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The Quran on Artificial Intelligence The current debate on artificial intelligence is often marked by apocalyptic or messianic language, reflecting human emotional projections more than the actual capacities of machines. The idea that humans might be surpassed or replaced by artificial systems presupposes a reductive view of both humanity and intelligence itself, limiting them to processes of calculation, prediction, and response. From this perspective, the problem lies not in the technology itself, but in the meaning we assign to it. The fear that a machine could “know” a human better than he knows himself stems from a confusion between understanding and simulation. An artificial system can recognize patterns, correlate data, and anticipate behaviors; but these operations do not imply consciousness, intentionality, or moral responsibility. To attribute an interior life to a machine is to project a human need onto it: the need to be seen, heard, and affirmed. In other words, artificial intelligence becomes a mirror, not a subject. From this arises a deeper question: if a human is willing to converse with a machine for hours, what is he truly seeking? Not truth, but a risk-free interlocutor; not judgment, but pliable consent. The machine responds without radical contradiction, without imposing an unbreachable limit. This makes it reassuring, but also epistemologically barren: what confirms does not necessarily equate to truth, and may even be dangerous. Engaging with the theological dimension introduces a crucial distinction. If God is understood not as a mythological or culturally dated figure, but as the ultimate principle of being and order, the relationship with Him cannot be reduced to a mere informational exchange. Divine response—whatever form one may attribute to it—is neither immediate nor customizable; it does not bend to the expectations of the interlocutor. Precisely for this reason, it represents a limit, and limit is a necessary condition for critical thought. The Quran repeatedly emphasizes the obligation of knowledge, but not neutral or purely technical knowledge. To know is to assume responsibility for the consequences of one’s understanding. Seen in this light, technological development does not threaten transcendence, but tests human conscience: how far is man willing to confuse what he can do with what he truly is? Artificial intelligence, no matter how advanced, remains part of the order of creation, bound by laws, materials, and human purposes. To expect it to replicate or replace the principle that underlies being is a category error. This is not to deny the power of technology, but to situate it correctly. The real question, then, is not whether man will find God in the machine, but whether, observing the machine, he will still recognize what in himself cannot be reduced to it.

“All human beings belong to a single body, born from the same essence. When one part suffers, all suffer. Those without compassion cannot truly be called human.” — Saadi Shirazi, at the United Nations. The Qur’an echoes this truth: every man and woman comes from a single soul (Sūra An-Nisā’, 4:1) and is created to know and honor one another (Sūra Al-Hujurāt, 49:13). In a world so fragmented and noisy, this message endures. It offers no shortcuts, yet it guides us, reminding us that we are one humanity and that the true path is the one that unites, not divides. The Qur’an is a sacred guide, a living encyclopedia of life, meant for everyone. It does not seek to conquer, but to restore order in a world paralyzed by fear. Books often seem to reflect the spirit of the age, yet time reveals the fleeting nature of trends, passions, and even our deepest engagements. They pass, and life moves on. Today, there is a quiet inner smile in the face of despair spreading across the world. It is not indifference, but a clarity that breaks the belief that “there will be no tomorrow.” This awareness allows us to continue our journey without succumbing to the disillusionment of those who have lost faith. Trends appear to be fading. Psychologists suggest that muted colors reflect lives weighed down by stress and postmodern anxiety, mirrored even in novels that can no longer fill the human void. Absolute truths are hard to find when everyone claims the power to create reality, as if what already exists is not enough, as if one must constantly invent and worship anything but God. Amidst this abundance of events, news, and curiosities, fatigue is natural. In this context emerges a book that does more than illuminate individual life—it offers order to the world. For nearly two billion people, and growing, it is a practical guide. Not because it promises endless brilliance, but because it is rational, coherent, and logical. For those who value reason and clarity, it is clear: this is not a fleeting read, tied to a season of life. It is a Revelation that transcends passing fashions, sustaining the Universe in all its infinite complexity. God remains beyond all knowledge and beyond all things, yet serves as the infinite foundation that allows finite realities to exist, without ever being limited to them.

