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Bismillah. This essay analyzes Sura al-Nisāʾ and the Qur’anic framework regarding female dignity, contextualizing both traditional and contemporary interpretations (Luxenberg, Shahrour) in light of modern social dynamics. Drawing on textual sources, demographic data, and anthropological perspectives, it argues that the Qur’an proposes a flexible normative model focused on protecting the vulnerable rather than imposing rigid family structures. The essay further demonstrates that many criticisms directed at Islam arise from distorted or culturally conditioned readings, and that certain Qur’anic provisions—including polygamy—can be understood as extraordinary measures for specific social circumstances rather than as general prescriptions.   The Qur’an as a Flexible Normative System The Qur’an provides guidelines not as rigid impositions but as adaptable possibilities for different historical, cultural, and social contexts. The revelation transcends time and space, offering principles of justice, balance, and the protection of the most vulnerable. This openness shapes the interpretation of its laws, which should be understood as instruments for protection, family harmony, and social stability—anticipating issues that remain central in contemporary societies. Western Perception and the Problem of Distorted Readings of Islam The widespread belief in the West that Islam mistreats women often stems from erroneous assumptions and superficial readings of the sacred text. Equating “cultural abuses” with “Islam” is methodologically flawed: it would be like claiming medicine is harmful because some doctors act unethically. The error (or outrage) lies not in the religion but in its cultural and political interpretations. The Qur’an clearly emphasizes spiritual equality between men and women. Verse 33:35 lists men and women in parallel ethical and spiritual categories, while verse 49:13 reiterates that the only criterion of superiority is piety. Nowhere in the sacred text is the woman presented as spiritually inferior. Women’s Rights in the Historical Context of Revelation At the time of revelation, women enjoyed rights that were revolutionary compared to contemporary societies, including many in Europe: Right to own, buy, and sell property (4:7); Requirement of their consent for marriage (Ṣaḥīḥ al-Bukhārī 5136); Right to divorce (khulʿ) and to receive a dowry (2:229); Right to inheritance (4:11). These rights were legally binding, not theoretical. Islam thus acted as a driver of female legal emancipation at a time when many societies denied women even minimal rights. The Gap Between Sacred Text and Cultural Practices Many criticisms directed at Islam arise not from the Qur’an itself but from patriarchal interpretations and tribal practices that historically distorted or ignored religious norms. Examples include: Denial of inheritance, despite the Prophet’s stern warning (“Whoever denies an heir what is due to them, Allah will deny Paradise to them,” Ibn Mājah 2703); Neglect of female education, contrary to the Sunnah, which declares that “seeking knowledge is obligatory for every Muslim” (Ibn Mājah 224). These cases show that the problem lies in deviation from the teachings, not the teachings themselves. Qur’anic Framework for Protecting the Vulnerable and Abolishing Oppressive Practices At the time of revelation, violent practices such as female infanticide were widespread. The Qur’an strongly condemned these practices (81:8–9), affirming the sanctity of life and female dignity. The protection of property and legal rights of orphans was also a central theme in Sura al-Nisāʾ, which prioritized safeguarding minors as a normative concern. Alternative Interpretations of Verse 4:3: Luxenberg and Shahrour The discussion regarding the alleged “legitimization” of polygamy in Sura 4:3 is central to renewed exegetical debate, in which two contemporary scholars offer radically different readings compared to the traditional view. Christoph Luxenberg: A Philological Analysis in the Syriac-Aramaic Background Luxenberg proposes a reinterpretation based on a linguistic review of the Semitic roots of the Qur’an. According to his analysis: Terms traditionally interpreted as “women” should be read as “orphans” or “wards”; The verse does not establish a numerical limit on wives but indicates the capacity of a guardian to care for multiple orphans without committing injustice. In this view, Sura 4:3 does not address polygamy but the protection of society’s vulnerable members. Mohammed Shahrour: Polygamy as an Exceptional and Historically Conditioned Measure According to Shahrour: The verse relates to the protection of widows with orphans; Polygamy is allowed only under specific historical conditions; The requirement of “absolute justice” makes it practically impossible to implement; In modern societies, where the state guarantees the protection of minors, polygamy is no longer applicable. His conclusion effectively prohibits polygamy in contemporary contexts, as the social conditions that justified it no longer exist. Contemporary Reading: Polygamy as an Extraordinary Option Even accepting the classical interpretation of the verse, polygamy emerges as an extraordinary measure for exceptional situations: wars, disasters, social instability, or absence of protection for orphans and widows. In all cases: Men must ensure economic and spiritual equity; Achieving such equity is recognized as extremely difficult; The aim is not unlimited access to multiple relationships, but the protection of the vulnerable. In this sense, the social relevance of the norm is confirmed even by contemporary data. Demographic Data and Fragility of Modern Families Western societies show a significant increase in fragmented families and situations of female vulnerability. Switzerland 16.2% of families with children are single-parent; 83% of these are headed by mothers; 80.2% of widowed individuals are women. Italy 18.1% of families with children are single-parent; 77.6% of these are headed by mothers; 84% of widowed individuals are women. These figures highlight the widespread presence of fragile family units, often lacking paternal figures and economic stability. The Western Paradox: Freedom Without Protection In contemporary Western societies: Polygamy is prohibited; Adultery and infidelity are not criminal offenses; Fragmented families and emotional instability are increasing. Absolute freedom often turns out to be freedom without protection. In contrast, religious norms perceived as “restrictive,” such as those in Islam, function as realistic instruments of safeguarding: they ensure protection for widows, minors, vulnerable individuals, and social stability. The Plurality of Women’s Choices and the Complexity of Human Experience Contemporary reality is more complex than dominant social models acknowledge. Some women: Desire unconventional relationships; Voluntarily choose to be second wives; Seek stability without traditional marital burdens; Require emotional and parental support after illness or divorce; Do not fit conventional aesthetic standards and are disadvantaged in modern relational contexts. Denying these possibilities ignores real needs. The Qur’an, precisely because it is open to the variables of human life, does not impose rigid models but allows responsible choices shared by all parties. Fundamental Verses on Female Dignity: An Integrated Reading Presenting several verses together allows a holistic understanding of the Qur’anic vision of women: 33:35 – spiritual equality of men and women; 4:1 – shared origin of humanity; 31:14 – centrality and sacrifice of the mother; 4:19 – command to treat women with honor; 3:195 – equal moral responsibility; 4:7 – guarantee of property rights; 81:8–9 – condemnation of female infanticide; 30:21 – love and mercy as the foundation of marriage; 3:42 – elevation of Mary. Together, these verses depict women as integral to the social, emotional, and spiritual fabric of the community. Conclusions: Normative Flexibility, Dignity, and Responsibility The Qur’an presents itself as a text that does not impose monolithic models but offers adaptable possibilities according to circumstances. Norms that appear controversial—such as polygamy—emerge as extraordinary instruments to protect the vulnerable. In contemporary terms, true social maturity consists in recognizing that: Not everything we do not understand is wrong; Not every norm is intended for conditions of stability; Some provisions exist to protect those who have no alternatives. Alhamdulillah. Note on the Author The author critically reflects on Sura al-Nisāʾ, comparing traditional and modern interpretations, and encourages a free, responsible exegetical approach rooted in the complexity of human experience. The Qur’an is thus structured to allow each individual the freedom to choose how to live their relationships. At this point, the question is not who is “closed-minded,” but how the nature of human beings—founded on complex biological and social processes—requires critical thinking and interpretive flexibility capable of embracing the real plurality of life.

