Depiction involves extracting the Truth from its essential transcendence and confining it within the limited language and forms of human cognition. While the divine Names and Attributes (Asma-sıfat) initially serve as indicative signs, they may, in the mind of the believer, become illusions of absolutes that supplant truth itself. The Name is intended to serve as proof that guides one toward the Truth. However, when the sign replaces what it signifies, it ceases to function as proof and instead becomes an idol, presumed to represent the Truth at the center of the stage. The attribute, which should announce manifestation in relation to humanity, becomes a veil rather than a gateway to God when the mind substitutes it for the essence.
Bound by the limitations of knowledge and experience, individuals transform truth into mental depictions. As a result, when "al-Raḥmān" is spoken, the perception is not of transcendent mercy, but of a limited human conception of compassion. Similarly, when "al-Qadīr" is invoked, the manifestation is not absolute power, but an image shaped by the mind's awareness of its own limitations. When "ʿAdl" is referenced, the intention is not transcendent justice, but a constructed notion of balance derived from personal standards and presented as divine judgment. At this point, names no longer function as signs but become stage props that replace the Truth; attributes cease to serve as proofs and instead become forms that obscure and hinder access to the Truth.
Through this process, the believer's mind reduces God to a collection of Names and a composite of Attributes. In exalting the Names, the mind forgets the Truth; in absolutizing the Attributes, it negates transcendence. The outcome is not Truth itself, but a shadow fashioned in its likeness as a figure constructed upon a stage. To refer to this figure as "God" is, in effect, to reduce God to a mere depiction.
The transformation of Names and Attributes into depictions constitutes, ontologically, a displacement; epistemologically, a deviation; and psychologically, a gratification. Ontologically, this is a displacement because the transcendent is severed from its ground and confined to the stage. Epistemologically, it is a deviation because the signified is forgotten, and the sign is mistaken for truth. Psychologically, it is a gratification because illusion finds comfort in contemplating its own construct as "God," thereby suppressing fears and legitimizing desires.
Therefore, when names and attributes are transformed into depictions, discourse no longer concerns God, but rather the sanctification of illusions under the name of God. This represents the gravest danger: the individual who idolizes names and absolutizes attributes does not truly worship God, but instead worships his own illusion.
Reducing names and attributes to depictions entails forgetting the transcendent essence of the Truth and enthroning humanly constructed images in God's place. This act is not merely an exegetical deviation or a simple intellectual error; it constitutes shirk in the strict sense. In this process, a new entity is posited, set before God, substituted for God, and elevated to parity with the Divine Essence (dhat). This entity lacks real ontological existence; it is a shadow produced by the finite imagination of the mind. Shirk consists in reducing the Transcendent to the form of a created being, while kufr consists in denying the transcendence of the Transcendent and substituting this shadow in its place.
Shirk is multiplication: it renders the One into many. When names and attributes are reduced to depictions, the oneness-unity of the Truth is fractured, as the mind reduces God to a sum of names and a composite of attributes. Each name and attribute becomes an idol, and the Truth appears fragmented. However, the Truth itself does not fragment; only the depiction produced by illusion does. Mistaking this fragmentation for God, forgetting the Truth, and binding oneself to the shadow constitutes the most refined form of shirk.
Kufr is concealment: it renders the Truth invisible. As long as names and attributes function as signs, they direct attention toward the Truth; once absolutized, however, they obscure it. This veiling is the essence of kufr. The individual forgets the Truth, fails to perceive what lies behind the sign, and focuses solely on the sign itself. The sign, under the name of God, thus becomes the means of forgetting God. This forgetting constitutes ontological blindness, which is kufr.
It follows that divinizing the names constitutes shirk, while substituting the attributes for the Divine Essence (dhat) constitutes kufr. Shirk involves mistaking the shadow for the Truth; kufr involves veiling truth behind the shadow. Both ultimately converge in reducing the divine transcendence to the level of the stage.
It is precisely at this point that the religious mind no longer worships God, but its own depiction. Though such worship appears to be directed toward God, it is in truth a severance from Him. For what the act of worship addresses is not the transcendent God, but the form produced by illusion. Worship directed toward illusion is shirk; to install illusion in the place of truth is kufr.
Where names and attributes are reduced to depictions, truth recedes, and shirk begins; where the sign is absolutized, truth is veiled, and kufr emerges. These two are not ultimately distinct: shirk is kufr, and kufr is shirk. Whoever idolizes the Name and the Attribute, thereby forgetting the Truth, has committed the gravest offense against it.
In the first Hijri century, the Names functioned as proofs and the Attributes as signs; confronted with essential transcendence, language was compelled to silence. However, from the second century onward, most scholars, limited by their knowledge and experience, began to analyze, classify, and systematize the Names and Attributes. By placing the signs at the center of the stage, they led to the signified being forgotten. Consequently, the Names ceased to serve as markers of transcendence but became objects of conceptualization regarding God.
The first deviation emerged at this point: the Names were collected, multiplied, and ordered, and measures of the Truth were established based on their number. However, the names do not constitute the totality of the Truth. Despite this, scholars committed shirk by substituting the multiplicity of Names for God Himself, transforming the One into many and reducing truth to a sum of Names. The second deviation concerned the Attributes: they were detached from their function of indicating transcendence and instead attached to the Essence as if constitutive of its very nature. As a result, the Attributes ceased to indicate the Truth and began to replace it. This constitutes the essence of kufr: The Truth was veiled, and the visible sign was mistaken for the Truth itself.
