Blessed Are the Depressed — for They Stand at the Door of Rebirth

Imagine an alien landing on earth and stumbling into the middle of a childbirth. What would they see? A woman screaming in pain, another woman pulling something from her body, blood everywhere. To the untrained eye, it would look like horror. The alien’s instinct might be to push the midwife away, stop the chaos, rescue the mother from her torment. Only later would they realize: what they were witnessing was not death, but life. Not destruction but a most miraculous creation.

Many of our deepest crises look the same. To the one suffering, and even to those watching from the outside, depression can appear to be an ending. It feels like something has collapsed, and it is hard to imagine that anything good could ever grow from the ruins. But what if this darkness is not a conclusion at all? What if it is the prelude to a birth?

The Emptying Out

The famous spiritual poet Rumi once compared human life to a guest house. Every day, new visitors arrive — joy, sorrow, shame, loneliness. Some sweep in like honored guests; others come like thieves, violently clearing out the furniture. Yet Rūmī urges us to welcome them all. Even the painful visitors, he says, “may be clearing you out for some new delight.” He concludes with a profound advice: 

Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

Here is the gift of depression: it humbles us, it brings us to our knees — and that is the perfect posture for prayer. It holds up a mirror to the hollow places inside us and demands reflection. If we seize it, that pause becomes soul‑searching. These sorrows are not random intruders; they are guides, messengers pointing beyond themselves, whispering: there must be more. The exposure hurts, but it is also preparation — the clearing that makes room for what is next.

You Are Not Alone

When you are depressed, it is easy to feel utterly alone — as if no one else could possibly understand. Some of us discover that there are darker places even below rock bottom, and we may be convinced nobody else has ever endured such an abyss of despair.

But history is full of companions who have walked this road before us.

Buddha was born into royalty, a prince surrounded by every comfort. Yet he wandered for years, restless and unsatisfied, before sitting under the Bodhi tree in despair. The Russian novelist Dostoevsky endured prison, poverty, and thoughts of suicide before writing works that would change world literature. Tolstoy, at the height of fame, confessed that he could no longer see the point of living at all — until he was reborn into a different way of seeing life.

Within the Islamic tradition too, some of the greatest masters passed through darkness before their renewal.

In the 11th century, Imām al-Ghazzālī was the most famous scholar of Islamic law in the world and was serving as a powerful advisor to the Seljuk Sultan. But he fell into a crisis so deep that he could not eat for months, lost his voice, became a shadow of himself, and withdrew from public life for years. Yet he understood that this crisis was a gift. It was an opportunity for adjusting the course of his life. An opportunity he seized fully, and he returned with insights that still guide seekers today. His magnum opus, written after his transformation, became the most widely read and influential book in the Muslim world after the Qur’an for the past millennium.

Another towering figure, ʿAbd al-Qādir al-Jīlānī, endured long periods of solitude and hardship before emerging as one of the most revered saints, often called the greatest Muslim mystic in history.

In early 20th‑century Turkey, Said Nursi reached heights of fame and respect as a Muslim scholar that few others could hope for. He came to be known as “Badīuzzamān,” the Wonder of the Age. Yet he too fell into deep depression and spiritual crisis. He withdrew into solitude in a cave in the mountains, emerging transformed. Though subsequently exiled and imprisoned by the government, the strength he found in his grief gave birth to words that sustained generations of believers.

Examples of such transformations are not limited to the distant past.

Over the years, I have had the good fortune to meet some truly profound men and women: a Buddhist monk whose every breath seems to fill the air with peace and tranquility, a spiritual teacher who is Mercy walking in human form, and an indigenous sage whose mellow singing makes hearts dance in unison. The more time I spent with them, the more certain I felt that these magnificent souls were each cut from a different cloth than the rest of us.

Yet as our friendships deepened, they shared their past lives — full of traumas beyond their control and too many self-inflicted mistakes that dragged them down into the deepest pits of hell. And it was in those dark depths, just as they thought there was no way out, that they met their true selves. They uncovered dimensions within that they had never known, and realized there was no way to encounter that side of themselves without descending to the bottom of the cold, dark ocean.