Bismillah. During winter I become more deeply aware of the value of water. The cold season, with its unwavering and almost impartial sky, and the lake reflecting a deeper and “purer” blue, awakens in me a different and more contemplative perception of the world. In this slower time, water becomes an object of contemplation and, almost silently, invites me to recognize in it a meaning that surpasses its physical nature. To drink slowly, to savor every drop, becomes almost a ritual gesture. Water not only purifies the body but also the mind; it is like bathing in a magical lotion, a movement “beyond” oneself. If in summer we naturally feel the urge to dive into the lake, in winter that desire changes, taking on a deeper meaning, because “the dive” becomes a leap into a hypnotic infinity, and throwing oneself into the unknown frightens the part of us confined to earthly life. And yet, if we do not try, the waves pass us by, gathering us into one of them and erasing our individuality. Alhamdulillah, I live in a region rich in lakes, where water is abundant. And this very abundance makes me more aware of its scarcity elsewhere and of the ethical responsibility each of us has to preserve it. Thus, I often find myself pausing to observe its movement through the now bare branches of the trees in my garden. When the wind stirs the lake, the waves break against the rocks, lifting droplets that, for an instant, seem to release fragments of life. For in water I perceive life itself. And the Qur’an states this clearly: Qur’an 76:2: “Truly We created man from a drop of mingled fluid (nutfah amshaj, literally: ‘a small drop’ or ‘a limited amount of fluid’) in order to test him; and We made him hearing and seeing.” Water is the foundational element of earthly life, a discreet yet constant witness to the vital processes that permeate the planet. It flows through rivers as it does through veins, evaporates, condenses, returns as rain, and concludes its cycle in the ocean, only to begin again. This unbroken journey grants it a symbolic dimension that spans cultures and ages: purity, emotion, transformation, and above all, continuity. It is precisely this concept that I wish to dwell upon. We are accustomed to thinking of continuity as a line without interruption, as a constant persistence over time. Yet human experience is marked by intervals: relationships that change or break, moments that never return, paths that disappear. Water, on the other hand, suggests another truth: that of a connection that does not break, between creation and the Creator. In water, the persistence of divine mercy is reflected, recalled each time I pronounce Bismillah  before drinking. Water, in this sense, testifies that not everything is destined to break; some realities endure despite the apparent fractures of existence. From this perspective, the work of Dr. Masaru Emoto introduces a further dimension: the idea that water can be influenced by human intentions and emotions. In his experiments—where water was exposed to words, sounds, or prayers before freezing—crystalline structures formed that symbolically seemed to reflect the nature of the stimulus received. Positive words generated harmonious shapes, while negative stimuli produced irregular configurations. Though controversial in method and replicability, these results offer a powerful metaphor: water as a sensitive surface, a space where human intentions leave a trace, at least symbolically. In the natural environment, water displays an extraordinary capacity for transformation: it takes on different forms, follows ever-new paths, adapts to the conditions it encounters. From this stems its metaphorical strength: resilience, flexibility, and above all, continuity. Even if it breaks into droplets, even if it evaporates or freezes, it does not lose its identity. And this fluid characteristic forms a conceptual bridge: if water is like this, then life, too, possesses a dimension that does not end entirely but transforms. Perhaps this is why, even when we are not physically thirsty, we need water: understanding it allows us to understand ourselves. In this winter, water becomes for me a principle of strength, a symbol of hope, a silent assurance that a single drop of us contains an invisible yet essential meaning within Creation. I have traveled through arid Africa, crossed oceans, walked beneath the dense canopies of tropical forests. Yet I had never thought that a single drop of me could be anywhere: in a tear, in an ice crystal, on a leaf after a storm. This possibility of being “everything” and “everywhere” is perhaps one of the deepest forms of life, for I firmly believe that we contain more than one truth. If for some this idea is initially incomprehensible, for people like me it is part of daily existence, and the Qur’an confirms that multiple dimensions, multiple worlds, and multiple realities exist. It does not use the modern term “multiverse,” but the Qur’anic concept of al-ʿālamīn  indicates a plurality of worlds, levels of creation, realms, and realities. The Qur’an reiterates that water is a tangible sign of divine mercy: “We sent down blessed water from the sky, and with it We brought forth gardens and grain for harvest” (50:9) . It not only sustains life but embodies purification, renewal, awareness, and gratitude. In every one of its manifestations, water calls to mind the wisdom of the Creator and invites reflection on our dependence on His providence. The Water of Zamzam Among the waters mentioned in Islamic tradition, Zamzam occupies a special place. Springing forth in the desert beside the Kaʿba, it is tied to the story of Hajar and the young Ismaʿil, when Allah intervened in their moment of greatest need. Drinking Zamzam is an experience that goes beyond hydration: it is an act of historical memory and deep trust in divine mercy. During Hajj and ʿUmrah, pilgrims drink it with the intention of drawing spiritual benefit and in the hope that their supplications will be heard. From a scientific standpoint, Zamzam has distinctive chemical features: a high concentration of essential minerals, great purity, and a consistent profile over time. These elements have drawn the interest of hydrologists, geologists, and nutritional scientists. Its scientific value, combined with its spiritual significance, creates a space where faith and empirical observation engage in a surprisingly harmonious dialogue. Pronouncing Bismillah  before drinking and al-ḥamdu liLlāh  upon finishing emphasizes the centrality of intention in a believer’s life. A daily act is transformed into an exercise of awareness and gratitude, strengthening a spirituality interwoven with ordinary life. And today, as I gaze upon the lake, I remember Allah through water: He created a perfect world, and He created us—even more perfect—from a single drop. Al-ḥamdu liLlāh.