It is important to note that the Islamic scholars of the second century, while claiming to defend the Truth, in fact consigned it to depiction. The mind accepted the security of representation, and language was content to place signs before the Essence. As a result, the stage supplanted the ground. The names were idolized, and the attributes were equated with the divine essence. From that moment on, shirk and kufr established themselves beneath a scholarly guise.
This deviation originates in the impulse to confine the Transcendent within the concepts of individual intellect. Each Name, categorized by reason, became a veil obscuring the Truth. Every Attribute conveyed through narration was transformed into a form that replaced the Truth. Silence regarding the Truth was forsaken, replaced by an excess of words. Multiplicity concealed transcendence and fractured unity. Such fragmentation constitutes shirk itself.
To reiterate: after the second Hijri century, the language of the scholars, by inclining toward depiction, led to the forgetting of what was truly indicated. The Truth was submerged in the multiplicity of the Names, and transcendence was concealed by the absolutization of the Attributes. Consequently, what was presented as knowledge (ilm) was, in fact, merely the systematization of shirk and kufr.
The conversion of the Names and Attributes into mere depictions was not a personal weakness, but rather a deviation institutionalized within the scholarly pursuit of knowledge. This deviation represents the gravest transgression: bringing divine transcendence onto the stage, which constitutes shirk and kufr. The foundation of depiction is the limitation of human cognition; when the intellect cannot surpass its own constraints, it molds the Transcendent according to its own standards. However, the Prophet and his Companions, cognizant of this limitation, regarded the Names and Attributes as signs, never substituting any for the Essence of the Truth. In their discourse, the Name did not define God but merely indicated Him. In their hearts, the Attribute did not contain God but opened onto manifestation. Thus, the sign remained a sign, the proof remained a proof, and the Truth was never reduced to the stage.
In their view, when "al-Raḥmān" was uttered, what was seen was not a human conceptualization of mercy, but an indication of a transcendent mercy that reason cannot encompass. When "al-Qadīr" was uttered, what was apprehended was not an image of power constructed as the mere opposite of human impotence, but a sign of a power that encompasses all existence while fitting into none of its measures. When "'Adl" was invoked, it did not refer to the crooked scales of personal judgment, but pointed toward a balance that transcends every measure. Thus, the Names did not become idolized, and the Attributes did not veil the Truth.
It is essential to note that the Prophet and his Companions did not yield to the temptation of depiction. They maintained unity-oneness within the multiplicity of the Names and did not lose sight of the Essence amid the manifestations of the Attributes. Their silence signified an acknowledgment of language's limitations before the Truth's transcendence. Their witnessing did not conflate the sign with the Truth, but instead signaled an orientation toward the Truth. As a result, their tawḥīd was protected from shirk, and their faith remained free from the influence of kufr.
To reiterate, the Prophet and his Companions transcended depiction. They did not idolize the sign or substitute the proof for the intended Reality. They did not consider the Names as a totality or the Attributes as a composite constituting God. In their faith, the Truth was never diminished to mere conceptual constructs.
Depiction represents a deviation within the religious mind; its transcendence characterizes the path of the Prophet and his Companions. They maintained the sign as a sign, the attribute as an indication, and the Truth as transcendent. In doing so, they liberated themselves from idolatry and oriented themselves toward the foundation of the Truth.
The Prophet and his Companions occupy one side, while scholars from the second Islamic century onward stand on the other. The former transcended depiction, preserving the vividness of Truth beyond the sign. In contrast, the latter became entangled in it and consequently lost sight of the Truth even before the sign.
The tawḥīd practiced by the Prophet and his Companions involved preserving the sign as a sign: they did not substitute the Names for God's Essence, nor did they equate the Attributes with the Essence. For them, "al-Raḥmān" did not represent a human emotion of mercy projected onto God; instead, the term mercy functioned solely as a sign of a transcendent mercy beyond human comprehension. Similarly, "al-Qadīr" was not a symbol of power limited by human imagination; rather, the term power indicated a Reality that encompasses all existence and surpasses every measure. Likewise, "'Adl" was not a concept designed to correct human standards; instead, the term "'Adl" served as a sign pointing to the transcendent equilibrium of God's Essence.
Later scholars fell into shirk by substituting these signs for Truth itself. They multiplied the Names and treated them collectively, as if God were merely the sum of these Names. They attached the Attributes to the Essence and began to regard them as constitutive of Truth, as if God could be contained within the quiddity of the Attributes. As a result, the sign obstructed Reality, and the proof supplanted the intended end. The transcendence of Reality was neglected, and proliferating representations on the stage were invoked as "God." This multiplication constituted shirk, while this concealment amounted to kufr.
At this point, the distinction between tawḥīd and shirk becomes evident: tawḥīd entails maintaining the vivid Transcendent beyond the sign, whereas shirk involves installing the sign in place of Truth. Tawḥīd is to move beyond the stage and orient oneself toward the ground; shirk is to mistake the stage for the ground itself. Tawḥīd is the pursuit of the Truth without idolizing the sign, while shirk is the sacralization of the sign, resulting in neglect of the Truth it was meant to indicate.