So if you are struggling, know that you are in good company. The greatest souls did not avoid despair. They passed through it, they were transformed by it, and they all lived to tell their story.

The “Midlife” Crisis

In our own age, we have given this pattern a name: the “midlife crisis.” Imagine a middle-aged man, comfortable in his career, suddenly divorcing his wife, buying a Porsche, piercing his ear, and dating a woman half his age. Society shakes its head. We slap a label on it and pretend the label is an explanation. “Midlife crisis.” Case closed.

But what is really happening? Behind the rash decisions lies a deep spiritual ache: the realization that success, money, and routine cannot answer the hunger of the soul. And while not everyone buys a sports car or leaves their marriage, countless men and women quietly endure the same gnawing dissatisfaction — a resentment they can’t name, a sadness they can’t shake, a sense that something essential is missing.

We stigmatize it. We call it weakness, selfishness, even madness. But perhaps what we are witnessing is not pathology, but the first signs of labor.

Gen-Z: The “Early Life” Crisis

While this crisis often arrived in one’s forties or fifties in earlier generations, today it begins much sooner. In the past, many people did not question life until their forties or fifties. A stable path carried them forward: school, college, career, marriage, children. Comfort delayed the questions of meaning. Only at midlife, standing on the hilltop and wondering why the view was not higher, did the crisis arrive.

But today’s world has stripped away much of that stability. Young people often face the same questions far earlier — sometimes before their lives have even begun in earnest. Who am I? What should I do? What future can I trust when the ground keeps shifting?

This early life crisis can take many forms: confusion about identity, anxiety about career, a restless search for belonging. Sometimes it looks like rebellion, or indulgence, or distraction — burying oneself in endless partying, gaming, substances, or self-experimentation. To outsiders, it can seem reckless, even alarming. But beneath it lies the same cry of the soul that fuels the midlife crisis: “I thought there would be more.”

Just as the middle-aged man with his Porsche is not simply vain, the young woman or man wrestling with uncertainty is not simply lost. Both are experiencing the labor pains of transformation. Both are searching, however clumsily, for a truer self.

The Universal Pattern

Across cultures and centuries, the same pattern appears: the old self must die before the new self can be born. Depression feels like suffocation — like being trapped inside a cocoon with no way out. But just as the caterpillar cannot imagine wings while inside the chrysalis, we too often cannot imagine what is being prepared within us.

It may feel like the world has gone dark. It may feel like nothing is left. Yet in that darkness, something new is quietly forming.

Think again of childbirth. The mother’s pain is not meaningless torment. It is purposeful, holy, life-bringing. In the same way, your pain may be the very labor of your soul, bringing forth a life that is more honest, more free, more whole than what came before.

A Blessing in Disguise

If you are depressed today, it may not feel like a blessing. In fact, it rarely does. More often it feels like being trapped in a dark tunnel with no light at the end. This is precisely why the Qur’an exhorts us: “Indeed, with hardship comes ease” — and in a move found nowhere else in the scripture, this assurance is repeated twice in succession with the exact same words. When we are in despair, we sometimes need to be shaken by the repetition, urged to believe that there truly is light at the end of the tunnel. And not just any light, but a brilliance that will make the memory of darkness fade.

You are not alone. You are in the company of prophets, saints, poets, and seekers who once stood where you stand now. Their despair was not their end. It was the clearing of space, the sweeping of the house, the labor pains before the dawn.

But you must seize this opportunity by staying with the pain, however hard it feels. As Rūmī teaches, sit with the guests, even the unwelcome ones, and ask them: What message have you brought me? What changes are demanded of me?

Think of the 1990s comedy Groundhog Day. Bill Murray finds himself trapped in a single day in a little town he despises, reliving the same cycle endlessly, convinced it will never end. Sound familiar? Yet the story carried a deep moral: to break free, he had to discover why he was stuck, what lessons he needed to learn, and what parts of himself he was called to change. Only then did the cycle end. (It’s a wonderful film — I won’t spoil the final scene for you.)

So take heart. If you are in darkness, know this: the dawn is already preparing itself.