The veil, in its physical or symbolic form, is not merely a garment but a mental and spiritual shield, an emblem of resistance against a world that wants us standardized, transparent, and consumable. It is a retreat, a refuge like that of the Seven Dwarfs. The Eighties and Nineties are now a memory, a time of healthy light-heartedness. Today, that innocent ease has turned into minds forced to absorb more than they can contain, pushing them toward emptiness, and the natural response to such stress is to withdraw. Artificial intelligence floods us with data; the media broadcast wars live; faces and bodies appear “perfect,” while others are torn apart—gradually eroding the human capacity for empathy and replacing it with a collective emotional numbness. And so we go back to listening to “old” music, whose notes echo through the garden, or wandering among abandoned farmhouses in search of a lost meaning. The same happens with AI-generated flowers replacing real ones in exhibitions mysteriously called “the art of contemporary wonders.” Global narcissism is everywhere; illusions and endless simulations break like the waves of Nazaré, without even leaving us the ability to understand the connection, yet we feel a fierce need to feel  something again. And this is how the veil returns to fashion, not only as a religious devotion but as a conscious symbol of opposition, expressing one’s own self-critique in the form of: “I am not a product,” “I will not surrender to the system.” AI and capitalism have turned women (and men) into consumable slaves, reducing them to easily replaceable aesthetic objects, because they themselves stepped into the game, not realizing that they are the very ones feeding the market of the scalpel, from which they try to free themselves only when it is too late. Like fish trapped in a net, they keep circling around, imprisoned in a pattern that makes them ever more vulnerable. I remember several trips to Japan, where, already fifteen years ago, supermarkets were filled with clerks who resembled the AI of 2025, responding only to the sound of the cash-register bell or to some “lucky charm” trinket they wore around their neck or attached to their clothes. More and more Western women are embracing Islam as a way to escape this “mercenary shark,” reclaiming dignity, authenticity, and inner freedom, asserting their own rights while at the same time denying the rights of those who still protect them: the woman they call oppressed because she “wears the hijab.” An endless paradox, a dangerous distortion of reality. Those who wear the veil, or who protect themselves with an inner bastion as a shield against external attacks, consciously choose to distinguish reality from illusion, to remain authentic, and to defend themselves from digital (or real?) intrusion and from social models that have destroyed the authentic nature of womanhood. In an age of distorted mirrors and clamors like chickens trapped in battery cages, the veil becomes a silent scream—and this is true creativity, untouched by digital interference that tries to bind you to an idea produced by vindictive algorithms. Artificial intelligence amplifies data and images, creating illusions at a speed faster than our consciousness can process, turning us into passive spectators of our own desires—watching addictions grow to extremes and blaming others for our inability to break free. As the Qur’an warns: “Do not follow that of which you have no knowledge; surely the hearing, the sight, and the heart—each of these shall be questioned.”  (Sūrat al-Isrā’ 17:36) What will we answer before God (and before ourselves) when we have neither understood, nor heard, nor seen, nor felt anything? Erich Fromm describes this alienation: “Modern society turns us into objects, not individuals; it alienates us from our true selves.”  AI, together with global models of artificial perfection, magnifies this phenomenon: women and men risk becoming consumer products devoid of soul. Fromm warns us: “Conformity is the prison of the mind; those who do not think for themselves become slaves to social illusions.” The veil as protection, freedom, and return The Islamic veil emerges as a tool of protection and spiritual resistance. It is not merely a garment: it is a deliberate act to preserve inner freedom, dignity, and mental integrity. To wear it is to declare: “I am not a product; I will not surrender to the system.”Fromm writes: “Freedom is not something one possesses; it is something one must fight for continually.” The Qur’an reminds us: “Allah does not change the condition of a people until they change what is within themselves.”  (Sūrat ar-Ra‘d 13:11)Everything that has value—knowledge, spirituality, dignity—must be guarded and protected, like the black box of an aircraft, a safe, or the Kaaba itself. The veil thus becomes a means of safeguarding these values in a world that either ignores them deliberately or reduces them to commodities. Why today, why now? In every culture's history, woman has always safeguarded fundamental values and moral power—not as a sexual object but as an entity preserving balance, authority, and integrity. The true oppression today is not that of ancient traditions but that of the modern West, which has distorted the meaning of Truth. The same applies to the standardization of the Arabic language, which has uniformed concepts that ancient script expressed with precise nuance. Only awareness can interrupt this trend. A woman who recognizes her worth, chooses spiritual and mental protection, and wears a veil—whether real or symbolic—can free herself from the illusion imposed by modern society and regain control over her body, mind, and destiny. Secrets are not displayed; the critical memory of an aircraft is kept in its black box, material valuables in a safe, sacredness in the Kaaba, and gold within rocks or riverbeds. In the same way, mind, spirit, and dignity must be protected from the invasive pressures of the digital age and global consumerism. To protect what is precious is not isolation; it is conscious resistance. It is saying: “I guard my mind, my spirit, and my worth. They will not be contaminated by external invasion.” In a world of mirrors like those of the witch in Snow White, filled with pervasive illusions and predatory capitalism, this is the most powerful form of freedom: the responsibility to protect not only oneself but also one’s sisters—because balance is one of the fundamental values proclaimed in the Qur’an, between spiritual and material life, in behavior, and in the rejection of extremism in any direction. The veil can thus be seen as a “middle line” dividing the two worlds. In conclusion, authenticity must be protected—without excess, without extremism: “And thus We have made you an ummatan wasaṭan, that you may be witnesses to humankind and the Messenger a witness over you.”  (Qur’ān 2:143)

The narratives of Anna and Hagar, though emerging from distinct religious and cultural traditions, offer universal paradigms of resilience, hope, and unwavering trust in God, with profound relevance for women today. Anna, known as Hannah (חַנָּה, Ḥannāh ) in the Hebrew Bible, lived in a socio-cultural context where motherhood was central to a woman’s dignity and social standing. Sterile and subjected to derision, she confronted marginalization and ridicule with steadfast faith. Her heartfelt prayer, articulated with complete sincerity and surrender to God, was answered with the birth of Samuel, who would become a prophet 1 . The Song of Hannah (1 Samuel 2:1-10) exemplifies the transformative potential of suffering, converting grief into gratitude and solitude into a sacred encounter with the divine. It remains a paradigm of spiritual resilience and trust in divine justice 2 . Scholars of biblical literature note that the Song employs parallelism characteristic of Israelite wisdom poetry, highlighting the centrality of divine justice in overturning human circumstances 3 . While Samuel’s mother is not explicitly mentioned in the Qur’an, Islamic tradition preserves a parallel figure in Hannah, the mother of Mary (Maryam). The Qur’an underscores the significance of devout prayer and dedication: “And [mention] when the wife of ‘Imrān said, ‘My Lord, indeed I have pledged to You what is in my womb, consecrated [for Your service]; so accept it from me. Indeed, You are the Hearing, the Knowing.’”  (Qur’an 3:35) 4 The linguistic structure illustrates the principle of tawakkul , or total reliance on God, emphasizing that devotion and perseverance are universal spiritual virtues. Hagar, the servant of Sarah and mother of Ishmael, confronted marginalization and abandonment with equal fortitude. In the Hebrew Bible, she is left alone in the wilderness with her child, yet God appears and calls her by name, promising protection and numerous descendants: “And the angel of the Lord said to her, ‘Return to your mistress and submit to her; I will greatly increase your offspring.’” (Genesis 16:9-10, Hebrew) 5 Hagar names God El Roi  (אֵל רֳאִי), “The God Who Sees Me” 6 , embodying the assurance that the divine observes and sustains those who are marginalized. Rabbinic commentaries, including Rashi and Ibn Ezra, interpret Hagar’s experience as a demonstration of divine providence for the disenfranchised 7 . In Islamic tradition, Hājar (هاجر, Hājar ), mother of the prophet Ismā‘īl, symbolizes tawakkul . Her endurance in the desert and her search between Safa and Marwa for water culminate in the miraculous spring of Zamzam 8 . Qur’anic passages (14:37, 2:158) emphasize the integration of active trust in God with diligent effort, underscoring the interplay of faith and action in Islamic theology. This narrative, commemorated during the Hajj and Umrah, serves as a potent metaphor for resilience: even in the harshest and most arid circumstances, divine providence provides sustenance and unforeseen opportunities. Anna and Hagar exemplify universal archetypes of female strength and spiritual resilience. Anna demonstrates that internal suffering can be transfigured into prayer and purposeful action, while Hagar teaches that material adversity and isolation need not deter; they can become sources of empowerment and hope. In societies that often measure women’s worth by external judgments, their narratives remind us that authentic recognition derives from faith, perseverance, and the courage to face challenges and solitude. For contemporary women, these figures provide actionable lessons: patience is an active choice rather than passive resignation; solitude can catalyze growth; and obstacles are fertile ground for the emergence of inner light. The experiences of Anna and Hagar affirm that suffering does not mark the conclusion of a journey but its inception, and that spiritual light cultivated through reliance on God can become indestructible. Even amid isolation, disappointment, or abandonment, a woman may recognize her latent potential, transmute pain into growth, convert silence into attentive listening, and transform the desert into a locus of opportunity. Footnotes 1.     1 Samuel 1:11, Hebrew text: וַתִּתְפַּלֵּל חַנָּה אֶל ה’  (“And Hannah prayed to the Lord”), New Revised Standard Version. 2.     1 Samuel 2:1-10, Song of Hannah, NRSV. 3.     Rashi, Commentarius in 1 Samuel , on the Song of Hannah; Ibn Ezra, Perush 1 Samuel . 4.     Qur’an 3:35, transliteration: Wa dhikri imra’at ‘Imran iz qalat… , translation by Yusuf Ali. 5.     Genesis 16:9-10, Hebrew text: וַיּאֹמֶר לָהּ מַלְאַךְ ה’…   6.     Genesis 16:13, El Roi = “The God Who Sees Me,” NRSV.