To reiterate, the path of the Prophet and his Companions was tawḥīd, while the path adopted by scholars from the second century onward led to shirk and kufr. The former safeguarded the Truth's transcendence; the latter confined it within depiction.
The distinction between preserving the Truth at its ground and idolizing it upon the stage constitutes the fundamental difference between iman and kufr, between tawḥīd and shirk, and between reality and illusion. This distinction marks one of the most significant ontological ruptures in history.
Following the Prophet and his Companions, the knowledge of Truth was carried less on texts and more within hearts. Truth is not merely a collection of letters on the surface of writing, but noor borne by the heart, a mystery too weighty for human apprehension. Consequently, this knowledge was transmitted not through outward texts, but through the sadr. The sadr of the men of Truth became a living vein, preserving the sign as sign, recognizing the proof as proof, and perceiving forms not as a veil but as an aperture opening onto the Truth beyond. By not succumbing to the illusion of depiction, this vein maintained its connection to the ground amid the shadows constructed upon the stage.
However, not all participated in this vein; from the second century onward, most scholars fell outside of it. They favored the multiplicity of written lines over the Truth carried in living hearts. As a result, writing increased, words multiplied, and disputes proliferated. Amid this abundance, the gravity of Truth was lost. Those who preserved the authentic vein were few, yet their presence ensured the chain of tawḥīd remained unbroken.
The essence of this chain is this: not to bring God down onto the stage, not to idolize the Names, not to absolutize the Attributes. In every age, those who bore this vein did not substitute the sign for Truth, nor did they elevate the proof above its intended end. For them, the Name was only a sign; the Attribute only an indication. The Truth remained transcendent beyond all things. It was this vein that became a light in the darkness of depiction.
Reader, acknowledge that you, too, are subject to the captivity of depiction. The tendency to treat words as the ultimate truth, rather than as signs, has profoundly shaped your consciousness. When you utter "God," you interact solely with the representation formed within your cognition. The God in your mind is not the Divine itself, but a construct of your own illusion. Without liberation from this condition, authentic iman remains inaccessible.
Faith does not arise from the accumulation of words; it emerges from the heart's direct encounter with the Truth. What you consider faith is often merely the sum of the Names, the composite of the Attributes, and the proliferation of representations. In this way, you have attached yourself to the sign and forgotten what it signifies. This forgetting constitutes kufr. This attachment is shirk. What you hold as faith is, in reality, the worship of depiction.
Comprehend the nature of the Authentic Vein: it is the path that does not confine the Names within representation, does not idolize the Attributes, and maintains the sign's openness toward Truth. Unless you align yourself with this vein and liberate yourself from the shadows of the stage and the chains of depiction, what you cling to as faith does not even carry the scent of Truth. You have mistaken illusion for faith, yet faith is the dissolution of illusion itself.
I emphasize: you remain captive to representation. Unless you are liberated from this captivity, even the utterance of the word "iman" becomes an empty repetition, a sound distant from the Truth. True faith does not place the sign before the Truth, confuse the proof with the intended end, or mistake the stage for the ground. Only when you encounter this secret, transmitted from breast to breast through the authentic vein, will you perceive the scent of the authentic iman.
The shackles of depiction are not tangible chains, but rather invisible bonds forged by the mind's own constructs. When one believes they have apprehended the Truth, they are, in fact, contemplating only their own depiction of it. Such contemplation may provide a sense of satisfaction, yet it does not lead to the Truth itself. The eye is unable to perceive beyond form, and the tongue cannot articulate beyond the sign. True liberation is found in the eye's acknowledgment of its limitations and the tongue's acceptance of silence. The destruction of representation requires the willingness to allow the sign to remain a sign, while preserving the vitality of what is signified beyond it.
Liberation is achieved when the mind no longer multiplies the Names and mistakes them for the Divine, absolutizes the Attributes and places them before Truth, or sacralizes its own illusions and venerates them. In this moment, the chains of representation are broken, and the false absolutes previously imposed upon words collapse. This collapse is often painful, as the human being's deepest attachment is to personal depictions. However, without this undoing, the fragrance of the Truth remains inaccessible.
Attend carefully: to be liberated from representation requires relinquishing all conceptual constructs. This does not entail emptying the stage, but rather recognizing that the stage is distinct from the ground. No matter how ornate, the stage merely amplifies the shadow. In contrast, the ground represents the transcendence from which even the stage derives its existence. One cannot access the ground without first breaking the spell cast by the stage.
To be freed from depiction is to stop identifying the figures on the stage with God, to remove the idolatrous function from the Names, and to purify the Attributes of their role as veils. This process is not merely an intellectual refinement but an ontological rupture. Through this transformation, the human being fundamentally alters their relationship to existence. For those who live by depiction, the world is filled with shadows; for those liberated from depiction, the world opens onto a transcendence that reveals itself beyond the sign.
Reader, do not forget: unless you are liberated from depiction, what you consider faith holds no true value. What you perceive as faith is merely a form of illusion. Authentic faith emerges only after the collapse of depiction. Without this collapse, there is no authentic iman, only imitation, repetition, and shadow.