Take-home line:

What feels like the end is the beginning. Blessed are those who are depressed, for they may be standing at the threshold of rebirth.

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THE GUEST HOUSE — by Rumi

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door smiling,
and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

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The Guards and the Family of the King: A Metaphor for Sharia and Sufism

There has long been a well-known tension within the Muslim world — a tension that has at times created deep frictions that threatened to tear the ummah apart.

I am speaking of the two major traditions or “wings” of Islam: Sharia — traditional Islamic sciences — versus Tariqah — the Sufi, spiritual path. Over the centuries, there has been great respect between them, particularly in the middle ground, where many scholars have inhabited both worlds. Yet it is undeniable that there has also been misunderstanding and suspicion.

A well-known metaphor beautifully expresses the relationship between the two: Sharia is like the body of a human being, while Sufism is like its soul. Neither can survive without the other. Another metaphor is that Sharia represents the brain and Tariqah the heart; or that one represents the masculine side of faith and the other the feminine side. All of these images emphasize that the two traditions are not meant to compete but to complete one another.

While I was recently reflecting on this relationship, a very different image appeared to me in a spiritual vision — a short story that felt more vivid in its details, one that also happens to integrate all these other metaphors.

The Palace and Its Guardians

Imagine a powerful king with a family very dear to him — his children, his wife, his closest relatives. To protect and house them, he builds a magnificent palace. As all such palaces, this one too was designed so that the most precious ones were placed farthest from the outside world and its dangers, shielded by multiple layers of protection.

As we approach this palace, we encounter layers of guardians. This is the first key image: the guardians. The palace has high walls and imposing gates, and at every door and tower stand the guards. If you have ever seen the guards of a palace, even today in Europe, you know these are stern, serious people. A smiling, casually engaging guard is not a good one. Their intensive training — like that of soldiers or police — prepares them to be vigilant, alert, and suspicious, because they know what is at stake.

And they are not vigilant idly. Just as the police or military know that threats are constant, these guardians understand that all sorts of enemies are always plotting to get inside. To bring down a nation or an empire, enemies will aim at the king himself — or worse, the children who carry the future. So the guards live each day with the knowledge that danger is real, constant, and directed at the heart of the palace.

In this metaphor, these guardians are the Sharia scholars.

To untrained eyes, their station outside the palace might suggest that they are not close to the king and his inner circle. Their detractors might go so far as to suggest that these men are merely protecting lifeless walls, and complain that they create unnecessary hurdles for the palace residents while they obsessively build new barriers, and plug in every little hole in the perimeter. Some insiders cannot contain their frustration and dismiss these Sharia scholars as ʿulamaʾ al-rusum — “scholars of externals or outward forms”.

In truth, their job is irreplaceable. Their firmness is a sign of faithfulness to their duty. Their diligence is a reflection of the devotion. These scholars are keenly aware of the vow Satan made in the Qur’an, to misguide God’s servants from the True Path (al-Sirāt al-Mustaqīm) without rest until the end of time. If the guards slacken for even a moment, or if one section of the wall is left unguarded, infiltrators will enter, and the king’s beloved family will be attacked.

The guards also know that right behind them rises the great outer wall — the major perimeter they themselves have built and defined. To an untrained eye, it may seem harmless to let a few guests slip into the courtyard unchecked, since there are other walls deeper inside. But the guardians know better: once that first wall is breached, the inner defenses are weaker, and much of the battle is already lost. So, they make their stand at the perimeter, drawing the line firmly where the palace begins. They also vet every visitor and inspect every item passing through the gates to the king and his family.

The King’s Family

The family inside represents the spirit, the heart, the inner essence. They are the Sufis, those who emphasize the spiritual dimension of Islam. In one sense, they are indeed the goal, the pinnacle, the reason the palace exists. But this does not mean they are free to ignore the defenses set up for their own protection. 

Inside, the family lives at peace. The children run freely, the women rest, the king relaxes by the warmth of a fire. They wear fine clothes, jewelry, and live without fear. To an observer, this seems the pinnacle of existence — and rightly so. Yet the only reason they can enjoy such peace is because every step between them and the outer world is guarded.