Bismillah. Wherever one may be, every human being exists under divine protection. In Islam, this protection is provided by angels, beings of light created solely to obey God, in contrast to humans and jinn, who possess free will. Angels have no personal desires, yet they perform extraordinary tasks: conveying divine messages, safeguarding the universe, and guiding humanity toward righteousness. In Judaism and Christianity, angels were known as cherubim, messengers, and celestial beings in close proximity to God. Islam affirms their existence in its final revelation, the Qur’an, additionally referring to them as “guardians of the Earth.” Islamic tradition associates them with the seven cosmic cardinal points, maintaining the order of the universe. It is therefore unreasonable to divide monotheistic religions: they share the same fundamental faith, with Muhammad as the final prophet. The Qur’an confirms the Torah, the Gospel, and the prophets: every Jew, Christian, or Muslim is under the protection of the same angels. As stated in Sura 2:136: "We believe in Allah and in what was revealed to Abraham, Ishmael, Isaac, Jacob, and the Tribes, and in what was given to Moses and Jesus and the prophets; we make no distinction among any of them." Many Christians, having not studied the Qur’an, have distanced themselves from their faith due to perceived inconsistencies. God sent the Qur’an through the angel Jibrīl (Gabriel) to the Prophet Muhammad ﷺ to complete the divine message. Studying the Qur’an is therefore essential: focusing solely on Jesus without knowledge of subsequent prophets is akin to leaving school halfway through the curriculum, without comprehending its entirety. Jibrīl is the most prominent angel in the Qur’an, serving as the angel of revelation, while Gabriel is one of the principal archangels in Christianity, announcing the miraculous birth of Jesus to Mary. Thus, the same divine messenger serves as a link between the Christian and Islamic revelations. Sura Maryam (19) is devoted to the birth of Jesus (ʿĪsā) and the story of his mother Mary (Maryam), emphasizing the miraculous nature of his birth and the purity of the prophetic mission. The Qur’an rejects the doctrine of the Trinity and affirms that Jesus cannot be considered the son of God: Allah is singular, transcendent, and infinite, entirely distinct from creation. Attributing a son to Him would imply a plurality incompatible with monotheism. Jesus remains a created being and a messenger, whose miraculous birth from Mary testifies to divine power without compromising the oneness of God. Many individuals leave Christianity for intellectual, emotional, or spiritual reasons, often in pursuit of moral and rational coherence. Islam offers a return to a unified, coherent framework because: ·        The Qur’an emphasizes the absolute oneness of God and presents a logically coherent theological system, free from contradictions. ·        It provides structured answers to moral and spiritual dilemmas, including the purpose of life, justice, and human responsibility. ·        It contains references consistent with modern scientific observations—from embryology to natural cycles and the expansion of the universe—harmonizing with science rather than replacing it. The Qur’an represents the final revelation because it confirms previous scriptures, delivers a universal and complete message, and offers teachings that are logical, practical, and spiritually meaningful across all times and cultures. Even today, angels play an active role, unseen but indispensable: recording human actions, protecting the righteous, inspiring goodness, executing divine decrees, and maintaining cosmic order. In a world marked by moral corruption, they serve as a testament that justice and cosmic balance remain eternal and inexorable. From an Islamic perspective, all human beings are “People of the Book,” recipients of divine revelation, and Islam represents the completion and affirmation of these shared spiritual roots. The dissemination of Islam constitutes a universal call to reconnect with God, justice, and original morality, values that transcend time, place, and culture. Christmas and Islam intersect in the miracle of Jesus’ birth: in Christianity, Christmas celebrates Jesus as a divine figure, whereas in Islam, his birth highlights the purity of Mary and Jesus’ prophetic mission as a servant and messenger of Allah. Both traditions recognize this event as a sign of hope, faith, and righteousness—a universal reminder of spiritual guidance and divine mercy. Recent scientific discoveries concerning light further illuminate this perspective: quantum experiments have created states of “condensed light” or “light supersolids,” demonstrating how light can behave as an ordered form of matter through interactions between photons and material systems. If angels are beings of light, and light travels at approximately 300,000 km/s, this symbolically and scientifically underscores their immense power and their capacity to convey divine messages instantaneously. Light thus becomes a unifying thread linking science and the Qur’an, matter and spirit, the visible and the invisible. Modern physics elucidates its speed, structure, and precision, while the Qur’an proclaims: Allah is the “Light of the heavens and the earth” (Sura 24:35 ), the eternal guide of truth and the believers. Every luminous phenomenon, every scientific discovery, can therefore be interpreted as a sign of divine will, demonstrating that knowledge, faith, and the cosmos are intertwined through a single eternal light. In every ray of light, within the order of the universe, and through the truth of the Qur’an, one certainty remains immutable: God is great, and nothing escapes His knowledge. Alhamdulillah.