Liberation from the constraints of depiction is essential for access to the Truth's transcendence. In the absence of such freedom, the term "iman" becomes a hollow expression, prostration a mere gesture, and prayer an ineffectual invocation.
The faith of individuals unable to transcend depiction is reduced to prostration before their own mental constructs. They enumerate the Names, repeat the Attributes, and embellish their language; however, these practices do not facilitate genuine contact with the Truth. Their conception of "God" becomes merely the aggregate of Names, the collection of Attributes, and the multiplicity of mental depictions. This reduction signifies the loss of the Truth itself. One who has lost the Truth, despite believing otherwise, has not truly believed.
Ultimately, they mistake the shadow for the Truth. Those who focus on the shadow are unable to perceive the light beyond it. Prostrating before the form prevents access to the transcendence indicated by that form. Standing before the sign precludes encountering what is signified. Consequently, their faith remains confined to the images they construct in their own minds, perpetually circling in a closed loop. In contrast, one who seeks the Truth breaks this cycle and moves from superficiality to the Essence.
It is important to recognize that the worship of those who remain captive to depictions cannot transcend them. Their prostration is directed toward the sign rather than the Essence it signifies. Their prayers ascend not to the Truth, but to the forms generated by their imagination. Their remembrance fails to recall Truth, serving only to comfort themselves with repeated words. As a result, their worship is plentiful, yet their faith is devoid of substance, their speech excessive, and their connection to the Truth absent.
Individuals imprisoned by depiction may believe they possess faith, yet they remain in kufr; the path they perceive as tawḥīd is, in reality, a subtle form of shirk. They are attached not to God, but to the illusion they have designated as "God."
Readers are urged not to presume themselves exempt from this condition; self-examination is necessary. If one continues to substitute Names for truth, treat Attributes as the Divine Essence, or absolutize the sign, then one remains within the same cycle. Authentic faith will not become accessible until this cycle is broken and the shadow is transcended.
The end of those confined to depiction is to drown in words, to lose themselves among forms, never to sense the transcendence that lies beyond the signs. Their faith does not rise beyond imitation, and imitation, before the Truth, is kufr.
Those who break the chains of depiction rescue faith from mere repetition of shadows and guide it toward the fragrance of the Truth. Their perspective is not limited by the multiplicity of Names, as they recognize that a Name is only a sign, not the truth itself. Their understanding does not become trapped in the absolutization of Attributes, for they know that an Attribute is a proof, and the proof is not the ultimate goal. Therefore, they do not occupy themselves with multiplied shadows on the stage, but instead turn directly toward the transcendence of the ground.
This liberation is not a simple mental adjustment; it constitutes a rupture at the deepest level of being. The mind relinquishes the forms it has created, and the heart shatters the idols it has constructed. An individual destroys what is most cherished: his own depiction. This destruction marks the birth of faith (iman). Iman emerges where illusion dissolves and is born where depiction collapses.
Those liberated from depiction do not become lost in words; instead, they perceive the silence underlying language. For them, when "al-Raḥmān" is spoken, it does not evoke a limited image of human compassion, but rather the fragrance of a transcendent mercy that surpasses cognitive boundaries. When "al-Qadīr" is uttered, it does not conjure an image of power defined by opposition to weakness, but an intuition of power that encompasses all existence and defies measurement. When "ʿAdl" is invoked, it is not the distortion of personal scales that arises, but the manifestation of a balance that transcends all measures.
This horizon is not defined by words, but by direct contact with the Truth. For such individuals, faith is not the repetition of inherited formulas; it is the immediate witnessing of the Truth within a heart liberated from the constraints of depiction. Their prostration is directed not toward images, but toward the Essence itself. Their prayers ascend not to imagined forms, but to the Transcendent. Their remembrance does not remain in the sound of words; it emerges from the silence that gestures toward the Truth.
This is the horizon attained by those freed from depiction: faith is no longer mere imitation, but becomes a witnessing that directly engages with the Truth. Such witnessing represents the purest form of tawḥīd.
Those imprisoned by depiction ultimately reach kufr, while those liberated from depiction attain tawḥīd. Shirk involves preoccupation with proliferating shadows on the stage, whereas tawḥīd is the orientation toward transcendent Truth. You who read these lines, if you can break the chains of depiction, the fragrance of authentic iman will reach you.
The consensus of the authentic vein is as follows: the most powerful and authentic means to destroy depiction is love (Ashk). Love casts into the fire not only mental depictions, but also the entire framework of existence, the illusions mistaken for certainty, the knowledge revered as the Truth, and, most profoundly, the self, the Ene, concealed within. Love consumes all the supports a person relies upon, making it the only valid path for those who seek truth.
Love consumes both questions and answers, as each represents a form of depiction. While individuals inquire about truth, the very act of questioning is a mental construct. Similarly, any answer provided is also an illusion. With the advent of love, both question and answer are eradicated, leaving only the unadorned reality of the Truth.
Love is directed toward that which manifests from sadr, as sadr does not serve as the bearer of the word but the trustee of the Truth. Love severs a person from his own depictions through noor born in the sadr. Without the sadr's witnessing*,* love itself is reduced to depiction. But when the Truth manifests from the sadr, love burns all depictions and hurls the human being from the stage to the ground.