This image of the inner chamber also carries deeper meaning:

The king’s young children are so pure and playful, they are the source of never-ending joy. Yet precisely because they are so pure, they are also too innocent to suspect danger and ill intentions in others. The same is true for some of the most precious but fragile faculties of the heart, which lack defenses and can easily admit what should be kept out. A child might sneak in a friend or object without seeing harm, just as the heart can allow influences that need guarding. This is why the vigilance of the guards, checking what enters, is indispensable.

If instead there was even the smallest suspicion of infiltration into the inner chamber — that perhaps one of the servants was a secret foreign agent, or that a new friend carried a hidden dagger — all of that peace would vanish. Danger would multiply, and the king would not sleep in peace for a single moment. That hidden assurance of safety is precisely the invisible service provided by the outside guardians.

Understanding the Dichotomy

The dichotomy between the guards and the family is mirrored in many other realms: body and soul, heart and mind, masculine and feminine, right brain and left brain.

Crucially, each side must accept that they cannot fully understand the other. They were never designed to. The guards are supposed to be stern and disciplined. The family is supposed to be relaxed, adorned, playful. Neither should resent the other for fulfilling its natural role. If men try to judge women by their own logic, they will wound them. Likewise, women misjudge men when they assume identical sensitivities. Each has been created with distinct tools and instincts. There is deep mercy and wisdom in that.

Allah created all things in pairs — but being paired does not mean being identical. The Qur’an itself emphasizes that complementarity is woven into creation. The lesson is broad: peace comes not when each side highlights the other’s shortcomings, but when they recognize how the other provides what they themselves lack.

The Role of the Guards in History

Returning to our metaphor: if not for the guards, the palace would collapse. Think of some of the strictest defenders of Sharia — scholars like Ibn Taymiyyah, Ibn Qayyim al-Jawziyyah, or, in Qur’anic commentary, someone like Ibn Kathir. They are a reality check. The Hadith scholars too were guardians of the highest order. Consider Imam al-Bukhari, who sifted through six hundreds thousand Prophetic narrations over sixteen years and included only a less than 0.5% of them in his famous Sahih (Hadith) collection. The stories of Imam Malik, Ahmad ibn Hanbal, Imam Muslim, and others, are no different. Such extraordinary effort is nothing less than guardianship of the faith. May Allah be pleased with them all.

At the same time, just as the king’s chamber includes young children who may expose everyone to danger, the guards had some members who could be too harsh or rigid, occasionally drawing the ire of the king’s family. For example, some intellectually towering figures like Ibn Taymiyyah, Ibn Qayyim al-Jawziyyah, Ibn Hajar al-Asqalani, and others at times directed severe criticism at great spiritual masters. They were not always correct; sometimes they overstepped or erred on the side of suspicion. But for the most part, their intentions were good, born of genuine fear about the consequences of failure to protect.

When we look at history, we see that the harshness of the guards often coincided with times of heightened threat. Sometimes the danger came from outside — for example, when Greek philosophy entered the Muslim world. Other times, it arose within, when strands of Sufism drifted too far: when prayer was replaced by mere dance and music, or when reverence for saints slid into grave-worship.

At such times, the guards feared that the king’s family was sneaking out through hidden tunnels, exposing themselves to attack. Or that certain food items laced with traces of poison were being smuggled in, slowly ailing unsuspecting family members, until one by one, they would all perish.

Thankfully, at such times, the Most Merciful has sent some of His most extraordinary servants to draw both sides back to the center, to rein in excesses, impose proper discipline on the guards while bringing the Sufis within the palace walls.

From Imam Ghazali, Abdulqadir Gaylani, and Muhammad Naqshiband, to Imam Rabbani and Said Nursi, these great masters combined the two wings of Islam within themselves and lifted the ummah on their shoulders (may Allah be pleased with them all).  It is as if one of the elder sons of the king became commander of the guards, trained in their methods and appreciating their dedication, while bringing the sensitivities of the king’s chambers to the front lines.

Conclusion: Why The Metaphor Matters

This metaphor clarifies roles: Sharia are the guards who define and defend the perimeter; Sufism is the life within — warmth, beauty, remembrance. They are not rivals but partners. 