"He is the One who created the night and the day, and the sun and the moon, each swimming in its orbit.” Surah Al-Anbiya (21:33) The providence and sustenance of Al-Muqīt  can be symbolically represented by a circle, a figure of perfection and completeness. Just as a circle has neither beginning nor end, the action of Al-Muqīt manifests at every moment of life, in every creature, and in every aspect of the universe. Each point of the circle depends on the others to maintain balance: similarly, all forms of life receive nourishment, protection, and guidance—physical, emotional, and spiritual—in perfect measure and at the right moment. The circle thus becomes a powerful symbol of continuous support, harmony, and universal interconnectedness guaranteed by Al-Muqīt. The circle, both visible and invisible, permeates all of reality. From microphysics to the macrocosm, from biology to spirituality, from art to cosmology, it represents cyclicality, centrality, balance, and harmony, yet it also embodies illusion. Through an infinite, almost hypnotic cycle, it can deceive our perception of movement and progress. Observing a vortex, following a spiral, or blending pigments in circular motions creates the impression of change, yet everything returns to its starting point. It appears that all is advancing, but we remain trapped in our own form. In the human body, circularity manifests in vital rhythms and anatomical structures. The heart pulses in closed circuits, the lungs follow regular respiratory cycles, circadian rhythms regulate sleep and wakefulness, and each joint moves along trajectories optimized for efficiency and stability. These biological cycles, while perfect, can create illusions if perceived as linear progress; orbiting around desires and habits without finding the center of one’s consciousness produces empty movement—seemingly orderly but lacking true significance. The natural world, particularly gardens, offers a living metaphor for circularity and order. In gardens designed according to harmonious principles, winding paths, circular plantings, and round ponds replicate patterns of cosmic balance. Each plant, flower, and element of the landscape obeys cyclical rhythms: germination, flowering, fruiting, and decay constitute a cycle perfectly integrated within the ecosystem. Moving a brush in small circles to blend colors reproduces on a microcosmic scale what occurs in gardens and nature: distinct elements come together in visual and functional harmony, evoking universal symmetry. Even in the cosmos, circularity governs structures and extreme phenomena. Accretion disks around black holes form vortices of matter orbiting toward the gravitational center, while the event horizon defines a spherical boundary beyond which nothing can escape. Light bent by gravitational lensing creates visible circles, tangible manifestations of space-time geometry. Planetary orbits, electron motion around atomic nuclei, and spiral galaxies all exemplify ordered circularity, demonstrating how the principle of the circle is omnipresent and governed by precise natural laws. In the Qur’an, circularity also carries spiritual significance. Every creature glorifies God through its movement, like a vast cosmic Tawaf (Surah An-Nur 24:41; Surah Al-Anbiya 21:33). The human Tawaf, completing seven revolutions around the Kaaba, concretely manifests this principle: the believer places God at the center of their life, orbiting the divine, just as all creatures orbit within the cosmic order. The repetition of the seven circuits is not an empty ritual; it is a path toward perfection, a symbolic reference to the completeness of the number seven and to universal harmony. Art and the practice of color reflect the same logic: circular brushstrokes blend distinct pigments, creating harmonious shades that replicate, on a small scale, the perfection of natural and cosmic cycles. In Indian mandalas, shamanic symbols, or Christian rituals, the circle becomes a tool for contemplation and connection between microcosm and macrocosm, matter and spirit, self and universe. Integrating the garden metaphor, the circle also becomes a symbol of life and regeneration. Plants follow natural cycles, winding paths guide visitors around a visual or spiritual center, and the garden itself becomes a microcosm of the universe: a place where order, beauty, and harmony are perceptible in tangible form. Here, as in the Tawaf, a real center exists around which all revolves, and the perception of relationships among elements becomes both a cognitive and spiritual experience. In conclusion, the circle is not merely a form: it is a universal law, an integrating principle, a metaphor, and a reality simultaneously. From the heartbeat to accretion disks, from circadian rhythms to planetary motion, from mandalas to designed gardens, from brushstrokes blending pigments to human Tawaf, every circle tells the same story: there is a center, there is order, there is harmony. Recognizing the center means distinguishing between illusion and reality, between empty motion and authentic progress, between apparent chaos and the invisible law of the universe. The circle is the hidden breath of the cosmos, the invisible map of life, and the key to perceiving the unity of matter, spirit, nature, and art. Al-Muqīt — The Sustainer and Provident of all things.

Setting an example often proves more powerful than words alone. In a world full of noise, the truth can easily be drowned out or ignored. Action becomes essential, and one practical expression of this principle is the cultivation of one’s own food. This practice is more than a lifestyle choice: it is a quiet form of resistance. Modern food systems are dominated by powerful monopolies that grow richer while communities become increasingly dependent and vulnerable. Cultivating personal food sources reduces reliance on these systems and restores a measure of freedom and self-responsibility. As stated in the Qur’an: “And do not consume one another’s wealth unjustly or send it [in bribery] to the rulers…”  (2:188) . Even the simplest acts can uphold justice, beginning with how sustenance is obtained. Respect for the choices and space of others is a guiding principle. The aim is not to convince or control, but to live in truth and let actions demonstrate integrity. As noted by the Prophet ﷺ: “The best of people are those who benefit others.”   Integrity is expressed through quiet service rather than loud proclamation. It is also important to recognize that even concepts such as “following the light” can be manipulated. Practices and ideas that appear righteous may, in fact, support corrupt systems, including those that profit from controlling essential resources like food. Critical awareness is necessary to identify such manipulations and to resist corruption disguised as progress. The Qur’an states: “O you who have believed, why do you say what you do not do?”  (61:2). Words without action are hollow; true faith is reflected in deeds. Action grounded in principle resists co-optation. Cultivating one’s own food is a daily practice of self-reliance and serves as a constant reminder that freedom is cultivated, not granted. Each seed represents a small act of sovereignty over life, health, and choices, and constitutes a refusal to accept dependency as inevitable. Action alone, however, is insufficient. It must be accompanied by awareness and reflection. Integrity forms a bridge between personal freedom and collective responsibility. As the Qur’an emphasizes: “Indeed, Allah commands you to render trusts to whom they are due and when you judge between people to judge with justice…”  (4:58). Responsibility—whether to others, to the earth, or to oneself—is inseparable from action. Living in alignment with this principle requires confronting comfort, dependency, and systemic entanglement with honesty. Daily life offers the opportunity to act intentionally, making choices aligned with values rather than external pressures. Even the smallest consistent actions can create ripples that extend farther than grand gestures. Discernment is also essential. Ideas cloaked in virtue can serve as instruments of control. Systems—political, economic, or cultural—often present themselves as progress or righteousness but may instead reinforce dependency and inequality. Navigating these requires careful observation, inquiry, and refusal to follow blindly. The Qur’an warns: “And do not follow what you have no knowledge of. Indeed, the hearing, the sight and the heart – about all those [one] will be questioned.”  (17:36). True freedom balances thought and deed, learning from the world while safeguarding autonomy. There is profound value in this disciplined practice. Assuming responsibility for life fosters resilience and creativity that cannot be taken away. Growing, sustaining, and protecting contribute to something larger than the self: the continuity of life, the renewal of the earth, and the affirmation that humans are stewards, not mere consumers. As the Qur’an notes: “It is He who produces gardens trellised and untrellised, and date palms, and crops of different shape and taste (its fruits and its seeds) and olives, and pomegranates, similar (in kind) and different (in taste). Eat of their fruit when they ripen…”  (6:141). Each seed and harvest demonstrates the divine balance between effort and trust, action and surrender. This approach reflects a practice of quiet consistency: growing, sustaining, respecting others, and questioning even ideas presented as sacred or righteous, without succumbing to cynicism. A life in which words and deeds align measures freedom not only by independence but also by integrity, courage, and responsibility. Each day offers an opportunity to plant more than seeds in soil; it is an opportunity to cultivate integrity, resilience, and autonomy. The Qur’an reinforces this principle: “And whoever saves one [life] – it is as if he had saved mankind entirely.”  (5:32). Every deliberate act of care and conscious choice matters. Freedom is not a gift to claim but a practice to live. It grows steadily, requiring patience, care, and courage. In tending life, as in tending the earth, the divine rhythm becomes evident: what is cultivated with sincerity and effort will flourish, often unseen, and often beyond immediate comprehension.