According to the tradition of the authentic vein, depiction cannot be destroyed without love. Reason is incapable of dissolving depiction; knowledge cannot surpass it; asceticism cannot eliminate it. Only love has the capacity to eradicate depiction. Love dissolves the greatest idol: the self, or Ene. When the Ene collapses, the origin of depiction vanishes, and only then can the fragrance of the Truth be perceived.
Love is the fire that annihilates depiction; it burns questions and answers alike, existence and illusion, the Ene itself. For the travelers of the authentic vein, this represents the sole legitimate path to authentic iman.
The statement, "You will not truly believe until you love me more than all else," asserts that the Truth is unattainable without love. Iman emerges only when the chains of depiction are broken, a process accomplished solely through the transformative fire of love. Thus, faith, iman, is not the repetition of words, but an experience of burning, melting, and surrender.
Love detaches individuals from idolizing their own existence. Humans often perceive their existence as their primary support, yet love consumes even existence itself. When illusions are substituted for truth, love reduces these illusions to ashes. Knowledge (ilm), when idolized, is also dissolved by love, as it is merely another form of depiction. Attachment to the Ene is similarly eradicated by love at its very root.
The transformative power of love results in the disappearance of all figures upon the stage. Even at moments of perceived strength, individuals continue to cling to their own depictions. Love targets precisely these points of attachment, which accounts for its painful nature. It destroys what is most cherished: existence, illusion, knowledge, and the Ene. However, following this pain, the unadorned reality of the Truth is revealed.
The aforementioned saying, "You will not truly believe until you love me more than all else," (1) emphasizes that faith is defined by love rather than knowledge. Knowledge generates depiction, whereas love eradicates it. While knowledge proliferates depictions, love annihilates them. Knowledge engages individuals with questions and answers, but love eliminates both simultaneously. Consequently, faith is attainable not through knowledge, but through the transformative fire of love. The Prophet's statement underscores that without love, faith is reduced to imitation, depiction, and shadow. Love and faith are thus two aspects of the same essential reality, enabling the perception of the Truth.
Love acts as a fire that destroys all forms of security individuals construct on the stage of existence. The mind relies on depictions, the heart attaches to illusions, and the Ene seeks to absolutize its own existence. When love intervenes, it consumes all these constructs: depictions are burned, illusions dissolve, the idols of knowledge melt, and the Ene is reduced to ash. Authentic iman emerges only after this transformative burning, as true faith arises from the ashes of depiction.
The pain associated with love stems from the loss of one's own supports. Individuals cling most strongly to their existence, yet love consumes existence itself. They place trust in their knowledge, but love casts knowledge into the fire. The Ene is embraced most fiercely, yet love uproots it at its core. Through this process, love compels individuals to confront their own nothingness. Although this experience is painful, it is only through such pain that the fragrance of the Truth becomes perceptible.
Burning signifies the dissolution of all constructed figures on the stage. An individual amplifies his self-image through depictions, yet love reduces these constructs to ash. Illusions obscure the Truth, but love dissolves such veils. Knowledge may serve self-exaltation, but love consumes even this knowledge. The self, or Ene, may be enthroned, yet love destroys this throne as well. Without this transformative burning, the journey toward the Truth cannot commence, for only when the stage is consumed does the underlying ground become visible.
The significance of the saying, "You will not truly believe until you love me more than all else," becomes evident here. This statement asserts that faith transcends knowledge or rote repetition; it cannot arise without the transformative pain and burning of love. Without love, an individual remains confined within self-created depictions and cannot escape the shadows constructed upon the stage.
This statement asserts that faith devoid of love is merely a depiction, constituting shirk and kufr. Love consumes both questions and answers, leaving the individual in silence beyond the sign. It unveils the truth that emerges from within and removes the individual from self-depiction, exposing them to the unadorned reality of the Truth.
Those who have not experienced the pain and transformative burning of love have not attained authentic iman. Iman emerges solely through the fire of love, arising from the ashes of former depictions.
A religious individual who has not undergone the transformative fire of love remains bound by the chains of depiction. Such a person may repeat names, enumerate attributes, and embellish words, yet these actions do not reach the Truth. The loveless believer mistakes self-constructed depictions for the divine, imagining belief where only depiction exists.
The worship of the loveless believer is directed toward depictions rather than the Truth. Though he prostrates physically, his heart remains attached to forms. His prayers ascend not to the signified, but to the sign itself. Remembrance lacks the essence of the Truth, serving only as comfort through repetition. He performs ritual movements without experiencing the transformative fire of love. Consequently, his worship remains a mere shadow, devoid of the Truth.
The loveless believer is immersed in depictions. The mind transforms knowledge into depiction, which is then mistaken for faith. The heart converts illusion into depiction, and this illusion is also accepted as faith. The Ene turns its own existence into a depiction, and attachment to the Ene is similarly mistaken for faith. All of these are mere shadows, and to cling to shadows constitutes disbelief.
Know that without love, Iman cannot exist. Iman emerges only through the transformative destruction of depiction. An individual who has not experienced love has not undergone this burning; without such burning, one remains confined within personal depictions. Consequently, belief is absent. In such cases, religious practice becomes a collection of words, repetitive actions, and superficial forms.
