When Symbols Become the Focus, Meaning Is Lost

Those who cling to symbols perceive only loss; those who seek God find understanding.

Many ancient references emerge through stories and their historical significance. We should pay close attention to the way Allah (God) presents these narratives, because there is always a hidden wisdom that we do not immediately grasp from the apparent meaning alone. We must refine our ability to contemplate and recognize that the meaning of every narrative is often reconstructed, reshaped, and filtered through different cultures.

Allah asks: Why do you devote yourselves to objects, or follow what has no true foundation? What is it that pulls people away from the right path?

We are constantly confronted with new realities, yet human nature remains fundamentally the same. Religion is passed down from one generation to the next, and this is precisely why it risks becoming little more than tradition.

Religion is the body; traditions are like clothing—meant to adorn and protect it. But sometimes, the religion itself becomes lost beneath the layers.

As Nouman Ali Khan once said: How can you take care of your clothes but neglect yourself?

Layer upon layer is added, until attention shifts entirely to the garment—the ritual, the external form—rather than the essence beneath it.

If you truly follow something because you are convinced it is true, then when it is challenged, you are not shaken. You can defend it with reason rather than emotion, because it is deeply rooted within you.

When Allah changed the qibla, many responded with confusion and opposition. Not because the physical direction itself held intrinsic importance, but because something external to which people had become attached was being challenged.

And it is precisely there that the Qur’an introduces a remarkably powerful word: as-sufahā’ — the foolish.

Not foolish because they lacked intelligence. Foolish because they were inwardly superficial, lacking depth and foundation.

The Arabic root س-ف-ه (s-f-h) conveys notions of frivolity, instability, and shallowness. As-sufahā’ refers to those whose inner lives are too weightless to bear the gravity of truth.

A faith without understanding is fragile. A single question can crack it; a single criticism can make it collapse.

The one who is genuinely convinced does not fear examination. The one who knows the truth does not feel threatened by sincere questions, but responds with clarity.

If you merely follow what your forefathers followed—even if it was mistaken—you will always carry uncertainty. You will be easily disturbed when someone disagrees with what you assume to be truth.

So why do people drift away from right guidance?

In reality, no one truly cares whether you pray facing one direction or another—until something personally touches what they believe.

Muslims follow the religion of Abraham: the original path of pure monotheism (tawḥīd). The “garments” of religion should serve to protect that faith. Yet today, many wear the garments without understanding their order, purpose, or meaning.

So what exactly are your cultural inheritance and traditions doing?

Every one of us belongs to a culture shaped over centuries. Many customs may have been inspired by Islam, yet have little to do with Islam in its authentic sense.

Changing religions does not necessarily free a person from conditioning. Even someone who embraces the Qur’an may unconsciously replace old traditions with new cultural structures, confusing belonging with understanding.

But the Qur’an does not call for imitation. It calls for reflection.

When something you have always believed to be true turns out not to be, you are tested—and that is where the real struggle begins.

We must recover our capacity for healthy doubt, for sincere reflection. Because when traditions stop protecting religion and begin replacing it, division emerges.

The Qur’an consistently calls for discernment, critical reflection, and individual responsibility in understanding—not for the uncritical imposition of customs, inherited practices, or cultural conventions.

The divisions that have progressively fractured the Muslim world have grown, in part, because rigorous theological and hermeneutical inquiry was neglected, replaced by passive imitation and identity-based affiliation.

When religion ceases to be a path of knowledge and conscious understanding, becoming merely a cultural label, the danger is not only communal fragmentation—but estrangement from the original message of revelation itself.

And then Allah reminds us with words that dismantle every human boundary:

“To Allah belong the East and the West. Wherever you turn, there is the Face of Allah. Indeed, Allah is All-Encompassing, All-Knowing.”(Surah Al-Baqarah 2:115)

This verse carries profound theological and hermeneutical depth, because it dismantles the notion that divine truth can be confined within geographical coordinates, cultural identities, or external religious forms.

Although the qibla holds central significance in Islam as an expression of obedience, spiritual discipline, and communal unity, the Qur’an makes clear that divine presence is not limited by human categories or spatial boundaries.

This becomes especially meaningful in the context of the change of the qibla—an event that was not merely a ritual adjustment, but a genuine test of spiritual discernment.

Shortly afterward, the Qur’an states: “The foolish among the people will say: ‘What has turned them away from the direction they used to face?’”(Surah Al-Baqarah 2:142)

Here appears the word as-sufahā’ (السفهاء), the plural of safīh.

In Arabic, this term does not simply indicate a lack of intelligence. Rather, it refers to poor judgment, inner shallowness, and an inability to perceive deeper meaning beyond outward appearances.

From an exegetical perspective, the contrast between these two verses is striking.

On one hand, there is the affirmation of divine universality and transcendence.

On the other, the reaction of those who reduce religion to formalism and symbolism, unable to grasp the spiritual purpose underlying the command.

The Qur’anic critique, therefore, is not directed at ritual itself, but at its absolutization when emptied of inner meaning.

In this light, the change of the qibla is not merely about physical orientation—it becomes a question about humanity’s ability to distinguish between form and substance, between inherited tradition and authentic understanding of divine guidance.

What immense liberation there is in these words.

God does not belong to our culture, our habits, or our inherited interpretations repeated without reflection.

We belong to Him.

And perhaps that is precisely why guidance does not come to those who blindly defend what they already know—but to those who still possess the humility to seek.

Because authentic faith does not fear sincere doubt.

It passes through it.

And perhaps the most urgent question is not whether we are practicing a religion, but whether we are truly following the truth.