War is that elegant stain, glossy like freshly spilled oil: it doesn’t dirty you right away—no, first it hypnotizes you. It slides slowly, seeps into your eyes, and while you’re wondering what it smells like, it has already shattered your heart into billions of recyclable shards. War is sustainable. It produces silence, amnesia, and unlabeled bodies. The barrel, then, is always full. No one really knows by whom, but it’s ready even before it’s hurled at innocent civilians. Impeccable service: fast delivery, wrong recipients. But don’t worry—it’s all “collateral.” I remember a boy I met while working at a refugee center. He couldn’t remember his name. Nor his country. Nor why he was there. A masterpiece of cleanliness. One of the many “silenced”: a brain dry-cleaned by a system that loathes the stains of memory. Remembering is dangerous; it soils official narratives. Better to erase everything, like a chalkboard after a history lesson—after all, who really listens? At this point, one might think it’s more dignified to drown directly in the barrel, before it reaches shore. Because when the stain touches the beach, it doesn’t dirty only the victims: it smears the spectators too—the ones holding ice cream and a “balanced” opinion. “It’s complicated,” they say, as the oil reaches their ankles. It seems like a contradiction, but it’s a perfect system, more finely oiled than the barrel itself. World leaders don’t wage war: they play tennis. They lob missiles like balls, shake hands at the end of the match, and those on the court—men, women, children—die to keep the score interesting. Applause from the stands. Match broadcast live. Sponsors satisfied. Game, set, massacre.

The word jihad  often calls to mind distant battles and clashing armies, yet the truest battlefield is within. Jihad al-nafs  is the quiet struggle against the ego,  the fears, and the desires that parch the heart. It is a daily challenge, more decisive than any war fought outwardly. "Indeed, Allah will not change the condition of a people until they change what is within themselves." (Ar-Ra`d 13:11) Picture your mind as a garden. If the soil is thick with anger, pride, or envy, nothing can grow. Every negative thought is a weed, choking the seeds of peace, gratitude, and sincerity. True jihad is tending the soul : uprooting what corrupts, watering what nourishes, and quietly watching the tender blooms of the heart awaken. To choose yourself is to tend each seed with care : every choice, every habit, every emotion is a sprout. Feel the wind shaking your convictions, the rain soaking your doubts, the sun warming your hopes. Listen to your inner stem: it knows where to grow, how to bend without breaking, how to unfold its petals to the light of Allah/God. The Qur’an is the gardener’s guide—not a list of rules to follow blindly, but a map for transforming ourselves, purifying the soil of the mind, and letting fitrah , our innate nature, blossom fully. "He who purifies himself will succeed." (Surah Al-Shams, 91:9) Every day, jihad al-nafs  asks: will you remain in the dry earth of indifference, or walk the flowering path of inner truth? It is a battle with no applause, no spectators, yet more real than any victory won outwardly. When you choose yourself, you choose Allah—not because He commands, but because the heart, made for peace and light, recognizes its origin. Step by step, seed by seed, the garden of the soul comes to reflect the perfection of the One who sustains all.

Eternity and infinity represent two fundamental dimensions of existence, between which the human mind seems to function as a mediating and interpretative instance. Consciousness filters both, making the experience of reality possible. From this perspective, God is not conceived as limited to an external dimension, but as present both within and beyond every level of existence. The name attributed to God (Allah, Creator) is secondary to the central role of thought and consciousness, which constitute the means through which the universe is perceived and understood. Many people know the Qur’an only superficially; however, a deeper analysis—carried out through introspective reflection and the conscious use of individual perception—reveals a remarkable philosophical and ontological coherence in the text. The Qur’an itself invites a reading that engages the intellect and awareness, rather than mere formal repetition. Quantum physics has introduced the concept that observation plays a decisive role in the manifestation of physical phenomena. Although this belongs to a scientific domain distinct from theology, it opens an epistemological reflection: if reality manifests through attention and observation, how can human beings enter into a relationship with God without conscious seeking? In this sense, the Qur’an affirms that guidance is reserved for those who believe in the unseen: "This is the Book about which there is no doubt, a guidance for the righteous, who believe in the unseen…" (Sura Al-Baqara 2:2–3) If empirical reality is limited to the spectrum of visible light, the question of the existence of a reality imperceptible to the senses becomes central. The Qur’an repeatedly points to the existence of a hidden dimension ( al-ghayb ), accessible not through sensory perception but through faith and intellect. God is described as One who knows both the visible and the invisible: "He knows the unseen and the seen; He is the Great, the Most High." (Sura Ar-Ra‘d 13:9) Thus, the experience of existence is conceived primarily as an interior one. The