A believer lacking love remains imprisoned by depiction, and such imprisonment leads to shirk and kufr. Authentic iman cannot arise in the absence of love.
When depiction is destroyed, a new spiritual birth occurs within the individual. This transformation is not achieved by accumulating knowledge, but by relinquishing it; not by increasing words, but by embracing silence; not by reinforcing the Ene, but by uprooting it. Only after such destruction does authentic iman emerge.
Authentic iman is best understood as a noor carried within the sadr rather than as a word multiplied upon texts (satr). The written word on the page always risks becoming mere depiction, whereas the inner light cannot be reduced to depiction. This noor illuminates a heart transformed by the fire of love. Such a heart no longer relies on its own depictions, but instead surrenders to the unmediated presence of the Transcendent beyond all signs.
Love has burned both questions and answers. Therefore, in the authentic iman, there is neither question nor answer. The question is a depiction of the mind; the answer is a depiction of illusion. When both are burned, only the Truth itself remains. Faith is born in that nakedness.
The scent of true faith can be sensed only from a sadr that has burned. One who has not tasted the fire of burning does not know this scent. He repeats the word but does not perceive the scent. He performs worship but cannot inhale its essence. For faith is not the fruit of repetition, but of burning.
True faith rises from the ashes of depiction. Without love, depiction does not burn; without the burning of depiction, authentic faith does not open. Thus, not everyone who utters the word "iman" has believed, but only those whose breasts have burned their depictions.
True faith is conveyed not through a line of texts (satr), but through direct transmission from one heart to another (sadr). While texts preserve letters, they do not necessarily convey the Truth. The page is always at risk of reducing meaning to mere depiction, as the mind interprets and constructs its own images. In contrast, the heart carries the noor of the Truth, and what is transmitted between hearts is not simply a word, but a living witness.
For this reason, the authentic vein has been preserved not by the multiplication of books, but by the secret transmitted from sadr to sadr. The noor that passed from the Prophet's sadr to the sadr of the Companions, and from them to the people of the Truth, was never severed. For this transmission did not proceed through the noisy disputes of the outward, but through the silent witness of the inward.
The Truth transmitted from one heart to another does not idolize names, absolutize attributes, or substitute the intended meaning with mere symbols. It conveys not words themselves, but the transcendence underlying them. Consequently, the essential source remains invisible to most, as most focus on written expressions rather than on inner reality. Ultimately, truth resides in hearts, not in written texts.
Authentic faith is therefore transmitted not by inheritance, but by witnessing. What passes from generation to generation is not bloodline, but the bond of the sadr. What is carried is the same noor flowing within the same vein. One receives it not because he has read lines of texts, but because he has met a sadr.
You who read these lines, know that unless you touch this transmission from sadr to sadr, uttering the word "faith" (iman) will not bring you to the Truth. You may hold the lines of texts (satr) in your hand, but they will not carry you to the Truth. What will carry you is the noor that overflows from the sadr.
True faith is transmitted not by the increase oftexts, but by the opening of one sadr to one another. This chain has endured to this day through an unbroken, authentic vein and will endure beyond today.
Whoever abandons the noor that comes from the sadr is condemned to distraction in the multitude of texts (satr). For the lines of texts (satr) carry letters but not the Truth; it preserves the sign but does not reveal what is signified. One who clings to the text (satr) multiplies the word upon the page; yet every word multiplied at a distance from the sadr turns into a depiction.
Those imprisoned in the texts idolize the names, absolutize the attributes, and repeat the words. In their eyes, faith consists of reading lines. Yet when the lines of text (satr) are severed from the heart (sadr), it turns into shadow. Whoever clings to shadow loses the light of the Truth. Thus, their religion becomes word, their faith depiction, their worship shadow.
A person imprisoned in the lines of texts (satr) may believe they possess faith, yet in reality, they are immersed in depictions. Their so-called 'knowledge' (ilm) consists only of accumulating images, their 'jurisprudence' (fıqh) is the organization of these depictions, and their 'word' (kelam) is the rational reproduction of such forms. These are merely varied embellishments of the same superficial platform, lacking any true foundation.
Whoever breaks from the sadr remains before the sign and forgets what is signified. This forgetting is disbelief. Whoever binds himself to the texts (satr) takes the word for the Truth; this assumption becomes shirk. Shirk and kufr are the destiny of minds imprisoned by the line in depiction. As they multiply, the Truth recedes.
The texts retain the noor solely when it remains connected to the heart. Once separated, it becomes a mere shadow. Those who lose this connection become lost among numerous lines, mistaking depictions for genuine faith.
The satr-self, restricted to the texts, accumulates words but remains devoid of the Truth. It assumes growth through the multiplication of Names and depth through the enumeration of Attributes. However, this growth resembles the extension of a shadow: as light diminishes, the shadow lengthens; as Truth withdraws, words multiply. The satr-self is an illusion founded on depictions, consisting solely of shadows.
In contrast, the self nourished by the sadr turns away from the multiplicity of words and toward the transcendence beyond them. It has shattered the security of depictions, endured the transformative fire of love, and reduced the Ene to ashes. The sadr-self thus lives by noor rather than words, engaging not with the sign itself but with its signified meaning. Its foundation lies not in the proliferation of texts, but in the secret contained within the sadr.