When the walls weaken, sentiment becomes peril.
When the chambers harden, law becomes lifeless.

The Muslim tradition’s greatest integrators just mentioned showed how the elder “son” can walk both posts: loyal to the line outside, tender to the heart within.

What follows for us is simple yet demanding:

Sharia scholars must always keep in mind that the ultimate goal of their efforts is the preservation of the king’s palace and the protection of what is most precious to Him. And that is the spiritual life of Islam. They must be firm towards outside threats but show much more compassion towards their fellow Muslims, even when they do not fully agree with all their choices. After all, these are precisely the qualities of the Companions of the Prophet (pbuh) praised in the Qur’an (Q48:29): “Those with him are tough against the disbelievers and merciful among themselves” .

Sufis must always keep in mind that without the dedication and bravery of the Sharia scholars, the king’s palace would be invaded, its treasure plundered, and the warm and cozy chambers where they bask in the love of their king, would turn into ruins. So, they must be wary of wandering outside the boundaries set by Sharia, as the most dangerous threats come in unsuspecting packages. And they should not resent the occasionally tough love coming from the guards, nor dismiss their crucial service to Islam and its spiritual life. 

Therefore, if you:

Critique — do it without contempt,
Defend — do it without disdain; and
Worship — do it without neglecting discipline.

Our aim is disciplined mercy: strong walls, warm rooms, and an open passage between them.

That is how a palace stands — and the only way the Muslim ummah will live in harmony and thrive. By protecting both the body and its soul.

I will leave you to ponder over the most beautiful words:

وَاعْتَصِمُوا بِحَبْلِ اللَّهِ جَمِيعًا وَلَا تَفَرَّقُوا ۚ وَاذْكُرُوا نِعْمَتَ اللَّهِ عَلَيْكُمْ إِذْ كُنتُمْ أَعْدَاءً فَأَلَّفَ بَيْنَ قُلُوبِكُمْ فَأَصْبَحْتُم بِنِعْمَتِهِ إِخْوَانًا ۚ وَكُنتُمْ عَلَىٰ شَفَا حُفْرَةٍ مِّنَ النَّارِ فَأَنقَذَكُم مِّنْهَا ۗ كَذَٰلِكَ يُبَيِّنُ اللَّهُ لَكُمْ آيَاتِهِ لَعَلَّكُمْ تَهْتَدُونَ

[Sūrat Āli Imrān (103)]

“Hold firmly — all together — to the rope of Allah, and do not become divided. And remember the favor of Allah upon you — when you were enemies and He brought your hearts together and you became, by His favor, brothers. And you were on the edge of a pit of the Fire, and He saved you from it. Thus does Allah make clear to you His signs that you may be guided.” (Q3:103)

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Kralın Muhafızları ve Ailesi: Şeriat ve Tasavvufa Dair Temsilî Bir Hikaye

Islam dünyasında, tarih boyunca devam edegelen bir gerilim vardır — zaman zaman ümmeti derinden sarsan, hatta parçalanma noktasına getiren bir gerilim.

Evet, burada İslam’ın iki büyük geleneğinden, iki “kanadından” söz ediyorum: Şeriat kanadı — yani klasik İslami ilimler — ve Tarikat kanadı — yani tasavvuf yolu. Asırlar boyunca bu iki gelenek birbirlerine genellikle saygı göstermiş, her iki alanda da derinleşmiş birçok âlimler yetişmişse de, zaman zaman ciddi gerginliklerin, birbirlerini tekfir’e varan kavgaların yaşandığı da herkesin bildiği bir gerçektir.

Islam’ın bu iki yüce kanadının ilişkilerinin  hakiki mahiyetini çok güzel anlatan meşhur bir benzetme vardır: Şeriat insanın vücudu, tasavvuf da ruhudur. Beden ruhsuz yaşayamaz, ruh da bedensiz var olamaz. Bir başka teşbihte, Şeriat aklı, Tarikat ise kalbi temsil eder; ya da biri imanın erkek yönünü, diğeri kadınsı yönünü temsil eder. Tüm bu benzetmeler, iki geleneğin rekabet için değil, birbirini tamamlamak için var olduğunu ifade ederler.