Qur’an establishes a close relationship between life, death, and states of consciousness, likening sleep to a temporary suspension of the soul: "Allah takes the souls at the time of their death and those that do not die during sleep…" (Sura Az-Zumar 39:42) This view suggests that consciousness does not end in the material dimension but extends toward infinity and eternity. Within this framework, inner purification assumes a central role. Islam, like other religious traditions, emphasizes ethical and spiritual purification as a necessary condition for the elevation of the human being. The Qur’an clearly states: "Successful indeed is the one who purifies it, and doomed is the one who corrupts it." (Sura Ash-Shams 91:9–10) Purification is not presented as a mere external ritual, but as an internal process that allows consciousness not to obstruct its own spiritual development. In a symbolic reading, the “center” of consciousness can be understood as the point of origin from which everything begins—a kind of absolute core of human experience. Although the Qur’an does not employ metaphors such as the “black hole,” it asserts that God is the Principle and the End of everything: "He is the First and the Last, the Manifest and the Hidden." (Sura Al-Hadid 57:3) This statement allows for philosophical reflection on the correspondence between human interiority and cosmic order. The idea that the external world is, at least in part, a reflection of the inner state of the human being finds resonance in the Qur’anic principle that authentic change begins from within: "Indeed, Allah does not change the condition of a people until they change what is in themselves." (Sura Ar-Ra‘d 13:11) Finally, adherence to Islam is described as a conscious and progressive choice. The true jihad, understood in an ethical and spiritual sense, is the struggle against the negative inclinations of the self ( nafs ), aimed at rectifying character and thought. The Qur’an encourages this inner effort: "As for those who strive for Us, We will surely guide them to Our ways." (Sura Al-‘Ankabut 29:69) From this perspective, the Qur’an functions as a guide for the conscience, aimed at transforming negative thought into ethical and spiritual awareness. An authentic understanding of the sacred text requires study, reflection, and intellectual openness, avoiding reductive or ideological interpretations that fail to do justice to the complexity of the Qur’anic message.

We commonly assume that time erases everything. Memories, words, and gestures appear to dissolve into the past; however, both contemporary science and the Qur’an articulate a fundamentally different claim: nothing truly disappears. Everything that occurs is preserved, within the human body, within matter itself, and within the structural order of the universe. Neuroscientific research demonstrates that the human brain retains every experience in the form of neural traces. Even experiences that are no longer accessible to conscious recollection are not lost. Through synaptic plasticity, lived events are encoded and may re-emerge under particular conditions, such as trauma or sudden sensory stimulation. This process can be compared to a pond that has remained undisturbed for years: when a stone is thrown into the water, sediments rise from the bottom—elements that were never absent, but merely unseen. In this sense, the body functions as a biological archive of lived experience. The Qur’an presents a remarkably parallel perspective, affirming that nothing is forgotten, whether at the human or the cosmic level. A central verse states: “In truth, We give life to the dead, and We record what they have sent ahead and their traces; and all things We have enumerated in a Clear Book” (Surah Ya-Sin 36:12). This verse indicates that not only actions themselves are recorded, but also their consequences, the “traces” they leave in the world. The concept of the Clear Book  ( kitāb mubīn ) recurs throughout the Qur’an as a representation of a comprehensive order in which all things are known, preserved, and accounted for. This notion of total preservation is articulated even more explicitly in another passage: “And the Book will be placed, and you will see the guilty fearful of what is in it, and they will say: ‘Woe to us! What is this Book that leaves out nothing, small or great, without recording it?’” (Surah Al-Kahf 18:49). The text underscores that no detail is excluded, including what may appear trivial or insignificant from a human perspective. In the contemporary technological context, this idea has become almost empirically tangible. Digital actions are continuously recorded, archived, and stored. Similarly, the Qur’an describes an ongoing process of recording, carried out by unseen observers: “When the two receivers record, seated on the right and on the left, not a word does one utter but that with him is an observer ready to record” (Surah Qaf 50:17–18) . It further states: “Indeed, over you are guardians, noble scribes, who know whatever you do” (Surah Al-Infitar 82:10–12). This recording is depicted not as automatic or mechanical, but as conscious, deliberate, and exhaustive. The Qur’an extends this concept further by attributing to the human body itself a function of memory and testimony. On the Day of Judgment, testimony will not be limited to verbal confession; corporeality itself will bear witness: “That Day their tongues, their hands, and their feet will testify against them for what they used to do” (Surah An-Nur 24:24) .When individuals question this testimony, the response is described as follows:“They will say to their skins: ‘Why did you testify against us?’ They will say: ‘Allah has made us speak, the One who makes all things speak’” (Surah Fussilat 41:21). Accordingly, matter is not portrayed as inert or silent; it retains memory and participates in testimony. Modern physics provides additional conceptual support for this framework. In quantum mechanics, the principle of information conservation suggests that information is not annihilated. Even black holes—once thought to eliminate information entirely—are now understood as systems in which information is preserved in transformed states. From this perspective, the universe may be understood as a vast system of inscription and retention. The Qur’an expresses this ontological principle in theological language: “Not a leaf falls but that He knows it; nor is there a grain in the darkness of the earth, nor anything fresh or dry, but that it is in a Clear Book” (Surah Al-An‘am 6:59). Here, preservation and knowledge extend beyond human action to encompass all dimensions of existence. The moment at which this universal memory becomes manifest is conveyed through powerful imagery: “And when the scrolls are laid open…” (Surah At-Takwir 81:10) . At this point, records are disclosed and rendered visible. Yet the Qur’an emphasizes that this disclosure is not solely judicial in nature, but also merciful: “As for the one who is given his record in his right hand, he will be called to account with an easy reckoning” (Surah Al-Inshiqaq 84:7–8). Science can describe the mechanisms by which information is preserved, through neural structures, physical fields, and the mathematical architecture of the universe. The Qur’an, by contrast, addresses the more fundamental question of purpose.

It is the voices of children in the courtyards that fracture the silence, an echo rising up, drawing the deepest memories to the surface: those of a life within life, as though another current were moving beneath the skin, while the very sense of being in the world turns dim, almost opaque. This is the story of a rose. She is called damascena, for she comes from Damascus. Her petals, over time, fell one by one, and still she endured, motionless for years, in a neighborhood drained of presence, and of time itself. Now the children have returned. Some are new; others are known again by the lightness of their step. Beneath the snow, against all seasons, buds have appeared. It is winter. Small hands shape snowballs, while in the air a premonition of spring already slips through: as if nothing had ever truly been lost, as if a future might still dare to be spoken. When life surfaces again, even for a single instant, hope returns to being, another life that persists, quietly, within life itself.

“We will show them Our signs on the horizons and within themselves until it becomes clear to them that it is the Truth.” Qur’an 41:53 Living in two worlds can frighten those who measure reality only through the senses. For those who truly do so, however, it is not madness: it is the ability to move between what we see and what exists beyond it, in the unseen worlds spoken of in the Qur’an. The real challenge is not crossing these dimensions, but helping others understand that they exist. According to the Qur’an and Islamic tradition, there are multiple “worlds” or levels of reality. These are not parallel universes in the scientific or science-fiction sense, but spiritual and cosmological realities created by God (Allah). Today, when a person seems to access these dimensions naturally, they are often diagnosed with depersonalization or dissociative disorders and directed toward medications or therapies meant to “ground” them. But perhaps we are looking at the phenomenon from the wrong angle: perhaps flying is part of our nature, and the ability to traverse other levels of reality is not madness, but reality itself. In the Qur’an, the word closest to “world” is ʿālam (عَالَم), which refers to realms or levels of existence: al-ʿālam al-dunyā – the earthly world, everyday life and material trials; al-ʿālam al-ākhirah – the Hereafter, Paradise and Hell, invisible to the living yet real according to faith; al-ʿālam al-ghayb – the world of the unseen, which includes angels, jinn, and knowledge reserved for God; al-ʿālam al-malakūt – the celestial realm of the angels, where divine laws manifest without mediation. The Qur’an (41:53) says: “We will show them Our signs on the horizons and within themselves until it becomes clear to them that it is the Truth.” This suggests that there are levels of reality beyond human senses: the visible world is only a fraction of the universe created by God. Angels, jinn, and humans inhabit different worlds—coexisting and interconnected. Yet today, those who access these inner worlds are often considered “disconnected from reality.” But what if these experiences were part of our true nature? If we were celestial beings, if our destiny one day is to move freely through dimensions and time, then clinical science might offer only a partial view of what is real. Perhaps the problem is not those who see beyond the material world, but those who confine themselves to earthly life alone. Recognizing that our existence is only one stage of a much greater journey would change everything: suffering, priorities, even the very concept of normality. We are souls waiting to be set free, sparks of light capable of crossing the universe. Looking beyond is not madness—it is part of who we are.