Many individuals within our communities tend to look away when the topic of mental health or inner healing is raised, as if these issues were not truly part of the human experience. In some circles, psychological disorders are still thought to be exclusively linked to the action of shayṭān or to weak faith, a belief largely stemming from a lack of scientific and theological knowledge. The history of Islamic medicine, however, tells a different story: great Muslim thinkers and physicians such as Abū Zayd al-Balkhī, Muḥammad ibn Zakariyyā al-Rāzī (Rhazes), Ibn Sīnā (Avicenna), and other medieval scholars treated mental health as an integral part of medicine, considering it essential to human well-being. Al-Balkhī, for instance, in the 9th century, elaborated a distinction between bodily illnesses and illnesses of the soul, observing that depression, anxiety, pathological sadness, and obsessive thoughts required specific and rational therapeutic approaches. Al-Rāzī, director of one of the most advanced hospitals in Baghdad, described and treated mental disorders with clinical methods, and Ibn Sīnā devoted substantial sections of his Qānūn  to phenomena that we would today define as psychological, observing that the care of the mind cannot be separated from the body or the spiritual dimension of the person. These examples show that mental health care is not a modern topic, nor a Western influence; it is a deeply rooted and ancient component of Islamic heritage. The integrative approach—body, mind, and spirit as a unity—was central in classical Islamic civilization and can also be observed in bīmāristān , medieval hospitals that offered treatment for psychological disorders through medical, environmental, spiritual, and psychological therapies. The idea that mental illness indicates a lack of faith is therefore a simplification unsupported both historically and clinically. Spirituality, however, has always played an important therapeutic role. Many contemporary scholars, such as Dr. Tareq Al-Habib and Dr. Al-Khamīs, confirm that integrating faith in God into therapeutic processes can support healing—not as a replacement for medicine, but as a complement to it. Leading modern psychologists also recognize the value of spirituality as a protective factor for mental health. Islamic tradition itself contains numerous references to human emotional states: the Qur’an speaks of ḥamm  (worry), ghamm  (distress), khawf  (fear), and describes the “chest that tightens” (6:125), a description surprisingly close to what we now define as anxiety symptoms. Similarly, it states that God “will remove what is in the chests” (7:43), offering a perspective of liberation and healing. The Qur’an uses different terms to indicate the inner states of a person: qalb , ṣadr , fu’ād , each with specific semantic nuances. The fu’ād  expresses emotional intensity, almost “burning” (53:11), while the qalb  is the seat of faith and spiritual orientation, and the ṣadr  represents the external dimension, similar to a courtyard protecting the deep heart. The distinction between these inner levels, also confirmed in prophetic tradition, suggests a complex anthropological structure in which disturbing thoughts—as indicated in hadiths reported by Abū Dāwūd and Ahmad—can “reach” the chest without necessarily corrupting the heart. Recognizing one’s fragility is not a sign of weak faith; on the contrary, the Qur’an reminds us that “man was created weak” (4:28) . It is precisely from this condition of vulnerability that the path of healing emerges: not avoiding emotions, not obsessively fighting thoughts, nor seeking excessive explanations, but reducing the attention we give to intrusive mental events. The more one attempts to control or analyze obsessive thoughts, the more they persist; for this reason, Islamic tradition encourages patience (2:153), ignoring what disturbs, and returning to God through prayer, movements of ṣalāh , dhikr , and Qur’anic recitation, which act on the body and mind, promoting neurophysiological processes of calm and emotional regulation. The Qur’an also refers to the nafs lawwāmah  (75:2), the soul that reproaches itself, recognizing the human tendency to self-criticism and guilt. In the presence of errors, the path taught by tradition is to seek forgiveness and move forward. Reflecting on the past with “what if it had gone differently…” can lead to destructive patterns, as the Qur’anic perspective reminds us (57:22–23). Humans, exposed to daily risks, cannot expect perfection or total control; healing begins with acceptance of one’s created condition and acknowledgment of divine sovereignty. The origins of mental illness often trace back to childhood trauma, a concept now explained through neuroplasticity: the brain builds connections and pathways—like pieces of Lego—based on experiences and habits. Changing habits means changing the structure of the brain itself. The Qur’an reminds us that human responsibility concerns what a person “earns” (2:286), and refers to the forehead region symbolically as the seat of intentions and actions, describing the “forelock” of the oppressor as a metaphor for moral responsibility (96:15–16). Understanding that mental and behavioral patterns consolidate gradually helps explain how sinful habits also start from small errors, repeated until they become addictions. The care of the mind, like a garden, requires the constant removal of “weeds” before they become too deeply rooted. Likewise, starting with one prayer, then two, then three, or with one Ramadan, then another, gradually transforms inner life. Habitual religious practice, supported by neuroplasticity, becomes a highly valuable therapeutic factor. Qur’anic recitation, even in children, shows calming and regulatory effects, and a cautious approach prevents hasty diagnoses. Diagnoses such as ADHD, psychopathy, or other labels should not be applied without a serious clinical assessment: as classical Islamic scholars noted, a clinical condition requires multiple persistent symptoms, not a single trait or behavior. If symptoms persist beyond six months and interfere with daily life, consulting a professional is appropriate. The first step, however, can be turning to God in prayer, seeking guidance and clarity. Many report that the answer comes the following day, and that consistent communication with the Creator stabilizes the heart. There are testimonies of people who, thanks to Islam, have overcome alcohol or drug dependence, or degraded life situations. Purification is a journey, and once undertaken, the path opens. Bibliography Primary Sources Al-Balkhī, Abū Zayd. Masālih al-Abdān wa al-Anfus  (Sustenance of Bodies and Souls). Al-Rāzī, Muḥammad ibn Zakariyyā. Al-Ḥāwī fī al-Ṭibb  and Al-Mansūrī . Ibn Sīnā (Avicenna). Al-Qānūn fī al-Ṭibb  (The Canon of Medicine). Qur’an, with references to cited verses: 6:125; 7:43; 53:11; 4:28; 2:153; 75:2; 57:22–23; 2:286; 96:15–16. Secondary and Contemporary Studies Badri, Malik. Dilemmas of Muslim Psychologists . Ragab, Ahmed. Medicine and Religion in the Middle Ages . Yaqeen Institute. “Holistic Healing: Islam’s Legacy of Mental Health.”

