discovered common ground in their shared aversion to war, death, and conflict. The prevailing theme centered around unity, solidarity, and a collective yearning for peace.

Here is an anecdote from history which narrates a good example of solidarity. It is told that the Ottoman Sultan Mehmet II once went to the marketplace in disguise early in the morning. His purpose was to witness first-hand how his people were doing in real life. He entered one of the shops and ordered a few things. The shopkeeper didn’t recognize him, and he brought only one of the desired items. He said to the Sultan “Sir, I have made my morning sales, and my neighbor has not sold anything yet. Please get the others from him.” The Sultan then entered the neighboring shop; again, one of the requested items is prepared, and the shopkeeper asked the Sultan to go to the shop next door to finalize his purchases, because his neighbor had not yet made a morning sale.

As a child, I used to labor in the village fields, with each family’s plot situated adjacent to one another. Simultaneously, everyone engaged in the same tasks, tending to their individual sections. After completing the work in their respective fields, families promptly lent assistance to their neighbors, collectively finishing the tasks. Progressing seamlessly from one plot to another, the community endeavored to complete the work together. I recall the joy I felt when neighbors came to aid us, momentarily overshadowing the challenges of the labor.

“The analogy of believers in their affection, mercy, and compassion for each other is like that of a body. When any limb aches, the whole body reacts with sleeplessness and fever,” says Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him, which beautifully captures the essence of unity, compassion, and interconnectedness he expects from his community. Similar to how our body responds to health problems, people are urged to react similarly when one of their members is in distress. This unity should go beyond mere words; it embodies the practical responsibility of the community to stand together during difficult times and provide support. Additionally, the Prophet emphasized the principle that “None of you will have faith until you love for your brother what you love for yourself” [al-Bukhari]. This statement inclusively applies to all, emphasizing the essence of unity by bringing together individuals from diverse backgrounds through love and respect. We see the example of sympathy and sense of responsibility in Fethullah Gülen’s teachings on peace, dialogue, and altruism. Contrary to the understanding that “fire burns where it falls,” Gülen says “Wherever fire falls, it burns me” symbolizing a selfless commitment to service and compassion. Gülen envisions a world where the suffering of others is deeply felt and responded to with compassion. This perspective goes beyond mere sympathy; it entails an active and selfless commitment to help those in need, regardless of their background or circumstances.

In conclusion, just as the body cannot operate efficiently when its components are in discord, we cannot realize our full potential if our society is divided into irreconcilable camps. Unity fosters a sense of togetherness, promoting love, harmony, and generosity among people like among each organ of the body at the time of a disease. By acknowledging our common challenges and working towards unity, we can collaboratively strive to build a more sustainable and just world for everyone. As believers, we can utilize unity as a foundation to extend kindness to others. It is imperative to genuinely spread kindness to our family, friends, humanity, and the world at large, beginning with those closest to us such as family members, coworkers, and neighbors.

References

1. Sahih Muslim 2586a.
2. Sunan Ibn Majah 66.
3. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_countries_and_dependencies_by_area
4. https://www.britannica.com/browse/Cells-Organs-Tissues
5. Oishi Y, Manabe I. Organ System Crosstalk in Cardiometabolic Disease in the Age of Multimorbidity. Front Cardiovasc Med. 2020 Apr 28;7:64. doi: 10.3389/fcvm.2020.00064. PMID: 32411724; PMCID: PMC7198858.
6. Armutcu, F. Organ crosstalk: the potent roles of inflammation and fibrotic changes in the course of organ interactions. Res. 68, 825–839 (2019). https://doi.org/10.1007/s00011-019-01271-7