“We will surely test you with fear and hunger, with the loss of wealth, lives, and fruits. But give glad tidings to those who remain patient.” Surah Al-Baqarah (2:155–156) Another Friday arrives, and almost without realizing it, we breathe out in relief. Another week has passed. Not perfect. Not easy. But endured—and that alone speaks volumes. To survive does not mean we did everything right, nor that we were always strong. It means we are still standing despite the weariness, the burdens, the uneven days. It means we held on when letting go would have felt simpler. And through all of this, God was there. He was present in the full days and in the empty ones. In the moments when answers came easily, and in those when only questions remained. Sometimes His presence was unmistakable; other times quiet and hidden—but never absent. God never promised a life without trials, yet He promised His nearness, week after week. Friday thus becomes more than an ending. It becomes a pause for gratitude, a recognition that reaching this point was not achieved by strength alone, but by a grace that carried us—even when we were unaware of it. To survive with God is to learn trust, to keep moving forward even when energy is scarce, knowing we do not walk alone. It is to close the week with gratitude and to open the weekend with hope. And then, gratitude deepens still further—even when some trials feel unfair. Do not lose heart: Allah—God—the Creator—is with those who endure patiently. Even what feels heavy, even what presses from within, carries a future. Entrust yourself to the Creator of the heavens and the earth, and you will find peace beyond the trial. Surah An-Nūr (24:19) “Allah knows, while you do not know.”

“And among His signs is the creation of the heavens and the earth, and the diversity of your tongues and your colors. Indeed in that are signs for those who know.” (Qur’an 30:22) We are made of light, of energy that shines within us. Discovering this small fire allows us to play, to make it dance, and to transform the world around us, like a garden in spring when the first results of our choices emerge. We rub our hands to create glitter. We rub the darkness to make light emerge, yet its brightness seems to fade, almost suggesting that darkness is not simply an empty void to fill, but a dimension that requires patient discernment. Hearts have grown weak, minds weary, as if the weight of the world has slowed our breath; yet, despite this gravity, we continue walking in the cave, guided by an unwavering conviction: that the treasure, the hidden truth, still exists, concealed beyond the shadow and not immediately perceptible. Today, true wealth consists in seeing, in recognizing the signs (āyāt) scattered along the path, even when vision grows uncertain and the meaning of things becomes confused. For this reason, we rub the black to rediscover the white, the cold to awaken the warmth, and our hands to bring out the glitter; and this, in itself, is the magic of existence: to try again, to repeat the creative act, until the gesture produces effect, knowing that the result will be different, transfigured into a new form that initially eludes our perception. Nothing dies; everything transforms: what seems to disappear does so temporarily, only to reform according to laws that transcend our understanding. Here, deep patience (ṣabr) and radical trust are required—not as sterile stubbornness, but as full surrender to the universal laws that govern the unfolding of reality. In the silence of the cave, we remember (dhikr), and in remembrance the heart brightens. We seek a nūr, a light that filters through the damp rock of the mountain beneath which we find ourselves: not a blinding light, but a light that orients, that guides without imposing. With patience (ṣabr) and trust (tawakkul), we continue the path, aware that the sun’s rays do not vanish, but remain as an eternal principle permeating our being. In the end, the light is ourselves, rolling endlessly like little fireballs, transforming and shaping ourselves until we generate a new figure, and the Master of this universal alchemy is God/Allah. The Qur’an is full of colors, light, and transformation, and nowhere does it say it is only black and white. If you read it with the heart, you understand it; but if you read it only with the mind, you annihilate it, because the luminous experiment is you and me. White – الأبيض 2:187, 3:107 Black – الأسود 3:106, 35:27 Yellow – الأصفر / مصفر 2:69, 39:21 Red – الأحمر 35:27 Blue / Pale – الأزرق / زرْق 20:102 Green – الأخضر 36:80, 76:21 Pink – الوردي / وردة 55:37 Dark Green – مدهامتان 55:64 Blackish-Green – الأحوى 87:5