The Qur’anic verse “It may be that you dislike something while it is good for you, and it may be that you love something while it is bad for you. Allah knows, and you do not know”  (Qur’an 2:216) reveals with remarkable clarity the limits of human knowledge when confronted with the structural complexity of reality. Human perception captures only fragments of the broader system, whereas the divine order encompasses every interaction, consequence, and hidden equilibrium. The human body and the natural world function as synchronised and highly integrated systems. Even minor perturbations can generate cascades of effects across the entire organism, a principle reflected in the Qur’anic concept of universal balance ( Mizan ). This systemic logic extends to the inner dimension of the human being: returning to God through prayer, reflection, or reconnection with one’s spiritual core restores energetic coherence, much like a device that requires recharging to operate. Observing nature with scientific attention continually reveals patterns of interconnection that align with this Qur’anic worldview. At this intersection of science and metaphysics, Goethe’s theory of elective affinities  becomes unexpectedly relevant. Borrowed from 18th-century chemistry, the model proposes that elements interact according to intrinsic tendencies rather than human prediction. Substances that appear incompatible may combine into stable compounds, while seemingly harmonious ones may separate or react destructively under specific conditions. Goethe employs this chemical metaphor to illustrate that human relationships and life events follow deeper systemic laws: interactions possess their own internal logic, independent of moral judgement or intention . What appears favourable or harmful at the subjective level may, at the structural level, be fulfilling a necessary role within the system. Contemporary physics reinforces this understanding. Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle demonstrates that certain properties cannot be known simultaneously with precision; quantum superposition reveals that multiple states coexist until observation; and entanglement shows that distant particles can influence each other instantaneously. These principles indicate that systemic properties emerge from relations, not isolated components. Invisible correlations—beyond immediate perception—can generate decisive outcomes. In chemistry, likewise, a seemingly stable molecule can become reactive under specific conditions, reshaping entire reaction pathways. So too can seemingly minor encounters or events profoundly alter the trajectory of a human life. We often interpret reality through binary judgments—“beneficial” or “toxic,” “right” or “wrong.” Yet quantum mechanics encourages a more sophisticated epistemology. Before measurement, a quantum system exists as a spectrum of probabilities. Likewise, what we perceive as positive or negative is merely one interpretive frame among many. Our understanding is inherently partial: events that appear harmful may later reveal themselves to be constructive, while what seems beneficial may conceal necessary disruption. If we restricted ourselves only to what appears “right,” avoiding uncertainty or risk, life would stagnate. Growth emerges from the coexistence of opposites—their superposition—not from the exclusion of difficulty. Even painful experiences contribute to systemic equilibrium, just as a seemingly random quantum measurement determines the final state of a system. The verse “Allah knows, and you do not know”  thus gestures toward a probabilistic architecture of reality. Human beings cannot perceive the full causal network in which events unfold. Yet every occurrence—favourable or unfavourable—plays a role in the system’s overall configuration, just as every amplitude in a wave function contributes to the quantum state upon collapse. Life, like the subatomic world, is shaped by possibility, interaction, and emergent behaviour. What appears harmful may carry hidden benefit; what appears beneficial may conceal transformative challenges. The key is to embrace uncertainty, suspend premature judgment, and recognise that each choice alters the balance of the entire system. The interpretation of this surah is therefore far more complex than it may initially appear. Life experiences continually reshape its meaning: if our bodies are recycled matter, our emotions recycled energy, and our thoughts recycled information, then every experience is a domino that sets another in motion, generating chains of significance no individual can fully predict. In this light, the verse is not a rigid prohibition but an invitation to recognise that every event participates in a larger integrative process. Nothing is accidental; everything contributes to the continuity of equilibrium—just as Goethe’s elective affinities show that interactions adhere to laws deeper than desire, producing outcomes that only later reveal their necessity within the system. The truth is this: we are not accidental spectators of life, nor victims of isolated events. We are components of a system in which every interaction—human, emotional, spiritual, or quantum—contributes to the overall equilibrium. Nothing that happens is ever a mistake; it is the precise configuration that allows the universe to continue its design. Allah knows, while we see only one of the infinite possibilities of the whole. Author’s Note This article integrates insights from Qur’anic exegesis, Goethean theory, systems chemistry, and quantum physics to highlight a unified principle: reality is fundamentally relational and governed by patterns that exceed human perception . The intention is not to merge scientific and theological frameworks artificially, but to illuminate how both point toward an interconnected universe where events derive meaning from the systems they shape.

Bismillah. The body, when it dies, decays slowly: first the tissues, then the forms, until only bone and silence remain. Thoughts follow a similar fate. In grief they swell, rebel, and ferment like living matter; then, day by day, they unravel, lose weight, and fall away. What endures is the essence: a bare, fragile core that does not die but changes form. Just as the earth breaks itself apart to give life to the seed, thought too must decompose in order to be reborn. When we reflect on loss, the mind often turns to stark biological images such as bodily decay. Though unsettling, this analogy becomes a powerful interpretive lens: discarded or exhausted thoughts undergo a gradual dissolution akin to the fate of organic tissue. As microorganisms and bacteria reduce the body to its skeletal form, the thoughts bound to sorrow move through phases of resistance, softening, and fragmentation until only their conceptual skeleton remains. This is not merely a psychological event; it mirrors a wider law inscribed in life itself: every form emerges, flourishes, wanes, and returns in another shape. The Qur’an urges human beings to contemplate this rhythm through the signs (āyāt) scattered across the cosmos and within the self¹. It frequently evokes the image of barren earth coming back to life, as in Sūrat al-Hajj (22:5), where the awakening of soil after rainfall becomes a metaphor for resurrection². In this view, decomposition is not a finality but a prelude to renewal. This theme deepens in Sūrat Qāf (50:3–4): “When we are dead and turned to dust? […] Indeed, We know what the earth consumes of them.” ³ Here, the dispersal of matter is framed not as divine absence but as an intimately known and purposeful process. To those who question whether bones can live again, the Qur’an responds unmistakably in Sūrat Yā-Sīn (36:78–79): “He Who created them the first time will bring them back to life.” ⁴ The point is not only divine power, but the rational invitation to observe nature, where regeneration is constant. Even the human body bears witness: the skeleton renews itself entirely over approximately ten years, echoing the Qur’anic vision of existence as ceaseless transformation. Thus, “We created man from an extract of clay”  (23:12) and “Then after that, you will surely die”  (23:15)⁶ present death as a threshold between forms, not an end. Meditative practices learned in Indian āshrams—especially the art of observing thought without attachment—resonate unexpectedly with this Qur’anic perspective. If we are not identical with our mental content but can watch thoughts arise and dissolve, then inner change mirrors the dynamic architecture of creation. The Qur’an reminds us repeatedly of such stages: Sūrat al-Mu’minūn (23:12–16) outlines creation, death, and re-creation as a