Ben de bu ilişki üzerine tefekkür ederken, zihnimin gözüne çok canlı bir başka teşbih belirdi. Diğer bütün benzetmeleri de içine alan çok canlı bu temsilî hikayeyi paylaşmak istedim.

Saray ve Muhafızlar

Bir memleketin çok büyük ve adaletli bir Sultanı vardı. Bu Sultan’ın da gözünün nuru olan bir ailesi vardı — pırıl pırıl hayat dolu çocukları, hem ahlakı hem kendi güzel bir hanımı, ve en yakın ve kıymetli akrabaları. Sultan bu ailesini barındırmak ve korumak için muhteşem bir saray inşa eder. Herkesin bildiği gibi, böyle bir saray planlanırken, Sultan’ın göz bebekleri sarayın hem güzel ve nezih, ayrıca da dışarıdan gelebilecek tehlikelerden en iyi korunabilecek yerine yerleştirilir.

Saraya dışarıdan yaklaşırken de ilk karşımıza çıkan büyük bir muhafız alayı olur. Hikayemizin ilk anahtar ismi de zaten bu: Sarayın muhafızları.  Sarayın yüksek duvarları ve haşmetli kapıları, ve her kapıda ve kulede bekleyen nöbetçileri vardır. (Bugün bile Avrupa’ya gidenler, eski sarayları ziyaret ettiklerinde, ilk karşılaştıkları manzara, sarayın dışında bekleyen, sert bakışlı, vakur ve ciddi muhafızlardır.)

Bu muhafızların eğitimi — askerler ve polislerinki gibi — onlara son derece uyanık, pür dikkat ve oldukça şüpheci olmalarını öğretir. Çünkü her an karşılaşabilecekleri tehlikelerin boyutunu herkesten iyi bilirler. Evet, bir milleti veya imparatorluğu yıkmak isteyen düşman, doğrudan kralı hedef alır — ya da daha kötüsü, geleceği taşıyacak olan çocuklarını. Bu yüzden muhafızlar her gün sarayın kalbine yönelen gerçek ve sürekli bir tehdidin bilinciyle yaşar.

Hikayedeki muhafızlar, Şeriat âlimlerini temsil ederler. O saray ise Islam’dır. Şeriat âlimleri, tarih boyunca bu sarayı dışarıdan gelen sayısız tehlikeye karşı korumaya hayatlarını adamış kahramanlardır.  Onları küçümseyen bazıları, sarayın dışındaki konumlarına dikkat çekerek, onları ʿulemâʾü’r-rusûm — “kışır (dış şekillerin) âlimleri” — diye niteleyecek kadar ileri gitmişler, ve maalesef o alimlerin hakikatte paha biçilmez kıymetteki misyonlarına karşı çok ciddi haksızlık etmişlerdir.

Muhafızların bazen sert tavırları, onların vazifelerine olan sadakatlerinin nişanıdır. Onlar, şeytanın Kur’an’da beyan edilen, Allah’ın kullarını kıyamete kadar saptırma yeminini gayet iyi anlamışlardır. Bir anlık gaflete düşseler, veya sarayın surlarının ücra bir köşesini bile korumakta az bir gevşeklik gösterseler, düşmanın oradan içeri sızıp, kralın göz bebeği olan ailesine saldırmak için fırsat kolladığını bilir, ve o  endişyle gözlerine uyku girmez.

Şeriat alimleri şunu bilirler: arkalarından yükselen Islam sarayını duvarları, Peygamber Efendimizin (S.A.V) — Kur’an ayetleri ve Allahu Teala’nın bizzat  yönlendirmesiyle — tasarlayıp, ashabıyla birlikte inşa ettikleri en güçlü savunma hattıdır. Mesela, Sultan’ın genç evlatları, arkadaşlarından birkaç yabancının  avluya girmesini zararsız görebilirler. Ama muhafızlar çok iyi bilir: o ilk duvar aşıldığında iç savunmalar daha zayıftır ve o noktada savaşın çoğu zaten kaybedilmiştir.