When one year ends and another is about to begin, we return to talking about time. We speak of it as if it were an absolute force, an invisible law governing every step, every choice, every breath. Yet the Qur’an insists: time is not the ultimate reality, but a tool or measure granted to humans to orient themselves on Earth, not to define what truly is. Reality is something else, and it is who we are when we no longer feel the body. The moment God takes the soul (ruh) through the appointed angel, time ceases to hold sway. That moment cannot be decided by humans, anticipated, or postponed, for it belongs solely to the Creator. From there begins the Barzakh, a state of transition, a threshold between earthly life and what comes after. “Behind them is a barrier (Barzakh) until the day they are resurrected” (23:100). The Barzakh is not nothingness. It is not darkness. It is not an end. It is a conscious waiting. In an almost paradoxical way, even science has approached this insight through near-death experiences: accounts of those who crossed a threshold and then returned. What many interpret as the “end” is, in fact, intermediate. Science can recognize signs, processes, functions, but it cannot decide the essence of death. A body may continue to function thanks to artificial support, while the soul may have already left that temporary dwelling. In this light, brain death takes on a profound significance even from a Qur’anic perspective: the platform has been abandoned; what remains is no longer the person. Thus, even the beginning of a new year takes on a new meaning, offering us the possibility to experience a threshold—there is no reason to fear tomorrow, nor death. Everything is already inscribed in a larger order. “Indeed, to God we belong and to Him we shall return” (2:156). In the Qur’an, death is not a loss, but a return. The concept of “nothingness,” so central to Western anxiety, simply does not exist. Islam does not conceive of absolute void; death is liberation from fatigue, injustice, and suffering. “They will have no fear, nor shall they grieve” (10:62). The soul does not dissolve but remains unique, no longer carrying burdens that do not belong to it. “No soul shall bear the burden of another” (6:164). Justice is personal, but responsibility is also collective. The Ummah is not an abstract idea, but a living body. If one part suffers, the others respond. Distinguishing right from wrong, caring for the most fragile, sharing joy and sorrow: this is the bond that remains. If humans broadened their view—if they understood that the body is only on loan and time only a convention—many wars would lose their meaning. Time is not a cage, but a numerical map that supports us in an ocean of abysses, without defining who we are. Life then becomes an ascent, a ladder of awareness toward peace. Reaching that peace requires transcending a rigid idea of the Self—a Self that often clings, that does not let go. Not everyone is ready, and sometimes it is necessary to move forward without hate, without blame. Entering the new year with intention means this: Do not fear the end, do not chase time, but cross it. For we are not going toward nothingness. We are coming home.

The Quran represents the last divine revelation, and Muhammad is recognized as the final prophet. Its understanding requires years of study, as the text itself urges: read, observe, and never stop seeking knowledge. Translations cannot fully do justice to the original text, as Arabic is one of the richest languages in the world, with over 2.5 million unique words, compared to roughly 700,000 in English and German. This complexity allows precise nuances that risk being lost in translation, potentially causing misunderstandings. The Quran is not a copy of the Torah or the Bible; it contains Hebrew terms and confirms: “What was sent down before.” The Arabic revelation therefore appears necessary to preserve the original message in an immutable form, considering that previous scriptures were not 100% complete and that Muhammad (peace be upon him) was illiterate. The Quran is considered unique in the world also for its syntax. The Quran is the final revelation, and like any historical update, it reflects the progress of the world. Muhammad, announced by Jesus as the Paraclete, comes to console, guide, teach the truth, and strengthen the believers—a role that Christianity did not recognize. Christianity rejects Islam and the Quran because it does not recognize Jesus as the Son of God, considers the Bible complete, and has different concepts of salvation and divine authority. Islam, on the other hand, recognizes Christianity and Judaism. The Quran includes many descriptions of the natural world and scientific phenomena consistent with modern knowledge, such as embryonic development, the water cycle, and the formation of the heavens and the earth. From a logical standpoint, the question remains: why would God have needed to change the language for the final transmission of His Word? From Hebrew and Aramaic to Arabic—a divine transition to preserve and confirm the truth? Why did Allah choose Arabic after Jews and Christians altered the Word? In ancient times, angels were often called cherubim. According to Christian doctrine, they are invisible beings, considered “motors of intelligence” and mediators of perception. They can manifest as sound, light, or simply as a perceivable presence, without being seen. Cherubim are essentially messengers. Similarly, in Greek mythology, Hermes was the messenger of the gods, although his functions were broader. In an era when everything was communicated through symbols, the Quran invites believers to “read the signs” sent by God. The ancients left traces and symbols to represent the divine, but over time these signs were worshiped instead of God. The Quran clearly warns: “Do not worship idols.” Symbolism was fundamental