rhythmic, divinely set sequence⁵. The kinship between sleep, death, and awakening, expressed in Sūrat az-Zumar (39:42) , further illuminates this flow: “Allah takes the souls at the time of their death and those that have not died during their sleep.” ⁷ Life is revealed not as a fixed state but as movement: each night we “die” and “return,” unaware. This natural cycle helps us understand the evolution of thoughts in grief, first defiant, then fragile, then dissolving—until they leave a space into which a new inner world must be built. The Qur’an acknowledges that death, though subjectively painful, is essential to the journey toward renewed existence: “ Every soul shall taste death” (3:185)⁸. The “taste,” however, marks a passage, not a disappearance. In the same way, emotional pain initiates an inner rebirth. When the thought that bound us to the beloved who is gone finally dissolves, what remains is our essence, a metaphysical core that endures through every transformation. Love itself, often reduced to biology, cannot contain the full complexity of the human being. When the architecture of thought collapses, we find ourselves exposed, compelled to redraw the world from its foundations. It is a difficult stage, yet it is profoundly aligned with the Qur’anic principle that everything in created existence passes through birth, death, and renewal. In the end, what we call “an ending” is merely a change of form. Mark Harmon has seen this in the logs he has studied for forty years: they do not die; they transform. They become friable clay, sand, new soil. They disintegrate to create space, nourishment, and regrowth. The same dynamic runs through our thoughts when pain fractures them: they ferment, resist, and then slowly dissolve until only an essential core remains, something from which renewal can begin. The Qur’an acknowledges this law of transformation with a clarity that transcends centuries. Sūrat Ṭā-Hā states: “From the earth We created you, to it We will return you, and from it We will bring you forth once again” (20:55) . This is the complete cycle: birth from the earth, return to the earth, regeneration. In Sūrat al-Ḥajj (22:5), the human being becomes dust; in Sūrat Yā-Sīn (36:78), one asks who could give life back to bones reduced to fragments; in Sūrat al-Mu’minūn (23:82), the question arises whether resurrection is possible when we have become “bones and dust.” The answer is not an exception to the natural world but an affirmation that nature itself embodies continual resurrection. Thus, decomposition is not the opposite of life but its deepest logic. Whatever breaks apart is already preparing the form that will follow. The logs that become soil, the thoughts that return to sand, the bodies the earth receives and returns: all are held within the same law of return and renewal. There is no absolute loss, only transformation. And understanding this does not erase pain, but it makes it traversable: a passage, not an abyss. Alhamdulillah. Qur’an 51:20–21 — signs in the heavens and within the self. Qur’an 22:5 — the earth revived by rain as a sign of resurrection. Qur’an 50:3–4 — divine knowledge of what the earth consumes. Qur’an 36:78–79 — response to doubt about the resurrection of bones. Qur’an 23:12–16 — the cycle of creation, death, and re-creation. Ibid. Qur’an 39:42 — analogy between sleep and death as transitional states. Qur’an 3:185 — the universal experience of death. Le Scienze, novembre 2025

In a world defined by differences in race, culture, language, and background , it’s natural to ask: Is there a message that speaks to everyone? For Muslims, the answer is yes. That message is Islam . More than just a religion, Islam presents a comprehensive way of life , one that is not bound to a single people, place, or period in history. It is universal  in its reach and relevance, calling all human beings to recognize their Creator, live with purpose, and treat others with dignity and compassion. A Message to All People The Qur’an repeatedly emphasizes that its guidance is meant for all of mankind : "Say, O mankind, indeed I am the Messenger of Allah to you all.."-Qur`an 7:158 Unlike religions that are tied to specific ethnic or national identities, Islam makes no such distinction. From its very foundation, it has welcomed people of every background. The earliest Muslim community included Arabs, Africans, Persians, Romans, and others. The Prophet Muhammad ﷺ delivered a message that resonated equally with the oppressed, the elite, the scholar, and the seeker. Qur’an 49:13 “O humankind, We created you from a male and a female, and made you into nations and tribes so that you may know one another. The most noble of you in the sight of God is the one most mindful of Him.” Qur’an 2:256 “There is no compulsion in religion. The right path has become clear from the wrong.” Qur’an 5:48 “…For each of you We have appointed a law and a path. Had God willed, He could have made you one community; but He made you diverse to test you in what He has given you. So compete with one another in goodness.” Isn’t this truly beautiful? People are imperfect, but the essence of Islam remains pure. Though humans stumble, the purity of Islam endures, whispering to hearts that it is never too late to bloom.

The Sirat al-Mustaqim is the way of the heart—the only compass that remains steady when everything else shifts. It is the quiet orientation toward truth and balance, the inner direction that does not falter even when our outer world becomes disoriented. In periods of disorientation, when the velocity of modern life fragments our attention and exhausts our inner resources, the human being is invited to return to the primordial practices of walking, observing, and contemplating . These acts, seemingly simple, function as disciplines of re-centering. November, with its muted skies and abbreviated days, symbolizes the existential seasons in which clarity recedes and uncertainty enlarges. Yet within this subdued landscape, stabilizing anchors remain: the steadfast contour of a mountain ridge, or a single persimmon glowing gold in an otherwise barren winter garden. Such images reveal that creation possesses an intrinsic order, unfolding according to a rhythm that transcends human haste. The Qur’an frames this rhythm through the concept of Sirat al-Mustaqim —the straight, balanced, and divinely-oriented path. Engaging with the sacred text requires patience ( ṣabr ) and gratitude ( shukr ), for its surahs vary in tone and demand different forms of reflection. Divine timing is a central theme: “ Indeed, all things We created with predestination”  (Q 54:49), and “For every nation is a specified term; when their time comes, they cannot delay it nor advance it”  (Q 7:34) . Here, the Qur’an articulates a worldview in which events, both joyful and difficult, emerge according to an ordained schedule that cultivates moral lucidity and spiritual balance. What, then, is one to do when the way seems lost? One returns to the metaphor of the garden. No garden manifests its beauty overnight; it is the product of sustained attentiveness, slow labor, and trust in an unseen maturation. In Islamic thought, ṣabr  is not passive endurance but an active, deliberate posture, an ethical cultivation of the self. Like soil hardened by frost, there are seasons when the heart feels unresponsive. Storms arrive; growth slows; progress becomes invisible. Yet beneath the surface, unseen roots are consolidating their strength, preparing for emergence. Winter is not the suspension of life but its quiet apprenticeship. The Qur’an affirms this interior process: “ And give good tidings to the patient” (Q 2:155) . Patience becomes not merely a virtue but a mode of perceiving reality, an acceptance that the unfolding of one’s life corresponds to a divine cadence rather than personal urgency. Thus, one is called to attentiveness: Did you turn your gaze to the right or left today? Did you notice the yellow leaves trembling with their final brilliance? Did you inhale deeply enough to feel your breath settle into your chest? This weekend stretches before you, and in Switzerland the first snow has begun to fall: soft, deliberate, and instructive. Snow teaches that stillness is not emptiness; it is preparation, purification, and the quiet reorganization of life beneath the surface. Embrace the slowness. Honor the interruptions. Welcome the seasons in which nothing appears to bloom. For these moments, too, belong to the architecture of divine wisdom, shaping you toward wholeness and guiding you gently back to the straight path, where the human heart learns to align with both the natural world and the timeless order of its Creator.