Bu yüzden Şeriat alimleri bu duvarın muhafazasını, duvarda zamanın açtığı gedikleri tamir edip sürekli bakımını yapmayı en yüce vazifeleri bilirler. O kararlılıkla sınırda dururlar. Parolasız giren kimseyi içeri almaz, kapıdan sokulmak istenen her türlü yiyecek ve içeceğin, Sultan’ın ailesine ikram edilebileceğini bilir, o titizlikle incelemeden içeri almazlar.

Sultan’ın Ailesi

Hikaye’deki Sultan’ın ailesi ise Islam’ın ruhu, kalbi, özün ta kendisini temsil eder. Bunlar tasavvuf ehli, İslam’ın manevi boyutunu öne çıkaranlardır. Bir açıdan, gerçekten de gayenin kendileridir, sarayın yapılma sebebidir. Ama bu, onların savunmaya karşı fazla bastırma hakkı olduğu anlamına gelmez.

İçerde aile huzur içinde yaşar. Çocuklar koşar, kadınlar istirahat eder, kral ateşin yanında sükûnet bulur. Güzel elbiseler giyerler, ziynet takarlar, korkusuzca yaşarlar. Dışarıdan bakan için bu hayat zirvedir — ve öyledir. Fakat bu huzuru mümkün kılan, onların dış dünya ile arasındaki her adımın korunuyor olmasıdır.

Bu iç dairenin tasviri daha derin bir manayı da taşır: Kralın küçük çocukları tertemiz, masum ve neşelidir; tükenmez bir sevinç kaynağıdırlar. Ancak aynı zamanda, başkalarının kötülüğünü sezemeyecek kadar safdırlar. Bu durum, kalbin en değerli ama kırılgan yönleri için de geçerlidir. Savunmadan yoksun bu yönler, içeri girmemesi gereken şeyleri fark etmeden alabilir. Nasıl ki bir çocuk zararsız sanarak bir arkadaşını ya da eşyayı içeri sokabilir, kalp de korunması gereken tesirleri alabilir. İşte muhafızların titizliği, içeri gireni denetlemesi bu yüzden vazgeçilmezdir.

Eğer en ufak bir şüphe doğsa — bir hizmetkârın aslında bir casus olduğu, ya da dost görünen birinin gizli bir hançer taşıdığı — o andan itibaren bütün huzur yok olurdu. Tehlike katlanır, kral bir an olsun huzurla uyuyamazdı. İşte görünmeyen bu güven, dışarıdaki muhafızların hizmetidir.

İkilemin Mahiyeti

Bu ikilem, yani muhafızlarla ailenin farkı, başka pek çok alanda da görülür: beden ve ruh, kalp ve akıl, erkek ve kadın, sağ beyin ve sol beyin.

Mühim olan, her iki tarafın da diğerini tamamen anlayamayacağını kabul etmesidir. Onlar öyle yaratılmamıştır. Muhafızların sert, disiplinli olması gerekir. Ailenin ise rahat, süslü, neşeli olması tabiîdir. Hiçbiri diğerini kendi tabiatından dolayı kınamamalıdır. Erkekler, kadınları kendi akıl yürütmeleriyle yargılarsa onları incitir. Kadınlar da erkekleri, kendilerinde olmayan hassasiyetleri var sayarak yanlış anlar. Her biri farklı fıtrat ve kabiliyetlerle yaratılmıştır. Bunda derin bir rahmet ve hikmet vardır.

Allah her şeyi çift yarattı — ama çift olmak aynı olmak değildir. Kur’an, yaratılışta tamamlayıcılığın işlendiğini vurgular. Asıl ders şudur: huzur, tarafların eksiklerini öne çıkarmasıyla değil, birbirinde olmayanı onda görüp kabul etmesiyle mümkündür.