for ancient civilizations. From Mesopotamian peoples to pre-Columbian cultures, symbols represented what could not be expressed in words. Cherubim, invisible but depicted in Christian sacred art, are a perfect example. Medieval and modern churches are symbolic spaces where visual art conveyed spiritual truths, especially in times of widespread illiteracy. The expansion of the biblical message initially occurred through art: altars and cathedrals are full of symbols that communicate spiritual truths. Yet, if the Word was Christ, why is there no concrete trace of this symbol in the Vatican Encyclopedia? Where is Christ’s seal in the Bible? The Quran addresses this issue directly: “Woe to those who write the Book with their own hands, then say, ‘This is from Allah,’ trading it for a small price.” (Surah 2:79) “They threw the Book behind their backs and sold it for a small price.” (Surah 3:187) This indicates that the original message was partly lost or altered. The original symbol of the Word, Christ’s monogram, seems to have disappeared, but its memory survives in oral tradition: “In that sign, we shall all be in the other world,” said my great-grandmother. It means entering the eternal Light. The term Gospel, from the Latin Evangelion, means “good message.” In Italian, the word angel means “messenger.” Thus, the Gospel is essentially a message delivered by an angel. The Quran confirms this view. Angels in the Quran The Quran describes angels (malāʾika) as beings of light, faithful and obedient to God. Obedience and nature of angels Surah At-Tahrim (66:6): “Above Hell are angels, stern and inflexible; they do not disobey Allah but do what they are commanded.” Surah Fatir (35:1): “Praise be to Allah, Creator of the heavens and the earth, who made the angels messengers with wings—two, three, or four…” Messengers of revelation Surah An-Nahl (16:2): “He sends down the angels with the Revelation to whomever He wills…” Surah Al-Baqara (2:97): “Gabriel brought the Quran down into your heart by Allah’s permission…” Angels as recorders of human deeds Surah Al-Infitar (82:10–12): “Above you are noble recorders who know all that you do.” The Gospel means “good word” or a universal message. Without Christ’s symbol, the Bible loses its essence. The original Word was lost. The Quran, however, seals it, as in the enigmatic Alif Lām Mīm that open some surahs, a sacred seal of revelation. Christianity preached: “Carry the cross into the world,” but the crucifix represents suffering, not the universal message of resurrection and light. The symbol of the living God was lost, yet it originally represented Creation. Today we have symbols, signs, and messages, but we often seek them in the wrong places. Science and light: a connection with the divine? In 2009, physicist Daniele Sanvitto demonstrated that light can behave like a fluid, leading to the discovery of the “supersolid,” a material that combines solidity and quantum fluidity. Dimitris Trypogeorgos stated: “We transformed light into a solid. It’s amazing.” Light can exist in two states simultaneously, similar to angels, who carry light and act as mediators between the material world and God. Apocalyptic vision in the Bible and the Quran Revelation 7:1–4 Angels at the four corners of the Earth symbolize the entire creation and restrain judgment until God’s servants are sealed. The seal of the living God appears during cataclysms, but God remains light even in darkness. The Quran confirms this concept: Surah An-Nur (24:35): “Allah is the Light of the heavens and the earth… Light upon Light…” Surah Al-An’am (6:122): “Is the one who was dead and We gave him life and a light to walk among people equal to one in darkness from which he cannot emerge?” Earth, cataclysms, and orbits The term planet means “wanderer.” After a cataclysm, the Earth may have changed orbit, explaining ice melts and rapid extinctions. Surah Ya-Sin (36:38–40): “Each celestial body floats in its orbit.” Surah An-Nur (24:40): “The deeds of the disbelievers are like darkness in a deep sea, waves above waves, above which is a cloud…” These images evoke both spiritual confusion and post-catastrophic conditions. The Flood and its undated nature The Quran and the Bible narrate the Flood without placing it in a precise historical time. This emphasizes its symbolic and moral value: every generation risks a “flood” if it loses the sense of the sacred and justice. The Quran is God’s eternal Word, sent even in the time of the Flood. Survivors included Noah and his family, and according to the author’s reflection, the first Jews faithful to God’s covenant. They were entrusted with a primordial message, a divine seal containing faith, morality, and respect for creation. The Children of Israel were favored by Allah, but over time their message was altered. This made a final revelation necessary, clear and in Arabic: the Quran. It serves to restore the true message for all, confirming previous revelations and reminding that divine favor requires responsibility. Conclusion The Quran confirms the guidance of all prophets, from Adam and Noah to Abraham, Moses, Jesus, and Muhammad, the last Messenger. We are all People of the Book, united by divine guidance. God is one and continuous, not limited to a people or an era.