The textual satır-self produces idols within the realm of depictions. These idols are labeled as "knowledge" (ilm), "gnosis" (marifah), or "worship," yet they are merely embellished forms of depictions. This self venerates the shadow, places faith in words, and confuses the stage for the ground. Consequently, shirk and kufr permeate its very essence.
The sadr-self, by contrast, produces no idols; for the fire of love has burned them away. It leaves a depiction as a sign and bears the Truth without forgetting it. For this self, "al-Raḥmān" is not a concept, but the scent of transcendent mercy. "Al-Qadīr" is not an image of power, but an intuition of a power that exceeds all measures. "'Adl" does not denote the balance of scales, but points to a transcendent equilibrium beyond every scale.
The ṣadr-self, by contrast, produces no idols; for the fire of love has burned them away. It takes depictions as a sign and bears the Truth without forgetting it. For it, "al-Raḥmān" is not a concept but the fragrance of transcendent mercy. "Al-Qadīr" is not an imagined display of power but the intuition of a power that exceeds all measure. "'Adl" does not denote the balance of scales, but points to a transcendent equilibrium beyond every scale.
The textual satr-self lives by shadow; the sadr-self lives by the Truth. The textual self is immersed in depictions, while the sadr-self emerges from the ashes of depictions. The textual satr-self is numerous; the sadr-self is rare, yet the Truth consistently resides within the sadr of the few.
The self born of the sadr does not see existence as a stage multiplied by depictions; it sees existence as a trust derived from the transcendence of the ground. To this self, the world is not a marketplace of competing depictions but a sequence of temporary stations through which signs reveal the Truth. Therefore, the sadr-self does not become attached to worldly stages, recognizing that the stage does not constitute the ground.
For the textual self, life is defined by accumulated duration, achieved status, and amassed depictions. In contrast, for the sadr-self, life serves as an opportunity to bear witness to the Truth. The sadr-self does not exist solely for existence's sake; it regards life as a trust oriented toward the Truth. The true measure is not the length of life, but the degree to which one has borne witness to the Truth.
For the satr-self, death signifies loss, as it remains bound to depictions. When death occurs, these representations dissipate, leading the satr-self to perceive death as an adversary. In contrast, the sadr-self views death as a transition from the stage of depictions to the transcendence of the ground. For the sadr-self, death constitutes the unveiling of the Truth in its purest form. It does not fear death, having already surpassed the confines of depictions.
The sadr-self does not attach itself to existence, recognizing that once existence becomes representation, it transforms into an idol. It regards existence as a sign and directs its attention beyond the sign toward the Truth. Consequently, its world is illuminated by noor rather than obscured by shadows.
The sadr-self perceives the world as a sign rather than a marketplace, life as witnessing rather than mere duration, and death as unveiling rather than loss. While the satr-self is immersed in depiction, the sadr-self is sustained with the scent of the Truth.
For the sadr-self, worship is not a series of movements repeated upon the stage, nor words revolving upon the tongue, nor repetitions bound to number. It knows worship not as a form bound to depictions, but as an act of witnessing that reveals the Truth. While the prostration of the one bound to depictions concludes when the forehead touches the ground, the prostration of the sadr-self is the Ene's collapse, and its meeting with the ground of existence.
Prostration, for the satr-self, is a bodily inclination; for the sadr-self, it is the collapse of depiction. In that prostration, one does not merely place the forehead upon the earth; one lays down one's existence, one's illusion, one's knowledge, and one's Ene. For turning toward the Truth is not merely the bending of the body, but the burning of the illusory self.
For the satr-self, prayer is the enumeration of wishes, the elevation of desires toward the sky. But for the sadr-self, prayer is the burial of desires in silence. For the heart that turns toward the Truth does not place its own will before the Real. It knows that addressing the Truth is not accomplished through words, but through silence. Its prayer is not the voice of desire, but the voice of surrender.
For the satr-self, remembrance (dhikr) involves counting words and increasing repetitions. The sadr-self, however, preserves the sign as a sign, focusing not on the sanctity of the word itself but on recalling the Truth beyond it. Remembrance for the sadr-self is measured by witnessing rather than quantity, representing not the multiplication but the dissolution of depiction.
For the sadr-self, worship is not a movement performed beneath the shadow of depiction, but a witnessing that turns toward the noor of the Truth. If prostration becomes the collapse of the illusory self, prayer the silence of desire, and remembrance the burning of depiction, then worship draws close to the Truth. Otherwise, all worship remains nothing more than a shadow-play enacted upon the stage.
The self constrained by depiction engages with others solely through external forms. Both friendship and enmity are confined to the images constructed within their own perceptions. A friend is simply a form that aligns with its interests, while an enemy is a form that opposes its illusions. Society, from this perspective, is merely the multiplication of depiction: shadows interacting with shadows.
The sadr-self, having been freed from the chains of depiction, looks upon the human being not through form, but through the aspect that opens from the ground toward the Truth. For it, friendship is not a matter of interest or appearance, but a shared witnessing of the Truth. Enmity is not a clash of forms, but a judgment of veiling the Truth. Society, in its sight, is not a crowd of shadows, but a fleeting union of signs.