Tarihte Muhafızların Rolü

Teşbihe dönersek: eğer muhafızlar olmasaydı, saray çoktan çökerdi. Şeriatın sıkı müdafaacılarını düşünün — İbn Teymiyye, İbn Kayyim el-Cevziyye yahut tefsirde İbn Kesîr gibi. Onlar hakikatin ölçüsüdür. Hadis âlimleri ise en yüksek derecede muhafızlardı. Mesela İmam Buhari, yüzbinlerce rivayeti on altı yıl boyunca incelemiş, onların çok küçük bir kısmını Sahih’ine almıştır. Böylesi bir gayret, imanın muhafızlığından başka nedir ki?

Elbette muhafızlar bazen sertti. Bu durum, kralın ailesinin muhafızların katılığından yakınmasına benzer. Mesela İbn Teymiyye, İbn Kayyim, İbn Hacer el-Askalânî gibi bazı büyük âlimler zaman zaman tasavvufun büyük ustalarına ağır tenkitler yöneltmiştir. Her zaman haklı değillerdi; bazen sınırı aştılar, bazen aşırı şüpheye düştüler. Ama çoğu zaman niyetleri sâlih idi; himayenin eksilmesinin doğuracağı sonuçlardan derin bir korku duyuyorlardı.

Tarihe baktığımızda görürüz ki, muhafızların sertliği genellikle artan tehlike dönemleriyle çakışmıştır. Kimi zaman bu tehlike dışarıdan geldi — mesela Yunan felsefesinin İslam dünyasına girişiyle. Kimi zaman da içeriden — namazın sadece raks ve musikiyle değiştirilmesi, evliyalara gösterilen hürmetin kabirperestliğe dönüşmesi gibi. Böyle dönemlerde muhafızlar, kralın ailesinin gizli tünellerden dışarı kaçtığını düşünür gibi endişelenmişlerdir.

İbn Teymiyye gibi âlimlerin üslubunu veya aşırılıklarını kabul etmesek de, samimiyetlerinden şüphe etmek zordur. Onlar İslam’ın geleceği için derin kaygılar taşıyor, saraya sızmaları ihtimalini hissediyorlardı. Onların yazdıklarını adil değerlendirmek için, o dönemin şartlarını hesaba katmak gerekir.

Hamdolsun, böyle dönemlerde Rahmân ve Rahîm olan Allah, ümmeti merkeze çeken, aşırılıkları frenleyen, sûfîleri tekrar sarayın içine dâhil eden seçkin kullarını göndermiştir. İmam Gazali’den Abdulkadir Geylânî’ye, Muhammed Nakşibend’den İmam Rabbânî’ye ve Said Nursî’ye (Allah hepsinden razı olsun) kadar nice zat, İslam’ın iki kanadını kendi şahsında birleştirmiş, ümmeti omuzlarında taşımıştır. Bu, sanki kralın büyük oğlunun dışarıdaki muhafızların başına geçip onların yöntemlerini öğrenmesi, sadakatlerini takdir etmesi ve aynı zamanda iç dairenin inceliklerini taşıması gibidir.

Sonuç: Bu Temsil’in Önemi

Bu teşbih, rollerin açıklığa kavuşmasını sağlar: Şeriat, sınırı çizen ve koruyan muhafızlardır; tasavvuf ise içerdeki hayat — sıcaklık, güzellik, zikirdir. Onlar rakip değil, birbirine muhtaç iki kanattır. Duvarlar zayıfladığında duygu taşkınlığı felakete dönüşür; odalar katılaştığında hukuk ruhsuzlaşır. İslam geleneğinin büyük birleştiricileri — İmam Gazali, Abdulkadir Geylânî, Muhammed Nakşibend, İmam Rabbânî, Said Nursî — bize şunu gösterir: büyük “oğul” hem dışarıdaki nöbette sadık, hem içerideki kalbe şefkatli olabilir.

Bundan çıkarılacak ders basit ama çetindir: her tartışmada kendimize sormalıyız — ben duvarı mı güçlendiriyorum, odayı mı ısıtıyorum? Ve öteki işi kim yapıyor? Hakaretsiz eleştiri, hor görmeden savunma, disipline halel getirmeden ibadet. Gayemiz şu olmalı: disiplinli bir merhamet. Güçlü duvarlar, sıcak odalar ve aralarında açık bir geçit. Bir saray böyle ayakta durur — ve bir ümmet ruhunu böyle korur.