The Eighth Hope

When the grey hairs—the signs of old age—began to appear on my head, the deep sleep of youth was made deeper still by the turmoil of the First World War, my captivity, and the circumstances in which I found myself in Istanbul. There, I attained a position of great honour and esteem, receiving appreciation and attention far beyond my deserts, from the Caliph, the Shaykh al-IslamAn honorific title historically given to eminent Islamic scholars and, in the Ottoman Empire, to the highest-ranking religious authority., and the Commander-in-Chief down to the students of the madrasas. Under the influence of these circumstances, together with the intoxication of youth, I sank into such a profound sleep of heedlessness that I found myself in a strange state, as though the world were eternal and I were destined to remain in it forever.

During those days, I went to the Bayezid MosqueA historic Ottoman mosque in Istanbul, commissioned by Sultan Bayezid II and completed in the early 16th century. Located in Beyazıt Square, it is one of the city's oldest surviving imperial mosques. in Istanbul to listen to the sincere huffāzThose who have memorized the entire Qur’an. reciting the Qur’an during the blessed month of RamadanThe ninth month of the Islamic lunar calendar, during which Muslims fast from dawn until sunset and in which the Qur’an was first revealed.. There, through the tongues of the huffāzThose who have memorized the entire Qur’an., the Qur’an proclaimed in its exalted, heavenly voice the mighty decree:

كُلُّ نَفْسٍ ذَاۤئِقَةُ الْمَوْتِEvery soul shall taste death. — The Qur’an 3:185

This decree, announcing the death of every human being and every living creature, entered my ears and took root in my heart. It tore apart the thick veils of heedlessness, sleep, and intoxication.

Afterwards, I left the mosque. Still dazed by the long sleep that had weighed upon my mind, I spent several days like a rudderless ship, with a storm raging in my head and a burning mist within me. Whenever I looked at my grey hairs in the mirror, they seemed to say to me, “Take heed!”

Through this warning from my grey hairs, my true condition became clear to me. I saw that youth, in which I had placed such confidence and whose pleasures I had cherished so dearly, was bidding me farewell. The worldly life I held so precious was beginning to fade. And the world, which I had almost come to love passionately and to which I was deeply attached, warned me: “You shall depart; this is but a guesthouse.” It too seemed to be bidding me farewell and passing away.

Within the all-encompassing meaning of the verse

كُلُّ نَفْسٍ ذَاۤئِقَةُ الْمَوْتِEvery soul shall taste death. — The Qur’an 3:185

the Qur’an opened before me a profound truth: humanity as a whole is like a living being that will die in order to be brought back to life; the earth is like a living being that will die in order to be reborn in an eternal form; and the world itself is like a living being that will die in order to assume the form of the Hereafter.

In this state, I realised that youth, the source of pleasure, was passing away, while old age, the source of sorrow, was taking its place. Radiant, luminous life was disappearing, while death, seemingly dark and awe-inspiring, was preparing to arrive. And the world, which I had imagined to be everlasting and worthy of love, was in reality hastening towards decay and destruction.