The one imprisoned by depiction sees, in others, only his own depiction; the sadr-self, by contrast, sees not its own projection, but the sign of the Truth. For this reason, it neither worships the human nor builds an idol from the human. It regards the human being as a trust of the Truth, turning not to the outward form but to its secret borne within the sadr.
For the satr-self, friendship equates to possession, while for the sadr-self, it signifies witnessing. Enmity for the satr-self is characterized by hatred, whereas for the sadr-self, it serves as a warning. The satr-self perceives society as a sacred crowd, but the sadr-self views it as a fleeting shadow of finitude.
For the sadr-self liberated from depictions, the relationship with God involves a direct orientation toward the essence of the Truth, unmediated by images. It interprets the Names as signs and the Attributes as indications, yet remains unattached to either. The ṣadr-self recognizes that substituting Name or Attribute for the Truth creates a veil. Only a ṣadr transformed by the fire of love can remove these veils.
For the sadr-self, prostration becomes a union with the ground rather than a mere gesture. Prayer transforms from the listing of wishes to the silence of desire. Dhikr shifts from repetitive words to the witnessing of depictions as they dissolve. In this way, worship is directed toward the Truth itself, not toward shadows.
The self freed from depictions does not seek God within the realm of appearances, recognizing that all that appears is mere shadow. It does not restrict God to personal conceptions, understanding that such conceptions arise from the Ene. Its relationship with God is not limited by concepts, but is rooted in the direct witnessing of the noor within the sadr.
The one imprisoned by representation seeks God in external forms, whereas the ṣadr-self encounters God in transcendence. One engages in shirk; the other bears witness. One remains attached to outward appearances, while the other turns toward the transcendence of the ground. And this difference is the sharpest distinction between kufr and iman, between shirk and tawḥīd.
The sadr-self, freed from depiction, does not suffice with holding the Truth within itself; its very existence becomes a testimony. This witnessing manifests in society not through an abundance of words, but through the transformation of words; not through outward actions, but through the depth of actions oriented toward the Truth.
The legacy left to society by the sadr-self is not an ideology, system, or form, as these are products of depiction; form belongs to the stage. The legacy left by the sadr-self is a vein, a sign, a light that keeps alive the transcendence of Truth amidst the multiplicity of depictions.
For the majority, this legacy remains unseen. They focus on textual details, adhere to classifications, and engage in interpretation. However, the sadr-self imparts to society not an accumulation of knowledge, but a secret carried within the sadr. This secret is inexpressible in words and is transmitted solely from sadr to sadr.
This legacy prevents society from remaining confined within collective depiction; in every era, however limited in number, it preserves the authentic vein. Through this vein, the Truth is never completely forgotten. For even if the shadows multiply, the noor is never entirely extinguished. This noor reminds a society lost in the depictions of the pious that faith is not imitation, but a truth born of burning.
The sadr-self liberated from depictions leaves not books, but hearts to society. Its most significant inheritance is the transmission of noor rather than words. This noor endures beyond society's depictions, flowing through the authentic vein in every era.
The most significant depiction is the human Ene. The Ene perceives itself as the center of existence, the origin of knowledge, and the possessor of power, appropriating all Names and Attributes to itself. In this way, the Ene becomes the ultimate idol. Unless this idol is destroyed, no journey toward the Truth is possible.
The sadr-self burns the Ene in the fire of transcendence. When the Ene dissolves, the human being no longer sees himself as the eye that sees, the hand that grasps, the foot that walks; he realizes that these organs do not truly belong to him, but are merely bearers of the Truth. The eye sees, but the seer is not the Ene, the hand grasps, but the one who grasps is not the Ene; the foot walks, but the walker is not the Ene. All these acts are not the possession of the Ene, but manifestations of the Truth.
When the Ene collapses, one comes to know this: the statement "I see" is a depiction, for the one who sees is not the Ene. The statement "I hold" is a depiction, for the one who holds is not the Ene. The statement "I walk" is a depiction, for the one who walks is not the Ene. In reality, the One who sees through the eye, who holds through the hand, and who walks through the feet is not the Ene, but a transcendent power that surpasses the being the Ene imagines itself to be.
This comprehension shatters the idol of the Ene from its very foundation. For the Ene survives by claiming every act as its own. Love consumes this claim. The sadr-self now knows that actions do not belong to it; rather, they are manifestations of a source that transcends it. Thus, the "seeing eye, the holding hand, the walking foot" are in truth not the Ene, but That Self which lies beyond the Ene.
When the Ene dissolves, all human acts are purified of depiction; the seeing eye becomes a manifestation of Truth, the holding hand a manifestation of Truth, the walking foot a manifestation of Truth. As long as the idol of the Ene remains unbroken, there is no iman; when the idol of the Ene is shattered, iman becomes Truth.
*Deepnote 1: Anas ibn Malik reported: The Messenger of Allah, peace and blessings be upon him, said, "None of you have faith until I am more beloved to him than his children, his father, and all of the people." Source: Ṣaḥīḥ al-Bukhārī 15, Ṣaḥīḥ Muslim 44*
*Note on Terminology: Certain key concepts in this study are presented in italics and retained in their original language. These terms have been preserved because they lack precise English equivalents and carry layered metaphysical, theological, and experiential meanings that would be diminished in translation. Where necessary, brief contextual explanations are provided, while the original forms are maintained to preserve conceptual integrity.*